“Sable?” he asked as she broke off the kiss, only to reach up again and pull his mouth back to hers.
This time she forcibly ran her tongue over his lips, ending all his protests.
He shuddered and opened his mouth in shock at the sheer sensuality of the movement, and inadvertently invited her inside.
With relish, Sable took up his invitation and slid her tongue into the deep cavern of his mouth, marveling at the almost-minty sweet taste of him.
She felt her nipples harden as she pressed deeper into the kiss, nudging his tongue with hers until it responded, and began to tease back.
Just as she was about to rub up against him like a cat in heat, she realized what she was doing and gently broke off the kiss. Not that she regretted it, but this was not the time, the place, nor the person. She broke off the kiss to grip him in an enthusiastic hug instead.
“Torn I am, bad?” He blinked at his Sable, wondering where that had come from, but not complaining in the least.
“You are so bad!” she laughed as she pictured him in several different poses! Standing, kneeling as he was now, lying naked on his back…
Too far, she decided as her cheeks began to heat up. “Bad meaning good!” she laughed nervously as she pulled away from his heat. His body was beginning to get to her again. Maybe she was horny, but that would be a byproduct of the glamour, right?
“Torn I am, good?” he asked as he blinked his one good eye at her. The other was continuing to puff and swell.
Again she felt a sharp pang of guilt as she urged him to his feet.
“Torn is so good!” she said softly as she led him out of her studio and into the kitchen for a steak for his eye. “So very good!”
Torn shrugged his shoulders and followed the now happy Sable. Maybe the punch was enough penance. It didn’t hurt much, but it was annoying the way it swelled.
But what was wrong with Sable?
First she hit him, and then she kissed him. Was something wrong with her, or were all women here this hormonal? Maybe it had to be all women in general, he decided as he recalled his ex-mate-to-be.
He started to send out a tendril of magic to test her, but remembered what had happened with Jack and held back.
Maybe his Sable was kind of mentally…off. Maybe his Sable was like most other women.
Then he remembered My Harley and shook his head.
Maybe she had a flash of the thing that made other women the confusing creatures that they were, but maybe it was now squelched, excised, like a boil. Now maybe she would go back to being his teacher and friend, just like she always had been from the day he met her.
But secretly, he sighed. If she went totally back to being a tutor and a guide, he sure would miss those kisses. They got his blood flowing!
Chapter Thirteen
“The recon party is ready,” the soldier said to Terror as he paced at the edge of the room containing the magical orb.
“Then depart, and be careful!” he cautioned. “As soon as you have the basic information that we need, hurry home. I want to find my son.”
The men nodded and stepped into the room.
With a brilliant yellow/white light, they were gone.
At the same time, an anxious servant made her way deep into the caverns deep within the neutral territory. Her mistress would find this information useful. Then it would buy her a bit more time to find out what the scouts knew. That was at least worth her life, she decided as she scrambled into the dark tunnels. It had to be. Her very existence depended on it!
The recon team was assembled personally by Terror. He would take no chances with his son or his men in this strange and possibly hostile place.
“You all have your orders?” he asked the three men of his personal guard selected for this mission.
“Yes, Terror,” Mace, his right-hand man and most formidable warrior, said as he looked up at his mentor, pride and determination in his eyes. “We will scout the terrain, send back information on the natives, and get to know the environment in which Torn has been surviving.”
“Very good,” he said and clapped Mace on the shoulder, then turning to give the same gesture of support and respect to the other two in the small party. “Return to me as soon as you have what we need, but do not stay more than three days. I don’t want to lose you men, and if the atmosphere is hostile, get back here on the double. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the men answered.
Terror stepped back from the unit of loyal men, a deep pang in his chest. Had he just sent his men off to die? Would they return with the information that he needed, would they locate his son? Could all of this been avoided if he had only seen beyond his own guilt, to be the father that Torn so desperately needed?
He didn’t know.
The questions bothered him, but the answers that he was drawing bothered him even more.
This situation was his own damn fault.
The new worry and guilt added to his burden, making him sigh deeply as he watched his brave men walk into the dimensional chamber in preparation to possibly give their lives for his faults.
“These are good men, Terror,” Nello said as she came to his side, easily reading his distress. “They will survive and triumph because you trained them well.”
“If I had trained my own son this well, he never would have been taken in by that cold scheming fish, Zultha. Do you know he gained no pleasure from their bed, but pleased her? That he said the intimate act was not that important in a relationship! That he would settle in and learn to enjoy their coupling? I did that to my son, Nello. I gave him that insecurity. This is all my fault. If I had been a real father…”
“Enough, Terror,” Nello said, reaching up to take his face in her hands and pulling his head level with hers, throwing him off balance and making him stop his self- deprecating tirade. “You did the best that you could. You made mistakes, but you are only of the mortal realm, my love. No one in any of the realms are perfect, Terror.”
“Nello,” Terror began, but a cool finger placed at his lips silenced him.
