Chapter Eight

Drake returned with a wildly kicking and screaming horse that was very much alive. If Gwyneth hadn’t been so horrified, she thought she might have laughed at the expressions on both Faine’s and Caelin’s faces.

“By the gods, Drake! What the fuck? A horse? You mean to eat a horse?” Faine demanded, clearly outraged.

“To ride!” Drake roared in his beast voice. “Take the thing, else he will be off again the moment I let him go!”

Faine and Caelin exchanged a glance but finally surged forward to grasp the trailing reins of the stallion. It took both them, using all of their considerable strength and weight to prevent the beast from bolting the moment Drake released him. He bucked wildly, kicking back at Drake as he struggled upward again. By the time Drake had vanished into the night sky once more, however, they had managed to quiet the animal enough to keep all four feet on the ground.

Caelin slipped closer until he could settle one hand on the horse’s face and the other in his mane, speaking to him quietly all the while.

Gwyneth felt so giddy, she couldn’t decide whether she most wanted to weep or laugh. She finally decided that she was so frightened and unsettled by the entire episode that it was hysteria, not amusement that made her feel like doing both.

She could scarcely believe Drake capable of capturing and carrying off such a beast! It was clearly a warhorse, and those were bred for their size and strength and ferocity!

She couldn’t decide why she was so horrified—not the sake of the horse. Not that she would’ve wanted it hurt, but it occurred to her fairly quickly that it was Drake’s battle with the thing that had so unnerved her.

She’d been near hysterical for fear that he would be hurt!

And that Faine or Caelin might be hurt.

It was absurd, she assured herself—especially her fears for Drake—but there was no denying it. From the moment she’d been drawn to search for him in the sky and seen his struggle to keep his hold on the thing and stay aloft, she’d leapt to her feet, clapping her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.

When Caelin finally managed to calm the beast, she sank weakly to the ground, covered her face and burst into tears. Someone dropped to the ground beside her a few moments later and patted her on the back a little awkwardly. She wept harder at the offer of comfort.

“The beast is none the worse for his flight,” Faine said soothingly. “No doubt it will be a while before he finds his balls again to mount a filly, but he is not hurt.”

Gwyneth choked and uttered a slightly hysterical giggle.

He bent low, tilting his head to try to peer at her face. “Is that more tears? Or a laugh?”

Gwyneth mopped her face off with her skirt and finally lifted her head. “Both, I suppose,” she responded, sniffing.

“Gods! Your face is a mess! All red and puffy.”

Disconcerted, Gwyneth hid her face against her knees.

“You aren’t going to start crying again?” he asked uneasily.

“No,” she said.

“Good, because it won’t stop being red and puffy until you do.”

Gwyneth dropped her hands to her lap and stared at the fire. “It looks that bad?”

He caught her chin and tipped her face up for his inspection in spite of her efforts to elude his grasp. He stared at her for a long moment and swallowed a little convulsively. “It is not nearly ugly enough to suit me,” he murmured, leaning closer and brushing his lips lightly along hers.

Gwyneth’s breath caught in her throat. She stilled, feeling every sense suddenly open and keenly receptive, focused, so that she not only felt the pressure of his lips against hers, she felt the warmth. She felt the faint roughness of his cheek as he rolled it along hers to match lips to lips. She felt the texture of them and the fit against her own mouth. His heated breath stirred the fine down along her upper lip and cheeks, making her face tingle, sending echoes through her that made the flesh of her breasts and her sex contract. It wound its way through her slightly parted lips into her mouth and into her nostrils, giving her just the faintest taste and scent of him, enough to decide she liked both, wanted more.

Her awareness broadened. His nearness and his size gave her a sense of being surrounded and engulfed by him as it measured the breadth of his shoulders, the depth of his chest, the size of his hand. Welcome and anticipation sang through her veins before she had consciously acknowledged that she liked everything her senses had detected.

