Love Never-Ending (22 page)

When Arturo would have spoken, Panther stopped him with a
sharp gesture. “No, it was wrong to spy on them. I was wrong to come here. As I
was leaving, Llynx found me. We were going to leave when we saw this man hiding
in the woods.” He took another deep breath. “There was no time, Arturo. He was
going to kill them. So Llynx and I stopped him.” Panther hung his head wearily.
“I’m not sorry for that.”

Arturo bit down on his lip, piercing it with his fangs, as
he fought the overwhelming urge to snatch Panther up in a tight hug. The
ancient gods only knew how close he had come to death! But more than that,
Panther had laid aside his fear and fought for Bishop’s and Samara’s lives,
knowing that he might not win, hoping that he could delay the assassin long
enough for help to arrive. Finally Arturo said, “It was wrong of you to come
here. Bonding is a very private ceremony and you intruded on their privacy on
purpose. But I think you have redressed this wrong by saving their lives. So we
will consider that part of these events closed. Now! Let us see what kind of
two-legged
grimahr
you’ve captured.”

In the circle, Bishop and Samara sat locked together. At the
first sound of fighting, he had retrieved his
flicknives
from his boots
where they sprawled beside him and then quickly wrapped the blankets around
them in a tight cocoon.

Samara burrowed close against his chest, resting her head on
his shoulder. Her
schela
locked tight around his cock, squeezing it
nearly to the point of pain. “Fuck! I thought Dancer was exaggerating when he
told me about the
schela
.”

When she giggled, her
schela
tugged on his cock like
a rippling fist. He groaned and thrust deeper, pressing high and hard. “Hard,
deep and never-ending,” he whispered in her ear. “That’s exactly the way I love
you.”

“Hard, deep and never-ending,” she agreed.

They joined in
rapport
communing on levels that
Bishop had never imagined. The snowstorm morphed into a lazy dance of tiny
flakes as the clouds thinned and began to dissipate. Abruptly, moonlight broke
through the cloud cover, lighting up the snowy circle.
Fairyland
, Bishop
thought.
I’ve landed in the one place where all my dreams will come true.

There were muffled shouts and a buzz of men talking but it
was background noise as they floated together on the euphoric cloud of
schalzina
,
bound together body and soul. Samara nuzzled his shoulder, lapping at the place
where she sank her teeth on that terrifying afternoon. “You’re a very handsome
blue man,” she teased softly. “And you taste good too.”

“I should spank you for doing that. Dai said even if we
didn’t bond we would always be tied to each other because of that bite. What if
I had continued to be a stubborn fool?”

“Mmmm.” Her tongue flickered out and brushed the pointed tip
of his ear. “I would have come after you eventually. I had a plan.”

He shuddered, shocked at the searing flame that shot down
his spine to center in his groin. His cock jerked and twitched. “Oh yeah? What
plan?”

“I was going to bribe Ban and Arturo to tie you up and
deliver you to a bonding circle. Then I was going to ravish you until you
agreed to bond with me.” Her tongue lapped at his ear again, tracing the outer
edge before circling the delicate inner whorls.

Helplessly, he shivered and came in a rush of heat, his cock
held firm in the grasp of her
schela
. With every pulse the sensitive
area behind the crown of his cock was squeezed while the
mhital
, the
entrance of her womb, nibbled eagerly at the jetting tip, driving him insane.
“Oh God, you’re a wicked, wicked woman. What the hell was that?” he demanded
with a frustrated groan. In spite of coming so hard he saw spots dancing in
front of his eyes, his cock was still rigid as a stone.

“That’s the
mhital
. Do you mind?” she whispered
anxiously.

“Hell no. Bring it on. It’ll probably kill me with pleasure
but I’ll die happy.” He tucked her head beneath his chin and gently rocked her.
“Are you warm enough?”

“Mm-hmm. You’re hot enough to keep me warm even without the
blankets. I wonder when we will go home.”

“We will go home when your
schalzina
is over,” Bish
said softly, without opening his eyes. “There is no reason to take a bonding
cottage when we have a private place to go already. It will be easier for Llyon
to check on us too. Are you hungry? We missed the Midwinter feast.”

