by Renee Wildes
“Sommat was stalkin’ her an’ Ioain from the water earlier today,” Trystan clarified.
Bree shot him a sharp glance. “The boy?”
“My son, yes.” Finora glared at her friend. “Bree, focus. Think hard. Has anything changed back home?”
“King Freine’s taken ill. Prince Matteo was seen leaving your father’s hall looking none too pleased.”
Finora froze. “King Freine’s ill? How bad?”
“No one’s seen him in weeks. We don’t know if he’s even still alive. Looks like Matteo’s all but in charge now.”
Oh, Cilaniestra, no. “Bree, think! Are the pups still alive?”
“I think so.” Bree frowned. “I don’t think they could keep that secret.”
“What are you talking about?” Trystan demanded.
“When a selkie king dies, and his heir takes the throne and the crown by force, all secondary heirs—usually the successor’s bull siblings—are murdered by the new king’s bulls. He can’t allow any challenges to his reign. He’ll then move to impregnate every unrelated cow in the harem with his own offspring, and hand his cow siblings off to his chosen supporters.”
“Sounds chaotic,” Trystan said.
“You have no idea how brutal it can be,” Bree stated. “Every shark in the sea seems to follow the scent of blood.”
“You can’t hide something like that,” Finora mused. “So I don’t think it’s come to that yet. Freine must still be strong enough to wield support. Bulls won’t follow the weak. Wonder what Matteo and my father discussed.”
“King Griogair was a staunch supporter of the alliance with King Freine, and there’s been peace between your two factions for many years,” Bree reminded her. “An alliance to be cemented by your union with Prince Matteo. I wonder…”
“What?” Finora and Trystan asked in unison.
“I wonder if Matteo asked for your father’s support—independent of his father’s.”
“My father would have said no. He’s an honorable man. He would have honored the agreement with Freine as long as Freine still breathed. If he received proof of Freine’s death, only then would he consider Matteo’s offer.”
“But Matteo would have equal power, and would remember Griogair’s initial dismissal,” Bree warned her. “Matteo is not so honor bound as his father…or yours. He would consider it an insult.”
“He would never dare attack my father!” Finora burst out.
“Now that,” Bree flashed a significant glance at Trystan, “would be chaotic. You should be glad you are out in the air and well out of it, Finora. Keep her close, warrior—her and her children. Keep them safe.”
Niadh waded out into the water. He held out a paw to the mermaid, almost like a hand.
“I hold you to your vow, guardian,” Bree responded to whatever he said. “I have to go. If anything happens, I will tell you.” She turned and swam off.
Finora was freezing, despite her wrap. She trembled, part cold, part fear, part rage. “Matteo!” she called. “If you hurt my father I swear I’ll find a rowboat and cut your heart out with a spoon!” she hollered across the water.
Trystan choked. “Subtle, lass.” He pulled her into his arms, rubbed his hands up and down her back. “Let’s get ye inside where ’tis warm. Ye need t’ start the Light up for the night, too, remember?”
“Aye, ye’re right,” Finora murmured into his shirt. “There’s naught I can do to help my father, but there is something I can do for the people here. And as long as I’m here, I will honor my charge.”
He turned her face up to his. “Spoken like a true guardian.”
“Do you really think so?” This close, he rendered her breathless with but a single look.
“I do. Bein’ a guardian starts with yer heart, an’ ye have the heart o’ a bear.”
She blushed, then frowned. “What’s a bear?”
He snorted and shook his head. “Let’s go. I’ll explain where it’s warmer.”
Niadh gave a little yip and loped off.
“Where’s he going?” Finora asked.
“Scoutin’. If we’re goin’ tomorrow, he’ll snoop around t’ check out the place t’night.”
She led the way up the cliffside path toward the cottage. Rona lay curled up in the kitchen window watching their return. Storm greeted them at the door, or rather pushed his way through them to get outside. Finora draped her wrap over her chair, then grabbed a candle, lit it and climbed the stairs to start the Light. It was a well-rehearsed series of tasks, and soon the Light blazed over the calm of the harbor in all its fiery splendor.
