by Wen Spencer
"So, what is this?" Tinker asked. "I thought we were going to make love."
"We will." He kissed a line up her bare shoulder to the nape of her neck.
"Oh, good." She reached for him and found his shirt still unbuttoned, all that wonderful, warm skin to explore.
He unzipped her dress and eased it off her, murmuring, "This too must go."
She pressed against him, using him as a shield against prying eyes. "What if someone comes?"
"No one will come." He held her close as he dropped her dress onto the table. "They know we wish privacy. You have more metal on. Once we remove it, the curtains will shield us."
She glanced downward at her bra and panties. "More metal? Where?"
"This." He indicated the bra's wire under her breasts and then the tiny hooks clasping the fabric tight.
"Remove my bra?" Yes, Einstein, you have to take off your clothes to make love. She swallowed down the jolt of fear, and, turning her back to him, she fumbled with the hooks.
"Let me." Windwolf undid the clasps—his knuckles brushing her back—and her bra went loose. She trapped the fabric to her chest, as the straps slid down over her shoulders, making her feel suddenly naked.
"Do not be afraid." He kissed her on her spine. "Nothing will happen that you do not allow."
You want this. You want him. Stop being a coward. She tossed her bra toward the table and turned to face Windwolf.
Amazingly, a moment later, in his loose hold, skin touching skin, she no longer knew why she'd been so scared. It seemed that the more nerve endings were involved, the better kissing became.
"Much as I wish there was more time, we must start." Windwolf stepped away from her, voice husky, and unbuttoned his pants.
Tinker turned away from him, blushing furiously. She had just gotten used to the concept of being half-naked in front of him. Despite being raised by men, she had never seen a male nude outside of Lain's anatomy books. "What's the rush?"
"The spell must start while the moon is high."
The spell? She'd forgotten all about the mysterious design inked out onto the white marble. "Wha-wha-what exactly—"
He eased her back to settle against him, only the thin silk of her panties separating them. Naked and aroused, he felt like a shaft of polished wood. Awareness of him forced the air out of her lungs.
"We are at a branching." He held her, letting her grow accustomed to his presence. "To the left, every path leads to death. No matter which way you go, you will die."
"Me?"
"Yes, you." He nibbled lightly on her ear lobe. "And I do not wish to lose you. You have become very dear to me."
"I'm going to die?"
"If we do this spell, no. It is the path on the right, which leads to life. I wish there was more time for you to decide, but the full moon rises, and the planets align tonight. This is the perfect time, which will quickly pass."
She huddled in his arms, stunned by her mortality. She was going to die? Her stay at the hospice must have revealed something. She shuddered, remembering how quickly her grandfather died once he fell ill.
"Trust me, my little, savage Tink." He kissed her neck, finding some pleasure zone that she didn't know existed.
Trust him? Wasn't that the line that men always used? But she did trust him, perhaps more than she knew, perhaps more than she should.
"Shall we do the spell?" Windwolf asked.
She nodded her head, mute with shock.
He hooked his thumbs into the band of her panties and slid them down. With gentle pressure, he pushed her out across the spell to its center. She could feel the power shimmering through the spell tracing through her bare feet, the marble warm with resistance-generated heat.
"This isn't exactly what I expected when I asked you to make love to me."
"I will make it good for you." He stopped her at the center of the stone, the spell radiating out around them. "And because of tonight, there will be other times, at our leisure."
Other times.
He pulled her close, his right hand following the curve of her body, slipping down to caress her with shocking intimacy. He was at once hard as stone, and soft as petals. She could do nothing more than squirm in his grasp as he gently touched her. Electric shocks of pleasure shot through her with every caress.
She felt like a rag doll in his arms. He handled her with his incredible elfin strength. She seemed to weigh nothing. She had no form, bent supplely to give him access to her pleasure points. He lit a golden ember of sexual pleasure in her, and then stoked it to a molten heat. He would not let her touch him, returning her hands to her own body until she realized that all of her focus must remain on herself.
