by Reed James
“Mis...tress...” he croaked, blood bubbling from his lips.
Corrigan shuddered as she had his surrender.
“My hound,” she purred, leaning over to kiss his lips, tasting the salt of his blood as her tongue probed his mouth.
The temperature plummeted in the room, swirling snow whipping around the bed. She poured her magic into him. Gunnar was her hound, her slave. He had no choice but to submit now. He had no will of his own. She poured her magic into him. She sent it deep into his bones. Not the half-change she had given her previous three hellhounds.
Corrigan permanently changed Gunnar. He deserved to be her hound for all eternity for the pain he had caused. I had to say the word love to you!
Gunnar's flesh rippled as the change took him. His muscles spasmed, his ruined skin healed into black, sooty flesh. His bones changed, transforming into hard maple wood as they reshaped his body. He howled as his jaw elongated into a fierce snout, his teeth becoming hard obsidian. His eyes transformed into a sapphire and a brown zircon.
Corrigan frowned. She had never witnessed a hellhound with anything other than opal eyes. What makes you different? Is it the Balance's touch on you?
Corrigan petted the mastiff as he rolled over on the bed, sharp claws ripping into the mattress as he righted himself. Gunnar snarled and howled, rubbing into her hand as she caressed the rough, black hide. Gunnar was hers, but the Pixie still had a claim to him, something so deep that Corrigan's magic couldn't fully sever it.
Corrigan expected that.
She leaned over, scratching at his ear. “I'm going to enjoy watching you feast on your fiancee's flesh.”
Gunnar let out an eager growl, hungry for blood.
“Good boy.”
His rough, foul tongue licked his blood off Corrigan's stomach. The Lean Sidhe shuddered, still petting his rough hide, stretched tight over the warped maple wood skeleton. A smile grew on her face.
“I beat you, Pixie. I broke your love and claimed his soul. You'll be mine forever. You'll course and hunt at my command.”
The doorbell rang.
“Stay,” she ordered, tapping his forehead.
Gunnar obediently lay down on the bed, fixing his one sapphire and one zircon eye on the doorway. His body was tense. ready to tear the flesh of whatever silly Mortal lurked at her door. He hungered to course and hunt for his Mistress.
Soon.
Corrigan's hips shook as she walked to the door, assuming her Mortal form. She didn't bother dressing. She ripped the front door open.
Brad stood on her doorstep, his fist clenched, and his eyes fixed hard on him. A smile curled Corrigan's lips. Brad had his relationship saved twice by the meddling Pixie. And now you wander back into my power.
“Corrigan of the Winter's Kiss, I claim protection from the power of you and your servants under the First Provision of the Pact of Autumn. Maeve of the Winter Rose has chosen me to be her bonded emissary.”
Corrigan released her power, the Pact's restrictions falling down on upon her.
“Why don't you come in and tell me what the Pixie wants,” Corrigan purred, letting a geas fall on her body, a subtle illusion that made her seem more inviting and lush. “It's far more comfortable inside.”
Sweat beaded on Brad's forehead, his cock swelling in his pants.
“I respectfully decline your generous offer.” He swallowed, his fist clenching. “I will remain outside.”
“Oh, don't be so polite.” Corrigan ran her fingers up her thigh, drawing it closer to her naked pussy. His eyes locked on her fingers, his lust rolling off of him. “I just want to give you the reward for your service.”
Brad's fist clenched. “No. I am here to deliver Maeve of the Red Rose's challenge.”
“Oh, for what?” Corrigan arched her eyebrows.
“Gunnar.”
“Oh, him,” laughed Corrigan. “All of this for a man. She is a slave to her hormones. All Pixie's are such whores. Gunnar's moved on to the delights I have to offer. And you can enjoy them, too.”
“Gunnar has announced his intention to marry Maeve of the Red Rose and presented her a token of betrothal. Maeve has prior claim to this Mortal. By the Thirty-Fifth Provision of the Pact of Autumn, she challenges you to Finite Combat on the Green of the University of Puget Sound at Moonrise today. If you fail to appear, you forfeit all claim of ownership on Gunnar Agnarsson.”
