to produce a weapon and try to take me by force.
“You are wasting time,” I tell you. I do not know you, but I do not want to see you slain by the Sidhe. “It could cost you your life and the lives of your companions.”
But you are not listening to me. You wrestle with your garment, pulling out a bejeweled cross that hangs on a leather thong. My anger rises at the sight of it. I grab the leather, clutching it around your neck so that I am choking you. Your eyes pop out and your face turns red. You are surprised to be attacked this way by a woman. “That belongs to my mother,” I say, hissing at you, pulling your face closer to mind. “You stole it from her.” My sister and I are exchanging thoughts and we arrive at the same conclusions-you are just another mortal who spied my mother in the woods; just another whom she has taken for a lover and cast aside, and you, vengeful, stole her cross. “Damned is the man who steals from the Sidhe,” my sister tells him, looking him up and down. Suddenly, though, she bursts out laughing. I look to see what she is laughing at, and I am amused to see that even though I mean to choke you, being this close to me has given you an erection.
“Your father sent me,” you say. “He told me to find you and give it to you.”
Now it is my turn to be shocked. I release you so that you can catch your breath. I have not seen my father in years but know from my inner sight that he left Aquitaine to fight in the Holy Wars. I do not know where he is, but I know that he is alive. But the cacophony of the Sidhe is upon us. The drumbeat of their galloping horses, the sharp barking of the dogs that accompany them everywhere, and their music that sounds strangely like the color silver grow louder and louder, and we can hear them singing one of their rowdy songs as they come in pursuit of pleasure with us.
I have to make a decision. My heart is telling me to follow the man in front of me, the man who my father anointed to seek me out and give me this gift. But in the grove, the authority belongs to the high priestess. Reading my thoughts, she waves her feather-covered wand at us. “Go with him,” she says. “And hurry.”
Spurred on by the approach of the fairies, your men have readied their horses. One of them doubles up with another so that I can ride his horse, a moon-white stallion with a long mane. Before you help me mount, you pull the claw gloves off my hands, so that I can ride, and throw them into the bushes. As we start to ride away, the Sidhe warriors leap into the grove on their horses, slipping through the trees and the brush as if they did not exist, lighting up the dark space with their celestial glow. Glimpsing the dazzling Sidhe, with their radiant skin, bronze colored hair, and shimmering green mantles, I have a moment of regret, wondering what might have been.
But there is no time for wistfulness. You come behind me and kick my horse hard, making him bolt away. Ahead of us, your men fly through the night, and we follow. The animals know the terrain and gallop down the path so that the landscape is a blur. My head is still clouded by the moonflower broth, so I close my eyes and make myself one with the steed until I can no longer feel my own body but have melted into his. I feel his animal strength infusing my body with his power, and his with mine, and when I open my eyes again, it is to look up at the stars, which swirl above in a greenish glow.
After a time, we approach a stone castle guarded by men in the torchlit watchtower and surrounded by a deep ditch. One of the riders calls out to them, and they lower the bridge so that we can enter. Inside the gate, you, my blue-eyed captor, help me off my horse, and I fall into your arms, where it feels as familiar as if I have done this one thousand times and will do it one thousand times more. Someone lets us inside, and we pass through a large room with men sitting round a fire, who look at us as if this is just another ordinary sight. You carry me through a torchlit hall and into a bare room with a tall hearth and iron bars slashing the two windows high in the walls.
You place me on a mattress on the floor covered in furs near the hearth, and I yelp in pain as a thorn in the back of my crown pierces my scalp. Gently, you remove the crown and kiss my wound. But as you toss the crown aside, another thorn tears your finger, making a slit in the skin that soon fills with red. We are both startled at the sight, but I take your finger into my mouth and suck some of the blood, savoring its fresh taste and your salty iron flavor.