She sucked in a shaky breath when he lifted his lips from hers after a moment, opening her eyes slowly to meet his gaze. He released a pent up breath and slipped his hand along her jaw, curling his fingers along the back of her head and drawing her close again. “You are far too much temptation,” he murmured raggedly, covering her mouth and kissing her deeply as he dragged her closer, trapped her against him with the hard bands of his arms.

He sank fully into her psyche that time, jolting her senses into a wild scramble to record everything at once and creating chaos. It was no tentative sampling as before, no slow awakening of her senses. His mouth enfolded hers in a blaze of heat. The thrust of his tongue lay conquest to every tender inner surface of her mouth at once. There was ravening hunger in his touch and in his hold on her, a demand for appeasement that her body responded to by yielding at once.

Before she entirely knew what had happened, she felt the ground beneath her and Faine on top of her, felt the pressure of his body digging into hers as he moved against her, the knead of his hand on one breast, at her waist, along her hip as he explored what he could of her through her clothing. Air brushed her legs and then higher as he pushed her skirts upward and for a handful of seconds, she felt a trace of panic as her mind instantly connected with memories far from pleasant.

Even as she felt the hard mass of his erection pressing bruisingly along her thigh, though, he broke the kiss. His harsh pants for breath pelted her with his scent, dragged her back to the present as he began to suck feverishly at her throat and the side of her neck, brushing his face along hers. Moisture flooded her channel as it worked in a feverish anticipation to match his, aching for his possession. He found her already wet for him and it seemed to rip away the last threads of his control. He began to pump his hips to drive into her the moment he found his way. His harsh grunts of effort sent rippling waves of heat through her, stealing her breath, making her drunk with anticipation.

The stark contrast in the need his feverish efforts aroused in her to what she’d felt in very similar circumstances before wasn’t lost on her. It flickered through her mind and left a sense of wonder in its wake and was gone, swallowed by the conflagration that sprang up as she felt her flesh engulf his, felt him claim her channel with agonizing slowness.

He was shaking all over by the time he’d dug into her as far as he could go, seemed too mindless in his quest for several moments even to realize he could go no deeper. For a handful of seconds he continued to strain against the insurmountable obstacle of her womb and then he began to move jerkily, pumping his hips to drag his cock outward along her channel and thrusting in again in frantic haste to reclaim it.

The muscles along her channel contracted, clenching along his length in reaction. She heard him grinding his teeth. A breathless grunt escaped him. “Gods!” he gasped hoarsely. “It feels so good inside of you.”

Gwyneth felt her skin pebble all over in reaction, felt her heart slam against her chest wall, felt the throbbing ache at her core expand and then fragment. She sucked in a sharp breath as waves of bliss began to crash through her. Faine pumped a little frantically, uttered faint choked grunts as own body began to yield up his seed in response, and released a long, ragged sigh of relief when it finally stopped.

“Gods!” he muttered when he’d finally caught his breath, leaning away to search her face worriedly. “Did I hurt you?”

Gwyneth opened her eyes with an effort. “No,” she grunted, abruptly aware of the hard, pebble strewn ground beneath her. He hadn’t hurt her, but the ground she’d been pressed against had left bruises all over her backside.

He scanned her face and finally levered himself off of her, rolling on his hip and then up into a sitting position. He seemed completely focused on adjusting his trousers and shoving his cock into them when Gwyneth pushed herself up onto her elbows a little drunkenly. She glanced at him and then down at her skirts, bunched up around her waist, and finally reached with shaking hands to push them down.

Faine shot to his feet abruptly as she sat up, stalked away from the fire, and disappeared into the darkness. Right up until that moment, Gwyneth had been basking in the residual warmth from their coupling. A chill traced a path over her overheated skin as she stared after him. Despite some uncomfortable similarities, it hadn’t felt or made her feel in any way as it had felt when the men of the castle had shoved her down, thrown her skirts up, and plunged their nasty sticks into her—not until that moment.

Shivering, she clasped her arms around herself, too confused even to cry, although she felt her throat close.

