Dark and Dangerous

by Anwar, Hart, Harte, Mcbride(Lit)

  "Too far, Darth could catch up to us by then." With a whoosh of one finger, he untied Violet’s feet and settled her before him, straddling the steed and leaning against him. Her warmth settled into him and he had to ignore the engorging of his loins. He had felt the attraction from the first moment he saw her, so vulnerable and battered. He felt passion gushing through his veins when he had carried her to her chamber from the pub. He knew she was irresistible, but he had chosen selfishly, and that vice blinded him to her familiarity and the fact he nearly lost the one woman he could truly love.

  A few hours later, Ash had Violet resting against a bed of furs, leaves, and plumage cast off by the wind birds that resembled eagles but were five times larger and fed on spider-wolves. It wasn’t much of a nuptial bed, but it would have to do.

  "It’s noon. Darth’s powers are at their weakest. Shouldn’t we travel a little farther?" Daniore asked even as he piled logs onto the fire Ash had created to consume encroaching shadows.

  "No more hiding places between us and home. Besides, you will go on ahead and bring a regiment here. I can keep her safe until then. It should only take half a day to get there, and if they travel through the night you’ll be here by morning."

  "What if your father won’t send the army?"

  "He knows what it takes for me to ask for anything. He’ll send his finest." Ash cocked his head, and his gaze narrowed just a bit. "You, of all people, should know that."

  "Aye, I do. I just feel as if I’m abandoning you both."

  "You aren’t, friend." A small grin appeared. "Besides, I’d prefer to consummate this marriage in privacy."

  Instead of the usual good-natured quip Ash expected from Daniore, the man simply blinked as if dazed then strode away.

  Something didn’t sit right with Ash at that moment, but a sudden kick directly between his legs, bowed him to his knees.

  * * * *

  Darth’s rage tore through the inn with such abrupt intensity, the sturdy stone structure shook as if being torn from its foundation. In the dining hall, dishes toppled from tables, crystal glasses, decanters and vases crashed into each other and joined the shattered plates. Food and drinks splattered patrons who fell off chairs or plummeted to their buttocks or knees. Candle flames burned draperies and a few garments even as fountains sprayed rugs and hardwood with large sloshes of water. In rooms, sleepers fell out of bed. Dressers slammed into windows. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the fury ceased.

  With a will that had seen him through the conversion from a light lord to a conjurer, he settled his fury. Violet’s escape was nothing more than a brief setback. If she hadn’t tried, she wouldn’t be as much like her mother as he had hoped. It was this sort of defiant spirit that drew him, that invigorated him. The best was that she thought him a mage and actually wanted to be with him. Something held back her total compliance, but the coaxing was so sweet. She had been right to resist the spell, and he had been wrong to use it. He had to slow down his absorption of her. He had to savor every morsel so that when she finally capitulated it would be all the more intoxicating. And in that exact moment when she surrendered herself fully, he’d reveal his true nature. She’d be as trapped as a victim in spider-wolf webbing.

  That was when he’d truly start to feed on her spirit. Unlike his younger self, he now knew how to bring one back from the brink of death. He’d do that to her again and again, offering the hope of escape or rescue to keep her going. He could draw this out for years and make certain she bred a child as well, a girl child not from his seed but from a young mage. Maybe the one who was so eager to buy her. He’d place the child in the Seraglio so that by the time Violet’s spirit shattered and there was nothing left to absorb, he’d have another waiting for him. Oh, such fun, such adventure awaited him. Only he had to remain calm and take it slow. After all, how far could she have gotten on her own?

  Unlike other conjurers, Darth never recruited a lackey, for he had the spider-wolves at his mental command. He summoned several to his chamber. They arrived within minutes, crashing through windows on the main floor just as servants started to help injured patrons and sweep up the shattered remains of valuable crystal and ceramics.

  Screams echoed through the inn and Darth smiled, swallowing each morsel of fear that accompanied those screams. With a flip of his hand the double doors to his chamber sprang open and several wolves appeared. They were the ebony-coated ones, known for their venomous bite and vicious attacks. Sometimes, they didn’t bother to cocoon a victim. Instead, they ripped them apart and lapped up their blood until sated.

