Night Elves 2: Dangerous Obsession

by Nelissa Donovan

  DANGEROUS OBSESSION

  An Ellora’s Cave Publication, July 2004

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

  PO Box 787

  Hudson, OH 44236-0787

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-973-8

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  DANGEROUS OBSESSION © 2004 NELISSA DONOVAN

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Edited by Briana St. James.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Night Elves:

  Dangerous Obsession

  Nelissa Donovan

  Prologue

  Whitecliff Demesne 0843

  “The freesia baths, Earie, tonight. Your father has granted him permission to bathe before returning to his homeland.”

  The midnight-haired elf looked up through thick lashes, her slanted eyes sparkling. “He could not avoid me forever, Darous. Perhaps someone should have told him so?”

  Crossing his arms, the minute, pear-colored man clucked his tongue. “Some lessons are better learned at the feet of the master, Eristta.”

  A wicked grin lit her face, and the young Night Elf princess stood fluidly, her attention melding with the object of her obsession for as many moon cycles as she had drawn breath.

  “The shaman shall know me tonight, Darous. Mark my words.”

  Without giving her companion a chance to respond, Eristta sped across the palace yard toward the elfin baths. Snow crunched beneath her bare feet, and her breath blew misty into the chill night air.

  She’d waited for this moment for several moon cycles. Since her lunar birthday, really. The terran warrior had arrived with the first snow a season before her birth, terribly thin and wasted from trying to survive in the EverNight forest. Somehow, he’d managed to endure long enough to blunder into the realm of the Dark Elves. While the elves of the Winter Kingdome took little pleasure in teasing and bewitching terran minds, they were not known to give succor either. But as it was told to her, it had been many years since one had found their way into the land of the Tuatha, and curiosity as to how he had managed it earned him time to heal.

  Red Claw now passed freely between Whitecliff and his home world, yet Eristta had had little opportunity to convene with him. Her brother had formed a strong bond with the warrior, but their parents seemed intent on keeping her exposure to the terran to an absolute minimum—which would never do.

  Determined to have her moment, Eristta entrusted Darous to do some spying for her, and he’d come through once again.

  The time is now.

  Eristta shivered, her body and mind tripping over the possibilities. The promise of what was to come. Speaking ancient words taught to her by her brother, Eristta wrapped herself in a cloaking shield and slipped past the guards of the sanctuary unnoticed.

  The heady scent of lavender and minosha blossoms filled the air, and Eristta breathed deep, their perfume sending instant messages of relaxation and self-indulgence.

  Reaching subtly with her danu awen, the elfin princess detected the shaman’s rich, bronze signature in the room farthest from the center ring. A better position from which to make a quick escape, if the need arose.

  On silent feet, Eristta shimmied through the spelled doorway and positioned herself behind the lush emerald draperies that adorned the walls on all sides.

  Water trickled into the mineral pool from a diamond-shaped opening in the ceiling, directly from the top of Mount Toa’shin. Warmed by an enchanted summer breeze, the crystal blue fluid enhanced one’s prowess and inner powers. Invigorating and revitalizing one’s body, mind and spirit.

  What better place to drink in the sight of the beautiful terran?

  She watched in fascination as the henna-skinned human washed himself in the sacred pool. As he ran a hand over the breadth of his chest, Eristta’s breath caught in her throat. Red Claw was more heavily muscled than her elfin brethren, his torso and shoulders broader; his hips narrow yet strong-boned. Always she’d seen him from a distance and fully clothed, as his human skin was ill-equipped to repel the chill temperature of the Winter Kingdome. Her eyes burned as they followed his hand brandishing the jasmine-scented soap to his bare loins.

  Goddess…he was large there, too, the skin of his shaft the same rich sienna as his carved body, like minosha bark under a golden sunset. She was surprised to note his body was as hairless as her own. She’d always assumed terrans to be an unkempt, smelly, hairy lot.

