by Jean Johnson
Wolfer yawned again as he felt her body relaxing limply against his. He himself missed fresher forms of milk than the aged cheeses they bought from the traders. But like so many other things, right now that was a discussion for another day. Especially given dawn wasn’t all that far away.
Morganen frowned, peering into the elongated, oval mirror lying flat on his workbench. He wiped the grit of sleep from his eyes as he studied the two figures revealed in the silvered glass. The one on the left was Donnock of Devries, the one on the right, his older brother Broger. He’d used this mirror to spy upon them before; what was odd was the hour. The youngest mage-brother had only been asleep for a few hours before being summoned from his bed by the subtle chiming of his warning spells.
“Won’t be able to get a connection for another week,” Donnock was explaining. “The aether isn’t right over the Faraday Valley, according to the scheduler.”
Morg smiled as he wiped at his tired eyes again. He’d arranged the aether between the east coast of Katan and the lands of Corvis to be less than ideal for mirror-Gating, to slow them down.
“I don’t want you to take that long,” Broger countermanded. “Find an alternate route. Angle north or south, around the problem. Come via Castrin, or Idella City.”
“That’ll take most of my coins—” Donnock started to argue.
“Burn the expense!” Broger shot back. His jowls jiggled slightly as he spoke, revealing signs of his gradual aging to the silently watching Morganen. “Get back here within forty-seven hours! And eat nothing but meat from now until you arrive!”
The mirror misted on the right, then the left, signaling the end of their communication. Morganen sat back, frowning softly. Why was dear Uncle Broger so determined to have his brother return within two days’ time? And more oddly, why would he demand Donnock eat nothing but meat?
It almost sounds like he’s preparing his brother for some sort of ritual magic. There are a few rare spells that require the mage’s body to be “aligned” with his energies . . . but in all other cases I’ve heard about, the mage had to refrain from eating meat . . . Morganen shook his head, letting the plait of his chest-length, ash blond hair slide over his back. It was all very strange.
His brothers might accuse him of knowing everything, but he didn’t. He only knew some things. Definitely, he didn’t know whatever Broger of Devries, usurper Count of Corvis, apparently knew.
That’s something else I’ll have to ask Alys about, in the morning . . . or rather, in a few more hours, he thought wryly. As much as he knew he had to get back to sleep, he needed to research what sort of rituals required their mage to eat nothing but meat, rather than fruits and vegetables. Letting the mirror on the table relax back into a normal reflection, he crossed to the wall and touched one of the stones. They dissolved, recognizing his aura.
The shelf-lined chamber beyond wasn’t actually a part of his workroom tower, but rather existed in a level dug deep beneath it. Through a very clever series of enchantments, he had figured out a way to copy tomes encountered through a scrying mirror. This was his private library, secretly duplicated from the archives of hundreds of other mages across Katan, mages whom he had scryed upon clandestinely.
It helped that he could read very quickly. In fact, Morganen had read every single one of these books, though his memory wasn’t page-perfect. Enough general information was retained, along with some of the more interesting spells, that he could usually remember which book or group of books contained what he was looking for. The shelving system he used seemed eclectic, maybe even eccentric, but it worked for him. All he had to do was walk down to the end of the row, turn left for seven stacks of shelves, and turn right; in that corner, he should find what he was looking for.
The contents of the books weren’t quite what one would call Light reading; the spells that required eating nothing but fruits and nuts were Light-based magics. It made sense, therefore, that meat-eating spells would be of the Dark. Padding through the hidden library, Morg headed for the alcove with the most restricted of his books. No knowledge was wasted; he might not want to cast such spells himself, but if he knew what they were, he’d have a chance at finding a counter for them.
His brothers needed to survive their biggest confrontation with Broger of Devries and his horde of beasts; the Song of the Sons demanded it, and he was the one who had to ensure it.
