Storm Born (23 page)

Water poured down on us as we kissed and touched and attempted some semblance of washing ourselves. I don’t know how good a job we did. I think some parts got significantly soaped down more than others.

I wouldn’t have minded sex in the shower, but we had no condoms in there. Sometimes I thought the double birth control was overkill; in eight years, I’d never had problems with the pill. But we both knew how high the stakes were. A condom was a small thing to ask.

We fell onto my bed, still kind of slick and soapy. He slipped the condom on in like two seconds, and I moved on top of him. Foreplay apparently wasn’t going to play a big role in our relationship. His hands grasped my hips, halting me for a moment.

“You took your pill today?”

“Yes, yes,” I assured him.

He relaxed and released me, letting me move down and take him into me. A soft sound, half-groan and half-sigh, escaped his lips. He opened his eyes and smiled at me.

“You are…the most right thing in my world.”

I smiled back, knowing exactly what he meant. We felt good and right together, like the last month’s tension hadn’t existed. We were where we should be, picking right up after our first night together.

His hands clenched my sides, his nails touching my back as my body shifted up and down. A tingle of apprehension ran through me whenever those fingers came near my back, but he continued to show restraint. The scratches were finally healing, albeit slowly.

He let me stay on top only about a minute or so before he flipped me onto my stomach and took me from that position, all aggression and furious passion. I slyly tried shifting us once, and he playfully returned me back. Maybe it was the fox thing, or maybe it was just his own human nature, but something in him liked being the dominant one. I decided not to fight it, far too busy swimming in the bliss and fire of him moving inside of me.

When he finished, he rolled off and pulled me to him. Happy, I buried my face against his body, drinking in his scent and feel like an intoxicant. Clinging to each other, we listened to our ragged breathing calm down. For the first time in awhile, I felt safe and at peace. Things were exactly as they were supposed to be.

He stayed with me that night, and our bodies wrapped around each other in the darkness. My body fell into its old bad habits, and I found myself lying awake long after he’d fallen asleep. I twisted and turned, counting stars on my ceiling and attempting to force my mind into calmness.

I tried too hard, apparently, because my mind slipped into trance, one off from wakeful consciousness but not really asleep either. Recognizing this, I started to shift out of it until an image appeared in my mind, a familiar one of a barren area I didn’t recognize and a dark, crowned figure standing over me.

The memory I’d half-started in the sauna returned, flooding my mind’s eye. I suddenly found myself looking up at Storm King. The fear was there, the fear that I couldn’t escape him and that he would take me away.

Then, just as before, I reached for something both within and without. Power surged through me, and the air grew thick. Dark clouds formed out of nothing, covering the sky. Soft thunder echoed around us. I still couldn’t see his face in this memory, but I could sense his amusement.

“Are you going to try to fight me, little one?” A different power built up around us as he gathered his own magic. “I like your attitude—though you’re fighting a losing battle. For now, at least. Come with me, and I’ll show you how to really use your gifts.”

He gently nudged his power toward me, attempting to quell mine. I sucked in more of my magic, letting it course through me. It burned, but it was wonderful. Amazing. Like nothing I had ever felt before or could have conceived of. I was more than a human in that moment, more than Eugenie Markham, more than a god. It filled me, but even then, I could not control it. Not yet. Lightning flared above us, followed immediately by thunder.

Storm King was still pushing against me. I don’t think I was really more than a match for him, but he hadn’t quite expected this much of a fight. I tried to focus my power, to get ahold of it and use it against him. It was slippery, though; I couldn’t keep a hold. Lightning blazed again, and I reached out with my mind to seize it, willing it to strike him down.

Only my aim was off. It hit me instead.

I screamed, pain ripping through me as I became the lightning’s conduit, its means of grounding itself. It couldn’t kill me, however; it couldn’t even really hurt me—that much. I was one with the storm, and the magic I’d summoned was my own. It shot into my body, terrible and magnificent, a burning pain laced with pleasure, an ecstasy I didn’t ever want to let go of….