  Go. Offer yourself to him.

  Eristta ignored her urging voice. She was loath to disturb the warrior. To invade this private moment.

  A nearly inaudible groan fell from his fine lips, and Eristta started. His broad hand stroked the length of his shaft, his mahogany eyes half-closed as he sought his pleasure. A hot fist of need knotted in Eristta’s abdomen, and she nearly hissed with the power of it.

  She knew from the rumors that the terran had turned away all elfin offers of pleasure, which was beyond reckoning. But those spurned spoke not with distaste or bitterness. Instead, his refusals only increased the People’s interest in the peculiar warrior. It seemed he had left a beloved in the world beyond, and had vowed celibacy, a concept foreign to unbonded elfin kind.

  But that obviously didn’t stop him from releasing his need.

  Eristta swallowed her own moan as Red Claw increased his rhythm, his powerful hips meeting each measured stroke. With quick fingers, Eristta eased her hand through the slit in her keffa silk robes and teased her dampened clit in time with Red Claw’s ministrations. Biting her lower lip to keep from crying out, she watched the warrior bring himself to pleasure, her own need spiraling out of control.

  As he came, Red Claw threw back his head and roared, the sound shattering through Eristta with such force she orgasmed instantaneously. As her juices soaked her fingers, Eristta fought for breath. Her eyes lifted to fasten on the terran’s flint-hard gaze as if the draperies were transparent. Not one to skulk, Eristta stood to her full height and moved out from behind the curtains.

  Red Claw rose from the pool, his long legs covering the ground between them in only a few strides. He stopped inches away, the muscles of his chest rippling, his clove and honeyed-spice scent washing over her.

  “Why have you come here?” he asked, his voice deep yet smooth.

  Eristta raised her eyes, something she rarely had to do. The intensity of his stare nearly undid her. There were worlds upon worlds in the depth of his mahogany gaze.

  Red Claw raised a hand, his fingers halting a hairsbreadth from her cheek. Eristta watched the play of emotion flow across his face. His hand dropped, his full lips hardening into an angry line. “You have no business here. Go.”

  His words were like stones, and confusion followed by fury flamed through the young princess like a wildfire. She stepped back, pulling her energies in close, and smirked, “My business is wherever I choose to take it.” Her gaze trailed down the warrior’s chest, past his abdomen to rest on his manhood. She licked her lips and watched in fascination as it rose under her gaze, the sun-bronzed skin pulling tight around the elongated shaft. Reaching, it seemed, for her. Wanting her touch. Her lips.

  Eristta forced her attention upward, her entire body screaming to touch, to taste, to please and be pleased. Shock lanced through her at the look of torture on the terran’s face. His eyes were closed, every muscle in his body rigid wi
th restraint.

  Through gritted teeth Red Claw uttered foreign words, powerful words. Eristta raised a defensive shield, but the spell was not directed at her. He was protecting himself from her.

  Bewilderment tangled her thoughts and fractured her intent. Before the terran could utter another word, Eristta turned and fled.

  Chapter One

  Summer Kingdome 1003

  “Go, little one. Search the path ahead.”

  The gray bird flitted free of the dark-skinned palm, its sharp green eyes absorbing every nuance of the forest floor, and the startling blue sky above.

  As the wheechun took in the wide-angle view, it was not alone. Another set of eyes settled within, seeing what it saw, sensing what it sensed. The bird welcomed the shaman, his energy so much a part of the natural order—yet beyond it.

  There, my friend. To the east.

  The bird snapped its wings inward and angled toward the morning sun. Its gaze found the source of the ripple an instant before its acute senses picked up the note of discord in the atmosphere. Its heart thudded a rapid rhythm.

  The shaman reached into the wheechun’s mind and soothed its panic, reassuring the creature that what they saw and sensed could be averted—stopped. First, though, they needed to know more.

