Arto's Enchantress

by Morgan Henry

  Ebir growled when she missed them both with her poisoned blade.

  The former ladies’ maid narrowed her eyes at the two women and whirled to face Arto and Riem.

  Cella’s heart raced. If she even nicked Arto, he would die.

  She struggled to her feet. The collar felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds and tried to drag her back to the ground by the neck.

  “Arto!” she screamed. “The blade’s poison!”

  He whirled to the new threat.

  But Cella had managed to get up, and she grabbed Ebir’s hair, yanking the maid to the ground.

  Ebir thrust her blade at her and Cella leapt backward to avoid it, stumbling and falling herself. It was a near miss. The blade was close enough she could feel the tiny bit of pull on her skirt as the blade slit the fabric.

  Ebir got to her feet and went after Arto again.

  This time she connected.

  The traitorous maid pulled back for a second strike but Arto kicked her hard in the belly and the dark-haired bitch went down. Arto turned to meet Riem again.

  Ebir struggled to rise and Cella got close enough to grab her skirt. The collar made it feel like she was moving through glue, but she pulled Ebir off balance again.

  Ebir kicked at Cella, striking her in the face, and the world spun as Cella hit the ground yet again.

  She heard a roar and Arto’s shout of triumph, but she couldn’t celebrate.

  It felt like her world and all the happiness in it had ended.

  Arto had been touched by the poisoned blade.

  * * * *

  Arto knew it would be near impossible to fight the bastard with the scimitar and avoid Ebir at the same time. It was damned dark and his only hope was to finish one off and hope Cella avoided the other long enough.

  Where were his men?

  He was shocked but grateful when a slow moving, but alive, tiger slashed the man’s right leg, nearly severing it at the knee.

  His opponent screamed and collapsed. Arto barely held off killing the bastard. He wanted more information.

  “Don’t let him up,” he ordered Dochir.

  The tiger growled his agreement and hooked a massive paw, claws out, into the man’s shoulder, painfully pinning him.

  Arto gaped as Valina crept up to the tiger and placed her hands on the cat’s body, stroking him gently. Arto shook his head. Valina was safe, and he needed to find Cella.

  He spied her a few paces behind him. The collar the Torquin bastard put on her gleamed in what little light from the moon there was.

  Arto rushed to Cella and pulled her against him.

  “Oh God and Goddess, the blade was poisoned! I can’t lose you!” Cella’s hand roved over his torso, looking for the wound. She was sobbing.

  “Cella, it will be all right, I swear,” he tried to soothe her as he heard Dochir growling in the background.

  “No, I saw the blade hit—” She stopped, making a funny gurgle.

  “Cella, sola, no!”

  She was choking. Her hands went to the collar as she struggled for breath.

  Goddess, she was dying in front of him.

  Panic threatened to overtake him.

  After all this, he couldn’t lose her now.

  He frantically scrabbled for the clasp of the collar and said a prayer of thanks that Merrin had showed him how to unclasp the collars.

  His fingers searched for the hidden catch. They felt too large and clumsy to locate the damned thing.

  Cella’s eyes started to roll back into her head.

  Her hands went slack.

  There!

  Arto unleashed a thread of kerfios and the clasp released.

  Cella took a deep breath and her skin looked less ghastly in the moonlight. Arto carefully laid her down.

  He looked around. Ebir was still on the ground, clutching her belly. The Torquin that Dochir was guarding was still alive.

  He strode over to the man and looked at his hands. There it was. The silver ring that was the companion to the collar was on his hand. Arto reached down and tore it off.

  He savagely booted the man across the head, rendering him unconscious.

  Shoving the collar and ring in his pocket, he strode over to Ebir.

  She was breathing in short gasps.

  He didn’t think he had kicked that hard. He looked closer and she had a shallow cut across her forearm.

  “Your own blade?” he asked harshly.

  She nodded.

  Good, he thought and turned his back on her.