I jerked upright in bed, gasping for air. Immediately, Kiyo was beside me, asking what was wrong. I couldn’t answer right away. That fiery, exultant power was emblazoned in my memory. Yet, even as I sat there, I could feel the memory fading, the remembered sensation going with it. Some part of me cried out for it, willing it to stay. But it was going.

“Eugenie?” I think it was the hundredth time he’d spoken my name. “What’s wrong?”

“A dream,” I murmured, closing my eyes. Even with that magic gone—gone for years, really—my body shivered with delight. I felt alive, my flesh tingling with an awareness of both itself and the world around me. I opened my eyes and turned to Kiyo, resting my hands on his arms, curling my fingers into his skin.

“What’s the—mmm.”

His words were swallowed by my kiss. My mouth fed so ferociously at his that I tasted blood from where I’d bitten his lip. In an instant, I felt his animal lust answer my own as his hands gripped my hips and tried to pull me down. But I was already pushing him down, moving myself on top of him.

“Don’t fight me on this,” I growled, digging my nails against him.

He smiled. I think he thought I was joking, little knowing the power and aggression suddenly churning through me. His hands slid over to my wrists. Gripping them tightly, he rolled me over, pressing his full weight down on my body. “A little fighting’s not bad,” he teased.

“No.” My words were fierce. Unchallengeable. Still wrapped up in the dream’s fleeting power, I surprised both of us and flipped
him
over. It was a lot like when we’d had sex earlier today, only now the roles were reversed. My own strength astonished me.

“Don’t fight me,” I repeated, voice low and dangerous.

His eyes widened in the near-darkness. There was only a heartbeat’s pause. “Anything you want.” Ostensibly, he sounded excited and amused, but there was an undercurrent of nervousness there too.

Burning and exultant, I moved my mouth and hips down. We both gasped as I took him inside me. No condom, nothing between us. I shuddered at the contact, growing aroused at the thought of him directly feeling me and all my wetness. Skin to skin. Maybe I should have moved slowly, letting him savor the new sensations, but my body was too impatient. I rode him as fiercely as he had me earlier, something within me needing to assert my dominance and claim him as mine. My nails drew blood, and he cried out each time our hips slammed together.

I felt powerful, in control. Like I could do anything and conquer anyone. The warmth and bliss of orgasm started building up inside of me, and some very small part of me wondered if I was getting off on thrusting him inside of me or simply on the thrill of domination. And if it was the latter, whom was I exerting my control over? Kiyo? Storm King?

The ecstasy in my lower body grew more intense, more urgent. I pushed aside the nagging speculation and gave myself up to my own selfish wants. I stared down at Kiyo; he looked back as though he scarcely recognized me.

“Mine,” I gasped, holding back my release. “Right now, right in this moment, you’re mine.”

Kiyo made a strangled noise of pleasure, head tipped back.

I was on the edge; I couldn’t hold my body back much longer. I didn’t
want
to hold back much longer. I was the powerful one here. I was taking what I wanted. But first, I needed to make sure he knew that.

“Say it,” I told him between heavy breaths. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, and I’ll let you come. I’ll let you come in me. I’ll let you explode in me.”

“Eugenie…” he moaned when I started to slow my pace.

“You’re mine,” I told him again. The lovely agony between my thighs was almost too much to bear. I was going to lose it.

But Kiyo lost control first. “Yes…yes. Oh, God, Eugenie. I’m yours.”

The power of that admission set me off, both physically and mentally. Crying out, I threw back my own head as I came. I didn’t need to see his face to know he was coming too. I could feel it, feel it in the way his body spasmed inside of mine. Squeezing him tighter, I earned another moan of pleasure from him and another orgasm for me. It was glorious. We both shook from the force of our own reactions.

