As the rain clouds, absent of thunder and lightning, tracked eastward, sunshine broke through the gray mass and illuminated them. They stood in sunshine, the golden light as focused on them as a stage spotlight. As Celia became aware, she realized her eyes were shut tight and she opened them. Beyond Byrd’s shoulder she glimpsed a rainbow, the colors vivid and brilliant. She took it as a blessing, as a sign she’d made the right decision. The way his hand gently stroked back her wild hair from her face and the tenderness in his eyes confirmed it. If they didn’t go inside now, they’d do the deed outside in front of God, Chuck, and anybody else who happened past.
“Let’s go inside,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts. Maybe he had. Anything seemed possible now. Celia nodded, her heart brimming too full to speak and with his arm as shelter, they entered the ranch house together.
They went straight to the bedroom. As soon as they were within it, Byrd shed his garments and stripped Celia in short order. A few stray feathers separated from her skirt and landed on the carpet but she didn’t care. Charged with an electric passion, she craved connection as much as Byrd. He heisted her onto the bed, the satin sheets cool and smooth beneath her bare bottom, and penetrated her deep. Celia gasped as he filled her space. Extreme pleasure sensations shot through her with such power, it bordered on exquisite pain. He worked his cock up and down as she clutched his body hard against hers, desperate to milk every sweet moment, each intense delight to the fullest. Her pussy radiated feverish heat and she clenched her ass tight to squeeze his dick. Byrd moaned in response so Celia repeated the action. Her skin dripped with perspiration as they worked together to hit the moment of release.
Neither took time to slow down and when it came, the explosion rocked them so hard the headboard slammed against the wall and the mattress tilted halfway to the floor. Celia cried out, a wordless guttural sound of pleasure, and he roared with joy. When they separated, the action pushed the mattress to the floor and they tumbled, laughing. They lay there together, tangled into one heap, and Celia couldn’t stop smiling. When she peeked at Byrd, he was grinning just as wide.
“What now, cher?” she asked, stretching with the lazy contentment of a cat on a sunny windowsill.
“We eat and talk,” Byrd replied. “Got any gumbo?”
Celia shrugged and assessed what she had available. “The rest of the gumbo’s in the freezer but I can heat it up if you want. I’ve got some chicken breasts too, and I can blacken them. I could make some dirty rice on the side.”
“Blackened chicken sounds good,” Byrd said. Curious, she asked, “So you eat human food?”
Byrd nodded. “I do. I never eat when I’m transformed into Thunderbird.”
“And you don’t mind chicken? It’s poultry so it’s a bird.”
He laughed aloud. “Not the kind that I am, Celia, so it doesn’t matter. I like it.”
Naked as the day she entered life, she stood up. “Then I’d better start cookin’.” She picked up Angie’s discarded dress and hung it across the back of a chair. Probably have to get this thing dry-cleaned. Celia slipped into shorts and a tank top, without any undergarments, and paddled barefooted into the kitchen. Thirty minutes later, delicious aromas based on the Cajun cook’s trinity—onion, celery, and bell pepper—wafted from the room. Boneless chicken breasts, coated with a spicy seasoning blend, seared and sizzled in a cast iron skillet on the stove and a pot of dirty rice rested on a rear burner. Celia filled two plates and carried them to the table. Byrd had poured the Sauvignon Blanc into a pair of chilled goblets.
“Sit down,” he said. Instead of asking a blessing, he raised his glass in a toast. “To forever with my beautiful lady, Celia.”
They drank the full-bodied wine in a way that reminded her of Communion. This isn’t just a meal, it’s making a pact or sealing a deal. Byrd tasted the food and nodded his approval. Celia thought she’d done a fine job. The spicy chicken dish, paired with the dirty rice and the crusty French loaf she’d sliced, complimented the rest well. “Delicious,” he said. “Merci, beaucoup.”
“Avec plaisir,” she replied, then translated in case his French wasn’t as engrained as hers. “With pleasure. We’re eating—what about the talking?”
