by A. J. Aalto
“Yes,” I barely breathed, though what I was saying yes to was beyond me at that point. Trying not to betray with my voice the sweet agony rampaging through my body, I rode the surge of what was fast threatening to become the biggest orgasm of my life. I rolled my face in against his chest and brought my own teeth to his nipple.
I heard him make a small noise of encouragement and bit him again as he began to press his hips in closer to mine. Teasing me. Making me wait. His fingers narrowed in on my most tender spot, which perked with exquisite pleasure. Each finger drew together slowly along its tiny swollen length with exactly the right pressure to send me over the edge and rocking helplessly as I came, hard.
“Monster or gentleman,” he repeated as I trembled. “Make your choice, my Sitter. Or perhaps you want both, is that it? Because that can be arranged.”
My eyes rolled up into the back of my head like I was searching for an answer on my frontal lobe. I was vaguely aware that Harry was shedding his clothes and tearing what remained of mine off. Harry's naked sigh brought me halfway there again, sending shivers up both my legs as his hand urged them apart.
“Relax, sweet girl, we have only begun. I have so much more for you.” His fingers were slick with my arousal and they didn't stop, they just kept bringing me to the verge and spilling me over again. He played me like his favorite violin, and I could practically hear Vivaldi as his fingers deftly conjured music from my sex.
And despite that, he still thought I might be capable of speech and thought. “I want the truth from you, Sitter,” he said. “If you lie to me, my hand will stop.” To demonstrate, he paused in his stroking and my body reacted with fierce disapproval, causing me to shudder and reach one hand out blindly for him, mewling desperately.
“Yes. Please,” I begged. “Please.”
He began again, using his fingers delicately, my skin prickled with delight as he resumed. I moaned and relaxed into his embrace. “You will tell me.”
“Anything,” I promised.
“Could anyone else make you feel this way? Could any mortal ever compare?”
It was impossible to answer that, because as far as my overheated, sex-drenched brain was concerned, Harry and his magnificent power were the only things that existed at that moment. And he knew it, too. The sweet pace of his fingers quickened, and I writhed against his hand. He repeated his question softly, a smirk curling across his lips as if he was already certain of the answer.
“Never,” I said. “No one.” I gasped as his hand spread me open, and what little remained of my mind went into forming the only word that mattered. “You.”
“Remember that, my love,” he said, easing into me at last with agonizing slowness.
My words were stolen. All thought liquefied and consequence dissolved. Time became irrelevant. There was no one else on Earth, and nothing but his body surging into mine. My mouth hung open as I melted against him, powerless in his grasp. Seeking some small measure of control, I swung my gaze up to look directly into his eyes.
A magnificent stranger looked back at me. The edges of his battleship grey eyes widened only slightly, but in that silver-shot moment I knew that he had won far more than the victory of my pleasure. I must have imagined that audible click, the vibrating buzz in my brain, and the thrumming, humming energy that followed. The revenant captured me in his immortal gaze, and my fight was over. Monster or gentleman, whatever he was, Harry had me. And with long, unhurried strokes, he took me again and again until, pinning my squirming body with his and thrusting hard and deep, he shuddered with release. Still filling me with his thickness, he let his full weight down on top of me and rested in my quivering embrace.
I could feel Harry's well-fed heart thudding against my chest, his rattling, ragged breath behind my ear. In the dusky trees above, that lonesome, foreign night bird cooed. I wrapped my arms and legs around Harry and held him tightly.
The soft applause didn't register right away through the warm, buzzing post-orgasmic fog in my brain, and when it did, I thought dizzily, damn right I deserve a hip-hip hooray. Maybe even an atta girl! I had accomplished a big no-no tonight, wresting my Cold Company out of his prudish reserve and into fabulously uncharacteristic animal lust. He was still throbbing with heat, fully inside me, but we were no longer alone.
