Authors: Anya Richards
Gràinne flattened her hands against his back, reached up to
rest her lips softly on his, as though in apology.
He didn’t want her regret, most decidedly didn’t want to be
the agent of her passage into the dark.
With another growl he held on to the back of her head, kept
her where she was when she would have pulled away. Angling his head brought him
as close as possible. Parting her lips with his tongue, invading her mouth, he
poured all he felt into the kiss. Shockingly, she took the rage and anguish,
absorbing and tempering them until all there was left was passion, stronger and
hotter than even before.
Tearing his mouth away almost killed him, but he was already
in too deep. Making love to her the way he desperately wanted, only to see her
walk away or worse, die, would be more than he could bear.
Taking a deep breath, resting his forehead against hers to
avoid looking into her bewitching eyes, he said, “I’ll start mixing inks.”
“Wait.”
Her breath rushed over his face and he inhaled it, staying
where he was, still not ready to fully face her, not sure how much of what he
felt showed in his expression. “What?”
She took a deep breath, slid her hands around to his sides,
until her thumbs brushed his belly. “I want—” She exhaled, took another quick
breath. “I want to touch you, in case I don’t get another chance, but…”
Somehow he knew what she couldn’t say. She didn’t want him
to touch her in return, fearing the rush of memories would overcome her again.
The thought of her fingers on him caused a deep ripple of yearning to once more
tighten his muscles, bringing him to full erection again. The effortless way
she aroused him was a shock, and he had to swallow, moistening his suddenly dry
throat before he could reassure her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
That was true, but also true was the fact that he ached to
caress her, kiss her, hear the little cries as her body convulsed against his.
He wasn’t used to denying himself whatever pleasure he desired, wasn’t sure he
could restrain himself that way.
“Thank you.”
He wanted to tell her not to thank him, he’d done nothing to
deserve it, but her hands were already unsnapping his jeans, reaching for his
zipper, and the ability to speak deserted him.
Carefully releasing his grip on her nape, he grasped the
chair’s arms instead, held on for all he was worth, determined to allow her to
do whatever she wanted without interference. The zipper rasped in descent and
he squeezed his eyes shut, hardly daring to breathe in case she changed her
mind, now desperate to feel her hands on his throbbing cock. She parted his fly
and Jakuta shuddered, inhaled, held his breath.
“Oh.”
If there was anything more guaranteed to inflate a man’s
ego, and his cock, than that appreciative, slightly astonished sound, he didn’t
know what it was. Prying his eyes open, he looked down to where her hands, so
pale in contrast to his dark skin, hovered over his jutting flesh and his balls
contracted in glorious anticipation.
When her small, plump fingers closed around him, Jakuta’s
legs trembled and he instinctively arched, hips thrusting under the stimulus of
her slow, twisting caress. Pre-cum beaded on the tip of his cock and she swiped
her thumb over it, spreading the slick liquid, using it to lubricate the slide
of her hands. Lightning sparked out from his belly and he heard her little gasp
as it rushed from his skin into hers. Gràinne’s hands tightened, swept down to
the root, back up to just below the flaring head.
“I want to taste you.” They were still forehead-to-forehead,
but he glimpsed the tip of her tongue as it swiped across her lips.
“By the Orixás,
no
.” Shudders swept him from head to
toes, making goose bumps pop up over every inch of his body. “If you put your
mouth on me, I’m going to come.” He was already close just from her caresses.
“Is that a bad thing?” A note of amusement overlaid the
sensual voice.
How could he explain? He couldn’t bear the thought of
sharing something so intimate with her, knowing what might yet come. Knowing
she was prepared to die, was even resigned to death, made the possibility all
too real.
“This whole thing was a bad idea.” But it was getting more
difficult to speak, to think. Gràinne’s hands were working him, milking and
squeezing with tender ferocity, taking him to the point of no return with
shocking swiftness. He wanted to kiss her, bury his cock in her heat, take her
with him into the mindless frenzy of ecstasy when he came. The need was so
strong he had to tighten his grip on the chair so as not to make it a reality.
“No.” She was trembling, knees clenching and relaxing in a
primal rhythm against his sides. “No, it was a wonderful idea. Oh Goddess—” She
shuddered, her fingers faltering in their movements. “Oh Goddess. You’re so
hard, feel so good. I want…I want…”
He knew what she wanted, and he wanted it just as badly. But
just as fear stopped her taking what she needed, his promise to her kept him
where he was, going insane with the power of the storm she brought to life
inside him.
