by Billi Jean
Maeve.
She was scared, clearly amazed he was there, but she was whole, unharmed except for a long, bloody scratch on the left side of her face. All he had time to do was register that then she flew into his arms. He went down, slipping with her to the floor with a crash into something that broke underneath his back. The breath got knocked out of him, and her knee hit him right between his legs, square in the balls, but she was alive and hugging him so hard around his neck he couldn’t complain. He grunted at the greeting, but couldn’t fault her enthusiasm.
“Stephano, you’re here!” Her happy voice floored him more than the painful groin hit. Immediately he wanted to hear her again. I knew she could speak!
She amazed him even more by cupping the side of his face with her warm hand to stare down at him, her expression elated. He thought she might kiss him, anticipated it, but instead she plastered her hand over his mouth. That was okay, because he couldn’t think of a thing to say, especially with her straddling him, panting against his face.
“We need to go. Quickly,” she whispered in his ear, then scrambled off him, barely missing nailing him.
He groaned and rolled to the side but managed to get to his knees, groaning as the ache intensified. He cupped his damaged balls and blew out a breath, tilting his head to watch her almost jumping from foot to foot. “You can talk,” he ground out.
She raced to his side, took hold of his arm and attempted to make him budge. He was in too much pain to get to his feet.
“You can talk.”
“Yes, yes, but that doesn’t matter now.” She tugged him by his armor, clearly in a rush.
“It matters,” he gritted.
She froze, then nodded rather quickly. “Yes. You were right, I can speak. Now, please, please you have to come away,” she said the last with such insistence her fear finally registered past the nausea of getting his balls back where they belonged.
Something was wrong.
He lumbered to his feet, shaking off the pain as he pulled his sword free. She clung to him sweetly, half tugging, half hiding behind his side for protection.
“No. Please. Come away.”
“What is it? Mae, the place is deserted—”
Delighted laughter filled the silent chapel. It wasn’t Maeve’s either. This was feminine but…evil. A shiver of dread settled across his shoulder blades, a clear warning he never ignored.
But he could see nothing, no one to make him so certain trouble had found them again.
“Stephano, please. Come away.” Maeve had hold of him by his leather wrist band, not his sword arm, but he didn’t move as he scanned the area for the source of the laughter. There was no one. Across from him stood a mirror, large, rectangular and ancient. It sat propped up against a wall held up on either side by statues of men who were grimacing at its weight. Or maybe not held up… It appeared as if they were straining to topple it.
“Mae, what happened here?” His head felt odd, as if he’d spent a night out drinking warlock brew.
“Stephano!” Maeve’s sweet voice whispered over him. Her face had paled, her eyes had grown too wide, frightened, he realized. “Please, won’t you listen? Come away with me. Now.”
Her sweet voice lulled him, but he had a hard time making sense of her words. “Did you hear that laughter?”
She grimaced and tugged at him. He took a step because she seemed so distraught. Her relief was immediate. She still tugged at him though. It was adorable, as if one hand could move him. Her other hand hung limply at her side. He thought that odd. She held it almost as if it weighed her down. If she really wanted me to move, why not use both hands? He frowned at the thought, trying to figure it out. Well, of course, even with two hands she couldn’t move me.
His mind seemed to be working slowly, as if his brains had been knocked out when her knee had hit his groin. He shook his head, trying to clear it, smiling as he recalled she’d nailed him the first time they’d met, but he’d been aroused, and his hard-on hadn’t been impacted. He was always hard around her though. The thought of her smooth hands, her hot breath on his skin, her bare breasts swaying above him—
“Stephano, come, hurry!”
He had to force himself to concentrate. Her eyes were so beautiful, he immediately got lost in the shifting colors. They would glow with arousal when he touched her, growing slumberous with lust, even out of focus, as he pushed her to reach fulfilment. The taste of her. He wanted to kiss her. Kiss her until he’d had his fill. Will that ever happen?
