Lord of the Deep (21 page)

The swordfish replied, and Simeon kneed Elicorn ruthlessly. “There isn’t a moment to lose!” he called over the voice of the waves. “We must reach the Isle before Seth finds her there!”

He already has,
said a familiar voice ghosting across is mind. He heard it before he saw its author hovering high overhead.

It was Gideon.

The dark lord swooped down, mercifully where he could make himself heard speaking normally, for Pio’s frantic chatter had blocked out all else in the channels of Simeon’s mind.

“I couldn’t reach her in time,” Gideon said, “and he has taken her where I cannot follow.”

“Where?” Simeon shouted.

“To the training house for priestesses,” Gideon told him. “The passages are too narrow. They will not accommodate my wings.”

Simeon felt the blood drain from his face. It was as if his brain had gone numb.

“Leave the waterhorse and let me carry you there,” Gideon offered.

“Thank you, but no!” said Simeon. “I have need of him and I cannot trust the beast else I stay upon his back!”

A man of few words, the Lord of the Dark gave a nod and a wave and soared off into the night.

Simeon turned to Pio, who was still breaking the waves in his euphoria. “Bring the others!” he charged. “As many as will come!”

Pio streaked off the minute the command left his master’s lips. Plunging beneath the waves, the summoner glided back toward the palace, while Simeon kneed the waterhorse, who had no interest in the situation save galloping with the waves, and drove him toward the distant Isle of Mists.

“W
hat have you done with my aunt and uncle?” Meg shrilled, straining against the shaman’s grip as he dragged her along through the mist. He had evidently fled in naught but the
cote-hardie
he had on when the storm hit, for that was all he wore, and he was naked underneath it, which was evident as it gapped in front. There was no color in him. He was as white as the ghostlike air around them but for a deep red gash on his forehead.

“I have done nothing with them,” Seth said. “They were swept away in the storm. You came back here for them, after they sold you like a pig in the market?”

“My uncle had naught to do with my aunt’s treachery,” Meg defended, digging her heels in. “Regardless, they are my flesh and blood. Let me go!”

“Well, blood or no, they’re dead now—drowned in the sea. You’ve none here to come to your rescue, little whore, and we have unfinished business, you and I.”

The mist was so thick Meg couldn’t see where he was taking her until a building appeared in their path. It was similar to the buildings on Shamans’ Mount in color and shape, though there was no round tower attached to it. Meg knew it at once. She had passed it several times on her solitary walks since she’d come to the Isle. It was the little abbeylike house where novices were trained to serve as priestesses in the temple. The very house where she was to have been prepared what seemed a lifetime ago.

“We shall have the place all to ourselves,” Seth drawled. “All else have fled, so we shan’t be disturbed.”

The sultry tone of his voice riddled Meg with gooseflesh, and she fought him fiercely, digging her fingernails into his hand. When that failed, she swooped down and bit him hard, drawing blood, which earned her a hard slap that would have pitched her over on the sand if he hadn’t flung her across his shoulder and carried her the rest of the distance.

They entered through a narrow door and started down a corridor that wasn’t much wider toward the back of the building, where a spiral staircase led upward to a small solarium. It was sparsely furnished, except for some gaudy trappings and a mound of pillows on the floor. Seth dropped her there without ceremony and stood staring down, arms akimbo.

Meg glanced about. It looked more like a brothel than a training center for potential temple virgins. The scent of strong incense and stale semen permeated the air. It threatened to make her retch. The room had been used for sex recently. If Seth had his way, it was about to be used for sex again. The look in his eyes was one of deadly triumph, and she shrank from it.

“Not all priestess trainings are…successful,” he said. He hadn’t read her mind, he’d read her expression, which had to be one of disbelief, for she was not skilled at concealing her true feelings. He laughed. The sound raised the short hairs at the back of her neck. “Come, come, you know the chosen among the novices all must know this cock”—he spread his
cote-hardie
and exposed himself—“in order to be installed as priestess of the temple. Those found lacking a virgin skin were made temple whores, without the benefits awarded to a venerated priestess, but there were…compensations.”

“
Were?
” she snapped at him.

He nodded. “They are all gone—swept away by the storm. Only you remain, little whore, to comfort me in my loss. But be of good cheer. There will be others soon. Meanwhile, I will console myself in you.”

Meg’s eyes flitted about, searching for some weapon, some means of defending herself against the shaman as he knelt beside her.

Again, he laughed. “It is useless to resist me,” he said, crawling toward her like an animal as she shrank away. “This is your destiny—it always has been. Your aunt knew it. She was wise in her decision to give you to me.”

