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Knights of Passion
The Revenge of Raven’s Cross
Book 3
Chapter 1
Zelda blinked and was surprised to find herself not in a dank and dark cavern, but in the stone room of an old castle. The curtains were drawn shut against the day and the room was shadowy and dark. It was a bed chamber, with an old four-poster bed, the curtains around which had been drawn back, to reveal a dark red coverlet. On the nightstand was a washbasin, and under the bed, Zelda could see a chamber pot.
It was a moderately sized room, with not much furniture aside from a fireplace and a sitting chair. There was also a great bathing basin on the stone floor near the hearth, devoid of water, and beside it, a bow of soap and wash cloths. Zelda was surprised to see the bassinet that stood on a circular rug of black fur near the bed. The crib had been draped in black curtains and inside, blankets and pillows waited for a child . . . Her child.
Zelda put a sad hand to her big belly and stood there, staring at the bassinet. How would she get out of this predicament? She couldn’t think to give up her baby! At night, she had sat in happy silence, smiling as it kicked and squirmed inside her, as Yrsa hugged her from behind and rubbed her belly. Two happy parents they had been. But Zelda had left Yrsa and had ruined her life too boot, only to turn around and abandon Calain, who had given up her life as a knight to protect her honor. So many women, destroyed because they had loved her. Zelda stared at the crib and started to wonder if her baby wouldn’t be better off without her. But in the hands of Melvalda? The Witch of the Dark?
For that was how Melvalda was known. Gweneth, who was worldly and seemed to know a great deal about many things, had told Zelda and Calain of Melvalda’s reputation in Eriallon. She was a very old, very powerful witch, and Gweneth had told them they were lucky to have escaped her the first time they crossed her path, especially given that they had massacred half her coven!
Melvalda had appeared in the room with Zelda, and when Zelda moved forward toward the bassinet, she hung back, watching Zelda quietly from her black hood, her long dark hair trailing over the front of her gown in dark rivers. Without a word, she waved her hand at the barren fireplace, and fire sprang to life there, heating the once-chilly room. Zelda was grateful, for she was still wearing her bear skins and furs, and the dress was quite short, exposing her legs and arms. She went to the fire and warmed her hands over it, and she could feel her belly warming as well as it protruding near the flames.
Zelda was aware of Melvalda standing behind her, still watching her with those intense black eyes. It gave her a chill, but surprisingly, not a chill of fear. It was a chill of . . . delight. Melvalda didn’t just want her baby. Melvalda wanted Zelda. And Zelda had quickly realized that the first time they met back in Eriallon. The way Melvalda had looked at her, spoken to her in that hushed, purring voice, touched her with a groping hand. And she had liked it. To her great shame, she had blushed and felt her sex swell with hunger, and she hadn’t wanted it to stop. She still felt the same way.
“This is your chamber,” Melvalda said quietly. “None of my women will disturb you. I have forbidden it.”
“Where are we?” Zelda wandered, turning her face to the window. She could see a gray sky and beneath it, a line of dark pine trees. A dark lake glittered in the pale sunlight, its surface dancing beneath a light sprinkle of rain.
“My castle, Ravenhold,” answered Melvalda quietly. “It is in the Ghostly Mountains, far north . . . in Eriallon.”
Zelda gasped, looking quickly at Melvalda. They had crossed the sea, traveling thousands of miles in an instant, leaving Realm Koradara far behind, and were once again in the realm where Zelda had spent her entire life. She felt a little hopeless: even if the Knights of Falcon were to rescue her, they were quite far away. Perhaps they would use a portal to find her.
“You will be safe here until the child is born,” Melvalda assured Zelda.
“And after it is born?” said Zelda, still warming her hands over the flames, her back to Melvalda.
“That is up to you,” answered Melvalda, surprising Zelda enough that she looked over her shoulder, brows raised. Melvalda smiled. “Did you think I would keep you a prisoner here? I only desire the child—”
“Why?” Zelda asked abruptly and straightened up. It had never occurred to her wonder why Melvalda wanted her baby. That she wanted it had been frightening enough. There were so many stories of witches snatching children for dark rituals and sacrifices or sometimes just to take on as an apprentice, to pass on knowledge. Zelda prayed it was the latter.
