by Anise Rae
She leaned over and took his mouth with hers, nibbling softly and he tasted her sweetness. A primal need to reassure himself that she was his washed over him, as demanding as it was uncertain. He palmed the back of her head and pressed their kiss deeper. Anyone who thought they had a claim on her would have to come through him first…man or woman, renegade or ruler.
She reached for the buttons on his shirt and twisted her vibes around them all, undoing them with a spell. She straddled him as her vibes clouded around his chest, gentle touches everywhere.
He sucked in a breath as her hand caressed his chest, her fingers drifting over his nipples and the hair that traveled in a line to his belly and below. He’d wanted her back in his arms since the instant she’d left them.
She tugged open his pants with her spell. With a soft hum, he added his own power to hers, tickling her skin.
She shivered and giggled. He’d never heard her make that sound and a heaviness within his chest lightened. “Take off your shirt with that spell,” he ordered with a whisper.
She obliged, shucking the garment to the floor. He unfastened her bra with a quick flick of the fabric. He lifted her heavy breasts, loving their weight, their softness. Brushing his thumbs over her nipples, he toyed with the hard buds. He watched as she tipped her head back, pressing into his touch, her eyelids heavy with desire.
He craved this closeness, this naked need that bonded them.
Beneath the press of her core against his, his cock stood ready. He wanted her skin against his.
“Off,” she said, as if she sensed his need. She tugged at the fastening of his pants and then stood, wiggled her pants off, and waited for him to do the same.
Sitting against her headboard, he helped her back on his lap, spreading her wide over his legs. He pulled her forward and her wetness slipped over him. Goddess, she was pure fire and heat. With a gentle thrust, he found her opening. She shuddered as he stretched her tightness.
Intoxicating pleasure washed over him and with it was an awareness that at this moment everything in his world was exactly right. “Ah, Mara, what you do to me….”
Eye to eye, her power shined through, connecting with his, open and unguarded. He leaned into it and so did she. Holding her ass with a soft touch, he guided her movements, her narrow passage grasping at his cock. Time fled, leaving only devastating need.
They moved as one, her hips meeting his, the core of her womanhood brushing against him.
Her body went taut above him. She cried out as her climax hit, her pulsing rhythm driving him over right behind her, sending his seed deep inside her.
As she relaxed forward, he pulled her onto his chest. Cradling his hand against her head, he held her and prayed to whatever deity was listening for the strength to keep her safe.
The sun was up long before either of them, but Mara knew from the line of the light in her room that she still had time to get to work at a decent hour. She stayed still, savoring the feel of his warmth and strength behind her, holding her. His breath tickled the back of her neck and then his nose nudged her.
“I know you’re awake,” he whispered. “I like your room.” His voice was scratchy with sleep. “It looks like it should be in the middle of a forest.”
“A dark forest.” She turned over in his arms, burying into his chest.
“I grew up wandering around a dark forest. It suits me.”
The wallpaper, with its large tapestry-like forest scenes, was printed in shades of gray and showcased a grand, wise owl in every repeat of the wide, tall pattern. The wallpaper met the dark molding that took up the lower half of the wall at the chair railing. Her bed stood proud and regal in the center of the room, black carved wood topped with a dark gray duvet.
Dark. It was all dark.
When she’d finished decorating the room, she’d stepped back and observed the final effect. She’d nearly slammed the door on it. It was glamorous, sophisticated…and bleak. Not a hint of color marred the landscape. She’d created a fancy dungeon for herself, one with an artist’s rendition of a forest and birds that might have surrounded a crumbling castle, home to a dark queen who brought catastrophe upon the world.
White sheets and a hint of white background in the charcoal wallpaper softened the effect. But it wasn’t enough.
This morning, however, her dark dungeon of a bedroom held a prince of a man for the first time ever.
She smiled at him and pressed a kiss against his chest that turned into a round of gentle lovemaking. The rest of their morning was oddly domestic considering what was coming.
