by Renee Wildes
“Easy, lass. There’s no hurry. We have all night. Ev’ry night, ’til the end o’ our days.” He was as good as his word, gently wooing her with kisses and soft caresses until she was lost in pure pleasure. There wasn’t an inch of skin he didn’t worship, until she was a quivering bundle of need.
“Trystan, please. You’re driving me mad.”
“No’ yet, but I will.” His kiss turned carnal, hungry. She gloried in the deep, earthy taste of him. Shadow and spice. His hands teased her nipples until they ached. She panted under him as he took first one then the other and drew hard. He slipped a hand betwixt her thighs, stroking her to fevered heights. “So beautiful,” he whispered. “Such passion.”
“Only for you,” Finora vowed. “Only and ever for you.”
He rolled over and drew her atop him. Finora couldn’t wait any longer. She eased over him, gasping as he slid into her body. It felt like coming home, like they were truly one. She rode him slowly, feeling every exquisite stroke all the way to her heart. And when the pleasure hit, it was a quiet burst of warmth as they melted together.
“I love you,” she told him. “I’ll love you when we’re tottering around telling our great-grandchildren what to do. Marry me.”
“I thought you’d ne’er ask.” He took her mouth in a sweet, soft kiss and pulled her close.
“Was that an aye or a nay?” she teased.
“Oh, aye. Fore’er an’ always.”
Epilogue
They’d made it to Arcadia at last, after months of hard travel slowed by the short legs of the children. Standing in Queen Moira’s bower of Safehold Keep, Finora still marveled at the regained luxuries after all that Riverhead had endured. Very little reminders of the war remained. She held little Alvar and stifled a yawn as his mother watched with soft indulgence. “Ye’re good for my brother,” Moira stated. “I’ve ne’er seen him so content.”
“I hope so.” Finora stared out the window at the green expanse far below. She watched Ioain and Braeca cavorting with Storm and a couple of wolfhound pups in the grass. A watchful kitchen maid supervised whilst churning a fresh batch of cream into butter.
“You’re a born mother,” Moira added. “When do you plan on telling him he’s going to be a father?”
Finora froze. She’d prayed the seasickness she’d suffered on the crossing had been just that. Trystan had suffered no such illness. But her illness hadn’t abated one little bit once they’d reached land, and she was forced to admit the truth. She was pregnant.
“Don’t look so horrified,” Moira chided.
“You don’t understand.” Finora burst into tears and handed Alvar back to his mother. “Mother help me, I don’t know who the father is.”
“Ah.” Moira didn’t look surprised—or critical. “Trystan told us of your time beneath the waves.” And she stepped to the doorway of the nursery. “Bring the lady Anuk at once,” she told…someone.
Anuk appeared within minutes, dressed in a high-necked gown of emerald velvet. She looked better than she had in weeks. Almost at peace. There was a softness in her gold eyes, a newfound knowledge and acceptance. Not a little of which had to do with meeting her niece, Dara, at long last.
“What’s wrong?” Anuk asked.
“Finora’s worried about what to tell Trystan o’ the wee bairn she’s carrying. You’re a healer and a mage. Can you tell her if it be a child o’ the earth or the sea?”
Anuk nodded. “Easily. Finora?” She laid a gentle hand against Finora’s belly.
Finora felt a warm glow brush her womb, and held her breath. She felt a coolness as Anuk withdrew. “Well?”
“’Tis a lad, as strong an earth spirit as his father,” Anuk smiled. “Not an ounce of seawater in his veins.”
“Truly?”
Anuk nodded. “Truly. The nightmare is over. For both of us.”
Finora sniffled, and grabbed her in a fierce hug. “Thank you.”
“Go talk to that husband o’ yours,” Moira teased. “And then go take a nap. You’re making me sleepy.”
Finora followed the stone stairs down into the lower hall. Hengist’s great sword rested above the roaring fireplace on the far wall. Beneath a colorful woolen tapestry portraying the royal wedding of Hengist and Moira, Hengist himself and Trystan sat playing a board game of horses and hounds at the great oak main table.
