The Falling

by J. C. Owens

  Brenaith watched in silence as the three brothers scrambled to sort the wagon, while Tar continued to hold Shaynith-una, murmuring softly to him.

  Red eyes slitted open, met Brenaith’s worried stare.

  Brenaith took a step back, unable to hide his fear, before turning and walking away.

  He could feel that stare boring into him every step of the way.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The trek over the mountains turned into a step-by-step fight for survival from that day forth. It was as though the very mountains themselves had turned upon them. The weather battered against them, making every step a trial of epic proportions. Their advance was pitiful, and sometimes it seemed as though they had made no headway whatsoever.

  And the wings grew.

  Each night, when they found meager shelter and attempted to feed both themselves and the exhausted, worn horse, they would uncover Shaynith-una, only to discover that the wings had grown, sometimes several inches within that day alone. It was evidence of divine blood that reminded Brenaith all too sharply of exactly who Shaynith-una was, what he could become.

  The shadow knight seemed only half aware most of the time, for which they were thankful, for the torn, swollen points upon his back must have radiated only agony.

  The only positive point of the entire matter was that it seemed unlikely the humans would be able to follow them in such weather.

  When a particularly vicious blizzard descended, they wearily gave in, deciding to remain within a cave for shelter. It at least kept them from the elements, and they had no way of knowing if there was similar shelter ahead.

  It was a wise decision. The snow swirled outside the cave entrance, obliterating the landscape, the wind howling like a live thing. Brenaith stood with folded arms, frowning out into the maelstrom. They had limited resources, particularly for the horse, and to stay here, trapped as they had been for three days, was proving worrisome. If it came down to it, they could kill the horse, eat it. That would keep them from starving. But then how would they carry Shaynith-una?

  A soft gasp made him turn.

  Pensir had gone to the shadow knight, helping him sit up and draw away the heavy blankets that he had been wrapped in these past days.

  The wings…

  The wings were huge. Brenaith’s jaw dropped. Many demons had wings. The smaller ones could even fly. But these…these dwarfed even his brothers’ large, feathered ones.

  Pensir murmured something, helping his youngest brother to stand on wobbling legs. Tar and the others drew close, exclamations of shock and awe making it evident that this was in no way a normal progression of wing growth.

  Brenaith stepped closer, fascinated, his earlier fear stifled by curiosity. They looked so fragile, the bones so exposed, the skin so delicate. They seemed more pliable as well.

  Shaynith-una shivered, and reflexively the wings wrapped around him, overlapping at his chest into a soft cocoon. The knight flinched, and a certain wildness in his eyes made Brenaith think that he was not at all reconciled to this new anatomy.

  Tar stepped closer, gently wrapping a huge arm around the smaller form. “This is a blessing, brother. Do not take it as anything else. A dramatic change to be sure, but you will become accustomed to it. They will become part of you.”

  Red eyes blinked, then held Brenaith’s gaze, and the fear and worry in the depths made the young man stride forward, take chilled hands within his own.

  “They are beautiful.” Brenaith did not even know where the words came from, but he realized in a moment that they were true. In his eyes at least, the wings were a thing of wonder. He reached out, hesitated. Shaynith-una eyed him warily, then slowly nodded.

  The skin was so soft. Brenaith made a sound of discovery, fascinated, his touch gentle, barely ghosting over the new formed appendages. Though the skin appeared bare, his touch revealed that there were small, soft hairs covering the wings, the end result feeling somewhat like thin velvet.

  The knight watched him, various expressions chasing themselves across his face.

  Tar sent him a swift, warning glance, and the meaning was clear. Brenaith’s reaction to this new development was going to color Shaynith-una’s attitude to his changed circumstances.

  Brenaith found himself smiling. There was no need to pretend on any level. The wings were purely fascinating, and now that he had actually touched them, he did not wish to stop. His earlier fear fell away…

  “They are beautiful,” he whispered reverently, fingers tracing over the fine bones, stroking over the membrane.

