She knelt beside him, and slipped her fingers under his chin, stroking his face. No, Nith, no armor, no scales. Gentle, basic reassurance. Trying to give him some of her sense of clarity. You do not need to defend yourself from me. Be as open to me, as I am to you. Let me see you.
She could feel a shudder of pure terror wrack him. Who would want this vulnerable, fragile form? I would far rather teach you to be a dragon, and then we could embark through the night, away from this world. We could course the heavens forever. Visit every star.
It was a very real temptation. Mamaquilla had taken her people to the moon, away from the mad ones. To leave and never come back? Never have to fight again, never have to watch people that she loved die? Oh, how I want to, but . . . not yet, Nith. There are too many people here that I love, that I could not abandon. Duty still waits for us. Here, let me see your face. Let me help you shape it.
In the past, when she’d heard someone speak on the telephone before meeting them in person, she’d been jarred by the disconnect; no one ever looked the way they sounded. In this case, she had the opportunity to make the face match the voice she’d heard in her mind so often. Low-toned and a little raspy. Sometimes bitterly cynical, sometimes amused, sometimes chillingly distant from the way the modern mind viewed the world. Sometimes primeval, sometimes philosophical, and sometimes pained.
The scales faded, leaving bare human skin. Pale, of course. No sunlight had ever touched these limbs, and he shuddered. What is that? What is touching me?
The air, Nith. It’s just the air. You scarcely feel it when bullets rattle off your scales. But skin is rich with nerve endings.
The face itself . . . it wouldn’t have been used in advertisements, or ever lit up a stage. It was marked by pain, years, and combat. A brawler’s face, a knight’s face, where nobility warred with savagery. Lines of amusement crinkled around the moonfire eyes, and creases framed sardonic lips, and there were also frown lines between the brows. A battered nose, clearly broken at some point in the past, and a few faint scars, here and there. His dark hair was worn loose and untrimmed, for he’d certainly not touched it in the past two thousand years. She concentrated, and braided it back for him, as he twitched and flinched at the way it followed him when he turned. Clean-shaven, or only a few faint prickles of beard, which surprised her, given the era in which he’d been born . . . but then she realized he’d been forced into his dragon form before he was eighteen years old. He’d never shaved, or had a chance for his beard to grow.
It was a face capable of savage determination and cynical amusement at the human or immortal condition. It was a face that had known pain and loneliness and lack of regard. It was a face that hid the memories of terrible deeds commanded and committed. And yet, it still held . . . gentility. Honor.
He remained crouched, his face cradled in her hands. Can you stand? she asked, uncertainly.
A faint flash of humor in the eyes, and his teeth bared, an expression far more draconic, than human. He’d never had to learn to express or repress social cues on a human face. I have managed before, but on the last occasion, I had a tail for balance. I may need your assistance, lest I fall. He looked away, his expression as easily read as a child’s, the embarrassment plain.
Sigrun blinked, and tentatively let her hands slip down from his face to the skin of his shoulders. He hadn’t clothed himself. She didn’t know if he’d ever been permitted clothing by Hel, as a youngling. She twined her hands with his, and helped him up. He stood. Let her see him, and met her eyes directly.
He was human. Utterly human. He had not adopted the height of Thor or Tyr or Prometheus, but bound himself to a human height, as she did. He was thus a little over half a foot taller than she was—Trennus’ height—and well-proportioned. But he retained the quicksilver, alien movements of his dragon form, moving with speed and leashed strength, and yet, surprising delicacy. This was someone who could crush buildings with a misplaced claw or errant tail-swipe, after all. Is this what you wished to see? Is this . . . acceptable?
Yes. Oh, gods, yes. She opened her arms to him. No despair, Nith. No despair, no death. Not here. Not now. Just us.
He wasn’t certain at first what she was offering, but his heart began to beat more quickly. An odd sensation. It sounded as if she were offering him a chance to mate. He’d seen plenty of animals, and indeed humans, doing so, over the centuries. He’d seen Roman soldiers rape villagers. He’d seen Gothic soldiers rape Roman prisoners. These hadn’t been demonstrations of lust, but of power. Subjugation. Akin to his own subjugation by Hel, in some ways. And these acts had also demonstrated that humans were still animals. They had the same imperatives as lions entering a new pride: kill the young and supplant them with your own seed. But lions did so out of instinct. Humans had the capacity to rise above instinct, yet rarely seemed to do so.
He’d seen young couples out in the fields after the solstice bonfires, doing their best to make the grain grow high. All the bare backsides in the moonlight, the jerky, rapid motions, the sounds, had been alien and faintly ludicrous. Dragon-form was still male, but . . . dragon-form had no mate. No female of his kind. And he shuddered to think, even now, what Hel would have done to him if he’d ever expressed the faintest interest in anyone, in that fashion. Though the humans hadn’t been all that interesting.
In this body, however, there was intrigue. He wanted to wrap these strange arms around her, and pull her to him. To know what her skin felt like, pressed along his own. To glory in that, with every loudly excited nerve ending. But inside of him, there remained a voice of warning. Not if you will regret it, or feel guilt. I will not permit that.
