Autumn Whispers (An Otherworld Novel)

by Galenorn, Yasmine

  I let out a low growl, the hunger rising. “Pants, too.”

  As he unbuckled his belt, the hunger turned to ache, and I leaped on the bed, wrapping my arms around his chest as he kicked off his pants. He was already hard and waiting, and I slid my hand down his chest to that dark, delicious cock that was rising out of the thatch of honey-colored hair. As I took him in hand, he let out a groan and started to turn.

  With a whisper, I squeezed just hard enough to make him stop. “Let me explore your body. I want to touch you.” I swung around, off the bed, and knelt in front of him. He was barefoot, and I leaned down and gently kissed the tops of his feet, then trailed a line of kisses up the inside of his legs, alternating sides. Here and there, I nipped with my fangs, not enough to draw blood but enough for him to jump ever so slightly.

  As I approached his thighs, placing my hands on the glowing skin, the strength of his quads rippled beneath my fingers and once again, I caught my breath at how beautiful this man was. He was not perfect, he had a number of scars, but there was a beauty of their own in those craggy reminders of battles past, a history of his life. I knew very little about his background, but slowly, in bits and pieces, he had begun to give up his secrets.

  I trailed my fingernails gently over the taut skin as he spread he legs, and then I leaned in, slowly licking the length of his cock, drawing my tongue up the shaft, tasting his musk. I had to be cautious—nonretractable fangs meant I could do a lot of damage to a man, but Shade was half dragon, and it took more than the average slip of the tooth to inflict pain. I slowly placed my lips on the head, gently slid them over the top, my mouth open just enough so that the tips of my fangs barely grazed the skin as I swallowed him, deep into my throat.

  He let out another groan and leaned back on the bed, his hands coming down to hold my head as I worked him, licking, sucking, sliding my tongue down the length of his shaft. I cupped his balls, then pressed my lips to the sensitive area that lay between them and his penis. He was thick, hard as a rock, with the veins ridging up, and he was driving me crazy.

  “Enough. Get your ass up here.” He leaned down and, hands beneath my arms, lifted me up and rolled me over so I was beneath him. His lips sought my breast, leaving a wake of kisses down my neck as he fastened onto my nipple. Sucking hard, he nipped just enough to make me yelp, then his lips continued their path down my skin, across my stomach, setting off a wash of explosions that spread from my pussy outward.

  He nuzzled me, his lips pressing gently against my clit as he flicked his tongue around in circles, sliding two fingers inside me to stroke against the inner walls. I was slick, moist with wanting him, but before I could beg him to get the hell inside me, the roar in my head increased as his tongue became more insistent, and I found myself laughing as I came, the stress releasing in joy rather than tears. The shock of another jolt hit as I came again, but still he continued.

  As the laughter died, I began to build up again, this time a serious, dark rolling thunder that echoed through me, sucking me under. The strength of his hands on my hips, the unrelenting stroke of his tongue gave me no chance to catch my breath, and so I rode the rising surf, teetering precariously as thought vanished, and only sensation remained. And then, a pause, just one second of clear thought and back under as a series of explosions ricocheted through my body, echoing out in concentric circles. I found myself floating in a space where I wasn’t sure if I was alive or dead, whether I was even breathing.

  And then, slowly, the world came back into focus.

  I exhaled as Shade loomed over me. With his gaze locked to mine, he slid between my legs, searching for entrance. As he thrust himself inside me, deep and penetrating, the room began to spin again, and we moved slowly, his hips swiveling against me. Full, stretched, I sank into the hunger that blossomed again.

  “Harder . . .” My voice was hoarse, desperate. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. Fuck me hard.” As the sex haze reclaimed me, I went under for the third time, a woman drowning in a sea of air.

  Shade groaned, his eyes flashing as his skin warmed mine. Emboldened by his heat, I grabbed his shoulders and rolled him over, straddling him as I sank onto his cock, my head back as I rode him hard. He grabbed my waist, holding me firm as I leaned over him, my breast above his mouth. He tilted up, took my nipple in his mouth as my clit rubbed against the base of his cock.

