by Ava Sinclair
Then I feel it. At first, I think it is a finger, but it is not. What nudges at the untried orifice of my bottom is thicker, fleshier. How can it be when he is still inside me, driving me towards another cresting wave of pleasure? The pressure against my bottom hole is persistent, and the breach stings so that I cry out. But the pain is offset by the body bliss overtaking me, or maybe it’s eclipsing it. Either way, the sensation of being so thoroughly filled, so taken, is overwhelming.
“How?” I breathe when I look down to see the fingers of both Jareo’s hands still working my nipples.
“We can change shape, texture, size. We can even turn one cock into two to give a lady the pleasures she never knew she wanted.”
“Ooooh…” I moan. The cock lodged in my ass stays still as the one in my pussy continues to move and pulse. I am suspended in the water, impaled on this huge dragon lord who now wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck.
“Your passion is the purest thing I’ve ever known.” His words are tender in comparison to the carnal wildness I’m feeling, and I come from both the mixture of sweetness and wildness. I am no virgin, and yet he sees me as such, as a first, as something fresh and new. I am awed anew by the men I once saw as my enemies.
My cries ring once more through the cavern as I savor this moment of bliss, for I know it is yet another lull in the storm of our lives.
Chapter 20
GYRVIG
We found another injured soldier behind the storehouse, where he’d stumbled and fallen. I ferry him to Castle Fra’hir just in time to be saved by the pools. It is good to be in a castle again, even if it does make me miss Castle Kri’byl.
Curse this war. We had a victory today, and while we allowed the new recruits to celebrate, it felt too easy—a thought I seek to share with Jareo when I track him down in Castle Fra’hir’s dining hall.
He’s there with Thera, and as soon as I see them together I know he has taken her. The days of feasting are past, and despite the meager fare of salt meat, bread, turnips, and cheese, my brother looks not only sated, but in love with the woman beside him. They do not see me enter, and for a moment I observe them in this quiet moment. He says something to her and she tries to suppress a smile and then fails with a pretty flush. I almost hate to break up the moment but know I must.
They look surprised to see me, and when I tell Thera why I’ve come, she is instantly upset that we overlooked a wounded soldier but reassured when I tell her he survived. As I settle into a chair, Lady Lyla enters, accompanied by Lord Imryth and Lord Zelki. Her other two mates are patrolling the village, and the ones in residence have asked us to dine.
Lady Lyla looks tired. Like any Drakoryan Bride, worrying over her mates is likely keeping her up nights. We all stand when she enters, and she immediately walks over to Thera.
“Welcome, healer,” she says, and Thera dips her head in respect.
“Lady Lyla,” she replies. “I have not enough words to thank you and your mates for saving the lives of the soldiers in your pools.” She shakes her head. “Such wonders!”
Lady Lyla smiles. “Yes, when I first experienced them, I thought I was in a dream.” She embraces Thera. “Anyone injured in war will avail themselves of the healing water from now on.”
She moves to her chair, and we all take a seat.
“Not to worry the ladies,” I tell my brother and the Lords of Fra’hir, “but does it seem to any of you that victory came too swiftly?”’
The other men nod gravely. “I have the same concern.” Imryth reaches for a piece of bread. “Even with casualties, it felt unmatched. The ShadowFell have had time to fully awaken. They could have come with greater numbers.”
“To what end would they do this?” Thera boldly asks the question, and Lyla and her lords cast smiling glances at one another, no doubt reminded of her boldness.
“I have been studying their history,” Lyla said. “Lord Imryth and our castle oracle have many books on the ShadowFell if you’d like to read them.” She pauses. “Do you read?”
Thera nods.
“Past battles were brutal, with the ShadowFell relying on a show of overwhelming force. They would often come with more than was needed. It was in such a battle that my lords’ father fell in defense of the king himself, who emerges to fight only when he is needed. It is unusual for the enemy to come with such a limited force, especially when they seek to attack the village as well.”
“Perhaps it is because they want to steal the maidens away, just as they did in Branlock and Kenrick.” The others nod at my observation. “If they slaughter everyone, they will have no mates should they carry out their plan to become half-human.”
“They want to be half human?” Thera asks.
“Yes.” I explain then the ShadowFell’s terrible plan to become as the Drakoryans and watch as more of the pieces fall in place.
“We must remain vigilant,” Lord Zelki of Fra’hir advises. “Let the village soldiers bask in their victory, but only for a short time. We must soon press on them that this was a hint of the horror the enemy can inflict.”
Lady Lyla suddenly rises, and the lords rise with her. “I’m sorry.” She clutches the table for support. “I suddenly feel unwell. I need to seek my bedchamber.”
On either side of her, her lords move to embrace her protectively.
“We should not have spoken of this,” Zelki says. “Now you’re upset…”
“It’s not upset,” Thera stands to move around the table. Her eyes are focused on Lyla’s face as she walks to the Lady of Fra’hir. She takes Lyla’s hand, puts another to her forehead, peers at her face. “Lady Lyla, when was the last time you had Blood of your Moon?”
