Shadow Magic (30 page)

He met her gaze, his own expression grim and unreadable.

"The cave gives truth and some cannot bear it.  Only a few times can I remember when a Fae woman was unwise enough to attempt to enter."

"What happened to them?"

"They went mad," he said, his tone flat.  "Each and every one of them."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"But you are mortal," Egann continued.  "And mortals do not have magic shimmering in their blood.  So you will be safe." 

Ready to offer reassurance, he was gratified when Deirdre simply nodded, lifted her chin and asked a simple question.

"Why?  What made the women go insane and not the men?" 

He glanced up at the yawning dark mouth of the cave. No more sounds issued forth from it; rather an ominous silence had fallen. 

"I do not know," he admitted.  "Though men find truth and wisdom inside, `tis said the cave speaks differently to women.  Some say it is the unbroken darkness, the sense that the walls narrow and close in.  Others mention the voices of the past which are said to echo in eternal whispers from within the stone itself.  No one knows for certain, as the poor victims were not coherent enough to tell."

Still watching him, she shrugged.  "Worry not.  I do not think this can be worse than that foul place under the earth where Ula took me."  Bravado and confidence sounded in her husky voice, and again Egann found himself full of pride.  She had an uncommonly brave spirit, this mortal woman of his, and he longed to kiss her yet again, though he did not.

Kissing Deirdre made him forget everything else. 

              Instantly, he felt himself harden.  Her quick intake of breath told him that she felt his arousal pressing against her.  Her nipples pebbled beneath his hand, begging for his touch.  Mindless with desire, he cupped her full breast with one hand, stroking, kneading. 

             
She moaned into his mouth and writhed against him.  As he considered plunging himself into her, standing there in the sand at the base of the cave, another shriek, sudden and sharp, issued forth from the cave entrance above.

             
He jerked himself away, stumbling backwards in the shifting sand. 

"Come. Hold fast to my hand," he instructed.  "No matter what you see or hear, do not let go."

   Pulling on her hand, they made their way carefully up the slippery steps carved in stone and wet with ocean spray.  Once again the air had gone silent, yet Egann felt again the ever-persuasive pull of the Amulet of Gwymyrr.

             
"The cry of the amulet grows faint," he mused out loud.

They stood on a small, smooth ledge of rock, mere feet from the entrance to the cave.

              "I do not hear the song, neither lament nor cry."

             
"Neither do I.  Rather, I sense something, a slight leaving of magic."  Glancing once more at Deirdre, he squeezed her hand.  "Are you ready to go within?"

             
She gave a wordless nod, her perfect pale face a study in determination, the ever present moonlight giving her an alabaster glow.

             
Egann forced himself to concentrate on the task in front of them.  "Remember what I have told you.  No matter what you see or hear, do not let go of my hand."

             
A sudden gust of wind brought ocean spray, gently misting her face.  "The tide comes in," she said, licking her lips with a quick movement of tongue that reminded him of her small pet.  "What if it rises so much that we are trapped within this terrible cave?"

"It will not."  He spoke with more confidence than he felt.  For an instant he wished that things could have the simplicity of childhood, or of dreams.  How much easier life would be if he could simply say the words to a magical spell and draw the amulet to him. 

              "I see," she said.  He saw her swallow hard, then she set her jaw in that stubborn line he had come to know so well.  This, despite the possible danger that lay ahead of them, made him smile. 

             
Into the ringing silence they stepped, their footsteps echoing on rock.  Once inside the small stone opening, the darkness was not immediately absolute; `twas similar to the other cave in that.  Egann could see well enough to determine that there was only one passage leading away, this one most likely went down deep into the bowels of the earth as well.

             
He could feel the ancient vibration of magic, the thrum of deep-rooted power.  So strong was it that he felt off-balance, uneasy and uncertain, for he could not tell if this energy came from good or from evil.  To such a place had Hearne brought the Amulet of Gwymyrr.

With Deirdre holding fast to his hand, they began the descent, the chill in the air growing more pronounced when they had merely gone a few feet. One turn and the light vanished, enveloping them in darkness. `Twas slow going in the now total blackness, but the sloped path was smooth and even and, since there was only one direction they could go,  finding their way seemed a simple enough task.

"I cannot even see my hand in front of my face."  Deirdre sounded peevish.  "I like this not."

"Soon it will be better," he soothed, though he knew not if he spoke truth.  "`Tis not so bad really, and the faint pull of the amulet tells me we travel in the right direction."

She sighed but said nothing more, only clutching his hand and keeping pace with his cautious stride.

             
Naught appeared out of the ordinary; indeed he found he enjoyed the quiet that was broken only by the soft sound of their footfalls.  He might have even have relaxed the slightest bit, had he not heard Deirdre's startled gasp and felt her hand tremble.

             
Madness comes to the woman foolish enough to enter the Cave of Myrddin
.  The old saying came back to haunt him.  But that only applied to women of Fae.  Deirdre was mortal and therefore, would have naught to worry about on that score.

             
"What is it?"  His whisper sounded overloud.

             
She did not answer at first, though her breathing had become harsh and rapid.  He pulled her closer, wishing he had a torch or some other kind of light so that he might see her face. 

             
"What
is
this thing?"  She moved, giving him the impression that she swatted at the air with her other hand.  "Why does it swirl around me, insubstantial as mist, yet solid enough for the faintest of teasing touches?"

             
"I do not feel it," he said, letting her know from the tone of his voice that her remark troubled him.

