by Riley Moreno
She shivered as they rain fell on and about her. She had taken the bedclothes off the bed and folded them into a covering for her shoulders, but they were soon sodden and clung to her body in an icy mass. The moors were relatively unbroken by trees or rocks and Ashley had no shelter as she walked away from her father’s home. The cold penetrated her skin and found its way into her body, chilling her heart and extinguishing her will. The rain pounded her relentlessly as she wrapped her arms about her, praying for warmth and the will to keep walking. But the highland rain can weaken the strongest will and at that moment Ashley was at her most feeble. While trying to keep steady while descending a slope she slipped on the wet grass and fell, rolling over and over down the incline, and there she lay weeping and defeated. It hadn’t been such a long while ago, she thought, that she was dancing a reel with Tristan and watching him win every game of strength. ‘Oh Tristan!’ she called out through tears, acutely aware that he was the only friend she had in all this wide wilderness and that she had chosen to turn her back on him. She curled herself into a ball to shield herself from the downpour, the smell of wet heather in her nostrils and a prayer on her lips.
When Tristan found her he took her for dead, and wondered if the Mackenzies had killed her and thrown her body out on the moor, but when he placed his ear to her chest, he could, despite the pounding of the rain, hear a faint heartbeat. He lifted her onto his horse and sped back to Lennox Castle, holding her close to his body for warmth.
When Ashley came to she was lying in a warm bed with a fire in the grate. She tossed feverishly and felt gentle hands on her forehead and strong arms lifting her up to pour a bitter medicine down her throat. She wondered vaguely where she was, but had no energy to ponder the subject for longer than a fleeting minute.
Tristan watched her hour after hour and day after day, until one day she stirred and called out to her mother.
Tristan felt a pang at hearing her voice, so faint and weak, calling for someone dear to her who was no more.
‘Where am I?’ Ashley asked, her eyes searching the room and eventually alighting on him.
Tristan leaned towards her, aware of how overcome he was, and anxious not to make a display that would make her think him weak. ‘You’re back in Lennox Castle, I’m afraid.’
‘Did I walk here?’ Ashley asked.
‘You walked a very long way,’ Tristan told her, remembering the frozen heap he had found on the moor.
‘Am I alright?’
‘Yes you are…now. But you have had a fever caused by walking unprotected in the rain.’
Ashley looked down at the warm bedclothes and the quilted nightgown she was wearing.
‘Don’t worry,’ Tristan hastened to reassure her with a chuckle. ‘Laren stripped you of your sodden clothes and had you in a hot bath to thaw out…and then dressed you and put you to bed.’ He chuckled again, relieved to see her awake, ‘So don’t you go worrying that I had anything to do with it.’
Ashley wrinkled her brow. ‘Was that yesterday?’
‘No,’ Tristan answered, shaking his head slowly, ‘It was about a week ago.’
‘Oh,’ Ashley’s voice grew faint, ‘I am so weary.’
‘You need to rest,’ Tristan said.
Ashley opened her eyes a few minutes later. ‘Tristan,’ she said, and he leaned closer, his heart beating faster at the way she spoke his name, ‘Have you decided when you will release this prisoner?’
Tristan bowed his head, the smile leaving his face. ‘You are no longer my prisoner, Ashley Mackenzie. But I ask you to stay until you are well again.’
So Ashley stayed until she could leave her bed and take gentle walks in the Castle courtyard, and then longer walks on the moors with Tristan. When she grew stronger he taught her how to ride a wild highland horse and together they would ride, sometimes along the Loch Ness. One day while they were lying out on the moors on a springy carpet of heather, Tristan looked deep into Ashley’s eyes. In all the days through her convalescence he had not attempted to kiss her, but that morning, with the sun in her hair and the color back in her cheeks, Ashley seemed more alluring than ever. As their eyes locked, Tristan felt an overwhelming sense of apprehension. He knew that Ashley’s recovery meant that she would soon talk of returning to England, and the only reason he had kept his feelings under control was not to scare her into running way sooner than was necessary. Ashley studied Tristan’s handsome face as he lay propped up on his elbow, his dark hair falling about his shoulders and his kilt revealing the muscles in his thighs. Ashley smiled up at him, her dimples causing him to lean over and kiss first one cheek and then the other. His lips brushed her forehead and then the tip of her nose. To his surprise and delight she stroked his cheek with one trembling finger, her lips quivering with suppressed desire. He kissed her with mounting desperation, his tongue fiercely invading her mouth and trailing fire down the side of her neck.
