by Mya Lairis
With the rain picking up in intensity, however, even Shoraya’s keen eyesight was hampered. The soldiers seemed to suffer from the same affliction, as their darts scattered widely.
Using the obscurity of the rain, Shoraya flipped backward, landing just feet away from her satchels. With one blade to shield herself, she dipped the other down to weave through the handles of two bags and draw them toward her. As soon as they were close enough, she hefted the sacks onto her wrist.
The leader was coming to his feet just as she managed to shimmy her packs onto her shoulder, but as lightning pierced the sky with its deadly beauty, Shoraya was not ignorant of its warning. The ground would put her at risk, the wind and the rain would prove their superiority, and none were as advantageous as the opportunity for escape that nature was providing for her. The Ebulan forest some quarter of a mile away was her best hope. A dense giant of foliage and trees, it had not been on her planned route, but the thick, dark wall of trees beckoned strongly to her.
The pinch and burn of a dart striking her thigh, another finding root in her back, and yet two more into her leg were only added incentive as she sprang off toward the shelter of the woods with what little strength she still possessed.
Chapter Two
His task was a simple one: to separate the delicate pollen stems from the shy but stunning whisper lotus. The minimal quantities of the gold and pink dust were invaluable commodities for the healing Jasom elixir. He had only to dip the slender probe beneath the petals in order to peel back the layers of the flower. Invariably, the satiny fronds moved defensively to shield their treasure, but Gavenas usually had steadier hands and sound concentration. Hundreds of times, he had coaxed similar flowers to open, using the prize inside to heal creatures small and large, mobile and bound to the soil. Some flowers were coy and others could be aggressive, but with the right amount of focus, the retrieval wasn’t normally a long process.
Yet that day his attention was compromised by the sultry woman lying upon his bed. Her dark skin was like that of a night dragon’s wings, reflecting hints of burnished red. Fire-kissed. Her soft black hair was a beautiful woven tapestry of braids decorated with golden rings. She was a shapely creature, tall and well muscled. It had been a task just for him to carry her from the great roots of the Sky Embracer tree where he had found her to his den without stealing a taste of her rounded shoulder. It had been a nagging thought throughout his entire journey.
He had removed the darts from her skin and given her what little of the Jasom elixir he had to counteract her raging fever. He could do nothing for his own temperature, however.
While she slept, Gavenas had to leave her. He needed to gather a few of the ingredients he required for more of the counteragent, despite the tempest outside. He welcomed the cooling fury of the storm, dampened by the forest’s thick canopy. And even though he knew just where the precious whisper lotus lived, his hunt had been a strain.
It could have been that it was too long since he had entertained carnal thoughts, since he had allowed his animal nature to crave caresses, tastes, and immersion, but Gavenas doubted it.
The woman lying supine upon his bed was special, and the arousal he felt exceeded the hardness of his cock, even as he tried to steady his hand.
Gavenas swore with irritation as the thin probing stick he held was pulled from his fingertips by a despondent petal of the flower and was tossed aside to the table. He narrowed his eyes to glare at the flower before sense reminded him that the pollen would be ruined if the flower were forced too strongly.
His success came after several lengthy minutes with Gavenas managing a tiny mound of pink dust flecked with gold, which he placed inside of a fire-hardened kettle. The other ingredients weren’t so complicated and were readily available in his stores. The only concentration they required was measurements before being added to his pot. Once all the ingredients were combined, he carried the kettle to the fire and suspended it over a mild flame. The antidote would take a few hours, but his guest was deep in her slumber, and the effects of the first dose were manifesting already.
Gavenas took up a cloth and a pail of water, his hands shaking more than they had when they had been occupied with the more complicated task of potion preparation. Going to his knees before the short but broad pallet of furs, moss, and leaves, he set the bowl down and dipped the cloth into the cool water.