  Before I could peak again, Shade lifted me and rolled off the bed with me. We tumbled to the floor in a pile of blankets and I twisted over onto one hand—my good one—and knees. I braced my right elbow on a stack of books, keeping my injured hand safe.

  Shade knelt in back of me, sliding his cock into my cunt, and as he began to thrust, Panther rose, not shifting me, but driving me on. I felt her staring through my eyes, and I looked up and there was Hi’ran, the Autumn Lord. My passion and my Liege, towering over us.

  He held out his hands, and the smell of bonfire smoke rolled from them as the heart of the harvest ran through my blood. Hi’ran’s energy sparked a flame so dark that it quenched every sensation of light except for the fires raging around us. Shade let out a low moan, for Hi’ran was also his master.

  Together, the three of us formed a circle of death, a circle of life. We existed within a cloud of passion, cloaked in the swirling mists of the eternal autumn. The energy crackled around us, until—with a flash of lightning—the storm broke and I went soaring over the edge, crying out as I once again lost myself in the tumble of orgasm.

  When I opened my eyes, I was sprawled in the pile of sheets, and Shade had rolled to the side. He was staring at me through veiled eyes, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips.

  “Wow.” I exhaled slowly. “That was . . . wow.”

  “Took the words out of my mouth, babe.” He shoved a pillow under his head, then held out his arms and I rolled into them. “For an arranged relationship, I think we clean it up pretty damned good.”

  “From your lips to my heart.” After a moment, I untangled myself from the warm nest and stood up. “Time to get myself scrubbed down and go see Iris.”

  Shade fixed the plastic bag over my bandage and I padded into the bathroom, grabbing my pumpkin spice shower gel on the way. I never lingered in the water, but sometimes the scents kept me under longer than the minimum required time to get clean. I lathered up, washed my hair, and then quickly toweled off and used my blow dryer to whip my short, spiky do into submission.

  Shade made me sit quietly while he removed the dressing on my hand. The wound wasn’t big, not in the scheme of things, but still a sizable chunk when viewed against the base of my thumb where it had come from. The dreglin had chomped down on the part of my hand right below my thumb, and the exposed wound was violent and red. The gaping hole oozed, but the wound hadn’t spread and that alone told me the antivenin and magic were working. But it looked so gross that it turned my stomach.

  As he irrigated the wound, I bit my tongue against the pain, which was bad enough for me to want to kick him a good one. He then applied more of the salve and dressed it, unfazed. Afterward, he taped up the bandage and motioned for me to stand up.

  “Let’s go see Iris. Then, Camille said you are due to go visit some park? What’s that all about?”

  As we headed down the steps, I said, “We didn’t have a chance to tell anybody what went on when we got back last night. Wait till we’re all downstairs and we’ll fill you in. For now, though, I want to go see those babies.”

  • • •

  The sun was still peeking through the clouds as we headed out the kitchen door. A pale glow hovered over our land, and the leaves that were still on the trees glistened. The raindrops from the night before that clung to the leaves and branches cast prisms as the sunbeams flickered through them. I inhaled the aroma of wood smoke from both houses. It was a comforting scent, caught up on the wind that gusted through. A gaggle of geese flew south, their mournful calls echoing in the morning air. Winter was on the way, and a sudden chill washed over me with
a prescience of the dark days of the year looming down.

  Bruce and Iris’s house was beautiful. A tidy cottage, the two-story bungalow looked cozy, a pale blue with cream-colored trim. It had old-world charm, even though it was brand-spanking-new. The guys had done an excellent job on it, and every nail had been driven with care.

  “Who’s going to take care of Iris while she’s recovering? Hanna’s needed at our place.” We were heading through the backyard, and it saddened me to see the gardens lying dormant now, barren and fallow for the winter.

  “Iris has help, don’t you worry about that. Her mother-in-law arrived this morning to look after her, along with a retinue. At Camille’s request, a new group of guards came through the portal from Otherworld. Elves, from Elqaneve. They’ll be posted around the clock to keep an eye on the O’Shea household.”

  “Her mother-in-law?” I remembered Bruce’s mother. She was a lovely woman—a leprechaun like her husband and children—but there was a tiger hidden beneath that refined, gentle surface and I knew that I’d never want to piss her off. I hoped, for Iris’s sake, that they got along.

