by Eileen Wilks
It hadn’t. On the long-ago night he’d been a hellhound—a young one, less than a century old. He’d left his first master, the Huntsman, because he knew he belonged to Winter. The Huntsman had been willing to release him, but it had taken Nathan some time to convince Winter of the obvious. In the end, she’d accepted him into her service and her household. On this night he’d lain stretched out on the warm stone floor before her hearth. He remembered the precise blend of scents in her chamber, the way the wood popped as the fire burned, and the bitter weeping of the woman with him.
Funny how often even those who should know better forgot that Winter was Queen, not just of snow and ice, but also of the blazing hearth, the heart’s home during the days of darkness. The fire in Winter’s chamber that night had burned hot and bright, but in the memory-moment that visited him now, it had begun to die down. She’d wept, his Queen, wept over the loss of one dear to her . . . he frowned, trying to recall the name. Gwyfellyth, that was it, and he’d been a strong and wily fellow, both friend and lover to Winter.
Who or what had killed him? Nathan couldn’t remember now. He remembered his Queen’s grief, though. She’d paced and wept until both wore her out, then settled beside him on the fire-warmed stone, playing with his ears. After a time, she’d begun to talk as she sometimes did, telling him things no one else would ever hear. Even as a young hound he’d known many languages, though of course he could speak none of them. Back then, he’d prized his silence for the gift that it was. It had made him safe for her in a way even his love could not.
She’d spoken of Gwyfellyth, of his life and his death, then sighed. “Ah, Nadrellian, it hurts. It hurts more because I didn’t realize how much I cared until he was gone. Why did I let myself care so much? Damn him anyway for dying, and damn me for being silly enough to damn him for it. There’s folly, isn’t it? Winter’s Queen, railing against death!” She’d laughed in a way he hadn’t understood, but the pain in it had been clear enough, so he’d licked her face, trying to comfort.
Maybe it had helped. She’d curled up against him—he’d been larger than her, so his body made a comfortable backrest—and stared into the dying fire for a long time. Some internal process continued, though, because all at once she’d sat up, looked him in the eyes, and stroked both hands along his muzzle. “What I said about not letting myself care—that was the pain talking, and a false lesson. Forget I said it.”
He’d cocked his head, being rather literal in his thinking at the time. Forgetting wasn’t one of his gifts.
She’d smiled briefly, perhaps reading his thought—sometimes she did—and scratched behind one of his ears. “Let me tell you the true lesson, then, to supplant the false one. You will live a long time, my beautiful Nadrellian. Not as long as I, but long enough to grow weary, as many of my people do. Remember this: the only way to live is to live—and death is always, always, part of living. We die over and over. Oh, the big death comes but once, but a thousand deaths arrive with every turn of the seasons—the death of a day or a lover, of a friend or a dream, death piled upon death. The slow sundering of years parts us even from who we once were and from the memories which parented us. Live anyway.”
She’d straightened, suddenly regal, the mantle of her power falling over her—Winter in full truth. “With those thousand deaths come a thousand births. Ten thousand, if we’re alive enough to notice. Drink whatever comes to you, death or life or both together, drink it down, whether the draught be sweet or bitter. If you refuse the one, you won’t be able to taste the other.”
With that, she’d spoken a word. Power washed the room with silence. True silence, lacking the thinnest hush of noise, as if even the meaning of sound had drained out of the world. Regality vanished along with sound and she’d grinned like a pixie, delighted with her own mischief, leaned forward, and whispered in his ear. Whispered a string of syllables that rolled and reverberated through him, shocking him to his core. Whispered her name. Her full, true name.