  He pulled Cella into his arms. Her eyes were fluttering open.

  “Your Grace!” came a shout from the woods.

  Sir Beris and a handful of his men approached. They eyed the tiger cautiously.

  “Watch the woman’s blade, it’s poisoned. She nicked herself and is near dead already. The tiger is an ally and he’s wounded. Send someone for the healer immediately!” Arto shouted out a few more commands.

  He cradled Cella in his arm, but she fought him and insisted on standing.

  “You’re fine? Truly?” At Arto’s nod, and murmured “yes,” Cella made a noise that sounded like she was swallowing a sob.

  “Where’s Valina? Is she all right? Let me see her,” Cella continued as she struggled to her feet.

  Arto led her over to Valina and the tiger. His men had removed the scimitar-wielding enemy.

  Cella gasped when she saw the huge cat with Valina’s arms around him.

  “It’s Dochir,” Arto murmured.

  “That’s his secret,” she said with wonder, kneeling beside him and putting her arm around Valina’s shoulders.

  Dochir groaned and moved his body a little more onto his side. The crossbow arrow became more apparent in the moonlight.

  “He, he wants me to pull it out,” Valina said in a shaky voice.

  How would Valina know he wanted it out? Another thing Dochir likely wasn’t telling. He wasn’t about to start that discussion right now though.

  Arto knelt beside them. The crossbow was protruding from the front of the cat’s chest, between the sternum and shoulder. It was embedded deep. Arto wondered if his lung was nicked.

  “Are you sure? You want it pulled out?” he asked, frowning.

  The tiger nodded yes.

  If it were a man, pulling it without a healer would kill him. But Dochir wasn’t entirely a man. “It could kill you,” Arto warned him.

  The tiger shook his head no and grumbled.

  “He says to pull it,” Valina repeated, her voice stronger.

  “I’ll help you.”

  They both grasped the arrow and started to pull. Arto ensured they used steady pressure, but not too hard. It suddenly stopped.

  “It’s caught on a rib, I think. I’m sorry, my friend, but I need to turn it.”

  More grumbling from the tiger.

  Arto turned the arrow and pulled more. Dochir groaned and growled.

  The arrow finally popped free with a gush of blood that looked black in the moonlight and a tremendous roar from the tiger.

  Cella put her hand over the wound and he could feel her use kerfios to help put pressure on the area. It wasn’t true healing, but it would help.

  Dochir began to breathe easier. He sat up and shifted.

  Arto gasped. There was wound in his chest, but nothing near what should have been there from the crossbow bolt.

  “We heal much faster in our tiger forms,” he said, his voice only a little shaky.

  “Then change again!” Valina cried. “Please, let yourself heal.”

  He smiled at her and shifted again. Valina stood and started to accompany him back to the Keep.

  “Have him put in a room near you,” Arto called to Valina. “And for the love of all that is good, when he shifts back to a man, have him put on some pants!”

  * * * *

  Cella couldn’t help but smile at Arto’s request for Dochir to wear pants.

  “Since you’re not dead, I guess I was seeing things. I could h
ave sworn Ebir’s blade hit you,” she said as she turned to Arto.

  When she saw Arto hit by Ebir’s blade, she had wanted to die, too. The despair she had felt at being captured and collared, and threatened with serving the rest of her life in the Emperor of Torquin’s court, was nothing to what she felt when she thought Arto was dead.

  She could have gone home and been sad without him by her side at the end of the malairte year. She could have struggled, survived, and tried to escape in Torquin. But to know he was dead, gone, and never to even have the possibility of being in her life again, to know that he was no longer astride his beloved horses, had been too much to bear.

  She was glad when the collar began to choke her. She wouldn’t have to know the pain of a world without Arto.

  “I was hit,” he said calmly.

  “No!” The despair slammed back into Cella.

  Her heart stopped. Her world stopped.

  Blackness consumed her soul.