  The wheechun responded to the gentle request and sped toward the blemish that bisected the lush Summer Kingdome, one of four elvin strongholds of Tir na n-Og. As the bird drew closer, it was all Red Claw could do to keep it true to its course.

  He had to see more. The bird’s sharp eyes flicked over the line of marching golems. All creatures fled before the demons in a tide of terror.

  Dread settled in Red Claw’s gut as his bird’s-eye view revealed the extent of the invasion force. Thousands. Roughly armored and equipped with weapons—not that they needed them. And their direction was clear. They were marching toward Tee’amon. The seat of power in a Kingdome that had been decimated and demoralized by raids and attacks for a year’s past. If Garethan’s forces succeeded, it would be the first Tuathan kingdome to fall for over two thousand years.

  It must not happen.

  White-hot pain lashed through Red Claw an instant before he felt and heard the wheechun scream. Death—it slipped through the bird with lightning speed.

  Garethan.

  He recognized the sorcerer’s tainted signature.

  Away.

  As much as it pained him, he had to escape the body of the dying bird, lest he be trapped within it.

  Thank you, my friend, he mind-spoke to the small creature, giving what final comfort he could. Your life will be remembered, your death not forgotten.

  Away!

  And his awareness was back. Breathing hard, Red Claw stood, his gut burning with fury.

  “Forgive me, Wakan Tanka, for the careless loss of one of your children.”

  The six-foot-four bare-chested warrior pulled a knife from the holster low on his hip and with a quick slash, cut a small piece off one of the two shoulder-length braids that framed his face. With quick fingers, he unwound the obsidian strands and lifted them to catch the wind. As the breeze took his offering, Red Claw spoke words of prayer, words of grief, words of power.

  “We have no time to wait for an army,” he whispered into the swirling current of air.

  War was no longer coming—it was here.

  Turning his focus inward, man shifted into bear. A great red beast with a head twice as wide as any earthbound bear, its claws longer then a man’s hand. The creature paused to sniff the air, his lips wrinkling in distaste at the tickle of foulness borne on the east wind.

  Disturbing the forest as little as possible, the bear bounded through the dense foliage back toward the gateway forbidden to his kind, but one that he’d been using for several moon cycles. The only way for him to cover the distance necessary to give alarm of the threat—and to discover if there was yet a force gathered to avert it.

  * * * * *

  The Forest of EverNight

  On the Border of Whitecliff Demesne

  “Destroy it, Night Elf!” came the hoarse cry of the young Drow warrior.

  Eristta did not grace him with a glance. Her attention was fixed on the crafty carrion bird as it herded its four man-sized young to encircle her—stalk her. Their red eyes glowed in the ebony night, allowing Eristta to track their movements.

  Despite the precariousness of her position, the Night Elf princess’s thoughts sizzled and spun in a million different directions. How had she come to be here? Fighting a forest creature for her very life, all simply to woo a ragtag army of Drow mercenaries to join their cause against the sorcerer Garethan?

  She should be traveling as emissary to her uncle’s kingdomes and demanding their support, or searching for Vigil, her missing brother or her poor father. Or better yet, launching a sneak attach on one of Garethan’s outposts near the desert sands of the Doomsfield plain.

  Something…anything that might truly make a difference in the battle sure to come. Not this. Not risking her life for a few hundred reluctant warriors.

  The mother carrion bird clacked her massive beak, dividing her young into attacking position, and Eristta’s snapped her attention back to the matter at hand.

  There had to be a way to diffuse the situation without killing them, and without herself being killed. It wasn’t a convenient time to die.

  Eristta chanted in Aquier, the ancient words of the first fey, taught to her by a stringent, dedicated taskmaster—her brother. Awashana, dialeetoom, nephaashan, she mind-spoke directly to the creatures as she crouched and sidestepped in a half-moon arc.

  The mother screeched, her neck extended toward the dark elf, her razor beak gnashing.

