Threshold Volume 2

by Shelby Morgen

  “Yes!” she shrieked aloud. “Roanen!”

  His breathing came hard, as if he warred with himself. “No! I can no’ ! Ye are not ready! I have na told ye all ye must know!”

  “Roanen! Now!”

  He growled, the strain showing in his face, then again. No. Not a growl. A call. A wolf’s call to mate. We honor the Wolf in all that we do. With his call he changed, the image in the mirror becoming fuzzy, until a huge arctic wolf fastened its teeth over her neck, his thick, hard cock pumping into her.

  Fear and rage and need warred for dominance. A wolf? She was being fucked by a wolf? She fought him then, but she was no match for his strength. His teeth on her neck held her clamped as he thrust into her. His paws on her shoulders demanded her obedience. His cock pumping into her drove her wild. She opened her mouth to scream, but instead she found herself answering his call. No! NO! This could not be happening! She would not—could not be changing!

  She could not turn into a wolf!

  She screamed again in terror as she faced herself in the silver mirror, growling to show all her vicious white teeth. What she saw gave her pause. We honor the Wolf in all that we do.

  She was beautiful. Black and silver with a coat that shone with the pale light of her candles. He was—he was perfection. Eyes full of intelligence stared back at her. Predator on every level, he claimed his prize. She’d never seen anything as erotic as the sight they made together.

  They fit together perfectly. She stared in fascination as his cock plunged in and out of her tight, wet sheath. So different, and yet so much the same. She dug her claws into the bed, meeting his brutal pace thrust for thrust. She cried out again, but this time in triumph as he shuddered within her. Yes! Now! More! Her release was devastating, starting at the ridge of her hard pubic bone where his weight slammed into her and spreading all through her body like a fire that burned from within. She screamed her release to the world, not caring who heard or who knew.

  He came like a geyser, buried deep within her, her contractions around him so strong that he could no longer move, but only shudder within her while she milked him dry. At last she collapsed beneath him, her hind legs stretched back under his. Still the waves of sensation passed through her. Still she held him clamped tightly within her sheath. Her body would not release him, but he didn’t seem panicked. His teeth still fastened in her fur, he fell to his side, pulling her into the embrace of his arms. Paws. Whatever. She’d figure it out later. Much later.

  For now, his muzzle lay next to hers, and the heavy sound of his breathing told her she’d left him as spent as he’d left her. She closed her eyes to listen to the sound of his heart beating against her shoulder.

  “Stay with me,” he whispered against her cheek. “I need ye so.”

  “As I need ye.” She drifted off to dream of mating wolves and a world full of possibilities.

  * * * * *

  Roanen…

  She reached out, but the bed beside her was empty.

  Bed. Springs creaked as she turned. Her bed at the inn.

  Roanen!

  Sobs shook her as she rolled to bury her face in a pillow. She’d known. All along she’d known he was no more than a dream, a product of years of fascination with a world long gone. She couldn’t find a man who would love her for one lifetime, let alone four thousand years. She was a fool to have believed in the dreams.

  A knock on the door called her back to this world. “Ms. Henry? Are you all right? Ms. Henry?”

  No, I’m not all right! she wanted to shout, but she couldn’t muster up the energy. I am so fucking not all right!

  “I have your breakfast, Ma’am. I’ll just leave your tray here on the hall table.”

  Christ on a crutch. She didn’t want to be a fucking Ma’am, either. Son-of-a-bitch. She’d always hated mornings. Hung over mornings were worse. Hung over after a night of being fucked by a seven foot tall Warrior who could turn into a wolf was entirely too much.

  Stay with me. I need ye so.

  How could it have been a dream? It had felt so real…Roanen had felt so real. She wanted to be there, not here. She needed to be there. Roanen needed her. What would happen to him without her? She hadn’t even had time to learn about the world outside the tent. Life there had been harsh, she was sure of that. Obviously things had gone wrong somewhere in the future. No electricity. No running water. No modern conveniences of any kind that she could see. Pavilion tents and goats’ milk?

  Perhaps it was as well it had all been a dream. How the hell could a man she’d only dreamed of need her so badly, any way? He couldn’t. He was simply a product of an overactive imagination and an even more overactive sex drive.

