A Midwinter Fantasy

by Leanna Renee Hieber; L. J. McDonald; Helen Scott Taylor

  Sally’s breath caught. “How’s your search going?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he said honestly, and she ducked her head, blushing and excited while at the same time afraid. Too soon, he thought. It was too soon to think of such things. It had been nineteen years since he’d seen this woman and he knew nothing about her other than what he could feel inside of her now and what he’d been told in the inn. He didn’t want to leap in, unthinking, as so many of his fellows would, and end up in another bond that would give him everything he needed except for that deep soul tie. He loved Lily, would always love Lily, but she hadn’t given that to him. He didn’t blame her for this and she had his loyalty. He was her reward, she’d told him once, her reward for the hard life she’d had to live.

  More, Mace didn’t want to fall in love right away and then find out that Lily didn’t approve of whom he’d found. He didn’t want to have Lily tell him that Sally couldn’t be with him after he’d already given his heart to her. For now, he tried not to think about it and instead focused on the issue of the boys and how they were going to get them back.

  “Lily cares for orphans in the Valley,” he explained. “Jayden is the youngest one left. She hasn’t taken any new children for a long time. She’s in her eighties now, and she’s been doing this for thirty years.” His voice turned sardonic. “There have been a lot of children, but most have moved out. There’s just Jayden now, and a few older girls who are about to leave and get married.”

  “So Jayden was alone growing up?” Sally asked.

  Mace half waded and half crunched across a spring that had a thin layer of ice covering six inches of water. Sally pulled her feet up to avoid being splashed, while Ruffles jumped to the other side. “It didn’t seem that way. He was always following me around.”

  “He must have loved you.”

  Mace stopped, regarding her out of one eye in surprise. If Jayden loved him, it was buried under a morass of boy emotions that he’d never bothered to pay attention to before. “Why would he love me? Battle sylphs don’t like men.”

  Sally smiled sadly and stroked his neck. “What does how someone else feels in return have to do with the heart?”

  Mace snorted. “If he’s supposed to love me, why did he run away?”

  Sally’s emotions turned very sad. “Maybe because he’s like my Travish and wanted more?” she suggested. “How else was he supposed to get your attention?”

  Mace just snorted again and continued on.

  They traveled only a few more miles into the woods before Mace stopped, finding a clear piece of land, the ground soft with dried pine needles and clear of snow thanks to old overhanging trees. These left a wide area underneath that was tall enough to stand in and be protected from the wind. Reaching it, Mace knelt down, and Sally giggled as she dismounted. Happy, Ruffles ran around them both and then sat to scratch her ear.

  Mace shifted into human form, Sally watching wonderingly as he did. There were still a few women in the Valley who were unnerved by the sylph ability to change shape; it was nice to see a woman immediately so unafraid.

  It was cold out, so Mace gathered wood for a fire, setting it ablaze with a flick of power. Sally looked at that in delight, and she went to sit across from him, hands held out toward the flame.

  “Do you think we’ll find our son and your friend?” she asked, staring at the crackling blaze. Her confidence seemed less now, even though they were doing something. She wasn’t a woman used to being allowed to do anything, Mace thought. Not since that night.

  “Of course,” he told her. The only other option was to see her sad, and he didn’t want that.

  Sally ate some of the food she’d brought, consuming it in small bites while she sat with her knees drawn up before the fire. Mace called Ruffles over and the dog lay beside him, her furry head on his knee, as he drew out some of her energy to feed himself. No one spoke, so there was no sound save that of the crackling fire and the clumps of snow periodically falling out of the trees.

  It had mostly stopped snowing and the woods were peaceful. He’d find a squirrel for Ruffles in the morning, Mace decided. The dog wasn’t hungry for now, but more interested in sleeping.

  Sally finished her meal and wrapped her arms around herself. Now she was feeling nervous, thinking of her son and being worried for him, and concerned for herself as well. Probably she was wondering what would happen to them after this. His mention of needing a master hadn’t sounded like a promise to either one of them, since it wasn’t.

