by Tess Oliver
Chapter Ten
Stryker
Humboldt always smelled like vinegar. I had no idea why but that was what I smelled whenever he breathed my direction. His gristly, sandy hands grabbed the back of my neck, and he dragged me along toward the viscous, murky channel that separated the underworld from Wynter. Some called it the River of Souls. I called it death pudding. The lumps of human souls bobbed along just under the surface, their wide eyed stares glowing up at us like flat faced fish, as they waited for their turn on the ferry.
A shiver ran through me as I stared down into the black rippling water. Death pudding. It was the perfect name. We reached the end of the dock where Trex, the hunchbacked old ferryman, stopped to pick up souls who were waiting for their final destination. Most ended up in the work fields, sentenced to hard labor. While Feenix was leader of the thin strip of underworld where ghouls, wraiths and other vermin that thrived on death lingered, Cashel watched over the work fields and the souls who had not chosen to enter the underworld but who were sent there because of an ill-spent life. Vapour was the third and final leader of the underworld. Vapour, who was mostly vapor because he was a thousand year old soul, ruled over a part of the underworld where the worst of society were sentenced to eternity. They were the serial killers, the war criminals, the humans who had lived anything but a human life.
"Happy fourteenth birthday." Trex knew every human's birth date and death date. I hadn't celebrated a birthday since Humboldt ripped me from my bed in Nessa's cottage, and I'd forgotten my birthday completely.
"Thanks, Trex."
"Guess this is the last place you'd want to be today." Trex's prickly voice, a voice that always sound like rock teeth grinding glass, floated out from the black gossamer veil that permanently hid is face. No one I knew had ever seen Trex. It was said that he was so hideously disfigured, even the deathly pale souls he ferried across the channel would turn white at the sight of him. Maximus was always plotting a way to get him to pull off the opaque veil, but I was just as happy not to see his face.
Humboldt squeezed my neck painfully. "Enough conversation. Don't you have a ferry boat to run, freak?"
The hood of Trex's long tattered coat wiggled as he nodded and turned his attention back to his boat. Of all the trainers, Humboldt was the biggest asshole. Long ago, he had been a teenager just like me, going through the harsh tests and training to become one of the Boys. I hoped to hell that I wouldn't grow up to be a gristly, old prick like him. Humboldt liked to complain that we were all too spoiled and coddled by Nessa. He claimed that his first eleven years were spent on a working farm with wet, moldy straw for a bed, rotten meat for food and a weekly beating as his only human contact. Wilder and I, Humboldt's charges, concluded that that was why he was such a supreme hard ass. It gave us hope that we would never turn out like him.
"Well, today is sink or swim day," Humboldt sneered.
His words pulled Trex's covered face our direction as if stunned by what he'd heard. "But it's the boy's birthday, Humboldt."
Humboldt released a hideous laugh, one that reeked of sour vinegar. "Then happy fucking birthday, kid."
Before I'd deciphered the rules of the new training session, I felt my feet leave the dock as Humboldt lifted me by the scruff of my neck. I kicked back at him and grabbed at his arms, but he easily flung me out into the putrid soup of death.
"Sink or swim," were the last words I heard from Humboldt's sour smelling mouth as my body plunged into the thick water. I kept my eyes and lips shut tight, but the rotten smell of decay was too strong. It crept into my skin and mouth. It was all I could taste. Nausea splintered through me like a bomb exploding. It was a struggle to keep my head above the surface as I was quickly swept away from the dock. I could see Trex's small silhouette and Humboldt's massive one as they watched me get washed away in the current of death.
Like a dog that had just been tossed into raging rapids, I started paddling hard, working to keep my head above water. Some of the souls, newly released and terrified of the journey ahead, grabbed at me with long, bony hands. As I fought them off, I found myself sinking deeper. Water that tasted like decay splashed up my nose and trickled down my throat. To hell with sink or swim. I needed to get free of the water. I decided to use my unwitting swim mates likes rocks in a pond. I knelt on the soul of a man who looked as if he had been mean and cruel in life. The souls in the pudding, waiting to be ferried across, weren't from the good half of humanity. That was why they floated now in the underworld awaiting their fate. The soul I'd used as a stepping stone, reached up and grabbed hold of my ankle, trying to keep me in the river, but I kicked out and yanked free as I dove for the shore. I pushed to my knees, holding my stomach to keep from puking as I struggled to catch my breath.
