One look at his odious brother, and Lyle decided not to wait for the tedium of the wedding ceremony, let alone the humiliation of being tossed over Welwyn's shoulder and carried back to the sleeping chamber. If he must die battling, he vowed he'd do it before he was wed.
"Why must you run from me, Lilly?" demanded Welwyn. "You were born to be mine. It is your duty to carry on our line. I will treat you kindly, if you just obey."
"My name is not Lilly. It's Lyle." Lyle put one hand to his knee and rose. Hostile company blocked his escape from the cave, but he was through with bowing before his damned brother. If Emmet and a good dozen others were now watching him, all the better. He'd go down kicking and screaming if he had to, but he would fight. "I would never obey you, whether I be male, female or anything else I decide to be. And anyway, it's too late for what you want."
Lyle ripped away the shell clasp that held together his tunic at one shoulder and let his wet clothing pool about his ankles. Welwyn's eyes bulged as his gaze alighted on Lyle's groin.
Lyle grinned. "Oh yes, big brother, I can compete with you in that department. Now, let me go, or kill me. I will never be your bride."
"You will. You shall obey me, and you can change yourself to please me."
"Never!" Lyle curled his fists into balls and his fins into coils.
"You will obey. Or I'll beat you till you do!" Welwyn lifted his staff and sliced it down, a scything blow designed to knock Lyle's feet from under him. Lyle leaped over the rod, landing with a stumble, the rest of his concentration thrown into drawing all the magic he could from the water behind him, from the tides and the faint and distant moon. As Welwyn raised his staff to strike again, Lyle's magic hit home—the stone in the cave roof cracked above Welwyn's head and rubble showered all around.
Welwyn dropped his staff and jumped back to avoid being pulverized. Lyle's knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor, even as he cursed his magic for its usual toll on his strength. Then he gulped in a lungful of dusty air, mustered all of his energy, and grabbed Welwyn's staff from among a sea of little boulders. He jumped up, and whacked his brother in the groin with a vitriol fuelled by years of hatred. Welwyn collapsed into a groaning heap, and Lyle kicked him hard in the side, bruising his toes with the force. He managed three more blows before Emmet grabbed him by his flailing fins and yanking brutally, dragged him off.
Welwyn rose gingerly to his full height, his face ruddy with pain and contorted with fury. With Emmet and several others holding him tight, Lyle knew he'd blown it. He spat and glared, wriggling in his captors' grasps, defying the desolate fear that drew near to claiming him. Because when Welwyn smiled coolly, Lyle knew his brother was conjuring cruel magic of his own.
Lyle gasped and stopped trying to break away. Something crushed his windpipe, restricting his breath. Lyle struggled again for a second, trying to thrash free, then gave up, strength all gone. Welwyn had wrapped some invisible cord about Lyle's throat. The magic tightened, stopping his breath until Lyle's consciousness faded. All went black, save the smudges of sickly light that taunted him from beneath his closed eyelids.
Chapter Seven
"Of course, he didn't kill me, though he followed through on his promise to beat me," said Lyle. "And when he realized I'd never bend to his will, he summoned all the magic in his power and cursed me."
"I'm so sorry," said Ben, who'd rested cross-legged beneath the pines as Lyle had shared his tale, enraptured and appalled. Lyle, who sat beside him, hugged his knees. He had wrapped his cloak back around himself but still had much on display—naked chest and bare shins and a glimpse of shimmering fin. Ben tried to keep his eyes off these intriguing hints of flesh. While the kiss had thrilled and terrified him, listening to Lyle's tragic tale had forced him to push desire to the corners of his mind.
"I was sorry too," said Lyle, sliding his gaze back to Ben for the first time in a while. The vivid colours in his eyes hadn't lost their power to thrill Ben; the moonlight brought out a glittering amethyst hue. "He sent me here, I believe, because it's the farthest part of these isles from the sea."
"That's right," said Ben. "It takes hours to drive to the shore from here. To the west, you have to trudge all the way to the far side of the Wales, and to the east, you get a place called The Wash."
