Chapter Eighteen
“I don’t know what you want, but you’re going to have to get out,” Sid told the puck. “I’m not staying.”
Speak telepathically, Robin warned. The ears in this place are very sharp.
Sid struggled with the unfamiliar fastenings of the dress and shimmied out of it. Then she grabbed her tunic and trousers.
As she changed, she said, Isabeau gave me a longer leash. I can go up to two hours’ walk away from the castle, and I don’t care how tired I am right now—I’m not going to spend one more night here. If I have to, I’ll sleep outside on the bare ground or in an alley.
That is most excellent news, but there’s no need to put yourself in such discomfort, Robin said. Go into town to one of the inns. The Seafarer’s Rose is not a ten-minute walk from here. They have good food, fresh linens, and you have plenty of money.
As if to emphasize his point, the cat batted lazily at the performance hat.
She hesitated, torn. The inn sounded wonderful, but the thought of trying to figure out where it was in her exhausted state sounded daunting. Is it easy to find?
Not only is it easy to find, but the cat will keep you company on your walk, Robin assured her. As long as you are able to put one foot in front of the other, we will get there easily.
Then we’d better get going, because I don’t know how much longer I can stay upright. Laying out her two dresses and her outfit from Earth, she set the performance hat in the middle and rolled the clothes around it. Tucking the bundle under one arm, she blew out the candle and walked out. I don’t even know how to get out of here.
I will tell you. The cat trotted at her heels, tail up.
She followed the puck’s telepathic directions, plowing forward through sheer determination. She shouldn’t feel so disappointed Morgan wasn’t waiting in her room. It was unrealistic to have hoped for him anyway. The castle hadn’t settled for the night, the witchlights glowed everywhere, and many people still wandered the halls.
Several smiled at her and called out congratulations, and one or two made as if to approach her, but she nodded to them with a set smile and kept moving.
Mindful of Kallah’s instruction, she left word with the guard that she would be staying at the inn. The exhilaration of stepping out of the castle and into the open air lent fuel to her steps. The route to the inn was filled with cobblestone streets and spacious buildings with arched doorways. In the distance, light spilled out of a street that intersected theirs.
She asked, What is that light from?
The night market is still open, Robin told her. It is not midnight, yet. The inn is at the end of the street. Ask for their best room. It has a balcony with a view of the sea. I leave you here.
As much as she still resented and hated what he had done to her, his presence had oddly become something of a comfort. Frowning, she looked around for the cat, but he was already gone.
She had meant to ask him to let Morgan know where she had gone. Feeling alone, cranky, and unreasonably abandoned, she made her way down the street to the large inn. Pushing her way inside, she discovered the taproom was busy and full of heat and noise. The smells of food, beer, and woodsmoke washed over her.
Most of the patrons were Light Fae, but there were a few monstrous creatures she couldn’t identify, along with slender, ethereal creatures with pointed chins, and possibly some humans, although she wasn’t sure about that. Several turned to look at her as she paused, then her gaze went unfocused and the crowd disappeared in a blur.
One Light Fae woman stood out. As she hurried toward Sid, she wiped her hands on a cloth. Beaming, she said, “Welcome, musician! I’m Leisha, one of the owners. We’re honored to have you here. What can I do for you?”
“I would like your best room,” Sid said. “The one with the sea view and the balcony. Is it available?”
“It is, indeed, and it is yours now.”
The innkeeper led the way upstairs. The room was spacious and well-appointed, with a bathing alcove behind a carved screen. As Sid set her bundle down on the large bed, Leisha lit the stacked logs in the fireplace and went to balcony doors to throw them open wide. Picking through the unfamiliar coins in her hat, Sid paid her for a week and ordered a breakfast tray for the morning.
By the time the innkeeper took her leave, the heat from the fireplace had begun to spread throughout the room, mingling with the freshness of the sea air. Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, Sid came to a dead stop. She didn’t think she could say one more word to anyone, not even to save her life.
Staggering to the bed, she pulled off her clothes and crawled underneath the covers, and she fell deeply asleep the moment her head hit one of the soft, clean-scented pillows.
“Sidonie.”
Someone cupped her bare shoulder and stroked the short hair back from her forehead.
She was tired, so tired, but she fought to surface out of her deep sleep because she knew that whisper.
She knew those hands. She would know them anywhere.
Dragging heavy eyelids open, she tried to focus on the large, powerful figure bending over her. The fire still crackled in the fireplace, and it was dark outside. She couldn’t have been asleep that long.
