Captive Dreams

by Angela Knight

  Corinne ground her teeth in fear and frustration. She had to accomplish this somehow, so she began to move up and down again on Mykh. He gripped her hips and started to do most of the work. But she quickly tapped his cheek and he looked at her.

  “We must finish this,” he grunted. “It’s almost time for the fifth, and last, station.”

  “Then I must do the moving, so I can heal you,” she snapped, then softened. “Trust me please, Mykh.”

  “Corinne, do you think you can succeed where all the priests and healers have failed? Must you prove to me that you are a sorceress who could give me gifts with one hand, while stealing my soul with the other?”

  She flinched at the accusation, but continued to plead with him with her eyes.

  He shoved his hair back from his face before speaking more gently. “Let us take what pleasure we may, while we may.”

  “Then give me the delight of doing this,” she insisted.

  “Corinne.” He shook his head in frustration.

  She deliberately rippled her muscles around him in a reminder of the ecstasy she could bring if she chose.

  “Goddess!” he gasped. “Let it be as you wish,” he rumbled in resignation and wrapped his arms around her. He bent his head to hers for another kiss and she shared breath with him. Mercifully, he knew how to ease out of the tension that leads to orgasm. His pulse slowed as his muscles relaxed.

  She remembered the fall through the void and how fractured her ch’i had been until she had meshed it with his. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave herself up to the kiss, anchoring her energy in his and rebuilding her meridians as she had in the void.

  When she was confident that the pattern was stable, she reached out for the priests’ store of ch’i and wove that in. Mykh’s chest rose and fell against hers, imprinting her with his passion.

  Then she cautiously opened herself to the people’s ch’i. It stormed at her portals but she added it bit by bit, always matching Mykh’s rhythm. She was drunk with energy, stuffed to overflowing with it. But that meant nothing if she couldn’t focus it.

  Now Corinne started to ride Mykh, lifting up and plunging down on his cock. Every wave of sensation passing through him blazed across her sorceress’s vision until she could see exactly where and how to attack the ice wall. She took his cock deep within her until they were as united as possible.

  She narrowed her vision to the ice wall, keeping a tight focus despite the ice serpent’s ghostly mockeries and the torrent of ch’i stored in her pathways. Mykh growled in agony as his body rocked under her.

  “Relax,” Corinne muttered. “Relax.”

  “You make demands that no other woman would dare voice,” Mykh gasped, but his heartbeat steadied and his hips stilled.

  She sent the full force of ch’i against the ice, cutting into it like a ruby laser. It glowed sullenly but melted into a silvery mist that vanished into his ch’i’s dragonfire.

  “Thank God,” Corinne murmured. She rubbed her cheek against his and he patted her back. Now they could drive toward orgasm.

  She tightened herself around his cock. Only the High Priestess was chanting now, aided by a single drummer.

  “By the Goddess, Corinne, you have your ways!” Mykh shuddered, so she did it again and again. Nothing in the world existed for her in this moment except Mykh and their union, with the song rising around them. She squeezed him faster or slower, harder or softer, always looking to the chant for guidance.

  His chest hair rasped her aching breasts, while her core melted around him. His breath possessed her mouth, moving in and out in agonizing pulses. His ch’i swelled up his core, building up in his spine as it ached to erupt. She moaned at its eagerness but postponed the climax, as she watched his yang power build his fertility. Everything in her that was female, everything that was yin, demanded this man.

  She rocked against him, trying to remember why she was delaying satisfaction for both of them. Her womb fluttered as the steady pulse designed to caress became one intent solely on its own purposes. Another pulse rippled.

  She erupted into climax. She shrieked her satisfaction, while her body clamped down on him like the keys to heaven. He jerked, arched, and bellowed as he pumped himself into her, hands gripping her so hard that she felt him in her bones. She saw fireworks before she went blind and deaf from sheer wonder, waves ripping through her like a hurricane making landfall.

  It was a very long time before she could think again, let alone consider moving.

  Corinne rubbed her cheek against Mykh’s as she slowly floated back to earth. He nuzzled her hair, his pulse heavy and slow beneath their sweat-soaked bodies.

