The Raven Chronicles Ch. 03

Instead, he lifted her hips and positioned his cock at the entrance to her glistening pussy.

She was ready.

"Watch.," he murmured, wanting her to stay aware of him as her body surrendered to his. Bres drew his initial taking of her out for both of them, pushing into Morgan with one slow, relentless thrust until her wet heat embraced every inch of him.

Morgan let out a breath as he held still, her tight sheathe rippling around him.

He withdrew and thrust again, almost losing himself. Using all his will, Bres slowed their passion, taking the time to watch his cock slide from within her, shiny with her arousal, then disappear into her as he claimed her body again.

He found his iron control slipping as she lifted her legs and joined her ankles behind him, welcoming him even deeper inside her.

Morgan's body arched toward him. The cry from her lips and the telltale rhythmic spasms of her sex snapped the last of his restraint. He gripped the swell of her hips and pounded into her, letting her release draw his from him.

Bres emptied himself into her as a guttural moan tore from his throat and he collapsed atop Morgan.

Holding her thighs around him, Bres allowed himself a few moments to savor this connection between them as he remained inside her, allowing her womb time to take his seed.

He pulled out of her warmth and stood to pull the blankets over her naked flesh.

This night he'd created life within her, and didn't want to sour the experience by remaining with her when her ire and hatred returned. Especially when she figured out he hadn't used any magic on her -- that all the pleasure and desire she felt this time was real.

He had Morgan to fight him and Meghan to love him, but as soon as the pleasure was over, both left him feeling empty.

Bres locked the tower door behind him, went through his quarters, and continued down the tower stairs until he emerged into what he thought of as a rock garden. There wasn't even enough sun in this place to warm the ground enough for plants to grow.

His father, Elatha, stood with his head up to the sky, hands clasped behind his back. Where Bres was dark, his father was light -- golden hair and eyes, suntanned skin. Even his clothes were golden, as were his rings and the chains around his neck. "I received your message."

"I didn't know you were coming today, or I would have prepared a welcoming party for you."

His father faced him. "It's all right. I don't plan on staying long."

Naturally not. Bres' mother refused to set foot on the island, and his father didn't like being away from her. "I think I know what you want to talk about, and I won't be part of it. I have no advice for you other than to forget about being king again."

"The throne is mine."

"It was. I don't think you can say it's yours anymore."

"Not helping, Father."

He shrugged. "I'm not here to help you. One war got you the throne, a second lost it to you. Is it worth a third? How many must die? Leave the Fae to the Fae."

"I can't. I wasn't a righteous king before, but I know better now. If there's a chance Vilkos could take the Raven Throne, we have to stop him. His father is mad. With Vilkos on the throne, they'll control the realm and The Wild Hunt. No one would be safe."

"But the way you want to go about it -- you want to take with injustice what you could not keep justly. Look at what you do to the women you took as tribute years ago. Why would the Tuatha dè Danann trust you're different if you still treat them like slaves?"

Bres summoned calm. Not even his father could know of the promise Bres had made. "My claim to the throne is strengthened if I have an heir. The women are granddaughters of The Morrigan."

"You've kept them prisoners for years." Elatha shook his head. "You think the Fae have forgotten about them? Their uncle occupies the throne you covet. If he sees you again, you'll have to answer some questions, if he's in the mood for conversation rather than revenge."

"Meghan and Morgan aren't safe in the court." That was as much as he could reveal.

"That's not the only reason you keep them. If you insist on going through with this quest of yours, talk with Balor."

"Has he returned?"

His father nodded. "He didn't find The Morrigan this time either, and is likely to be in a foul mood and spoiling for a fight."

The Goddess had turned the tide of the war, driving the Fomorians into the sea, proclaiming the first of her sons to sire an heir would take the Raven Throne, and vanishing.

Balor, also injured by The Morrigan, had hunted for the goddess ever since.

"Thank you, Father." Bres strolled through the makeshift town a short distance from his tower. Balor was holding court at the bar. He wore an eyepatch to cover where The Morrigan had half-blinded him when she took his eye. Two human women sat in his lap, touching his bare chest and hair. "Ah, Bres. My favorite former king. What brings you here?"

Taking a seat, Bres waved away the woman aiming for his lap. "Inisfail Fae."

