by Nhys Glover
My hands grew hot. Automatically, I placed them on Trace. I felt a surge of something pouring out of me and into him. It was like I was a jug and he was the tankard. I poured my life-force into him.
Was it mine? Or did it come from the natural world around me? I did not know or care. I was in my still, open place and what was happening was happening without my conscious assistance. I was merely a pathway.
When I came back to myself, I knew some time had passed. My breasts were beginning to tingle again. My babe must have been very young that he or she had to feed so often.
'Feed him.'
I started at the odd words. How could I feed a babe that was dead?
The feminine voice came again. 'Replace what he has lost.'
Who? Trace? How was I to feed him when our mounts had gone, taking any food Trace still had with them.
My breasts tingled again, the pressure building. Gods, did she mean for me to offer my milk to a grown man? That was not done. It was... wrong.
But so was death. And he did need to have nourishment. Water would help, but he needed more. And I didn't have more. Except... But how?
Certainly, he wasn't limply unconscious now, but restless and moving. Yet was he conscious enough to drink from me?
Setting my jaw, I made my decision. I had a rich source of nourishment being wasted. Trace needed nourishment. If he would take it from me, I would give it. No matter how... wrong it felt.
I lifted his head onto my lap, cradling it like a babe. His dark skin looked strange and alien next to mine, although it was not as hot to the touch as it had been. I turned his face towards my breast.
Nothing happened.
I put pressure on the nipple closest to his mouth and expelled milk. With my finger, I directed it into his slightly open mouth. He swallowed. Suddenly, naturally, he latched onto my breast. He suckled, and I felt an answering spark flow from my breast to my core.
Turning into me more fully and wrapping his arm around my back, Trace began to suck in earnest. When I knew that breast was empty, I broke the suction as I did with my childling.
I lifted him further onto my lap so he could get to my other breast. He seemed to sense what I was about, because he helped me. Once positioned, he took the fresh nipple deep into his mouth. I felt his tongue lave it a few times just before he began to suck. The relief and pleasure was instant. The guilt I felt came more slower, but just as insistently.
But neither the illicit pleasure nor the guilt stopped me. This man had nearly died saving my life. Being squeamish was not going to stop me saving his.
When he had emptied my second mam, I broke his hold and lowered his head to the grass. He was neither shivering nor overheated now. It seemed as if he slept peacefully.
And I lay at his side, exhausted.
When I woke again I was so thirsty I couldn't get to the water fast enough. I walked up-stream away from the carcass and began to drink my fill. I was hungry too, but that was less pressing. Could we eat the creature who tried to eat us? It seemed fitting. But that would mean cutting the meat up and cooking it, and I had no way to make fire. Would the meat still be edible? Only a few turns had passed since it was killed. Meat lasted much longer than that. However, it would need to be dressed so the guts did not taint the meat.
How did I know that?
I decided I'd do as I'd done with the wounds. Take it one step at a time. I took the knife and went over to the dead beastling. Turning it on its back so I could get at its belly, I took my courage in both hands and made the first deep cut. While my stomach threatened to rebel, I cut and cut until the innards were removed. I threw them far away so that some other forest creature could find them, but hopefully not us.
Once the gore was gone, I began painstakingly cutting the skin away. I only did enough to reveal the flesh of the haunches. Gagging, I continued my task by cutting away several decent-sized, narrow strips of steak from the creatures thigh.
By the time I was done, my breasts were tingling again. Time to feed my new babe. After washing my hands of blood, I went back to the sleeping man. I took his head onto my lap and immediately he turned into me. Just like a babe. His nose nudged my breast, his large hand came around to hold the full mound and his mouth unerringly found the nipple.
This time the thrill was more pleasure than guilt. I felt a deep need building inside me. Gods, this was wrong. And yet it excited me more than I could remember anything doing before. Which, of course, was an easy task, given that I could not remember anything from before.
Yet I remembered what it was like to have a man suckle at my breast. The arousal of it. The pleasure of that almost painful, hard pull that sent a spark of delight right to the centre of me. My body wept in response and I moaned.
Trace shifted so he could hold me to him and I felt something... Not the lust I'd felt before, but... tenderness. This big, powerful man had been laid low trying to save me and I was nurturing him back to health. I was giving, and he was taking vitality from me. Yet I didn't feel depleted by it. I felt... satisfied.
He hungrily finished one and took to the second breast. I sensed when it changed. When he changed. When he became aware of what he was doing. I started to draw away, but his arm clamped more tightly around me and held me in place, and he suckled and kneaded my breast until I was ready to swoon. Though he was still badly injured, his cock wasn't. It pressed against what was left of his breeches in a very significant lump.
When he finished, he rested his head on my breasts. "Mmm, I knew I would get the chance to taste these lovely globes. All I had to do was fight a vicious beastling first."
I was so incensed I tried to draw away from his embrace. Huffing angrily, I pushed at his head. But he held on, stronger than I would have expected, but still nowhere near as strong as he would normally be.
"Do not be angry with me, lass. I was only teasing. I need to sleep. These pillows are just what I need."
