Fire in the Cave (16 page)

“For years,” he said, “I have hated you. I have
seen you taught and treasured while I wandered in the dark. I have
seen you find a good and happy life, while I am destined for blood
and death. Never have I harmed you, for you are not to blame for my
fate. But now you have lied to me. Laid a curse upon me and
pretended to break it. Now my true feelings are justified, even as
your witchcraft tries to cloud my mind.” His hand closed over
her throat. “I call you by your true name. Release me,
Bright-owl. Now. Or I will send you down to your death, even if
your binding drags us down together.”

“I cannot.” The witch-girl, Bright-owl, sobbed, fighting
for breath. “I cannot break what is already broken. The
binding is gone. I swear it on the stars and on the stones. It is
gone. You are free.”

He threw back his head and screamed, face twisted in agony. “Then
why do I still love you?”

His hands released her, braced against the wall to either side of
her. His head bowed over her, shoulders shaking.

She reached up, touched his face. His dark eyes opened. They looked
down into hers.

The hair on his chin was rough under her fingertips. She looked up
at him.

“Black-dog.”

His eyes were locked on hers. She felt, more than heard, a low growl
begin in his chest.

“Black-dog, there is a need inside you. A hunger.”

He bared his teeth. “Hungry,” he growled.

Her heart was pounding. She crushed the last of her fear.

“Black-dog. Let me be what you need.”

He smiled, eyes hard and cruel. His hand was on her shoulder,
gliding toward her neck. “It will hurt.”

She closed her eyes. “Hurt me.”

She felt his hand close around her neck. His arm was around her
waist, pulling her hard against the heat of his body. There was
something ragged in his voice. “I will lose myself,” he
said.

His hand was running down her back, over the curve of her hips,
squeezing, gripping. “Lose yourself in me,” she gasped.
Be what you are,
she was thinking, her mind a confusion of
heat and need.
Be what you are, be Black-dog, take what you want!

She felt his mouth on her neck, breath warm, teeth sharp. His growl
rolled through her, making her legs shake: “I want you.”

Her head was thrown back. She felt like she was on fire in his arms,
her skin burning everywhere he touched her. She gasped for enough
breath to answer.

“Take me.”

He threw her down, hard. She felt the fur of the cloak under her
arms, and then he was on top of her. His hand was on the back of her
neck, pushing her face down into the fur, smothering her, and she
could feel him behind her, the heat of him on the back of her thighs.
She could feel his length, hard and hot, pressed against her,
rocking against her. She was on her knees, her rump raised against
him, and a thrill of embarrassment ran through her as she realized he
was going to hold her down and fuck her like an animal and she wanted
him to do it. She wanted him to use her, to do anything he wanted to
her, to be the tool he used to satisfy his desires.

His fingers on her neck were biting into her, holding her down like a
wolf’s teeth. She whined, spreading her knees further apart,
pushing her bottom back against him. She needed him, needed him
inside and using her, needed the big, hard thing she could feel
behind her to push inside and hurt her. But she realized, with a
deep shudder of delight, that he was beyond caring what she wanted.
He was rocking against her from behind, growling with satisfaction as
she wriggled against him. The hand on her neck wrapped around,
cutting off more of her air, making her dizzy, desperate. His other
hand was trailing down, over her stomach, towards the warmth between
her legs.

She whimpered when his fingers reached her there. She was slick,
slippery, and his fingertips began rolling over her bead one after
the other, stroking and polishing. She was gasping in the fur,
half-sobbing with need, when he finally pulled back and shoved his
full length into her in one long thrust.

It hurt, it hurt and she loved it. There were tears in her eyes. He
felt huge inside her, she felt like her body was reshaping itself
around him, desperately stretching and shifting to take him in,
straining to fit him better, to give him more pleasure. He hauled
back with a growl and started pounding into her. She could hear his
breath, deep and quick, hear the hunger in it as every thrust rocked
her body forward and then back onto him, every impact sending a quake
of sensation rolling through her. His desire was rolling over her,
beating down the walls of her mind, overcoming her completely. She
felt limp, deliciously helpless in her own body, every movement
something he was doing to her. She felt like she was going to come
apart, like he was going to fuck her into pieces here on the floor of
the cave, destroy her with his lust for her.

