Mistress of the Solstice (11 page)

“We shouldn’t,” he
said hoarsely. “I can’t take
advantage of you like this.”

I almost laughed at such foolish honor, but I kept my face straight.
“Isn’t it for me to
decide?”

“But you—I—”

“Don’t you like
me?”

He swept over to sit next to me on the bed.
“I like you very much, Dasha. I think you are
exquisite. I just think you are too innocent.”

Innocent.
I almost laughed
again, but again I kept a straight face as I reached out and touched
his hand. A shudder went through his body and echoed in mine.

“I am not a virgin,” I whispered,
letting my eyelids drop and a new shade of pink rush into my cheeks at
this confession.

I waited. Somehow this simple piece of information often did wonders for
loosing a man from his principles. I had counted to five under my
breath when I felt his hand on me.

His fingers lightly traced the outside of my leg from thigh to ankle.
This time my gasp wasn’t pretense. I turned to him, my
eyes dreamy.

His hand returned, this time pressing harder against my skin. All the
while he kept my gaze, watching for signs that would caution him to
stop.

I bent my head to the side, letting my loose hair slide over my
shoulder, its weight caressing my arm and side. I wanted to immerse
myself in his touch. But he wasn’t certain yet that he
could proceed.

“It feels like…bliss,” I
whispered, closing my eyes briefly and then opening them again to
encourage him on.

He edged closer and ran his hands lightly along my arms, from fingertips
to shoulders, reaching inside the wide sleeves of my borrowed shirt.
Holding me inside the cloth he drew me closer. My head tipped back to
expose the tender skin of my throat to his lips. His hot tongue ran
along my neck down to the delightful spot where the collarbones came
together.

My gasp turned into a moan. I wanted to respond, but he held me in such
a way that I couldn’t move my arms,
couldn’t do anything but submit to his caress. I gave
in to it, savoring every moment.

His lips brushed the opening of my shirt, the hollow of my throat, the
tops of my breasts. He shifted my weight in his arms to bring my face
level with his, and drew me toward him, his breath hot on my burning
skin. His mouth covered mine, his tongue parting my lips. My moan
caught in my throat as he slid it inside, filling my mouth. He tasted
of musk, hops, and expensive ale, its fumes rising into my head. My
mouth fell open in response, my face drawing to his faster than my
conscious thought.

His hands found their way under the shirt, his fingers pressing on the
right spots to evoke a response. I shivered as his touch became
stronger, a powerful caress that would have seemed rough if it
didn’t answer so well the fire that burned inside me. I
submerged into it, clinging to him, yielding my body to his fierce
hands.

After a while he drew away and looked at me, as if
seeing me for the first time.

“Gods,” he whispered.
“Dasha. I don’t know what came over
me. I—”

I shifted in his arms, drawing my head away just enough to focus on his
face.

“Take off your
clothes,” I whispered. “I want
you,
now
.
”
My voice trembled with urgency, and he responded to it without
hesitation.

I watched his muscles shift under his smooth, hairless skin as I pulled
off my shirt, letting it slide off the bed down to the floor. He was
more handsome than I imagined. His body was sculpted of muscle, lean
and strong like a warrior’s. My eyes moved lower and
I blushed, bringing them back up to his face. He knew I
wasn’t a virgin, but now was not the time to show my
experience.

“You are so beautiful, Dasha,” he
whispered. “You are the most beautiful woman
I’ve ever seen.”

He scooped me up in his arms and lay me down on the bed. Then he eased
alongside me, running his fingers over my body in a gentle caress.

I closed my eyes and let myself float. It was bliss. It was everything I
wanted. It was the best thing I’d ever felt, and I
immersed myself fully in the sensation.

He knew a woman’s body. His touch drove me to ecstasy,
and stopped, and then drove me there again. He knew where to be gentle
and where to be strong, how far to go before he stopped and went on
again. I was vaguely aware of my screams. Everything else faded,
leaving only the sense of touch, the most important, the only important
sense in the whole world.

His insistent fingers slid inside me and I welcomed them with a gasp
that almost left me breathless. I wanted him never to stop. I yearned
for him like a babe yearns for her mother’s breast. And
yet, I wanted more.

I stretched out my hand and touched him. As my burning fingers closed
over his hardened manhood, I felt him shudder and heard him gasp. I
used my free hand to draw him on top of me and guided him to where I
wanted him most.

The first moment of his entry was so intense I almost lost myself in it.
And then our movements, our senses, our thoughts joined into an
unbearable ecstasy and beyond, into darkness.

 

Ivan

W
olf raised his head at a rustling in the brush. It was about time. The
moon was high, its silver light pouring down into the glade. It was
nearly as bright as daylight.

When no other sound followed, Wolf almost decided to return to his
slumber. Then he saw Ivan.

The boy sat by the old fir at the far end of the glade, barely visible
in the deep shade of the drooping branches. He was still, staring
unseeingly into the distance.

Wolf got to his feet and padded over to Ivan.

“Well?”

There was no answer. Wolf sighed, swallowing the rising worry.

“I’m pretty sure you
aren’t kikimora,
lad. Care to tell this old beast what happened?”

Ivan rolled his eyes and opened his clenched fist.

Wolf nodded. “You got it!”

The silvery net shimmered in the moonlight. Spread out in the
boy’s hand it looked airy, almost insubstantial,
gossamer, like a harmlessly unfolded spider web.

“Why are you just sitting here,
boy?” Wolf demanded. “Get up! We
have things to do!”

Ivan didn’t respond.

“What did Leshy do to you?” Wolf
asked, feeling the cold hand of worry grasp his heart again.

“He showed me where the Net was,”
Ivan said. “But I had to get it
myself.”

“And?”

“It was in a hole of a tree, on an
island in the middle of the swamp.”
Ivan’s voice was slow, distant. “A
kikimora guarded
it.”

“Didn’t I teach you
the kikimoras cannot harm you if
you come to the swamp by Leshy’s
bidding?”

A pause. “She was…a little
girl.” Ivan’s adam’s
apple bobbed as he swallowed. “She’d
gone to the swamp to play riddles, to make a wish to save her dying
mother. She was five at the time. She still
looks
five.” He fell silent.

Wolf fixed the boy with a long stare, his head level with
Ivan’s face.

“So, old Leshy spared your feelings. He
didn’t show you all the others—hundreds and thousands
of tormented souls who bargained with him over matters of life and
death, and ended up his powerless toys. He didn’t show
you what it takes to put the madness in their eyes, to make their
memories spark that sickening laughter. He didn’t tell
you how he makes a kikimora, a task so cruel that even Immortals never
speak of it. No, he knew how easy it was to break the spirit of a
sensitive lad like you. One little girl child—and you go all mushy
and decide to give up.” He turned his back to Ivan
and curled up on the fir-covered ground. “Why did I
even bother with you?”

For a while there was no sound.

“I’m not giving
up,” Ivan said.

Wolf waited.

“It’s just
so…wrong.”

Wolf turned, so that he could see the boy out of the corner of one eye.
“Nobody said this was going to be
easy.”

“I know.”

Wolf peered into the boy’s face. There was more sense in
Ivan’s eyes. Some of his old self shone in their blue
depths.

“We don’t have much
time, lad. We have to make it to the glade by the castle before the
moon sets, remember?”

“But—” Ivan
jumped to his feet, with the look of someone who has just become
aware of the time. “It
is
late. How are
we—”

“Hop on to my back,” Wolf said.

He was glad to see the horror in
Ivan’s eyes. It looked like he’d
managed to teach the boy proper respect after all.

“But you never—”

“Get on, boy. If all’s well you can
still get there before dawn.”

 

Marya