Twin Passions: 3 (12 page)

Chapter Eleven

Cradling the delicate form of his Consortess in his arms, Rhydan made his way back into the cave, then along the narrow entrance into the cavern where Astra had made the bed of furs for his and Torran’s weakened bodies earlier.

Torran awaited them, as did a hundred candles he had conjured, each flickering with a warm, pulsating flame that radiated along the walls. Back from the pallet, a low fire burned, chasing away the chill of the night and the stone that surrounded them, but in the center of the room nothing but heat would surround them.

Laying her on the furs, Rhydan came over her, catching his weight on his elbows as his and Torran’s magick disintegrated all clothing that separated them from their Consortess and the warmth of her flesh.

Catching his gaze with hers, holding it as her silken leg lifted to brush against his thigh, Rhydan whispered the words it seemed he had known a lifetime.

“This, our Joining, we take thee as our Consortress,” he whispered the old magickal vows of an unsanctioned Joining. The practice of which had been outlawed for far longer than a millennium. “May our aligned magicks blend, merge and create for us the power of three hearts as one, the riches of a life filled with joy and the magick we were meant to share.”

As the final word passed his lips, Astra’s parted, and he felt Torran’s heart leap with his own at the vow she then spoke.

“May the gods bless this magick,” she whispered, breathless. “May the One give power to our union and the riches of wisdom to our hearts and our lives.”

“May we give to our Consortress,” Torran then recited, “the pleasure ordained by our gods and gifted by our One. May we, the Wizards no longer of the Delmari lands, now of the Covenan magicks, give all the power of our strength, and all the strength of our love to our Consortress alone.”

Magick suddenly blazed around them like a conflagration of rich, vibrant color.

Torran watched the blaze of magick, power and strength, called from the very soul of magick itself, to infuse them, fill them and bind them in ways he knew he would never seek freedom from.

The color of a soft Sentmar green of Astra’s magick, the palest blue of Rhydan’s and the darkest, deepest blue of the raging seas that Torran possessed began to fill the cavern. It whipped through the room, following that gentle green, only to collide in the center of Astra before striking into Torran and Rhydan.

The colors merged, blended and before invading the three of them became the color of the purest turquoise as the remainder of the vow tore from Rhydan.

“I, Rhydan, now of Covenan, do take thee Astra Al’madere, by right of First Select by Consortess magick.”

Right of First Select. The Wizard that a natural Consortress’ magick first touched once facing the Twins together.

It had been Rhydan her magick had first touched. It would be Rhydan who would merge his magick, his body with her first.

As his lips settled on her again, Torran’s Wizard magick began to stroke and caress her.

Astra arched in pleasure, in ecstatic bliss as sensation piled upon sensation and the touch of Wizard hands and Wizard magick began to possess her.

As Rhydan’s kiss became deeper, his tongue licking at her lips, dipping in for long, sipping kisses, his hands stroked down her side to her hip, and Wizard magick began to stroke gently over her.

Gently then more firmly, until all she knew was the pure, rapturous pleasure of a Wizard’s magick touch. A breathless moan left her lips as Rhydan’s kiss moved along her jaw, then to the column of her neck.

Shivers of exquisite sensation ran through her senses as the touch of Torran’s magick began to stroke over her as well. How she knew which magickal touch was Rhydan’s or Torran’s, still she was uncertain. Yet the pulse of each touch was distinctly different, an incredible flame of sensual, magickal rapture as Rhydan’s lips moved from her neck to the hard, engorged tip of her nipple.

As his mouth covered one tight, ultrasensitive peak, the electric heat of magick covered the other as the magick of both Wizards began to caress and stroke her body.

Strands of power wrapped around her, stroked and heated each spore of power flowing through her body as she writhed and arched beneath it. As it wrapped around her thighs, spread them wider and created a cradle for Rhydan’s powerful hips, Torran’s magick then slipped along the cleft of her rear.

Like the heated touch of roughened male fingertips it drew the juices of her sex back along the hidden entrance between her buttocks.

There, it stroked as she arched, straining beneath the touch as Rhydan’s lips moved farther down her body. His tongue licked, tasted her flesh. Turning her head, Astra forced her eyes open to stare at the Wizard whose magick was gently, heatedly working open the entrance to her anus.

“Torran,” she whispered his name, drawn to the blaze of iridescent magick that created a hue of dark pinpoints of color that mixed and swirled about her body.

“Ah Consortess,” he groaned as his fingers tightened around his cock, his jaw clenching. “Look, love, see where your magick strokes me.”

