by Nya Rawlyns
He moved his hands to cradle her breasts through the thin fabric, using his
thumbs to stroke and flick until the nipples formed small, hard nubs. He longed to touch his tongue to them but he needed a sign. Just one more and he would ask. Just one.
“I did hate you. Sometimes. Not when it hurt. Not then.” Caitlin’s voice had taken on a ragged quality as he probed until the sensation would overwhelm her need to explore the thing that puzzled and vexed her.
Trey could barely stand the throbbing in his cock. Her argument, statement—
whatever it was—made no sense. He’d used pain to deflect her attraction, to drive her into despising him so that he could be free of the bond that shackled him to her. It was as much for his own protection as it was to safeguard his mate. There was a truth he struggled against, even as his body screamed for release. His hands no longer responded to any conscious control but wandered at will, seeking a response, anything that would give him the peace he sought.
He gasped, “I had to. I didn’t want to, but…”
Caitlin stared open-mouthed, the ‘but’ hanging between them, It was finally time for truth. Their realities blended into the shadows lengthening across the pond, taking light and air and safety away, leaving them exposed and vulnerable. He needed for her to understand.
“I liked it,” he rasped, “gods help me, I liked it.”
To his relief, Caitlin relaxed into his hands. Could she have known it, on some
level, this naked ache, this thing he’d kept hidden from everyone? She arched against his chest and tilted her neck, exposing the pulsing artery—an invitation for his lips to explore.
She whispered, “I know and I did too.”
“I need… I-I,” he could barely form the next words as he buried his face into her neck, “have to ask you. It is required.”
He ran his tongue along her chin, shocked at the sensation of ice, so cool and
refreshing—a counterpoint to the heat and pressure bludgeoning his cock as he rubbed against the rough cotton of her skirt. It was now or never and never was unacceptable.
“I want… I have to, please, let me fuck you. Please say yes.”
Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut tight and clapped a hand over her mouth. He
hadn’t expected that reaction and it left him confused and fearful. He dropped his hands to his side, clenching and unclenching his fists, the urge to strike flooding his gut, the berserker rage just below the surface. He was to be denied. His worst fear, a nightmare he would relive every waking minute for the rest of his miserable existence. He refused the next steps, his warrior rights. He’d done too much damage. No more.
Caitlin took a deep breath. “You want to fuck me, is that right? And you are
asking permission.” She closed her eyes and contemplated his words, their heartbeats 80
measuring time. “And if I say no?”
Trey fumbled for the words. He wanted to explain. He needed for her to
understand. “It’s tradition.” She raised her brows but kept silent so he blundered on. “I am a warrior in my, uh, culture. We, some of us … but only a few, it’s not the norm, do you see?”
Caitlin clearly did not understand but she waved for him to continue. His words
came out in a rush, “We bond. It’s unpredictable, a gift. Soul mates you might call it. I knew it even before I met you. I needed to find you and when I did, I almost lost myself.”
He gently stroked Caitlin’s cheek and continued. “But at first, it’s too strong, the urge to couple. It would have got us killed there at Greyfalcon. I needed to break it. I hated it.”
She didn’t cringe or argue or move away. He dug deep in his soul, trying to explain to her, to himself, what had happened that night to set in motion everything that followed.
“I felt like something had ripped my soul out of my body. But I hit and hit and it felt so damned good and it made up for breaking the link.”
“The link?”
“It’s not just words, Caitlin. It’s real. Your aura, mine, and our energies, they’re one. I shut yours down so I could function. I had to hurt you to save us both.”
“And you brought us here.”
“I had no choice. The jump point, the Portal, wasn’t mapped. I’m the only one
who knew about it.” Trey pulled at his hair with both hands, anchoring it behind his ears. “One way street. But I didn’t know that.”
“So this place is off the reservation?”
“Not anymore. They found us. We have to talk about that. But…”
“Um, yes, about that question. So, you say its tradition to ask. What else do I need to know about this tradition, and I’m guessing that the no answer is the more interesting.” He really didn’t like where this was going but he’d boxed himself in. He wasn’t surprised when she said, “If you want my answer, you have to tell me everything.”
Trey spoke in a monotone, hoping to lower the impact of his words. “If the mate
refuses, then the warrior has the right to,” the words came out in a rush, “take the woman even if she fights him.”
“In other words, rape.”
Trey hung his head, overwhelmed with shame, and whispered, “Yes.”
“But he can decide not to do that?” He nodded. “So what happens…? Never mind,
I think I can guess.” She took his right hand and examined it critically. “Then this becomes your sex life forever after, right?”
Trey jerked his hand away, too mortified to even respond.
Caitlin shrugged her shoulders and took his face in her hands, their bodies
millimeters apart. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m going to say yes.”
Trey hitched a breath, his eyes glazed, jaw muscles working frantically. He’d gone past the point where he could service her, as he should, the berserker rage allowing for no tenderness or gentleness. He had to take her hard and fast. He would dominate and claim her body and she would know him forever as the warrior who owned her heart and soul. He would fill her with his seed and energies, using pain to open her so he could heal and make them whole, one.
