by Bonnie Bliss
***
Sorscha roused slowly. Her body ached in all the right places as she stretched. Tethur’s chest rose and fell against her head. Shifting a bit to look up at him, she smiled. Her hand explored him, all the fine indents of muscles. He even had a smattering of chest air. So much a man he was. Trailing her hand down slowly, so as not to wake him, she reached his hard cock. Seeing the bead of precum brought her tongue to flick across her lips.
She hadn’t had a chance to taste him last night. He was so focused on her needs. Feeling brave, and a little bit horny, she moved down his body and fitted her curvy frame between his powerful legs. Tracing a finger down his cock she watched it jump. He growled and reached for her, and she got to her knees and shoved him back down.
“No. I want to taste you, you big bad bear, and I’m going to.” She arched a brow to dare him.
He simply smirked and brought his arms back behind his head like this was the most relaxing thing in the world.
“Then what are you waiting for, little princess?” he teased.
Giddy and still a little horny, she got back down between his legs. Resting on her belly, her feet kicking slowly behind her, she traced a finger up the thick vein pulsing on his cock. He rumbled and his dick jerked at her touch. Leaning forward, she ran her tongue up his length. His back arched and he reached down, gathering her hair into his hand like a pony tail. Not wanting to waste a minute, she wrapped her mouth around the head and sucked hard.
“Fuck, little one,” he snarled.
With building confidence she sucked him deeper. He was huge and pulsing in her mouth. Spreading her lips, she forced him down her throat as far as she could go before she started to panic.
Feeling a hard tug on her hair, she whimpered and looked up at him. Her eyes were watering. He winked.
“Look at me while you suck my cock, love.”
Smiling around a mouth full of his dick, she worked him up and down. Taking hold of his balls, she rolled them between her fingers and he swelled in her mouth. She took him deep and hard. His free hand smoothed up and down her spine as he coaxed her into going deeper on him. Pressing her head lower on his cock, she felt her body seize and panic. She tried to get up and he growled. “Relax.”
Breathing through her nose, she felt her throat stretch for him and she swallowed.
“Fuck!” he roared.
His cock seemed to grow the more she worked him. She took him deep, holding, and sucking in her cheeks. He didn’t last long. It made her feel sexy and wanted when he grabbed the back of her head, held her in place and pumped his hips, fucking her mouth while his seed spilled down her throat.
He tasted salty and warm with a tiny hint of honey and she licked her lips as she came off him. In a blur of movement he grabbed her and spun her under him. He kissed her long and hard. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer.
“You are a wonder, little princess.” he whispered.
Snuggling back into him she smiled to herself. It was strange how life worked out. First she’d thought this big handsome brute hated her. Now, here she was, waking him up with head. She felt like a porn star—well, she felt like his little vixen. As she started to ease into sleep, her quiet was interrupted by the sharp blast of horns coming from the east towers.
Tethur moved from the bed, heading toward the window. He threw his head back and roared.
“I knew they followed. Surely they haven’t got enough numbers to seriously challenge the castle!”
He stormed over to the other side of the room, gathering clothes and his weapons. Wrapping a thin sheet around her body she slipped off the edge of the bed and headed to the window. A sear of putrid vile things, the same things that attacked them on the way to the castle, filled the fields below. Swallowing hard, she didn’t look away.
“Is this...” she paused.
“War,” Tethur snarled. “They will not have you!”
At that, he stormed from the room.
Chapter Seventeen
Tethur pulled on the leather. It fit tightly over his thighs like a warm blanket. Next came the undershirt, followed by the tunic. Looking at the table, he wondered why Queen Shauna had left these strange fittings for him. Pulling on his boots, he walked to the window.
The sheer numbers were indeed a sight, over twenty thousand. A mixture of live orcs, dead orcs, the evil Queen’s tree demons, ogres, and various beasts unknown to normal men met his gaze. They banged a monotonous tune with their weapons, sounding like distant thunder. Those annoying ugly birds flew high in the sky, keeping their distance from the archers on the battlements.
