pdf - From the Ashes.PDF (4 page)

Cilia walked over to the trays and peered down at them. “What do you think?”

Fiach lifted a tray to his nose and inhaled. He sneezed and rubbed his nose. “He’s coated it in Fairy Dust, a powdered aphrodisiac.” To prove his point, his eyes dropped to his crotch, and hers did as well. An enviable bulge in the leather was a testament to how potent the drug was. He had grown twice the size he was before they had been interrupted. He reached down to gently adjust himself but winced as he touched the sensitized skin. Even through the fabric barrier, his touch was painful.

He draped his long body across the bed, propped his arms behind his head, and then crossed his feet at the ankles. He looked at ease, but she knew him well enough to recognize the suffering in his eyes. The worst part was the familiar knowledge that he had of the drug and his calm while facing its effects. Her stomach turned when she realized his familiarity with the potent drug, most likely used as the final resort to arouse him enough to complete his bargains with Arvel. She could think of no other reason for his calm acceptance of the situation.

“Fiach…” she started.

He held a hand up to silence her. “I’m fine, Cilia. I refuse to put on a show for our jailer’s amusement.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurting.”

He snorted. “Believe me, I’ve hurt a lot worse than this before. At least, this is a pleasant torment.” He turned his head and captured her eyes. “It wouldn’t be as potent if I didn’t want to be inside of you so badly, already.”

“I could…”

“No, I won’t share any part of you with him.”

“You wouldn’t have to.”

*

Fiach’s brow crinkled. He watched Cilia approach and was tempted to laugh at his uncertainty. She straddled his thighs and gently unbuttoned his pants and slid open the zipper. His mouth opened, and she covered it with her palm. “Let me ease you, Fiach.”

His hands folded over his stomach and interlaced. His knuckles whitened from the strain of keeping them still. He longed to twine his fingers in her hair and force her lips to his burning cock. Instead, he lay perfectly still and let her take her time.

She folded the leather aside, as though she were unwrapping a gift. She freed him gently, and the chilled air made his arousal more painful. Cilia leaned down until her lips hovered over the head of his erection. Her warm breath fanned his engorged flesh.

Then her lips closed over his cock and engulfed him. His hips twisted and tried to force more of his eager flesh into her mouth. Cilia groaned and lowered her lips almost to his base before she timidly suckled the heavily veined shaft and started a slow slide back to his tip.

Her tongue darted out to lick over the slit of his crown. When she pressed into the narrow opening, his hips bowed off the bed. He had to force himself to still, and even then, his hips began a slow pumping motion to show her how he wanted to be taken. She took the lead and quickened her lips while increasing the suction until he thought she would swallow him whole.

She reached down, held his sac in her palm, and rubbed the tender pouch. He was almost ready; his blood strummed in his veins. Then Cilia’s fingers tightened on his balls and squeezed with gentle pressure. Her mouth stopped just at the head of his cock as his orgasm swept through him. He swore he saw colors as the pleasure rippled through him in waves; the drug heightened his release to the point of pain. After a moment, he realized that Cilia still nursed his softening erection as the heated pulses erupted from the tip.

He reached down to tangle his hands in her hair and lift her face to him. He hoped his love and appreciation for her kindness showed in his expression, because he was without words for what she had done.

She freed her mouth with a soft pop and licked her reddened lips before crawling up the bed. She lay on her side and stroked his chest through his t-shirt. She snuggled close as sleep claimed her. Fiach held his mate and listened to the soft intake of air as it whispered over her parted lips.

The reprieve that Cilia had granted him wouldn’t last long. It would take days for the drug to pass through his system, and until then, he would be struggling for control of his arousal. Jarlath was counting on him to succumb to the raging need building inside of his body. Thanks to his dealings with Arvel, Fiach had some control over his urges, but eventually the rising need would have to be sated.

For the second time in two days, Fiach woke swearing. A sharp point dug into his side. His eyes opened, and he looked down to find Cilia curled into his chest. His heart softened, as other parts hardened, at the sight of her sleep-flushed face. His swollen cock was a crude reminder of the Fairy Dust that he had inhaled the night before. Reassured that his mate was secure, he twisted to address the pain in his side.