“Stephano, please, please, come away.” Her voice came to him as if from a distance. He wanted to hear her say please when he was over her, when she wanted more and only he could give it.
She licked her lips. They were so pink, so perfectly shaped, even when she spoke he watched the way they formed the words, making him sigh in envy. He’d kissed those lips, knew how incredible soft they were…
“Stephano! We need to leave!”
Why leave, he wanted to ask. This place is perfect. So beautiful. The entire town empty except for them. Didn’t I want her to myself? Didn’t I need to get her alone?
A voice seemed to whisper in his mind, reminding him he had her now. She was alone. Her heart-shaped lips so close to his all he had to do was pull her closer and he could kiss her until he was drunk on her sweet taste. He bent his head. The sudden feeble smack to the side of his head, followed by another had him ducking with a laugh.
He blinked and his eyes seemed to clear. His groin still burned dully from her hello. He caught her hand when she tried to slap him again.
“What are you doing?” He laughed at her indignant huff. She tried to pull her hand away and hit him again. What is going on? “Why are you hitting me?” He watched her small frown deepen as she continued to struggle with him.
“Stephano—”
“You’ll hurt your hand.”
“Please, come out of here, with me, and…and I’ll kiss you! For an hour, more, if only you’ll come with me now!”
Kiss me? He was instantly interested. The last kiss had been hotter than any he’d ever received. “Are we bargaining?” He had some ideas on other things they could bargain over. Her hands in his hair, her body full on his, pressing down so he could feel every inch of her as he slid deep in her sweet pussy…
“Yes. No! Come with me now, otherwise I’ll go kiss…Ajax.”
Instantly the fog lifted his fantasies aside. Kiss Ajax? “What? What kind of thing is that to say?” She couldn’t be serious. No one chose Ajax over him! He went to grab her but she backed away, sniffing at him. “You want to kiss Ajax?”
“Yes. Ajax. He’s nice to me. He listens to me.”
“Is he?” he growled, thinking of methods for ensuring Ajax never walked again, let alone was nice to Maeve. He tried to catch her, but she backed out of his reach.
“Yes, he doesn’t try to bed me whenever we are alone!”
He shoved a stone bench aside to reach her.
“You were alone with Ajax!” His bellow had birds taking flight above them. It also echoed oddly. Wait. Something’s not right. She’s clearly lying, to get me to do something. Why am I angry? The thought disappeared along with his misgivings as a dark, seductive laugh rippled along his skin. It was like an erotic mist. It continued, smoothing down his flesh and caressing his groin to the point of pleasure. It’d been way too long since he’d felt such a thing. The mist rose, increasing the tantalizing sensations. He shook his head and blinked, spotting Maeve backing away from him.
She allowed another to touch her, to taste her, experience her heated embrace. The laughter mocked him with the knowledge he wasn’t enough for her. She chose another.
Rage burned his vision red. Not again. Never again.
Stone crumbled under his fingers as he shoved another bench aside to reach her. Her back hit the wall. She had nowhere to go. He would show her. He would prove to her that he was more than she deserved. Then when she knew what she could have had, he’d ensure she never
had it again.
The laughter filled his ears, assuring him his pleasure would soon ease his rage. Take her. Take her and show her.
Chapter Twelve
Something changed in Stephano’s eyes. A fever, one she knew well, burned there, but with it, an anger she feared. She had thought to make him jealous enough to race after her, but that laughter had done something to him. The Siren in the mirror had done something to him. Changed him.
“Stephano.” Fear made her shiver so hard her hand trembled as she held it out to slow him down. “I was only teasing you. Ajax never touched me. He never—”
Stephano reached up and pulled his sword belt off over his shoulder, dropping it to the floor. The clash of metal on stone scared her. He scared her. He dropped a satchel near it, eyes on her with a promise in them. Not like this. Please, not like this.
“Stephano, stop—”
His hands moved to his armor and he grinned at her as he began to unbuckle the leather clasps at his shoulder. It wasn’t a smile that soothed her. Instead she shook in earnest.
