by Jaide Fox
Cleanse it of misdeed.
Can hope for those dwellers of the shadows bring.
Love brings freedom.
Love turns the black of dark to the shining gold of light.
One pure soul, one pure heart, one pure love fuses another life and shall darkness turn.
Til light becomes haven and dark the peaceful harbinger of sleep.”
Sighing out roughly, as though the recital had taken all his breath, he looked up with hungry eyes at his friend.
“What do you think to that, then?”
“I think you're mad to put your hopes into an old legend such as this. But then...you have the funds to feed such madness.”
The equally lanky and unhealthy looking man stepped away from the armchair. Both men were stooped at the shoulder, almost as though they were old men and had seen far too much horror for their years to be able to withstand the pressure against their bodies and spines.
“You'll help me though?” Wolfe asked insistently.
“When have I not?”
Wolfe clapped him on the back and suddenly, the vibrant scene disintegrated into nothingness. Into blacker than black darkness and so dark was it, that it roused Isabeau from her slumber.
With her eyes wide open, Isabeau stared blankly at the fabric ceiling of the bed she lay in. The four posters shielded her on all sides and had she but closed the curtains, she could have lain in the oppressing heat of the bed and more than likely sunken back into sleep.
Had she not once again dreamed about Wolfe's childhood, that is.
Isabeau's heart ached from the sights she'd seen and she was a grown woman! Not a child. How had he handled seeing his mother and father so viciously slain?
Shaking her head against the pillow, she felt tears start to tumble down her cheeks.
When she remembered the second half of the dream, when he'd read what could only have been a letter written before his father's death and given to someone to keep until Wolfe came of age, she felt his pain as though it were her own.
To hear him recite the legend again made her both nervous and oddly excited. A bizarre contradiction but that was how she felt nonetheless.
After seeing more of his childhood, what had to be parts that he pondered on a daily basis, thrust away any anxiety she had over his need to be 'cured'. If bearing him a child could take some of his torment away, then she would do so and do all she could to help.
Even though she was not connected to his emotions, Isabeau could see that the wound of what he had been forced to suffer had yet to heal. If something of that magnitude could ever be healed...was something she did not know. The man in the armchair, Gerard, appeared to have been through the process of being turned into a Sidhe of the dark with Wolfe. He seemed, while not happy or content, satisfied with his lot.
That was not a fabulous way to feel. Merely satisfied. But it was better than the bitterness and resentment that still rode Wolfe as though he were a stallion.
A part of her wanted to heal that pain. Wanted to cure his heartache, but even though her desire to help was there, she very much doubted he would let her.
He seemed to be totally fixated upon the fact that were she to bear his babe, he would instantly be cured.
As little experience as she had with the Sidhe, or its legends, a part of her knew that it could not be that simple. That before he looked to be 'cured' elsewhere, he needed to cure himself and from the inside out.
If she could help with that process, even in the smallest of ways, then that would settle her soul.
Blowing out a breath, she calculated the time. Her eyes glanced out of the windowpanes and while the sky was not purple yet from the ascending rise of the sun, she could feel the hum in her veins that told her in a few hours it would be approaching.
Rubbing the onyx stone between her thumb and forefinger, Isabeau attempted to call him. She had never done this before. Earlier, she had managed to summon him with a bead of blood and wishful thinking. But relying on the ring solely for this purpose was beyond her.
She settled on focusing upon him and begging him to come to her.
Within moments, she was surprised to hear a door open. It was not the door they had used previously to enter and exit the bedchamber but a side door.
She sat up with a frown and watched the light glare from behind the hulking shadow that was Wolfe.
Her eyes took in as much as they could of the space behind him and she realized that it was his bedchamber.
She scowled a little, realizing that of course, he was using the master bedroom and that this was that of the mistress'. They would have interconnecting doors. Which meant, that he'd had access to her bedroom for these nights past.
Licking her lips, she shook off the thought. For he was still her captor. He'd had whatever access he'd necessitated! He had not forced her within that time, despite the power being in his hands and she had to remember that.
“You summoned me?” he asked wryly, and her lips twitched, for he was amused. Not angry. That was always a plus.
“Yes,” Isabeau replied huskily.
“For any particular reason?”
“Why don't you cross the threshold and find out...” she murmured breathily.
Isabeau heard him suck in a breath. “Are you certain, Isabeau? If I cross this threshold I can make no promises as to whether you remain as virtuous as you are at this moment in time.”
