Meg pushed the barrow. “The pots should be set at night,” Adelia grumbled, waddling alongside. “But I cannot risk putting you to the hazard out in that bay after dark, and I am too old to do it. Until your uncle returns, this is how it must be. The markers are hard to find at night, and besides, there are other dangers…creatures of the deep that frequent these waters. Women are not safe alone at night on the bay, let alone beyond the sandbar in the ocean, where the best pots are laid.”
Meg’s heart leaped in her breast. Her aunt had brought up the subject herself. It was more than she could have hoped for, and she pounced upon it.
“You always speak of the seal people…the
selkies
, is it, that frequent these isles?” she said. “You can’t believe that all the seals we see sunning themselves out on those rocks are such shape-shifters?”
“Aye, I do,” Adelia said. “The males are great seducers. They come ashore—especially during the full moon—shed their skins, and revel on the beach, fornicating and dancing their lewd dances long into the night. They will take down any willing female they find abroad, and few can resist their mesmerizing powers. Beware, niece. Keep off the strand after dark and never cry into the sea.”
“Why not?” Meg asked, suppressing a smile.
“Do not smirk at me, Megaleen,” Adelia snapped at her. “Seven tears cried into the sea will bring a selkie male. I need not tell you to do what.”
Meg doubted that. She’d cried a river into the sea since it spat her out and she was still alone.
“And if you ever see a sealskin lying about, let it stay where it lays,” Adelia went on.
“Why, Aunt Adelia?”
“She who possesses the selkie’s skin possesses him as long as she holds it. Many husbands are gained thus by wily chits who long for the passion only a selkie can give. But the minute the selkie has the skin back, he will return to the sea, for it is his life force. While he is with his human mate on land, he never ceases to long for the depths that have spawned him no matter how beguiled he is by her.”
“Myth, surely.”
Adelia snorted. “Tell that to Mirabella Tupp, whose selkie husband walked back into the sea three years ago, or Elvira Sneed, whose paramour did also disappear last Midsummer’s Eve. Aye, ask, niece. The selkie women do the same with mortal men and often slay the children they bear them. They can be treacherous, fiercely jealous, and vindictive; woe betide the gel who lays hands upon a mate of theirs. No, niece, and these are not the only dangers. Stay clear of the beach at night…especially when the moon is full.”
Meg’s hands trembled as she loaded the eel pots into the skiff in a little cove not far from the cottage. She had more questions, so many more, but she dared not ask them then and risk casting suspicion upon herself. Her aunt was already wary. A sidelong glance testified to that. Adelia was studying her closely.
“Why all the interest in selkies of a sudden?” Adelia said.
“You brought the topic up, aunt,” Meg pointed out, climbing into the little boat.
“Aye…so I did,” her aunt replied. “Well, take the lesson to heart. Go now, and hurry back while the tide is with you.”
Meg didn’t want the fresh baked bread and goat cheese Adelia thrust at her, having stopped at the cottage to fetch them, along with a wineskin filled with the last of the May wine. Taking up the oars, she propelled the little skiff forward, riding the gentle waves past the breakwater into the open bay. She was a seasoned sailor since a child. It was second nature to her. She loved the salt spray on her face, glistening like spangles in her hair, and the gentle thud of the waves slapping the bottom of the skiff as it glided through the water. Now and then a low-flying seagull strafed her, grazing her with its wings. Drawn by the eel bait, many came, circling the boat in anticipation of a treat. Meg had none to spare. She had a chore to do that should take her mind off the events of the past few hours, but it did not. Everywhere she looked there were reminders. Off to the east, seals were sunning themselves on the rocks along the shoreline. Was Simeon among them? If he was, had he come to gloat? She couldn’t bear the thought that he might have.
She was alone on the bay. No other boats broke the horizon. She might have excused the whole episode as the dream she’d first supposed if it wasn’t for the dull soreness in her nether parts, made worse by the hard wooden plank beneath her bottom that slapped her each time a gentle swell buffeted the little skiff’s hull. There was no one to see her now, except the gulls, and she reached to soothe her aching crotch through the thin lawn shift. She’d longed to do that since she staggered out of the sea. At least that was her intent until, despite the soreness, waves of liquid fire surged through her core. She could no longer touch herself without thinking of him, the Lord of the Deep, whose scent and strength and massive shaft was still with her—in her—all around her in the very salt-drenched air.
She had reached the first marker—a little cork float tied with a strip of red cloth—and she shipped the oars, dropped anchor, and leaned back against the neatly stacked eel pots in the stern bundled beneath a tarpaulin to keep the birds at bay. Raising the hem of her shift, she exposed her genitals to the morning haze. Tugging the drawstring at the neck of her shift, she lifted her breasts free to the gentle breeze skimming the surface of the water and began rolling her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, just as he had done. The gentle breeze rippling her pubic curls called her hand there, enticing her fingers to part the hair at the top of her slit and probe for the nub beneath. How strange to find no virgin skin to bar her way. Two fingers slipped inside riding her slick wetness; how inadequate those fingers were now…after
him
.