When we finally collapsed apart, sweating and panting, neither of us could say a word. Finally Kiyo rested his head on my chest as though seeking comfort or protection.

“Yours,” he murmured at last, just before falling asleep.

I became merely mortal the next morning, the last lingering memories of magic recalled only in theory, not in feeling. I wanted to try to explain the dream-memory to Kiyo, how I’d at last recalled what happened between Storm King and me before Roland killed him. But I didn’t know how to explain it. I barely understood magic at all and found recapturing that terrifying yet glorious feeling nearly impossible.

Besides, I had other things to worry about today. It was Beltane Eve.

I found myself busy almost from the crack of dawn. Beltane—or May Day—ushers in the return of life to the year; many western European cultures consider it a peak day for fertility and conception. Apparently many Otherworldly creatures do too. Like Halloween—or Samhain—the gates between the worlds open, facilitating passage between humans and the Otherworldly alike. Midnight on May 1 was the ultimate opening, but the passages steadily increased throughout the day on April 30.

Since my presence at Dorian’s party tonight was common knowledge, many must have decided to get in their chance before I left the human world. Fortunately, most of these same gentry and assorted creatures were those who could not have passed through under normal circumstances. This meant they were considerably weaker and hence easier to banish or destroy. Unfortunately, when they came in a steady stream, they also became a huge and exhausting annoyance.

I got home around dinnertime, not long before I was supposed to show up in the Otherworld. Hastily, I shed my sweaty clothes and took the world’s fastest shower. Afterward, I managed a makeup job rivaling the last one, but it cost me time. With minutes ticking away, I threw on the dress Lara had procured and ran a quick brush through my damp hair. There was nothing else to be done with it. I threw a little mousse into it to avoid frizz, and then I was off to the desert.

Dorian had wisely put my Slinky anchor in a more secure place than a flimsy table. I appeared in a small chamber where a servant had awaited my arrival. He gave me a polite bow and then took me straight to Dorian’s room. Inside it, I found pandemonium.

Male and female servants ran in and out, doing God only knew what. Dorian stood in front of a giant mirror, checking himself out in an azure blue robe. A stout man hovered nearby with about a dozen other robes weighing down his arm. It was the same man, I realized, whose place I’d taken in croquet.

“Eugenie Markham,” announced my escort.

Dorian gave me half a glance. “Lady Markham, so nice to—sweet gods. She’s wearing beige.”

I looked down. Lara had found me a clingy silk dress in a shade she termed “champagne”: a warm ivory tinged with gold. I wouldn’t have thought the color worked for me, but she apparently knew me better than I did. The strapless bodice was gathered and decorated with a bit of iridescent beading meant to imitate buttons down the middle. From the waist down, the skirt cascaded in smooth, shining folds. It fit snugly against my silhouette, flaring slightly only when it hit my ankles.

“It’s ‘champagne,’” I corrected. “And what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. It’s lovely.” He turned back frantically to his valet. “It’s not going to match any of these, Muran. What else do we have?”

Muran bit his lip. “There’s the green velvet, your majesty. Its trim has that shade in it. Paired with an ivory shirt, it would look quite stunning.”

Dorian made a face. “Silk or satin would be better. Grab it anyway, and see if there’s anything else we’re missing. Oh, and send someone to do Lady Markham’s hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing, were you sprawled in my bed after a night of passion.” A young woman hurried forward, and he jerked his head in my direction. “See to her, Nia.”

Nia, a tiny thing with olive skin, curtsied to me and led me to the parlor where Dorian and I had first chatted. I couldn’t see what she did, but her fingers worked as deftly and intricately in my hair as Dorian did when tying the cords around me. I’d only once had my hair done by a stylist, and it had been for a wedding in which a cruel friend had required me to wear orange taffeta. The event still woke me with nightmares.

A slight tingle occasionally brushed my skin as Nia worked, and I realized she used magic in the styling. I supposed it was handier than a curling iron, but geez. What a disappointment to discover you had the magical equivalent of cosmetology when other gentry got healing and the ability to tear buildings apart.