"Stryker," a voice rained down over me, but it was not Humboldt's rough tone. "Stryker." The sound was sweet and filled with music, and it comforted me instantly. It was a sound that washed away all ugliness. And then I heard it again, this time accompanied with soft fingers stroking my face. "Stryker."
I opened my eyes. The knotted pine beams on the ceiling above assured me I was not in the underworld. And after his cold as steel heart gave out, Humboldt was long since dead.
A warm hand touched my arm, and I turned to look up into her face. It was real. She was real. I'd drifted in and out of the past in my nightmares, but now I was back and Willow was still there, sitting along the edge of the bed, her blue eyes glittering with relief.
"I was sleeping on the couch, and I heard you talking. You were having a bad dream. I thought you might throw yourself right out of the bed. What were you dreaming about?"
"My fourteenth birthday." I lifted my arm and covered my eyes to shield them from the lantern light.
The mattress shifted as Willow reached to the nightstand and turned down the lamplight. "Well, it must have been quite the celebration. I didn't realize they let you guys have any fun when you were in training."
"Oh it was fun all right." I lowered my arm. "My pack was here . . . at the cabin."
"Yes. I think they just wanted to make sure you were in good hands."
I took hold of her wrist and brought her palm to my mouth for a kiss. "Good hands is an understatement." My grasp on her wrist and the light kiss pushed another pink blush over her cheeks. I released her and she tucked her hand in her lap, almost as if she did it to keep herself from touching me. Her aura, the sweet erotic heat that swirled around her whenever I flustered her, returned. And once again, it put all manner of dirty thoughts in my head. She must have read those thoughts in my eyes because she hopped off the bed.
"No," I said too abruptly. "Don't go, Willow. I will behave. Besides, I'm too weak to do anything but lie here like a pathetic brick of flesh and bone." I drew the covers up to my chin. "I'm still chilled to the bone."
Willow came closer. "I'll reheat the stones." She lifted the cover and pulled out the burlap sack of stones.
"Please—" I peered up at her. "No more rocks." I lifted the covers. "They cool too quickly."
She gazed down at the open covers.
"I promise, Willow. I'll behave. I just want a warm body next to me." I paused. "Actually, that's not true. I just want your warm body next to me."
She took a steadying breath and tucked her hair behind her ears as if mulling over the suggestion. I was sure she'd turn around and leave. Instead, she put her knee on the bed. She was wearing a worn pair of long underwear. I would have preferred her to be wearing nothing at all, but I wasn't going to complain. Besides, even though I was weak, something told me my lack of energy and feeling like I'd been run over by a bus wouldn't stop me if she climbed into bed naked. As it was, it was going to take every ounce of the self control and strength I had left not to touch her.
Willow was hesitant and a little stiff as she slipped in under the covers. She lay next to me on her back, her arms tight against her sides as she stared up at the ceiling.
I couldn't stop a laugh. "Maybe the rocks would
be better. At least they didn't mind touching me."
"I'll go heat them." Willow moved to get out of bed, but I turned on my side and wrapped my arm around her, pulling her close to me.
"No. You'll do."
It took a few minutes but she eventually relaxed against me. Her soft curves slowly filled in the gaps of air between us, and my body instantly warmed. My cock was urgently trying to wake up, but I kept it in check. I didn't want to scare her off. She felt too damn good pressed against me. How could she feel so right? We were from two entirely separate worlds.