  “Cella, stop!” Arto’s hands grabbed her arms and gave her a shake and the command in his voice brought her back to the moment.

  “It didn’t pierce my flesh. Thanks to you.” He guided her hand to the brooch pinned to his shoulder.

  “It worked,” she breathed as the realization washed over her, sun driving away the blackness.

  Yesterday, she had asked him to wear the completed brooch. She had finally figured out how to make the shield chest sized and wanted to know how long the enchantment would last without much challenge. She had giggled as she smacked him with the flat of his sword to make sure it was functioning.

  But she had forgotten it.

  “You have no idea how thankful I am it did.” Arto’s hands rubbed his side where the blade had slid across the shield. “It’s weakening a bit though, I think. I could feel it flex when she struck.”

  Cella buried her head in his chest. She could feel the shield now and wanted it gone. Her hand slipped up and touched the green enamel and deactivated the enchantment.

  Now she could nestle against his warm chest and hear his heart beat. It comforted her, that steady thump in his chest. Alive, alive, alive, it seemed to chant at her.

  Arto’s hands stroked her back. “Come, my little sola. Let’s go home.”

  Chapter 22

  Arto finally had Cella to himself.

  He had refused to let her go as he settled the mess of her capture for the night.

  Valina and Dochir were looking after each other. He had the shape-shifter installed in the room opposite Valina and the staff caring for the two of them.

  He had to admit, he was proud of his butler and housekeeper. Neither batted an eyelash when the giant cat strode into the great hall. At least he hadn’t shifted then and there and exposed his nudity to one and all.

  The lack of clothing that shifted with the man was damned inconvenient.

  Sir Beris had the scimitar-wielding Riem bandaged and jailed. The party he was to have met up with had no survivors. They had fought hard and wounded a few of his men. His men would survive, with healing.

  None of the Torquin were alive to be healed.

  After the fight and the entire mess in which Cella was captured and nearly killed, his blood was running high—a mix of fear and anger.

  Arto had retired with Cella to his rooms. He had fed her and bathed her himself. It had been a strain to keep from simply ripping her clothes off and sinking his cock in her sweet wetness. But he had bigger plans.

  They were alone in his bedchamber. A fire burned in the small fireplace, casting shadows and warmth. The cover was turned down, ready to embrace the couple as they settled in to rest.

  But Cella was nude under her robe and Arto had no plans to let her rest just yet.

  Her capture had made his feelings for her blatantly clear.

  Made his future clear.

  And he was about to make it all quite clear to Cella.

  He was clean and dressed in his customary linen trousers. He strode across the bedroom to his sweet woman. He seized her head and gave her a bruising kiss. Tangling his tongue with hers, he groaned at the pleasure of finally allowing his lips to touch hers.

  He loved the way she responded with passion. She mewed and rubbed his tongue along his, trying to rub her curves against him.

  She was perfect for him.

  Quiet and intelligent, he loved talking with her. She often had just a slightly different take on any discussion. Their morals and values generally aligned, but she saw things just a little different from him and let him know.

  Her strength was quiet, too. It wasn’t obvious until a person knew her a little better. It was the kind that had her face her fears and learn to ride. It allowed her to set aside her life for a year in a place where she hadn’t wanted to be, and still work, help others, and find some happiness there.

  She could have acted out, whined like a child, been rude, demanding, and unpleasant the entire time, but she didn’t.

  When danger came, she hadn’t faltered. She did her best to protect her friend, and him. There hadn’t been much she could do, collared, but she had pulled Ebir off him and tried to free Valina.

  That thought made his blood pound in his veins.

  His little sola thought to pit herself against a bitch with a poisoned blade when she was unarmed and hampered by the Torquin collar.

  He sat in the chair by the fire.

  “Sola, come here,” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

  Cella padded over to him, her bare feet making no sound on the rugs in their bedchamber.

  She smiled at him, the soft sparkle in her eyes doing nothing to diminish his lust or the lingering fear that she had put herself in danger.