“I’d rather have you than a feast. Besides, if I know my
mother, there will be a feast waiting at our dome by the time we get home.” She
yawned sleepily and closed her eyes. “I love you.”

“I don’t think love is a big enough word for what I feel. My
chest aches with what I feel for you. When I met you on the way home from
Susie’s cottage, I thought I had lost everything. I didn’t care whether I died
or not.”

“What changed?”

“You—screaming in my brain to wake up and give you
permission to bite me.”

“Oh.” Her hand stole to one of his nipples and she pinched
it with a little twist. “You terrified me. When I saw you on the ground, I
thought you were dead.”

“Nah. Not yet. Not for years and years.”

Llyon trotted into the circle and grinned at the
blanket-bundled couple. “You look happy,” he observed with a smile.

Bish raised his head and smiled in return. “We are. What was
all that racket?”

Ly leaned back against the stone sentinel and crossed his
arms over his chest. “Panther and Llynx caught Jiph. He had a fully loaded
punchbow
aimed at your back at the time.”

“Are they okay?”

Llyon nodded, pleased that Bishop’s first thought was for
the boys’ welfare. “They are fine. Jiph has been apprehended and the others
have gone home. I will stay with you until you are ready to go back to your
dome.”

“You’ll freeze to death,” Bishop objected.

“No, I will be well. Ty is fetching some
hot rocks
and a small brazier. We will wait by the pool. It will be restful to wait in
such peaceful surroundings.” With a small wave, he slipped back through the
entrance and went to wait for Tyger by the pool.

“Is it really over?” Samara muttered against Bish’s chest.

“I think it is. We must make sure that we thank Panther and
Llynx.”

“What were they doing out here in the storm?”

“Spying on us, no doubt,” Bish answered wryly.

Her body jerked. “No! Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s what I would do if I was them.

“And what would they see if they spied on us now?” she
teased.

“They’d see this,” he whispered as he tugged the bonding
blanket up over their heads.

“What are you doing?”

“Pull your knees up, darling. I’m going to lie down so we
can stretch out our legs.”

When they were lying flat on the stone, he rolled until he
was on top. “Now since I’m a traditional kind of guy, I figure we’ll make love
in the traditional way for our bonding.”

“What’s the traditional way?”

“With me on top. Wrap your legs and arms around me and hold
on tight.” He rested his weight on his elbows, cradling her shoulders and head
on his forearms and began to rock his hips, pressing as deep as he could reach.
“Do you feel me filling your pussy? That’s the way it’s going to be for the
rest of our lives.”

She arched up to meet him, her
schela
grasping his
cock with ardent enthusiasm. “Do you feel my
schela
holding you
tightly?” she countered.

“Hell yes.” He recalled how sensitive his ears were when
Samara licked them so he nibbled lightly on the tips of hers. Gasping, she
tightened her legs around his hips, straining to take his cock in deeper.

Suddenly he rolled so that she was on top. “There, honey. If
you sit up, my cock will go in deeper.” He tugged the blankets up so the cold
air wouldn’t rush in to chill them. “Feel it?” Cupping her breasts in his
hands, he teased the nipples, rubbing the tips with his rough thumbs.

She pressed down, frantically repeatedly grinding her clit
against his hard pubic bone. As she poised on the edge of climax, everything in
her coiled tight, he pinched her nipples and bucked his hips. Like a whip, the
tension exploded as she climaxed in an unending wave of pulsing contractions.

Joyfully, Bishop joined her, jetting scalding semen as her
mhital
nibbled hungrily at his cock, calling forth a new offering with every pulse. At
last, though her schela still firmly held him in place, their tired bodies
began to relax. She cuddled on his broad chest with her head tucked beneath his
chin. He tucked the blankets around them snugly as he held her in his arms. “Relax
now and go to sleep. We’ve had a long day.”

“I hope someone took the cake out of my oven,” she said
sleepily. “Otherwise it’ll be burned to a crisp.”

And then all was quiet in the starry Midwinter night.