"Yes, I sensed the ocean was far away. I think Welwyn expected me to shrivel up and die, being so young and with only fledgling magic to sustain me. For what seemed like forever, I was trapped in that tower, but I survived somehow. I'm convinced it was the moon that saved me. Through the top of the tower, I could see her, and she is a close sister of the tides. She must've blessed me with her power, and eventually, I found the strength to break out and roam a little. I created the pool so I could bathe and swim. Feel alive again. I still miss the sea dreadfully, though. I long for it every day."
"If you can leave the tower, why don't you just go back to the ocean?" asked Ben. "I mean, you might be landlocked here, but Britain isn't a vast place, nothing like Australia or the Americas. It's not much more than seventy miles to the coast, even from right in the middle."
Lyle shook his head, desolate. "The curse that keeps me here is not so easily broken. My brother poured all his anger and dark magic into this prison. I cannot go more than about fifty yards from the tower before I feel that tight cord about my throat again, Welwyn's grip. I cannot breathe, let alone move."
"That's horrible," said Ben. "He still has such power over you. Is there really no way to break the curse?"
Lyle hugged his knees to his chest and gazed toward the pool. "Nothing easy. No… Nothing possible."
"But there is something." Ben touched Lyle's shoulder. "Please, tell me. I want to help."
"There's nothing." Lyle tensed beneath Ben's hand then shook him off. "I'm sorry, but you have to understand. I'm fading. I can feel it. I'm alright now, under the moonlight. But there was a time when I could conceal the pool from prying eyes, shapeshift to hide my fins—do all sort of tricks just to keep myself sane and still swim in the pool all night if I wanted to. But now… it's too difficult. Everything drains me, like it did when I was a boy, before I was sent here. I mightn't have long left."
Ben now found the idea of Lyle dying more than unsettling; he couldn't bear it. "I'm sure you'll feel better soon. I know you keep saying you've been here ages, but maybe it just feels that way. You don't look any older than me."
"I wouldn't," said Lyle. "My kind can live a thousand years, but not so far from the sea. Besides, I honestly don't know if I've been here a hundred or two hundred years. Somewhere in between, I reckon. As I said, I've lost track."
Ben frowned. "I might be able to date the wreck you spoke of. What was it called—the Jubliana?"
"I think you'll find it is ancient history," said Lyle softly. "As I will be soon."
"Don't say that!" Ben surprised himself with his virulence. "There must be something we can do."
"We can do?" Lyle peeped at Ben, a glint of mischief marring his air of tragedy. "Oh, I can think of something we can do, Benjamin, if you like. None of it will break the curse, but it will be fun."
Oh yes, the "last hurrah". Ben hadn't forgotten that suggestion, and while he'd enjoyed kissing Lyle, he'd never been a man for quickie encounters or one night stands. On the other hand, he couldn't ignore the whispers of temptation. He liked Lyle. He fancied him far more than he knew to be sensible. Besides, how often did you get propositioned by a merman?
Or from somebody who claims to be well over a hundred years old.
Ben pushed that awkward notion to the back of his mind.
"Well?" prompted Lyle, with a slightly-too-obvious flicker of his lashes.
Ben inhaled slowly, lapping up the appetizing sight of Lyle, the pool, the weeping willows and the soft moonlight. Somewhere, far off, an owl emitted a haunting cry.
"I'm hungry," said Ben, "and it's getting cold. If this is some kind of date, then I'd at least like to build a fire and have something to eat before I decide if I w
ant to spend the night."
Lyle looked dubious.
"Er, you do eat, don't you?" asked Ben.
*~*~*
It turned out Lyle didn't have to eat. "Which is fortunate," he pointed out, "or I'd have starved to death in that tower rather quick."
He could eat if he wanted to, but appeared more interested in the warmth from the fire Ben insisted on building. Ben enjoyed putting the skills he'd learned many years ago at scout camp to good use, not least because Lyle looked far better than any being had a right to when lit from beneath by dancing flames. Lyle reclined on his side, fixing his best half-moon smile on his lips. Ben sat at Lyle's feet, eating the sandwiches his mum had made for him that morning.
"So tell me about this mother of yours," said Lyle. "Tell me everything, Benjamin."
Ben swallowed a mouthful of brown bread with soggy cucumber. "It's really very dull, especially compared to your life."
