That changed when Sally came in. He was so busy imagining tortures for his master that he didn’t even realize she was there until she spoke. Mr. Mace, she called him. The second he heard, he shut down the hate. His master he’d see die a thousand different deaths, but he’d never deliberately hurt a female of his own volition. She’d called his name again, so afraid of what he could do to her but so brave, and he’d stepped out of his stall to see her.
Her beauty had almost undone him. He’d seen many women in the castle where Jasar lived, and he’d had many of them as well, slaking his needs on them and preventing his own madness, but Sally was different. She wasn’t dressed in a noble’s finery or a servant’s uniform. She wore a simple homespun dress, her hair curling around her face where it came loose from the bun, and her hands curled in her apron, twisting the fabric in a way that made his heart surge. She was innocent and sweet, and deep inside her he felt the needs that she was afraid of facing in herself, needs she certainly hadn’t come into this stable expecting to experience.
She asked him to stop scaring everyone in the inn. He nodded in agreement: he only wanted to hurt Jasar, and to Jasar the hate meant nothing anyway. Instead Mace felt the deep longing she had, the loneliness and surety that no one could ever want her, and he drew it into himself, blending it with his own never-ending desire before sending it back to her. He heard her breath catch and wanted to take her into his arms. Instead she fled back to the inn. He let her go, despite longing as always for a woman’s touch. This was what he was made for, even more than the hate and the violence. He was meant to be a lover.
He thought this woman wouldn’t have him. He had offered—in the only way he could, given that he was forbidden to speak—and she’d fled. She came back, though. Deep in the night, after the rest of the town was asleep, he saw the brief flicker of a hooded lantern at the window to the stable, followed a moment later by a slim, shadowy figure darting inside. She hesitated, but she had courage and Mace could feel her desire, could feel the burning knot deep within her, and his own lust surged, projecting straight to her. She gasped at the feel of it, trembling, and he stepped forward to take the lantern from her before she dropped it into the straw.
She stared up at him as he set the lantern aside and turned the wick up a little so that she could see. He didn’t need it; he could see in the dimmest light or use his senses to find his way. He was aware of far more of her without his eyes anyway. Most importantly, he knew exactly what she needed and what she’d come for.
She wasn’t so sure, despite the bravery he felt deep inside. “I don’t know why I’m here,” she whispered.
He was tall and bulky in his armored shape, his interior seemingly empty though Jasar hadn’t specified what was supposed to go inside the armour when he commanded Mace’s form. Many women had learned in fact that he wasn’t empty at all. This female barely came to the bottom of his breast-plate though, so Mace knelt down before her, reaching up to cup the sides of her breasts with his hands. She gasped at that, and he brought his thumbs around to brush her nipples. She whimpered, and he pressed a little harder, just enough to feel her pleasure increase, stimulated by his aura of desire as much as his touch.
She wanted more, and he lifted his hands away to unlace her bodice. She let him, her breath quickening, and he opened the heavy fabric to free her breasts in the chemise. The front was cut low, normally kept decent, if tantalizing, by the bodice. Mace just pushed the cloth wide, and she cried out as he took her bared breasts in his hands, squeezing them rhythmically as his thumbs made circles around her nipples.
“Oh, this is why I’m here,” she gasped, her head falling back. Her entire body was taut, pleasure quivering through her, but he contented himself with her breasts, rubbing the visor of his face against her. All his moments had been stolen before this, quick flashes of sex taken in hurried minutes in which he always feared someone would come and see, women with skirts tossed up to permit him, often biting their own hands to keep from screaming while he filled them. He’d never had leave to take his time before, and he meant to take advantage of it. This woman came to him willingly. He had the leisure to make her never regret it.
Mace stroked every inch of her body, baring her slowly as he set aside bodice and chemise, then went to work on the ribbon that held her hair, loosening it and running his hands through her locks before dropping his hands to loosen the ties around her waist and lower her skirts and undergarments. She leaned forward while he did, planting little kisses all over his visor and helm.
She was beautiful naked, her body soft and curvy. Mace pulled her toward him and she came willingly as he sat back on his heels, twining her arms around his neck as she continued her kisses.
Stroking his hands down her back and buttocks, he pulled her legs wide and settled her against him, the tip of his phallus pressing against her softly swollen nether lips. She shuddered against him, her mouth stilling on his cheek, but there was no resistance and he pushed her down, sliding himself sweetly into her.
Sally cried out, her back arching and her entire body tense. Mace nuzzled her neck, massaging her back as she grew used to the feel of him. She was tight, though, and he increased the amount of desire he was feeding to her, to counter her flash of pain.
It didn’t take long. She shuddered again and started to move, lifting herself uncertainly on him and then down again, taking more of him into her. Mace wanted to talk to her, to whisper in her ear as he moved his hips, slipping a little more of himself into her with each thrust. All he could do was growl appreciatively, one hand caressing her back as the other massaged her inner thighs, helping her to relax and spread them wider, giving her more room to slide down him.