Alys was lying naked on the beach. Strangely enough, this fact didn’t bother her. In fact, it felt nice; her whole backside from nape to calves felt the warmth of the sunbaked sand, while her front was tickled by errant gusts of wind. Except she was also lying on her side, on something soft and comfortable, and there was something lumpy about the sand that was prodding the small of her back. Her mind, fuzzy with how comfortable she felt, reasoned she was probably lying on a blanket, and the lump was probably just a piece of driftwood.
The breeze tickled over her skin again. It tweaked her nipple, then skimmed over her stomach and tugged at her thigh, lifting her right leg up and back, hooking it over something. Alys woke abruptly, holding herself still as she scrambled mentally to make sense of her surroundings.
She was lying on her left side in a soft, feather-stuffed bed. A warm body had snuggled itself against her . . . a warm, masculine body. The lump that in her fading dream had been a bit of wood nudging the tail end of her spine wasn’t wood at all, but a different sort of stiffened material. And the breeze wasn’t a breeze; it was a largish hand that, content with the drape of her thigh over a set of much more muscular legs, drifted up the inside of her limb, where it feathered lightly over the curls of her groin. The arousal-dampened curls of her groin.
Wolfer was being sneaky. Gentle rocking motions slicked his fingers, allowing them to slide between her folds, until with a curling motion, he dipped them into her flesh. Stroking them in and out, he made her want to rock her hips into each surge of his digits. The edge of his thumb brushed against the sentinel of nerves guarding her secrets; Alys shivered, feeling the pleasure of it ache all the way up through her breasts.
Somehow, she found her voice. “Good morning . . .”
“Mmm,” he rumbled, nuzzling close enough to tickle her ear with his breath through her curls. A slight wriggle downward of his body, a shift of his hips, and the lump prodding the small of her back slipped instead between her splayed thighs. “A very good morning.”
That made her laugh. Alys wasn’t sure why; they had the threat of her uncle looming over their heads, with all of his spells and all of his beasts. Plus there was the disapproval of the Council of Mages, over on the mainland, who would not be happy to learn that two women now lived on the isle, never mind the prophecy-driven threat of just one. And, thanks to her uncle, she didn’t feel comfortable planning to have a family with the handsome man . . . who was now replacing his fingers with his manhood, filling her with an achingly sweet slowness.
Until he nudged up against the front wall of her body . . . and the rather full flesh that lay on the other side of that wall. Stiffening, Alys tried to ignore it. Really, it felt very, very good when he withdrew slowly and wonderfully, stimulating her flesh, and when he pushed back inside again, that felt good, too—until he hit that spot again. Reminding her she had been asleep for several hours.
Squirming forward, Alys pushed at the hands trying to hold her in place. “Let go, Wolfer—please!”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, lifting his head from the pillow as she scooted out from under the lightweight bedding. “Alys?”
“Refreshing room!” she blurted as the change in position to upright made the urgency worse.
He sagged back onto the bedding with a rough sigh, closing his eyes in disbelief as she scrambled around the foot of his bed and hurried into the other room. His body ached for release. The dampness on his flesh should’ve cooled his ardor as it slowly evaporated, but he just stayed hard. Leaning forward, Wolfer buried his face in her pillow, inhaling the sweet, feminine musk of her scent. Now that she
was up and out of his bed, she would likely want to stay up, since it looked close to the right hour for breakfast.
He heard the gurgle and splash of water as she cleaned herself, and then the patter of her feet. The bed dipped in front of him. Lifting his face from her pillow, he found himself confronted by a mass of brown curls as she . . . as she scooted backward across the mattress, squirming under the light blanket and sheet that had covered them during the night. A bit more of squirming, and she managed to drape her leg over his thigh, and then reached down between their bodies to awkwardly grab him.
“I’ve got it!” he quickly asserted, freeing her fingers from bending him at an awkward angle. Or worse, causing a premature moment of embarrassment. Once he had control, he slotted himself back into her, pressing up and in like he had before. “Feeling better?”
“Lots,” Alys muttered, feeling her cheeks warm in return. “Um . . . thanks. For waiting, I mean.”
His irritation left him in a soft laugh. “Thank you for coming back to the point where we left.”
A giggle escaped her. “My pleasure.”
