by Dawn Madigan
“Goddess…” Dara’s thighs squeezed hard on the large furry head.
She was in oral sex heaven! Her hips were rocking against Rowan’s face, slow at first, then falling into a sharper, more desperate rhythm. She writhed against the crushed flora, both staggered at what she was allowing, yet unable to stop. The rough tongue left her clit and stabbed deep into her vagina’s wet, hot tightness, thrusting into her pussy with long, slow movements.
Rowan’s mac’tir tongue felt so big.
Dara screamed senselessly. Her legs squeezed tightly around Rowan’s large copper-streaked head, the rocking of her hips growing erratic and jerky. And then her hips bucked, her body going rigid. She came on a loud moan, her cunt squeezing Rowan’s tongue in short, quick spasms. She was shivering all over, thinking she’d never stop.
A while later, when the haze had cleared, she opened her eyes to the green-white dome of the blossoming trees. A man’s large hands were supporting her outer thighs. Hard, warm flesh with not a hint of fur on it was pressed against her legs. She struggled up to her elbows with an anxious sob.
“That sure looked like fun,” Rowan grinned up from between Dara’s legs.
His shoulders were supporting her thighs. The hard flesh she’d been feeling against her calves had apparently been Rowan’s naked back. He had shifted to a man and she hadn’t even noticed.
She had never lost control the way she had just now.
“Rowan, I usually don’t…” Dara started, her face burning. She tried again. “I mean, I’ve never…”
“Shhh, ‘tis okay, sweetheart.” Rowan released his hold on her thighs and with predatory grace slid up between her splayed legs. His muscle-bound body was burning against her sweat-sheened skin. Her shirt—his shirt—was still a crumpled barrier between their bodies. He propped his arms on the ground, careful not to saddle her slim body with his full weight.
“But, you can’t love me.” Dara’s eyes were wide and close, her voice a husky whisper. “Because, I can’t love you back, you see? Because Aidan is…was…”
Rowan pressed his mouth down on hers, silencing her with a hard, thorough kiss.
“Mmmm…” She twisted beneath him, pushing both her hands hard against his chest. Goddess, this wasn’t right. She must be out of her mind, letting him do this. Letting herself moan and writhe on his tongue, and worse—letting herself love him while Aidan was—
Love?
She barely knew the man!
Dara groaned, pushing hard.
Rowan lifted his mouth from her kiss-bruised lips. “Why are you fighting me so hard, sweetheart? I can smell your want.” He stared into Dara’s baffled gaze, and his tone softened. “Relax, lass. Here you’re protected from unwelcome desire. What do you see when you look up there, above us?”
“Trees?” she mumbled, hesitant. She was still pushing weakly against him, but the tension had partly eased from her muscles.
“Aye, but which trees?” Rowan chuckled.
“H-hawthorn.”
“Aye. You know, some believe hawthorns are witches who have changed themselves into trees. And in Ireland some use hawthorn leaves to enforce chastity on lusty virgins, or celibacy on lusty wives. As long as they can stand the hawthorn smell.” He gave another chuckle. “So, sweetheart, you are safe from my burning desire beneath so much hawthorn.”
Dara rewarded him with a soft grin. “The hawthorn didn’t seem to work on you earlier. Maybe in mac’tir form you are immune to its magic?”
“Maybe,” Rowan smiled. “Or maybe this specific hawthorn is defective. There’s only one way to find out.”
He lowered his lips to her mouth again. Dara’s hands had stopped pushing for the last few minutes. Her fingers now tentatively climbed up his body, stroking along his damp back. His hand moved beneath her shirt, cupping her left breast. He circled her nipple with his thumb, feeling the supple velvet knotting into a hard kernel. He was growing hard, too, so deliciously aching and hard. He went on kissing her, imploring, demanding, until her tongue began answering his play. Her legs loosely wrapped around his. His balls tightened. Rowan shifted slightly, nestling his cock against her inviting, hot opening. Great Danu, he had to get himself inside her! And she wanted him inside her, too. She was holding him tighter now, mumbling his name—his name!—into his mouth…
“Och stop, stop! What are you two at?”
Dara tore her mouth from Rowan’s at the shrill sound of Brighid’s voice.
“Go away, Brighid,” Rowan groaned, shooting a quick glance in the alarmed voice’s direction.
