Familiar Pleasures

by Jory Strong

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Familiar Pleasures

  ISBN # 1-4199-0721-2

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Familiar Pleasures Copyright© 2006 Jory Strong

  Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication: September 2006

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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

  Content Advisory:

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  Familiar Pleasures

  Jory Strong

  Chapter One

  The snow leopard edged closer to the stream and the man who knelt on its bank combing through the foliage there. Here was easy prey.

  A breeze stirred and with it came the scent of a human female who’d been to this place often. The large male cat opened his mouth slightly and let her scent coat his tongue. It intrigued him. Called to him in a way only one other human scent had ever done.

  He swiveled his ears, hoping for the sound of her footsteps though he already knew she wasn’t nearby. He’d followed her trail earlier but stopped when it became apparent her destination was a village near the base of the mountain. He would hunt her tomorrow, but for now he had surer prey in his sights.

  The snow leopard was far from the territory claimed by his kind, the high mountains where snow sometimes yielded to bare rock. It was a place where his smoky gray coat marked with spots and dark gray rosettes provided the perfect camouflage, just as the remoteness provided the solitude his species often required.

  The huge male was twice as large as the more common snow leopards, though few ever saw them. Fewer still knew of the existence his particular species, cats large enough to rival a lion.

  Despite his size and power, he was at a disadvantage in this land, his beautiful coat a liability. Stealth and timing became everything.

  He crept forward. Slowly. One small step at a time. His anticipation built as he became convinced the human was completely absorbed in his task, was unaware of the predator closing the distance between them.

  He stilled as the human’s attention shifted away from the plants growing on the bank. He hunkered more closely to the ground when the man’s gaze scanned the area around him before returning to the foliage.

  The snow leopard’s muscles bunched. He’d gotten as close to the man as the cluster of trees would allow. Now he calculated the distance. Planned his attack.

  * * * * *

  Savant Bartholdi looked at the cuttings and roots he’d gathered and smiled in satisfaction. One thing he’d noticed since he and Sunder had come to the witch-lands in search of a woman who would please them both—and yet not object to the pleasure they found in each other—was that the witches didn’t over-harvest.

  Then again, perhaps that was because as far as he’d been able to tell, other than having familiars, very few of the women he’d encountered were true witches. There were healers, of course, as would be expected in any village. Some were more gifted than others, but few had the ability to combine magic with herb remedies.

  He shrugged and spread his harvest to dry. It didn’t really matter whether the woman he and Sunder claimed for a wife was a witch or not. He was a warlock and could tend to that part of their lives.

  Savant stretched, luxuriating in the feel of the sun’s warmth. They could easily have traveled the short distance to the next village but it felt good to stop and rest for a day. To have some time together.

  As much as he hated to admit it, Savant was starting to wonder if he and Sunder weren’t on a fool’s journey. They’d been traveling for six months now with only one purpose in mind. To find a wife they could share. So far there hadn’t been a single candidate, though plenty had judged the cut of Savant’s clothing and the weight of his coin. Plenty had flirted and been willing to invite him into their beds, hoping for a token afterward that would gain them a wealthy husband or an easier life. But underneath their calculated offers of passion had been fear and a hint of revulsion as they wondered if the rumors were true, that warlocks loved men as well as women.

  It would be a simple matter to use magic to enthrall a woman into accepting two husbands who were also intimate with each other. Savant would rather do without a wife than to use spells to acquire and maintain one.

  In the old days, before the magic grew and warlocks became more adept at using it to defend themselves, it wasn’t unheard of for them to be attacked and killed primarily because of the rumors over their sexual practices. Now warlocks were welcomed in most villages, at least for short visits, their wards and potions and spells a commodity eagerly sought and bartered for.

  Savant glanced around, a slight frisson of worry sliding through him. Sunder had been gone a long time. True, this trip had been harder on Sunder than it had been on him. Sunder was a more solitary creature, preferring their home in the high mountains to travel these days. It hadn’t always been so. In fact, it was their love of travel which had brought them together in the first place. A chance encounter at a seaport, though not a romantic one.

  Sunder had been shackled and very nearly starved to death. His body rail thin and left out in the blistering sun as cargo to be loaded last.

  Their eyes had met across the dock, the sky-blue of Savant’s connecting with the green-gray of Sunder’s and seeing strength and pride. A determination to survive against all odds.

  Savant couldn’t have walked away even if it had meant his own life would be forfeit. He’d rescued Sunder, nursed him back to health, never imagining during those long weeks that they would one day be lovers. More than just lovers. Inseparable companions. And now they sought a wife together.