When he was asleep again, I began to untangle myself from him. But then I stopped. Asleep, he was much easier to care about. I brushed the tiny plaits, which had escaped their knot, back off his face. His brow relaxed. When I traced the outline of his full lips, they relaxed too. My fingertips ran the length of his hawk nose and his nostrils flared.
Good skin, now it had lost its grey pallor. Smooth and soft, except where a beard was pushing to the surface. It had abraded my breast as he'd fed. I marvelled at the colour. I had never seen anyone quite his shade before. Not as dark as some and certainly not as light as me. If I had to compare it to anything, I would say it was the colour of polished mahogany. Appealing. And the small scar that split one brow in two only added to his appeal.
It was wrong to be mooning over this stranger when I should be grieving the death of my husband. A husband I couldn't even remember. It was a double loss, to not even have memories of him to cling to.
What was he like? Was he a good man? It felt like I had loved him. I know I loved my babe. But did he love me in return or was it like so many marriages between the nobility, just a political tactic to bind kinglunds together.
I dismissed those painful musings and attacked my next problem. I had meat, but no way to cook it. I needed a fire. And even if the smoke might attract those who chased us, I would have one. Because I would not, under any circumstances, eat raw meat. I had already pushed my boundaries by feeding my injured companion. I would go no further.
Chapter Seven
AIRSHA
I piled up as much dry tinder and branches as I could manage, after which I found stones I thought I might be able to strike to get a spark. But a fruitless sandglass turn and more later and I still had no spark, no less a fire. And my hands were bloody from the sharp edges of the rocks. My stomach was grumbling and the ache of hunger, which I knew well it seemed, was fully on me.
When I was tired, cold and fed up − feeling like a failure − I sat back on my heels and stared daggers at the fire, as if by just glaring at it I could make it burst into flames.
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And it did!
I stared at the leaping flames for a full minute in stunned surprise. I hadn't expected it to work. It was not supposed to work. How could it work? I was no Fire Master!
Was I?
But the flames were real, the heat was real, and the crackle I always loved to listen to, was real too.
How? Had I missed a spark when I was busy striking stone against stone?
I didn't think so.
Then how?
Only Fire Masters could call up fire at will. And I was not one of those. For one thing I was a girl. And girls didn't have magic.
I checked myself. How did I know that?
Had Trace told me that when he was talking about abominations? I didn't think so. But he had talked about castrations, and that had stirred a memory that had never quite surfaced. Now I let it. What did I know about castrations? I didn't know males were castrated, that was definitely new information. But I did know females were.
What females?
The Godling's daughters.
Why? Why would he do such a terrible thing to his own flesh and blood?
Magic! The same reason abominations like Trace were castrated back before my father's time.
If I had made fire flame into existence just by a thought, why was I not castrated? Had I hidden it? Mayhap I never even knew I had it.
Was that possible?
Rather than waste time on useless questions, I stuck each of the thin steaks on the end of green sticks and placed them so they hung over the edge of the fire. Not too close that it burned the stick and made the meat fall in, but close enough to cook the meat through. My belly grumbled at the thought.
I kept watching the smoke rising from the fire. It worried me. Yes, the branches and leaves acted as a diffuser for the smoke, but could someone see it if they were nearby? How could they, unless they were above the canopy? From down in the forest you could see nothing.
What about from the edges of the forest? Might you see smoke somewhere in the depths and assume someone was here? But you couldn't determine the exact location, surely.
As I studied the smoke, which rose in one long billowing column until it reached the canopy, I noticed a breeze stirring. It did not blow low enough for me to feel, but it was strong enough to dissipate the solid column of smoke higher up. Good, just what we needed.
I went to the stream to drink and then decided to check on Trace's wounds. I knew feeding him had helped, but I did not know how much.
The bandages had dried off next to his warm skin. I paused momentarily to appreciate the toned, muscular torso and arms. Not heavily muscled, but well defined. His hip bone had a delicious indentation that had me wanting to run my finger over it. Such a familiar desire! Had my husband had a beautiful body like this one? Was it lying somewhere, mouldering away in the dirt, thrown out by a cruel enemy like so much rubbish?
I shuddered.
"Is it that bad?" A raspy voice asked.
I glanced up to find Trace's eyelids open just a bit. He was watching me. How long had he been doing that?
"I... I do not know. I was just about to look. The bandages are dry and there does not seem to be any fresh blood. How do you feel?"
I looked up at him, my mind returning to his earlier feeding. That shouldn't have felt so erotic. It shouldn't.
"Sore. Like I was in a fight with a bigger bastard than me. With claws."
"And teeth. Those teeth mangled your shoulder badly."
He flexed his shoulder and grimaced. "Yes, I guess it did. I killed it, did I not?"
I nodded. "Yes. But for a while it was looking like he had killed you back. You lost a lot of blood."
"I smell smoke."
"I am cooking up some of the creature. Pity to waste it, especially as it wanted to eat us."
"The smoke will−"
"No, it will not. There seems to be a light breeze up close to the canopy and it is dissipating the smoke nicely. You need not worry."
"I do not think I can stomach meat. Not yet," he said cautiously.