She looked. Her gaze moving down his body to the thick, elongated shaft that speared out from between his thighs.

The broad length of his cock, heavy with his arousal, the flesh dark, the wide crest damp from his passion, throbbed for her touch. Her magick wrapped around it, stroked it as the fingers of one hand buried in her hair, the other braced against the stone wall of the cavern.

Her magick did as she had dreamed nightly of doing for so many long weeks. It surrounded the thick sphere of flesh, suckled and milked it as her magick wrapped around the taut sac beneath.

“In the touch of your magick I feel your mouth, heated and moist, sucking my cock with such pleasure.”

Her stomach clenched as Rhydan’s lips moved over it.

Her thighs parted farther as magick tugged at them, making room for the breadth of his shoulders. The heated caress of his breath stroked over her clitoris as her hand moved from Rhydan’s shoulder, desperate to touch the Wizard whose magick was creating such sensations at her rear.

Moist heat took a suckling kiss of her clit as magick made the first heated penetration of her anus.

The jerk of her hips pressed the hardened bundle of nerves closer to Rhydan’s kiss as her fingers found the iron-hardened length of Torran’s cock.

Throbbing, thick and hard beneath her fingers, Torran’s cock pressed more firmly into her hands. Astra licked her lips, her hips writhing, and pressed tighter against Rhydan’s lips as her own ached to stretch around Torran’s cock.

The wet heat of Rhydan’s tongue stroked against the painfully sensitive nub of her clit. It throbbed beneath his kiss. It became tighter, harder beneath the stroke of his tongue.

The tip of his tongue tucked against the side of her clit, pressed, rotated and sent striking flares of incredible pleasure rushing through the swollen nubbin as Torran’s cock pressed deeper into the clench of her fingers.

She wanted him closer.

Rolling her hips into Rhydan’s kiss, she tightened her fingers on his cock and drew him closer, her tongue brushing over her lips. Her magick deepened around him, need rolling through her in waves of sensual magick.

“Mercy,” she cried out as Rhydan’s tongue suddenly penetrated her pussy, pushed inside her and licked with greedy hunger at the juices gathering on his tongue.

The broad crest of Torran’s cock pressed to her lips, slipped inside and the magick at her rear thickened and stretched nerve endings that had never known touch, never known possession.

Rhydan’s tongue pulled back, then shoved inside again, fucking her with licking strokes as Rhydan, or his magick, she wasn’t certain which, lifted her thighs, curved them back toward her breasts and his tongue delved deeper.

Torran’s cock thrust hard inside her pussy, pulled back and returned with deliberately provocative penetrations.

She was impaled by magick and heated licks. She was lashed with incredibly sensual sensations, which seemed to ignite each spore of magick inside her body.

“Sweet Astra,” Torran groaned. “Your mouth will destroy me.”

She drew on the head of his cock, her tongue lashing at it as Rhydan’s tongue licked up her slit again, circled her clit and sent clashing, surging sparks of need firing in the depths of her pussy and, incredibly, the tight ring of nerve endings inside her anus.

“My Consortress,” Rhydan groaned, his lips lifting from her pussy. “I cannot wait, love.”

His voice was hard, hoarse with his need as he came up her body.

Astra was lost in the power of the magick and the sensations tearing through her, but as she felt the press of Rhydan’s broad cock pushing between the folds of her pussy, she stilled.

Her lips, wrapped around the hard flesh, eased back, her lashes lifting, her gaze turning back to Rhydan then dropping down his body.

There, the thick stalk of his erection was pressing into her. Spreading her, stretching flesh that had never known possession.

Like a spear of pure heat, Rhydan’s dick throbbed at her entrance, then with a hard groan of control lost, his hips jerked and his cock surged inside.

It tore past the thin veil of innocence, drawing a cry of pleasure-pain from her lips as Rhydan fought to still in his possession of her. But there was no stopping. She could not bear it. She needed him. Needed more.

Astra arched into him, driving him deeper. Rhydan’s hips jerked again, burying him farther inside her before he gripped her hips, drew back and pressed deeper, harder, burying his full length in a shocking thrust of fiery pleasure.

Sensation became all she knew.

Locked inside her, Rhydan turned, rolling until she straddled his body, held tight against him, his cock buried so deep she was uncertain she could ever forget the feel of him.

Or the feel of Torran moving behind her.

His cock, slickened by his magick and her juices, pressed against the entrance his magick prepared and possessed. The magick eased away, but the sensations intensified.

