Sweet agonizing pain of heat surrounds him. Gritting his teeth his fingers clutch the wood from the aching waves rolling through him. His legs widen shifting the weight pulling him down on his knees. His back arches then curls.
Tormenting rhythmic wet heat caresses his neck; his long hair clings everywhere. Uncontrollable groans escape him. Slowly his knuckles turn white; thin trails of dark torn flesh appear down his back. Fingers steal into his hair pulling him in. Helplessly he follows.
Whimpering she encourages him by shifting her legs higher thrusting to meet him. Sweat streams down his back and between his legs; his body becomes more taut. He could feel himself so close to sweet oblivion but he tapers the impulse to release. Tightening her hold tauntingly she purrs. Bending he forces her to swallow his moan as he steals her breath.
Shifting he takes her from below while guiding his hands to her breasts she screams. Her essence coats him even more helping him drive even deeper into insanity. Lifting her knees she braces her weight on the balls of her feet grinding against him. Locking his hands on her ankles his armor becomes kinked as his body gives. The wet spot on the mattress becomes wider.
Breathlessly she gleefully laughs in triumph. His eyes cut in the darkness, the outline of her bewitching smile warms him. Bending her hot mouth teases him. Kneading into his arms she braces his hands above his head. Teasingly rubbing her breasts over his lips she sighs as his tongue flicks against them.
His soft flesh stirs with one hand he traps hers locking her above his seeking mouth. The other strokes her back relishing her supple body above his. Cupping her bottom he shows her the rhythm he seeks. Helplessly complying her lungs takes in a staggering breath. Opening her eyes she grins as she feels his control ebbing. Blinking she see his vulnerability. He gives this gift only to her. Their smoldering flames flare into an explosion. Her eyes widen from the force then flutter close shuttering in ecstasy. Screaming his name she lets herself melt into him.
Only then does he let his control slip. Without fear he unravels into her pushing himself deep within her womb to sow his seed. Hoping to bind her to him. Watching she caresses his heated skin, murmuring sweet reassuring words. Lightly her hands push away doubt and foreboding truth. Her heat has penetrated his stone heart.
This muse whom only comes at night and guards him in his slumber. Trembling in each other's arms she closes her eyes content. Their scent is thick in the air causing him to smile. Blind he would be able to find her in a crowded room. Surrounded by darkness the early beams of light penetrate through a tiny parting of the curtains. Moving across the room it soon embrace them, just as he tries to gaze upon her she fades. This time is different she won't be coming back. He just knew this.
A growl of frustration emanates from him as the cold reality of loneliness fills him again. Turning exhaustion beings to slow his racing thoughts he buries his face in the pillow, inhaling her scent. A single tear escapes his eye. He felt foolish she never told him her name. His skin begins to cool he wonders if he is going insane. Was she just a phantom conjured from the deepest part of his mind?
Clutching the pillow his hand steals underneath. Confused he brings a scented ribbon to his nose smiling again. A sign. Stretching his lithe body pondering his problem he grimaces. For the first time in years he prays.
Months before on the first night of winter
His ears perk as his conscience questions the sound. Soft breathing accompanied with a slow heartbeat. Blinking his mind tries to comprehend the feminine scent in the air. Lying on his back something is on his extended right arm then it moves with a slight whimper. Using his arm as a pillow she turns over then caresses his shoulder to his chest settling her hand over his heart. Fully awake he turns to face the invader.
The room is unnaturally dark. Even with his night vision he is only able to see her outline. A scarf hides most of her hair however; a few stray plaits of hair escape the material. Possessing high cheekbones, wide nose and full lips he found her alluring. Clad in what he could make of a nightshirt her leg starts to ride between his. His first instinct to move is stifled as she smiles then nuzzles his shoulder.
His senses are dulled as her scent elopes around him. Shifting towards her he pulls her closer finding her pleasantly plump then settles back into slumber. In the morning he awakes refreshed but alone. Quickly rationalizing the woman as a dream he go about his day.
Awaking again to her soft body he curls around her. Sleepily she murmurs, burying his nose in her neck he inhales. "Oh." She arches against him her bottom settling firmer against his groin. Confusion shifts into his semi conscientious. She is human. Why would he dream of a human? Before he can respond his mind is dragged in to blissful slumber.
He awakens to her sitting opposite of him. Curled in a ball she watches him with an enigmatic smile. "I was wondering when you would wake up." For a moment he felt uncomfortable. His soul is in danger. He should attack her she must be a spirit of some type maybe a succubus.