  A sense of being watched, of impending attack, distracted Savant from his thoughts. He stood and turned, this time scanning the area and looking for places a predator might be hiding.

  * * * * *

  The surface of the pond rippled as Aysa Douay threw the wishing stone in. She felt foolish for indulging in a child’s pastime on the very day when she was to make her woman’s choice. And yet she couldn’t stop herself from uttering the words deep in her heart as the stone disappeared into the depths of the icy blue water. “Please let me claim the right familiar.”

  She knelt and gathered her belongings, a day’s worth of food rolled into a single blanket. Whether she was successful or not, she couldn’t be g
one for long. She was needed at home.

  Aysa glanced back at the village where she’d lived since birth. Fear of failure curled in her belly. Her mother and father had given each of their three daughters more of a childhood than most girls were allowed. But since her father’s accident, followed by the fire which had destroyed their small house, they’d all been forced to move in with her mother’s sister. And though her aunt welcomed them, they were a burden.

  It is time to leave childhood behind, Aysa thought. The celebration of the harvest was days away and this had been a season of abundance. Farmers and merchants and craftsmen alike would be full of good cheer and hope, their pockets lined and their cellars well stocked. They’d look ahead into the coming winter and decide it would be nice to have a woman in their home during those long dark months. And because both their coffers and stores were full, they’d seek brides during the festival.

  Her fingers went to the base of her throat, reassuring herself that the tiny cloth pouch containing the charm wrought with her own blood in order to gain a familiar was still there. Without it she would have no way to bind a willing familiar to her.

  Aysa shivered. Only the most undesirable of men would accept a woman without a familiar. A woman’s familiar was a reflection of her value and disposition, an indication of compatibility. Theirs was a hard life, where by law, a man ruled in his home.

  A woman was his property, though if the match was good, as it was between her parents, love flourished and grew and brought immense happiness. But if was bad… She shivered again and wondered why the village men didn’t have familiars to aid in judging their character. Then she smiled, remembering her aunt’s ribald comments about strutting cocks and crowing roosters when she’d brought the subject up.

  From the pine grove at the edge of the valley, a raven called and was answered by another, making Aysa think of the one exception when it came to men and familiars. The warlocks.

  Only a handful of them had passed through in the time since Aysa’s birth. But they’d all had either a raven or a wolf as a familiar.

  She’d been at the age when boys had gone from an annoyance to a fascination the last time a warlock came to their village to barter. Whispered speculation had preceded his visit and fathers had sent their marriage-ready sons on errands so they were gone while the warlock was there.

  Aysa and her sisters had made a game of spying on the warlock. They had even snuck into the barn behind the dairyman’s house and climbed into the hayloft so they could watch the warlock and the dairyman’s eldest daughter fucking.

  A tingle went through Aysa’s nipples and clit just thinking about the way the warlock’s buttocks had flexed as he thrust and grunted and came. Her folds grew swollen remembering how he’d rolled to his back and she’d seen a man’s penis for the first time, slick and glistening from sex.

  From that moment on she’d fantasized about a dark-haired lover like the warlock. Though everyone knew that no warlock would offer for a wife unless she had a familiar that matched his own.

  Aysa had heard it whispered that such a thing was necessary because warlocks preferred men to women. But after the view from the hayloft, she questioned whether the rumors were true. When she had tried to ask her mother, she’d ended up with a mouth full of soap and enough extra chores to keep her “too busy to think on such unwholesome, unnatural things”.

  Her mother’s reaction had only sparked her curiosity about two men together. And she wondered if it was truly unnatural. She’d seen male dogs mount other male dogs. And once she’d seen two colts playing, their cocks dropped and rigid as they reared and pawed and pretended to fight, then mounted each other.

  Aysa sighed and pushed thoughts of warlocks away. As far as she could tell, she had no affinity for ravens or wolves.

  The taking of a familiar wasn’t a thing of trickery, but a searching of the soul. An extension of the self. Or at least it used to be.

  More than once Aysa had caught herself wondering if the magic of their lands had faded. Her mother’s sister was a true witch, one who read the leaves and created the familiar charms, and yet even she wasn’t truly linked to her sparrow familiar as the warlocks were said to be linked to their familiars.

  Her aunt’s sparrow would help find ingredients for potions, would sit on her aunt’s shoulder for hours, but they didn’t truly converse. Their souls didn’t flow back and forth between the two bodies as warlocks supposedly did with their familiars. But perhaps that was only another rumor. Still…Aysa couldn’t shake the idea that once upon a time a woman’s relationship with her familiar was deeper, stronger.

