Capture an Angel Ch. 02

"Aye, Cap'n."

Another volley of fire-tipped bolts headed for the enemy ship, and an answering rain of flaming arrows arched toward Fiachna.

This was going to be difficult, then.

Gritting his teeth, Fiachna used more magic to create a shield over his ship to stop all the arrows. Arousal writhed, and his internal demon pushed at its bindings.

He turned his attention back to the witch. She flashed white magic from her hands toward several bolts, and then Fiachna's mind found hers.

External vision faded out. Lust assaulted him as he connected.

A Cannamierian had no sexual repressions, and this one had a lewd imagination. Images – breasts, cocks, tongues – moved through her mind and into his, along with amusement, probably at his more repressed reaction.

Her amusement didn't last.

Fiachna burrowed his mind deeper, and found the connection between her body and mind. He severed it, pushing his magic between the two until he had control of her body. He held her completely immobile with an effort that made his cock ache and his legs feel like jelly.

A string of Cannamierian curses streamed through her mind.

Fiachna ignored them and tightened his hold.

Blinding images crashed into his brain. A spewing cock. A twitching cunt – hairless, which, at another time and place, might have made him wonder. Two women locked in an impassioned kiss. That almost did it, and his mind flicked toward the image. He forced it away and regained the small amount of control it had taken.

But the witch had noticed, and more images slithered around his defenses. The women turned. Tongues and cunts intertwined in a perversion that made Fiachna salivate. He had only one defense. Aingeal. He pictured his fiancé in all her purity and innocent love. He pictured her smiling, and touching his cheek.

Fiachna pushed his feelings of reverence and protection toward the witch, and felt the soft escalation of resulting arousal. Love won out over perversion, and Fiachna kept grim hold of the combined magic.

"Hold on, Fia. We've got one down now." Trynt's voice faded into Fiachna's senses.

Dismay and loss overcame lust for a brief moment as the witch realized one of her handlers had an arrow through his throat. Lust and fury pushed the less effective emotions out of the way, and she struggled to use her magic.

Fiachna held her offenses at bay. His cock pushed at the seam of his trousers in an offensive display of need. "Hurry up," he growled aloud.

"Working on it." Trynt's hand gripped his shoulder. Was that laughter in his tone?

"You find this amusing?" Fiachna asked in a voice that sounded like thunder. It rumbled through his senses until he wished he hadn't asked.

"No, but I think the aftermath might be." A pause, and then Trynt spoke again. The amusement was gone, replaced by irony. "The girl is down, too. I suppose you want the witch taken prisoner?"

"Aye." The fight hadn't gone out of her, though. The death of her last handler sent fury racing toward Fiachna. He winced, but she had no magic to use on him. He controlled it all. "Board as soon as you can. I'll hold her until then." And he kept the shield up over his ship to stop the arrows from flaming his sails. The dual use of magic made his stomach as hard as his cock. "Just hurry it up."

The sounds of battle faded. Everything focused on his magic, his lust, and the woman he held prisoner in her own mind. Her fury, lust, and fear added to his, and he kept hold of her through sheer will power. He forced her knees to buckle, until she kneeled as if begging for mercy.

Far from it, though. The dismemberment of his groin flashed through her mind amid blood and rage. He winced in spite of knowing it wasn't real.

"Drop the shield, Cap'n. Not needed now." Trynt's voice sounded far away and too concerned. "Damn it, Fia, I said drop the shield!"

Fiachna let the shield go, but the lessening of his magic use did no good this far into it. His nerve endings ached with the need to fuck something. Too aware of his body, he forced his hands not to try to take care of the problem. He stood as immobile as if a cold wind froze him to the deck.

The fury emanating from the woman changed to fear, and he knew she saw his men fighting their way toward her. Still, her lust outweighed both the fear and fury, and he had to focus in order to keep control. Hurry up, damn it. He couldn't keep this up much longer.

More images, and this time she borrowed a figure from his mind. His Aingeal, his fiancé, kneeled over the woman's face, head tossed back in a moan of ecstasy.

It wasn't real. He knew that, and calmed slightly. Aingeal would never act so wantonly. She was a lady, not a whore. The soul of purity and innocence, she'd be disgusted if she knew how the witch portrayed her image.

The image faded amid a sharp prick of pain that shot from the witch's mind to Fiachna's. His men had reached her and jabbed her with the needle that administered the drug. Her magic faded rapidly, although her lust would remain even longer due to the lack of connection with her magic.

Fiachna withdrew his mind. The swift withdrawal made him dizzy. He swayed.

Trynt's arm wrapped around his waist. "Get to your cabin, Cap'n, before you made a fool of yourself in front of the crew." Trynt's voice still sounded too far away, although the concern had melded into amusement again.

