PRINCE OF THE WIND (27 page)

He hopped away from the edge. When he’d gained the thick safety of the ledge from which sprouted the outcropping, he transitioned into human form and sat down.

"I’ve never cared for heights."

The Maelstrom would take him from his homeworld, through time and space and possibly millennia, to places he could not begin to imagine. Worlds that would be so unlike his own. He might never find his way out again.

"You’ve seen my world, Milord."

The voice startled him so greatly, he almost leapt from the ledge. As it was, he slammed into the rockface behind him with a "oof" of pain.

Maeve laughed. "Careful, Dearling. I’ve no desire to have to carry you through the Vortex."

"By all that’s holy, woman!" Riain complained. "You fair made my heart stop!"

She squatted beside him. Her long blue gown spread like a silken pool around her small feet. "She’s but an hour away, Riain," she said in a sober voice. "I suggest we do not tarry."

At the mention of his nemesis, Riain flinched. He looked over the ledge. "We will survive a fall through that, won’t we?"

"There is no harm for a traveler making a trip through the Maelstrom. Once you are through, you will be into a new world. A world so unlike this one, you can not begin to dream it. All the landmarks you know will have vanished." She waved her hand toward the teeming water. "This is the portal into tomorrow. The doorway into a future world."

"The world from whence you came."

"I am from all worlds, my love. From all time and all millennia."

"And the other portals?"

She shook her head. "You need not concern yourself with them, for they are the Past, the Distant Past and the Distant Future."

He felt a tremor along his back and knew Suzanna was not far behind. He stood.

"She will come through the Maelstrom, too, won’t she?" he asked, fear touching his soul.

"Aye, but it will be a while before she finds you."

"But she
will
find me?"

"Eventually."

"Will we have time together before she does?"

"Take my hand. Leap with me into the Maelstrom. Where we land, we land together and will have a few hours before you must flee again."

He looked into the swirling waters, then griped her hand. They walked to the edge of the outcropping. The mists of the water cooled their faces.

His grip tightened on her slender hand.

"One day, Maeve," he said in a fierce voice, "we will be together for all time. There will be no threat of that hag closing in on me."

She smiled. "I can guarantee it, Milord."

Before he could lose courage, he stepped over the edge, Maeve at his side, and the two plummeted through the vortex.

Her flesh was as soft as the petals of a Gardenia and smelled of that exotic flower as well. Fresh from the cool mountain stream, sparkling water droplets dotted her arms and breasts, now pebbling with goosebumps as she ran to the shelter of his cloak. As he wrapped her within the soft warmth of the wool, he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her hair and closed his eyes, feeling her nude body against his own.

"Faith, but the water is like ice!" she said, shivering as she laughed.

He rubbed her arms briskly with the fabric and rested his chin atop her hair. "I’ll miss swimming most of all."

She pulled back and looked at him. "I’ll swim for the two of us."

"Not for a while you won’t." He slipped one arm under her knees and lifted her high against his chest. "You’ll get yourself dressed before you catch lung fever."

Maeve draped her arms around his neck, laid her head on his shoulder as he carried her to the blanket he had spread out on the heather. "I’ll not argue with you, Milord," she said, teeth chattering, "but you have nothing to worry about me getting sick. I can’t."

Riain grunted in answer as he knelt on one knee and lowered her to the blanket. "Clothe yourself, Lady, before my baser instincts take over." As his cloak slipped from her, he looked away from her enticing bare breasts.

"And would you be taking advantage of me, Milord, if those instincts were given free rein?" She giggled.

"I would," he said, moving away. "I’m striving to be good here, lass."

"Even if I want you badly?"

Riain snapped his head around and widened his eyes when he saw her kneeling on the blanket, the cloak tumbled in a pool at her shapely hips. He swallowed, shook his head. "Don’t tempt me."

She stroked his cheek. "I was born to tempt you, Riain Cree." She lowered her eyes. "Just as you were born to claim me as your mate."

"You know what I am. Maeve, I—"

"You are what the gods have decreed you to be, my love."