“Stop? I have you alone, Maeve. You burned in my arms before. You’ve done so for others, no doubt, but you’ll learn that in my embrace, you’ll blaze.”
“No. No. I…don’t want you.”
He laughed. The sound made tears fight to break free. He was hard, cold in ways she’d never believed he could be. It was the Siren, her laugh, she knew. She frantically glanced from him to the mirror. It was the Siren. Stephano would never treat her this way. She clutched her arm where stone had begun to crawl up from her fingers to her forearm.
“Stephano, please, this is not you. Look! Look at me!”
His armored chest plate fell to the floor, followed by his shirt, leaving him bare from the waist upward. She sucked in a shocked breath. He was stunning. His muscles hard, defined. But he was also scarred. Long lines showed white against his bronzed skin while other disfigured patches caught the late evening light. She itched to touch him. Her heart clenched. Such pain he must have suffered.
“I’ve not stopped looking at you, Maeve.” His tone was dark, dangerous with a passion that frightened her. His hands went to his belt. Disbelieving he’d do this to her, she gasped at the evidence of his arousal bulging under the leather.
“Don’t do this. Stephano, this is not you—”
“By the time I’m through with you, you’ll know this is me.” He caught her then, forcing open her thighs with a shove that hurt. His erection was a hard ridge that he dug between them. She wiggled, trying to break free in a useless effort to stop him. He bent his head to kiss her but she rolled her head away. With a curse, he took hold of her neck and sucked on her skin as he shoved her skirts up her legs.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t catch her breath as he went back to undoing his breeches with one hand thrust between their bodies.
“No! Stephano! No!”
“You’ll want it, as soon as I begin fucking you, you’re going to beg for more, Maeve. They all do.” His voice was rougher now. He shoved her harder. Her gown ripped as he revealed her legs.
She shook her head and, frantic for a way out of this, she did the only thing she could do. She began to sing, broken at first and so softly she was barely above a whisper, but the melody rose with strength as her fear grew.
He lifted his head. His handsome face tensed in a grimace, but he didn’t move. He didn’t complete what he’d started. Instead, he stared into her eyes. Sweat glistened on his forehead. The longer she sang, the darker his gaze grew. Between them, meshed chest to chest, she could feel his heart racing as wildly as hers. His erection was out, a hot brand of flesh against her thigh. She continued to sing, forcing her voice louder and louder.
A scream of rage rose from the mirror. She didn’t stop, not even when Stephano tightened his hand on her painfully. The glazed look left his eyes and he dropped his grip with such suddenness she would have fallen if not for the wall supporting her. He backed away, his handsome face filled with shock.
“What…what…are you doing?”
She covered his mouth with her hand, tears of relief making him blurry. “You…the mirror. We have…to destroy…the mirror.”
He tensed, and his eyebrows drew down, but he reached out and covered her hand with his, his fingers tender now. She sucked in a sob, but not before he heard. “I…I would never hurt you.”
She gripped his hand as tightly as she could. “I know. I know. It wasn’t you. Stephano, please.” She went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “We have to destroy it.”
He wrapped one arm around her and seemed to be listening because he nodded. Her relief was so great she almost sobbed. He’s okay. He’s not going to hurt me. He’s himself.
“Let me get my damn pants back on,” he muttered, proving her thoughts correct more than he could know. “I get you alone and a mirror tries to make me rush it? Fucking unbelievable,” he groused, solidifying her trust.
He wouldn’t tease me if he were still caught in her spell. He was smiling at her, but his expression was filled with chagrin as he shoved himself back in his clothing. She didn’t dare peek, even though, suddenly she wanted to more than anything. Well, almost. I want to leave here, now, as soon as we can. Then I can do more than see him, I can touch him.
“I promise when we do get alone, I won’t be rushing, Mae.”
Mae? “We are not getting alone!” She felt her face heat at the lie. That was exactly what she’d wanted. “Not if we don’t destroy the mirror!” She took a second to calm down enough to continue. “This is serious. Look! Look at what it can do!” She shoved her stone arm up for him to see.
