The orgasm pounded through her in great, wide-reaching ripples that nearly stopped her breathing altogether, or was she holding her breath to savor every last delicious dram of sweet sensation? She had touched herself many times before, but it had never been anything like this. But then, never before did she have an image to conjure while she pleasured herself, or a guide to pleasures unknown and unexperienced. Gideon, Lord of the Dark had opened her like a flower to what could be, and he hadn’t even come inside her. What would that be like? Palpitations fluttered through her at the thought of it, and she curled on her side, like a babe in the womb, and let her rapid breathing become shallow and deep again.
Release was sweet, but there was no warm, fuzzy feeling of fulfillment, no contentment in her solitary satisfaction. She felt empty—hollow inside, ashamed—as if someone else had crawled inside her body, and at the same time she felt as seductive as any siren. She was definitely not herself, whoever that was. She hardly knew anymore, nor was she brave enough to find out…at least not then. It was all too new to her.
Swinging her bare feet over the side of the bed, she climbed out of it and padded to the wardrobe in search of shoes. There had to be something…yes, a fine pair of soft leather slippers just her size. Slipping them on, she made a mental note to ask him who all these fine clothes belonged to, when they spoke again.
She went to the door and flung it wide. No trace of the storm remained. The sun was shining brightly down, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The air smelled salty sweet and inviting. She breathed it in deeply. What harm to take a brief stroll about? She would stay close to the cave just in case, though she was certain his concerns in that regard were a bit excessive. Without a second thought, she stepped out into the sunlit morning.
She had already seen the strand, and the strange petrified forest that edged the marshes. She decided instead to go north beyond the wood, where the land sloped down toward the remains of the keep Gideon had told her about. Taking this tack, she could keep the cave in sight, and reach it quickly if needs must.
There was a narrow footpath winding through the dark, rolling meadow that led below. When she reached the little valley, she saw that the hills were carpeted with black heather. Its bloom-filled stalks had withered on the stem, much like the trees in the petrified forest. What had blighted the Dark Isle to cause such death and desolation? She shuddered to wonder. Not even the sunshine could brighten the place. It was a land of sorrows forgotten by time; nothing grew upon it, and no living creature, neither rabbit nor squirrel, scampered over the ground. Whatever had cursed the Lord of the Dark had evidently cursed the isle he lived upon as well.
Stalks of black heather encroaching upon the little path groped the hem of her kirtle and snagged her long hair, like pinching fingers. Were they trying to capture her attention, like curious children? Or was there nothing Otherworldly about them at all?
It was well known that the Arcan Archipelago was enchanted. Tales abounded of Simeon, Lord of the Deep, the selkie prince, who ruled and guarded the oceans, bays, and seas for the sea god, Mer. And who hadn’t heard of Marius, Prince of the Green, on his forest isle, where nymphs and fauns, centaurs and unicorns cohabited with ancient tree spirits. Then there was Vane, Lord of the Flames, on his volcanic Isle of Fire. It was said his touch would turn a girl to ashes! And of course, her enigmatic host was certainly under a spell if he was condemned to live a solitary life of unclimaxed lust in such a desolate place.
Rhiannon wasn’t frightened. She would never admit to that. Just a bit uneasy and quite relieved to reach the ruins. At the sight of them, all other thoughts fled her mind. The remains of the keep were as black as the landscape, no more than a heap of char and slag. It had been an awesome structure, judging from the foundation, which was all that remained. It would have supported a keep at least four stories tall, with a round tower, from what she could tell. Here, there could well be pitfalls, especially in darkness, but she was certainly no ninny, and it was broad daylight.
Hoisting her skirt high enough to climb over the rubble at the edge of the foundation, she stepped inside and began to walk the perimeter. What a magnificent place it must have been. Halfway around, something caught her eye, something round and iridescent gleaming in the sunlight wedged between what appeared to be two bricks. It was caught there in such a way that it could be turned by someone with a small enough hand to slide between the rubble.
Rhiannon assessed her hand in comparison to the fissure. The last thing she wanted was to get it stuck between the bricks. It seemed wide enough to accommodate her fingers, and she eased them inside the crack, turned the object on edge, and slipped it through the fissure.
