PULL ME UNDER - Angel Witch - Fourteen

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Fourteen

“Get the hell out of my tent, you jerk!” Lauren pushed at Ddun’s chest with her foot, not meaning a single word. She had been contentedly enjoying her solitude, a warm herbal tea at her lips before he intruded with his own sort of thirst. He crawled closer, mask tilted up, kissed her ankle and up her shin as she relented, not having put up much of a fight to begin with, and she reclined on the furs with her hands behind her head. He was a man on a mission, and she had to respect that. Still dressed in his regalia, heavy vest of polished scales painted in brilliant gold, he looked quite kingly, though she didn’t dare tell him so. His kisses trailed closer to her thigh, his hand brushing the hem of her skirt further upward. “At least take the mask off your head.”

He tossed it, hitting the felt with a pat, and forced her legs apart with his knees.

“And the vest.” She bit her finger, glee spreading across her face as he obeyed. “What else?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” he declared with a musical tone.

“About what?”

“You being alone in this tent. You shouldn’t be alone. Stay in mine.”

“Give me a line about how it’s about to get cold and you need me for heat.”

“Hmm, that too.”

She giggled. “And what will Tanner say?” Since he seemed to worry about that.

“Tanner? Oh, you mean, his permission?”

“What—No, what?” She went up on her elbows—one offhand line and he still remembered it? “No, that was—”

“I’ll go to him—right now—just wait.” He scrambled up onto his heels, grabbed the mask and tied it politely at his waistband… as much to keep the bare minimum of Dvarri formality as he was covering his protrusion.

She howled a laugh at him. “It was sarcasm, you—” he tore the tent open, “You’re a dope, you know that? The two of you, you’re both morons. Get the fuck out of my tent. If you aren’t back in thirty seconds, my answer is no!”

She flopped back onto the furs, huffing. God, it had been so long since she’d been laid. And there she was, falling for the stupidest man on the planet, gushing for the natural pout on his lips, his toffee-brown eyes, his scars, his capable hands, hands that have killed and saved, she bit her lip at the twang in her ovaries. She was so lucky. Of course she’d move into his tent. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone she had ever been with. None of them. Is this really what it’s like? She felt like a virgin, face flushed like she was sick with fever.

He made her feel safe.

When he returned, they both tore ferociously at whatever weak fabrics stood between them, pulling at ties without caring if they broke, and she lit aflame at his slightest touch—and there were no slight touches from either of them, only firm, manic pressure all over each other, and she was already moaning.

“I want your magic all to myself,” he whispered in her ear, breath shaking.

“It’s yours.”

“I want you. Lauren, I want you to stay with me.”

She tried to say something more profound, but a shuddered gasp was all she could manage before he made her sing, which was a good “yes, I’ll stay with you.” No more talking, only sighs and screams and arched backs.

***

“Stenya! The Stenya are here!”

Lauren and Ddun both sprang awake, pulse quickened. Shouts rang throughout the camp, and Lauren went cold to think Ddun had to leave her there—to be taken, or die, like Ansa—she grabbed at him, begged him to stay. He promised her through kisses that it wouldn’t happen, he wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her, and she wished she could believe him, but he could die out there—

Arrows pierced the felt of the tent and she screamed. Ddun had weapons ready and his mask over his face, told her to dress and run, follow the others, and she nodded at his back. He ran, she heard him waking Tanner, and she clenched her eyes shut to hold back tears of fear for the both of them. She had to accept they were fighting to save the others, to save her, and to stop shivering.

Ddun had left his scaled vest, so she donned it, the cold leather backing a shock on her skin, the weight of it strange. To run seemed wrong. Not when she could help.

Two horses stood alone while the camp picked up and fled. Drawn to them like a magnet, her skin prickled, her eyes burned, nothing around her penetrated her skull the way the sight of those horses did. She didn’t know how to ride, they had never taught her, being a woman. Did it matter?

Her vision wavered as she touched them. Her palms went hot, the little beetle-like things that made up their bodies all swarming to her hand and buzzing, turning red, yellow, white.

The shape of the horses changed, undulating under her touch, turbulent boiling motions, and as her vision blurred to darkness she thought of the beast that Meidred had summoned. A ghoulish howl from the depths of her, and she was numb to the world.

When her senses returned, the camp was still in chaos, only seconds had passed, and where the horses had been an imitation of Meidred’s beast stood—the horses had transformed. The beast knelt to her and she climbed onto its shoulders, the wings of it at her back. It carried her forward.

Arrows flew past her head.

