She waved farewell, and as she watched her friends depart, Dominus saw a troubled look cross her brow. The smile he hadn’t realized was on his lips fell. She turned and went into the cottage, closing the door behind her.
The time was now, he knew. She was as ripe and ready as she would ever be, and the universe needed the sun’s light in order to renew itself for the season of longer, brighter days. His feet stayed still, however, unable to move for several prolonged moments. He envisioned their act as he had done so many times over the past months, picturing the moment of her release the way he had seen it for a thousand Yules before. He held great regard for those women the universe chose to become the mothers of midwinter, bearers of the sun. But he forgot their faces soon after he left them to return to his own realm. It would no doubt be the same with Lorayna, even though he had spent months preparing her.
* * *
Lorayna picked up random bits of evidence that holiday merrymaking had come to her living room—glasses, crumpled napkins, and scattered plates with smears of dip and crumbs remaining. One side of the kitchen sink was already full of soapy water, and after depositing everything to soak, she wandered back out to the empty room. Silence burned in her ears louder than Jeff’s laughter after three cups of spiced wine. The fireplace crackled, breaking up the utter lack of sound that set her teeth on edge, but she still felt the void that clouded her usual sunny mood.
The flames waved and danced as she stood by the fire, letting it warm her face while she wondered what all her anticipation and preparation had been about. She glanced up at the one plate and goblet that she had not yet removed, both untouched and sitting on the mantle beneath the mistletoe. Antoine, Jeff’s life partner, had commented on the odd placement of the green bundle. “It should be smack in the middle of the room, sugar doll,” he’d said, eying the mistletoe. “How’s anyone gonna get under that for a holiday smooch?”
She hadn’t bothered trying to explain she hadn’t hung it for illicit use. It was a special touch dangled directly above the food and drink that had been left out, a symbolic offering for a visitor who had not shown up to the party.
With a sigh, she took the carved goblet from the mantle and emptied it into the sink. She returned to ladle a fresh, warm serving into it. She poured herself a cup, too, and drank deeply from her serving after putting the other back on the mantle. No one had asked why she had set out food and drink up there, nor had anyone suspected that they had not attended a “Christmas” party, per se. It was four days until that holiday, so her friends did not realize that she had actually invited them over for a different celebration altogether. It was the eve of the Winter Solstice, and she was bringing in the Yule rather than waiting for St. Nick.
The heat of the fire worked its way beneath her sweater, and she pulled the knit away from her perspiring body. For months she’d been gripped with inexplicable curiosity about pagan lore, and she had explored aspects of celebrations like the Yule sabbat so she could observe the date on her own. Why exactly, she couldn’t say. She’d been prodded by thoughts planted in her mind, whispers that had not been her own. A man’s deep, seductive whispers.
She had felt the presence of some power greater than herself, turning lonely nights into the promise of a brighter and richer existence. A grand destiny seemed unlikely for a woman who worked long hours from the office at her home, rarely venturing out of the cottage except to go into town for supplies, meetings, and monthly get-togethers with her friends. Still, her spirit had been uplifted these past months, some of which she attributed to her newfound interest in the old ways.
Yule celebrations dated back quite far, according to her research, much farther back than Christmas. On the Solstice, pagans burned the Yule logs and kept vigil through the longest night of the year, greeting the dawn as the sun returned to bring longer days and the promise of spring. She had a Yule log on the fire, wassail in the bowl, and she was ready to greet a new dawn.
“So what’s missing?” she said aloud. But she already knew.
The presence, the sense of being nurtured and watched over, wasn’t there. She had responded to the silent beckon, the male voice and heady scent of winter pine that accompanied it by preparing her cottage and observing the Yuletide. Yet now that she had obeyed, it seemed she had been left behind. Her “holiday spirit”, which to her had been something more than the inexplicable sense of peace, joy, and anticipation, seemed to have vanished on the very night of the celebration.
“A bath might help,” she said, and she carried her wine glass into the bathroom with her. The tile felt chilled beneath her feet as she slipped out of her heels, kicking them into a corner with an unsteady grace, thanks to the effects of the wassail.
She glanced in the mirror, trying out a smile on the tired face she saw staring back at her. That’s all she was feeling. Fatigue. The alcohol, the party, the rushed preparations—all had simply taken a toll on her mood. She would bathe, bundle up, and prepare to roast marshmallows, listen to music, and watch the sun rise. It would be her own little Yule ritual, quiet, respectful, and well in keeping with traditions observed for countless generations. And if she murmured a prayer or two about her hopes for the coming year, maybe she would hear something in return beyond silence.
Thoughts of him, that voice that murmured like silk, brought a smile to her lips. If she was alone, there was something else she could do in the bath—something that even now she felt herself growing more receptive to. A twinge of yearning began low in her belly, and an erotic pulse beat began a pleasurable rhythm between her thighs.
“Yes, a little Yule ritual will help boost the old holiday spirit,” she said, and anticipation began a slow burn.
