A Lamentation of Swans

by Desiree Acuna

  Gwyneth felt her skin pebble all over in reaction, felt her heart slam against her chest wall, felt the throbbing ache at her core expand and then fragment. She sucked in a sharp breath as waves of bliss began to crash through her. Faine pumped a little frantically, uttered faint choked grunts as own body began to yield up his seed in response, and released a long, ragged sigh of relief when it finally stopped.

  “Gods!” he muttered when he’d finally caught his breath, leaning away to search her face worriedly. “Did I hurt you?”

  Gwyneth opened her eyes with an effort. “No,” she grunted, abruptly aware of the hard, pebble strewn ground beneath her. He hadn’t hurt her, but the ground she’d been pressed against had left bruises all over her backside.

  He scanned her face and finally levered himself off of her, rolling on his hip and then up into a sitting position. He seemed completely focused on adjusting his trousers and shoving his cock into them when Gwyneth pushed herself up onto her elbows a little drunkenly. She glanced at him and then down at her skirts, bunched up around her waist, and finally reached with shaking hands to push them down.

  Faine shot to his feet abruptly as she sat up, stalked away from the fire, and disappeared into the darkness. Right up until that moment, Gwyneth had been basking in the residual warmth from their coupling. A chill traced a path over her overheated skin as she stared after him. Despite some uncomfortable similarities, it hadn’t felt or made her feel in any way as it had felt when the men of the castle had shoved her down, thrown her skirts up, and plunged their nasty sticks into her—not until that moment.

  Shivering, she clasped her arms around herself, too confused even to cry, although she felt her throat close.

  * * * *

  They got off to a late start the following morning despite the fact that they’d awakened before the first fingers of dawn were reaching up to chase the darkness. It transpired that Drake had captured a steed for himself for the journey and he and the beast didn’t see eye to eye on the subject. It was fortunate Caelin had had the forethought to tether the stallion securely even though he’d successfully calmed the beast. The moment Drake drew close enough for the animal to catch his scent and identify him as the monster that had snatched him into the sky the night before, the stallion virtually foamed at the mouth with rage, rearing up and trying to strike with his hooves, snapping at him with his teeth.

  Drake spoke soothingly to him as he’d seen Caelin do with his own horse, but the stallion wasn’t having any of it. He continued to buck and rear and lash out threateningly. Drake glared at him and finally grabbed the tether. Giving it a hard yank that jerked the horse toward him, he balled his fist up and slammed it into the horse’s head so hard the stallion’s knees wobbled and then buckled and the animal keeled over.

  Gwyneth, Faine, and Caelin were gaping at him when he turned and stalked back toward the campsite to snatch up the supplies he’d gathered while he was out ‘hunting’.

  “Is he … dead?” Gwyneth gasped shakily.

  “Nay! He’s thinking a bit about crossing me is all,” Drake growled.

  Caelin and Faine had strode to the downed horse and crouched to examine him. The two exchanged a speaking glance and straightened as Drake marched back and booted the horse in the ribs. “Get up, you lazy brute!” he growled.

  The horse lifted his head a little dazedly and began to struggle to his feet. He had to plant his legs in a wide stance to remain on them once he was up. Drake plunked his bedroll and supplies on the horse’s rump, tying them in place.

  Caelin grinned reluctantly. “You’ve a soft touch with animals, dragon.”

  Drake grunted. “Never had much patience and I’m too old to have any now,” he muttered.

  “It’s not hard to learn the way of the horse whisperer,” Caelin said pointedly.

  Drake stared at him. “He’s a stallion,” he said pointedly, flicking a piercing look at Gwyneth. “I’ll save the soft touch for the fillies.”

  Caelin’s lips tightened fractionally. He glanced at Gwyneth, as well and then strode to the campsite to retrieve his own supplies, uttering the warbling sound he had before. Darkness raced from the field where he’d been grazing, prancing and dancing for him as if he was delighted to be summoned.

  Faine, once more a unicorn, followed the stallion more slowly.