A sphere of incandescence hovered only inches above his side; the tiny ball of light flickered to and fro while pressing the tip of a crystal dagger into his flesh. He held his hands up in surrender and twisted onto his back.

The luminescent orb stabbed him hard in the side and drew the knife through the flow of blood. The radiance faded and revealed a tiny person who promptly brought the blade to her lips and licked the red liquid. Her wings fluttered appreciatively.

“It is you,” Arabella chirped.

Fiach rolled his eyes. “You had to stab me to figure that out?”

The tiny fairy shoulders rose and dipped. “Your aura has changed. You no longer seem yourself.” Then she flittered over him and landed on his stomach; her tiny feet tickled the skin. She held her dagger out and pointed it towards Cilia. “Can I poke it?”

she asked, clearly glorying in the sharp blade, which he knew to be a recent gift from his mother.

“No, Bella, you most certainly cannot poke it. That is Cilia. She is my mate.” The tiny fae still looked confused, so he clarified with a word he knew she would understand.

“She is my
D’Ame
.”

“Your
D’Ame
?” Bella squeaked.

Fiach nodded. “Yes.”

Bella’s eyes glittered. “Your mother does not know! You are not bound by the way of our people.”

“Not yet. I wanted to give Cilia time to know me before attempting such old magic.”

“I’m telling.” Bella stomped off; her feet rose into the air as her tiny dragonfly wings fluttered excitedly. Tiny fae had very child-like temperaments. To Bella, having this secret to tell was akin to tattling on an older brother.

Fiach caught her in between his large palms, careful not to ruffle a hair on her tiny head. “Did Mother send you here for a reason, Bella?”

The tiny doll face scrunched in concentration. Then her glow expanded in a sharp crack. “Yes! Yes! The Lady said to bring you home. That you had called and asked for transport.”

“Wonderful. We really would like to leave as soon as possible.”

Bella’s face turned petulant. “The Lady said nothing of bringing this other thing. She said to fetch her son and bring him home.”

“She is my
D’Ame.
Mother would never expect me to return home without her.”

Bella considered this for a moment. “The Lady has missed you so.” She gave herself a shake and flittered from his hands. “Gather the other; I will do as you ask.”

Fiach grinned and shook Cilia awake. Her large sleep-softened eyes found his and then rounded when she saw the glow coming from over his shoulder.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

“It! I am not an It!”

Fiach pressed a kiss to Cilia’s plumped lips. “Yes, she is exactly what you think, but please, her name is Bella, and she is our way out, so play nice.”

“My name is Arabella, daughter of Marabella and granddaughter of the great Christabella, great granddaughter of the…”

Fiach pressed a finger to the tiny Fae lips. Bella snarled around his finger, which was large enough to cover her face. “We know your lineage, Bella, and are very impressed by it.”

He elbowed Cilia, and she took the hint. “Yes Arabella, I am awed to be in the presence of someone of your ancestry.”

Bella preened, spiraled through the air, and then landed on Cilia’s shoulder. “Maybe your
D’Ame
is not so bad after all.”

Cilia mouthed the word, “What?” but he pretended not to understand.

Bella launched herself from her perch and glided into the air above their heads.

“Ready? I’m ready.” Then she lifted her sword high over head, and they flashed from the catacombs into a lavish throne room filled with lithe Sidhe, the larger cousin of the small fae.

A statuesque woman reclined on the throne in the center of the room. Dozens of subjects surrounded her. Their expressions varied from curious to feigned boredom. The woman opened her hand, and Arabella zoomed forward to dance into the outstretched palm. She executed a perfect curtsey and announced, “My Lady, I present your son and his
D’Ame
.”

For the span of a minute, no one moved or spoke. Then the Lady rose and glided forward without seeming to move, as though she floated on the very air. “So you have finally come to present her.” She craned her neck to stare at Cilia.

Fiach stepped between them and pulled Cilia into his back. “No, Mother. We were trapped in the catacombs beneath the demon Jarlath’s lair. Arabella was kind enough to bring us here at my request.”

“You are always welcome here Fiach. You need never ask to come home.”

“Thank you, Lady,” he replied.

The Lady turned her intense focus on Cilia. “Do you not wish to be bound in the way of our people?”

“I have not been asked, my Lady.”

