Lucien dropped into flight beside her. He held his wings out straight and a bit lower than his body and soared around his lady.
Below them were the towers of Modartha, sputtering torches burning despite the steady misting of rain that fell from the heavens.
Khamsin soared away. She rose and fell, dipped and turned, banking with her long pointed wings steady as the currents kept her aloft.
The male dove shook his head with its bluish crown and nape and dove toward the crenulated walls of its home. It landed upon a merlon and looked up at the female as she frolicked through the night.
“Oo ah! Cooo-cooo-coo?” His song inviting her to land and mate.
The female twisted her pretty little grayish-brown head and looked down at her love. She sailed past him a few times then with a spark in her little eyes—the bluish ring of bare skin around them looking delicate—blinked and she sidled to her mate to rub against him.
“Oo ah. Cooo-cooo-coo,” her mate sang his territorial song.
* * * * *
Lying on their backs upon Lucien’s rumbled bed, the lovers’ hands were entwined. They were both as naked as the day on which they’d been born and were covered with a fine sheen of sheen.
“It never occurred to me I’d have to shit as a bird,” Lucien said and blushed.
Khamsin giggled, unable to look at him for she knew she’d once more burst into gales of laughter.
“It wasn’t funny, Khammie,” he said.
“It was nature, milord,” she reminded him.
A wicked gleam entered Lucien’s eye. “Just as it is this man’s nature to ravish the captive lying in his bed.”
Before she could wriggle out of his way, he had her pinned to the mattress, his sleek, hot cock buried inside her.
“Oooh,” she said, her eyes widening for the weight and stab of that delicious cock was heating her blood.
“Oo ah. Cooo-cooo-coo,” Lucien trilled as he began to move inside her.
“Shameless little bird,” she admonished him, but already she was wrapping her legs around his hips.
“Oo ah. Cooo-cooo-coo,” her lover taunted.
There was nothing feathery about the thrusts into her moist sheath. There was power and heat behind those calculated stabs. His eyes were on hers—locking her to his very soul—and his fingers were still threaded with hers—tightening with each push into her velvety folds.
“Do you think that thrall knew it was you who shat on his head, milord?” she asked innocently and, at his warning growl, pursed her lips together.
The speed of his thrusts increased until they were straining against one another in a frenzy of wriggling, writhing limbs, and arching hips. The sound of their lovemaking could have woken the undead had any been lurking about.
One long, reverberating
cooo
sang upon the air from Lucien’s throat. His climax was so thunderous, so powerful, he knew at the exact moment he had seeded life into his lady’s womb.
Feeling that life spurting into her, Khamsin drained even the smallest drop and as soon as she had, ripples of release squeeze his hard cock—milking him of his essence—and filling her not only with his love but with his child.
Lucien would have collapsed atop her but he flinched as she flew out from under him, her sleek little dove wings fluttering across his chest. He half-turned, watching her flying out the window.
He shook his head but a steady, wicked gleam fired in his green eyes and he changed, following her closely, his more powerful wings easily catching up with her in the midnight sky.
* * * * *
Petros stood transfixed as he watched the doves as they mated. It was a strange sight and one he thought highly erotic. Never had it ever occurred to him to mate during a shape change but now the possibilities spun through his mind in every direction.
“Is that who I think it is?” Alexa asked as she slipped her arms around Petros and pressed her naked breasts to his back.
“Don’t you find that hot as hell?” he asked, unable to take his eyes from the birds.
Alexa twirled a strand of thick belly hair at his abdomen. “A little, but if I were able to do it as any creature I chose, I’d do it as a stick insect.”
Petros blinked and tore himself away from the sight of Lucien and his lady to stare at his own woman. “A what?”
“They have sex all night,” Alexa answered. “Locked together in steamy bug sex until—”
“No,” Petros stated, throwing out a hand for emphasis.
“Well, there are these other insects that can have sex for over sixty hours but there’s a slight problem there.”
Petros narrowed his eyes and twisted his head around to look at her. “I suppose you’re dying to tell me what that problem is, huh?”
Alexa shrugged. “Well, it seems that the little insect’s pecker locks within the female, making withdrawal difficult, sometimes impossible, so the pecker breaks off.”
Horror shifted over Petros’ face. He just stared at her.
“Of course there is always the praying mantis. The female will eat off his head—literally—while they are mating yet he’ll keep right on plugging away without it.” She sighed. “Gives new meaning to making sure you satisfy your lady, eh?”
“A tiger,” Petros said, turning around to face her.
Alexa took a step back for the look on her lover’s face was purposeful.
“A burly black bear.”
Petros’ woman took another step back.
“A hard-as-stone bear cock should satisfy you well enough, wench,” Petros growled.
Alexa licked her lips as she took another step back from her advancing lover.
Petros cocked his head to one side. “Maybe a wolf or a midnight black stallion.”
Her breath coming in quick little pants, Alexa rubbed a hand across her breast, squeezing as she kept retreating and Petros kept advancing on her.
“Aye,” he said, his voice low and husky. “A stallion to mount you, wench. A sleek black stallion with a cock that will fill you to bursting.” He reached for her. “I want that. Now!”
“No,” Alexa said, shaking her head. “Not as a human. As a mare, aye, but not as a human.”
Petros came up short. For months, he had been fighting Alexa’s request to be turned. He wasn’t sure he wanted to spend his life with just one woman—intoxicatingly lustful as this one was. He had even made a vow to himself that he would resist her appeals and break it off with her if she didn’t stop pestering him.
“Just think, Pet,” Alexa cooed, sidling up to him and reaching down to rub the flat of her hand over his crotch. “We could gallop like the wind across the meadows—wild and free. We could race side by side until we are winded then lay down in the cool meadows and bide our time until you are ready to mount me.”
