She
takes my breath away.
“You crazy kids!” says Carly brightly next to us.
“Hate to interrupt you, but the Queen of the festival wants a word with you!”
Most every Renaissance Festival has a queen (usually some version or variation of ye olde Queen Elizabeth), and now, coming toward us across the jousting arena, is a woman in a complete costume (and very good rendition) of Queen Elizabeth, complete with bright red hair under a bright gold crown, a sumptuous and enormous dress dragging across the festival grass.
“For today,” says the queen, raising her bejeweled scepter to the two of us, “you are the ladies of this festival.
Bravo to you, lady knight!
And bravo to you, lady Holly, for having such a brave knight champion!”
“Hip-hip-hurrah!” chants the crowd as Virago bows low before the queen, then turns to me with shining eyes, gripping my hands tightly, like she’ll never let go.
Carly mutters about having something to do (as she saunters away with a mischievous smile), which leaves Virago and me at the festival practically alone (well, with a ton of people coming up to congratulate Virago on being the “coolest knight ever!” we’re not really alone, but it’s so sweet and supportive of the festival goers, it’s kind of wonderful, really).
So together, Virago and I enjoy the festival:
I buy her a gigantic turkey leg on a stick, she bests the arm-wrestling guy at arm wrestling.
We both try on corsets (she declares that she could never wear one, and I completely agree with her—as much as I love the look of them, I can never breathe in one!), and toward the middle of the afternoon, Carly drives us back to my house for us to get ready for the boat ride.
But since we’re not casting off for a few more hours yet we still have a little time to ourselves…
And, honestly?
I have the feeling that Carly drove us back early so that we could get lucky.
Trust me, I know Carly, and her mind is perpetually in the gutter.
Also, when she drops us off, she gives me a big wink and mouths “good luck!” at me as I shut the car door behind me.
I roll my eyes, but chuckle a little as Carly drives away, and Virago and I—arm in arm—walk slowly up the sidewalk toward my house.
Suddenly, I’m very self-conscious.
Yes, I’ve imagined this possibility, this
intimate
possibility before, but now that the possibility is, well, possible…I’m really nervous.
The thing is, I’m usually not a move-fast kind of woman when it comes to this stuff.
For the right woman I am, and Virago is very much the right woman, but it’s still unlike me that I’m thinking about how to broach the subject of possibly sleeping together with Virago.
Because I want to.
And we need to.
Because if we don’t do it now, it’s not going to happen.
Something that we haven’t spoken of, that we’ve carefully not brought up, is the fact that Virago might very well be going back to her world tonight.
And I’ll be staying here.
We’ll be separated…forever.
When I unlock the door and move through the living room soundlessly to let Shelley out, I grip the sliding glass door handle tightly as I shut it.
Virago moves into the living room, unbuckling her scabbard and resting the sword gently down onto the couch.
She doesn’t say a word as she moves slowly up behind me.
She says nothing as she presses her full mouth to the bare skin of my neck.
We don’t speak as we move slowly, sensuously up the stairs, her hands on my back, my thighs, as we ascend together, not exactly the most graceful creatures as we become tangled together, our mouths on each other as she traces a kiss down my neck and on the skin of my belly as she lifts up my shirt.
I’m a few stairs higher up than she is, and I lace my fingers through her ponytail, through her wolf’s tail, and I press her mouth against me.
Finally, finally, we get up to my bedroom, to my sanctuary piled with books and warm quilts, and I push Virago gently down onto the bed.
There are no words as I carefully untie the leather laces along her armor that connects it together.
The thongs fall away, and then the armor clunks gently against my hardwood floor.
Virago is in leather pants now, and she chuckles at my appreciation, weaves her fingers through
my
hair as I lean down and brush my mouth over hers, over her neck and down into the dip between her breasts.
I tease my fingers up under the hem of her leather shirt, and then I’m peeling the leather up and over her head, breathing in the perfumed scent of her flesh that the leather bares.
She is so soft, so warm, beneath my hands, but she doesn’t remain beneath me long.
She rolls me over deftly, smiling down at me with a wicked smirk as she lifts my blouse up and over my head, tugs my skirt down, looping my panties with the skirt’s waistband.
I’m suddenly naked beneath her.
She crouches over me like a predator, all muscled arms and taut stomach as she bends her head to me, grazing my mouth with hers as she begins to trace a delicious, electrifying kiss down my neck, over my breastbone…
God, how she takes my right breast in her mouth, how the heat of her travels to the very core of me.
Her velvet mouth impresses warmth against me, impresses a strong tongue that flicks my nipple to painful attention.
I squirm beneath her, whimper, as one strong hand presses the mattress down beside my head, the other inching slowly, slowly, slowly, up my thigh.
I spread my legs to her, asking, begging, as I pant, as I rise up to meet her, grinding my hips against her leather-clad legs.
She shifts her weight, presses a knee between my legs, and then I’m gasping as she presses weight against my center, as my wetness connects with the leather.
She angles her body, shimmies out of the pants, and then it’s her own hot center against my own as she rises up and over me like a goddess, her bright blue eyes flashing as she stares down at me for a long moment, pressed on top of me.
“What have you done to me, Holly?” she whispers, lowering herself so that her breasts press against mine, her hips against mine as I cry out, as she begins to rhythmically, hypnotically, pulse her hips against my own.
“I am undone by you,” she growls into my ear, and then she captures my mouth with her own again as I open myself to her, to her hand that inches its way over my belly and into the deepness of me.