I sighed. "I know. When I was near death, the healer fed me a noxious brew for days until I was healed enough for real food."
"You were near death? When?" he probed, more interested than his tone indicated.
I frowned. I was frowning a lot lately. Was I always a frowner?
"I was in a dark hole and then tied to a post and whipped. But I... I do not know where or why. It was just a terrible thing. Mayhap the rebels did it. But long ago. I do not suffer any injuries now. Except for a few bruises when I fell from the beastling." I felt a blush burning its way up my neck and into my cheeks. I needed to give him my thanks.
"I must thank you. If you had not stopped him, that creature would have been eating me rather than me eating it. That was very brave."
He shrugged and then winced with pain. "Part of the job."
"Is it? Will my father not pay you if you do not bring me back?"
"As long as I brought your body home he would be satisfied."
I frowned yet again. "Why would my dead body satisfy him? I thought he wanted me rescued."
"I... That... wasn't what I meant. I am tired. I..." His eyelids drifted shut.
I watched his face for any sign he would reawaken. He seemed to have slipped back into deep sleep again. Resolutely, I began to peel back the bandage on his hip. It was a long one − the claw marks extending mayhap two hands in length. And there were three of them.
When I pulled back the bandage, I was amazed to see that the injury looked much better. The bleeding had stopped and the flesh around the wound looked pink rather than the angry red it had been not long ago. The moss had done a miraculous job. But it looked foul now, so I went looking for more and decided to make a job of repacking all the wounds.
By the time I was finished, I went back to the fire and checked on the meat. It was cooked. With relief, I removed all the meat from the fire, burning my fingers in the process. I didn't care! I had food!
Hungry and exhausted, and cold with the coming of evening, I sat close to the fire and chewed on my still over-hot meat. It tasted gamey and tough, but so good I had to force myself to eat slowly.
If I didn't want it to come up again, I needed to eat slowly. I had been told that by someone who knew what it was to be starving and then to have food. Who had told me that? My husband? Why would he need to tell me that?
As darkness settled over the forest, I noticed Trace was shivering again. When I felt his skin it was not hot, so I assumed it was simply because he was cold. Neither of us was dressed warmly. He only wore what was left of his breeches and bandages. I only wore breeches. I had put off donning what was left of my tunic because it was still damp. I had laid it out on a bush near the fire, but it was slow to benefit from the warmth of the flames.
I needed to get Trace closer to the fire, and I needed to offer him sustenance again. My breasts were tingling once more. I knew I had to either feed my milk to him or to the earth. Reluctant to encourage more erotic feelings, I still chose to offer myself to him. I could handle my lust. It was just a bodily reaction to stimulation. It did not have to mean anything.
Going to his side, I gently shook Trace awake. His bleary eyes opened and stared up at me. He frowned, as if he didn't know who I was or where he was.
"You are cold. I need to move you closer to the fire," I told him clearly and slowly, as if talking to an old person or childling.
He shook his head a little and then tried to rise. He fell back instantly, giving a pained cry as he hit the wound on his back against the ground. I grimaced in pain for him.
"Here, let me help," I said, pulling him to a seated position before placing my shoulder under his arm. Like some childling's broken toy, we hobbled and tottered the few strides to the edge of the fire and then collapsed in an exhausted heap. Me on the bottom.
Tracey looked down at me with tired amusement. "If I had more energy I would be making the most of this."
"Lucky for me you
do not, then. Now let me up."
I clambered out from under his big body, though I had to admit it was warmer where I had been. But if I was to get some relief and he some sustenance, I needed to be sitting up.
"Can you drink?" I asked, looking anywhere but at him.
"From your beautiful tits? Anytime you are offering," he said with that same tired amusement. I liked it. I liked it when he was playful and flirty, but not lecherous. It made him less frightening, less like a predator.
I seated myself close to his head, and he edged onto my lap. For a few moments, he just stroked my breasts, as if admiring them. I was about to tell him to get on with it, when he leaned up and latched on. That first pull had me so close to climaxing that I moaned. Gods, why did this have to happen? There was nothing sexual about what we were doing. Why did it have to feel like there was?
And the hard length in his breeches told me it was sexual for him too. His hand had snuck up and was kneading the other breast until I had to stifle more moans.
When he finished with one he started on the other. The arousal didn't let up. And to make it worse, his head was moving as he fed so that the back of it pressed on the dampness accumulating between my crossed legs.
He growled, leaving off his suckling to turn his nose into my lap. He nudged at what lay beneath the breeches.
"These off," he muttered dragging himself off my lap.
I knew what he wanted me to do and I could not stop myself doing it. I wriggled out of my breeches and sat with one leg on either side of his head. He lifted his head so he made a pillow out of my inner thigh. He growled again.
"I can barely keep my eyes open but I have to have this. The scent of you, the taste of you." He slid his hawk nose into my tender folds and I panted and squirmed. He lifted his head a little and I felt the slick slide of his tongue.
It was too much. I climaxed, my hips jerking up off the ground. Horrified, I tried to get away from him. But he held me in place, just as he did when he fed. His tongue returned to torturing me, when it wasn't torturing me with his guttural words.
