by ML Guida
Mariah picked up his hand and squeezed it. “Oui, I promise you. We will bring her back alive. Sleep.” She leaned over and kissed his damp forehead. He gave her a weak smile and closed his eyes.
Solstice whined.
Mariah knelt. “He will heal, Solstice.” She scratched her ears. A sudden thought entered her mind, and she glanced up at William. “Wait a minute.”
“What?” William asked.
“Solstice did not growl when Lark appeared.”
“Aye, so?”
Hope swelled inside her. “She would have growled or even attacked if he were completely evil. Excusez-moi.”
“Where are you going? Ronan went to get what you need.”
“To prepare the herbs,” she said. “Come if you must.”
William followed her into her quarters. “What are you doing? I’m not allowing you out of my sight.”
“I will not go anywhere without you.”
“Promise me you’ll take me into the dream.”
“Mon Dieu! I said I would.”
He slowly released her and blocked her doorway like a huge wooden drawbridge. She hurried to her chest and searched for cinquefoil, fennel, and rue. “To complete the spell, I need your blood.”
“Why?”
“Dragon’s blood is powerful and will enhance the potency of these herbs.” She opened the vials. “William, there is only enough protection for one of us.”
“You’re not going alone.”
“If I bring us both into the dream, only one will be protected.”
“I’ll be invisible. You won’t. You drink the potion.”
She didn’t have time to argue with his authoritative tone.
“’Tis a tonic, not a potion. Even if you are invisible, Lark will sense your power.”
He shrugged. “This discussion is over. Prepare yourself a tonic.”
Hurried footsteps came down the corridor and into the crew’s quarters. Ronan burst into her cabin with a chalice. “Here is some wine.”
She sighed. “Hopefully it will be powerful enough.” She closed the chest. “Put the chalice here.”
Ronan set it down. Both men cast long shadows over the chest, her sentinels. She emptied the last of the herbs into the chalice. Fragrant smells filled the cabin, and Mariah inhaled, filling her lungs with calmness.
William slowly pulled out a dagger and slashed his palm.
Ronan grabbed William’s wrist. “What the devil are you doin’?”
“She needs dragon’s blood for her damn concoction to work.” He broke free of Ronan’s grasp and squeezed drops of blood into the wine. “If it will work—”
“You still do not have any faith in magic do you?” She couldn’t keep the misery out of her voice.
“I have faith,” Ronan said.
Why couldn’t William be more more like Ronan—accepting magic?
“Will my blood help, or not?”
“Oui.” She stirred the blood, and it muddied the wine.
Ronan squeezed her shoulder. “You’re not going to drink that, are you?”
She glanced up into his trouble eyes. “You drink blood, no?”
His cheeks reddened. “Aye.”
She lifted the cup to her lips. “Bon appètit.”
She sipped the tonic that tasted salty and tangy.
Ronan studied her. “Is it working?”
Mariah did not answer. The drink flowed down her throat, and tingles spread through her blood. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, allowing the protective power to surge within her.
“Well?” Ronan probed.
“Give her time,” William said. “Witchcraft requires time to conjure spells. ’Tis not like Hannah who can draw on her power.”
For once there was no sarcasm in William’s voice. Was he beginning to believe in magic?
She opened her eyes. “The tonic will protect me when I enter Lark’s dream.”
“You mean when we enter the dream,” William corrected her.
Ronan glanced between them. “So, do you both go to sleep now?”
“In time,” Mariah said. “I need to be alone with William.”
Ronan crossed his arms. “Why?”
William met her gaze and a slow smile spread across his lips. “Aye, we need to be alone.” He clapped Ronan’s shoulder. “If you’ll excuse us, Ronan, we need some privacy.”
Ronan opened and shut his mouth. Realization flickered in his eyes, and he glowered. “Damn you, O’Brien.” He stormed out of the cabin.
William tied the straps to the canvas door. “Sex magic?”
