by Elise Whyles
Bede jerked awake, wiping at her chest. She stared at her hand, dry, her fingers spread. Gods, it had only been a dream, but one not of her own. Why would she dream of his dreams? It had felt so real. Even now she could feel the tiny washes of pleasure that raced from between her legs. Confused, she ran a hand through her tangled hair, her breathing slowing as she calmed herself. “But why dream of his dreams?”
She sat up, her gaze scanning their hiding spot. Gawain lay wrapped within the confines of his cloak, his legs spread. She licked her lips at the subtle shift of his hand along his shaft.
She stood, weaving slightly on her feet. Bede halted, two steps from him, his grunts of pleasure going straight through to her aching womb. With sudden clarity the truth hit her. She hadn’t dreamt his dream—rather she’d felt what he had because they were linked, connected. Mated. The fading confusion settled her racing thoughts.
Her trembling hand raked through her hair, pulling on the knots in the long tresses. A glance around revealed her thin shawl laying in the grass a short distance away. The pale glow of the sun fell on the worn fabric, teasing her. Without a thought, she strode forward, bending to grab it. Her fingers wrapped around the edge and a searing wash of agony spread up her arm. The flesh felt as though it had been sliced into, as if she were being skinned alive. Jerking her hand back, she gasped, pain ripping into her throat, closing it. Her stomach turned, the meager contents threatening to come up.
Screaming in agony, she swayed on her feet. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of her hand as she pulled it from her chest. Blisters had formed, blood congealed as it bubbled through the delicate flesh. Again and again, her pained cry reached the heavens, her knees giving way as she watched the very skin peel off. Her body was wracked by tremors as she cupped her wrist, the burnt odor wafting up to her nose. The taste laying sour on her tongue.
“Selene! How could this happen?” Gawain’s voice reached through the anguish as he cupped her hand. “Bede, darling, what happened? What did this?” He lifted her arm, his fingers tugging at the sleeves of her dress to reveal the spreading burns along her flesh.
“I just grabbed my shawl.” Bede sobbed, rocking back and forth. Tears burned as they dripped on the wounds. “It was there in the grass and…”
“Did you reach for it in the sun?” Gawain’s voice shook, his grip tightening on her arm.
* * * *
“Aye, milord. It is my only…” Her voice broke, sobs taking over as she cradled her hand to her chest.
Already he could see the blisters opening, flesh blackened and smoking, the stench of it burning his nostrils. Pale bone peeked from the sloughing tissue, the blobs of dark, dead blood boiled, the wound the most extreme he’d ever seen. Icy tendrils of fear darted over him as he paused, his mind racing with the realization her flesh had already begun to change, the curse of the sun would lead to injuries so bad death would be the only outcome. Selene’s power was more than his simple prayers could allay and it hurt deeply. Her transformation was beyond them, not even a blessing by Selene could change it now. Bede was a vampire, with the weakness of the sun upon her.
“Selene, be merciful!” Gawain pulled her tighter against his chest. His chin rested on her head for a split second. “Come, we must stop the burning.”
“Gods above, Gawain, it hurts. The flesh is all but peeling from my bones.” She glanced at him, her eyes swimming in tears. He felt his heart stutter at the pink tinge to them as they rolled down her face, leaving trails of the palest color against her white skin.
“Shh, leannan, I know. I know. Come.” Gawain wrapped her in his cloak, teleporting to the nearest shade closest to a slow moving stream. Ripping part of her chemise from her, he dipped it into the cool water. Wringing it out, he watched the water drip onto her injury. The hiss of cooling flesh and bone loud in his ears. Her sobs and screams of agony like a brand against his heart. He shuddered at the slow tickle of a single tear running down his face. Tears for her pain, a mark of their union, of their claiming—and he could find no solace in his unanswered prayers.
“It burns, Gawain, it burns. Make it stop.” She sobbed, tears streaming down her face.
“Shh, my love, I will,” he promised, rising to move behind her. He pulled her tightly against him, his fingers tightening on her jaw. “Sleep, little one, sleep.”
