Of Bards and Witches

by Alisa Woods

  She scowled. “If you’re like me, then… why give chase?”

  He smirked and ran a hand down the front of her throat, marveling at the softness of her skin as well as the sweet magic spark of her touch. “Why run?” he asked, teasing.

  She shook her head. “Your words—”

  “Were meant as warning,” he said gently. “And a friendly one, at that. You can’t practice in the theatre, love. Did your coven not warn you?” He leaned close, in need of another kiss.

  Her eyes went wide again. “What know you of covens?”

  “Not enough, to be sure.” Then he kissed her again, thoroughly, trapped against the alley wall in all his eagerness for that magical pleasure spark. Her hands were at him again, and his found their way to slipping inside her blouse, teasing blue energy from the hardened tip of her full, warm breast.

  Her cry of pleasure made him stop—because the alley was nowhere near sufficient to the tasks he had planned.

  “I have a room,” he said, his voice already hoarse with need.

  At long last, a hesitant smile drew out of her. “Where?”

  “Nearby. Five minutes by foot,” he said quickly.

  The smile grew stronger. “Hold my hand.”

  “Oh, yes. And so much more.” He grasped her hand and pulled her from the wall, then hurried away from the theatre as fast he could manage without arousing suspicion of being a vagrant up to ill deeds in the night.

  This unexpected treasure was coming straight to his bed.

  Her screams were a straight shot of vigor to his cock.

  The cries abated, but her hips still bucked against his face. His tongue had well served its purpose, teasing her sex and wringing pleasure from her. And with that blue spark adding joy? Sweet magic. He hadn’t even taken her yet, and he was already half-mad with the pleasure it brought her. How would he survive such magic-enhanced pleasure when he was buried shaft deep inside her?

  Surely, there was no better way to die.

  He ran his tongue once more around her sweet nub, eliciting a groan from her that stiffened him fit to burst. He eased up her body, lavishing attention on those gorgeously jostling breasts on his way, then feasted on her neck, cheeks, and lips, only pulling back after a thorough taste.

  “Sweetness, I need you now,” he whispered, sliding his hand down to grasp her knee and angle her well for the taking.

  “Wait,” she said breathless. “I know not your name.”

  He grinned but held back. “Does it matter when I pleasure you like this?” His cock nudged her entrance, sparking the magic that coursed through every touch. He groaned, and she twitched under him with half-lidded eyes.

  Then they popped back open. “Yes!” she insisted. “Your name. I will have it.” She squirmed against him as if to move away from their joining.

  He had no quarrel in telling her, but the squirming roused a challenge in him. “It is Leonidas, prince of the House of Smoke, if you must.”

  Her eyes went wide, and her body stilled with the title.

  “And I will have you now.” He thrust deep inside her, and his senses exploded. White-hot pleasure gripped his rod and squeezed hard. She arched up against him, her pleasure-scream even greater than before. A string of dragontongue curses loosed from his lips, but he forced himself to pull back and thrust again. Each stroke seemed impossibly more delirious than the last. His loins were growing tight with it, readying to explode. He thanked the powers of magic, especially for having brought the lady to her pleasure first, because he was about to lose all control and burst inside her.

  He kept at her, plunging deeper, as long as he could hold out, then it rushed at him—a vast wave that dragged him under. He emptied himself, on and on, and still she writhed under him, moaning and crying her own summit. After a time, when he could blink and hope to see again, he left the sweet torment of her body—for it had grown torturous as his body was inflamed—and fell to the bed by her side. For a long stretch, he lay limp with pleasure. He could scarce muster the tiniest of movements even if an odious daemonus were to enter his tiny leased room and threaten attack. If it went for the lady, then Leonidas would smite it dead—this woman was a true treasure, a fount of pleasure like he’d never known.

  “Meridi,” she gasped out next to him.

  “Beg pardon?” Leonidas asked, still laboring of breath.

  “That’s my name.”