Uncontrolled sounds broke wild from his throat and bursts of
electricity fired out from his core, making the lights in the room dip and
flare. Gràinne shuddered, one hand dropping to cup his balls, thumb of the
other playing with the sensitive tendon at the underside of his cock, sending
him spiraling toward orgasm. He tried to hold back, wanting it to last as long
as possible, but she whispered his name with a kind of strangled wonder, and
Jakuta knew himself completely, irredeemably lost.
Lifting his head to the ceiling, he arched, entire body
going into rigor, sparks rushing down his spine into his aching balls, cock
hurting for that first shattering pulse of release.
He wasn’t expecting to feel the wet heat of her mouth
surround his cock head, and the shock of it suspended the orgasm for one
painful yet euphoric moment. Instinctively he looked down.
“Gràinne.” Her name started as a shout but by the time it
left his mouth it was little more than a strangled prayer. The sight of his
dark flesh disappearing between her sweet pink lips completely undid him,
brought the come boiling up in agonizing, blissful spurts.
Spent, destroyed, Jakuta opened his eyes, was glad to
realize he’d blown the fuses so she wouldn’t see the tear he quickly wiped from
his cheek. Cradling her head against his heaving chest, waiting for the lights
to come back on, he battled the despair flooding his heart.
Love had found him when, after so many lifetimes, he never
thought it would. But it was the kind of love that promised as much agony as it
did need or pleasure.
Life would never be the same again.
It took about ten minutes for the lighting system to come
back on and Gràinne was glad for the reprieve the dark offered. Jakuta moved,
restless, in her arms after a couple of minutes, so she let him go although
everything inside her insisted she hang on to him as long as she could. Perhaps
it was only because he was the first person she’d ever connected with, but her
craving for and dependence on him seemed to grow with each moment she spent in
his presence, each intimate confession and encounter. The excitement and
comfort she felt in his arms instantly transmuted to fear when he let her go,
but she knew she had to face whatever was coming on her own. It wasn’t fair to
lean on him the way she so desperately wanted to.
He didn’t truly understand what was happening, or why she
was so intent on getting the runic symbol tattooed over her heart. There were
times she wondered if she even understood it completely, but for him it must
seem like a crazy attempt to become something she wasn’t meant to be.
Under cover of the darkness, she hunted for and found her
jeans and pulled them on. The only shirt she could find was his but she didn’t
hesitate to slip into it, letting his scent, trapped in the woven fabric,
surround her and give her a modicum of peace. After buttoning it, she lifted
the edges of the collar so it came up over her nose and mouth, breathing deep,
taking him in, blinking back the tears that threatened again. Letting it drop
back into place, she once more climbed up onto the tattoo chair before rolling
up the sleeves. Exhaustion pulled at her, but her brain felt supercharged,
thoughts and emotions coming at her in never-ending waves. It seemed to be
getting worse, but she braced against it, fighting for control, wishing she
were back in Jakuta’s arms.
When the lights flickered and came on, she blinked to
accustom her eyes to the sudden brightness. Jakuta was leaning against the
desk, watching her, as though he had been like that the entire time, able to
see her in the darkness. The now-familiar wave of heat rose from beneath the
shirt to wash over her face, as she recalled the sensation of having him in her
mouth, hearing her name rasp from his throat as he came.
His eyes narrowed, but not before she saw sparks flash in
their depths.
“You still determined to put that damn mark on your skin?”
Heart pounding, she nodded, saw his lips thin. Without
another word he crossed to the worktable. Opening a cupboard, he took out some
of the bottles lined up in it and began mixing the ink. But his movements
seemed jerky, and there was a decided snap in the way he put things down on the
surface in front of him.
It wouldn’t be fair to embroil him further in what she’d
done, but she couldn’t bear not to explain, hoping he’d understand. Hoping to
assuage some of his anger and distract herself from the unending waves of
confusion.
But the rigid line of his back seemed to preclude
conversation, and courage failed her. He turned slightly and she caught sight
of the tattoo on his neck. The flaring horns and regal expression of the ram
appealed to her, made her wonder what its significance could be.
“Is that tattoo your symbol?”
His hands paused, as though her question had startled him,
then went back to measuring some powder onto a set of scales. “Yes.”
The flat, monosyllabic answer made her grimace, but she
pressed on, determined not to let him drift away on the tide of his anger. “How
do you tattoo a god?”
She’d wondered that earlier, had meant to ask, but got oh so
pleasurably distracted.
“It takes intention.” He emptied the contents of the scale
into a small jar then picked up a black bottle. “And the knowledge of the god’s
element as the medium. All gods know their elements, it’s easy.”
