Rogue’s Possession

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Ha to that.”

  “Do you doubt my natural charm?” Rogue’s smooth voice echoed in the tent a bare moment before he materialized before us. Sound preceding light in this case—interestingly reversed.

  “Speak of the devil,” I observed wryly.

  “Lady Starling.” Rogue took her hand and kissed it. “You’re looking delightful. So grown-up. The hair suits you—Gwynn’s work?”

  “Yes,” she simpered, tossing the blond locks flirtatiously. “Thank you for noticing, my lord Rogue.”

  “How did you know it was my work—does it show?”

  He glanced at me, dark-blue gaze sweeping me from head to foot. Not for the first time I wondered what he saw when he studied me in that inscrutable way. My blood ran just a little faster, my skin warming. It wasn’t easy to keep my face impassive.

  “Your magic, lovely Gwynn, has a distinctive flavor. And yes, it clings to what you touch. No one would mistake but that Starling is your creature now.”

  “She is not my ‘creature’—she’s her own person.”

  “It’s okay, I don’t mind being your creature.” Starling’s hands flew up, as if she could pet us into being nice.

  “It is not okay. That was an obnoxious thing to say.”

  “I withdraw the observation then.” Rogue grinned at me and swept a bow to Starling. “Now, as your own person, can you still arrange for an intimate dinner for two?”

  “Oh! Of course, Lord Rogue—”

  “Wait. I didn’t agree to dinner.”

  “Must you argue every little thing, stubborn Gwynn?”

  I cocked my head at him, returning his assessing gaze, pretending to think about it. He looked good, of course, dressed in his standard black. But his current outfit looked more...romantic, dammit. A loose-sleeved shirt was tucked into tight pants, the collar open to reveal a tantalizing bit of golden skin, the swirling black lines of the fanged pattern from his face and throat continuing downward.

  “Yes,” I decided. “I do.”

  “I still owe you a lesson for the day. We can eat and talk. Afterward, bed.” His tone made it sound like ever so much more.

  “Isn’t it early yet?” I glanced at the skyflaps to see the same persistent glittering gray.

  “Yes—but I thought you might tire early, given your exertions today.”

  “That’s surprisingly thoughtful.”

  “I’m making an effort.” His voice held a wry tone that was new. Almost self-deprecating, if that were possible from the King of Megalomania.

  Starling, with an apologetic look to me, slipped out of the tent, presumably to arrange dinner. I winced as Darling’s paws sank into my shoulder, and the cat walked down my body, his personal ladder, into my lap.

  “Don’t mind me,” I muttered and he flicked his tail, thankfully much drier now, under my nose.

  Darling sent me an affectionate thought and, broadcasting the same image of the mermaid on a plate, he strolled out.

  Rogue watched him go. “Do you suppose he really did get to taste one?”

  “Don’t you know?” I was genuinely surprised.

  “I don’t know everything. Would you like to change for dinner? I’d be happy to wait while you do. Or watch.”

  “Let me think. No way.”

  He smiled, in a very close to charming way. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

  “Do you know what happens when the irresistible force meets the immoveable object?”

  “Do you imagine that your powers equal mine?”

  “I can imagine a lot of things.”

  Rogue brushed a lock of hair off my forehead, with an almost tender gesture. “Indeed you can, my Gwynn.”

  Larch, followed by several of his Brownie cohort, marched into the tent just then, carrying a small table, two chairs and an array of dishes. They set to moving the pillows—I swore the things multiplied like rabbits when I wasn’t looking—to clear a space, then draped the table with a black cloth and set two crystal candlesticks with deep-blue candles on it.

  I felt the flick of Rogue’s thought when he lit the candles into dancing flames.

  “Fire is against Falcon’s rules,” I reminded him.

  Rogue raised an elegant inky eyebrow at me. “Falcon does not make rules for me.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “Indeed.” He offered me a hand up from my seat. “Shall we, my lady?”