  Get a grip, Doc. She could almost hear Tina, her research assistant’s, voice. When did you start believing in fairy tales?

  Get a grip, Baby-Girl. When did you stop believing?

  That would be Gray.

  Stay with me. I need ye so.

  Roanen…

  What if…

  What if this were all true?

  Stay with me.

  What if he’d been offering her a choice?

  What if she’d had only so much time to decide, and she’d blown it? Maybe Shammall had been wrong. Maybe she wasn’t really dead, but sort of in a coma or something and now she’d woken up. What if…

  Marylin sighed. She could what-if herself to death and not get anywhere.

  If she could just prove any part of the dream was real, then it all was. And if she could prove any part false, the same was true. All or nothing, right?

  And how could she prove any of it? Ever? Prove magic existed? Prove a disembodied spirit could travel through time and end up in another body? Prove…

  Bast. Surely there must be some record of the High Priestess of Bast. If Nylanéfer and Sennedjem had existed, then perhaps someday Roanen and Ayailla would exist as well. She needed to get online. But her body resisted her efforts to move. Something was weighing her down, holding her pinned to the bed. Panic nearly overwhelmed her before she fought free, leaving the weight behind. Feeling suddenly lighter than she had in years, Marylin practically flew across the ten feet of floor that separated her from her laptop. She hadn’t unpacked her clothes, but she had set up her computer. A quick Internet search should tell her… Nothing. Nylanéfer didn’t exist. Not on the Internet. Not surprising, really. It was the goddess herself who would have survived, not her high priestesses.

  All right. A different search, then. High Priestess of Bast. Better. Thousands of references. That was odd. She didn’t recognize any of these references. She clicked on the second one. A line drawing of a cat appeared. A human cat with female breasts. Not Bast. No. A beautiful cat-woman so very different from Bast. Someone’s role-playing game character sheet. The cat-woman was downright sexy.

  Scanning the other listings she realized they either led to Wiccan Covens of Bast or more online character sheets. She couldn’t suppress the smile that pulled at her lips. The goddess would have approved. All right. Past lives. Maybe she could learn something about Nylanéfer from her own memories. If only she could believe when she was awake…

  Ghosts? How had she ended up at a site about ghosts? …usually occurs when there is some unresolved issue holding the spirit to the site where the body passed on. Usually resolving the issue will free the spirit…

  The words seemed to jump off the page at her.

  Stay with me.

  What if she was dead? What if everything Shammall had told her was true? Could she be a ghost? Could she still be clinging to this life, this world, because she has some unresolved issue? What unresolved issues? She’d given up on Don long ago. Don and his women and his need to prove how virile he was with a string of younger women. There was no one else. The college could live without her. There was no—

  Gray. Her death would hurt Gray the most. She needed to let him know that everything would be all right. But she might not have much time. Not if she was going to die soon. How… Simple
. E-mail. The way she’d kept in touch with Gray for years now.

  Dear Gray, I want you to know…

  No. She didn’t want it to sound like a suicide note. She needed him to understand, without giving the details. If she turned up dead, there would be an investigation. She needed something only Gray would understand. Just a line or two. Then she remembered. Perfect. She smiled as she moved to hit send.

  Behind her a soft knock sounded. The door swung open. “Housekeeping, Ma’am. I’ll just bring your—”

  A tray hit the floor with the sound of breaking glass as the woman screamed. Marylin spun instantly, following the shrieking maid’s pointing finger to the bed. What… Who… Marylin moved closer to get a better look at the figure lying there in her bed. Then she screamed, too.

  Chapter Four

  “She is still asleep?”

  “Aye.” Roanen rinsed the sleep from his eyes. “Ye look like a man well bedded.”

  “As do you,” the small Dark Elf agreed with a trace of a smile in his voice. With a shrug and a popping of bones the Dark Elf shifted, and Shammall emerged from the shadows.

  The Mage looked more than bedded. His pale skin looked nearly transparent. Surely even a Sidhe must sleep from time to time. Roanen sighed. They all needed rest. Without a healer, they could not go on. His own men faired no better than Shammall. The Mage had done only what was necessary. “What have ye learned?”

