by Renee Wildes
Finora shivered. She searched his eyes, for what, he didn’t know. “I know you only want to help. Have you done this afore?”
“Nay. I’ve seen it done for healing. In theory, it shoulda work. It willna harm ye.”
“Would you stay human…or wolf?”
An idea struck him. “Human.”
She visibly braced herself. “Go ahead.”
Trystan grinned and reached for her. Pulling her rigid body into his arms, he touched his lips to hers.
Finora jerked back, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
“Lor’, woman, ye have a wee short memory,” he teased. “Guess I need t’ be remindin’ ye.” He took her mouth again, in a thorough kiss of absolute mastery that gave her no quarter to hesitate or change her mind. His lips devoured hers, and with a whimper she opened to him. The silken caress of her tongue tangling with his burned though his body, and he hardened in reaction. His inner wolf howled for his mate, howled to take her and make her his for all time. His hands ran over her satin skin and lush curves. She burned hot and fast as he curled her arms around his neck to hold him closer. He nipped at her lower lip, and her nails tightened into his shoulders in response.
Trystan crowded her back into the pillows, slid his leg between hers as she wrapped herself around him. He loved how she responded to him, so quickly, holding nothing back. Heart and soul his. He kneaded her breast, teasing her nipple until it flushed and puckered tight against his fingers. He kissed his way down her throat, growling when her pulse pounded against his lips.
“Please…” Finora’s fingers tangled in his hair as she guided him down and arched her back, offering her breast to him in open invitation. She slid her legs through and around his.
The stroke of her smooth, supple skin against his made him shudder and groan with pleasure. Every nerve danced to attention as she teased his lower body. All the blood pooled in his groin, making him lightheaded. Sun and moon but he ached. He latched onto her breast like a starving man, rasping her nipple with his tongue. Teased it with quick, stabbing motions until she cried out and writhed against him. He burned at the hot scent of arousal, of need that poured from her, burned to bathe himself in that fire.
He switched to her other breast, suckling hard, slid his hand down over the curve of her hip to knead her backside. Unbidden, words pounded in his brain. “Ye draw me as the moon draws the tide,” he whispered. “Magical, irresistible. Selkie an’ Were, both kin t’ the moon.” He rose, ravished her mouth with his until they were both shaking and breathless. “I bind meself t’ ye, earth t’ sea, bone t’ blood.” He slid his aching shaft through her hot cream, burying himself in her throbbing body. She pulsed around him with hunger and need, stared at him with passion-glazed eyes. “I feel yer hunger, I feel yer need. It calls t’ me. An’ I pledge me body t’ answer that call. Heart an’ soul, I bind ye t’ me, sea t’ earth, blood t’ bone.” He felt his fangs lengthen, and his vision narrowed to the blood pounding just below the sweet, silken skin of her throat. He flexed his hips, drawing out, then slamming into her as deep as he could. At that moment, he bent his head and bit her, where her neck curved into her shoulder, until her blood flowed over his tongue.
She cried out in shock, in helpless arousal, arching into him. Were serum flowed into her as he tasted her blood. Primal need flashed, to possess her, to bind her to him. To take her so deep she never got him out. He pounded into her, too far gone in the rush of power, of magic, to hold anything back. She met him with voracious passion, as caught up in the flames as he. Stroke for stroke, sizzling need for pulsing need. Until sea and earth erupted in an explosion of fire.
Finora screamed as she shattered, her body squeezing around him. He shuddered as the pleasure took him, a flash of relief as his seed rushed to fill her. He felt it, felt himself swirling within her, felt his Were moon-serum coating her bones, locking him to her for all time. He’d expected to bind her to the earth.
He had—through him. And he felt the sea rushing through his veins, with her blood that flowed into his body. He ran his tongue over the bite wound, watching, dazed, as it closed afore his very eyes. He took her mouth, and she melted into him, around him. He felt her quiver at the taste of blood and magic that lingered, felt the slow, relentless bleeding of her soul slow, and stop, in time with the wound on her shoulder.
Mate. Mine, echoed through his mind. Sun and moon, what had he done?