“Finite Combat?” Corrigan arched her eyebrow, hiding the shudder that passed through her. The Pixie proposed a lethal fight. “How daring of her.”
“You have been dully notified. All provisions of the Pact of Autumn have been met.” Brad backed away from the Lean Sidhe.
“You sure you don't want to come in and have some fun,” Corrigan smiled, reaching out to touch his face.
His hand lunged at her wrist. Excitement beat in Corrigan's breast, eager for his touch so his neutrality would be broken and she could inflict harm upon this annoying Mortal.
Brad's hand froze inches from seizing her wrist. “I know what you made me do to Felicity. I will enjoy watching Maeve kill you.”
Corrigan ripped her fingers away, cold wind swirling about her. Brad faced her without fear. He knew she couldn't touch him so long as he followed the rules. “You better hope that bitch kills me, because when that Pixie's wings are plucked and she lies dead at me feet, I will hound you and your cunt to death. You will witness Felicity's agonizing death. I will make it as slow as possible. You will witness every beat of her pain-filled heart as she screams in agony.”
“She'll win. Maeve loves him,” Brad answered and walked away.
“Love is just a word!” she howled, slamming the door.
Gunnar stalked out of the bedroom. He was huge, far too big for the apartment. He growled, his tongue licking his chops. Corrigan stroked his hide as she headed to find her phone. She discovered it frozen in the bedroom.
She thawed it and called Evan.
It was time to turn the Pixie's trap against her.
~ ~ ~
Gunnar's claws dug into the carpet. The scent of the human lingered. A low snarl escaped his lips. His Mistress was angry. His Mistress wanted to tear the human apart. And Gunnar wanted to feast.
Mistress stroked his hide, a wave of bliss shuddering through his body.
Gunnar would do anything for her. He would course and kill for her. Whatever she wanted, he would obey.
He was her hound.
Gunnar padded around the small living room, his whip-like tail slashed the couch and gouged the shelves. The apartment was too small. He wanted to run through snow drifts, to run down the hot prey in the cold. His tongue hungered for the coppery salt of blood. To tear and rend and feast.
But he had to wait.
And wait.
His Mistress spoke on her device.
...phone...
The word rose out of a deep recess within Gunnar's mind. The helhound sensed there was more to him, but that part didn't matter to Mistress, so it was buried. Gunnar growled, pacing faster.
Too small. He needed to stretch his legs.
Another knock at the door.
A man with ebony entered. But he wasn't fully a man. Like Gunnar, he served Mistress. Gunnar sensed a kinship. The man was almost like Gunnar, almost transformed into a hellhound.
“What do you need, Mistress?” the ebony-skinned man asked asked, falling to his knees before the majestic beauty of Mistress.
Mistress cupped his face. The man was familiar to Gunnar. His scent reached into that deep recess of Gunnar's mind.
...Evan...friend...
The word friend felt wrong to Gunnar. It had connotations of attachment. Of...
...love...
A smiling face appeared in Gunnar's mind.
He yelped in pain, leaping away, his forepaws crashing through the coffee table.
“Gunnar!” snapped Mistress, pointing to the bedroom.
Gunnar whined, backing away from his angry Mistress. He slunk into the icy bedr
oom, hopping up onto the bed. He curled up, laying his snout on his paws, trying to burrow into the icy sheets.
He never wanted to anger Mistress again.
~ ~ ~
Felicity let out a shriek of relief when Brad returned. She ran down the path from the front door, her pigtails flying behind her. She threw her arms around Brad's neck, raining kisses on his face.
“I'm okay,” Brad smiled.
“I'm just so happy. I was afraid she would do something to you.”
“She tried,” he admitted. “And I almost let her.”
Maeve smiled as the couple reentered the house. Now they just had to wait.
Akiko and Evan arrived after an hour. “Sorry, we're late,” Akiko said, glaring at Evan. “Someone overslept.”
Evan gave a sheepish grin. “I was so stressed about it I couldn't sleep, and then I passed out around four and, well, I slept through my alarm.”
“I was getting worried that...she had done something,” Akiko added, shivering. “We should have just stayed here.”
Maeve gave Evan a hard look.
“It's weird staying here,” Evan shrugged. “It's a sorority.”