  “Nafésti has taken what remains of her house back into the mountains to hide, to lick their wounds and to grow strong again, M’Lord. If we attack them now, without their contingent of Ogres, we may be able to gain an advantage.”

  Roanen’s fingers strayed to the hilt of his great axe, but he stayed his hand, remembering his last encounter with the great Sorceress. “Nafésti is too powerful, and we are too few, and too battle weary ourselves. If she has withdrawn, ‘tis enough. The valleys are safe for a time. We can no’ face a Sorceress of Nafésti’s caliber without the help of an equally powerful Shaman. The risk is too great. We shall return to House Lindall, that we, too, may heal.”

  Shammall looked toward the tent beyond the reach of the firelight. “How is she, M’Lord?”

  “She hovers here, on the edge of one world, still anchored in the other.” Roanen looked to the West, towards their homeland. “Promise me this, Mage. When my time comes, ye must see to her. Keep her here. Without Ayailla’s strength, House Lindall will fall. The prophecy must be fulfilled. House Lindall must stand guardian to the seven races of Man. Ayailla must bear the one who will unite the Houses. Promise me, Mage.”

  Shammall stared at Roanen, swallowing hard, his meaning all too well understood. “M’Lord, I could not—”

  “Ye shall protect her, and my house, Shammall, with thy life. The fate of the free races depends on her, and on thee. Swear it to me.”

  “Ye have my oath of fealty, M’Lord.”

  Roanen pressed his eyes tight shut. “I am no’ important. No’ in the grand design of the world. ‘Tis the daughter Ayailla has yet to bear who matters. ‘Tis Evalayna, and her daughters, who matter. Upon them rests the fate of our world. Ye know the prophecy. I will not live to see my granddaughters grow to power, Shammall, but ye will. Somehow I know thy fate is as intertwined with Evalayna’s as mine is with Ayailla’s. Into no other hands would I trust their care.”

  Shammall sank slowly to one knee. “I live but to serve you and your house, M’Lord. If by my life or my death I can protect the Lady and her children, it shall be done.”

  Roanen gripped Shammall’s shoulder tightly for a moment. “Thank you. I must go to her now. Once she accepts this reality as her own, ye must teach her to harness her power. Arise, and find thy way to thy bed before the sun catches up with thy night’s work.”

  The Mage swayed unsteadily as he stood. Roanen grasped him firmly by the arm. “I can no’ give ye the time ye need to rest, Mage. I am sorry.”

  “I need but a little time, M’Lord. Go to your lady.”

  A shrill scream split the night air. As one they turned toward the sound, all thought of sleep gone from them.

  “Ayailla?” Arms wrapped around her, strong arms, crushing her against a chest of broad, naked power. “Marylin? I am here, my love. Shhh. Whatever it is, I will protect thee.”

  Her heart was beating as hard as if she’d run across the years that separated them. “Roanen? You’re here? You’re real?”

  “Aye, M’Lady. Ye need not fear me.”

  Marylin ran her hands over his back, absorbing the warmth, admiring the sheer massive musculature of the man. “I must have been dreaming. It felt like a dream. I was so frightened. I went back. I had to. I needed to get a message to my friend…but then I saw myself, lying there, dead…the other me, a long time ago.” Had any of it been real? Had she actually hit send? “I need to go back. At least long enough to say good-bye. Gray won’t understand. He’ll think he failed me. My death will destroy him.”

  Roanen pulled back a little, looking down at her with eyes full of misery. “I had hoped ye would stay. Did ye love him so very much, then?”

  “I—no. Yes. Gray was my friend. He was always there for me. Gray—in my time, not all men preferred the company of women for sex. Gray was like a—a sister to me. Does that make any sense?”

  She tried not to laugh at the look of relief that passed across Roanen’s face. “I understand. Always there have been those who prefer the intimate company of their own sex.”