  She cannot hear! Eristta’s hopes plummeted, and a tickling of apprehension inched up the back of her neck. The hatchlings fixated on her, their heads cocked. Eristta sidled to the left and chanted in mind-speech again. Mother snapped wings around her young, encouraging them to attack, but their powerful legs remained stationary.

  Eristta sensed a high murmur, felt it brush her spirit, seeking…questioning. It was a risk, but she closed her eyes and reached with her danu awen.

  There!

  She felt them. Four, eager, questing, hungry minds. She dipped within their psyches, gently, like a breeze beneath their feathers. Eristta realized that their minds were much more developed then she’d assumed. Like most beasts, they were driven by instinct, but there also bloomed a measure of curiosity. Of deliberation.

  She opened her eyes and met those of the winged flock. Silver glinted within the violet depths of her irises as Eristta spun threads of magick. Powerful ones, I ask you to reconsider. I am not a meal, nor a threat. I am a fellow traveler, working to survive. To save those like me from those who would destroy us. From those who are also working to destroy you. And with this Eristta sent a clear, unfettered image of golems, their rank, hulking forms crashing through the forests unheeding of the damage. Smashing, killing plant and prey alike. Decimating the carrion bird’s territory. Fouling the food supply. Driving them further north.

  The mother bird shrieked, and Eristta’s attention cut to the large, sweeping head and beak. Magick tendrils expanded, and she was nearly sent to her knees by the fear and fury that resonated from the creature. She had picked up Eristta’s images—recognized them. Knew them as truth, and the very reason they had been pushed into the Drow territory.

  Eristta straightened, lowered her kriss, and arrowed her thoughts on the mother. I work to stop them. But to do that I must win favor with the Drow. She sent an image of the warriors and the great bird squawked. I will… Eristta paused, her mind working feverishly for a solution. Ask them to provide your young with tribute—food, if you agree to limit your hunting to every other night. If you do not, prey will disappear and you will be forced to move on to ground even less suitable.

  Eristta spoke with images, the only way for the primitive creatures to truly grasp the message she was trying desperately to impart.
But would it be enough?

  Balancing on the balls of her feet, she stayed at the ready. The scent of the forest, damp and green, filled the air as darkness cloaked them all like the deepest elfin silk.

  The beast was considering it. She could feel its emotions swirling like a tight band of anger, intention, hatred and practicality.

  Come on…come on…

  The thread connecting them rippled, and Eristta knew the mother was going to accept the offer, seeing the plain sense of it. The only chance for her young to survive.

  “Iiiiyehwawwwww!”

  A screech split the air, followed instantly by a bevy of fiery-tipped arrows slashing the night.

  Eristta pulled her magick back like a fast retreating cord and refocusing it on the whistling missiles. But she was not quick enough. The arrows landed true, peppering the mother carrion bird’s face and neck.

  The clearing erupted in chaos. The mother shrieked and spun, then took three giant leaps across the clearing and into the panicked semi-circle of crouched Drow. Before Eristta could even move, the great bird had neatly scissored one warrior in half before turning her attention to the next.

  “Harpy’s breath,” Eristta hissed as she sprinted across the clearing, knocking rushing hatchlings to the side. The mother had already started on a second warrior, his screams of anguish splitting the air. There was nothing for it. Not now.

  Eristta called the primeval energies of the forest to hand. Cerulean blue sizzled along the tattoos on her arms and breasts as she leapt upon the beast’s feathered back. “Forgive me, mother,” she whispered as she plunged her enchanted dagger between the bird’s shoulder blades. Death magick slammed through Eristta, traveled down her arm and through the dagger into the hot, furious body of the carrion bird.

  She guided the magick true. As it struck the bird’s heart, the mother fought to hold on to life, but Eristta was stronger, her intent greater. Within moments, the killing blow had done its job. The creature dropped with a heavy thump, and Eristta was quick to withdraw her magick before the beast breathed its last.