Celtic Fire (22 page)

“Part your legs.” Lucius’s voice thrummed with urgency. Moisture seeped onto Rhiannon’s thighs and her blood rushed in her ears. She groaned but lay still, staring up at him, too embarrassed to comply.

Lucius’s heated gaze burned a path down her body, halting, she knew, at the bright triangle of curls that guarded her sex.

“Open for me, Rhiannon.”

As if of their own accord, her knees fell apart.

“Wider.”

She flushed hot and her breath came in shallow gasps, but she did as he asked, opening herself to his hunger.

His gaze consumed her. And though it hardly seemed possible, his cock swelled even larger. Rhiannon went slick and wet with the wanting of him, even as she wondered if he would fit within.

He leaned close, but didn’t reach for her. His white-knuckled fists gripped the bed frame so tightly she feared the wood was in danger of splintering.

“Touch yourself for me, Rhiannon.”

She looked up at him in dazed confusion. “What?”

“Cup your breasts with your palms.”

Lightning need, mingled with fear, shot through her. Emotions she’d never bared to the day fought to rise, called by a man she’d known but a sennight. Yet her soul leapt to his, finding some reflection of its own essence. She knew not why this should be so. She only knew that when Lucius spoke his dark, shameful commands, she was help less to resist him.

Slowly, she unclenched her fingers from the bed frame and smoothed her palms over her flushed skin. Sliding her hands under her breasts, she lifted the mounds like an offering.

“Brush your fingertips across the peaks.”

The fiery jolt she felt when she complied took her breath away. “Come to me now, Lucius.” She touched her breasts again, aching for his hands upon her.

His dark eyes flared with satisfaction. “Soon.” He drew a long breath. “First, part your folds for me.” He loosened his grip on the bed frame long enough to brush an agonizing stroke over the curls between her thighs. “Here.”

She clenched deep inside, wanting to beg him to fill her there, where she felt nothing but emptiness. But the hard, almost painful expression on his face told her he wouldn’t comply until she’d done as he’d asked. She moved her trembling hand downward by slow degrees. Her fingers touched her own soft, bare flesh and slid along the hot dew of her desire.

His breath left in a rush. His body, already strung tight as a bow, tautened further. Beads of perspiration appeared on his brow, but still he didn’t reach for her. His eyes consumed her, urged her on.

She stroked herself again, finding the hidden nub that seemed to be the center of her torment. She touched it once and cried out. Her hips arched, her legs parted even wider.

Then Lucius was upon her, his hands skimming the surface of her skin, his body covering hers with its heat. He kissed a hot trail down her neck to her breast and suckled, and if Rhiannon had thought her want unbearable before, she found her anguish now to be beyond anything she could have imagined. She writhed under Lucius’s touch, wrapping her legs about his body and trying to capture his shaft between her thighs.

Coherent thought scattered in a gale of need. It was a storm she’d never before ridden, indeed, had never even known existed.

“Lucius—” Her plea ended in a moan when his teeth grazed her nipple.

“Steady, my nymph.” He rose over her, supporting himself on forearms braced on either side of her head. “It’s but evening and we have all night. There’s no need to hurry.”

She bit back a sob of frustration. Her palms skittered with urgency over his shoulders and across his chest. “I want you now.” Nay, she
needed
him—more than pride, more than sanity, more than breath. Her questing hand found the tip of his shaft, her finger catching a bead of moisture. A sound like a low growl tore from Lucius’s throat.

“Now,” she said. The word was a plea, a prayer. She inhaled. The scent of his desire inflamed her. He was rough leather and restless energy, sweet balsam and hot sun. He knelt between her open thighs, but still he held himself apart from her. Too far. She needed him closer.

She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and hissed with satisfaction when it leapt hotly in her palm. He shuddered and buried his face in the crook of her neck, catching her flesh between his teeth and nipping hard enough to send a dart of pleasure to her loins.

“You are fire and mist at once,” he said in a tone filled with wonder. He raised his head just far enough to look into her eyes. “Are you truly mortal? Or are you Diana, come to torture me?”

“Diana?”

“A wild goddess. The dark forest is her realm.”

“No goddess,” Rhiannon whispered. “I’m but a woman.”