As Rhydan possessed the depths of her pussy, Torran began pressing into the tight, clenching tissue of her anus. Magick eased and sensitized, lubricated and heated.

Inch by inch the thick length of his shaft took her.

Cries spilled from her lips and Rhydan stole them with his kiss, the taste of her passion still present and infusing the arousal blazing through her senses as she tasted herself there.

She was burning in a fire she could not tame.

She was lost in the touch of a possession she could neither resist nor control.

And she gloried in it.

Gloried in it to the point that as Torran slid fully inside her and the Wizards began moving, thrusting inside her in alternating strokes as they fucked her into oblivion, she knew she would never be the same.

She could do nothing but cry out for them.

Her magick poured from her as theirs poured from them. It collided in a mass of power and strength, whipping around them and blazing like turquoise flames as she moved with them.

As Torren filled her ass, she pressed back, throwing herself into the thrust. As he pulled from her and Rhydan arched upward, filling her pussy once again, she bore down on him, her hips rolling, the blunt heat stroking nerve endings that only stoked the flames of pleasure higher.

She was lost to them.

She was lost in the hunger and the need.

As the strokes became harder, the throb of their cocks stretching her farther, pounding inside her as they fucked her with greedy lust, Astra felt her senses erupt.

The conflagration tore through her. Spores of magick ignited with the pleasure, the possession and the heated penetration of their magick, as well as their release suddenly spurting inside the rich depths of her pussy.

Her orgasm was rapture. It was more pleasure than she heard the Valley of Dreams could become.

It was a wicked, never-ending pulse of liquid ecstasy Astra wanted to hold on to, yet knew she would never survive.

It blazed inside her.

It shuddered through her body and she felt the pulse of their seed spurting with fiery blasts into the depths of her body. The intensity of it stole reason.

It stole all loyalty, all ties and bonds and gave them to her Wizards for keeping.

Just as she had given her passion, her body and ultimately her soul into their possession, she gave them the last measure of herself as well.

She now belonged to her Wizard Twins.

And some last shred of sanity had her wondering just what in Shadow Hell she was supposed to do with them now.

Chapter Twelve

They lay upon the furs, perspiration glistening on naked bodies, exhaustion of a truly pleasurable sort wrapping around them.

They lay with their Consortress. Not a Consortess, but a Sorceress Consort. A Consortress.

From their eighteenth cycle they had dreamed of this Sorceress. They had known her name, her face. They had watched her grow into a woman within their dreams and saw the heartache and betrayal of her childhood.

Torn from her home at five and sent to stay within the village common of Mystic Mountain with a loving nurse, she had suffered the knowledge that her mother had sent her away with pleasure. The one who had given her birth had cared for nothing but the land, her duties as Keeper, and ensuring the daughter of her second Consort became Keeper, rather than the daughter the land had chosen.

Her Sorcerer stepfather had cared for nothing but the power to be gained from being with a Sorceress of such power, and ensuring the child they created together benefited from the Joining with the possession of the land.

Astra had grown without parents, with none to nurture that deep vein of love she so longed to give. Even the nurse, despite her fondness of the young Keeper heir, could not assuage her need for family.

Until Astra came to Sellane Castle at the age of sixteen.

Until the Queen Amoria Sellane and the dragon Garron had seen into her aching heart.

Torran and Rhydan had sensed her pain, but their magick refused to allow them to go to her in but the smallest of ways. They were fledgling warriors and she had been but a babe, far too young to understand what her future could hold.

“I was but four cycles when my father died in a battle against the humans.”

It was Rhydan who tensed. They both well remembered her fourth cycle, and the agonizing grief of losing the father who had so cherished her. The tall, golden-haired warrior who would awaken her with a gentle kiss to her forehead each morning and take her with him to see to his duties in the village common each morn.

“I awoke to just such magick swirling around me, and believed it was Garron, who came to check on me since the year of my birth, perhaps, seeking to comfort me. It was not Garron was it, my Consortors?”

The acknowledgement of their place within her life filled them both with pride.

Were their chests perhaps extending with a surfeit of that deepening ego?

Torran opened his eyes, his lips quirking at the colors of his and Rhydan’s magick covering their Consortress, caressing over her gently. Just as they had attempted to soothe her so many cycles before.

“How were you there with me, even then?”

Torran nuzzled his face farther into her hair to whisper against her ear, “From the night the Claemai Twins Joined with their Pixie Consortress, we have known of you,” he reminded her. “You were barely three cycles the first time we, as little more than fledgling warriors, first saw you in our dreams.”