* * * *

They got off to a late start the following morning despite the fact that they’d awakened before the first fingers of dawn were reaching up to chase the darkness. It transpired that Drake had captured a steed for himself for the journey and he and the beast didn’t see eye to eye on the subject. It was fortunate Caelin had had the forethought to tether the stallion securely even though he’d successfully calmed the beast. The moment Drake drew close enough for the animal to catch his scent and identify him as the monster that had snatched him into the sky the night before, the stallion virtually foamed at the mouth with rage, rearing up and trying to strike with his hooves, snapping at him with his teeth.

Drake spoke soothingly to him as he’d seen Caelin do with his own horse, but the stallion wasn’t having any of it. He continued to buck and rear and lash out threateningly. Drake glared at him and finally grabbed the tether. Giving it a hard yank that jerked the horse toward him, he balled his fist up and slammed it into the horse’s head so hard the stallion’s knees wobbled and then buckled and the animal keeled over.

Gwyneth, Faine, and Caelin were gaping at him when he turned and stalked back toward the campsite to snatch up the supplies he’d gathered while he was out ‘hunting’.

“Is he … dead?” Gwyneth gasped shakily.

“Nay! He’s thinking a bit about crossing me is all,” Drake growled.

Caelin and Faine had strode to the downed horse and crouched to examine him. The two exchanged a speaking glance and straightened as Drake marched back and booted the horse in the ribs. “Get up, you lazy brute!” he growled.

The horse lifted his head a little dazedly and began to struggle to his feet. He had to plant his legs in a wide stance to remain on them once he was up. Drake plunked his bedroll and supplies on the horse’s rump, tying them in place.

Caelin grinned reluctantly. “You’ve a soft touch with animals, dragon.”

Drake grunted. “Never had much patience and I’m too old to have any now,” he muttered.

“It’s not hard to learn the way of the horse whisperer,” Caelin said pointedly.

Drake stared at him. “He’s a stallion,” he said pointedly, flicking a piercing look at Gwyneth. “I’ll save the soft touch for the fillies.”

Caelin’s lips tightened fractionally. He glanced at Gwyneth, as well and then strode to the campsite to retrieve his own supplies, uttering the warbling sound he had before. Darkness raced from the field where he’d been grazing, prancing and dancing for him as if he was delighted to be summoned.

Faine, once more a unicorn, followed the stallion more slowly.

Gwyneth stared at him for a moment and looked away. He hadn’t spoken to her after their interlude the night before. In fact, he’d made himself scarce until they’d all bedded down to sleep. The sense of having been rutted had left her after a while as it slowly sank in that he hadn’t simply gotten up and walked away, dismissing her like a piece of trash as the men usually did when they were done with her. There’d been more a sense of him trying to escaped his shame for using her for his lust. That hadn’t made her feel a great deal better since it also made her feel ashamed for enjoying it as much as she had, but she didn’t think he’d meant it that way.

He was too conflicted to realize how he’d made her feel and, if their coupling was anything to go by, it wasn’t just his imagination that he was losing control.

He nudged her with his soft muzzle when Caelin mounted and trotted toward her on Darkness. Startled, she turned to look at him. He studied her for a long moment, and brushed his face along her belly and breasts, barely missing her with his horn.

She stared into his eyes for a long moment as the sense filled her that he was trying to apologize and finally lifted a hand tentatively and stroked his face. He whickered softly, dropped a little awkwardly to his knees and bowed his head.

Charmed, she smiled at him.

He tossed his head.

“She can ride with me,” Drake said tightly. “There’s plenty of room this beast.”

Gwyneth glanced toward Drake when he spoke and then looked at Faine again. She realized when he jerked his head up that he was offering to carry her. She bit her lip. “I’m not very good at staying on,” she said.

Caelin uttered a snort of a laugh. “That is an understatement if I have ever heard one!”

Gwyneth slid a resentful glance at him and resolutely approached Faine. Lifting her skirts, she threw one leg across his back and gripped his mane, tightening her hold as he stood up. It was a near thing, but she managed to stay on his back. She sent Caelin a smirk of triumph. Scowling at her, he nudged Darkness forward.