After a breakfast of toast and coffee, she started to cast a stay good spell on her milk.
“Stop,” he ordered.
“Should I just drain it then? If we’re leaving—”
“We don’t want anyone to think it was planned. Just leave everything. Dirty dishes in the sink, too.”
He kissed her goodbye when he closed her into Linc’s car. He would meet her at the mill at half till evening-tide and accompany her to the Council House.
By the time she arrived at work, Harry was waiting in her office, a plan to hide her at the ready.
“Thank you, my friend, but no.” She wouldn’t let Harry get wrapped up in hiding them. Mara sat down at her desk.
Harry took a chair across from it. “You can’t just let them take you.”
She couldn’t afford to tell anyone the plan. Harry was safer not knowing.
“If I don’t come back, make sure everyone gets their paycheck on time. Esther knows enough to keep the floor running and to handle the orders, but she won’t know how to coordinate anything else. Feel free to give yourself a raise.” She handed over a thick envelope. “This contains a list of clients you’ll have to handle personally. It also contains my will. If anything happens to me, the mill is yours. Not that it’s much of a prize, but I don’t have anyone else to leave it to.” Her voice faded with the last part. It was embarrassing to admit. “You can sell it, of course. But….”
“I’ll keep it going. I vow it, Mara.”
She nodded. Refusing to let the silence build to sadness, she switched subjects. “How was the Black Cat last night?”
Harry was a creature of habit, and her Thursday nights were always spent at the sleazy bar looking for a hookup.
“Boring. Nothing looked good.” She gave her half a smile. “Nothing that would bring a glowing flush to my cheeks that still remained the next day.”
Mara smiled back. “That would be a lucky find, indeed.”
After a quick knock at the door, Esther walked in without waiting for a welcome. Two dozen pairs of jeans weighed down her arms.
29
“Hurry up! I’m naked under these robes!” The High Councilor’s words echoed around the massive atrium.
Mara climbed the stairs that crisscrossed the middle of the three-story space, turning to the next set of steps at a landing that was wide enough for a living room. Gregor was at her side. They both carried two bags of jeans.
To get to the Council House, they’d entered the portal that stood in the middle of Columbus, taken a few steps, and walked out hundreds of miles away in the middle of the Republic’s capital city. The average mage citizen believed portals were impossible, and she’d been warned to keep it that way.
Linc had accompanied them. He waited for them outside the Council House.
Mara nodded to the guard at the top of the stairs as she rounded the corner and crossed the hall to the doors straight ahead. Linc usually stood there when the crone was inside.
The guard shoved something into her hand as she passed. “For my shirts,” he muttered. “And I need three more.”
“Contact the mill,” she whispered, frowning. What was he thinking paying her here? If he weren’t more discreet, his secret—that his power flowed too strongly to handle comfortably—wouldn’t stay hidden for long.
Gregor raised an eyebrow but kept quiet.
Ahead, two large wooden doors opened with a spe
ll. She and Gregor stopped in the doorway. The High Councilor stood in the center of the room, perfectly framed. Ornate moldings graced the top, middle, and bottom of the walls, which were a pale gray. White silk curtains hung open around the windows that dominated the wall behind her. A couch and chairs sat off to Mara’s right. On the left, a screen stood, sectioning off the corner of the room. She wasn’t sure what this room was used for other than the fittings that she did for the High Councilor.
“I’m going to spell wheels to take the place of your feet the next time. You’re entirely slower than turtles!” the High Councilor said.
Mara bowed. “I’m not sure we could manage your stairs, Lady, if we did not have feet.”
“Oh, shut it, my little wayward citizen, and hand over the goods. I’m late for my date.” The old woman grabbed one bag and swirled away, robes fluttering behind her, as she disappeared behind the dressing screen. An instant later, the white robes flew over the top of the screen and the shuffling of clothes whispered out.
“I thought your date was Saturday,” Mara said.