“I'm counting on that, Wolfe.”
She watched, intrigued, as he clicked his fingers and instantly, the lights in the room behind him whooshed out and two tiny balls of flames fluttered through and headed for her four poster bed. They settled in the top, left hand corner and the bottom, right hand side.
The light they provided was minimal. Dimmer than candlelight even. But he would be able to see her and her, him. If the former made her nervous, the latter inspired her to act upon those nerves. The thought of seeing him, wholly seeing him, was more than simply appealing!
Where these thoughts came from, she did not know. But around him, Isabeau felt almost like a completely different person. She had feelings, and experienced emotions that not once had she ever before known.
He closed the door quietly behind him and strode over towards her.
In the dim baby lights, she could see that he was wearing the shirt from earlier, only the cravat was tied loosely about his neck and not in any style that a valet would be proud to put his name to, anyway! He looked wrinkled and ruffled and she thought he'd never looked better. Never had she found him more attractive than she did at this moment.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and shrugged off his shirt again. She watched, slightly awe struck as he then started on his long trousers and was soon almost naked. Gulping, she realized he must have walked in barefoot, for he hadn't asked for her assistance in removing them...the thought had her holding back laughter and the few nerves that remained inside her disintegrated instantly.
When he turned to her and sat there on the edge of the bed, entirely nude, she licked her lips and heard him groan from the small gesture.
“I truly believe you have no idea as to how you appear, sitting there like a water nymph. A siren of times past. Your body beckoning me and the fire of your hair calling me to come and quench your need,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“I'm no nymph, to tease and play. I admit that I'm a virgin, Wolfe. But regardless of that fact, it does not make me want you less. But more.”
Slowly, he nodded and climbed on to the covers and beneath them.
She still wore the indecent red velvet, had fallen asleep with her breasts and stomach bare and the skirt twisted about her feet and lower limbs.
He slowly divested her of the dress. He did not seduce her out of it. Merely helped her divest herself of the cumbersome garment. Almost as though a nanny would her rowdy charge at the end of a tiring and boisterous day.
She let him undress her and when she was finally bare and the dim lights shined a golden glow ove
r her body, a part of her truly felt as though she had come home.
It was an inappropriate time to feel so. Wolfe hadn't offered her a future, secure or otherwise. Merely a promise to care for her and the child. In their world, that was no promise. Only a wedding band on the left hand and a sharing of vows was deemed sufficient for what he wanted.
But she did feel that way. Did feel as though she were home, as though her body was where it belonged and was being looked upon by the only man who should see it.
She therefore felt no shame or anything of the like. Isabeau felt proud of her beauty and reveled in the effect it had upon his body.
When he lifted his hand and slowly trailed it along the curvy line of her body, she arched and reveled in his caress almost in the same way as a cat would. His fingers stopped to explore along his path, a tweak of a nipple here, a soft caress of her waist there. He bent down low over her and pressed a kiss to her belly and then dotted more along the central line of her torso. It meant that he traveled between her breasts, then upwards between the nodules of her collarbones, then the arch of her throat and finally the tip of her chin. She moaned breathily as he covered her mouth with his own and slid his tongue into the open orifice and against hers.
Back and forth, back and forth, he teased her tongue and she moaned through the caress as one of his hands began to explore the rounded edge of her hip, then down the length of her groin to her inner thigh. The small 'V' of space that was there between her upper legs became his new home, as he stroked fingers along the silken flesh there. Her heart began to pound in her chest as he slowly tickled her in that most sensitive of zones and at the very apex of her thighs, she began to feel the strangest heat and the most bizarre need resonating from her.
Wetness flooded her sex, and his fingers slipped in her cream, swirling it slowly through her tender lips and rounding her tight hole.
Her hips rocked back into the bed, seeking what, she did not know. Her back arched against him, which ground her torso against his and she reveled in that contact. His hardened, muscular flesh, laden with short, bristled hair scratched roughly against her chest and it was enough to make her groan and her nipples harden to tight, achy peaks.
In less than five minutes, he'd seemingly made her entire body totally sensitive to his touch. She had never experienced the like. It was the most unimaginable thing ever yet it seemed also to be a part of her soul. She was born for this! To experience this and him.
