by Jaide Fox
Her mouth popped open at his suggestion. Why had she not thought of that?
Slowly, she switched her concentration from what he was doing, to her ring. Her powers were drained, but this surely would not use that much energy?
She found that, when she called upon them, they were stronger than she had imagined. As she let the healing heat rip through her, he simultaneously thrust all of the way inside her without preamble. She cried out. Not from pain. From pleasure. Every inch of her body accepted his full length. He bumped against her womb, deep inside, his girth stretching her impossibly. Had she not the ability to heal, she knew she’d be in agony now.
“Oh, God!” she screamed as her legs jumped to cling to his hips and her arms tightened around him and glued themselves to his back.
Her nails dug into his flesh as he slowly began to piston in and out of her and the chasing heat of the healing warmth she'd summoned was dragged in his wake. His grunts and groans were like magic to her ears and she realized that the heat was affecting him too.
She was full … of him. She gasped, adjusting to the thickness of his cock and his movements, fighting the burning, searing pleasure that threatened to engulf her body.
“You are so tight,” he ground out as if pained, pushing to her limit.
Her head twisted as mindless pleasure assailed her. He thrust a hand between them, roughly rubbing her clit to counteract the drive of his shaft within her. He slid nearly free, smooth, and she found herself clenching to hold him inside. He pulled to the edge then pushed quickly back inside, driving her against the bed with the force of his reentry.
“I cannot take so much,” she gasped, writhing and bucking, grasping him as if she could hold onto her sanity.
“You will,” he promised, rasping her clit with his thumb, driving a wedge of need deep within her that had the muscles of her channel quivering.
Heat built within her. Perspiration soaked her hair, trickling down her neck and between her breasts. Her stomach cramped with desperate need. Sobs trembled through her body and she was mindless to everything but his incessant drive inside her body, stroking her to climax. Her hoarse cries echoed around the room, leaving her throat raw.
As difficult as it was not to concentrate on what was happening to her body, she began to sob as she tried to take her thoughts from that and revert her attention back to the ring. Something told her, that if she were to do that, whatever magic could be created by their joining would merely be enhanced by her focused power.
She flung her head back and pressed against the pillows with the crown of her head. Using that to ground her, she focused on the ring. Her fingers were no way near it, so she was unsure if anything would even happen, but she focused on the minerals. Focused on her energy channeling through each and every single crevice and crack of the stone and almost as though something had exploded...her sobs became cries of pleasure, of ecstasy.
The charring bolts of fire burst through both of their bloodstreams as pleasure that was literally beyond this Earth took control of their bodies. Great, gasping breaths weren't sufficient to regulate her breathing nor slow her heart beat. It seemed to never end. Bright orbs of color attacked her eyes, loud blaring sounds hurt her ears. Every sense was affected. From the tang of his sweat against her tongue as she bit against his shoulder, to the feeling that every single part of her was being touched.
Amazing.
Incredible.
Beautiful.
They were her last thoughts before her mind, having never experienced the like, experienced no more.
Chapter Nine
Isabeau awoke to a soft hand stroking down the length of her back. Gently, but surely, reawakening her and at the same time, comforting her. It was so like what he'd done earlier, that she couldn't help but feel smug.
In fact, what she had felt earlier, was nothing in comparison to how she felt now. Now, she felt more alive than ever and how marvelous it was, to feel so bright.
“Wolfe?”
“Beau?”
She smiled against his chest and rubbed her nose in the hair that had gathered there. His scent was strong, male, masculine. And because of that, foreign, so deeply intriguing.
“Why do woman complain about what occurs in the bedroom with their husbands? You did nothing there that would not take place between man and wife, is that not so?” she asked softly.
He laughed a little. Although it did sound rather choked. He did, however, answer her earnestly. “It can depend on both parties, Beau. A lot of women are terrified when they first go to bed. When I first entered you, you seized up. So even though originally you weren't, you grew to be. Most women are petrified from the start. They think they're going to be hurt and because of that, because they react by stiffening up, it makes it worse. In our case, the ring...well, the ring did things I've never imagined.” He laughed, sounding like a light-hearted boy who had discovered that when it rained, the heavens opened up and dropped toffees on to the fellows on the ground.
That image had her smiling.
“Now I know why my mother always seemed to have a smile on her face,” she commented blithely and chuckled as he snorted then burst out laughing. “What! It is true! If she experienced that, then...let's not forget, she wore the ring before I did!”
