He moved his hand so that his thumb grazed the sensitive pearl of her sex every time she came to rest while, at the same time, he was captivated by the feel of her sex meeting his with his hand. She cried out her release moving faster and harder until he joined her. They stayed where they were, catching breath, exulting in the pleasure of each other and their new status as officially mated. After a moment he looked down, spied the blue garter, and smiled broadly.
"And what is this?" Ram asked as he hooked two fingers under the elastic.
"Katrina made a point of pointing out that it is blue."
Ram laughed. "'Tis a weddin' tradition for good luck. 'Tis a rhyme as well. The bride wears somethin' old, somethin' new, somethin' borrowed, and somethin' blue."
"Oh. I wish I'd known the significance. Your mother gave me the necklace," she touched it as she spoke, "saying it belonged to your great grandmother. I guess that qualifies as old. The earrings are a gift from Aelsblood. Song even said, 'Tis something new' when she handed me the box. She insisted I borrow this bracelet that matches the necklace." She covered his face with tiny kisses then sat up. "So this means we'll be blessed with good luck?"
"'Twas already proclaimed. Happily ever after and nothin' less." He pulled her down into a kiss then removed the garter. "I believe this is intended to become the property of the groom."
"Who says?"
Ram shrugged, pulled it on over his sleeve until it circled his bicep then popped it suggestively with a broad smile. That's when they heard banging at the door. Elora rose and tried to rearrange the skirt of the dress hoping she had saved herself from becoming noticeably disheveled. She knew the color in her face would be higher than usual. It always was after making love to the stunning, garter-wearing elf whose pleasure-giving cock had just disappeared behind a codpiece.
They opened the door to find Tepring standing there with hands on hips.
"Mum! Come to offer us congratulations?" He grinned mischievously.
She was not to be put off her mission. "You two are supposed to be leadin' a waltz. Remember?"
Elora looked embarrassed by the situation and Ram suddenly felt defensive. "You are embarrassin' my bride, the mother of your grandson. The whole lot of wankers in there is no' worth that."
Tepring pursed her lips while she contemplated being corrected by her second son. Then she turned to Elora. "Rammel is correct. 'Tis your weddin' day and you should have some say o'er what transpires. Shall we proceed without you?"
"Not at all," Elora said. "We're on the way. One waltz coming up."
Tepring nodded and started away, but stopped suddenly and turned around. "Grandson. The baby is a boy? How do you know?"
"How do you think? Aelsong." Ram was not as respectful as he could have been, but he was feeling perturbed toward his mother.
"What's his name?" Tepring's entire posture had changed. She looked as enraptured as if she had just heard there was a baby on the way.
"Do no' know. My bride is goin' to name him." He looked at Elora like he idolized her. "'Tis my gift to her.”
"Oh, well, if you need suggestions..."
"She does no' need suggestions, Mum."
Tepring looked at Elora. "With all the planning I may have been remiss in no' tellin' you sooner how happy we are." She didn't wait for a response, but rushed away with a spryness that was admirable for someone her age.
"Do no' be embarrassed, Elora," Ram said in her ear. "She's right. 'Tis our weddin' day and we can spend it in each other’s arms if we choose."
She smiled at Ram. "Let's dance."
Engel Storm was the sort of person who believed there are very few gray areas in life and even fewer when it comes to questions of ethics and morality. He believed that the right thing to do is always evident to someone who is looking honestly for it and that, once that "right thing" has been identified, it is an acquired target; something to be done without further debate or question.
If sometimes that happens to be hard, well, that's just too damn bad. Not up for debate. This was the personal code that had kept him in good stead for as long as he cared to remember, certainly ever since he had been recruited by Black Swan. Even with the horrors he had witnessed as a field active knight, he usually slept well.
The day of the Laiken-Hawking handfasting was the first time Storm had ever confronted a "right thing" that felt impossible to execute. He hadn't struggled too much with accepting the invitation to come. It was the right thing to do. So he did it.
He hadn't struggled too much with being included in the wedding party, with learning reels or watching the happy couple at meals or even letting Elora teach him to waltz. But, he couldn't figure out how he was going to make himself get in that receiving line and give his congratulations to Ram and Elora. A lump formed in his throat when he pictured it in his mind.
It was the right thing to do. No question about it. Still, he stood alone in a small alcove with a large ale, away from the festivity, and argued with himself for some time. He tried to tell himself that there were so many people, Ram and Elora wouldn't notice his absence. He tried to tell himself that he could always congratulate them later. Last, indulging in a completely foreign and ill-fitting moment of self pity, he told himself that he had already done enough.
That was right before Engel Storm's nobility marshaled his innate character and triumphed over every argument, or excuse, that might be made by a lesser man. He set down the ale, pulled his shoulders back and emerged from the alcove with determination only to find that the receiving line had dispersed. The newlyweds were nowhere in sight. He felt a momentary jab of panic, thinking he may have lost a once in a lifetime opportunity to do the right thing by adding his well wishes to those from others.