She’d sat up, dismissed the silence with a gesture, and said in quite a normal voice, “There. I’ve placed a burden on you, one you didn’t ask for, but—oh, don’t shake your head at me. You understand very well what such knowledge means, and that you’d willingly take on any burden for me doesn’t make it less of one. But now you can call me to you, should your need be great, and the way I placed it in you means you needn’t speak it aloud. And now . . . now I am wholly known to you.” She’d sighed again, this time with relief, and smiled an easy smile with peace at its heart. “There’s your last lesson for tonight, or perhaps it’s my own.” She’d chuckled. “Oh, yes, it’s my lesson. For you already know, don’t you? True connection, deep connection, is as rare as it is precious. When it happens in spite of all we can do to hide from it—you must have noticed how you terrified me at first?—when it happens anyway, hold nothing back.”
Some twenty feet away and centuries later, the door onto the deck opened and Kai stepped outside. Nathan’s heart lifted. So did another part of his body. He chuckled. Little Brother was ever the optimist.
No mystery after all about why that particular memory had visited him tonight. The future smelled bitter indeed. Death drew near, though he didn’t know if it would be one of the many deaths any life holds or the final one. It depended, he thought, on where Dyffaya’s revenge was truly aimed: at himself or at the Queen who’d sent him here . . . the Queen who, with her sister, had killed Dyffaya áv Eni over three millennia ago.
Looked at that way, the answer seemed clear. It was likely the final death Dyffaya had in mind for Nathan, for that would hurt Winter the most. Nathan was hard to kill, but a god—even a half-dead one—ought to be able to manage it. But in elvish, “Dyffaya áv Eni” meant “beautiful madness.” The god was irrational on the deepest level, for that was the nature of chaos. Nathan couldn’t assume he knew Dyffaya’s priorities . . . and the best way for the god to hurt Nathan was to hurt Kai.
“There you are,” Kai said, having spotted him in the shadows.
There you are, his heart sang back. Right here and right now, she was with him, whole and healthy, if somewhat anxious. And he smiled all over.
* * *
AMAZING what clarity a little walking and a fair dose of mad could bring. Kai felt quite clear-headed as she made for Nathan. Stars and moon provided the only light, but it was enough. “Stop smiling at me like that.”
He did not obey her. “You’d like me to smile another way?”
“I’d like you to level with me. So far, you haven’t.”
That did the trick. His smile faded away—which, perversely, did not make her happy at all. “I don’t lie to you.”
“There’s a difference between lying and telling the whole truth. You’ve got something in mind you haven’t told me about.” Her breath huffed out. “You’re on a true hunt. Did you think I couldn’t tell? And yet the only plans you’ve talked about involve shutting Dyffaya out of this realm, which means shutting you away from your quarry.”
He rubbed a hand over his head. “I was afraid you’d notice that.”
“Can you get to him?” she demanded. “Is that what you aren’t telling me? Can you use your ability to cross realms to enter his godhead?”
“No. No, it’s not enough of a place for me to get there that way.”
Which didn’t make a great deal of sense to her, but then, she didn’t understand what a godhead was, not at all. “Then you’ve got some screwy plan to let him grab you.”
“It’s much more mushy than a plan,” he assured her. “More like a possibility I’m keeping in mind.”
“I want to shake you. Hard.” She took a calm-me-down breath. “Killing him has been tried. It only halfway worked. How are you going to kill someone who doesn’t have a body?”
“In my hands,” he said with perfect certainty, “Claw can kill anything.”
“That’s assuming that your blade will go
with you if he snatches you—”
“It’s not precisely with me now.”
No, Claw was in the little fold in reality the Queen had made to hide it. And that was beside the point. “Don’t quibble. You know what I mean.”
“I believe Claw will go with me. My Queen said the link could only be severed by my death. It’s possible she’s wrong, but I think it unlikely.”
“When she said that, she wasn’t considering that you might go chasing a halfway dead god into his godhead! If that’s even where you’d end up. It’s supposed to be impossible.”
Wry humor flickered through his thoughts, the color of old gold. “I try not to assume I know what Winter has considered and what she hasn’t. As for what’s possible . . .” He moved close and laid his hands on her shoulders. “I know it’s possible for me to kill Dyffaya. I don’t know how or why, or if he will snatch me, or where I’d end up if he did. That’s all guessing on my part. But I know I have a shot at killing Dyffaya.” More softly he said, “You’re scared, Kai. I am, too, and we’ve reason to be. But I won’t be setting myself up as bait, if that’s what’s worrying you. No sticking my tongue out at Dyffaya and double-daring him to come after me. And yet he may do that, so I have to think about what my options would be.”