“It got moved up. My date’s impatient.”
That was a convenient excuse for changing the delivery day. Mara buried the thought before the crone could read her mind.
A moment later, a young woman with big brown eyes, long, dark hair, and a gleaming red smile stepped out. She wore Mara’s white jeans. Her blouse, also white, had straps at her shoulders but her sleeves started at mid-bicep. It was cropped short. If she lifted her arms, she’d reveal her belly. Her feet were bare, toes painted yellow. She was stunning and about twenty years old. She winked at Gregor. “Wanna give me a kiss, handsome?” she asked in the old crone’s voice.
Gregor’s jaw dropped.
“No kiss?” She turned to Mara. “How about you, lovely?” This time her voice matched her body, youthful and seductive. She puckered up, waited for a moment and then shrugged. “Your loss.” She spun away toward the side of the grand room. “Chop, chop. You want to be paid for your work? Follow me.” She sashayed away and disappeared out a door at the side of the room.
“Was that….” Mara squinted around the room. She tried again, “Who was….” But still the words would not come. She peeked behind the dressing screen. Vacant. She gestured toward the exit. “My check just walked out the door.” She dropped the other shopping bag and rushed after the young woman.
The next room featured clusters of fancy couches and chairs among ornate paintings but no beauty queen or old crone. Mara rushed through the long space, the carpet deep and as plush as a cloud. The next open door led to an office.
The desk and chair were delicately feminine, carved, painted, and created before the New World was truly conquered. She couldn’t imagine the High Councilor sitting there. She passed it and rushed toward the next door, closed but straight ahead.
This place was laid out like a never-ending row of rooms, impossible based on the outside dimensions. There were spells afoot, and they were getting thicker.
Gregor pulled her to a stop. “I’m going first.” His eyes were hard, his lips flat.
“Why?”
“The door is another portal. The power around it is sparking out like fireworks. Can you not sense it?”
She should have recognized it for what it was. The portal to the capital city felt the same.
“The question is, where will this one take us?” He opened the door and power flooded out, tingling against her like a fizzy drink. Gregor stepped in. “There’s a silence spell here. No one can hear us.” He reached for her hand and ushered her in.
They walked down a long, narrow corridor, a wall on their left and enormous tapestries that hung from the ceiling on their right. They passed the first tapestry and the second. Mara gawked, drinking them in. Even from the back where the threads were thick and tied, the scenes were clearly erotic. Naked women cavorted in the first, and the second pictured multiple couples in the midst of a variety of acts.
“Where are we?” she whispered.
“No idea. There’s a place like this in the receiving room, behind the tapestries, but this is different. Yeah,” he added at her sharp look. “I was there when you were with those ladies-in-waiting.”
She’d ended up on her knees in that room with all that power and all those prophecies. And then she’d landed in a dungeon. She hoped for a better outcome today.
When they got to the third tapestry, it turned transparent.
In front of them stood the beautiful woman who wore the High Councilor’s jeans. She faced them, but her eyes were focused elsewhere.
“She can’t see us,” Gregor said.
The room was lined with cushions and backless couches. Toward the far end, a grand bed dominated, draped with hundreds of yards of silk fabric. It was a room fit for a royal harem. The air felt thick and dirty. Dust stuck in Mara’s nose.
A chandelier hung in the middle of the room. Crystals dangled from it. It was a near match to the one in the courtroom in Fancy’s bordello.
“By the lost girls,” Mara breathed. “We’re in the Wild West.”
On the other side of the spelled tapestry, the young woman spun around and gave them her back.
Fancy strutted in.
30
The High Councilor had a portal that led to a bedroom in The Green House. It was the finest bedroom Mara had ever seen. But she knew it wasn’t Fancy’s room. The madame would never let someone into such a personal space.
Mara’s mind felt seared with shock. Fancy was acquainted with the High Councilor…or at least some version of her, one that held no resemblance to the crone. Did Fancy know who she was dealing with?