Drake was glaring at both of them, she discovered. Uttering a huff of irritation, he nudged his own mount into motion. Faine trailed them as they made their way down to the pass.

“It would’ve been far easier—and faster—if we flew. I suppose that didn’t occur to you?”

Drake sent Caelin a narrow eyed look. “It occurred to me that I would rather mount this stallion than be mounted, thank you very much. In any case, there is no particular rush. We need only reach the temple by the full moon, and I need time to consider what it is that Artimus is up to. It occurs to me that he may be reluctant to yield what he has agreed to, that he might decide it will be more useful to his ends to hold it a while longer until he has thought of another task that he needs.”

Caelin grunted, flicking a glance over his shoulder at Gwyneth. “It isn’t because you want more time to fuck the wench?”

Drake shrugged. “That, too,” he said, unruffled, then added pointedly. “You will not gain what it is you seek by rushing the girl there and placing her in the hands of his minions. We must confront Artimus himself and prevent him from claiming her until he has done his part or we will have performed a vile service for the evil bastard and gained nothing in return. I have vowed to do all that I can for my mate. I am prepared to do what I must to save Maud’s daughter. I am not prepared to sacrifice Gwyneth if I cannot succeed in saving Maud’s child. In truth, I would far prefer to think of a way to outwit the bastard and give him nothing for the suffering he has caused me. It sickens me to the depths of my soul to consider fighting evil with evil deeds of my own. And beyond that, it is a shameful waste of as fine a piece of woman flesh as I have ever had.”

Caelin frowned, conceding Drake had valid points. It had been no part of his plan at any time to simply turn the girl over to the temple priests and trust that they would uphold their promise. The word of such creatures was less than nothing and, like Drake, he meant to see his mother freed, not just for her sake, but to free himself from Artimus’ clutches. It had made him sick with rage when Gwyneth had lumped him with Artimus’ followers, sicker to know that there was truth in it, however reluctant he was to be used.

He almost pitied Faine, who had not even as much as he and Drake did to try to assuage his conscience, but in truth, there wasn’t a hair’s worth of difference. It boiled down to sacrificing Gwyneth to save themselves however they looked at it and he was no more comfortable with that than Drake or Faine were.

He almost thought Artimus must be gloating over the turmoil he had to have known it would cause them. Fool that he was, he had thought he could distance himself from her and see her only as an ends to a means. He had thought that he could blind himself to her as a woman because she was human. He thought he had lost that chance when the guard had attacked her—maybe even before that. Surprise didn’t begin to describe how he’d felt when he discovered she had come to try to ‘save’ him. There had been a sense of triumph and satisfaction that she’d come to him, placed herself right into his hands and spared him the necessity of searching for her—until he had been forced to watch helplessly while she fought a bastard twice her size for yielding to her soft heart. He thought he could have dismissed the risks she’d taken for him, a stranger, if not for that.

He had succeeded grandly in driving her away, in making her leery of him. If he could’ve succeeded half as well in driving her from his mind, he thought with disgust, he would have been far happier.

Instead, he’d watched Drake gentle her with his practiced touch, had seen her blossom with the kindness he’d been willing to give in return for acceptance. He hadn’t really tried to contain his rage, or his outrage. He’d tried to turn it against her, but it was like battling a fire with a blazing torch. He was burning.

It chaffed him that Drake was right and there was no way to end this thing swiftly, to end the torment. He didn’t know anything to do to save himself but to keep trying to build the barrier higher and wider, to build it big enough he couldn’t breach it. Because he’d begun to doubt that he could continue to keep his distance if he couldn’t force her away with his ill temper and he was afraid if he didn’t that he would be lost.

* * * *

A fear inspired rush of a adrenaline rolled through Gwyneth as she gazed up at the moon. Her skin prickled. It was hard to accept that she wouldn’t live to see the moon wane, that she could count her life in days.

Coldness swept over her as her mind conjured an image of a dark and secretive room, a cold slab beneath her back, a priest standing over her with his knife raised.