Plans were already well underway for her own wedding to Trystan.
From the scowl on Trystan’s face, she knew who was winning. “Care to concede and take a walk with me?” she asked.
“Gladly,” he muttered, pushing away from the table. “I’ve no head for strategy.”
Hengist laughed. “’Tis a fine day. Too fine to stay inside. Go. Enjoy yourselves.” His eyes twinkled as he winked at her. He knew. How, she couldn’t fathom.
Finora led Trystan over to a cushioned garden bench. “Sit.”
A wary look crossed his face. “Am I in trouble?”
Laughter bubbled up from nowhere. She felt giddy, drunk on pure happiness. This bright spring morning was truly their new beginning. “Nay. I’ve a little something to tell you, my love…”
About the Author
To learn more about Renee Wildes, please visit www.reneewildes.com. Send an email to Renee Wildes at [email protected] or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Renee Wildes at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/reneewildesromancefantastique/
Look for these titles by Renee Wildes
Now Available:
Duality
Hedda’s Sword
Love will give them strength…or prove to be their fatal flaw.
Duality
© 2008 Renee Wildes
Guardians of the Light, Book 1
Dara Khan Androcles is really in over her head this time. From childhood she’s been forced to hide her half-dragon mage fighting skills behind a public persona as a healer. Now, with a traitor and his demon threatening the throne of Safehold, Dara has no choice but to turn reluctant warrior—and seek help.
She strikes a bargain with runaway Elven prince Loren ta Cedric and his sentient, pain-in-the-butt war mare, Hani’ena. Loren’s not only too handsome for Dara’s own good, the powerful empath can see right through to the pain that drives her.
Loren can’t help but feel Dara’s every hurt, physical and emotional. Though his need for her drives him half mad, he must stay his course to see justice done for his people. Even if it means swearing a Life Debt to the distracting mortal.
That vow, made in the heat of their parallel quests, carries more power than either of them guessed. The power to bond the unlikely pair as Life Mates. The power to lay bare the fears and desires that could bind them to a single purpose—or tear them apart.
All the while a demon awaits, ready to destroy all that they hold dear.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Duality:
Lorelei hesitated. “Thy tantrums require energy. Thou shalt need to replace it. Eat.”
Dara sagged. Now the surge had worn off, she was exhausted and shaking. She reached for a roll spread with tasi root.
Looking lost in thought, Lorelei sipped her tea.
Dara’s own eyes swept the shambles of the bower. Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll clean up the mess, my lady. I swear it.” She wasn’t sure how she’d replace everything. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper and…”
“Everyone has a temper. From what I hear, thou wast provoked. I know the feeling well enough.”
Dara recalled the rain cloud pouring over Pari’s head. She shook her head, haunted by the memory of fierce rage and an almost unholy glee at the wanton destruction. “Not like mine. It’s always been a problem, but now with them,” she touched the torque, “it’s a thousand times worse. As soon as my control weakens or slips… Well, you’ve seen it.” She indicated the damage.
“Any fires afore today?” Lorelei’s question was casual, but her eyes were intent as she awaited Dara’s response.
“Nay.” Dara f
rowned in confusion, trying to think.
Lorelei nodded. “This palace was built on earth and fire, volcanic rock, ages old and dormant, but never dead. Thy natural dragon’s blood is too dilute to manifest itself in the ordinary mortal world, but that dose of undiluted dragon’s blood in prison, coupled with the blood torque in a realm rich with magic of all five elements, hast changed thee.”
Dara gulped. Her hands shook, and tea sloshed over the rim of her cup into the saucer.
“It is unheard-of for an untrained talent to be able to draw on raw power; fire is quick to turn on pretentious amateurs. But in thy case, the fire within fueled the fires without. Thou needs learn control afore thou destroy thyself and all about thee. The very nature of fire-powered magic be chaotic, lending itself far more to destruction than order. Easily summoned by strong dark emotions—jealousy, possessiveness, anger, hate, rage—it is difficult to control and harder to banish. It burns its wielder in the very flames of the power summoned. Natural, for a dragon, but usually fatal for a mortal human.”
