The Sting of Victory

by S D Simper

  “The headache she gave me told me she was something special. She’s been my ward ever since.” As almost an afterthought, Etolié quickly amended, “And, of course, was promoted to Grand Diplomat. Our little shrinking violet will be a wonderful stand-in for myself when I inevitably light myself on fire to escape the political world-”

  The door burst open. Marielle and Zorlaeus entered, both of them beaming. “Everyone, Zorlaeus has proposed! We’re getting-” Marielle stopped when her eyes matched with Ayla’s. Zorlaeus, too, had all joy suddenly drain from his countenance. “Lady Ayla,” Marielle said stiffly, “I didn’t realize you had arrived.”

  “No, no,” Ayla said, standing and rushing to them. “No need for apologies. Not with such a spectacle to celebrate. Oh, Lae Lae, I’m so happy for you!” She enveloped Zorlaeus in a crushing hug, and Flowridia didn’t miss the flinch of pain from Marielle’s intended. “We had all been wondering when the big day would be.”

  “We hope for a short engagement,” the De’Sindai managed to say, and Ayla pulled away, smiling wide.

  “Come sit, both of you.” Ayla gestured to the table. “This calls for a celebratory drink. Give me a moment-”

  She vanished into the shadow of the pantry door.

  Silence settled. Marielle and Zorlaeus awkwardly sat.

  Khastra, however, side-eyed the door. “She fits in the pantry?”

  Unsure if she could reveal to everyone the explanation of Ayla’s unusual talent, Flowridia simply shrugged.

  Ayla quickly reappeared, and in her hand she flashed a black, metallic flask, one bearing the official Nox’Karthan seal. “From Casvir’s personal stores. Strong enough to wake the dead.”

  Balanced in her other hand, she held six stacked glasses, ones she arranged in a row on the table. Barely a drop of liquid in each, and Ayla handed one to Flowridia with a slight shake to her head. “A toast to the new couple.”

  At arm’s length, Flowridia could smell whatever toxic brew wafted from the glass.

  Only Etolié and Ayla partook at first. Ayla flipped the glass back and took it all in one swig.

  Etolié tilted back the glass . . . and fell into her chair.

  Ayla watched the scene with visible disappointment. “Too much for you, Favored of Eionei?”

  Flowridia heard Etolié mumble, “Strong stuff.”

  From across the table, Khastra took a tentative sip and winced. “Highly effective.”

  “Well, I have no wish to intrude on personal matters,” Ayla said, placing a sincere hand on her chest. From the flask itself, she took another gulp. “I’ll leave your council to celebrate in peace.”

  Ayla turned to leave, and Marielle made desperate eye contact with Flowridia. She nudged toward the door.

  Flowridia understood.

  Ayla had nearly disappeared down the hall by the time Flowridia left the kitchen. “Ayla, wait!”

  Ayla turned slowly, a vicious glint in her eyes. “Sorry,” she cooed, serpentine as she smiled. “The mood was nauseating. I’ll be in your room if you wish to celebrate Lae Lae’s engagement to that bitch.”

  It rolled so smoothly off Ayla’s tongue that Flowridia swore she misheard. “I’m sorry?” Flowridia stopped and placed her hand on Ayla’s arm. “Ayla-”

  “You can’t hate a dog for chasing after swine. I’m happy he’s happy.” Ayla ripped her arm away and continued walking, her glare pointed straight ahead as she barreled forward.

  Pressure crushed Flowridia’s ribs, as though an iron hand suffocated her. “I didn’t realize you had such strong feelings toward Marielle,” she offered tentatively. “Or Zorlaeus.”

  Ayla stopped, her grip on the flask tightening as she slowly turned around. “I despise him,” she seethed. “He’s a pathetic little cur, but what does it say if I can’t keep even that skulking wretch under my control? My name could once hush a room to silence, Flowra. I was a whisper, because who would dare to speak and summon me? Now, I’m nothing.”

  “You’re not nothing,” Flowridia whispered. “You’ve never been nothing to me.”

  Ayla took a slow drink from the flask, the ice in her eyes directed at Flowridia as she topped it, tossed it aside, and pulled Flowridia forward into a rough kiss.

  Metal clanged against the stone floor. Flowridia craved the contact of Ayla’s cool embrace, but the strong stench of alcohol made her flinch. She pulled away as Ayla gripped her arm and dragged her down the hall toward the stairs. “Are you drunk?”