The clear sky above the Midsummer Gathering was so blue it
made the eyes water. The milling crowds settled into place in a large hollow
square on the practice field for the traditional call for warriors. The call
was open to warriors who had finished their training the previous year or the
very few who had qualified by saving another person’s life. Those in the second
group trained with a volunteer mentor who made sure that they acquired the
necessary skills. Alf Campbell, the head of the valley council, called for
quiet.

Beside him, Arturo and Andrew McCrory, both
morkerts
,
waited in grave silence. In the past year, many changes had come to the valley.
And with those changes an unprecedented number of warriors had completed their
training and taken their warriors’ vows. In the solemn hush that fell over the
field, Alf spoke. “Today, we honor those who have joined the warrior ranks in
the past year. Let all who have sworn this year to uphold the safety of our
inhabitants step forward so that we may recognize your bravery!”

In other years four or five warriors might have proudly
walked onto the field for recognition. This year was different. Twenty-seven
men made their way to the center of the field where they lined up on either
side of the stern leader and
morkerts
. Merlyn and Dai, each of them
clutching a drooling baby in their arms, stood with Jade, waiting with joyful
hearts as Dancer, Traveller, Ban and Bishop joined the younger men on the
field. All around them stood the women of the Llewellyn family, holding the
next generation of Llewellyns in baby slings on their backs.

When all was silent again, Alf called out, “Behold, our
warriors! They have given their hearts in the service of our people! Who will
lead them in their call to commitment?”

“I will!” a loud cry came from the back of the crowd. With a
growing murmur, the crowd moved aside, clearing the way for the young man to
stalk onto the field with his companions. Abruptly, in a silence so profound
that even the babies were quiet, Hawke knelt on one knee and bowed his head.
“As valley champion, I claim the honor. Will any deny me?”

Alf bit his lip to hold back the laugh that threatened to
ruin the young champion’s dramatic entrance. Trust Hawke to arrive with not one
but three of the legendary
drangs
in attendance, thus flaunting his future
as high clan chief for all to see. Alf’s amused eyes met the wise old eyes of
the lead
drang
as he declared, “None will deny you, Hawke. Come. Give
our warriors their challenge.”

Hawke stood facing the warriors. “There is one missing,
Councilor. Will you permit my companions to bring him here?”

Alf nodded. “Of course! Fetch him at once!”

The two drangs flanking Hawke turned at once and went to the
small knot of family members standing with Dai, Merlyn and Jade. An indrawn
hush fell on the field as the glittering green and gold
drang
offered
his hand to Panther. “I am Plato, young warrior. Come with me.”

Trembling so violently that his knees threatened to give
way, Panther placed his hand in the offered palm and followed as Plato led him
onto the field. When they reached the center, Hawke gave him a cheerful smile
and then offered his own hand.

Turning to face the crowd, he shouted, “I present to you,
the people, my brother Panther! The warriors who stand before you waiting to
recite their call to commitment are fine men who have trained hard for the
honor. They are willing to protect us all with their lives if necessary.” He
paused for a moment as though considering what he would say next. “It is easy
to fight when you have a reasonable expectation of winning. But it takes
immense courage to fight when you firmly believe that you will be defeated.
When you know without question that defeat will lead to death
that
requires unimaginable courage and commitment.”

Hawke pressed down on Panther’s shoulder until his young
brother dropped to his knees. “In the snow at Midwinter, Panther fought for the
lives of not just one or two of our people. No, if the assassin had won, no
doubt he would have killed more. Bishop and Samara. Llynx, Tyger, Llyon,
Arturo, Hamilton…and of course, Panther would have died. Panther fought—not
with the belief that he would win. He fought to delay the attacker in his
purpose until help could arrive, thus demonstrating initiative and teamwork.
Because of his selfless fight, no lives were lost. I present Panther as a young
man with the true spirit of a warrior.”

Alf cleared his throat. In a voice scratchy with suppressed
tears he asked, “Who will serve as mentor for this warrior?”

Plato inched forward. “I claim this warrior.”

Dead silence fell on the field. Plato held out his hand.
“Will you accept my claim?”