“Oui,” she whispered. “’Tis the only way for me to transform you into my dream.”
He flashed his gaze over her and motioned with his arm. “Shall we?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
William smiled. This sex magic was not something he’d ever tire of. Mariah reached to unlace her dress. He held up his hand. “No, allow me.”
“We do not have much time,” she said.
“Aye, we do.” He brushed a lock of her hair out of her face. “You’re so beautiful.”
“The decoction is stronger than I thought,” she said. Her eyes fluttered. “I am not sure how much longer I can stay awake.”
“Oh, you’ll stay awake, lassie.” His lips brushed over her luscious ones. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her slow, indulging in her honey taste.
He unbuttoned her dress, his fingers sliding over her satiny skin. He would take his time with her. For him, ’twas more than sex magic. ’Twas showing this delicate yet strong lass how much he cared for her. He couldn’t utter the words, but he could show her.
He pushed her dress down to her elbows and kissed her naked shoulder. “So creamy,” he murmured.
She shivered beneath him, and he smiled. He undressed her down to the shift that outlined her curves and hid her treasures.
She started to remove her shift.
“No, I want to take my fill of you.” He removed one boot and then the other. He shed his trousers and shirt. Mariah’s bold gaze stirred his passion. He tossed the blankets covering her hammock onto the floor, eager to kiss and explore her silky skin.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, pressing her soft curves to him, and captured those tempting lips. She kissed him, her tongue darting around his, teasing him. She slipped her hand down his stomach. Soft fingers caressed and stroked his flesh. His little witch grew bolder exploring his body. Every touch aroused his fiery passion.
Deep within him, the ever present dragon hungered and roared for its mate, begging for him to thrust inside her. But he wasn’t ready, not yet.
Mariah had said with the sex magic she’d bring him with her to Lark’s dreams. What if it wasn’t strong enough? What if he was left behind and she faced her brother alone? Men and vampires he knew how to kill. They were in his world. A real one. But what lurked in a dream world? What dangers would his little vixen face?
He growled and lowered her to the blankets, stretching his body out on top of hers and pressing the hard length of his cock into her soft flesh. He held her there and indulged in the pleasure of her hips moving against him. Their kiss deepened and fire burned between them. He poured the intensity of his hunger into her mouth—his need to protect her, to keep her alive.
He slipped his fingers up her undergarment and cupped and squeezed her breast. With one stroke, he lifted the material up over her breasts and gazed at her budded nipples. He closed his lips over the soft full mound and suckled hard. Mariah arched her back, allowing him to capture her flesh, and she glided her fingers into his hair, holding him closer. Flames of passion consumed him. He had wanted to take her slow and build the desire within her, not take her swift like a green lad, not in control of his own passion.
“Please,” Mariah urged. “I want you inside me.”
She stroked his cock, and he shook, afraid he’d release into her soft hand. He parted her thighs and wedged his hips between them.
“Kiss me,” Mariah demanded.
He’d thought he was the one seducing her. But his little witch had turned the tables and he could not deny her. Raw, savage, hunger built inside him until he was desperate to be inside her heat. She was hot and slick, ready for only him. She wrapped her thighs around his hips and locked her ankles, pushing his hips closer to hers. William kissed her and rocked his hips fast and hard, thrusting his flesh deep inside her womb.
***
Mariah’s hunger was as great as William’s. He was thick, hard, and stretched her muscles, filling her. The fury of him taking her drove her to new heights of wild abandonment. She moved her hips, matching his rhythm, the friction of heat between their bodies, sweet pleasure. Her breasts brushed against his smooth, hard chest.
Overwhelming feelings pulsed through her. The texture of his skin, his warm breath against her skin, the definition of his muscles, then the sweet orgasm sweeping over them. William tossed back his head and screamed, collapsing onto her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. White light bathed them like a cocoon.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She stiffened. Regret again? “Why?”