Finally, he was all the way inside her. Shivering, she leaned back, her eyes smoky with desire, and Mace wiped a tear from her cheek. “Should I be doing this?” she whispered, and he nuzzled her neck. “I feel, I feel . . .” Mace moved inside her, arching his hips up, and she bucked, biting down a sudden scream as the abruptness of her orgasm took over. Gasping, she started to lift herself up and down against him, and Mace lay back on the straw.
She moved against him as if she’d been born to it, her pleasure already growing in her again. Mace stared at her in wonder, stroking her breasts as he moved his own hips against hers, their rhythm already settling into a fast, wild pace that had her climaxing again as his own pleasure started to overwhelm him.
She peaked a third time before he let himself finish, just as she collapsed against him in exhaustion. Mace wrapped his arms around her, carefully shuffling himself up so he was half leaning against a wall and she could lie on him, her cheek against his chest and his length still within her.
“I didn’t know anything could feel like that,” she whispered, limp. Mace stroked her hair in answer. She shifted herself a bit and looked up at him. “You’re still hard,” she said, blushing.
Mace rumbled a laugh.
Biting her lip, she squeezed him experimentally, that courage still there and even stronger now. “Again?” she asked hopefully.
Mace obliged her at least three more times.
She left before dawn, exhausted but happy. She told him her name then, and that she’d welcome him anytime. She told him the latter with downcast eyes, but he could see the flush on her cheeks went all the way down inside her chemise to the breasts he’d held and nuzzled such a short time before. Mace would have loved to oblige, but Jasar took him away, and then the queen rose and he was made the battle sylph of Lily Blackwell. He’d never thought to return.
He’d certainly never thought she’d still be waiting.
“It’s a gift,” she whispered, her face still pressed against his chest. “The best Winter Festival gift ever.”
“More of a nightmare,” her brother muttered. He was the innkeeper, and Mace felt his disapproval clearly. The rest of the family was there, men and women both, though the other visitors to the inn had left, many with bruises.
Battle sylph or not, Mace fel
t the family’s determination to get rid of him if they could, along with a very real degree of disgust and shame for the slim woman in his arms. For whatever reason her brother and the rest of them had attacked Mace, it wasn’t because they thought it was the best thing for her. There was resentment there. For whatever reason, they hated him and they blamed her for it.
Sally knew this, and she kept her face against him, saying nothing. Mace stroked her hair and looked at the innkeeper, whose name was Falon.
“What have I ever done to you?” he asked.
Falon gaped at him. “Done? You have the bloody nerve to come here, now of all times, and ask that? After you ruined my sister?”
Mace raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t ruin her.”
“You seduced her!”
“So?”
The men all stared at him, horrified. It was different in the Valley, Mace reminded himself. Whom a woman chose to sleep with was her own business. They must have called Sally a whore here. That was close to a death sentence in the Valley for any man who said it. At least, it had been in the first few years before the queen found out her battle sylphs were attacking anyone who disparaged a female. After that, they could only attack men who hurt them. These days, no men dared.
“Leave him alone,” Sally whispered, lifting her head and looking fearfully but defiantly at her brother, that bravery he remembered still shining far back in her eyes. “He didn’t mean any harm. He’s a good man.”
“He’s a monster!” her brother shouted, and Mace growled as he felt her tense. Falon winced but glared at him. “You have no place here.”
“He does!” Sally wailed. “I’ve been praying for him to come back!”
“Why?” Falon shouted. “For the sake of your other monster?” More family members nodded in agreement, muttering.
Sally winced, her breath catching. She was about to start crying again, and Mace felt that if she did, he was going to hurl a few more tables around.
“What monster?” he snarled.
Sally looked up, her eyes filled with tears and her face as beautiful as it had been nineteen years before. “Please, Mace. You have to rescue our son.”
Chapter Six
Her child was named Travish, a boy born nine months after her one night with Mace, one whom she’d doted on while the rest of the town rejected him as a bastard. That she’d declared him to be the son of a battle sylph—a story from which she hadn’t wavered for even a moment—only made it worse for them. Sally had no husband, and her son grew up bitter and unwanted by anyone but his mother.
Staring around at them, Mace loathed her family, especially after the decades of blame and loneliness they had put Sally through, but he honestly couldn’t blame them for not believing her. “How can he be my son?” he whispered to her, not wanting the others to hear.
She stared up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “He’s yours, I swear he’s yours. I’ve never gone to anyone else. Please believe me.”
How could he, even when she was looking up at him with those pleading eyes? Sylphs couldn’t get human women pregnant. Even Solie’s children had needed to be fathered by human men, much as Heyou pretended otherwise. Despite what he knew, though, he nodded for her, glad she couldn’t feel what he felt. Her answering smile was beautiful.
“Now what?” her brother snapped, his face still flushed. The happy festival decorations seemed to make a mockery of the tension in the room. “Having that thing as the father just makes Travish even more of a beast.”
“He’s not a beast!” Sally screamed, stepping forward to confront Falon. Mace didn’t know if this was a common thing or if she was drawing strength from his presence, but he felt that same courage that had brought her to the stable so long ago as he crossed his arms and stood behind her, watching warily. He didn’t know how he felt about all of this—he certainly didn’t want a human son—but he’d support Sally. He’d support any woman, but Sally especially. Claimed son or not, he felt he owed her something and he felt that same spark for her that he had before. Where her family hadn’t crushed it out of her, she was alive and vibrant, courageous and strong. That part of her sang to the battler inside of him, crying out with the voice of a queen.