  Gwyneth stared at him for a moment and looked away. He hadn’t spoken to her after their interlude the night before. In fact, he’d made himself scarce until they’d all bedded down to sleep. The sense of having been rutted had left her after a while as it slowly sank in that he hadn’t simply gotten up and walked away, dismissing her like a piece of trash as the men usually did when they were done with her. There’d been more a sense of him trying to escaped his shame for using her for his lust. That hadn’t made her feel a great deal better since it also made her feel ashamed for enjoying it as much as she had, but she didn’t think he’d meant it that way.

  He was too conflicted to realize how he’d made her feel and, if their coupling was anything to go by, it wasn’t just his imagination that he was losing control.

  He nudged her with his soft muzzle when Caelin mounted and trotted toward her on Darkness. Startled, she turned to look at him. He studied her for a long moment, and brushed his face along her belly and breasts, barely missing her with his horn.

  She stared into his eyes for a long moment as the sense filled her that he was trying to apologize and finally lifted a hand tentatively and stroked his face. He whickered softly, dropped a little awkwardly to his knees and bowed his head.

  Charmed, she smiled at him.

  He tossed his head.

  “She can ride with me,” Drake said tightly. “There’s plenty of room this beast.”

  Gwyneth glanced toward Drake when he spoke and then looked at Faine again. She realized when he jerked his head up that he was offering to carry her. She bit her lip. “I’m not very good at staying on,” she said.

  Caelin uttered a snort of a laugh. “That is an understatement if I have ever heard one!”

  Gwyneth slid a resentful glance at him and resolutely approached Faine. Lifting her skirts, she threw one leg across his back and gripped his mane, tightening her hold as he stood up. It was a near thing, but she managed to stay on his back. She sent Caelin a smirk of triumph. Scowling at her, he nudged Darkness forward.

  Drake was glaring at both of them, she discovered. Uttering a huff of irritation, he nudged his own mount into motion. Faine trailed them as they made their way down to the pass.

  “It would’ve been far easier—and faster—if we flew. I suppose that didn’t occur to you?”

  Drake sent Caelin a narrow eyed look. “It occurred to me that I would rather mount this stallion than be mounted, thank you very much. In any case, there is no particular rush. We need only reach the temple by the full moon, and I need time to consider what it is that Artimus is up to. It occurs to me that he may be reluctant to yield what he has agreed to, that he might decide it will be more useful to his ends to hold it a while longer until he has thought of another task that he needs.”

  Caelin grunted, flicking a glance over his shoulder at Gwyneth. “It isn’t because you want more time to fuck the wench?”

  Drake shrugged. “That, too,” he said, unruffled, then added pointedly. “You will not gain what it is you seek by rushing the girl there and placing her in the hands of his minions. We must confront Artimus himself and prevent him from claiming her until he has done his part or we will have performed a vile service for the evil bastard and gained nothing in return. I have vowed to do all that I can for my mate. I am prepared to do what I must to save Maud’s daughter. I am not prepared to sacrifice Gwyneth if I cannot succeed in saving Maud’s child. In truth, I would far prefer to think of a way to outwit the bastard and give him nothing for the suffering he has caused me. It sickens me to the depths of my soul to consider fighting evil with evil deeds of my own. And beyond that, it is a shameful waste of as fine a piec
e of woman flesh as I have ever had.”

  Caelin frowned, conceding Drake had valid points. It had been no part of his plan at any time to simply turn the girl over to the temple priests and trust that they would uphold their promise. The word of such creatures was less than nothing and, like Drake, he meant to see his mother freed, not just for her sake, but to free himself from Artimus’ clutches. It had made him sick with rage when Gwyneth had lumped him with Artimus’ followers, sicker to know that there was truth in it, however reluctant he was to be used.

  He almost pitied Faine, who had not even as much as he and Drake did to try to assuage his conscience, but in truth, there wasn’t a hair’s worth of difference. It boiled down to sacrificing Gwyneth to save themselves however they looked at it and he was no more comfortable with that than Drake or Faine were.