“It’s about time you got here. I thought you were going to stand me up.” Fancy’s black corset lifted her breasts high. Her leather pants shined in the candlelight, and her heels granted her an extra five inches. The contrast from one woman to the next stretched from sexy youth to experienced seductress.
“Why are you so late? A bad hair day again, High Councilor?”
Okay, Fancy knew who she was dealing with.
If Mara had needed it, the madame had given her confirmation that the High Councilor had a youthful alter ego buried beneath her wrinkles and white hair.
“I’ve heard Mara has an excellent hair mage on staff. Perhaps you should ask her for a referral.” Fancy sauntered forward. The High Councilor turned so that she stood in profile to the tapestry. Fancy did the same, facing the young beauty. “I do like your ass in those jeans though. Did you wear them for me, gorgeous?”
“Baby, I’m all for you. If you’re woman enough to take it, that is, and let’s be honest, that has yet to be determined.” The former crone, now sexy vixen, smiled, her red lips shining with the best lipstick spell Mara had ever seen.
Fancy laughed. “Oh, please, woman. I’ve already had you. I can handle whatever you want to dish out.” She tapped a sharp, red fingernail against her chin. “Can the same be said for you?” Her eyes swirled silver, the metallic gleam catching the candlelight that sparkled dimly in the colorful chandelier.
Silver.
Shocked once again flashed a bright streak through Mara’s mind.
“Goddess above, she’s a fucking glister.” Gregor’s whisper whipped with fury. She put her hand on his arm, giving comfort as much as she was seeking it.
All these years, Fancy had been masquerading as a mage, and Mara had fallen for it. Everyone had fallen for it. Stars above, how could she not have known?
Gregor yanked her around, hiding her face against his chest. His heart sprinted beneath her ear. “Don’t look,” he growled. “She’ll catch your mind.”
“Gregor, it’s all right.” She pushed him away. “She can’t catch me. No glister can. But how could she let me believe she was a mage?” If she could reach the woman right now, she might grip her by her corset strings and shake her.
On the other side of the tapestry, the young High Councilor stroked a finger over her bare shoulders. “No silver eyes,
glister girl. That’s not playing fair,” she whimpered with a sexy hitch. She dropped her gaze, so innocent, so dangerous.
Fancy ran a finger along the young woman’s lips. “Since this is both love and war, all’s fair goes doubly true. And by the way, when are you going to return my spell? Haven’t you had enough fun with it yet? I know you’ve been misplacing people…west to east and north to south.”
The young crone shrugged and hummed her lips together in a song of I don’t know.
“Shall I take it out on your hide?” Fancy rubbed the High Councilor’s ass.
“Try it,” the vixen crone whispered. “And see what happens.” It was offered softly, but a threat lay beneath.
Fancy laughed and strutted away, her derriere perfect in her shiny pants. She opened a low chest at the foot of the bed and came back with a pair of white scissors in hand, pointed at the High Councilor’s youthful body.
On the other side of the tapestry, the High Councilor scrambled back. “Goddess of the great country! Don’t point those things at me! Are you trying to kill me?”
Though she’d never seen them before, Mara realized what they were: scissors that endowed the power of dance into anything they snipped…one of the fairy relics.
Gregor grabbed her hand, his face pale. She angled in front of him as if she might protect him.
“It’s a gift, my sweet,” Fancy said. “Are you brave enough to take it? Spin, snip or stitch, it all ends badly for a mage with a relic.” Her voice was low and sexy as if a mage reaching a bad end was a sensual delight. “You ruined a very handsome mage with the needle. Two of them actually. The Prophet. And the young, proud Captain Whitman. Now he’s as good as one of us, you know.”
Gregor glared at the High Councilor, such loathing in his eyes, such fear, that Mara wanted to push past the invisible wall separating her from the woman, brave those scissors, and snip the crafty, cold-hearted woman out of their lives.