Aye, that voice had been Brighid’s, all right.
Surprisingly the wee banshee still had all her clothes on, even after shifting back from raven to humanoid.
Gotta learn that trick, Rowan mused.
“Get off me!” Dara was pushing hard against his chest again. He rolled over with a muffled curse.
“They’ve just crossed into Knockgreany.” Brighid ignored Dara’s attempts at tugging down her misused shirt and Rowan’s slow scrambling into a crouch. “Prince Donn and your Hound.”
“Bleedin’ what?!” Rowan was back on his feet, quick as lightning.
“When I was flying.” Brighid struggled to breathe slower. “I saw them when I was flying. Prince Donn, the Hound and the Prince’s escort have just crossed to Princess Grian’s dominion. Rowan, take Dara and ride to the Connachta border, as fast as you can. By Manannan’s beard, what is that smell?” Her gaze darted around in a frenzied search, lighting upon the white-flowering branches.
“Aye.” Brighid’s eyes shone with feverish hope. “Hawthorn. That’s Princess Grian’s summoner tree! I’ll call on Grian for help. But before I do that, I want you two to take a look there, see? That’s where you should go.”
With wide gestures she urged them both to the low hill she was standing upon, a shallow prominence above the level grassland, mildly sloped. They squinted their eyes at the horizon, their gazes following Brighid’s outstretched hand. There, fringing the farthest edge of the unfolding meadow, they saw a swirl of colors crowding about the shimmering bands of what looked to be three rivers.
“That’s the border town of Commar,” Brighid said. “That’s where we were heading. Go now, try to find that Lúracán I told you about. Wait for me at his dwelling.”
Dara gasped as Brighid vanished in a swirl of mist. An overly large raven flapped its wings and soared up from where she’d been standing, shaking scraps of fog from its shiny-black feathers. The red tuft crowning its dark head trembled with the bird’s zeal.
“That’s the way to do it,” Rowan mumbled with unconcealed envy at Brighid’s swift transformation. “Quick and painless. But what’s she bleedin’ doing now?”
The raven that was Brighid was wrestling with a nearby tree. The bird crowed and beat its wings, agitated. The tree rustled with similar annoyance. After a quick struggle the raven tore away a twig rich with white flowers, shook hawthorn leaves out of its feathers and launched itself back into the sky. In the blink of an eye, it vanished along with its loot.
“So.” Dara was glad her voice sounded steady. “She just turned herself into a bird and ripped a branch off a tree in order to call some…princess. In Oregon we use phones for that.”
* * * * *
“Sometimes I wish we used a simpler way of summoning.” Princess Grian frowned at the twig of white flowers dropped into her lap from above. Its thick smell hammered at her senses and startled her away from the intricate Tarot spread on the garden’s oak-wood table.
Her sister arched her brow. “Remind me to get you one of those…uh…chamber-phones on my next visit to the Upper Realm.”
“Cell phones, you mean. That would be nice, except everybody else here uses the weed system.” Grian wrinkled her dainty nose disapprovingly. “Not to mention, Aine, how I hate the smell of hawthorn. ‘Tis like a flock of rotting sardines!”
“Now, now,” Aine grinned. “’Tis one of my summoner-plants, too. If its odor is attractive
enough for midges and butterflies, who am I to complain? Besides, I’d rather think of its smell as the people of Arabia do. The scent of an aroused woman.”
“Midges and butterflies. Not to mention Arabian erotic literature. You’ve obviously been spending way too much time in the Upper Realm.” Grian gave her sister a warm, sunny laugh. She plucked the hawthorn twig from her lap with a dainty thumb-forefinger pinch and tossed it aside. “You may come down now, Brighid,” she informed the raven circling above.
The bird made an enthusiastic dive, almost crash-landing into the grass in the Knockgreany Royal Mound’s garden.
“The Princess is very kind.” Brighid stepped out from the rapidly dissolving scarves of fog and dropped to her knees at Grian’s feet. “Oh, Princess Aine,” she added quickly with breathless awe, bowing her head to the unexpected onlooker.
“You may rise now, Brighid.” Grian shared a brief glance with her sister. “Rise, and tell me what’s wrong with my cards.”
“Princess?” The banshee climbed to her feet, confused, smoothing down ruffled hair and battered clothes.
