Cupids Enchantment

by Cupid's Enchantment(lit)

  "I don’t think it’s wise," Ilar began.

  "Ah," Larus laughed. "You can’t tell me you don’t want her. She must be a true find if she has the whole Lycan Guard on edge. Pray, put us out of our misery afore I have a chance to smell her."

  "She’s human," Ilar stated bluntly. His eyes narrowed.

  Larus skidded to a stop. His face fell. "You’re positive? She’s not just an elfling-human half breed from the old days?"

  "I’m sure. She’s mortal." Ilar frowned, sharing a dark look with the King. His eyes glittered gold. He quietly told him everything that had happened, leaving out the ‘body-warming.’ "I believe someone has placed a curse upon her, making her irresistible to our kind. You should’ve seen the way the men fought over her when I found her near the bathing pool. Toa and Fal were ready to battle to the death to claim her. When I walked her inside, I was afraid I’d have to crush their skulls to keep them at bay. Whatever her reason for being here, it isn’t good."

  "You’re right, Commander. This isn’t a good sign. It means one has dared to open the portals to the human world," Larus said softly. "Do you think the vampires would be so bold?"

  "I have thought of them," Ilar admitted. There was no love lost between the vampire clans and the lycans. "But there’s no proof. I don’t think they’d be so defiant of the race covenant."

  "Does this human have a name?" Larus asked, thoughtful.

  "Lady Rhiannon of Weilshire," Ilar answered, getting the cheerless curse he expected.

  "It had to be a human noble," Larus said. His dark eyes narrowed in deep thought, sparking with gold. "Why couldn’t it have been a peasant? If I remember correctly, the humans put more stock into the lives of their nobles. I don’t suppose that has changed in the last three hundred years."

  "I’d have great cause to doubt it." Ilar frowned. "She seemed to believe her title would give her privilege."

  "You must discover where she came from and why, afore the other races believe we brought her here." Larus sighed heavily. "Whoever did this could’ve known our mind link would be disrupted. I’ll close the gates and put the castle on alert until this is resolved. I’ll also speak to the men. Hopefully, when they know what is happening, they will be able to resist her siren’s pull. I’m sorry, my friend, but I leave her under your guard. She’s your responsibility. See that she stays out of trouble. Until we know why she’s here, we can’t let harm befall her."

  Ilar nodded. He’d feared that would be the case.

  "Let us just hope the effects of the spell will wear off once she’s been locked away for awhile," Larus said, again scowling as loud grunts sounded in his brain.

  With concentration they could quiet the noise, but it took a lot of energy to block it completely. It was energy the busy King couldn’t expend. Not to mention that doing so was dangerous. If there was a call to arms, they would need to hear it. They would just have to live with the noise for now.

  Ilar grimly nodded. He couldn’t ignore a royal decree. Lady Rhiannon, the human, was his responsibility.

  * * * *

  Rhiannon let loose a long breath of contentment as steam rose over her body. Staying true to his word, Ilar had sent a bath for her. What he forgot to mention was that it would be delivered by a horde of little winged fairies. She almost fainted when the door unlocked and a bath came flying into the bedchamber, seemingly unattended.

  The fairies had buzzed around her head, checking her out, wrinkling their naturally upturned noses in distaste at the wool coverlet she wore for clothes. They all wore beautiful gowns that glistened like stars. She couldn’t understand what they said but heard the words ‘human’ and ‘mortal’ a few times followed by impertinent giggles.

  Rhiannon was again locked inside the tower prison when the winged creatures left. The chamber wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was much better than her previous quarters in her father’s tower. She didn’t miss the irony that she’d exchanged one tower prison for another. Only this time her jailer was much more intimidating.

  Judging from the trunks of male clothing, she guessed it was Ilar’s bedchamber she stayed in. She wondered innocently where he would spend the night, being as she now had his quarters. His threat of making her his whore still stung. However, after careful reflection, she thought that he just tried to scare her into submission with the threats. She’d been rather waspish with him and he did save her from the man-beasts at the stream.