Meg shut her eyes. All things were tactile—palpable—then, especially the gentle breeze fanning the fever in her flesh, playing with her nether parts, whispering across the milk-white skin of her breasts, puckering the areola of her nipples, making the tall buds hard to the touch. They still ached from Simeon’s kiss, from the sucking and nipping, and from bites just sharp enough to bring a twinge of pain that heightened the pleasure. The warm sun beating down and gilding her moist skin turned up the heat, making her whole body throb like a pulse beat—even her scalp. The tang of the salt-laced air seasoned the rest. She licked her lips, tasting it, tasting
him
. A groan escaped her throat. It was no use without him. He’d loved her so well. Why did he bring her back? Why did he abandon her?
Why
?
Meg opened her misty eyes to the seagulls circling the skiff—and something else…. Another winged creature that had been hovering with the rest suddenly soared high aloft—so high it seemed to ride the clouds. It seemed to have caught a zephyr, for it glided, its huge wingspan spread out from its body, but it wasn’t the body of a bird. It was the body of a
man
. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, for the sun suddenly blinded her. When she opened them again the creature was gone. It had vanished.
Meg bolted upright, a cry upon her lips so shrill it scattered the gulls. A winged man? How could it be? But it was, and he had seen her trying to pleasure herself.
Groaning her embarrassment and utter frustration, Meg leaned over the side of the bobbing skiff, pummeled the waves that rose almost to the oarlocks with punishing fists, and shed her seven tears, and then some, into the bay.
S
imeon paced the length of the bedchamber in his shimmering underwater palace, attended by six selkie handmaidens in human form. Fawning and hovering over him, they matched him step for step until he threw himself upon the bed made with quilts of sea moss and woven seaweed. That was unwise. No sooner had he touched down when the bed began to undulate with eager consorts thrashing about with all the lumbering aplomb of the seals they had sprung from. Alexia, who had been his main consort since time out of mind, barked at the others. She never could keep her entities separated, Simeon reflected; very unattractive. How was it that he never noticed the harshness of that bark until now?
She had hold of his cock. Alexia knew how to bring him to life. She knew how to stroke and suck and tantalize. Why wasn’t she able now? Her skilled fingers were gliding over the long, curved length of his shaft, flitting over the mushroom tip. That always drove him mad, but not now—not even with the others mauling him, stroking his hard muscled chest, lapping at his nipples, fondling his balls. They had covered him like a blanket.
Time was when he would have had them all. He was a selkie, and a noble at that. Seduction was in the blood, and he was the Lord of Seduction—Lord of the Deep. There had been a time when he would have reveled all night with these mistresses of the sea. And now, nothing. Alexia had taken his cock deep to the back of her throat, and Risa, the youngest of the lot and the most inventive when it came to the sexual arts, had possessed his mouth, her skilled tongue gliding in and out, jousting with his tongue in such a way that only she had mastered. Still nothing. His cock was barely hard and showed no signs of coming anytime soon. Why weren’t they pure? Why didn’t they have long, pale hair that looked as if it had been painted by the sun? Why didn’t they smell of honeysuckle and sweet clover, wet with the morning dew?
He took back his cock from Alexia and struggled upright through the press of naked bodies crowding all around him. “Enough!” he thundered, swatting at the hands that groped and arms that tethered him. “Leave me!”
“What? Before moonrise?” Alexia barked, making a grab for his member. “What ails ye, m’lord?”
“Nothing ails me, woman,” Simeon returned, slapping her hand away. “Can a man not have peace in his own domain? Leave me, I say—the lot of you!”
Risa gave Alexia a vicious shove. “Now see what you’ve done, you old sea cow!” she railed. “You’ve spoiled it for all of us, with your pawing and pushing and crowding to be first.”
Evidently in accord, the other selkie women joined the foray, fists flying. It had been coming for some time. Simeon had seen the telltale signs of insurrection for seasons—the jealousy, the competition for his favor. It had amused him until now. He had been able to handle it…until now. He no longer cared if they rent each other limb from limb, but he didn’t need to stay to see it happen.
Surging off the bed, he left the snarl of battling females pulling long dark hair out by the roots and tweaking tits. He stomped through the chambers, only to collide headlong with Vega, his half brother, whose many functions in Simeon’s life included that of valet, the guise in which Vega approached him now.
“You have been summoned, my lord,” Vega said.
“By who?” Simeon growled. Streaking toward the tunnel, he dove into the water with Vega on his heels.
“Gideon,” Vega replied warily.
“And what would the dark lord want with me?”
“I’m sure I do not know, my lord. I am only the messenger.”
