Let Sleeping Demons Lie

by Amy Sumida

  “Thank you,” Toby said proudly.

  Doba barked at us and ran up the steps to disappear into the villa.

  “She's excited,” he said. “We just moved in last night.”

  “How's Naye taking it?” I asked.

  “He's dealing.” Toby shrugged. “He helped me move.”

  “He did?” I asked in surprise.

  “I think he's beginning to see the perks of living alone,” Toby said. “Besides, it's not as if I've moved far away.”

  Toby waved his hand upward, and I followed it to see the mountain looming over us. High up the rock face, there was a promontory that I could just make out. I knew it well; Naye had tortured me on it once. No; Toby hadn't been lying when he said that he had been the cause of my pain as well. He hadn't approved of Naye's methods for swaying me to their side, but he hadn't stopped his brother either. That had been a rough time for both of us. Okay, mostly for me.

  “No one will ever hurt you again, if I can help it,” Toby vowed softly.

  “I can protect myself,” I said a little sullenly. Then I saw his hurt expression and added, “But thank you; it's nice to have a champion.”

  “Any time, my lady,” Toby said as he bowed gallantly.

  I laughed as Toby escorted me into his villa, and then oohed and ahhed as he showed me around. It really was more beautiful than the one in Italy. Although, that wasn't surprising; Toby had territory magic at his disposal. All he had to do was find an item to transform and picture it as he wished it to be. He could turn a pebble into a palace if he wanted to. The only limitation was his own imagination. And Toby evidently had a wonderful imagination.

  The home wasn't as immense as it could have been. Toby had kept it to a moderate size—for a god—but he'd decorated it diligently. Massive paintings hung on the plaster walls, statues adorned the top of columns—their arms stretching over arched doorways, intricate mosaics were set into the floors—so detailed that it felt as if I were walking over real flowerbeds, and silk carpets lounged around their edges. Chandeliers of blown and stained glass hung from the cloud-painted ceilings; setting a soft mood with their jewel-toned light.

  I peered in the rooms as we passed; the scent of citrus and pine pulling me along. The furniture was eclectic; some rooms stuck with the villa feel and boasted heavy, carved wood pieces, while others looked as if they were straight out of Versailles. Toby didn't let his architecture restrain him; he had filled his home with whatever had taken his fancy. I smiled up at a portrait of Doba on the wall.

  “And this is the master bedroom,” Toby said as he opened a pair of double doors.

  “How did I know you were leading me—whoa,” I said as I stepped slowly into the room. “I've never seen anything like this.”

  “Thank you,” he followed me in. “I was hoping you'd like it.”

  I just gaped about me; trying to take it all in.

  The room felt cool but not uncomfortably so. It was probably due to all the water. Across from the doors, there was a pale stone wall carved with what I assumed were Navajo designs. Water poured down the middle portion of it and into a pond. Lights set within the pond illuminated the carvings and set the water to sparkling. Within the roughly-circular (except where it met the back wall) pond there was a round platform; an island of sorts. Connecting the island to the rest of the room was a narrow bridge. The entire floor, including the platform, was made from a deep indigo stone polished to a glassy sheen. It was so perfectly smooth that it reflected the overhead light and made the stone seem paler than it was.

  The island held a regular, square bed, although it was big enough for four. The mattress was set into a stone base that flowed up from the platform seamlessly, and behind it, there was a panel of glass to protect the occupants from any splashes that might come off the wall of water. But that was just the beginning.

  The pond had streams branching off it; swirling through the stone floor in delicate curves. Doba leapt over the streams—barking at the colorful fish that swam within them—before running off toward the open balcony on our left. It was to the balcony that all the streams flowed. They cut the balcony into sections with their even lines and poured out over the edge with a lovely rushing sound.

  I went to join Doba and stared over the railing. The falling water was caught in a stone trough just below the edge and then appeared to flow back into the wall; doubtless to recycle through the waterfall—or water-wall, rather. I turned around and wandered back inside; my eyes wide with wonder.