* * *
Dominus stood at her door, thinking of the Yule bells and how loud and crystalline they had rung out before he had crossed over. The god of Yule had run the bells to declare to the universe his intent to “ring in” the season, and it had been a joyous sound to behold. Now, a telling silence drifted across the winter night. The world had fallen quiet in anticipation, weary and waiting for the renewal and rebirth celebrated each Yuletide. He paused on the threshold, peering through a window flanking the door to the cottage. She had decorated for the season, and he had been there while she had done it. Most humans who joined in seasonal revelry used commercial representations of the holidays, but Lorayna had chosen a natural, rustic scheme that pleased him. The tree, along with swags of pine garland and the front door wreath, had been decorated with holly leaves, berries, and pine cones, all harvested from the nearby woods. As had been the Yule log now burning in the fireplace, burnishing the room with a golden glow.
His heart quickened when he took hold of the crystal, focusing on its power. Backed with pure silver, the crystal normally did not touch his skin directly until he took hold of it. Doing so allowed him to phase briefly between worlds, and he stepped right through the solid door without opening it.
He dropped the pendant and glanced around the living room. His heart quickened when he saw the offering on the mantle—a goblet of wine along with cheese and cake. A small bunch of sacred mistletoe hung above, consecrating the offering, inviting him in. Quite correct for the occasion, and a smile crested his lips. So many of the bearing ones no longer observed this tradition, even when something inside niggled at them to do so. Loryana had thus far performed perfectly.
He crossed the small space to examine it closer. He caught the spiced scent when he leaned toward the goblet. Wassail—and still quite warm, judging by the moist steam rising to his face. She had replenished the offering recently. His stomach growled greedily as he sniffed at the offering, for he had fasted two days prior to meeting with his female. He left the meal untouched, however. Eating or drinking in this realm would, as legend had it, keep him rooted in the Earth realm forever. He would break his fast only after performing his duty and phasing back through the veil.
He caught sight of his own reflection in the glass of the oval mirror hanging above
the mantle. His eyes glowed with an ancient light, firing the icy blue of his gaze into a wild look of seduction. His hair was spiked with frost, yet the holly leaves sticking out from each side were vibrant green and untouched by the cold. If his eyes weren’t enough to necessitate hiding himself from humans, there was the splash of deep blue that fell over his neck, shoulders, and biceps. The birthmark, his father said, was the mantle of winter, a message to Herne that this son was destined to be overseer of the winter sabbat.
The sound of running water caught his attention, and he turned toward it. She was drawing a bath.
“So, my fair sun-bearer wishes to give birth in the water,” he said to himself. “Most unusual.”
He moved down the hall, following the aroma of spiced wassail along with Lorayna’s own sweet scent, to the bathroom. Lorayna, who was still fully clothed, was brushing out her long, dark hair. He came up behind her, his image in the mirror visible only to him. His own immortal light burned brighter these days, it seemed, or perhaps it was only by proximity to her. Either way, their auras shimmered like sparkling crystal in the looking glass.
She paused, holding the brush over her crown without stroking it, when he drew near. He was so close now, closer than he should permit, close enough for her to feel that immortal life energy pulsing off him. Close enough for him to feel her heat as well, and he basked in the light she could no longer fully contain within her lush body. Her hand slowly lowered to her side, and she was staring at herself while he moved in closer still, smelling her hair, relishing in the feel of his body responding to hers. His cock strained, begging him to press its length along the perfect curve of her ass. But he did not touch her, not just yet. It was forbidden until the bearer was ready.
The exact manner varied year to year, but the ritual was always the same. The woman, whose spirit and subconscious had consented in advance, would sense the time had come to bring forth the light. When she felt the presence of the god who would aide her, she would enter a semi-trance during which she would disrobe and pleasure herself in full darkness. This signified the world in its darkest moment, seeking the return of the light. He would assist her hands until she came, releasing the light, and he would work her orgasm until he had milked out every bit of that energy. Only when she was fully sated would he take his leave and, likely, release himself in private. Sometimes he did so soon after, moved by the power and sanctity of the ritual. Other times he waited until after he had broken his fast with food and drink.
Her expression was unreadable as she stood there, staring into the mirror and holding the brush at her side. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply, and then again. Her focus shifted, and there it was again—that disorienting sense that she was looking right at him.
“There you are again,” she said in a faint whisper. “I feel you.”
He blinked and stepped back, his heart racing most unnaturally for a god. She could not see him, of that he was certain. She felt him, though, and that was both possible and necessary for the light bearer, for she would be cognizant enough to give consent. Really, any human who was enough in tune with their surroundings could sense the energy of an immortal’s presence. For her to speak aloud of it, though, to speak to him—that was most unusual.
True, he had been around Lorayna quite a bit—more than was perhaps necessary. But what could he do? Her light burned so bright, and greater light needed greater nurturing. He’d come to her weekly, as was traditional, and then twice weekly. Then three times. Perhaps she would have managed well enough without him at her side almost daily by the end. Dominus, on the other hand, hadn’t fared as well when they were apart. She would linger in his thoughts, distracting him from the mundane tasks of the day.
His back was pressed to the bathroom wall now, and yet she kept staring over her shoulder. She set the brush down on her gleaming white counter and turned.