“Yeah. Your inner pervert should have been thrilled,” Akiko laughed.
“Well, I'm glad you're here,” Maeve smiled. She could still see nothing in Evan's aura that suggested the Lean Sidhe had claimed him.
Professor Sommer walked up next. “I called out,” she said. “I just...I don't think I can concentrate on teaching. I can't wait for you to make her pay.”
“It will be so much safer if none of you are there,” Maeve said.
“Once she enters the ring, she can't hurt us,” Raven said. “Right?
“She won't be able to cross the spikes,” Maeve nodded. But that doesn't mean she can't hurt you. “If you insist on coming, you can stay in the rose bushes. My magic imbues them.”
“Then it will be fine,” Evan said with a grin.
Akiko nodded. “We all want to see Corrigan to pay. She's hurt all of us.”
“She needs to pay,” Professor Sommer growled.
“Has there been any change with Magda?” Akiko asked.
“None,” the Professor sighed as Maeve closed the door behind her. “And the doctors still have no idea what's wrong with her.”
“They never will,” Maeve sighed. “It's not natural. But once we save Gunnar, will figure it out.”
Professor Sommer gave a shy smile.
“So I guess we have a lot of time to kill,” Raven said. “And we can't just spend it moping. So we're going to watch the sappiest, happiest romances we can. Because that's how tonight is ending, with Maeve and Gunnar getting back together. Brooding on what's coming will not solve anything.”
Maeve nodded her head. “You're right.” She shivered, her body about to fly apart under the stress. “Thank you all for being such wonderful friends.”
Chapter Eleven: Rose and Ice
The evening sky was clear. A shower had passed through a few hours ago, leaving a wet sheen on the sidewalks and roads. Maeve strode at the center of her friends. Her fingers flexed as she tried to keep her nerves in check.
She wanted to fly apart. She wanted to flee.
But she wouldn't.
The group marched in silence. Most of her sorority sisters didn't come. But the core of her friends were there: Brad, Felicity, Raven, Akiko, Evan, and Professor Sommer. They marched with determination.
They reached Union Avenue, crossing as the night darkened. Streetlamps hummed to life, flooding their florescent light. It hurt the Pixie's eyes. It was so unnatural, painting everything with an off-yellow. The green was empty, the grass dewy from the rain. The group marched past the statues, heading towards her rose bushes.
“Stay in the bushes,” she told her friends, opening a path from them. “If Corrigan does try anything, they will protect you.”
“Good luck,” Akiko said, giving her a hug.
“You'll do it,” Felicity cheered, giving an excited jump and a squeal.
“Kick that bitch's ass,” Brad said.
Professor Sommer's face burned with her passion. “Make her pay for Magda.”
“I will.”
“You'll be great,” Raven clapped.
Maeve took a deep breath. She touched the rose bush, pushing out her magic. She shaped a sword. The rose branches groaned and creaked as a handle of thin, wrapped vines formed, more shooting off to become the crossguard. The blade bloomed with red roses, the thorns growing even sharper as they jutted from the edge of the brambly blades. The Pixie drew it, her hands gripping the hilt. Thorns bit into her hand, merging into her flesh. The sword became an extension of her.
Maeve turned and strode to the ring. The illusion was perfect. Maeve only knew where the spikes were planted because she had witnessed where they were placed. She paused at the edge, her breath coming faster. She would be trapped in there, too.
I can be strong for Gunnar. I am not a silly, little girl. I am a woman that will fight for what she loves. The Pixie transformed into her true appearance. Her wings were free, fluttering behind her.
Maeve stepped into the ring.
The moment Maeve crossed the cold iron, she shuddered. She was surrender by foul metal, trapped in the circle. There was no escape until a Mortal plucked one of those spikes from the grass.
Maeve's heart thudded as she waited.
Moonrise neared, the power of the celestial object tingling her skin.
Corrigan stepped out of the shadows, naked and wielding a sword made of blue-white ice. Steam wreathed the blade, the edge so sharp it hummed as the Lean Sidhe moved it. A hellhound strode at Corrigan's side, far bigger than a regular dog.
The hellhound fixed a sapphire and zircon eye on Maeve.
Her stomach twisted.
“Gunnar?”