He sprang up and pulled her against him, crushing her body against his hardness. He began to fondle her breasts, but suddenly reason prevailed and he sprang away from her. ‘I apologise,’ he said, uncharacteristically polite, and turned to walk back to the castle, beckoning to her to follow.
‘Will you leave and go back to England?’ Tristan asked her later, as they sat by the fire.
Ashley looked down at her hands. ‘Is that what you would like me to do?’
Tristan took one hand and turned it over, placing a kiss on her palm. ‘Perhaps you could stay here with me…for always?’
Ashley raised her eyes to his. ‘Why?’ She asked.
‘Because it is my wish that you do.’
‘Oh,’ Ashley remarked, sounding disappointed.
Tristan moved closer to her and took her face in both his hands. ‘And because I have fallen very deeply in love with you.’
His lips were hot on her skin as he kissed her eyelids, forehead, nose and mouth. ‘Could you grow to love me?’ He whispered, as he pressed his lips to her earlobe.
‘I have already grown to love you, Tristan. Don’t you see that?’
‘Then why have you always wanted to run away from me?’
‘Because you make me very afraid. I am afraid of you Tristan…and all too aware of your strength.’
‘You cannot be afraid of your husband,’ Tristan said, his lips at the base of her throat.
‘My husband?’
‘Yes. Will you marry me Ashley Mackenzie?’
‘I would be afraid to refuse.’
CHAPTER VI
Laren, her mother and sister came early in the day to help dress Ashley. Laren brought a wreath of heather and tiny wild roses and her sister Ailsa brushed Ashley’s hair till it glistened. Then they dressed her in a long tartan dress in the Mackenzie clan colours of blue and green.
Tristan dared not allow his eyes to dwell on his bride too long, as the solitary bagpiper led the wedding procession to the Abbey where the ceremony was to take place. Ashley’s hair flowed down her shoulders and back, stopping just above her knees, and was crowned with the heather wreath. She carried a small bunch of wild roses in her hands and was exquisite in her simplicity.
In the Abbey Ashley stole a look at Tristan, as he stood tall and proud before her. He wore a dark coat over a kilt and white shirt; his hair tied back and gleaming. Tristan looked into his bride’s eyes as he presented her with a Luckenbooth and a sash of Kincaid tartan. Ashley’s eyes dewed over as she looked at the Luckenbooth – a beautifully crafted silver brooch of interlocked hearts, and gazed into Tristan’s face as he pinned it on her dress. Tristan kissed her – but briefly – overwhelmed by emotion. ‘The Luckenbooth is to seal our love,’ he whispered. They left the Abbey hand in hand with the piper leading them, and a little boy slipped a horseshoe into Ashley’s hand as a symbol of good fortune.
The Banquet Hall of Lennox Castle was bedecked with flowers and a splendid feast was laid out on the tables. Outside on the green, pipers, fiddlers and drummers played as Tristan and Ashley danced a reel with the gue
sts. But suddenly the sounds of jubilation were stilled as a man approached in Mackenzie tartan.
‘I come in peace!’ He announced as those guests who wore broadswords drew them menacingly. The messenger carried a sheet of paper in a silver tray and this he handed to Tristan. Ashley grew pale.
‘It’s alright my sweet Ashley,’ Tristan reassured her.
‘What does the note say?’ She asked, and her voice trembled.
‘It is a letter of apology to you…and to me…and to all the clans.’ Tristan answered, and then turned to the hushed, waiting guests. ‘The Mackenzie clan wants peace!’