  There were rugs scattered over the little areas made by the looping streams. One of them had a couple of chairs, a small table, and some potted plants. A book was laid open on the table and one of the chairs was suspiciously covered in pale fur. One night, and Doba had already claimed her spot. Another area only had a few pillows and plants, and yet another connected to the far wall—down a bit from the water panel—where a wardrobe was set into the stone. Above us, a skylight domed up; more like something you'd see in a sunroom. It held glass panels within its iron framework. The glass let the sunshine in and gave life to the numerous plants strewn about the room.

  “This is surprisingly bright for a god of darkness,” I noted.

  “I wanted to be able to see the Moon at night,” Toby said as he followed me across the bridge to the bed. “You know how I love the Moon.”

  I transferred my upturned stare to him and smiled brightly. “She loves you too.”

  “But will she be comfortable here?” He asked. “Will she be happy to sleep surrounded by water? After our imprisonment beneath the sea, I wasn't sure if this would be comfortable for you.”

  “You are water so it can never disturb me,” I said as I ran my hand down the thin braid amid his long, sleek, inky hair; all the way to the black feather at its end.

  That feather had stopped a war once. Yeah; Toby may have allowed his brother to hurt me, but in the end, he had atoned for his sins by giving his life to save mine and giving me the source of his magic to save my friends and family. I harbored no resentment toward him. Obviously. If I did, I wouldn't love him.

  “I'm looking forward to sleeping surrounded by you,” I dropped my voice to a low purr.

  “Is that all you're looking forward to doing in my bed?” Toby asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  I stared up into those unusual eyes; the deep blue irises bordered by a dark brown ring that made the blue seem paler. Tobadzistsini, God of Water and Darkness, stared back at me adoringly. The words he'd said earlier tumbled through my mind. I'd always thought that I was the lucky one; to have so much love in my life was a blessing I never could have imagined, much less desired. But now, I was seeing things as they did; or at least as Toby did. I had paid dearly to be with my lovers, and I'd probably continue to pay. But they were worth every tear and every drop of blood I'd shed. Even when they were behaving badly.

  Toby and I had a rough start. I had indeed suffered, but he had sacrificed his life for me. What more could you ask from love? How about life; resurrection? I had gone into the Void and brought Toby back; as I had once done for Odin. So, perhaps we were even. Or perhaps we were just getting started and there were years of torture and atonement ahead of us. At that moment, I didn't care. All that mattered were the soft lips on mine and the firm grip pulling me closer.

  With the sound of water softening the world around us, Toby and I got lost in each other for awhile. We forgot about the pain that had brought us together and focused on the pleasure of being together; our reward for staying true to each other—for holding on despite everyone else's desire to see us let go. We had done that already—let go of our love and each other—but that hadn't worked out so well. This time, we weren't giving up or letting go. This time, love would win; we'd make sure of it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Why don't you go over to Faerie and have a little vacation?” Toby suggested as he helped me out of his tub.

  The master bathroom was off to the right of Toby's bedroom. It wasn't as larg
e as the one in Pride Palace, but it was a still four times the size of my bathroom in Hawaii. The floor was the same indigo stone as the bedroom—just continuing in—although, the streams didn't come with it. The cool stone was covered in places by fluffy bathroom rugs; one placed in front of the sinks on the left side of the room and one in front of the bathtub at the far end. The toilet was in its own little closet, and the bathtub was in a nook that jutted out over the forest. I knew that it did so because there was a large picture window behind the tub to showcase the view. Thankfully, there were also some privacy curtains that Toby had drawn shut before our bath, or I'd have been worried about Naye strolling up at just the wrong moment.

  Back to the tub that I was climbing out of. It was an enormous limestone bowl that fit the nook perfectly. A set of stairs led up to its wide rim, and a golden spigot hooked over the edge; bordered by knobs. I felt like a Roman princess coming out of that tub. Wait; did Rome have princesses? It had an Emperor, so what would the Emperor's daughter have been called? Whatever her title was; that's who I felt like. It was hedonistic in a historical way.