Wiping it on the hem of her kirtle, she assumed it to be an amulet of some kind made of fine opalescent glass that had clouded in the fire. It was too symmetrical to be random window or tableware glass. How many centuries had it lain there at the mercy of wind and weather? She would never know. That hardly signified. It was a pretty thing, and she had liberated it. It would be her relic of the Dark Isle, and she slipped it inside the pocket attached to her kirtle without another thought.
Continuing around the perimeter, she raised her eyes to the sky, trying to imagine the tower spearing the clouds, and froze in her tracks. Her heart leaped so violently inside, she feared it would burst from her breast. Something was flying overhead, circling at a great distance. She couldn’t quite make it out, but it was much too large for a bird, at least any bird she’d ever seen. Had Gideon returned so soon? Maybe he had searched the Dark Isle first and was just now leaving to search the other isles. Had he seen her? There was no way to tell, but that he was hovering over the keep so long did not bode well.
There was nowhere for her to hide. The black heather hills were open ground, offering no shelter between the remains of the keep and the cave. There was nothing for it. She had to go back. Deciding not to run like a fugitive, she ambled toward the cave at a leisurely pace, trying not to look at the winged creature soaring overhead, half expecting the dark lord to swoop down and chastise her for disobeying one of his “conditions.” But he did not. She wasn’t certain how long it was before the winged one soared off, but the next time she braved a glance aloft, the beautiful azure blue sky was vacant.
Rhiannon scarcely breathed until she’d reached the cave and gotten safely inside. Half expecting Gideon to fly at her the minute she entered, she made her way along the corridor to her appointed chamber. It was just as she’d left it, with the indentation of her body in the feather bed. One by one, she checked the other chambers, beginning with Gideon’s, but they were vacant too. She must have been right. She had probably glimpsed him just as he was leaving to check the other isles. Whether he had seen her or not she would learn soon enough the moment he returned.
She went to the pool chamber last. It, too, was vacant. The sultry steam rising from the surface of the water beckoned. Her exposed skin was smudged with dirt from her ramble in the ruins. He would surely know she’d been out of the cave were he to set eyes upon her now, if he didn’t know already.
Stripping off the kirtle, she shook it out, then folded it neatly and set it aside. Plunging into the water, she let it take her under, hair and all, for the soft plait had collected bits of dead scrub and black heather, and she swam beneath the cascade to remove all traces of her outing while she awaited Gideon’s return.
After searching the Dark Isle first for any other survivors who might have washed up on shore in the night, Gideon flew to the Forest Isle for an audience with Marius. The man he had helped the Lord of the Forest carry up from the beach bore a striking resemblance to the description Rhiannon had given him of the crewman Rolf. He touched down in the forenoon and was met with row upon row of genuflecting tree spirits as he made his way to Marius’s rambling lodge at the edge of a little clearing skirted by pines. It was customary to leave a tribute to the Ancient Ones when passing. Little statues with outstretched hands holding basins to receive herbs, flowers, se
eds, and the like peppered the wood for just that purpose, and Gideon never shirked his duty to them. It wasn’t just an idle gesture. The rain would eventually wash the tribute into the ground, where the trees’ roots could drink in the benefits of the offering.
Gideon always carried such tributes when visiting the Forest Isle, for unlike the gods, the Ancient Ones had not rejected him. He had knelt to say a blessing and sprinkle dried herbs into one of the statue’s dishes, when something lightly touched his wings, and he spiraled up swirling the dried leaves at his feet into a whirlwind to face one of the forest’s wood nymphs.
Gideon scowled. He knew the exquisite creature well. Many a time he’d dodged the watcher’s lightning bolts attempting to submerge himself in her willing flesh. Her flowing gown of spun spider silk with jewels of dew was fashioned with a sprinkling of tiny leaves that hid none of her charms. Her long chestnut hair was likewise decorated. Her skin, as white as marble with a greenish tinge, showed through the spider’s creation, as did her tawny upturned nipples, inviting his touch. Instead, he balled his hands into white-knuckled fists, his hooded eyes spitting fire.
“You know better than to touch my wings, Vina,” he said.
