by Lorelei Bell
“Can you offer fidelity?”
“Absolutely,” he said without a pause. “One hundred percent.”
“But, you're known to be… promiscuous.”
“While it is true that I have been with countless women, I have only been with one at a time—meaning, while I saw them, I saw only them. No one else on the side.”
She snickered. “That's not what I've heard.”
“Rumors. You would listen to rumors?” he questioned with a serious tone to his silky voice.
“Orgies. That's what I've heard. Here, in this very castle.”
“Never happened. Not here, not anywhere, and not between myself and other women,” he said. “When I choose a woman to love, I love only her, and no other. I love you, Zofia. I have loved no other woman like I have loved you. It's a deeper love. Something that—” he pulled in a breath, looked beyond the bed and let it out with his words. “I have never felt with anyone. Only you. That's why I remained unmarried.”
Zofia stared back up at him, shocked by such an admission. “You love me?”
“Yes.”
“This isn't the puppy love from when we were children?”
“No.” He shook his head slightly. “I think I've come to love you more, now, in these last couple of days, than I have ever before. Seeing you, speaking with you, and just knowing your bravery in dealing with Blood and Xilomorah, and not to mention the demon.” His voice faded to a whisper. “I think it has deepened my love for you even more.” He swallowed. “I only hope in time you will love me.”
She couldn't dismiss this. This was Stephen, a wizard she'd known since they were young. She had always liked Stephen, even had some romantic ideas about him, of course. But to become his wife, it just didn't seem likely. Especially since his mother had really tried to discourage them every chance she got. Eighteen or so years ago, she simply felt Dorian was the safer choice between the two. Pandora would have been the worst mother-in-law a woman could ever endure. But now that she was struggling with the dozens of demons inside her, she was kept in a separate part of the castle, away from everyone. And apparently on strong sedatives, according to Tillie.
“Stephen,” she breathed, trying to arrange her thoughts into words. “Dorian leaving me is something I have to deal with first.”
“I understand.”
“I can't just sweep away the feelings I've had for him for eighteen years. It was difficult enough when he suddenly returned from the dead. Even as a vampire, I at least had something of him. When he got this soul back, I thought that everything was right again. Now it seems whatever happened to him, changed him.” And he doesn't love me any more, was what she'd wanted to say, but the words became stuck in her constricted throat. I won't cry… not in front of him, she commanded herself.
A few heartbeats went by before Stephen said, “I understand, Zofia. I'm not asking for this to happen overnight. I know you need time to sort things out.” He paused, seeming to consider his next words before he spoke them. “You know you leave in the morning for Dark Castle?”
She caught her breath, held it and let it out in a long exhale. She'd forgotten, in the moment, she'd have to leave on her own venture. “Oh. Right.”
“You know you're my only hope, Zofia. Spying on Saint Germain will help me find out what's been going on.” A heavy breath escaped him. The moonlight caressed his broad shoulder, making it look like alabaster, as though a master sculptor had used a chisel on him. Could he be more perfect? Zofia had to mentally shake herself from the vision. She found herself vacillating between the part of her that felt she still belonged to Dorian, and the less noble part of her—okay the wanton hussy part of her—to resist his nearness, and her desires for him in return.
“Also,” he went on, “even though I said what I said about Dorian being in the same area, about your not approaching him because of breach of confidentiality, I'm putting you there also to make sure that this is what Dorian really wants.”
“Does he know I'm going to be there?”
“No. That's what I'm trying to tell you.”
Okay, that was a bit of a shock.
Meanwhile his hand ran down her arm, slid over her hip and cupped her left buttock, and settled as though it belonged there. Her mind was torn between what he was doing to her and what they were talking about.
“I want to make sure, Zofia. I don't want him seeing you and deciding that he really does love you. Or, after he settles whatever he has to settle, comes out of this funk, or whatever the hell it is, and suddenly opens his eyes and sees you're the best thing he's ever thrown away. I don't want him to hate me, or you.”
Yes. This was a really good idea on his part. Thankful he had the strength to not plunge into things head-on. She was slightly shocked that these very words actually had come from him and not her. It was as though Stephen knew Dorian better than she did. Perhaps he did. She seemed to not ever know what Dorian was going through. He always kept things to himself. He kept his emotions under a tight rein. He didn't talk about his assignments. He probably talked to Stephen a whole lot more than he did her, since they not only were friends, but Stephen was his boss. Where she actually fit into the scheme of things, she was never really sure. She was his wife, and mother of his children, and they'd had their moments. They'd had a good life, hadn't they? Even if a wizarding couple's marriage of twenty-five years was held as going well beyond the norm, eighteen years wasn't half bad either. But when she thought about it, long and hard, she really wasn't sure that he had actually had an emotional love for her. Physical, yes. Emotional? She wasn't really sure. Of course the words “I love you” would be spoken, but she seemed to be the first one to say it, and he would merely mimic her, lately over the reading of the local paper in the evening. He never seemed jealous of her, except when he thought Stephen was making a play for her. And now he had done a total turnaround, and—supposedly—had told Stephen he was free to approach her romantically, as though he were through with her. He'd basically divorced her. That's all it would take is his telling another man he could have her. And he'd done it in public.
