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And then he licked in long swaths like those of a thick, soft paintbrush, coating her nerves in pleasure before returning his focus to pinpoint the tip of his tongue on her. It was, she felt, as though he knew what it was to be inside her body. Like he knew her nerves as well as or better than she did.

  He let her other leg rest on his shoulder and raised his hand to slide its palm along one hard nipple and then the other. This sensation, coupled with that between her legs, was proving to be too much.

  Gwynne thrust her head further back and cried out as she came and as Rauth thrust his fingers still deeper into her, delighting in the squeeze of her walls around him, so tight that he felt as though she would break his bones.

  He didn’t let up though; instead he made her his dessert as well as his main course, licking her as though she were a delicate piece of candy, each gentle caress making her entire body shudder and causing her pussy to incapacitate his fingers further.

  She sat up straight and took his face in her hands, pulling him away at last.

  “I want you in me,” she said, staring directly into his eyes.

  Rauth pulled his fingers out of her and sucked on them one at a time, licking her wetness from their surface, his eyes locked on hers.

  Finally he crept upwards, kissing her nipples and then her neck before laying his lips on hers so that she could taste herself on him. Moaning, she invited him in, his tongue stroking hers, her own savoury flavour coating it.

  He stood fully now, thrusting her legs apart and put his hands on her hips. He pulled her towards him, ramming his length into her and inspiring a cry.

  Gwynne had nearly forgotten his size, as she seemed to do each time they were apart. The initial shock of his girth inside him always caused a slight twinge of pain followed by the most intense pleasure, as though she were making love for the first time.

  Her arms were around him, hands on his back, her fingernails scoring his flesh as he thrust inside her over and over again. This time there would be no slow climb to orgasm. Rauth was taking her hard, and though his pace was slow at first it was rapidly accelerating so that she felt him slam against her at an amazing speed. The result was an mind-blowing mixture of tingling and arousal, as though he were hitting all the nerves in her body in rapid succession.

  “Gwynne, my cwen, I’m going to explode in you,” he groaned. She could feel the back of his head, now drenched in sweat, as she held him to her.

  “Good,” she said. “I want it. Fill me, Rauth. I want to feel it.”

  A moment later it happened. She felt the heat surge through her body in a shot, everything inside her being hit at once. Rauth pulled out and thrust again, letting out deep moans of pleasure, and Gwynne could feel the hard pulse of his orgasm as his cock erupted for her. For her. The thought of it was an honour, a privilege. He was hers.

  At last he relaxed, his cock still hard, still deep inside her.

  “Come home,” he said, breathing heavily, his head resting on hers. “Come home to us.”

  * * *

  Trial By Fire 8

  Gwynne’s reunion with Lachlan was a more joyous one than she had anticipated.

  She had returned to Dundurn by her own means, moving herself through time unaided, and Rauth had watched her leap before finding his way back to his portal.

  The jump itself was, as Lachlan had predicted, a question of focus: Gwynne had pictured her quarters in the castle: the large bed where she and the men had made love so many times. The smell of the fresh sea air easing in through the large window on the castle’s north face. The old mirror which would now reflect a changed woman; more invigorated. More experienced.

  And in a flash of images and memories she was there, standing in the midst of it all as though nothing had occurred.

  She was nude; the blanket had not made the voyage with her, and so she pulled on one of her dresses and immediately opened her door.

  “You, guard,” she said to the first shifter she met. “Please find lord Lachlan and send him to me.”

  “Very well, my lady.”

  The following minutes were difficult. Gwynne felt as though she were awaiting an executioner. How would Lachlan react? Would he hate her? Would he trust her to ever come near her again?

  The questions were answered immediately. The alpha ran into her room and to her, picking her up and spinning her around as her arms clasped themselves around his neck. She had never smiled in such a way that her cheeks hurt before.

  “I knew you’d return,” he said when he finally put her down. “I’m so sorry, my cwen. Are you all right?”

