A Kiss of Shadows (23 page)

I glanced back at Doyle. He had turned his back on me without being asked. I slipped the underwear on, made sure the shirt was in place, and said, “You can look now.”

He turned, and his face was very solemn. “Most of the court ladies would not have thought to warn me. Some to tease, and some simply because it would not occur to them to tell me. Nudity is common enough in the courts. Why did you think to tell me?”

“Some of the guards tease, play slap and tickle, and I wouldn't have warned one of them. It would be just another part of the game. But you never play the game, Doyle. You are always apart from it. To have just lain down on the bed and spread would have been . . . cruel.”

He nodded. “Yes, it would have been. So many of the court treat those of us who remain aloof like eunuchs, as if we feel nothing. But I would rather have no touch of soft flesh than to be teased up to that point, then have no release. That is worse than nothing at all to me.”

“Is the queen still refusing to even allow you to touch yourselves?”

He looked down at the ground, and I realized I had overstepped polite questioning. “My apologies, Doyle, we are not close enough for such a question.”

He spoke without looking up. “You are the most polite of all the Unseelie royals. The queen saw your . . . niceties as a weakness.” He looked up at me, eyes searching my face. “But those of us in the Guard appreciated it. It was always a relief to be given guard duty over you, because we weren't afraid of you.”

“I wasn't powerful enough for you to fear me,” I said.

“No, Princess, I don't mean your magic. I mean we didn't fear your cruelty. Prince Cel has inherited his mother's . . . sense of humor.”

“He's a sadist, you mean.”

He nodded. “In every way. Now lie on the bed and let me look at your wound. If I let you bleed to death for modesty's sake, the queen might make me a eunuch.”

“You are her Darkness, her right hand. She would not lose you over me.”

“I think you undervalue yourself, and overvalue me.” He held his hand out to me. “Please, Princess, lie down.”

I took the offered hand and climbed onto the bed on my knees. “Would you, please, call me Meredith. It's been years since I heard princess this and princess that. I'll get my fill of it once I'm back in Cahokia. For tonight, let's drop the titles.”

He gave a small bow at the neck. “As you wish, Meredith.” I let him help me climb into the middle of the bed, though I didn't need the help. Partly because the older sidhe liked helping, and partly for the feel of his hand in mine.

I ended lying with my head cradled in the wealth of small pillows on the bed. Propped up I had a perfect view down the line of my body.

Doyle knelt to one side of my leg. “If you please, Princess.”

“Meredith,” I said.

He nodded. “If you please, Meredith.”

I raised the dark purple silk until the wound showed. The puncture was high enough that black panties showed under the raised nightshirt.

He used his hands to examine the wound, pulling the skin, pressing on it. It hurt, and not a good kind of hurt, as if there was more damage than I'd realized. Blood flowed faster, but it certainly wasn't enough for an artery. I'd have bled to death long ago if the femoral had been punctured.

He raised up, hands in his lap. “The wound is very deep, and I think there is some muscle damage.”

“It didn't hurt that much until you started touching it.”

“If I do not heal it tonight, you'll be lame by tomorrow, and we'll be going to that emergency room. It might require surgery, stitching on the inside of your leg. Or I can heal it now.”

“I vote for now,” I said.

He gave his smile. “Good. I would hate to have to explain to the queen why I brought you home limping, when I could have healed you.” He started to lean over my leg, then raised up. “This would be easier if I moved.”

“You're the healer—do what you need to do,” I said.

He moved between my legs, and I had to open them just to give him room for his knees. It took some maneuvering, and some “Excuse me, Princess”es, but he finally ended lying flat on his stomach, his hands cupping my thighs. His gazed moved up along my body until he met my eyes. Just staring down at him in this position made my pulse jump in my throat. I tried for it not to show on my face, and think I failed.

He blew his breath like a warm wind against the skin of my thigh. He looked at my face while he did it, and I realized it had been deliberate, and I don't think it had anything to do with healing me.