Looking up into Morgan’s shadowed face, she raised her arms. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gathered her up, and she buried her face in his neck. Huskily, she whispered against his skin, “How did you get in here?”
“The inn backs against a series of buildings built very close together. As soon as Robin told me where you were, I knew how to get here. I came over the rooftops.” He cupped the back of her head, holding her tightly.
Needing to feel his skin against hers, she plucked at his shirt. “I can’t keep my eyes open. Take off your clothes and come to bed.”
Easing back, he gave her a swift kiss and stood to strip. Lying back against the pillows, she watched him through slitted eyes. She might not be able to open her eyes fully, but she also couldn’t stop watching him.
He was muscular all over, tanned, and beautifully formed, and his strong, corded legs were sprinkled with chestnut hair. He took everything off except the bandage that wrapped around his lower ribs. His large penis stood half-erect over tight, round testicles, but he did not appear to notice. His expression was sober, contemplative.
One arm flexing, he pulled back the covers, and when he slid in beside her, the sensation of his nude body coming against hers was so much what she had been yearning for, she lost her breath on a shaken sigh.
Lying back against the pillows, he pulled her to him, and she went readily, curling around his body like a limpet, drawing one leg over his while he guided her head to his shoulder. His body relaxed, and breathing deeply, he nestled his face in her hair.
She pushed more tightly against him, greedily drinking in every detail—the tickle of crisp chest hair against her cheek, the feeling of warmth as his body heated the bed, the stroke of his fingers as he cupped her biceps, the length of his erection resting against her thigh.
“I had to come,” he murmured. “I couldn’t stay away. I wanted to come to your room in the castle.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t. It wouldn’t have been safe.” She pressed kisses to his pectoral muscles and nuzzled him.
“Waiting to find out how your meeting with Isabeau went was agonizing.” His words stirred the hair at her temple. “But since you were able to come into town, apparently, it went well.”
“Well enough, I guess. I tried to get a week to myself, but she insisted I play for her an hour each day.” She sighed. “I also asked for her to get me a violin and a guitar. I guess those will be arriving in the next few days.”
“Robin said you have leave to go up to two hours’ walk away.” He laced his fingers through hers.
“I can’t tell you what a relief it is.” She closed her eyes. “Or what a relief this is. Tell me you’re going to stay the night.”
“Just try to stop me.” He pressed his lips against her temple and whispered, “It’s okay to relax for now. Go to sleep.”
Despite knowing everything she knew about the continuing precariousness of their situation, in that moment, what stole over her was an almost indescribable sense of comfort and safety. She knew better, but she let herself believe in it anyway.
When sleep came again, it was not gentle. Instead, it hit hard and fast. She plummeted into a black pool. Then something happened. He shifted, or she did, and the oddity of sleeping with another person brought her back up.
Before she had fully surfaced, she knew she was sleeping with him, and this time hunger drove her all the way to wakefulness. It was not quite dawn outside, but the sky had lightened from full darkness. The fire had long since died down, and the room was cool with the fresh seaside breeze.
She didn’t want to wake him. He needed the rest as much as she did, but something roused him too. Maybe it was the change in her breathing or the tension in her muscles.
Angling his head, he looked down at her, saw her eyes were open, and with a soft growl, he rose and settled her fully onto her back. As he did so, she reached for him, and his head plummeted down to her. His hard, searching lips took hers, and he kissed her with the same kind of ravenous need that pulsed in her body.
She arched up to him, kissing him with all her strength while she threaded her fingers through his hair. He pushed one knee between her legs, the hard length of his cock lying against her hip.
Readily, she opened for him, and he settled himself at the bowl of her pelvis, kissing her as he cupped her breast. Running his callused thumb back and forth over the tip, he teased at her nipple until it felt unbearably sensitized.
This desire she felt for him thrummed through her body like the pulsing heartbeat of a beast. It made her feel unhinged. She needed him inside her more than she needed the pleasure of foreplay.
Grasping his erection, she urged him to her, muttering against his mouth, “I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait.”
“You’re not ready.” His voice had gone guttural, and he was breathing hard, as if he had been running for a long time.
“I don’t care.” She ran her fingers down his length greedily.
He hesitated only for a moment. She could feel it when he gave in. A sharpening of intent changed his body. Gently, he stroked the fluted petals of her private flesh, then delved into her, drawing out evidence of her arousal, heightening her need, until she pushed his hand away and brought the broad, thick head of his cock to her entrance.
“Come inside me now,” she whispered.