No, this was not the time or place for her to make any decisions about allowing Stephen to woo her seriously. Allowing him to make love to her—although was very hard to resist, especially since the love god was there in her bed—was the wrong move. She didn't know the real cause of Dorian's sudden change of heart. She really didn't know if it was from his discovery of her having carnal relations with a demon, or of her being pushed through to Knighthood by Stephen. These things may have been contributing factors, but she felt there had to be something more going on. Something else was amiss, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. At least have a face-to-face talk with him and find out what the hell was going on. Until then, she wasn't about to throw away her marriage.
“No,” she said finally, coming out of her thoughts. “I don't want Dorian to hate either one of us, either.”
“Then I guess I should go,” he said around a huge exhale, as if to purge himself of all his desires. Resigned, his hand released her buttock. Thank you. Then the hand came up to her face, making the skin tingle where he touched her. What was he doing? His eyes seemed to pull more light into them than was humanly possible, until they seemed to glow preternaturally, the band of color widening as he stared into her eyes.
“What's the matter?” she wondered, her voice sounding thin to her own ears.
“I—” His eyes broke their contact, slid down to take in her lips. “I want to kiss you.”
She swallowed. His gaze was intense, and his request brought a stab of desire to her very core. Did he know what his kiss did to her? That day when they'd met for the first time in years and he'd kissed her to stop her from fretting about Blood, she'd had the most powerful orgasm she could ever remember, just from his kiss. No man, no wizard could kiss like that. Only a god could. Yep. A god. One-eighth or one hundred percent. Didn't matter.
Fearful, she gazed back up into those gold-green eyes, w
orried about what would happen in this situation. Here he was naked, in bed with her, talking about love and wanting to marry her, should Dorian not change his mind. Would she be able to resist him after one kiss? Heart pounding, she struggled with decision. One kiss. What could it hurt? Maybe she had been overly excited that day. After all, she hadn't seen him in a decade, or more. Maybe it had more to do with the turmoil of what was going on around her, rather than any magic he may have held in those wonderful lips of his.
Cursed goat cheese! What was she thinking?
Before she could deny him, he leaned closer, moving his hips for a little more leverage. She smelled the faint hint of musk and maybe some aromatic burnt sage from some incense. Expectation rose as the light glimmered in his eyes, the pupils dilated with his desire. She pressed her head further into the pillow as his face neared. His hand enfolded her jaw, holding her still. She tensed as his lips kissed the corner of her mouth, as though testing, or teasing her. She felt slightly eased from her former anxiety when she'd felt only a tiny thrill go through her. She could handle that.
He kissed her on the other side of the mouth, and then followed this with kisses in quick succession over her face; both cheeks, both eyelids, chin, nose, and then ending with a full-lipped kiss. If she were standing during this abuse, her knees would have buckled. Waves of desire pulsed through her. It wasn't an all-out orgasm, but everything he was doing right now could just as well lead to a very nice one.
A muted groan came from him as he deepened the kiss. His stubble rough against her face as he darted a hesitant tongue between her lips. Breath caught as her lips parted and took his tongue deep into her mouth. He tasted like honey and cherry wine. He tasted wonderful.
Stephen shuddered, supporting his weight over her, and she could feel him making a gallant effort to resist the temptation of taking her right there. His breath harsh, he pulled his head up and looked at her, and smiled.
“You did it to me again,” he said.
She blinked back at him. “I did?” She'd done something to him?
“You gave me a charge.”
“A charge? Like what? Like power?”
“Mm-hum,” he said nodding.
“I had it too.” More than she was willing to tell him at the moment.
“I don't want to leave you. Not now.”
“But if you don't,” she said slowly, “how will I explain this—us—together like this?”
Eyes darting above her, he made another humming sound in his throat. “I hate that we can't be together like this without giving everyone something to talk about.”
Zofia could only imagine what Tillie would say, should she find Stephen here in bed with her—naked, (after she took a thorough peek at him, of course). There was only so much a woman could explain away. This would be a tough one.
He bowed his head. “I should,” he agreed. “Before I can't.” He lifted himself off her, easing his body toward the other edge of the bed.
She sat up, watching the curtains of the canopy fall back, filling in in the space he'd just occupied, and he disappeared behind them. Aware of her deepened heartbeat, and how tingly she felt, she wanted so desperately to tell him to come back to her.
“Stephen?” she waited. Was he turning back into a cat? “Kitty?”
She jumped as his face appeared on her side of the bed, his lean body partially covered by the canopy and shadows.
“By the way, the cat's name is Beaumont,” he said.
“How are you—” her question hung in the room as he disappeared again. She waited and listened. “Stephen?”
When he didn't answer, she slipped from the bed covers. Feeling the chilled night air, she yanked on her robe and padded over the lush loomed rug. Her eyes tried to pick out movement, but could see nothing. She almost magically lit some candles when the lock clicked back on the door. She tried to peer into the darkness, but it was so dark, save for the moonlight recreating the shape of the windows across the rug where she stood. Her own shadow eclipsing the ribbons of light, as she moved toward the door.