He lifted his head and stared at her with half-hooded eyes. “I wanted to love you slow, not rushed and hard.”
Love? She wanted to ask him what he meant. Sex? Or something more? Muscles relaxed, she stroked his silky hair and smiled. “I am not complaining.”
He brushed his lips against hers. Sweet. Soft.
The decoction pulsed through her veins, and power swept over her, urging her to close her eyes. She yawned. How wonderful ’twould be to sleep in the safety of the dragon’s arms and not be waking in a dream, facing dangers.
He lifted an eyebrow. “I made you drowsy?”
“No, ’tis the decoction and the magic. ’Tis time to dream.”
William’s face turned grim. “You’ll bring me with you?”
“Oui.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Mariah trembled. His words warned of consequences if she did not fulfill her promise. He began to pull out of her.
“No,” she said. “We must be joined for me to bring you.” She slowly caressed his back with her finger-tips. “You must trust in the magic for it to work.”
He nestled against her neck. “Don’t leave me behind. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
’Twas more of a plea than a command. Mariah bathed in the concern of his voice. Maybe her dragon did care about her, at least a little bit. She would take any warmth he would give her.
“Shut your eyes, my dragon.”
She caressed his back and breathed deeply. William followed her leisurely rhythm and sighed in her arms. His muscles calmly relaxed. His steady heart imitated her own slow beat.
“I call upon Mother Isis. Deliver us both to Lark.”
Mariah blocked out all sensations and released the tension in her muscles, enjoying the sweet bliss she had with William. Warmth spread over her, and she clutched her wand that lay beside her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she passed over into a mindless slumber.
She wore a dress and walked alone in the night through heavy fog. Her pace was slow due to the poor visibility. The rolling mist moistened her skin, and a cold chill seeped down her spine.
Waves rushed over her bare feet. White sand pulled in between her toes. She glanced over her shoulder and gazed into the sky. No William. Her heart quickened and she could not move.
She closed her eyes and silently called for William.
Are you here?
The rushing of waves was her answer. The sex magic had failed. Had Lark become more powerful than her? Was there a barrier that prevented other magical creatures from crossing into this dream world?
She would face Lark alone. Grand-mère had said she was powerful enough to confront a warlock. But could she?
“So, you came to see me, witch?”
Lark approached, armed with a sword strapped to his hip and a wand in his hand. A black aura radiated around his body. His ebony eyes held her gaze, and his red lips crept up into a jeer.
She could do this. She was a Fey woman. She believed in her magic.
She fought the urge to run. Lark would only hunt her down. She had entered his dream. He had not entered hers.
“Oui, I came to talk.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Talk about what?”
She tilted her chin and clutched the wand in her hand tight. “I wanted to talk to my brother.”
“Brother?” He laughed. “You have come to the wrong dream, mademoiselle. I have no sister.”
“Oui, you do. Your name is Lark Fey, and I am your sister—Mariah Fey.”
Lark’s aura flickered to gray. He lowered his wand and shook his head. Hope swelled in Mariah. “Your Grand-mère is Morgana Fey. Our parents were—”
The black aura returned, and a bitter wind blew. Mariah stumbled backward and fell onto her bottom. Her wand flew out of her hand, and the waves took it out to sea. Water rushed around her, soaking her dress. Lark towered over her; loathing fumed in his eyes. “Silence, Mademoiselle.”
The fog grew thicker, and she could not make out her brother’s face, only the outline of his shape. “Lark, you must—”
He held up his palm. “You are vexing me, and if you continue, I will punish you. I suggest you leave my dream world now.” He pointed his glowing silver wand at her. “While you still can, oui?”
“How did you get your wand? I have it.”
“Vous êtes imbécile, mademoiselle? My mistress gave this to me. I have no other.”
“That is not true! Papa made you one before he died.”
He glanced at his wand, and a slow smile spread across his face. “You are trying to trick me, oui? Trying to get me to give up my wand. It will not work, mon chérie.”
