Demon Lover (15 page)

Gwyneth released him and began to massage his cock with the exotically scented oil. His penis was beautiful, glistening with oil and flushed dark from the blood coursing through it. She rubbed up and down with long pulls, and very soon Svartan was cursing some more. His jaw was so tight she feared his bone might pop through the drawn skin.

He gripped her homemade ropes with his fingers and his arm muscles were rigid. His toes curled, too, and the bands of muscle in his legs were like iron.

He can’t withstand this. I’m going to win!
Gwyneth’s heart rose like a bird flying up from earth to sky. Yet in the same instant a dark, heavy feeling wrenched her heart. She wanted her daughter’s freedom and her own, but she would actually miss this horrifying monster who held her captive, this demon who played games with peoples’ lives. How was that possible?

She slammed her mind shut on such ponderings. This was no time to consider anything but achieving her goal—his orgasm. She’d taken Svartan far enough with her hand; now it was time to straddle this horse and ride him across the finish line.

Gwyneth released his slick cock, and the man grunted in disappointment. She crawled over him, guided his tip to her aching, wet pussy and slipped him inside. Sitting upright, she very slowly settled down on top of him, engulfing him in her hot depths. She braced her hands against his slick chest as she lifted her body almost all the way off his rigid cock, then pushed down onto it again.

Rising and falling on him, she drew him ever closer to the edge. She clenched her muscles tight around him, holding him in the hard grasp of her body, and thought she could feel the very texture of his cock with her inner muscles. She pressed down hard, enveloping him to the very base of his shaft. It felt so good to have him inside her, filling her completely.

Gwyneth leaned forward, changing the angle of her thrusts. Her breasts dipped to brush against his face and he sought a nipple blindly, drawing it into his mouth. He suckled her as he fucked her—or was she fucking him, since she was the one on top and in control?—his mouth drawing on her with hard tugs that sent a sweet ache down to her pussy.

If it was possible, her body clutched him even harder as if she would fuse herself to him and become one. The excited fluttering in her belly, which had been increasing from the moment she entered the room, strengthened and grew. It was as if many individual birds were gathering together into one enormous flock. And then all of a sudden they exploded upward in a mighty surge that carried her with them.

Gwyneth flew. She cried out and threw her head back, arching her neck. Her breast pulled free of his mouth. Her body beat against his with the force of a storm lashing against a rock. Was he impervious to her fierce rain? How could he not join her in ecstasy? She opened her eyes and looked down at him. Oh, but he was close, so close, she could tell.

His eyes were squeezed tight shut and his body was rigid as if she was punishing him rather than bringing him pleasure.
Just a little longer. A little longer.
She moved her slippery pussy up and down. She was so very wet from coming, her juices covered him.

It’s like spinning
, she thought.
A steady hand makes smooth, even thread.
She pumped him as she would propel the treadle on a wheel, and she leaned close and added soft words as if singing a spinning tune.

“Come now. Let go. It’s what you want, what you need. Don’t fight it any longer. Give in to what you need. Come. Come. Come.”

He made a strangled sound in his throat and hurled more of those harsh-sounding foreign words at her. And suddenly she wanted him to come with every fiber of her being, not just because of the bet, although the knowledge of it was never out of her mind, but because she wanted to see his face when he was transported with rapture.

“Come, sweetheart, come. Please come for me.” She repeated the soothing litany and sped the pace of her thrusts.

And then, just as she was certain she had him, just as she could swear she felt his cock swelling inside her, ready to release, Svartan yelled, “Enough! Your time is up.”

Gwyneth was so intent and focused on their bodies moving in unison that she blinked in surprise at the abrupt interruption. Her gaze snapped to the hourglass on the nightstand, which she’d insisted on turning the moment after they’d entered the room.

Sure enough, he was right. The top glass was empty and the bottom one full of white grains of sand. Despair rushed through her. How could she have miscalculated so badly? If she’d only spent a little less time on the wax or the massage, she would have had time to bring him to a conclusion. He’d nearly been there. One or two more twists of her hips even now and he’d…

She couldn’t resist doing it even as she thought it.

“I said, enough. Your allotted time is over. If I come now, it does not change our bargain. You still lose.” His voice was as harsh as his angular face, without a trace in it of the man she’d thought she was beginning to know.