He searched the ballroom asking first one person, then another, if they had seen the bride and groom. When he was sure they were not within, he rushed out into the wide hallway. He looked to his right and saw only a long expanse of white and black checkerboard marble tiles with formal military security posted every ten feet. He looked to his left and, to his very great and visible relief, saw the pair hurrying toward him hand in hand, the two of them looking so perfect together.
As he started toward them, Elora closed the distance between them, flew into his arms and squeezed him like she was holding on for dear life. He held her tight with his strong left arm while he looked at Ram over the top of her head and held out his right hand in an age-old male gesture of goodwill. Ram clasped Storm’s hand with affection and sincerity and, in a wordless conversation, the two men reaffirmed that their dedication to each other was not subject to any mitigating factor. Their shared history as B Team knights, having long ago committed, each within his own heart, to die for the other without question made them far more than friends. More even than brothers.
Storm opened his mouth to try and say the word. He got as far as, "Con..." But, Ram didn't ask for more. He let go of Storm's hand and stepped in close to share the hug. After a few moments, the three of them released each other.
Elora used the backs of her hands to wipe at tears. "You men are always making me cry."
Ram and Storm gave each other a look that said somehow it would work out and be okay. They would get through even this.
****
CHAPTER 5
Normally the trip from Derry to Edinburgh would be by small craft charter, but The Order had sent one of the small jets to pick up B Team and Baka. The small caravan had driven right up to the plane and the drivers were transferring luggage from the road vehicles to the cargo area below. Katrina and Kay's sisters were hitching a ride to Edinburgh. They were planning to stay for a couple of days, see the sights, then do some shopping in London before heading back home.
Ram and Elora stood on the tarmac in the morning chill talking to Baka when one more car pulled up. Aelsong emerged carrying a bleached, canvas duffel and offered a cheerful, "Good mornin'."
Ram stood blinking and looking as discombobulated as Elora had ever seen him. "Wha
t do you mean 'good mornin'? What are you doin' here?"
"I did no' think the time was right to share my news durin' the handfastin'. I've been recruited by The Order and I'm goin' to Edinburgh." She glanced up. "On this very fine plane as a matter of fact."
"The fuck you are! 'Tis no' safe for us in Fairyland, Song. I forbid it."
Aelsong gave him a laugh with more meat than windchimes. "Right. 'Tis why you're stayin' here, is it? Get out of the way, brother."
Aelsong jerked her duffel onto her shoulder giving Ram the sort of snarky smirk that siblings reserve for each other. As she started for the plane, he took a step after her, but Elora pulled him back. "Ram, you know you can't stop her. Like you said, she's grown. It's her choice."
"Great Paddy's Balls Afire. You women will be the death of me!"
Cars and drivers were waiting for the troupe at the Edinburgh private hangar. One of the cars took Katrina and the Norns to the Balmoral Hotel while the other transported their luggage. B Team, Baka, and new recruit, Aelsong Hawking, were taken straight to the General Headquarters building where they would work and reside while on assignment there.
B Team was on loan to help Baka set up his task force at his request. The office at The Order's headquarters in Edinburgh also planned to take advantage of their specialty. Since their own staff of hunters was spread thin, B Team was to assist with a werewolf sanction. They had been receiving disturbing reports of werewolf activity in one of the most populous districts of London.
The timing of Ram’s induction into the Hall of Heroes made the entire gig a perfect marriage of efficiency and necessity.
For the time being, thanks mainly to Baka, things were relatively quiet at Jefferson Unit in New Jersey. The vampire infestation had been neutralized along with their chief habitat. It would take them some indeterminate time to regroup. Before that happened Baka and his new task force should be making headway with permanent eradication through cure.
It was misting when they arrived Edinburgh. Elora had visited the city before; at least she had been to the Edinburgh in her dimension as a child. She remembered thinking there were things about it that were magical in a fairytale sort of way. Now, from the perspective of an adult, she could understand why she remembered it that way. It was magical. The mist made it seem all the more so.
Driving along Princes Street, the castle, rising out of the crag at the head of the Royal Mile, looked like something out of a dream. The High Street buildings were blackened by centuries of coal burning, but the color seemed to add to the charm rather than detract. The historic skyline overlooked the city gardens and the Royal Museum from the hill leading downward from the castle to Holyrood Palace where the Fae monarchy was in residence most of the year.
High above the palace a smaller version of a Parthenon-like temple sat on Calton Hill which was the city's own Acropolis. Eight times a year processions climbed the hill to celebrate pagan festivals. Some were riotous and some were solemn, but all of them were sacred to the national character of the Fae. The rest of the time, Calton Hill served the community as a park with an excellent view of the city.
The division of the Edinburgh unit of The Order of the Black Swan, where they would be stationed was housed in a nineteenth century building occupying an entire block of outrageously expensive real estate on Charlotte Square. The basement level housed operations that were never viewed by people not employed by The Order. The ground floor was offices, conference rooms, and dining. Floors above were a mix of office and living quarters.
Locals believed it to be the seat of a network of charitable organizations and, from a certain point of view, it was in the sense that The Order performed services benefitting the entirety of the human race. And they did it without pay.