Melvalda didn’t hesitate and answered truthfully, “I sense great power in you. It is untapped, but it is there. You will not join Raven’s Cross, I know this now. You are too tightly Bound to that knight of yours.”
Zelda blushed a little.
“But,” said Melvalda, “your child will be a natural witch. She was conceived through a magick potion, by a Wilde Woman of all things. She will be a sorceress such as the world has never seen. Why shouldn’t I bring her into my fold? Before you sell her off to Vira’Toss and continue tramping about the countryside as you do.”
Zelda blushed furiously and scowled: by “tramping,” Melvalda did not mean “traveling.”
“I would never give her to Vira’Toss!” Zelda retorted.
Melvalda lifted her brows, unconvinced. “Somehow, I doubt that, Zelda. I doubt that very much. You see, you are a great deal like your uncle—”
Zelda tensed.
“—selfish, self-centered, only concerned with your own survival. You aren’t ready to be a mother. You would give the child up in a heartbeat to regain your freedom—”
“You shut your mouth about things you don’t understand!” Zelda burst, turning and taking a halting step toward Melvalda.
Melvalda surveyed Zelda calmly from beneath her hood. Her dark eyes were amused, for Zelda was standing with her small hands balled into fists and she was glowing with power. But Zelda did not have her stave, and she knew that casting unfocused magick could endanger her baby, so very slowly, she swallowed her anger and stopped glowing. She hated that Melvalda was so amused by her reaction, as if it had proved something.
“You’re as wild and temperamental as your knight,” said Melvalda, shaking her head as if it were a shame. “Do you know I asked her to make things easier for you both? To simply bring you to me? But she would rather risk her life for you, guarding you at the old Wolf Fortress in a hopeless situation, the fool.”
Zelda’s breasts were heaving, and she realized she was breathless with anger. “Shut up about Calain,” she warned. She was surprised when Melvalda said benevolently, “As you wish, Zelda.”
Zelda stared.
“It is not my intention to upset you,” explained Melvalda. “You are carrying my child, after all.” She smiled like a cat.
Zelda glowered and put quick hands over her belly. But she looked down at it, and she wondered if Melvalda wasn’t right. Was she too selfish to make a good mother? Perhaps giving the child up was for the best, even if it wasn’t Melvalda she gave it to.
“You never really answered my question,” Zelda said, still looking glumly at her belly. “You want my baby because it’s powerful? Not to eat it or . . .”
Melvalda laughed darkly. “Eat it? Don’t be absurd! The child will be a great asset to my coven . . . Or what’s left of it,” she said bitterly. “I am still rebuilding after the antics of your pet knights.”
Zelda didn‘t know why she felt the urge to apologize, but the words came tumbling out of her mouth, “I’m so sorry!” She snapped her mouth shut and cast her eyes down, blushing and shocked by her own words. But she did feel sorry. The witches of Raven’s Cross had never harmed Zelda. Even the initiation ritual, where they tied her naked to the post, would not have harmed her. Melvalda had been approaching Zelda with a dagger in order to cut off a lock of her hair, but no doubt Calain and Selene had interrupted it otherwise and they were ruthless as they slaughtered every witch that they could.
When Zelda looked up, it was to find Melvalda watching her in surprise. After a pause, she said, “Truly? You are sorry for the senseless slaughter of my women?”
“Yes,” Zelda repeated. She stiffened when she felt a hot light scanning over her mind, and she knew Melvalda was Reading her. She stood very still, waiting.
Finding no lie, Melvalda blinked in more surprise, and reaching up, she pulled off her cloak and hood, tossing it over the back of armchair that stood near the hearth. Her long black hair shifted from the gesture, and Zelda caught a glimpse of Melvalda’s pointed elven ears. She had nearly forgotten the woman was elven, though she was quite tall for an elf. Zelda thought it more likely Melvalda was elven-blooded and not fully elven.
