Guardians of the Portals

by Nya Rawlyns

  Would he be like Trey?

  Unkempt, disheveled, lines etched around his deep-set eyes, the man—Wolf—looked tired and worn and child-like, a boy-man carrying the weight of the universes. He'd held her close all night, with gentleness and a kindness she did not expect nor deserve. And he'd claimed her, much as Trey had done, using the exact same words in a spooky re-enactment, Because you are mine. Was the link scripting their emotions? Eirik might have had answers but he was gone now, and she had naught but her own wits and a stranger to guide her. At least, now Revenge had company. He seemed pleased with the arrangement.

  Something brushed her cheek and a voice echoed down a long tunnel, "Caitlin, hon, wake up."

  Drifting slowly to the surface, she became aware of warm arms encircling her body. She'd been resting her head on his broad chest, the flannel shirt soft and cozy. Small buttons bit into her chin as he pinned her tight. She lifted her head, enjoying the rasp of coarse stubble against her forehead, sandpaper rough. It was real in a way that made sense, a small familiarity grounding her. The tether hummed a background 'umm', a mantra, deliciously seductive, inviting. She wondered if he felt it, or was he immune? Did he even know it was there or was this perception a one-way thing?

  No, he had to know.

  She turned her face, a hair's breadth from his full lips, and breathed, "Did I fall...," only to smile at the obvious answer and wonder if he would take the next step. Would he request or would he just seize? His lips parted, ever so slightly, his breath strangely warm and cool as he exhaled a 'yessss' and bent to brush her lips with a teasing tickle. Exploring.

  He whispered, "We need to get ready," and freed her to rise from the couch, leaving her cold and disappointed. What was it with these beings? Promising so much, then withdrawing, leaving her dangling with crushed hopes. The tether buzzed and gyrated, whether from her own confused interpretations of what he wanted or from him pulling away so abruptly, she didn't know. All she knew for certain was that this time there would be tears, the hot moisture beading at the corners and threatening to spill in a gush of embarrassment. She bowed her head and clenched her hands, waiting.

  ****

  Wolf ran his tongue over his lower lip, the taste still fresh, tantalizing. He'd wanted to pull her through his skin and absorb her essence. He needed to claim this one, put his mark on her, before he lost her to the other. He had no doubt he had competition. He'd guessed as much from what little Eirik had shared about her experience with Trey. He knew there was a history. But the link burned, a live wire of electrical fire, with Caitlin off center, slip-sliding first one way, then the other.

  He could no more cut her loose than stop breathing. They needed to leave, he needed to stay. If they fled the cabin now, he might never get another chance to possess what was rightfully his. Yet, the thought of simply taking her because of a primordial 'link', genetically encoded like some rare disease, went against his nature. It wasn't ownership he craved, nor did he desire her out of a misguided need to protect something weaker. She was no hothouse flower, poised to wilt without his manly intervention. She had strength, with an intensity he could almost taste, a flavor and bouquet that filled his nostrils with the heady aroma of woman and unbridled power.

  Eirik had assigned him to tend to her needs, the Fates had decreed him her protector, and the hot wash of lust fueled his resolve. They were puzzle pieces—him, the warrior of his clan, she the asset, with abilities and genetics still untapped and uncontrolled. Together they would be an unstoppable force. Destiny. His to fulfill. His to deny.

  Wolf gazed down at Caitlin's bowed head. Days, nay, hours ago he might have seen that as a mark of subservience, but now he recognized the pulse of emotion, the mutual need strung like coarse hemp between them, grating and rough to the touch. He yearned to stroke it, smooth its edges and tug it gently to pull her close, closer, until she nestled once more against his lonely heart. Fill and fulfill. She'd given him leave. The decision was his now.

  Wolf glanced out the window, buying time. During their brief nap the skies had clouded over and a light snow fell. Perhaps there was time after all.

  He muttered, "Fuck this," and gathered Caitlin in his arms. She entwined herself about his neck and wiped away the tears on the soft cloth.