“
Give?
My aunt was a poor misguided creature seduced by the lure of gold,” Meg corrected him. “I have to believe if she knew—
really
knew—the fate she was consigning me to, she would have never have given in to avarice.”

Groping the mound of pillows as she continued to inch away from him as he advanced, her hand closed around a long, slender coffer of carved coral. Hefting it in one hand, she launched it toward him, but his quick hand clamped around her wrist countered the blow, and he wrested it out of her hand.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “I was getting to that. Thank you for reminding me.” He set the coffer aside, unopened, and drew her closer. “We mustn’t rush this,” he murmured. “The initiation is a thing to be savored, like fine wine. Yours will be a bit more…intense, however, considering. My cock still smarts from your assault beside the scrying pool, and you must answer for that. But once you have been humbled, our association should mellow into something quite pleasant for the both of us.”

“I do not qualify for your ‘initiation,’ remember? I am no virgin.”

He shrugged. “That no longer signifies, since you are the only female left alive upon the Isle of Mists who isn’t in her dotage, and I am sore for wanting. Besides, I need to show you what you’ve missed.”

Meg’s mind was racing. She had to get away, not only from Seth, though his advances had paralyzed her with fear, but from Simeon. Pio would bring him, and she needed to be far way from the Isle of Mists before that happened.

She had never intended to remain on the Isle, only to ease her conscience about Adelia and Olwyn before she moved on. She had no idea where she would go. She hadn’t thought that far ahead, only that it would be somewhere on land, as far from the sea as she could range herself. She wasn’t safe on the Arcan mainland, except perhaps with the bands of nomads who wandered there. If she could join a caravan…if some would take her in…she might be safe with them in the mountains. Mainland folk shunned the nomads; they feared their mystical powers and strange rituals more than they feared the shamans.

But she had to stay alive to implement that plan. That meant escaping. She could not do that while Seth was anticipating that she would do that very thing. If it meant submitting in order to give him a false sense of security, so be it. Then, once he relaxed his guard, she could escape—with her life, for the venomous look in his crazed eyes then bespoke murder, and she was terrified at the thought of ending her days at the mercy of the lecherous shaman’s aberration. She’d almost convinced herself to submit, but he was pawing her, and her posture clenched in spite of her resolve.

The bodice of her wet kirtle was still spread from when she’d opened it to touch herself earlier. She wore no undergarment—they would have been a hindrance under water—and the thin skirt of the dove-gray gown was still plastered wet to her body. Inching it above her mound, he gave a grunt of approval as he combed her pubic curls with his eyes before plowing through them with his clumsy fingers.

“I think I shall have this roughage shorn,” he observed. “It blocks my view.”

“And who will shear it, with none but you and me in this foul place?” she snapped.

“Shut that acid mouth!” he snarled. “There’s a tide pool on this island, where the crabs come in each day at dawn to feed. It’s nearly that now. If I sit you in it, they’ll make short work of that bush. On the other hand, if you behave, I’ll lather that quim with hazelnut soap and scrape the hair clean off that mound with a razor clam shell.” He stroked his face. “It works for me, and you are no better, little minx—seducer of selkies—traitorous whore! You might even enjoy it. I know I would.”

Meg said no more. Her sharp tongue wasn’t helping matters. He had just about relaxed when her outburst lost her all the ground she’d gained. Calming herself with deep breaths, she shut her eyes and did not see the hand that shot out to capture her wrists. By the time her eyes snapped open and the gasp had left her throat, he’d pinned her wrists over her head.

“Do not struggle!” he charged. “Lie still. You might actually enjoy this: many have. It is all part of your initiation. You should feel privileged. You are the last of the old and the first of the new initiates. Together, we will begin anew. We will rebuild the temple. This here will suffice until we can do that, and hopefuls will come from afar to become priestesses under my tutelage. They will pay
me
this time for the privilege. We will call it a tribute to the gods, and the gods will be pleased!”

“You are mad!” she cried, resisting. There was no sense trying to reason with a madman, and he was insane—his wild-eyed stare was evidence of that. Had losing all he’d created for himself driven him so? She had no desire to analyze that, only to flee from it.

She’d forgotten the little coral coffer until Seth groped for it and dragged it alongside. He worked it open one-handed, and when he lifted out its contents, her heart sank. The blood drained away from her scalp. Blinding pinpoints of white light starred her vision as he waved before her eyes what appeared to be a phallus realistically carved of bone. It was long and thick and menacing as he passed it back and forth in front of her wide-flung eyes. Even the veins and mushroom tip had been carved in great detail. It reminded her of Simeon.