“They were good women,” said Melvalda, smoothing her hair to the side to reveal her long neck as she went to the armchair near the fire and sat. “They weren’t particularly powerful and they weren’t natural witches, but they were useful.”
Zelda made a face as she waddled near Melvalda’s chair, one hand on her belly and one hand on her aching back. “Useful?” she repeated reprovingly. “Is that all people are to you?”
“Yes,” Melvalda answered, unabashed as she looked up at Zelda. “You see, I was not judging you before. I think it admirable that you use others to survive in a world that would seek every day to destroy you. And what other choice do you have? It is what many women have had to do.”
Zelda couldn’t deny that. Without magick, a woman was completely at the mercy of men, with nothing to protect her from their cruelty and violence. She knew that, deep town, terrible as her uncle had been, he had felt guilty for all the beatings, for cheating her of a happy childhood. And so, to repay her, he took her to a place where she could learn to become powerful rather than remain helpless. He helped her find a way to survive other men like him.
But how useful had magick been to Zelda, really? She thought of the Bane Stones, of the giant crystals they came from, of the men in the alley who had nearly raped her back in Ternia. She was a powerful sorceress, it was true, but she could be robbed of that power so easily!
“If you stay here with me,” said Melvalda, emerging from Zelda’s thoughts, “I can teach you how to defy the effects of a Bane Stone, and no man shall ever be able to lay a finger on you. You will need no besotted knights to defend you, either. I can teach you so many things they wouldn’t dare to teach you at Vira’Toss.”
Zelda frowned, her curiosity aroused. “But why? Why don’t they teach us more spells at Vira’Toss?” She had always wondered . . . and resented the fact.
“Because,” said Melvalda, lip curling, “the mages of Vira’Toss are bound to men. Oh, it may seem as if they hold the males out with their enchantments and veils and such,” she went on before Zelda could protest, “but in truth? They are beholden to them. They are allowed their little women’s paradise on the condition that they don’t actually exercise their power. A woman in full power is what men fear the most. They do not want sorceresses learning how to properly use their magick. And so, the women of Vira’Toss are taught silly spells, trifling things that will serve the realm – healing spells and light-shields and the like.” She made a face. “Light Magick. Because they know men fear the Dark.”
Melvalda fell silent, and the orange firelight reflected in her thoughtful eyes as she placed an absent black nail to her chin. Zelda looked down at her, at her pale cleavage and tiny waist, at the tight black dress that smoothed over her curves, and thought her a beautiful and regal woman.
About Melvalda’s long throat was a black choker with a red jewel. Without understanding why, Zelda found herself transfixed as she stared at it. She could feel the magick humming from it, a gentle thrum on her heart. She had almost reached out, spellbound, to touch it, when Melvalda gently grabbed her hand.
Zelda blinked, coming to her senses, and looked down to see Melvalda looking up at her in calm amusement. “Look, little Zelda, but do not touch,” she said.
“I am sorry,” said Zelda hoarsely. “I do not know what came over me!”
“Tis quite all right,” Melvalda answered and released Zelda’s hand. She went back to staring into the flames, but Zelda wanted her to continue talking. She suddenly realized she liked the sound of Melvalda’s purring voice, and the way Melvalda spoke of Zelda’s selfish survival instinct without judgement was admittedly soothing after the self-flagellation she had done just the day before.
Zelda looked at the tall woman’s lap and wanted to sit in it, wanted to be held, listen to her voice . . . perhaps be touched as well.
Melvalda’s lips twisted in an amused smile as she emerged from Zelda’s mind. “Sit,” she said. “But remember: do not touch my necklace. The jewel may react and burn your skin.”
“Yes, I’ll remember,” Zelda said breathlessly. She braced her small hand on the armrest and lowered herself carefully onto Melvalda’s lap. Her belly was so big now that sitting down was becoming something of a feat, but she managed it.