Lyle snorted. "If you think being stuck in the middle of the woods for heaven-knows-how-long is interesting, then you're not a very imaginative chap. But I don't believe that. I think you're just being modest."
"Sadly not."
"Yes, you are. It's one of the things I like about you. I believe we're very different, you and I. But please, tell me about yourself. I genuinely want to find out." Lyle sat up and moved closer, widening his eyes and urging on Ben, who felt a stab of panic. Really, compared to Lyle's tale, what had he to tell?
"I was born in a town about three miles from here," said Ben, "and I've lived in this area all my life. I suppose I belong here, yet… I've never quite belonged either. I hang out with my work colleagues, and I get on with my mum and dad—I still live in their attic, in fact. They've usually been supportive, although it got a bit difficult when I broke the news that I was gay." Lyle looked confused, so Ben explained. "When I told them I liked being with men rather than women, Mum found it hard to deal at first, but she came around soon enough. They've always helped me through hard times since. But, I've never fitted into any clique, or found anyone I've really gelled with." He chewed his last piece of sandwich without really tasting it. He could feel Lyle's scrutiny piercing him and couldn't quite bring himself to meet it. "I'm, uh, a bit of a loner really."
"Maybe we're not so different," whispered Lyle.
Ben hadn't known what heartstrings were until that moment, when they were tugged—or rather, yanked hard, an acute pang shadowed by a tangible ache of need. He finally met Lyle's come-hither gaze, and the space between them evaporated in a heartbeat.
Their mouths collided, a messy clash of teeth and tongues, kissing then breaking away, then kissing again, while they scrambled to rip away the last barriers of clothing between them. Unlike their earlier, exploratory kiss, this was full-on, bordering on violent as they rolled across the ground. Lyle had already half-discarded his cloak, which Ben tore away in an instant. Ben found his ankles clasped between Lyle's feet and encircled with fins. He fumbled with a single hand to undo his fly, the other arm crushing Lyle close. The kiss grew brutal as a primitive force surged within him, and then overtook them both. God, he needed Lyle, and from the way Lyle grinded against him like a wild animal, it proved obvious Lyle needed him.
Sweat slicked their bodies as they bucked and writhed, uniting as one. The bonfire singed their bare flesh as time and time again they veered too close; pine-needles pricked Ben's bare arse, but he scarcely noticed. Ben felt little save Lyle's touch all over him, Lyle's tongue in his mouth, then his flesh within Lyle's flesh, and Lyle's fins. Oh sweet heavens, those beautiful fins! They glided all over him, in and out, tantalizing and caressing, and seeking places and means to pleasure him that no lover had found before. Probably no mere human lover could.
They peaked as one, a tangled heap, chests heaving in synch as they gasped in a heady mingling of chilled air and woodsmoke and sex.
"Bloody hell, Lyle!" Ben closed his arms around Lyle, who'd ended up with his head on Ben's breast, sprawled on top of Ben with limbs and fins splayed at eclectic angles. Ben stroked Lyle's damp hair. "That was… a… "
"A wonderful last hurrah," said Lyle. "Thank you."
Is that all it was?
Despite the sizzling afterglow of the sex, a lump clogged Ben's throat. He couldn't bring himself to be angry with Lyle. But what the dickens had he got himself into? The thought of Lyle dying now broke his heart. The mere notion of losing Lyle shattered him, let alone Lyle's death.
He cupped Lyle's face, prompting Lyle to look up at him. "Stop saying that. I won't let them fill in the pool or knock the tower down. I can protect this place. After all, I'm a County Environmental Officer."
Lyle regarded him solemnly until his bottom lip tremored. Then he pressed his cheek back to Ben's chest. "You're a good man, Benjamin," he said.
Ben tightened his grip, ever so slightly, in Lyle's hair. Part of him wanted to scream. He'd just had the best shag of his life with this man, this being, and never… Oh God, he couldn't deny it. He'd only known Lyle a day, and never had he felt so close to anybody, despite the gulf between them in life experiences. Heck, they weren't even the same damned species.
He wished Lyle would say something, because he bloody well couldn't. Tears clogged his throat and flooded his eyes.