Fledgling warriors. They would have been in training. Wizard training began at the warrior stage at the age of ten cycles. Their sexuality hadn’t even emerged until fourteen cycles.

A breath of regret escaped her lips. “So many years that you have known. When you came to Covenan, why then did you not at least acknowledge me in some small way?”

The agony of that knowledge had eased, but the memory of it still had the power to give her pause, to ache in some small way.

“And have our magick undo the commands the gods had given us?” Torran asked gently. “We were to aid in revealing the Keeper of Covenan. The one who hid herself so well that even the gods themselves were uncertain which of the two princesses carried such title. To reach out to you would have seen our magick aligning immediately, love.”

Aye, that it would have done, for she would not have had the strength to pull back, nor the ability to understand why they would do so.

So many centuries without their Wizards had left the Sorceresses with little defenses against the magickal pull of a natural alignment.

“It does not surprise us though, the strength of the power you wield.” Pride definitely filled Rhydan’s voice now. And she knew she felt his chest expand as he lay against her.

“Why say you that?” Glancing at him, she caught the amusement that filled his gaze.

“Did you know, little Sorceress, your father, Kalont Vander, was actually a Sorcerer descended from those first Veressi? The Sorceress born of the Keepers of the Lands at that time had conceived just before departing Cauldaran. A Sorceress was born of the union and from that daughter, Sorcerer Twins were born two decades later. Sorcerer Twins carried through your line, did they not? Both your father as well as your beloved uncle died in the battle against the humans that day.”

Astra’s lips parted in horrified shock. “Say you nay,” she demanded.

Torran chuckled at the horror. “Ah Sorceress, I cannot say I regret the power, but the inherent stubbornness will no doubt send us sleeping in lonely beds when your anger is roused.”

A descendent of the Veressi?

Sweet gods, how cruelly wrong was such knowledge. “Well, I could have done without knowing such. For Wizards many claim to not practice the dark arts, they know far too much about them I would say,” she muttered resentfully.

But it did leave open yet more questions, as well as answering others. Now, knowing the depth and the history of her power, she no longer feared the plans she knew her mother and stepfather had for the sister Astra had never truly known. The sister they would force the Mystic Forests to accept as Keeper heir, if possible.

No matter the power her half-sister, Anja Al’madere, may have, it would still have not a chance of challenging her own. The day of reckoning that she knew would come between her, her mother and her half-sister would be not so frightening with this knowledge, or the Wizard Twins she could now call her own, standing at her side.

“Ah Sorceress, how we do know better than that,” Torran assured her. “Think you we do not know that the land of the Mystic Forests has been rumbling its discontent for many cycles? That we are not aware that Alisante Al’madere, your traitorous mother, does not seek to see the daughter of her present Consort upon her throne when it is apparent to all that she can no longer control the vast power that resides beneath it?”

How true that was. Alisante Al’madere’s control of the lands had been slipping ever more in the past several cycles. Even with the power Anja Al’madere commanded working alongside the Keepers, still it was not enough to hold back the subtle quaking of the mountains that rested at the edge of the Raging Seas.

“Traitorous or no, she is no mother of mine,” Astra whispered, no longer resentful, no longer bitter at the loss. “It has been many cycles since I have acknowledged her as such.”

“The reckoning will arrive soon though,” Rhydan warned her gently. “And when it does, fear not, my Consortress, whether your power will be enough to hold on to what is yours and yours alone. For this is a battle we assure you, you shall triumph in.”

That battle, perhaps. But only if she survived the coming conflict, which would see her Wizard Consorts taken from her.

“There are other battles we must first face,” she warned them as Torran’s fingers stroked against her stomach. “Outlaw Wizards and Sorceresses cannot hide for long in Covenan. Not with Wizard Twins and Sentinel warriors lending their power to our Sorceress Brigade. Controlling the lands of the Mystic Forests will never be if we do not uncover who would see you branded as traitors to Covenan first.”

“We must resolve it soon,” Rhydan answered her with a resigned sigh. “And we will.”

“And how will we resolve it?” Aching fear filled her now. “What do we do, Wizards? We are not just Joined.”

“Aye, we love.” Rhydan turned to her, his lips brushing against hers as Torran caressed her shoulder with his. “Do we not, Astra?”

She stared back at him, the emotion he had so longed to see filling her gaze now.

“Aye, warriors,” she finally agreed. “We love. And perhaps we love far too much and far too deeply. For I do not know if survival would be my fate should aught happen to either of you. What good would I be to the Mystic Forests if I do not have my Consortors by my side?”