Melvalda slipped her slender arms around Zelda and held her gently. Zelda’s heart skipped a beat when the woman stroked her golden curls, her dark eyes dancing fondly over Zelda’s face, down her neck, and to her breasts, the cleavage visible behind the low neck of her deerskin dress. Zelda’s breasts were as large as Melvalda’s, if not larger, and with her pregnancy, they had swollen ripe as melons. And they were sore. Suddenly self-conscious, she clutched her dress shut over them.
“Your beauty is perfection,” said Melvalda in soft wonder. “As if some lusty god had carved you with great care and then sent you forth into my arms. These rags won’t do for such delicate curves.” She tugged gently at the fur shawl around Zelda’s shoulders and let it fall away, then brushed aside Zelda’s hands and tugged at her deerskin dress until it ripped slightly, revealing one of her milk-heavy breasts and the hard pink nipple.
Zelda screamed softly and blushed, but she did not move to stop Melvalda. Instead, she rested her head back and stared eagerly into the woman’s face, her cheeks flaming with desire. She thought of Calain so far away, likely frantic wondering where she was, and felt terrible, she felt low . . . but she wanted this woman, this powerful, beautiful, wise woman, in a way she had never wanted any of the knights or even Yrsa. And besides, she had given herself to Melvalda to keep Calain safe.
Melvalda . . . who was older, more mature . . . more experienced. It excited Zelda.
“You lusty little thing,” Melvalda said, looking down at Zelda’s eager face in amusement. She tugged again at the deerskin dress, until it tore all the way down and sagged around Zelda’s lap, exposing her plump breasts and protruding belly.
Zelda let her hands rest at her sides, her heart thudding fast, as she watched Melvalda’s careful hands cup her heavy breasts from under. Melvalda was wearing many pretty rings, but they were on odd fingers . . . One was on her thumb . . . Another was on her pinky, another was on her third finger, though Zelda knew she was not married. Only Melvalda’s index and middle fingers were free of rings, and her black nails were quite short. Zelda slowly blushed as she realized the reason.
Zelda bit her lip as Melvalda carefully massaged her breasts.
“They hurt, don’t they?” Melvalda whispered in her ear.
Zelda breathlessly nodded.
Melvalda kept massaging, and without looking back at the woman, Zelda knew her eyes were glowing as she cast a spell. She could feel the pain tingling away and sighed, resting back against Melvalda and closing her eyes as the taller woman continued gently massaging.
Melvalda was careful not to accidentally milk Zelda, instead touching her lightly and nonetheless firmly. Her hands were not muscly and strong but slender and delicate. With her back against Melvalda, Zelda could feel the woman’s heartbeat quickening: she was becoming aroused. With sudden aggression, she turned Zelda’s face to hers and roughly thrust her tongue in her mouth, kissing her with a passion that made their heads twist back and forth.
As Zelda shivered and moaned under Melvalda’s hungry groping and kissing, the older woman smoothed her hand over Zelda’s belly and touched her sex. Her slender fingers gently caressed the lips, pushed through the golden pubic hair, and massaged her tiny, throbbing clitoris, until it pulsed harder with pleasure, and Zelda gasped as she felt her sex moisten.
Melvalda’s fingers slipped inside, pushing slowly and carefully through the tight sheath of Zelda’s sex, until Zelda was squirming in her lap. The woman’s touch was exquisite. It was unlike anything Zelda had ever known. It was the expertise of an older woman, a woman who had touched many a moist sex.
Melvalda fingered Zelda deep and slow, occasionally sliding her fingers back to fondle her clitoris. Her other hand had not stopped massaging Zelda’s heavy breasts, until the pink nipple was rolling in her fingers, and her mouth on Zelda’s mouth was hungry and commanding, her tongue sliding deep to taste as much as it could, her lips caressing with a strength that was startling.
Small and aroused and helpless, Zelda quivered in Melvalda’s relentless grasp, feeling like a fly that had willingly flown into the arms of a spider. She trembled but could not hold back: with a choked gasp, she suddenly climaxed, her sex tightening and gushing moisture over Melvalda’s careful fingers, and Melvalda laughed softly and whispered in her ear, “Why, you’ve soiled my gown. I suppose I’ll have to . . . take it off.”