Balor swatted the women's asses, making them squeal as they left him. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low.

"I heard Vilkos was heading home on my way back here." Balor took a swig of his drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"That makes things more urgent. Something must be happening."

Balor shrugged. "What does that have to do with us?"

"Maybe the Morrigan will come home."

The Fomorian rubbed the skin around his eyepatch. "But we still can't enter Inisfail. That's why I've been searching for the witch outside the wards."

"I still have her granddaughters. They might be able to get us past the wards."

"You would be king again?"

Bres nodded.

"The army dispersed. It will take time to find enough Fomorian soldiers for another war. If you want to fight quickly, you'd be better off hiring some mercenaries from the Winged Court. Or maybe an Ifrit. Fire would tear through the forest quickly enough."

The Ifrit lived in another realm. At one time, Bres would be able to travel there with little more than a thought. Having to make the journey on horseback, by boat, and on foot would be tedious and take months. The idea of burning the forest made him nauseated. There were many kinds of Djinn. He didn't have to buy the services of an Ifrit.

"I'd rather not become King of Ashes." The Fae would never forgive him if the forest burned.

"That makes things more complicated."

What wasn't complicated when it came to the Fae? Bres' powers would be at full strength soon, but soon was relative. It had already been years.

There was nothing keeping him on the island. A long journey would be a break from the monotony of the rocky landscape. If he made it to Aribi before his magic returned, the time to get there wouldn't have been wasted. And if it returned on the way, he could shorten his trip. Nothing lost.

"Is your daughter still in the high tower?" Some prophecy about Balor's death had scared him enough that he'd locked his daughter in a tower on the island, which had given Bres the idea for Meghan and Morgan.

Balor nodded.

"Will you watch over the tributes?" Traveling with Meghan and Morgan would be problematic. Morgan would try to kill him and escape at every turn. Now that the sisters were pregnant, nature would take its course without his presence. It might even be better if he wasn't around when they figured out they were carrying his children.

There were many kinds of Djinn. Maybe he could get some help in finding the lost treasures rather than burning down the land he was destined to rule. Leaving Balor to his women and drink, Bres walked to the cliff edge and down the rough-cut stone steps to the waterline where the cold, black ocean washed up on the shore.

The trail along the stony beach was almost invisible. He hadn't come here since he'd taken refuge on the island after the war.

Inside a sea cave, Prydwen awaited. The proud ship had languished in the sea cave since Bres stole her from King Arthur. A vessel like this was meant to be sailed into battle and conquest. Golden dragon heads graced the bow and stern. Copper plating gleamed from her sides. The ship was armed with dragon fire to protect herself, and spelled by Merlin himself to catch favorable winds in her three sails.

The perfect transportation for his long trip.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NORDRVEGR

YMIR

Ymir drifted as fog in Niflheim, the Land of Mist. There were times he regretted the loss of his body. On the other hand, death provided an excellent alibi, he'd lost none of his power, and traveled the realms at will.

Odin and his brothers, Vili and Ve, ruled Asgard. Believed because they'd killed him, or so they thought, that made them gods. Ymir snorted. Upstart Fae. They'd taken his body, claiming to have created the universe from his corpse. The fools. He was primordial. Etir, the substance that created everything, flowed in his veins. Simply dismembering his body didn't kill that.

Hel, daughter of Loki, ruled Niflheim. She was no friend of Odin -- he'd banished her, fettered her brother Fenrir, and thrown Jormungand, her other brother, into an abyss.

She was building an army and had a plan to get rid of Odin. No one did revenge like Hel. Ymir approved. Why couldn't Shisti be more like her?

Gathering himself, he floated toward the World Tree, Yggdrasil. The three wells in the roots and the branches provided entry to other realms.

The well that led to Jotunheim, the land of giants, he passed by, in favor of the well leading to the abode of the Norns. The hags were useful -- able to see destiny.

He slid up the side of the stone and flowed out the top, using liquid etir to form a rough human shape.

"Ymir," the Norns chorused.

One giantess paused, her ladle going still in the cauldron hanging over the flames in the fireplace. One of her sisters glanced up from the book in her lap. The third studied a scattering of stones and bones on the table in front of her.