He was panting now, mounting her hard and fast like a beast, holding
her down like a predator. There was none of the cruel control he had
had before, none of the manipulation and holding back. He was
letting everything go, his beautiful body shining with sweat as he
finally, finally lost himself, finally took her completely, and she
screamed into the fur as she came like a thunderstorm around his
shaft, as his frenzy reached its peak and he roared and poured into
her, each of them releasing a flood of pleasure, filling her with
white fire.

His weight was on top of her, on her back, pressing her down into the
fur. She was dizzy from lack of air, and half-mindless with bliss.
It filled her, tingling and rushing. A long, glorious release, like
the warm rainstorm that follows thunder, rolling through her in
waves, washing her mind empty, washing her heart clean.

He kissed her neck. She turned her head to see him, sleepy and
curious, and he rolled her onto her back and kissed her lips, kissed
her, kissed her, pressing his body against her as they twined their
legs together, ran their hands over each other, drunk on release,
drunk on each other’s bodies. His kisses were on her neck,
now, and her hand was on his shaft, stroking, cupping, reveling in
the heat and size and strength of it, marvelling that it had fit
inside her. His hands were rolling over breasts, stroking her
nipples, awakening tingling sensations in her chest. A moment ago
she had thought herself completely content, beyond satisfied. As she
began to stroke him faster, as his tongue glided along her jaw, she
realized neither of them would ever have enough. They would always
want each other, want more.

She wrapped her legs around his waist as he raised himself over her,
moving his hips slowly against hers. She could see through his mask,
now, she could read him, and as his dark eyes looked down at her she
saw adoration, desire, love. His body lowered, his lips were on hers
as he pushed into her once more. It was easier this time, the
stretching wonderfully pleasant, their bodies locking together
perfectly as he began to move. Both of them sensitive, both of them
tingling and bliss-flooded, moved by nothing but desire, no thoughts
in their heads but the pleasure of moving against each other. He
built slowly, this time, pressing close against her, hands reaching
up to her shoulders to pull her down against him in time with his
rhythm. Her eyes were half-closed as he took her. She was smiling,
surrendering to the pleasure he was using her for, not even wondering
what he would do, but only loving that in that moment he was doing
it.

He was beautiful above her, shining in the firelight, his breath
coming fast, his eyes burning with hunger for her. The heat was
rising in her again as he moved more quickly, pulling her down
against him hard and fast, hips slapping against hers, rousing
sensation from the area around her sex. She could feel the need to
release waking in her again, like a hard knot inside her. Like the
hard knot he had bound her with in his den in the red cave, leaving
her gasping and sore and on the ragged edge of sensation for hours
afterward. She was feeling that again, feeling the pleasure rising
almost to pain, needing to crest, needing to break, and he was
slamming into her harder, reaching deep inside, and she wanted to beg
him but couldn’t find words. But it didn’t matter, he
was doing as he pleased, he was raising her hips up off the ground as
she sobbed with need, he was growling with satisfaction as she cried
out and kicked her legs and came, jerking, around him, and he threw
his head back and let out a long, ragged, satisfied sigh as he
released inside her once more.

They lay together on the fur, together in the firelit shadows of the
cave and the steam of the pool. Her head was on his chest, his hand
slowly stroking her hair.

She heard a noise in his chest, a low rumbling.

“I am happy,” he sighed. He sounded contented, and
bemused, as if the word was strange to him.

“Black-dog?” the witch-girl murmured.

“Mm?”

“How did you know my name? Did Grandmother tell you?”

