Seduced by Moonlight (Page 7)

Doyle entered the room at a run, still wearing nothing but the thong, his shoulder holster flapping loose over his bare chest, gun naked in his hand, and his power riding before him like a storm. Rhys was at his back, wearing white dress slacks and an unbuttoned shirt, a gun in his hand, no holster in sight. Rhys's power marched into the room on whispers, half heard.

They both stopped in the doorway, looking for something to shoot, I think. Nicca nearly ran into Rhys as he came through the door. He was more out of breath than either of the other two; of course, he'd had to run back and forth from the guest house to the main house, twice. He panted as he leaned against the doorjamb. “Not assassins. Magic… gone bad.”

Doyle and Rhys visibly relaxed. Doyle holstered his gun, though he had to use his other hand to steady the holster because the straps weren't buckled on as they were supposed to be. Rhys just stood there, the gun slowly lowering beside his thigh. Both their powers receded like the ocean pulling back from the shore, like feeling it go down from def-con 1 to def-con 3.

I just lay on the bed and watched them, because trying to sit up had hurt my chest. It felt as if I'd swallowed something down the wrong way. Something very big and very solid, so that I ached all around my ribs. Other than that I didn't feel bad. It seemed like I should feel tired if I'd actually done what Maeve and Galen had said I'd done. Shouldn't you be tired when you make a god? If that's what had happened. Since that was impossible, I was still waiting for an alternate theory that I could buy. If anyone could come up with one, it would be Doyle. For a high royal of the court of faerie, he was a very practical man.

He came to stand beside the bed. I realized that he was wet from the waist down as if he'd waded in the swimming pool, but there was no smell of chlorine. I remembered Kitto, then. He'd been helping the little goblin clean up. I'd forgotten about him coming into his hand of power today. A future queen shouldn't forget things like that, should she? Maybe I wasn't thinking as clearly as I thought I was.

“Kitto, how is he?” I asked.

Doyle smiled. “He's fine. A little confused, but he'll be fine.” The smile faded around the edges. “How are you?”

I frowned. “Not sure.” My voice still sounded harsh, but it was getting better, sounding more like me. “I thought I was fine, but I'm not sure I'm thinking as clearly as I think I am. Does that make sense?”

He nodded and turned to Maeve and Galen. “What happened?”

They both started to talk at once, and he held up a hand. “Ladies first.” He motioned her away from the bed, and they went to the far side of the bedroom to talk. The bedroom was almost bigger than my old apartment, so there was plenty of room for privacy. Rhys gave me a smile, then trailed them so he could hear.

That left Galen with me. He still hadn't touched me. I badly needed to be touched, to have that reassurance. “Why won't you touch me?”

He smiled down at me, but his hands were clasped in his lap. “Believe me, it's hard not to, but you touched Maeve and this major goddess energy came down, then Frost grabbed you to stop Maeve from using you, and it happened again, with him.”

“Maeve using me?”

“We thought she'd called out her major-goddess-seductive powers on you. It wasn't until Frost used his power to break what we thought was her hold on you that we realized something else was happening.” He started to reach out to, touch my arm, then put his hand back in his lap. “I can feel how badly you need comforting, and Consort knows I want to hold you right now, but I'm afraid that if I touch you, it'll happen again.”

“I don't buy that I brought on anyone's godhead,” I said.

He nodded. “I know, but Maeve says she's had it done to her before. She should know what it feels like.”

“I'm mortal, Galen. I'm the first sidhe ever to be born mortal, no matter how much mixed blood they had. Mortal hand cannot bring on immortal power. It's not logical.”

He shrugged. “If you have a better explanation for what just happened, Merry, I will be happy to hear it.” His green eyes, the color of summer grass, grew anxious. “I thought for a moment, Merry – ” He shook his head, and bit his lip, before he could finish. ” –  I thought we'd lost you.” He leaned over me, as if he'd kiss me, but was careful not to touch. “I thought I'd lost you.”