Sorscha came and stood by him.
“What are these? Any idea?” He picked up a metal sculpture from the table and looked at it.
“Mother said they are blessed armor. They fit on the shoulders and stop you from shifting. These─” she picked up a larger piece, “─fit on your thighs and lower legs. They offer magical protection too. The helmet is obvious.”
Tethur picked it up and held it against the light.
“It hardly seems heavy enough to stop a wheat sheaf. Look how thin it is.”
“Three days ago I’d have believed nothing, Tethur. Now I believe it all. Promise me something.”
Turning to face her, he looked in her eyes. They shone in the light as a solitary tear slipped down her cheek.
“What shall I promise you, my little princess? Name it and it shall be yours.” A tender smile met his words.
“Stay alive for me.”
Tethur touched her cheek and felt the soft, silken skin of a fae. He kissed her forehead and cupped her cheeks, looking straight in her eyes.
“Do you know how hard it is to kill a Celt, an Irish one at that, and a king? I may have known you for years, Sorscha, but three days ago I found you, I found my future wife and Queen. I don’t intend to die.” Kissing her lips this time, harder, he squeezed her waist. Tethur took a deep breath and took in her scent.
In the next few moments together they placed the armor on him. It fit perfectly. It also made him feel good. The tension in his muscles left him, and any worries lifted from his mind.
“What if I need the grizzly? What if I need his finesse?”
“Rip the shoulder guards off. They hold him back. The rest simply protect you. Mother said you are vulnerable in your true form here in the realm.”
“Yes, we aren’t immortal here. We don’t age but we can die.”
“Then fight well and don’t let me down or I’ll kill you myself.”
Tethur winked at her before wrapping his twin scabbards over his shoulders. The third covered his spine. Picking up his swords, he whispered to them in turn before sliding them into their leather housings.
“I’ll be back before the last light meets the shadows. Help your mother and don’t worry about me. I’ll make you mine again tonight; we will own each other and our souls will be one, and our bodies whole. Remember, we are the east wind, daughter of the high king and daughter of the earth.”
With that he kissed her once more, turned and left.
Tethur walked with purpose, leaving the tower of the second inner wall, making his way across the bridge to the third before descending the stairs to the inner courtyard. The others were there, even Muirch, now in his true form.
“Good to see you. How do you feel?”
“I prefer my raven, but what good is a bird in the sky? Time to show my true colors and teach those ugly fuckers what this grumpy old bastard can do.”
“Glad to hear it.”
They slammed palms together and then Tethur looked around. Eight against the horde. An army of human soldiers formed up at the second gate, over six thousand. They were well trained and ordered, instructed by the Irish kings in warfare. They would make a difference.
“Tethur mac Cecht, Cearul Kellan, Miach Mac Greine, Niall Noígiallach, Muirchertach mac Ercae, Diarmait mac Cerbaill, Domnall mac Áedo and Óengus Olmucaid. I your king, Fergus Dubdétach call upon you, my eq
uals, my friends and my pains in my ass. Today we fight an enemy who will stop at nothing to kill you, to kill my family and my newly returned daughter. I ask you, as Celts and as the greatest men to ever live, to fight by my side and send these bastards into the earth where they belong.”
“Aye, it will be an honor and it will be done, Fergus Dubdétach. You have our swords; you have our oath and our hellish ways,” the eight said in unison.
They joined hands at a point in the air and shouted.
“To the men at the gate, to the archers on the wall, and to those of you at our backs, I will not forget what you do today in my name and for the safety of our homeland here and back home. May you all live long lives or die with honor.”
Another chant went up as over six thousand voices echoed through the land.
It warmed Tethur’s heart as they walked forwards, striding out through the entrance, closing the second gate behind them. Only the first now was between them and battle. He looked up and saw Sorscha and her mother above them on the outer wall, both dressed in their warrior clothes. She looked down at him. Their eyes met and he smiled as the main gates swung open.