  He almost thought Artimus must be gloating over the turmoil he had to have known it would cause them. Fool that he was, he had thought he could distance himself from her and see her only as an ends to a means. He had thought that he could blind himself to her as a woman because she was human. He thought he had lost that chance when the guard had attacked her—maybe even before that. Surprise didn’t begin to describe how he’d felt when he discovered she had come to try to ‘save’ him. There had been a sense of triumph and satisfaction that she’d come to him, placed herself right into his hands and spared him the necessity of searching for her—until he had been forced to watch helplessly while she fought a bastard twice her size for yielding to her soft heart. He thought he could have dismissed the risks she’d taken for him, a stranger, if not for that.

  He had succeeded grandly in driving her away, in making her leery of him. If he could’ve succeeded half as well in driving her from his mind, he thought with disgust, he would have been far happier.

  Instead, he’d watched Drake gentle her with his practiced touch, had seen her blossom with the kindness he’d been willing to give in return for acceptance. He hadn’t really tried to contain his rage, or his outrage. He’d tried to turn it against her, but it was like battling a fire with a blazing torch. He was burning.

  It chaffed him that Drake was right and there was no way to end this thing swiftly, to end the torment. He didn’t know anything to do to save himself but to keep trying to build the barrier higher and wider, to build it big enough he couldn’t breach it. Because he’d begun to doubt that he could continue to keep his distance if he couldn’t force her away with his ill temper and he was afraid if he didn’t that he would be lost.

  * * * *

  A fear inspired rush of a adrenaline rolled through Gwyneth as she gazed up at the moon. Her skin prickled. It was hard to accept that she wouldn’t live to see the moon wane, that she could count her life in days.

  Coldness swept over her as her mind conjured an image of a dark and secretive room, a cold slab beneath her back, a priest standing over her with his knife raised.

  She jumped when a hand settled on her arm, throwing a frightened glance at the owner of the hand. Something flickered in Drake’s eyes.

  “You are too far away, little dove. Come close and I will warm you.”

  The heat that blazed in his eyes gave the offer an entirely different meaning than the one implied, but she felt an answering warmth, an eagerness not just for his touch for the pleasure he gave her, but for the comfort, the sense of protectiveness. She knew it was just an illusion, but she needed it. He dragged her onto his lap when she’d shifted closer against his side, curling his arms around her and nuzzling his face against the side of her neck.

  “I imagine she is well bred by now,” Caelin said shortly.

  Drake slid one hand down to cup her sex and then her belly. “The egg is shy,” he murmured, an edge to his voice despite the teasing way he’d said it, “or clever in eluding us. She is still fertile. The perfume of it makes me drunk with want. I think I will have to work at capturing it much, much harder.”

  A shivered worked its way through Gwyneth that was almost equal parts the warmth of desire and the cold of dread.

  She had thought, hoped, that Drake’s talk was just that—talk without substance. It occurred to her forcefully, though, that he was right, at least as far as she knew of such things. She was in the fullness of her time.

  Was it even possible, though, that such beings could get a child on her?

  Again, Drake seemed to believe it, but she had no idea if he had reason to believe it or if it was nothing more than his arrogance, his certainty that there was almost nothing he could not do.

  And if he succeeded?

  If he was right, then nothing would stop the countdown of her days. Truthfully, she didn’t believe anything would stop it regardless. She’d hoped when she’d yielded her maidenhead that that would prevent it, and yet here they were, another day closer to the temple and the fate that had been decided for her.

  They were going to take her and give her to the priests, regardless of whether the priests decided she was suitable as a sacrifice or not, she realized with a horrible sense of dread. Maybe they would simply kill her for thwarting their plans for her, but either way ….

  “You are not serious? She is not bred?”

  Drake grunted. “In all truth, she is not,” he said dryly. “I am entirely willing to undertake the project on my own, however. If I am dedicated, I am certain my seed will overcome resistance and conquer.”

  Caelin glanced at Faine.

  “You are too kind,” Faine said tightly. “We agreed, however, that it would be best if none of us knew—for certain. I am willing to honor that agreement.”

  “Unnecessary,” Drake said coolly.