  Shaynith-una shivered, a faint flush rising on pale cheeks.

  Brenaith’s smile widened into a smirk, and to his surprise, he felt his body respond with interest.

  By Shaynith-una’s reaction, the wings seemed also a source of sensation, something that awoke Brenaith’s curiosity. To feel such softness upon naked skin… For the first time since his capture, there was true want. Perhaps his mind was stronger than he had ever thought, or perhaps there was a measure of safety now that provided a small degree of healing. Whatever it was, he felt more normal than he had in far too long.

  * * *

  As it turned out, they were forced to remain in the cave for four days as the storm raged outside, burying the world deeper and deeper in snow.

  Brenaith sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, staring out at the whirling white flakes, worry pleating his brow. With the snow at this depth it would be difficult, if not impossible, to move forward or retrace their steps. How long would their food hold out? He glanced over at their horse, dozing in a corner near enough to the fire to feel warm. He hated to think of killing the animal, but if it came down to starvation… Not to mention, the poor animal would be even worse off in the snow than they were, the icy crusts like knives upon vulnerable equine legs. Surely a swift death was preferable.

  He shook his head, turned his gaze back upon the elements that so opposed their progress. He heard soft, almost soundless footsteps behind him. Tar and the others were arguing over preparing a meal on the fire, so it could only be…

  He felt the person sit down behind him, long legs cradling his body, before those eminently soft wings gently enfolded them, giving instant warmth. The cloak the knight was wearing was then tugged around them both, giving at least an illusion of privacy.

  He leaned back into the firm body behind him, enjoying the contact more than he should. There was surprising comfort to be had, as Shaynith-una slid his arms around him, holding him close.

  They were silent, but there was a kinship in the lack of speech, an understanding of what they faced. But there was also an awareness of each other, a pleasant thrumming of nerves, of want and anticipation. Brenaith traced his fingers lightly over Shaynith-una’s forearms, mourning the marks that lay there. God blood or not, the ghostly image of those runes remained, not raised, not scarred, but below the newborn skin, a part of him now. A horrible reminder of what his elven kin had done.

  The knight hummed under his breath, holding Brenaith closer, obviously enjoying his touch.

  Brenaith tried to remember that this was no good thing, no pleasant prospect for the future, yet his body seemed ready to eschew all that, to want simply for the sake of pleasure. And he knew so well that the knight was well capable of giving just that. However else he might have changed, Shaynith-una would still retain those talents.

  Brenaith shivered pleasurably, and the wings tightened a fraction in response, a low hum sounding his ear. The knight was quite evidently picking up his thoughts, if not directly as in the past, then certainly through other means.

  Teeth, sharper than any human’s, tugged at his ear, leaving a faint, blossoming pain in their wake, a tongue following to lick up any drops of blood.

  Brenaith arched into the embrace, finding the sting to be pleasurable, dragging him away from morose thoughts of their future and back into the here and now.

  Shay—Brenaith felt he could call him that for the first time—pushed up the
edge of his shirt, dragging the tips of his shortened claws over Brenaith’s taut stomach, the promise of pain so close, yet never did they do more than leave a tingling in their passage, a reminder of what the knight could do, and chose not to.

  Those large, fine hands trailed down to his hips, lifting him effortlessly onto the knight’s lap. Brenaith gave a breathless chuff of laughter. A hot bar of flesh met his backside as his loose pants were tugged down just enough for access.

  “You naughty demon, you.”

  Shaynith-una’s breath ghosted over his ear again. “Perhaps it is naughty elf,” he whispered, humor in the words.

  “Perhaps the combination is lethal,” Brenaith gasped, feeling the head, wet with precum, prod at his entrance, pressing, then retreating in maddening rhythm.

  “Do you like lethal?” The shaft pulled away, and Brenaith whined, trying to brace himself on Shay’s forearms to lever himself back.

