Lord of the Deep (24 page)

Vega’s jaw dropped. He blinked, and Simeon was gone.

M
eg stirred inside the cupboard that smelled of cedar wood. Wedge shaped, it was large enough to accommodate her easily. A pile of folded blankets on the bottom of it cushioned her body and sore feet. She yawned and stretched. How long she’d slept there, she had no idea. It had been a deep sleep, a boon of exhaustion, but she’d awakened aroused from dreaming of Simeon. She was safe there, with just enough air seeping in from loose boards at the back of the closet to allow her to breathe comfortably.

She presumed it to be sometime in the night. All was quiet in the nunnery. The sisters had evidently forgotten her presence in the house, what with the press of the old woman’s burial, and they did say the doors were never locked. They would have simply assumed she’d left if they’d remembered her at all. These were a trusting sort, without guile. She would wait a bit and then steal away under the cover of darkness to look for a boat to carry her to the mainland. But first, the ache between her thighs needed to be addressed.

She was so lonely for Simeon. The mere thought of him aroused her. What she wouldn’t give to lie in his arms, to feel his hard-muscled body next to hers, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy with his selkie seductions. He had spoiled her for any other lover. From the first moment she’d seen him on the strand performing for her with his consort in the moonlight, she’d known no other would ever satisfy her. Now, she was fleeing from the very thing she wanted most—from the very arms that she longed to hold her for the rest of her life.

Meg seized her mound in a vain attempt to stop the contractions gripping her then—waves like liquid fire that had begun coursing through her belly and thighs. It was dark in the cupboard. Who would see? Just as she’d done on that first night, she lifted her breasts free of her bodice and palmed them. Her nipples were hard and tall, poking through her fingers. She moaned softly as she scraped them, teased them—strummed them until they trembled with sweet sensation.

All at once, she wasn’t in the cupboard anymore. She was lying naked with Simeon in a field of fragrant wild flowers, about as unnatural place for him to be as her mortal mind could conjure in hopes of exorcising his image from her mind, from her memory and broken heart, but the image would not fade. He was in her—part of her—as much a part as her limbs or her skin or the nipples she fondled.

Bending her neck with the aplomb of a swan, she raised one breast until her lips closed around the turgid bud, sucking, nipping—laving it with her tongue. But in her fantasy it wasn’t her tongue, it was his tongue, salty-sweet, licking the pebbled areola, stopping just short of the tawny nub that had hardened like steel in anticipation of the tug that would resonate in her groin, igniting her with drenching fire.

Meg had reached the point of no return as she courted the little death that would unite her with Simeon, at least spiritually. Rubbing herself through the muslin fabric wasn’t enough. Inching up the hem of her kirtle, she exposed her slit and fingered it, parting her nether lips, which were wet with the slick juices of her arousal. She spread the wetness higher to the protruding nub. It was hard and thick and swollen—ready to give her the sensation that would take her out of herself—ready to rivet her with the release that would let her forget for a brief blink in time’s eye who she was and what she had condemned herself to for the rest of her life by leaving the man she loved. She stroked it carefully—just enough to excite, but not enough to carry her over the brink.

Then she remembered the phallus. Was it really a likeness of Simeon’s erect penis or was Seth mocking her? She plunged her hand into the marketing bag and slipped it out of its coffer. Rush candles in their sconces in the corridor outside let in enough light between cracks in the boards for her to examine the carving. Having seen only one erect penis, it was hard to judge, but she decided it could be. The distended veins were in the right place, the size and shape were accurate, and the mushroom tip was exact. She wasted no more time deciding. Her quim was wet and swollen, aching for release. She slipped the phallus inside her, moving it in and out while she stroked her breasts one by one, scraping the dark, hard nipples, squeezing them between her fingertips as the phallus probed deeper. Her breath caught as it touched the same secret place Simeon had discovered deep inside her. Her pelvis spasmed, jerking as the hard veins scraped against her erection. Her back, arched in an involuntary contraction, booted her mound forward. One long, languid spiral thrust and she came, gripping the phallus with the walls of her vagina, just as it had gripped Simeon’s hot hard bulk.