So close to the woman he could catch the fullness of her earthy yet feminine scent, he forced himself not to watch the rise and fall of a bosom tightly bound by black leathers and gold clasps, or lower. She had shrugged a long, shapely brown leg outside of the furs. That too he had to look away from, with the distraction of an aching lip, which he had bitten down upon.
Beads of glistening sweat were blossoming all along the smooth skin of her face—signs of the toxins being successfully expelled from her body. They required his immediate attention, he reminded himself as he brought the cloth to her forehead.
Slowly and carefully, he wiped away the residue of poison from her, muttering incantations of calm. Not solely for her. Daubing the cloth over her chest, arms, and stomach and down the length of her legs to the soles of her feet required his mind to be occupied with prayer and spirit song throughout.
While there was every bit of evidence that this female was as natural as the mountain she had doubtlessly come from, there was something else—supernatural almost—that even he couldn’t surmise.
With the last swipe of the cloth against her foot, Gavenas rediscovered haste, snatching up the bowl and rising from the floor. He was on fire, as if he were the one who had been poisoned. His temperature was affecting his mind’s ability to recall even the simplest of functions. His ability to walk straight suffered, and all recollections of spells were vanishing as he took the bowl out of his den and into the storm.
The winds still raged, the forest groaning under the weight of the stormy skies above. The tempest was losing strength, but thankfully the rain still descended. Outside, with his back resting against the walls of his earthen home, the bowl fell from his hold and onto the ground, but he had no thought for contamination. The soil around his home was blessed. He might have chosen a spot farther away to cast out the contents, but the desperation to feel the cool kiss of the rain against his flesh was a maddening need.
He pulled at the stays of his robe. He yanked his long tunic up and over his head before releasing the ties that held his hair back from his face and stood naked beneath the showers. Only through closing his eyes and giving himself to the darkness, by capturing the aching weight of his cock in hand and holding tight, could Gavenas realize why the stranger in his bed had affected him so.
As he ran his palm up and down his length, he envisioned what it might feel like to be engulfed. With his other hand, he caressed a path over hardened nipples, wondering how they would feel with the softness and warmth of full breasts pressed against them. Gavenas opened his lips to let raindrops course over them, sweet as the kisses from a soul mate could be.
He felt humbled by his baser needs, triggered so intently by the mysterious woman. Imagining every raindrop as a caress from her fingertips, Gavenas attempted to question his sanity.
His pulse quickened with the fantasy, his balls tightening with every twist of his fist around his cock. He felt as if he had been poisoned, feverish and single-minded with his phantom of her.
He closed his eyes and saw her face, serene and yet so striking, and for a moment, he was enveloped by her. His hand was the dark, welcoming cavern between her thighs. His fingers were her breasts pressed so tightly against his, and the rain was her kisses.
Gavenas’s hands worked faster, his heart pounding inside his chest like a demon demanding to be freed. As Gavenas finally broke, the notion of some inner force freeing itself of him was both ecstatic and fearful. His seed shot from his cock in forceful, hot jets pulling at every fiber of his being, leaving him gasping for air and weak.
As he sank down the wall of his hut to the
wet ground, he hoped that he had rid himself of the bout of madness that had overtaken him but was so afraid that the desire would return back home to his blood.
Chapter Three
Her father had been proud of her craftsmanship. She could still recall the glint of pride in his amber gaze upon looking at the two swords she had fashioned. They were slender tools with ornate hand guards which could fit around the back of a hand or be free at a moment’s notice. Her creations were different from the thick, blunt weaponry many of their clan tended to carry. Her swords could never have been mistaken for axes, shovels, hammers, or even giant battle-sickles favored by mountain warriors.
Her father had even mentioned so with a wry smile as he’d raised them high for examination by torchlight.
As Shoraya thought upon her father, she realized that the day she had shown her crafts to her father must have been the moment when he had realized he would lose her. So long did he stare at her blades, lifting one for scrutiny and then the other, that she believed him to be searching for flaws.