“We protect thee,” the voices assured her.
“Thou needs learn control,” Lorelei said. “We hath mages to help teach, and I canst supervise any further mishaps.” She paused for a moment. “There is another gift Mystria left behind. A book of spells on the Isle of Mysts. The book teaches thee the spells and torque gives thee the power to use them and make them become reality.” The dowager queen looked her in the eye. “If thou wouldst defeat the abyss and Jalad, thou shalt need this.”
Dara stared back. “Real spell-magic?”
“This goes beyond healing. I speak of true sorcery. Fire magic used to purpose.” Lorelei frowned. “Pari knows the way and the passwords. The path is dangerous, through the Shadowlands. It is a true quest. Wilt thou go?”
Elation swept through her. “Aye. I’ll go.”
Lorelei stood. “Come in, lad. I was just leaving.”
Loren entered the room and looked around as his grandmother left and shut the door behind her. “I love what you have done with the ‘early cyclone’ theme.”
Dara was too tired to react. “I’m going away.”
“I heard. You shall not go alone. I go with you.”
“Nay.” She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. I’m too dangerous.”
He pulled her into his arms, cradled her head against his heart. “You would never hurt me, or anyone else you care about. Of that I am certain. You ransacked a room, a one-riever army. That is all.”
Strange how soothing his heartbeat was, how it banished despair.
“You are not alone, Dara. We started this together. We finish this together.”
“Stubborn elf,” she muttered.
“Best you remember that.” He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. “It would save a great deal of difficulty if you would just accept that one simple fact. Face it, woman. After hoards of trolls and goblins—and one upcoming demon—a temperamental dragon just is not all that intimidating.”
She growled.
He laughed. “Look at me.”
She did, only to get ensnared by those eyes. He was the dangerous one. Dangerous to her heart. When he dipped his head to capture her mouth in a kiss, she moaned and burrowed closer.
“We were meant to be together,” Loren whispered against her lips. “Better we fight others, together, than each other.”
How could he be so sure? Dara was tired of fighting, tired of thinking. She just wanted to feel, to have the magic of Loren’s kisses sweep away all else. She clung to him, teasing his lips with her tongue, sliding her hands beneath his tunic. Hard muscle under hot skin, heart pounding beneath her fingertips. He pulled her back, down onto what remained of her bed, rolling her beneath him. She gasped at the foreign, thrilling sensation of his weight pinning her to the mattress. His hand stroked up her side, barely brushing her breast. Teasing.
Heat. Yearning. She arched up, legs tangled with his. Frustration made her want to scream.
“Easy,” he soothed, raining a trail of fiery kisses down the side of her neck as he curled his fingers around her breast, stroking his thumb over her aching nipple. Afore she’d time to react to that, he’d lowered his head to take her nipple in his mouth, right through the material. The hot suction of his mouth sent a dart of need straight to her womb.
“Loren!” She twisted in his arms. Wanting more. Needing more. The intimate stroke of his tongue drove her mad. Liquid heat pooled betwixt her thighs. He slid his hand into her hose, his fingers caressing the skin of her legs. Closer… Her eyes snapped open, staring up into his flushed face. She burned, on fire, alive with a need she couldn’t name.
His eyes glittered down at her, dark with passion. Smoky, like jade. “I know, elingrena. I know what you need. Trust me. Give yourself to me. I am yours. You are mine.” His mouth captured hers in a carnal kiss of absolute possession, as his hand slid betwixt her legs, fingers stroking softly over swollen, passion-slick folds.
Dara stiffened with shock at his audacity—for about a second. Then she sank into a storm of pleasure. Whatever he was doing built her need to a desperate edge. She moved on his hand, sure she’d die if he continued. She’d die if he stopped. She’d kill him if he stopped. He moved to her breast again, drawing strongly, his tongue teasing the very tip of her nipple as his fingers circled a hidden bud of pure heat. She panted with need, arching into his mouth, his hand. Need coiled tighter and tighter. The ache was excruciating. What was happening? Her body was no longer her own, but his.