No. No guilt. The clarity spread, becoming a kind of serenity. I will not feel guilty for reaching for life in the face of death. Especially since it is very likely I will not live to feel anything at all. A decade ago, I would have welcomed death as a lover to my arms. I had made the central tragedy of my existence the fact that he would die. I froze myself around that future point in time. And I was a fool for doing so. She stroked a loose strand of hair out of his face with gentle, curious fingers. I told you. I choose life. I choose you.
Nith lowered his head to her throat, inhaling to catch her scent. Human senses were feeble things. Dragon-form could detect changes in emotional state, hormonal balances, even genetic links between people who were kin, just by odor. But the scent of her skin remained delicious, though less nuanced now. And he could still sense her power, seething under her skin, in perfect resonance with his own. He’d always wondered about that, but it felt so good to be near her, to be touching her, that he didn’t pursue it right now. Instead, he rubbed his face against her neck, and felt something in him shift. A sort of ache, an urgency, that intensified as she shivered at his touch. And I choose you. Tomorrow, we will go into battle together. But I want to live. And I wish to share that life with you. You are my freedom. You are my heart. He looked down, and realized where his hands were. That he’d pulled her to him, molding their forms together. This body . . . I do not trust it. It wants too much. He was startled at how rapidly rationality faded, and how quickly the urge rose to discover if her skin tasted as good as it smelled. The ache intensified, and heat rose with it.
And desire destroys the thing it wants the most? She whispered the words from the flyting.
Yes. He closed his eyes. This body urges me to touch you. To stroke your hair. Your face. I cannot trust it. I will resume my dragon form.
No. I trust you. Trust in us, Nith. Trust in me.
I do. I believe in you. And I will never forsake you.
They held each other gently at first. As if they were both made of glass so fragile, that it could shatter at a breath of air. Their lips brushed, and they both pulled back, startled. Sigrun, because the touch of his lips was that of a stranger; Nith because the touch of lips was completely alien. This always looked so strange, when I watched humans do this . . . as ridiculous as a bird shaking its tail feathers.
And now?
>
. . . somewhat less ridiculous, he conceded.
She reached up, and pulled his head down, kissing him more earnestly. A shudder ran through him, and she could feel every muscle in his body tauten. Tense. And then he began to kiss her in return. His instincts were, unsurprisingly, inhuman; he nipped and bit at her neck, and chills raced through her body. More than seven years without passion, and longer still since intimacy hadn’t required exceeding care, usually ending in frustration. Over a decade since she’d been held in strong and healthy arms. It wasn’t an excuse, and she wouldn’t hide behind it . . . but it was also true. We can shape time here, Nith offered. We could pass a hundred years together and still fight tomorrow’s battle in the morning. So that we know . . . if this is real, and not merely fleeting joy—
—snatched from the jaws of despair. She paused, and realized that somewhere in the past several moments, they’d slid down atop the furs, and Nith, distracted by the sensation, had moved to bury his face in them, his expression suddenly beatific. She laughed, lifting the pelts up to slide over his back, just to hear his startled sound of pleasure. Nith, I want the time we have together to be real. To matter. I want there to be time in the world, as well as out of it. She slipped the furs out of the way, and hesitantly lay down beside him, finding every curve matched now to a plane.
We might not have that option . . . . He nipped again at her neck, and Sigrun shivered. I do not know what to do to please you, my lady. I am aware of the . . . mechanics. His face shut down, and he clearly repressed some memory or another, before going on, a last shadow of fear crossing his face. It doesn’t have to be physical. He kissed her again. Bind me to you, and I will bind you to me. It will be enough.
Shh. Trust in me. Sigrun stroked his face. Giving half a loaf now would stunt and warp what they had, and tell him, on some level, that he wasn’t worth more. And he’d accept that, because while Nith was the most fearsome creature in combat that she had ever seen, he had the least sense self-worth than any person she’d ever met, outside of it. I’ve only ever broken bonds. Not created them.
Say my Name. That . . . will be a start.
Then, only whispers. Saying each other’s Names, with love and intention. Lips touching, the first white sparks of a passion that had been denied a very long time flaring between them. The startled expression on his face, almost a frown, as she flicked at his lips with her tongue. Until he learned to reciprocate. Learned how to press his tongue between her lips in a presage of another kind of penetration. The smooth sensation of his skin—startlingly warm in human form. None of his usual deathfrost chill. The first cool touches of air against her skin as he pulled back to tug at the laces of her bodice delicately, another frown on his face as he tried to understand how they worked . . . delicious. Pull on the ends. The knot will loosen. How did you do this before?
I cut them with my claws, he admitted, catching the laces in his fingertips now, and pulling them free of the elaborately tooled metal frogs that held them. The leather loosened, leaving the translucent black shirt below. He could see skin through the oval cutout between neck and sternum, and he cautiously slid a finger there, eyes widening as he moved from the texture of her skin, to the slick softness of the silk, and back again. He traced the oval of bare skin with his fingertips, and she tensed and shuddered, which made him check to see if he’d somehow drawn blood with these dull, inadequate talons.
No, no, it just tickled. It’s all right. Keep going.