Lyla stares at her mutely, then her brow furrows. “They do not come on a regular cycle. I am much like my mother in that regard.”
“And your mates still take you?”
She smiles. “Nightly, before all this war…”
Thera takes her other hand. She smiles. “Lady, you are with child.”
All fall quiet now. Lyla’s lords look at Thera, then at their shocked mate.
“It cannot be,” she says. “It is not breeding time.”
“Breeding time or no, I have delivered enough women to know when one is with child.” Thera smiles gently. “Have you been ill?”
“Yes, but Mother and Beti thought it was for lack of good food.”
“Sleepy?”
She nods.
Thera reaches out her hand once more. “You already swell. Have you felt…”
“A fluttering?” Lyla finishes her sentence. “Yes. Like a small moth, low...”
“And dreams?”
Lyla nods. “Yes. Vivid.”
Thera looks at the Lords of Fra’hir. “I do not know your ways, but your wife is going to be a mother, and judging by the feel of her, she is several months gone.” She pauses. “Care for her, and if you need a midwife when the time comes, call on me. It is the least I can do to repay you for saving my people.”
Lyla is crying now, her head turned to Imryth’s chest. “Oh, my lords. Why now? Why? Amid all this war and fear?”
While her lords do not know what to say, our mate does.
“Lady Lyla,” Thera says. “You mustn’t think so. See this as a good sign.” She pauses. “I used to never believe that the twists in life’s path lead to purposeful places. I see now that they do. Think in this manner, and it will be so for your child.”
Lyla manages a smile. “And so it will.” She straightens herself, looking stronger. “Thank you, healer. Yes, I will need a midwife.” She looks at me and Jareo. “You and your brothers are very fortunate to have found such a mate. May we all come out of this complete and for the better.
Chapter 21
TYRI
It is snowing again, and we are worried that the village stores will not make it to spring. The oracles convey permission for us to hunt in the sacred wood. Yrko and I are schooled in archery and select several village men who are
equally good shots.
Our dragon nature does us no good in the dense forest. Dragons are creatures of the air and open land. The woodland is not our realm, and it is heavy with an internal memory of the fated journey of first father, King Eknor, whose misuse of the Wyld led to the curse.
We only hunt for sustenance. Even in times of feast, we are sure not to waste anything we take. This is the first time we’ve hunted for the survival of ourselves and others.
The forest is ancient and full of magic, and the game far larger than what inhabits non-magical realms. My brother and I feel the trees watch us as we pass. The canopy is so thick that the snow does not gather here as it does in the valley. We keep our bows at the ready, listening for the sound of animals making use of what they can find in these harsh times. Our breath exhales in steamy clouds, my brother’s and mine more so than our companions due to the heat of our bodies. The hunters from the village are bundled in furs, but as always, we are minimally dressed, being immune from the cold.
We all stop when Yrko holds up his hand. Up ahead, we hear the sound of a bark being ripped from a birch tree. I silently motion for the men to move out into a circle around where we glimpse several deer feeding. When we have surrounded them, I lower my hand and Yrko creeps towards the creatures. He is drawing his bow as he moves quietly among the trees, but the wind gives us away. The stag, having caught our scent, lifts its antlered head and stomps the ground, signaling his harem to flee.
A volley of arrows flies towards the small herd, felling two of the does with mercifully lethal shots to the heart. As they fall to the ground, the stag bolts sideways, leading his surviving females deeper into the wood.
Before we entered, we told the villagers we would not kill the stags, even if they were bigger, because in the Wyld, the does depend on their mates for protection against predators. I had caught sight of the proud creature’s pained eye as he passed and felt his awareness at having failed to get all his band to safety. It gives me a moment of guilt; even if what we do is necessary in such times, I relate to the stag’s desire to protect a mate.
Even though the deer are thinner than normal, their huge size means there is still more meat on them than on deer the villagers are used to. They are pleased. Many families will be fed both on these and a boar we happen upon.
“We can carry no more,” I tell the men later when we are heading back. The day is late, and dusk is the time of the ShadowFell; we want to get back to the village in case of another attack. They are encouraged by what we’ve already taken, but I caution them against greed, especially in a magical forest, where such a thing is harshly punished.
“Are there fair folk here?” It has occurred to one of the men that unusual creatures may not be the only thing roaming in the ancient wood.
“Who knows what lurks,” I say. “All the more reason for us to return home quickly.” They quicken their pace, but as we pass through a small glen fringed with icy trees, one of the villagers cries out.
“By the gods! The fair folk do reside here!”
I feel my irritation rise and sense the same in Yrko. We are in no mood to be delayed by flights of fancy, but several other men are pointing now, and I feel a chill beyond what is in the air when I see what has captures their attention.
A woman, with auburn hair and a ghostly white face is moving towards us. She doesn’t walk so much as stagger, and even though our hunting party is in her line of sight, she doesn’t acknowledge us with word or expression.
“Stay here,” Yrko orders the men, who are already falling back as we approach the woman.