  Even if she was a mor-tal, as he so willingly spat, she was a noblewoman. Surely even this race, with their comforts so close to her own, would respect the position of a lady. Besides, the whole ‘coming together’ probably wouldn’t work being as they were obviously made differently.

  Perhaps after the layer of mud was cleansed from her skin and hair, he’d be better able to see her true ranking. Rhiannon smiled at the thought. Yes, once he was convinced she was truly a noblewoman he’d just have to take her back home. It was a simple enough plan. She’d never been accused of being anything but a lady.

  As the hot bath water soaked into her tired bones, she stopped to look around. The large fireplace burned brightly, casting the gray walls in a golden light. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. The room really was spacious, doubling as a sort of bower. Beautifully carved high backed chairs with plush cushioned seats were near a long slotted window. Next to the chairs was a carved table of dark wood. Strange rugs lined beneath the window, made from a type of wool. She imagined, being man-wolves, they wouldn’t favor using pelts to decorate their chambers.

  In the corner there was an old chest. It had a thick iron lock on the front. Curiosity piqued, she bit her lip trying to determine whether or not she could pick the latch. In the end, she decided it would be best not to pillage his belongings for the time being.

  Rolling back her head, she closed her eyes. Rhiannon wondered if her father knew she was missing yet. She hoped he didn’t worry too much. Agrona would undoubtedly be pleased to hear it.

  Rhiannon scrunched up her face, wondering if her sister had anything to do with this mess. Then, deciding Agrona knew even less of the black arts than she did, she dismissed the idea. Agrona may not like her most days, but she would never hurt her.

  She didn’t need to look behind her to know what the gigantic bed looked like. The fairies had changed the bedding, taking away the covers dirtied by her body. Already its soft depths and rich texture were burned shamefully into memory. What exactly was Ilar doing to her when she woke up? She was sure there was no need for his lips to be where they were or for his ‘battering ram’ to be next to her ‘womanly area’. Rhiannon gulped, barely able to even think the words. Though, strange as it seemed, the feel of him hadn’t been entirely disagreeable.

  Rhiannon balked. What was she thinking! It wasn’t pleasant to have a stranger, and a nieten at that, touch her. It was horrible--horrible and wrong and shameful and wet. Yeah, wet was bad--really, really bad. Wasn’t it?

  "Oh, Rhian, you are a shameful, wicked, evil, wretched girl!" Her words were heated, as she pressed her palm against the offending breast that refused to stop aching. As if her upper body wasn’t bad enough with its thoughts and feeling, her lower body wasn’t to be outdone. It throbbed and heated in what she could only surmise was a strange excitement.

  Reluctantly standing from the warmth of the tub as a self-punishment for her impious thoughts, Rhiannon began wringing out her waist length hair. Spying what looked like a thick comb on the fireplace mantel, she reached for it, still standing in the filthy water.

  The comb had tangles of dark brown hair trapped in the tines. Wrapping an end around her finger, she slowly pulled the strand up for view in the firelight. It drifted, sticking intimately to her breast and stomach, the long, dark trail contrasting her paler skin. Shivering, Rhiannon shook her head and said to herself, "Wicked, wicked girl!"

  * * * *

  Ilar should’ve knocked before opening his bedchamber door. He knew it even before he reached for the thick oak. However, it was his b
edchamber. Why should he knock before going into his own chamber?

  Scheming did have its privileges.

  Ilar grinned as he was rewarded for his lack of propriety with an ample view of his naked prisoner’s luscious backside. A glorious abundance of drying blonde curls showered over her shoulders, gliding in sinful tantalization down her narrow back to brush atop her waist. Covered in mud, he hadn’t expected her skin to be the color of fresh cream. Nor did he expect it to be so damnably smooth. He instantly wanted to lick at her flesh, tasting the whole length of it.

  Ilar could see firelight glowing golden between her thighs, thighs that were parted ever so naturally. Smelling the perfume of her enchantment, he groaned. His eyes found and held to her backside. His mouth opened, wanting to just take a little bite of that adorable, supple, ever so round....

  "What do you think you are doing?" Rhiannon screeched. Instantly, she dove for cover behind the bed and crawled over the floor to the far side. "So much for being treated as a lady!"