  “Are you sure?” He curled up and took hold of one long, blackish lock of hair that was thrown out on the bed around her. “Perhaps you’re Aphrodite. Or Lillith. Or some goddess of lustful diversion that has discovered a way to entrance me and chain me to my bed. A siren of the mattress, that’s you.”

  “Or maybe I’m a witch.” She had lifted up enough to kiss him, but then a serious look ruined the pleasure-flush in her face. “Tell me, Leonidas. Are you really a prince? And a witch as well? How can this be?”

  He play scowled, then kissed her again, because Lord in Heaven, those lips… and with the added sizzle of magic, he was doomed. “Yes, I am really a prince. But not of the witching sort.”

  Her eyes went a little wider. “You’re a god, aren’t you? A god of love. Or a demon? Only a devil could summon pleasure like this.”

  “Hold now.” He frowned. He knew of demons—fought them on the regular, and even the lust demons were nothing to smile upon. “What is this talk of demons? How can this…” He stroked down her body, sparking magic all the way to her sex, which he teased, sending her eyelids to half-mast again. He moved to whisper against her breast. “How can that be anything short of divine?” He took a nibble as well. He’d soon be ready for her again—meantimes, another round for her would keep her glowing, not talking.

  She groaned and gripped his hair, first pulling him into her breast and then pushing him away.

  He smirked. Sweet magic, the things he would do to this woman.

  But then she drilled him with a serious look. “You can’t tempt me with pleasure.”

  “Can’t I?” He reached for the round of her bottom, but she caught hold of his hand and brought it back to her breast. Which would serve well enough—he teased her nipple to attention.

  “I want to know the truth, Leonidas,” she said. “What are you, if not a witch? What am I? I’ve been plagued all my life with this sense of… something. Some power or… or… essence. Like a ghost that haunts me from my own shadow, always just out of my reach. And then you come along with this… this…” She gestured to the sweet torment of his fingertips sparking blue magic with her nipple. “Demon or angel, I need to know.”

  He paused in his ministrations, frowning again. “You truly know not what you are.”

  “Truly.” Her beautiful blue eyes beseeched him.

  And how could he say no?

  He settled his hand across her breast. “You are a witch, love. I have senses to tell, and trust me, you taste of magic the way only a witch can. But I take it you never were introduced to the dark arts?”

  She shook her head. “Are there truly covens in London?”

  “Aye.”

  Her eyes sparked interest.

  “Although, have a care. Just stumbling upon one might get you reduced to ash.”

  She splayed her hand on his chest and used her beauty again to implore him. “But you’re a powerful prince. You could gain me entrance.”

  That he could… if he were at home at the keep. In France. He’d never bothered to track every coven across the land, but surely the king and queen of his House had a registry of sorts. “I’ll send a post to my House.” He leaned back, dramatically raising his voice to read the contents of this fictional letter he would write. “Dear Father, King of the House of Smoke, I pray thee send directions and a letter of introduction to the finest coven in London, for I have a beauty in my bed whose favor I must keep for she is irresistibly gorgeous whilst riding my cock.”

  She smacked his chest with her open hand, and a laugh seized hold of him. But then she beat him again, this time w
ith a closed fist and anger.

  “You mock me,” she accused.

  He caught her fist and rolled her back on the bed, holding her violent hands above her head and relishing every magic-sparking touch between their bodies. “Never!” he said, teasing but only just. Then he softened his look and his voice, his cock already growing hard between them. “I will send the post on the morrow. Perhaps without the mention of our bed. But only if you let me pleasure you again and again and for the length of the night until then. I have need of you like no woman before.”

  Air shuddered from her lips. “Do you promise?”

  He kissed her gently. “’Tis silly for a woman of such power to have no knowledge of how to wield it. And how much better will you pleasure me when you have full command of your magic? I can scarce imagine.”

  A smile curved her lips, slow and hopeful. “I will pleasure you like no woman has ever pleasured a man.”

  “You see?” He ground his rock-hard member against the sweet softness of her belly. “A siren of the mattress. I knew it.”

  She grinned and pulled his lips to hers. “You cannot resist me.”

