Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan (44 page)

There was a grunt, then a low-throated moan from across the room.  Mr Black was enjoying himself, but Pietre was too absorbed with his train of thought to pay attention.

The DeMartande line.... 

He frowned, his mind surging ahead.  What if it didn't end?  What if Pietre himself sired an heir?  A son.  Or better yet, a daughter.

His eyes glazed, staring inwards.

The Wendee
.  The woman fate had sent him.  Was she the fertile bed wherein he could plant his seed?  The mother of his child?  The mother he would...

Pietre's chest ached and he closed his eyes, unable to say the words even inside his own mind.  Only fate could give him the answer to that question, but as his jet sped back to the island, he felt a compulsion to see her again.  To know she was safe. 

This time, he would go to her in person.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was inevitable that all the fluid would need to come out.  The next time Dee woke, the pain in her head was overshadowed by the messages from lower down.  Her bladder was overfull, and worse, the room was ominously silent.

"Hello.  Are you there?" 

No answer. 

Damn.  He'd always been right beside her.  Where was he?  Her thighs tensed.  She'd just have to do it alone.  She couldn't wait. 

But first she had to be able to see.  

Reaching up with an arm that still felt heavier than it should, she grasped the compress's squishy edge and lifted.  It peeled off easily enough but left wet, sticky eyelids that had to be pried open. 

She blinked, looked around, saw... nothing.

She blinked again, incredulously.  Surely she wasn't blind?  It couldn't be...?

It wasn't.  A couple of despairing seconds later she realised the room was in darkness.  A few seconds more and she could see faint outlines.  The relief she felt was enormous, but she wasted no time in thankful prayers. 

Instead, she pushed herself up on one elbow to look for the door.  Her head throbbed warningly and muted colours spun in front of her eyes but she ignored them, concentrating on absorbing her surroundings. 

She was on a large fur in the middle of... a circular tent?  There were wall hangings with feathers and -

There was an opened flap through which a slight breeze entered.  Her thighs tensed again.  She had to go.

Rolling up on to her knees and ignoring the scream of pain from behind her eyes, she paused only a moment to make sure she wasn't going to faint, then stood, taking a step forward to grab at the tent opening, fighting vertigo.  She was weak and wobbly but the insistence of her bladder was an excellent distraction.

Two, maybe three seconds, her head felt clearer and she stumbled outside into the night.  The tent was in the middle of a cleared area and twenty paces away was a stand of trees.  She set off straight away, dog-trotting towards them, using impetus rather than co-ordination to get her there.  And she made it.  Just in time. 

Her relief was euphoric, but it so relaxed her limbs, she had trouble forcing them to work.  Pushing herself from one tree to the next, she stumbled back towards the clearing, only to stop at its edge, trembling with the strain of her exertion. 

At that moment the moon came out from behind a cloud and ethereal light spilled across the clearing like the hand of Tinker Belle sprinkling pixie dust.  Dee, her cheek against the smooth bark of the tree, paused to stare at the magical sight. 

The round 'tent' she'd emerged from was indisputably a tepee, and against its side rested a long bow and a quill of arrows.

She sighed, then closed her eyes briefly to send up a silent prayer, dispelling forever the insidious doubts that had crept into her mind.  She wasn't insane.

It was all true.  Never Land was real.  Peter was real.  And just as she was hugging her shoulders and promising herself she'd never doubt again, a wild creature stepped into the clearing and was bathed in the ghostly light.

Dee moved her lips but no sound came out.  Her vocal chords had been paralysed by awe, and instant desire.

He was tall, with black hair that fell like a sheet to his waist, and wet, as though he'd been bathing.  Fringed buckskins encasing his long legs and a breast-plate of bone and bead adorned a chest that rose and fell with untamed magnificence. 

Dee watched, mesmerised, as he padded silently to the tepee only to stop at its entrance, his hand resting on the opening as he gazed up at the sky, his brow troubled, his eyes searching. 

Seconds dragged by as she stared at his profile, the proud tilt of his cheekbones and the high forehead.  Could this warrior be the owner of the soft voice she'd come to trust - the gentle hands that had ministered to her needs? 

Her lips parted as she remembered the last time he'd touched her.  The expertise.  The pleasure.  She looked at his hand resting on the tepee opening.  The long, blunt fingers, the beaded wrist-band leading on to a forearm so negligently masculine it made her chest tight.

He moved then and she blinked in surprise, drawn out of her daze of appreciation as he stooped to enter the tepee, only to emerge a moment later, his quick gaze scanning the encampment before it came to rest on her pale figure silhouetted against the dark background of the forest.  She saw his chest relax as he released the breath he'd been holding.

Then he started towards her and again her lips moved soundlessly. 
Oh, my
.  She'd thought the Lost Boys were breathtaking.

Her cheek rested dreamily against the tree trunk as he strode across the clearing, sure-footedness belying his towering stature.  His skin was darker than her own.  Smooth.  And under it flowed muscles as invisible as a cat's. 

The closer he got, the weaker her knees felt until he stood right in front of her, blocking the light and all she could see was the dark intensity of his eyes.  She stared up into them, dizzy with desire. 

Then she realised she was just dizzy.

Her head fell forward and he caught her as she slumped, lifting her into his arms.  Dee was only vaguely aware of being carried the few paces back to his tepee.  But she was intimately aware of the body she was cradled against.  The skin was damp and exuded a mysterious nocturnal scent so laden with pheromones that it bypassed the foreplay build-up and took her straight to the point of penetration-readiness.  He stooped to enter the tent, then laid her on the furs, her boneless body melting into a puddle of limpid desire.

But that desire was suspended as he turned away to put wood on a fire she hadn't known was there.  In a daze of readiness, she waited for him to return to her side, and once back, he knelt and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't be frightened of me," he said, gazing deep into her eyes.  "I won't hurt you."

"I know you won't," she said softly, recognizing the voice.  It was that of her rescuer.  Her champion.  "You've been very kind."  And gentle.  Yet there was no gentleness in his eyes.  They ate hers. 

Dee had trouble keeping her heavy eyelids open, so deep was her arousal.  She couldn't seem to remember to breathe and the light-headedness was getting worse.

"You removed the compress," he said, in such a strange voice she felt a shiver chase down her spine.         

"I had to," she replied.  "Too much liquid."

He nodded.  "I should have thought of that," he said, and his forehead creased into a frown of such beauty it made her throat ache just to look at it. 

They stared at each other in silence and a stray breeze came through the opened door-flap caught the feather hanging from his hair, brushing it against his slightly parted lips. 

Dee felt her own lips tingle.  She imagined herself as that feather, hiding in his silky hair, brushing over his lips, perhaps sliding inside.  She looked at his dark skin and wanted to taste every inch of it, wanted to hear the fierceness in his eyes escape his lips. 

"I don't even know your name," she said, wanting to draw the moment out even as she knew it couldn't go on much longer.

"Among my people I am known as Long Shadow," he replied and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice.

She nodded.  "I like your name.  It suits you."  There was a sound of permanence about it that made her think of canyons and tall trees.  A dependability she sensed in the man too.  Having given his word, he would keep it.  He'd make a formidable champion.  And an unforgettable lover.

He was staring into her eyes again, but reluctantly, as though he couldn't break away.  

"Are there others?" she asked.  "Other...?"