As she started to moan, he spoke a word of power, activating the spell. The outer shell of the spell took form and rose up to rotate clockwise. When her first tremors of impending release hit her, changing her moans to cries of joy, he spoke a second word. A second and third shell shimmered into being, canting up to spin counterclockwise at 45- and 135-degree angles. The magic grew dense, a visible shimmer.
Windwolf muffled her then with his mouth, and shifted himself so that he moved now between her parted legs, a hardness sliding through her wetness. She wanted him with a sudden wanton desperation. She wanted him inside of her, wanted to be taken. The force of it frightened her, and if she had been less a captive, she would have wriggled away, fled her own desires. He held her in his iron grasp, muffling anything she might have said, so she could neither plead with him to stop nor urge him on.
When she trembled on the peak, he slid into her to her maidenhead.
She bucked and cried out at the intrusion, the sense of being filled spilling her over the edge into release.
He lifted his mouth, spoke a word, and muffled her again.
The fourth shell rose, and it reflected that moment back at her, intensifying it, and then reflecting the next level back. She barely noticed the pain as he broke through and thrust into complete union. She was aware only of the golden tide of pleasure. He spent himself, uncoupled, and then turned her in his arms. Cautiously, he released her, touching her briefly on the mouth to remind her of silence. She clasped her hand over her mouth, unable to keep silent in any other way.
The pleasure continued, rolling like the tide, over and over her, each wave stronger than the last. Her skin gleamed with its essence, and she drifted in mid-air, suspended by magic.
He dipped his fingers into her, and then traced symbols on her skin, dropping words of power like stones.
"Nesfa." Seed. "Nota." Blood. "Kira." Mirror. "Kirat." Reflect. "Dashavat." Transform.
He stepped away from her, made a motion, and leaped out of the shell. Turning her head, she saw him land at the part in the curtain. He gazed into her eyes, raised his hand, and spoke the final word.
Her universe became brilliant, blissful oblivion.
* * *
The elfin ceiling was quite amazing. Arched somewhere high above her, it had been dark when she awoke, but phased slowly to a pale rose color like the morning sky would as the sun crept to the horizon. After that, it blushed slowly to a pale white, then deepened into a delicate blue.
She felt hollow, and fragile, an eggshell, broken and empty, the life released and flown away. Her mind seemed to come online as gradually as the ceiling. In a calm, detached way she reasoned out that the ceiling looked odd because it was unknown, and then guessed it was the one at Windwolf's hunting lodge, and finally figured out what she was doing under it. Oh yeah, we made love. So that's sex? Oh, hoo-chee mama! I definitely want to do that again.
Windwolf said there would be other times. That thought made her squirm with delighted anticipation. She lolled in a nest of soft, white linens recalling all the sensations of being with him, the feel of his hard muscles, strong hands, and warm mouth. She tried not to think how pissed Nathan would be at what she'd done—and failed. She'd bullied him into a date, dropped him in public, and went off to make love to another male. And the worst thin
g about it, everyone else seemed to see it coming but her, so she was going to get the "young and inexperienced" speech from everyone.
Groping about, she found a pillow and screamed into it. Oh, why did Nathan have to be such a jealous butthead? If he hadn't started talking about marriage and kids, she wouldn't have gone off with Windwolf—or would she? Certainly it had been Windwolf she had been having kinky dreams about and the one that made her heart do silly things.
But Nathan would be the one waiting for her back at the scrap yard. She groaned but forced herself to sit up. While Oilcan could run the business short-term, and now had Riki to help, she still had to get back to work. Between saving Windwolf, her stay at the hospice, the NSA's kidnapping, and a day wasted getting ready for Nathan's aborted date she'd lost four days out of the week already.
Tinker crawled from the bed. Her clothes, cleaned, pressed, and folded, sat at the foot of the bed. Something was odd about her body, but she couldn't figure out what. Everything looked the same. Her underwear, at least, fit comfortably. For some reason her dress seemed stiff and uncomfortable. No matter, she'd need to change before heading to the yard. Her house key had been strung on a silk cord; she slipped it over her head, and it lay ice cold on her chest.