I want to show you my magic, so I when I have had my fill of tasting you and of watching your desire rise, I take your finger out of my mouth and show you the cut again. Then concentrating deeply, I run the tip of my tongue along the incision very slowly, first once, and then a few more times, sliding my tongue sensuously along the cut. In my mind’s eye I see you watching me in wonder, those gemstone eyes of yours sparkling with arousal.
When I stop, I show you that the wound is closed and the skin, unbroken.
I thought that you would be awed by my magic, but, instead, without a word, your lips are on mine. Your hands have untied my silver sash and are inside my robes, grasping greedily at my body. I feel your raw, human hunger and I answer it. It is not my first time making love with a mortal. I love the body heat that comes with palpable human desire, and the scent and taste of flesh and blood. Earth time collapses, and we enter a timeless space, kissing with great care, exploring every inch of our lips, tongues, faces, and necks. You discard your braies and hose and you pull up my dress to look at my body, touching the wine-red mark on my thigh, tracing its winglike shape with your finger.
“The mark of the Sidhe.” Some ignorant men think it the mark of the devil, and I hope that you are not one of them. But your look tells me that you are feeling something else, something closer to wonder. Because I am infatuated with you, I cannot read you as clearly as I would like.
“Why are you not living with the Sidhe?” you ask.
“My human side enjoys earthly pleasure,” I say, and it is true. I like the solid beat of a human heart, the aroma of roasting meat, and the delicate tickling of rain on my face. “I am not like my mother who loves mortals but wearies of them. I have a different nature, and I am still trying to discover it.”
“Are you immortal?”
“Perhaps,” I say. “I can extend my life by spending time in the Sidhe kingdom. But whether I am forever, I do not know.”
At this moment, my Sidhe blood is taking over as I inhale your scent. That small taste of your blood has aroused me, and I want to drink more, but I do not want to weaken you or kill you. My mother would be angry with me for these feelings. She hates me to question my nature.
“You have endangered yourself by bringing me here,” I say. I am looking at your bare legs, and they draw me like a magnet. I push them apart, my fingers slowly creeping up the length of your thighs as I lick my lips, anticipating the thrill of tasting you. Your eyes are wide now, straining to see what I will do to you, but I have paralyzed you with my touch. Without warning, I bring my mouth to the muscle at the innermost part of your thigh, surrounding the flesh with my lips, teasing, licking, kissing, and nibbling, first one side of the groin and then the other. You open your legs wider, making yourself vulnerable to me. You let me take more of your inner thigh into my mouth, so that my cheek rests on your sac, and I fondle it very gently with one hand while the other holds your bare, tense buttock. You close your eyes and moan with pleasure and anticipation. But I use that moment of weakness to break your skin with my teeth and bite into your tender flesh, taking what I want from you while you cry out in ecstasy and surprise. When I am done, you are panting and glowing with your own sweat.
But unlike some of the others I have been with, you quickly recover. “You are not ordinary,” I say.
“I am accustomed to danger and practiced in the ways of mysticism. Even if I were not, a night with you would be worth my life,” you say.
I fold my arms around you and pull you toward me, taking your lips and tongue into my mouth. You kiss me back with ferocity, and I see that you have not been weakened by me. Indeed, your erect penis is stabbing at me, looking for entry, and I realize that indeed you are a mortal like no other. The taste of your tongue pleases me, and I want to bite your lip, but I refrain, instead wrapping my legs around you to invite all of you to come into me. You enter me slowly, a man familiar with women’s pleasure. I wait for you to thrust hard into me so that I can meet your passion, but you barely move, and your body trembles. I remember that I do not feel like an ordinary woman to you, and you must grow accustomed to the hum of my body. You hold my hips tight against your pelvis as if you are trying to consume me. I feel you steady your breathing and your heartbeat as if you are preparing for battle, and, reading your memories, I have flashes of the kind of warrior you are-fierce and unfazed by your enemies. When you are ready, you pace yourself, moving in and out of me rhythmically until you reach the end of