He couldn't tell them apart. All three of them wore shapeless grey dresses, had the height of their Jotun ancestry, blue eyes, and thick golden hair they wore in braids.

"What do you want, Ymir?" they asked as one.

"What news of the Morrigan?"

The Norns stood, abandoning their activities to form a triangle with him in the center. They linked hands and their eyes glowed as they channeled their magic.

"The Morrigan lies beyond our sight."

The same disappointing answer he'd been getting since the end of the war. It told him nothing. Had the wretched woman died? Traveled to an unknown world? He'd searched all the realms he could, as well as the minds of newly slain heroes. None of them knew anything.

"Tell me news of my daughter." Two years. Shisti had been at Inisfail Court for two years and not managed to get pregnant. She would -- the Norns had seen it, and Shisti's own visions showed she would make Fechin king. How long did it take to fuck a man?

He'd made sure she had the appropriate education -- the dead heroes in Valhalla had taught her everything she needed to know. When she'd gone to the Raven Court, any delusions of love as something necessary or permitted had long been destroyed. She had one purpose.

Eyes glowing brighter, the Norns tilted their heads back.

"Pregnant."

"With child."

"Shisti grows life."

For a second, he thought he'd heard wrong, but with the way the Norns had of saying the same thing three times, there was no mistake. Finally. When the Raven Throne was under his control, he could put his plans for Asgard underway. The Morrigan had a treaty with Odin for no other reason than she liked his faen ravens, Hugin and Munin.

Even Hel's scorned fury was no match for the Morrigan. She had to be out of the way before his plan could work.

"Will Shisti have a son?"

"Yes." One Norn gave him a smug smile. "She will birth a son."

Ymir frowned. The Norns loved their games, answering questions without telling the questioner anything useful. There must be a catch. "The Raven's heir?"

They cackled. "The Wolf's."

Ymir clenched his fists. Could she do nothing right? The stupid girl couldn't even get fucked by the right man. Was this some revenge for sending her there? "Will the boy take the Raven throne?" That was all that mattered. Perhaps the situation could be salvaged.

"There is another."

"Another son!"

"The Raven's son!"

He resisted the urge to sigh. Of course there was. "What must I do to rule Inisfail?"

"A daughter is needed."

"Your daughter."

"To slay the Raven's son."

"Then my blood will rule Inisfail?"

"If there is no daughter, your blood will never rule Inisfail."

"Who must the mother be?"

"A Valkyrie."

"The greatest Valkyrie!"

"She will bear the daughter who kills the Raven's son."

With the Raven's son dead, the way to the throne would be open for the son Shisti would bear. "When does this daughter need to be created?"

"No time like the present."

"Unless it's the past."

"Or the future."

The Norns cackled again.

Ymir slid past the golden tree Laeradr and entered Valhalla -- his favorite playground. Golden shields lined the ceiling and walls of the great drinking hall, and fallen heroes always sat at the long tables drinking and feasting, no matter the hour. Odin kept them in reserve for the day Ragnarok occurred.

Ever since Odin and his brothers had taken Ymir's body, he'd been working to turn the Valkyries into his personal harem and private army. When the time was right, Odin would die, but not a glorious death in an apocalyptic battle at the end of the world. The real threat lived much closer, and would result in a far more insignificant and ignominious death. Hel would see to that.

In the meantime, Ymir had a different matter to see to. One that required a body suitable to create a daughter. A warrior with prowess and intelligence. Not drunk enough to make him clumsy, but intoxicated enough to allow let Ymir feel the heat in his blood.

Fortunately, Valhalla contained any number of bodies he could use.

He surveyed his options. With a simple touch, he influenced thoughts of the fallen heroes drinking in the mead hall. The first so-called hero was an idiot -- all brawn with no brain.. The second was far too drunk. The fifth had a touch of magic about him and sensed Ymir's intrusion. He wasn't drunk at all, only pretending interest in the drink. Clever.

Ymir sent etir into the man, battling the his will to remain himself. Skimming the man's mind, Ymir sought information he could use. The warrior was called The Demon, and although young, had slain many in battles. He worshipped Odin.

Well, no one was perfect.

