Into the Wind Page 3

  Ian moaned as Taren slipped a finger inside the opening at the base of his tail to coax forth his member. When it emerged, hard and proud, Taren took it in his mouth, ran his tongue over its veined surface, then swallowed it until his lips met the base. As he pulled and teased, he pressed a finger in Ian’s other fold. Ian keened to meet the intruder and begged Taren for more as Taren slipped a second finger inside to Ian’s stuttered gasp. Taren knew Ian loved it when he directed their lovemaking, although Taren preferred to take a less aggressive role. It sometimes surprised Taren, though, how Ian was able to cede control to him.

  For Taren, the balance of power between them felt familiar. Taren guessed that he and Ian had tangled like this before, shifted in and out of dominance in their relationship as well as in their mating. Taren knew his prior life guided him, but much of what he shared with Ian still felt new and exciting. As he often did, Taren gave himself over to the memory and allowed his body to dictate his movements. He reached around Ian and clasped the place where his buttocks would have been had he been in his human form. The skin there was smooth and slippery, so Taren dug in his nails just deeply enough to maintain his grip. Ian’s rumbled pleasure was an added incentive.

  “Taren!” Ian writhed under Taren’s ministrations, his movements propelling them forward and making them spin.

  Tiny bubbles effervesced over Taren’s sensitive skin, tickling and caressing, adding to the hypnotic mating dance, stirring his desire. He sucked harder and slipped a third finger inside Ian.

  Ian’s climax washed over them both. With each gasp, with each shudder of Ian’s body, Taren felt the thrill of Ian’s release as if it were his own. He wondered if he’d ever get used to the sensation of sharing in his lover’s climax or if it would remain one of the great wonders of his dual form.

  “Fuck me,” Ian gasped as he convulsed once again. “Do it now.” Rarely did Ian ask Taren to take him, although this also felt familiar.

  Taren caught his breath and pinned Ian against the sand by his wrists. Ian’s eyes were glassy from his release, his breathing shallow. Taren sucked and bit at his nipples, then smiled broadly as he felt Ian’s heart race at the contact.

  “Please. Taren,” Ian begged. “Take me.”

  Taren pressed his hard cock into the heat of Ian’s fold, seating himself deep inside. Goddess, he loved Ian! His heart, his soul, the memory of his soul, his strength. Like this, bound to him in body and spirit, he could almost imagine himself inside the once-proud temple at Callaecia, singing the goddess’s praises with Owyn at his side.

  He released Ian’s wrists and they floated upside-down as Taren gripped Ian more tightly and thrust. Ian tossed his head back, and his heartsong filled Taren’s ears as well as his heart. The ancient Ea melody sounded nothing like the human songs Taren had learned as a child. Instead, he imagined the sound of the wind across the rocky shoreline of the Derryth coast as the gales of winter approached. Haunting. Beautiful. Primal.

  Taren wrapped his tail around Ian and joined him in song. Their voices rose as one as Taren drove deeper inside Ian’s body and lost himself in the physical. All doubts as to his place among his people, the dreams that still plagued him, and the uncertainty of his future—all this seemed lost in the moment. Taren knew nothing but the water, the feel of Ian against him, and the music of their souls. He climaxed long and hard and lost himself in Ian’s embrace.

  LATER, THEY lay on the grass overlooking the water, naked and spent. Ian stroked Taren’s hair with his large hand and kissed him. “Does this have to end so soon?” he asked with a sigh.

  “And here I thought you were the one who was anxious to return to sea.” Taren rolled onto his side and smiled down at Ian. “Renda says you’ve had the crew scrub the decks twice just this week, and Kerisa says she’s reinforced the sails again.”

  Ian laughed. “Better now than wait until we put to sea.”

  “What’s your hurry? Has Vurin asked you to sail again?”

  “No,” Ian said before he kissed Taren again. “At least he hasn’t yet. Still, I’d like to sail with you at my side. As part of my crew—not just a passenger this time.”

  “I’d like that.” Taren had also dreamed of sailing with Ian. “But there’s plenty of time. We have nearly nine months before I return to the Sea Witch.”