  Had she really been back in her own time? Had she really sent the email? Even if she hadn’t hit send, the note would be there on the laptop screen, wouldn’t it? Somehow, it would reach Gray. “Gray is—was, I guess—he must have died four hundred years ago—Gray was an artist. The sensitive type. He’s fragile. If he thinks he failed me, I’m not sure he can live with that. I can only hope he got my message.”

  “I am sorry, M’Lady. I, too, have failed ye.”

  “No! No, Roanen. Never.”

  “I—” Roanen leaned back a little farther, the distance between them growing more than physical. “I understand. The Mage was wrong to deceive ye. Ye have the right to choose, Marylin. Return if ye must. We had no’ the right to bring ye here.”

  To choose. She had to choose. Somehow she’d known. “It’s all right, Roanen. Gray will find his own way. The Mage did not deceive me. I made my own choice, and I chose you. Marylin is dead, Roanen. I saw her. I felt her passing. Her body was like a lifeless weight, holding me down, but I fought free of it to come back to you. I’m here because I choose to be here, with you.”

  His fingertips brushed lightly over the curve of her cheekbone, tracing down the line of her jaw to cup her chin with the gentle touch of a lover. “Sometimes when ye speak of her, Marylin is so real to me that I feel her. Ye can no’ know, for ye have no’ the memories of us I hold, but Ayailla was so like ye. Forgive me. I thought only of myself, and what I had lost. ‘Twas no’ Ayailla’s time to go, any more than ‘twas Marylin’s. Still, ‘twas no’ my right to call her back.”

  Marylin kissed the base of his thumb, where it rested near her lips. “Who is there that would challenge you, Roanen? Who is there to enforce this Law of Magic? Will the Magic Police come knocking on our door, demanding my return to the land of the spirits?”

  His lips quirked at that. “I think not. Ye can no’ be punished for our misdeeds. Only those who cast the spell. ‘Tis no’ the Magic Police who might censure us. Or perhaps ‘tis. There is an order to things. A hierarchy of races, ye might call it. After the great shift, when the magic reawakened, the oldest of the races made themselves known to Man again. They taught us how to use and control the Magic, and they gave us rules. To each major house a guardian is assigned. ‘Tis Shammall’s job to see that we use the magic wisely.”

  Great Shift? Races? Magic? To be fair, she already knew about the Magic. Hadn’t she burnt down the tent, then put it back? And Shammall himself was no ordinary man. Not with those ears. Great Shift rather explained itself, though she�
�d need to trace back over that part of history. Later. The politics of the situation came slamming into her as she puzzled through Roanen’s easily spun tale, separating the known from the unknown, the truth from the things he did not wish to burden her with. “And what of Shammall? Who might censure Shammall?”

  As if in response to her summons, though she was not aware of having given one, Shammall appeared in the doorway, bowing low as he entered. The tall, pale—Elf?—looked weary, even more worn about the edges than he had yesterday, as if he’d spent the night in hard work. “My father,” he answered. “‘Tis my father who assigned me this house to protect and to guide, M’Lady. ‘Tis to him I shall answer.”

  “And if we do not tell him you have broken the Law of Magic, how will he know?”

  “He will know, M’Lady. He already knows. A spell such as I used creates a ripple in the Magic, pulling power through the energy field. Any other user of Magic will feel a draw so large.”

  “How will he punish you, Shammall?”

  “I will be censured, M’Lady.”

  “And?”

  He shrugged, an elaborate gesture that went too far out of its way to appear unconcerned. “My father will punish me as he sees fit, M’Lady. ‘Tis his right, and his duty. I would expect nothing less of him.”

  There was more, something he was trying to keep from her. “You will tell me the truth, Mage. Spare me nothing. I sense this is not a world I can survive in with half-truths and lies.”

  “I do not know precisely how Father will punish me, M’Lady. I do know he will be very, very angry with me. But it will not be the first time, M’Lady, nor likely the last.”

  The two men looked, she decided, rather like two of her students might had she caught them cheating on a test. Whatever else the Mage’s father might do, it couldn’t be good. “Roanen said there wasn’t time in the midst of battle. What exactly about what you two did was wrong? Could I—could Ayailla have been brought back had you done whatever you did sooner?”

  “Aye, M’Lady,” they answered in tandem.