  “My hero,” she said softly, attempting to sit in his lap.

  He prevented her from doing so and untied her blue robe. He slipped it off her shoulders and breathed in. She smelled clean, of herbs and flowers, as a woman should. He inhaled deeper and he could smell a trace of her arousal.

  He pulled her toward him and kissed her belly, smiling as he did so. She had no idea what was in store for her tonight.

  He swiftly upended her and placed her over his knees. He head was hanging down and her hair was making a curtain of itself around her face. Her lovely ass was in the air and her legs dangled helplessly off the floor.

  “Arto!” she cried, a trace of anticipation in her voice.

  His cock hardened further. He had been aroused the minute he had walked into the bedchamber, but it would be a while before he found his release.

  His hand caressed the soft skin of her bottom. It was beautiful. Paler than the rest of her creamy skin, it would pink up perfectly as he spanked her.

  But first…

  “Is this the spanking you’ve been promising me?” Cella’s voice was a little deeper with her arousal.

  He smacked each of her cheeks quickly and sharply.

  She gasped.

  “You took on a crazy woman armed with a poison blade,” he said, a bit too harshly. “Did you think that would please me?”

  Cella twisted in his lap. “I thought it might help you,” she snapped, the furrow between her brows deepening.

  He pulled her up and set her face to face with him.

  “It scared the life out of me. I never, ever, want you in that kind of danger again. You are smart and talented and too precious to waste on the end of a traitor’s blade!” He pulled her against him, wrapping her in his embrace and squeezing perhaps a bit too hard.

  Cella went limp and he released her.

  “I was terrified she would touch you with that blade,” she said softly.

  Arto sighed. “I know. I was terrified of the same thing. But that’s not what tonight is about. I need you. I need to touch you, to feel the life in you and the, the realness of joining our bodies. Can you understand that?” he pleaded with her.

  Cella closed her eyes and smiled. Opening them again, she whispered “yes” and lay back down over his lap.

  Arto’s coc
k jumped again. It didn’t care whether she understood how terrified he was that he almost lost her.

  It just wanted her.

  Now.

  He went back to caressing that lovely ass. It was beautiful in the firelight, the paleness of it reflecting the gold of the fire.

  Arto began to spank.

  He started slowly and lightly. He took his time to savor the moment. Gradually, he increased the firmness of his strikes and her skin began to blush.

  Pausing, he tested her slit and found it nice and slick. Perfect.

  He reached down and grasped the plug he had previously laid beside the chair, along with the lubricant.

  Moistening it generously, he parted her cheeks and placed the tip against her rosette.

  Cella moaned as the tip breached her.

  “I’ll never get tired of playing with your lovely ass,” he told her.

  “Please,” she whispered, and Arto knew it was a plea to continue.

  He carefully fucked the plug into place. It was the largest she had taken so far and she squirmed as he seated it in place.

  “It’s almost the size of my cock, sola,” he informed her. “You know what that means.”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  He told her a while ago that when he had a plug the size of his cock in her, then he’d take her dark hole.

  He went back to spanking her, the slaps harder now. Cella was aroused and enjoying it. She pushed her bottom back at him again and again after he smacked. Every time he jiggled the plug, she moaned and tried to rub her clit on his pants.

  She was dripping with arousal, enough to leave a large wet patch on his leg.

  He was so hard it was painful. Arto realized that he was going to have to do something or he would come as soon as his cock touched her. That would not do.

  He changed his plans, just a little.

  His beautiful woman was far gone in pleasure. Her ass was red and he could see her pussy lips clenching on nothing. She was desperate to come.

  With one hand, he grasped the plug and began to slowly fuck her ass with it. The other reached between her legs and pinched her clit.

  He was rewarded with her immediate screams of pleasure. He shoved the plug deep in her ass and left it there as he rubbed her clit over and over, forcing her to ride out every second, every last spasm, of her orgasm.