“Shall we begin?” he said. “Remember, do not struggle. You might enjoy it. Have no fear. I will be merciful. Since you are the only palatable alternative to diddling myself at the moment, it would hardly be practical for me to administer all your reparation at once. I will enjoy it more drawn out over time in any case…That is, unless you anger me, and you are close to doing that now, so take care….”

Meg could not move. She held her breath as he spread her legs and parted her nether lips with the tip of the phallus. It glided inside her on the wetness of her earlier release. Her breath caught in her throat as it filled her.

“Sh,” he said. “It is a pleasure tool, not an instrument of pain. What? Your selkie lover has not introduced you to the phallus? How remiss of him. Your innocence excites me. It is almost as if you are virgin still. How delicious. I cannot believe your selkie never showed you this.”

“Why would he?” Meg spat at him. “How would he have access to such a thing as that, much less have need of it!” Why couldn’t she keep her tongue from lashing out? It would surely be the death of her, but it was the only weapon she possessed. His look alone stilled it.

“Where do you suppose it came from but the selkies, eh?” he said. “Remind you of anyone? I saw your face when you first set eyes upon it just now. Could he have posed for the craftsman who carved it do you suppose, your Simeon, Lord of the Deep? Who was it that got him hard for the artist do you think? Not you. I’ve had it too long. Did she suck it? Perhaps she straddled him and took it deep inside her. Or mayhap she pulled it into submission with her skilled hand? Oh, I do not mind that it arouses you. It’s only a piece of whalebone after all. You really should see your face. How easily you are read. Ah yes, sweet innocence in my arms once more…I am going to enjoy your initiation, little whore.”

Meg was aroused. Simeon could well have posed for the craftsman who fashioned the phallus. It was as if he were inside her, for she knew every inch of his manhood—every ridge and vein—every curve from mushroom tip to thick hard root. It was torture to think she would never feel him come to life inside her again, and tears welled in her eyes as she remembered all that they had been to each other and mourned all that could never be, for they were star-crossed. No matter which way they might have gone, whether she came to him in his world or he came into hers, her way was the only way to spare him the pain of heartbreak or death. He was Simeon, Lord of the Deep, and always would be. She alone could give him that.

Swooping down, Seth seized her breast and took her nipple in his mouth, meanwhile working the phallus, driving it in and out of her. He had let go of her wrists, and Meg searched the pillows with one free hand, groping for the coffer. Her heart skipped its rhythm when her fingers closed around its hinged coral lid, but she dropped it as if she’d touched live coals when he seized her wrist and forced her hand against the erection poking through his robe. The timing was wrong. Try wielding that coffer now, and he would likely bash her head in with it. She needed more time, but his shaft in her hand told her soon her time would run out. He wouldn’t settle. He would want to come in her. She could not bear it.

“There is no reason for forcing,” she murmured. “This could be pleasant for us both…as you say.”

For a moment he hesitated, frozen in place. Nothing moved, not even the phallus inside her. Meg held her breath as Seth slipped it out of her and set it aside. Time was growing short. Any moment, Simeon could burst in on them. Surely Pio would have reached him by now. She glanced up at the domed glass ceiling above. The sky was beginning to lighten. She blinked, and a shadow appeared. At first she thought it was just a cloud, until Gideon, Lord of the Dark, came crashing through the domed glass ceiling of the solarium feet first, his gigantic wings unfurled, and plummeted toward them in a shower of loose feathers and broken glass.

Meg screamed, rolling out of the way as shards rained over them. At first, she thought he was going to seize her, but he did not. Instead, he fastened a white-knuckled fist in the back of the shaman’s gaping
cote-hardie
and soared back out through the hole he had rent in the ceiling to disappear in the predawn mist.

He would be back for her any moment, and she scrambled to her feet set to run, but the phallus caught her eye. She snatched it up along with the coffer. If she could not have Simeon, she would have his image, for that is what it surely was, and without a backward glance, she picked her way gingerly, for she was barefoot, over the millions of bits of broken glass, scarcely feeling the ones that pierced her tender skin, and ran out into the narrow corridor.

She was safe there. The confines were far too narrow for Gideon to travel with his wings—even furled—but she wasted no time in any case. Simeon would have no difficulty gaining access to the halls, and she scurried down the back stairs, hardly noticing the pain in her feet, to what appeared to be the servants’ quarters below. Trenchers heaped with uneaten food sat eerily untouched on the table. Had the inmates of this dubious place fled in haste when the storm hit? Why? Surely they were safe there. The house was still standing. More likely they had simply fled the shaman’s tyranny. Had some escaped alive? She prayed so. Whatever had occurred, the place was deserted now, and she climbed inside a wood box beside the vacant kitchen hearth and burrowed under the wood, praying they wouldn’t probe too deeply in their search for her.