“There you are, my lady.”

She took me to a mirror, nervously assessing my reaction. Scattered braids ran toward the back of my head where the rest of my hair had been gathered up into a high ponytail. She’d smoothed and curled most of that hanging hair, but a few tiny braids hung in it here and there. Long, smooth locks framed my face, curled slightly at their ends. Violets and dark ivory sweetheart roses adorned some of the braids.

“Wow,” I said.

Nia wrung her hands. “My lady likes?”

“Very much.”

She beamed. With her petite frame and smooth face, she looked about sixteen but could probably actually boast a century. “I didn’t know how humans wore it.”

I smiled and gave her arm a small pat. “It’s wonderful.”

She looked ready to swoon with joy, and I recalled how eagerly Dorian’s staff always jumped to obey his commands. Was I inspiring that kind of loyalty? Or fear?

Dorian swept into the room then, resplendent in a forest green robe made of silk. The edging contained an intricate pattern of ivory, russet, and gold, set off by the black slacks and ivory shirt underneath.

“Much better,” he said, taking my hand. “Come, we’re late.”

Muran and a few others followed as we headed for the throne room. Dorian didn’t actually run, but an urgency underscored his movement.

“Why the rush?” I asked. “Don’t they wait on your every pleasure?”

“Certainly. But I have to be in there before the other monarchs arrive, or we’ll create a complication of etiquette. Everyone will bow when we enter, but the other monarchs don’t have to. If they’re in there before me, it’ll be awkward.”

“What do you mean by ‘bow’? Does that mean—”

A herald hurled open the double doors and announced in a booming voice: “His royal majesty, King Dorian of the House of Arkady, caller of Earth, protector of the Oak Land, blessed of the gods.”

“Whoa,” I breathed. Dorian squeezed my hand.

“—with Eugenie Markham, called Odile Dark Swan, daughter of Tirigan the Storm King.”

I didn’t think I’d ever get used to being titled, but my astonishment over that faded compared to what happened next. Everyone in the room turned toward us and fell to their knees, heads bowed. Dead silence followed. Slowly, almost in a glide step, we walked down the center aisle, and I tried to look straight ahead and not at the sea of obeisance.

Civilizations rose and fell in the time it took us to reach the throne. When we did, Dorian turned us around to face the assembly and made a small, nondescript gesture. I don’t know how the others saw it with their heads so low, but they all rose and the drone of life and music promptly returned. People moved again, mingling and laughing. Servants scurried to and fro with drinks and trays. It could have been any human party, save for the occasional troll and wraith sipping wine. The men dressed in variations of the Renaissance look Dorian seemed to favor, but the women’s gowns ran the gamut of bell sleeves and velvet to Grecian wraps and gauze.

“And now, my dear, we must part ways.”

I jerked my gaze away from the assembled throng. “What are you talking about?”

He waved his hand. “These are the greatest nobles in my kingdom, not to mention the other kingdoms. I must mingle, listen to their simpering, act like I care. You know how it is.”

Panic seized me as I looked back at all those gentry faces. “Why can’t I go with you? I mean, we coordinate and everything.”

“Because if I keep you on my arm all night, I’ll look possessive and insecure. Leaving you on your own shows I have absolute confidence that you’ll leave with me tonight, regardless of other solicitations.”

“Oh, my God…I’m going to be hit on all night.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, that’s all they’ll do—unless you wish otherwise. Anyone who touches you against your will would incur the wrath of my entire guard, not to mention most of the guests. It would be a shocking insult.”

“And yet I could apparently go off with anyone if I wanted to.”

“Of course. You’re free to choose as you like.”

“Wouldn’t that be an insult to your manhood or something?”

“A bit. But then I’d just take five or so women to my bed and redeem myself fairly quickly.”

“Whoa. I feel like I’ll be holding you back.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll recover once you’re gone tomorrow.”