  The evening passed. Sally sat across from Mace, watching the flames and smiling at him periodically, her emotions nervous and uncertain. Ruffles moved away and curled up on the edge of the clearing, her tail over her nose as she went to sleep.

  Slowly, Sally’s emotions started to change, shifting toward desire as she continued to sneak glances at Mace that she hoped he didn’t see. Her breathing quickened, her breasts and lower regions beginning to tingle, as she thought about something Mace couldn’t know for sure but at which he could certainly guess. She was remembering their night together, without regret and with longing. She wanted him to come around the fire to her, but for all her bravery had no idea how she was going to gain the courage to ask.

  With a battle sylph, it was never necessary to ask.

  Mace shifted onto his knees and went around the fire. Sally’s nervousness surged, as did her desire, her entire body screaming for him. Touch her breasts, touch her thighs, touch the burning lips between them. Mace did, whispering his hand across her breast as he pressed his mouth against her neck, kissing the bare skin as she leaned her head back, her fingers frantically clawing her scarf off.

  “Oh, I’d forgotten how good this feels,” she gasped, reclining back. Mace followed her down, opening her clothes and his own as he did, savoring her pleasure and lifting his kisses up until he was moving his mouth against hers, their tongues gently touching.

  Sally stroked his cheek, feeling the bones of his cheek and jaw. “The one thing I missed,” she said, “was being able to kiss you. And talk to you.”

  “Now you can do both,” he assured her. “And I can take on any shape you like.”

  She frowned, studying him. “I like this,” she told him. “I like this form. Did you pick it yourself?”

  “Yes,” he said. He had, before he became Lily’s. The only change she’d made was to tell him to remove all stubble.

  “Then I like it,” she said.

  Mace smiled and bared her breasts, moving his hands in other ways he remembered her liking, filling her with the desire he felt inside himself, the way he’d let her know his want when he first saw her. It had been a long time since he’d done so and Sally had in fact been the last person he’d done so with. It was a natural part of lovemaking to a battler, a way of strengthening the bond between them and their partner, but Lily had never allowed it—she didn’t like the surrender of control it meant for her. Mace shuddered as he let his lust go at last. He’d missed this more than he’d realized. From her gasps, he found that Sally had as well, and he bared her lower, moving down to show her just what he could do now that he had a mouth. This had her screaming, tensing against him for a long moment, before finally he moved upward again, kissing her as he gratefully slid himself inside.

  They moved together, thrusting and gasping and holding each other close, Mace buried deep in her emotions even if she couldn’t feel his . . . not yet. She still reacted, though, part of her recognizing him, and he shook as he felt that connection, unexpected and sweet, carrying him deeply into her soul as though she were his master. There was a knot of tension and loneliness deep down inside her, he found, and he reached for it, loosening and finally releasing it in a glorious explosion. She shuddered against him, overwhelmed and wailing. Yet she was happy, so wonderfully happy, and Mace wrapped himself around her to keep her warm and let her feel safe, suddenly glad beyond imagining that he’d found her again.

  Chapter Seven

  The hills of Eferem, whi
le nowhere near as steep as the high mountains of Para Dubh, were far hillier than anything in the Valley, and there were just so many damn trees. With the snows, they’d turned into a hazardous wasteland of frozen white that Mace was sure would have broken any normal horse’s leg several times over. He, however, barely noticed the holes that threatened to twist or break an ankle, or the hidden gullies that an animal could fall into, other than for how a misstep might unseat Sally.

  He did keep an eye on Ruffles, but the dog made her way easily, far more agile on the rough terrain than a horse. She also set the speed of their travel. Mace could walk until his energy ran out, but Ruffles was quicker to tire—as was Sally. The human woman sat his back easily enough, her knees gripping his barrel, but though he’d softened his spine for her comfort, he could feel how cold and tired she became as the day wore on, as well as how utterly determined she was to save her son.