  Darth pointed to Violet’s garments hanging from pegs in the closet. The wolves sniffed the clothes within moments.

  "Find and trap," Darth ordered, "no feeding until you return."

  With growls and bared teeth, the wolves rushed away.

  About to close the doors with another wave of his hand, he noticed two young lasses stumbling down the hall, fear etched on their pretty faces and fine, elegant garments in disarray. They probably belonged to a sun clan, traveling with their parents. For they were too young to be wed, yet old enough to be bargaining chips. Darth didn’t wish to bargain. He simply needed a diversion until the wolves brought back his Violet.

  He clasped his hand and uttered a spell, ending with, "Come."

  Both girls froze for an instant, and then entered the chamber. A finger flick had the doors slam shut and the lock clicked.

  "Strip, slowly," he ordered.

  Layers of clothing fell before him. Vacant, dark eyes peered at nothing.

  Once they were naked, he moved around them, inspecting the perfection of their skin, the gentle swell of small breasts and the lush, dark fuzz trapped between thighs. He’d use them one at a time, having the other watch so she’d know her fate.

  However, he didn’t awaken them until he had them securely tied and gagged, their bodies spread before him like a banquet, one on the dining table, the other on the dresser, one facing the ceiling, the other with her head draped over the floor. He took out a flogger, a poker and a sharp thin stiletto, lapping up the fear oozing from them like liquid ambrosia.

  "Which one should I start with?" he uttered, his voice raspy.

  Their terrified moans were like exquisite music to his ears.

  He couldn’t decide whether to rape them first or torture them. Perhaps a little of both, he thought with a grin, and began to disrobe.

  Hours later, splattered with blood, but still not satiated, Darth contemplated whether or not it was worth feeding off the other girl. She was so catatonic, he couldn’t even rouse a whimper, and that was just from her watching what he did to her sister. Besides, the wolves should have been back by now with Violet. Something was wrong. He doubted she had enough talent to cover her trail, but what if--

  Before he finished the thought, the double doors banged open.

  Darth’s deep raspy voice echoed as if in a vast cave. "How dare…."

  He didn’t finish as the large, muscular man strode in and collapsed. A black, pulsating vapor rose from his body and moved forward, sculpting itself into the form of a naked, voluptuous woman, a very transparent woman. "My name is Amlet. I think it’s time we met."

  * * * *

  Long, silver tendrils poured from Ash’s palm and wrapped around Violet, yanking her backwards before she could flee. "Oh no you don’t," he bit out between groans.

  "Release me, lord of vipers, heart of ice, breath of toad!" She screamed, clawing at the streams of light that she could see through but could not break.

  The pain eased only enough to straighten from his waist, but not enough for him to stand. "You never complained about my breath when I kissed you."

  "Your lips have never touched mine," she spat with indignation and wild struggles.

  "Perhaps not in the natural, but in more dreams than can be counted."

  Violet froze. The beautiful hues of her eyes flamed. "Nay!"

  "Aye." He managed to climb to his feet, releasing the pain t
hrough harsh breaths. "Now, if you’ll stop fighting me, I’ll release you and show you that I shared your dreams."

  Staring at him as if he’d turn into a spider-wolf at any moment, she nodded and stood.

  He remained in place, sensing any abrupt movement might have her scurrying to the cave entrance again. In an even, velvety tone, Ash recalled the various moments they shared in their dream world. He started with simple things like the day they rode stallions, the day they swam in a stream the color of pale roses. Then he moved to erotic moments, to intimate kisses, to the first time she offered herself, to the last time they reveled in a mutual orgasm and finally to the last dream when her lips folded around his manhood.

  He didn’t know what reaction he expected, but not for her to flee toward him and knock him flat to the ground, fists pummeling his chest, tears streaming down her beautiful face. All the while her crimson robe split open at the ties from her wild foray until it just hung from her shoulders and arms like a flaming cloak.

  "Nay! Nay! It cannot be you!"