The nine Celts walked forward, with Fergus ordering his human army to hold back. Ryken stood at the head of the six thousand. Several thousand yards out, Marok and Osmaldis stood at the head of their horde. They too started to walk forward.
“Let me talk to these bastards. Don’t make any moves until I give the word.”
Tethur walked behind him, Domnall at his side. As they got nearer, the others tailed off and formed behind.
“Good King Fergus, greetings,” Osmaldis said. Marok was at his side, heavily armored and with a grin on his face.
“I bring you no greeting, Cormadine Osmaldis. This is my land, given to me by right as protector.”
“But of course, your highness. I would never argue that point. And a lovely place you have here, by the way. Very peaceful. However, I represent the Queen of darkness herself, and I bring a request.”
“Say it and be done with it; I have a battle to fight. The sooner you talk, the quicker you die.”
“Your highness, there is no need for such aggression.”
Tethur could feel the energy in the air coming from Fergus, building into a torrent of expletives. Fergus wasn’t one for bargains or time wasting. It was how he got his nickname ‘Mad Dog’.
“There is every bloody need, necromancer. You hold no fear here. We have killed better cunts than you, and buried them. You are here for my daughter, and the answer is no. So run behind your army, quake in your boots and fart like a man ready to meet his fate. I’m done here.”
Tethur grinned.
“Sorry you feel that...” Before the necromancer could speak the final word, the king had swung his sword and relieved him of his head.
“Orc!”
Marok grabbed the head, gripped the warlock’s coat, yanked the body, then turned and ran.
“Irish Kings, do what you do best. Kill at will, bury these monstrosities.”
Tethur led the charge as the eight pursued Marok, his own forces running to him. He turned with his twenty thousand and ran back.
Tethur laughed. Domnall, close by, and Fergus, not one for idleness, ran into the fray. The clash of metal was deafening as the others joined in. Blood flew, limbs fell as the eight and their king cut a swathe for the men behind who now charged in with Ryken, who unleashed his magic.
A heaving mass of bodies, good and bad, collided. It sounded like an explosion. Tree demons and ogres towered over the orcs, running deep, throwing men aside like twigs. Tethur cut one of the demons down, severing its legs with his double-edged sword before piercing its heart in two. The dark army shouted curses and swore like heathens, drowning out the sound of metal upon metal. Only the kings’ chants of death rang out. Orcs dropped, men dropped. The kings cut the enemy down en masse, their warring cries and heavy hands dealing out fear and death blows like any warriors ever seen.
These kings feared nothing. Tethur was in the thick of it. The armor worked well, protecting him and holding back his bear, which growled at his core, demanding to be let out. He saw glimpses of the others with sweat-ridden brows and huge grins on their faces. They were in their element. Soon the dead formed a bloody carpet, a crimson tide flowing into the earth. The sun beat down and turned it to a heavy red crust. Still they came in their thousands. Ogres fell and crushed their own, tree demons were felled like great oaks. But still they came. With the necromancer no more, the dead couldn’t rise, or so he thought. In the distance he saw Marok, the bastard Osmaldis’s head held aloft in his hand. Beneath lay the rest of him. The head uttered words in an ancient tongue and the dead did indeed rise.
Tethur shouted out. Fergus saw him and followed his gaze, seeing the dead warlock.
Half the dark army had fallen at the hands of the Celts but now they stood, corpses, staggering and then bending to pick up their spears.
“Cut off their heads, stop them rising. Unleash your beast.”
With those words ringing in his ears, Tethur took a single breath. As if in slow motion, he felt the air fill his lungs, his chest rose high and he yanked off the shoulder armor.
His body changed in seconds, rising upright, his jaw extending, his arms and legs stretching, widening as long thick hairs covered him. Huge claws stretched from his fingers and he growled so loud several orcs fell at his unleashed breath. The others changed. He saw the raven fly, the king’s hound, the boar, the wolf, the bull, the lion, the tiger and the huge silverback. They charged, knocking and crushing their enemy beneath them. As they killed, they bit, severing necks and holding back the rising dead.
