Dreams Made Flesh

He pushed that thought aside. It wasn’t smart to think of Marian right now. They weren’t lovers. He wasn’t breaking faith with her by being here. And even if they were lovers, seeing a witch through her Virgin Night was a duty to the court, not an act of infidelity.



Thinking about that wasn’t helping him either.



He looked at the brew warming in its glass container. No choice.



Using Craft, he lifted the glass container, poured its contents into the two goblets, set the container back on its stand, and extinguished the small tongue of witchfire. When the goblets floated over to him, he handed one to Karla and took the other.



“What is this?” Karla asked, sniffing cautiously.



“Night of Fire. A brew made specifically for . . . this.” He braced himself, but couldn’t lift the goblet up to drink.



Karla took a sip. Took another. She stared into the goblet. “You only get to have this once?”



He studied her as she sipped again. “I suppose so. Why?”



“Because this stuff is wooonderful.”



Wary, he took a swallow of the brew. Nothing happened. The aphrodisiacs he’d experienced in Terreille worked wickedly fast, pumping lust through a man’s body before he realized what had happened to him. But this . . . He drank again. Waited. It did taste good. Warm. Ripe. Some kind of brandy or wine as the base, but . . .



His limbs felt warm, relaxed, heavy. His cock felt warm and heavy. Desire softly heated his blood, sharpened his senses to the feel and smell of a female. He drained the goblet, then used Craft to send it gliding on air back to the table. Karla’s goblet followed a few moments later.



“What can I do to help you?” she asked, looking at him with lightly glazed eyes.



“Kiss me.”



The feel of her mouth on his, hesitant, exploring. The feel of her body as his hands caressed her. Desire, thick and golden, swam in his blood as his hand cupped her breast. Her tongue in his mouth ... Tart and sweet, just like the woman.



He picked her up and took her to the bed, vanishing her nightgown as he set her down on the sheets. Vanishing his own clothes, he stretched out beside her, putting an Ebon-gray shield around his left hand and forearm before he pinned her wrists above her head. Being a Black Widow as well as a Queen, she had a snake tooth beneath the ring finger of her right hand. He didn’t need her pumping venom into him in a moment of panic.



Her body responded to him as he kissed, caressed, and suckled, but he felt a tension rising in her. She’d fight him when the time came. Even knowing he was doing this for her, she’d still fight him—unless she was sufficiently distracted. There were different ways of protecting a witch during that moment when her life hung by a hymenal thread, but this way . . . Yes. If she trusted him enough to let him in, she’d be captured, distracted, and protected.



“Karla,” he said, his hand still caressing her. “Will you let me in?”



She panted, but it wasn’t excitement that made her breathless. “What?”



A psychic touch. A soft brush against her first inner barrier. “Will you let me in?”



She flinched at that light touch, too aware that he was strong enough to force open those barriers. But she opened herself to him, let him glide through the surface layers of her mind. She began to shake when he got close to her core. In another moment, she would try to push him out.



He moved with a warrior’s speed and training, wrapping his power around her so fast, she had no time to evade. In his mind, he held a picture of his arms wrapped around her naked body, her back pressed against his chest as tendrils of power strapped her legs to his, leaving her helpless.



“Hold on,” he said—and launched them both skyward.



Wings pumping. Blue sky above them. He turned—and sent them diving toward a canyon in Askavi that he knew well. While he pictured the canyon’s physical details, he didn’t take her through the experience of making the Khaldharon Run. He had to keep his attention divided between what he was doing in the real world and this fantasy he was building to distract her. Even in a fantasy, the Khaldharon Run was too dangerous to play with. So he changed it to a straight flight down the center of the canyon, flying at the speed of the Red Wind, flying so close to the river below them a miscalculation would end with them hitting the water with bone-breaking force.



She squealed and swore at him, but her body was primed for the taking now. As they approached the wall of stone at the end of the Run, he positioned himself between her legs . . . and waited.