  “’Tis all too true.” He eased down her body again, skin against skin, seeking her entrance with his cock, now that he was ready for her.

  She bit her lip, her hands skimming his chest. “Then pleasure me and answer me.”

  “You still have questions?” He took her in one stroke.

  She gasped, releasing that sweet bite, but her gaze held his. “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Well, have at them,” he teased. “If you can.” He pulled back and thrust once more.

  Her body trembled around him, and the pleasure was stealing his breath as well.

  “What are you?” she breathed.

  “A dragon.” Another thrust, slower, this time.

  “Nay.” She thrust back into him to quicken the stroke. “You are definitely a man.”

  He grinned at her and gave her more, as she wished. “And so you make me. For the moment.”

  Her eyes widened, but not with his thrusting. “The alley. You were a dragon then, for a heartbeat, but hidden somehow. With magic.”

  “Ah, you’ve found me out.” He eased out and grabbed hold of her legs by the knees, lifting them to take her deeper. “But have a care with that knowledge.”

  “Or what? You’ll turn beastie on me?” Then she gasped as he drove deeper into her.

  “No, my beast is still very much a man.” He thrust again, this time earning a whimper from her. “I command the beast… at least until I reach the end of my time. Then I’ll turn feral and monstrous.” He stroked her harder.

  But she frowned. “Monstrous? Is there no way to prevent it?”

  “Well, I could take a mate and spawn a dragonling. That would stave off the monster… and the reaper. But have no fear—that’s a far way off, love. Dragons live long. And hard.” He smirked as he continued thrusting. “With much loving along the way.”

  She ran her hands up his arms and gripped his shoulders. The pleasure was taking hold of her, but she fought it. “Are there others like you?” she gasped out between his poundings.

  “Still more questions, then?”

  She whimpered but pressed on. “A few.”

  He smirked and pulled out. Then he gathered her up in his arms, ‘til they were both kneeling on the bed. He held her cheeks gently. “I have two princely dragons for brothers and a whole House with more. There’s an entire realm of magical creatures of which you don’t know, but to which you belong. You’ll take your place there, sweet Meridi, I promise. But for now…” He turned her and pressed his palm to her back, forcing her face down to the bed while her delicious rump pressed back against him. “For now, I will have your screams, not your questions.” He took her again, this time from behind, burying himself deep in her sweet, magic-sparking flesh.

  She cried out and pushed back against him, driving him on. He moaned and grabbed hold of her hips, gripping hard and losing himself in the rush of hot pleasure surrounding his cock. Again and again, he took her, building tension to a peak that was delirious and impossibly high—as if all the pleasure in the universe were distilled down into one long, wet stroke, again and again, each time higher than the last. Her screams and curses and invocations of gods and love and magic—along with the fraught crying of his name—carried him even higher.

  He would either burst with the sweet glory of this little witch or die…

  And he wasn’t old enough for dying as yet.

  A week passed, and then three… and Meridi was still in his bed.

  Perhaps not all the time—there was eating required, and her work as the apothecary’s assistant down the lane—but that was still two fortnights longer than any other woman had in all his years. Meridi was so eager in all things, plaguing him with questions about the magical world, desiring to see his dragon, and possessing a raw thirst for his sparse knowledge of spells. His magic was intrinsic and given by his dragon nature and his fae ancestry—witchcraft was a more technical art, summoning with potions and spells and a bit of raw energy tapped by will and intention. He taught her what little he knew, and she repaid him triple in bed, her enthusiasm there making it an endless feast of the senses. Leonidas knew he was overstaying his time with her, running the danger of an inconvenient attachment, but he’d promised an introduction to London’s covens and the letter from his brothers was taking its sweet time.

  Plus leaving the magic of their bed took a will he didn’t possess.

  It was dawn, and he awoke to the feel of Meridi’s hand on his cock, bringing it to attention as she so easily did with that magic-strewn touch. He wasn’t even fully awake before he was fully aroused, and she quickly tossed the blanket in order to straddle his legs, stroking his member with an expert touch that had him quickly rushing to his peak.

  “Sweet mercy, woman.”