“So simple.” She watched him use a dropper to squirt ink
into the jar, wrinkling her nose as an acrid scent reached her. “Why can’t
everything be that straightforward?”
“By all the gods, I wish I knew.”
The rage in his voice wasn’t quite strong enough to disguise
his hurt and her heart ached. Sliding off the chair, she hesitated, then
crossed to stand beside him.
“I know it’s not wise, but I—I want to tell you what’s
happening to me, what I’ve done.”
“Don’t, if you don’t want to.”
If anything he sounded angrier, but somehow it didn’t deter
her. Laying her hand on his arm, feeling the muscles tighten beneath her
fingers, she looked at his stern, unmoving profile.
“I want you to understand. No.” She shook her head,
searching for the complete, unvarnished truth, hoping he would recognize it for
what it was. “I
need
you to understand, even if no one else ever knows
or cares what my story is or what happens to me.”
She didn’t say that she’d go into the darkness happily
knowing he understood, cared, but knew he recognized her meaning by the
brooding glance he sent her way.
“Tell me then, but don’t expect me to suddenly be happy
about what you’re doing.”
Gràinne nodded, accepting the condition. “It started beyond
the Veil, in the human world, while I was on assignment. I started getting
hints of emotion, almost more like curiosity than anything real and true.”
He was shaking the jar, turned slightly so as to see her
face. “When did it happen the first time?”
Pain made her wince, the present agony in sharp contrast to
her disinterest at the time. She didn’t want to talk about it, but he deserved
to know whatever he wanted to, and the words seemed dragged out of her by the
intensity of his stare.
“I was on the field at the Battle of Amiens.” Jakuta nodded,
no doubt aware that in the chaos of what the humans called World War I several
unscrupulous denizens of their side of the Veil had tried to take advantage,
some even going so far as to intensify the conflict. “There were demons and
ghouls who had broken through the defenses and I was sent to sound the alarm.”
A snort of anger broke from her and she closed her eyes for
a moment, immediately reopened them as an image of what she had seen played
back against her eyelids. At the time the filth and carnage, sundered limbs,
evisceration and bodies so damaged as to be almost unrecognizable meant
nothing. Now she swallowed against the gore rising in her throat, the stench of
mud, unwashed bodies, torn and burning flesh, all overlaid with cordite, once
more assaulting her nostrils. When she was finally able to speak again, her
voice was thick, each word causing a rasping ache in her throat.
“Do you know what it is like to scream without being heard,
to sound a warning that none will heed, to stand impotent while all around you
the world shudders and moans with the agony of death? The humans have grown
impervious to the clarion call of the banshee. Even the dogs, who used to howl at
the sound of our cries, no longer even raise their heads as we pass. It was a
futile endeavor but the job I had been given, so I wandered from one end of the
battlefield to the other, now moving with the advancing troops, now with the
retreating, watching the humans slaughter each other without caring whether
they all died or not.”
The horror of it clamped around her, until her chest felt as
though it would be crushed with the weight and she could no longer avoid the
images playing in her mind. She thought she might drown in them, choking on
tears and regrets, sorrow at the wanton destruction she hadn’t given a thought
to then, slowly destroying her now.
“Hush.” He’d put down the bottle and one of Jakuta’s hands
covered hers, the fingers of the other on her cheek, gently stroking away the
teardrops. “It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me any more.”
But now she wanted to, the need to share, to tell him about
the beginning of this life-changing journey was overwhelming her reticence.
Something in his eyes told her he understood only too well what she’d seen, how
she felt now, recalling it.
Turning her hand so as to curl her fingers around his,
taking solace in the warmth of his grip, she found the strength to go on.
“The reapers were busy and as I approached one going in the
opposite direction she pointed to a soldier lying in the mud and said, ‘That
one clings to life as though the suffering he’s feeling is preferable to going
through to the light.’ I stood for a moment looking down at the young man,
whose wounds were so severe I was surprised he survived at all. He was
moaning—a soft, constant sound that I now know to be pitiful but then merely
thought to be the last unconscious emoting of an expiring soul. Something drew
me closer, until I could see his face clearly through the dusk.”
Gràinne’s throat closed, and for a moment all she could do
was rest her cheek against Jakuta’s palm, holding in the sobs fighting for
release. How could just a memory, almost one hundred human years old, be so
painful? After a few moments the stroke of Jakuta’s thumb soothed her
sufficiently to allow her to continue.
