The Magic Queen (13 page)

He wanted to ask her to change. He knew she had no clothes in her bottomless bag of spells, but he could conjure something for her. Unfortunately, his powers were limited in this realm. The rules for all the males were the same: they could help only in the most direst of circumstances, but otherwise were unable to tap into their full store of powers.

But surely a dress wasn’t beyond him. He looked at her, ready to suggest it, but again her tinkling laughter clawed at his flesh, making him break out in a wash of prickles.

No, she’d woken up in good spirits, which for Baba, was saying something. His prickly little pear was up to no good. He could see it in the way her lips held a perpetual curve. The last thing he wanted was to awaken the shrew inside of her just yet. Save that for battle.

Peabrain’s lip curled. “Haven’t died yet, I see.”

Baba’s eyes glowed as she glanced over at Freyr, as if to say, “what a silly thing, he is.”

His heart swelled in his chest, and he rubbed at it uncomfortably. For some days now, Freyr had been coming to a startling epiphany. He wanted more than just Baba’s sex. He wanted sex. Obviously. But he liked talking to her too. She didn’t bore him. For someone as long lived as he, that was a minor miracle in and of itself. Her wit was as sharp as a rapier, and he reveled in it. This clearly made him a bit of a masochist because not even he found himself exempt from her barbs.

Calling him Fellatio... Who did that? Well, she did. And he couldn’t stop laughing whenever she said it. Constantly being called a baboon, an idiot, dolt, moron...he should despise her. He did not. Not even a little.

Today, things felt even worse because seemingly overnight, this affliction had only tripled in size. There were a plethora of little things he found enchantingly disarming about her. And last night, she’d come to his bed nude, and he hadn’t bloody touched her!

He should be awarded a medal for his level of restraint. He’d wanted to touch her, all right—wanted to claim her, mate her violently, reverently, in any manner possible.

It was an act of torture to keep his hands to himself. Last night, when she’d begun to snore—and really, even that was disgustingly cute—he was forced to relieve the pressure of a raging hard-on that refused to go away so that he could manage a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Her movements were ethereal this morning. He was bewitched, even by something as minor as her tucking a wayward strand of her nut-brown hair behind her ear. Freyr had known of Kingdom, had heard tales of the dark witch, but all of it with passing fancy, too wrapped up in his own lusty thoughts to give some witch even a minute of his precious time.

Now Baba was all he could think about. Her peachy, creamy skin that really didn’t have a single mark upon it. Her shell-pink nipples that poked out like pretty little buds tempting him to taste. The fact that she had a trimmed little bush between her thighs.

He’d tried not to look, to act the gentleman, but come on. Any male—god or not—who enjoyed the sight of feminine flesh couldn’t
not
look. And then he’d woken up, only to feel her pressed tight into his side, and he’d had to squeeze his eyes shut, count to twenty, and imagine that his witch wasn’t in maiden form but crone. That hadn’t worked too well either because he couldn’t imagine her being anything other than a beautiful old hag with great tits. He sighed.

Baba frowned as she finished adjusting her vest, shoving a few more vials into the pockets hidden neatly out of sight.

“What?” she snapped.

Even annoyed, she aroused him. Shifting on the balls of his feet to try and ease the insufferable ache in his balls, he shrugged, but then blurted out the thought that’d dominated his other thoughts of her. “Come here, woman.”

She lifted a brow as though to say, “excuse me,” but rather than argue, she stepped toward him. And he wanted to crow like rooster at the tiny victory. She’d actually come. Would wonders never cease?

“Well, baboon, I’m here. What do you want with me?”

He clenched his fingers because what he wanted with her was definitely not appropriate behavior for the little demon imp to see. Squashing his lusty thoughts, he said, “You need more clothes.”

Her mouth thinned dangerously, and he shook his head.

“If it were up to me, I’d watch you prance around naked all day long, every day—”

“I’m hardly nude, you prude,” she interrupted him.

Holding up a finger, he pressed on. “You go to do battle with Fiera.”

A hiss followed that statement, and he realized Peabrain had made it. The little demon apparently was in a bad mood today.

