by Joey W. Hill
She dropped the sword.
Walking into the waves, she went to him, where he already had his hand outstretched. Her claws were gone again. Now just her fingers closed around his. She was human. She didn’t need the claws, because that girl cowering inside her soul, hiding behind the monster her fellow priestesses had created to defend her until she could stand on her own again, was standing. She was washing herself clean, and she was taking the hand of a man who understood all of it. Who would never hurt or betray her.
“Ukrit wasn’t the first man to take your body,” the man in the waves said. “I was. Wasn’t I, snake-girl? Who did you give yourself to first? That’s all that matters.”
The question was vitally important. She could feel it, to the depths of her soul.
“You,” she whispered. “John.”
John Pierce was the man to whom she’d given herself, willingly. Who’d cherished such a gift the way it was meant to be cherished.
So she drew closer to him in the waves, twined her legs around his hips and framed his face between her two hands. She lost herself in the look in his eyes, swam there the same way they floated in the surf together. He waited on her to make the next move, though he could be demanding when she desired it. Needed it. She pressed trembling lips to his and made a noise when his arms circled her, his mouth opening beneath hers.
There was no pain anymore. She wasn’t that broken girl. She was Medusa, on her island. When she kissed John, something swept through him, a release of tension so strong it seemed like joyous relief, as if she’d given him another gift, too priceless to be measured. He paused in the kiss, as if surprised by something, but then he smiled the smile of a sexy angel and kept kissing her, holding her close, bringing their bodies together. She could feel his sex brushing her thighs, and he was ready, as was she. She didn’t have to let him go. Adjusting her hips, he did the same and slid between the slick petals of her sex.
Dropping her head back, she moaned as he kissed her throat, her collar bone, the top of her breast. Her nipples were tight in the cool water, but he warmed them with his mouth as she spread her arms out to either side and floated. His powerful body was taking her on a slow build like the surf itself, rising up and up. His cock was thick, providing the right amount of friction, filling her, making her feel whole and connected to him in a way she knew wouldn’t end when he broke the physical connection.
She arched, conveying her willingness to give him all of herself, her legs locked over his pumping buttocks. She savored the increase in his grip on her hips, more evidence of his male desire, and parted her lips, tasting the salt.
“Oh…” Her response was climbing even higher, with his. Levering herself back up in his arms, she wound her own around him, pressing her face against the side of his head.
“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m here, Medusa. I’ve been here since the first time I read your story. I would have arrived sooner if I could.”
No. He’d come for Medusa, the woman she’d become, not the girl she’d been. That girl wouldn’t have seen in him what she saw. What she felt. For all the pain, anger and rage, life unfolded as it unfolded. Sometimes, at the other end of strife and blood, pain and loss, there was this. Love. It made up for so much.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Please. Take me home. Take me deep inside yourself, and inside myself, where home can never be taken away.”
He gripped her hair and captured her mouth in a kiss that went on and on, as their climax built and crested together. Eventually the kiss broke but their mouths were still together, his moving over her lips, the corner of her mouth and chin. Hers did the same to him as they cried out their mutual pleasure.
“Goddess, blessed Goddess. Thank you.” It was the first time she’d given homage to Athena since she’d left the temple, but it was time. Athena wasn’t a bland, apathetic statue in a temple with a faint, neutral smile on her face. No. She was the warrior, the huntress, the strong woman who stood for justice. She didn’t smile. She bared her teeth in savage threat to her foes, she had a somber face full of compassion and terrible knowledge for those in pain. Her touch was a kind but rough-palmed brush of fingers against the forehead, a blessing that could not be taken away, no matter what challenge was faced.
The statue couldn’t give Medusa anything, but the Goddess did. The strength to survive, to conquer. To love. That was the ultimate victory over Ukrit and any other in the world who tried to steal joy and leave only fear and darkness behind.
The ocean and island disappeared, but John did not. They were in a gray fog again, like when Maddock was bringing them to Lady Yvette’s Circus. But the fog cleared, and she was lying in a bed that reminded her of thick strata of clouds on the horizon. There were beautiful hangings on the pavilion walls around the bed, tapestries in rich golds, reds and blues, showing giants marching, dragons breathing fire, unicorns prancing…
Unicorns. She saw those brilliant liquid kaleidoscope eyes again, the white horse wheeling, trying to run before…
Medusa snapped out of the dream as if she’d been shoved, as if she thought she might be sucked back to the beginning if she stayed. She was aware of the strong arms holding her loosening, helping her sit up. She was naked, faintly damp with perspiration and panting with sexual release, her heart still thumping. It was a peculiar mix of sensations, rolled into the nightmare that had evolved back into a dream. A wide palm was stroking her back. A familiar, wonderful hand.
“I thought I’d imagined it,” she managed, her throat rusty as if she hadn’t spoken in days.
“No. I wasn’t sure it would work. Did it?”
She closed her eyes, remembering John’s hands and mouth upon her, his cock stroking inside of her. He’d taken the nightmare and channeled it, spiraling it into something different.
“Yes. I think it did.” Then she began to cry, and she realized that was why her throat was so thick. She’d been screaming, crying, sobbing. Oh, Goddess.