             
"Still the shadow tortures me." She sounded bleak.  "I would give much to be able to see it."

Egann increased their pace, not sure if they could simply outrun this wraith or spirit that apparently sought to drive Deirdre mad, but willing to try.  She kept pace with him, the harsh gasps of her breathing to his ears sounding both sexual and frightening at the same time, which disturbed him even more.

Deep within the earth they traveled.  Unlike the other caves, this stone passage did not widen into cavernous chambers.  Rather, it seemed to continue in an unerring line ever downward, the blackness absolute.

When Deirdre moaned, he felt a twinge of real alarm.  He had not truly believed that his Shadow Dancer would face the same dangers as other, ordinary mortal women.  Yet the sounds she made now spoke of some kind of suffering, though she continued to move with him, keeping pace at his side, her hand, while occasionally twitching, still firmly within his grip.

"Egann, make it stop."  Her request came a harsh whisper, pleasure and pain mingled as one in her smoky voice. 

"What is it that you wish me to stop?" he shot back, considering scooping her up in his arms and simply carrying her.  Perhaps that would afford her some protection from her ethereal tormenter.

              Panting now, she moaned again, her soft cries reminding him of the sweet sounds she made when he pleasured her body.

             
"I feel a touch," she gasped, her breathless whisper ending on a sigh.  "Sensual like yours.  It strokes me, enflames me, and brings me to the edge of the peak over and over, without consummation!  Stop it, or finish it, I can no longer say which, but can bear the torment no longer.  I need to feel you inside of me."

             
Vivid images danced before him in the utter darkness.  Deirdre, nipples swollen and pouty, her body aroused and sensual and beautiful, begging for his touch.

             
"I sense nothing!" he protested, his manhood swelling and throbbing as the erotic thoughts aroused him. 

"Then whose caress is this?"  She staggered; only his firm grip on her hand kept her from falling.  "I can take this sweet torment no more."

              "Morthar's blood," he cursed, ignoring his own fierce arousal.  He gathered her up in his arms in one motion, lifting her so that he might carry her close to his chest.   "I will hold you."

             
"Nay," she protested, even as her feet left the ground.  To his shock she began to struggle, fighting his touch with the mindless fury of a wounded animal.  To his shock he heard her clothing tear.  Her full breasts brushed against his chest, her nipples pebbled and full, causing his engorged body to stiffen further. He clenched his teeth, remembering the curse of the cave, and tried to tell himself he meant only to somehow help Deirdre get through this and remain sane. 

Still, he could not hold her; with the way she fought  he would be lucky to keep his own feet firmly planted on the smooth slope of the stone path.  So, releasing her with great care, he tried to lessen the impact should she fall with one arm cradled under her full breasts.

              Her frantic movements ceased as she felt his hold on her slacken.  She slid down the front of him, another soft cry escaping her.  Grabbing for his hand, she moved it between her legs, sliding it against her.  By the Goddess! He felt the moist honey of her desire, even as she pressed herself against him, leaving no doubt that she was fully aroused.

His own body, already hard beyond belief, responded.  Though he tried to warn himself against the treacherous cave, he struggled to control his lust.  It raged through him, consumed him, and urged him to do one thing, one thing only.  To plunge his swollen staff deep within her honeyed sheath.  Over and over and over until they were both mindless with pleasure.

"Nay," he shouted the word in defiance, hearing its faint echo down the passage, "I will not be overcome so easily."

"Give me what I need and end this torture," her voice was a breathless purr. 

The utter darkness meant he could not see her, but this only served to enhance his other senses.  She caressed him, her touch both soft and forceful, capturing his nipple between her fingernails and gently pinching, then skittering down the expanse of his chest, inside his braes to capture his swollen rod in her hand.

He felt himself surge at her touch, helplessly pump as she caressed him and squeezed him.

"Stop," he gritted out. "We must continue on to find the—"

She sank to her knees and her mouth, warm and wet and tight, closed over his swollen length.  He could not speak.  Could not think, could only moan as took him again and again.

Somehow, even though he shook with the force of his need, he found the strength to bring his hands up to her shoulders and hold her off.

             
"Deirdre—"

             
"I want you."  Her words were a soft sigh, her breath against his turgid head.  Then abruptly, she let him go, aching and throbbing.  She rose and embraced him with her slender arms.  Of his own accord, he felt his own arms go around her and hold her. 

Then she arched her back, placing herself in such away that her woman's center touched the swollen tip of him.  His manhood seemed to surge of its own volition and, with a shattered groan, he pushed himself into her, telling himself it would be only a little, just a sample, just enough to feel – oh, By the Breath of Morthar, he could not resist such sweet temptation.  He dove into her, she met him in kind, and still standing, he held her while he gave himself over to the exquisite pleasure of her body. 

              "Egann," she moaned his name.  He felt her sheath clench tight around him as she shuddered, finding her own release in waves that seemed to go on forever.  This was his undoing; he could hold himself back no longer, and with one final thrust he shattered.

             
While their heartbeats slowed he held her, still standing, unable to believe that he had lost control so thoroughly, yet reveling in the total sense of completion that filled him now. 

             
"I though you said magic was suspended under the earth," she said, her breath soft against his chest.  "How then—"

             
"Enchantment lurks in this ancient cave," he told her.  "Though I know not why the enchantment choose you."

             
In his arms she went very still.  "What of you?" she asked softly.  "Was it not enchantment that drove you to mindless need?"