Gwyneth rose up, disengaging from his cock. The thick, heavy thing flopped against his belly like a club. It was red and purple and shining wet. Come oozed from the tip, leaving a little white puddle on his stomach.

She vaulted off the bed and hurriedly picked up her dress from the floor.

“Untie me,” he demanded gruffly.

Ignoring him, she dressed and jammed her feet into her slippers then she headed for the door.

“I said, untie me!” he roared.

“I’m sorry, that’s not part of the bargain. My two hours are up.” She smiled in bitter satisfaction as the door closed behind her.

Chapter Fifteen

Damn the bloody bargain! What had he been thinking of to make such a senseless deal, one that ensured he lost no matter which way it went? He had gravely miscalculated his ability to charm Gwyneth into falling in love with him—a stupid, stupid plan. Her only thought was of escape, and her only feeling toward him, disgust. Even as she rode him to her climax, she’d been imagining leaving him.

She would never love him, no matter how much he loved her. He would always be an obstacle to her and her daughter’s freedom. These thoughts had broken over him in a depressing wave as he’d freed himself from the braided restraints and had torn the blindfold from his eyes.

He could see that now, and it made it impossible for him to face her again. Several days had passed following their second session, and Ragnorak hadn’t been able to bring himself to visit Gwyneth or Brea. He had no idea what they were up to in the house or grounds while he went about his usual daily business. It gave him a taste of how it would be to return to his solitary life. Extremely unpleasant.

In the past, Karnak had frequently suggested this widow or that as a possible wife, strongly hinting it was time to find someone with a child to be his queen. Ragnorak had been willing to meet the many women Karnak and his wife had put forth, but had not found one who appealed to him. Any match he made would be a marriage of convenience, and he simply hadn’t been ready for that yet. He’d put off the decision by claiming, quite honestly, too much work to accomplish. He’d devoted himself to the building efforts and the government and had tabled the discussion of wives and heirs…until he had quite accidentally met Gwyneth.

The beautiful, golden-haired woman had turned his world upside down and changed his life. Now she was about to leave him alone again and he would never, ever be able to get over her.

One more time together. One final lovemaking—if one could call it that when one half of the couple engaged in the act felt no love at all—then he would lose her and lose darling Brea, who was becoming increasingly precious to him. There was nothing he could do about it. Even if he could hold out and refuse to come, Ragnorak realized now that he could not imprison these two bright spirits in the underworld forever.

He had to let them go.

But maybe he could make one last push to convince Gwyneth to care for him and learn to love this world as much as her own. He had to at least try.

And to have any chance of success, he needed to see her. Thrusting aside the papers he couldn’t concentrate on anyhow, he leapt to his feet. It was time to end this stupid game full of half-truths and hidden agendas. He needed to be honest with her, tell her everything that was in his heart and ask her forgiveness as well as her understanding. Perhaps then she’d at least see him as a man with feelings, a flawed man, maybe, but perhaps not totally unworthy of her respect. Love could grow from there…couldn’t it?

Filled with a sense of urgency after a week of avoiding the issue, he strode toward the door, wrenching it open so quickly that the fists about to rap on its other side pounded his chest instead. Gwyneth’s impatient little fists.

His heart missed a beat.
She’s come to me
, he thought in awe. But his triumph only lasted an instant, for the beautiful face turned up to his was ravaged by distress. She wore only her nightgown, which she had clearly either forgotten about or didn’t care about in her rush to get to him. Her fingers twisted in his coat, grasping the fabric as if it was her lifeline.

“Please, Svartan! I beg you! I’ll do anything if you’ll just cure her!”

“Cure who?” Bewildered, shocked by her anguish, he covered her hands with his to calm her, gently detaching them from their vice-like grip on his coat.

“Brea!” she cried, as if he should have known.

Something heavy seemed to fall into the pit of his stomach. This time it was his hands that gripped convulsively. “Brea? What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know!” Gwyneth said in despair. She tugged his hand, urging him along the uneven passage in the direction of her own quarters. As they hurried together, she added intensely, “I’ve never seen her like this, so ill and distressed. You have to cure her.”

“I do?” Startlement as well as fear made his voice harsh, and she clearly took it for stubbornness.

“I know you care for her,” she whispered. Tears flowed unchecked down her face. He doubted she even noticed, which made his fear for the baby all the greater. “Please don’t take your anger at me out on her…”

“I would never do that.”