He returned her swords to her with his only comment being that she must craft fitting sheaths beautiful and sturdy enough to hold her blades. Nothing was spoken about how she was well into the time when she should have chosen a husband, had her own cavern, and certainly nothing was said about children. No, those notions had all been for Shoraya’s mother to harp upon, and she did.
Her father had kept his tongue, even on the day when Shoraya said good-bye to the mountain range that had seen her birth.
The scent of rich vegetables and meat permeated easily through a nostalgia built of high, rocky peaks and labyrinthine depths, prodding her to stir. Memories of racing through a forest, thick with vines, roots, and limbs, returned to her. She had been on the run from yet another contingent of errand boys sent to retain her skill. The shark had been more cunning than most, however, using projectiles to bring her down.
Shoraya couldn’t recall how long she had run to get away from them, but when her vision became cloudy and her legs began to feel like nervous twigs, she knew that she hadn’t gotten far enough away.
She dreaded opening her eyes, knowing one thing for certain: she had been captured. There was no other explanation for the soft blankets she lay beneath, the warmth and crackle of a fire not far off, and certainly the sumptuous scents carried to her nostrils.
Lifting her lids proved a far more arduous task than it should have been as she took in the sight of the dwelling. The walls were made of intertwined branches of thick green leaves and flowering buds of various types, prevalent in random copses. A few weak rays of sun shone through, but the true illumination came from the center of the den and the stone-rimmed fire pit in the center. Suspended from two spokes was a good-sized cauldron, undoubtedly the source of the enticing aromas. Such was her focus on the pot that movement just on the other side of the fire pit caused her to gasp in alarm.
She saw the table, but what she had thought of as a pile of robes stacked upon it rose up to reveal a man. Among locks that could have been either burnished gold or green, a fair face with flashing silver eyes like a night cat’s turned toward her. The man smiled, and it was as if the sun were inside of the den shining with an aura that could have only belonged to one of the faeyanin!
Earth, wind, water, and fire; there were said to be magical guardians of each, and Shoraya was sure that she was looking at one of them.
“You’re awake,” he said, pushing the thick cloak from his broad shoulders.
Shoraya nodded and immediately regretted it. Her skull pulsed angrily, stimulating pain centers behind her eyes. Her entire body trembled angrily in warning as she held still until the wave of aches dulled.
The faeyanin, tall and lithe as the legends decreed that he should be, stood up from the table. Sympathy was etched in his handsome features. “Yes. You will want to take it easy. You have survived the worst, but there is still much healing to do.”
That much she understood as she tried her voice. “Who… W-where? Where are my… What happened?” she questioned weakly.
He lifted his discarded cloak and settled it on the chair back before going to the fire pit. There he took up a stick to stoke the fire beneath the kettle. “You are safe. Don’t worry. There was no sign of who may have been chasing you, but the probability of them making it this far into my forest is highly unlikely.”
Shoraya thought of the warriors who had been chasing her and the reason. A stark worry rose within her as she realized the scope of danger she had been in…was still in. Faeyanins were supposed to be kind-hearted, benevolent beings, but nothing was certain for her in life. Save for one thing. “Where are my blades?”
“Beneath the pallet you are lying upon, along with the rest of your things.”
Shoraya was thankful but wary as her gaze moved over the circumference of the room. There was only one bed in the space of the den, and it had to be his. He didn’t seem to be put out. The dwelling was warm, and the pallet comfortable, but Shoraya was never one to impose. Trying her arm and hip, she attempted to shift to the edge of the bed. It wasn’t high off the floor, and if she could just get her fingers upon the steel…
“I should get them. I should be off. I…” She groaned as the exertion woke the angry dragons of pain stirring to life within her veins. Challenging the vertigo and the pain, Shoraya felt that if she could just see the threshold of her agony, she could push past it. She tried to lift a trembling shoulder, but her body simply stole the reins of control from her, and she collapsed.