The wings flapped and blew dust all around, but up she went, the arrows following with terrible whistles, hitting the beast under her and spraying out the little creatures that built it, but the thing was undeterred, its wings made snapping sounds like a leather belt on skin. She was up.

In the field there were bodies soaking the earth, but the fight was far from over, Dvarri and Stenya in brutal dances. When she spied Tanner and Ddun she turned cold, but it wasn’t fear—the emotion had no name—the beast dove down to the ground where a fallen warrior lay and she scooped up a discarded spear left stuck up out of the earth, before rising back above the fray. Howling like Tanner, heads snapped up to her and eyes went wide.

The wind was harsh and everything was red. This was more than the Bic pen, more than Orman. The memories struck like lightening behind her eyes as she flew down and drove Stenya to their backs, as the beast tore through their ranks she stuck the spear with all her strength into guts and she felt absolutely nothing to see them bleed out at the point of it. Her legs were drenched in red, and she heard Tanner’s shrill whistle.

He was painted head-to-toe too, the men he had been fighting saw her and fled fast over the prairie. She went to the fleeing Stenya and overtook them, the wings knocking them down to eat dirt and allow Tanner and Ddun to finish the job with their swords as the fallen men held their hands up over their faces in terror.

In Dvarri parlance, she had taken some of Ddun’s magic, too, she conceded—how else could she have found this within her?

***

Ddun almost dropped his blade to see it. If the Stenya weren’t also shocked frozen by the sight of her, he surely would have died by an easy arrow shot.

The early morning sun glinted off his vest she wore so beautifully—the only piece of clothing on her, adding to the brilliance. With spear in hand, as she neared them he could see the ferocity across her face like he had only seen once, and the man that earned that look was dead. Ddun laughed, grateful he was on her side.

Something welled up in him, a renewed energy for the fight, a fresh inspiration for bloodlust. He and Tanner exchanged a fierce-bright look from behind their masks before propelling themselves onward with disregard for exhaustion. The remaining Stenya on the field were cut down, the rest running at the sight of the flying witch, and Ddun wanted to grab her out of the sky and have her again right there, blood on their skin and all.

A small few Stenya would tell tales of what happened on that field, the remaining Dvarri were all crowing and singing in victory. Tanner stood bent with a fistful of severed fingers, clutching them to his breast.

Lauren landed in the pasture and climbed off the beast on shaking legs, and the thing turned to a puddle without her magic to keep it whole, separating and reforming as two horses. As drained as the beast, she fell to her knees before Ddun could reach her.

“Lauren, Lauren!” The blood on them both making it difficult to keep his grip. “What did you do?”

She licked her lips, eyelids fluttering. “What did I do?”

“You used your magic!”

The colour drained from her face as her head lolled back. He carried her, searching for either Grandmother for help.

Tanner appeared out of his tent with his own arms full, a woman wrapped in a blanket. Ddun had to leave his friend to his grief. Lauren—Ddun vowed with an inward grin, his future wife—needed him more. He would have no others, she was everything, and he would unite the clans under her banner to spread fear across Dvarri lands, a warning to the Stenya.

The train was already moving on when she awoke, in the covered cart made up for her to rest. He kissed her, greedy, before any words could pass between them. “Do you remember what happened?” he asked. Her eyes were clear and blue like the prairie sky rimmed by night.

“No… I don’t remember…” She swallowed.

“You fucking slaughtered,” Tanner said. The cart rocked over uneven ground. “Holy shit, Lauren.”

“I did?” Ddun helped her to sit. “My arms are sore. My hands—” Her eyes widened to see the wraps on her hands, she had burned them somehow and the blisters were oozing yellow and pink through the bandage. “My hands are burned.”

Whatever she had done, it hurt her—not just physically, it troubled her beyond what he could understand, he saw it in her face. He would have to keep her from hurting herself again.

It was the Grandmothers that had discovered the wounds when they bathed her and prayed over her, he was too distracted by the rush in his veins. It was intoxicating to watch her. But if it hurt her…

Her breathing quickened, her hand over her heart. “Meired is going to find me. Meired is going to find me!”

“We won’t let her take you,” Ddun promised as he took her in close, a protective heat in his chest as he felt her trembling.

“We’ll kill her,” Tanner said. A perfectly calm statement of fact.

“What’s the last thing you remember, my girl?” Grandmother asked.

“Well… I think I was crying. I asked Ddun not to go. I begged him not to go. He told me to… to run. But I didn’t, did I?”

“No my girl, you did not.”

“Are you going to kill me? For being a witch.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“You’re our witch,” Grandmother said, “and our enemies will tremble at your name.” She coughed a laugh and dunked her fingers into the greasy paint pot to put lines of protection on Lauren’s skin.