  His son as well. Mace felt her absolute conviction about that, her utter refusal to consider any other option. He wondered at her unconditional determination to hold on to the idea, knowing it just wasn’t possible. Of all the battle sylphs in the world, and all of them with lovers, how could it be that he was the only one to father a child? And a boy. There were other battlers far more suited. There were even some who liked men. Heyou was friends with everyone, regardless of gender, and the battler Ril was mad enough to keep his bond to the same man who’d originally enslaved him. Even more insanely, his tie to both the man and his daughter were stronger than anything anyone else had in the Valley except Heyou. Each of those two would have been fine with a half-human son. Mace wasn’t. It was wrong. It couldn’t be anything other than wrong. But Sally said it was true, and if he wanted to feel that sweetness he had when he made love to her again, he could see already that he’d have to accept her son.

  The day after they left Falloweld, they came out of the woods into a sloping valley, the trees continuing on either side and a not-very-impressive ridgeline ahead. According to Sally’s imperfect knowledge, and to the maps he’d demanded from her brother before leaving, there was a river beyond. There seemed the best place to try and find the bandits, providing they were still in the area. He suspected so. If they were attacking convoys this late in the year, they must be prepared to stay the winter. Mace hoped so. He wasn’t very interested in tracking them across the world. He wasn’t even sure he could.

  Without any covering trees, he had to shoulder his way through belly-deep snow, Sally on his back with her legs crossed and hanging on to his mane to keep from falling off. Ruffles followed, sniffing her way happily along the trail Mace cut. It was cloudy overhead, but there was no snow falling, and he looked up at the cliffs ahead, debating the best way to get over them. They weren’t high, but they did surround the valley like a wall. He’d have to find a place he could climb, hopefully without having to make Sally walk.

  Mace felt the bandits before he saw them, naturally. A sudden flick of human boredom came from the top of the ridgeline ahead, followed by alertness. Mace snorted, Sally straightening uncertainly as he reacted to the emotions of two men who were both surprised and suspicious.

  “What is it?” Sally asked.

  Mace stopped, his broad head lifted toward the ridge. The top was covered in trees, making it impossible to see anyone. “We’ve been spotted,” he told her.

  “Are we in danger?” she asked.

  “No,” he promised, and continued forward. These were just men. Mace was still of the opinion that Sally would have been in more danger left to the abuses of her family. It didn’t matter that the bandits knew they were coming; they wouldn’t be able to stop him.

  After a moment’s fear, Sally’s determination to save her son returned, bringing with it all of Mace’s uncertainties about the reality of his pedigree, as well as a growing delight in just feeling her courage.

  It took twenty minutes to reach the foot of the ridge through the deep snow. The emotions of the sentries remained with him, not increasing from two. Why should they? They only saw a single woman with a dog riding alone on a draft horse. What possible kind of threat could she be? Mace snorted at that kind of stupidity and walked under the trees that marked the start of the ridge.

  The ground rose abruptly before him, a jagged rise about seventy feet tall. There were spots that were sheer, but others were still graded enough that he could ascend without changing his form. Sally hung on to his mane with both hands, and her knees tightly gripped his sides as he went up the slope, pushing his way through the bushes. He stepped in a hole at one point, but the rock shattered before his leg did and he yanked his hoof free, moving forward without hesitation. Her tail wagging, Ruffles followed.

  That was when he started to feel other men besides the sentries. Given the good view from the top of the hill, and the fact that it was steep enough to defend, it wasn’t surprising that they were here. He felt a multitude of men and even a few women. Most of the men reeked of violence and greed, but none of these were aware of the newcomers.

  He took note of each of the two sentries’ reactions. One eyed Sally with a lust that Mace was fully prepared to tear out of him. The other was certain that there was more here than he was seeing. He expected a trap.

  Mace kept climbing, making his way up the bluff slowly for his companions’ sakes, and he took the time to study not just the feelings of the men on the ridge but those in the camp on the other side. He felt Jayden right away, recognizing the unique patterns of the fourteen-year-old against the surrounding morass. Those patterns had changed, though, and Mace snorted as he walked, ascending a ridgeline almost the same as a goat and ignoring the growing amazement of the sentries. Jayden had changed since he left home. The stubbornness and anger were gone. The boy who followed Mace everywhere had turned into a frightened creature, cowering and alone, but still with a core of courage deep down that wasn’t much different from the one inside Sally, and was just as determined not to give up.