  Ayla stopped, staring in disbelief. “How naïve are you? I’m dead.”

  Flowridia cringed at the harsh words. But the wall suddenly appeared at her back, and a crushing kiss stole her reply. Desperate hands groped her form. Flowridia turned her head and cowered, trying in vain to push Ayla away. “Not here, not here-” A gasp escaped her throat when Ayla suddenly whisked her into her arms and carried her up the stairs.

  In her bedroom, Ayla kicked the door shut and nearly threw Flowridia onto the plush mattress. The slight form dominated her before she could breathe, but alone, Flowridia felt no need to fight it. Instead, she melted into the touch, letting Ayla’s hands roam her body. Despite the taste of noxious liquor, Flowridia savored the contact. Her own hands settled lightly onto Ayla’s waist, fingers grazing the thin fabric of her dress.

  Flowridia gasped when teeth nipped at her throat. Fear and arousal spiked in tandem, and Flowridia wondered absently if this would be her end.

  Ayla’s mouth drew away, her burned visage nightmarish in the setting sunlight. Whispered words tingled at Flowridia’s senses. “You’re mine,” her perfect voice seethed, and a shiver shot down Flowridia’s spine.

  Steel and ice met Flowridia’s gaze, but she dared to reach her hand up and lightly cup the sharp lines of Ayla’s face. Flowridia whispered, “I’m yours.”

  Ayla flinched, eyes wide. Her hand moved to cover Flowridia’s, cold to the touch and trembling.

  Then, anger twisted those cutting features. She tore Flowridia’s hand away.

  Flowridia gasped when Ayla grabbed the collar of her dress. Ripping fabric joined the chorus of moans. Exposed now, the cool air touched Flowridia’s skin only a moment before Ayla’s hand gripped her breast. Nails threatened to tear at the tender skin, and Flowridia moved to stroke Ayla’s fine, black hair.

  But she was stopped, her wrist grabbed and forced above her head. Ayla’s icy glower reflected the fading sun. “Beg,” she said, quiet menace simmering beneath the controlled storm. “Beg for me to claim you.”

  The grip on her wrist grew tight, painful. Flowridia nodded, gasping. “Take me, Ayla, please.”

  Shivers coursed along Flowridia’s skin as Ayla released her and drew careful lines with her nails. Down Flowridia’s arms, her torso, and finally to her thighs. Ice became her prison, Ayla’s stare unrelenting. When a single, lithe finger stroked a line down her dripping heat, Flowridia said, “Please, Ayla-”

  Two fingers moved smoothly inside her. Pleasure came in tumultuous waves, Ayla’s hand breaking upon her wanting shore. Oh, such perfection, to be so connected. Flowridia gripped the sheets, unable to contain her inarticulate cries.

  Her blood burned with each thrust. Soon came the rush, a new high as her mind met the same pleasure as her body. A burst and a falling as sweeping reality met her too sensitive senses, and Ayla, so perceptive, slowed her pace as Flowridia fell back to earth.

  Flowridia’s eyelids fluttered shut, a shy smile coming unbidden to her lips. Ayla pulled out, and after a coy stroke to her aching bud, she wiped her hands against the sheet and crawled on her palms to face Flowridia. Their bodies didn’t touch – not quite – as Ayla held herself above her.

  Breathing heavy, Flowridia reached an exhausted limb up to touch Ayla’s face. Emotion threatened to burst from her chest, foreign, warm feelings that grew every moment they were together. Shyly, she said, “Ayla-”

  “Satisfied?” Ayla said, the word smooth against her tongue.

  Through Flowridia’s clouded, emotive
thoughts burst despair. Unwilling to articulate, she pulled Ayla’s face down to meet hers. Their mouths met with urgency; Flowridia prayed it hid her hurt.

  Ayla pulled their lips apart, perhaps sensing something amiss. Flowridia engulfed her in an embrace, holding the smaller woman against her chest as her fingers ran along the bony contours of Ayla’s back and ribs.

  “Something displeases you.” Ayla’s voice, though muffled between her breasts, was unmistakably cutting.

  Flowridia shrunk. “I would only hope . . .” Her words faded, and she felt Ayla snake her lithely muscled arms around her. “I hope you know this is about more than my satisfaction. I care about you.”

  A paltry substitute for truth.

  Ayla pulled away to face her. She removed one hand from Flowridia’s waist and let it trace faint lines along her face. “My Sweet Flowra, I apologize. I have been unbearable.”