He pushed in. She was already aching and swollen from their lovemaking the night before, and as he entered her, he felt bigger than ever. He tilted his head back, teeth gritted. She thought his taut expression was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. It sharpened the bold lines of his face, which were darkened with a sensual flush.
Touching his mouth with the fingers of both hands, she whispered, “I’m so glad I’m not alone with this feeling.”
His brilliant hazel gaze focused on her. “You’re not alone,” he said against her fingers as he pushed farther in. “You’ve set me on fire.”
“I’m obsessed,” she whispered back. “My skin hurts when it’s not touching yours.”
Rocking, he thrust farther until he was in to the root. Only then did something like relief pass over his expression. Kissing along the side of her neck, he began to move inside.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said against her neck. “When I walk away from you, I feel like I’ve cut myself off from breathing.”
Yes. Yes, it was like that.
Everything else in the world fell away as he moved over her, and eagerly, she reached up to meet his thrusts, impaling herself on him over and over again. The heat began to rise, along with the pleasure. As he fucked her, he braced up on one elbow, watching her so intently, it felt as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
His gaze tracked every shift in her expression, the catch of her breath, the way her mouth trembled. She had never felt so exposed nor so protected at once. Gradually he picked up the rhythm, and she tightened her hold on him, holding him with her arms while she cradled him with her legs, and the pressure built and built to such a spike she couldn’t bear it a moment longer.
Then he reached between them to stroke her, and the pressure shattered into fiery pieces. She cried out hoarsely, muffling the noise against the back of her hand. As he watched her climax, he lost control. Thrusting hard in quick, savage movements, he peaked. She felt his cock pulsing inside her.
Tears slipped out the corners of her eyes and soaked into the hair at her temples. Touching one, he kissed her forehead, and she was truly at a loss for how something so carnal could be so emotionally profound at the same time.
She had once thought sex was a game, something to be role-played and compartmentalized from the rest of her life. She’d had no idea. No idea. Now she knew she had never made love before in her life.
She had played at passions, like trying on different outfits, but she had only ever known one true passion, the one for her music.
Until now.
This passion she felt for him was like a crucible, forging her into something new.
This love she felt for him…
There was no surviving some loves. No matter what happened to the love affair, whether it flourished or failed, those loves struck mortal blows one carried for the rest of one’s life.
This love she felt for him.
This love was like that.
* * *
Once he had reached Sidonie’s room and was able to hold her in his arms, Morgan had finally been able to relax. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so deeply or awakened with such urgency.
After making love, he was still inside her when he fell asleep again, while her arms were still twined around his neck. When he stirred next, it was well past dawn. As he shifted position, his cock slipped out.
Rousing briefly, Sidonie murmured in disappointment. As she curled on her side, he spooned her from behind and pulled her back against his chest. Time was running out, he knew, and there were things that needed to be done, but they were both exhausted. The delicate skin underneath Sidonie’s eyes looked bruised with dark purple shadows.
Everything else would have to wait a few more hours. Burying his nose against the back of her neck, he slept again.
A knock on the door woke them next. Rolling over, he grabbed the sword he had brought with him. Sidonie rolled over with him and took hold of his arm.
She met his gaze and shook her head while she raised her voice to ask, “What is it?”
“I’ve got your breakfast tray, mum.” It was a boy’s cheerful voice. Morgan’s grip on the sword hilt relaxed. “It’s nice and hot.”
Sidonie cuddled against his back and nuzzled his shoulder, calling out, “Thank you! Just leave it on the floor, and I’ll get it.”
“Yes’m.”
Morgan listened to the boy’s quick footsteps fade away. Leaning back against the pillows, he watched with pleasure as Sidonie slipped out of bed. She was perfectly built all over. As she bent to scoop up her tunic from the floor, the graceful curve of her spine caught at him. He couldn’t look away from the perfection of her fluid movement until she had pulled the tunic over her head and the fabric had settled over her torso.
Padding to the door, she unlocked it and brought the breakfast tray in. Pausing to lock the door again, carefully, she carried the tray to the bed. There was sausage, egg, and potatoes, hot tea, and a flaky, buttery biscuit.
She climbed back under the covers and they shared the food. He paused between taking bites to press kisses at the back of her neck, which made her murmur with pleasure as she cuddled against his side.
A small thump sounded out on the balcony, and a black cat strolled into the room. Once it had passed within the sheer curtains, it changed into Robin.
“It’s about time you both woke up,” the puck said. “I was beginning to think I might have to walk on your heads.”