He moved her, stretched her back out on the bed, and put himself upon her, arms surrounding her, sheltering her from the storm of emotion. She slid her hands over his broad back, digging her nails into the tattoo, the significant words in its center. As she shifted her grip, she felt the scratches she’d put on him the first time he’d taken her body. She pressed her face into his chest, ironically finding more air for her lungs that way than if he’d given her more space.
“I’m here,” he said. “I’m here.”
His voice was hoarse, too. Lifting her head, she stared at him through her tears. His face was ravaged, as if he’d been through a battle with demons. Her demons. She placed her hands on his face as she had in the waves. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m all right. I promise.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, running his hands up and down her upper arms as a tremor went through his big body. “I knew you would be. I know you’re strong. But seeing you suffer, and not being able to stop it? I’d rather endure anything but that.”
“At the very beginning, before Klotho changed me, I thought I wouldn’t survive,” she whispered. “But the transformation, the eyes, the claws, the strength and speed of my wings, made me stronger. Made me believe I was protected.” She started to shake. “The nightmare took that away. I was like this, but he still did it.”
“No, nothing was taken away.” He gripped her and stilled her trembling. “It wasn’t real, Medusa.”
“I know,” she said, with a weary smile. “It changed. Things changed in the dream. Because of you. Because of me. Who I am now.”
“A lot of things changed in the dream.” He leaned down and pressed his lips lightly against hers. The tip of his tongue played along her lips, then her teeth, her tongue…
Her tongue. It was like his. And her fangs were gone. Her hand flew up between them to see, to touch and be sure. She bumped his chin, hard.
“Ow.”
She laughed, she couldn’t help it, and then she couldn’t stop laughing. It wasn’t that funny, but
the surfeit of emotion chose to escape that way. He held her as she shook, cried and laughed, pressing her cheek against his chest and shoulder.
At length she became quiet, and he continued to hold her without speaking. Until she was ready to speak.
“Do you think the spell is losing its strength as time goes on?” she asked. “Or because we are in another place, far away from my time?”
“Maybe.” He answered carefully. “Was there a moment in your dream where you had to make a choice between being with me and…staying caught up in what was happening?”
“Yes.” She met his gaze, suddenly understanding, though he finished his theory.
“You lost the claws when you trusted me enough to follow me into the portal,” he said. “Maybe major turning points for you and me are breaking the ties of the spell. Piece by piece.”
One aspect of that alarmed her. She could still feel her wings, but she swiftly put her hands to her head, searching for her snakes. They weren’t moving.
“John…oh Goddess.” The vision of them limp and dead flashed through her mind, but John caught her wrists, squeezing them in reassurance.
“They’re fine. Yvette spelled them to unconsciousness until you woke again, because they were channeling your agitation from the nightmare. They were sensible enough not to hurt anyone, but we thought it was kinder to put them out. She can wake them up whenever you’re ready.”
As he helped her sit up again, she moved her fingers over their curious arrangement. They were coiled up and secured in some type of thin netting.
“Charlie’s idea,” he told her. “She said if you could talk them into staying like that when you want to go out around other humans, you could cover them with a hat or scarf.”
It was a warm feeling, thinking of Charlie providing her snakes small nests and suggesting outings into John’s world, as if no one had had any doubt that she would surface and be fine. She was fine. She was still shaking, and she desperately wanted to immerse herself in a clean body of water to scrub herself with soap and remove every vestige of the nightmare, but she was okay. She hadn’t fled the dream. She’d walked out of it on her own two feet, so to speak, vibrating with the pleasure she and John had made, her lifeline back to the world.
“I’d like that. I want to go to Starbuck’s.”
He blinked. “What?”
“It was in the magazine you gave me. Many pretty, smiling people go to Starbuck’s. And their coffees are delicious, the best in the world.”
He chuckled. “Okay, yeah, Starbuck’s has some good stuff, but keep in mind those pretty pictures are no different from the barkers in the marketplace. I know you said slaves went and bought things, but maybe you saw them when you were going somewhere with the priestesses?”
“Yes.” She brightened. A mundane memory was a good tonic to help her level out, and she wondered if John realized that. “I remember seeing a man selling a woman several beautiful scarves. They appeared to be arguing, but the slave with us said they were just bartering. It was nothing to be alarmed about.”
“Right. I bet every guy selling scarves in the marketplace says he has the most beautiful ones. And smiles the whole time, even if he has a bad rash that makes him want to snarl like a bear.”
When she figured out the comparison, she dimpled. “I understand. But I still want to go to Starbuck’s.”
“We’ll do it, as soon as we get some kind of word from Maddock on what the status is with MyTech and any other threats against you. Not until then. I won’t risk you for a cup of overpriced coffee.”
She was going to tease him about whether or not she was worth the risk if the coffee wasn’t overpriced, but then another thought struck her.
“The unicorn.” She sat straight up, remembering anew. “Is she okay? This didn’t hurt her in any way, did it?”
“She’s fine. Promise.” John adjusted on the bed so he was behind her, his arms around her, cupping her breast and waist. His thighs framed her, legs long enough his feet brushed the floor on either side of hers. It was a secure feeling, and she sighed, settling back into his arms. It was okay. Everything was all right.
