by Lila Dubois
William stood in the center of the room, her hood dangling from his hand. She was so used to him being nothing but hands and a voice it was as though she were seeing a stranger.
“Master,” she said softly.
“Please, call me William.” There was sadness in his eyes when he looked at her. Sadness and something else she could not name.
Mirela climbed to her feet, bells jangling. For the first time she saw her jesses. They were beautiful, made of tan leather and sewn with red beads. The chain, bells and rings dangling from them were all gold.
As Mirela examined her wrist, William caught her hand in his. He spread her fingers then brought her hand to his lips, kissing the center of her palm. Mirela remembered how that used to excite her, but now all she could feel was sweet relief to be free of the hood.
He removed the jess from the arm he held. “I meant for this to be a way of learning to trust one another,” he told her as he removed the other jess. He dropped to his knees. “I thought this would be…arousing, for both of us.” He shook his head as he freed the first ankle. “I was so wrapped up in how aroused I was I didn’t see that I was hurting you.”
He undid the last buckle. “I would give everything I own to take back the hurt I caused you. I never hated you, quite the opposite.”
A shiver ran down Mirela’s back. “Master—”
“William, please.”
“William.” His name felt strange on her tongue. It made her nervous to use it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied. Had Christoffer finally given in to her pleas and talked to William about freeing her? She hadn’t wanted him to tell William what she felt, only to point out to the lord that she was obedient and had earned his trust.
“I heard you this afternoon.”
Mirela bent her head. Had he freed her to punish her for speaking out? But he’d apologized…
“I thought you would find it arousing to be bound without a way to pleasure yourself.”
“So you were not angry with me for…touching myself?”
“No, not at all. It was beautiful and sexy.” He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them. “I thought you would know that I meant to tease you by tying you up, not to upset you.”
Mirela peered at him. “You thought I would enjoy not being free to move?”
William took her face in his hands. His eyes searched her face. “I have ruined something that should have been beautiful because I let the past and my own arrogance destroy it.”
His gaze was piercing. She wished she could be herself with him, not always have to worry about being obedient. She might like to kiss him now, though she couldn’t say why, but she was afraid that kiss might lead to sex, and sex to the chains he so loved to bind her with.
“What have you destroyed?” she asked.
He only smiled.
William released her and went to the window. “Close your eyes.”
Dread in her heart, she closed them, whimpering a little. She would be grateful for the time without the hood. She would be obedient and not protest when he put it back on her.
“Dammit,” he cursed quietly. “Mirela, I am sorry. I did not mean to make that an order. I’m going to open these and the light will be bright. You might want to close your eyes.”
Mirela raised her hands over her eyes. There was the rattle of a lock and then warm sunlight flooded the chamber. It lit up her eyelids, even through her fingers, and she could feel its warmth along her skin.
Mirela took a step toward the sunlight, nearly sobbing in joy. She kept her hands over her eyes, for the light seemed terribly bright. William’s hands came to her waist, supporting her.
“Do not take this away from me,” she begged, forgetting to be obedient. “I can’t live in that hood anymore.”
“And you will not.”
Mirela took her hands from her eyes, the light through her closed lids now tolerable.
“How are your eyes?” he asked.
“The light is very bright and your face was blurry.” Mention of his face reminded her of her crime. “I’m sorry I did not ask. How is your face?”
“Healing. I have only a small scar.”
“But it is on your face. I am sorry.” Mirela turned to him, away from the window and opened one eye, blinking until the eye focused. She looked at his cheek, tracing the pale white line from just below his eye to his jaw.
She opened her other eye. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his scar.
His forehead came to rest on hers.
Mirela turned to the window, away from William. Her eyes were open and working, and there beyond the glass lay a beautiful expanse of grass, flowers, wood and, above it all, sky.
Joy welled up in her and she pressed her hands to the glass. William pulled her hands away and opened the window, letting warm air rush in. Mirela leaned out the window, laughing.
“Hello, sky,” she called out, not caring what William thought. It was so good to smell nature and feel the sun and see the sky.
“Mirela, I have something to say to you.”
With great reluctance she turned from the window to face William. She wanted to ignore him and indulge herself in the scenery, but she was smarter than that now. The sky would still be there.
William lifted the wood token from around his neck. “All I ask is that you remember me.”
He slid the token between the disks of her collar. It snapped open.
Mirela was frozen in shock. He was going to let her fly?
“Mas— William, what do you mean, remember you?”
“I mean that you should not have to remain here, with me. I want you…too much. If you stay here I cannot promise you wouldn’t find yourself strapped to that bed, or ordered to your knees.”
“You’re…letting me go?”
“Yes.”
“But my people…”
“I will still help your people. No one will ever know you’ve left. It took me awhile, but I realize that I was being a selfish bastard. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”
“Why did you do it?” she couldn’t help herself from asking.