Fire. The one thing missing in the watery realm of the deep. There were glowing worms kept in glass jars that illuminated the various rocky chambers, but naught like the warmth and light possessed by the humans. Yet one more reason to question, to waver. To doubt.
“Stay safe, Sire,” she whispered. She stared at the moon. Tonight, Cilaniestra kept herself hidden.
Finora descended into the light and warmth of her home. Trystan had revitalized the hearth, and Storm was back on the rug afore it. The big dog thumped his tail as she flopped down and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Such a grand beastie,” she crooned. She turned to Trystan as he crouched aside her. “Strange. I’ve grown to love this house. Once it was just my prison. Now it’s my home.”
“I look around, an’ ev’rywhere my eye falls becries ye. Ye’re ev’rywhere in this place.” He turned to her. “If it feels like a home, Finora, ’tis ’cause ye be the heart o’ it.”
She needed to change the subject. “So, what’s a bear? I need to be knowing if it’s an insult or a compliment you flung me, comparing me to some unknown animal.”
“A compliment,” he assured her. “Bears are the ultimate mothers an’ guardians. They live in the mountains, great shaggy furry critters mayhaps four times the size o’ Storm here. High hunched shoulders, lowset head, no tail. Verra round bodies.”
“So you’re saying I’m round?” she teased.
“Nay. A bear is a survivor. They can survive the toughest climate, eat almost anything. They’re peaceful unless riled. A mother bear births but one cub at a time, an’ it follows her for two years, learnin’ the way o’ things. They’re canny, lovin’ an’ good teachers. But they’re absolutely ruthless when sommat threatens their cubs. Ye ne’er want t’ mess with them.”
“Hmm…but I like it when you mess with me, mountain man.”
That feral-green light flashed in his eyes. “D’ye now?”
She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him closer. “I’m not a mother tonight. Tell me more about this canny and loving part, though.”
He smiled. “Now ye’re fishin’.”
“I’m a selkie. We’re experts.” She leaned forward to nibble under his jaw and slid her arms up over his shoulders.
Trystan turned his head and captured her mouth in a bone-melting kiss. Finora’s lips parted, and tingling heat rose with every stroke of his tongue on hers. She clutched his hair, nipped at his lower lip. Trystan growled and deepened the kiss, until her breath became his. His became hers. He reached out to haul her onto his lap, and she flowed over him, onto him. Like water on rock.
Something wet and cold pressed against the back of her neck. Finora squeaked and jerked her eyes open to see a very quizzical and interested Storm peering at them both.
Trystan half-laughed, half-groaned. “Mayhaps we should take this someplace quiet—with a solid door we can close?”
“I know just the place,” she whispered. She rose and hauled him to his feet. “Come on.”
“Bossy as well as canny,” he teased.
“Wait till I show you the loving part,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Canna wait.”
She dragged him to the bedroom and kicked the door shut so the latch dropped into place. “Now where were we?”
“Fishin’.” His eyes gleamed at her in the moonlight.
“Well, first off, clothing has to g
o. Tangles you up, tends to slow you down.”
“No clothes. I think I’m likin’ this whole fishin’ idea.” He unwound his plaid and pulled his shirt off. “Need help with that?”
Finora turned her back to him. “Mayhaps just with the lacing.”
He swept her hair aside to kiss the sensitive nape of her neck. She shivered as he pulled the laces loose enough to work the gown off her shoulders. He seemed determined to follow the descending line of cloth with a burning trail of nibbling kisses across her shoulders and down her back. Trystan reached around to cup her breasts, tease them into aching points of need as he kissed his way down her spine.
The brush of his beard over her sensitized skin made Finora gasp and arch into his hands. The material crumpled in a heap at her feet, but Trystan kept going, raining a fiery trail of kisses over the curve of her backside. No longer able to reach her breasts, he abandoned them. She wanted to cry at the loss, only to whimper anew as his seeking fingers glided over her belly. He nibbled her thighs to tease the backs of her knees with his tongue. Who’d have thought that could be so arousing?
