Awaken (7 page)

He couldn’t bring himself to speak of those times with Myrina. As she told him of her life, the passing of her father, Jecil’s leaving and her mother’s slow decline toward death, his admiration for her grew to immense proportions. It shamed him, her unselfish love for others—made him even more aware of his own shortcomings and the fact he was taking advantage of Myrina in a most dishonourable way.

Long had he ceased to believe in Kestor’s incantation. As time passed and he felt no lessening in Mab’s spell, he discounted the golden faery’s words. This cold mass of stone was all he would ever be, all he deserved to be.

What then had he to offer Myrina? Even as a man, fully fleshed, he knew himself to be unworthy of her love should she chance to offer it. What had he ever done but take? If given the chance he would try, with everything he was, to be worthy of her, but as nothing but a lump of rock, he had nothing at all to give. She deserved to spend her passion with a true man, one who could hold her, touch her body not just her mind. With such a man she could have a life beyond the forest, the adventure she desired, children…

The thought of Myrina, round and happy, bearing another man’s child, was so painful Ryllio thought he might die, but he held on to the anguish, trying to find strength, more convinced than ever of the need to let her go. Yes, she found pleasure in his company, but Ryllio knew the goodness of her heart. What truly brought her back, night after night, was not just the passion, but sympathy. Craven as he was, desperate as he was for even a moment of her time, he loved her too much to allow these trysts to continue.

Autumn was swiftly moving toward winter, the days growing shorter, cooler. Once, when the Faeries came often to frolic in the glade, it had always been springtime. The winter snows stopped at the edge of the trees, held at bay by their spells. Now they had ceased to visit, the enchantment seemed no more to work, and Ryllio saw the changing of the grass from green to brown and the dying of the flowers as an omen.

Perhaps without their magic the elements would begin to wear his stone away, reducing him to naught but dust over time.

And soon the journey through the woods would become all but impossible. Even on a day like today, so grey and drear, he worried about Myrina’s health as she came to him through the misty damp. Tonight, he would tell her not to return, would make her promise to stay away, no matter what it took to do so.

As though mocking his resolution, the clouds passed and the sun came out to light the final hours of the day, bringing the illusion of springtime and hope.

Chapter Seven

The moon was waning, but Myrina ran, sure-footed, through the darkened woods. Each footfall seemed to echo, as though another person or spirit kept pace behind her, and such was her mood she was glad of that phantom company. Events of the day had left her feeling confused, alone.

Her mother’s health was in an ever swifter decline, and Gottreb’s story naming Ryllio the prince who disappeared by turns made her angry and sad, bringing forth a sense of betrayal. It shouldn’t matter that Ryllio chose not to tell her who he was, but it did. Irrespective of the fact he was a prince without a throne, an immobile statue, withholding such an important piece of information made Myrina feel very lowly indeed.

Now, the time spent asking her questions seemed almost mockery on his part. There was nothing special about what she had done or seen. She had no stories of grand events or travels to share. Had he laughed to hear the mundane details of her life, to realise she, a villager of no account or address, was falling in love with a prince?

Yet fall in love she had, and even with these thoughts churning within, Myrina could no more resist his lure than become one of the Fey. Laugh at her he might, but she would be by his side as often and as much as she could. The thought of him, alone, lonely except for the company of birds and beasts, was too much to bear. And the thought of being without him was so painful she refused to even contemplate it.

The overcast day had turned to a beautiful night. Stars danced in the velvet-dark sky, the moon hovering near the tops of the trees. A light wind carried with it the sharp tang of pine, a touch of wood smoke and the first premonition of icy days to come. Already the last of the crops had been gathered, and the villagers made ready for winter. Goodwife Harbottle had suggested Myrina and her mother move to the Harbottle farm, which was closer to the village and would afford Myrina some help as her mother’s health failed. It was a goodhearted suggestion, and a sensible one as well, but Myrina hadn’t said yes as she knew she should.

It was too far from the glade where Ryllio lay entrapped.