  "I am not a conjurer, love. I am a mage."

  "Nay," she spat. "I will not be fooled. I will not! It is just a trick, just as my mother was tricked."

  He allowed her to unleash the worst of her rage, and only when he couldn’t take it any more did he capture her thin wrists between his and hold them above her head. Simultaneously, he tossed her onto her back and pinned her beneath him. "Enough!"

  To his amazement, she stilled except for her bottom lip. It quivered. Tears blurred the depths of her eyes until they turned a pale lilac.

  "I refuse to love a dark lord," she said, the words muted under such sadness it unhinged Ash’s emotions.

  "Why do you think I am a conjurer?"

  "Look at you. You wear black, have a gaze that mesmerizes, lips that torment, and a spirit that has invaded my dreams. Maybe that was how the dark lord fooled my mother. Maybe he stole her heart in her dreams. Just as you have stolen mine."

  "You recognize me now?"

  "Aye," she whispered, lowering her gaze. "It was you at the pub, too. You rescued me."

  "Would a conjurer do that?"

  "Aye, if it furthered his plan."

  "I will somehow convince you that I have no plan other than to keep you safe and love you just as I always have."

  "My mother married a mage, but then fled with a conjurer." Violet searched his gaze. "They say she loved him. I think he ensorcelled her."

  "And you think that is what I am doing to you?"

  "Aye, I seemed to have mirrored my mother’s life thus far, why not further still?"

  "Have you been intimate with Darth?"

  "Nay, he is honorable. I was not ready and he yielded to my wishes."

  Tension filled Ash like taut wire. He didn’t know why Darth didn’t violate her, but he knew it wasn’t because he was a man of honor, and the quicker he dispelled that illusion the better.

  "He was once a mage who had abandoned the light, bartering his soul for your mother’s love. It is he who killed her. It is he who wants you to follow in her footsteps down to her death. I will not allow it, my Violet. You are mine. And, unlike the kingdom’s philosophy dictates, I am also yours."

  His words startled Violet to the core, but it was his sudden kiss that toppled her defenses. In some ways, it was as if they were in the dream. Only the fog had lifted. The feel of him was so familiar. His touch was as stimulating as ever. She searched for the spell he had surely woven to keep her so aroused, so compliant, and found none. Was this how her mother felt? Was this why she ran?

  Violet knew she had to resist. Only, how could she when every fiber of her being responded? They were in perfect harmony, anticipating moves, mirroring actions even with her wrists still bound above her head. Tongues mated in erotic play. His fingers sought crevices of arousal. Her heat automatically responded to his hardness, pressing against him, swaying, moaning, surrendering even as she urged herself not to. Her mother paid for her slide into darkness, but had the slide been this pleasurable? Had she wanted it with the depth and passion that Violet wanted to join with this lord?

  She rained kisses over his face, his throat, the nub of his ear, the stubble of a day’s growth of beard. Bound wrists struggled against his hold, but she knew it wasn’t to flee.

  "I don’t even know your name," she said, through the tantalizing sweep of a tongue across his bottom lip.

  "Ash," he provided as he licked the curve of her ear. "Lord Ash of the Illumi Kingdom."

  "I love you, Lord Ash. I don’t know if I believe that you are of the Illumi Kingdom. I don’t know if I’ll submit to you. All I know is that I love you, and I don’t know how to stop."

  Releasing her wrists, he braced himself on palms and looked down at her, watching a blush creep over her body. The rosy tinge melted away the golden splash from the log fire. For the first time he saw her without the dream veil. Yet he knew her by feel. He knew her legs were long, slender, and paler than cream. He knew her slim hips surrendered to a fragile waist and her breasts were just large enough to overflow his hands. Her nipples were pink and perfect to suckle. A pliable mouth beckoned in a way he had never experienced. Yet it was her eyes that held him. Emotions ranging from fear and desperation to undiluted love and unquenchable passion nearly overwhelmed him.

  "I love you, too, my Violet," he said, repeating the words from his dream.

  Her eyes widened, and he knew she recognized the exact cadence in his tone. A small whimper slipped from somewhere down deep.