***
Finora couldn’t stop trembling. The elemental earth magic locked onto her bones and the slight ever-present sense of wrongness dissipated. Balance, relief…regret. She turned to Trystan. “I can sense your thoughts, your feelings. Why regret?”
“I only meant t’ bind ye to the earth, no’ t’ me.” His eyes were troubled. “I feel the sea, a distant ebb an’ flow within me. Can ye still?”
She concentrated. “Aye, but muted, as through a curtain. It worked!”
“Can ye still summon Bree?” His tone was urgent.
It hadn’t occurred to her she might not be able to now. How else would she be kept abreast of what transpired below? “Bree? It’s Finora. Can you hear me?”
A moment of silence. “Finora?” Bree sounded a thousand miles away. “I can barely hear you. It’s like through a tunnel. Where are you? Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Finora told her. “Don’t worry about me.” She turned to Trystan. “I can still speak with Bree. It’s foggy, but still there. I sense your presence. Not thoughts or feelings, but a presence, an awareness at the edge of my thoughts, like seeing something out of the corner of my eye that’s not there when I turn to look at it.”
“Ye canna hear me thoughts?” He looked relieved.
“Are your thoughts so terrible, then?” she teased.
“That isna what I meant, lass. ’Twas meant t’ be a single tie t’ the land only, not a personal tie t’ me.” He paused, his expression serious. “Were we bound together, by blood an’ moon as True-Mates, we’d sense each other’s thoughts an’ emotions. But we’d have t’ stay together. Ye couldna return t’ the sea without me, I couldna return t’ the mountains without ye. ’Tis soul-bound, no’ mere marriage, I speak on. ’Tis too permanent an act to perform by accident an’ without yer full knowledge an’ consent.”
A part of her thought it wouldn’t be so bad, being bound to Trystan. He was noble, honorable, compassionate…handsome and an amazing lover. He not only accepted her thoughts and opinions, he encouraged them. Where else would she find a man like him?
“I’ve never been able to sense any element aside the earth afore,” Trystan went on. “I dinna feel anything ’bout it, emotionally, no’ yearnin’ nor fear, but I can sense its presence. No one told me ’twould work both ways.”
“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” Finora stated.
He turned to her. “Why no’?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes…barely. “Trystan, it’s perfectly logical. You told me you saw it used to heal, and I assume you’ve met True-Mated couples, rare though they be. Well, I assume you meant all involved parties were earth at both ends, true? When was the last time someone tried it with a creature of water…or the air? Stands to reason it would have a residual backwash the other way.”
He looked, then his eyes lost focus for a moment and he chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Niadh’s wonderin’ if mayhaps ye cured me seasickness.”
Hope rose, warm and bubbly. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful if I could do something for you in return? It would make your return home less miserable than your journey here.”
His face sobered, and he searched her eyes. “Do sommat for me in return? Lass, ye gave me an’ Niadh our lives back. A life-debt we owe ye fore’er.”
Finora shook her head. “Shipwreck rescues are what I do, my job, my calling. Like you’re a warrior. If you have to swear life-debt to everyone you protect in battle, what a tangled web Arcadia must be! You fought an
d defeated a demon. The whole world must owe you.”
He shook his head. “That’s not the way it works.”
“What? You were just doing your job?” She glared. “So was I. Leave it lie, warrior.”
Trystan laughed. “Your da must have grey hair, lass.”
“I take after my dam,” she admitted. “My sire’s a rare one. Thoughtly cows don’t scare him. I miss my family. I have younger siblings I haven’t even met yet.”
“What’s it like, home?” he asked.
“Boisterous. Loud.” She thought for a moment. “That’s what hurt the most—the silence. Such a terrible silence, alone. I told you we live in harems, that each bull has many cows all living together in small groups under one dominant bull’s big group. Families of cows and their pups, under their personal bull. My father rules over his realm.” Her lips thinned. “The bulls are temperamental, belligerent. Family groups and borders tend to be…fluid. My sire’s group is the most stable in the area. He doesn’t encourage bullying or raiding, but in other herds it’s quite common.”
He looked shocked. “Ye mean ye could wake up one morning the wife o’ one mon an’ go t’ sleep that verra night the wife o’ ’nother?”