He raised back from my skin. “Forgive me, but it is not merely sex one misses, but the small intimacies. The look on a woman's face when she reacts to your touch.” He flicked his tongue in a quick motion over my skin. “That small intake of breath as her body begins to rise to meet your touch.”

He lay between my legs, staring up at me. I looked down the line of his body. His hair lay in a thick black rope across the bare skin of his back, trailing over the tight smoothness of his jeans. When I met his eyes again, they held that look that fills a man's eyes when he is sure that you will not tell him no, no matter what he asks. Doyle hadn't earned that look, not yet.

“You aren't supposed to tease, remember.”

He rubbed his chin back and forth over my thigh as he spoke. “I normally don't allow myself to be maneuvered into such a compromising position, but I find that once I am here it is very difficult not take some advantage.”

He bit my thigh, gently, and when that made me gasp, he set his teeth in my skin harder. It bowed my spine, made me cry out. When I could look again, he'd left a red imprint of his teeth in my thigh. It had been so long since I'd had a lover that not only would but wanted to leave my body marked.

His voice came purringly deep: “That was wonderful.”

“Tease me and I'll tease back.” I tried for it to be a warning, but my voice was too breathy.

“But you are all the way up there, and I am down here.” His grip tightened on my thighs; the strength in his hands was immense. I understood what he was implying. He was strong enough to hold me in place with just his hands on my thighs. I could sit up, but I couldn't really get away. A tension in my body that I hadn't even known was there eased. I relaxed under his hands, settling back against the bed. There were things that I'd been missing that had little to do with orgasm. Doyle would never look up at me with slow horror on his face at something I'd asked him to do. He would never make me feel like a monster because of the things my body craved.

I worked the silk of the nightshirt out from under my back, then pulled it over my body, over my head. I raised up, sitting above him. That dark knowledge in his eyes was gone, chased away by sheer need. It was so raw on his face, I knew I'd taken the game too far. I held the nightshirt in front of my breasts, not sure how to apologize without making things more awkward than they already were.

“No,” he said, “don't cover them. You surprised me, that's all.”

“No, Doyle. We can't finish this, and for you, especially . . . I'm sorry.” I started to slip the shirt back on.

His fingers tightened painfully around my thighs, fingertips digging into the skin. He made me gasp and look at him with the shirt only on my arms.

His voice was dark with command, a barely contained rage that made his eyes shine like black jewels. “No!”

That one word froze me where I was, left me staring down at him with wide eyes and my heart beating like a trapped thing in my throat.

“No,” he said, voice only a breath less severe, “no, I want to see them. I'm going to make you writhe, my princess, and I want to watch your body while I do it.”

I let the shirt fall to the bed and sat up, as close to him as I could get. His grip on my thighs had passed the point of pleasure and become simply pain, but that, too, under the right set of circumstances, was a kind of pleasure.

His fingers eased back just a little, and I saw that he'd left the marks of his fingernails in my thighs. The little half-moon marks filled with blood as I watched.

He started to move his hands out from under my thighs, but I shook my head no. “You're down there, and I'm up here, remember.”

He didn't argue, just settled his hands back around my thighs, not hurting this time, just solid enough that I couldn't move away. I ran my hands over my stomach, upward to cup my breasts, then lay down propped against the pillows so he could see me.

He stared at me for long seconds, as if he'd memorize the way my body lay among the dark-colored pillows, then his mouth settled against the wound. He licked it with thick, slow movements of his tongue. Then his mouth locked over the wound and he began to suck. He drew on the skin so tightly that it hurt, as if he were sucking some deep poison out of the wound.

The pain raised me up, and he rolled his eyes to me full of that dark knowledge that he hadn't earned. I laid back against the bed with the pressure of his mouth on my thigh, his strong fingers digging into my thighs hard enough that I knew tomorrow I'd be bruised. My skin had started to glow, glimmering in the soft bedroom light.

I stared down at him, but his eyes were turned downward, concentrating on his work. The warmth began to grow under the pressure of his mouth, to fill the wound like warm water poured down the hole in my skin.