“You're not supposed to think things like that about one's parents, Beau,” he chastised teasingly.
It was her turn to snort. “Since when? I did not realize you were a prude, milord.”
He laughed again and squeezed one of her buttocks roughly. “I'm not!”
She giggled a little then stopped abruptly. “The Duke of Sinclair and Heath.”
Wolfe stiffened beneath her but she kept herself close to him and refused to let him not answer her.
“That is you, is it not?”
She felt rather than saw or heard his affirmative response.
“I can't believe it. They did...what they did to your father? A duke?!” she exclaimed, shocked.
“What do you mean...what they did? You can't possibly know! It was hushed up. His killers did the hushing and very successfully too.” The words were bitter and she realized that in all the time that had passed between that day with the French man, Gerard, be it two years or ten, Wolfe was still filled with resentment and hatred. It was still as strong as ever.
Of course, it was, ninny, Isabeau then thought sadly. Unless he was being ridden by hard-hitting and powerful emotions, there was no way she would even be here!
Still, it saddened her. To think that his parents' deaths and the subsequent torture was still affecting him and so fiercely.
She tensed and when Isabeau heard his gruff, harsh laugh, she realized two things. That happy, buoyant sound was no more and he'd realized how she knew.
“You've been snooping again!”
“I've done no such thing!” she retorted hotly. “As if I'd do anything of the sort! And how would I do so anyway? I've only just learned to summon you here, never mind delve deep into your psyche. I dreamt it again. That's all.”
“That's all? That's all!” he grunted. “It's more than simply 'that's all' Isabeau! Dammit, don't you realize those are my memories? They're mine! Personal. Private. Even Gerard, my man, knows nothing of how I was captured. It is something I guard closely.”
“But I did not do it on purpose. I simply fell asleep after you left and dreamt...”
“Don't you realize that that makes it all the more frustrating? How can I berate you for something that is beyond your control, yet involves and affects me greatly?”
“You can't,” she replied simply and curled her lips over her teeth at his chuckle.
“So black and white. Yet we both know the world is filled with more grays than even the mortals can imagine.”
“Mortals?”
“Aye. Mortals. You are not one. Neither am I. A Sidhe is neither mortal nor immortal. We can live for a hellish number of years, yet we very rarely make it because of those bastards!”
Sh
e hushed him by gently stroking his waist, from navel to hip. It seemed to soothe him, for he settled against the mattress.
“Do they just hate us in general then?” Isabeau asked quietly.
“Yes. They hate us and everything we stand for.”
“But why? I know you explained earlier, but surely it is more?”
“No. Tis simply a grudge. For something I had no control over, nor you, nor my man Gerard, nor the countless thousands of other Sidhe who have been persecuted by them...we are not to blame. They are. The Tuatha De Danann died out and we became them. No longer are we mound-dwellers,” he said with a rough laugh. “Perhaps they are jealous. They wished to keep us below ground with the insects and animals and yet, here we are. Me, a Duke. And you, the daughter of an Earl. Rather ironic, don't you think?
“And considering that you are more privy to my private thoughts than anyone, including myself, if I recall, that that night was the first time I actually used my talents. I can remember falling over my mother's body and suddenly lights just bolted out of nowhere. Again. Ironic. Something they wished to quench, they fired.”
“Why? There is nothing ironic about this situation. It's a hideous position to be in and entirely out of order. I can't understand why we don't fight back. Do we simply run?”
He stiffened again, but said softly, “You share my sentiments, Beau. Gerard would have me believe that they're all innocent beings.” Wolfe snorted. “Innocent, my foot. It kills them to see the Sidhe flourishing, whilst their low numbers die out. Well,” he conceded. “...their true numbers. Sidhe's very rarely mate out of the line. It is too difficult to discuss our talents with humans. Milesians have bred out and have lost their true sense of lineage.”
“You mean my father was a Sidhe too?” she asked, startled into sitting up and staring at him. He clicked his fingers, and suddenly the lights were a little brighter. She rubbed her eyes a little but stared at him intently. “I thought it was just my mother's line.”
He shook his head. “No. Your father was a Sidhe. It could be that the ring passed through your mother's line. But your father had powers too.”
“What were your mother's talents?”