Impatiently, Isabeau grabbed the hand that tormented her quivering inner thighs and dragged it to the place that was begging for him. The first accidental slide of his hand nudging her sensitive nub almost had her jumping from the mattress, with only his weight keeping her down. A whimper-cum-shriek escaped her throat at the same time and had him laughing.
Hoarsely, she complained, “You can't laugh at me!”
“Why can't I?” he said, his voice a husky murmur.
She scowled up at him but closed her eyes, when his fingers moved with more purpose. He tweaked her swollen bud, rolling it between his fingers until every nerve in her body seemed to direct to that tender point of contact. Her tongue appeared between her lips as though she sought to concentrate and her hips rocked incessantly. Slightly at first then faster as she began to grow agitated with his teasing touch.
“What is this?” she asked, her voice breaking a little as pleasure shot through her. The tips of his fingers had started to rub a particularly sensitive area of flesh down there and she groaned again as they trailed down and from somewhere, there was moisture. He spread it over the sensitive button and began to move against her faster and faster. His thumb nudged her hole as his fingers toyed with her swollen clit, and the alternating contact had her gasping and bucking against his hand.
When something shot through her...a beguiling mixture of pleasure and need and excitement and desire, she cried out. Louder and louder. As it seemed to continue. Her legs crossed and tightened about his hand to ensure he remained there and the action had her chest popping upwards. His mouth dropped and his lips curled around one of her pink nipples. As more pleasure shot out and ringed through her body, she felt almost struck as she experienced something that she was sure only the angels knew.
Gently, his mouth suckled at her and she felt her now looser body start to roil with pleasure as his hands swept along the length of her outer thigh. Perhaps the moist digits that had explored her should have been off putting as he trailed them inadvertently against her skin, but she relished it! She enjoyed it. So earthy and deep and natural. She could not understand why women complained about the marital bed if this was what they experienced!
Isabeau could remember hearing her mama's friends complaining about their husband's demands for conjugal rights. If this was how it felt, so wonderfully relaxing and providing this sensation that she could only class as something akin to the cat that ate the cream, then why on Earth would the women themselves not be demanding it?
She willingly spread her legs as his hands urged her to do so and when he moved between them and she felt his hips rest against hers, only this time, without the secure barrier of her dress between them, she had to admit to beginning to feel slightly nervous. The thing between his legs was rather large but, she felt better when it slid against her slick flesh and dragged pleasure from her once-sated body.
“Where does the moisture come from?” she asked breathily, licking her lips as he continued to stroke her down there with his...she urged her memory to recall what one of her many life-worn friends had called her husband’s thing...ah, that was it, his cock.
“It is mother nature's way of ensuring your pleasure, Beau,” he murmured roughly.
She groaned at two things. The tip of his cock rubbed that strange, yet wonderful place which seemed to be at the center of her pleasure.
Then she moaned at his use of her nickname. Only her mama and papa had called her that and it seemed right that Wolfe should too. “And what is that spot?” she asked breathlessly.
“That is your clit. An area of extreme pleasure,” he said, biting off a groan when she ground herself against his cockhead.
“You make it feel so good,” she murmured, catching his eyes with her own and feeling drunk off the lust she found in his gaze.
“It may hurt at first, Beau. But I shall pleasure you, I promise you.”
Her hips arched upwards as he continued to prod her there and she felt her stomach undulating as it awaited something but her mind didn't know what. Her body knew though. Even in its ignorance, it was born for this and it waited for its future with bated breath. Suddenly, his fingers were there again and they were, somehow, inside her. He curled them against her, stroking and stretching her tight channel in preparation for his invasion.
Gods help her, she wanted him to rend her in two with that behemoth he kept between his legs. His fingers couldn’t stretch her enough to accept his girth, and if it felt anything like his digits, she knew it must be magic inside her.
It seemed that the dynamics of a sexual relationship were not something she had understood as well as she had once thought!
A shudder literally juddered down the expanse of her body, when his fingers moved away and then the blunt head of his cock rested there momentarily.
She opened her mouth to say something, to stop him, that she wasn’t nearly ready enough, but the slow insistent drive of his hips proved to be her undoing. Her entire body tensed and she felt that lovely sense of relaxation disappear.
Wolfe grunted, but it was a command nonetheless, “Beau! Stop it. Relax.”
Isabeau licked her lips and then proceeded to bite them. “But it hurts!”
“No, it doesn't. It will if you tense. Use your ring.”