Since he was not entirely sure that a tickle was a good thing, though it seemed preferable to actual injury, he leaned down and traced the shape of revealed skin with his lips instead, and again felt her react to his touch . . . which only intensified the longing in his own body. He slipped his hands up, along her ribs, still over the smooth, cool-warm of the silk, and found the round softness of the sides of her breasts with the palms of his hands. Again, every movement was as delicate as he could make it. He’d torn through fighter jets with his talons. He’d shattered buildings with his tail.
His hands stole up to cup her head as he kissed her again, settling his weight against hers. She could feel his arousal through her clothing, but he still held and touched her as gently as if she were a dandelion, ready to send its spores dancing on the wind. Feather-light. I won’t break, beloved, she told him, smiling. I swear, I won’t. She felt his hands slide down, and slip up under her shirt now, his movements becoming surer now, as she helped him slip the silk away over her head. Eased off her boots. And then the skirt, as well, though his hands lingered on her hips as he savored the sensation of the velvet. You like that?
I always understood that clothing was a replacement for fur. Something to keep a fragile human body warm. I never understood that why humans fussed about it so. But these . . . these feel pleasant against my skin. He paused, carefully working at the laces at the side of the skirt now, and then slid it away. Though that may have something to do with what they cover, I must admit. He swallowed, his mouth going dry at the sight of her, now bare against the furs, but for silk stockings that outlined her legs in pale gray. He settled his weight on her again, kissing her urgently. Rocking himself against her, urgently, as his mind receded, and the body’s instincts clamored at him to give her what they both wanted. And yet, hundreds of years of memory told him that just taking was . . . bad. He wouldn’t, not till she explicitly told him to do so. Till he was certain that he was welcome.
Their minds began to touch, and their spirits flowed together. She could feel his relief at her acceptance. At the knowledge that he wasn’t frightening her, or hurting her, and that acknowledging desire wouldn’t destroy what they had, what they felt. This wasn’t betraying Adam. This was accepting Nith, accepting herself. Reaching for a future she hadn’t dared to dream of, until this moment. The corner of her heart that was still human, that still loved Adam, would die with him.
And for now, she embraced the goddess. And embraced Nith as the god that he was.
Little whispers of thought, as they wove their spirits together. Twined their Names and their fingers, but he still went no further than kissing and nipping and biting at her lips and throat, and touching her breasts, until she realized that he didn’t know what more to do at the moment. She pushed at his chest, and he rolled to his back, eyes widening slightly. She could feel his incredulity as if it were her own as she kissed her way down his chest and belly, and found him with her hands. Stroked him, watching his eyes go vague as he fought for control over a body to which even air was an unbearably exciting sensation. Pressed kisses along his length, working her way to the top, before carefully licking and sucking. His fingers clenched on the furs and his spine arched . . . and then he moved, flipping her to her back, with startling speed and ferocity. Found her lips, kissing her urgently. Rubbed his hardness against her, until she felt as if she were a rebec, and he was drawing the bow along her strings until the resonating chords shot fire all through her, arcs of it shooting down her legs to her knees, even to her toes, and Sigrun keened. Rune-light flared under her skin, and a warm rush of fluids poured from her as her first release hit . . . which made him stop moving, entirely.
Don’t stop!
You’re bleeding. I smell salt. I feel hot fluids. Did I damage you? Where are you hurt? He pulled back, checking between her legs gently for the wound, and she would have laughed, if the fear in his voice wasn’t so powerful and real.
No, you didn’t hurt me. That was pleasure, Nith. Nothing but pleasure. I swear. That’s not blood you’re smelling. Sigrun touched his face. If you keep doing what you were doing, there will be more.
There was a completely disgruntled pause as he realigned his thought processes. This body’s nose is worthless, then. I don’t think I could identify blood if I were painted in it.
She pulled him back to her, feeling the fear and the resistance in his taut muscles ebb, and whispered his Name against his ear. Watched his eyes close with pleasure at the sound of it.
Say it again. Please. Sa
y my Name like that again. Say it with love . . . bind me to you. Let me bind you to me. Let us be one.
He braced himself, and slid into her body. Again, he wasn’t expecting the glory of it. The heat, the moist slickness, and the gasps she made initially made him worry, again, that he might be injuring her. Then he was in her, completely, and the sensations flooded through him. Heat and friction and movement. And for the first time, he understood the couples in the fields, under the moonlight. And felt as if he had, after two thousand years of wandering, finally come home.
They became one, two bodies with an intimate understanding of flight, locked together. Her light, his darkness. Outside the room’s single window, Sigrun could hear gentle rain began to fall, and she laughed a little, realizing that she was shaping Valhalla’s weather. They murmured, twining their spirits together, more and more tightly. Loops and coils of mind and soul, wrapping around each other. Bands of light and shadow in othersight, vibrating between them. Fusing entirely, in places, with white-hot shocks of pleasure, as they began to think each other’s thoughts, feel each other’s emotions, receive each other’s senses. Overwhelming. Their fingers locked into each other’s, as he tried to control his body, and she conveyed to him, with words and images and emotions, what she liked in the physical realm. What he might like, too.
The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3) Page 159