When we were young, Nessa's granddaughter, Danique, grew up with us. I could still remember her screaming as they hauled the four of us away. She was adorable and bratty and the four of us teased her mercilessly, but we loved her. At night, we'd sit around Nessa's kitchen table with the lopsided legs, and Danique would beg Nessa to tell us stories. The four of us were naturally only interested in the scary or funny stories, but Danique always begged for princes and princesses and kisses. And even though we pretended not to be interested, we listened to Nessa talk about love and romance and the thing she called a soul mate. She assured us that we would not find our match, the person we were meant to love and cherish and protect, if we were searching with our eyes or our crotches. She said a soul mate should never be expected. Some people searched forever and never found theirs. Soul mates should never be taken for granted because they were more a state of the heart than the mind. I'd held many women in my arms, but this was the first time Nessa's words made sense to me.
I closed my eyes. It felt as if I'd been sleeping for days, and yet I was still groggy. I breathed in the perfume of Willow's skin as I coasted into a semi conscious state. Most of the agonizing pain and body tremors had faded away. It seemed I was going to beat death . . . this time. Willow had saved my life.
Willow too, closed her eyes and cuddled closer to me. I tightened my hold on her. "Hey, guardian angel," I said quietly.
"Yes?" she answered back in that voice that stroked me a like a lush pair of lips.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Chapter Eleven
Willow
Early morning light poked through the curtains. Stryker's low snores rumbled through the room. It seemed he'd finally found peaceful sleep. The color had returned to his face. He looked nothing short of heartbreaking, lying there quietly with dark lashes shadowing his cheeks.
A low throbbing ache pushed against my chest. It had been there for an hour, and I'd finally diagnosed it. It was the suffocating, dull pain of loneliness. I'd been alone on the tundra for two years, since Sabre had sent me to my faraway home. At first, being alone had felt like a tight vice around my chest, but eventually, animals came to me in need of care and I found companionship amongst the creatures of the snow. I'd convinced myself I needed nothing more than my furry friends. I'd convinced myself I was leading a charmed life, without the stress of friendship or love. Other than the occasional death of an animal in my care, I was free of the constraints of heartbreak. But as I lay there, tucked alongside the protective warmth of a man, a notorious Wynter guard, no less, it dawned on me that I'd been fooling myself all along. I was missing out on so much. I had exiled myself to a life without love and physical affection, and now I saw that it was not a charmed life. It was a dry, lackluster existence.
Still deep in sleep, Stryker stretched his massive arms up and tossed away the quilts. His fever had broken completely, and my body heat along with the layers of downy blankets was making him too warm.
I turned on my side and popped up to my elbow, allowing myself the luxury of looking at him stretched out naked and magnificent on my bed. It wasn't just that hollow feeling of loneliness Stryker had helped fill, it was the stark realization that I was still, deep in my core, a nymph, a creature born for pleasure and lust. As much as I had tried to deny it, Stryker's presence assured me my denials were empty and meaningless.
I allowed my gaze to rake slowly over his body taking in the contours of his muscles, the hollow at the base of his long throat, the smooth curve of his chest and the hard angles of his shoulders. The white gauze I had taped over his wound lifted and fell with his breath as my eyes continued on their sightseeing trip. His skin was smooth, but it was the skin of a man and along the way there were black ink tattoos to break up his tan.
The sight of the striated muscles of his taut stomach sent a surge of heat between my legs. I followed the dark trail of hair bisecting his abdomen, and a gasp pushed from my lips. His manhood, his thick long cock, was fully erect, almost as if he could feel my appreciative gaze on his body. The heavy sac rested below his cock. It was all even more intriguing than I'd imagined. I rarely spoke with my mother anymore, but she had always told me that our power was not only in healing. She said we possessed a power that could bring the strongest man to his knees.
I bit my lip as I thought about her words, all the while dying to know how his erect cock would feel in my fingers. My angel half told me get off the bed and walk out of the room. My other half, the half that I'd perhaps kept bound up too long, told me to touch him. It might very well be my only chance to know what it felt like to hold a man's most important appendage in my hand. It might be the only chance I had to test my mom's assertion that we had the power to bring a man to his knees, metaphorically speaking.
My fingers actually trembled as I lifted my hand and moved it toward the tall tower of hot flesh. I hovered my hand so close to his cock, I could feel the heat coming off of it in waves. Gently, I wrapped my fingers around the base of it. It was thick and solid. It sent a tingling through my arm and all the way through my body until it settled in my pussy.