He glanced between them and his hand tightened on her shoulder then without speaking he quickly took hold of her and shoved her behind him. Another laugh sounded, this one as frightening but she hoped not as powerful.
“Ah, what is this, is this concern? For her? Why? Aren’t women only good for one thing? Relieving your itch and nothing more? Bedding and leaving, isn’t that your style, Stephano of Sparta?”
The mirror grew hazy with billowing smoke again, then as if the Siren were stepping toward them, she grew clearer and clearer until Maeve could see the flicker of hate in her heavily painted eyes. Now she wore golden wings on her head, making a crown of bright feathers, as big as eagle’s feathers. They swept up from her brow and out to gracefully adorn her honey-blonde tresses. It was much more extravagant than before. Maeve wondered why until she realized this time, she spoke for Stephano. Maeve tightened her hand on him. Not again. I won’t let her.
“Do you think she deserves you? Truly, one such as she is far beneath you. You need a real woman.” She stroked her hands up her waist to her bosom and cupped herself. The abundance of flesh pooled over the top of her gown.
I have as much but would never do such a thing!
“A real woman to please you.” Her head fell back and she moaned.
Maeve grew hot at the display. Can I please him? He’s so certain he can please me, what if I can’t pleasure him?
“To be stroked to a fire.”
Stephano didn’t move. She thought he didn’t even breathe. He was focused on the woman in the mirror, his body tense and corded. Does he like what he sees? Does he want to stoke her fire?
“A woman to fulfill your every desire.” The Siren stared heatedly at Stephano as she began to move her hips and speak in a singsong tone. “Your every dream, come to life, with me, me by your side, me in your bed, me in your arms,” she sang, rolling her ample hips as she strutted forward.
Stephano moved, taking a step, then another as if called. Around them their breath puffed pale white as the air became frigid. The statues seemed to cry out, their blank eyes filling with something she feared.
She took hold of Stephano’s arm tighter. The women hissed a breath and Stephano shook her off as if in response. Maeve feared it was, feared even more what would happen if he drew too close to that mirror. If the woman had power…had the ability to call him, he migh
t…enter the mirror. She grabbed him again and pulled harder.
“Stephano!”
He paused, half-turning his head at her with no look of recognition in his eyes. The woman called, beckoning him with a hand as she moved closer. Stephano took a step to go to her, but Maeve held on. In her urgency, she must have had more strength than she knew, because he stumbled into her and half fell sideways.
“Come, warrior, let me warm your bed,” the Siren sang, her voice filled with seductive promise.
Stephano shook Maeve off, half-shoving her to the side, but gently enough that she wasn’t hurt. She slipped and caught herself on a wall, but tried to reach him again. It was then she spotted his knife. He’d pulled it from his boot. He caught her eye and winked, then lifted the knife by the tip and in a blink of an eye, threw.
Shocked, she watched as the knife twirled end over end toward the mirror. She had time to hold her breath then it impacted, breaking the surface. Glass shattered to the ground. Inside the mirror, the Siren screamed. The knife stood out from her chest, the blade embedded to the hilt.
Stephano spun and grabbed her to his warm body then hunched over her, his back to the mirror as shards flew outward. “It’s okay, Mae. I’ve got you.”
Amazed, and still frightened, she watched the mirror from the safety of Stephano’s arms. In each piece, the woman’s face screamed. Blood pooled from her lips and her eyes were insane with hatred. Then the cold air seemed to burst with sound.
Maeve buried her face against Stephano’s warm neck. He tightened his arms around her. Crashes, roars, shouts, and loud cries of battle hurt her ears. As quickly as it started, the sounds disappeared.
She peeked out from Stephano’s embrace and watched in amazement as the broken bits of glass flew up and reformed the mirror again. The woman was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s okay,” Stephano whispered huskily in her ear. “I’ve got you.”
She shivered, feeling faint. “You did that. You tricked her. You tricked me. You—”