  “I am. And I’m the one who’s sorry, Lachlan,” she said. “I…”

  Her sentence was interrupted by his lips, lovingly and firmly pressed against hers, his tongue seeking the taste that he loved so well.

  “We must have you tonight,” he said. “Rauth and I. Whatever differences he and I have…”

  “You have differences?” she asked, concerned.

  “None that should be of consequence to you, not anymore,” said Lachlan happily. He knelt and kissed her belly and then the tip of each breast, causing her nipples to pucker under his touch. “Oh, I would have you now if I could,” he said. “But I will wait, and it will be agony.”

  That night was one of the best of Gwynne’s life, and the following morning was even better.

  * * *

  On a Wednesday afternoon in late autumn, Gwynne ventured out on one of her walks. She hadn’t shifted in the days since her return to Dundurn, and her decision to withdraw from her déor meant that she was vulnerable, she knew. The alphas knew it as well, and often sent their wolf patrols out after her to watch her from afar, to protect her, though they knew full well that in a pinch she could protect herself against any threat. They knew what resided within her, even if she chose to deny it for the time being.

  But in truth there had been no threat for some days. On the rare occasions when the flyers passed overhead it seemed only to be as surveyors, not as attackers. Even the wolf clan’s archers had become complacent, not firing unless under direct threat from above.

  On this day, Gwynne headed towards the sea. Normally she wandered towards the dense woods, protected overhead by thick boughs so that flyers couldn’t see her easily or descend in a direct line if they did. In past, she would have asked Bree to accompany her, the female dire wolf shifter who had become scarce since Gwynne’s return to 1348. As if out of a new respect for the lady’s station and position within the clan, she’d moved away from her, leaving her to life with the alphas. In the rare moments when Gwynne ran into her, she smiled politely and bowed respectfully. For now, though, they were not friends.

  A sensation filled Gwynne: her life with the dire wolves was starting fresh, now that the truth had come out, and in a sort of quiet celebration she wanted to cast her eyes on the beauty of the ocean which had so charmed her in modern day Cornwall.

  As she hiked downward toward the rocky shoreline, Gwynne’s eyes took in the miles of winding coast in her path. Overhead nothing stirred; not even a seagull. It was a good day; peace seemed to have set in, even in the air around her.

  She wandered for an hour or so, waves crashing to her left as she navigated across the often treacherous terrain. The hike was not easy, but it was rewarding; something in the wild beauty of the sea thrilled her. It always had; this was the one place that remained unchanged in her time, even after centuries of civilization had built towns nearby. Humans couldn’t sculpt the shoreline to suit their needs; the sea was simply its own lord and master.

  It was after two hours of walking that she stopped and sat down on a large rock, the girl inside her slightly disappointed not to have uncovered a hidden cave or an X on the ground marking a treasure; all the things she might have expected in a book about the Cornish coast.

  A decision needed at last to be made, her tired feet telling her not to give in to her stubborn nature: should she turn back or proceed? Her feet voted for the former; her curiosity for the latter.
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  Her fingers tapped in gentle thuds on the stone surface at her sides as she pondered her next move. The alphas would no doubt become agitated if they discovered that she’d been gone for a long time. Perhaps for that reason alone, it was time to turn back.

  But it was in that moment that a flurry of movement caught her eye.

  Instinctively Gwynne stood, tightening and staring in the direction of the figure who’d shot by to her right. In the distance she saw a shape float away, loose clothing flying behind it like the ebb of an imagined ghost.

  Gwynne followed, the fear that had once accompanied her when she’d walked alone in past gone with the advent of her newfound shifters’ confidence. She braced for potential conflict, for the possibility of her non-human form rearing its head in defence against whatever this creature was. She could withstand the change, she told herself. She could confront any foe, however otherworldly.

  But no foe came at her. Instead, ahead in the distance she saw the lithe figure moving rapidly away from her as though running smoothly, gracefully as a fawn. This was no bulky male shifter or sickly human.