  “Um hmm. By the way, her title is the Duchess O’Shea. Somehow, we missed out on using the correct address during the wedding, and it did not go unnoticed. I was informed in no uncertain terms this morning that we better correct that.” Shade snorted, but the look in his eyes told me that the title wasn’t for show.

  “Who the hell told you that? The Leprechaun brigade?”

  “Smoky. And he was serious.”

  I blinked. “Who knew? Well . . . so Mrs. Mother-of-Bruce is actually a duchess? Bruce’s parents are a duke and duchess?” I knew they were wealthy beyond anything we’d experienced, but I had no idea they were nobility. Bruce’s father was a lush, that much had become apparent during their stay back in February. A nice lush, but a lush.

  “That’s right. In the Leprechaun Court, they are definitely among the titled. Bruce is officially Lord Bruce Golden Eagle O’Shea. Quite a mouthful, though I’m not sure how it all fits together, and I’ve learned it’s better not to ask. Leprechaun lore is guarded close to the heart among their people.”

  He stopped as we reached the cottage. Two steps led up to a spacious porch, with a swing just like on ours. Iris had a massive kitchen herb garden growing in pots that lined the edge of the railing.

  As we reached to knock, the door opened. Bruce peeked out. He looked exhausted, but happy, and a giddy smile spread across the curly-headed leprechaun’s face as he stood back to let us in. He looked like Elijah Wood, only with darker hair and finer features.

  I flashed back to Iris’s first date with Bruce, when he still dressed like a frat boy and had vomited on her feet after drinking too much booze. But now, he was a professor at the University of Washington, and the head of Irish Studies there. And he seemed to like dressing the part, with his tweed blazers and pleated pants.

  He ushered us in to the living room, and there sat our beloved Iris. She was in the rocking chair, her ankle-length flaxen hair neatly braided around her head, and she wore a lace nightgown and robe. Her spiraling tattoos that bordered her face and trailed down her neck glowed with an indigo hue. Bruce stood behind her, his hands on the top of the rocking chair.

  On the luxurious jacquard sofa sat Mrs. O’Shea. As in Bruce’s mother. As in, apparently, the Duchess. The regal air she’d sported at Iris’s wedding had only increased and she was dressed in a rich forest green gown with a delicate golden tiara crowning her wheat-colored hair. I could see where Bruce got his looks—it certainly hadn’t been from his father. At either side of the Duchess O’Shea sat a nurse, each holding one of the babies. Obviously, Bruce’s mother wasn’t a woman who dove in and did everything herself.

  I curtseyed to her. “Duchess O’Shea, welcome to our land.”

  She eyed me up and down, then gently smiled and extended her hand. “The hosts of my son’s home are always a welcome sight.”

  Iris started to stand but I dropped to my knees by her side and shook my head. “No you don’t, little mama. You stay in your seat and rest. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here earlier but I . . .” I didn’t want to bring up my injury but Iris wasn’t stupid.

  She pointed to my hand. “Yes, I’ve heard the story. Dreglins are dangerous. I’m glad you went to the healer. So, are you going to introduce yourself to my children, Kitten? Or do I have to do it for you?” Her smile broadened, the pride in her voice echoing through the room. For the Talon-haltija, the Finnish house sprites, motherhood was a high honor. And to be a priestess who was also a mother had to be pretty much at the top of the list.

  I scooted over to the sofa. The babies were tiny, definitely tinier than FBH babies, but they were perfect and petite and lovely. I cooed over them for a moment—the girl was swaddled in a violet blanket, the boy in one that was sky blue. They were both awake, and their eyes—the same brilliant blue as Iris’s—seemed to search my face. They were going to be smart, that much I could tell right off the start.

  “You did good, Iris. What are their names?” I glanced back at Iris, flashing her a thumbs-up sign.

  She giggled. “You’ll laugh, but . . .”

  “No, I won’t laugh.” I started to say “I promise,” but I knew better than that. Knowing Iris, their names could be just about anything. And somehow, I doubted Bruce had had much say in the matter, his duchess-mother or not. I glanced over at him, and the soft grin on his face confirmed my suspicions.