Dropping a hand to the outside curve of her luscious thigh Freyr squeezed, fighting the urge to hang on tight, tear off her pathetic excuse for underthings, and shove straight up into her. She let out a little gasp of noise that caused his erection to bob in response. Realizing it’d been a mistake to tempt fate and touch her, he released her as though burned and grinned, though he hardly felt like laughing right now.

“Unlike the other three we’ve faced, she too is a goddess and very powerful. One touch of her fire to your delicate flesh, and you’ll be—”

“Rack of Baba?” she finished for him. Laughter threaded her words.

And his lips twitched in response. “Something like that.”

She patted his chest, and like an adolescent with hormones raging out of control, he leaned into her touch, greedy for more of it.

“Not to worry, Fellatio. I’ve chosen my spells accordingly.”

Green eyes sparkled like polished emeralds winking in the sunlight. Her pale, creamy skin, so perfectly unblemished, tempted him to touch. No longer able to resist the instinct, he did just that, feathering a finger along the graceful curve of her cheek.

She held absolutely still. Her bow-shaped lips parted just slightly, and her doe eyes widened. She wet her lips, and he almost lost it. As a god versed in the arts of seduction, he knew what all these signs meant, but Baba wasn’t like other women. Her body might chemically want what he offered, but she was a woman who demanded more than simply satisfying the lusts of the flesh. Freyr rather feared she was an all-or-nothing kind of woman.

Wishing he’d never started touching her in the first place, he dropped his hand and took a step back, determined to act less impulsively in the future. Her shift in composure was so subtle few might have caught it. But after spending days with only her for company, he saw the squaring of her shoulders and the notching of her chin as a clear sign that she was aware he’d pulled back and would no longer welcome his advances.

Stomach a riot of nerves, he pushed his confusing, muddled thoughts away and focused on the present problem.

“I’ve a little magick at my disposal. What I’d like to do is craft a dress for you made of flame-retardant properties.”

Crossing her arms, she tapped her booted foot. “And this has nothing to do with my almost nakedness, you say.” She snorted, but the words lacked bite. “Fine, Fellatio, I give my consent. Only leave my arms bare. I need complete flexibility of movement. The very last thing I want it to try and throw a spell only to be hindered by a ridiculous bell sleeve.”

“No sleeves.” He almost breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t appear to be angry with him. Weaving his fingers together, he called to the winds of magick. There was a tree in his home called a fire oak. Its leaves were a deep shade of teal and immune to the touch of fire. In fact, the leaves themselves always seemed to be lit by a perpetual halo of soft blue flame. It was merely an illusion, as touching the leaves did not burn. It was with those leaves he crafted her gown.

She held out her arms as the gown suddenly encased her slender form, cinching tight at her waist and flaring out like a confectioner’s delight at the bottom. His heart banged like a drum in his chest at the sight of a very feminine Baba Yaga.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he almost regretted the dress. It shouldn’t be possible that she looked more tempting fully clothed than not, but before him stood a Queen, a goddess of wild magick.

“
Hm
. Nice,” she said, completely unaware of the turmoil raging through him. “Well, idiot, what do you think?”

What did he think? He thought that maybe this was a big, bloody, stupid mistake and that he should put her back in her ugly leathers. Clenching his jaw, he said, “You look fine. Are we ready?”

And for a moment, he could have sworn something like a flicker of hurt had shadowed her face, but that flicker came and went like the winking out of candlelight. He shook his head because surely, Baba Yaga did not care what he thought.

“You’re acting weird, Fellatio.” She narrowed her eyes.

It was all he could do to grin back at her as though unaffected. “Don’t I always?” He nodded toward Peabrain and extended his arm. “Lead the way, little demon.”

“Whatever,” he sniped and hopped toward the silvery, shimmering curtain of light that’d appeared from thin air, ready to transport them to their next battleground.

As Freyr made to walk through the veil, Baba snatched him back by the elbow. Her green eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed.

“Head in the game, idiot. Fiera’s tough as hell. And the last thing I need is my sack of meat slowing me down.”

He cocked his head. “Don’t tell me you actually care about me, hell cat?”

She snorted and moseyed on through the veil.

He suddenly couldn’t stop smiling. She’d said
my
.