I raised my hand to touch his face, and Doyle called from across the room. “Not yet, Princess. Let's be cautious until I've heard Galen's half of the story.”

I lowered my hand reluctantly. I didn't like it, but it wasn't worth the risk, not yet. “Fine.”

Galen smiled at me as he slid off the bed. “Just for now, Merry, just for now.” He walked across the room toward the huddled group. He had a way of walking as if he danced, danced to some music that only he could hear. Sometimes when he held me, I could almost hear it; almost.

Nicca came to stand at the foot of the bed. He'd regained his breath, but he still looked scared. Intellectually, I knew he was centuries older than Galen, but he seemed younger than the other guards. Age in years doesn't always tell the tale. He looked very young, and very worried as he leaned his six-foot frame against the edge of the bed. His hair fell in a shining brown curtain nearly to his knees. He'd left it loose, and his deep brown dress slacks and suit jacket peeked through the richer brown of his hair. The hair framed the moss green of his T-shirt, so that I was more aware than normal of how nice his chest was. The T-shirt was silk, a gift from Maeve. She'd given all the men silk tees in varying colors to complement their skin tone. She'd given me a shopping spree at her favorite stores, on the theory that as a woman I'd be happier picking out my own clothes, and the men would rather have the choices made for them. She was half right. Though everyone had taken the gifts, they then traded the colors around among themselves until everyone was happy.

The moss-green shirt had originally been Galen's, but it looked better on Nicca, brought out the rich brown of his skin. It had just made Galen look green. That rich brown body in its tailored suit sat down on the far edge of the bed. He flipped his hair out of the way without thinking about it, the way a woman would. “You look better than you did a few minutes ago.” His voice held an edge of shakiness.

“How did I look?”

He blinked at me and turned away as if he knew how easily his thoughts played across his face. “Pale, very, very pale.” He looked back at me with what I think was supposed to be a poker face, but wasn't. There was too much tightness around his eyes, too much worry in their perfectly brown depths. He glanced toward the far side of the room. The huddle had broken up, and everyone was walking this way.

Doyle looked down at me, his face inscrutable darkness. I'd have played poker with Nicca or Galen any day, but never Doyle. When he didn't want me to read his face, I couldn't.

“Meredith, Princess, we need to understand what is happening, but I cannot think of a way to guarantee your safety and still explore this problem.”

I tried to read something from his dark face, and couldn't. “What does that mean, exactly, Doyle?”

“It means that we must experiment, and I do not know what will come of those experiments.”

“Experiment how?” I asked.

“Maeve believes that you have reawakened the true magic within her –  her godhead, for lack of a better term. She was once a goddess in truth, so you have only returned what was lost. But Frost was not a deity, and to him you have given powers that never flowed within his body.” He managed to look grim without ever having changed expression.

“She told me the theory. She even mentioned a goddess name to go along with it, but Doyle, I am not Danu. I am so not a deity. How could it possibly be true?”

“When we fought the Nameless and it spilled wild magic on all of us, I believe there were powers that needed a goddess-shaped vessel to hold them. Maeve had been taken to safety by the time the fight ended. You were the only goddess-shaped vessel, Meredith. You were the closest the power could find to what it needed.”

I blinked up at him. I was tired of lying on the bed. If I was going to have to listen to tricky philosophical theories, the least I could do was not be flat on my back. I tried to sit up, winced, but kept at it. Nicca started to help me, but Doyle waved him back, then seemed to think better of it and motioned him to help me.

Nicca touched my arm, helped steady me, and it was just a warm touch. There was no magic to it, except the touch of skin to skin. Nicca fluffed pillows behind me so that I could sit propped up. When nothing happened at that first touch, he touched me where he needed to, until I was comfortable, or as comfortable as I was going to get.

“If Nicca's touch had caused another gathering of power, I don't know what we would have done, but if Nicca can touch you with impunity, then I think we should see how safe the rest of us are.” He motioned, and Maeve stepped up beside him.