  The food smelled enticing. Much more so than my usual fare. Clearly Starling had gone all out for Rogue’s visit. I bit into fowl in a sort of tasty curried mushroom sauce, perfectly complemented by the flaky pastry, and closed my eyes to savor it.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Yes.” I eyed him and broke off another bite. The fae had missed the concept of silverware somewhere along the way. “You brought this with you?”

  “You’ll like this too.” He poured me a glass of honey-gold wine.

  I tasted it cautiously, in case it turned out to be more of the Kool-Aid they called wine here. I sighed at the delicious flavor, true ambrosia. “This is all part of the seduction, isn’t it?”

  “Every weapon at my disposal, sweet Gwynn. Wearing away at your immovability.”

  “If you keep feeding me, I’ll become an enormous object.”

  He laughed at that and allowed an image of a very pregnant me to drift my way.

  “Now that was a miscalculation on your part. I do not find the idea of pregnancy even remotely attractive.”

  “Why is that, Gwynn?” His tone was conversational, as though wondering about my inclination for white wine over red.

  “You’re asking about my preferences, all of a sudden?”

  “I am,” he replied evenly. “I want to know your objections to having my child.”

  “Because you think you’ll chip away at those too.”

  His blue eyes glittered in the candlelight. Even in this affable mien, the imperious dark side of him showed through, a glimpse behind the mask.

  “Allow me the opportunity at least.”

  “Okay.” I sat back, wiped my mouth and fingers with the black napkin. “Let me count the ways. One, it’s my body and I decide about whether I want to have a baby. Two, I have never wanted children. Three, I’m not thrilled about giving birth in what amounts to a Third World country, even with the magical healing, since I likely can’t afford it. Four, I am not the mistress of my own fate and thus have no ability to promise my child a secure life. And no, having you as the sugar baby-daddy does not count as security. Finally, I don’t believe I’d even have the opportunity to raise the child because you’d take it away.”

  “To where?”

  “Well, now. That’s the question, isn’t it? Why don’t you tell me what would happen to our hypothetical child?”

  Rogue drank from his wine, his mind very quiet. Carefully making sure I caught no glimpses of his true thoughts. “Why do you assume anything would ‘happen’ at all?”

  “You’re answering a question with a question. That means you’re dodging.”

  “Maybe your thinking is foreign enough to me that I need more explanation.”

  Fencing. Time for a different attack.

  “Let’s try this question. Why do you want this child? Or is it really the Queen Bitch who wants it and that’s what she meant with her tick-tocking?”

  He started to push a hand into his hair, but he had it neatly tied back. Instead, he ran it over the glossy smooth surface and cast his gaze to the ceiling. The light had truly faded now and the rain had slowed to a soft patter. When he met my eyes again, his glimmered with that odd combination of regret and irritation that arose when I pushed him on his intentions toward me.

  “I can’t tell you,” he finally said.

  “Can’t instead of won’t.”

  He nodded, a bare dip of his pointed chin, and held out a hand to me, palm-up. Finding myself unable to refuse the invitation, I slid my hand into his, the unnaturally long fingers familiar to me now.

  “Why ca
n’t you tell me?”

  “All of us answer to someone, my Gwynn. None are free of all obligations.”

  “Is it her?”

  He rubbed a thumb over my palm, lips curving when I shivered at the touch. “Now do you really think I’d tell you that, when I can’t reveal anything else?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “That was a won’t, not a can’t.”

  A smile broke through his somber mien, the sun after rain. He squeezed my hand and released it, returning to his dinner.

  “Fine. I’ll find out for myself. I still have six years.”

  “Careful, bold and foolish Gwynn. You seek to pry into matters far beyond your abilities.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  “Can’t I?” He raised that eyebrow at me, twisting the fanged lines on the left side of his face, and popped a bite into his sensuous mouth.

  “I’m not without resources. I bested you once, didn’t I?”

  “But you couldn’t restore the tree, when I could,” he reminded me in a tone of cool silk.

  “That was different.”