Something in those words seemed to get through to her. For the first time she glanced at him with more hope than despair. “Then you will help her?”

Ragnorak ran his free hand through his hair. “If I can…”

By then they were at her bedchamber door, and she bolted inside, still tugging him by the hand. Agnet rose from her seat by the cradle and stood quietly to one side while Gwyneth rushed to the cradle.

Fearing what he would see, Ragnorak followed her.

The baby wasn’t crying. But her perfect little face had two bright red spots on each cheek. She was twisting with discomfort, as if trying to throw off her covers, tossing her head from side to side. Her breathing sounded erratic and stentorian.

Gwyneth reached down to the child’s forehead. “Feel her,” she commanded. “She’s burning with fever.”

Brea’s skin was undoubtedly hot and dry, dangerously so. Her little face puckered. She tried to cry, then had to pause to breathe instead. Ragnorak felt his chest tighten.

“You will save her?” Gwyneth demanded.

Ragnorak looked up at her, frowning. “What makes you think I can?”

The eyes he’d seen clouded and hot with passion hid nothing now. She had neither the will nor the ability to try. He saw a twinge of fear and anger, a disbelief that he would really refuse her request.

She said matter-of-factly, “You’re the most powerful being I’ve ever met or heard of. You can turn straw into gold, travel instantly between realms through layers of impenetrable rock. Surely you can make one sick baby well?”

“Gwyneth,” he began helplessly. It seemed impossible to explain that the powers he’d always taken for granted did not make him an omnipotent being, some kind of god. He began to see himself through her eyes and, for probably the first time in his life, was afraid of not living up to someone’s expectations. He drew a deep breath. “Those kinds of powers are inherent in my royal blood. It is a strength, not a magic. We have an affinity with the elements. I can manipulate them to make straw gold, to compress the air to travel, and change the rocks and earth to let us through. That, I don’t even need to think about. But I’ve never healed a sick child in my life. Here, we do not get ill.”

She frowned in disbelief, glancing at Agnet for confirmation. “What, never?”

He shook his head, his gaze drifting back to Brea.

“Then you have no doctors? If you cannot help her, there is no one else?”

Again, he shook his head, seeing out of the corner of his eyes that she clawed at her face with despair. “She might die, Svartan.”

The words came out in a whisper, cutting into his heart.

I killed her, he thought numbly. Knowing nothing, I brought her here. This place is not natural for her. She needs fresh air and sunshine to live. I brought her to darkness and death. And if she dies, Gwyneth could do so as well…

“We won’t let her die,” he said between his teeth. Reaching into the cot, he pulled the covers off the baby and threw them on the floor. Then he began to unbutton her clothing.

“What are you doing?” Gwyneth demanded, catching at his hand in fear.

“She’s too hot! The heat is killing her. So we must make her cooler. Agnet, fetch some fresh cold water.”

“But…” Clearly torn between tradition and a need to do something, she stared at him while Agnet hurried away. “You really think it will help?”

“At this stage, I don’t see that it can harm her.”

Gwyneth nodded once and picked the baby up. By the time Agnet returned with a little tub full of water, Brea was undressed. Unquestioning now, Gwyneth knelt by the tub and held her child in the cool, clean water.

Brea cried at the shock, but Gwyneth kept cupping water over her body, sprinkling it gently over her face and head.

I did this
, Ragnorak kept thinking.
I made her ill.
Forcing himself to speak, he said, “When she’s cooler, we’ll take her back.”

“Back?” Gwyneth repeated without comprehension.

“To the surface. To her own world. I never thought of Elohim making her ill.”

There was a pause. Gwyneth glanced at him over her shoulder, a peculiarly clear look, although her expression was unreadable. “Children get ill,” she said. “We try to make them better. Sometimes it works.”

Was that an attempt at absolution? It warmed his heart, but he knew it didn’t absolve him. As she turned back to the child, Agnet touched his shoulder.

“In the old days,” his housekeeper said, “we did get ill. Or so the stories say.”

“They’re just stories.”

“Maybe. But the stories say it was the kings who overcame the illnesses.”

“Self-serving propaganda,” Ragnorak said impatiently. “Put about by my ancestors.”

“Maybe,” Agnet said again.

Gwyneth’s gaze was fixed on her. “Are you saying that Svartan
can
cure Brea?”