Finora nodded. “If a bull wants you bad enough and is strong enough to take you, and your ruling bull can’t defend you, yes. Only the strongest bulls can take and hold a harem.”
“An’ women—cows—have no choice in the matter?”
“Well, we can try to sneak off, or complain, but the bulls are four times our size, Trystan. Sometimes, a cow will have her eye on another bull and leave herself open for him to take her if she catches his interest. So it’s not always against her will. But sometimes it is. Asides, that’s the way of things. The way it is.”
“And that’s what ye would go back to? Why would ye want to?”
“It’s my home. My family. It’s all I know.”
He shook his head. “Nay. Once, mayhaps. But ye’ve learned better now. Yer curiosity got the better o’ ye and ye came t’ investigate. No fault o’ yers ye were betrayed by one shoulda kenned better. Now ye’ve been on land for what, seven years? Ye’ve seen other women make lives for themselves independent o’ men. E’en the married ones exist in a partnership.
“Ye’ve the strength now t’ make a choice, should the opportunity present itself. ’Tis yer choice, no’ yer fate. T’ return t’ the sea, or stay on land with yer littles. T’ stay ’til they’re grown, an’ then return, if that be yer wish.” His eyes were fierce. “Yer choice, lass. Ye’ve the strength t’ make it. No one tell ye what ye can or canna do. No one. That’s what this tie can do. What ’twas intended t’ do. Free ye t’ make yer own choice. No’ a prisoner anymore.”
She froze. “I still don’t have my skin.”
“Ye’ll find it. Ye’d ken if ’twas destroyed. When ye find it, then ye’ll understand what ’tis I’m tryin’ t’ tell ye.”
“Finora!” Bree’s call came from a thousand leagues away, distant and fuzzy-edged. More scream than mind-call. Shock, anger, despair hurled with a complete lack of focus.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Trystan echoed.
Finora held up a hand to silence him and focused hard to hold on to Bree. “What’s happened?”
“King Freine is dead,” Bree wailed. “Matteo’s taken the crown and disappeared. The cullings have begun!”
Chapter Eleven
A wave of nausea swept over Finora. “What do you mean, gone?”
“His henchmen perform the culling. Matteo’s not there. No one knows where he went.”
Trystan’s hands shook Finora by her shoulders. “Finora, ’tis Bree, no? What’d she say?”
“Matteo’s taken the crown from his sire, King Freine, but he’s not there to supervise the culling.”
“Is that normal, leaving it for others?”
She shook her head.
“I dinna like this. It feels wrong.” Trystan’s eyes glazed over for a moment. “Niadh says Palo’s on his way here with the littles. Best get dressed.”
“Finora, I’ve got one o’ Freine’s minor cows with me. She’s taken refuge with the mers, and we won’t let Matteo’s bulls have her. She’s pregnant. She says Matteo was heading to land, to speak with a great wizard. He has a magic knife—one that makes all do his bidding.”
“He? Which ‘he’ has the knife? Matteo or the wizard?” Finora pulled on her stockings, tossed a gown over her head. Trystan was already winding his plaid about his shirt, securing it with his wolf’s head brooch.
“Matteo. She says the wizard gave it to him.”
“Thanks, Bree.” Finora relayed the message to Trystan.
“Time for me an’ Niadh t’ pay a visit t’ this great wizard.” Trystan’s jaw was set as he donned his hauberk and buckled on his weapons belt. “We’ll get Reed to introduce us.”
Finora bit her lip. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Here.” Trystan thrust a handful of dried herbs at her. They were tied with a green ribbon and gold cord. “Hang this o’er yer door. Get the kids an’ lock it behind ye. Dinna open it t’ anyone ’til I return.”
“What is it?” She sniffed at it. The plants were unfamiliar—save one. Rovelia was a nasty type of seaweed, prickly and poisonous. She was careful not to touch it.
“A warding from Mari. She’s a witch. It’s made from repellant plants from both earth an’ sea. No one may enter yer home uninvited. As long as ye keep the doors an’ windows closed, ye’re safe.” He kissed her, hard.
