Guardians of the Portals

by Nya Rawlyns

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Crap, I’m bleeding again.”

  “Come on, we’ll get you to the water. I don’t understand. I thought I repaired all the tears. It shouldn’t do that.” He stared uncomprehending when Caitlin stood and blood cascaded down her legs. “Oh, shit. Lay down. Lift your legs. Apparently there’s more to a female’s anatomy than I realized.”

  He worked systematically until the flow ceased. She was still cramping but not as badly. Curling in a ball she pleaded, “Rub my back, please. It might help.”

  He pulled her onto his lap and gently massaged the tight muscles until her body relaxed and the spasms eased. She groaned, “Ah, that feels good. You have devilishly lovely hands, my demon.”

  “Demon?”

  “Demon. Devil. That’s what I thought you were for a long time.” She shifted to let him work lower toward her hips. His interest was obvious as she felt the bulge through his jeans.

  He whispered, “I want you so much but I can’t risk doing more damage.”

  “Then just hold me.”

  “As long as it takes.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Trey rolled over and reached for Caitlin, his hand encountering bare ground. He cursed softly while rubbing at his crusted eyes, the weak light still bright enough to cause acute discomfort. He felt around for his glasses and slipped them on.

  “Caitlin?”

  “It’s okay. I’m here. I just took a, uh, bath to clean myself up. How long were we out?” She grimaced as she asked, knowing full well the answer—‘time has no meaning here.’

  He mumbled, “Don’t know,” as he stared at her reed-thin form, the ribs so prominent he ached for her. They needed to find food, soon. Although he could regulate his metabolism to some extent, he’d noted the weakness, the disorientation, taking hold.

  “I put us in stasis to give you time to heal.”

  “Oh. Well then.” Caitlin held out a batch of slimy grasses coated in a dull brown gelatinous substance. “Is this edible?”

  He took a bit of the grass and sniffed at it. The material had a vaguely ‘organic’ odor but nothing he could place.

  “I’m no botanist, but it looks a little like seaweed.” Caitlin fingered the unappetizing mass, brow creased in a frown as she debated the possibilities.

  He realized they were running out of options so he voiced what she was thinking, “We’ll be dead of malnutrition soon. What’s the difference?”

  Caitlin perked up, “Hoped you’d say that. I’ve got a pile on the shore drying. Don’t think I can manage it so slimy.”

  As they walked toward the pond, Trey slipped an arm about her slim waist. She was still wet from her bath and the slipperiness of her skin against his rough fingers felt like a balm, soothing and titillating at the same time. He knew he’d be asking the question again, sooner rather than later.

  The pond sat flat, gunmetal gray, not a ripple marring its surface. The oasis lay shrouded in a dull mist, the air inversion creating an opaque ceiling that reflected light, wavelengths distorted and absorbed. The effect magnified as the sheer mountain faces bounced the rays, reflecting some, greedily gobbling others, insatiable.

  Caitlin looked around, concerned. “I don’t like this. It’s like being in a hall of mirrors. One minute it’s bright as day, the next it’s...”

  “I know. And I think we’re in for it. It looks thicker than we’ve seen it, but it might be from,” he spun about, pointing at the monoliths encasing their sanctuary, “those surfaces.” He listened carefully, but other than the munching from their mounts, all remained deathly silent.

  “Okay, these have dried a little. Do you want to go first?”

  “Together. Okay?” He touched her cheek gently as she nodded.

  They gingerly tasted the strands of grass. Caitlin grimaced and swallowed the mass whole. Trey merely grunted and said, “I’ve had worse.”

  “Don’t eat too much at first,” she cautioned him as he greedily stuffed his face. At his ‘umph’, she pointed to her belly, already distended from the small amount she’d ingested. “It might come back up.”

  He motioned for her to wait on shore as he waded toward the edge of the shelf, then leaned down and yanked batches of the growth out of the gravelly bottom. He brought an armful back and laid it carefully on the shore.