  “I am becoming quite partial to lethal,” he whispered breathlessly.

  “You are becoming quite as mad as I am.” There was a hint of sadness in the tone. “You should not want me, little one. And yet I find I cannot stay away from you either.”

  “Stop thinking!” Brenaith growled, pushing back demandingly, anything to drive away that tone and receive the glory of that shaft within him. Perhaps the knight was correct. Perhaps he had lost his mind.

  But just now, what a beautiful madness it was.

  Lips curved into a smile against his neck, a little nip distracting him for a moment, before he was pierced.

  They both gasped softly, Brenaith’s fingertips sinking into muscled forearms as he rode the initial pain out.

  For moments, they were frozen in tableau, breath unconsciously syncing.

  Brenaith finally broke first, twitching his hips back, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against his lover’s shoulder. The smooth glide awakened every nerve in his body, the hair on his nape rising with the sensation.

  Shay held his hips, pulling him back into slow, grinding thrusts, his breath harsh and ragged, showing he was equally affected.

  It was hard to remember that they were only a few feet away from watchers. Brenaith tried to care, but apparently there was a hidden exhibitionist within him. He arched and writhed, eyelids fluttering as he gave over to his senses utterly, letting pleasure wash over him.

  In that moment, there was nothing but his lover.

  His lover. When had the shadow knight been given such an intimate title? When had he gone from enemy to this, whatever this was now, or could be in the future?

  The thrusts deepened, pushing his vague inner thoughts aside, his breath being driven from him at each sharp movement. The wings brushed over his skin, heightening the pleasure, the strangeness of it all.

  The sound of his grunts, and the rising growl from Shaynith-una seemed to echo in the cavern. No chance now of the knight’s brothers being oblivious to what was happening almost literally under their noses.

  Demons had superior smell. If nothing else, they could smell their coupling…

  The thought drove him over the edge, his mouth opening in a soundless cry, body frozen for an eternal moment, before he felt his lover come within him, warm seed painting his channel, marking him.

  The growl merged into a primal scream of completion, sounding more bestial than anything Brenaith had yet heard Shay utter, and claws dug into his hips, making him wince at their force. They swiftly retracted. With a murmured apology, Shay leaned his head on the back of Brenaith’s shoulder, breath shuddering, body shivering.

  Brenaith was gasping for air himself, but the knight had been so close to death such a short time ago…was this…

  “I am fine,” Shay whispered hoarsely. “Better than fine.”

  Brenaith relaxed, breathing in time with the body that surrounded him, held him close.

  “Now we are going to smell that for days.” Naban’s tone held annoyance, whether contrived or real, it was hard to say. “Go bathe in some snow.”

  Shaynith-una raised one hand in an eloquent gesture that conveyed his opinion on that suggestion.

  Tar snorted. “Get your asses over here, once you have cleaned up. Food is ready.”

  Brenaith leaned into the hand that slowly traced his cheek, feeling a smile on his face and able to do nothing to douse it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Brenaith rose with the dawn, but already Shaynith-una was not at his side under the covers. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he glanced around the cavern, now slowly lighting up from the emerging sunlight.

  Sunlight…

  He stared out, giving a small prayer of thanks to the gods. The weather had broken; the sky was clear. They would be able to continue their trek. They were surely at the top of the pass, and once they began to descend, there was more hope for food and shelter.

  He flung the covers back, pulling on his boots and going in search of his absent lover. He could not help but smile at the thought. So far they had come to be able to use such a word. Brenaith did not hold to foolish hope for the future. It seemed unlikely that they would be able to stay together in the long term, but for now, he would take what he could get. He grinned a little. How many people could claim a shadow knight as companion and lover?

  He reached the mouth of the cave, holding a hand to shade his eyes and squinting against the almost unfamiliar sunlight. He blinked hard, then froze in wonder.