Ymir shoved The Demon's awareness back and rose from the seat awkwardly, fighting for control as he remembered how to wear muscle and skin. He stumbled a step, the man's drinking companions roaring in laughter, assuming he was drunk. He reeled down the aisle between long feasting tables, gait smoothing into confident strides as Ymir gained control. He walked the body away from the men's quarters, turning at the end of the hall toward the building the Valkyries occupied.

The man stopped struggling at the realization of their destination.

Locked doors posed no problem to etir. The Valkyries' quarters were nearly as sparse as the men's. When they became Valkyries, they left all trappings of their mortal lives behind. Weapons and armor made up the extent of their possessions, along with their flying horses. No frilly curtains or trinkets cluttered the space.

Ymir needed the greatest Valkyrie.

Currently, that was Skera.

He'd visited her before and directed the Demon to her sleeping quarters. Muscled, fair-haired, and blue eyed, she was a fierce warrioress, as apt to slay men herself as to escort them to Valhalla.

Skera preferred a woman's touch, as evidenced by her bed partner, but that didn't matter. She lay on her back, thighs spread as a woman licked her cunt.

Ymir wound etir up the leg of the bed and into both women -- taking Skera's mind captive and sending her partner's into slumber.

She fought against his control. Her body arched with the strain of her attempts to break free.

The Demon hardly needed a leash anymore. He was eager to fuck a Valkyrie.

"No need to close your legs on my account." Ymir slid etir around a bare foot and up a smooth calf. The liquid flowed over her body, forming bonds around her ankles, knees, and wrists, holding her in place.

He took deeper control of her mind slowly. It was so much more rewarding when they realized they couldn't win. Couldn't stop him. Every woman knew his presence, if not his name.

The Demon pushed the sleeping woman out of his way and climbed onto the bed between Skera's splayed legs. He wanted to dominate her. Command her. Thinking of this Valkyrie forced to obey him excited the man. His cock lay along her pussy, and he rocked against her, sliding through the abundant slickness her previous partner had created.

The body Ymir was in liked breasts. He cupped one, bringing his lips to her nipple, circling it with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth to suck and graze the hard bud with his teeth. Skera stared at the ceiling, doing her best to impassively ignore him.

The Demon didn't like her inattention. A growl rumbled his chest.

He clamped calloused fingertips around her nipple until Skera squirmed, sweeping his flattened tongue over her soft flesh and closing his mouth over the tip, flicking it with his tongue. Another flick, and she arched into him. He steadied her, a hand at her hip, and latched on to her breast, sucking her flesh into his mouth.

She shuddered.

He moved to her other breast but didn't assault it with the same fervor he gave to the first. He toyed with it, swiping his tongue around her nipple but not touching the tip. He grasped it between his fingers, rolling it, pinching and pulling in tandem to the teasing his mouth delivered to the other erect bud.

The Demon captured the peak between his teeth and slowly bit. Skera closed her eyes. His low groan was muffled by the flesh in his mouth. Each time he tugged on the sensitive flesh, her muscles tensed. He sucked harder and his teeth dented the skin. She jerked under the assault.

Ymir slid his finger into her hot, wet folds, stroking her clit, rubbing her juices over it, making it slicker and wetter. She pressed against his hand. He stroked slowly, rhythmically, down to her entrance and back up to her clit, circling it before moving down to her entrance once more.

His lips found her mouth, and he kissed her, his tongue moving with hers in rhythm with his slow thrusts as Ymir made her kiss the Demon. He kept his thumb on her clit, teasing it, feeling the build of tension, the way her thighs clenched, and her breathing became labored. He stroked her. Forced her to ride the edge.

Ymir slid into Skera's memories, making her feel recent pleasure. Another nip, another stoke, some pressure from teeth and fingertips, and an orgasm rushed over her. She trembled with the clenching waves tightening her core.

Instinct took over now. Ymir hardly had to control them at all.

The Demon kissed his way down the column of Skera's throat. At the dip where shoulder met neck, he nibbled, then latched his mouth over the spot and bit until the pleasure bordered on pain before easing back.

He kissed his way across her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel. The brush of his lips on her thigh left her quivering, and the slight pressure of his teeth on her clit tore a shaky sigh from her. His teeth clamped around the bundle of nerves and he bit. She cried out.

Laving away the sting, he swiped his tongue over the hurt. She jumped when he slid a finger into her slick core.

"You like to fuck women, hmm? Have you had more than fingers?"