  She said, “Let’s go back to the shelter. I’ve got a feeling...” and backed up a few steps, then paused as Trey gave her a strange look and muttered, “So do I.” She’d rarely seen him smile or show much emotion other than disapproval or concern. She wondered, not for the first time, why she’d been drawn to such a dour man, though now his eyes crinkled with humour and something else. It wasn’t hard to guess where his mind had wandered. She’d noticed his soaked jeans had ‘filled with happiness’ again, with pulsing surges of energy that set her skin on fire.

  His lust and desire washed over her with a force almost too difficult to resist. But he held back—she could sense the restraint—and for that she was grateful. She needed time, and guidance, to deal with her new reality and the changes taking place in her body. Her old abilities still floated just out of reach as her physical body battled with her psyche for dominance. With her metabolism she had no way to access the old talents without having the new swamp her. She regretted not having learned to control her powers completely, but circumstances had intervened and she’d had to fly by the seat of her pants—her father’s favorite expression.

  At the lean-to, she grabbed the peasant dress and took it inside. The leather laces on the corset detached at the scooped neckline. She sat against the saddle and methodically pulled the strings through the bottom holes.

  Trey shrugged out of his wet jeans and hung them on a branch to dry. The cloud-bank would keep the air cool and slightly damp, possibly for what passed for ‘days’ in this damnable dimension. He stared at his erection and wondered why, with so much power over his metabolism, he couldn’t control so basic a function. He tried focusing on their dire situation. The animals would run out of forage soon as they’d already consumed the meagre grass and had begun systematically stripping the bushes, even gnawing the bark off the branches. The horse’s ribs bulged through parchment-thin skin. What little hair coat remained had a dull sheen, mottled with huge bare patches. The animal’s days were numbered.

  He fingered his knife. He would need to sharpen the edge while they sheltered from the dismal overcast. He’d found a decent-sized stone with sufficient hardness for the task. He’d keep his plans to himself, until the last minute—perhaps even force Caitlin into stasis while he did what he needed to do. It brought no pleasure, or even anticipation, to contemplate putting the animal down. Samuel’s admonition to treat the beasts kindly echoed in his head. He’s a good mule, had been an observation and an obligation. Samuel wouldn’t like it, but he would understand survival.

  He stood by the mule, stroking his matted hair. They had few cards left to play. He had to get them out of the cell they’d fallen into and the only way out seemed to require climbing. Without full bellies and restored energies there was simply no way they’d manage that. In any case, the animals would not be part of that journey.

  He returned to the shelter and slid next to Caitlin. Her pale blonde hair had turned an ashy shade of gray from the particulates that no amount of rinsing would remove. It gave her a fairy-like appearance, as if bits of mica had settled over the tresses, each flickering and reflecting the odd light. He watched mesmerized as she moved her head in time to some inner tune. The link sent strange, yet familiar harmonies through his chest, multi-directional. He closed his eyes, relishing the sensation and focusing inward.

  Caitlin watched with interest as Trey’s face settled into a mask of meditative calm. He seemed to float above the ground, the same way he appeared to levitate when he sought to dominate and frighten her. Did he control gravity or was it simply an optical illusion? Whatever it was, it no longer intimidated. As with so much in the last weeks, she�
�d learned to accept and adjust to the peculiar, the inexplicable.

  Caitlin crawled silently to the other side of his saddle and gently pushed against his back. He complied, in a stupor, lying down, semi-comatose, as she drew his arms above his head and quickly tied a length of leather around his wrists and attached it with a ring on the pommel. She secured the strand, taking care not to bind his wrists too tightly. His long hair, pin-straight and fine like hers, cascaded over the saddle’s seat. She combed the mass with her fingers, enjoying the sensation. She did not see the small smile twitching his lips, as he lay immobile at her command.

  She rocked back on her heels, contemplating her next move. She hadn’t thought much beyond this point. Several possibilities ran through her mind and she blushed brightly as each image became increasingly suggestive, as if being force-fed a string of pornographic vignettes unreeling in fast-forward. She gasped and giggled, then bit her lip, peeling away a callus of dried flesh. Blood beaded on the raw spot and she licked it away, savouring the sultry warmth and acrid taste.