  There, outlined by the rising sun, Shaynith-una stood with wings spread wide, their massive size now fully evident. Head back, savoring the sun, the shadow knight was slowly flapping the wings, trying them out fully for the first time.

  The wings still seemed to make Shay uneasy, and he often tried to almost hide them, tucking them tightly against his back. It was good to see him experimenting, acknowledging them.

  Brenaith smiled, leaning against the stone by his shoulder, crossing his arms as he watched. This close, with sunlight highlighting their fragility, Brenaith could see faint blood vessels and veins, crimson within the silky, black membrane.

  They were beautiful.

  The knight flung his head back, murmuring words Brenaith could not decipher, casting his arms wide as though in supplication. He looked otherworldly, more than a demigod, more like a true blood god, come to earth for but a second.

  Brenaith swallowed hard, his smile fading.

  God blood. His lover had it running through those veins, and that could not change. What other things was he capable of, that had not yet appeared?

  His own feelings at the moment swayed between fear, respect, and burgeoning love. If love this was, and not simple insanity. It felt nothing like his adoration for Tynan.

  The thought struck him hard, but he refused to thrust it away. Tynan, his beloved prince, was gone. That was hard fact and nothing he could refute. Their relationship shone like a beacon to him, but memory was cold comfort.

  Shay’s vitality, strength, and mere presence called to him, and it was so much stronger, wilder, with nothing of sense about it. Giddy terror was closer to the mark. Yet he felt no desire to step back, to save himself from the falling. He should find that frightening on its own, that his sense of self-preservation seemed to have deserted him, but he was too busy living the moment. Not knowing when this would end gave everything a sharp edge, a need to grasp every moment and hold it close.

  One day, this all would be as much memory as Tynan himself.

  Attraction, lust, fascination, did not seem to be a solid foundation for any type of future. There was no safety in this for either of them.

  Ruefully, he realized that he was thinking of Shaynith-una as being the more vulnerable of the two of them. It was almost ludicrous to imagine a shadow knight as being anything but immensely strong with the powers he had to hand, but emotions, so much a part of normal existence, were nothing Shaynith-una understood.

  He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, wishing he had brought his cloak from the fireside. Sunny it might
be, but the cold was unchanged. Shaynith-una seemed not to feel it, perhaps a good sign that his status as demigod was unchanged, despite all that had happened. At the moment, almost mocking Brenaith’s concerns, the knight appeared to be nothing but a powerful, sun-kissed creature of the elements themselves. Bare-chested, his white skin almost glowing in the rising light, Shay looked to be part of the snow-covered landscape. Only his wings made him stand out from their surroundings.

  Brenaith wondered if he would be able to fly, something he was sure the knight himself was questioning. Some demons could fly like their ancestors, but usually only the smaller ones now had the ability. Many of the larger demons still retained wings, like Shay’s brothers, but their body mass had become too large for their wingspan. Shay was between his two brothers in that regard, his body smaller but his wings larger, though more delicate.

  It was possible.

  How amazing that would be, to be able to fly…

  His attention veered, a frown gathering as he noticed an anomaly to the knight’s left. The sunlight there seemed to shimmer, intensify, solidify… He blinked. A feminine figure stood there, half real, half part of the sun’s energy.

  Brenaith was confused, not even responding until he saw the pointed ears. His hand went to his belt, to the sword that was not there but lying back by the bed rolls.

  Elf.

  Dear gods, had they come to finish what the High King had started?

  He heard a snarl of fury, saw the shadow knight tense, his wings flaring out in an aggressive display as he stepped back toward Brenaith, imposing his large form between him and the unexpected threat.

  Brenaith shouted back into the cave, never taking his eyes from the newcomer.

  Shaynith-una retreated until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Brenaith, his great wings hovering protectively over them both.

  Tar and the others arrived on the run, weapons at hand, their eyes widening at the form that stood so quietly, her gown moving gently in a nonexistent wind, her bare feet so fine and unprotected, seeming to stand on the snow without an imprint.