Byrd nodded. “You have questions. Ask me anything.”
Where did she begin? Dozens of questions erupted in her mind. Celia reviewed the ones she’d already asked and allowed the first of the new ones to exit her mouth. “So we’ve, uh, been intimate twice but you said after three times…”
“You’re immortal. Right. You will be.”
It sounded simple but she wondered how it could be. “How? Is there a ceremony?”
He grinned. “Not a formal one, no. Just me and you, some moonlight, and the act.”
“What happens then?”
“Whatever you want, winuhca, we can stay here, eat Cajun food, and fuck. Or we can go to my home. We can travel if you like, between storms, or almost anything.”
So far, so good. “Can I visit my family? I’d like you to meet my mama and Angie when she gets back.”
He put down his fork and stretched out his hand. Celia took it, his flesh warm and solid beneath her fingers. “Yes, Celia. And I would like very much to meet them. I’ve seen your cousin many times as I passed overhead. She’s almost as lovely as you are.”
A warm glow moved upward from her heart. “Most people think Angelique’s prettier.”
“She’s not.” His tone carried certainty and she smiled. “So when does this happen?”
“Tonight, if it’s clear. Are you sure, Celia? There’s no going back and you can’t change your mind.”
“I am and I won’t.” No doubt existed in her heart, mind, or soul. “I wouldn’t want to, Byrd.”
“Then tonight,” he said. “It should be clear. The moon’s full and the sky will be filled with stars.”
“Outside?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Where else?”
Celia pursed her lips together. She liked the idea but visions of Chuck illuminating them with his headlights or someone else popping up out of the blue were upsetting. Her favorite secluded place came to mind. “Can it be at the pond?”
“The pond’s perfect.”
“So what do we do until then?” She wanted—no, she needed—to know. After fretting for days and waiting for Byrd’s return, fatigue dogged Celia. “A nap would be nice.”
His eyes met hers, warm and bright. “Then go take one, woman.”
She gazed at the dirty dishes and kitchen mess. “I’m fixin’ to clean this up first. What are you going to do, sprawl on the couch?”
Byrd laughed. “I would but I thought I’d take a flight for fun, then come back before moonrise. It’ll help me clear my head for tonight.”
Hmm. I clean up, he goes out joyriding. He may be immortal but he’s a man just the same. Some of the irritation must have been evident in her expression because Byrd touched her hand. “Problem?”
Busted, she smiled in spite of her thoughts. “No. Well, maybe yes. I was just thinking you’re not much different than any other man sometimes. Women cook and clean, and the men go out having fun.”
His grin made her heart cut flips. “Winuhca, it’s not like that. I’m not very domestic and I’d break more dishes than I’d get washed if I tried. I can see you’re tired and I’m no good at sitting on the porch, waiting. I don’t watch your television so I thought I’d give you space. I thought you’d understand.”
Now that he put it that way, Celia did understand. He evoked the wise and beautiful words of Kahlil Gibran, ones she’d memorized after a college literature course and never forgotten. She spoke them now. “But let there be spaces in your togetherness and let the winds of the heavens dance between you.”
Byrd cocked his head and nodded. “Yes. Is that poetry?”
“It’s Kahlil Gibran,” she said, as if that explained everything. “He was a poet and writer with beautiful ideas.”
“He expresses it well.” B
yrd rose from the table. “Are we good, then?”
They were, so she nodded. “Yes.”
He kissed her with a lingering echo of the heat between them but a deeper sense of commitment and togetherness tempered it too. Then he walked outside and Celia did the necessary chores without bothering to peer through the window to watch him transform.
As soon as the kitchen sparkled with cleanliness, she curled up on one of the leather couches beneath a light quilt and slept, tired but content.
Chapter Six
The western sky turned vivid shades of orange, tempered with grays and a touch of deep purple, as the sun slid toward the horizon. Celia had always enjoyed sunset but she’d developed a deeper appreciation for sundown in Oklahoma. The width of the sky and the lack of man-made objects blocking the view appealed to her. She stepped out onto the porch, dressed in simple black jeans and a white silk camisole. Byrd wasn’t back yet but she expected him any moment.