He gasped, “Caitlin, I must hurt you.” Her face registered confusion then shock as he lifted her easily, hands almost encircling her waist. He impaled her on his cock, 81
swollen so thick she cried out in pain as he buried himself to the hilt.
She cried, “Trey, stop,” but he was beyond hearing, as he rocked his hips in a mad frenzy, assaulting her until blood and semen mixed and she collapsed in a stupor against his chest. He knew he would spend the rest of his days trying to undo the broken trust.
****
“Caitlin, wake up. Please.”
Caitlin drifted through a fog, her mind resisting the passage back. It felt strange, as if she floated, her torso cool, her legs and belly surrounded in warmth that cushioned her skin. Trey hugged her to his chest, his legs to either side of her body. She was sitting in the pond. How did she get there? What was he doing?
“Caitlin, it’s all right. I’m cleaning you up. Oh gods, there was so much blood, I thought I’d lose you again.”
“Blood? Did you hurt me?”
He answered, the anger clear, but directed inward, “Yes, I had to. I knew you
weren’t prepared but I had no choice. I could have done worse.” He muttered, “I have done worse.”
“Trey?”
“Yeah, I’m here. You’re almost healed.”
“Trey.” This time her voice had a note of desperation. “It’s getting dark.”
“Shush. It’s all right. We’re safe, for now.” He shot a final surge of energy into her belly, then lunged to his feet and helped her to stand. She was disoriented and staggered against him. He led her over to the stand of trees. Easing her down onto a patch of grass, he bade her stay while he worked on improvising a shelter.
“Can I help?”
“No, you rest. You lost a lot of blood.”
He pulled dead bra
nches and uprooted whole bushes, leaving them in a pile as he
scouted further afield for deadfall. He called back, “If you want to do something, try weaving the small stuff together. Make a mat. Know what I mean?”
“Okay. I think I know what you have in mind.”
Caitlin hummed to herself as she worked. He would build a lean-to that could
shelter them from the flying predators. The beasts hunted during moonrise, in search of movement. If they stayed out of sight, out of the moonlight, they might survive the interminable night.
She chuckled that she still thought of him in the third person, still distancing herself, unwilling to admit her loss of independence, but not her identity. That she felt, stronger than ever. In fact, she’d never felt so powerful, so aware, so in tune with her body’s functioning. When the cramps hit she moaned and cursed her fate.
“What’s the matter?”
“Crap, I’m bleeding again.”
“Come on, we’ll get you to the water. I don’t understand. I thought I repaired all the tears. It shouldn’t do that.” He stared uncomprehending when Caitlin stood and blood cascaded down her legs. “Oh, shit. Lay down. Lift your legs. Apparently there’s more to a female’s anatomy than I realized.”
He worked systematically until the flow ceased. She was still cramping but not as badly. Curling in a ball she pleaded, “Rub my back, please. It might help.”
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He pulled her onto his lap and gently massaged the tight muscles until her body
relaxed and the spasms eased. She groaned, “Ah, that feels good. You have devilishly lovely hands, my demon.”
“Demon?”
“Demon. Devil. That’s what I thought you were for a long time.” She shifted to let him work lower toward her hips. His interest was obvious as she felt the bulge through his jeans.
He whispered, “I want you so much but I can’t risk doing more damage.”
“Then just hold me.”
“As long as it takes.”
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Chapter Fourteen
Trey rolled over and reached for Caitlin, his hand encountering bare ground. He
cursed softly while rubbing at his crusted eyes, the weak light still bright enough to cause acute discomfort. He felt around for his glasses and slipped them on.
“Caitlin?”
“It’s okay. I’m here. I just took a, uh, bath to clean myself up. How long were we out?” She grimaced as she asked, knowing full well the answer—‘time has no meaning here.’ He mumbled, “Don’t know,” as he stared at her reed-thin form, the ribs so prominent he ached for her. They needed to find food, soon. Although he could regulate his metabolism to some extent, he’d noted the weakness, the disorientation, taking hold.
“I put us in stasis to give you time to heal.”
“Oh. Well then.” Caitlin held out a batch of slimy grasses coated in a dull brown gelatinous substance. “Is this edible?”
He took a bit of the grass and sniffed at it. The material had a vaguely ‘organic’
odour but nothing he could place.
“I’m no botanist, but it looks a little like seaweed.” Caitlin fingered the
unappetizing mass, brow creased in a frown as she debated the possibilities.
He realized they were running out of options so he voiced what she was thinking,
“We’ll be dead of malnutrition soon. What’s the difference?”
Caitlin perked up, “Hoped you’d say that. I’ve got a pile on the shore drying.
Don’t think I can manage it so slimy.”
As they walked toward the pond, Trey slipped an arm about her slim waist. She
was still wet from her bath and the slipperiness of her skin against his rough fingers felt like a balm, soothing and titillating at the same time. He knew he’d be asking the question again, sooner rather than later.