“Ahhh, but I love to watch that magnificence rise,” she crooned, sidling closer, meanwhile giving his bulging cock a cursory nod.
“Do not waste your pains,” Gideon returned. “You above all should know the futility of that. Don’t you remember what happened the last time?”
The nymph nodded. “I’m worth a try,” she purred, sidling close.
“Do not touch my wings!” he warned her. “I’m beginning to believe you are in league with the damnable watchers!” It might not be a bad idea to take his pleasure in the wood nymph. In all the years, he’d only had her once, and she was a skilled lover. If he did, he might just sate himself enough to keep from ravishing Rhiannon, which somehow seemed paramount. He almost laughed. He must be going mad. The sexual stream that flowed through him was always at high tide. It wouldn’t matter who he penetrated or how many. His cock was ever hard and at the ready, thanks be to the gods who had decreed his fate.
That thought was scarcely out when he realized he was surrounded. Wood nymphs converged upon him from all directions, backing him against a tall oak tree, whose branches tethered him while they fondled and caressed him. That was most excruciating of all, for the branches were rough and unyielding against his tender feathers, and his arousal was acute.
Vina opened the front of his eel skin and freed his cock. One wood nymph would have been torment enough. He counted six, two wearing spider silk, one draped in silkworms’ gauze, the others naked, or nearly so. Twelve hands were upon him, stroking penis, nipples, wings, and testes, massaging his corded thighs and ridged middle.
Gideon groaned and steeled himself against the watchers’ missiles. It didn’t matter what the wood nymphs did to him. The damnable harpies of the gods would make an end to pleasure before it began.
When the trees’ leafy branches formed a canopy overhead, Gideon laughed. “Just what good do you suppose that will do?” he said. “Just yesterday the Ancient Ones tried that. The minute I flew aloft, the watcher hurled his thunderbolt.”
“We will make it worth the price of thunderbolts,” Vina murmured, inching up the skirt of her garment.
“I did not make the rules,” Gideon said.
“And we need not abide by them,” the nymph countered.
“It matters not that I would not be enduring this if it wasn’t for the curse?” he asked her.
Vina shrugged. “We are wood nymphs, Lord of the Dark. We take our pleasures where we may, especially when they are a gift of the gods…and so generously endowed.”
“Then take, and have done!” Gideon snarled. “This is not a social visit.”
“Yesss,” she hissed. “I will take it, and when I’ve done, thanks to the curse, there will be plenty left over for my sisters.”
They covered him then, like a living quilt, lifting Vina up within his reach, until she was able to take him inside her. Gideon groaned. It was beyond his control, so many hands exploring him, so many dainty fingers playing with his skin, with his sex and his senses. Tethered as he was by the great oak’s branches, the last thing he needed then was to tear his wings. He had to get back to Rhiannon, and as traitorous as the appendages were, he needed them to fly. Besides, to move a hairsbreadth then would have brought him to climax before she’d had her fill. The only thing deterring it thus far was the pain.
As if they’d read his mind, the nymphs began stroking his wings as well. It was beyond bearing. Gideon seized Vina’s buttocks and took her deeply. She was a skilled lover, as were all the nymphs. Their prowess was legend, and few could resist it. The climax was swift and riveting, but the others were not to have their turn. The twang of a bowstring and the rush of displaced air stopped the orgy, as an arrow sliced through the foliage and struck the tree, tethering Gideon.
The thunderous racket of heavy horse’s hooves shook the forest floor as Marius pranced through the trees. He had reloaded his longbow and held it at the ready. At sight of him, the squealing wood nymphs fled deep into the forest.
“That’s right, run, my beauties!” the centaur shouted after them. “As well you ought! You overstep your bounds!” He pranced close and yanked his arrow out of the oak tree. “And you!” he thundered at the tree. “Stop your puling! Your bark is thick enough to bear my arrow without harm. You have forgotten who rules here, I think. I shall deal with you later. High time your branches were pruned.”
Gideon ordered himself and strode away from the tree. “Do not fault him,” he said. “The wood nymphs are quite irresistible, and ’tis my fault in any case. If I hadn’t stopped to pay homage—”
“He tethered you while you were paying homage?” Marius interrupted him. He turned to the tree. “Mica’s toenails! I ought to cut you down!” he seethed.