Lost in the exquisite agony of release, she floated as if outside herself and looked down on her ecstasy, on the flushed hardness of her breasts, on their hard dark nipples, on the moist V of her pubic curls between her spread legs, on the phallus still inside her. Writhing against the last delicious wave of orgasmic fire, Meg groaned in spite of herself.

But then her heart sank.

It may be an exact replica, but it wasn’t the same. The hard, unyielding phallus was not Simeon’s steely yet silky-soft hardness. There was no warm rush of his seed to nourish her. No palpitating, vein-swelling, tip-pumping evidence that she had given him his release. Was this what she had condemned herself to, this turgid coldness?

Tears welled in her eyes as she withdrew the impostor from her flushed quim. Wiping it clean, she placed it back inside its coffer and shut it away in the marketing bag out of sight. Then ordering herself, she made ready to leave. It had to be now, while the house was asleep, when she could slip away without notice. She cracked the cupboard door ever so slightly. The rush candles were still lit in their sconces, flooding the little compartment with lemony glow. That was a good sign. All was still. The sisters hadn’t yet risen to begin their day. Her fingers closed around the marketing bag, and she stepped into the corridor.

Her feet stung from the glass shard cuts the minute she put her weight on them, and she sucked in a hasty breath around a grimace. She hadn’t taken two steps when the banging began—a loud, constant pounding upon the nunnery door. Meg froze in her tracks. It felt as if her heart leapt into her throat and got stuck as she stood there riveted by that racket, which was as loud as cannon fire. She swallowed dryly. No need to panic. Men were not permitted to enter the nunnery. But Simeon was no ordinary man. He was a selkie, and she’d seen the power of his rage in the storm that had leveled Shamans’ Mount and the gods alone knew what else!

Her knees began to tremble. Still dazed from the orgasm, she wasn’t at her most powerful. She couldn’t see what was happening due to a bend in the corridor, but she heard one of the sisters shuffling along the parquetry, grumbling and complaining, and then her ear-splitting shriek as Simeon, evidently realizing the door was unlatched, burst inside.

“I know she’s here!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the narrow corridors. Oh, how it thrilled her! “Young, about so high…with hair like spun gold. She has to be here. We have searched every inch of this island—everywhere but here!”

“Th-there was a girl,” the woman mewed. “She came in when we were burying one of our own. I told her she was welcome to wait. She looked so…distraught. She was gone when we returned.”

“You searched to be sure?”

“Well, no, we didn’t search. Why would we? This is a holy house, my lord. There are no locks or harsh restrictions here. All who seek sanctuary are given it. She would have been welcome to stay as long as she wished.”

“Out of my way, lady,” Simeon shouted. “I am Simeon, Lord of the Deep, your sovereign prince of these waters. I mean you no harm, but that girl may be in grave danger—not from me, I am her mate. If she is still here, I must find her!”

Meg heard his heavy footfalls then. The harsh vibrations shuddered through her wounded feet. There wasn’t a moment to lose. Spinning on her heels, she raced toward the rear entrance, flung the door wide to the swirling mist, and fled.

Simeon streaked through the corridors like a man possessed. Holy women in their nightrails huddled in clusters along the passages. He scarcely saw them. Calling for Meg at the top of his voice, he stomped through the nunnery, throwing chamber doors wide, with the woman who had let him in following on his heels.

“My lord, I beg of you…If she were here, we would know of it!” the holy woman pleaded, tugging her shawl over her nightgown. “Please do not disrupt this holy place!”

“You do not understand! I have to find her!”

The woman babbled on. Simeon scarcely heard. His heart was pounding so hard in his ears he could hear nothing else.

“Selkies are a peaceful people,” the woman said. “They do not ravage nunneries and terrorize helpless holy women!”

Simeon stopped in his tracks. “It is true that we are pacifists, lady, but that storm you just escaped here in this hollow was bred of selkie wrath. Being a peaceful people by no means makes us weak. When something threatens one of our own, we are a force to be reckoned with. The great cataclysm that formed the archipelago eons ago was an act of selkie justice, aided by the gods. It will seem no more catastrophic than that piddling mist out there if one hair on that girl’s head is harmed. Now let me pass!”

She fell back, though she did not leave him. Protesting all the while, she waddled after him until they reached the corridor that led to the cupboard under the stairs. Simeon was in a blind passion with the search almost complete and still no sign of Megaleen, but something the woman had said earlier ghosted back across his frazzled mind.