Sidonie heaved a sigh and leaned back against Morgan. She murmured, “I suppose it was too much to hope the peace would last.”
“No, it wasn’t. We could have taken a day before facing everything else. Just one damn day.” He slipped an arm around her waist as he eyed the view out the balcony doors. Even in daylight, he couldn’t fault the puck’s choice of rooms. The inn was built high enough none of the windows from neighboring buildings provided line of sight. The only way Morgan could be spotted was if he stepped onto the balcony without a cloaking spell. “What do you want, Robin?”
“Have you told her yet?” With no apparent sense of shame or discretion, Robin sat at the food of the bed and swiped the last of the biscuit from the breakfast tray.
“I haven’t had time.” Pouring the last of the tea into the single cup, he handed it to Sidonie, who cupped it in both hands.
“Oh, you had time.” The puck’s eyes gleamed. “You just had other priorities.”
“Our priorities are none of your business,” Sidonie snapped. She looked adorable when she was cranky. Her short black hair stood in tufts like a bird’s feathers. Scowling, she buried her nose in the cup.
Robin did not appear as charmed by Sidonie as Morgan was. “No, they’re not,” the puck snapped back. “Unless they interfere with what we all need to see done.”
“What is he talking about?” Sidonie twisted to face him. “What haven’t you told me.”
Morgan sighed. “Robin thinks Isabeau’s Hounds might actually be from Azrael’s Wild Hunt.”
Her expression went blank. “Okay. I’m sure that’s not comfortable.”
“I’ve told you this already, human. You have no real knowledge of the gods, their Powers and aspects, and how they move through this world,” Robin said, giving her an irritated glance. “Lord Azrael leads the Wild Hunt at the death of each year, or at least he did. The more I have considered this, the more I have grown convinced he has not called the Wild Hunt for a very long time, perhaps even as long as Isabeau has been in possession of his knife.”
“You were imprisoned for a long time,” Morgan told him. “Maybe you missed it.”
“It’s possible.” Robin acknowledged as he ate the morsel of biscuit in quick, clean bites. “But I think my explanation rings truer. There were also a great many years I was not imprisoned, and I still did not sense the Wild Hunt.”
“What does this hunt do, and why does it matter?” Sidonie asked.
Robin looked exasperated, so Morgan answered. “Some believe the hunt is to chase unclean spirits from the earthly realms. Others believe Azrael is hunting down souls that have escaped his domain. Still other tales make mention of random prey, such as a lost maiden, or unwary travelers. From what I understand, no one knows for sure.”
Closing her eyes and hunching her shoulders, Sidonie sipped her tea. She said, “So what?” Robin’s thin face sparked with ire, but before he could say anything, she opened her eyes and looked at him. “I mean that as a serious question. So what? Half what you’ve said is supposition, and the other half sounds like folktales. What is the useful bit? Give me the condensed version.”
Morgan told Robin, “She doesn’t know about the Deus Machinae.” As Sidonie twisted to look up at him inquiringly, he explained, “There are seven indestructible God Machines active in the world, put here by the seven gods. For a while, I thought the knife might be one of those. Robin thinks otherwise.”
“Which is good news,” Robin said. “Just not easy news. If it is literally Lord Death’s Knife, it’s still an item of immense Power that was created by a god. But if it isn’t one of the Machines, perhaps it can be destroyed. And also, unlike the Deus Machinae… wouldn’t Lord Azrael want his knife back?”
Morgan felt the shiver that ran through Sidonie. She whispered, “But he’s a god. If he wants his knife back, why wouldn’t he just take it?”
Morgan pressed a kiss to her temple. “Perhaps because he’s not the only god. Will is also one of the seven Primal Powers. He’s the god of the Gift, which can mean anything from individual gifts, or gifts of the spirit like your talent for music, to acts of sacrifice and philanthropy. He’s also the guardian of free will, which is one of the linchpins in the universe. The gods must respect we all have free will to act as we choose. Azrael might not be able to take back the knife if Isabeau doesn’t want to give it to him.”
“So…,” Sidonie said slowly as she looked back and forth between the two males. Her gaze settled on Morgan. “We have free will too. Our choices are to try to break the knife—which you can’t do.”
“No, I can’t,” he said.
“Or,” she continued, “we try to take the knife—which you can’t do.”
He replied, again, “No. The freedoms I have to act must be oblique ones as I find ways to work around the geas. I can’t do anything to act directly against Isabeau.”
“You might not be able to,” she said, tapping a thumbnail against her bottom teeth. “But I can.”