She jumped when a hand settled on her arm, throwing a frightened glance at the owner of the hand. Something flickered in Drake’s eyes.

“You are too far away, little dove. Come close and I will warm you.”

The heat that blazed in his eyes gave the offer an entirely different meaning than the one implied, but she felt an answering warmth, an eagerness not just for his touch for the pleasure he gave her, but for the comfort, the sense of protectiveness. She knew it was just an illusion, but she needed it. He dragged her onto his lap when she’d shifted closer against his side, curling his arms around her and nuzzling his face against the side of her neck.

“I imagine she is well bred by now,” Caelin said shortly.

Drake slid one hand down to cup her sex and then her belly. “The egg is shy,” he murmured, an edge to his voice despite the teasing way he’d said it, “or clever in eluding us. She is still fertile. The perfume of it makes me drunk with want. I think I will have to work at capturing it much, much harder.”

A shivered worked its way through Gwyneth that was almost equal parts the warmth of desire and the cold of dread.

She had thought, hoped, that Drake’s talk was just that—talk without substance. It occurred to her forcefully, though, that he was right, at least as far as she knew of such things. She was in the fullness of her time.

Was it even possible, though, that such beings could get a child on her?

Again, Drake seemed to believe it, but she had no idea if he had reason to believe it or if it was nothing more than his arrogance, his certainty that there was almost nothing he could not do.

And if he succeeded?

If he was right, then nothing would stop the countdown of her days. Truthfully, she didn’t believe anything would stop it regardless. She’d hoped when she’d yielded her maidenhead that that would prevent it, and yet here they were, another day closer to the temple and the fate that had been decided for her.

They were going to take her and give her to the priests, regardless of whether the priests decided she was suitable as a sacrifice or not, she realized with a horrible sense of dread. Maybe they would simply kill her for thwarting their plans for her, but either way ….

“You are not serious? She is not bred?”

Drake grunted. “In all truth, she is not,” he said dryly. “I am entirely willing to undertake the project on my own, however. If I am dedicated, I am certain my seed will overcome resistance and conquer.”

Caelin glanced at Faine.

“You are too kind,” Faine said tightly. “We agreed, however, that it would be best if none of us knew—for certain. I am willing to honor that agreement.”

“Unnecessary,” Drake said coolly.

“We insist,” Caelin retorted, equally cold.

Drake studied them for a tense moment and finally relaxed. “Very well. It must be done tonight, else we will lose the fragile bud and our seed will fall on fallow ground.” He stroked a hand along Gwyneth’s arm. “Disrobe for us, sweeting, and lie down on my pallet.”

Gwyneth tensed, but she wasn’t afraid of them—any of them. It was nerves and anticipation that made her fingers tremble—and a modicum of anxiety about what would happen to her if they were successful.”

Caelin swallowed a little convulsively. “I do not see a need in her disrobing. We can simply toss the wench’s skirts up and be done with it.”

Drake sent him a speculative look and shrugged. “It is for me.”

“Then she can disrobe when it is your turn,” Caelin said tightly.

“If she stands then, your seed will run out and you will need to fuck her again. She might just as well disrobe now—in fact better, else you will be forced to fuck her all over again.”

As reasonable as he’d said it, it flickered through Caelin’s mind that there was nothing reasonable about it, but he discovered he couldn’t gather his thoughts once the suggestion had been made. “That is a good point,” he said a little hoarsely, watching Gwyneth undress.

“Aye, I thought that you would see it my way,” Drake said sardonically.

It wasn’t until Gwyneth had undressed and settled on the pallet that it dawned on Caelin that he was still fully clothed. He began to pull at his clothes a little frantically, struggling with the cords that seemed determined to become knots. He’d peeled his britches down before he realized he still had his boots on. Gritting his teeth, he tried hopping on one leg while he removed them and finally gave up and sat down. Rocks instantly bit into his bare ass, but the distraction had no effect on the raging erection. It only served to bring a throbbing to another part of his anatomy.