  Ilar sighed in loud disappointment. He hadn’t been done looking. Even though he’d taken care of his needs after leaving her by stroking himself to release, he was again aroused to the point of aching.

  "Do all beasts lack manners or just you?" she asked, angry. Her head popped out from behind the bed as she glared at him. The red staining her cheeks was more from self-consciousness than anything else.

  Ilar’s throat went dry. Her blue-gray eyes were wide, soulful. Even in their anger they had an alluring call to them. Her lips were full--made for kissing. Her nose was straight, proud. Her cheekbones were carved high in her oval face. She lifted herself up to stretch across the bed and grabbed at a gown the fairies had left for her. For a moment, he watched her breasts drag over his bed before she hid once more from view. From where he stood, he could see she tried to dress from her place on the floor.

  "This is my bedchamber," he answered belatedly.

  "A gentleman would knock first!" she fumed, jerking her arms into soft sleeves. The green material fitted tightly to her skin and she struggled as it stuck to her damp body. Truthfully, his possessive look excited her. She’d been staring at the dark strand of his hair when he’d walked in. It was adhered to her flesh, so she could see what it looked like circling around her breast. Reaching beneath her skirt, she found the strand and pulled it off of her stomach. Standing once she was decently covered, she jerked her hair off her back to lie over the gown. "You’re fortunate I don’t have you reprimanded!"

  A wolfish grin crept onto his face at her last comment. In a low tone that sent shivers racking her already frail body, he said, "You soon forget, my lady. You have no power here."

  "Surely even you can recognize the rules of propriety." She put her hands on her hips. "Is your land so barbaric you cannot act as a gentleman?"

  "Even you can recognize that I’m your only friend in this barbaric land," he easily returned. The dress the fairies had found for her was stunning in its simplicity. It hugged dangerously tight to her curves, outlining her body to the point his imagination had to do little to see it. Good thing it modestly covered her cleavage, or else he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from ripping it off her.

  Rhiannon frowned. He really had to quit looking at her like that, licking his lips as if she were a pastry. It was doing strange things to her limbs.

  "What will it take to negotiate my freedom?" she asked carefully. Fighting with him would get her nowhere. She’d just have to remember he was half animal and make allowances for his lack of manners. She was a lady and she would teach this mutt to heel if it were the last thing she ever did. His arrogance was not acceptable.

  "You don’t have the power to negotiate, nor are you in the position." He strolled past her to sit on one of the high backed chairs, eyeing her with forced dispassion. "It has been decided that I’m your master until the reason for your presence here is discovered. Do you have anything you’d like to tell me?"

  "I wish you’d go to the devil," she snapped, not liking his highhanded tone one bit.

  "Do you have anything you’d like to tell me about how you came to be here?" he clarified, steepling his fingers lazily under his chin as he studied her. His tone was condescending, as if he dealt with an unruly child.

  If she had a knife, she’d cut his hair. The overlong length really was a distraction. He’d braided the sides back and up to keep them from his devilishly handsome face. Rhiannon’s cheeks flamed an angry red.

  "If I knew how I got here," she said through clenched teeth, "then I’d know how to get home, wouldn’t I?"

  His eyes narrowed in warning at her sarcastic tone. This interrogation wasn’t going as easily as he’d hoped.

  "For all I know, you kidnapped me," she charged.

  "So you were kidnapped," he said. Now we might be getting somewhere.

  "Obviously," she huffed, rolling her eyes. Her face hardened as she glowered at him.

  Or not, he mused.

  "And the mud?" Ilar asked. He rubbed his finger along his lower lip. "Are you always that ... unclean?"

  Her jaw dropped open in affront. He grinned.

  "You have to be the rudest ... thing I have ever met!" Her fists found her waist as she stared him down.

  Thing? Ilar shot to his feet. He wouldn’t tolerate these insults. It was time she learned to curb her ignorance in his presence. Charging forward, he grabbed onto her arms and shook violently. "Do not forget that this thing is all that keeps you from harm. Should I decide you are not worthy of my charity, I’ll throw you to the wolves, so to speak. Let you fend off their advances. The smell of your fear leaks from you and they’ll tear you apart before you even take two steps."