  Ian narrowed his eyes, and Taren knew he was fighting an internal war with his jealousy. “You owe Rider nothing. You’re a free man, Taren. Free to decide your own fate.”

  They’d discussed the subject of Taren’s contract before, and it remained a point of contention between them—one of the few. Taren leaned down and brushed Ian’s lips with his own, hoping to reassure him. “I’ve no intention of returning to his bed.” Rider had made it clear to both Ian and Taren that he didn’t expect Taren to do so. Still, Taren understood Ian’s possessive nature, even if at times it troubled him. “But I will uphold my bargain and serve aboard the Witch as promised. I gave him my word.”

  Ian’s frown deepened. “I’ll gladly pay the last year of your indenture.”

  “What? And leave me beholden to you instead?” Taren shook his head. “That’s hardly better.”

  “You wouldn’t be behold—”

  “We’ve spoken of this before.” Taren’s gut clenched as he recalled some of their heated discussions. “It would change nothing. I’d have a different master, but a master nonetheless.” Ian encouraged him to speak his mind, but Taren still hesitated to do so. At the inn, he’d been beaten when he’d spoken out of turn. And although Rider had never berated him for it, Taren had always feared what might happen when his words came faster than his thoughts. That he could go as far as arguing a point with Ian surprised him. But more surprising still was that Ian professed his love even after they had disagreed.

  “Never. I would never seek to own you.” The corners of Ian’s mouth turned upward in a gentle smile. “It is you who owns my heart, Taren.”

  “Then let’s not speak of it again.” Taren smiled and traced a finger over Ian’s cheek. “Trust that I know my heart and I know what I must do. And know that I’ll never be unfaithful to you.”

  Ian gathered Taren into his embrace and held him tight. “That was never my fear.”

  Taren shivered as he felt Ian’s breath against the sensitive skin of his neck. “What do you fear?” he asked in an undertone.

  Ian tensed at these words. “I don’t want to lose you again when I’ve only just found you.”

  “You won’t.” Taren hoped he sounded confident in his answer. “I promise.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “But there’s something else troubling you, isn’t there?”

  “It’s nothing you need worry about.”

  “Do you trust me, Ian?” Taren pulled away and frowned.

  “I…. What? Of course I do.”

  “The truth is deeper than that.” He wouldn’t let Ian dismiss him this time, and although he sensed Ian hadn’t outright lied, he knew Ian wasn’t being entirely honest with him.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Ian stood up and walked to the edge of the cliff.

  Taren followed and wrapped his arms around Ian’s chest. “Then tell me why each time we speak of Rider or of our time together aboard the Phantom, I sense turmoil in your heart.”

  “I can’t forget what I did to you. I can’t forgive myself for it.” Ian’s voice was barely audible above the sound of the surf from below. “You forgave me when I did nothing to earn your forgiveness.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then let out an audible breath.

  Too overcome to speak, Taren clenched his jaw.

  “You should hate me. Of all people… I knew what you’d face at Seria’s hands, and yet I did nothing.”

  Taren took Ian’s hands in his, then met his gaze unflinchingly. “I could never hate you. Besides, it wasn’t your f—”

  “I had a choice.” Ian pressed his lips together, clearly fighting to control his roiling emotions. “I nearly died in that prison years before. But that was
my choice as well. I chose to return to Ea’nu and face my parents’ murderers. I knew what might happen. You had no choice. I sent you to that prison.”

  “No.” Taren’s breath stuttered. “Ian. Goddess. Don’t you see?”

  “I could have let you go. I could have—”

  Taren shook his head. “No.” He needed Ian to understand this once and for all. “You may believe you had a choice, but I know better.”

  “But I—”

  “No, Ian.” Taren brought Ian’s hands to his lips and kissed them, then smiled at him. “We’ve neither of us had a choice in this. From the day we were born, the goddess has decided our fates. We were meant to endure this. The goddess has tested us.” He wanted to believe they were both stronger for it, although he feared—no, he knew—the future held far greater challenges.