  “No, no!” Flowridia quickly shook her head, panic in her words. “Ayla, you’ve been perfectly cordial.”

  “You blush so prettily when you lie. No, I’ve been intolerable.” Ayla’s voice caressed her ears with the same slow sensuality as her touch. Resignation settled onto Ayla’s features. “Nothing to worry yourself over, Flowra. It’s merely been too long since I’ve had a proper meal.”

  A soft smile tugged at Flowridia’s lips. “Ayla, you made a beautiful dinner-” The smile vanished. The terrible truth slammed her like a brick.

  Flowridia had seen Ayla’s fangs in the presence of blood, watched her lick it from her fingers. Yet, she’d never considered the truth, that necromancy called for life and that Ayla was a creature born of dark magic.

  “Blood is the price of life, Flowra.”

  “Must you kill, though?” Flowridia’s voice was as shy as she felt.

  “Gods, no,” Ayla said, light laughter in her voice. “I only need a small bite. But I wouldn’t dare hunt in your kingdom.” Her voice lowered. “Casvir would have my head.”

  “What if it were offered freely?” Flowridia’s voice faltered as her companion turned her questioning gaze onto her. But her courage held, though her blood ran cold. “Take mine.”

  Ayla shook her head, her eyes magnetized to Flowridia’s.

  “Ayla, please. If blood is the price of life, then would it help . . .” Her words trailed away as she dared to trace the charred line of Ayla’s burn.

  “Healing would take more blood than a simple feeding. I could hurt you.”

  Flowridia’s hand reached forward to brush aside the hair from Ayla’s severed ear, revealing the exposed bone. “Will it help?”

  “Perhaps. But, Flowra-”

  “Let me right what I’ve done.” With sincere tenderness, Flowridia managed what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I offer myself as a gift.”

  When Ayla pursed her lips, Flowridia saw the barest hints of her fangs. Flowridia sensed animal instinct, barely contained. “I could kill you.”

  “But you won’t. I trust you. Won’t you please let me show you?”

  Ayla leaned forward, her pupils a black mass consuming all semblance of rectitude. Flowridia placed a finger against her lips. “If you’re going to bite me, put it somewhere no one will see.”

  Oh, there was that grin – the predator bore her teeth, and for the first time Flowridia felt true fear seize her heart at the sight. Her imagination had not betrayed her; Ayla’s fangs grew long.

  As Ayla drew back, Flowridia stiffened, her fists growing tight. She shut her eyes, bracing herself against whatever pain she had told to strike.

  But instead, a hand wrapped around her tense fist. A gentle hand, familiar and cold – one whose touch brought intimacy and pleasure, one that made love with no reserve.

  Flowridia opened her eyes and saw Ayla’s hesitation. The elven woman’s mouth, closed now, seemed too small to encompass her teeth. “We don’t have to do this.”

  Flowridia shook her head and unbound her fist. Dread faded away, and she interlaced their fingers. “I want to.”

  Ayla kept a careful stare as she lowered her head, her colorless eyes calculating as she drank in the sight of Flowridia’s bare torso. “Somewhere no one will see . . .” The animal returned – the very image of hunger and lust – and Ayla sank down and kissed the side of Flowridia’s breast. With a confirming glance, Ayla bared her teeth and let her fangs prick the soft skin beside her peaked bud. Hardly a sting, and Flowridia watched the surreal vision of blood beading from two perfect pinpricks at her breast.

  Ayla lowered her mouth. Flowridia’s fingers tightened around her lover’s as a strange coldness descended upon her. Pleasure radiated from the touch, even as limbs began to numb. She watched, mesmerized by the beautiful woman serenely feasting upon her. Ayla looked so content with her eyes shut, the very picture of vulnerability. Flowridia felt a protective, tender instinct grip her heart.

  Ayla’s eyes opened. Their gazes met, a power binding them, and Flowridia felt something shift in her heart. A well of feeling pooled in her eyes. Never in her life, not even during their lovemaking, had she felt so exposed, yet so protected.

  Her hand cradled the back of Ayla’s head, and Flowridia felt the grip on her fingers tighten. Flowridia stroked her black hair and wondered if Ayla felt it too – this wave of raw emotion threatening to flay Flowridia’s soul into ribbons.

  Weakness grew within her. Ayla finally withdrew her mouth and stared, hints of blood staining her lower lip and the fangs innocently protruding from her mouth. Color returned to her wide eyes, a curious frown tugging at her lips.

