Cupids Enchantment

by Cupid's Enchantment(lit)

  All of a sudden, a low resonation started around her, coming from the forest like a demonic chorus, rumbling through her body as if the earth shook beneath her feet. Whatever made the noise, it wasn’t alone. Jerking into action, Rhiannon ran for the bridge. The branch fell from her shaking fingers. To her horror a large gray wolf jumped out from the trees, blocking her path.

  The creature’s teeth snarled viciously, snapping to keep her back. The thick fur along its spine stood on end as it postured. Its yellow eyes stared at her--dangerous and probing. She thought them too knowledgeable for the eyes of a wild beast. It was almost as if he calculated her next move.

  The first wolf was soon followed by others--all shades of brown and gray. Their bodies were too large to be ordinary wolves or dogs, as they were three times the size of such. They formed a snarling blockade around her, preventing any retreat but to the water. Rhiannon took to the icy stream without a second thought, splashing away from the beast-covered shore, praying the creatures couldn’t swim. They inched closer, sniffing at her from the dry land, watching her, wanting her, salivating for her.

  Rhiannon cried out in fear. Mud from her dress and hair swirled into the water, trailing downstream. She’d never seen anything like these creatures before. They were terrifying! Her heart leapt as she hit deeper into the water. The current tried to pull her with it, but she fought it, using every bit of energy she had. Her hair tangled around her in a muddy mess, sticking to her face. It was hard going backwards, but she didn’t dare look away as she paddled her arms and kicked her legs for swifter speed.

  To her horror, the gray wolf crept closer to the shoreline. She could see its nostrils flaring as he touched an oversized paw slowly into the cold water. The others skulked behind him. Rhiannon pumped her limbs faster, whimpering. Her legs tangled into the heavy skirts of her tunic gown. For a moment, she thought she would go under. Her head dipped. The cold stung her limbs, burning up into her nose.

  All of a sudden, a dark brown beast lurched forward to jump after her. Rhiannon pumped her limbs faster, fighting to stay up, propelling her body back. A chaos of movement followed the brown wolf’s daring. Another, lighter wolf, launched after the bold creature to stop its attack on her. They rolled along the shoreline, snapping and fighting. Soon all the creatures brawled, skirmishing with each other more than looking at her.

  As she hit shallow water, Rhiannon braced her feet into the streambed and stood. Turning around, she concentrated on running. Water dripped from her clothes, causing a horrific chill now that the breeze hit upon her wet skin. Her movements were labored from the extra weight of her soaked dress and her muddy hair blocked her vision. She didn’t stop to right the locks as she pushed onward toward the shore.

  Rhiannon only made it as far as the edge before she was snatched up by two strong hands on her arms. She yelped in surprise and weakly squirmed against the hold. The hands shook her until she stilled and then proceeded to haul her forward onto the bank. She was clasped in a vice like grip, almost bruising in its strength. Her bare feet sank into the muddy shore and her face was inches away from a warm chest.

  Slowly, Rhiannon registered that the hands felt human and was thankful for it. She tried to move her cold body toward the protective warmth. The hands held her away and she was too frail to resist them. Her head bobbed forward on her neck, her energy almost spent. Rhiannon vaguely heard the man before her roar like a beast. The sound stirred her from the blackness that crept over her mind. Unexpectedly, the growling stopped and the forest was again silent. She gasped for breath, struggling to stay awake.

  Lord Ilar, Commander of the Lycan Guard, held the scared female before his naked chest. Seizing her slender arms in his hands, he kept her from running. His eyes blazed with a liquid heat to see the havoc she wrought upon his men. Never had he seen the lycan guards act in such a way, nearly killing each other over a mere female. If she had continued to run, she would only have made matters worse. The lycan liked nothing more than a good chase, and to chase a pleasing, unmated female was the ultimate indulgence.

  With a roaring order, he told the men to retreat. The woman jolted at the sound of his harsh voice but he didn’t let her go. The lycan guards snarled and snapped at him in a never before seen protest. But, to Ilar’s relief, they obeyed and retreated back into the forest, disappearing in the trees.