CHAPTER 24
THE VOICE THAT SPOKE was so unfamiliar (and so not human, my brain warned) that I jolted out of my post-nookie haze. My head swung around until I found its source. He could not have been particularly beautiful in life, which was a pity, because the black feathered wings folded demurely about his shoulders belonged in a museum surrounded by gilt framing, if not on a fantastic raven painted by the graceful hand of some Renaissance master. So inhumanly beautiful were they that I couldn't estimate how long I stared at them, damn near hypnotized, before I foggily realized that they were in fact used to mesmerize humans.
He was tall, slim, dark-haired, and narrow of face, his chin a mere point, his aristocratic nose a sharp echo of it above pale, bluish lips. There was something bewitching about the space around his eyes, though I couldn't fathom what it was, and my own were drawn there even while logic screamed at me to avoid his immortal gaze. Harry's body tensed at the sight of the interloper, but he put one firm, claiming hand on my forearm and said nothing.
The stranger's forward movement was more glide than step; he'd left mortal clumsiness behind millennia ago. His outdated garb moved with him, simple yet rich, a wealth of fine leather, ermine, and velvet, like portraits of the kings of old Europe, soot-dark beneath the span of his wings, which lifted softly then settled again about his shoulders in a long-feathered drape. I'd only ever read about revenants with actual wings; much of preternatural biology was based on theory and supposition, since actual creatures of that age were not about to subject themselves to study. I could see them with my own eyes, if I could trust what I was seeing. These were original, post-angelic, fallen-from-Heaven wings; not Halloween props or aftermarket stick-ons. If he could actually fly with them, I didn't want to know.
The stranger's chuckling voice was quiet, as though coming from a great distance, yet no less powerful than the grating rasp of Malas Nazaire. Despite Harry's reassuring hand, I began trembling badly right down to my toes; the closer the stranger got, the more it seemed the cold tempest of death and Hell's reply pressed forward at the veil between life and something entirely else. I had no doubt that, though he seemed to be separated from us, that wouldn't be enough to keep us safe if he intended harm. With each sweeping step he took, my shaking worsened, and I could do nothing, literally nothing, but lay there and stare, waiting in a miasma of airless trepidation until little stars whirled in my vision and everything started flickering black.
When he finally spoke, my unconsciously-held breath rushed out, only to hitch to a stop again.
“She has found you out, my Young.” It was both indictment and endorsement, and his sharp features softened indescribably, a little here and there, until the overall effect was one of welcoming and understanding. In that moment, I had no doubt: this creature knew everything about me. Everything.
My Young, I thought. It couldn't really be him. Well, who else could it be?
“It took her longer than I would have expected,” he continued. “But then, as you have said yourself, she has lived a sheltered life.”
“Master.” Harry's voice was a horrified grate.
I remembered that I was supposed to be breathing, and with a sharp inhale, I flashed back hard to the memory of Harry in my father's rec room, lounging on the beat-up old sofa after a feed and describing his turning. The nectar of the revenant, Harry had said, his eyes falling closed as rapture ran rampant across his features, His blood and the undying power of His line roared through my veins, mocking the calm release of death until each strand of life was torn asunder, each ribbon of mortality had abandoned me, and all that was left was this formerly warm and vibrant shell you see, held in cold reserve. At last I fell away from Him and
belonged to the night, to the Eversea, and to He who had stopped the hands of time to mark a place in history with my soul. Under His wing, I would begin the long walk of the lost.
Harry made no move to cover his nakedness, or mine. “It is not safe here, Master. Not even for your shade.”
Shade. Phantasm bilocation. I dug a blunt thumbnail into my arm to make sure I could feel it; apparently, I didn't have more bats in my belfry than usual. I'd heard of primeval revenants taking the form of a phantasm, but certainly had never had the opportunity to see it for myself, either. Prince Wilhelm Dreppenstedt —for whom there was no estimated age on record—was in two places at once, and all my idiot brain could come up with was cool fuckin’ beans. His body, and therefore the seat of his power, was wherever the hell revenant royalty hung out. A second, filmy-around-the-edges version of him hung here before us in the air like a gauze curtain across an open window, shifting ever so slightly in and out of space. The phantasm form was without his full power, and incredibly vulnerable. If a revenant lost his shade to fire or holy water, he'd lose that part of himself forever, and his body, his whole self, would be greatly damaged. The upside was that they could supposedly feed through their phantasm. This explained many “hauntings” that left a person, family, or city feeling inexplicably exhausted, drained, and ill; somewhere, very well-hidden, a revenant was feeding via phantasm form. Primeval revenants: not ideal neighbors.