  “You can sire children now,” she murmured, sighing as another ecstatic pulse rippled through her. “Any time you want, any woman you want.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Are you certain?”

  “Oh, yes. Didn’t you feel it, too? That moment when your hot energy poured into me without a hitch?”

  “Thanks be to the Horned Goddess! I’ll sacrifice a thousand baskets of western roses to her when we return,” Mykh vowed.

  “Amen.” Corinne was too mellow to worry about theology right now. She buried her face against Mykh’s neck and breathed in the wonderful scent of him, male sweat with a dash of incense for excitement.

  But why am I not pregnant? He was healed before he ejaculated, her heart fussed.

  Because you didn’t want to bear a child to a man who hates what you are, a little voice answered. And the Goddess’s Dance grants children only when both partners yearn for the gift.

  Damn.

  “Corinne, it’s time to disembark,” Mykh said softly and tilted her chin up to look in her eyes.

  She blinked, reluctant to face reality again. “Can’t be. We haven’t been on the boat long enough to go anywhere.”

  Mykh chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Drink this.”

  He held an iced goblet for her, its sides dripping with condensation and the most wonderful aroma of fruit and honey rising from it. She sipped, reluctant to move from her cozy nest in his arms, and felt a slow surge of well-being rise through her.

  “Good lass,” Mykh praised. “Now lift your arms so I can slip this over your head.”

  “Clothing?” Corinne sighed but she obeyed him. Moments later, she found herself in a long white silk dress, embroidered with dozens of red roses. Mykh dropped a long silver tabard over her head and tied it under her breasts with a white sash. A white tiger was embroidered on the left side, head resting over Corinne’s heart, its body climbing up her back and its tail wrapping around her hip.

  Corinne touched it gently, testing her sorceress’s awareness, and felt a hint of warmth coming from the tiger’s blue eyes. A surge of warmth lifted, like a tigress’s friendly breath, when she petted the exquisitely detailed features.

  Mykh spoke softly, making her glance up at him. “I can sense Khyber when I touch this corselet.”

  Corinne looked at him closely for the first time. He was clad in a green corselet made of overlapping green dragon scales edged with gold, which looked remarkably like a close-fitting muscle shirt with its simple neckline, sleeveless cut, and snug fit. A green and gold dragon emblem draped over his left shoulder, matching Corinne’s tigress. Jade armbands, snug green leather pants, and high boots completed the ensemble. Her breasts firmed, as if it had been months instead of minutes, since she’d experienced her warrior’s touch. “Gorgeous,” she breathed.

  Mykh swooped down and claimed her in a hard kiss that promised a repeat later. “We’ve landed and must climb to the dance floor. And do it speedily so the galley can reach the harbor, while there’s yet water to float it,” he warned.

  That reasoning sounded so strange to Corinne that she moved away from him and looked around. A mountain of wet rock rose along one side of the galley. Ahead, she could see water but behind them was mud. Mud? “What happened to all the water?”

  “It departed the harbor and waits
in the open sea. It will bear the White Horses back to land.”

  Corinne allowed Mykh to help her disembark while she figured this out. “Are you saying that the harbor is going to refill with all the missing water? When a big wave comes in?”

  “Exactly so.”

  This was beginning to sound suspicious. “Just how large is that wave going to be?” Corinne demanded.

  “The priests say the White Horses will reach the dance floor or just below.”

  She followed his gaze upward and paled. “It’s at least ten stories high. You’re telling me that a damn tsunami is coming in, while we hang around and wait for it?”

  “Not wait precisely,” he murmured. A handful of priests and priestesses, plus guards carrying the sword and halberd, its sharply curved blade flashing in the afternoon sun, started up a flight of steps carved from the living rock.

  “What do you mean, not wait? Are you saying that we’ll be doing something?”

  He smiled but didn’t look directly at her.

  “You’re crazy! I would never screw anybody on an island during a tidal wave!” She propped her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  Mykh lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. Then he bit precisely on the spot under her thumb that made her knees buckle, while moisture gathered between her legs.