  “That would be great,” I said with a relaxed smile.

  The sex and the bath had been just what I needed, and a visit to Faerie to see my family there would take it to the next level.

  “I won't tell the others,” Toby said with a wink.

  “Thank you, Toby,” I whispered as I hugged him.

  Our wet bodies slid against each other sensually, and I groaned as I felt his response rising between us. It was tempting to have another round of spectacular sex in Toby's island bed, but I couldn't go to Arach smelling of another man. That was just rude.

  Toby chuckled and eased away from me to hand me a towel. “We can take up where we left off when you get back.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I gave him a quick kiss and went back to the bedroom to slip into my clothes.

  My hair was still wet, but I didn't want to waste any time drying it. I just waved goodbye to Toby and then asked my Ring of Remembrance—the faerie relic my Fey father had left me—to take me back in time to a few minutes after I'd last left Faerie. Those few minutes were important; without them, I could wind up in a time that I had already experienced. That would mean I'd be merged with the me who was already there and re-experience everything I'd done—including jumping back to the God Realm—without being able to alter anything. Hypothetically, it would put me into a time loop, and I never wanted to test that theory.

  Toby's gentle smile was the last thing I saw in the God Realm as it faded around me and I was pulled back in time to Faerie. I reformed in the bedroom I shared with my dragon-sidhe husband, Arach in Castle Aithinne, at the border of the Fire Kingdom. Arach was waiting for me on our bed as usual. He was dressed in a pair of black leather pants—the ties undone—and was sitting at the foot of the bed; leaning back on his hands to show off his amazing abs. Arach cocked his head and grinned at me as I appeared; his autumn-yellow, dragon eyes honing in on my wet hair. His own blood-red hair shifted across his muscled shoulders as he leaned forward gracefully and stood. The flap of his pants fell open and revealed a hint of red hair down there. I smiled as I let my gaze wander his body and stepped over to him.

  “Your hair is wet, Wife,” Arach noted. “Would you care to make some steam?”

  “Oh, you romantic dragon, you,” I teased him as I slid my hands into the opening of his pants and pushed them down. I glanced at the hard shaft rising up amid the fiery curls and then palmed it. “I know just the thing to raise my temperature.”

  I shoved Arach down on the bed and pulled his pants off completely with one swift movement. Arach crossed his arms behind his neck so he could stare down his torso at me. I smiled wickedly as I pushed his legs further apart and nestled between them. I nuzzled my cheek against the side of his manhood, and Arach groaned; one hand going to my head to weave his fingers through my hair.

  “You're a vicious woman,” Arach growled as the crimson scales at his temples spread down the sides of his face and then the sides of his chest. “Put your mouth on me.”

  “Patience,” I purred and then gave him a lick.

  “I will repay this torment in full,” Arach promised.

  “I'm counting on it.” I fluttered my fingers down his inner thighs.

  Arach's hand clenched in my hair and pulled me closer. I just laughed and eased back to kiss the tip of him. He made the dragon growl I adored—a low, deep rumble that always set me to rumbling too—and began to move as if he'd roll us over. I smacked my palms down on his thighs to hold him in place as I covered him completely with my mouth.

  My dragon-sidhe husband burst into flames.

  Don't worry; that's a good thing. An exciting, startling, and deeply arousing thing. It had been awhile since our passion had resulted in a good bed-burning. That Arach had responded so hotly to my initial efforts made me feel supremely proud, and it also set my body, my clothes, and my libido afire. Steam did indeed rise from my hair as I burned with desire for my husband. It misted around us—combining with the smoke of our blaze—and turned the bedroom into a hazy, sensual place.

  Arach let me pleasure him for only a few more minutes before he grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me up his body; the ashes of my clothes falling away as his manhood slid between us. With a quick movement, he had me beneath him and another few shifts had him inside me. I clawed at his shoulders with hands suddenly tipped in talons, and Arach roared in delight as he bucked harder into me.