The Lady lifted a hand to twirl the crystal pendant hanging from her neck. “Your mate does not know.” She addressed the vague comment to Fiach.

“Know what?” he asked warily.

His Mother’s eyes sparkled. “You will see.” She stepped around him and pried Cilia from his grasp. She enfolded Cilia and whispered words against her cheek. Cilia had a moment to look confused before her blue fire rose and licked along her skin. His mother stepped clear and smiled openly. “It’s true, then.”

She repeated the process with Fiach. She embraced him and whispered words in the liquid language of her people as red flames erupted over his skin. She stood back and stared. “I had forgotten how beautiful you both were.”

“Mother?” he asked.

“There will be time enough for answers later. Now we must plan your
Noce
.” She paused for a moment. “Unless there is doubt?”

Fiach stepped to Cilia’s side and pulled her in for a kiss. Their flames merged, and purple fires arched from their bodies to spill into the air around them. Murmurs and appreciative sighs echoed around them. He looked down to Cilia’s half closed eyes. “I need to ask you something. Just trust that whatever decision you make is the right one.”

He dropped to one knee and cupped her hands between his. “Cilia Andrews, flame of my heart and mate to my soul, will you marry me?”

Whispers filled the hall. “Is she human?” someone asked. To buy time as he awaited her answer, Fiach addressed the crowd. “Cilia lives among humans. I thought it would be fitting to ask for her hand in their traditional way.” His heart dropped when he realized she hadn’t answered.

She freed a hand from his grip and tipped his chin up with a finger. “I will marry you, Fiach. My answer is yes.”

In a blur too fast for her eyes to track, Fiach trapped her in his arms and spun them around the room. His lips dropped to hers. He pierced her mouth with his tongue, tasting the fire simmering below the surface. She burned; the heat consumed his thoughts until the aphrodisiac in his system roared to life. He struggled to stop from tearing the clothes from her body and claiming her in front of the entire Faerie court.

*

Cilia laughed exuberantly as Fiach twirled her around the gilded hall. She couldn’t decide if she was still dreaming or if she was awake. The creatures around her seemed so alien, too beautiful and perfect to be real. Even their voices were as silk caressing her senses.

The loveliest, the most inhuman wore a long gown of spun silver with diamonds woven into the fabric. Her white hair hung in perfect ringlets down to her waist and a fine filigree crown in the same color nestled in her curls. Her face was flawless and smooth.

Her large silver-blue eyes tilted up at an exotic angle, and her too-red lips were full and lush. Most disarming was the fact that Fiach called her, “Mother.”

As if reading the question in her eyes, Fiach leaned in and whispered, “Later,” into her ear. She nodded and let him tuck her tightly against him.

The Lady addressed her. “This must all seem so sudden to you, but I assure you we have waited long years for this time to come. The
Noce
is our most sacred of bindings.

Do not enter into it lightly.” She cast a worried glance at Fiach. “You will both be tested in preparation for your vows. They are dangerous interrogations with potentially lethal consequences.”

He frowned. His mother’s warning unsettled his warm assurance from only moments before. Cilia clutched his arm and reaffirmed her answer. “I wish to be bound to your son. I agree to any test you deem necessary.”

“Mother.” The single word was both a sharp warning and a desperate plea. “She doesn’t understand the power of her words. I ask for lenience on her behalf.”

The smooth lines of the Lady’s face remained impassive; she kept her reaction to his words hidden. “I cannot grant you what you ask. From the moment she agreed to the
Noce,
she is bound to her words, however carelessly offered or naively spoken.”

Cilia paled, too late realizing her mistake. She had agreed to endure any test the Lady required. Fiach was livid. After the stories of his childhood antics in Faerie, she should have realized the value of knowing when to keep her mouth shut.

The Lady addressed her court. “Keep the silence and stay to the light until the trial has passed. I will remain in my rooms until its completion.” Then she turned to Fiach. “I would have a word with my son.”

*

“Rois, please keep watch over Cilia until we return,” the Lady instructed.

A beautiful Sidhe woman stepped from the sea of sameness. She smiled as a human did, a trick that few of the court had mastered. Her expression looked peculiar but honest, with her full red lips lifted and her light silver eyes warmed.