“Touch her.”

Maeve looked at him as if she weren't accustomed to being ordered around. Then she took a deep breath and had to crawl on the edge of the bed to reach me. Maeve was not a short woman, and that spoke to how truly large the bed was.

She hesitated, a moment, searching my face.

“Do it,” I said.

She did. The palm of her hand was warm and dry and soft, but nothing more. There was no pull of magic to it. We both looked at Doyle, with her hand still pressed to my shoulder. “Nothing's happening,” she said.

“Try a little flare of power,” Doyle said.

“Do you think that's safe?” Rhys asked.

“We need to know,” Doyle said.

“She's been through a lot today. As long as we can all touch her, I think we can wait on experimenting with power.”

Doyle turned so that they were facing each other beside the bed. “It is your night with the princess tonight, Rhys. Do you really believe you can be with her and it not be a thing of power?”

Rhys glared up at him, the hand without the gun forming a fist. He was quiet for almost a full minute, then finally, reluctantly, he said, “No.”

“None of us can be with her without it being a thing of power, Rhys. We must know now, while there are more of us to help, if our magic will bring this on again. Whatever it is.”

“I have told you what it is, Doyle,” Maeve said. “Why will none of you believe me?”

“I do not doubt you, Maeve, but godhead was always given as a gift, something earned. It was not accidental. Meredith did not bring this upon you and Frost deliberately.” He looked at me, and raised an eyebrow. “You didn't, did you?”

“It would never have occurred to me to try,” I said.

He turned back to Maeve, as if that satisfied him. “We must understand what brought this on, because we cannot afford to lose Meredith, even if it made the rest of us gods on high.”

“Well then, you're going about it wrong,” Maeve said.

Doyle looked at her, and I'd seen many a court noble wilt under that gaze. Maeve didn't even flinch. She put her arm around my shoulders and snuggled closer to me, a smile playing on her lips. “Danu's power wasn't called until we were kissing.”

“Please stop saying that name,” I said. I just couldn't keep hearing that the magic of the Goddess was inside me, even a little bit. I know in theory that we are all the Goddess, or rather images of Her divine perfection. Theory is one thing, though; actually having that kind of power and being able to use it is entirely different.

“Why?” Maeve asked, and she looked genuinely puzzled.

Galen raised his hand. “Ooh, I can answer this one.”

Maeve turned puzzled eyes to him.

“Merry's creeped out that the Goddess climbed inside her.”

“That's not it,” I said.

“That the power of the Goddess is inside you,” he said, and the teasing softened as he said it.

“Maybe awed more than creeped out,” I offered.

“You should be honored,” Maeve said, hugging me.

“I am honored,” I said, “but this particular honor almost killed me.”

Maeve's face looked suddenly solemn. “Yes, and it would have been my fault.”

“No,” I said.

“I played you with my magic, Merry. I tried to seduce you because all the men keep turning me down for you.” She kissed the top of my head. “I thought, If you can't beat them, join them.” She hugged me tight enough that I couldn't see her face when she said, “I want sidhe flesh, Merry. I want a glow to match my own to throw shadows on the walls in the dark.” Her voice was fierce.

“Will you settle for a kiss?” I offered, my voice muffled against her shoulder.

She leaned back enough to show me a smile. “If it comes with magic, yes.”

“I guess if it doesn't come with magic, we won't know if the Goddess energy will remanifest.”

She smiled and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “I suppose not.”

“Was it a kiss with power that did Frost as well?” Doyle asked.

“Yes,” Maeve and Galen answered in unison.

“Frost freed her from Maeve's power, and then it was as if he couldn't help himself.” Galen looked out into the room, as if he were visualizing what had happened. “This look came over his face just before he bent down and kissed her.” He blinked and looked back at Doyle. “He looked bespelled.”

“Where is he now?” Doyle asked.