"What the infernal Dark Gods have decreed!"

"Would you prefer I be like you?" she inquired.

He snorted. "I would not wish my predicament on my worst enemy. Not even that bitch Suzanna."

"Did you know wolves mate for life?"

He blinked. "What does that matter?"

"In part, you are a wolf now. Does that mean you will love me for life?"

He took her hand and placed it against his chest. "I will love you until time is no more and even after."

"Am I your mate, then, Milord Reaper?"

"As far as I am concerned you are. I…"

One moment he was looking into the jade green eyes of his lady, the next he was staring into the lupine eyes of a beautiful white she-wolf. In his hand was no longer the small hand, but a velvety paw. Before he could snap closed his sagging jaw, the she-wolf thrust her muzzle to his face and her rough tongue flicked teasingly over his cheek. Even as he watched dumbfounded, the elegant creature slipped its paw from his hand and backed away, the white bush of her tail flicking in challenge.

Riain snapped his mouth shut, stared solemnly for a moment, then a slow smile spread over his lips. "You want to play?"

The she-wolf lowered her head, nodding, then flicked her tail once before turning and loping toward a pasture. Now and again, she would stop, look over her shoulder, before continuing her delicate prance.

Riain got to his feet and stood, hands on his hips. It was fairly easy to shapeshift. He’d done quite a bit of late. He was weeks away from Transitioning into the snarling beast he dreaded, but only moments away from the lupine form that would take him to his lady’s side. When the baying sound of the she-wolf called in sultry cadence, his smile widened. He looked to the heavens, shrugged, then dropped to his hands and knees.

With one tremor, he shook off the mantle of humanity and shifted into a sleek gray wolf. His loping stride carried him swiftly over the rolling hills of the Irish countryside. With his muzzle twitching for his mate’s scent, his big paws took him unerringly to her.

He padded up to her, touched his cold nose to hers. She demurely lowered her head.

He bumped his haunch against her, their tails intertwining for a moment. She danced away, snuffling.

He growled; she chuffed in reply. He reared up, prancing, showing off.

She flicked her tail, seemingly disinterested, and padded gracefully to the stream, where she lowered her muzzle and lapped at the cool water.

He sighed and stretched out on his belly, lowering his head to his paws, and watched.

She continued to drink.

He sighed again and his rump came up as he slithered closer.

She ignored him and sat on her haunches to lick the moisture from her muzzle.

He whined, coming closer.

She tossed her head and looked over the pasture, watched the flight of a sparrow stitching the sky. Her whiskers twitched.

He stealthily made his way to his mate’s side, gazing up at her with adoration. He whimpered and nuzzled her leg with his head, rubbing her fur.

She snapped at him, her teeth bared, then wheeled away.

He groaned in frustration and pushed to his feet. He followed her frisky lope as she stopped at a patch of succulent grass and lowered her head to eat. When she craned her neck to look at him, he saw her fangs glistening as she grinned.

He shook his pelt, the muscles rippling from shoulder to haunch, then walked toward her, giving her time to flee if that was her intent.

But she stood where she was, her white coat gleaming in the early afternoon sunlight.

As he reached her, she sighed and stood still.

He mounted her, his fangs going to the soft fur at her shoulder. Gripping her flesh in his maw, he made her his.

* * *

When Maeve awoke, she was lying beside Riain, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her fingers twined in the thick mat of hair on his broad chest. Their bodies were damp from lovemaking. He was snoring, his face turned slightly from her. With tender pleasure, she stared at the slow pulse of his blood in the hollow of his throat and grew aroused. She shifted as gently as she could, hoping not to wake him as she got up. But before she could rise, the arm around her shoulder tightened, permitting her no escape.

"You are a light sleeper," she accused, settling in his hold.

"Such are the creatures of the night, sweeting," he responded with a mighty yawn. He scratched at the pelt between his breastbones and stared into her eyes. "Of which you are one, are you not?"

"No, but my powers allow me to be what needs be."

"Evil wench." He chuckled. "You could have told me you were a sorceress of great potency. Not that it matters. You’re mine any way you look at it."