There was no warning then. There was no sense of magick or of knowledge.

The intruders were just there.

Eight Sentinel Warrior sets, Twins. Wizard Twins without holdings, property or families of fortune to back them.

And they had arrived.

“Rhydan Delmari. Torran Delmari. Astra Al’madere. You have been found guilty of the highest treason and ordered to be taken into custody and brought before the Ruling Wizards, the Guardian of Covenan and the Justices of the land for judgment against you.”

Torran and Rhydan felt her grief as the Sentinel Warriors were followed by ten of the Sorceress Brigade and the very woman they had but been discussing. None other than Alisante Al’madere stood before them, radiant in the colors of the ruling house of the Mystic Forests. The softest green, the most delicate blue and the vibrant gold she had taken with her Joining to the Sorcerer Sol Jol’ante.

The Sorceresses stared at Rhydan and Torran accusingly while the warriors held no expression at all. The Keeper of the Mystic Forests held an expression of triumph though, and a malicious one at that.

Well, perhaps not all the warriors were expressionless. There were four of the Twin sets who watched him with regret, who stared at the warriors of the Veressi uncertainly before turning back to them.

“How did you find us?” Torran asked, knowing the shields the Veressi and Garron had placed upon the cavern should have shielded them.

“A Sorceress Keeper heir cannot hide from the Keeper who gave her birth, no matter the strength of her shields, or others,” Alisante stated in her pseudo-gentle tone. “As long as Astra is within Covenan, so can her mother find her.”

“Ah, a traitor to your fair daughter once again, Keeper,” Rhydan proclaimed, mocking. With a wave of his hand he clothed himself and Astra, as Torran clothed himself as well. Sliding the furs back from their bodies, they rose from the pallet and faced not just their accusers but also the warriors sent to see to their arrests.

Astra’s pain was like a stake driving into their hearts as a black-haired Sorceress drew the magick-inhibiting iron cuffs from the belt at her side and stared at Astra, tears filling her eyes.

“Camry—”Astra shook her head slowly. “Do not do this. You know not what goes on here.”

“You did this, Astra.” Camry’s voice was thick with conflict and anger. “This you did when you hid these Wizards and conspired in their escape. Were you innocent of their treason, then you would have come to the Keeper of the Lands and seen to explanations rather than hiding them as you have done.”

“They are my natural Consortors,” she whispered painfully. “I could not turn away.”

“How prettily she lies,” Alisante sighed. “How often I have fought to convince Queen Amoria of her lack of ties to the lands and her undeserving status as Keeper Heir. Perhaps this will convince her.”

“You lie!” The accusation had each Sorceress glaring back at Alisante.

These were women who had fought with Astra, who had been by her side for the past eight cycles and knew well her connection to the Mystic Forests as well as to Covenan itself.

“The Keeper of the Lands will not abide this betrayal,” Alisante suddenly hissed in retaliation. “She cannot ignore what you have done, Astra.”

“Anja will not take my place, Alisante,” Astra assured her. “The land will not have it. Already it trembles in anger at your attempt to sever its ties to me. Only my death can sever the bonds I have with it.”

Alisante’s lips twitched in the barest smile of calculating triumph.

Astra felt her jaw clenching in rage. “Ah, so this is your scheme.” Bitterness now filled her. “You believe that in delivering me to judgment for crimes not committed that you will see my death? Nay, Keeper, such will not happen. The lands I will soon command will not allow it.” As she spoke, the merging power of the Joining, a turquoise as pure and radiant as power itself began to glow about her.

The cavern trembled, the echo of the land’s anger at her treatment suddenly filling the room in the colors of the Mystic Forest’s power. The blues and the greens swirled up from the cavern floor, wrapped around her, then extended out to Rhydan and Torran as they watched the display in surprise.

Alisante jumped back in fear and shock, her pale face seeming to whiten further as the swirling colors darkened the closer they came to her.

“I will see no such thing,” the Keeper snarled, her own hands lifting as power began to pour from them. “I am still Keeper of the Mystic Forests, you little dracas whore.”

But her power, strong though it was, could not compare to that which Astra wielded. The power of the Mystic Forests, fused with the Raging Seas, descended by the greatest Keepers ever known, the Veressi, and strengthened by Wizard Consorts broke easily past the guards the Mystic Keeper threw up before it.

Warriors and Sorceresses scattered throughout the cavern.

Rhydan could feel the Sentinel Warriors suddenly combining their powers and attempting to surround him. A move normally guaranteed to negate a Wizard’s power.