Mariah crawled onto her knees. “You have to remember your past. Your family. You are a witch. Not a warlock.”
“No?” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her off the sand. He shook her hard.
Agony seized her, and she slapped at his hands. Tears formed in her eyes. She thought he’d ripped her hair out by the roots.
“You doubt my abilities?”
She tried to pry his fingers off her hair. “You are not evil.”
He tossed her onto the beach. “Oui, I am.” He strolled around her. Malevolence radiated off him, and any hope she had about saving him died. She could not feel any goodness within him.
“You must fight this. Look into your soul. Come back to us.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. “Look into my eyes, mademoiselle. I have no soul.”
Mariah focused and forced herself to stare into Lark’s eyes. She tried to find his essence, his memory. Only blackness and malice swirled in the depths of his eyes. Death. Horror. Hate. His magic warred with her own. Powerful. Twisted. She recoiled, and bile formed in her throat. She had lost her wand, and he had his. He planned to kill her, and she was helpless.
Fire blazed through the fog and swirled around them.
“Merde!” Lark swore and dropped her onto the ground. “Where did that come from? What kind of magic is this?”
The outline of a man appeared through the fire. “Mariah?” A familiar voice cried, “Where are you?”
“William,” Mariah choked. “Here.” She needed his strength, his comfort.
“I do not like this invasion.” Lark yanked on her hair. “’Tis your fault, mademoiselle. You shall suffer the same fate as Mademoiselle Knight.”
Fear seized Mariah’s hammering heart. Her breath came out rapid and harsh. She gasped for air. Breathe. Breathe.
She kicked Lark’s ankle, and his hold on her hair loosened. She dragged herself to her feet and ran. “William?”
“Mariah?”
The fog had thickened. She could not tell where his voice came from. Red glows burst and whooshed into the gloom, but from all different areas.
“You cannot escape, mademoiselle,�
� Lark warned.
She glanced over her shoulder. The mist parted, and Lark trailed after her. His face paled and then melted away, leaving nothing but a terrifying skull. She gasped as flames burst in the black voids of his eye sockets. This was not her brother’s face anymore ’twas the face of a demon.
Lark sped after her with his wand high over his head.
Her bare feet sank into the sand, and with each step, she struggled to slog through. Lark closed the distance between them. She trembled. Had she pushed her brother too far?
“William,” she cried out. “Help me!”
“Mariah,” William called back. “I can’t see you. Where are you?”
Lark laughed. “I’m coming to get you.”
Her foot slipped in slimy sand. Thick blood mingled with the waves. Brown hair floated in the red water. A woman lay in the surf, her throat slit. Hannah.
Mariah screamed.
***
William raced through the black haze. Mariah’s scream froze his heart. He exhaled again, and fire burned through the darkness. As soon as he stopped, the heavy fog returned.
“Mariah, damn it. Answer me!”
He ran blindly through the murkiness. Luckily, he was clothed in the dream and more important, he was not weaponless. He had his sword and pistol.
“Lark, you devil. I’ll kill you,” he yelled. “Leave her alone.”
Maniacal laughter turned his blood cold. Soulless. Evil.
He could not breathe, and his heart threatened to shatter into a million pieces. This was worse than Sharon’s death. He could hear the fear in Mariah’s voice. She was here. He was here. And he could not get to her.
“Drakon!” William cried.
“You must trust in magic,” Drakon said.
“I do.”
“No, she is your mate,” Drakon said. “More than a mate. Your true love.”
“I care for the lass.”
“You’re a fool, and your denial will kill her.”
Another blood-curdling scream shot power through him. His heart thundering in his chest, he raced through the black cloudiness. The scream was different, not filled with her fear, but pain. Was she hurt? Dying?
He exhaled again, and fire flared in front of him. Another steady sound caught his attention. Waves? Fire flashed again, and this time, waves rushed over white sand. The fog appeared less dense, and he hurried forward.