  “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

  “Yes,” Taren said, “you do. But even if I didn’t know this to be true, my heart would always forgive you.” I would gladly brave Seria’s pain to keep you safe. He put his hands on Ian’s face, then kissed him.

  It would take time, Taren knew, before Ian would forgive himself. Until then, he would make sure Ian knew how much he was loved and how happy Taren was to be at his side. How happy Taren was to be his mate.

  TAREN DANGLED from the cold metal shackles on the crumbling stone wall of the prison. His arms and hands had long since become numb. How long had he been here? Seria’s men had left him hours ago. Surely they planned it that way. Every encounter with Seria had ended in an ocean of pain. They knew he’d imagine what horrors awaited him upon Seria’s return. He wanted to die. At least in death, he’d find peace.

  More time passed before Seria entered the room. “Missed me?” he asked with a look of pleasure that caused Taren to shiver in spite of himself.

  Taren spat, hitting Seria’s cheek. He knew his punishment would come swiftly, but for the moment he felt nothing but satisfaction at having angered his captor.

  Seria’s smile spoke of hatred and power. He reached out and touched Taren’s chest. Taren screamed and writhed, pulling his wrists in a vain effort to escape the metal bindings. The metal ground against his already abraded skin, opening old wounds. The pain was nothing, however, compared to the fire that Seria’s touch imparted. Taren opened his lips, but no sound issued from them.

  Please, let me die!

  The scene changed and the searing heat in his chest faded, only to be replaced by a different pain as he kneeled over Owyn’s lifeless body, the rune stone clasped tightly in his fist. This pain was far worse because he knew it would not fade with time. Owyn, his love, his life, his reason for living. They’d only been handfasted a few years before, and now he was dead, and nothing could bring him back.

  Treande had no choice but to plunge the dagger into Owyn’s chest. Owyn was dying, and there was nothing he could do to save him. The rune stone became a physical part of its wielder’s body, joining with it. The only way to unjoin the stone was to remove it from the wielder while the wielder was still alive, killing the wielder in the process. If Treande let Owyn die, the stone would cease to exist forever. Still, the knowledge that he’d hastened Owyn’s death would haunt him the rest of his days. He’d paid a steep price for the safety of his people: the loss of the only man he would ever love.

  Treande’s tears mingled with rain. He knew he must leave. His people needed him to lead them to safety. With Owyn gone, there was no one else. He’d never wanted to be a leader; he’d only wanted to worship the goddess at Owyn’s side.

  Owyn! You promised we’d spend our lives together. You weren’t supposed to leave me. What will I do without you?

  His only answer was the screams of his people as the humans chased them toward the water.

  “Go!” Owyn’s voice said in his grief-bewildered mind. “You must lead them to safety. You must live so that they can live.”

  He bent over Owyn’s lifeless body and pressed his lips against Owyn’s. Already they felt cold to the touch.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered. He would leave Owyn here. There would be no burial. Owyn’s ashes would not rise to the goddess on the wind.

  Once again, the scene faded. He now sat by a dying fire in a small dwelling near the water, the sound of the surf against the rocks a reassuring melody that eased his restless mind. His body ached and he felt as though he’d never be warm again. Even the transformations did little now to renew his ancient body. Death was close, but ever elusive.

  How many times had he prayed for the goddess to release him to rejoin his beloved Owyn in death? How much longer will you test me?

  The fire crackled and an especially powerful wave broke nearby. He could almost hear Owyn’s sighs in the sounds, feel his longing. Owyn’s calls to him became stronger each day, and each day he imagined Owyn saying, “Just a bit more time, and we’ll be together again.”

  For years now Treande hadn’t cried, although the grief in his heart had only grown deeper with time. For the first time since Owyn’s death, he felt tears burn his eyes and fall over his cheeks. It’s too much. I can’t go on!

  “Owyn!” he cried. “Owyn!”

  “OWYN!” TAREN sat up, momentarily unsure where he was. He reached up to clasp the black stone that hung around his neck only to realize it wasn’t there. Tears rolled over his cheeks as he shivered.