“Then I am content to be a man.”

The hot tip of his shaft touched her at last, teasing, probing. Exquisite ripples of sensation overtook her as her hips tilted upward. He entered her slowly in one endless thrust, opening and stretching her flesh until he lay hot and full inside her.

The feel of him was like the summer dawn, sweet and wild. She clenched his cock with her body, sending a spasm of pleasure through her, and she knew he felt it, too, because his arms began to tremble with the exertion of holding himself motionless within her.

She opened herself further, lifting her hips and spreading her knees as she stretched to take in all of him. She gripped his buttocks and pulled him closer, wanting more.

“For the love of Jupiter, be still but a moment,” Lucius said. His expression was fierce, but his lips curved in a rueful half smile. “Or you’ll end your pleasure before it’s begun.”

Low laughter bubbled in her throat. She circled her hips and smiled when his growl sounded in her ear. He uttered an oath and surrendered to her. His mouth claimed hers in a punishing kiss as he began to move.

Her body responded with a flood of sensation, a turbulent combination of bliss and agony. Lucius’s tongue plunged and retreated with excruciating leisure. His cock matched the rhythm, thrusting and withdrawing in long, slow strokes. Rhiannon gripped his shoulders and bucked against him. If he didn’t increase the tempo of their joining, she would surely die before she reached … what? She could not fathom the answer, but suspected Lucius knew all too well what her body craved.

She moved again, desperate to put an end to her fevered quest. Lucius answered her plea by sliding his hands to her hips and holding her motionless beneath him. She cried out in protest, but his grip only tightened and she could do little but accept the pace he’d set.

He broke their kiss and drew back. His eyes glittered with triumph. A wash of vulnerability assailed Rhiannon, but then he moved inside her again, faster this time, and the wave of intense pleasure eclipsed her fears. He repeated the movement, thrusting forward, then back quickly several times before returning once again to a slow, ruthless slide.

Rhiannon nearly screamed in frustration. She fisted her hands in the blanket. “Faster,” she begged.

A half smile lifted one corner of his mouth, but his eyes had gone dark and held no hint of humor. He granted her wish, increasing his tempo, at the same time easing his grip on her body. Rhiannon sent a prayer of thanks to Briga.

She closed her eyes. Raising her hips, she met him thrust for thrust and gasped with the glory of it. His hand stole to her breast and plucked her taut nipple. Another wave of agonizing pleasure broke, driving her up the spiral, lifting her to darkest ecstasy. She knew not where the storm would end. Yet she yearned for Lucius to carry her through it, though she suspected she would emerge battered and broken.

She reached for her destruction with her whole being.

Lucius’s cock stiffened between her legs. He was thrusting now with feverish speed, shaking the bed. The taut spiral of need inside her stretched to its limits, caught and stretched even more. He thrust one more time, driving himself deep, and the coil snapped.

She clung to him as the final shattering crash of pleasure broke over her. He cried her name and braced himself on rigid arms as his hot seed spilled into her womb. She gripped his torso and arched against him, crushing her breasts against his chest, no longer certain where he ended and she began and no longer caring.

They existed for a glorious moment as one being, entwined and complete for all eternity. Then reality whispered, pulling Rhiannon back to awareness. She collapsed onto the cushions, Lucius atop her, their legs still entwined, their bodies still joined.

“My nymph,” Lucius murmured. “You are everything I imagined, and more.” His breathing deepened and slowed and Rhiannon realized he’d fallen asleep.

With the loss of Lucius’s attentions, the walls of the bedchamber seemed to draw inward, cold and threatening. Rhiannon pressed her body against her lover’s warmth, but her own rest eluded her. Tears came instead and she could do nothing to stop them.

The slanting rays of the setting sun bathed the stones of the Old Ones in red. The sky above, framed by a fringe of oak leaves, darkened. Owein lay on his back at the center of the circle and squinted up at the night as the first star winked to life, an ember in a sea of ash. The cool earth, fed by the blood of his enemies, cradled his bare skin like a mother’s arms.

Five iron swords encircled him. The first skewered the soil at his head, the flat of its blade grazing his scalp. Two more touched the soles of his feet; two others rested at the farthest reach of his outstretched arms. The power of the stones gathered, leaping across the circle to the swords. Owein could feel the might of the Old Ones, crackling, ready to make a second leap into his flesh.