  Iris set down her teacup and joined me, wincing slightly as she walked. She leaned over the little girl and softly kissed her tiny forehead.

  “This . . . this is my beloved Maria.” She gave me a long smile and a well of tears swelled up from my throat. I gazed at her silently, unable to speak. Our mother’s name . . . she’d given her baby our mother’s name. At my look, she whispered, “I wanted to honor your family—because the three of you girls are part of my family.”

  Biting my lip I looked back at the baby. “Hello, Maria. Welcome to the world, little one. You have the bravest mother you could ever hope to have.”

  Iris chuckled. “Well, I would give my life for them, that is a surety. The boy, my strapping lad, is Ukkonen. I named him after the Sky Father, and after the wind. He will be a musician, I think. Perhaps a bard.”

  Laughing, I tried to keep from startling the babies. “You know all of that, already?”

  “I do.” She nodded emphatically. “And my daughter . . . my daughter will follow in my footsteps and serve the Lady of the Mists. Undutar has already spoken to me about this. Maria will be raised as an Earthside priestess. She will not go to the Northlands like I did.” Her voice darkened. “No one, save for the goddess herself, could force me to give up my children the way I was snatched away from my home.”

  “Ukkonen and Maria. Iris, you did good, love. You did good.” And then, I burst into tears and hugged her gently. When we’d first met her, she’d been under a curse, with a tortured past we had only learned about in dribs and drabs. Now, the curse was broken and she was getting her happy ending. Or at least, as happy as any of us could ever hope for.

  “You get up to the house now, Kitten. Camille is waiting for you, and I need to rest.” Iris returned to the rocking chair.

  I stood, slowly, not wanting to leave. It felt like her life was moving along a different path than ours. Logically, I knew it was just that she was finding her niche. She was here, her home was here, and Bruce was more than happy to share his wife with us. But I still felt like things had shifted so far from the safe, tight-knit group we’d started as. Leaning down, I kissed Iris on the cheek.

  “Little mama, if you need anything, anything at all, just let us know. Rest now.” As Shade and I left her house, I looked up at the sky. Once more, clouds were coming in, thick and dark. A storm was on the horizon and I could feel it in my bones.

  Chapter 7

  The kitchen was jammed. Breakfast time had become a thriving bustle in our home, with the exception of Menolly, of cou
rse. Everybody other than Iris and Bruce was there. Smoky and Trillian were handing stacks of plates and dishes of food from Hanna, who was in charge of the counter, to Vanzir, who arranged them on the table. Camille was on the phone, trying to talk over the clamor. Nerissa had her head jammed in the refrigerator, looking for something while Rozurial filled juice glasses. Shade jumped in to help, while I slid through the chaos to sit by Camille.

  Camille had one finger in her ear while pressing the receiver against her other ear and was shouting over the mayhem. And then, she let out a loud “Oh, fuck” and, at the tone of her voice, the kitchen quieted down. A moment later, she punched the End Talk button and looked up, mute sorrow on her face.

  She inhaled sharply, slowly exhaled, and shook her head. “That was Chase. He’s down at the Wayfarer. The fire’s out, the embers are cold . . .”

  “What’s the damage?” Nerissa closed the refrigerator and approached the table, a guarded look on her face. She’d have to be the one consoling Menolly the most, even though we’d all be there.

  Camille flashed her a bleak look. “Eight dead—they found another body in the remains. The bar is eighty percent destroyed. The fire marshal says a candle in one of the upstairs rooms tipped over, or something like that. It caught the curtain on fire and . . .”

  “Oh crap. One of the guest rooms. Was the occupant one of the victims?” If not, then whoever it was had left the candle burning unattended.

  “That’s the thing . . . the door was locked, and there seems to be no record of a guest checked into that room.”

  “We were right. Arson.”

  Camille shrugged. “Yeah. I told them about the calls. Would be way too easy to cloak arson as an accident. And while there’s a record of all guests, Menolly’s office with the computer was a casualty. We have no way of accessing any of their names or where they came from. And you know, nobody’s going to remember in this mess. Chase talked to Derrick and to Digger, but neither could help much.”