He looked into the deep lavender eyes of his love and felt a few of his doubts drift away. How he loved her almost as much as he loved their son. He never really took the time to tell him, but that would all change, he vowed.
“I love you, he loves you, and we understand. He will be fine, Terror, because Torn is your son. How could he not be?”
Her simple statement of trust made his heart light and restored a bit of his self-confidence. If she held so much belief in him, how could he not hold that belief of his own?
He nodded as he rose to his full height.
“Good,” Nello said with a smile. “Now let us concentrate on more important matters, Mate. What are we going to do about Torn when he gets home?”
“Love him, Nello,” Terror said with conviction. “Just love him.”
* * * * *
“Sit still!” Sable laughed as she positioned Torn on the high stool.
Like a naughty child, he squirmed on the seat, clearly uncomfortable with his new station in life. Male model was not a job of choice for him as his fidgeting showed.
“My Harley?” he asked, looking out of the windows at the watery sunshine.
He wanted to be out and about! He felt great, totally refreshed and eager to explore his new world. He looked over at Sable entreatingly, but she only shook her head and smiled at him.
“I,” he managed, finally mastering that personal pronoun, “want to go outside.”
He blinked down at her, tired of sitting and waiting.
“Not now, Torn,” Sable laughed. “I need to finish this sketch, then we can go and play.”
Torn snorted.
He had been sitting on a cold chair for the better part of an hour, and thought it was technically no longer cold, it was still hard as hell. He was wearing something called posing slips that Jack had brought over yesterday after a small conversation with Sable.
He seemed very happ
y, happier than usual as he brought the tiny shorts over.
“This is a great idea, Sable!” he intoned as Jill entered, bringing up the rear, a big smile on his face.
“Can I watch?” Jillian laughed, making Jack roll his eyes and Sable explode into laughter.
Torn had merely cocked his head to the side, anxious to get the joke.
But after having Jack and Jill stuff and prod his body into the tiny trunks, he was still no closer to amusement than he had been when they first entered the door.
The slips were uncomfortable and tight. They squeezed his manhood and left little to the imagination.
Where the soft sweatpants and T-shirt were comfortable and relaxing, this new garment was tight and confining.
Then he had to face the indignity of being posed on this stool like a vain Eirda, the tiny winged folk who spent all day staring at their reflections in ponds, and forced to hold as still as a statue.
This was not his idea of fun!
He stared balefully at Sable and then at the sunshine, noting that the rain would probably start again, hiding the sun from view.
“Done yet?” Jill asked as he stuck his head into the room. “It’s been hours, lass. Are you not going to give the kid a break?”
“What is it with you people?” Sable asked as she blew a hair out of her face in frustration. “I am trying to work. Doesn’t anyone respect the artist?”
“How about respecting the model?” Jill said as he pointed to the slim chrome watch on his wrist. “You have been torturing the boy for a good seven hours now. Time to cut him loose, Sable.”
“Seven hours?” Sable almost shrieked as her eyes flew to a clock set up in the corner, then back to a bored but still fresh-looking Torn. “I didn’t know so much time had past. Sorry, Torn.”
Torn blinked at his name, understanding a bit of the conversation. He nodded his head, causing long spirals to fly in his eyes, giving him an almost boyish charm for one so large and naked.
“My Harley?” he asked hopefully.
He still remembered the rush of air past his face, tearing through his hair. It was almost as fun as flying. He wanted more of that feeling, more of the rush that coursed through his whole body to stand at attention, more of the flying feeling, without the wings. He didn’t want to expose his demon to his new friends, and he now considered the trio friends. He knew the two men more intimately than they did each other. But with his Sable, his mentor, he shied away from using his powers.
He didn’t want to be disappointed if he delved too deeply and found something dark and dangerous.
“Oh! Our laddie wants to ride! Well, saddle him up, Sable. Time’s a’wasting. And the boys should be at the club.”
“Oh, brother,” Sable sighed, picturing an innocent and tame Torn in the riotous, gay biker bar where Jack and Jill hung out. It would be like leading the lamb to slaughter. She couldn’t let him go there.
Of course, she was a regular there, but she could handle herself.
Torn was just so innocent and sweet. Did he even know how to defend himself?
“Come on, love,” Jill urged. “We even brought in some spare stovepipe stirrups for Torn. He will love the fit. They are black, to match his hair and set off his eyes.”
“You are not pimping him, Jill,” Sable growled as she tossed her pad on to the table and stretched her fingers.
She had not noticed how stiff and cramped they were before, but she did get a good nine pictures of Torn from all angles. That should be enough to start the sculptures. She hoped.
“Would I do a thing like that?”
“Yes,” Jack said as he entered into the verbal fray, while walking over to the pad to see the day’s progress. “Not bad, Sable.”
“I would not.” Jill added, a wide innocent look on his face as he gazed at his huge dark-skinned partner. “I just want to show him off a bit and have a bit of fun. That’s all!”
Torn’s eyes flew from person to person, knowing that the topic was him and a little annoyed that he couldn’t follow the whole conversation.