  He struggled with balancing her lanky frame while negotiating the narrow stairs. She might not weigh much but she was still an awkward load. She muttered a surprised, "Huh?" when he shoved the bathroom door open and edged through, then deposited her on the toilet seat. It was up.

  "Sweet Freyja. I'm sorry." Blushing bright scarlet, he scooped her up, set the seat down, and placed her carefully on it. She looked confused until he set the bathtub spigots on high. She breathed an 'oh' of appreciation at the gush of steaming hot water. Although he was used to going without, he realized a woman might not be as tolerant. While Caitlin stared, mesmerized, at the rapidly filling tub, he busied himself setting out their toothbrushes and toothpaste. From the narrow wicker chest across from the toilet, he extracted towels and washcloths and set them on a rack above the heat vent. Catching a sideways glance in the mirror, he glared at his reflection and frowned.

  "I'll shave," he murmured apologetically.

  Caitlin said, "No," then shyly murmured, "I like it like that. Please. Leave it."

  "All right. Tub's almost full."

  The desire to strip and crawl into the hot water warred with her obvious need for him to give her some privacy. He wondered how long it would take for her to realize he had no intentions of leaving. The longer she debated the harder it was for him to control the urge to rip her clothes off and dump her in the steaming water.

  Slowly unbuttoning her corduroy shirt, she wriggled herself off the seat and turned her back, assuming he would take the hint. He'd never taken the time to tease and build anticipation. The tension in his shoulders and groin gave him a perverse feeling of pleasure ... and pride. He wanted it to be right, he just wasn't sure he knew all the steps to make it so.

  She slipped the over-shirt off her shoulders, startling when he slid the fabric down her arms, letting his fingers trail along the inside of her wrists. She quickly whisked her turtleneck off and dropped it on the floor, her arms wrapped about her waist. It was all he could to not encircle her, pressing against her bare back, allowing his hands to cup and fondle her perfect small breasts. Instead he chanced the briefest touch, a brush of flannel against her thin shoulder blades as she struggled to undo the button and zipper on her cords. Whether she shivered from the chill air or the promise of his touch, he didn't know or care.

  He spoke, more harshly than he intended, "Get in." Gathering her clothing off the floor, he dropped them in the hamper, before stripping his own shirt and long-sleeved silk undergarment. Still as a statue, rooted to the spot, she hesitated, waiting. Grasping her waist, in one smooth motion he lifted her high over the edge and set her down into the hot water. Her eyes lit with pleasure as she settled against the back of the tub.

  Pawing through the cabinet, he moved bottles around until he found the shampoo. Holding it up, he asked, "Is this okay?"

  Caitlin nodded yes and closed her eyes. She kept them shut tight as he quickly shed the rest of his clothes. He slid a hand between her shoulder blades and the curved back of the tub, easing her forward.

  "Move." His voice broke, cracking over the single syllable, more an entreaty than a command.

  Caitlin grasped the edges of the tub and wriggled to make room. He eased down behind her, gently grasping her waist and lifting and pulling until her body nestled along the length of his. He splashed warm water over her belly and chest as he reached for a bar of glycerin soap and a washcloth. With soothing strokes, he worked the suds over her belly and ribcage, allowing his thumb to graze her breasts. She arched and laid her head on his shoulder, forcing her ass to connect and taunt his thickening cock. Gripping the sides of the tub, she braced as he rocked against her, flesh to flesh, pleasuring himself.

  He muttered, "Slow down," wh
ile stilling his own frantic movement. This he could have with anyone, this mindless masturbation. What he wanted—what he craved—was a slow, tender buildup until neither could resist the final release. With a deep breath, he drew more water onto her chest, concentrating on her nipples, teasing with his fingertips until they hardened into stiff nubs. She rewarded him with soft gasps of pleasure as she bowed into his touch.

  Shoving her forward, he pressed her head into the water, running thick fingers through the tangled mass. As he massaged her scalp the aromas from the shampoo released, engulfing them in exotic floral scents. She slid sideways to nest his cock against her butt but he hissed 'no' as he dunked her head under water, freeing the suds to coat his chest.