His chest rose and fell beneath her head as he breathed. “No,”
he said. “I know you. I have seen you, and thought of you,
and before I knew what I felt for you I knew who you were.”
His fingertips tickled her ear, and she snuggled against him more
closely. “You are the bright bird in the night. The one who
sees, when others sleep with eyes closed. The white shape moving
silent in the dark forest. I know you, and so I know your name.”

She turned her face toward his body, enjoying the warmth of his skin
on her lips. “Do you think anyone else knows?” she
asked.

“No.” When he spoke, she could feel the vibration in her
lips. It made her smile. “They see the witch-girl. They see
you as the white light in the darkness where they do not go. Moving
and changing by rules they do not understand.” His voice was
slowing as he drifted toward sleep. “When they no longer call
you girl, your mask-name will be something about the moon. But
remember that I knew you.”

“Remember? Will you not be there to remind me?”

His breathing was slow, his body warm. “Tomorrow,” he
said as his eyes closed, “tomorrow, there is war.”

T
hey flew down the mountain. Black-dog had kept a wooden sled
stowed near the painted cave, and the witch-girl sat in front of him
as they hissed down the slope at terrifying speed. The morning light
was brilliant, almost blinding on the ice and sparkling snow, as if
overnight all the stars in the sky had fallen as powder to coat the
earth. The witch-girl’s heart pounded in her chest, fear and
fierce joy, as Black-dog leaned to guide them through the trees. His
chest was behind her, his arms were around her, they were both
wrapped in the cloak. Black tree-trunks passed them flicker-fast on
either side. The wind of their speed stung tears from her eyes and
shook diamond dust from the branches. Black-dog’s arms closed
around her tighter. She laughed, high and long, her joy echoing for
miles.

They came to the end of the snow and left the sled. Fika and Rika,
the hunting-hounds, caught up to them as they shared a quick meal of
nuts and dried berries. They drank from a stream (water so cold it
hurt her hands to cup it,) then hurried onward, toward the lake,
toward the Red Cave.

They moved quickly through the trees. Their footfalls were silent at
first, padding over pine needles, but as they descended into the
broad-leaf forest their feet crackled and rustled on the fallen
leaves. Black-dog set a quick pace, but not so fast that the
witch-girl struggled. His dogs moved like shadows in the woods to
either side of them, sniffing and panting, watching for danger.

It was strange, travelling with him. Since Grandmother had died,
most of the witch-girl’s walks had been alone at dusk. But now
Black-dog moved through the daylit forest ahead of her, pausing often
to watch, to listen. He glanced back at her, just for a moment, and
gave her a slight nod.

He watched me more when he hated me,
she thought. For a
moment, she felt almost abandoned. But then her breath caught in her
throat.

I’m not his enemy any more. He trusts me. He does not need
to look, because he knows I am here. I am not just his woman, I am
his comrade now, and we are going to war.
Off to her right, Fika
made a chuffing sound, sniffing at tracks.
A warband of only
four.

They drew close to the lake. Black-dog held up a hand to call a
halt, then crept up the last low hill. He crouched behind a tree,
watching, then beckoned her to join him. The witch-girl moved
carefully up the hillside, then took shelter behind a stone. She
looked out over the water, along the curve of the shore, to the huts
of the village and the hill of the Red Cave.

Smoke. Fire.

Her eyes wanted to close, wanted to fill with tears, but she forced
herself to look closer. There were boats pulled up on the beach, the
long wooden canoes of the River-people. She could see the
River-warriors, tiny distant figures. A few moved among the burning
huts and picked through wreckage for trophies. But most were
gathered on the hillside, a great crowd of them outside the mouth of
the Cave. More than she had met in the woods, more than could
possibly have come from one village.

“They must have sent a message downriver,” she whispered.
“It’s as you said. Ten-hands called up the cousins, the
other river-tribes.”

“They could not break us alone.” There was satisfaction
in Black-dog’s voice. “A clever witch’s curse
slowed their passage through the forest, and our tribe gathered to
defend before the war-party arrived.” He pointed out across
the lake, to the gathering on the hillside. “Even now, the
River-folk do not take the cave. Cowards.”