Chapter 8

Baba Yaga

Fiera’s battlegrounds weren’t at all what Baba had expected. With Fiera being an elemental of fire, Baba had expected perhaps a wilderness of sulfur, volcanic rocks, and ash, not a barren landscape of nothing but arctic blue ice, howling winds, and dark gray skies.

“Holy sheeeet, it’s colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra.” She hugged her arms to her chest, grateful for Freyr’s forethought in crafting her a gown that actually trapped her body heat close to her shivering flesh.

Freyr chuckled. “I could test that theory out for you if you’d like.”

“Oh, shut up.” She grinned, relieved almost beyond imagining that whatever mood had struck him back in their realm, he’d seemed to move beyond it.

The dress. She loved it. Baba was not now and never had been a girly girl. Pragmatic to the core, she did not care about such trivial pursuits such as vying for a man’s attention. She knew she was beautiful in maiden form. It went without saying. It’d never been much of an issue for her before.

But suddenly, the thought of Freyr ever seeing her in crone form made her break out in beads of sweat. She was, in a word, ugly as a crone. She’d not need to worry about that for eight months yet, so why was she even thinking about it now?

Muttering beneath her breath, she reminded herself that the time to do battle was upon her. Like she’d told him earlier, it was time for her to get her head on right and focus.

Peabrain had left with a screeched, “hate you,” almost the moment they’d stepped on through to this gods-awful place, obviously smart enough not to want to hang around in this icy tundra.

Pumping her hands to try and get blood moving, she noted with a frown that the tips of her fingers had begun to turn blue.

“
Blergh
,” she groaned, hoping against hope she wouldn’t turn into a popsicle before they were allowed to leave.

Being a god definitely came with some perks. Mr. God of Sex over there didn’t even look the tinniest bit put out by the cold. He stood tall as an oak with his gorgeous mane of silvery hair whipping in the wind, reminding her of some cheesy romance novel hero smoldering on a book cover. Even the edge of his shirt had lifted up a little so that a strip of sun-kissed flesh was exposed. All he needed to do now was strike a pose.

“You look like you want to eat me,” he said. “I can’t decide whether that’s a good or bad thing.”

Deciding to ignore that comment because she was definitely feeling a rush of hunger that had nothing at all to do with stomach pains, she banded her arms tight around herself., “I think I’m not the only one Calypso hates. I cannot believe she stuck her sister—an fire elemental—in here.”

Freyr chuckled, and she thought he meant to tease her back, but the easy smile of seconds ago vanished as he cupped his ear and swayed a little toward the left with a look of total concentration on his face.

“Do you hear that?” he asked a second later.

She frowned, wondering if maybe he meant the wind since that was all she could presently hear. She was about to say so when she stilled because she’d definitely heard something other than wind: a squeaking, chattering noise. And it was suddenly growing louder.

Twirling on her heel, she stared in astonishment as thousands upon thousands of snow-white rats screeched and ran their way. Their red beady eyes, distinct against the white-out conditions, had her spinning fanciful thoughts of demon rodents come to consume their flesh in a ravenous plague. But the rats didn’t seem to care a whit about them. In fact, they seemed more terrified than in attack mode.

The rats ran, heedless of anything that stood in their way. Their movements were frenzied and hurried as they rushed past, scampering over her boots, some of them disoriented and crawling up her skirts. She glanced at Freyr and noted the same was happening to him.

Reaching for that same belt pouch that he’d pulled a ship out of during Fable’s battle, Freyr snatched up as many rats as he could, stuffing them inside almost haphazardly. Knowing immediately what he was doing, she began to do the same, ripping the rats off her skirts and shoving them into his bag, as many as she could lay her hands on.

When it was all said and done, they’d secured at least five-dozen of the pests, if not more. Freyr’s grin was exultant, and she returned one in kind. But then the plague of rats disappeared as swiftly as it’d shown up, and Baba sensed Fire’s presence. Freyr secured the pouch bag on his hip before maneuvering himself slightly so that he now stood in front of her. As though for protection.

She grinned. How cute he was. Never in her life had she needed protection, not even against a goddess, but the mere fact that he’d done it made her feel all warm and gooey inside.
What an adorable idiot.