She’s known nothing but pain, but love waits in the arms of one man.
Hedda’s Sword
© 2009 Renee Wildes
Guardians of the Light, Book 2
Maleta is a true survivor. Attacked and left for dead at a young age, she has traded her heart and emotions to become the ultimate weapon of vengeance for the Grey Goddess, Hedda. She swears to depose Queen Sunniva and restore her ancestral home to her brother, no matter the cost.
Cianan is drawn to the mysterious land of Shamar on the power of a vision—the death of a beautiful swordswoman to an army of skeletons. When he meets Maleta, he recognizes two things. She is his true Life-Mate. And she is the woman fated to die this horrible death.
He vows to change her fate.
Cianan must unite the diverse people of a fragmented land to overthrow a vicious despot and convince their true queen to take the throne. Falling in love with a mortal woman who’s buried her heart and shies from his every touch—that’s the real challenge.
Maleta knows she can trust Cianan to save her country. Can she trust him to help her save herself?
Enjoy the following excerpt for Hedda’s Sword:
Cianan sponged the blood and sweat off with the tepid water, amused to see but the top of her head as she blindly handed him a drying towel. Not once did Hedda look at him. He could not bear the thought of putting that filthy tunic back on. She was going to have to deal with him shirtless. He strode over to the quilt and dropped to the floor afore the hearth. Tossing his hair back over his shoulder, out of the way, he stuck the cheese onto the toasting fork and held it out to the flames while Maleta changed the water and freshened the cloth on Jovan’s forehead.
She joined Cianan on the quilt to pour them each a cup of mead. She took a big swallow and reached for a peeled egg.
He felt her gaze on him, but left her with her thoughts as he placed the softened cheese on its plate and spread some on a piece of bread. He held it out to her and she traded it for a cup of the mead. The wood popped in the hearth. Maleta jumped, spilling a bit of mead over their wrists. He smiled and took the cup from her hand. “Are you all right?”
“I’m nothing but nerves,” she confessed. “I’ve felt like a bowstring forever, ready to snap.” She tucked her knees under her chin and stared through him, into the flames.
Were she any other woman, Cianan had a solution for releasing that tension. If not for the presence of her brother, the scene could have been the perfect set
ting for seduction. The mere thought made him burn. He snorted to himself at the irony of being with the one woman oblivious to her surroundings. He realized the twisted compliment that she didn’t view him in that way, as she still viewed sex as a threat, but it was small comfort when he wanted her so. The few chaste kisses she’d dared return made him yearn for more.
He had to think on something else. “There is hope for your brother,” he told her.
“The healers have already been here, on Tzigana’s order.” She turned bleak eyes to his. “They said there’s nothing they can do, that he’s beyond all aid.”
Cianan stared at Jovan’s still form on the bed. Jovan breathed. His heart beat. But his mind and spirit were gone, withdrawn away from the world, hiding deep within his body. Cianan had seen such collapses afore, from overwhelming trauma and stress. “Not all.” He turned to Maleta. “Eat. Drink. Get some rest. Jovan is not dead. He is not going to die. Come morning, we shall start looking for a solution. But not now, not when we are both exhausted.”
She finished the food in her hand in silence. “Do you think Dara can help him?”
“I think Benilo, our Minister of Healers,” Cianan mused. “He is the most powerful spirit healer we have.” He felt the king’s presence. “Loren?”
“Are you both all right?” Loren asked.
Cianan sent his memory of Sunniva’s trial and Jovan’s collapse. “I hoped Benilo might have a suggestion.”
“Let me get back to you on that,” Loren said. “I shall let you know what he says by morning. You both should rest.”
“Cianan?” Maleta’s voice masked Loren’s withdrawal.
“What?”
“Where did you go?” she asked. “You seemed so far away.”
“Finding the person to ask the right questions,” he replied. “Loren is going to ask Benilo and get us an answer by morning.”