Gideon had rarely seen his friend and fellow guardian in a rage. Marius, Lord of the Forest, was rarely in a good humor at the dark of the moon, when he took the form of the centaur, but this was different. Marius’s eyes were glowing iridescent green. This was not a good sign. Even the magpie, always close enough to the forest lord to qualify as his familiar, kept his distance, opting for an upper branch in a nearby pine instead of its customary perch on the centaur’s back.
“Leave him,” Gideon said, gesturing toward the chastised tree. “No harm has been done. I cannot stay. We need to talk.”
“Come,” Marius said, leading him out of the wood toward a little clearing, where his lodge stood at the edge of the forest.
No sooner had they cleared the shelter of the trees than the watcher’s lightning bolt seared down pitching Gideon over in the meadow. Stunned, the dark lord righted himself and raised his fist toward the hovering creature.
“I will not be held responsible for being ambushed!” he railed.
Muttering a string of blasphemies, Marius raised his longbow, taking dead aim upon the watcher who had struck Gideon down, for there were more than one aloft.
Staggering to his feet, Gideon arrested Marius’s arm, but Marius shook himself free. “Eeeenough!” he trumpeted, letting loose the arrow. It hit its mark, for Marius rarely missed his target, and Gideon groaned. What would be the punishment for this?
The watcher the centaur shot shrieked, then spiraled off, his companions with him. “They have no jurisdiction here!” Marius shouted, loud enough for the watchers to hear. “This is my isle, and I will have no truck with harpy watchers of the gods! My quiver is full—moon dark or no. They come here again, and they will all carry my arrows back to Mica in their bony arses!”
“There will be reprisals,” Gideon said dourly. “I’m sorry, my friend.”
“Reprisals?” Marius seethed. “You have not begun to see reprisals! When a man cannot have guests to his home without them being set upon by sex-obsessed wood nymphs, it is time for reprisals!” He brandished his longbow, shaking it toward
the sky in a white-knuckled fist. “He who seeks refuge here has sanctuary!” he thundered. “I, too, have the favor of powerful gods. Zaar, god of land masses, protects this isle.”
“And I have brought discord down upon it,” Gideon regretted. “Let me state my business and be away before those damnable creatures return. Something is amiss. They rarely come in pairs or larger numbers. I counted three. Something untoward is happening here; I feel it.”
Marius nodded, waiting.
“A female washed up on my shore in the storm,” Gideon began. “She cannot stay on the Dark Isle, but she is in danger from one of the crewmen on her ship. From her description, I believe it to be the very one we brought up from your beach. I would have a word with him.”
“He is gone,” Marius said. “He left on the supply ferry from the mainland at dawn.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“He called himself Rolf.”
“Mica’s beard!”
“He’s the one?” Marius queried. “If I’d known…”
“Did he say where he was going…anything at all?”
Marius shook his head. “He wanted to know if anyone else had come ashore. When he learned that no one had, he became anxious to leave. I did not see him go myself. While bringing the supplies up from the beach, Sy, my faun, watched him board the ferry.”
Gideon unfurled his wings. “I have to go,” he said. “Rhiannon must leave the Dark Isle, and my conscience will not let me turn her out if she is not safe.”
“‘Rhiannon’…she is named for a powerful goddess of lore. Is she like?”
“How would I know? I do not follow the legends of Otherworldly deities. She is too tempting, and I could hardly keep her hidden in that cave, though, Mica forgive me, if I asked her to, she would stay.”
“So keep her!” Marius trumpeted.
“That is easier said than done, old friend,” said Gideon. Marius was accustomed to taking what he wanted, and keeping what he’d taken. The Lord of the Forest would not understand conscience. He was Lord of Fertility, a creature of the land and all its bounty, ruler of the wood nymphs, guardian of the Ancient Ones, and he had control of his urges. He had no watchers monitoring his every move. He was ruler of his domain. “It is only a matter of time before the watchers discover her,” Gideon went on. “This one is different, Marius. I have not felt thus since I fell into darkness. The gods have also cursed me with a conscience. It is best that she go now, before the attachment becomes something…more, something I could not bear to lose.”
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