Lord of the Deep (10 page)

“The shamans stole that tree when it was no more than a sapling many years ago from the isle of the Lord of the Forest. An ancient sage lives inside it, just as many do on the Forest Isle. By time it was discovered where they’d taken it, the tree had taken root so deeply and grown so tall it was impossible to have it back.”

Meg gasped. He
had
seen her…Or he could read her mind. She didn’t know which was worse.

“I am thinking it is glad for having bonded so sweetly with such a maid after years of being pissed on by drunken shamans. But that is only my humble opinion, and I do not meddle in the metaphysical. I leave that to the gods that have abandoned me. Your secret is quite safe in my keeping. Come,” he said, leading her into the petrified wood.

“W-where are you taking me?” she asked him, picking her way through the marshes, following in his footsteps to avoid the soft places.

“To my stronghold,” he said, “where you will be safe while I go and find Simeon to see to you.”

Meg gasped. “What is the hour?” she begged him, laying a hand upon the wing closest to her to get his attention. It was folded, tucked in at his side until she touched it. The minute her fingers came in contact with the silken feathers, both wings burst into their full span nearly knocking her over.

“Do not touch my wings!” he snapped at her, spinning away out of reach. “
Never
touch my wings…Eh…They are very…sensitive.”

“O-oh,” Meg murmured, her eyes riveted to the bulk of his penis threatening to burst the skin-tight suit he wore. Had ever so slightly touching his wing caused his arousal? She swallowed the gasp in her throat, watching his hands cover the obvious. After a moment, his wings folded close to his body again.

“What did you just ask me?” he finally said. He seemed disoriented—almost angry now—and while she didn’t fear him, she hesitated before speaking.

“I…I asked you the time,” she said when he jutted his chin to remind her.

Gideon looked to the heavens and assessed the stars in the indigo vault. “It is just past midnight,” he said. They had reached a large cave, and he stood aside and motioned her to enter. “Why do you ask?”

“I was to meet Simeon in the cove on the south beach of the Isle of Mists at midnight,” Meg said. The words gushed out of her in a steady stream, halting him where he stood.

“Make yourself at home,” he said. “I will bring him.”

And before she could speak, he had spread his wings and soared off into the night.

S
imeon thrashed up onto the strand on the Isle of Mists in his sealskin a little before midnight. He had first decided to come in human form, but thought better of it, opting for the anonymity his seal incarnation would give him should mortals be about. Besides, once they’d paid a visit to the Waterwitch in hopes of finding a solution that would allow Meg to breathe under water for long periods, he would be taking her to the Pavilion, where they would be safe…at least for a time. Until he was sure the sirens and the sprites had carried out his wishes to exile the consorts.

Vega had gone on ahead to the Pavilion make certain no surprises lay in store. Simeon was anxious to show Meg his world, anxious that nothing spoil their special time together, during which he planned to teach her the many ways of making love to him—secrets he’d once taught the selkie consorts that would bring them both pleasure beyond imagining. He would find an islet above the waves, where he could exist in his seal incarnation and she could satisfy her need to breathe the air. Then, they would have the best of all worlds; at least that is how he’d worked it all out in his mind. All that remained was to spirit her away from the Isle of Mists before the shamans cancelled his plans.

The beach looked deserted. Meg was nowhere in sight. The cottage stood in darkness. No light was showing at the widows. That was as it should be at the witching hour, but he would have to get closer to be sure, and he could hardly go exploring in his sealskin. One seal alone would be suspect, since they always traveled with others in a group. Going about naked was not the ideal situation, either, but he had no choice. He shed his sealskin, stepped out of it in human form, and with the aid of a large scallop shell he’d found washed up on the strand, buried the skin in lee of the dune where he and Meg had last made love.

Crouching low, he moved off toward a better vantage to observe the cottage. Why hadn’t she come? All manner of possible reasons haunted him. Had her aunt already delivered her to the shamans? Had the woman locked her in the cottage? Had she talked Meg out of the rendezvous? No. That he would never believe, but something had detained her, and he needed to go around to the other side of the dunes for a closer look at the cottage.

It took some time, since he moved with extreme caution, becoming one with the dunes he used as a blind. Something untoward was afoot, he could feel it—he could taste it. The more excuses he dreamed up, the greater his fear that something had happened to Meg. By the time he’d reached the other side of the dunes, his heart was hammering against his ribs. Looking through the tufts of beach grass at the top of the rise, he scanned the cottage with narrowed eyes. No light was showing from the windows. All was dark and still, and he decided to slip back into his selkie skin and wait on the rocky ledge along the shore, where he could observe the beach openly.

He was just about to implement the plan when Gideon touched down on the beach and strode toward him.

“What’s happened?” Simeon asked the dark lord, his voice like feet crunching upon gravel echoing back in his ears. His hackles were raised at the sight of the winged prince advancing.