Before she could answer, he stretched his heavy body atop hers.

"Faith, Milord!" she complained. "You are no featherweight!"

"Woman, be quiet."

His tongue and lips took her breath away as he plied his savage kiss upon her mouth. His hands molded her lower body against his, holding her to the evidence of his passion. Her helpless groan brought a grunt of satisfaction as he ground against her.

She tore her mouth free and gasped. "Riain!"

"Maeve!" he countered and claimed her mouth again, his tongue thrusting deep inside the warm cavern.

She managed to free her arms, and raked her fingers through his silky curls. She pulled back his head until the cords stood out in his neck.

"Let go," he demanded, trying to shake free.

"On my terms this time, Milord."

Their eyes locked. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed, giving in to her demand.

"Lie down," she said, releasing his hair.

Like an obedient servant, he moved off her and stretched out.

She threw one leg over his hips and straddled him.

"Am I to simply lie here while you take your pleasure?" he asked in a thick voice.

She cocked her head in thought, then nodded. "You may touch me."

"Where?"

She gripped his wrists, then placed his hands on her bare chest. "Here is a good starting point."

He shrugged as though it was of no great importance. "Might I caress you, then, Lady?"

"If you must."

Maeve closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his callused palms. As the wondrous touch grew bolder and the pads of his thumbs moved unerringly over the straining peaks of her, she growled deep in her throat.

"You find that enjoyable, do you, Lady?"

"It beats a sharp jab in the eye with a stick."

"That’s good."

He continued to stroke her, eliciting little moans of pleasure from her trembling lips as his thumb and forefinger moved in unison to please her.

"Lady?" he asked, his hands stilling, molding to the firm globes.

"Huh?"

"I’ve a sharp jab you might find pleasurable. Would you be of a mind to try it to see if you might like it?"

She pretended to think, then nodded. "I’m open to suggestions."

"You’re open are you?" he said, thrusting his hips upward against her shapely bottom.

"Aye, Milord. And I believe you are knocking at the door."

"That I am, Lady."

"Come in, then."

He chuckled and shifted so his entry would be sure.

"Ah!" she gasped. "Glad to have you visit, Milord!"

"Glad you invited me, wench."

"Please stay a while!"

* * *

Maeve bit her lip as she watched her lover’s fitful sleep. Sweat beaded his forehead and his eyes beneath the closed lids jerked to and fro as he dreamed. She was loathe to wake him, but his grunts and groans told her he was not enjoying the DreamMaster’s visit.

Not only was her womanly curiosity plaguing her, her sorceress soul was fast becoming alarmed at the tenseness of his body and the flexing and arching of his hands as he reached out in his unconscious state.

"Riain," she said, hoping to calm him, but his whimper of terror hardened her resolve. She closed her eyes, melding her aura with his, until she was running alongside him in his nightmare…

It was dark, and an icy rain was pummeling her as she matched her stride to his. Lightning stair-stepped across the heavens, and as the flash lit his face, she could see terror in his stricken eyes when he looked behind him.

He stumbled, tripping over a tree root, and fell, going to his knees in thick red mud. She could sense his weakness, the life ebbing from his strong body, and tried to will him some of her strength, though she knew that was not possible.

He trembled as he lifted his face from the mud and came to his knees, his hands stretched to the heavens.

"Why?" he asked. "What did I do wrong this time?"

His head snapped around as though he had heard his name. He struggled to his feet, turning from the direction he’d been heading.

Through his eyes, she could see a river. Through his ears, she could hear the water gurgle.

"No, Riain," she said, knowing he could not hear her. "You can not go to the water, Beloved!"

But he headed straight for the barrier.

She could almost feel the thorns of the berry bushes as they tore at his legs as he ran. She grimaced as rough tree bark gouged his palms when he tried to keep from falling. She called a warning as he almost crashed into a fence.

With tears flowing down her cheeks, she saw him grasp the sharp spikes of the fence and pull himself over, blood running down his hands and arms from the spike stabs.