Closer now to that place, his presence became so strong Myrina’s heart leapt. She couldn’t explain it, this instant sense of coming home, of stepping into herself in a new, exciting way each time he was near. Perhaps that was why she loved him—not because of the pleasure he guided her to and led her through, but for the way he made her feel about the person she was. Even now, unsure of his motives, certain of the futility of her love, as she stepped out of the trees it was with a straight back, a firm step and smile on her lips. Entering the glade always made her want to dance, to sing.

“Myrina
.
”
His voice sounded strange, distant.
“I didn’t expect you on a night such as this.”

Undeterred, she stepped closer until the bracken brushed the front of her cloak. “Why do you say that? It is a beautiful night.”

“But getting colder. Soon the snow will make it impossible for you to come.”

He spoke as though whether she came or not made no difference to him, and Myrina’s heart faltered.

“I can manage. A little snow will not stop me.”

For a long time only the rustle of wind broke the silence, and Myrina found her fingers gripping the edges of her cloak so tightly it was almost surprising the wool did not tear.

“There is no need for you to brave the elements for me. Promise me you will not.”

Kind enough words, but said in a voice edged with ice, sharp enough to slice through her heart. Speaking slowly, trying to keep each word even and clear, she asked, “Are you telling me not to return?”

“There is no need for you to do so,”
he said again.
“I am never awake for long, and soon Mab’s spell will cast me once more into slumber. The time we share must come to an end, and when better than in the season when the earth dies away beneath the snow? Come spring you can look for a lover, since you have learned all I can show you.”

It struck like a blow, and Myrina stepped back, lifting her hands to cover what felt like a gaping wound in her chest. The urge to run away was overwhelming, but pride and spark of anger kept her in place.

When she finally found her voice, had mastered it into submission, she replied, “Am I dismissed so easily then?”

“It is not a dismissal, Myrina.”
There was something new in his tone, although it sounded almost the same.
“Just a matter of being sensible.”

“Sensible?” She had never felt less inclined to wisdom in her life. How could he turn her away after all they had shared, all they had felt? “Have you no feelings for me at all?”

The sound he made held nothing but sinister amusement and desire, hard and cruelty-touched.
“Do you mean will I miss doing this?”

Without warning he was there, a vision behind her eyes—darkly handsome, subtly mocking, kneeling before her on the grass, his face upturned to watch hers as his hands slid beneath her cloak and shift.

No, she tried to say, but already her traitorous body had betrayed her, flowering open, wet and ready. It was just a fantasy, an illusion, but in her heart she knew it was more real than anything felt beyond this wooded glade. Knowing it could be the last time they shared this strange, intimate connection, she would not gainsay him, even as her heart broke asunder within.

Could she feel him trembling? Ryllio wondered, unable to stop himself from taking this one last journey into desire with her. Myrina’s pain as he told her not to come back was a palpable thing, and he knew if he let himself relent he would cast aside his resolution, beg her not to leave. Easier to make her believe his interest was built purely on lust, for next to having her for eternity, being once more a part of her passion was his greatest wish.

It took all his concentration not to bend forward in his fantasy, rest his cheek against the soft curve of her stomach, encircle her with his arms and hold her as close as he could. Instead he traced the warm quivering lines of her legs, teasing his fingers over the satiny flesh. Fantasy overlaid reality, and he could see Myrina’s hands following the path of his dream hands with her own. As he lifted the edge of her shift, she did the same, revealing knees and thighs and belly, pearlescent in the moonlight.

Ryllio could not hold back his moan of yearning, borne on a rush of passion so all-encompassing his heart felt close to bursting. No matter how many times they came together in this magical fashion, each time it felt new, wilder, stronger. The slip of her skin beneath his palms, the enticing musk of her excitement, were as real as the stony prison holding him fast.

Dipping his head, he parted her softly with his tongue, circling the hardened clitoris, dipping lower to touch and explore the slick, plump interior, drink deep of her most intimate essence.

She was quivering, sighing, hips pushing forward in demand, hands gripping his head, holding him tight to the juncture of her thighs.