Harry's discomfort blossomed into indignity. “Surely, you have not come merely to watch me at the vein.”
“I need no reason to come,” Prince Dreppenstedt replied. “I go where I please. However, now that you ask, I fear I should have done sooner.”
“I do not require supervision.”
“Only, one can plainly see that you do, my Younger. You have driven this tormented creature to great length and risk to get what she desires from you. Have you no mercy, Guy? No shame?”
Harry thrashed away from me until he was upright in the leaves. “Shame, my Master, is all I have left,” he insisted. “Look at me! Naked in the woods, exposed and driven virtually feral. I am a gentleman become little more than the fairytale monster she craves.”
“Such unseemly melodrama,” the prince tut-tutted.
As Harry's jaw dropped, I choked back a startled laugh. I never thought I'd live to see Harry served some of his own blasé eye-rolling; he reeled as though he'd been backhanded.
“You deny her much of your intimacy,” the prince accused, “and a greater half of your powers, Guy Harrick, and you willfully block from your advocate the blessings of our Father. Why is this so?”
“Full infernal power would be ill-managed by her,” Harry said quickly, a well-rehearsed line I'd heard many times. “My DaySitter's actions have nearly non-existent restrictions, her expectations are unfocused, her decision-making skills are dismal. She is too trusting and far too impetuous.”
“That is not your decision to make,” Master Dreppenstedt pronounced.
I stammered in surprise and indignation around words that wouldn't come, and settled on, “Say what, now?”
Harry ignored me outright. “It was a judgment call. She is still not ready. I tested her months ago.”
“That is not your decision to make,” Dreppenstedt repeated more firmly, his voice vibrating through the air with surprising force considering he wasn't actually there. “The call is that of the grave, and of our UnResting Father, whose eyes are never to close, and who sees each undead heart placed by my brothers and I upon this Earth to serve Him. And you will obey the call, revenant, as will your advocate. Furthermore, you will obey her call.”
“That's what I'm talking about,” I agreed. “More of this, please.”
“Simpleton!” Harry exploded at me, chucking harmless handfuls of dried leaves at me. “Silence your mouth and your loins this instant, or I will do it for you!”
“Don't you threaten me, Fangus McTantrumpants.” I tossed back, unable to squelch a smug smile. “He's the boss of you. He can make you do whatever he says. Go ahead,” I jerked my head at the shadow. “You tell him. He's supposed to be having way more sex with me than he does, right? That's in the rule book someplace.”
“Rule book?” The shade of Prince Dreppenstedt looked momentarily baffled.
Harry let out a gurgling, frustrated sigh and half-slumped against a mossy stump.
“The Bond requires constant rebuilding,” Prince Dreppenstedt confirmed, “constant protection, and, yes, of course that extends to the intimacies of his bed, nurturing his companion with the nectar of his loins and his veins both. This he knows. You are not Guy's first advocate. He is accustomed to sustaining his Bond.”
“Aha!” I rejoiced, though my brain went, nectar of the whosa-whatsit? I think we just missed something big there but in my fervor to prove myself right, I skimmed over the prince's words and let it go. “Harry, my whole self was starving for something, and I just thought I was perpetually sex-obsessed — partly because you had me doped-up on bremelanotide, but party because you've been stingy with the sexing the Bond requires.”
I heard Harry's sharp choke at my mention of the so-called vitamins, and I ignored it while he pulled himself together, covering himself with a brusque yank of his pants.
I continued, “The Bond has been pushing me, driving me, insisting.”