  “And you’re telling me that you can get me to do just about anything in bed,” Corinne grumbled. Her feet automatically fell into step with his. “Goddamn arrogant jerk, you don’t have to be right all the time.”

  She was still complaining quietly when they reached the dance floor, after passing other, smaller terraces on the way up. It was a wide marble terrace circling the island’s crest, with a heavy stone balustrade marking the edge of a very long, very steep drop to the water below. Any opera company could have staged the Ring Cycle’s spectacular pageantry twice over on that terrace.

  Priests and priestesses had left the climb at each smaller terrace until only the High Priestess and the weapons’ guards accompanied them now. She was slightly flushed as she smiled at Mykh and Corinne.

  She began the invocation with a heartfelt, “My children,” and went on to beg long life, health, prosperity, and many children for Mykh and Corinne in remarkably few words. Then she smiled at them, signed a blessing over their bent heads, and departed, taking the steps much faster on the way down than she had on the way up.

  The guards mounted Dragon’s Breath and Tiger’s Paw, so the weapons formed an arch over the narrow path leaping up to the island’s craggy summit. Then the men bowed to the Dragonheart and his Companion and headed downhill at a quick trot.

  Corinne yawned, feeling ready to collapse into bed, since the drink’s effects had worn off during the climb.

  “If you wish, the High King’s pavilion is pitched on the far side. We can wait there for the Advent of the White Horses,” Mykh offered.

  “Sounds good,” Corinne agreed. “Are you ready for a nap, too?”

  “Nay, I am duty bound to stand guard until the Hunter’s Watch ends.”

  She bit her lip at the reminder of why Mykh was her lover.

  “Corinne.” His voice was softer, catching her attention. “It is how we reenact the Hunter’s quest for the Maiden, not the actions of a nervous jailer. I greatly anticipate sharing the Goddess’s Dance with you.”

  His eyes were intent on hers, willing her to understand something. But what? Well, he’d never been a very cooperative character in her books; he’d always kept his thoughts hidden from her.

  She smiled up at him tremulously and patted his hand. “Thanks.” Another yawn surprised her and she covered it quickly.

  “Rest now, Corinne. I will wake you when the time comes.”

  “Sure.” She was asleep within seconds of reaching the lavish pile of quilts inside, yet another spectacular example of how well Torhtremer treated its royalty. She slept dreamlessly and well, with her arms wrapped around a pillow, hugging it close like the man she longed for.

  She woke easily, becoming fully awake within instants. She considered her empty bed with a sigh and wandered out to find Mykh.

  He was looking out by the cliff’s edge, one hand shielding his eyes as he studied the skies. Dragon’s Breath was less than three steps away from him.

  “What is it?” Corinne joined him. The harbor floor was pure mud as far as she could see, with cliffs marking the land’s edges and trees high above. Bhaikhal, Torhtremer’s capitol and greatest harbor, looked more like a cliff dwelling than a seaport. Nothing moved.

  “No seagulls are flying.” He turned to face her. “It is far too quiet.”

  “What do the priests say?”

  “That it is always thus before the White Horses appear.” He shrugged. “Enough of what we cannot change. Let us go to the arch, that we may be ready for the Advent of the White Horses.”

  They took up position under the arched weapons, Corinne underneath the halberd with her back to the west and facing Mykh. A stance that meant she couldn’t see directly where that tsunami would come from.

  A ram’s horn sounded in the distance and Mykh kissed her left hand.

  Another horn blew, closer this time, and he kissed her right hand. She shivered in anticipation.

  A third horn call rose closer yet. “My lady,” he murmured and kissed her gently on the forehead. Corinne slid her hands up his chest, savoring all that hot male strength underneath the leather.

  The fourth horn sounded and he kissed her mouth. She sighed happily and yielded to his tongue’s delicate strokes.

  The fifth horn sounded . . . and rose to a shriek of alarm. Mykh released her immediately and thrust her away as he whirled. Corinne stumbled back and ended braced against the sword’s empty stand, staring at Mykh’s back. He waited in a battle crouch, Dragon’s Breath drawn and ready.