  She was already bright-eyed. “Will today be the day?” she asked as she pumped him with both hands.

  For the love of magic. “That I erupt in this bed?” His voice was strained with trying to hold back. “Most certainly.”

  “No!” she scolded lightly. “For the post.” She kept up her rate.

  “I know not.” His breath was becoming ragged. “I’m hardly roused, Meridi.”

  “Oh, you’re roused enough.” She smirked. “Can we check?”

  “Again?” He gritted his teeth, trying not to blow right away.

  “Yes, again.” She scowled at him.

  He was certain all his blood now resided in his engorged cock, so delightfully being abused by her. “If it pleases you,” he said with a strained voice.

  Her smile was as bright as the morning sun. “It pleases me.” Then she released him only to climb aboard and ride his cock like it was a race she was determined to win.

  “Sweet magic,” he gasped and lurched up as she still bounced in his lap.

  She shoved him back down with a sly grin, planting her hands on his chest and riding him harder. “Shall I stop?” she teased.

  He groaned. “You’ll be… the death of me… woman.” He was so close, and the crackle of magic from her hands and her sweet sex was nearly rendering him incapable of speech.

  She performed some magic of acrobatics, gyrating around his member, and he exploded in a white haze of pleasure. Somewhere through his growling groan, he felt her fingers dig into his chest and heard her mewling cry as she found her own peak. She continued to ride him through it. For the love of everything magic, he thought sure his heart would quit its beating from the sheer exertion of it.

  But, by and by, it calmed.

  As did she, finally dismounting him in a vacuum of pleasure that made him groan again.

  He lay limp in the bed while she washed and dressed.

  “I feel sure today’s the day,” she said cheerily.

  He found himself fervently hoping so—he ought to remove himself to France soon, before the temptation of her bed kept him prisoner in London foreve
r. Once she had her coven, a wayward orphan witch finally finding her home, he would be released from his obligations, and only the pleasure of the bed would hold him. Which, truth be told, might be enough—ye gods, why hadn’t his brothers, or any other dragon of his House, mentioned this allure of consorting with witches before?

  There was only one answer: they hadn’t had the experience of it themselves.

  He dressed and washed, and without delay, in the bright morning sun of the bustling cobblestone streets, they found themselves at the general post, where he had paid a pretty penny to have his mail held in safekeeping.

  To his surprise and relief, a letter had indeed arrived.

  He opened it with Meridi eagerly crowding to see. It contained a small letter of introduction with the seal of the House of Smoke inside the larger note.

  “What does it say?” she asked, frowning at it.

  He paid the postmaster and guided her out to the street before answering. “It’s dragontongue,” he said quietly when the clacking of the street would cover his words.

  She scowled. “But what does it say?” she repeated in earnest.

  Leonidas quickly scanned the note.

  Brother,

  What in magic keeps you? Need I fly there to pry you from the stage? Demons infest the countryside—your duty calls. The requested letter is enclosed. Keep your business with the coven short. We await your return, as do the maids of Paris, who will no doubt comfort your loss of the theatre’s magic.

  In Honor,

  Lucian

  It was accompanied by a map and the name of a shop of curiosities.

  Leonidas caught Meridi’s fervent gaze. “It says the letter should be satisfactory to gain you entrance to the most esteemed coven in London.”

  She clapped her hands, then threw her arms around his neck. “Better words were never spoke!”

  He smiled and worked his way from her arms. “Should we go there at once?”

  “Yes!”

  He could hardly help the grin.

  The narrow, dusty streets were strewn with barrels of goods, covered carts hawking meats, and white-faced shoppes with panes charred by the ever-present haze of smoke. Laundry was strung high, and they dodged the rats and stray cats underfoot as well as the slosh of waste from above. Their map took them past the church and graveyard and the blacksmithy with his fire in the catch and billows at the ready. It was early, with traffic light, and it took no time at all to find the hanging sign outside the curiosities shop which was apparently the home of the most powerful coven in London. It showed a cat and a skull, two things Leonidas thought most appropriate for witches.