The stone floor was warm underfoot, so she carried her high heels to the door and slid it open. The hallway beyond opened directly to woods idealized; surely no random lot of trees could be so beautiful without careful, invisible work.
There was an elf in the hall too, of the heavily armed guard variety. His hair and eyes were black as engine grease, and he had a build that imparted a sense of sturdiness, which was rare in elves.
"Tinker ze domi," he said in careful Low Elvish, and bowed deeply to her, which creeped her out. "Domou is not here. He and Lifted Sparrow By Wind were summoned away. He left word that you were to be given anything you wanted."
"Who? Windwolf?" And getting no reaction, Tinker struggled the full mouthful of Elvish that was Windwolf's real name. "Windwolf?"
"Yes. Windwolf." Obviously the elf had never used Windwolf's English name. He pronounced it as if he didn't speak English, or didn't recognize the two words that made up Windwolf's name. "Windwolf is not here."
"I want to go home."
"Do-do-domi," the elf stammered out, "Aum Renau is very far away."
Huh? "I want to go to Pittsburgh." She tried again, slower. "Pitsubaug."
He looked to his right and left, seemingly seeking someone to translate. Surely her Low Elvish wasn't that bad. "Pittsburgh? Now?"
"Yes, now."
He considered her for a silent minute, a foot taller and a foot wider than she, and then bowed again. "As you wish, domi."
* * *
She'd missed quite a bit during the trip north while making out with Windwolf in the Rolls' backseat. They traveled half an hour just on elfin roads cut through dense forest until they reached the Rim, coming out near what was left of Sewickley. They went directly to the scrap yard gate, and from there she gave directions to her loft.
"Stop here," Tinker said as they pulled up to her building. She got out, and then put out a hand to block the elf, who showed every sign of following her into her loft. She knew her nerves wouldn't take someone underfoot. "Um, thanks for the ride. Let Windwolf know I got home safe."
"I'm not sure if—"
"I want to be left alone."
The elf nodded, and closed the door.
* * *
There were messages from Nathan on her home system, the scrap yard's line, and at her workshop. She let them play while she showered, piloting on automatic. The hollow feeling persisted, and it was hard to concentrate, as if her thoughts wanted to float around the empty space.
What had Windwolf done to her? What had been wrong with her? She hadn't felt sick.
There was a banging at her door, and Nathan's voice. She wrapped a towel around her and went to answer the door.
The Rolls was still at the curb when she opened the door. Nathan took in that she was naked except for the towel, and pushed into her loft. By the smell of him, he'd been at a bar; there was beer on his breath, and smoke clinging to his clothes.
"Where in the world have you been? You've been gone for three days." He roved the loft like a SWAT team looking for snipers.
"Three days?" No wonder she felt empty and dull-witted. When was the last time she'd eaten?
"I tagged my later messages so I'd be notified when you picked them—" He had turned to her and froze. "Oh, God, what did he do to you?"
"A major enchantment of some sort," she said, toweling her hair. "I'm starved. Want to go out for something to eat?"
He closed on her, staring. "Why did you let him do this to you?"
"I don't want to argue about this right now. I'm hungry. Let's just go get something to eat."
He caught her wrist as she started to turn. "You don't want to talk about it? Jesus Christ, Tink. I thought we had a future together and you pull this."
She was missing something here. Something visible, that he was staring at with dismay. She yanked her hand free and rushed to the bathroom. The mirror she had ignored earlier was partially fogged, but there was enough to show her what Nathan saw. For several minutes, she could only stare in silent shock. Nathan came to the bathroom door, filling up the frame.
It was her in the mirror—but it wasn't. It was an elf that looked like her. Her damp brown hair. Elf-shaped eyes—that slightly almond-shaped, almost Asian look. Had her eyes always been that color? They were brown, but hers couldn't have been that vivid. Right? Those brown eyes widened on a fearful thought, and she pushed her hair back.