The door opened and shut, she could feel the subtle shift of air on her skin, felt it push her hair, making it flutter against her face. Stephen was gone. Possibly he shiftchanged as soon as he moved into the hall. How long could it take him to turn back into a cat? A minute? How long had it taken that day up in the tower? Not long, she recalled.
Quickly, Zofia returned to her warm bed, thoughts of Stephen swirling around as his scent lingered. She breathed it in and held it in her lungs, only to have to let it go, like she had the man.
She lay back, her hand finding the spot where Stephen had been. It was still warm. The memory of his coming to her as the cat, Beaumont, etched a brief smile upon her face. It wasn't every day a fertility god came to a woman's bed, after all—and not in the guise of a cat.
But now alone, the feel of him, and all they had spoke of, slowly faded and her situation filled the niche. Dorian had left her. The feeling of betrayal and desertion, like water seeking its own level, flooded her. If she could ignore all her emotions right now, she could equate this whole deal of his leaving her like any other time Dorian had left on a mission. The last time, she actually thought he had died at Blood's hands, and would not be back. If only she could just will this thought in her head, trick it into believing that he wouldn't be back, just as she had then. She could probably deal with it. Unfortunately, she couldn't do it. Back then, she hadn't expected him to return. After five years, there he was, standing on her front porch begging to be let in like a stray—vampire. The only difference between then and now was that he was very much alive, and she knew it. Before, she had gotten used to not having him around; that he was physically gone from the world. She had gotten through those lonely nights, one at a time. Usually crying herself to sleep, until the pain just ebbed, and it was easier to just resign herself to being lonely for the rest of her life.
She could do that again, couldn't she?
I'm not going to cry… I'm not going to cry, she thought to herself.
She felt a dribble of a tear escape one eye. She angrily swiped at it, then pounded the bed with her fist. “I'm not going to cry!” she shouted.
Rolling over, she punched the pillow into submission.
“I'm not,” she blubbered into the pillow. “I'm not…”
PART TWO: Dark Castle
The Wandering Traveler
Chapter 12, Inside Dark Castle
by Bartholomew Ogden Langguth
Two hundred steps to the very top—I'd counted them—and once there I stood gazing up at the impressively tall, wrought iron gates. Locked. No guard. No bell to ring to announce ourselves.
“How do we get in?” I asked my friend, Talbit, who stood next to me, hardly breathing at all. I fixed him with an exasperated gaze, but knew well he was a were-man, and this bit of exertion was nothing to him.
“Don't know,” he said just as perplexed as I.
I opened my mouth, about to speak, when something inexplicable happened to me. It all took no more time than would an eye blink, and I was so overwhelmed by it that when I realized I no longer stood outside, next to my tall friend, but inside a dark corridor. A deep fear fell over me. The deepest dread in my whole life coursed through me for after a moment, I realized that a Portal had opened up and sucked me inside the castle. How long, I wondered, until one of the king's vampires discovered me and brought me to him?
Chapter 13
Late morning sun bronzed the stone of Restormell Castle. Zofia's nerves were on a sword's edge as she, Tillie and Blanche approached the coach. Eight white winged horses, in single file, were harnessed to it. They were the most beautiful animals she had ever seen. Their coat and feathers were as white as newly fallen snow, their muzzles and eyes were pink, and their hooves shimmered gold in the early sunlight. They were slightly larger than most horses. Their powerful wings were presently folded onto their backs. They snorted, and pawed the earth, and threw their heads eagerly.
/> The coach itself was just as white, but dusted heavily in pixy dust, giving it a lovely iridescent cast in the sun. Pixy dust would enable the coach to fly along with the eight-winged horses.
“Oh-h-h-wow!” Blanche gasped with awe as she sighted the animals.
“Never seen a winged horse before?” Tillie said over her shoulder to Zofia.
“Nope,” Zofia said. “And for that matter, I've never been this close to one.”
“My fifth husband raised them.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” Tillie said, rocking back on her heels, hands behind her back, gazing at the steeds. “They're a handful. Takes a master's touch. Melvin was pretty good with animals.”
“What happened to him?”
“Got kicked in the head by a Minotaur.”
“Oh, Tillie,” Zofia gave her a pained look, stroked her arm a little. “I'm sorry.”
“He was two hundred and thirteen when it happened. People didn't expect him to live that long,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because he worked with too many large and dangerous magical creatures. Everyone thought a dragon would turn him into a crispy nugget.” She shrugged with a little sigh. “Shortest time I was married to anyone. He died ten months after we married.”
Blanche trotted up to Stephen and his trainer who held the animals, keeping them calm.
“Can I?” Blanche asked, wanting to pet them.
“Of course.” Stephen eased her up to the closest one. The winged horse turned his elegant head and allowed her to rub his velvet-soft nose. The horse's eyes went half closed, enjoying the attention. Blanche giggled like a child. Stephen pulled a carrot from a bag and handed it to her, and she fed it to the horse.
“Good morning!” Zofia called to Stephen.
Stephen turned to her, smiling. Hands out, palms up, he gazed into the blue sky and said, “A beautiful morning for traveling.”