“He was just a boy, struggling against all odds to hold on
to life, his face burned and blackened. I moved nearer. As though sensing my
presence, he grew still, his head turning toward me, and I saw part of his face
had been destroyed by an explosion. ‘Who is there?’ He could hardly speak
through the damage done to his jaw, and his voice wavered even as his hand
reached out, probably searching for the gun that had fallen a few feet away.
“I didn’t reply, for he should not be able to see or hear
me. None of the other soldiers had, as I crisscrossed the battlefield. But as I
stood beside him, he called out once more, but this time he said, ’Mother, is
that you? I promised to come home, and I will not leave you.’ I don’t know why
I did it. There was no great rush of sentiment or emotion. To me he was still
just a human boy who meant nothing. But I knelt at his side, and put my mouth
close to his ear and whispered to him, not thinking he would hear.”
Jakuta put his arms around her, pulling her into his
embrace, pressing her cheek to his chest. “Enough, enough.”
He sounded different, his words soothing and yet tight, as
though he shared the agony still clawing at her chest. As his voice faded she
could hear his heartbeat, and the strong, even echo steadied her even more.
Having come this far, she wanted to tell him everything.
“I whispered to him as though I were his mother, told him I
would see him again, that he should go and be there to meet me when I crossed
into the light. He reached out, his fingers clasping my dress, and asked if I
were sure, if it were okay for him to go on ahead, for he was so tired and the
pain was too much to be borne. I told him yes and he died, his spirit rising
before my eyes, a reaper coming to collect it and show him into the light.
“Going back to my job, I sounded the deaths of many men that
day and felt little different than I had before. But the memory of those
moments, that boy, stayed with me, worrying at my thoughts. The more I wondered
why I had felt compelled to do what I did the more aware I became of the beings
around me—both human and the higher races—the love and anger, pain, fear and
kindness, all the various emotions they displayed. I even thought, on occasion,
I felt an echo of something within myself that vaguely matched what I saw.”
“And you wanted to feel more.”
It wasn’t a question, but she was compelled to answer, for
there was far more to it than that. Her earlier vow came to her, and it seemed
to encapsulate everything. “I wanted to be free.”
He drew back slightly, tipped her chin up. “You said that
before. What do you want to be free from?”
There was a hint of skepticism in his question, and her
anger stirred.
“You said you’d never met a banshee. Did you wonder why?
It’s because we’re not allowed to go wherever we want, do anything not
prescribed by the Council. We live together when not on assignment, but never
develop friendships or outside interests because we feel nothing, care about
nothing. What other race is denied the ability to feel, told where to live,
segregated from all others?”
Eyebrows lowered, gaze sharp, Jakuta searched her face,
although what he hoped to find, she couldn’t guess. “Perhaps it’s a way to
protect you from what you see?”
She shook her head, silently willing him to believe her. “It
doesn’t make sense. Even the reapers are free to come and go as they wish,
develop relationships, have a life outside of their work. They have feelings,
and a job of importance. We’re not dangerous, our job is obsolete, but we’ve
been denied what all others, even the humans, take for granted. The more I
thought about it, the more I wanted to know the veracity of the lore. Were we
really created this way and, if so, why? And was there a way to be free of this
endless, emotionless cycle?”
Understanding dawned, and his fingers tightened slightly on
her chin. “The rune. You found a rune that would give you back emotions.”
“Yes.” Excitement made her suddenly want to laugh. “Little by
little I began to notice more, things I never saw before, because I didn’t care
enough to see them. There were areas of the council hall that were always
locked, although never guarded, for none of us were ever curious about
anything. Over the space of years, each time I returned to the hall, I would
carefully search a little at a time, not wanting anyone to notice anything
untoward. And then one night I found a small room, more heavily secured than
any other, even warded against other races. Inside was a wall fitted with
drawers—rows and rows of them. But I felt drawn to only one and, when I opened
it, there was the runestone. Once I saw it, I knew I had to have it, find a way
to keep it forever.”
The thrill of that moment came back to her, heightened and
distinct, and she gave in to a moment of wild laughter. Jakuta’s eyes narrowed,
but he said nothing and finally she went on. “The longer I was there, the more
sensations flooded me, and I knew I’d found what I was looking for. But
something told me I had to find a way to take its power into me to truly be
free. With research I found out only the one who had created the rune could
bestow its power on another. But I also discovered rune magic can be applied to
the skin during tattooing, although it can be hazardous if the sigil is
incompatible to the spirit of the being tattooed. I don’t know who created the
rune, so I decided to try tattooing instead.”