Simeon stopped and began to tread water. “And was there a message?” he said.
“No, only that you should come at once,” Vega replied. “That was quite clear.”
Simeon loosed a string of oaths. “Fetch my clothes and see to me,” he said. “If you value your life, do not go near my bedchamber. The consorts are warring again.”
“Yes, my lord,” Vega said, his arched brow lifted. He was older, and a half-breed whose mother was mortal. That they shared the same selkie father was known by the rest, but not looked upon with favor, which was why Simeon kept him close, under his protection, as his father had before him. Such half-breeds were shunned, often outcast, and more often killed by the selkie purists who frowned upon the unions that produced such creatures. There was a resemblance between them, but then a certain thread of resemblance wove through all the selkies. That they were half brothers was never spoken of in public, but it spawned a loyalty between them that could not be breached, and had done so for eons. It also gave Vega the privilege to sometimes step out of character, where another might have been slapped down for impudence, even to call Simeon by name when they were alone. This, however, with so many within hearing distance, was not one of those occasions. Vega always seemed to know when he should speak and when he should hold his peace. “Will you want your skin, my lord?” he queried, for he was keeper of the deep lord’s sealskin while he went about in mortal form beneath the sea.
Simeon’s head snapped toward him. “No,” he said, “but keep it close. Do not let it out of your sight. I wouldn’t put it past the vixens to try to make off with it like they did the last time they revolted, and I can ill afford to be at the mercy of any one of them now.”
“You can count upon it, my lord,” the valet said. “Will you be wanting Elicorn?”
“Yes. Ready him for me. I ride to the Dark Isle like a man.”
“The surf is up, my lord, and he’s frisky again…running with the herd on the shores of the Isle of Mists.”
“Cut him out of the herd!” Simeon charged. “I don’t want him anywhere near the Isle of Mists unless I’m seated on his back.”
A new worry reared its ugly head. Megaleen would be haunting the strand now. Suppose the waterhorse were to seduce her from the shore and carry her off? She’d ridden in his arms on the animal’s back. She would mount him, and if he weren’t near to prevent it, the wily waterhorse would lure her to her death. No. He wouldn’t think about that now—couldn’t think about it. First, he had to see why Gideon, Lord of the Dark, wanted him in such haste.
It was barely twilight, dreary and cool, the color of sorrow, when the great waterhorse galloped out of the surf and deposited Simeon on the volcanic sand along the shore of the Dark Isle. Of all the isles in the Eastern Archipelago of Arcus, the Dark Isle was the most formidable. No one went there willingly, or to any of the Elemental Isles: Water, Air, Land, and Fire. Gideon, Lord of the Dark, Prince of the Night, was the most feared of the four Lords of Arcus who governed the principalities, the others being Marius, Lord of the Forest, Prince of the Green; Vane, Lord of the Flames, Prince of the Fire; and himself, of course, Simeon, Lord of the Deep, Prince of the Waves.
No outsider frequented the barrowlike labyrinth of caves that peppered the Dark Isle. To pass here was by invitation only, and even at that, a summons did not bode well. Gideon did not socialize. Whatever it was, Simeon was anxious to have it behind him so he could unwind his own coil…that of a certain little witch who had beguiled him.
Giving Elicorn free rein, for it was safe on the Dark Isle because Gideon was its only inhabitant, Simeon slapped the animal on the rump and watched while it galloped off to frolic in the surf. There was something undeniably sensual about the waterhorse, its muscular flesh rippling in the moonlight, wet and shimmering as it plowed through the spindrift and lapping waves, its aura spangled with crystal prisms in the fine spray carried on the wind. No wonder it was able to seduce unsuspecting females to their watery deaths. Its lure was irresistible.
Heaving a sigh, Simeon arranged his cloak over the garment beneath made of silvery eel skin that fit him like a second skin, then he climbed the coal black dunes to the petrified forest hemming the rise at the top of the strand. Looming from unwelcoming black swamps, the gnarled and twisted trees stood as sentinels, their branches clacking like bony arms and accusing fingers in the wind that never ceased to blow on the Dark Isle. Beyond lay the caverns, swarthy and deep. Vast, prohibitive caves, like a maze, stretched as far as the eye could see, the largest of which housed the Great Hall of the Lord of the Dark, fallen angel of the gods, outcast of the Celestials, deliverer of justice.
There was no door to knock on. Simeon didn’t need to announce himself. Gideon would be waiting. Without a second thought, he entered the central cave, then hesitated. The darkness was palpable. It bore a living, breathing presence, an extension of the dark lord himself. It smelled of incense and musk. It had a pulse and seemed to sigh as a light farther along the tunnel blazed in welcome, albeit feebly. Squaring his posture, Simeon followed the shallow beam to an inner chamber, where he found Gideon waiting, arms folded across his broad bare chest.