“Mind you,” Drake drawled when Caelin had settled on his knees and pushed Gwyneth’s legs apart, “she is more likely to take your seed if you can make her come. Of course, if you cannot, you cannot.”

Gwyneth turned to gape at him at the comment. He winked at her, shrugged as if to say he’d done what he could, and then took a seat across the fire from them to watch the proceedings.

Caelin’s mouth was so dry when he finally found himself staring down at Gwyneth that he couldn’t seem to gather enough spit to swallow. Feeling strangely detached from his surroundings, he leaned over her, planting his palms on either side of her shoulders.

She didn’t need to come, he told himself. He only needed to thrust into her until he came and that would be enough. No doubt she was already warm and wet, for he could see from her panting breaths and the way her breasts trembled with the force of her heartbeat that she was certainly not unmoved whether she was as ready to explode as he was or not.

It was the discovery when he finally lifted his gaze to her face that she was looking at Drake that riled his temper, that splintered the raging lust into rage and lust. He dropped to his elbows, captured her face and kissed her with the savagery of both, determined to drive Drake from her mind. She stiffened for a moment and then yielded abruptly to his conquest of her mouth, making a sound in her throat that made everything inside of him grow more taut. At the same time, it tamed the rage, leaving only need, desperate need.

He kissed her mouth until he’d begun to think he might black out from the insufficiency of air he could take in. Breaking away, he sucked in a gulp to chase the darkness and dove for her throat and then her breasts.

She tasted like heaven. She felt like the most delicious of sins. He was so intent on filling his senses with her that it took him a few moments to realize that she’d begun to make faint whimpering sounds of distress. He lifted his head and stared at her dazedly, too drunk with the fire inside his belly to think.

“Now, Caelin!” she gasped.

Yes! Now! he thought feverishly, pushing a hand between her legs to stroke her, to search for the sweet honey he needed to push inside of her. His mind went blank for a moment when he pushed a finger inside of her and felt her heat, felt her flesh close around his finger. Shaking, he jerked his finger from her, grasped his cock, and shoved at her opening frantically, trying to get inside of her before he came. She enveloped him. His skin tightened, rippled as waves of gooseflesh moved over him. Gritting his teeth to focus his mind on something else, anything else, until he’d wedged himself fully inside of her, he found himself huffing so hard for breath that the blackness washed over him again.

He paused when he’d finally conquered her channel, trying to catch his breath, thinking if he only stayed as he was the muscles of her passage that were kneading his flesh would bring him off without any further effort on his part.

She needed to come, though.

He’d forgotten why.

Yes! Because she fucking came for Drake and she was going to scream for him, by the gods! Levering himself upward enough to watch her face, he began to thrust into her, fast, then slow, deep then shallow, trying to find a rhythm that would please her.

He was damned if he could tell, gods damn it! She moaned every time, regardless. Fuck it! He couldn’t hold on to his seed forever! He felt as if she’d squeezed his balls up into his throat and he was strangling on them.

He settled a little lower and began to search for the rhythm he needed—any rhythm. Gods! He couldn’t remember if it had felt this good the first time or not.

Insects were crawling all over him, spreading fire. His brain was on fire. He began to thrust into her feverishly to put out the fire before it consumed him.

She gasped, arched her back, uttered the keening cry he’d been waiting for and the moment she did his seed exploded from him so hard he nearly blacked out. It forced a choked grunt from him and then another as his body continued to convulse, forcing his seed through his cock like acid.

Relief filled him when it finally stopped. A mellow warmth flowed through him and took every ounce of strength with it. He sagged against her, thankful his heart had finally slowed instead of exploding and he could drag in a decent breath of air.

It took sheer determination to push himself up onto his knees. He settled on his heels, staring down at her. Slowly, his gaze traveled her length and settled on her cleft.

He could see his seed dripping from the mouth of her sex. Panting, he glanced around a little dazedly and finally grabbed his tunic, shoving it under her hips.

“You could always stand her on her head,” Drake said dryly. “It’s certain she wouldn’t lose any of your seed that way. She might gargle it, but it could not drip out.”