The Gathering Storm

by Amileigh D'Lecoire

  When the sound in Melisande’s ears had finally dulled to a small roar, she noticed that Trayvion had made her way up to nuzzle lazily between Melisande’s breasts. “You are so beautiful,” she whispered reverently. With warm, soft lips, she kissed lightly against the gentle slope of Melisande’s shoulder. “May the God’s have pity on us both, Melisande, for now that I’ve had a taste, I do not think that I will ever have enough.”

  Melisande had laughed lightly at that, and while Trayvion’s hands drifted down to begin again to caress and enflame her hungry, aching core, Melisande was already making plans for who would be her next lover. Trayvion may have opened the gate and introduced her to pleasure, but she was simply a stepping stone towards something bigger and better, and Melisande could not wait to find out what that was.

  ~5~

  The first time she’d had the dream was when she’d dozed off during her assigned watch of the sacred Flame of Vesta - yet another tiresome chore that carried with it the ever present threat of death should she allow the flame to go out (and really, she always had to stop and think, wasn’t the whole ‘do this or die’ thing getting a bit old??). She’d closed her eyes for only a moment, but when she opened them again, her world had shifted. Suddenly, all around were sinister shadows that danced at the edge of her vision; hazy images that melted into and out of one another with sensual, languid strokes as they called out to her. As she squinted and struggled to see, a road had unfolded before her; it was warped and unstable as it pulsed and swayed, and the vertigo this caused had made her queasy. She took a tentative step forward, felt her feet sink into the spongy surface, and had to struggle not to fall over. It took great effort to lift each leg, as if the ground itself were a living thing that wanted to cling to her in an attempt to keep her from reaching some distant goal.

  But where was it she was trying to go? She could never remember.

  The voices continued to whisper as she struggled to walk, insipid words of erotic promises if she would simply come to them, to those who waited in the shadows. Her flesh tingled and her core began to throb with familiar need as they tugged at her, these unseen, tempestuous beings whose thoughts licked at her soul and drugged her with desire.

  And as that desire began to pool low and hungry within, she turned to look in the direction of a flickering speck of light that seemed some great distance away and frowned, knowing that she needed to press on. But how could she? Why should see, when so much was waiting for her here? She could feel their hands upon her then, deceptively soft and warm as they moved across her skin to touch her between her legs. There was a sharp, piercing pain that made her gasp and cry out in shock and then an almost heart-stopping pleasure took hold. Her body started to tremble uncontrollably and she fell to her knees as orgasm after endless orgasm washed over her with violent insistence and robbed her of all coherent thought.

  The shadows responded next, pulsing and groaning, soft growls and husky moans of faceless pleasure that told her they experienced her pleasure with her. She tried to stand but icy fingers pulled her back down while frozen, phantom lips nibbled and teased, causing small aftershocks to ripple along her skin.

  “Come with us,” they called out to her with a hiss as tongues lapped and sucked at her flesh, and all thought was soon gone so that she was at their mercy, her head tilted back and eyes closed, unable to resist the delicious hunger growing inside of her as invisible hands pushed her thighs apart. Please, yes, whatever you want, she begged, anything . . .

  “STOP!!!” His voice was loud and frightening; powerful and commanding as it pushed everything else from her mind when he called out from the fading pinprick of light. “You belong to ME, Melisande Hecantes!”

  Lightening sizzled and thunder rumbled as he called to her, and the shadows recoiled in fear as a sudden, searing light filled the corridor. It was hot and blinding, and made Melisande cower in fear.

  And then, a hand reached out for her; large, strong and powerful as it wrapped around her own, pulling her forward towards the light. The shadows screamed and hissed at the unwanted intrusion, and as the hand pulled her forward, tugging at her very soul, she could hear a blood-chilling scream before waking up and realizing the scream she was hearing was her own.

  Awakened, heart racing and tears still damp on her pillows, she then caught the most subtle and enticing of scents – masculine, musky and familiar – before the sights and smells receded to leave her steeped in confusion once more.

  For almost twelve full moons the dream had been coming now, and always with the same, frustrating details. It never varied, yet each time it was as if she were experiencing it new. There was no denying that it was beginning to slowly eat away at the edges of her well maintained control, and this was something she simply could not allow. She was certain that it was her own desire to know a man that drove her to such madness, yet her will to live continued to overpower her desire to have the hardness of a man between her legs. She was driven to find the source of this disturbing recurrence of visions that she might conquer them and carry on with her own plans – to become the Vestalis Maximus, a plan that was fast becoming a viable reality given the senate’s obvious enthusiasm for her presence and counsel.