“Much,” Gideon replied. Conversing with the dark lord was maddening at best. Gideon was an entity of few words, and what few he spared were oftentimes too metaphorical to be understood. “But take ease,” he continued. “She is not here. I have given her sanctuary.”

“
You?
” Simeon blurted.

“Her aunt gave her over to the shamans on the Mount. They were grooming her for a temple whore.”

“And you got her out?” Simeon said. “I am in your debt, old friend. No one comes back from the Mount…But a whore in the temple? I have not heard of this. How did you know?”

“I see much from above, Simeon,” Gideon said. “And that is why none return from Shamans Mount. It is their best-kept secret. And I do not know how much of a favor I’ve done you. The one they call Seth will track her to the ends of Arcus now for what she knows and might tell.”

“I will deal with that if it happens,” Simeon said. “I knew of the sacrifices, but not this. Did they…Is she…?”

“She seems sound enough, though the sight of her would grow balls on a eunuch.”

“Take me to her!”

Gideon swung his arm wide. “Hang on,” he charged.

Unfurling his magnificent wings, Gideon soared skyward, taking Simeon with him. Simeon hadn’t seen the archipelago of Arcus from this vantage in many years. From above, the isles looked like stepping stones laid out in a sweeping arc beyond the coral reefs and the long, narrow barrier beach that bordered the mainland. No doubt this was where the consorts had been exiled. The Isle of Mists was closest to the mainland. Then came the Forest Isle, Gideon’s Dark Isle, and like a hand flung into the ocean, the Isle of Fire, whose volcanic eruption had nearly destroyed Gideon’s domain so long ago. There was a generous stretch of water between them, which Simeon ruled, and the sea was peppered with many other isles and islets, but from the sky, the whole configuration resembled a skeletal arm with a bent elbow and hand with a pointing finger. Simeon drank in the sight, but it was soon gone from view, swallowed by stubborn mists drifting over the archipelago. It didn’t matter. Gideon was an excellent navigator, and Simeon’s relief in that he would soon hold Meg in his arms again commanded all his thoughts.

Hidden behind the dunes on the Isle of Mists, Adelia watched the winged prince lift off with Simeon and soar into the night. Still, she waited a moment before stepping out into the open. Just in case.

Megaleen had been truthful about that after all. At first she had thought it Meg’s ploy to buy her freedom, but no, the girl had no guile. Still, she’d done the right thing selling the chit to the shamans. Meg was too much of a temptation to Olwyn. She’d glimpsed him ogling the girl. She’d seen him with his eyes halfway down her bodice, drooling over the milk-white expanse of Megaleen’s bare skin that spilled over at the neck of her kirtle. The girl had no modesty, going about with the globes of her breasts exposed to the teats. That might be the fashion on the mainland but not on the Isle of Mists.

Yes, she had done well getting shot of the gel and made a tidy sum for herself in the bargain; something she would withhold from Olwyn. It was no more than he deserved. The fates had stepped in and seen him off to the mainland, giving Adelia the opportunity to set her plan into motion. Olwyn was
her
husband after all, and she would keep him. She was too old to go a-hunting for another. Better the old fool should think Meg had drowned in the sea, and good riddance.

What had to be done now had to be done quickly and with the greatest of stealth. Olwyn would return on the morning tide, and he must know nothing of what she was about to do this night. She strained the vault of heaven with narrowed eyes. There was no sign of the dark lord returning. All was still, and armed with the spade she’d taken from the bait shed, Adelia stepped out from behind the dune’s rearing head and shuffled around the lee of it. There, she began to dig until she’d uncovered the sealskin she’d watched the Lord of the Deep bury. Evidently worried over why Meg had not come as they’d arranged, the lovesick fool had forgotten to retrieve the enchanted sealskin that masked his true identity. What untapped magic it must hold! And what power would be hers with it in her possession! What might the shamans pay for it? She quickened her steps in anticipation.

It was heavy. She’d never considered that. After smoothing out the place where it had been buried, she hefted the skin and staggered under its weight. Still warm from the heat of the selkie’s body, she draped the hind end over her shoulder and dragged it over the dunes to the darkened bait shed, half-hidden in the mist.

Gideon touched down beside his cave, sparing Simeon a trek through the marshes, and there the winged lord left him to disappear in the night. Gideon was like that, appearing and disappearing at odd moments. Simeon had always found it jarring. Still, the dark lord always managed to be where he needed to be for whoever was in need. Whether he disappeared now to give him privacy with Meg, or he had pressing business elsewhere, Simeon didn’t know. Gideon rarely explained himself. He moved through the world like a wraith in the mist, and no one—not even Simeon—knew his mind.

Only one thing mattered then: holding Meg in his arms again. Oblivious of the fact that he was stark naked, since it was the selkie’s natural state, Simeon sped through the corridors, calling her name at the top of his voice. He needed to see for himself that she was unharmed. When she stepped out of one of the cells on the west side of the corridor and rushed into his arms, he groaned and shut his eyes, inhaling the fresh herbal scent drifting from her hair and the dark, smoky aroma of hazelnuts clinging to her skin.