Ashley’s cheeks glowed. ‘So there will be peace amongst all the clans after all,’ she breathed.
‘For now,’ Tristan laughed, swinging her up into his arms. They left their guests to the food, wine and song. ‘But for us, it is time to be alone,’ Tristan said.
Ashley’s pulse raced as Tristan carried her up the stone steps and to a room she had never seen before. It had a window with a view of the moors and mountains, and a four poster bed with silk sheets.
‘Tristan,’ Ashley whispered his name, ‘I’m so afraid of what I feel.’
‘Hush, my beauty,’ Tristan said, kissing her. In the golden glow of candlelight, Tristan undressed his bride, watching the clothes fall away to reveal her beautiful body. His eyes burned with suppressed desire as they roved over her rounded breasts, one exposed, and one covered with a strand of her hair. Tristan pushed her hair back and cupped her breasts and kissed them. Ashley reached up to unpin the heather wreath and her breasts rose, the tips hardening invitingly. Tristan could contain himself no more. He tore off his coat and shirt and pulled her against his naked chest, his lips stirring a fire within her. Ashley gasped as he picked her up and laid her on the bed, towering over her in just his kilt. In one swift move the kilt was gone and Ashley gasped again as she saw Tristan’s manhood spring forth from between his bronzed, muscled thighs.
Tristan took Ashley’s breasts in his hands and began to kiss and fondle them as Ashley held his head and moaned, feeling the fire in her belly grow to a raging furnace that threatened to consume her. Instinctively she arched her body towards his, opening herself to his majestic manhood. Tristan caressed the red gold hair at the base of her belly, which concealed the parts that she was now discovering had more sensation than she had ever thought possible. Tristan’s caresses grew more frantic, stronger, until with a loud groan he plunged into her. The weight of his immense body was on her but Ashley was aware only of Tristan’s glorious organ, strong and thick, throbbing inside of her. She moaned louder still as Tristan began to rhythmically thrust against her pelvis. His tongue was in her mouth, on her eyes, on her neck and his teeth teased and nibbled her ears as he inflicted the power of his passion on her. She took the onslaught with joy, rising to meet every thrust, grinding her pelvis into his. He climaxed with a loud groan, and she felt her body erupt into a starburst of spasms. She could feel the heat of his body spurt inside of her, mingling with her own passion. Then he lay back, and pulled her on top of him, onto his manhood, aroused again to rampant desire. His throbbing organ burned into her body, stirring up her passions into a furnace once again as he thrust upwards, pulling her body down to meet each frenzied move of his taut, strong hips. He pulled her breasts down as he climaxed, agonisedly taking the tips between his teeth and sucking them till she felt her own body convulse. He rolled her underneath him and continued to thrust his organ into her, moaning her name aloud. Then he lay still, drawing one ragged breath after another, his weight crushing her and his sweat mingling with hers. She wished she could hold him inside her forever, to have his nakedness against her skin always, his head, cradled as it was between her breasts, his spent passion sticky between her thighs…because this was perfection and Ashley could think of no other moment in her life when she was so exquisitely happy and at peace.
Xxx
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Mated by the Demon
Paranormal Fantasy Romance
By: Riley Moreno
The Hunt
It was times like these that she missed her wings. Demelza Saint twisted mid fall and slashed her sword across the demons chest. The demon howled as the fire that made up its essence began to freeze. Enraged by his imminent death the demon lunged at her, pummeling her hard against the rock face. Demelza felt the alabaster skin on her face and arms tear off, the pain a blinding light in her head.
When you betray Him, you don’t just fall once.
You keep falling. That is your eternal penance.
Demelza had tracked the demon to the abandoned lumberyard at the top of heavily forested hill. The demon, Golsan, had been stealing children from the small town of Creekwood below; their burnt and decimated bodies left in the forest for their loved ones to find. Demelza had dealt with this kind of demon before, in the ancient city of Sodom. This would be a piece of cake.
