Lord of the Dark (20 page)

The pudgy little creature wound her hair around his hand and began to snap it as a coachman would snap his ribbons driving his team.

“I told you to keep these creatures away from me!” Rhiannon cried.

“It’s that or join in,” said the satyr. “Which would you prefer? Your time is coming, but first I have my subjects to tend to.”

He had scarcely let her go when females swarmed over him. A dark-haired sylph led the pack, her wings giving her the advantage, and quickly seized his penis, bringing him erect. A dryad and a human female then crowded out the rest and stood by awaiting their turn to be serviced by their lord and master.

Rhiannon tried to look away, but everywhere she looked a similar coupling was taking place. Terror made her heart race, and the sexual energy in that hall, to her horror, made her hot. The demon knew it would. That was why he’d brought her there, and why he’d left her tethered to the imp. He wanted her to watch. Realizing that almost put her in a panic, but that she dared not risk. She needed all her wits about her if she were to be reunited with Gideon.

Across the way, the sylph had brought Ravelle fully erect. Rhiannon was unable to look away and yet repulsed at the sight of his enormous penis. Her father had kept farm animals, and she had seen the beasts mate, but on a creature half human in appearance, such a member was beyond grotesque. The thought that she was next in line to suffer it threatened to drain her consciousness.

The sylph’s outcry was more of pain than pleasure as the satyr bent her over at the waist and thrust its thick purple shaft into her to the root. A roar from the demon’s lips as it came inside the winged sylph resonated through the gathering, and a mad frenzy of unbridled lust broke out among their number. Naked bodies became a living quilt of writhing flesh, reminding Rhiannon of a wriggling snarl of eels she’d once seen crawling on the mud flats of home what seemed a lifetime ago. She stiffened, ready to bolt before the creature turned its attention to her, but the imp tethering her by the hair gave the plait a sharp jerk as if he anticipated her next move, and she froze, for fear of calling attention to herself.

The odious creature had straddled a bolster behind her and was rubbing itself against the rough fabric until it came, and came again. All the while, it whipped her plaited hair like the reins of a carriage horse as it bounced ever closer to her buttocks, inching along the bolster. Rhiannon whipped her head around and hissed at the imp, elbowing it hard in the belly. It squealed, but continued its obscene gyrations, and a dry sob left her lips. Her terror was palpable. If she cried out, it would surely catch the satyr’s attention, the last thing she wanted, when he was in a euphoric state of carnal aberration, but the mere thought of that hideous imp anywhere near her body had nearly driven her mad.

Having had his fill of the sylph, Ravelle lowered his head and pitched her aside with his horns. She landed in the midst of a threesome that took her eagerly into their embrace. She became no more than another wrinkle in the living quilt of writhing bodies carpeting the Great Hall floor.

Rhiannon held her breath, terrified that her turn had come. The satyr was still aroused, his thick, dark shaft slick with come. He glanced about, but the demonstration wasn’t over. He seized the human female by the hair, who had elbowed her way into position to be next, spun her around, and pistoned into her as he had the sylph, while others crowded close, stroking and laving and grinding their bodies into every inch of their master’s undulating body.

Rhiannon could see the demon’s dark aura radiating from him like heat radiates from a raging fire. It was the color of dried blood, more black than red. His stamina wasn’t flagging as she’d hoped it would before her turn came. He was getting stronger. His shuttered eyes were shining like live coals, and drool was running down his chin. Where was Gideon? She would never escape without him. The revelers had formed a circle all around the spectacle taking place so close beside her she could almost reach out and touch the satyr. They were cheering him on, but instead of looking at the female he’d impaled upon his member, Ravelle’s salacious gaze had fallen upon Rhiannon instead.

“See how they want me?” the satyr said, his voice like the roar of a lion bouncing off the walls of the pavilion. “They cannot get enough of me. Once you have had me, you won’t be able to slake your appetite, either. That is just the way of it, ‘my lady.’”

All at once a flesh-tearing wind rushed down from above, as Gideon plunged through the skylight feetfirst swinging a length of heavy chain in his hand, with little regard for who—or what—he struck with it descending. Feathers and glass shards sifted down like rain over the revelers, whose screams had reached fever pitch by the time Gideon had flown low enough to reach the satyr, still coupled with the human female.

Snapping the chain over his head like a whip, Gideon brought it down upon the satyr full force, driving him to the floor. He snapped the chain a second time and struck the roaring demon again. Ravelle writhed at his feet, his fist raised as the chain descended a third time, striking others as they fled as well. The naked ménage of undulating bodies was moving to a different rhythm now as they scurried every which way in a mad scramble to reach safety out of harm’s way.