Elf ears.
"All the gods in heaven!" she swore. "I'm going to kill him!"
"He didn't tell you that he was going to change you? He just took you out to the woods and changed you?"
"Yes!" Tinker answered without thinking, and then caught the dangerously hard look on his face. "No. No. He didn't. He asked me, but I didn't understand. You know how he is. How they all are. I didn't understand."
"What did he say?" Nathan asked.
"He said I was going to die, and that he cared too much about me to let that happen, so if I let him do the spell, then I wouldn't . . ." She wouldn't die, because elves were immortal. "Damn him. Why couldn't he say it in plain English?"
"So you're," he stumbled on the words, sounding physically sick, "you're immortal?"
"I don't know. I think that was what he was trying to do. He wasn't there when I woke up, so I just came home."
"It's taken three days for the spell to run?"
Three days. Three days to work through her entire body and transform every cell into elf. Tinker stared intently at herself. Her skin had the creamy perfection of elves. Her nose—not even being an elf fixed that. Her lips seemed fuller, a red of subtle lipstick. "I can't believe he did this! I'm not human anymore! Of course I was going to die. All humans die!" She noticed that her teeth had that unreal look of elves and Hollywood actors. She grimaced, pulling back her lips to bare teeth and gums to examine them closer. "I think even my one filling is gone. It was one of those white poly-cement ones. It was this tooth, I think."
She stared now at her fingers. All her fingernails were long and hard like she'd had them done at a salon. They seemed longer and more graceful. Were they? Would she be able to do the fine work that she was used to with a stranger's hands? Her hands started to tremble, and she found she was shaking all over.
Nathan's officer training took over. He guided her out of the bathroom, saying, "Why don't you sit down? I'll get you something to drink. You've had a shock."
A bark of laughter slipped out and threatened to explode into something longer, completely uncontrolled. She clasped her hand over her mouth, those delicate elfin hands over those full, cherry red lips. Oh gods, she wasn't human anymore. The bastard had turned her into an elf without even asking.
Nathan got two beers from the fridge, opened them, and came back. He handed her one. "
I didn't think it was possible to turn a human into an elf."
"They can change a little Shih-Tzu into something the size of a pony, why not a human into an elf?" She took a large drink and nearly choked on the taste. "What the hell? This beer is bad."
He took it and handed her the one he had been drinking. She took a drink and choked it down. "This one is bad too."
"It tasted okay." He took it back and sipped it cautiously. "Tink, it's not the beer. It's fine. It must be you. The change did something to your taste."
He gave her back her original beer and finished his own. She tried to drink the vile-tasting stuff, but after the second swallow, handed it to him, saying, "I can't drink it."
So he drank it also. "What was the spell like? Did it hurt? What do you remember? Can he undo it?"
She flopped back, pressing hands to eyes. What a mess! There was no way she could tell him everything Windwolf had done. What she had let Windwolf do. What she had enjoyed having Windwolf do to her. "He had a big enchantment room set up with the spell inscribed and everything. I remember him activating it, but nothing afterward until I woke up about two hours ago."
"So he could have raped you while you were unconscious and you won't know."
She turned and kicked him, partly because he focused on sex, partly because Windwolf had gotten into her without having to rape her. "I would know."
Nathan put down the empty beer bottle next to his first, leaned over, and pulled open her towel.
"Nathan!" She tried to keep the towel closed. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I want to see what you look like now."
"No!" Surprisingly, a blush can start at the tips of one's toes and go all the way up. At least, it can when you're an elf.
"Let me see!" He pulled away the towel.
"Nathan!" she cried, trying to tug the towel out of his hands, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Then the mountain moved of its own will, lowering itself to kiss her bared skin. When Windwolf had kissed her in the same way, it had been like plugging straight into a 220 line. This hurt in a way that had only a little to do with bruising flesh. "Nathan! Don't! Stop!"