  Mace stopped, his tail swishing uncertainly. He hadn’t expected that. He’d expected to find the boy raging arrogantly, and to just toss him over his shoulder and cart him back to Sylph Valley. This person felt very much like a child again, desperately wanting someone to rescue him. More, as Mace zeroed in on those emotions, reading the nuances almost as effectively as reading a mind, he realized that Jayden was praying for him to be the one to come for him.

  This reminded him again of what Sally had said, that the boy loved him. He still didn’t get why, since the love certainly wasn’t returned, but still . . .

  Mace had loved in his own way every single woman he’d ever slept with. It hadn’t been the love of a master/sylph bond and it certainly hadn’t been with the deep soul tie he longed for, but the love had always been there. It was the way he was made. Few had loved him back though. Most saw him as a sexual toy or a conquest; he’d felt it even as he pleasured them. Even Lily had only taken him at first to keep him from searching for a master among the girls she was raising. Only two had ever truly loved him back, one being Lily, after he’d become hers, and the other being the woman who rode him now. Now Jayden felt the same way. He wanted Mace to come to his rescue. At the same time, judging from the despair that swamped the courage he had, the youngster was certain it wasn’t going to happen.

  “What’s wrong?” Sally asked quietly, laying a hand on his neck. Mace arched into it, even though he hadn’t adopted the shape of one of those high-necked fancy equines. He liked to keep things simple. The hive mattered, women mattered. Human men didn’t, but despite all his neglect, Jayden loved him—as a father or a brother or who knew what? How could Mace have been so self-absorbed that he’d never noticed? No wonder Jayden had run away.

  “Have you found our son?” Sally asked, bringing up the other great confusion.

  “No,” he said, not contradicting her but not thinking about it either. “I feel Jayden. He’s down there.”

  Her knees tightened around him. “Then our son has to be too! You have to find him!”<
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  Mace tossed his head and tried, wanting to please her and to get this uncomfortable feeling of guilt out of his head. He looked for Travish’s pattern, with nothing to go on other than his familiarity with the man’s mother . . . and was surprised when he found it almost right away. The boy felt like Sally, with the same swirls and lines that formed her pattern but without that unique glow that marked her as a woman. He had his own luminescence, just as Jayden and all the other human men Mace ever encountered did, something that Mace had never paid much attention to before.

  Travish had a beaten-down strength in him, the same as his mother, but he also had a terrible anger for whomever he saw as his enemies, along with a determination to succeed and prove himself, to be something other than the bastard son of a madwoman who claimed he was the son of a battler. Mace felt that anger, and also that the youth was with Jayden. Travish’s emotions toward the boy were a mix of uncertainty and disbelief, overlaid with an absolute surety that Jayden was a liar. It seemed that Travish had been told in just whose home Jayden had grown up.

  “I can feel him,” he said. He immediately experienced Sally’s exultation, as soothing to him as a balm after the emotions of the two boys.

  Mace picked his way up the final stretch of slope and crested the hill, still unable to see beyond it due to the trees. There was very little snow on the ground, thanks to some tree cover, and no bushes either, the trees not allowing enough light for them. Mace moved forward across level terrain, sensing the sentries still watching out of sight. The camp was only a short way away, down in a smaller valley just beyond. “He’s with Jayden.”

  “He must be taking care of him!” Sally exclaimed.

  Mace stepped into a pit.

  The bandits must have dug it to trap men, just in case someone topped the ridge. It was covered with sticks and pine needles to keep it hidden and was nearly six feet deep, the bottom filled with sharpened stakes that pointed upwards. Mace’s front legs went through the cover and he fell forward, his shoulders catching on the sides before he could land on the sharpened stakes. Sally shrieked and tumbled forward, barely stopped from rolling into the length of the trap by Mace throwing up his head and catching her in the stomach, tossing her clear and off to the side.