  Ilar frowned. His men had fought furiously over the woman and he couldn’t imagine what was wrong with them. In all his years as their Commander, he’d never seen them so undisciplined. The guards never battled to such an extent over a female. He’d almost thought it a joke when he heard their anger in his head. The psychic mind link that connected them had risen up like never before, until Ilar feared his men were under magical assault.

  Suddenly, he noticed what was wrong. A soft scent wafted up to him, tempting him with pleasure. He scowled, leaning over to sniff the woman’s dirt covered head. Hot desire flooded into his limbs, making his body lurch in instant response. He pulled back, displeased. Something was definitely wrong with her. Maybe it was a magical attack after all.

  "Wake up, Rhian, wake up."

  Ilar stiffened, hearing the woman’s whispered words. Her accent was soft, strange to his ears. She spoke in the old language, one they rarely used but still knew. She closed her eyes tight, at least from what he saw through the veil of her muddied hair. He heard her heart beating in his head, almost deafening in its rapid fear. The sound sparked the hunter in him. He tried to block it out.

  "Get your lazy arse out of bed, Rhian," she continued in a hushed plea, refusing to move more than a shiver.

  Ilar wondered if it was his touch or the cold that made her tremble so. He held her back from his chest when she would naturally lean to it. She was filthy and he had no desire to soil himself on her.

  Her whispering continued, growing frantic, "Come on, ugh. Begone! Begone!"

  Rhiannon held very still. The strong hands on her arms gripped her tight, keeping her on her feet. She willed the forest to disappear. This had to be a nightmare. She didn’t know where she was. Creatures such as these didn’t exist in the real world. If this wasn’t a dream, her sanity had snapped. She couldn’t be insane. She didn’t feel insane--at least she didn’t think she did. Did the insane know they were insane? Ah, this was madness!

  Gradually, the silence invaded her and she calmed. The hands on her arms were stiff, but they didn’t threaten or squeeze, merely held. Opening one eye first, she was surprised to see a manly nipple surrounded by tight, bronzed muscle. The other eye soon followed and she couldn’t help but stare. Whoever this knight was, he was sturdily built. An extraordinary jolt went through her system upon sensing how close she stood to the stranger.

  Ilar wondered if the woman was merely insensible or just crazy. She didn’t move, as she stared at his chest. The shivering stopped by small degrees and he hesitated before letting her go. His senses on alert, he kept an eye on her, afraid that she might run.

  He couldn’t let this woman out of his sight, not with the unnaturally strong pheromones she emitted. She was lucky he’d managed to stop the men from attacking her and each other. He’d seen well their posturing stances. They tried to impress her with their power--not that this woman appeared to understand what they were about.

  He wondered if she were an elf. She did have the slight figure of that race--not that elves usually mingled with his kind. They most assuredly never attracted the lycans’ notice to such an extent. Perhaps she was a half-breed of some sort.

  Hell, Ilar thought. She was lucky he was old enough to control his primitive urges--or else she would really have something to worry about. If he chose to attack her, there would be no stopping it. She was very fortunate indeed that it was only a group of young soldiers that hunted her.

  Rhiannon stumbled as the man abruptly released her. Her knees weakened and she fell limp on the ground, too shaken to stand. Her arms wrapped around her chest, trying to draw warmth where there was none. The frigid
shoreline mud pressed up into her legs, making it worse. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that indeed the creatures were gone. She was left alone with her rescuer. She’d have sighed in relief, but, as she looked up at the man, all thoughts of safety fled her.

  Rhiannon froze as curious warmth invaded her limbs. Not only was this man’s chest naked, but his legs were bare. Her eyes widened and she couldn’t help the insipid look of awe that came to her as she looked over his masculine, hair-roughened calves. He wore only the barest of linen wrapped around his firm waist. His strong, naked feet caught her eye and she suddenly wondered if she’d ever seen male feet. He stood as if the uneven stone didn’t affect him. His arms hung at his sides, loose. Yet, even in relaxation, they appeared tight and authoritative.

  "This dream just keeps getting stranger and stranger," Rhiannon said softly, looking him over through the strands of her hair. Her body shivered, her teeth chattered, and she ached in a myriad of ways.