  A strong rush of wind pushed through the large marble columns that lined the chamber housing the flame and Melisande shivered. Pulled from her thoughts she bent forward and blew softly into the white hot embers that fed the fire, whispering the proper prayer and then watching as the flames leapt to life once more. Death – its threat hung over them all and tainted the opulent lifestyle afforded them by their position within society. Melisande shuddered to remember how the precious Aurora had fallen, and not without a little help from Melisande, albeit unintentional. After their brief exchange of caresses when Melisande had sought only to ignite Trayvion’s jealousy, Aurora had dissolved into a disturbing vessel of perversion. Melisande’s spell of lust had been overly powerful, in much the same way as a baby viper who is inexperienced releases excessive venom when it strikes. Unable to quench the fire between her legs by finding her way into Melisande’s arms, Aurora had soon taken a poor, unsuspecting lad who had arrived on one of the merchant ships to her bed and given him her virginity. Then, much to Melisande’s own dark amusement, proudly proclaimed it madly the next day as she’d run nude up and down the halls of the temple, all the while touching and trying to pleasure herself.

  Justice had been swift and sure. Aurora had been taken before the local Senate and severely beaten with a chastening rod, then led out of town at the end of a rope where the forbidden sepulcher’s of those who’d been condemned before her bit deep into the earth. Given only two days worth of food and water, she had been thrown deep into the ground and buried alive. It had been a full 7 days before her cries had finally ceased.

  No, Melisande had no desire to see her life end that way. Better to continue on with taking female lovers and do what she could to ease the ache of need rather than risk thoughts that could lead to her demise. Besides, in truth she was enjoying her time with Trayvion and the other women warriors. In the year since she and Trayvion had become lovers, Melisande had come to invite them all to her bed, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, and always with Trayvion in attendance. Melisande enjoyed pressing her eager sex into the faces of Trayvion’s companions while the handsome woman watched and pleasured herself. She enjoyed the way she was able to control and dominate these fierce women who seemed to hunger for her in a way that was obsessive and addictive. She did not question why it was that they so craved to know the taste and feel of her, she only knew that she enjoyed the hours of pleasure this afforded her and the manner in which she seemed able to command them with simply a sigh. Melisande’s appetite for all things carnal was veracious and demanding, and she had chosen well when she’d lured these dark and dangerous women into her web.

  “It is a pity to see such beauty kept locked away in such a pathetically gilded cage as this.”

  Melisande’s eyes grew immediately wide
as she was drawn from the flames and her thoughts by a voice that was frighteningly familiar. She jumped to her feet and began seeking out the shadows to discover the source of the voice, gasping aloud as he began to take shape across from her. The flames between them began to grow fierce and alive as she watched him become more and more solid, and her heart stopped when she finally beheld the perfection of his face.

  “How did you come to be here?” she demanded at once. She knew that her warrior’s kept watch beyond the outer ring of columns and would not have allowed anyone to pass by.

  “Look within, little dove – you know the answer to the question you ask.”

  His mouth titled up in an amused smile and she felt her breath catch. He was magnificent –golden and fair, with shimmering hair that seemed spun from gold as it fell around his face and shoulders. His eyes were large blue orbs that shined with mischief and deceit – oh yes, he wore that one like a badge – his lips full and sensual, his mouth and jaw firm and set. He had broad shoulders and a powerful chest whose muscles rippled beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and power clung to him like a second skin.

  Melisande stared at him in momentary stunned silence from across and through the flames. He began to move, and for each step he took left, she went right. Predator and prey, and her ability to meet his gaze full on without flinching made him chuckle, the sound smooth and rich like thunder on a warm spring day

  “I make you nervous,” he stated simply. His voice a rich, masculine baritone that whispered against her soul and made her shiver with desire.

  “No.” she lied, her eyes locked with his as they continued their wary dance around the flames.

  “I make you hungry,” he teased, lowering his voice.

  “It is you,” she whispered then as recognition took hold. “The one from my dream.”

  “I am Hippolyte. Son to Elvanya and the great Creator, and God of the Dark Realms of the 7th Sun.” He gave her a mock bow, their eyes still locked in a dangerously sensual battle of wills.

  Now it was her turn to smile. So he was a God, then? This was a most unexpected – and welcomed – turn of circumstances. Her eyes grew immediately lazy, her smile sultry and her gait less rushed and more fluid.

  “A God?” she mused as she studied him. “I have never heard of you, or the Dark Realms of the 7th Sun. How can I be sure?”

  His smile faltered and she felt suddenly cold as his eyes flashed from blue to a brilliant, deep red.

  “You would have me prove it?” His words were softly spoken and laced with warning, and her skin grew clammy as goose bumps prickled and teased.

  “You are here and my guards are none the wiser. You must be a God,” she sniffed in an effort to hide her sudden fear. He threw back his head and laughed heartily, and she could not decide if she found the sound of it pleasant or frightening, hearing the slight edge of madness in its echoes.

  “In time, you will come to know of me and my power. I’ve been watching you for many cycles, now. Seems your father is an old and dear friend of mine, and has asked that I check on you.” He began to move towards her again, and she once again moved with him in the opposite direction.

  “My father is dead.”

  “Your father is very much alive and well, I’m afraid.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. What sort of game was this he was playing with her?

  “Well,” he continued, “perhaps saying he is alive is simplifying things a bit.” He held out his palm and a small orb appeared, growing larger and larger as it began to spin in upon itself and rise to hover over the flame.

