A Stroke of Midnight (Merry Gentry #4)(74)

“The Goddess saw fit to give each court dominion over different areas of fertility,” Hawthorne said.
“What the Goddess saw fit to divide, she can also remake,” Doyle said.
I squeezed Adair’s hand. It made him turn and look at me, a frightening glimpse of eyes, then down at the floor again. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
He spoke with his eyes still downcast. “I am more afraid I will hurt you.”
Frost laughed.
It made all of us look at him.
He shook his head. “Do you remember what I said to you that first night?” he asked.
I smiled, and nodded. “Yes, and I remember what we did.”
“You will not hurt her, Adair. Did you not see what she and Mistral did in the hallway?”
Adair licked his lips, and darted another glance at me. “Did you have an audience the first time?”
“Ah,” Frost said, and a look almost of gentleness came to him.
Doyle put it into words. “We have all been where you are now. So long without the touch of a woman. We all wondered if we had forgotten how to pleasure anyone, including ourselves.” He clapped Adair on the shoulder. “I will not say that we did not improve with practice after so long a fast, but we managed, all of us, from the first time, and so will you.”
“I think he wishes less audience,” I said.
“Who would you have stay, and who go?” Doyle asked.
“Let you and Adair decide.”
That earned me a startled look from Adair. “You would let me choose who stays and who goes?”
“Most of these men are my friends and lovers, but they are not so intimate with you. Tonight is for your pleasure.”
“I want it to be your pleasure, as well.”
I smiled at him. “As do I. What I mean to say is, I have had my pleasure as I wish it. I would have you, this night, have your pleasure as you would wish it.” I sat up, away from the headboard. “How do you want me? What do you want to do with me? What dream or fantasy has tormented you the most? What have you missed the most?”
He looked at me then, not a darting glance, but a full-out stare. His eyes glittered, and it wasn’t magic. “Everything.” He looked away, so I would not see him cry.
“Everything is a tall order,” I said, “when we will be soon to wait upon the queen’s call.”
His shoulders hunched, just a little, almost as if I had struck him.
I squeezed his hand, and pulled him gently toward the bed. “It is a tall order, but I will do my best.”
He looked at me then, and his eyes held disbelief. He simply did not believe that I meant what I said. He did not trust that I would not hurt him, or cheat him, or starve that part of him that Andais had abused for so long.
I went to my knees, and closed the distance between us, with my hands on his shoulders. “Kiss me, please.”
“Please,” he said, and he raised eyes to me that glittered with tears, but held anger. “You say ‘please,’ what trick is this?”
“I say please, so you know that it is not an order. I ask for a kiss, because I want one, but only if you wish to give it.”
He looked back at the men ranged around the room. “Does she understand what this means to us, to be asked?”
Most of them nodded. “She understands,” Doyle said.
“That’s why she does it,” Nicca said, “because she feels our need.”Adair turned back to me. “What would you have of me?”
“Only what you are willing to give,” I said.
He came to my mouth with a sob, but the moment our lips touched, it was as if all the uncertainty vanished. His mouth ate at mine, his fingers dug into my arms. He climbed onto the bed and forced me back against it. He laid his body on top of me, and found, as most of them did, that he was too tall for true missionary position. His body was heavy with need, but not as heavy as it would grow. He grew larger even as he hesitated above me, supporting himself on his arms.
He held himself above me, working very hard not to touch any part of me. I remembered that when I had met him in the hall yesterday his magic had recognized mine. That even being this close to him with my clothes on had made our magic shiver together. Tonight it was as if his body was cold. His hand had been warm in mine. He was alive as any man, but his magic seemed locked away.
I gazed down the length of his body, his skin the color of sunlight through leaves, that wonderful shade of gold that no human suntan can touch. Sun kissed the sidhe called it, and sun kissed it was. I brought my gaze back to his face, and the threefold color of his eyes. Their inner ring of molten gold, then a ring of pale yellow sunlight, and last, and thickest, was an orange-red, like the petals of a marigold. His brown hair had been shaved so short that his face seemed more naked than his body, as if something more important than mere hair had been taken from him when the queen took all that beautiful hair.