He trailed his hand across her inner thighs up to the damp curls betwixt her thighs, and Finora moaned. Her legs shook. Her fingers itched to touch him, but she couldn’t move. She’d never been so enflamed in her entire life. “Trystan, please!”
A growl was his sole reply, as he sought and found her heated core. She pushed back against him, rolling her hips, wishing it were his tongue. He crowded her forward onto the bed, slid beneath her so she straddled his face.
It was a shocking change of position. Finora looked down…to see a large male shaft jutting toward her. Trystan took her hand, wrapped it around himself, and squeezed. Velvet over wood. He groaned. “Touch me, lass. Taste me.” Taste him? Surely he didn’t mean… She choked as his tongue traced a line of fire along her drenched folds, and he reached out to cup her breasts, pinch her nipples. Her hand tightened in response, and he groaned again, thrusting upward with his hips. She stared, mesmerized by the single drop of creamy white fluid crowning the flushed head of his shaft. She flicked her tongue against him. The deep, salty, earthy taste surprised her, aroused her. The very impropriety of it all aroused her. Emboldened, she twirled her tongue around the blunt head.
“Take me in yer mouth.” Trystan’s rough voice, raspy with desire, sent an answering shiver through her. “Suck on me.”
She’d never imagined doing such a thing in her life. But it felt so good, what he did to her, that she yearned to give him the same pleasure. She opened her mouth around him and took in as much as she could, pulling back when she choked. She soon discovered her limit, and used her hands to compensate. Awkwardly at first, then with more confidence, she soon found a rhythm to it all.
Trystan’s tongue stroked her, stabbed into her. His fingers circled her nipples, his tongue built her tension with every flick against the crowning pearl. Finora found herself rubbing against him, faster, aching, needing that cresting burst of pleasure. Her hand tightened on him, and she sucked harder, mimicking the act of sex. He thrust up faster, and she knew he drove toward his own satisfaction. The whole world shrank to pure sensation, boiling need tightening to almost painful intensity. She moved on his mouth, tonguing his shaft, sucking on him. She loved the feel and flavor of him. She loved arousing his own need to such a frenzy.
The rush hit her, exploded through her. She shook over him, tightened around him until he groaned and a splash of hot liquid flooded her mouth. Unsure what to do, she swallowed…and swallowed. And then collapsed onto him, dazed and breathless.
Trystan rolled them onto their sides, turned her around so her head rested on his shoulder. His heartbeat pounded under her ear, and every muscle twitched. He lay gasping. She shook in his arms, quivering with aftershocks. Every beat of his heart thundered through her.
She’d never felt so exposed…or safe…in her life.
His fingers trailed over her arm, down her back. She raised herself up over him, so she could look down into his eyes. Warm satisfaction with flickers of lingering heat shimmered up at her. She felt her cheeks flame at what she’d…they’d…just done.
“Dinna be embarrassed, lass,” he whispered, tracing her lips with his thumb. “’Tis a rare gift o’ pleasure I’ll be rememberin’ always.”
She wasn’t ready to be a memory just yet, and leaned in for a slow, sultry kiss. He rolled over her, and she ran her hands down his back. Morning was a long way off. Plenty of time for more memories.
Chapter Ten
Trystan’s arms tightened as Finora squirmed against him in her sleep. The sun had not yet cracked the horizon, yet he lay wide awake. He brushed her hair from her face and watched her slumber. Her eyes darted beneath closed lids. He wondered what she dreamed about.
He’d dreamed of introducing her to his mother. Fenia would welcome her new daughter and grandchildren. He sighed. ’Twas impossible. The way he understood it, Finora was bound to the sea and could never leave it. He had to go home. A creature of water would never be happy in mountains of rock and earth. The sea was in her blood. She’d never find peace anywhere else.
Unless…
There might be a way. The sea might be in her blood, but the earth was in his bones. Guardians could convert another only under the full of the moon, but at other times a bite could be used for healing. A bond to the earth for strength. Solid, stable. With the sea in her blood and a tie to the earth in her bones, it might be possible to grant her a sense of balance, to ease the tearing in her soul. If he had to leave, he could at least grant her this one parting gift to make the remainder of her days more bearable.
“Niadh, what do you think? Could it work?”