But one of the best ways to learn was to be totally immersed in the subject matter, and the back and forth between the three of them was improving his understanding of the language.
“We have to protect him, Jill. Maybe now is not the time to take him for a jolly good rout with the boys.”
“Sable, I am shocked that you think that we wouldn’t protect him,” Jill said as he stepped into the room and stopped beside Torn. “Why, he is like me own son.”
“Stop it, Jill,” Sable snorted, trying to hold in the laugh as the well-built Scots blinked innocently at her and managed to convey sincerity in his every move.
“One beer, Sable. Then we will return your Faeroe to you in good health!”
“Jack!” Sable laughed, turning to the man in question. “Will you do something about him?”
“Well,” he said slowly, his deep voice considering. “I kind of agree with him, Sable. Torn needs to get out and experience what it is he is here to experience. It’s not fair of us to keep him here. I agree that he has to have been sent to you for a reason, but until we find out that reason, he needs to be able to find the trouble on his own.”
“His reason is to be my model,” Sable argued.
“Too easy,” Jack decided. “If he is here for a higher purpose, then it has to be more than being a piece of eye candy for you to mold clay after.”
Sable glowered at her friend and resisted the urge to punch him. She hated it when he was right.
“Besides,” Jill piped in, “all work and no play makes Torn a very dull boy. We must prevent this tragedy from happening.”
“Fine,” Sable sighed, giving in with not so good grace. “But I am going with you!”
“Why? Scared that we might switch him, Sable love?” Jill laughed, tweaking Sable’s humor and lighting up her expression.
“Well,” she sighed, “seeing that his only reaction came from me, I think that I’m quite safe on that account.”
Jack roared with laughter at the funny look that popped up on Jill’s face. He hated to be one-upped.
“Anyway,” Jack said when he toned his laughter down to a low roar, “I brought him some clothes for the trip. I assume that we will be taking the Harley?”
At the word Harley, Torn’s eyes widened and a huge smile split his lips.
“I go play,” he said, turning towards Jack and smiling hugely at the large man.
“We go play,” Sable insisted as she turned to leave the room and dress in her leathers. “Jack, will you help Torn? Please make sure that Jill doesn’t dress him up like a male prostitute.”
“You mean like me?” Jill asked, preening in his tight brown chaps and matching jacket. He looked like every fashion designer’s dream of a Hell’s Angel, tough yet stunningly attractive.
“You are one in a million, Jill,” Sable laughed as she walked out of the room. “But don’t make him look too hot. I don’t want to have to fight for my Faeroe,” she called back.
“Um, better not refer to him as ‘your Faeroe,’ dear,” Jill called back as he left the room to retrieve the gear he’d selected for Torn. “Then we really may have a fight on our hands.”
* * * * *
“I am in deep trouble,” Sable breathed as she got a good look at Torn.
He was almost seven feet of pure sin and temptation. The black leather biker chaps molded to the thick muscles of his long legs, emphasizing his strength.
The revealing cut of the leather showed his tight rounded backside to its best advantage in the form-fitting black jeans.
A white T-shirt covered by an open black and yellow work shirt drew out the colors of his eyes, making them glow with energy and life. Over his shoulder, he carried a long black leather duster that only could belong to Jack.
On his feet were a pair of black leather boots, the small heel lending him additional height as well as throwing his pelvis and the bulge, so prominently there between his legs, for
ward and into plain sight.
His hair flowed long and loose from a tight tail at his nape, and around his neck, the brass torque gleamed brightly.
He was a walking god, the dominant male, and the master that could make any slave crawl at his feet. But the innocent smile and the humor that rested in his eyes told her that it was her Torn, the same quiet Faeroe who had come to rescue her.
“I am going to kill you, Jill!” Sable called out. But inside, as her internal organs clenched and a sudden wet heat made her blush, she said, “I am in deep trouble!”
Chapter Fourteen
“Remember what I told you?” Jillian said as they walked into the dimly lit bar.
“No, thank you, I am taken,” Torn repeated as his eyes eagerly scanned the room.
There was a large long table set against a wall that ran the length of the place. Behind this stood a man, almost large enough to be one of his father’s warriors.
For a moment, he felt a pang of loneliness and homesickness, but that quickly passed as he noticed that all of the men here were shorter than he, Jack, and the tall man behind the bar.
Were they all half-breeds of some kind? Was he banished to a place where everyone was a half-breed, like himself? This could be…fun!
“Never again,” Sable snarled as she stalked into the bar behind Jill and Torn. “Next time, he rides with you!”
If it hadn’t been for Torn’s demands to drive faster and the delicious feel of his leather-clad legs framing her body, she just might have enjoyed the trip to town. But no! Torn had leaned over her shoulder and asked with a plaintive whine in his voice, “Faster?” More interested in speed than in the body that operated the bike.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, the man generated heat like a furnace. She could still feel his penetrating body heat tingling along her back and sides.
It had to be the Faeroe glamour again. It just had to be. Riding with a man on back had never affected her this way. Not even “bareback riding”.
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