His soothing whisper reached through the pain, through the terror, soothing her into a trance. She barely moved, a hitch in her breathing the only indication she felt the touch of his hand along her burnt flesh, a blessing for which he was immensely thankful.
Gawain stared at the injury. He prodded her arm, testing the tissue, the stench of burning flesh sticking to his nose. The wound went bone deep. He could see her body trying to repair the damage, but it would take too long. She needed the aid of a healer, one familiar with the mortal body. Only she wasn’t mortal—she hovered between their races until she gained her immortality. Even those born of a vampire union took years to grow into their endless lives.
He glanced at their camp. Sunlight dappled the ground beyond the canopy, the edge of her shawl laying there. Easing her onto the lush grass, he hurried to gather the garment, hissing at the burn of sun on his skin.
Horror ripped through him as he balled her shawl, his gaze landing on her sleeping form. Was this part of Selene’s gift? Had she been gifted to him in all manner? With mixed emotions he darted to her and quickly loosened the ties of her attire. Baring the flesh of her chest, he stared at the coiled serpent upon her breasts, its dark eyes narrowed, mouth closed. Behind it, wings of flame spread across her throat to wrap around her shoulders.
“No! Selene, I beseech thee, take this curse away. I have made vows. I cannot—”
“You can, you must,” the wind whispered softly. “It is your time, Gawain. Embrace your fate and wash away the sins that were not of your own.”
“But she is—”
“She will heal if she but sips at your blood. Give her life.”
“Or curse her with death. She is mortal, human. Given a choice she would prefer mortality—”
“If you do nothing, she will die. It is you who can choose, and your heart will guide you. You know I speak the truth, Gawain. Give her the blood of your heart and you will know that which you hide from.”
Gawain pushed her hair from her forehead, his mind fighting what his heart already knew he had to do. His eyes closed, his fangs sharpening, he lifted his forearm to his mouth and ripped into the flesh. Coaxing her mouth open, he watched his life force seep past the plump red of her lips. She would heal. He eyed her hand, an icy touch wrapping around him. Muscles, bones, flesh mended slowly, connected until he could recognize her hand. By the rise of the moon she would be healed enough to travel.
* * * *
Curled around herself, Bede watched the flesh of her arm knit itself back together. The itch was unbearable, yet every time she moved to scratch it, Gawain would growl, his dark eyes flashing dangerously.
“Where is this witch? How long until we reach her home?” Bede shifted, her fingers plucking at her tattered clothing.
“We wait for the sun to set.” Gawain gestured to the fading sunlight. “Then we will teleport. It will not be easy. They like to hide their places so mortals do not find them. Nothing worse than a nosy mortal wanting to hunt a sorceress, unless it’s one who is looking for any immortal being.”
“So by midnight we shall be there?” Bede raised her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to lick along the still healing flesh. The taste of blood sweet on her tongue.
Gawain nodded. “Take care, Bede, she will demand payment and what coin I have will be needed to reach my home. Stop that! I’ll bind it if I have to.” His fierce frown enough of a warning for her to lower her hand to her side.
Hoping to turn his attention from her picking, she tilted her head. “What of me? Of Una? We are here, we are human. Do you mean to leave us behind to face—”
“You are not human.” Gawain
rose to pace the confines of the clearing they were hunkered in. “You are blessed by Selene. There will be no going back now.”
“Why?” Bede jumped to her feet, her fists planting on her hips. “Why do you fear this so much? What have I done to make you so…”
“It is not you I fear. Gods above, grant me the strength to face this. To save her,” he prayed, his voice breaking, pain leeching through the words.
“Do you find me revolting? Or perhaps I am not all that you desire? What is it you seek, milord? I would change it if I could.”
Gawain flashed his fangs at her. “I took vows, Bede. I failed. How can I expect to be honored, to be gifted by a woman as pure, as innocent as you if I cannot protect my own queen? If I can fail at such a thing, how do I know I will not fail again? I will not risk becoming less than I am by killing one so precious to me. No, I will not risk you for my failures. In my weakness you will bear the burden of my sins, I cannot—I will not allow that burden to be passed to you. I will beseech Selene to reverse this, to remove your curse and—”
“What of my sister? Do you intend to abandon—”
“Your sister will be found. I am certain the sorceress we seek will know of her whereabouts.” Gawain paced back, his movements stiff as though he were caging his power, his rage.