  Such was the mating of dragon-sidhe; a savage, bloody inferno of ecstasy and ashes. Pain and blood brought a sharp relief to our mounting desire and an addictive insight into each other. I licked the tips of my talons as my husband bit my neck; just beneath my ear. Blood ran over our tongues and our memories ran with it.

  I sighed as I felt Arach's love for me burst inside my chest and then saw myself through his eyes. It was just before the last time I'd left. We'd taken the boys to their bedroom and had returned to ours to say goodbye. I could feel the silkiness of my own hair as he stroked it and the depth of his emotion as he focused on my golden dragon eyes—shifted by my desire for him—and the sparkling stripe of starlight in my dark hair. Love made pleasure magnify, but feeling my love for Arach and his for me while we made love was beyond rapturous. I cried out as my body seemed to be consumed by the flames we both craved to rise up with the smoke in the most profound sexual release.

  As I screamed and writhed, Arach kept pounding into me; faster and faster. The bed was completely alight—only the iron frame surviving our lust—and we were thrashing in burning embers; setting them to swirl across the stone floor. I stared up at the wooden ceiling that had been installed over the inverted cone of our hollow, mountain tower, and wished it weren't Autumn. If it were Spring or Summer, the wood panel would be packed away—its heat-preserving ability unnecessary—and my cries would have echoed up the stone to drift among the hundreds of candles set within nooks there. But as it was, the smoke gathered around the lowered ceiling and filled the room. It was in utter grayness that Arach and I finally found our release and shouted our pleasure into the deadly air.

  Then Arach collapsed over me.

  “I suppose its a good thing that smoke rises,” I noted as I glanced at our foot and a half of semi-clean air.

  Arach chuckled as he lifted himself above me. “It's a good thing that smoke doesn't bother us,” he corrected. “Although, I have no desire for it to invade our wardrobes. I'd better open the shutters.”

  Arach got up and climbed over the bed frame—the iron still glowing red—and then went unerringly to the window, despite the thick fog. He opened the winter shutters and smoke poured out into the crisp night. The Dragon King looked back over his shoulder at me; eyes gleaming through the billowing haze. I shivered as I sat up; my dragon responding instantly to the rise of his.

  “Shall we, A Thaisce?” Arach held his hand out to me.

  I smiled as I went forward and took it. Arach helped me up onto
the window ledge, and we jumped together. A lovers' leap.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Forgetful Forest spread out below me as I flew beside my husband. His crimson scales were dimmed in the darkness to a more sinister shade, but the moonlight gleamed over him and made it appear as if he were covered in jewels. In contrast, my golden hide lightened and combined with the moonbeams to shine silver. We must have looked like the perfect pair from below; a dragon of silvery light and one of bejeweled darkness.

  Below us, the forest was in its barest state; that time between the falling of leaves and the falling of snow. A few evergreens stood bastion against the Fall, but most of the Forgetful Forest was nothing more than naked limbs; skeletal fingers reaching for the sky as if begging for mercy. The ground could be seen clearly beyond them; laid bare to the sky. But the little creatures were hidden in their dens for the night; safe from predators like us.

  The cracks of our leathery wings in the quiet night sounded like the beat of marching drums and it made my dragon heart speed up. Something inside me felt a portent in the air; a warning of war to come. I didn't need it; I knew I was barreling toward another fight. I just wasn't sure who my opponent would be. But my dragon didn't care about minor details such as who or how; all she wanted to know was when and where. Would she be released to rend flesh from bones and burn whatever remains? Would she be given free rein to ride the wind as she did now and hunt our enemies?

  But she already knew my answer. When it came to battle, she was my favorite weapon.

  A triumphant roar rolled up my throat and across the flailing tree limbs of the Forgetful Forest. With it went a harsh wind that churned up the fallen leaves and cast them about like bloody snowflakes. Arach responded to my call with a roar of his own, and I dipped beneath him to then rise up and nudge my husband's belly playfully. Arach screeched in joy and tumbled with me; dragon lovers claiming the night.