  She stroked the pouch containing the charm one last time, then dropped her hand and forced herself to move away from the wishing pond and toward the mountains. Very few women went beyond the valley in search of their familiars. Most claimed cats or songbirds or small dogs because potential husbands would have no objection to those choices and even the smallest living space and the most meager budget could accommodate such familiars.

  She’d heard it said that in remote places where men tended sheep and the animals were allowed to come and go, to enter the family’s home as they pleased, then women took ewes as familiars. But she’d never seen such a thing herself.

  Her sisters had already used their charms and taken cats for their familiars. The eldest had chosen a calico female with a pleasing personality, while the youngest had chosen a white cat with green eyes. Worry for her sisters creased Aysa’s forehead. She also had affinity for cats, but she’d sworn not to make one her familiar.

  Only the most ignorant when it came to the ways of men and women would fail to notice that women with cat familiars were forever pregnant and often poor because of the number of children that needed to be fed and clothed. Aysa would like to have children, but she also worried about her parents and her aunt. She wanted them to be comfortable and never need for food or shelter.

  Aysa’s fingers curled in the pocket of her dress where the wishing stone had been. Perhaps she should have wished that she could be content to follow the easy path. To claim a songbird as a familiar. Perhaps a gold finch to match her hair or a bluebird to match her eyes.

  As quickly as the thought arose, she disregarded it. Something drew her to the mountains. Something told her that her destiny would unfold there.

  She moved on, gaining confidence with each step. It was time to leave childhood behind. To take a familiar now and perhaps a husband at the upcoming festival.

  Nervousness flickered through her at the thought of going to the marriage bed inexperienced. Most women had been with at least one lover before settling on a husband. But there’d been no opportunity for Aysa to satisfy the curiosity that had been aroused by witnessing the warlock and the dairyman’s daughter.

  Until a girl took a familiar she was considered a child regardless of her age. Any man caught bedding her was punished severely. Just as a married woman was off limits, the sanctions harsh if she was caught fucking a man not her husband.

  Aysa entered the grove of trees and took the narrow path that led into the mountains. She thought of the small, peaceful valley she’d visited only days ago in order to gather some of the plants her aunt used to create the familiar charms.

  She would go there. Not only did the valley have a stream but there was a shallow cave nearby where she could take shelter for the night.

  The decision settled comfortably on Aysa. “Please let me claim the right familiar,” she said out loud, repeating the wish she’d cast with the stone.

  Somewhere above her, a falcon’s sharp call pierced the air. Aysa’s heart raced at the sound of it. Excitement surged through her. Surely the falcon’s sudden appearance was a sign that her familiar was to be one of the magnificent birds. A sleek hunter that would set her apart from the others, a spirit who could fly free where she was bound by duties and responsibilities.

  Her footsteps became lighter as she hurried upward. She was more sure now than ever that she would find what she was see
king in the valley above.

  Chapter Two

  Savant saw the flash of white as the snow leopard left its hiding place in a charge. He cursed, stumbled in his hurry to get away from the water’s edge, but it was too late. The leopard was in the air, its magnificent body stretched out, its razor-sharp claws gleaming in the sunlight.

  Savant cursed again as the cat hit him, its weight and speed carrying them both backward and over the bank. There was only time enough to cast a quick spell to shield his landing. And then the erotic, shimmering energy of Sunder washed over Savant and nearly had him coming in his trousers.

  “My turn to be on top,” Sunder said, his voice a purr.

  Savant looked up at the exotic face above his and was momentarily lost in the gray-green eyes which had first captured him so many years ago. He’d thought he might gain a familiar when he rescued the snow leopard on that dock. Instead he had gained so much more. “I need to get undressed,” Savant said, the cold water soaking into his clothing but doing nothing to cool the heat raging through him.

  Sunder’s hips moved and Savant groaned as their cocks rubbed against each other. Sunder’s naked, his own shielded by too much fabric. “I need to get undressed,” Savant repeated, but couldn’t stop himself from spearing his fingers through Sunder’s hair and guiding the other man’s lips to his, anxious for the feel of Sunder’s cat-rough tongue.

  “You were lost in your plants again,” Sunder growled, licking across the seam of Savant’s mouth and making him moan. “You left yourself vulnerable and now I have you at my mercy.”

  Savant managed a laugh despite the throbbing of his cock. It was an often-played game between them. “I was safe enough. I’m still safe enough.”

  Sunder licked across the seam of Savant’s lips again. “You’re easy prey.”