“What is that I feel?” she asked. “What are you?”
He glanced over at the bath, which was at risk of overfilling now, the steaming water rising higher along the sleek sides of the tub. Lorayna was sniffing the air, her delicate nose uplifted to try and catch his scent. He swallowed when she took a step closer.
“Maybe it’s just the holiday spirit,” she whispered.
Lorayna turned away, and he let out a breath. A holiday spirit indeed.
When she left the room, he didn’t follow, but just stood there watching the water continue to rise toward the edge. Had he disrupted her focus to the point where she would forget the bath until the water spilled out over the floor? Would he dare risk moving to intervene before it did? He moved closer, weighing the decision. She might become frightened, disturbing her inner light and the mood necessary to bring it forth, if she thought some “holiday spirit” had shut off her bathwater.
The light switch snapped off, and the room fell into darkness. Not complete darkness, however. Dominus’s jaw dropped when he looked up to where Loryana stood in the doorway, bearing a single white candle. She had disrobed, and for the first time, he saw her naked and magnificent. His cock stirred to immediate attention, even knowing he would not truly get to sample her, and his breath grew shallow.
Her breasts swayed invitingly while she hurried over to turn off the water, and bending over the faucet presented to him the silken, ripe curve of her ass. He was close enough to touch her, to release himself from his trousers and take her right over the edge of the tub, but he shook the thought away. Giving into such primal male urges were out of the question. This was a sacred moment, and his calling was an ancient trust.
She set the candle on the counter and twisted her hair up into a bun on her head, revealing the slender grace of her long neck. A metal clip secured her hair off her neck, and she did so while facing him, her round breasts full with pink nipples pert and erect. The hair between her thighs was darker than on her head, and he felt a small ooze of dampness around his cock at the thought of sliding between those soft curls.
Unable to help himself, he moved closer, inhaling her scent, basking in the light within her and the heat of her creamy skin. He could touch her, explore every inch, and she would never know. She would sense his energy—indeed, it was clear she already had—but would be unable to actually feel his hands, his mouth.
His throbbing cock demanded that he make her his, and not while the power of the veil hid him from this realm. He wanted her to feel his touch on a physical level, ache for it, ache for him. Most unsavory thoughts for the sabbat keeper to entertain in the middle of his ritual, and he shook them off.
Still standing there in the glowing candlelight, bright enough for him to see her dark eyes focused on a spot very near his own, Lorayna slid a hand up over her belly to cup her own breast. Pinching the nipple brought it to a firm peak. The shockwave of desire she no doubt felt slammed into Dominus as well, and without thinking, his hand slid down to rub the hard ridge along his pants.
Then she stopped with a frown and reached for a towel near the sink. “I can’t do this,” she said, wrapping the towel around herself. “Something’s not right.”
Dominus gaped at her. Never before had a consenting female refused to give up her light. The aching need to release that energy had to be overpowering by now, in the hour of bearing, driving her to pleasure it out of herself. Such was a vital response, for no human could contain the light of the universe within her indefinitely. Lorayna had to let go, had to let the power loose, in order to spare her mortal body the storm of that energy fighting to free itself.
A weight hit his stomach as he contemplated what it would mean for his beauty to deny herself that release. He had to prevent it.
“There’s something here,” she went on in a slow whisper. “What is it? Who is it?”
His pulse fluttered. That was one thing he should not do, not even to save her from herself. While some of his brothers appeared human enough to move freely in this realm, mating however they chose, he was not one of them. Showing himself, and offering proof that gods still
walked the earth, was not something he should do.
“Please,” she whispered, and the request speared through him. “I need to know I’m not crazy. I need to know I’m not just imagining that this holiday season is different.”
Guilt clutched at his stomach at the angst in her voice.
“I never even celebrated the Solstice before,” she went on, “but here I am, talking to thin air while burning a Yule log and leaving out offerings of food and wine. It is you that I sense, isn’t it? The one I left that offering for. You’ve been watching over me.”
He resisted the urge to clear his throat, for while she might not be able to see him, she would hear any sound he made. Perhaps she could hear the pounding of his heart already. Perhaps that was why she persisted in trying to reach out to him.
“But then it can’t be you,” she went on. “I was silly enough to go out there just now and check the mantle I grabbed the candle from. My offering is still sitting there untouched.” A tiny laugh escaped her. “What did I expect? There isn’t really a holiday spirit. Or maybe the offering wasn’t good enough?” She let out a breath and stared down at the bathwater, which was glistening in candlelight. “Or I’m not good enough.”
She reached for the towel, but before she could disrobe again, he stepped forward. “Wait. Don’t.”
Lorayna gasped and spun around. “Who’s there? Who are you?”
Sweat beaded on his brow as a slight dizzy sensation overtook him. Was he really about to do this?
The wild panic flickering like the candlelight in her eyes decided for him. He reached up and yanked the leather cord around his neck, pulling off the pendant and tossing it to the floor. He appeared to her immediately, he could tell by the widening of her eyes as they fastened on his.
Dominus: God of Yule Page 2