“After what you did and things in my past, I could not bring myself to trust you. But you proved yourself trustworthy the second day you were here.” He gestured at the room where she’d been prisoner. “I kept you here and kept you hooded because I liked it. I liked that you were helpless without me. I liked the way you looked, naked and with shackles. I treated you like…a fantasy instead of a person, and I am sorry.”
Mirela bent her head, trying to absorb what he was saying. It wasn’t her fault, wasn’t her lack of obedience that had made him treat her so. Much of Mirela’s understanding of self had been shaken by Christoffer telling her she wasn’t obedient, and her failure to be obedient enough to please William had preyed on her.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said.
“Then don’t say anything. The sky is waiting.”
He was right, the sky was waiting. Mirela went to the window and looked out. She climbed up onto the sill, crouching there. She called on her falcon, who came to her on swift wings. Mirela waited until she knew the change was under way, then she tipped forward, tumbling out the window.
She heard William cry out, but in the next moment her wings were fully formed. She caught the updraft of air along the side of the house and zoomed into the sky. She beat her wings, rising high and fast, then angled her wings in, making the distinctive V that allowed her speed, and zoomed away over the trees.
She was free.
“You let her go,” Christoffer said from behind William.
William pressed his hand over his eyes. He would not cry, for God’s sake. “Yes,” he grunted in reply.
“Are you all right?”
“Of course I am,” William said, straightening. It wouldn’t do to show too much emotion. “If you wouldn’t mind, I have work to do.” He turned from the window— Mirela was gone from sight.
He didn’t lo
ok at the wolf as he left. Christoffer touched his shoulder but William shrugged it away. He locked himself in the formal drawing room. It was never used and the furniture was draped in cloths, but there was a stocked liquor cabinet.
He pulled out a bottle of gin, bypassing the full decanter altogether. He twisted off the top and tipped the bottle to his lips.
Sputtering, William staggered to the couch. He threw back the dustcover and sat, raising the bottle again. The gin burned on its way down. It had been years since he’d had neat gin, and only in his youth had William been so uncouth as to drink from a bottle.
When the first wave of dizziness hit him, William leaned his head back in satisfaction. He was on his way to being well and truly pissed.
The door opened.
“Get out,” William said, sitting up to take another mouthful of gin.
“No,” Christoffer said.
“That was an order.”
“I know, but you need protection right now, so I will stay.”
“Protection from what?”
“Yourself.”
William crossed his legs and leaned back. Resting his head on the back of the couch, he looked at Christoffer, who was leaning against the door, arms crossed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” William asked.
Christoffer shook his head. “That’s not my place.”
William closed his eyes. Of course. He was so wrapped up in being Lord Eahrington he wouldn’t have listened to Christoffer.
That didn’t sound right… William shook the thought away, taking another mouthful of gin. He coughed, the gin burning his throat as he swallowed.
“Are you going to leave me too, wolf?”
“Never.” Christoffer moved away from the door and took a seat by William. William offered him the bottle, but Christoffer shook his head. William took another swig.
“You’re really hurt, aren’t you?” Christoffer asked.
“I’m not hurt. I’m disgusted with myself. The way she talked about me, the way she thought about me.” William shook his head. “I thought she was…”
“What?” Christoffer asked.
“I thought she…enjoyed it. I sound like a bloody fool. I was torturing her and I thought she liked it? I wanted her to…”
“What did you want?” Christoffer’s words were urgent. William narrowed his eyes at the wolf. There was something going on here, and maybe if he didn’t have three hundred milliliters of gin in him, he could figure out what it was.
“I wanted her to love me,” William said.
Christoffer closed his eyes. “Love you…the way you love her.”
“Yes.”
Christoffer made a low sound of pain. William narrowed his eyes. The sections of his brain not swimming in gin were trying desperately to fit together pieces of a puzzle he didn’t know needed to be solved.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” William repeated.
Christoffer buried his face in his hands.
William jumped to his feet, the gin bottle falling to the floor. He grabbed Christoffer by the neck and hauled him up. “Why?”
Christoffer wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“You…wanted me to hurt her,” William said, the words fumbling and unsure as he tried to form the thought. “You knew how she felt and you didn’t tell me. She asked for your help and you said no.”
William threw Christoffer back. He stumbled on the dustcover, falling to the ground. He threw himself on top of the younger man, hands around his neck.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because I love you,” Christoffer whispered.
William dropped his head to Christoffer’s chest. “You knew how I felt about her,” William said. Christoffer didn’t deny it.
“I didn’t do it… I mean I didn’t plan it. I like her, I do. I just… I could see how you felt about her. I knew that if she became more than your sex toy I’d lose my place in your life. All I wanted was for things to stay the same.”
“She was in agony, she wanted to die. I heard her tell you.” William sat back, grabbed Christoffer’s shirt and jerked him up. “How many times did she tell you she wanted to die? How many times did she ask you to help her?”