  The pursuit lasted several minutes, during which Gwynne scrambled over rocks, trying to discern whether the cloaked person was attempting to lose her or to guide her, though the latter seemed an odd choice.

  At last, she came face to face with something like a cabin built into the rocky cliff face—a stone cottage, rather, coated in green. Ivy, or perhaps even seaweed, draped itself over the windows from the thatched roof. The sight was beautiful, like a scene set in a fairy tale.

  Its worn wooden door stood slightly ajar as if in welcome, though Gwynne’s immediate reaction was to assume the worst: a trap. A means of isolating her on the shore away from her alphas, away from her entire clan. Rarely in this era had she come upon a stranger who’d meant her anything but harm.

  And yet she approached, curiosity offsetting any concern.

  “Hello?” she called as she stepped forward. “Are you in there? Show yourself, please.” Her instinctive politeness amused and even surprised her. This could be an enemy, after all. But something inside her dictated that it wasn’t. That nothing and no one threatened her here.

  The figure in dark clothing stepped forward into the doorway, dim light from behind outlining a silhouette.

  Gwynne could tell two things: that the form was that of a woman, and that she wanted her identity to remain concealed.

  Her entire head was covered in a thin black veil through which Gwynne could only faintly discern features. The woman’s age and hair colour remained a mystery, though a soft feminine face revealed itself in spite of the disguise. There was a faint, soft-edged beauty that emerged through the fabric which charmed Gwynne and reminded her of the Arthurian legends that she’d love in her youth.

  The woman was tall and her figure was mostly concealed under a loose dress of black linen, and Gwynne could see that she was well-fed. Long sleeves draped down to her fingertips, and the neckline of the dress scooped downward, revealing a full bosom.

  “Good day, my lady,” said the woman. “Won’t you come in?”

  “That depends. Who are you?”

  “Some call me the Lady of the Sea. To others I remain nameless.”

  “You must have a name, though. Everyone does.”

  “Not everyone, my lady. Some choose to forego them. It’s simpler that way, you see.”

  Gwynne took a step forward. “You called me ‘my lady.’ Why did you do that?”

  “Because you are the Lady Gwynne from the castle Dundurn. I would know your face anywhere.”

  “So you’ve seen me before.”

  The woman turned around and stepped through her own doorway.

  “Of course,” she said. “You have achieved a high level of fame in both of your lives, you know.”

  Gwynne followed her, trusting the voice within her that told her it was safe to do so.

  It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dark of the cottage, whose small windows only allowed meagre light to flow in between strings of ivy. As the room grew clearer Gwynne saw shelves which contained vials, bottles of powder. On a table nearby sat a mortar and pestle and various glass vessels.

  “You’re…”

  “I know what you want to say,” said the woman, laughing gently. “A witch.”

  “I was thinking that you were some sort of pharmacist,” said Gwynne, laughing in turn. “I’d forgotten that most people in this era would call that a witch.”

  “Pharmacist…yes, I like that. I prefer it to the other,” said the woman. “I make potions, medicines. I heal. Of course, many think that I do the opposite.”

  “And yet no one’s burned you at the stake.”

  “I’d like to see them try,” said the woman, her voice taking an ominous tone. “I wouldn’t take it well. But in all truth I set up the cottage here to avoid such things, and to keep to myself.”

  “Here? You mean away from people?”

  “Away from humans. There are naturally shifters around, as you know. The humans fear witches as shifters do not. Of course, to the humans, the shifters are even worse than witches. Devils who walk the earth.”

  A shudder ran up Gwynne’s spine. For a moment she longed again for the twenty-first century when people had stopped such talk. Well, mostly. She remembered as a child hearing about the Salem witch hunts in Massachusetts and wondering if people of her day and age still worried about devil worshipers. At her high school there had been a group of girls who’d fancied themselves witches, casting “spells” and doing seances. Nothing had ever come of it, of course. Not that Gwynne knew of. And here she was, face to face with a woman who was likely capable of all sorts of things that would have made those girls shudder in their shoes.