  Skimming his fingertips along her thin contours, he followed the line of her hip until his palm cupped the soft mound. Teasing the folds apart, he explored with one finger, then two, rubbing the lips until she hitched away from his touch. He pulled her back and probed with a forefinger, palpating her clit with his thumb, oscillating the movement until she barked, "Stop." Chuckling in her ear, he slowed the motion until she hummed a weak moan of pleasure.

  "Is this what you want?"

  ****

  Was that what she wanted? He needed to ask with her body submitting to every stroke, every feather touch? It was enough to drive her mad. Why was she doing this with a man who was no more than a stranger to her?

  Why did it feel so familiar?

  Caitlin rasped, her voice gone hoarse and ragged with the effort to hold back, "Yes, no, please."

  "Please, what?"

  Please don't stop, please fuck me, please love me. The tether ran red-hot, frequencies set to explode on impact. Did he feel it? He had to—his body burned against her back, white hot.

  Instead of answering, she pulled herself to a sitting position, maneuvering carefully until she faced him, poised just inches from his straining cock. Hopeful, he waited as she soaped the washcloth into thick suds and scrubbed, none too gently, over his chest and belly.

  Following the line of dark hair trailing below the water line, she made a quick sweep of his soft sacs and thick cock. He watched her intently, following the cloth, taking shallow breaths, controlling his reaction until she returned to his chest and pinched the right nipple hard. He inhaled and gripped the sides of the tub tight. She pinched the other and smiled as sweat broke out on his forehead.

  As she settled onto his cock, she whispered, "Is this what you want?"

  ****

  She had to ask? He could barely summon a coherent thought other than gods, yes as she eased him into her sweet depths. All he could do was stay as still as possible, letting her control the rhythm, and marveling as her inner muscles clenched his sex, drawing him deep inside.

  She rubbed his soapy chest, teasing the nipples, and leaned in to taste his mouth, tongue probing, then darting away to follow the line of his chin, and tracing the artery as her hips swiveled and plunged. He leaned his neck against the back of the tub and let the sensations carry him away. The tether vibrated, irritating, an incessant tug, demanding release. It called to him, and he knew it was his destiny to open to her; but his mind shut it down, focusing on the physical. But it was more than he could stand. Her small mewl of pleasure kicked him over the edge, his body responding with violent thrusts until he released on a moan of satisfaction.

  When he opened his eyes, he found Caitlin staring at him oddly, her hands mere inches from his own, both of them clutching the sides of the tub like lifelines. He wondered if he looked as perplexed as she did, almost bordering on embarrassment. He'd wanted to stake his claim on her body and her soul. Instead, he'd merely satisfied an itch, dissociated from any real connection with her, using her as a vessel. He'd treated her like all his whores, refusing at the last minute to give her the one thing he'd never given anyone—his heart.

  She stepped out of the tub and reached for the towels on the warming rack. She kept her back to him as she wrapped the bath towel around her thin body. When his wet hands gripped her shoulders, she jerked in surprise, almost as if he'd struck her. He wanted, more than anything, to understand the raw emotions flitting across her face. Did they mirror his own confusion?

  She was clearly shocked when he said, "I'm sorry."

  "Wolf, I-I don't know what..."

  "It was my fault. I held back. That's not how it was meant to be. I was supposed to..."

  "Supposed to what?"

  She pulled the towel off the rack and handed it to him. He dried himself quickly and wrapped the towel about his waist. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought about it, changed her mind and, finally, in frustration sank onto the toilet seat and laid her head in her lap.

  He longed to comfort her but feared making the situation worse. If there were any chance at all of beating off her spirit suitor, he wanted to be there.

  She startled him when she spoke softly, "We did it wrong."

  Not understanding what she meant, he asked, "How did we do it wrong?"

  "It's supposed to connect. The link. It's got to open up and flow. Both of us bottled it up."

  "I know." She looked up at him with an interested expression. He decided to risk a small amount of candor. "I didn't mean to treat you like a..." his voice petered out but she knew what he meant as she waved his comment away.

  "I didn't mean to act like one."