“What deck are you using, Grian?” Aine tilted her head, golden-haired like her sister’s, over the cards spread upon the table. The Tarot made a colorful tapestry over its darkly tanned face. “Oh. This deck is unlike you, Grian. Its cards are dark, twisted. It throws too many pasts and presents at your face, too many futures all warped together. Maybe you should try a—”
“I’ve exhausted every other trump existing, even had ones painted for me by a Leanan-Sidhe.” Grian laced her lean ivory fingers in her lap. “Tried every spread, even made some up. Each time, ‘tis the same.”
“What is?” Brighid blurted and immediately flushed, embarrassed by her own discourtesy.
“I can’t see, Brighid,” Grian elaborated, giving her a soft smile. “The cards make no picture. Tell me no story. Like colors smeared on a canvas by a child’s play. Like words strung randomly into senseless chains.”
“Could it be the work of dark sorcery?” Aine suggested as she scrutinized the cards.
“Could be, but it doesn’t…well, it doesn’t have a dark magic feel to it.” Grian sent Brighid a sudden sharp look. “I think ‘tis an interference, maybe,” she said. “A new Power woven into the Tapestry. Have you any knowledge of who, or what, that Power might be?”
“I have two Upper Realm shifters traveling with me,” Brighid admitted, squirming beneath Grian’s gaze. “But they have only just arrived, while you said there had been something wrong with your cards for a much longer time.”
“Does it matter whether your travel companions arrived here just recently?” Grian arched golden brows. “If the new Power is residing within them, does it matter if they are traveling Above or Below? And keep in mind, time runs a different course in both Realms. The two Realms are connected, Brighid. ‘Tis like this.” She linked two bowed forefingers to demonstrate. “When one quakes, the other trembles with the aftershocks. So tell me, Sidhe, what is it that makes everything shudder all of a sudden? What Power have you introduced to my dominion?”
Aine crossed her arms over her breasts, listening with silent interest.
“The Princess has a keen eye.” Brighid lifted her gaze to Grian’s. “I’m escorting two Kanjali shifters to Lia Fáil. One is a man of pure Goddess blood, and the other is a woman with both dé-Danann and Mortal coursing in her veins.” She paused, allowing the meaning of her words to sink in.
“The woman traveler is of mixed blood? She must have forefathers among your own Mortals then, Brighid.”
“Aye, the woman’s Mortal half is indeed under my protection. But since I find it hard to protect only half a person, she’s all mine.” The banshee grinned at her own feeble joke. She wasn’t surprised that Grian knew she wasn’t solitary, and indeed had her own Mortal family to minister to—just like her other five Sidhe sisters. The Princess of Knockgreany Mound had an odd habit of knowing things that others didn’t.
“Mmm.” Grian took in this new knowledge, then something flickered in her eyes. “And you’re taking both your shifters to the Stone of Fal. ‘Lia Fáil will again utter a cry, the first and the last in one and a half-thousand years’,” she cited. “You’re throwing yourself right into an ancient dé-Danann quarrel, Brighid, and you’re not even one of us.”
“True, I am Sidhe, not dé-Danann,” she responded. “Yet, as a guardian Sidhe, my duty lies with the Mortal family appointed to my guardianship. Amergin’s descendants have been given to my care. The Kanjali woman is a daughter to Amergin’s lineage, and her life is my responsibility. Therefore your quarrel has become mine, whether I want a piece of it or not.”
Grian nodded. “Is your protégée aware of the prophecy?” she asked softly.
Aine’s eyes widened. “The prophecy, Grian! You don’t think that’s truly—?”
“The woman I’m guarding is quite innocent of any kind of knowledge,” Brighid assured Grian, smiling wryly. “And I do mean, any kind. ‘Tis my understanding her parents withheld information from her, attempting to protect her.” She went on hurriedly, completely abandoning the customary third-person address, “Prince Donn of Knockfierna and his entourage crossed to your dominion a short while ago, along with a Cú hunter. If they catch up with my shifters…” Brighid shuddered visibly, spreading her arms with a plea. “Please, please Princess, don’t let dé-Danann blood spill on your soil!” Then, quickly, she added, “Your Highness,” her face flushing again.
“I will not go against Donn—”
“Princess, please!”
“Directly. I’m much more the, er, ‘passive-aggressive’ type.” Grian arched a golden brow at Brighid’s bold interruption.