Stryker didn't open his eyes but he released a low groan. But it wasn't a sound that accompanied pain, like the hard to hear groans I'd heard from him in the past two days. This deep, throaty growl seemed quite the opposite. And after tending to him and watching him suffer in agony, it felt good to be touching him and giving him relaxing pleasure for a change. Oddly enough, holding his erection in my hand, feeling it grow warmer and even harder in my grasp, gave me pleasure too. An urgent warmth rose through my entire body, a warmth that wouldn't easily be cooled.
I was far from finished with my exploration. He was the first man I'd ever touched or seen naked and every inch of him stole my breath away. I smoothed my hand down to the base of his cock and lowered my hand between his legs, My fingers grazed the crisp dark hair to cup his balls in my palm. Another groan of pleasure rolled up from his throat, and he pushed his thighs open, inviting me to continue.
I rubbed my thumb over his heavy sac, and he lifted his hips to feel the pressure of my touch.
"Fuuck," he said quietly as he lifted his arms back and rested them above his head on his pillow. The new position made his arms look even bigger and stretched the skin tight over his muscular chest, while sucking in his already concave stomach. I pulled in a steadying breath as I imagined myself being covered and taken by his powerful body. His cock jutted up higher, almost as if reminding me that it too needed attention.
I released his balls and moved my hand back to his cock. He squeezed his buttocks muscles and pressed it harder against my hand. My fingers journeyed up to the fleshy tip of his cock. I ran my thumb through the sticky, glistening liquid that was now pooling at the top. I used it as a lubricant to move my hand up and down the long shaft. Stryker responded by moving in rhythm against my strokes.
My heart raced and my pulse seemed to shoot out of control as it dawned on me that I'd started something I couldn't stop. To stop would mean agony for Styrker, and he'd already seen his share of that.
As my hands slid through the slick moisture that now dripped along his shaft, I felt the hot liquid of arousal wet the crotch of my long underwear. The erratic pulse that pounded through my veins was now centered in my pussy. But rather than wishing it to slow, I wanted it to continue. I wanted that pulse to move into a frenzy, a frenzy that could only be stopped by an explosion o
f some kind. Damn my inexperience, my ignorance, when it came to carnal pleasures. I'd shunned them so long because of the sorrow it always seemed to bring my mother that I'd grown up naive and ignorant.
My mother's warning that passion was power but that it could also lead to heartbreak rattled through my mind. As I touched Stryker, causing him to breathe heavily and groan with merely a firm stroke of my hand, I quickly understood that power. And with the feelings my actions were causing in my own body, I also understood the second half of her warning. Stryker was no longer just a dying man who had collapsed in the snow. I could feel a sense of attachment to him deep in my chest, and I wanted to bring him what his body seemed to need right now, a finish to what I'd started.
I pumped my hand along his cock, and I watched it grow longer and stronger until the skin was stretched so tight, the ridges of vein and muscle showed through.
"Willow.” My name came out on a guttural groan, and the unexpected sound of his voice startled me.
I peered up at his face. He watched me through heavy lids. The green of his eyes was dark with hunger. I stiffened as he lowered his arm from above his head and reached for me.
"I won't touch you, my diamond studded angel, I promise. I just want to look at you." My fingers tightened inadvertently around his cock, but it didn't seem to faze him or slow his quest.
The callused tips of his fingers only lightly skimmed my skin as he pushed the hem of my undershirt up, slowly exposing first my hip, then my belly and lastly my breast. He tucked the end of the shirt up above the mound of my breast to keep it there. My nipple was tight with the erotic impulses that surged through me. His fingers moved just above the nipple, but he kept true to his promise and didn't touch me. It seemed to take all his strength to lower his hand away from the puckered bud on my breast.
He put his hand up against the other above his head, and I realized then that his submissive position, with arms above his head, was for my protection . . . as well as his. He needed to put distance between his hands and my body. I was both thankful and utterly disappointed all at once.