“You have my answer, Ravelle!” Gideon thundered, striking the imp tethering Rhiannon by the hair. Squealing, it scampered away.

Rhiannon screamed. She had never seen Gideon in a rage. His eyes were aglow, flickering like tongues of fire. The chain had come so close, the metallic odor of blood on the links rushed up her nostrils, and she screamed again as Gideon’s arm, like steel, encircled her waist and lifted her into his arms.

Ravelle laughed, wiping blood from his eyes. “You cannot kill me, dark one!” he said. “I, like yourself, am immortal! And you cannot escape from Outer Darkness. Sooner or later, you are mine—both of you. This was a very foolish move.”

Gideon wasted no more words on the demon. Soaring upward, he clutched Rhiannon to him so tightly she feared her spine would snap as he streaked back through the broken skylight into the night.

“Hold on to me!” he charged as they cleared the Great Hall.

“You are bleeding!” Rhiannon cried. His hands looked burned. They were covered with blood. His left wing was streaked with blood as well. Instinctively, she reached to stroke it to assess the damage, and he stiffened.

“Do not touch my wings!” he said through clenched teeth.

Rhiannon sobbed and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder as he flew straight for the phallic columns that marked the entrance to Outer Darkness. Of course she must not touch his wings. He was aroused. What torments had he suffered breaking free of the chain that still dangled from a crude iron collar around his neck? She dared not ask him then. His rage was like a separate entity. He seemed about to explode with it, though it wasn’t directed toward her. His hands holding her were warm, his caresses filled with relief and longing.

“Have they harmed you?” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“No, but if you hadn’t come when you did…Oh, Gideon…!”

“Hold fast!” he cried. “There’s the gate. I’ll soon have you out of here, but look sharp! There will be watchers once we leave this place.”

The gateway loomed before them, and Rhiannon clung to Gideon with all her strength as they glided low over the ribbon of dark water where he had so recently rescued her from drowning. As he slowed to pass through, cautious of watchers, Rhiannon closed her eyes. They were perfectly aligned to pass through the gate, but when Gideon turned to soar through it was as if he’d hit a stone wall.

Rhiannon’s eyes snapped open, Gideon’s outcry ringing in her ears, as instead of passing through the gate, they bounced back from the invisible shield that jerked them to a standstill and sent them plummeting down, down into the black lake below.

R
hiannon screamed as Gideon cocooned her within his wings to absorb the shock of impact. The weight of the chain around his neck was pulling him down. Rhiannon was floundering; the dark water flooding her throat stifled her screams. Foremost in Gideon’s mind was escape, but more important was keeping Rhiannon alive until he could see her to safety.

They had just gone under for the third time, when a hand plunged in after them. It closed around Gideon’s chain and gave a sharp tug—just enough to force him to rally—while the hand moved on and fisted in the neck of Rhiannon’s frock, hoisting her above the surface of the water. It dropped her into the punt without ceremony and moved on to seize Gideon’s collar.

“I am in your debt, old friend,” Gideon said to the ferryman, as the specter gave the collar a jerk, sending it and the chain to the bottom of the lake.

The ferryman made no reply. He never spoke. Though Gideon’s response was verbal, their understanding was mental, very deep, inaudible to any other, and eons old.

Gideon soothed his neck where the collar had chafed him. “Is there another way out?” he asked the specter. “No, I thought not…I will find a way. If you ever have need of me…Why won’t I be? Anything—name it, old friend…I will try….”

Gideon rose from the water and lifted Rhiannon out of the punt into his arms. “Hail and farewell,” he called to the robed figure in the boat as he lifted off and soared skyward.

“What did he say?” Rhiannon asked as they streaked through the darkness away from the gate.

“There is no other exit,” Gideon replied.

“More than that, I think…”

“Yes, I told him that if he ever had need of me to return the favor in kind, he had but to call upon me…. But he said something curious, that if things went well I would not be in a position where I could rally for him.”

“There was more,” Rhiannon persisted.

“Nothing significant,” Gideon lied. He couldn’t tell her the ferryman’s final warning. He didn’t want to worry her. He couldn’t tell her that death’s alter ego had warned him not to forfeit his immortality, because after all that had gone between them over the ages, he could not bear the task of ferrying the Lord of the Dark into the Netherworld. He didn’t want her to know such a thing was possible if the gods were angered enough, though the thought of it haunted him and had for eons.

“Does that creature have a name?” Rhiannon asked.

“He needs no name,” said Gideon. “It matters not what he is called. In this incarnation he is most dreaded, taking the condemned to their eternal torment. His other self is kinder.”

“How can one befriend
Death
?” Rhiannon murmured. “It is beyond my understanding.”