Wolfe shot a half-smile her way. It was sad, and filled with what might have been. “She had many, but one of her strongest and one which gave her most pleasure, was her ability to...I don't even know how to describe it.” He shrugged. “If a dead petal lay upon a table top, she could press her finger to it and it would rejoin to its bud. In the castle, we had hundreds of bouquets. Each filled with hundreds of flowers. Each kept alive by her.
“My father saw how much she loved it and spent a small fortune on having them sent over for her. From the Indies and the Africas. I think she was one of the only women in England who would have preferred a simply bouquet of roses to a half carat emerald necklace. Flowers were the only thing that made her happy or made her smile.”
She frowned down at the sheets. Again, it saddened her that his mama had not been able to raise a smile for her only son. What a selfish woman she must have been. Surely it was unnatural for a mother to hold the sins of the father against the son? But then, not knowing the situation fully, perhaps, she was being naïve...
“I wish I knew about my parents' talents. I only assumed that I shared them with mama. But unless your father also could control and communicate with animals...and manipulate light?”
“No. His talents lay in figures. And money craft. While the old secrets behind alchemy have long since died, my father had a more modern version. I can remember him telling me once, when he was trying to impress upon me the grandeur of the Sinclair and Heath line, that when his father died, the castle had been rotten. Falling down about his feet. My grandpapa had had the talent for gambling--our talents are not necessarily for the good--and while my grandmama lived, he was highly successful at it. He still had a fortune by the time he died, but this castle eats money as though it were suffering from worms,” he said with a soft chuckle. “My father, with his father's remaining funds, built up the Sinclair and Heath line into the monster that it is today.”
“Do you have no mathematical abilities?”
He shrugged. “Minor talents. I've managed to slightly increase my father's success. But my gifts remain in the wild. Even though the entail holds countless properties around the Isles, I always return here. For the forest...such beauty cannot be found elsewhere.” He laughed, then raised his hand and tipped it under her chin. “Until now, that is.”
She blushed and ducked her head.
“I did not realize you still had that ability,” he pointed out with a faint smile.
“What?” she scorned. “The ability to feel embarrassed?”
“After what you've been through...yes.”
She jerked a shoulder. “You have experienced much the same. At least, I...well, at least, I did not see them actually dead. In my mind, they live on and are healthy and perfect.” She buried her face in his chest and shook her head. “I had my childhood with them. I grew to know them and while I loved them as parents, I could love them as people too. You did not have that. It seems that for so many years I have suffered with self-pity, but that was selfish. There are many out there, such as yourself, who have experienced far worse than I have.”
“I will not demean your words, by trying to disagree with you. You are correct in what you say. But remember this, even as a child, I was fully aware of what responsibilities would someday be mine. At four, papa and mama became mother and father, because I was of a sufficient age to start maturing. I'm fortunate that my father wanted to drill into me the strictures and rules of being a Duke personally. He did not believe schools were tough enough. So I was at least saved that. I suppose I'm trying to say, that I was old beyond my years.
“You, however, were not. The ladies in today's society are not bred to be older than their years. We keep them young, keep their virtue safe and their knowledge small so as to protect said virtue. We coddle and protect and shelter until they're sitting ducks. So while I was young and just a child, you may just as well have been.”
“T-thank you for that,” she replied softly.
“You're welcome. But it wasn't a compliment. It was the truth.”
“Where did they take you?”
Wolfe shrugged. “To a village outside of London. Very anonymous if you're the Lord of the manor.”
“How many were there with you?”
“Too many. It varied. Naturally, some children...changed quicker than others depending on strength of will. Gerard, Jaegar and myself were three of the children that seemed to be there the longest. By the time we all managed to escape, there was no one there in the manor that had been there with us from the start, if that makes sense.”
“How did you escape?”
“You are a curious monkey, aren't you?”
She laughed, but it was tinged with sadness.
Having experienced such ecstasy, it seemed strange to feel the contrasting emotion so deeply and so soon afterwards. “Perhaps. But if I tell you the reason why, you'll dislike me for it.”
Wolfe was silent for a moment, then almost as though he were scanning his memories, he said, “You saw the argument with Gerard when we first arrived here.”
“Your memory is fantastic.”
“Another talent,” he murmured modestly, but spoiled it by chuckling.
“But, yes, I think I did.”
“Ah. Well, through ingenuity.”
She sighed and knew that that was all she would hear.