“Mm, and mine, too,” he growled, nipping playfully at her ear. She squeaked and squirmed, and he thrust firmly, making her gasp. Wolfer growled again in pleasure as she wriggled back into his next stroke. She cried out softly as he slid his hand around her hip, delving his fingers into her folds. “Do you like that?” he panted, playing with her flesh as his buttocks clenched rhythmically. “Do you?”
“Oh, gods yes—Wolfer!” Back arching, Alys clutched at the bedding with her left hand. She still felt the urge to use the refreshing room, a little bit, but she knew it wasn’t an actual need. And without the actual need adding to it and turning it into a highly uncomfortable pressure . . . it was a pleasure. Whatever he was stroking inside of her, combined with the stroking of his fingers outside of her . . . it was incredible.
Making love to her like this was good, but his left arm was tucked uselessly under the pillows. Pausing while deep inside of her—which made her whimper and squirm gratifyingly against him, wanting more—Wolfer worked his arm under her ribs. Embracing her firmly around her hips and her ribs, he planted one foot on the bed and levered both of them over. He managed not to slip out of her as he rolled to his back, a minor miracle.
Breathing heavily, Wolfer eased his grip on her torso. His hands slid down to her pelvis. With her legs drooping to either side of his, he was in danger of slipping out of her. Arching her back, Alys dug her heels into the bedding to make sure she had enough leverage to prevent that. It pressed him a little deeper into her, eliciting a pleased grunt. His own knees lifted, giving him leverage, too; the leverage to thrust gently into her. The hands on her hips pulled at the same time, rocking her into his movements.
Their coupling was shallow. Wolfer wanted more. Pausing her, he shifted his hands to her shoulder-blades, pushing her upright. She struggled to help him, finally sitting up with her buttocks pressed to his abdomen, facing his bent knees.
“Wolfer?” Alys asked, a little unsure. The position they were now in held a different set of pressures, unfamiliar ones. Not unpleasant, just unfamiliar.
“Ride me,” he coaxed her, sliding his fingers back down to her hips.
Squirming a little, Alys adjusted her legs so that she would have the right sort of leverage. Rising a little, she sank down onto him. The new angle was nice. Very nice. She rose a little higher and slid down again, then rose more—and he slipped out. Embarrassed, she fumbled for his flesh, blushing. Clearing her throat, she accepted his help in repositioning him, and eased back onto his erection.
Resuming her strokes, she started to enjoy herself again . . . and nearly lost him again. Sighing, Alys sank down as far as she could go, then rocked backward a little, and snapped her hips forward experimentally. He grunted and clutched her hips with his hands, caressing her curves with his fingertips to encourage her. Doing it again elicited another grunt.
“That’s . . . that’s very good,” Wolfer rasped. Sitting up and facing his feet, she felt very tight to him like this. Pressure in different ways from the usual. She snapped her hips again, tightening his abdomen with pleasure . . . and on the rebound, he slipped out again.
Sighing, she groped for his shaft. He helped guide her into place, she started to sink down . . . and he popped free, sliding the wrong way through the folds of her femininity.
Alys squeaked, then growled in frustration. The noise made Wolfer laugh and catch her hands as she grabbed for him again. Embarrassed but understanding that he wasn’t laughing at her, she chuckled with him. “Can we try something else, now?”
“Of course,” Wolfer agreed. He, too, had been on the verge of rumbling his displeasure at the inadvertent interruptions. He helped guide her off of him, letting her settle at his side on the bedding. “What would you like?”
She parted her lips to say something, and Evanor’s voice rang in their ears. “Breakfast! Time to rise and eat something, you lazy lovebirds! You cannot fly very far if you don’t have any energy!”
Wolfer muttered something unpleasant under his breath in regard to his brother’s cheerful interruption. Alys blinked in shock. “You can’t . . . you can’t do that! It’s not . . .”
“Oh, it’s anatomically possible . . . if someone else does it to him.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t mean that. Cari told me some men and women like to do that, and that it can be quite pleasant, if the proper care and time are taken . . . I meant, he’s your brother.”