After awakening from her nap, she’d showered and changed. She wondered if she should cook and decided against it. If they were hungry after whatever they did, she’d deal with it then, not now. An evening breeze wafted against her, light as a lover’s breath, and caressed her face with invisible fingers. She sighed with pleasure and longing for Byrd.
As if she’d summoned him, she saw him winging across the sky, his large shape noticeable against the majestic sunset. He landed a few feet away and shifted. A few stray feathers danced in the faint wind. In the last rays of the setting sun, Byrd’s skin appeared bronze and he looked perfect in every way. His black hair rippled down his back unbound and when he faced her, Celia saw with delight he was already erect. Good, she thought. No preliminaries, no awkward small talk, just getting down to the main event.
She stepped forward and he closed the space between them with two strides. Byrd seized her and drew her into the close circle of his arms. His bare skin impacted her silk and the bare flesh beneath. “Oh, winuhca,” he sighed. “It’s time.”
Celia lacked words but she stood on her toes to kiss him, her lips lingering against his mouth with slow, certain heat. Her eyes caught his as they kissed and she’d swear she caught a glimpse of lightning in his eyes. If he hadn’t paused and released her, shifted his arm across her shoulders and started walking, they would’ve done it between the porch and the drive. Her awareness of his proximity and touch increased and by the time they stood beside the pond bank, Celia’s nipples had turned to stone and she’d gone wet, ready for him.
A light wind blew across the water and created ripples. She shivered, watching, her body alight with desire. Earlier, she’d walked down and spread out a thick blanket and added a few pillows in her favorite spot beneath the willows. She’d brought a few jar candles too and placed them on the big rock nearby. Their flames danced and flickered as she and Byrd faced each other.
If she thought it would be fast, she had been wrong. Byrd’s fingers touched her and slid the thin ribbons of straps down her shoulders with slow intensity. He caressed her and let his fingers stray to the back of her neck. The fine hairs rose at his touch and exquisite tremors ran down her spine. He reached for the bottom of her camisole and pulled it over her head, baring her breasts. The discarded scrap of silk dropped to the blanket and Byrd used his long fingers, tipped with sharp nails, to stroke her breasts with gentle motions. He rubbed each taut nipple between two fingers until the bud enlarged and she thought she’d die from the sensation. Then he undid her jeans, unzipped them, and jerked them to her ankles. She kicked out of them as he lowered her panties, then she stepped out of those too, nude and charged with sexual energy.
Byrd let his right hand stray lower and dip between her legs. He stroked her pussy with deliberate, indolent fingers and her already-stoked girl parts ached so much she hurt. “Mon dieu!” she whispered. “You’re killing me.”
“Oh, no,” Byrd whispered back. “I call this loving.”
“Then love me.” Any lingering inhibitions vanished as he rubbed his hands all over her body, fingers easy and tantalizing across her skin. He cupped her butt and squeezed it, grunting with approval. He ran his fingers through her hair after he’d smoothed his palms across her back, even over her belly. Byrd caught her, hands still tangled in her long locks, and kissed her.
After the teasing torture he’d meant as foreplay, his mouth against her lips created a firestorm of need and want. His lips burned hers, hotter than any well-seasoned spice, temperature rising past fever stage. Byrd’s mouth consumed hers and yet caressed it at the same time. His lips strayed from hers and nibbled her throat, tasting the skin on her neck. His hair tickled her skin as he bent his head to use his tongue on her nipples. When he suckled, she whimpered, near coming, but she steeled herself to wait, to build the suspense higher.
He took his time, leaving a love mark on her right breast. Celia reacted to the slight pressure of his teeth against her sensitive skin by wrapping her arms around him. She raked her nails down his back and then lowered her hands to hold his ass, pushing him closer against her. She wanted him inside, now, and couldn’t wait.