Christoffer hung limp in William’s grasp.
“Answer me, you coward.” William got to his feet, dragging Christoffer with him. The world spun dizzily. Christoffer put his arm around William’s waist to steady him, but William pushed him away. “Don’t touch me. You disgust me.”
“Don’t say that,” Christoffer begged.
“You’re a selfish coward,” William accused.
“Blame me if you want,” Christoffer said, “if it makes you feel better.”
“I’m aware that this is my fault,” William said, “because even without you, I should have realized what I was doing.” William’s words were slurred but his brain felt wide awake.
He’d been so blind.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her or you,” Christoffer said.
The fight drained out of William. He fell backward onto the couch. “It doesn’t matter, she’s gone.”
“I’ll go after her, I’ll bring her back.” Christoffer dropped to his knees beside William.
“So I can make her a prisoner again? No. She’s gone.” William turned his head to the side.
“What can I do? Don’t turn away from me.”
“I don’t trust you anymore,” William said, knowing it would hurt the wolf. “I should have trusted her instead of you.”
“Please.”
“Go to the pen,” William ordered. “Lock yourself in, throw the key through the bars.”
“Will you come to me?”
William looked at him. “I don’t know.”
Christoffer nodded woodenly.
With a long look over his shoulder at William, Christoffer left.
William had just enough sense left to stagger up to bed. He knocked over a table on the landing and pushed paintings askew as he dragged himself along the wall.
He was numb, though whether it was the gin, emotional exhaustion or both that brought about that state he couldn’t say. He stripped and fell backward onto the bed. His skin prickled with sweat and the room was close and hot. William pushed himself up, planning to open the windows, but had to run for the bathroom.
Kneeling naked on the floor of the dark bathroom, hugging the basin of the toilet, William wondered where his life had gone so horribly wrong. His plans had been simple and straightforward. He would keep his Hunting Pair in the pen until he trusted them implicitly. The collars would be used as a reminder of his mastery and to ensure the past didn’t repeat itself.
“Best laid plans, road to hell,” he mumbled. He’d always assumed those phrases applied to other people, not the Lord of Eahrington.
He wanted a shower but didn’t have the energy, so he settled for brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face.
On his way to the bed William threw open the windows. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at the night sky, searching the star-dotted heavens for the outline of a falcon.
She wasn’t there.
He hadn’t really expected her to be, but God, he’d hoped.
William left the window open, liking the whistle of the wind as it streaked into the room. He staggered to the bed, falling into a dreamless sleep as the wind howled.
*
When a screech woke him from a deep sleep, William looked up to see a falcon perched on his window ledge. He thought it a dream. When the falcon spread its wings, riding a gust of wind into the room and landing on the chair of his writing desk, William sat up, marveling at how real it felt.
And when the falcon fluttered to the floor and turned into a naked woman with long, dark hair, he knew this was a dream.
“Mirela.”
“Yes, William.”
She stood, skin silver, hair and eyes black in the moonlight. She was exotic and dangerous, a siren to tempt a man.
William tried to stand but stagge
red, falling back onto the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You’ve said that before.”
“I love you.”
She tipped her head to one side. “Why? You do not know me.”
“Damned realistic dream,” he muttered. “I thought I did. I thought I was making you happy. Well, not happy precisely, but I thought what I was doing would feel right to you, that you would enjoy it the way I did.”
“I do not want a master, not the way you mean it. I do not want to live in the dark and be treated as though I were stupid.”
“No, that was wrong. I did that because I liked it. I liked knowing you were there, naked, helpless, waiting for me.”
“But I do want to be with my lord, my falconer. This is what I was raised to be, this is all I know.”
“Mirela?”
She came to him, graceful and soft. At her urging William lay back and she climbed atop him. William ran his hands from her knees, up her thighs and belly to her breasts. She grabbed his hands and pressed them into her breasts, digging his fingers in.
“I want to have sex with you. The way we did the first time. That was almost as good as flying.”
There were no more words. She bent, hands on his shoulders, and brought their lips together. She tasted like the night, spicy and dark. Her hair smelled like the wind.
“You smell of alcohol,” she whispered against his lips.
Since this was a dream, William could speak the truth. “I got drunk so I could forget you were gone. My heart was breaking and it hurt.”
She leaned up. “I still don’t understand why it is you love me.”
“Can love ever really be defined by reasons?” William was rather pleased with that. He was a veritable poet.
They kissed again, lips sliding wetly, and then Mirela broke the kiss, only to press her nipple into his mouth. He liked her aggression, her control.
Her fingers roamed over his chest and arms, stroking, pressing. She grabbed his wrists and moved his hands to her ass and she knelt above him. William kneaded the globes of her bottom.
He skimmed one hand between them, wiggling it down to her sex. She was wet. William slid his fingers over her clit, listening to her, watching her to be sure he was in the right place.