No one knew the answer. “Queen's curse take it,” Doyle said, “Nicca, Galen, find him, bring him here.”

Nicca turned for the door, but Galen hesitated. “What if Merry needs us?”

“Go,” Doyle said, “now.” And the way he said it brooked no argument.

Galen gave me a last glance then joined Nicca at the door, and they went through it at a jog.

“He just didn't want to miss the show,” Rhys said.

“What show?” I asked.

He grinned at me. “Two of the most beautiful women I know locked in an embrace. There are people who would pay to watch.”

I shook my head. Sitting by Maeve Reed, the epitome of Seelie beauty, I didn't feel beautiful. Something must have shown on my face because Maeve touched my chin, raised me to meet her eyes. “You are beautiful, Merry, and having once been a goddess of beauty, I should know.”

“I look too human,” I said softly.

“Why do you think our men have been stealing human women away for centuries? Because they're ugly?” She shook her head, and there was a soft chiding in her face. “Merry, Merry, know your worth.” That gold light began to pulse inside her skin, as if someone had lit a candle deep within her and the light was growing closer, flowing through her body, until she glowed like the sun stretched inside her skin. The power shivered over me, sped my pulse, brought my own pale light gloaming through my skin so that I rose moon to her sun.

Her hair began to move in the wind, that warm wind. Her eyes filled with light, and again it was like staring into the heart of a spring storm, flashing with lightning, ripping the heavens apart, but instead of rain, it was her power that fell upon me. I turned my face up to that power as if it truly would rain down upon me.

Her hands curved over my bare skin, as if the bathing suit wasn't there. She held me in her arms, and I went willingly, my own hands sliding up the warm skin of her bare arms. It seemed wrong that she wore so many clothes. We needed to touch more skin than this. I realized that I was sensing Maeve's skin-hunger. Her need for sidhe flesh to cover her own. I remembered the hunger all too well, and it had only been satisfied for me four months back. So long, so lonely. I couldn't tell if it was my feelings or hers, and I knew that that was part of her magic. To project her needs and make them my own.

I reached for the buttons on her vest, but they were too small, too hard to open. I got two fistfuls of cloth and yanked. The buttons went flying, making small sounds as they hit the walls, the bed, and the men.

Maeve gasped, eyes wide, and drowning with need. Her breasts were pointed with large round nipples that seemed to shine as if they'd been carved of some thick, red jewel. I ran my hands over her bare stomach. The white glow of my hands made the golden glow of her skin pulse and fade, growing brighter at my touch, fading slightly as I moved my hands around the warmth of her waist. My hands slid upward until my thumbs and fingers rested just below her breasts. If a man had touched me here, my breasts would have hung over his hands, but Maeve's were small and tight, and still untouched.

The glow of her magic pulsed under my hands, bright and brighter, as if she had started to burn just underneath her breasts. She moaned, “Please!”

I realized in that moment that I'd pushed clear of her need, no longer feeling it as my own. I was deep in power, but about this one thing I was clear. If I touched her, it would be my choice.

I gazed up at her, head thrown back, eyes half closed. Her need still rode the air like some musky perfume, but now I could breathe it in and not drown. I stared at the bright gold of the power under my hands, and wondered what it would feel like to have that much power brushed across my breasts. This much I could give her.

I said, “Kiss me, Maeve.”

She opened her eyes enough to look in my direction, but she couldn't focus; she was already half gone from the touch of magic and skin.

I repeated, “Kiss me.”

She lowered her head, and I waited, waited until our mouths touched, then I caressed my hands upward over the mounds of her breasts. She pressed her mouth harder against mine, and the kiss became something deep and urgent, then my hands slid to the hardness of her nipples, and it was as if the world exploded. Power rocked us backward onto the bed so that she fell on top of me and my hands were locked on her breasts, as if I'd put my hands on a live wire and now couldn't get free.