Except that it wasn’t. Golsan had somehow known of her coming and had put up defenses. It had taken Demelza half the night to get through to the main cabin where she had finally engaged in battle with Golsan, a fire demon who had set the cabin ablaze around them.
And now they were falling down the hill and clawing at each other, Demelza’s fiery red hair coming undone and blinding them both.
“I am a demon,” Golsan cried, “I cannot die, foolish girl!”
“I’m not a girl,” Demelza said, “and neither can I,” and used his flame wreathed body to kick herself away right before they reached the ground, pirouetting in the air to land lightly on her feet.
Golsan had mercifully fallen in a clearing of jutting rocks, reducing the risk of setting the forest on fire. His flame was dying, his body torn to pieces by the fall on the rocks, and the frozen shards from Demelza’s sword were spreading to the extremities of its body. He’d be dead soon and he knew it, his breathing was labored and he stared at her with sudden clarity and then began to laugh, choking on his laughter and wheezing because his lungs were solidifying in to blocks of ice.
“Oh I know who you are,” he wheezed, “You’re the one He let fall; He took your wings but never gave you the mortality you craved,” Golsan spat out a wad of steaming lava, “how does it feel to live like a dirty human without the mercy of death?”
“It is a far superior life to that of a demon,” Demelza sneered lifting her sword for the final, fetal blow her violet eyes glowing neon in the night.
“I know of him too,” Golsan whispered, “Dorian. He’s alive you know. I could take you to him.”
Demelza’s hand stilled. She stared at the pathetic ruin of the demons body; her own crystal white blood was spattered across the clearing amidst the long grass and rotting leaves. Golsan was a scheming, conniving creature, a paragon of his species and demons were known to entice nothing but mischief. So it shouldn’t come to her as a surprise that Golsan would want to wreak havoc in her life with his dying breath.
“You lie,” Demelza said calmly.
“Granted the boy is more spirit than the man he ever was,” Golsan gasped, “but still alive. The one loved so much by an angel she fell from the heavens for him only to lose him to the first coven. Oh, yes, I know the story.”
“Then you must also know that I have no love for demons,” she spat and raised her blade higher till it glinted in the eerie moonlight. “And I wouldn’t trust one as far as I could throw them.”
“He is in America,” Galson said with a wicked smile, “On the same continent as you. And I know exactly where. I could save you a heap of time finding your lover; I could give you the one thing you most crave!”
Demelza plunged the blade deep in the demons throat, severing his frozen neck completely. He was fast turning in to a river of ash water, sinking in to the earth beneath. She sheathed her blade breathing heavily.
Dorian.
The name made her heart constrict with longing. How many centuries had it been sinc
e she had last seen his face? Eons had raised mountains and crumbled them in to dust on the wind since she had last heard his voice.
Demelza had seen the glowing blue-green called Earth orb catch the half-light from the sun that blazed at the heart of this solar system; she had seen countless planets just like it with people just as half-witted, fragile and beautiful in their limited ways. But only one had caught her eye.
Dorian.
She had watched over his unkempt head before he was born, forming a connection with the spark of his soul when it resided in a seed in the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden. She’d watched his toes and fingers form in the womb and then she had seen him emerge in all his glorious beauty and his cry had pulled her with a force she had not anticipated.
Dorian.
The young boy who would talk to the clouds as if he saw angels behind them, gazing down at him; the boy who would sing the birds down from the trees and coax the wolves to sleep with the sheep as friends; the young man who swam through the clear waters like a fish, the sun dappling his skin a polished bronze of youth.
She had loved him since his beginning and that had meant her end. The fall had been brutal, burning her wings to stumps at the back of her shoulders, tearing at the soul that resided within her, twisting the immortality out of it.
Demelza had fallen for Dorian like a meteor falls to earth; an inevitable consequence of gravity, and what was love if not the gravitational pull of two souls?
And he had found her, half drowned by her fall in the sea, her stumps bleeding and raw.
Dorian.
The man who had healed her body and soul, who had kissed her that night she had discovered the stars, the man who was taken from her too early, too cruelly.
Dorian.
The man she had killed.