  “Why?” He took another bite and licked his fingers. I had to yank my gaze away from his glass-edged lips.

  “Because...” I shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  “Your lesson for the day? So be it.” He smiled, wolfish. “This will be fun.”

  Chapter Four

  In Which I Sleep with Rogue

  Why do fairies in the stories always want human babies? Possibilities: To raise as their own? To play with? To eat or somehow consume (energy drain)? Consider in terms of exchange—why leave one of their own in a human child’s place?

  ~Big Book of Fairyland, “Notes for Further Research”

  “Tell me how you felt, when you tried to use your magic.”

  Eesh, I really didn’t want to do that. Even thinking about the wild arousal of that moment had me shifting in my chair. I took a cooling sip of wine. “I don’t really recall.”

  “Playing coy? Not like you. What are you hoping to hide from me? I need honesty if you want me to teach you.”

  “Fine,” I snapped, lacing my fingers together in my lap. I could face this. To learn and grow. “Because I had nothing left after.”

  Rogue rose, tossing his black napkin on the table, a flag signaling a new play in the game. He moved behind me and brushed my hair aside, tracing the line of my neck with sensuous fingers. That something in me purred and my nipples hardened under my robe. I sat as still as I could.

  “After what?” he murmured, everything in his voice saying that he knew perfectly well.

  “Weren’t you there?” Hell if he’d get me to say it.

  “Why had you nothing left?”

  “Because I used too much power?”

  “Try again.” He traced the shell of my ear, sending fluttery petals of pleasure to my groin.

  “Because...”

  “Yes?”

  “I can’t think.”

  “A good lesson for you. You must learn to think, no matter what is being done to you. Remember that I can do plenty to you, lovely Gwynn, despite your little rules.” Rogue slid a hand down to cup my breast through the robe, thumbing the stiff nipple, sharpening the pleasure. He’d bent down now, warm breath feathering against my ear.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  “What are you begging me for?”

  I clamped my lips together and closed my eyes. I also couldn’t afford to ask for anything from Rogue, being fresh out of anything more to give.

  I tried to think about the formula for the circumference of a circle. 2πR. Diameter multiplied by pi. Too easy. The wet core of me ached. π was equal to 3.14 and what else?

  3.14792. No that couldn’t be because the 7 would round up to 3.15. So what was the fourth digit?

  “Gwynn.” Rogue sighed, the feel of it teasing my skin. “You are meant to be thinking about magic, not numbers.”

  My eyes popped open. “You could hear me? I thought I was being quiet.”

  “When we’re this close—” he squeezed my breast and I choked back a moan, “—I can hear you better. Also, I know you want me.”

  “Do you?”

  “Your body doesn’t lie.” He inhaled. “You smell of sex. Like wine and roses, mixed.”

  “What I want and what my body wants are not the same thing, Rogue. Haven’t we had this conversation?”

  “But it’s so entertaining to debate with you.” He switched to the other breast. I thanked my foresight for insisting on one hand at a time. “Now, answer the question, like a good girl.”

  My head swam for a second. He wasn’t asking about pi. I rewound the conversation, no, not what I was begging for—that was obviously rhetorical.

  “Because of the...” Orgasm. Climax. Because I came. Just words to say.

  “There you are,” Rogue murmured, stroking my breast with a tender affection that undid me even more. “I’ll allow the thought to answer, since you’re shy to say it aloud.”

  He sounded satisfied in that and it reminded me that no one seemed to think it odd that Rogue essentially demanded sexual favors from me in exchange for saving my life.

  “Now you learn the why of it.”

  “Only a superficial why.” I rose also, moving out from under his devastating touch and needing to bleed off some of the tension. Surprisingly, he let me. “I already knew my magic comes from sex—Marquise and Scourge said as much when they thought I wasn’t listening.”