  “We insist,” Caelin retorted, equally cold.

  Drake studied them for a tense moment and finally relaxed. “Very well. It must be done tonight, else we will lose the fragile bud and our seed will fall on fallow ground.” He stroked a hand along Gwyneth’s arm. “Disrobe for us, sweeting, and lie down on my pallet.”

  Gwyneth tensed, but she wasn’t afraid of them—any of them. It was nerves and anticipation that made her fingers tremble—and a modicum of anxiety about what would happen to her if they were successful.”

  Caelin swallowed a little convulsively. “I do not see a need in her disrobing. We can simply toss the wench’s skirts up and be done with it.”

  Drake sent him a speculative look and shrugged. “It is for me.”

  “Then she can disrobe when it is your turn,” Caelin said tightly.

  “If she stands then, your seed will run out and you will need to fuck her again. She might just as well disrobe now—in fact better, else you will be forced to fuck her all over again.”

  As reasonable as he’d said it, it flickered through Caelin’s mind that there was nothing reasonable about it, but he discovered he couldn’t gather his thoughts once the suggestion had been made. “That is a good point,” he said a little hoarsely, watching Gwyneth undress.

  “Aye, I thought that you would see it my way,” Drake said sardonically.

  It wasn’t until Gwyneth had undressed and settled on the pallet that it dawned on Caelin that he was still fully clothed. He began to pull at his clothes a little frantically, struggling with the cords that seemed determined to become knots. He’d peeled his britches down before he realized he still had his boots on. Gritting his teeth, he tried hopping on one leg while he removed them and finally gave up and sat down. Rocks instantly bit into his bare ass, but the distraction had no effect on the raging erection. It only served to bring a throbbing to another part of his anatomy.

  “Mind you,” Drake drawled when Caelin had settled on his knees and pushed Gwyneth’s legs apart, “she is more likely to take your seed if you can make her come. Of course, if you cannot, you cannot.”

  Gwyneth turned to gape at him at the comment. He winked at her, shrugged as if to say he’d done what he could, and then took a seat across the fire from them to watch the proceedings.

  Caelin’s mouth was so dry when he finally fo
und himself staring down at Gwyneth that he couldn’t seem to gather enough spit to swallow. Feeling strangely detached from his surroundings, he leaned over her, planting his palms on either side of her shoulders.

  She didn’t need to come, he told himself. He only needed to thrust into her until he came and that would be enough. No doubt she was already warm and wet, for he could see from her panting breaths and the way her breasts trembled with the force of her heartbeat that she was certainly not unmoved whether she was as ready to explode as he was or not.

  It was the discovery when he finally lifted his gaze to her face that she was looking at Drake that riled his temper, that splintered the raging lust into rage and lust. He dropped to his elbows, captured her face and kissed her with the savagery of both, determined to drive Drake from her mind. She stiffened for a moment and then yielded abruptly to his conquest of her mouth, making a sound in her throat that made everything inside of him grow more taut. At the same time, it tamed the rage, leaving only need, desperate need.

  He kissed her mouth until he’d begun to think he might black out from the insufficiency of air he could take in. Breaking away, he sucked in a gulp to chase the darkness and dove for her throat and then her breasts.

  She tasted like heaven. She felt like the most delicious of sins. He was so intent on filling his senses with her that it took him a few moments to realize that she’d begun to make faint whimpering sounds of distress. He lifted his head and stared at her dazedly, too drunk with the fire inside his belly to think.

  “Now, Caelin!” she gasped.

  Yes! Now! he thought feverishly, pushing a hand between her legs to stroke her, to search for the sweet honey he needed to push inside of her. His mind went blank for a moment when he pushed a finger inside of her and felt her heat, felt her flesh close around his finger. Shaking, he jerked his finger from her, grasped his cock, and shoved at her opening frantically, trying to get inside of her before he came. She enveloped him. His skin tightened, rippled as waves of gooseflesh moved over him. Gritting his teeth to focus his mind on something else, anything else, until he’d wedged himself fully inside of her, he found himself huffing so hard for breath that the blackness washed over him again.