“And then what?” Bede shook her head. “Then you abandon us both to a fate that is ours? What of my desires? What of my faith in you? Am I so foolish you believe me to be a child?”
“I will see you both safe.”
“You have not answered my question, milord. What of my faith in you?”
“Faith cannot undo what could be if I fail to control myself. I will not, I cannot forsake you. I would rather greet the sun than commit such a horrid crime. Don’t you understand? I would rather die than risk your safety.”
Fury rose, unbidden, as she glared at him. “Then find my sister, sir, so that we may remove ourselves from your presence and be done with this farce. Once that is done, you can slither off to your precious Selene and bed her.”
“I will not bed her. I wouldn’t even if I could.” Gawain vibrated with his emotions. Anger and passion swirled around them like leaves falling from the trees. “I took a vow of purity. I cannot…”
Bede’s eyes widened and she smirked. “You want to though, don’t you? You want to bed your beloved little whore. Have her lying beneath you with her thighs spread. Makes sense you want—”
“She is a goddess, the goddess. I worship her as the mother of all vampires. As you will if she does not reverse—”
Bede cut him off with an upraised hand. “So be it. The moon is rising. Let us get to this sorceress and be done with it. I would have my sister back with me. Then I shall pray to this goddess of yours to remove this vile curse from me so you can be free of all temptation, or is it disgust? Either makes no difference to me. Only a foolish child would believe the words spouted by the crookedest of tongues, and I am no child.” Stalking past Gawain, Bede headed deeper into the brush. Soon she would be rid of the insufferable clod and have her sister with her. If the mere thought brought an ache to her chest, she resolved to ignore it.
Bede’s startled shriek pierced the night air when Gawain grabbed her around the waist. Whirling her around, he pressed her against the rough bark of a tree.
“You tempt me, Bede, make me long for things I am forbidden. Do not stir the beast further, I would do right by you and your sister.”
“Then let us find her.” Bede smiled, though there was no warmth in the gesture. “Then you can return to your vows and wallow. Or bed your whore, or whatever it is you desire to do.”
With a strangled curse Gawain jerked her head back, his eyes narrowed, dark slits. “I would have—no, we will finish this later, Bede, my dearest. In due time.” Bending his head he kissed her. His lips heavy, harsh against hers, his thumb pulled her chin down. She shuddered with want at the sweep of his tongue in her mouth.
Tentative, uncertain, she responded. Her tongue darted out to touch his, her hands seeking purchase in his hair. Her fingers tangled in the dark strands as she opened her mouth further. Coercion eased the yearning to punish, falling beneath the need to please. Desire, languid and thick, wrapped through her mind, her body melting beneath his touch.
“We must go,” Gawain muttered against her lips.
“Yes.” Bede whimpered at the weight of his hand on her breast, her head falling back against the tree. She clung to him, pressing hot kisses across his brow, his nose, his cheeks, before mashing her lips to his.
The feel of his fangs against her tongue was like a caress along her clit. Her leg lifted, wrapping around his thigh as she arched into him. Again and again she moaned at the dancing of their tongues, their bodies saying what they could not. When Gawain pulled back, she stared at him through a haze of want.
“Come.” Pulling her against him, Gawain pressed a single kiss to her forehead. “My little temptress. We will finish this, be certain of that.”
Bede gasped, her breath locking in her chest at the weightless feel a moment before her feet touched the ground in a small, murky clearing. She could hear the croaking of a frog, hear the crackle of dead branches, and she shuddered.
“Gawain?”
“Shh.” He squeezed her hand. “It’ll be all right, milady.”
“So Selene’s favored has shown himself finally?” A low purr slithered from the shadows, drawing a growl from Gawain.
“Amuliana, what a surprise.”
Bede tensed at the barely leashed hostility in Gawain’s voice at the appearance of a tall, beautiful blonde lurking in the darkness.