She didn’t have to. His need matched hers and his body trembled as much as hers, maybe more. Byrd lowered her to the blanket and descended onto her. Celia spread her legs wide, eager to receive him and he sank his dick into her with slow, methodical precision. As he entered, she felt every inch of his cock, savored the way its hard length went deep within. She tightened her ass to caress his shaft and he moved within her, his up and down rhythm steady.
They rocked together, each movement filled with sheer and total bliss as her body matched his. Celia moaned as his man-energy, his immortal power, and his sex overwhelmed her. He dug deeper and harder as she writhed beneath him, her legs locked in a scissor hold around his torso. They worked and sought their climax. Sweat streamed from every pore and blended in a river, drowning them both. She tasted sweat and sex on her tongue. The powerful scent of their coupling increased her need as they strained together. The momentum continued to build and the tension increased until she knew she’d either come or explode into a million pieces.
Everything erupted with the power and glory of Fourth of July fireworks when Celia came, Byrd with her. Her vision blurred and brightened until she saw nothing but blinding light. Celia gasped for breath and then physical ecstasy sent her body into spasms of delight, each one stronger than the previous. She shrieked with the force of it as Byrd shuddered hard against her body. His breath blew against her skin, as harsh and rapid as hers. He cried out with wordless wonder and then collapsed beside her on the blanket. He rolled onto his back and reached for Celia. “Look at the stars,” he whispered. He hadn’t caught his breath yet.
She stared upward at the heavens. A thousand stars glittered and shimmered in the clear night sky like diamonds. A full-bellied moon, round as a pregnant woman, added its glow, and silver light filtered down to bathe everything with surreal beauty. “It’s lovely,” she said.
“Wait until you fly through them,” Byrd said.
In the heat of their coupling, she’d almost forgotten that this time, their third, held significance. “Could I?” she asked as one hand trailed down his body, caressing and smoothing. “Am I immortal now?”
Byrd smiled, his expression the tenderest she’d seen. “Yes, but maybe we need words for the vow to make it right.”
“Words? Like wedding vows?”
“Exactly like,” he said. “I know little of such customs in this time and we have no people to bless our union. I would’ve brought horses or gifts but you have no need and I will share all I have with you. So instead, I will do what I did as a Lakota after the other ceremonies, and the singing and dancing were done. You are mine. I love you, winuhca, and we will be together for eternity, forever, bound by love and our vows.”
Celia’s eyes brimmed full with tears, moved by what he’d said. She should say something too, but what? She adapted the traditional wedding vows and changed them to suit their unique situation. “
I take you to be my husband, my love, in every circumstance, until death do us part, if it ever does. I will be your woman, your winuhca, always and forever.”
Something shimmered in his dark eyes, maybe a tear, maybe her imagination. Byrd kissed her mouth, light and loving. “Then come,” he said. “Stand up and we’ll go if you’re not afraid.”
Her mouth turned dry, parched as a desert on an August day. “Where are we going?”
“I’d like to take you to my home. We can come back here, afterward if you want, but will you?”
She nodded, not scared but nervous. “Yes. Can I fly?”
“If you want, you can.”
“Do I become a bird too?”
“If you want, Celia, you can.”
Byrd stood and she joined him. “I don’t understand. Will I become a bird too, or not?”
“If you wish, you will take a similar form to mine as my mate. But if you don’t, you can ride on my back to the Black Hills as a woman. It’s up to you.”
Celia struggled to imagine. If she climbed onto his back once he became the Thunderbird, she had trouble envisioning the ride. Images of a Mother Goose cover from her childhood popped into her head, children astride a great goose. The idea worried her. If she didn’t hang on tight, she might slip off and fall to earth. How immortal could she be if she smacked into terra firma? But becoming a bird made her anxious too. How would it feel, she wondered, and could she fly? She recalled her first attempts to ride a bicycle or drive a car. Both skills had to be learned. Neither came easy, but she must choose.
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