Gideon smiled sadly. “Immortals have no fear of death, Rhiannon,” he said. “That is what makes the friendship possible…and treasured. Imagine his loneliness. But enough! He cannot help us further; we are on our own. I need to touch down in a place relatively safe from Ravelle, while I decide what to do next. But Ravelle is not the only danger here. I will not sleep again until I’ve gotten us to safety.”

Here, Gideon’s wings gave him the advantage. He could travel great distances in a brief space of time that it would take the satyr much longer to cover in his two-legged body. Wracking his brain for every scrap of lore he’d ever heard about the Netherworld of Outer Darkness, Gideon touched down in a forest glade and took Rhiannon in his arms.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured against her hair. “I never should have slept, and on my
back
! Madness! I will get us out of this.”

“Have you asked your final question of the rune caster, or called back your feathers finding me?”

Gideon shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “I had no need of magic to find you. Once I broke my bonds, my wings made that possible. Ravelle is easily tracked. I found you quickly enough. There is great advantage in being able to view the land from the air. That is why he is so anxious that we join forces. I need to use the gifts Lavilia has given me wisely, and I needed to speak with you first, since what I do affects us both, Rhiannon.”

“All this is my fault,” Rhiannon said. “Whatever you must do, Gideon, just do it.”

She was trembling, and Gideon soothed her with gentle hands, holding her close, his hardness leaning heavily against her belly. “I have to call back one of my feathers from the rune caster to get us out of here,” he said. “There is no other way. We are fugitives on the other side of that gate. The watchers will be waiting once we cross back over. You know how much I want you…how much I long to make love to you, and you remember how it was the last time. They will attack if I try to love you. We are spared that here, but the dangers are far worse in this place.”

“We have no choice,” she said. “We must go back—now, before that awful creature finds us again.”

“There has to be someplace where we can be together in peace,” Gideon said. “I will find that place, and rebuild a stronghold where we will be safe, but we will need to be very careful while I accomplish it. The watcher’s lightning bolts are nothing to be taken lightly. I wouldn’t put it past them to try to kill you with one. You are expendable. The cowards banished you here knowing what would happen to you in Ravelle’s hands as a punishment for
me
. They are relentless now, and they still wait by that gate back there. Are you willing to take the risk?”

“Yes, oh, yes!” Rhiannon cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

He found her lips with a hungry mouth and tasted her deeply, laving the warm honey of her essence from her tongue. How sweet she was. How soft and supple in his arms as he traced her curves through the filmy gown, grazing her hardened nipples with his thumbs.

All at once her posture clenched and he held her away. “What is it?” he asked, cupping her face in his hand.

“Ravelle,” she said. “Can he…is he able to cross over into Arcus? Oh, Gideon!”

He heaved a sigh. “That is something you should ask Marius,” he said. “Yes, I’m afraid he can.”

“Why Marius?”

“Marius and Ravelle are arch rivals—immortal enemies. It is not a pretty story. Eons ago, Ravelle stole Marius’s mate. The demon is a great seducer. He often prowls the archipelago in search of whom he may corrupt. Reva, that was her name, fell under Ravelle’s spell and he stole her away and took her for his consort. After he bedded her, she took her own life.”

“How terrible for Marius,” Rhiannon murmured.

“It will not happen to us,” Gideon assured her. “I will make us a place where it cannot happen. He has his strengths, but so have I mine.”

“We will go now, then?” she urged. “I do not want to see that creature again.”

Gideon hesitated, his hands caressing her. “In the past, the watchers have never attacked unless I attempted to make love to you. We shall have to choose our moments carefully once we return, and may have to…abstain until it is safe. I want to make love to you once more here, where we are safe from the watchers. We are safe from Ravelle also. I dealt him a staggering blow with that chain, and he cannot travel as swiftly as we can aloft.” He opened his eel skin, took her hand, and crimped her fingers around his penis. How hot and hard it was. The events of the past few hours had left him ravenous for sex. He knew she must be also, come fresh from an orgy, despite the terror she must have felt at the demon’s mercy.

This time, he would not lie down on his back, on his wings—never again. His one delicious moment of fantasy come to life had nearly cost them both more than they could afford to lose. He would not make that mistake again. Passion and the urgency of unbridled lust ruled him then. In his arms, she was pure sex, not just her body, her ravishing beauty, her exotic hair, so long and lustrous challenging the hem of her gown. Her heart beat with an erotic rhythm in his embrace; she came alive to it. He had awakened that rhythm in her when he opened the petals of the exquisite flower she was. He had created her, turned her childlike curiosity into a flaming passion that made her his alone. And now he had the best of both mysterious incarnations in this enigmatic beauty. He had always marveled at the innocence and fierce passion that lived in her side by side. Which one was she this time, the innocent or the tigress? How many women was she? He wondered if even she knew. He longed to keep peeling the layers away until he had exposed and claimed them all. It was like taking a virgin each time they made love.