Unhesitating, Panther gave the
drang
his hand. In two
lightning-fast movements, Plato slashed Panther’s palm and his own and pressed
them tightly together. Light flared around them in a blinding circle. When
Plato released his young warrior’s hand, Panther studied the small golden
dragon seared into the skin of his palm. In puzzled wonder he stared up at the
drang
he was now bonded with. “What does it mean?” he whispered.

A rumbling laugh escaped Plato’s huge snout as he smiled a
toothy grin. A wispy drift of smoke curled in the air above Panther’s head. “I
will explain everything to you later.”

Nervously, Alf cleared his throat again as the crowd looked
on in enthralled excitement. There had never been such an electrifying change
in the old, traditional ceremony. Avidly the people waited to see what would
happen next. Before Alf could remind Hawke of his duty to lead the call to
commitment, the third
drang
, a tall rangy blue and green creature
approached him determinedly. “A moment please.”

Alf’s tongue stole out to lick at his dry lips. “Yes, sir.
What can I do for you?”

“The call to commitment is part of a much older ceremony. In
ancient times, the ceremony was first and foremost dedicated to the formal
claiming of warriors by the
drangs
. I would make my claiming
now
.”
The
drang
’s steely tone allowed for no protest.

“Of c-course, sir.” Alf had never dreamed of actually
meeting a
drang
face to snout. “Uh, do whatever you wish.”

A low growl sent a puff of smoke into Alf’s eyes which
watered at once. Moving to Alf’s left, the
drang
faced Arturo and Ban.
The
drang
tilted his head back, trumpeting a loud call across the valley
that seemed to echo back from the far cliffs. “I am Galen, guardian to the
morkerts
and archivists! I claim Arturo Llewellyn and Banisher Ewell, bonded warrior
partners for my own!”

Arano, standing next to Merlyn with one of his tiny
daughters tucked under his arm, chuckled under his breath. “Ah, destiny has
caught up with you at last, ’Turo.”

“Did you know this was coming?” Merlyn muttered in Arano’s
ear.

“No.” Arano slid a sparkling glance toward his mother. “But
I bet Mama knew. She’s not surprised at all.”

Merlyn sighed. “You are probably right,” he admitted before
focusing his attention back on the field where the
drang
confronted
Arturo and Ban.

“Will you accept my claim?” Galen demanded.

Before Ban could agree, Arturo stopped him with a sharp
gesture. “Unlike Hawke, who was not yet assigned, or young Panther, Ban and I
have heavy responsibilities at Talking Wall. We are not free to follow you or
accept your claim until replacements can be assigned.”

Galen sat back on his haunches with his tail wrapped around
his legs and eyed the implacable warriors with an appreciative eye. After a few
moments, he turned to Alf. “Well? Surely there are replacements among this fine
crop of warriors?”

Alf scratched his chin in thought. “Finding a
morkert
to reassign is possible,” he agreed, “but archivists don’t grow on every tree.
As you know, archivists must speak both the valley language and the ancient
tongue.”

Galen ran his eye over the warriors standing in line,
halting when he touched on a young warrior near the end. Pointing with a hooked
claw, he announced, “That one. Falcon Llewellyn.”

“He’s still an apprentice,” Alf protested.

“He’s near Master status already,” Ban revealed.

“Very well,” Alf grumbled. “How we’re supposed to govern the
valley when you take our best warriors is beyond me.”

“When you need them, they will be there.” Having reassured
Alf as best he could, Galen motioned for Arturo and Ban to follow him back to
the center of the field where they knelt down in front of the
drang
.
When he offered his rough clawed hands, they accepted his claim at once. The
slashing of and meshing of palms was the work of moments. The flash and sizzle
of light was expected. The seal of Galen’s claim, a small blue dragon for Ban
and green dragon for Arturo, rested in the hollow of their palms.

Galen urged them to their feet. Then as one, the group—
drang
and human—turned to the waiting warriors and Hawke led them through the ancient
words of the call to commitment. When they were finished, Hawke’s
drang
began to sing. There were no words but it was clearly a distinct intricate
melody. On the second round he was joined by Plato and Galen singing
counterpoint. The song drew to a close. A hush fell over the field as the
mighty
drangs
and their warriors walked away toward the mysterious
unknown depths of the Dark Woods.