They swung up out of the Run and continued flying up, up, up. Releasing the bonds that strapped her legs to his, he flipped her between one pump of his wings and the next so they were now face-to-face. Her arms locked around his neck as he strapped their legs again. His arms wrapped around her, his hard cock pressed against her.



Up, up, up.



“Ready?” he asked.



“For what?” she yelled.



He laughed, folded his wings, and twisted. For one endless moment, they hung motionless before they plummeted toward the ground far below them. And in that moment when they began the fall, he thrust into her.



The speed and exhilaration of free fall. He spun them, laughing, while in another place, his body thrust into hers, pushing her toward climax.



She squeezed her eyes shut and swore at him as the ground rushed toward them and pleasure burst through their bodies.



He opened his wings, changing the picture in his mind as he glided over treetops to settle them in a glen that was one of his favorite places in Ebon Rih.



As he laid her on the grass near a pool of water, he unwrapped the power that had held her captive while he withdrew from her body.



Fully back in the bedroom now, he settled beside her, pulling the sheet up to their waists. They would deal with the practicalities in a few minutes. It wasn’t something she needed to see just yet.



“Mother Night,” Karla muttered over and over. She finally opened her eyes. “Is that your idea of a good time?”



He grinned. “Actually . . . it is.”



She swore at him.



She looked a little pissed, a little dazed.



“It’s done,” he said gently.



“What’s done?”



He rested a hand on her belly.



She stared up at him. “Done? But . . . how? When?”



He laughed. “When you were watching the ground come up to meet us.”



“Who said I was watching?” She blew out a breath and finally began to relax. “Well, that was a unique experience.”



He watched the tension build in her and worried about the grim expression that settled over her face.



“Lucivar,” she said, staring at the ceiling. “When I asked Uncle Saetan to arrange this, I wasn’t thinking about . . . I wasn’t thinking. But it’s not my fertile time. I swear it’s not.”



“It’s all right. I’ve been drinking a contraceptive brew for a few weeks now.” He’d never had to think about it when he’d lived in Terreille, never had to wonder if the bitches who had used him could get a child out of him. He’d known that he’d somehow made himself infertile in a way the witches who had wanted him for stud couldn’t undo. Just as he’d known within a week of Marian’s coming to live in his eyrie that he’d turned the key in that lock so that he could flood her with ripe seed. He wanted a child with her, but not without a bond, not without commitment.



“Why are you drinking a contraceptive brew?” Karla asked. Her eyes widened. “You have a lover, don’t you?”



“No.”



She moved fast, surprising him enough that he ended up on his back with her on top of him.



“Who is it?” Her mouth curved in a wicked smile. “It’s the hearth witch, isn’t it? The one you made the garden for.”



Just the thought of Marian primed him. He shoved Karla off him and slipped out of bed while he still could. “Let’s get cleaned up.”



“Cleaned—” Karla flipped the sheet back. “Oh.”



When she turned pale, he grabbed her arm and dragged her out of bed and into the bathroom.



“There’s no need to get snarly about it,” Karla said.



He turned on the shower faucets, waited until there was a hint of hot water, picked her up, and planted her under the spray.



She let out one breathless squeal and tried to punch him when he stepped in behind her.



He soaped one cloth and shoved it into her hands. “Wash.” Soaping up another one, he spun her around and started on her back.



“If you’ve been drinking the contraceptive brew for weeks now, you’re safe,” Karla said as she washed her breasts and belly. “So why aren’t you lovers yet? You want her, don’t you?”



“What I want doesn’t matter,” he growled.



Swiping the hair out of her eyes, she turned to face him. “Does she want you?”



“How in the name of Hell am I supposed to know what she wants?” Gritting his teeth, he began washing himself. He watched for signs of interest, didn’t he? If he pushed too fast, she’d run. Hell’s fire. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her yet because he was afraid she’d run, and he needed her there. He needed to be around her.



His hands curled into fists. He closed his eyes. This wasn’t the time or place for anger of any kind. Before he could get his tongue around an apology, Karla nudged him.



“I’m washed,” she said. “Trade places. I’ll do your back.”