Petros groaned at her choice of words. Her hand was bringing the situation to a head.
Alexa pressed up close to him, her hand molding his growing erection. “I can feel your front legs gripping my rump. I flick my long tail aside and you press that thick, bulging tool to my opening. Your teeth nip at my neck, showing me you are my mate, and I stand still, quivering, and waiting for you to thrust that big…”
Petros didn’t give her a chance to finish. He jerked her to him, lowered his head and his fangs sank deep into the side of her neck.
“Ah,” Alexa said, that one word expressing all the pleasure in the world.
He drew her sweet blood into his mouth and down his throat, garnering as much satisfaction from drinking in her life fluid as she seemed to be deriving from having gotten from him—at long last—what she had been seeking.
They sank to the floor and she fumbled to free him while his mouth was still attached to her flesh. She pulled him from his britches, opened her legs wide as he moved over her, and thrust his hard rod deep between her legs.
“Next time,” she said as she felt the sting of his venom beginning to seep into her blood. “Next time we will do this outside in the meadow!”
Epilogue
Khamsin eased the blanket from her son’s face and sighed. He was a miniature copy of Lucien—even down to his sweet little snore—and she had never been happier than with her baby’s precious mouth circling her nipple as he fed.
Watching his life, his love, his wife, Lucien felt his heart soaring with pride. The tiny bundle in her arms made up for all the years of loneliness and grief he had known.
Christina went over to the window to close it for winter had set in and snow was streaking lightly through the air. As she reached out to draw the casement, she stopped, looking up into the sky. “They’re at it
again
,” she said, her voice filled with disgust.
“As what this time?” Lucien inquired, glancing around.
“Hawks, I think.”
“You started something, milord,” Khamsin said softly. She stroked her son’s head, smoothing back the pale hair.
“Two nights ago it was rabbits hopping around the courtyard,” Christina snapped. “Last night it was two caterwauling cats that had me ready to take a crossbow to the both of them!” She shut the window with a snap. “What next? Beavers?”
Lucien chuckled, catching his wife’s eye. “Well, beavers are relatively quiet with their mating, Tina. Don’t you think, Khammie?”
“Not as quiet as garter snakes but a lot less noisy than swans.”
Christina threw her hands in the air. “I give up! I am surrounded by horny toads and all manner of gasping, grunting, slurping animals!” She went to the bed, looked at her godson, bent over to kiss his cheek, and then stalked to the door. “What’s wrong with a little one-on-one unhuman sex for a change? Huh?” She looked around. “What’s wrong with that?” She shut the door firmly behind her departure.
“Don’t you think she’s getting rather testy of late?” Lucien asked.
“She needs a mate of her own, that’s all,” Khamsin said with a sigh.
“She’s just jealous.” He came to sit beside her on the bed and put his finger close to his son’s little hand, smiling when the child grabbed it firmly.
“Petros seems happy,” Khamsin said.
“Worn out,” Lucien snorted. “But very happy.”
“Not as happy as I am,” his wife told him.
Lucien leaned over to press his lips to Khamsin’s. Their kiss lingered a moment longer than their son thought prudent for he grunted, kicking out with legs that were getting stronger by the day. He seemed to be frowning at his father as he continued to slurp his mother’s milk.
“Talk about jealousy,” Lucien commented. He tweaked his son’s little button of a nose. “You have to share, little man.”
The son they had named Corydon released his hold on his mother’s nipple and seemed to be seriously studying his father for a moment before the babe’s pale blond lashes slipped slowly over the dark green of his eyes and he settled into sleep.
“Have you seen Briton of late, milord?” Khamsin asked as she pulled the bodice of her gown up.
“He and Giles have been making themselves scarce,” Lucien said. “Is there something going on there that I should know about?”
Khamsin smiled. She and Briton had become good friends and she was pleased he had found someone in whom he seemed to be interested. “We’ll see,” she said then yawned.
Hearing the fatigue in his wife’s voice, Lucien slipped his hands under their son and gently lifted him from atop her. He took the babe to his crib and laid him down on his back, covering the chubby little body with an afghan Christina had crocheted. He stood there for a moment watching his child sleep.
“He’s our miracle,” Khamsin said, joining him. She slipped her hand into her husband’s.
“Aye, wench. That he is.”
Dawn was approaching and their footsteps were slow as they made their way back to their bed. Lucien pulled the covers over his wife as he had his son, blew out the lamp, and then stretched out beside her.
“Do you think Macmillan gave Sibylline the child she so craved?” Lucien asked.
“I would like to think he did,” Khamsin replied. “If not, I’m sure she is making his unlife very unhappy right about now.” She yawned again and nestled against his chest, one slender hand covering the heart he had long since placed in her keeping.
Just as sleep was overtaking Lucien, he felt a presence there in the bedchamber. The scent of jasmine was overpowering, the room much lighter than it had been but moments before. He sighed and lifted his head, expecting to see a beautiful naked woman sitting in midair.
“Are you happy at last, Sweet One?” Sibylline asked from beside his son’s crib. Her back was to Lucien and he was ready to spring from the bed in fear for his child, but when Sibylline turned around, he saw that her belly was hugely distended.
She put her hand on the mound and rubbed gently.
“Twin girls,” she stated. “As I had hoped.”
“How does Macmillan feel about that?” Lucien asked in a whisper so he would not wake his wife.
Sibylline shrugged. “Oh, he did his duty then went To The Ground as he longed to do. Had one of the bairns been a boy, he might have stayed with me.”
“You are not with him?”
“Don’t think I could take that much time with Mac. It is just as well,” Sibylline answered. “I find I want to see them born and to womanhood before I go To The Ground. I have picked the names Aisling and Maere. I am at Croì Cloiche and it will be there I deliver these darlings.” She grimaced. “Any day now if the signs are any indication.”