Her soft sobs bled into his euphoria, and he searched her face, taking it in his hands, gentling the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He kissed what remained away. They tasted of salt, of the sea, reminding him of the world of differences between them. But he beat those thoughts back and tilted her head up to his gaze, looking deep into her eyes.

“I thought…Never mind what I thought,” he said. “What happened? Did they harm you?” He held her away, taking her measure, his narrowed eyes flitting over her body from head to bare feet. They lingered upon the bottle-green gown that barely covered her nipples. They were clearly visible peeking through the gossamer gauze, which was somewhat worse for wear in spots. His gaze slid lower to her belly and the V of pubic curls showing through the fabric, their golden color almost glowing through the glittering green of the gauze. “What manner of gown is this?” he murmured.

“Aunt Adelia sold me to the shamans,” Meg sobbed, as the events of the past few hours spilled out of her in a breathless spate. “They took my kirtle away…and gave me this to wear…They locked me in! I couldn’t come as we’d planned. Then
he
came…the winged one…I—”

“Sh,” Simeon soothed, crushing her close. “Slowly…from the beginning…” Her hardened nipples straining the gauze dented his bare chest. His muscles contracted as his cock surged to life and leaned heavily against her belly, the hard root of it seeking the soft cushion of curls between her thighs to nuzzle.

“Aunt Adelia saw us when you brought me back,” Meg said. “She locked me in the bait shed and summoned the shaman’s eunuchs to take me to the Mount….”

“Because of us?” Simeon asked. He could not keep his hands from fondling her, from spreading the silky gauze to free her breasts for his hands to palm. He traced the pebbled areola of her nipples, teasing but not touching the hardened tips, delighting in her shudder as he coaxed them taller still.

“She has always been…difficult, Simeon,” she said. “But after she examined me and discovered I’d lost my virtue, she was like a madwoman!”

In the light of the rush lamp flickering in its wall niche, the stripes on her breasts were visible, and he traced them with his finger. “She beat you?” he said.

“I tried to fend her off, but she’s a strong woman, Simeon. I couldn’t. She obviously was expecting a great sum from the shamans were I to be trained as a priestess. She would have gotten nothing if they made a sacrifice of me. It would have been considered her duty to turn me over to them. So she gave me over to the eunuchs to make me one of the shamans’ whores instead, for a price above gold. I didn’t know there were such things….”

“No one does. Well, almost no one. Gideon says that is the reason no one ever returns sane from Shamans’ Mount.” He took her measure again, his hard gaze lingering on the flimsy gown. “They didn’t…touch you?” Why did she hesitate? Why were her eyes downcast? Something had happened, something of a sexual nature she feared her eyes would reveal. He was just about to challenge her when she spoke.

“Handmaidens took my kirtle and gave me this”—she flicked the skirt of her gown—“but the winged one took me off the Mount before they…before he, the shaman Seth, could do more than maul me. He had drunk much wine, and he was very angry.”

“You haven’t heard the last from him,” Simeon warned her. “You must be very careful when we are apart. He will not let it end here, Megaleen.”

She reached for him, and he swept her up in his arms and carried her into the chamber she had vacated. It wasn’t a bedchamber, though a low couch draped with fur throws stood against one wall. Rush candles were set about. A jug of wine and two goblets were waiting on a table near a brazier, which was fitted with a chimney that exited through the roof of the cave. Live coals glowed in it, no doubt to chase the chill, for even in summer the nights were cool and damp in the Isles.

Something caught Simeon’s eye at once. Neatly folded on a bench beside the couch lay the eel skin and cloak he’d left on the beach in his haste to return to Meg what seemed an eon ago for all that had happened since. Cold chills raised his hackles. It was almost as if Gideon knew he would come to reclaim them.

Setting Meg down, he slipped the gown from her shoulders and let it slide the length of her body to the floor until it puddled at her feet. How exquisite she was with her skin tinted golden in the brazier glow, her tawny erect nipples leaning against his hard-muscled chest. His hands rode up and down her sides, following the shape of her waist and thighs. She was without blemish, his golden mortal lover, and in that moment, there was no Shamans’ Mount, and there was no threat of Seth looming over them. They were just two lovers answering the primeval call of passions that had existed since the dawn of time.

That their union was forbidden by both societies held no significance except to quicken desire. In the space of a heartbeat, he had taken her from spark to flame, and she had taken him to blazing inferno.

Seized by an unstoppable desire to know her totally, in a way he never had before, he gripped the globes of her ass, lifted her onto his bursting cock where they stood, and rushed her against the wall. Nothing would cool the fire in his loins but filling her—feeling her milk him dry to the very soul, like no other had ever done before or would again.