I swallowed and looked around, the jokes unable to allay my anxiety. “I don’t even know anybody.”

He turned me to him and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. I had to consciously work to keep my body relaxed. It was still a shock each time he did that.

“You’ll just have to meet them, then,” he said.

He strolled off toward the first group of people he saw, and I heard a flurry of exuberant greetings at his approach. Feeling stupid and awkward, I wondered where I should go and whom I should talk to. I didn’t really do big parties. Too much of my time was spent in solitude to really know how to interact in a group like this. That wasn’t even taking into account that these were all Otherworldly residents. Two of my deepest phobias combined into one long evening.

“Wine?” asked a servant who had suddenly appeared at my side.

“Yes, please.”

I seized one of the goblets from her proffered tray and took a hasty gulp of a sweet, fruity red. Picking a direction at random, I took five steps and was immediately intercepted by a tall gentry in scarlet velvet. He had black hair and a neatly trimmed beard.

“Lady Markham,” he oozed, taking my free hand and kissing it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I am Marcus, lord of Danzia in the Rowan Land.”

“Hi,” I said, knowing I would never again remember his name once he left.

He kept holding my hand and let his eyes run over me from head to toe. I suddenly wished the dress wasn’t so tight or the neckline so low.

“I must say,” he murmured, “I’d heard reports of your beauty, but they are paltry things compared to the reality.”

“Thanks.”

I tried to take back my hand, but he held on to it.

“My family’s nobility extends all the way back to the migration to this world. We are renowned for our fierce warriors. Magic runs strong in our blood, usually calling to one of the elements. My own inclinations run toward control of the air.”

As if to emphasize the point, I suddenly felt the slightest of breezes blow against my arms.

“My heirs will inherit a vast estate. My house has always served in an advisory capacity to royalty. Even now, I am a close personal friend of Katrice, the Rowan Queen. She is a powerful ally.”

I realized then he was laying out his pedigree for me, quickly and efficiently, much as a breeder might show off a prize dog’s papers. I opened my mouth, ready to tell him I wasn’t interested, but he just kept going.

“Some men would fear having a warrior consort. They would seek to control you and seize the power for their own uses.” He inclined his head ever so suggestively toward where Dorian conversed with a tall, dark-skinned woman. “Not me. I would not use you to further my own ends. You would rule by my side as an equal, sharing in the guidance of our children.”

Yikes. This wasn’t even our first date. I managed to break my hand free of his. “Thank you, but this is all kind of sudden. It’s been really great talking to you, though.”

Anxiousness flooded his face. “But I haven’t even told you about my famed reputation as a lover—”

“I’ve got to be somewhere right now. Sorry.”

I took two steps back, turned, and practically ran into another man. Beyond him, a few others attempted to linger inconspicuously. In fact this one, I realized, had simply been waiting for me to reject Marcus. He gave me a dazzling smile.

“Lady Markham, it’s a pleasure to meet you at last….”

I sort of lost track of time after that. I never got much farther than that spot and my wine remained forgotten and undrunk. Listening politely to each guy’s sales pitch, I amused myself by considering just how much I could push the limits of the hospitality rule before getting in trouble with Dorian. Yet, no matter how annoying each guy got, I squashed my rebellious instincts and kept to good behavior.

After a couple hours, I caught sight of Shaya, the black-haired woman who had captured me that first night. She walked alone through the room. Brushing off my current suitor, I broke free of the next contender and hurried over to her.

“Hey, Shaya, how’s it going?”

She looked at me in astonishment, not surprising considering I hadn’t spoken to her since my capture. Her gown was midnight blue velvet with a full skirt, tight sleeves, and a high collar. I didn’t entirely understand her whole background, but apparently she was the younger daughter of some noble and had ended up in a military career as part of Dorian’s guard.

“Lady Markham,” she returned. Mild curiosity showed on her face. “What can I do for you?”