"What's your name?" Without thought he answers "Curu." Touching his hair she smiles, "You have beautiful hair, Curu:" Scooting to his side she lifts the mass and inhales. "May I comb it?"
Her simple request relaxes him. A strange request from an even stranger spirit he finds himself nodding. Slowly she frames his face with her hands then traces each angle with her thumbs. With each passing moment his troubled mind becomes relaxed. Before long her hands stray into his sliver tresses. Questions fade as her spell wraps around him.
Pulling a comb from her own hair she begins to untangle his sliver mane. His cheek rests on her thigh from the steady rhythm of her strokes his eyelids begin to drift shut.
Over months she appears only after he slept for some time. Sometimes they talk, sharing secrets only a stranger would understand. Mostly letting time pass wrapped in each other arms seeking warmth and peace. Each morning he dismisses her as a figment of his imagination. Even though each night that she doesn't appear he becomes restless.
Flushed with excitement Lily rushes to catch the Metro to Eighty-eight Street. Despite the balmy weather she was cool in her sleeveless green tunic and leggings. Only in New York would no one paid any attention to a brown skinned elf complete with a black Hun bow and quiver case.
Listening to her I-pod her hair sways. Her roommate convinced her use some imagination on her natural hair instead of sporting the usual ponytail or bun. Now wearing a crown of cornrows swept up by a ribbon the rest hangs just short of her shoulders in twists showing off her pointed ears. Someone touches her shoulder turning a gothic clad couple inquires about them.
Laughing she opens one of the many hidden pockets of the case and hands them her card. How else is a makeup artist is to get work in this town? Still chuckling she hops off the train heading for the Big Apple Fantasy Festival.
The buzz of crowd fades into the background as Lily concentrated on her target. The echoing quiver of the tense bowline was all she heard. As she released her breath the arrow took flight.
Only after the loud crack of the arrow cutting into the pole and splitting the rope does she join the rest of the world.
Smiling the burst of cheers behind her tell her she met her goal to win the last of the Scoring competition. As the Lord and Lady of the Festival approach her the glint of the summer sun off their jeweled crowns made her think about myths and legends.
This year they changed the second grand prize from the simple parch paper and statue to a fable gold medallion of Nords. Winning nine of the ten events she was pleased with the prize although she would have preferred the grand prize, $1,500.
Slightly bowing she looks in the eyes of Lord Freyr, a chill passes through her as he placed the thick gold chain around her neck. Expecting the metal to be cool to the touch it almost pulsing with warmth. Blinking she almost stumbles into him.
Placing her cool hand on Lily's forehead Lady Geror delicately pulls her to the side as she spoke "The sun seems to have stolen your strength. My servant Beyla will escort you to the medical tent you probably need some water."
Numbly she leans on Beyla as they walk to the end of the campgrounds. Opening the flap of tent her knees give way as spots form before her eyes. Feeling herself lifted by masculine hands her eyes flutter close.
From the fading colors of the sun Lily awoke to the chattering of the room. Feeling faintly weak she sat up. Wincing from the IV sticking out of her hand she becomes distracted by a man's voice.
"Sorry, but I need you to stay still." Looking up into the most brilliant brown eyes she has ever seen her mouth drops open.
Contrasting from his rich dark skin his short-cropped white hair took away hardness of his looks. Broad but not overtly muscular she felt her mouth water. Feeling foolish she snaps her mouth close then nods. Bending over her he watches the rise of her chest as she breathed. She was more than he imaged. Quelling the need to kiss her he pretends to be indifferent.
Gently taking her hand he removes the needle. "Now I want you to grab a bite to eat. Right now you are weak but once you have something in your stomach you should be fine."
A wolfish gleam passes over her face as she whispers, "When and where doctor?" Grinning he replies, "Now and I would recommend the Gaelic tent across the way."
Flustered she chews on her bottom lip. Glad he was wearing a long shirt he shifted. Sliding off the cot she stretches her hand to him, "My name is Lily Freeman." Covering her small-uninjured hand in his "My name Curu Taludann." Awareness that she has never known passes through her.
Not knowing to run or stay she fidgeted. Deciding to make it easier he began to finger her necklace. Relief floods her as he looks into her eyes then over her shoulder.
"Rolear, I'm done." From across the room a tall male brunette answers, "Thanks man for the help." Bending close he picks up her things and takes her hand leading her out the tent.
The first of many nights.