Fiachna opened his eyes. The world righted itself, although he hadn't realized it was askew. His thighs felt numb. Most of the crew was on the other ship. Grappling hooks attached the two together. The witch lay on the deck, unmoving. Her exposed breast made Fiachna salivate. He pulled his gaze away from her. "Bring the witch to my cabin." Turning was difficult, but he shrugged off Trynt's helping hand and headed for his cabin. The grind of the seam of his pants against his cock hurt.

To port, his uncle's ship seemed to have the situation under control. The shield held in shivering witch-light, so Ceallach needed no help from his son. All Fiachna had to do was get over his intense need to fuck something.

The wind blew Fiachna's hair back in a clammy caress. Arousal had become a stone in his belly. His thighs trembled as he walked inside his claustrophobic cabin.

"You all right, Fia?" Trynt's hand gripped Fiachna's shoulder and turned him. Pale blue eyes studied his face.

Fiachna ignored Trynt's disapproving look.

The quartermaster stood outside the door. The unconscious witch lay over his shoulder like a bag of grain. "Where do you want her?"

Fiachna indicated the bed. "Toss her there. I'll question her as soon as she wakes. And then get a damage report. I want it within the hour."

"Aye, Cap'n." The quartermaster let the woman fall to the bed, where she landed in a boneless fashion. Her breast jiggled. "Let us know if you need some help with the whore." His grin said he had an idea of what Fiachna was going to do with the witch.

"You have your orders, Mr. Halifax."

"Aye. Damage report within the hour, Cap'n." He left, shutting the door behind him.

"Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?" Trynt put his hand back on Fiachna's shoulder. "You cannot rape the wench, Fia. She's not even awake."

Fiachna's cock said it just didn't care. A thrill of guilt went through Fiachna's soul, however. "Shut up, Trynt." He approached the woman. Her exposed breast drew his eye. The hard nipple and wrinkled areola surrounding it looked more inviting than a feast. The slack look of her face failed to impress itself.

Trynt's hand tightened. "I won't let you do this."

"Go away." Fiachna attempted to shake off the hand and move toward the bed.

Trynt turned him, and pushed him against the wall beside his desk. Fiachna's head hit the wall with the force of the shove.

"I said I won't let you do this." Trynt's eyes, pale and narrowed, pulled Fiachna's attention from the woman.

"And I said go away, Mate. I won't tell you again."

"You think too much with your dick after a fight, Fia." Trynt grabbed the bulge of Fiachna's cock. "There are other ways to solve the problem and you know it."

A sudden rush of need made Fiachna swallow reflexively. His hips moved forward with the pressure on his cock. Trynt's mouth, hard and unyielding, drew his attention. Dimly, he realized how perverted his needs were. "You'd best leave." The gravel in his throat tried to stop him from talking.

Trynt shook his head, unbuttoned the front of Fiachna's trousers, and kneeled in one complicated movement. He freed Fiachna's cock, and his white-blond head moved forward.

Warmth, incredibly soothing, covered the head of Fiachna's cock. Fiachna closed his eyes. "Damn it, Trynt."

A slurp sounded too loud.

The warmth descended. Fiachna tried to pull Trynt away, and failed. A distant noise was his voice babbling something containing the word, 'no', or 'stop'. He wasn't sure what he said, but it did no good.

And the end was too close for him to worry about it now.

Swift gathering pulsed through his balls and headed toward the end of his cock. A vague thought occurred of warning Trynt. No time. Fiachna jerked forward, and shot into Trynt's mouth.

Trynt, somehow gentle, cupped Fiachna's balls. He stroked and suckled until Fiachna finished, and then tucked Fiachna's cock back into his pants. Trynt stood up.

Fiachna got his breathing under control and glared into Trynt's pale eyes. "I told you to stop."

"Was that what you said?" Trynt shrugged. "Now you won't rape that poor girl. It was worth it."

"Not if someone finds out." Fiachna glanced at the door. "Men have been castrated for less."

"Relax, Fia. No one is here, except the girl, and she's out of it."

"She's no girl." The face was of a woman perhaps in her late twenties, angular, with a generous mouth and sharp cheekbones. Fiachna avoided looking at her exposed breast. His cock didn't need any more ideas.

"You're married now, you know. Aingeal might have something to say."

"Are you trying to threaten me?" Turning, he felt more tired than angry, but he couldn't let Trynt get one up on him. Not now, and not ever.

"Just warning you. I won't tell her. It'd hurt her too much." Trynt tossed a blanket over the comatose witch. It covered her breast.

But Fiachna could still see the breast in his mind's eye. One sharp orgasm was only enough to take the edge off.