“What’s this? Now you’re bringing your food with you.” The woman laughed softly. “She does not appear to be the babe your king sent you for. Though I suppose being older, she offers a few benefits a trifle more fun than the babe. Is she enough to tempt you from your vows though? Hmm, more tempting than I? Tsk tsk, Gawain. Such a waste of virility. I suppose I’ll need make do with those who are not so virtuous.”
“What do you want?” Gawain pulled Bede closer, his grip tight, painful.
“Simply popping in. Be warned, Gawain of the Ek-leat, Hema will not be so forgiving if you bring him the wrong female. A friendly warning.” Like her body, her voice faded into the darkness as another figure materialized on the far side of the clearing.
“Gawain, who was that?”
“A petty goddess, one you should guard your back against. She has no redeeming virtues, only the jealous vanity of one of her ilk.” Gawain nodded at the floating apparition. “That would be Marshante, she is cursed by Empharo, another sorceress, to be as ugly on the exterior as she is on the inside. To cover the curse, she cast a spell that makes her appear to be a phantom. Powerful, deadly, she is the one we seek.”
“Well, well, well…to what do I owe this pleasure?”
Bede gaped at the translucent figure. Shadows darkened under her eyes, her cheeks, and she appeared to have no legs below the knees. Looking into the dark orbs where her eyes were, Bede felt no fear. Instead, she smiled. Boredom, animosity, and a hint of warmth lay within her hollow gaze—in this apparition, she’d found a friend.
Chapter 9
Gawain bowed his head toward the apparition. “Marshante, we come seeking your assistance. We seek word on a small—”
“Child, a girl taken from you days ago. And you desire to get home?” Marshante cackled, her pale visage rippling. “I am aware of this. My assistance is not free, however. I do nothing without it being in my favor.”
“We have little gold and I must pay the gatekeeper.”
“Some other trinket?” Marshante pushed past Gawain and stared at Bede for a moment. “This dagger?” A wave of her fingers lifted it from the scabbard to hang before Bede’s face. “Rather unique, beautifully crafted.”
“Gawain, no, it was my—”
“Mother’s.” Marshante nodded. “Indeed, I know this. But it is not the dagger I wish to have. Come, let us sup t
ogether and I will tell you my terms for my sight.” Tucking the dagger into her bodice, she smiled at Bede before her attention dusted over Gawain, pausing above his heart for the barest of seconds. “Yes, yes, my terms. Come, come, let us sup this evening together, though I fear I cannot offer you the delicacies you are accustomed to. I do not dine upon blood, but perhaps I have a fine wine or something else I can tempt you with.”
Gawain glanced at Bede and followed the apparition across the field. He laced his fingers with Bede’s as they approached the small, thatch roofed cottage. Smoke curled upward, the smell of freshly baked bread strong in the air.
Keeping himself between the two women, Gawain settled uneasily at the table. “What is it you desire, Marshante? If not the dagger—”
“The dagger is but a tool to get what I want.” Marshante puttered around. “Long ago a king, in a fit of rage, cursed an entire people, well several actually, without realizing just how foolish his act was. Innocent or no, he condemned all without a thought, unaware of how desperately he would need those he’s shunned. It has taken hundreds of mortal lifetimes to get to this time. Scattered like the four winds, the keys to hold Saltar have all but been lost. Until now.”
“What nonsense do you speak?” Gawain tensed, his eyes narrowing.
“I will give you what you seek for a price.” Marshante smiled. She laid the dagger on the table, the tip pointing to Bede’s heart. “To find the one with double sight, you will need to venture beyond the realm you know. She resides within the temple at Dromberge.”
Gawain inhaled sharply. “That is Amuliana’s realm. No mortal may enter without—”
“You are not mortal.”
“I am not a demi-god!” Gawain roared. “Why would she take the child? What purpose could there possibly be for kidnapping such an innocent girl? Amuliana does nothing without benefit to herself. To steal this child is to bring upon my wrath, sorceress, and I will stop at naught to retrieve her. Do you understand me? There is not a thing which will stop me from retrieving what that whore has stolen from me!” Gawain paused, leashing his rage. “Forgive me, sorceress, but surely you can see how this child is important to me, to us. I beg of you to grant us any boon you may have so I may right this terrible wrong.”