“You said you were burying one of your own when you saw the girl I seek?” he said.

The woman nodded. “At first I thought she had come to pay her respects, but she had not.”

“The dead woman’s name…what was it?”

“G-Glenda…Sister Glenda,” the woman said. “She was very old.”

That sank in. Gooseflesh raced the length of Simeon’s spine as the pieces fell into place. Vega was right. His mother had died. At least now they were certain of it. She had sacrificed herself for him and for Meg, and for his father. There was no greater love than this. Such a sacrifice could not be for naught.

He said no more. Sprinting along the corridor, he pulled up short before the open cupboard door in the wainscoting. There was blood on the floor beside it. His sharp eyes flashed ahead, where streaks of more blood led toward the rear door, also ajar.

Simeon spun, seized the woman and kissed her on her plump, red cheek. “The gods bless you, lady,” he cried. “I trouble you no more. She is found!”

Letting the slack-jawed woman go, he darted out into mist so thick he couldn’t penetrate it with his extraordinary selkie vision. It was still dark; the darkness before dawn, when even the mist is sooty-black and the air breathless and still. Nonetheless, he strained to see through it frantically, begging the gods to let him find her. There would be no bloody footprints in the sand. Did he dare leave the mist? He still had the Waterwitch’s geode charm tucked inside his eel skin suit if he needed to return. No. Instinct told him she’d left the hollow.

The minute he stepped outside the mist, he felt a vibration beneath his feet. She was running toward the north shore of the Isle. Shouting her name at the top of his voice, he ran in the same direction, bounding over the dunes and clumps of tall beach grass. His heart was hammering against his ribs and echoing in his ears, but he still heard her cries as she fled. Then he saw her. She was tiring—limping. Her sore feet were slowing her down. She stumbled. Then all at once she was in his arms. He was holding her at last. Nothing else mattered. He was holding his Megaleen. Scooping her up in his arms, he laid her down in the sand and fell upon her, pinning her to the ground with his lower body, while he caged her between his outstretched arms.

The look in her eyes—part terror, part despair—misted his own. “Why?” he murmured with a tremor in his deep sensuous voice. “Why did you run from me, Megaleen?”

“You have to let me go,” she sobbed. “It is the only way! I cannot take you from your realm—from the deep you love so—and I cannot join you in yours….”

“It is
not
the only way,” he shot back, shaking her. “There is another alternative.” He gestured behind. “There is a woman back in that nunnery who gave her life that you might know that alternative…Vega’s mother. We all thought her dead. My father bought her immortality eons ago from a sorcerer—an amulet. Theirs was a union like ours—he a selkie, she a mortal.” He withdrew the amulet from his suit. “When Vega told her of us, she removed the necklace and began to age before his eyes. She has died. We love each other, Megaleen. You cannot let her have died in vain….”

“W-what was the woman’s name?” Meg murmured.

“Glenda.”

Meg sobbed, throwing her arms around Simeon’s neck. “I saw her,” she moaned. “It was horrible!”

Simeon handed her the necklace. “You must accept it and put it on,” he said. Meg fastened the amulet around her neck, and he gathered her close. “Don’t ever leave me again,” he murmured, gravel-voiced. “And don’t take the amulet off. You need not fear to lose it. It contains strong magic. It will not come off unless you remove it. You will not age as long as you wear it.”

Meg nodded against his shoulder, and he tilted her head back and took her lips in a fiery kiss that wrenched a groan from the very depths of him. He deepened it, and she melted against him, clinging to him, her racing heart fluttering against his hard-muscled chest. Breathless and fully aroused, he clung to her, his hand buried in the thick richness of her hair, which was fragrant with the scent of sweet clover and honeysuckle. He inhaled her deeply.

“What of Seth?” she said, leaning into his embrace.

“Seth is dead,” he returned.

“Y-you…?”

“Elicorn,” he said. “He mounted him in an attempt to escape.”

Meg sagged in relief against him, and he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over the dunes.

“Where do we go?” she queried.

“To bathe your cuts,” he told her. “There is a tide pool nearby. The water is cool and soothing. It will help you heal.”