Agnet shrugged. “I’m saying it’s a possibility, and maybe one worth trying.”

Gwyneth said nothing, merely returned her gaze to the baby. Ragnorak moved closer. It might have been his imagination, but the baby seemed to be breathing more easily. Her eyes were closed.

“I think she’s cooler,” Gwyneth said. “More peaceful.”

“We must keep her cool,” Ragnorak said. “The illness won’t disappear with the bathwater. Dress her lightly and we’ll take her back.”

Unexpectedly, Gwyneth’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. Blindly, she took the proffered towel from Agnet and lifted Brea out of the water, wrapping her loosely in the soft fabric.

She paused. “I’ll still need a doctor… As you say, the illness won’t vanish with the bathwater. Perhaps it won’t vanish with Elohim, either.” Taking a deep breath, she held the baby out to Ragnorak. “Please. Heal her.”

Ragnorak opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked from her intense, suddenly trusting eyes to Agnet’s decisive ones.

“There’s nothing to lose,” the servant said.

Slowly, Ragnorak took Brea in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open as if she was aware of the change-over. For an instant her eyes looked trustingly into his, a mirror of her mother’s.

Ragnorak’s throat closed.
I would give the world, my own life, to keep you safe…
With his emotion, a desire to heal rose up so strongly that it was a need, a necessity. Placing his hand on her little chest, he felt the fluttering beat of her heart, the uneven rising and falling of her lungs. He breathed with her, lost his heartbeat in hers. It was as if he felt her internal organs, his mind wishing with all the considerable strength and emotion of which he was capable to sweep the alien illness from her body, the fever from her blood. He sensed all her heat, her angry, bewildered discomfort, and tried to draw it into himself, to free her.

She stopped breathing.

With a jolt, Ragnorak came back to himself, withdrawing in terror whatever unknown and uncontrolled power he’d exposed her to. With a cry of utter despair and loss, he almost threw her into Gwyneth’s arms, desperate to get the child away from him. Gwyneth’s cry seemed to echo his, and so deep was his grief that it was several moments before he realized her voice conveyed only joy and relief.

As he stared, stunned, at mother and child, Gwyneth’s tear-stained face came back into focus. She was smiling.

“I can feel it,” she whispered. “She is healed. I knew you could. I knew you would…”

“Imagination,” Ragnorak said hoarsely. “I did nothing but wish.”

Agnet touched the baby and smiled. “She’s breathing normally again. And I can see little sign of fever. Even her color is coming back to normal—pretty, golden little thing that she is.”

Quietly, Agnet left the room, leaving Ragnorak and Gwyneth staring in wonder at Brea. Whether it had come from him or not, the child seemed immeasurably better. She was actually asleep in Gwyneth’s arms. Trembling with reaction, Gwyneth laid her in the cradle and with the automatic movements of familiarity, began to put a clean diaper on her. That done, ignoring the clothes, she simply replaced the coverlet.

Ragnorak’s throat worked. He thought he was going to weep. But instead, words spilled out of his mouth in an agonized whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Gwyneth straightened, staring at him in genuine incomprehension. “For what? You healed her. I’m convinced you saved her life. I will never forget that, Svartan, never.”

“Ragnorak.” It came out as a strangled whisper.

“What?”

He couldn’t bear the softness in her eyes, which not only forgave him but glistened with gratitude. He swung away from her, saying harshly, “Ragnorak. My true name is Ragnorak. And surely we both know it was I who endangered her in the first place.”

He didn’t know why he reminded her. She would realize it soon enough when the first rush of relief had passed and she could think straight again. But he needed to be honest now, even though he could hardly bear the emotions tearing him apart. He had to get out of here. Five minutes’ solitude and then he would take them back…

Grief swamped him, fighting with the guilt and the relief and a tenderness so profound it rocked him to his core. When she touched him, he gasped, trying to pull farther away from her, but she followed, peering up into his face with wonder.

Her blue eyes were huge and beautiful. He didn’t know how he could bear to let her go. But he knew he couldn’t keep her. He should never have brought her or the child.

Her hand lifted. Her fingertips brushed his cheek, and he realized it was wet with the tears he hadn’t known he’d shed.

“Svartan,” she whispered. “Ragnorak…” His name on her lips pierced his soul, filled him with delight and desolation. “My demon… You wept once before, the night we made our bargain. How could I have forgotten that?”