  Rhiannon blinked, swallowing nervously as a blush stained her cheeks to a bright pink. The man placed his hands boldly on his hips. He leaned over to catch her eyes. She should’ve looked up before that moment. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been stunned to find a hard brown gaze close to her face. The man’s hair fell forward, parted down the middle, wet and dark brown, and slightly tangled from washing. The straight locks were nearly as long as her waist length tresses.

  For a moment, Rhiannon was sure she was dead--gone straight to a fiery eternity and here was the devil himself to greet her. The dark slash of his brows lowered over his narrowing gaze as he studied her. She shivered anew, her breath ragged. Only a devil could command the demons that chased her. Only a devil could make her chilled skin hot by just leaning near her. Only a devil would have such piercing eyes.

  "C-an yo-u un-derstan-d?" Ilar asked carefully in the old language all races knew. It had been a long time since he’d formed the words and they were stilted with the influence of neglect.

  Ilar frowned. He’d just come from bathing in the stream and hadn’t been given time to change. If she continued to stare at his midsection in unmaidenly invitation, her mouth working abnormally, he’d be tempted to give her something to stare at. She continued to shiver and he sensed she wasn’t about to move.

  Rhiannon trembled, her limbs too weak to do anything else. His was an accent she didn’t readily recognize. His deep voice sounded monstrous--low and harsh, rumbling at her. So why was she waiting to hear it again? She’d heard horror stories about the dark heathen barbarians who lived far into the southern deserts. Maybe, he was one of those. Only, this wasn’t a desert. She’d been told deserts were nothing but leagues of yellow sand.

  Again she glanced over her shoulder to make sure the beasts were gone. They were, but she couldn’t relax. This forceful man before her terrified her nearly as much as the beasts. For a moment, she considered taking back to the stream.

  "Do you control the nietens?" she asked weakly.

  Ilar went rigid at the question. Nieten. The human word for beast. She was a mortal and she insulted his people with her narrow-minded slander. He hadn’t seen a mortal for over three hundred years--not since they closed the gateway between her world and his. A wave of disgust assaulted him. It would seem the humans hadn’t changed.

  "Why are yo-u here, mor-tal?" he spat, his eyes darkening to a near black. The language quickly came back in his anger.

  "Mortal?" She lifted her hand to her face, clearing her matted hair from her eyes to better study him.

  Ilar wasn’t prepared for her beauty. Even splattered and smeared in mud, she had some of the finest features he’d ever seen. Oh, this was bad. If the lycan guards were strained by her mere scent, they’d boil when they saw her attractiveness. This was very, very bad. Sniffing her again, his body hardened and his resolve weakened. No mortal he’d ever heard of emitted such a potent pheromone on their own. Black magic was definitely at work. But whose? And why?

  "Is that what your people call my kind, heathen?" she asked.

  Nieten? Heathen? Ilar thought with disgust. He was tempted to teach this little human a lesson in manners. He wondered what he should do with her. He didn’t really want to take her home with him, but he was afraid he might not have a choice. He couldn’t very well just leave her in the forest for the men to fight over.

  "You are from the Holy Land?" She looked up at him when he didn’t move to speak.

  "I am no-t," he answered, not completely understanding what she meant by her question.

  "Oh," Rhiannon sighed. Her body hurt and she wanted to weep. She was very aware of his inspection of her. She looked down, knowing she must appear dreadful. Seeing her wet gown, stained and ripped beyond repair, she shuddered violently. For a moment, she thought about falling to the stone and waiting for death. Seeing his severe brown gaze, she held back. She wasn’t sure she wanted to die by the devil’s side.

  "Methinks I have died," Rhiannon said, truthfully. There was no other explanation for it. "Methinks you must be the devil."

  At that, Ilar grinned, a slow curling expression that claimed his face--though it wasn’t pleasure that radiated there. Feeling a discontent amongst the lycan who lingered in the forest, he knew he had to get her out of the open air. Her scent was drifting downwind and the others were again picking up her trail. The mind link screamed with their discontent, echoing faintly in his head. If they came back, he wouldn’t wish to fight them all.

  "That," he stated gruffly, watching her shake in fear of him. He leaned to grab her arm and hauled her back to her feet. "Is the first thing yo-u’ve said that makes any sense."