  "Caitlin. You have to understand. I've never let anyone in. I'm not sure I can." The second the words left his mouth he wanted to kneel at her feet and beg forgiveness. But the truth of it hung between them. She would either accept it or walk away, and he would have to live with the consequences.

  Instead, she stood and walked to the cabinet and pulled his shaving cream and razor out.

  "Would you do me a favor?" He nodded yes so she continued, "Would you shave for me?"

  "I thought you liked it like this." He rubbed at his jaw, eyebrows raised.

  She gave him a wry smile. "That was before I got a brush burn."

  She pointed to an area of irritation on her cheek and giggled at his pained, "Oh gods."

  "It's okay. Honest. I just don't want to wake up in the morning looking like this all over."

  He felt his face flame hot as his guts melted at the promise. He turned to the sink and prepared the lather. She came up behind him and slipped his towel off his hips. Whispering, "Do you mind if I watch?" she stood on tiptoe and peered over his shoulder at their joint reflections.

  He dropped the razor, mouth agape. A titian-haired beauty stood behind him, her full breasts pressed into his bare back. Nudging him aside so she could see better in the mirror, she frowned and concentrated, making small adjustments to the transformation, forms sliding and melting to coalesce into subtler shapes. Her eyes changed from pale blue to iridescent green, the nose narrowed and tilted up, the lips plumped and the chin redefined to a square jaw-line. She looked every bit the Amazon and nothing like Caitlin.

  She huffed, low and throaty, "Huh, guess it worked after all."

  Wolf asked weakly, "What worked?"

  "We shared powers somehow. That's how it's supposed to go down. We're bonded so we enhance each other's energies, or whatever it is we've got."

  He turned around and murmured, "Sweet Freyja," as he gazed at the vision pirouetting for his benefit.

  "Y-you shifted."

  "No shit, Dick Tracy. Do you like?"

  He recognized the sucking sound of quicksand and sidestepped the question with one of his own. "Why didn't I...?"

  Caitlin laughed and pointed to his crotch. "I think you did, lover. Now hurry up and shave. I don't know how long this is gonna last." She skipped out of the bathroom and headed down the hall toward his small bedroom.

  Man-whore. It was interesting that the gods picked that trait to accentuate. As he lathered his face, he wondered what would happen if—when—he made love to the avatar. The link stirred, restless to be on with it. He took his time, using careful strokes, half afraid he'd cut his own throat with a
hand that trembled and twitched, almost in synch with the pulsing link. He rinsed the razor and set it aside.

  Staring at his reflection, he asked, "Why me?"

  "That's an interesting question, son."

  Wolf spun on his heel, ready to strike. An older man, compact and fit, with a buzz cut and a Glock trained on his midsection lounged against the door jamb. There was something about him that seemed familiar, though he was certain he'd never met him before. He spoke softly with a faint Southern twang.

  "Who the fuck are you?" Wolf spit out.

  "Well, that's not the real question, is it?" The stranger smiled and said, "The real question is... who the hell are you? And why are you fucking my daughter?"

  Chapter Ten

  Caitlin fumbled with the switch on the small reading lamp next to her warrior's bed. She smiled as she contemplated the new term for the no-name man—'warrior', or kriger as Eirik had called certain of his men. He'd not used that term for Trey, even though the demon-devil had surely fulfilled that function.

  Demon. Or was it Devil? He'd been called by both names. She hadn't been the only one to recognize the essential nature of the man who still held a piece of her heart and her undying hatred.

  These men had such complicated relationships, decades' worth, in and outside of history. It made her head spin.

  Revenge stirred fitfully, nudging aside her idle musings. She wandered over to the full length mirror braced against the far wall, half hidden behind a dresser. She wriggled it free and angled the long rectangle to catch the light from the lamp. Stepping back, she evaluated her latest canvas. This template pleased her, as it had been her first full transformation. Why she'd chosen the 'Xena Warrior Princess' look out of all the possibilities amused and befuddled her.

  She tweaked the image, rounding hips, narrowing waist, giggling as strips of leather crisscrossed and sloughed away.

  She trailed a finger across the wavy surface and intoned, "Magic Mirror, I dub thee."