  “Clever girl.” Rogue waited, watching me pace. “Tell me—how much did you manage to hide from them?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I stalked over to my workbench and fiddled with a rubber ducky I’d found in the tribute tent. People here gave me so many gifts that Larch had finally set up a separate tent, just to house all the shiny stuff. The rubber ducky looked exactly like one from my world, a conundrum that continued to puzzle me. And no, I didn’t know who’d given it to me. I didn’t know who had given any of that stuff to me.

  “I would like to know.” His hand stroked down the fall of my hair, a caress meant to soothe, not stimulate. “Clearly their claws did not sink so deeply as they’d hoped. How did you slip the leash?”

  “Are you asking so you can collar me more effectively?” The words came out bitter. My time in that palace of torture was not something I revisited easily. Probably I needed serious therapy to deal with the PTSD. Not a casual chat about the worst time of my life with one of the people who’d put me there.

  “I would comfort you, my Gwynn.” Rogue’s voice was soft. Not at all like him.

  I set the ducky back in its place and turned to search his face. “Why now?”

  “You never let me before.”

  “You put me there. I haven’t forgotten.”

  “No,” he corrected, his face icing into his more usual implacability. “I was simply unable to prevent it. I’ve told you—even I am constrained. I did the best I could do to prevent the worst for you.”

  “The worst?” I nearly choked on my gasp. “Do you have any idea what they did to me?”

  “Yes.” His midnight blue eyes were grave. “And I know it could have been worse. By staking my claim on you, I prevented them from having you in every way. Believe me, your teachers are quite effective at rape and all forms of sexual torture.”

  Oh.

  I’d always been relieved that Scourge hadn’t raped me. That they’d always stopped at a certain point, no matter that I was their naked and helpless slave, at some points so desperate to please them that I would have done anything for them. Nothing had been beyond me.

  “Don’t weep, lovely Gwynn.” Rogue brushed the tears from my cheek and, after studying the fluid gleaming on his fingertips, tasted them. “I meant to reassure you.”

  “How do my tears taste to you?” The question came out of me from somewhere else, in the surreality of the moment. Of so many things to say to him, I asked this.

  He smiled, a sorrowful twist of his perfect mouth.
“Bitter.”

  I had no reply to that.

  The silence between us spun and grew, fragile threads of unspoken thoughts. I could nearly sense the drift of his mind, the scent of a night-blooming flower, so faint you lost it with the next breeze.

  “Finish the lesson,” I finally said.

  Rogue inclined his head, noblesse oblige. “Yes, bitter Gwynn. Sex is magic and vice-versa. As your passion waxes, so does your power.”

  “So sexual frustration is actually good for me, sorceress-wise. I knew that from experience.”

  He laughed. “It’s not a direct relationship. An exchange of sex will not drain you. Rather the reverse.”

  “So why did that one drain me?”

  “Because you took all that lovely energy that I stoked in you and made a lightning bolt from it.”

  Whoa. “That was all me?”

  “Some from me too. It took me time to recover.”

  “But you were able to heal the tree.”

  “This is one of the things you must learn. I have resources outside myself. You do not.”

  “How do I get more resources?”

  He held out a hand. “That will be a future lesson. For now, you are tired. It’s time for bed.”

  In answer to some unheard call, Larch trooped in then, followed by a parade of cronies. He bowed to us both, but mainly to Rogue, and they cleared the table away. Others carried in pieces of what turned out to be a large four-poster bed, as they assembled it.

  “I’m going to need a bigger tent,” I observed, watching the thing came together. I recognized it from my dreams—alluring, dark fantasies of Rogue tying me to this bed with those green silk cords. The bedding they carried in, all of it gleamed black, though with various colored highlights from my lamp-pillows, like the rainbow shine on an oil slick.

  “I don’t care to sleep on that pad you call a bed.”

  “No problem. I’ll sleep on my futon by myself.”

  He captured my hand in his and pulled me to his side, leaning in so his lips nearly brushed my temple. “No.”

  The simple word carried such menacing promise that I shuddered. Impossible the ways I responded to this so-alien man. And yet, he’d reminded me that he knew my secret terrors likely better than I did, since I could hardly bear to touch on some of them.