Her fingers played his shaft like a virtuoso plays a treasured instrument. It was the reverencing that so totally captivated him. She held it as if it were more precious than gold—more valuable than all the treasures under the moon and stars. He had never been reverenced before Rhiannon. He had never been truly loved; he knew that now.

Gideon’s breath caught as she traced the purple veins in bold relief along his shaft. His wings unfurled halfway. His heart nearly stopped as her dainty fingers felt for the pulse of the blood thrumming through those veins from root to mushroom tip. He groaned. Exquisite agony.

He could bear no more. Slipping the dark gown from her shoulders, he let it fall at her feet, drew in his wings, and knelt before her, seeking the pleasure spot beneath her pubic curls with his tongue. Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he drew her nearer, laving her steely nub, probing her folds, the sultry heat beyond her nether lips as his tongue plunged inside, tasting her juices, gliding on the honey-sweet musk of her arousal.

Rhiannon moaned his name as she gripped his shoulders. Her hands inched upward finding the pulse in the distended veins at the base of his neck. They crept higher, until she cupped his face and moved on, lacing her fingers through his hair. They fisted in the long, dark waves, holding his head against her pubic mound as he sucked, and laved, and nipped at her sex until she cried out.

A thick, ground-creeping mist had begun drifting over the copse, and the little mall where they stood half buried in it. Bewitched, Gideon savored every inch of her with his hands, with his lips, with his body, until he could bear no more and finally laid her down in the ghosting fog that hid the ground and covered them like a cool, soft blanket.

Gripping her buttocks, he raised her hips, guiding her legs around his waist, and plunged into her with a long, lingering moan. He needed to savor this. If they were anywhere on Arcus, the watchers would be firing their missiles by now. He had to make the euphoria last. The gods alone knew when they’d get another opportunity to love each other without fear of reprisal, but oh, what her tiny hands were doing to his resolve. When they left his neck and gripped his buttocks, gooseflesh riddled the length of his spine and he was undone.

His cock began to throb with orgasmic contractions made more urgent by the walls of her vagina gripping him as he thrust into her. His hips jerked forward, plunging him deeper into the sultry heat of her, deeper still, until the head of his penis nudged her womb, wrenching a guttural cry of carnal euphoria from her parted lips.

Clearly lost in the throes of carnal oblivion, Rhiannon fisted her hands in the mulch beneath them in an obvious attempt to keep from stroking his wings, and froze in his arms. She gasped, groping the forest floor again and screamed. “Gideon, the ground…it’s
moving
…something slimy!” She fished her shift out of the mist and screamed again, dropping it as if it were live coals. It was covered with wriggling elvers.

Gideon was crouching knee-deep in the squirming young eels; he scooped Rhiannon into his arms and plowed through them deeper into the fog. “They cannot hurt you,” he soothed. “It is just Netherworld glamour. The demons mine your thoughts for that which frightens you. You must have thought of elvers since you entered Outer Darkness. That is what exists here, all men’s terrors plaguing them in perpetual torment. It is real only if you let it be.”

When they’d gone some distance, he set her down again, but still the eels writhed beneath the mist, and she screamed again. “They are real enough for me, Gideon! Take me away from here…. I cannot bear it!”

Again, he moved some distance into the fog, and for a moment, the ground beneath them seemed firm. Again, he knelt to take her, but he had scarcely entered her when the firm ground beneath them became a writhing, squishing nest of elvers just as it had before. This time, laughter boomed through the quiet, deep, guttural explosions echoing from the mist. Gideon’s posture clenched as he withdrew himself, scanning the drifting vapors for the demon to materialize. It was Ravelle’s lecherous laughter. There was no mistaking that bloodcurdling sound, but there was no sign of him, and how could there be? There was no way the satyr could have followed them so quickly.

“You cannot escape me,” Ravelle’s voice tittered. “This is only the beginning, Lord of the Dark. You have made a formidable enemy alienating me.”

Gideon gathered Rhiannon into his arms and flew to the opposite side of the thicket, but when he touched down it was the same, the ground beneath their feet was crawling with elvers, and the laughter came again.

“You see?” the satyr’s voice rumbled through the dank, still air amplified by the mist. “It will be thus wherever you set your foot down in my world. So flee if you must. There is nowhere you can go that I cannot find you, and I do so enjoy a quest. We will meet again, dark one, when you least expect it. You will rue the day you turned down an offer from Ravelle, the Lord of Outer Darkness!”