“I told her you’d want to see her,” he said. “She was pretty broken up about what happened.” Briefly, he explained what had triggered the nightmare, and how it wouldn’t happen again.
“I need to tell her that it came back to the right place,” she said, gazing up into his face. “I realized being with you truly was my first time, and then, we were in the waves. As euphoric as our first time was, this was as if we were both flying. I came to you in the ocean,” she said, when a quizzical look crossed his face. “I wish you had been there, because it was beautiful.”
“It was beautiful on this side as well,” he said, nuzzling her throat. “Feeling your body respond to mine. At the beginning, fuck, you were struggling a bit, and I was afraid all I was doing was adding to it. I was going to give up, and then you got all still, lifted your hand and put it in mine…”
She turned in his arms and he adjusted her so she was straddling him, her knees pressing into the bed as she faced him. He framed her neck with his big hands. “It was…” He swallowed. “You came back to me.”
She remembered the moment in the waves. “Yes. I knew I was not his. I am yours.””
Raw emotion flashed across his strong features. “There’s nothing I’d like better,” he said.
There was so much weight to their words. Feeling fragile, she looked around the room. “Where are we?”
“Lady Yvette’s quarters. She wanted to make sure you had the maximum amount of comfort. Don’t let that fool you. She’s still scary.”
“I know. But a scary woman can still be compassionate.” She took a breath and drew herself up, laying her hands over his. “Just as a strong woman can face down her fear and turn a nightmare into a dream.” When the right man stood at her back.
“Yeah, she can,” John said, drawing her close again. “I had no doubt. Not now, not ever.”
Chapter Twenty-One
She’d bathed, and in far greater comfort than she’d expected. She’d planned to take a shower at their wagon, but when John told Marcellus what she was needing, they were told to stay where they were. A big porcelain claw foot tub sometimes used as a prop for the clown act was brought to Yvette’s quarters and filled with heated water. Medusa scrubbed herself thoroughly and then John lifted the washcloth and stroked her from head to toe, leaving her floating and semi-aroused. He also washed her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp and the snakes taking up residence on the tub sides to avoid the suds and full immersion as long as they could before he had to pour water over her head to rinse her.
After helping her, John told her to enjoy a soak in the tub. He would visit the outdoor shower at their wagon and then rejoin her.
Charlie had provided her a flowing dress with a halter back for her wings that was hanging up on a clothes rack in the corner. As she looked at it, Medusa could already imagine how the weightless fabric would float over her curves and swirl around her calves. John would like it, as would she.
It mystified her, the kindness relative strangers were showing to her. But while she laid back in the tub, letting the hot water permeate her muscles, she thought it over and understood it.
So many here were outcasts from normal society. Some had no choice in the matter because they were unable to blend, like Merc or Charlie. Vampires could mix with humans, but they had to pretend to be human, so had obvious reasons for preferring supernatural company. Then there were those who simply did not feel connected to the mainstream consciousness, like Caleb. On first meeting him, she’d found the strongman exceptionally quiet. When he spoke, he had trouble forming words, perhaps some type of speech handicap. Clara had told her he was far more comfortable in an environment like this, where his reticence was accepted and no pressure was put upon him to talk more than he desired. He had a story, and she was sure it was an interesting one.
If she so chose, as long
as Yvette was willing, she could learn all their stories. Become part of this family. They understood what being truly different meant, and depending on one another was the only way they’d not only survive, but find a quality of life worth embracing.
Once she dried off, she donned the dress and tidied up as much as possible to prepare to return to their own wagon. A short visit and hug from Clara was a welcome surprise, along with the young woman’s invitation to join her tomorrow in the Circus’s daily routine. A not-so-subtle way of helping Medusa feel less self-conscious about what had happened.
“Something crazy and dramatic happens here almost daily,” Clara had told her with a wink as she took her leave. “Today was just your turn.”
Medusa didn’t want to overstay their welcome in Yvette’s tent and truth, after Clara’s visit, she was feeling almost…energized. She might crash soon and need a good, long nap, but for the moment she was still riding the high of defeating Ukrit once and for all. No more nightmares for her, damn it.
She decided to emerge from Yvette’s lush pavilion and see if its owner was nearby so she could thank the vampire courteously for its use. She didn’t have to look far—but she did have to duck.
“Heads up!” The bellow came from one of the “roustabouts”, the workmen who helped with a variety of things, including the Circus show setup and breakdowns. He and a knot of other men appeared to have been playing a card game. Near where they were warily grouped, upended crates and strewn cards were spread out in a random crescent shape, as if the men had scattered in all directions when a…
The ball of flame whizzed by a few feet in front of her, that and the warning pressing her back into the tent entrance. A wave of heat from the opposite direction manifested into a temporary shield of blue energy as the ball hit it, then sprayed out into sparks.
The man behind the blue sparks was a handsome male scowling in a dangerous way. As the projectile came toward him, he’d thrown up an arm, producing the glowing blue defense that protected him from its impact. Now he said something caustic and returned fire, a spear of the same white-blue energy, like a lightning bolt.