  “I’m here.” Ian’s voice brought Taren back to himself. He encircled Taren’s waist with strong arms and gathered him into a loving embrace. “Another dream?”

  Taren nodded.

  “What about?”

  Taren wasn’t sure he wanted to. “I…,” he began.

  “You can tell me.” Ian pressed his cheek against Taren’s shoulder and kissed the skin there.

  Taren nodded.

  “I wish you’d speak to me about it.” Ian kissed his cheek and sighed.

  “There isn’t much to tell.”

  “Please.” Ian brushed a lock of hair from Taren’s eyes and met his gaze. “Tell me. Did you dream of the rune stone again?”

  “Aye.” Taren took a long breath to steady himself. “I was wearing the stone. You—Owyn was long dead.” Once again he’d been alone in the dream. The emptiness he’d felt at Owyn’s absence had been all consuming. Why were all his recent visions from the time after he’d lost Owyn at the temple? He longed for the memories of the happier times they’d spent together—the memories that had sustained him when he’d been a prisoner on Ea’nu.

  Ian brushed Taren’s tears away. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”

  Not if you can help it. Taren knew that. But he also knew that should the goddess will it, as she’d done before, Ian would leave him alone. He sighed and shuddered.

  “Tell me, Taren. Please.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” Taren settled into Ian’s arms as they lay back down on the bed. “I dreamed of the stone. Of leaving the island for the last time. I knew I’d never return.” He’d been old. Not frail, but his body had ceased to heal as quickly, and he knew death would take him soon. He’d wanted to die. Death meant that he’d rejoin Owyn in the afterlife. An end to his lonely existence.

  Ian held him tighter. Taren found it easier to forget the memory of that vast emptiness when Ian held him. Easier, but he still could not forget it completely. What if they were doomed to repeat the past?

  “It won’t be the same this time,” Ian said, as if he could read Taren’s thoughts.

  Taren prayed Ian was right.

  Three

  TAREN KNELT by the ruins of the temple, as he had each day for the past three months. He wasn’t sure why he kept coming back. “You’re searching for something,” Ian had told him as they’d worked to rebuild the foundation of the cottage on the bluff. “A heading in the storm. It’s only natural to ask for the goddess’s guidance.”

  Taren told himself he didn’t need the goddess or the gods to show him his purpose. He wasn’t even sure he believed they existed. And yet h
ere he was, prostrate once again, imploring her for help. More than anything, in acknowledging that he’d lived another life as Treande, Taren feared he might somehow lose himself. And with that fear came restlessness. Questions.

  “Back again?”

  “Obviously.” Taren didn’t mean to snap at Vurin, but he tired of the man’s paternal manner and preternatural ability to sense when he was troubled. Why couldn’t Vurin have been a seer instead of an empath? At least then he might be of some use to Taren and could tell Taren what he should be doing instead of wasting his time here. But perhaps Vurin’s empathy was what made him such a powerful leader for the mainland Ea.

  Vurin chuckled. “Not finding your answers?”

  “If I’d found them, do you think I’d still be here?”

  “Perhaps you aren’t asking the right questions.” Vurin bowed to the remnants of the ancient altar and pressed his palms together in supplication. “Or perhaps you aren’t listening to the answers.”

  “Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me, then?” Taren turned to face Vurin. In the fading afternoon light, he looked far more ancient as shadows settled in the lines around his mouth and eyes.

  Vurin sat on a rock and smiled. “You want to know who Treande was and how much of his soul still inhabits yours.”

  “I….” As always, Vurin’s ability to know his thoughts disturbed Taren. “Yes. I want to understand why I keep dreaming of him. What purpose the dreams serve. What I’m supposed to learn from them.”

  “No doubt you do.”

  “Tell me more about him.” When Vurin regarded him with a knowing smile, Taren added, “Please. I need to understand.”

  Vurin took a long breath, his eyes closing momentarily as if he were gathering his thoughts. “Walk with me,” Vurin said. “There’s something I’d like you to see.”