The pond sat flat, gunmetal gray, not a ripple marring its surface. The oasis lay shrouded in a dull mist, the air inversion creating an opaque ceiling that reflected light, wavelengths distorted and absorbed. The effect magnified as the sheer mountain faces bounced the rays, reflecting some, greedily gobbling others, insatiable.
Caitlin looked around, concerned. “I don’t like this. It’s like being in a hall of mirrors. One minute it’s bright as day, the next it’s…”
“I know. And I think we’re in for it. It looks thicker than we’ve seen it, but it might be from,” he spun about, pointing at the monoliths encasing their sanctuary,
“those surfaces.” He listened carefully, but other than the munching from their mounts, all remained deathly silent.
“Okay, these have dried a little. Do you want to go first?”
“Together. Okay?” He touched her cheek gently as she nodded.
They gingerly tasted the strands of grass. Caitlin grimaced and swallowed the
mass whole. Trey merely grunted and said, “I’ve had worse.”
“Don’t eat too much at first,” she cautioned him as he greedily stuffed his face. At his ‘umph’, she pointed to her belly, already distended from the small amount she’d ingested. “It might come back up.”
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He motioned for her to wait on shore as he waded toward the edge of the shelf,
then leaned down and yanked batches of the growth out of the gravelly bottom. He brought an armful back and laid it carefully on the shore.
She said, “Let’s go back to the shelter. I’ve got a feeling…” and backed up a few steps, then paused as Trey gave her a strange look and muttered, “So do I.” She’d rarely seen him smile or show much emotion other than disapproval or concern. She
wondered, not for the first time, why she’d been drawn to such a dour man, though now his eyes crinkled with humour and something else. It wasn’t hard to guess where his mind had wandered. She’d noticed his soaked jeans had ‘filled with happiness’ again, with pulsing surges of energy that set her skin on fire.
His lust and desire washed over her with a force almost too difficult to resist. But he held back—she could sense the restraint—and for that she was grateful. She needed time, and guidance, to deal with her new reality and the changes taking place in her body. Her old abilities still floated just out of reach as her physical body battled with her psyche for dominance. With her metabolism she had no way to access the old talents without having the new swamp her. She regretted not having learned to control her powers completely, but circumstances had intervened and she’d had to fly by the seat of her pants—her father’s favourite expression.
At the lean-to, she grabbed the peasant dress and took it inside. The leather laces on the corset detached at the scooped neckline. She sat against the saddle and
methodically pulled the strings through the bottom holes.
Trey shrugged out of his wet jeans and hung them on a branch to dry. The cloud-
bank would keep the air cool and slightly damp, possibly for what passed for ‘days’ in this damnable dimension. He stared at his erection and wondered why, with so much power over his metabolism, he couldn’t control so basic a function. He tried focusing on their dire situation. The animals would run out of forage soon as they’d already consumed the meagre grass and had begun systematically stripping the bushes, even gnawing the bark off the branches. The horse’s ribs bulged through parchment-thin skin. What little hair coat remained had a dull sheen, mottled with huge bare patches.
The animal’s days were numbered.
He fingered his knife. He would need to sharpen the edge while they sheltered
from the dismal overcast. He’d found a decent-sized stone with sufficient hardness for the task. He’d keep his plans to himself, until the last minute—perhaps even force Caitlin into stasis while he did what he needed to do. It brought no pleasure, or even anticipation, to contemplate putting the animal down. Samuel’s admonition to treat the beasts kindly echoed in his head. He’s a good mule, had been an observation and an obligation. Samuel wouldn’t like
it, but he would understand survival.
He stood by the mule, stroking his matted hair. They had few cards left to play.
He had to get them out of the cell they’d fallen into and the only way out seemed to require climbing. Without full bellies and restored energies there was simply no way they’d manage that. In any case, the animals would not be part of that journey.
He returned to the shelter and slid next to Caitlin. Her pale blonde hair had turned an ashy shade of gray from the particulates that no amount of rinsing would remove. It gave her a fairy-like appearance, as if bits of mica had settled over the tresses, each flickering and reflecting the odd light. He watched mesmerized as she moved her head in time to some inner tune. The link sent strange, yet familiar harmonies through 85
his chest, multi-directional. He closed his eyes, relishing the sensation and focusing inward.
Caitlin watched with interest as Trey’s face settled into a mask of meditative
calm. He seemed to float above the ground, the same way he appeared to levitate when he sought to dominate and frighten her. Did he control gravity or was it simply an optical illusion? Whatever it was, it no longer intimidated. As with so much in the last weeks, she’d learned to accept and adjust to the peculiar, the inexplicable.
Caitlin crawled silently to the other side of his saddle and gently pushed against his back. He complied, in a stupor, lying down, semi-comatose, as she drew his arms above his head and quickly tied a length of leather around his wrists and attached it with a ring on the pommel. She secured the strand, taking care not to bind his wrists too tightly. His long hair, pin-straight and fine like hers, cascaded over the saddle’s seat. She combed the mass with her fingers, enjoying the sensation. She did not see the small smile twitching his lips, as he lay immobile at her command.
She rocked back on her heels, contemplating her next move. She hadn’t thought