  Suddenly, Ayla sprang forward, crushing their lips together. Blood passed between them, but Flowridia didn’t shy at the metallic sting. Ayla pulled Flowridia tight to her chest, yet her touch held no lust. Something different drove her actions, the way she held Flowridia close, how her arms wrapped themselves around Flowridia’s weakened form. It was intimate, desperate. Flowridia embraced her, overwhelmed at the sudden rush. She felt words threaten to burst from her lips-

  “I love you.”

  Flowridia’s eyes shot open. The words were not her own. She pulled away, head swimming at the motion, and realization of how her limbs tingled, how her eyelids tugged from exhaustion – somewhere it whispered like quiet rain. But Ayla’s words were thunder echoing across the gentle night.

  The vulnerability in Ayla’s stare ripped at Flowridia’s open heart. A watery sheen filled those brilliant, blue eyes. “I-” Ayla shut her mouth. Her breath hitched, though she did not breathe. “I love you, Flowridia,” she repeated. “Please, never leave me.”

  “Never,” Flowridia replied. “Ayla, I love you.” She leaned forward, their lips barely brushing. Ayla’s delicate sigh held relief.

  When Ayla pulled away, shyness in the smile she fought to suppress, she pressed their foreheads together and whispered, “You’re freezing.” She grabbed the blanket from the side of the bed and wrapped it around Flowridia’s shoulders.

  “I’ll be all right,” Flowridia said, the joy in her heart a quiet, gentle thing.

  “Hush now,” Ayla said, taking Flowridia into her arms. She laid her down with the care one might give an infant. “I may have taken more than I should have, and you need your rest.” Fingers ran through the tangles of Flowridia’s hair. Tiny kisses touched her cheeks, along with Ayla’s gentle tears. “Sleep, Flowra. Your mortal form needs to recover.”

  With each stroke of Ayla’s fingers, Flowridia felt her eyes grow heavier. Finally, they fluttered shut, her breathing growing steady and deep.

  Flowridia awoke with a pounding in her head and the faint light of morning to lull her into wakefulness. She rolled over, realizing Ayla no longer held her. Pressing the blanket to her bare chest, Flowridia sat up.

  On the bedside table sat a pitcher of water and a bowl of pumpkin seeds. No note. No explanation. Flowridia poured herself a glass of water, hoping it could soothe the burning memory of Ayla’s words: “I love you, Flowridia. Please, never leave me.”

  Yet, Ayla had lef
t. Sworn to warm her bed but vanished.

  Ignoring the bruising at her wrist, Flowridia took a handful of the pumpkin seeds and ate them, realizing last night’s adventure had left her starving. Blood loss led to hunger; this much she knew.

  A knock interrupted her focus. Flowridia carefully stood from her bed, struck by weakness as she tried to support herself. “One moment, please,” she said, holding her head. She leaned against the bedframe, head swimming until her vision focused.

  With care, she grabbed a nightgown from her wardrobe. When she finally answered the door, Khastra, fully armored, stood as tall as the doorframe. “Etolié said to deliver this.” She extended a tattooed arm, and a florescent, green crystal bracelet sat in her large palm. “Lady Ayla’s alcohol bested her, otherwise she would have come.”

  Flowridia accepted it, intrigued at how Khastra had soldered it to a metal ring, one that slipped around her hand and settled against her small wrist. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Where is Lady Ayla?” Khastra asked, peering past Flowridia.

  “Out. She’ll be back.” Hopefully it wasn’t a lie. Either way, it appeared Khastra accepted it. The half-demon took a step back, but Flowridia came forward to stop her. “Have you seen-”

  “You have severe blood loss.”

  Taken aback, Flowridia leaned against the doorframe. “I’m perfectly fine . . .”

  Khastra’s raised eyebrow was enough for Flowridia’s words to wither. “Making assumptions has gotten me into trouble over the millennia, but it seems Lady Ayla took a bite. Am I wrong?”

  Praise Khastra for being so forward, but damn her as well. At least it spared Flowridia the embarrassment of having to explain herself. She shook her head, realizing the doorframe supported her more than she’d thought.

  “Was it with your permission?”

  Although shame welled in her stomach, Flowridia nodded.

  Khastra glanced past her, at Flowridia’s bedside table. “She left you with sustenance. Responsible of her. Drink lots of water.”