Tethur’s beast swung its huge paws, but now the orcs were renewed with anger as Marok swore orders. They came hard, overwhelming him, and he saw only darkness as they stole the daylight from him and jumped on him in great numbers. He fought back, his chest on fire, his body heavy beneath them. They had him. Around him he heard the roar of his fellow beasts, crying in anger as he fell, his fur retracting, the cold air of death close by as he became the man, the king, in all his naked glory, pierced by the tips of poisoned spears and swords.
***
There are those times in life. They move in slow motion. You see the moment coming at you, and you can do nothing to stop it. The hush of reality seems to fade to a dull, lifeless grey. This was one of those moments for Sorscha. Her fingernails cut into the windowsill that she watched from. The battle was something out of an epic fantasy. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever think she would witness something so real, raw, and deadly. The men fought with pride and roared into battle like mighty Vikings of old.
Metal clanged and men grunted as they fell in defeat. All of Fergus’s men still stood. Glorious and bloody, they took the battle with honor. The rage and vengeance tore through the battlefield in a wave of crimson. It flowed in tiny streams as Sorscha looked down at them. Her gaze followed Tethur. She watched, waited, and feared as the men began to lose.
Anxiety made a fresh home in her gut and she felt the heat of magma swelter her limbs. Fear brought forth the brewing elements of her powers. She felt her mother come up behind her, resting her palm against her lower back.
“I can feel your rage, love. You must beat the magic to own the magic,” she instructed.
The words seared through her like fire as the Earth called to her in her rage. Blades slashed and the men’s blood burned the air. The scent of old pennies tickled the breeze. A rumble shook the castle. Shauna’s arm wrapped around her, and she shrugged her mother off.
“They will not have him.” Sorscha paused. “Mother,” she hissed.
Turning back to the fight, she heard the battle cry ring through the blood-soaked fields and in a burst of armor, leather, and fur—the men shifted.
The Earth wasn’t about to relent. The giant White Orc pinned her with his gaze as she made a path of chaos through the shifted men. Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs. She lifted her chin, a defi
ant glare in her eyes as she watched the orc. They dared one another silently to enter the fray.
He wanted to see the magic?
The White Orc wanted to bait a Princess of Malandria?
So be it.
The roar that rent the air drew stillness to its spot. Her palms slapped against the cold stone. She hovered out of the window from where she watched. Safe enough for her witness, and yet precarious enough for her fall if she wanted. And fall she did want. Tethur’s body hit the ground with a mighty thud. She felt the vibrations run through her as the Earth sobbed for its fallen mate. Blood mixed with the fresh green grass and she felt him running through her veins in that moment.
The earthquake started low. She summoned the shifting of the plates below ground, singing to the volcanic liquid that pushed to the surface.
“Run,” she whispered.
As her lips closed on that one word, the ground erupted. Stones fell. The castle was in danger. Sorscha could hear her mother’s pleas behind her. They fell on deaf ears. She focused on one point, and one alone; getting to her mate. Sorscha stepped up onto the window’s edge. Hovering her foot over was the only thing she needed to do. Her body was slammed by the mighty Silverback, the lone brutalized warrior that still had the power to come to her aide. His acrobatics brought her quickly down the castle battlements, and he rested her on the ground.
With a wave of her hand, he was dismissed. She lifted her palms and the Earth shuddered below them all. Cracks formed, and the world became an uneven mass. Lava spurted from huge pockets she created next to the enemy. One by one they caught fire. Some melted into the ground and she felt their deaths like a cooling balm one by one.
The power surged forth, shattering the ground as she baited the giant leader of the orc army, the one that dare defy her. The huge beast snarled a roar and she threw her arms up. Heat, power, rage, and sadness at losing her love just when she’d found him rumbled through her and the Earth answered her call. Pulsing waves of lava flowed, tendrils ensnared the beasties one by one. And just as the orc reached her, when her fight was set, a growl, slow, steady, and powerful rumbled to her right.