When the transferees came to a stop in front of the building, Elora could hardly contain the excitement of being reunited with her dog, Blackie. They had decided before they left the states that it would be easier on him to go straight to Edinburgh and settle in rather than be transported here and there, always adapting to new circumstances. So, Glendennon Catch, an eighteen-year-old from Jefferson Unit, had already been in Edinburgh with the dog for four days.
Glen, himself, was one-quarter werewolf. He didn't shift or have any of the notoriously inconvenient traits, but he did have a way of seeing things from a different perspective. The Order employs educators who serve as part teacher and part talent scout. The most important part of their task is observing, evaluating, and helping to develop special abilities and interests. Glen's teachers at Jefferson Unit had agreed that he would make a fine hunter, but that he would be better utilized in the division of General Investigation as he had an extraordinary gift for identifying details that went unnoticed by others.
When the current assignment came up, it offered a perfect opportunity for Glen to do a part time internship with G.I. in Edinburgh while helping to take care of Elora's dog, the former Jefferson Unit mascot. Werewolves don't automatically get along with dogs. In fact, the opposite is often true, but Glen and Blackie liked each other enormously.
Glen was ecstatic about the appointment, saying something like, "Mysteries, dog walking, and Fae girls? I'm in!" He was a cute kid with a slightly unkempt sort of devil-may-care appeal: rich brown hair skirting his collar and eyes that defied description because they appeared green or brown depending on what he wore and where he was. His frame still held the angularity of teens, no fat, all bone and muscle, but he was going to be as big as most of the knights when he filled out. Last, but not least, he was good natured and easy to be with.
Elora wasn't worried about his adjustment. She figured he wasn't going to be alone in Edinburgh unless he wanted to be. Fae girls would be all over him.
The main foyer of Headquarters general offices building was originally designed to make a grand first impression. And it did. Though it had been modernized with elevators, air-conditioning, and state-of-the-art plumbing, the improvements had been made without compromising the essence of the era. The building entry featured a pair of wide, wrought iron and turned oak staircases that rose from the polished marble of the ground level floor and gracefully curved toward each other ending in a mezzanine gallery that joined the two halves of the building.
Litha was crossing the mezzanine on her way to the Office of Letters when the little band of travelers arrived. She slowed just a bit, curious as to why people had come out of their offices and were now standing by the railing looking down at the front entrance. She heard a whispered conversation off to her left and slowed even more. One person said to another, "Do you know who that is?"
"No. Who?"
"That's Bad Company."
"No shite? B Team from New York?"
Litha looked down at the group just as Storm looked up at the mezzanine. Their eyes met for an instant, but, unlike hers, his eyes kept moving and didn't stop until he had thoroughly surveyed the environment. She wished she could look away as easily, but she was frozen in place, staring.
She thought that she could have seen this man in a mall, at a fair, in a bank lobby, it wouldn't matter. She would know him anywhere. He was the furthest thing from metrosexual, the furthest thing from soft or malleable. What she was admiring was a man born to be a knight. She had no idea or warning that there was a place in her heart that harbored a secret desire. But, just like that, in the blink of an eye, Litha suspected that the feeling that washed over her, leaving an indelible impression, was love.
She thought of herself as a person who had a reasonably healthy interest in men and sex, but, for some reason, had just never thought of herself as being in love; had never expected it or envisioned it, or hoped for it, or planned for it. Love was something that happened to regular people.
The Order's personnel files were full of extraordinary biographies and resumes; people who were gifted or accomplished. Litha was one of a kind: a transplant from Northern California who was both witch and tracker. She knew she was scheduled to be temporarily diverted from more i
mportant work to help B Team with a werewolf fiasco that anyone with rudimentary dousing ability could handle. She had been thinking of it as a nuisance assignment, right up until she saw Engel Storm walk into the foyer of her building.
When Litha was finally able to make herself put one foot in front of the other and move forward, she was talking to herself under her breath. "Of all the secret societies, in all the towns, in all the world, he had to walk into mine."
One of the two coworkers who had been standing close by said, "What was that?"
She stopped long enough to scrunch up her face then looked at them. "Love! Shit!" Resuming her errand she walked away a different person from the one who had started across the mezzanine bridge a few minutes earlier.
The two coworkers thought nothing of the outburst. The Order was a veritable hot spot of interesting personalities. Some might say quirky. There were those with unique talents and those with miraculous skills. It's simply a fact of life that special gifts are often paired with unusual disposition and/or social adjustment that is a little off center. Of course, there were exceptions, but there were days when even the exceptions gave themselves permission to act out.
That's why ramrods like Sol and Simon were so vital to the organization. Somebody had to keep the menagerie herded into a working group.
Litha closed the door to her office and leaned against it doing a personal checklist. The Great Palpitating Revelation came with a distinct lack of the accompanying symptoms it was supposed to trigger. There were no bells ringing. There was no sense of walking on air. She did not feel high. Loss of appetite? No.
What she really felt was a damn foreboding sense of looming inconvenience. This was definitely not part of the plan. Her plan.
The Witch's Dream - A Paranormal Romance (The Order of the Black Swan, BOOK TWO) Page 7