Pain beat a tattoo in his skull, causing his vision to pulse red. The agony had begun the moment his head touched the soil within the Druid circle. His crown lay closest to the eastern stone. His splayed legs pointed west toward the setting sun and the gates of Annwyn.

A cool breeze stole into the glen, raising the hairs on Owein’s naked body. His cock stiffened slightly, then relaxed. An itch crept into his right foot—a niggling annoyance, but he gave it scant notice. Madog had ordered him to remain motionless.

As the last glow of twilight faded, Owein’s mentor stepped from the shadows of the oaks and passed into the circle. He halted at Owein’s feet, just beyond the blades. His right hand encircled his staff, holding aloft the skull of the Roman commander.

The Druid’s breath came hard. Owein’s own breathing was shallow, spiked with the pain that threatened to cleave his skull in two. Madog made a circuit of the stones, bowing and chanting in the old tongue. He tapped each ancient sentinel with his staff, then moved toward the center of the circle. With a sudden motion, he sank the twisted shaft into the soft earth between Owein’s legs, barely a finger’s breadth from his cock.

Owein flinched but managed to keep his hands pinned to the ground. Madog’s staff had united earth and sky, opening a path through which the power of creation flowed. The Druid nodded once, then paced to the east, beyond Owein’s vision. His voice lifted in prayer. Words, ancient and powerful, moved through the forest like the winds before a storm. When the shrill entreaty fell silent, Owein drew a breath and took up the chant.

The syllables flowed from his tongue like a language remembered. The learning of it had been like a homecoming—each sound Madog had taught resonated in Owein’s soul.

Crackling energy leapt from the swords to his limbs. It coursed to his heart, igniting wild desire and fierce hope. A comet trail arched across the sky. Owein tracked it with his gaze, his lips never faltering in the chant. His summons must be perfect if it was to be worthy of Kernunnos’s answer.

The last syllable faded into darkness. Far above, stars illuminated the skies, but little of their light reached into the embrace of the oaks. The Horned God’s forest realm, thick with the scents of life and death, filled Owein’s senses.

The wind gusted, sending a swirl of mist into his vision. The branches and the sky faded, leaving nothing but darkness, cold and eternal. The throbbing agony in his skull spread like a fire through his body, blending with the power of the stones. Light burst in his vision. He reached for it with his mind.

He felt a wrenching sensation, like his soul being torn from his body. He floated free of his corporeal burden, rising over the treetops in a dizzying spiral. Pain vanished, swept away by the wind. The same gust bore him over the forest, past the crags, following the path of the burn as it snaked through the valley.

He halted above the barren patch of land where the conquerors had ripped the forest from Briga’s embrace. The high, square walls of Vindolanda stood in the midst of the desolation. Tracking like a hawk, he circled above the fort, searching the shadows with his mind. A woman’s sorrow floated skyward.

Rhiannon.

He swooped down into darkness and found himself hovering above a pool of water surrounded by greenery. His sister was not there, but his sense of her had grown stronger. She was close. Very close.

Higher.
He floated to an upper passage lined with doors and surged toward the one that enclosed Rhiannon’s essence. He glided through it, barely noticing the breadth of the wood as his spirit-body passed through it.

The room beyond lay in shadow, but Owein’s spirit-eyes needed no light. An unclothed man sprawled on a raised pallet, sleeping. Rhiannon huddled at his side, sobbing, her naked body wrapped with naught but a thin blanket. The scent of the Roman’s seed was upon her.

Rage raced like lightning in Owein’s veins. He flung himself at his enemy’s throat, but the hands of his spirit passed harmlessly through the Roman’s body. Rhiannon sobbed harder.

Owein watched, horrified, as Rhiannon’s defiler stirred. The brute lifted himself on one elbow and peered at her, then dared to raise his hand and smooth a lock of hair from her forehead.

Owein’s fury exploded, flinging him upward through the timber and slate roof and into the night sky. Rage flashed through his soul with the light of a thousand suns.

He screamed his curse in the tongue of the ancients. The Words darkened the sky and sent a tremor coursing through the sacred oaks.