Part of me didn't want free. Part of me wanted to sink into the golden glow of her, and be lost. She rose above me, quivering, shrieking, jerking against my hands where they seemed melded to her flesh. She ground her hips against mine, and if I'd been male, she'd have hurt me. But I wasn't male, and some part of my magic kept her amazing orgasm from jumping to me. The power pulsed wave after wave through my body while Maeve danced above me, but that ultimate pleasure was hers and hers alone. Somehow it seemed right. She'd waited so long.

She opened her eyes in the midst of it all, and she must have seen my face, understood that I was giving to her, but not taking, and she didn't like that. She pressed her hand to my stomach, and my white glow intensified under her touch. It was like being touched by spring's warmth, something heavy and rich that shivered and throbbed against my skin. I had a moment to wonder if that's what my hands felt like on her breasts when she slid her hand down the front of my bathing suit, and slid her finger between my legs. The moment that throbbing, pulsing power thrilled along my flesh, the orgasm burst from my body in waves, as if her touch were a stone thrown into a deep lake, and each ripple was another ring of pleasure, and where the stone slid downward pleasure followed. It was like being caressed and mined with sex all at the same time.

I came back to myself still on the bed with Maeve collapsed on top of me. I couldn't hear her ragged breathing for the pulse in my own ears, but I could feel the rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to breathe, as we both struggled to breathe past the pounding of the pulses in our throats.

When I could hear again, it was her frantic breathing and ragged laugh that came first. Then it was Rhys's voice: “I don't know whether to applaud or cry.”

“Cry,” Galen said, “because we missed the entire show.”

I turned my head, and it seemed to take a lot more effort than it should have. I ended up staring at the room through a mist of Maeve's pale blond hair. I swallowed and tried to speak, but that was still beyond me.

Galen, Nicca, and Frost were just inside the door. Rhys and Doyle were by the bed, but not close enough to be accidentally touched.

Maeve found her voice before I did. “I'd forgotten, forgotten. Goddess bless me, I'd forgotten what it could be like with another sidhe.” She rolled off me slowly, awkwardly, as if her body wasn't working right. She turned to look at me, a smile on her face even as she struggled to focus her eyes. “You were wondrous.”

I managed to whisper, “Remind me the next time I ask for a kiss to be more specific.”

That made her laugh, which made her cough. “My throat is dry.”

Funny, so was mine.

“Nicca,” Doyle said, “go get the ladies some water.”

As Nicca left the room, he walked wide outside the door as if someone were standing on the left-hand side of it. It was Galen who said, “There's a tree in the hallway. I think it's an apple tree. It burst through the stone floor just inside the pool area, and by the time we got upstairs it had made a hole in the floor up here.”

Rhys walked over to peer at the tree in the hallway. “The blossoms are opening.”

The smell of apple blossoms began to drift in through the door.

Doyle stared down at us, at me. “How do you feel?”

“Better. My throat doesn't hurt anymore.”

He offered me a hand, and I took it, let him lift me from Maeve's bed. My knees wouldn't hold me, and only his arm around my waist kept me from the floor. He picked me up, cradling me against his bare chest. I was too spent to do much more than lie there. I had an urge to play with the silver ring in his nipple, but it seemed too much effort. I was suddenly tired. Tired in a good way, but tired nonetheless.

He carried me out into the hall, past the pink-and-white mass of blossoms that almost filled it. I was drowning in the scent of apple blossoms again, and for a moment power flared through me, a strong pulse that made Doyle stumble.

“Be careful, Princess, I do not wish to drop you.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, “didn't mean to.”

I noticed the unevenness of the stairs, and got a glimpse of the grey tree trunk before we got to the sliding glass doors, but the last thing I remembered was a flash of blue water and sunlight from the pool. Then I closed my eyes, snuggled against Doyle's chest, and gave up the fight. Sleep swept up and over me, as complete and deep as any I could remember. Do the gods sleep well at night? I think, maybe, they do.