She stared at him a moment. “You’re such a damn adult.” When he cocked his head, puzzled, she sighed. “You’re being so reasonable. It makes me want to have a temper tantrum, and that makes me feel about five years old.”
He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “You’d rather I got mad along with you?”
“Sometimes.” But maybe not this time. Maybe she didn’t want to fight with him, after all. Kai tucked herself up against him and his arms went around her, easy as breathing and just as natural. They were almost of a height, and she loved that, loved the way their bodies fit. He rubbed his cheek along her hair, soothing both of them. After a moment she confessed on a wisp of breath, “I don’t know how to stop being scared.”
He tightened his arms to tell her that he was here with her now, that they were both okay. Then he chuckled.
“What?” She raised her head.
“Little Brother has a suggestion. I’m not sure it’s a valid one, mind, but he hopes you’ll consider it.”
“You are such a guy.” She shook her head. “I’m guessing it’s the same suggestion he offers when I’m cold or bored or happy or just breathing.”
“Oh, yes.” He bent and nuzzled her neck. “Bit of a Johnny One Note, isn’t he?”
“Sure is.” Her arms tightened around him. “Just as well that it’s such a good suggestion, then, isn’t it?”
TWELVE
THE first time Nathan had referred to “Little Brother,” Kai had laughed. Fortunately, considering the circumstances, Nathan thought sex and laughter were a natural combination—sex being, he liked to say, proof that God loved them. And that She had a sense of humor.
She’d asked him why so many men named their Tab B when she didn’t know any woman who’d named her Slot A. To which he’d replied: “Have you ever taken a Great Dane for a walk on a leash?” Which hadn’t seemed to answer her question, so he’d added, “Though that’s an imperfect metaphor. Great Danes can be trained.”
Meaning that Little Brother had a mind of his own, so why not a nickname? She’d laughed again, of course, and that led to tickling, and on to what they’d been doing to begin with.
In a sense, however, Nathan had trained his Great Dane. He could control his body in ways a Tibetan monk would envy, and that included shutting down desire. He’d done that routinely for a long time before he decided to trust Kai. To let her in. Because, he’d told her, sex was too lonely if you weren’t with a friend.
Maybe that was why he took such delight in it now. Or maybe the mix of passion with play was just plain Nathan.
First he suggested a large oak tree on the west side of the deck as an appropriate spot—“being as we haven’t tried that since we were in Adelsfrai.” Ants, she reminded him, in case he’d forgotten what else had been in that tree. He insisted as they ambled toward the house that ants were not active at night, which she was pretty sure wasn’t true, but if she was going to be picky, how about the roof? Private as could be except for that one guard, and no doubt he’d be tactful enough to stay on the other side of roof’s peak.
She looked at him with raised brows. Privacy aside—and Nathan knew very well she wasn’t going to put it aside that far—Isen’s home was roofed in Spanish tiles. Talk about a bumpy ride. “You’re in the mood to be on the bottom?”
They’d reached the lower deck, which was shadowed by the roof. “Speaking of bottoms,” he murmured.
“Speaking of guards—”
“None nearby,” he told her, and kissed her thoroughly, putting his hands where he’d indicated he wanted to. She found something to do with her hands, too, as heat washed through her the way it did every time he touched her, every time . . . and sometimes when he just looked at her, too. Friction, she thought, could be a most powerful force, just as he’d said, when it was the friction created by rubbing a bit of Nathan against a bit of Kai . . . “I want a bed,” she told him firmly. “Just for novelty’s sake.” Which wasn’t entirely accurate. Sure, they’d made love without one often enough on their travels, but they hadn’t missed a chance to explore the possibilities beds offered, either.