“He’s a bully and a thief and a backstabber! And now he’s working with those brigands!” Falon shouted in response. “He’s probably telling them all about how to ruin this town!”
“What else was he supposed to do? No one would hire him! He had to work!”
“And robbing and killing people is work?” Falon demanded.
At that, Mace understood the tension he’d felt in the town when he arrived. Even as they pretended with the Winter Festival that nothing was wrong, these people were terrified. “Are these the same bandits who took Jayden?” he asked.
Falon hesitated, eyeing him. Sally did as well, her face pale. “Who’s Jayden?”
Mace stroked her hair. “A runaway boy I was sent to find.” He lifted his chin toward Falon. “He says that the bandits took him.”
Falon glanced away, but his emotions were answer enough. They also told Mace that the man didn’t want to be recruited into going to rescue anyone—which was fine, since there was no chance that Mace would ask. He could destroy the bandits on his own, once he got close enough to track them. Eferem was a large kingdom, though, and he needed a place to start.
“Which way are these bandits?” he asked.
“No one’s sure,” Falon said, clearly still worried he’d have to provide some direct guidance. He was also ashamed of his fear and lying because of it.
Sally took Mace’s hand. “I’ll show you,” she promised.
They found Ruffles and headed out, Sally dressed warmly in furs and Mace taking the shape of a heavy gray horse. He changed form right in the square before the inn. The people here had rejected Sally’s word about lying with a battle sylph? Now they’d all know she was telling the truth. He left with the town’s eyes on him, Sally proudly riding bareback.
He cantered eastward, moving along a cart track for a while and then onto a deer path. Sally didn’t know exactly where the brigands were—no one did—but they were suspected to be in the woods to the east, away from the main roads and certainly away from the Shale Plains and Sylph Valley. A group like this would never have been able to establish itself in any area that battlers guarded. Nor, apparently, were they stupid enough to attack any Valley merchants, or any groups heading into the Valley. It was only the convoys heading away from the Valley and the people of Eferem itself who were suffering.
It was late in the afternoon and snowing, but Mace chose to go anyway. He didn’t want Sally to stay in this town. He wasn’t worried about exposing her to bandits; he’d keep her safe. The bandits weren’t half as bad as her family. He didn’t want her anywhere near the people who’d dragged her down for so long, and the farther they went from Falloweld, the more her happiness increased. She was away from her family. She was going toward her son. She was with her beloved.
Mace had no issues with the fact that she loved him. That was a simple concept: you met, you connected, you loved. It was easy. It was the fact that she believed he’d fathered a son on her that had him confused, so he pushed the thought away. He had three missions now: rescue Jayden for Lily, rescue Travish for Sally, and keep Sally safe.
There was really only one way to guarantee Sally’s safety. In the Valley, no one would care about her finding pleasure outside of wedlock. He just hoped that Lily had really meant it when she told him to search out a new master. If he brought a woman home and she reacted badly . . . Mace didn’t want to think about that. He just wanted to get Sally to safety and maybe even see if he still fit in her life. He wasn’t sure yet that she would make a good master to him, and he’d seen enough battlers end up with bad ones in the last decades that he would be very careful of whom he gave control of himself to, but there was that spark in her. That goodness and strength that made him want to protect her, to love her, and to feel her quivering underneath h
im as she cried out her pleasure into his ear.
“Travish is a good boy,” Sally was saying, unaware of Mace’s thoughts as she sat on his back with her knees gripping his barrel and her fingers twined in his mane. “He’s just so frustrated with everything. He was teased terribly when he was a child, and my father hated him. So did Falon. They thought I’d wasted myself and ruined the family.” She sighed. “Travish just wants to be respected. He’s never had that before. He wants to be something more.”
Mace snorted. That was the kind of thinking that had got Jayden into this mess. Everyone was what they were. There was no need to want anything else.
Then why did you come through the gate? a treasonous voice whispered into his mind. Why not stay in your original hive, where you could have remained a guard and simple warrior for the entirety of your life? Mace decided not to think about that, either.
“Tell me about Jayden,” Sally said, her fingers tangled in his rough mane.
Mace had made a few modifications to his horse form, just as he had with his dog form earlier, and he could speak. “He’s one of Lily’s orphans,” he said.
“Who’s Lily?”
He tossed his head, making his way around a half-buried log covered in snow that likely would be a problem for a real horse. “She’s my master.”
He felt Sally’s sudden uncertainty about what that meant, and about what else Lily might be to him. He felt a quick surge of jealousy in Sally, tempered by her fear of being left alone again, and he turned his head so he could see her out of one eye.
“Lily is a good woman. I’ve been hers for a long time.” He paused for a moment, wondering how much to say to her so soon. He couldn’t make promises this early, not to a woman he’d seen only once before and who now was convinced he was the father of her child. “She’s quite old. She’s told me to watch for a new master, someone who would want to be with me for the rest of their life.”
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