~ ~ ~
Corrigan delighted in the look of abject horror on the Pixie's face. The Lean Sidhe savored every heartbeat of the Pixie's agony. Corrigan reached down, stroking Gunnar's hide, cooing in delight.
“Do you like what I've done with him?” Corrigan purred.
With the pressure of her hand, Corrigan made Gunnar stay as she kept striding forward. Her eyes cast about the Green, studying the grass. According to Evan, somewhere around here was the cold iron trap. The glamour the Pixie had cast was powerful. Not a hint of cold iron brushed her senses.
“Gunnar's such a good hound. He loves it. He begged to be mine. He groveled at my feet. He was eager to surrender to me, to take away the pain your lies and betrayal caused.”
The Pixie's face swelled with anger.
Corrigan's hips swayed, her heart singing with exultation. She couldn't wait to fight the Pixie. “And the way he pleasures me. He worships me with his tongue. He sings my praise. I've never had—”
Corrigan stepped into the trap. She gasped in shock, cut off from escape by the ring of cold iron. The Pixie stood in the center of the circle. She used herself as bait. Such faith she has in her Mortal friends.
“This circle is breaking the Pact of Autumn,” purred Corrigan.
“I don't want you slipping away,” Maeve hissed. “After I bloody your pretty face, I'll make you release Gunnar.”
Corrigan laughed. “There's no release from being a hellhound. Only a Fairy Queen can set him free. He'll always be my bitch!”
Maeve drew in her breath. “Gunnar is my chosen consort. He has entered into a betrothal with me, and by the Pact of Autumn and the Accords of Cadair Idris, I demand my consort be returned to me, or I shall seek satisfaction with your death, Corrigan of the Winter's Kiss.”
“I refute your claim of consortship,” spat Corrigan. She dares invoke the Accords? “This Mortal willingly crawled into my bed and willingly swore his soul to me and the Winter Court. By the Pact of Autumn and the Accords of Cadair Idris, I demand you withdraw your spurious claim, or I shall rip your wings from your back and make you crawl like a worm through the filth for the rest of your days, Maeve of
the Red Rose!”
Maeve's face twisted. Her gossamer wings fluttered. She leveled her thorny blade and soared at Corrigan. The Lean Sidhe swiped her icy sword before her, crashing into the Pixie's. Steam hissed as the Pixie's sword slid against Corrigan, the icy blade singing.
“I will find a way to free him!”
Rose met ice again, the blades crashing together. The Pixie was unskilled. She flailed her sword with powerful strokes, but there was no training. She wasted effort with overextended swings and shoddy footwork. Corrigan calmly parried, flicking her blade back and forth. Every time their blades met, Summer and Winter clashed, energy flashing into steam.
Corrigan fell back and let the Pixie expend her energy. She'll grow tired soon.
“You should have heard how he begged me,” Corrigan purred. “He wanted to be my hound. He was sick of the lies you told him.”
“You tortured him!” screeched Maeve. “I can see the pain in his eyes.”
The Lean Sidhe circled, feeling the barrier of the Pixie's trap. Maeve hissed and spat like a cat, her wings fluttering, propelling her forward in sudden bursts of passionate swings. Fire burned in her green eyes.
“I did torture him,” cackled Corrigan. “I hurt him. Flayed his skin. He howled your name at the end. He realized the depth of his mistake. But it was too late! He had already begun his enslavement.”
Corrigan's sword whipped side to side even faster, the tempo of Maeve's attacks increasing.
“I savored his agony! I drank it down! It was so sweet! Finer than any wine!”
Maeve was spitting furry, her wings a blur. Corrigan's sword rang with every blow, shaking her hand. The Pixie was consumed with rage. Pouring at her anger into her thorny blade. The angrier the Pixie became, the sloppier her attacks became.
I have you, Pixie.
“I wish you could have seen how pathetic he was at the end.”
Maeve's snarl was wordless.
“He groveled, sniveling like a hound.”
Rose and ice crashed together.
“He whined like a spoiled child. Your mighty warrior broke.”
Corrigan's blade was a blue-white blur, blocking the brown-red streak of Maeve's sword.
“He will always be my hound. Day-by-day he will forget he even loved you.”