I gazed up at his face, and said, “You’re shielding your magic from me, why?”
“Barely touching, and our magic caused the healing spring to appear and run with water again. What will happen if we do more?”
I studied his face, his eyes, and saw . . . fear. Not cowardice, but fear of the unknown, and something more. That fear that you feel at the top of the roller coaster, when you’re afraid of it, but excited about it, too. You want to do it, want to give yourself to the experience, but the desire doesn’t make it not frightening. Less frightening, maybe, but not without fear.
“Not to put too fine a point on things,” Rhys said, “but the queen’s summons could come at any time.”
“Not until she’s done torturing Lord Gwennin,” Frost said.
We looked at him. “I met one of the queen’s maids on the way up from the kitchens. She and Ezekiel have taken a personal interest in Gwennin.”
“Poor bastard,” Rhys said.
Even knowing he’d put a spell on me and Biddy, using our human blood against us, I couldn’t do anything but agree with Rhys. Torture was one thing, being at the queen’s mercy was another; to have both her full attention and her pet torturer’s attention, that was an entirely new level of pain. One I had no wish to contemplate. 
“But there is a little more time,” Frost said, “that is all I meant.”
I gazed up at Adair. “Lower your shields for me, oak lord. Let your magic call to mine, and make light and shadow dance upon the walls.”
A look of something close to pain filled his eyes. He whispered so low that I think none but me heard. “I am afraid.”
I didn’t ask him what he feared, for to do that would risk the other men realizing what he’d said, and he obviously didn’t want that. “Kiss me, Adair, just a kiss.”
“It will not be just a kiss with you,” he whispered.
I smiled at him. “Do you want me to make this offer to Ivi or Hawthorne instead of you?”
He lowered his face, almost making the top of his head touch my body. “No,” and that was almost a shout. He raised his face to me, and there was that look of determination, anger, pride—all the things you usually saw in his eyes. “No,” he said again, and he let go his shields.
CHAPTER 38

HIS MAGIC TREMBLED ABOVE MINE, SHIVERING OVER MY NAKEDness. I writhed under just a touch of his power, and the power wasn’t even manifesting. He had simply stopped shielding as hard as he could. My voice came breathy. “Why does your power feel so different to me?”
He was still just above my body, on hands and toes. He had to swallow twice to say, “Our magic is similar.”
“Like calls to like,” I whispered.
“I am the power that makes the seed break forth from its prison and reach toward the sun.” He began to lower himself, as if doing some exquisitely slow push-up. It was as if he were pushing himself down through layers of power, and our auras began to flare between us, like two different kinds of flame. I could see it inside my head with that vision that has nothing to do with optic nerves and everything to do with dreams. He spoke through the power. “And you are the earth that receives the seed.”
“No,” I whispered, “Amatheon is the earth.”
“He is the plow, not the earth,” Adair said.
I shook my head, shivering as his power curled over mine. Our auras, the very skin of our magic, pushed against each other, two pieces of a half joining together.
“Amatheon is the magic of the earth that quickens the seed. You are the heat of the sun that calls that seed to the light. Amatheon is the lord of the shallow dark, who holds the seed in its dark cradle until you call it forth.” The words were mine, the voice was mine, but I knew the echo of the Goddess by now.
Adair’s power flared so bright we both closed our eyes, as if the vision fire were real, like shielding the eyes from the sun. My power blazed in turn, a white luminance to balance his golden heat.
When the light died down enough to see his face, his eyes were one solid yellow glow, as if his power had swallowed the other colors. It was as if there were some great, golden candle inside his skin, glowing in a long, thick line down the center of his body, but leaving the outer edges of him in a kind of darkness.
My skin glowed as if the full moon were rising up through it. But the moon’s light is a reflection of the heat of the sun. Reflecting Adair’s power made mine grow brighter. It was as if his power was meant to feed mine.
His mouth hovered over mine as he whispered, “If I am that which calls forth the seed, and Amatheon is the ground that holds the seed, then what are you, Meredith? What are you?”