I cry out against her, arch myself against her, as she holds me tightly, as she curves her fingers inside of me, as she presses her mouth to my mouth, to my heart, to my skin and over every inch of my body.
We move together seamlessly, like we have always moved this way, and time outside of us stands still.
When I come, she is kissing me fiercely, and I am open to her utterly, to this beautiful warrior woman I could never have dreamed up, but who holds me close, tenderly, as I ride through the waves of bliss she caused in me.
“Love,” she whispers to me, holding my gaze with impossibly blue eyes.
“Love,” I whisper weakly, brushing my lips against her own as I shiver beneath her, held in the sanctuary of her arms.
It is in that moment that I know, no matter what happens after now, this heartbeat, I know that I have been utterly happy.
Utterly loved.
I hold her gaze as I trace my fingers over her hard, muscular shoulders.
It’s my turn, now.
I hold her gaze as her eyes roll back, as she moans lowly as my hand finds her wetness.
I touch her bravely, daring in these moments, to show her all that I’ve felt, all that I’ve been unable to express until now.
I wake up to the sound of my cell phone ringing somewhere downstairs inside my purse.
I sigh out, open my eyes, and then I’m acutely aware of the fact that Virago has her arms wrapped around me tightly, that she’s fast asleep, breathing softly and evenly, her taut stomach rising up and down.
That we’re naked, tangled together.
Oh, my God…it happened.
It actually
happened.
I stare at her for a long moment before I glance at the clock.
It’s only five.
We agreed with Carly and Aidan—and, by proxy, Aidan’s coven—to meet together at six down on the pier, which means we should start getting ready to leave in half an hour.
But still, I can’t bring myself to wake her.
Not yet.
In sleep, Virago’s features are softened.
She’s gorgeous, commanding, passionate in real life, but when she’s asleep, the harder edges are filed away, and she just looks beautiful.
Perhaps even vulnerable as her face softens gently.
I trace the contour of her high cheekbones with my gaze, of her full mouth, and the pulse that beats rhythmically upon her neck.
I take in the wonder of this perfect creature, and I would maintain my gaze, memorize every inch of her…if my damn cell phone didn’t keep beeping insistently downstairs.
With a sigh, I extricate myself as gently as I can from her embrace.
She continues to sleep, though her eyelids flutter.
I know for a fact that she’s a very light sleeper, and my heart beats a little faster to realize how comfortable she must feel with me to not wake up.
It’s heartbreaking in that moment, as I stare down at her and wonder if I’ll ever have this opportunity again to watch her sleep, to wake up after making love to the wonder that is Virago.
I swallow, take a deep breath, force myself to get up.
I grab my robe from the foot of my bed and slip into it, gazing back at her one last time.
I tell myself:
no matter what, you’ve had this.
You’ve had this moment.
But it doesn’t help the pain.
My heart is breaking as I slowly descend the staircase.
As I reach my purse and pull out my phone.
Five missed calls from Carly.
I sigh, hit “send” on her most recent call.
I glance up, surprised that Shelly isn’t begging to be fed, when I glance at the shut sliding glass door with wide eyes.
Oh, my goodness, I forgot to let Shelley in before we headed upstairs.
She’s still outside.
I cross the living room and open the back door, whistle out for her.
There are dark clouds encroaching along the horizon, and what was once clear blue sky about an hour ago has turned ominous and black above our neighborhood.
I frown and stare up at it as I whistle for Shelley again.
“You’ve reached Carly’s cell!
Leave a message, I’ll get back to you,” chirps out from my cell phone.
“Hey, Carly, it’s me…sorry I missed your calls.”
I smile into the phone as I head out down the back steps.
“Uh.
Call me back, okay?”
I end the call, slip my cell phone into my pocket, glance up.
Around the corner of the pile of what
used
to be my shed looks like Shelley.
It’s her white-gold fur anyway.
“Shelley, honey!” I call to her, whistle again.
That’s not like her.
The shape moves away, around the corner of that big patch of shrubs out back.
The gate to my neighbor’s yard is behind the shrubs, and I worry for a moment, wonder if my neighbor Clark left it open between our yards, but then my cell phone is buzzing in my pocket.
I make my way across the lawn, grumbling to myself as I fish the phone out, accept the call and press it to my ear.
“Holly?
Oh, my God, Holly?”
My heart’s in my throat.
It’s Carly, and she sounds panicked.
I’ve
never
heard her sound like this before.
There’s terror in her voice.
“Carly, what’s wrong, are you all right?” I yell into the phone.
I hear a
creak
from behind the shrubs.
Dammit, the gate must have been left open.
“Holly!”
There’s static on the line, the call drops for a moment, but then I hear:
“…it’s there!”
“What?” I say into the phone, walk around the shrubs.
“Holly!” says Carly, shouting every syllable:
“the beast left the water!
It made its way through the neighborhood!
It was just spotted on your
street
!”
I feel all of the air leave me as I stare at the shape on the ground behind the shrubs.
It’s Shelley.
She has a gash in her side.
My precious dog’s blood is leaking out onto the ground.
“Holly, can you hear me?
The beast is coming for Virago!”
The line goes dead.
The line goes dead because the phone is falling out of my hand.
Because I rush to my dog’s side, lift her beautiful little head into my lap as a sob chokes itself out of me.
Her eyelids flutter, and then close, Shelley’s head falling limply into my lap.
A shadow falls over me.
Even though the sky is dark enough for me to wonder if it’s still day, a shadow still falls over me from behind my neighbor’s fence.