There was something about the simple act in that moment of intimacy that really spoke to her. She felt him in a totally different manner than their carnal act.
They had broken through a barrier here, and she was proud of him for it. For fighting. Because that’s what he had done. He had fought his demons, his inner turmoil and guilt, grief and all manner of other emotion, and he’d fought it for her.
She felt special for it.
They continued like that, little touches and sighs, along with the other usual noises of sex, including awkward sounds, muscle cramps and all the laughable moments, for longer than she could remember. Time simply flowed away, and she stopped paying attention to it.
She was too caught up in him.
“Christine,” he groaned in her ear. There was something different about it, in the timbre, the way her name rolled of his lips.
It only took a moment for her to register what it was. Without speaking, she pushed him back up onto his knees. There was a moment of whimpering sadness as he slid free of her, but she knew that wouldn’t last.
Climbing from her back, she got on all fours, turning her rear to him. Altair immediately picked up on what she was going for and positioned himself behind her. Hands grabbed her hips and pulled her back, practically impaling her on him. He was so hard now, she could feel him pulsing.
Her arms collapsed almost immediately, but Altair didn’t seem to care as her upper body rested on the floor. In fact, she swore she heard a delighted growl as he thrust into her again, and again, and again. He gripped tighter, pulling her back onto him until her entire ass shook every time he came home.
The roughness and the ever-increasing speed were at total odds from earlier, and she knew immediately she wasn’t going to last long. Her already drained body rose once more. She pushed a hand between her legs, trying to satisfy the pulsing need in her clit even as Altair took her the way he needed.
He shouted her name just as she clamped down around him, losing her breath as her body refused to work for several long seconds, paralyzed by pleasure.
Then she sagged to the floor, gasping for air as Altair spilled himself across her lower back and rear. She shivered at the warmth, the contrast to the coolness of the arena heightening the moment.
“Wow,” Altair grunted from behind her as he went practically limp. “That was...”
“Uh huh.” It was all she could manage, lying cold and naked on the floor.
Well, not entirely cold.
“You...that’s what you planned to happen, right?” he asked.
Her chest bounced with silent laughter, still too drained to make any noise. “Planned is a bit of a stretch,” she admitted. “I just kind of went with it. I hadn’t thought about it, but it just seemed...right.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, losing himself deep in thought. “Yeah I guess it did.”
She let him have his moment, to think about it, to contemplate everything.
Across the arena from them one of the doors opened.
“Oh shit!” she yelped, reaching for her clothes and standing up, only to feel the remains of their session drip down her back and legs. “Oh, ew, no, what the heck!”
“Here!” Altair rumbled, thrusting her robes at her. Put this on. Asap.”
“Hey!” the newcomer shouted. “What are you two doing in here?”
“We have to go!” she hissed as the other witch, likely a Master, started across the huge arena for them.
“Yeah, I know.” Altair had his pants on now, but nothing else. “Hold on tight. Like in the library.”
“What? Oh no,” she yelped, lunging at him, clinging to his half-naked torso as he swept her up in a bubble for a second time.
They raced out of the arena, past the stunned witch and out into the halls of Winterspell.
“I really need to stop getting caught in public places with you,” she laughed as they sailed out into the night sky, the cold updraft a little unpleasant through her robes to the bare skin beneath. Not that she cared. Not right then.
“Well how about we go somewhere more private?” he suggested.
“That would be nice,” she agreed, resting her head on his chest and going where the winds took her and Altair.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Altair
NO. NO, DON’T DO IT! Run for it!
It was happening again. He knew it. Fighting was no use, there was no point to it. It would happen like it did every time. The children would run. He would fight.
And in the end, they would all die.
He thrashed and lashed out, hitting the Infected dragons with every ounce of power he had. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, he could save someone. Just one of them.
Like before, the dragon erupted from the ground and—
Altair sat up straight, eyes bursting open wide. He was panting, chest heaving as a cold sweat poured down his face. He was confined, trapped. Throwing the sheets aside, he leapt from bed, cool air sending tingles along his body as it brushed across the sweat that was everywhere.
The dream. He’d been having the dream again. Nightmare, more like it. Every time he had it lately, he ended up like this, in the halls of Winterspell, on his back, with either Rane, or Damien, or sometimes both, standing over him.
And my face always hurts like hell like this...
Eventually, his thoughts trickled through his brain, setting off a flashing red light of sorts, trying to get his attention. It took another half a minute for him to realize what his mind was trying to tell him.
He wasn’t in the hallways. He was in his room, had in fact been in his own bed when he’d woken up. No sleepwalking this time.
On top of that, he wasn’t on his back. His face didn’t hurt. Nobody had punched him. The concerned faces of Rane and Damien were not there.
He was alone.
“Hey...” a soft voice said from behind him.
Altair