  Rhiannon’s mouth dropped slightly, her eyes rounding in instant horror. Ilar didn’t know why, but he was sorry to see it. It would seem she really had no liking for his kind. Her prejudice was like a slap in the face.

  "Please, my lord," she said, staring up at him, pleading with her troubled gaze. "Don’t do that."

  Ilar frowned, not liking the effect her soft words had on his brain. The erotic scent of her curse eased its way into him, tantalizing his senses. His already taut body grew even more so to see her vulnerability.

  "I haven’t done anything wrong," she rushed. She didn’t move to touch him and his hands grew almost tender as he kept hold. She didn’t pull away. His magnetic eyes trapped her. "Please, Lord Ilar, I just want to go home now. My father will be worried about me. I don’t know anything about this. I just woke up and I was here in your world. Won’t it be better for everyone if I just left? It’s not like anyone would believe me if I said where I’d been."

  "You cannot be permitted to leave," Ilar said, his tone hard, final. A part of him didn’t wish to see her go. He was sure the feeling was the spell’s doing. Nevertheless, it felt very real. Softly, he added, "Not until we discover what and who brought you here and why."

  Until they knew the nature of her curse, they couldn’t risk sending her back. If the spell was strong enough, the others might be tempted to follow her to the mortal realm. Such a thing would be disastrous. It would be their realm’s undoing. He wouldn’t see more bloodshed. Three hundred years had not been enough to erase the memory of the carnage the last time their two races had battled. He doubted humans would ever be ready to accept the lycans into their midst.

  "Please, Ilar," Rhiannon asserted, knowing before the words came out that he wouldn’t be swayed on this point. She lifted her hand, lightly letting it rest atop his chest. His heart beat firmly under her palm and she shivered as the soft length of his hair stirred near her fingers.

  Drawing her hand back, she swallowed nervously. He was too close to her. His masculine smell affected her reasoning. She looked almost dreamily at his lips and her eyelids dipped slightly.

  "Maybe, my coming to be here was a mistake, an accident," she said. "Maybe it doesn’t mean anything is wrong. I don’t have the power to do any harm to you, assuredly you must see that."

 
Oh, but she was wrong. Ilar saw the way her eyes melted and dipped with a soft teasing light. It called to him, beckoned him, as did the scent of her body. He heard the howling in his head, not lessened by distance or time. Already she had wreaked more havoc on his world than he’d seen in a long, long time.

  Communication was down between the lycans. The men were at odds, ready to kill each other off just to be rid of competition for her hand--brothers, best friends, old men, it didn’t matter. Only the mated were unaffected. Unfortunately, mated lycans were rare these days. If she even tried to wield her power over his kind, she’d be successful. She could call the entire Lycan Guard to her control and they wouldn’t question her. She was more dangerous to his kind than she realized.

  Naturally being a creature of strong sensuality, Ilar couldn’t resist the pout on her lips nor the look in her lovely eyes. With a groan, he grabbed her up. Pulling her to him, he instantly opened his mouth wide, forcing a hot kiss to her mouth.

  Rhiannon gasped in surprise at the suddenness of his passion. She hadn’t suspected it. She shook as his tongue tried to pry her lips apart. His teeth dug into her tender flesh when she didn’t readily give him entrance, demanding she open to him.

  A sharp tooth nicked her lip. Ilar groaned in approval as he tasted the blood from the cut. It called his primal nature to the forefront. He sucked her lip between his, sipping the wine of her body. His kiss deepened, consuming, claiming, taking no prisoners, as his hot tongue conquered and massaged every last inch of her mouth.

  Rhiannon was frightened. She tried to strike his arm, but it was as if he didn’t feel her. His mouth was having a dizzying effect on her head, weakening her will to resist him. He sucked ferociously at her tongue until it slipped into his hot mouth. Her fist hit lighter and lighter until it stopped altogether. She gripped her fingers into his draping tunic. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart thundered, calling out to him.