  “What trickery is this?” she snapped testily, hearing the edge in her voice and loathe to know that he had put it there.

  “Your father was no mortal man, Melisande. He was Gothelius, Guardian of the underworld, and he was quite taken with your mother’s charms and talents.” She refused to rise against the insult to her mother, instead standing transfixed as the orb began to throb and pulse while images began to play within. As she watched, she saw her mother’s bedchambers back home, saw her mother on the bed, lost to unnatural pleasures as a hideous, writhing, gelatinous mass of flesh mounted and pierced her, thrusting hungrily between her legs and oblivious to her confused screams as it pounded ruthlessly into her. Her mother’s nails bit into the oozing flesh and raked away pieces of skin as she alternately pushed the thing away only to pull it back into her once more, as if she was repulsed by her hunger for its touch and yet helpless to deny her need to have it deep inside of her.

  “They are quite the arduous pair of lovers, no?” His voice was laced with a hint of poison. He was enjoying this, enjoyed watching her horror play out across her features.

  “No,” she whispered as she continued to watch, unable to tear her eyes away from their coupling even though it sickened her beyond words.

  “Yes,” he whispered against her neck and she jumped then, surprised to find him pressed suddenly against her. “And now, dear Melisande, I suggest you put your affairs in order. Your father has promised you to me and I have decided to accept. In 4 days time we will come for you, and in 5 days time I will claim your virginity and make you my wife.”

  “No!” she shouted then, but was met only with indulgent, abrasive laughter as his hands came up to cup her breasts and squeeze possessively. She tried to push away but it was no use, he was far stronger and held her in place with only a thought while he took his time to knead and caress their weighty softness within his massive palms.

  “Yes,” he responded as his lips nibbled at her ear. In spite of herself she found the feel of him arousing and he gave an approving growl as he caught the scent of her desire. “You see, my pet? Even now your body recognizes that it belongs to me.”

  “Never!” she shouted, finally managing to push away though she had no doubt it was only because he allowed it. “I will NEVER welcome you to my bed!”

  “Trust me, my pet,” he whispered. “When I come back, you will beg me to take you away.” He turned her around and pulled her roughly against him, covering her mouth with his and forcing his tongue inside, causing her to gasp. It was not at all like Trayvion’s kisses, or the kisses of her other warriors – this kiss was harsh and penetrating, invasive and demanding, and she felt her body betray her by responding to the brutality of it.

  She wanted to cry from the emptiness left behind when he finally separated from her.

  “Remember. Four days.” He pushed past her and started to walk into the flames, then turned back around to give her a teasing smirk – “And do not fret – I’ll allow you to bring your personal guard along as well. I’ve enjoyed watching how well they’ve pleasured you – we shall all have a splendid time on our honeymoon, I think.” Before she could answer he walked straight away into the flames and then vanished, taking Vesta’s fire with him.

  ~6~

  Melisande awoke confused and disoriented as panicked voices cried out all around.

  “Look what has happened!”

  “The Flame – Vesta has taken the flame!”

  “Our priestess is unworthy!”

  The shouts mingled and the sobs annoyed, and she scowled as she pushed herself up, only to find she was partially pinned by the naked, intertwined bodies of her guard. As she tried desperately to remember what had happened, hands began to grab and pull at them all.

  “How could you?”

  “What have you done?”

  Panic. Accusations. And then she saw. The Flame of Vesta had burned out – on HER watch. As the truth of it washed over her, she began to tremble and shake with understanding.

  “No, wait – please!” she pleaded as hands began to roughly grab and pull at them all. Her warrior’s – strong though they were – were no match for the palace guards in such numbers as the chamber continued to fill with both them and the other priestesses. Trayvion and her women, too, were disorientated and confused, but did at least put up a good fight before finally finding their hands bound tightly behind their backs and nooses sec
ured snugly around their necks. The ropes were interwoven with a thin piece of barbed metal so that when they struggled the sharpened edges bit deep and unforgiving into their skin.

  Ignoring her pleas, the citizens who had joined in on the march downwards began to pummel them with stones as they heard of what had happened. Mob mentality took hold as they continued towards the waiting senate as the temple bells cried out overhead, their piteous peels of noise grating against Melisande’s ears as they echoed her crime. As she stumbled along, ducking where she could to avoid the objects being thrown at them, she had to fight back the bile that rose up in the back of her throat. She did not cry – she would not give any that satisfaction – but her heart and her mind raced as she was dragged along to answer for and atone for her crime.

  Hippolyte! She seethed with ill-concealed anger as his image rose unbidden to dance before her. He smiled back at her, knowing that only she could see him, and reached down to cup the huge erection that bulged against the tight fabric of his breeches. “I’ll be waiting for you,” he mouthed and she wanted to scream and lash out at him, wanted to rip that smug smile from his face. But her feeble attempts made her look possessed and mad, thus confirming for those who hurried her along that she had indeed fallen from grace and been abandoned by Vesta, thus endangering them all.