“Your DaySitter is entirely correct,” Prince Dreppenstedt said. “I am glad that Viktor informed me of your grievous neglect, Guy.”
Ooops. I shrank into the deeper shadows, but not before Harry's glare could lance over his shoulder. I shrugged apologetically with a little nose-wrinkle. I'm way too cute to strangle, right? it said. Harry shrugged into his shirt and began buttoning it up, fumbling at the button holes with aggravated fingers.
“Your Highness, Sir, please,” I relented, shifting into what little was left of my own clothes until they covered me. Kind of. “As nifty as it would be to have a steady stream of Harry-supplied orgasms in my life, if you force him, he's just gonna pout. I'll be the one who suffers.”
At this, the creature with the wings looked amused. “Does he play games with you, DaySitter? Does he enchant, and beguile, and inveigle, only to pull away and leave you cold?”
“You have no idea,” I grumbled. “He's going to mope and manipulate for punishment, even more than usual. He might even stop baking me brownies. Imagine. Me without brownies! I'm liable to kill somebody.”
“ ‘Tis baffling to me,” the prince mused, “that of all my Younger, you are the only one who remains so stubbornly human after all these years. You are like a child, Guy, playing with your toy.”
“Please, Master,” Harry said softly. “Do not listen to her. She is a soft-brained imbecile.”
“This I do not doubt,” the prince allowed. “Nevertheless, she is your imbecile, your chosen DaySitter, and you will honor her as such.”
“Excuse me?” I boggled at them both; calling me unflattering names, talking about me like I wasn't even there. “Couple of undead dillholes.”
“Master,” Harry pleaded, ignoring me, but his fight had flown; his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Guy Harrick, I do wish it had not come to this, as I do not enjoy meddling in the intimate affairs of my Youngers. However, it is my will that you hurry to cement and solidify this wayward Bond, and maintain a proper measure of intimacy between you, regardless of your uncertainties about her management skills where power and Talent is concerned. Do not block the gifts of our Infernal Father, unless you are prepared to answer to Him why you have done so, for I am through intervening on your behalf. Do not drive your DaySitter to such lengths. One thinks this business must be terribly unhealthy for her. Do I make myself clear?”
“Master, you do make yourself abundantly clear.” He shot me a look. It was not a long way from affectionate, though there was definitely a spark of something both dangerous and seductive lurking in those pewter depths.
“And you shall accept your Companion into your bed just as often as
he demands it, DaySitter,” Prince Dreppenstedt told me, “for your place is to trust his judgment on such matters and make no further demands on him than I have outlined here tonight.”
“Okay, wait a minute here,” I said. “Not so fast, you two.”
Both revenants craned to glower at me, mine slightly more incredulous than the other.
“It's just that…” I floundered. “Yes, he's got some apologizing to do, and hell yes, I could do with more frequent sexing. But I don't want him to be miserable. Can't you make him content with all this? Can't you make him, I dunno…happy?”
Prince Dreppenstedt watched me for a moment with his head cocked and his eyes vacant, as though I'd been speaking an alien language. Finally, he spoke to Harry. “You must also send the wounded foundling away, and soon. The problem he is battling is one to which he must muster his own resistance, and he must do it alone, or he will forever be under your bailiff.”
“He is gravely injured, Master. Where shall I send him?” Harry said tiredly.
“The proper place for him is under master Strickland's wing, but since this is not recommended, he should strike out on his own for a time. Teach him to travel high, and see that it happens as soon as he is well. If he cannot be left alone, send him to the Bitter Pass and we shall see to his care. He must learn to feed. Properly.”
I managed not to snicker, because they were talking about my brother's undead future, but I suspected that revenant training camp would make fatbusters look like a walk in the park.
Wilhelm continued, “The discovery of his accident with the hunter may put you both at risk, and I cannot afford to lose you, Guy. Our bloodline's future in the New World depends on your continued well-being. I hope it is not in vain that I express my concerns to you this night.”
“You told him about Dunnachie?” I hissed.