Brighid let out a long-held breath.
“Easy, Sidhe, I will help you and yours. ‘Tis a disgrace if I let you fight a dé-Danann battle all by yourself. Fighting might be far better, after all, than—” the princess gave her a tight smile, “—staring for hours at meaningless Tarot strings.”
Chapter Eleven
“Think that’s the one Brighid told us about?”
Dara squeezed her words deep into Rowan’s tawny mane so that the wind wouldn’t snatch them straight out of her mouth.
The border town, aye, he replied.
Rowan’s mental voice was so like his physical one. Low-pitched, husky around the edges, tinted with that damned sexy accent. The wind blew his musky scent in Dara’s face, and the sultry image of his large head hugged by her thighs popped into her mind. His incredible mac’tir tongue, wedged deep inside her…
Her skin bloomed with sudden goose bumps. In reflex she tightened her legs hard on Rowan’s hot flanks.
Miss me already, sweetheart?
Dara’s wind-flushed face burned even hotter. He’d felt her hard squeeze on him. Had guessed her exact thoughts—
Mmm, don’t stop now, Dara, it felt so good. Squeeze me hard again.
Oh, Goddess! Dara’s skin felt teased all over by Rowan’s voice. That husky male timbre made her nipples tighten beneath her clinging shirt, made her bare pussy tingle and grow damp.
Ride me, sweetheart, he went on, coaxing. You’re doing it so bleedin’ good. I want to feel your thighs, sweaty and tight. Feel your feet pressing hard on me…
“Rowan,” Dara panted into the wind. Her fists clenched harder on his fur, so hard that it almost hurt.
You can feel me, too. My breath, slowly moving over your pussy. My tongue, playing around your clit. You’re so wet. I want to taste you. I want to slowly lick around your sweet, juicy cunt, then go deep, deep inside…
Dara moaned, a delicious tremble coursing from her toes to the roots of her hair. Going right through her wet, teased pussy.
You feel my tongue entering you. Slowly going inside. ‘Tis a long, big mac’tir tongue, big enough to fill your cunt. To stretch you tight around me. You taste so sharp and sweet that I can’t get enough. I’m sliding out, then drive my tongue back in, all the way. You shudder. You scream. You squeeze
your legs on my head, so hard…
Dara groaned. Her body responded to Rowan’s titillating command, her thigh muscles bunching. Her legs squeezed so hard on his lithe, muscular body that her ass bunched, and her cunt tightened with it. A jolt of pleasure thrust up her passage. Dara shuddered, her eyes squeezing shut.
“Oh, Goddess,” she breathed.
Ahh, yes, Dara… Ride me. Ride me hard. You feel my tongue move inside your cunt, in and out and around. I want to feel you move, too. Back and forth, sweetheart, I want to feel your sweet, wet pussy rubbin’ me…
Dara was panting hard, her blood fizzing with the wild ride. Her hair blew wild about her face, the wind slashing through her throat. Drawing herself forth by fistfuls of Rowan’s coppery mane, she groaned and pressed her cunt hard against his pelt. He was smooth silk beneath her, and flowing, rugged muscles. Dara’s thighs bunched again, hard. She started to move against Rowan, a slow, tight undulation.
Yesss, Dara, don’t stop… You feel so good around me. Up and down, sweetheart. Keep moving on me, love. Do it harder. Faster…
“Rowan,” Dara gasped. Letting control go, she swayed above Rowan’s muscled body, rocking her wet, throbbing pussy against his animated back. Her eyes tightly closed as she slowly, rhythmically, tightened and relaxed her inner muscles. Nothing else existed but the sensation of movement—of Rowan’s feral, sweeping gallop, of her own body moving against his. Sweet, pulsating pressure built low in her tummy. Her blood gushed excitedly through her veins, engorging her clit, her nether lips, the hot, soaking flesh of her cunt. Goddess, she was so wet. She felt hot and teased, inside and out. A loud moan broke her lips. She couldn’t take it much longer…yet she didn’t want this to end. Her movements were wild now, rough. She was deaf and blind to the outside world. With a desperate cry, she crushed her clit against Rowan’s back, tightening her inner muscles in concert—
Yes, Dara, let go…
She cried out as orgasm hit her, her empty cunt clenching so hard that she almost blanked out.