The faeyanin added another log to the fire before standing. He walked around the hearth to a wall, which held bottles suspended in the latticework of branches, a living larder. Removing a long, slender glass bottle, he started toward her bed. “You are suffering the effects of a very debilitating poison used too haphazardly. If there is anything you need to do, it should be to drink your medicine,” he said as he crouched down before her.
He withdrew a leaf from among the folds of his robe and single-handedly rolled it tight before fitting it into the neck of the bottle. He then moved the tip of the leaf toward her lips.
Shoraya eyed the contraption warily. “What is that? Who are you?”
“My name is Gavenas,” the faeyanin spoke. “And if I wanted you dead, you would be, so don’t worry. This is no more than enchanted salts and water with a bit of long mint, whisper lotus, and pink berry for taste. It will help you to fight the toxins still coursing through your veins.”
Shoraya touched her lips to the makeshift straw and drew in a short swallow of the elixir. The taste was refreshing, and the flavor of berries upon her tongue was invigorating. She sampled more as the pain within her seemed to quiet under some liquid spell that was only enhanced by Gavenas’s proximity. So close to the man, Shoraya’s taste buds were not the only sense stimulated.
His scent was like that of a forest blossoming with fruit and flowers, rich earth and crisp, rain-plump leaves. Nothing could be done for her exhaustion; in fact, her desire to move had vanished entirely, but then so had her pain. It could have been the result of his potion, but then it could have been because she was lost in fascination. Up close, Gavenas was all the more stunning. His hair was indeed a mix of gold, brown, and green, but his eyes were actually dark green, his skin a flawlessly healthy shade of peach, and his lips—broad and shapely as they were—had a deep vermillion hue that any berry would envy.
Shoraya felt a greater warmth than that provided by the hearth and chose to look away from Gavenas’s face to the intricate fabric of his robes. The topmost layer looked to be made of connected leaves and feathers with a second layer of some soft scale. Pulling at the straw again, she took a greater amount of the liquid. “My name is Shoraya. And I thank you.”
“No need. Shoraya,” he replied. “May I ask how you came to be injured?”
Shoraya struggled to comprehend his question while the faeyanin’s potion coursed through her. With every sip, she became lighter, her lids heavier.
/> He pulled the straw away.
She blinked, breathed deeply of his fragrance, and concentrated in order to compose her answer. “I fled from capture. I shouldn’t have. I should have taken lesson from the storm, stayed and practiced. I did not want a test, and more importantly I did not want to be made to teach.”
“And here I assumed that you wished to protect that precious metal you possess,” he said with a shrug. “Dragonspine steel is not an easy ore to come by. But I suppose it would be for you, being a child of the Deipma.”
Shoraya smiled warily, her heart swelling at the mention of her home. “You know about my people?”
He nodded reverently. “I do, with their skin like obsidian, purportedly honed by the breath of dragons. They are those who took the mountain’s depths as their home, larder, and playgrounds. Such gems and ores as surface walkers would kill for, raise kingdoms to attain—your kind play about as if they are game tokens. I know. What I don’t fathom is why one would have wandered so far alone.”
“The mountains can give much, but they can only teach me little.”
He looked down for a long moment, as if contemplating her words. “About the blades, yes?”
“Yes,” she exclaimed, pleased that he could understand what her parents and friends could not. Ah, but then a faeyanin would know, she thought as she imagined them traipsing about and communicating with nature in ways she could only dream of. “They sing so differently outside of the mountain, my swords. They move differently in the air, even. They aren’t so intimidated by the sternest of the mother mountain.”
Gavenas offered the straw to her once more. “I imagine not.”
With another drink from the bottle, Shoraya felt herself truly fading, yet within the presence of the faeyanin, she felt no worries. That he understood her soul’s passion was a calming relief to carry to the dream world, and that his beauty might haunt her in ways she could keep locked away from the physical was not a bad outcome to have.