  Trey was forced to stay still as she’d tied his wrists, amused that she thought him immobilized. The act left him giddy, every nerve at full alert, knowing he could simply snap the laces and be free—and not wanting that. He revelled in the rush of blood to his groin and the tremble along his thighs as a cool draft of air wafted into the shelter, caressing his skin and sending a chill up his spine. He’d grown used to lust and had long ago learned to satisfy it with a minimum of effort. The act of rutting totally under his control, his vessels compliant and generally satisfactory for his needs. The sensations now sweeping over his flesh seemed more a tease, more filled with promise, intense and slightly out of reach. Even the rush of bonding that had overwhelmed him, sending him into a time-space where his release was more relief from pain than actual pleasure, could not compare with the anticipation and the not knowing.

  The feather strokes along his cheeks and chin, then along his lips, a brief brush against his eyelashes, came not from tender fingertips but from her soft breath as she worked her way down his neck. He longed for the feel of her lips but she kept a physical distance, a curtain of desire between them that she was unwilling to breach.

  Caitlin removed his glasses, smirking, then took his shirt and tied the long sleeve over his eyes. She probably suspected he was not comatose after all—the involuntary gut clenches and subtle movements of his hips as his cock filled and throbbed were clear cues. Her intentions were obvious: she wanted him tight as a guitar string. His body soon tuned to her every prompt, paying attention, straining for the next sensation yet not knowing from whence it would come. He would become aware of her in a new way, not as a mannequin to be manipulated and deployed at will, but as a partner. While he claimed provenance over the supposed link, she would show him how to use it.

  He banked back a flush of concern when she’d taken his glasses. Of all the things he’d used in his life as crutches, as tools—swords, knives, or his beloved sniper rifle—the glasses had taken on significance far beyond their simple functionality. He feared blindness almost to the point of irrationality. To lose them meant placing his trust in his woman, something he understood in principal but would have difficulty doing. The bonding could be more of a curse than a gift, a disruption and not a mere distraction, if he could not come to terms with its requirements. It might be rare and precious—and the stuff of legends—but in this time and space, it set the stage for disaster.

  So lost in agonizing over his fears and concerns, he almost missed the fleeting brush of Caitlin’s lips along the inside of his thigh. He spread his legs apart to give her access but she moved forward—he could sense the swish of air on his belly—wondering where he’d next feel the cool breath.

  “So, I finally have your attention, do I?” she whispered in his ear. She nibbled at his earlobe for a fleeting instant. “Hot, are you?”

  “Gods, woman, can’t you see that?”

  “Oh yes. And so much more.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The hair on your chest,” she puffed a breath as he shivered in response, “and your nipples are so hard.” She flicked her tongue over one, then the other, as he stifled a moan and twisted his shoulders.

  “More.”

  Caitlin drew a ragged nail up the sole of a foot, just a bare hint of pressure. He gasped and pulled his leg up and away, straining against the ties.

  “Ticklish?”

  He heard the devilish mirth in her voice, but he ached for it to stop and moaned, “Don’t.”

  She pulled his leg down, massaging the instep, then moving up the calf to the muscular thigh. She nudged his legs further apart, working her way under his straining cock, then down the other side.

  Trey warred with the need to rip the fragile laces apart to free his arms and pull her body on top of his. His skin screamed in agony for the touch of flesh-to-flesh, the teasing almost beyond bearing.

  “Let me go.”

  Caitlin chuckled. “Not yet. I’m not done with you. Not nearly.”

  “Please.” He fought and lost, the pleading clear.

  “What do you want?” She brushed his lips with her tongue. “Tell me.”

  What did he want? This. He wanted this. Her lips playing his body like a fine instrument. For a lifetime he’d satisfied his needs, but what she did to him now went far beyond the simply physical. Words failed him.

  “Do you want this?” Caitlin fingered the tip of his cock, swirled the pre-cum across the surface, then drawing it down the long vein. Bending her head, she let her hair fall over his belly, trailing it slowly, lovingly along the length.