His excitement rose with hers—but the need to give her pleasure was the only thing that mattered. Committed to bringing her to release, Ryllio flicked his tongue higher, curled it around the sensitive peak.

“No.”

Both in his fantasy and in reality, Myrina stepped away, breaking the connection between them. Surprised and then heartbroken, Ryllio retreated, waiting for her anger or for her to leave.

Instead she murmured, “Like this.”

An image pushed into his mind and, for a moment, disoriented, Ryllio didn’t understand. Never before had the fantasy flowed from Myrina to him, but somehow, incredibly, this time it was. Gasping, feeling desire incinerate all but instinct, Ryllio grasped her thighs where they straddled his head and pulled her down to his seeking mouth.

Now, swirling visions and reality overlapped, expanded, wavered in the intensity of their heated coupling. Ryllio could see her standing in the hollow before him, shift held up on one arm, her hand recreating the sensation of his mouth on her cunny. But she was also crouched above him, facing his feet, hips moving in a rhythm wild and sweet as his tongue and lips sought every secret to bring her pleasure to fruition. And he could see them both, as though from a slight distance, locked together in a timeless, lovely dance of pleasure. Ryllio shuddered, cried out against her quivering flesh, as Myrina bent forward, beautiful lips parting to engulf his desperate erection.

He felt it—the wet heat of her mouth, every flick and flutter of her tongue—felt it as though their bodies truly were locked together. So intense was the sensation, so utterly overwhelming, Ryllio believed for one fractured second he had somehow been transformed into flesh corporeal once more.

Arching into the wild suction of Myrina’s mouth, he forgot everything—the past, his plight, the sorrow of their imminent parting—in the idyllic pleasure of the moment. Reaching up, he covered her cunny with his mouth once more, pouring all the love and longing in his soul into her. Myrina cried out around his cock, her hips writhing, jerking in time to the uncontrolled flaying of his tongue.

He couldn’t stop the heat rising from his ballocks—didn’t want to stop it, for it had been too long since he felt the incipient power of orgasm. Catching her clitoris between his lips, Ryllio caught the beat of her plunging mouth and joined it, pulling her into the rush of his orgasm, holding back until she shuddered, releasing him as she cried out in bliss.

Then, only then, did he let go, allowing himself to be transported by the pulsating relief, hoarse cries of delight and love breaking from his throat. Caught in the sensation, shocked, bewildered, Ryllio felt suddenly lost, adrift—straddling the veil—neither alive nor bespelled.

Coming back to himself was difficult, for his heart rebelled against what his body had to admit first by its continued immobility. Everything he had just experienced had been fantasy. The lingering sensations of Myrina on his hands and lips and body were not real.

Grief stricken, he looked to where Myrina stood, swaying slightly amidst the last of the wildflowers. The moon was directly overhead, its rays illuminating the sweet beauty of her face, the soft tilt of her smile. Once more wrapped in her cloak, her body was only a shadowy outline, but he knew every curve and dip, every soft and secret place. Never before had he cared for anyone, loved anyone, as he did her, and the impossibility of that love once more fell on him like a blow.

In the far recesses of his heart there had been a kernel of hope that Myrina and his love for her would set him free. Now, after sharing intimacy beyond anything he had ever imagined, he knew if she could not save him, he was beyond redemption. And the mourning he had experienced before became no more than the passing of a brief storm in comparison to the everlasting maelstrom of sorrow now waiting.

“Ryllio—”

The softness of her voice cut through his agony, but he could not reply. The pain was too deep, too fresh. It filled him with cold, as though the outer stone had finally completed its incursion into his heart and soul, turning him into marble through-and-through.

Again she called to him, and again, but he made no answer. Hardening his breaking heart, he closed himself away, shutting her out of his mind. Better this way, he thought, as he watched her joy turn first to concern, then anger. And when she turned away and ran from the glade, the sounds of her sobs drove through him like blades of ice.

In the silence of the forest, Ryllio sat, slowly releasing the last vestiges of humanity, praying for the moment the marble overtook him completely, erasing the grinding, heart-wrenching torture of lost love.