“Then he can do it to himself. I’ll ask Morganen if he knows of any lengthening charms. Later,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “You were going to pick a position for us to enjoy.”
“Um . . .” Her gray eyes gleamed after a moment. “Like we did before? To start with?”
“All right.” Helping her to turn around, Wolfer snuggled up close to her again. Lifting her leg, he let her upper body shift forward a little so that she could reach down and help guide him into place. The feel of her hand pulling back his foreskin revived his interrupted interest, too. It wasn’t that he had softened, just that some of his momentum toward the peak of his pleasure had diminished. Feeling her guide him into her body, the wet heat of her femininity enfolding him in her depths, definitely revived his body’s attention.
She shifted back at the wrong moment, however, and he almost slid out. Alys reached down again, making sure he didn’t slip . . . and felt the movement of his flesh under her fingertips as he pushed into her again. It was weird, kind of messy from the moisture of her body, and yet erotic all at the same time. And good-feeling. Alys petted him as he stroked into her. Wolfer choked and curled over her back. His hand left her hip, shifting down to tangle with her fingers. They delved under hers, touching and stroking her clitoris.
That aroused her even further. Not just the touch of his fingers, circling in counterpoint to everything, but how their hands bumped and mingled, giving each other additional pleasure. It aroused him, too. Awkward as it was, it didn’t take long for her to gasp his name and shudder, which gave him permission to thrust a little deeper, a little faster. She tightened around him further, enjoying the depth and pressure on that spot inside of her. With a choked growl, Wolfer released himself, wrapping her in his arms as much as he could, given how they lay on their sides. Shivering, he clung to her as his heartbeat subsided, loosening his grip just enough so that she didn’t have to struggle quite so much to catch her breath.
“You know,” Evanor’s voice sang into their ears, “your breakfast is definitely growing cold. I don’t want to know what the two of you are doing, but whatever it is, you’re going to have to reheat your food all on your own. And if you don’t get down here soon, it’ll be stored in the pantry cupboards under a stasis charm!”
Alys giggled. “I’m actually rather good at food-heating spells . . .”
Wolfer hugged her closer. “I knew there was a reason why I wanted to marry you.”
“Wolfer!
” she mock-protested.
“Alys!” he mocked back, and received a pinch on his forearm for his troubles. They mock-tussled for a moment, until Evanor interrupted them from a distance one more time.
“. . . Assuming, that is, if the rest of us don’t just eat it all.”
“Evanor!” Wolfer sang back. “We’re coming!”
That made Alys giggle madly. She giggled so hard, his softened shaft slipped out of her . . . which only made her laugh even harder. It was only after Wolfer moved away and sat up on the side of the bed, finally feeling his own urge to use the refreshing room, that she calmed down enough to gasp, “I thought we already had!”
To his surprise, Wolfer felt his cheeks heating in a blush at her words; he hadn’t expected such a frank joke from his shy little Alys!
SEVENTEEN
About time you made it,” Evanor observed dryly as Wolfer and Alys entered the dining chamber. “We’re running low on provisions. I’ve a list of things for you to do, if you’ll attend to it. Both of you.”
Wolfer sighed, accepting the slip of paper as soon as he was finished holding the back of Alys’ seat for her. Settling into the chair beside her, he eyed the writing on it. “Let’s see . . . most of this is in the forest. We have . . . vira-peppers, finger-fruit, kiwi nuts, wild greens, naquah roots, earth apples . . . lovely, you’re making me dig.”
“You’re the one with the dog’s paws,” Evanor quipped, as he enchanted a rag to wipe the far end of the octagonal table.
“Funny. And I see you’re making me swim, too,” he added. “Two barrels’ worth of fish?”
“Fresh, by preference. And shellfish,” Evanor added. “We’re getting rather low.”
“What, no deer for me to hunt down as well?” Wolfer quipped dryly.
“We’re getting cattle, remember?” The lightest-haired brother winked at Alys. “Do you still sing, Sister-to-Be? I missed the way the dairy maids at Corvis would sing in the mornings and evenings as they walked the cattle to and from pasture.”