She is clad in a silver-gray gown and matching slippers, her garb too fine to be village dress. She wears no cloak, and although the dark circles under her eyes give her a wraithlike appearance, she is not shaking despite the cold.
“Girl,” I say, “who are you?”
She looks at me and my brother as if trying to comprehend an answer, but she does not give one.
“Girl,” Yrko tries, “it is chill out. You are lost? What is your name?”
“Name?” She repeats the word as if it has some meaning long forgotten. “Name. Name.” She smiles the smile of someone half mad, twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. “Name. Name. I have no name. It’s been taken, you see, taken as I was taken. I was to marry, but I displeased my master. I was disobedient, and now he has sent me here to die.”
“Girl, tell us where you come from.”
She looks familiar to me, yet I know I have not seen her. “Is your home nearby?” It seems an odd question, but it occurs to me that she may be one of the fair folk, such is her beauty. But when she answers me, my brother and I are left speechless.
“My home? No. It is far away, I think.”
“Far away?” I ask. “Where?”
“A village.” She looks past us, as if seeing it in her mind. “Called Branlock.”
I move to catch her as she falls. She is skin and bones. I do not know how she is even alive.
Chapter 22
THERA
I was awakened by banging on my door, and no sooner did I open it than all five lords of Kri’byl crowded into my small cottage. Yrko carried a woman so pale and thin I initially thought her dead. Tyri rushed to spread furs on the floor so his twin could lay her by the fire.
As they explained how they found her in the icy woods, I was at a loss to understand how such an emaciated woman in so little dress could be exposed to the elements with no signs of frostbite.
She has not spoken since telling them what little she did. While we’ve managed to get her warm, I can do little more.
“She claimed to be from Branlock,” Yrko says.
I look up, shocked. “Branlock. That’s Lady Isla’s village. Could this be one of the maidens?”
The men all look uneasy now. “There’s only one who would know,” Erdorin says.
“Fetch her. This one is too weak to travel there.” I look down at the woman. Her eyes have opened, yet she stares straight up at the ceiling as if in a trance. I feel helpless as I look down at the cooling cups of tea I concocted with the intention to revive her, but she will not drink. Even when I squeeze liquid into her mouth, she just turns her head so that it spills out.
In desperation, I send for a priestess. Since the village was resettled, the village priestesses have lived apart in their own large cottage, just as they lived apart before. When they arrive, the three representatives of the holy sisterhood are as vexed as I am, and the high priestess is especially concerned.
“This does not look like merely a physical ailment.” She frowns. “This woman appears to be under some sort of thrall.” The priestesses gather around her, linking hands as they begin healing chants. The woman does not respond. Her breathing, which was strong when she was brought here, is growing shallower.
I pace the floor, worried now that she will pass into the Summerlands before Lady Isla arrives. I pray to the God and Goddess to give this strange woman strength. If it is Lady Isla’s sister, perhaps her presence will revive her.
I grew up dreading the sound of dragon wings. Now I breathe a sigh of relief as I hear them overhead and the clunk as an enclosed litter is placed on the ground. Lady Isla bursts into the cottage in the company of Lord Jayx, who brought her here in dragon form. I can tell by her hopeful expression that she is praying this is her sister. This is confirmed when Lord Jayx steadies his mate as she moves to where the woman lays. I feel as if I may cry as her tears start to fall.
“Zara?” She leans over, putting a hand to her sister’s face. Lady Isla is fair-skinned, but her pale hand looks dark compared to her younger sibling’s pallor. “Zara?” When she looks into the open eyes, there is no acknowledgement, no recognition.
“Is she dying?” Lady Isla looks up at me. I remember how I hated her, how I resented her. Now I feel only sympathy.
“Yes,” I say softly. “I believe so.”
She looks up at Jayx, her eyes wild. “The pools. We must take her.”
“We have no choice.”
“I’m going, too,” I say.
“As will I. “Gyrvig steps forward, looking back at Erdorin, who nods.
He leaves first, and I hear the now-familiar sound of his shifting. When I emerge with Jayx and Lady Isla, a huge dragon is standing by the enclosed litter that brought Lyla here. I step inside first and kneel as Jayx places Zara inside. Lady Isla comes in next and shuts the door.
She says nothing, and only trembles in fear as she holds the cold, limp hand of her sister she has longed to see, but whose eyes cannot see her.
Chapter 23
GYRVIG
I have never seen the pools fail to heal a human, but the fabled pools of Fra’hir have no effect on Zara of Branlock. Jayx holds her aloft in the waters, yet she remains as she was in Thera’s cottage. Her wavy auburn hair floats around her like a cloud. She stares up at the glittering ceilings that made her sister gasp in awe.
The Fra’hir oracle, Olin the Wise, has come. He delivers the grave news that he believes Zara will die. Lady Isla’s cries of distress echo through the cavern. Jayx embraces her, but she will not be comforted.
“There is only one hope.”
“What?” Isla’s eyes are frantic as she tears away from Jayx and rushes over. “Tell me!”
The oracle answers, but with a shake of his head. “Only the pools of the Mystic Mountain are powerful enough to revive someone so close to death.”