  Praying to all his gods that she would never stop, he quickly approached a breaking point. He needed, wanted, to touch her, to fill her and give her pleasure. The sensations were almost too much to bear. Awareness washed over him, icy pinpricks assaulted every inch of his flesh. When her mouth closed over his cock, he slipped back to the time of his youth, that first time—the mystery, the hope, and the promise of becoming a man.

  He loved the rasp of her chapped lips against sensitive skin, the tease of pain yielding to a wash of pleasure. He was willing to let her explore every inch of his body for hours but the link had assumed a life of its own, with an urgency that pressed against him like a palpable thing. His gut clenched, holding back. Tracing a finger past the soft sacs, her ragged nail rasped along the crease to the sensitive pucker. He wondered if she’d dare, not sure he could take more stimulation and wanting more than anything for her to press him past his limits. She inserted a finger, gently stroking his prostate, then stopped as his body went rigid. He husked, “Gods,” and spread his thighs even further, inviting her to probe and manipulate the gland. Her mouth and tongue nipped and teased his cock as he thrust his hips, seeking her moist warmth.

  Finally he could take no more. He ripped the leather tie from the saddle and yanked the laces off his wrists. With a sweep of his hand he removed the blindfold. The light blinded him yet he sensed her aura, cool greens and blues, the hues of control.

  She sat back on her heels, a smile playing about her lips, a look that showed she was not surprised that he had finally succumbed to his nature. He stared at her waiting, hopeful and asking him the silent question, did I get it right?

  “I want to ask you...” he choked the words back.

  “What?”

  “Will you,” he bowed his head and finished with a whisper, “let me make love to you?”

  Without a word, she lay back on the ground and pulled his shoulders against her chest. She felt so frail he feared she’d break under his weight. Nudging her legs apart, he gently probed as he lifted her hips, letting her adjust as he pressed into her depths as slow as he dared. His body screamed for release, yet he willed himself to wait, watching for the cringe, that first twinge of fear. Her eyes remained soft, unfocused as she clenched his cock, drawing him deep, deeper, until he lost all control. With savage thrusts he poured his pain and anguish into her welcoming depths, un
til he came with a throaty moan.

  If he’d had any extra air in his tortured lungs he would have laughed at her murmured, “We’ll have to work on those foreplay skills.”

  ****

  “Trey? Wake up.”

  “W-what?” Trey rolled off Caitlin. He’d straddled her slim hips with his leg, effectively pinning her in place.

  “Ow. Dammit.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”

  “No, no! It’s not that. Geez, sailor, been awhile has it?”

  He grinned at her and leered. “Was it good for you?”

  Caitlin smacked him on the shoulder. “Yeah, fifth time was the charm. Come on. I’m starved. Let’s get some of that seaweed.”

  Trey lunged out of the shelter and strode to the edge of the pond. He scooped up a handful of the dried vegetation and turned to hand it to Caitlin but she wasn’t behind him.

  “What are you looking at?” She stood by the shelter hand over her eyes as she stared in the direction of the sheer mountain face off to their west. “Caitlin. Hon?”

  “Can you hear that?”

  “No. Wait a minute. Yeah.” Trey strained to filter the distant echoes from his own heartbeat. The low clouds shielded the sound, whatever it was. He found it hard to focus, so intent on fixating with Caitlin’s energies that he failed to process the rhythmic beats. When the ‘pfft, pfft’ finally penetrated his brain, he mouthed ‘oh shit’ and raced back to his mate.

  “Inside. Now!”

  “Wait, Trey. Where are you going?”

  “Stay inside. I’m going to move the animals away from us.”

  He flapped his arms, yelling at the top of his lungs at the beasts standing unconcerned at the near edge of the clearing. The horse finally bolted from his position and trotted, with the mule in hot pursuit, to the opposite side of the pond. They paused, sides heaving, to see if their would-be attacker still followed them. He knew they were too weak to move beyond that point so he turned back, rapidly scanning the horizon. The sounds ebbed and flowed like a tide, bouncing off the mirrored surfaces and making it impossible to pin down the exact direction of the copters’ approach. If they were very lucky, they would do a nominal sweep and move on, perhaps not even breaching the ridge. As long as the beasts did not take flight or move unnecessarily, there should be little to attract attention.