  Beyond him loomed masses of angry water, boiling as they rose to form a mighty wall before the setting sun. The tsunami roared louder than a jet engine on final approach. It drew itself up higher yet until its pinnacle, marked by the White Horses’ foam, was as high as the island’s peak.

  A black mass shadowed the wave’s crest, swinging in and out of the swirling mass like a surfer. It was as large as a boat but flat and massive, rather than tall with masts reaching for the stars. Corinne frowned as she peeked around Mykh, trying to see better.

  “Up the stairs! Quickly!” Mykh commanded and she instinctively obeyed. But she halted after a dozen steps and turned to watch.

  The tsunami crashed against the island in a storm of salt spray. The land shuddered at the impact, knocking Corinne off her feet. She grabbed a boulder and slowly hauled herself erect.

  Below, water raged over the terrace, sending Mykh leaping back. He snarled in rage as the wave uprooted balustrades and paving with loud cracks like a freight train derailment. The pavilion was gone in the first instant, disappearing in a cloud of green and gold amongst tumbling rocks and marble slabs. Fish and seaweed tossed across the marble before sliding off into the water.

  Mykh flung his hair back, spun Dragon’s Breath in a circle, and crouched again, ready to meet his attackers.

  The water disgorged its rider and Corinne screamed.

  The great Imperial Terrapin, Azherbhai, loomed over Mykh, more frightening at this distance than she’d ever imagined. But this thirty-foot long version of an alligator snapping turtle was far meaner and faster than its Earth-born relative. Its head had haunted her nightmares for years, uglier than sin and equipped with a knife-edged beak that could swallow a man whole whenever it chose. Fighting this would be comparable to a single infantryman, equipped only with a bayonet, taking on a tank with the fastest, nastiest gun turret around.

  “Begone! You disturb the harmony here,” Mykh ordered.

  Azherbhai lunged at him and missed by a fraction of an inch. Mykh lashed out but Dragon’s Breath also missed its target. Corinne’s heart stopped beating.

  An evil chuckle grated on her ears and the
Dark Warrior jumped down from Azherbhai’s back. He was slightly taller than Corinne but noticeably shorter than Mykh, and more barrel-chested in the flesh than he’d been as a spirit visiting Mykh’s palace. He wore a long chainmail tunic that reached his elbows and knees, made of a dark metal that repelled the light, over black shirt and leggings.

  He leaned on a long black staff and laughed again. “Foolish mortal, your feeble efforts have no chance against Azherbhai.”

  “Begone,” Mykh repeated calmly.

  The Dark Warrior snorted and straightened up, spinning his staff in deceptive patterns. “Why would I do that? All we need do is hold you prisoner until you rot. You have no magic to stop us.”

  Corinne’s toe silently found the step below her.

  “Balance will be achieved,” Mykh insisted. He flung Dragon’s Breath suddenly with a backhand motion like a frisbee. The Dark Warrior jumped aside at the last moment so that the sword took only the edge of his tunic.

  Another wave broke over the island and sent a coat of glistening water over the terrace. Fish and bits of seaweed remained to mark its passing. More rock tore free and Corinne thought she saw marble statues from the lower terraces. Neither of the combatants paid any attention to the water’s surge, while the sword returned to Mykh’s hand.

  Azherbhai clacked its beak and lunged for Mykh. He dodged successfully and Dragon’s Breath nicked the turtle’s shell.

  “Damn you, puny human,” Azherbhai cursed. “What care I for your ideas of equilibrium? The land should be mine all the year, not just for a few winter months. This one will give me that after you are gone.”

  Mykh lashed out at the Dark Warrior, Dragon’s Breath catching the staff with a resounding crack. Sparks flew and the Dark Warrior staggered. He recovered quickly, brought the staff back up, and lunged at Mykh. Mykh countered and the battle was on.

  The two men fought with a cold precision that their lightning speed only emphasized. Sword met staff, man spun or man lunged, men circled each other. The pattern repeated again and again as neither gained any ground, nor enough time to work a spell . . . or summon Khyber. The third wave broke just below the terrace while Azherbhai hissed in frustration.