As though held in a spell, the crowd waited in place until
they were out of sight. The warriors broke ranks and moved to join their
families. That seemed to release the rest of the people from their places.
Families gathered around the new warriors congratulating them and offering hugs
and kisses.

The largest group gathered around Jade Llewellyn in a
shell-shocked band. “Now what?” Tyger ventured. “What just happened?”

Bishop pulled Samara into his embrace with her back facing
him. He slid his big hands over her rounded belly heavy with their babies. “I
think that the Llewellyns have been drafted,” he observed absently.

Samara laced her fingers with his in time to feel the sharp
thrust of a tiny foot as the taut muscles in her belly tightened. “What does
that mean?”

Traveller swooped down to kiss his son’s small downy head
where it rested on Wrenna’s shoulder. “It means that the
drangs
have a
plan. And the Llewellyns are necessary to their plan. Good thing my name isn’t
Llewellyn.”

“Hah! Neither is Ban’s!” Dai pointed out.

Dancer stared off at the Dark Woods pensively. “I wonder why
they claimed Panther? Hawke will be the high clan chief. Ban and Arturo were
claimed for their skills in law and translation. Why did Plato claim Panther?
Isn’t he apprenticed to a builder?”

“No doubt he had his reasons,” Jade said. “In the meantime,
we need to move into the shade. It’s too hot out here for the babies.”

While the rest of the group moved to settle under one of the
wide shelters that provided shade, Bishop and Llyon slowly escorted Samara back
toward Lost Market. “How long were you going to wait before you mentioned that
you were in labor?” Bishop scolded. “Surely you weren’t planning to have the
babies on the field!”

“They aren’t due until next moon,” she pointed out
irritably. “I’m not ready!”

“Twins are usually early,” Llyon reminded her. “Seven moons
is full term so you did very well to make it through six. They’ll be fine.”

Before they reached the bridge, Wolfe caught up with them.
“I’ll run ahead and make sure everything is ready.”

Samara caught her lip between her teeth and breathed in
deeply. “Wolfe? I hope you have a spare medical pack at the home domes. We’re
not going to make to our dome.”

Wolfe ran a professional eye over his cousin. “Ah? Well, we
always have room for one more at the Llewellyn domes. Or in your case, two
more. I’ll go prepare for our newest family members.”

“Midsummer is a good time to be born,” Llyon teased. “You
won’t forget their birthing day that way.”

“I don’t mind that so much. But why do I always miss the
feast?”

“Don’t you worry about the feast. The minute your mother
misses you, she’ll be here with enough food for a week. At least this time you
won’t have to worry about burning the cake.” Impatient with their progress,
Bishop swept her up in his arms and carried her up the steep path. “Llyon?”

“She’s doing fine, Bish. Just fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Would I lie?”

“Yes. If you thought it would help.”

Llyon shook his head and laughed. “No lie, Uncle. We’re
going to make it with plenty of time.” He led the way up the steps and held the
door open.

Wolfe popped out from a room down the hall. “Here!
Everything is ready.”

They did make it with time to spare. Not a lot of time.
About five minutes actually, but Samara was not delivering on an open field and
that was Bishop’s chief concern. As Wolfe deposited each newborn in Bish’s arms
he cradled the babies, stunned by the powerful emotions that bombarded him as
he watched them sleep with the rapt intentness of all new babies. Little frowns
and smiles flickered over their faces as they slept. His kissed their
foreheads, amazed that he had contributed to such miraculous creations.

By the time Rebaccah and Hamilton showed up with two full
baskets of food, Llyon and Wolfe were in the kitchen having a relaxing tea
break. “Down the hall,” Wolfe directed. “Fourth door on the right.”

The new grandparents rushed down the hall to the room where
Samara and Bishop were snuggled on the bed together with two tiny babies
between them. Rebaccah tiptoed over to the bed and stared down at the babies.
“Boys or girls?”