“In theory, aye. But I dinna ken any who’s tried it in that capacity. Would it hold her back if she did someday find her skin? Would it prevent her from living full-time in the sea?”
Trystan didn’t know. All he knew was her pain had somehow become his. He couldn’t stand by and not try to do something to ease her suffering. Something told him a sense of balance was possible, and this was the way.
But would she agree?
“Great Mother o’ All, help me aid her,” he prayed. “She deserves t’ be happy an’ at peace, whate’er the future holds for her. Where’er Ye lead, I follow. Ye know that. But let me no’ cause Finora further harm. Help me do what’s right by her.”
A sense of affirmation filled him.
He trailed his fingers down Finora’s arm, and smiled when she made a grumpy sound and swatted his hand away. What he wouldn’t give to be able to wake her up every morning for the rest of their lives. He’d be proud to call her Mate…if she’d have him. If she’d ask. He recalled her shock that women ruled in his world. Her world sounded backward, if bulls held all the power and cows were seen and not heard. Women were the personification of the Mother of All. They brought forth new life. Was it so different under the waves?
The sea goddess was female. Cilaniestra. Did she not demand honor as well as tribute?
Trystan bent his head to nibble Finora’s shoulder, flick his tongue against her ear. She sighed and tilted her face away to grant him greater access, but didn’t open her eyes. “Are ye dreamin’, lass?” he whispered in her ear.
Her lips quirked. “Mmm hmm.” She reached up and caressed his cheek.
“Finora, I need ye t’ wake.”
“I need you, too.” She pulled him down for a sensuous, drugging kiss.
Sun and moon, she aroused him like no other. The tingle of awareness ignited to a slow, low burn. He stroked her tongue with his, reveled in the sweet warm taste of desire, of need. Her need. For him. Her fingers tightened in his hair as she shifted closer and entwined her legs with his. The sensation of her sleep-warmed skin sliding along his made him shiver.
He needed to talk to her before they got beyond thought, let alone speech. “Look at me, Finora.”
She dragged her eyelids open. “Hmm?”
She made him ache with but
a single sultry glance. Trystan watched her struggle to focus, saw clarity return to her eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“About what?”
“What’s different ’bout swimming in the surf as ye are now as opposed t’ afore?”
Finora quivered. “I can touch the water, but not be a part of it. When I’m in my skin, the water flows through me. It’s a song in my blood, it echoes in my soul. It’s music and poetry. I’m complete. I can feel the creatures around me, hear their thoughts, feel their emotions. I’m part of the whole. Without it, I’m but a cork on the surface. Blind. Deaf.”
“What ’bout when ye stand on land?” he pressed.
“It’s dead to me. Still. Silent. Dead. No music. No motion.” She shuddered.
Trystan shook his head. “Nay, lass. No’ dead. ’Tis strong. Constant. A foundation. The earth is the bones of this world, the sea is Her blood. A balance exists betwixt the two. I think I can help ye feel that balance, give ye a tie t’ the earth t’ help ye stand firm.”
Her eyes narrowed as she frowned. “How?”
“Do ye trust me?”
“Aye,” she replied without hesitation. The quickness of her answer warmed him.
“As a child of the earth, it runs deep in me, through me. I can share me essence with ye, similar t’ a guardian conversion spell. ’Tis a lesser magic, used most often when healin’ a grievous wound.”
“Would it drown out the sea?”
He shook his head. “Ye’re a daughter of the sea, of water. I canna change yer verra nature, were I t’ attempt t’ convert ye under the full o’ the moon. ’Twould be a link only t’ the earth, through me. ’Twould make it less foreign t’ ye, give ye a sense o’ the familiar.”
Hope lit her face. “How?”
Trystan hesitated. “Do ye trust me?”
Finora nodded. “You’d never hurt anyone, guardian.”
“Weel, in this case, ’tis unavoidable. I’d have t’ bite ye hard enough t’ break the skin so the Were serum can enter yer blood.”
“What would it feel like?”
“I canna answer that, lass. Mine wasna halfway, but under the full o’ the moon. I’d ken ’twill be less violent than me own.”