  He stood. "I wed you in the dream. You surrendered to me then, love. Do you surrender now?"

  She shook her head. "Nay."

  He lifted and carried her to the bed of furs, feathers, and leaves. Her crimson gown remained parted, exposing every swell and dip to his ravishing gaze. He couldn’t stop looking. He couldn’t stop anything. It wasn’t about keeping her safe from Darth. It wasn’t even about sealing what the One had begun when he placed them in each other’s dreams. It was about loving a woman with such totality that he no longer knew the difference between right and wrong. If she truly stopped him, would he? He didn’t know.

  Swallowing hard, he unfastened the leather ties of his tunic. A white, colorless shirt followed. "You know your protest won’t stop me. Darth will come for you, and when he does we will need the strength of the nuptials behind us so he cannot take you outright."

  "He purchased me."

  Leather pants slid down muscle-hard legs. "It means nothing without consummation."

  Her gaze followed his every movement. She remembered the feel of hair-matted flesh, but she didn’t know it would look so good, or that she’d crave to touch the scars littering his side, his shoulder, and his upper thigh. She didn’t understand how the masculine length of his sun-bronzed body would arouse her beyond anything in her dream world. She didn’t comprehend how much she could love a man of darkness. How much she wanted him to take her. Even though her mouth protested, her body surrendered.

  "To men of honor it does."

  "Darth doesn’t know honor. He killed your mother through torture."

  "A dark lord did that, but not Darth. He is of the light. It is not right what we do."

  When Ash was naked, he knelt and parted her thighs. A tawny, nearly invisible patch of hair covered her sex. He slipped a finger up and down the moist slit. She gasped and arched against it.

  "We don’t have a choice. You don’t have a choice. You are my wife in spirit. Now, I claim what is mine."

  "Nay," she said, her mouth forming the word as she threw back her head and tossed her arms over her head in such obvious surrender, Ash couldn’t help smiling.

  "Nay," he repeated and closed a mouth over her turgid nipple, tugging, nipping as his fingers clenched her other breast and massaged. She moaned and thrashed beneath him, lifting her chest off the floor as if to give him better access.

  "Nay," she whispered and combed his wild mane with her fingers.

  He laughed softly as the flames
within grew, as the ancient dance tantalized them to greater rhythm. He switched his mouth to her other breast. Her legs spread, knees bending. Her mouth found his, kissing him with total abandon. It was his turn to moan.

  "Ash," she whispered without conscious volition. "My Ash."

  Whatever reserve kept him in check, snapped. He knotted his fingers in her hair, yanked her to him, all gentleness gone as his hands slipped over her, testing flesh just moments before his mouth tasted it. Over her eyes, back to her breasts, then down, further to her feet and legs and inner thighs, and finally into the dewy mist of her inner desire. Licking, thrusting with his tongue, bringing her to highs that didn’t end.

  "Nay!" she screamed as she felt the surrender of flesh, the invitation of her loins, the explosion as her inner walls pulsated and her clitoris throbbed in reaction.

  "Oh, nay," he mouthed through every tender bite and succulent kiss. Saying it again, when she pulled him down to him so her hands and mouth could explore in the same way she had in the dream. She sucked him long and hard, but pulled away before he could climax. She teased and tormented, even as she kept denying each moment.

  Finally, he pressed his shaft against her opening. "Nay?"

  She throbbed and ached. She needed and wanted. More than any of that, she simply loved.

  "Aye," she said on the wisp of a whimper.

  With a loud groan, he thrust into her.

  Pain splintered her senses, but it lasted only an instant as consummate pleasure ensued and she rocked against him, meeting his plunges without restraint. Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her hips kept lifting from the ground. His shaft moved in and out of her, slow at first, then with increasing insistence. He didn’t know who was more lost to the moment. The dream joined with reality and it was more glorifying than either. As they reached higher, all barriers collapsed. They were the lovers of the dream. They were the strangers of the night. They were a man and a woman who knew the simplicity and complications of love. Mostly, they were in the moment. This singular moment which would be with them through eternity.