The house was dark and quiet. Everyone had either departed or gone to their own beds. Even Dell was gone . . . heading back to the node, a quick check told Kai. The air held a spicy tang from the enchiladas they’d had for supper. And wasn’t it lovely to eat enchiladas again? She’d missed Mexican food almost as much as coffee. Kai’s heart beat strongly, desire hummed its sweet song, and Nathan was warm and solid at her side, adding thrumming bass notes to the rising tempo.
He continued to offer low-voiced suggestions—that first couch? No? What about this chair? It was roomy enough, he promised her even as they passed it by, heading into the hall. It was darker there, bumping-into-the-wall dark for her, and she let him do the steering and open the door to their room.
The drapes were open. Moonlight cast the room into shades of charcoal and pearl and reflected from the liquid surfaces of his eyes when she stopped, turned, and seized his head in both hands so she could pull his mouth to hers.
Nathan was wonderfully oral. He loved kissing, licking, pretty much anything he could do with his mouth . . . and he did know some lovely things to do with his mouth. For now they enjoyed little sips of each other, lips brushing and teasing rather than clinging. The damp touch of his tongue sent flicks of pleasure zinging up her spine. She nipped at his lower lip. He made a rumbling noise deep in his chest that meant yes, yes, do that some more. So she did.
When his hands went to the hem of his shirt, she brushed them aside and met his gaze as she replaced his hands with her own. Asking permission. Could she do this for him tonight?
Undressing each other held meaning for Nathan in a way that simple nudity did not. Usually they stripped with haste or humor or teasing touches, but once he’d told her—with a single whisper, with his actions, and in the unspoken colors of his thoughts—that he needed something else. Something more. He’d made a ceremony of it, a ritualistic baring that clearly mattered to him greatly. Afterward, she’d asked if that was a sidhe rite. “No,” he’d whispered. “That was for me. Just for me.”
She hadn’t asked again, sensing that explaining would diminish it for him. Tonight she wanted to give that meaning to him again.
Or was the gift for herself?
He went still, searching her face. She looked at him steadily.
He nodded.
She pulled his shirt off over his head. He moved only enough to make it possible, his gaze fixed on her . . . and there was nothing playful in his thoughts now. They rose around him in billows of red-smeared gold sparked with ame
thyst flames. She wanted to touch the smooth skin of his chest, glide her hand down to his stomach, but didn’t. That wasn’t part of the ritual. Yet his muscles quivered once, sharply, as if she had touched him there. Slowly, as if performing one of her asanas, she reached for the button on his jeans. Then the zipper.
Still moving deliberately, she knelt in front of him and pulled off his shoes, one at a time. His socks. All the time she felt him watching. She rose again and began tugging down his jeans and underwear. She didn’t touch Little Brother, though she smiled at that part of his body as it bobbed happily into view. Again, Nathan moved only enough to let her get his jeans off.
Then it was her turn.
With great care, he pulled off her shirt. He unfastened her bra and let it fall away. He touched her no more than he had to—a brush of fingers, a whisper of heat—and it was unbearably erotic. He unfastened her braid next and ran his fingers through her hair, spreading it out over her shoulders. It tickled her bare skin and she shivered. When he knelt to remove her shoes, she rested a hand on his shoulder. Nathan could stand on one foot forever without wobbling, but her balance wasn’t so perfect.
When they were both naked, they stood silently in the moon-drenched room, looking into each other’s eyes. Then, as he once had for her, she held out her hand. He took it.
When they came together this time, skin to skin, she felt naked from the inside out. That skin wasn’t so much a barrier now as a carrier, the staging place for a thousand nerve endings to sing with need and delight. She felt him with every inch of her body, even where he wasn’t touching her, as if the air itself was part of him, whispering wishes along the skin of her back and bottom and thighs. And all along her front was the tactile joy of his skin, the play of his muscles as he smoothed back her hair . . . then the damp warmth of his breath along her neck as he nuzzled her. And the quick jab of need when his hand slid between her thighs.