  “Don’t worry, my child,” said the woman in black. “I know that you are no devil, and you should know it too.”

  “Of course I’m not. I’m human,” said Gwynne, her tone insistent in spite of the lie.

  “Yes, of course you are.” The woman’s voice remained gentle, reassuring.

  “Do you heal shifters then? Do you treat their wounds and that sort of thing?”

  “I do, at times.”

  “Flyers or wolves?”

  “Whoever needs my help. I do not turn anyone away. I don’t take sides, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I see. So you’re neutral. Switzerland.”

  “I simply abide by my own morals. I do not believe in allowing beings to suffer, be they human, shifter, animal or anything else. It would simply be inhuman to allow such a thing.”

  “So you’re human, too,” said Gwynne.

  “Did I say that I am? Ah, well, I suppose that for the purposes of this conversation I am as human as you are.”

  Gwynne turned to look out through the open door. The sky and the sea seemed to be darkening around them; she hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.

  “I’m sorry to leave so soon after meeting you. But could you…would you direct me back up towards Dundurn?” she asked, realizing that she was looking at a challenging climb, to say the least. The rock face was high and almost vertical in places.

  “Of course, my lady,” said the woman, “If you head outside I’ll tell you where you need to go.”

  “Thank you.”

  Gwynne stepped out into the evening air. The day had grown cold, though she didn’t feel it acutely. This trait seemed to be a benefit of her recent change; her body consistently reacted less to extreme temperatures than it had done when she’d simply been human.

  “You see the narrow path leading upward through the large stones? That will take you up onto the higher land, and from there you need only walk. Eventually you will see your Dundurn.”

  “It’s a few hours’ walk, isn’t it?” asked Gwynne, pondering her tired feet and whether today would be a good day for her drake to learn flight.

  “No. It’s quite close. Quite close indeed. Closer than you think.” Gwynne could hear a smile in the
woman’s voice. Maybe she was a witch after all, able to bend time in her own way.

  Gwynne said good-bye and began what would prove to be a short walk, wondering if she’d ever see her veiled lady again. She liked everything about the woman. Her voice, her demeanour. Her desire to help. Even her odd disguise appealed to Gwynne. But she had to be lonely, so isolated from a community.

  Perhaps one day the lady of the sea would find herself invited her to Dundurn for a visit.

  * * *

  Trial By Fire 9

  The following morning Gwynne found herself alone, her alphas having risen early. This wasn’t unusual for either man; the two managed to busy themselves most days with delegation of patrols and other tasks, or with organizing the allied townsfolk who assisted in keeping an eye out for the always present flyers.

  There had been no talk of an all-out assault on the rival shifters. In fact, Gwynne remained unaware of much where they were concerned. It had never occurred to her to look into who their leader was, and these days she was as happy to forget the threat entirely. In her mind Kapral had been the head of the group, and now thanks to her he was long gone.

  Yet she knew that they were still out there somewhere, still waiting, watching. And they still wanted her dead. Only since her change had she begun at last to comprehend why.

  For now, she was happy to live in denial of their very existence.

  She rose and washed in her basin, grateful that the sun was pouring in through her window, shining in a cloudless sky. The beautiful day had her considering another walk; perhaps she would even have a longer visit with the lady in black.

  It was late morning, after Ygrena had brought her breakfast that a guard came knocking at her door.

  “My lady,” he said, “The lords Rauth and Lachlan are…having a conflict.”

  “What? What do you mean?” she asked, rising from her seat.

  “I think you should come and see for yourself.”

  Gwynne followed him down a series of hallways to a room which served as a sort of military planning area, filled with roughly-drawn maps on parchment and old books bound in leather, their contents painstakingly written out in ink.