  * * * *

  Cupid fumed from his perch on the tree, watching Ilar with the woman. Why wasn’t he trying to mate with her? Was the human too ugly for even his magic? No, that was impossible. Such old love magic made men blind to such things and all Ilar was supposed to see was his lust as it consumed him in madness.

  The lycan guards had been willing to fight to the death over her. Cupid had been giddy with excitement to see them come running from the bathing pool to track her down. When she cupped the water to her face, she must have sent her scent downstream to the bathing lycans. It all went according to plan--well, until Lord Ilar showed himself. Too bad the Commander sent the lycans off. It had been proving to be a great show.

  Cupid absently stuck a finger up his nose and dug about in the depths. Without stopping to think, he pushed the same finger into his tiny ear and poked it around. As he watched, Ilar pulled the woman up before him. When the bold lycan Commander roughly led the mortal away, Cupid’s happy grin widened. Maybe the philter worked after all. It looked as if Lord Ilar was going to take the ugly human home.

  Lightheaded with excitement, the troll hopped up and down, forgetting he perched high up on a tree branch. With a grunt of surprise, he fell back and tumbled heavily to the forest floor.

  Chapter Two

  Rhiannon gasped as the devilish man jerked her to her feet. Her knees quaked as she tried to stand. He didn’t give her time to collect herself before brusquely forcing her to walk beside him. Was he angry with her? She couldn’t tell by his blank expression.

  The grip tightened on her arm and he walked faster, leading her along the shoreline. Everything passed by, surreal and dreamlike. The trees were unchanging along the trail, more of the same odd red. The stream bent and curved in the ground.

  "Where are we going?" Her voice was frail, breathless.

  The handsome, half-naked stranger didn’t readily answer and, when the words finally came, they were abrasive. "I’m taking yo-u from the forest. It isn’t safe for yo-u here."

  Ilar studied the woman from the corner of his eye, as he dragged her along side of him. He gripped her slender arm, his hand like a manacle. She tripped, trying to keep up with his longer stride. The lycan guards were circling closer, coming back to see her. Gritting his teeth, he frowned as a waft of her potently erotic scent hit him full force. It would seem the magical enticement on her only in
creased with time. This was serious.

  "I want to go home," Rhiannon told him, again tripping on her own feet as she tried to keep up. The rocks poked at her soles and it was hard to walk with sharp jabs digging into her flesh. She glanced at his bare feet. He didn’t seem to have the same problem. "I’m sure my father will reward you greatly for your kindness, Sir Knight, in returning me."

  Rhiannon did her best not to stare at the man’s naked body wrapped indecently in the cloth. She saw his butt moving beneath the thin material, mesmerizing her and making her weak in a strange, new way. Below his sculpted navel, a thick protrusion moved with his body as he walked. She wondered at it, finally concluding it must be a sword.

  Rhiannon’s eyes burned where the dirt still gritted beneath her eyelids and it was getting harder to keep them open. The hand on her flexed, pulling her along as if she were a feather. Her attention was drawn to his grip. The man’s bicep was lean muscle--not too large and definitely not too small--as was the rest of him. His ease and power frightened her.

  "Please, can’t I just go home now?" she begged softly, worn. At her feeble plea, the man stopped to study her. She tried to free her arm from his grasp, but he didn’t let her go. Rhiannon wasn’t sure how much farther she could walk. She’d never wanted to collapse upon the ground so badly in her life.

  Ilar frowned at her deceiving nature. Her wide eyes looked up at him with innocence. He doubted she was innocent. She was human, after all. Humans had tried to hunt his kind into extinction and all because of a few rogue wolves who’d developed a taste for human blood. The rest of them had been peaceful, hunting wild animals in the forest like their natural ancestors and only attacking humans when first provoked. It had been a bloody battle and Ilar had lost many friends. It wasn’t something he wanted to see again.

  In the end, it was decided the realms should be forever separated. The lycans weren’t the only ones to leave the world of mortals. The vampires, who were also hunted because of their ‘unnatural’ ways, had come with them. As did all things of magic--elves, fairies, even the goblins and trolls. They left the realm of humans, tired of being trapped and forced to use magic for mankind’s gain. Then it was believed that humans would kill themselves off. It wasn’t to be so. To everyone’s amazement, the humans thrived.