Mari was a witch? This was a new Trystan she’d always known existed but had never seen. All business. All warrior. “And why should I be needing this? I have no enemies here.”
“Humor me.” Trystan stiffened. “Niadh, what’re ye doing? Nay, ye wait for me, ye bloody wee fool. Naaay!”
Finora’s heart lurched. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Trystan shimmered for a moment, then he wrestled it down. His eyes blazed with savage fury. “They took them. The children. A small band o’ dark-haired men wearin’ garments o’ sea-fronds, armed with odd three-pronged spears. Niadh tried t’ intervene an’ they took him down. He still lives. They’re bringin’ him with them. Down t’ the village.”
Fear she’d never met afore clogged her throat until she nigh couldn’t breathe. She grabbed her coat. “I’m coming with you.”
“Nay, ye’re no’.”
“Trystan, those men you just described are selkie bulls in human form. What would they want with my children?” She thought hard. “Matteo. He’s the only one who would. But why?”
“Were ye no’ promised him as bride? Would ye no’ tie him t’ yer father by doin’ so?” he demanded. “Ye stay here, where ’tis safe. I promise on me life, I will bring them home t’ ye.”
He couldn’t divide his attention betwixt her, Niadh and the children. If she could help him by staying behind, then she would. “Be careful. Be safe.” Come back to me. Great Mother of All, watch over my children. Let no harm come to them.
He nodded and left.
Finora hung the warding over the door, bolted it behind her, and prayed as she had never prayed afore.
***
Trystan watched Reed reach for the great bronze doorknocker. A bronze ring in a dragon’s jaws. Reed called it fanciful, but to Trystan it felt like an omen. His inner guardian wolf growled, and he felt his own hackles rise at the darkness swirling behind that door. The ring thudded against the door…once…twice. Conviction burned in Trystan’s heart. Respect an’ honor. Strength in the Earth. T’ the Light at the End o’ All Things. The Mother o’ All will welcome us. I dinna fear death, so much as failure. Please let me no’ be too late. Keep the wee ones safe. Trystan fingered his amulet as the great door swung open.
A stooped, rail-thin elder stood afore them. “Who disturbs my master’s peace?” The old man’s voice trailed off in a fit of coughing.
Two things trailed from the interior o
f the house to wrap themselves around Trystan—the reek of incense and a sense of avaricious hunger, of eyes cloaked in shadows. Lust. Sex. Pain. Trystan sneezed and set his jaw against the spell stirring his body. Niadh would be immune to that dark magic, but he was wounded. He’d trance himself to stop the bleeding, but his healing would be slow, hampered by his inability to shift. Trystan had to save him, but the drug-tinged incense would play havoc with his own senses.
“I’ve brought a person of interest to Lord Spiridon,” Reed announced. “One with knowledge of Arcadia.”
“Was he expecting ye?”
“Not at a specified time. Would ye prefer we make an appointment?”
“Come in and wait in the hall whilst I see if the master will see ye.”
“If not, mayhaps the lady o’ the house,” Reed pressed.
The old man shot him an aggrieved look. “The lady is indisposed at present.”
A flicker of concern crossed Reed’s face. “Naught serious, I hope.”
“They’ve not called a doctor, if that’s what ye ask. Wait here.” The old man shambled off into the shadows.
“Do ye know the lady o’ this house?” Trystan asked.
A secret flashed in Reed’s eyes. “Aye. A remarkable woman.”
Trystan sneezed again. ’Twas like a brothel for demons. He fought down the suicidal urge to storm the castle.
Trystan stared at the marble and granite. The statuary had a definite erotic bend to it, or mayhaps the incense affected his brain. He gripped the amulet, letting the discomfort of the eagle’s beak against his palm focus his mind past the stirring of his body. Strength in the Earth, he reminded himself. Respect an’ honor. ’Twas cloyin’ but he fought it. Trystan tore his gaze from the artwork to look over the marble tiles of the floor, to follow the blood-red woolen runner to the grand staircase. ’Twas like a palace. Even Hengist’s Keep didn’t have the fancy bronzed railings. Wrought iron would have been less work, and more durable. But come to think on it, ’twas no iron in sight.