How formidable he looked standing thus, the light of a smoking torch picking out the blue sheen in his raven-colored hair and dark eyes. Simeon couldn’t recall when he’d last seen Gideon. However long it was, the dark lord hadn’t changed. He never changed. That was part of his curse, to walk the Dark Isle, beautiful beyond handsome, the epitome of maleness, alone in seclusion throughout all eternity.
“I saw a sight today that troubled me,” the dark lord said to Simeon’s greeting nod.
“Which was…?” Simeon returned as casually as he could manage. Adrenaline pricked at his scalp and raised the short hairs at the back of his neck. Something in the dark lord’s tone flagged danger, or at the very least suggested ill boding.
“I was abroad today,” Gideon began, strolling nearer. “Why the look? I am hardly confined here, Simeon. I come and go, just as you do, and enjoy what light I may. The punishment is crueler that way, in that I get to see what I am denied. Today…I saw something you have wrought…something that precipitated this interview.”
Simeon’s scalp drew back. His lips parted to speak, but common sense shut his mouth. Instead, he waited what seemed an eternity for the dark lord to continue.
“At first I didn’t trust my eyes,” Gideon went on, strolling back and forth in the torchlight. “So I flew closer. It was the lass you took beneath the waves—the golden one. From what I could gather, she was tending the eel pots of her shaman uncle in his absence, and she exposed herself—”
“To
you?
” Simeon interrupted him, shocked at the twinge of jealousy that shot him through like the sting of an electric eel.
“No, Simeon, not to me,” the other said. “She did not even know I was there among the waterfowl circling the skiff, until the last. She thought she was alone…pleasuring herself with
you.
”
Simeon raked his hair back ruthlessly. He didn’t want to hear this. He’d made up his mind to do the right thing, to walk away from the beautiful maiden on the Isle of Mists, while he still could.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said warily.
“She has very beautiful breasts. She bared them to the sun and touched them…as if with your fingers, just as she touched herself below, as if her fingers were a cock—
your
cock. I heard her thoughts. I heard her heart cry out to you, but you did not answer, though you were there just below the surface, and then I saw her tears and her despair. What have you done?”
“What I should not have done,” Simeon said flatly. “Not with her at any rate. And now the kindest thing I can do is let her go.”
“Why not with her?”
“Because she is not like the others,” Simeon hurled at him. “No plaything for a selkie lord. Her life lived for me. Her juices flowed for me. Sweet nectar I longed to taste and barely tapped. Thank the gods I had the fortitude to resist, or I would have been lost, old friend. She was slated to become a priestess. I may have spoiled that for her, but if there is still a chance, better that than the life I could offer her.”
“So you leave her—just like that, to pleasure herself, or try to, for she failed—leave her for the wind to rape? Or worse.”
“Or
you!
” Simeon realized.
“I have long dreamed of taking a consort, if the gods would turn their backs a while. I shan’t deny it. She is beautiful, like a golden pear, sugary-sweet and toothsome—ripe for the taking. I would taste those juices myself. I would let her know my cock—let it live inside her. I would not abandon her to pleasure herself. I need to know your intentions.”
Simeon’s breath caught in a strangled gasp. “You want me to give you leave to take her?” He was incredulous.
“I hardly need anyone’s ‘leave,’ Simeon,” Gideon said. “I simply need to know your mind before I act upon my desires.”
“Your ‘desires’ do not enter into it,” Simeon said. “She is mine!”
The dark lord stiffened. In the blink of an eye and a whoosh of air, two great arched wings sprang from his broad back, filling the span. The torch flame writhed in its bracket from the wind they created in the close confines of the cave.
Simeon had forgotten the magnificence of the dark lord’s wings. They appeared whenever he chose to use them in flight, or involuntarily, when he was angered or aroused. The hindrance they presented during the latter being one of the primary reasons Gideon had embraced celibacy. Simeon didn’t need to wonder which emotion brought them out this time. The dark lord’s eyes were smoldering with rage.
“Then finish what you’ve started,” Gideon seethed through clenched teeth. “She is strongly sexed and ripe for conquest. Had another come upon her as I did, half-naked, her fingers where a cock should be, he would have remedied the lack of one quickly enough and ravished her.”
“I have no right…” Simeon said, as if to himself. “What can I possibly offer her?”
“You
had
no right,” Gideon pointed out. “Now, you have an obligation. You selkies are all alike: The great seducers. You take well enough, and then abandon. I see you divested of your precious skins, content to live above the waves. I see your kind sire offspring, which you leave behind along with your beloved mortal wives the minute your stolen sealskins are returned to you.” He waved his hand in a rough gesture, ruffling his great wings. “All right, you cannot be faulted for these things, for it is in the blood, but that does not exempt you from reprisal. You have received fair warning. If I come on her thus again, there will be no more need of summoning. She will be mine.”