He stroked his fingers again and again down the nape of Lyle's neck, as much to comfort himself as Lyle. Only at length, with the fire burned down to its last glowing embers, did he let his fears fade. For once, he'd be decisive: Benjamin Miles would act. He'd do something, and he wouldn't wait until Monday. He'd start tomorrow. He would save Lyle, whether Lyle believed he could be saved or not.
But now he was sleepy, far too tired. So he revelled in the closeness of Lyle's slumbering form, and let himself drift away.
Chapter Eight
When Ben switched on his computer the next day at his desk in the County offices, the clock read 9:22. He rubbed his eyes, swept back his unwashed hair from his face, and yawned so widely his jaw clicked.
Despite the double shot of expresso in the latte he'd grabbed on the way in, weariness prevailed and his back ached so badly it felt bruised. It had been a sweet but chilly night out in the woods with Lyle, and Lyle, come the morning, had been difficult to leave. He'd wanted to sleep all day, preferably spooned around Ben, forcing Ben to be resolute. Even when Lyle had encircled fins about both of Ben's ankles, and only half-joking, begged him to stay. Ben had to go.
It was imperative he filed the paperwork about the tower and the pool today. Nobody else would be in the office at the weekend, so this would be his best shot at ensuring Shanty Wood remained his case. And not Kristof's, given Kristof's bitter vow to fill in Lyle's pool.
With any luck, Kristof would have forgotten the worst of his experience in the woods by tomorrow. After all, as Ben mused while his slug-slow computer cranked up its login page, Kristof and the rest of the department had enough work on their hands with the Warrencroft project falling through.
His PC desktop finally loaded, Ben headed to the staff kitchen at the edge of the huge open-plan workplace, assured he was already halfway to victory. He whipped up another coffee, munched a couple of chocolate Hobnobs to fuel him further, and then returned to his desk to fill in some "Hazard Neutralized" forms to file beside Mrs Buxton's complaint. As he typed, he basked in a balmy sensation that'd followed him from Shanty Wood and which intensified whenever he thought about Lyle.
So that's what people mean when they talk about warm fuzzy feelings.
"Hello there, Ben, I wasn't expected to see you here."
"Shit!" Ben jumped and knocked his mug, slopping his cooling coffee over his keyboard. "Shit, shit, shit."
"Sorry," said Kristof, striding across the office toward his desk, two places away from Ben's. "I didn't mean to shock you. I guess you weren't expecting to see anybody else here today either."
"You could say that, mate." Ben turned his keyboard upside down and shook it. Coffee dripped out from between the keys and onto his desk, soiling
his "I love Peugeot" mouse-mat.
"Whoops," said Kristof, plonking a leather satchel on his desk. "Isn't that the third keyboard you've ruined this year?"
"Possibly. Don't tell Tessa. She'll start invoicing me personally." Ben forced a laugh, struggling to appear pleased to see Kristof, all whilst mopping up his desk with a tissue. "What are you doing here?"
"I, my friend, have had a brilliant idea, and it's going to solve all our problems in one fell swoop. I'm going to move the regeneration project from Warrencroft to Shanty Wood, where there are no lousy orchids. We can use the funds to put in new paths, sort out that potholed carpark, and best of all, convert that old tower into a sexed-up nature centre. Of course, that pool will have to go, but that's a minor issue." Kristof beamed. "What do you think? Genius, huh?"
A leaden horror obliterated Ben's newly discovered warm fuzzies. "Uh, but… Shanty Wood is my case. I was just logging the paperwork."
"Oh, I can take that all on now," said Kristof, typing a password into his PC, which was newer and much faster than Ben's. "Just email over anything you've started."
"No!"
"Pardon me?" Kristof swivelled his chair Ben's way and frowned.
"I mean, uh…" Ben backtracked desperately. "You've already got enough work on your hands, and I feel bad getting you tied up with something as minor as that pool anyway. Let me at least sort out the trivial matter of filling it in, and then you can get on with the high-level negotiations for the regeneration project."
Kristof shrugged, turning back to his screen. "Alright, if you wish. If I could leave that stinking bog in your capable hands, I'd appreciate it."
The Lonely Merman Page 5