Doyle began to glow. His bare skin shone like moonlight on a puddle of water at night. Except this moonlight was coming from inside him to shimmer in black shapes of light and dark underneath his skin.

The warmth of the healing beat against my thigh like a second pulse. His mouth locked against me, pulling at that pulse, as if he'd suck me clean and empty. A warmth grew in the center of my body, and I realized that it was my own power, but it had never been like this before.

The warmth in my thigh and the warmth in my body grew outward like two pools of heat, out and out, larger and larger until my body was eaten with heat, and my skin glowed white and pure with a dance underneath like water. The two powers flowed against each other, and for a heartbeat Doyle's healing warmth floated on the surface of my heat, then the two powers spilled into one another, merging into one rush of spine-bowing, skin-dancing, body-tightening magic.

Doyle raised his face up from my thigh. He cried out, “Meredith, no!”

But it was too late, the power poured through us both in a rush of warmth, of heat, that tightened things low in my body until there was no breath. Then the power spilled outward like a fist flinging open, straining for something it could not grasp. I cried out, and the power flowed out of me in a glow that left shadows in the room from my skin.

I saw Doyle as if through a haze. He was on his knees. He had one hand up as if to ward off a blow, then the power smashed into him. I saw his head snap back, his body raise high on his knees as if the power had arms to lift him. The dance of moonlight under his skin grew until I could see a nimbus of black light, shining like a dark rainbow around his body. He stayed for an impossible second lifted, straining, a shining thing, so beautiful that you could only cry, or go blind as you watched. Then a scream was torn from his mouth, half of pain, half of pleasure. He sagged onto the bed, catching himself with his arms. That wondrous glow began to fade as if his skin were absorbing the light, sucking it back into the depths from whence it came.

I sat up, reached for him with a hand that still held a hint of that soft white light.

He jerked back from me, fell off the bed in his haste, looked over the edge of it at me with wide, frightened eyes. “What have you done?”

“What's wrong, Doyle?”

“What's wrong?” He got to his feet, leaning against the wall suddenly as if his legs weren't quite steady. “I am not allowed a sexual release, Meredith. Not by my hand, or anyone else's.”

“I never touched you there.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. He spoke without looking at me. “Your magic did. It ran through me like a sword.” He opened his eyes, stared at me. “Do you understand now what you've done?”

I finally did. “You're saying that the queen will count this as sex.”

“Yes.”

“I never meant for it . . . My power has never been like this before.”

“Was it like this the night you were with the roane?”

I thought about that for a moment, then frowned. “Yes, and no. It wasn't exactly like this, but—” I stopped in midsentence and stared at his chest.

My look must have been astonished, because it made him stare down at himself. “What? What do you see?”

“Your chest wound, it's gone.” My voice was soft with amazement.

He ran his hands over his chest, searching the skin. “It's healed. I did not do this.” He came to the edge of the bed. “Your arms.”

I looked down and saw the claw marks were gone. My arms were healed. I ran my hands over my thighs, and they weren't healed. The nail marks, filled with their small bits of blood; the red marks of his teeth; the press of his mouth that had brought a red stain to my thigh where the wound had been. “Why is everything else healed but these marks?”

He shook his head. “I don't know.”

I stared up at him. “You said that my initiation into power healed Roane, but what if it's not just that first flush of power. What if it's part of my newfound magic?”

I watched him try to make sense of it. “It could be, but healing by sex is not a gift of the Unseelie Court.”

“It is of the Seelie Court,” I said.

“You are of their bloodline,” he said softly. “I must tell the queen.”

“Tell her what?” I asked.

“Everything.”

I crawled forward on the bed, still half-naked, reaching for him. He moved out of reach, clutching at the wall as if I'd threatened him. “No, Meredith, no more. The queen may forgive us because it was accidental, and she will be pleased that you have more powers. It may save us, but if you touch me again . . .” He shook his head. “She will not have pity on us if we come together again this night.”