W&W 42

Fortunetellers, Ouija boards, and corn fields never bring nothin' but trouble in a horror movie. Trust me, you should avoid all three in real life just to be safe.

Forcing his way into the elf's mind had been the worst part. He'd almost screamed, when the heat of Nightwolf's touch seared him through another flesh. As he briefly twined his thoughts with those of the hated wizard boy, he felt their passion lick at his soul and for a drowning moment wanted to huddle there forever. Lost to himself, but in firelight. How could two people share a bond like that and not be consumed by the scorch of it?

But he felt the other, dreadful presence close as well, struggling to break free of the Wolf's iron grip so it could batten on Firehawk. Fortunately, so crazed with its struggle to escape it didn't notice his whispering presence at all.

He delivered his message and got the hell out without waiting to see how things would go. It was all up to that elf now. He'd done what he could, and probably more than he should have!

Envy he could feel on his own, he thought. He felt it NOW, just from coming that close to what was between them. But the fear? Oh yes, he was afraid of the elf. Fear was hatred, he supposed, just called something else. But whether it was purely his emotion he wasn't sure anymore.

Bullet? Ah. He had shared the elf's mind too intimately, maybe! He understood the phrase, and even worse he knew out of nowhere what a bullet was. (Would silver bullets destroy a soulreaver? It didn't matter---no guns here). He realized too, why the darkangel wanted the elf dead.

"He killed a part of us, the murderer! He went behind our back, he cheated! That world of his made us too weak. But he's in OUR world now and he'll pay; the meat he rescued will be ours, and pay even more!" Couldn't remember, how he'd happened to overhear this. Probably she had been ranting to herself---a thing she did often, these days. Not likely the Lady would admit to anyone that the elf had destroyed a darkangel even in his own meager world. But one of the things she (hopefully) remained unaware of, was that dragging Asher close had opened her mind to him greatly.

That was one problem, trying to block out the dank waft of her inner secrets so he could think straight. His thoughts were so often jumbled with a thousand others now, it was like --- like ---

No. The Lady didn't require brains, for her undead servants. She'd raise him with the other fodder by a casual hand-wave and probably not even know or care who he had been while breathing. And no matter what happened, he WOULDN'T become one of those rotting, hopeless things!

Asher writhed on the floor of Do'nar's tent, convulsed with fever, sweating like a hog. He felt some gratitude that his "brother" was gone on an errand of his own. This fit would last for minutes, or hours. He could easily explain it as an illness (still not used to your food here, so sorry!). But Do'nar would be concerned, and an ounce more guilt would be too much. He would go insane and destroy the world.

Thoughts flew through his brain in a bewildering mess of color, sound and movement. Before he could really gain an impression it was gone. Channel surfing, says the elf. Withdrawal from drug addiction. Very messy, you lose.

He wondered if the Death Lady had been, or would be, fooled. His charming bewilderment at "accidentally" sending messages to other Eastern lords about the impending war with the North had struck him as cunning at the time. Now, it just seemed clumsy. But blundering or cagy, the high-ranking Easterner was here now. Alarmed and apologetic both, closeted with the witch-woman and no doubt sharing the suspicions he had about Asher's beloved Lady. Why had the silly bitch thought she fooled anyone? They even knew she had used a different body in the past.

The carpet he currently beat his face against was finer than he would have expected, from a blunt warrior like Do'nar. It was clean, thick and expensive, warm tones of rust and dark brown intermingled with golden in a muted design of autumn leaves. To counter this mark of good taste, every surface inside Do'nar's tent was crammed with junk.

There were mountains of books and scrolls, amazingly enough (Asher realized the man was not the fool he seemed, but hadn't considered him as a reader). Besides the literature, unwashed crockery and various bits of expensive furniture awaiting final placement seemed to dominate the general clutter. There were odd mechanical items too, half taken apart and left in the midst of the floor till Do'nar's interest returned to them. A large bed piled with furs was relatively free of the overload of random items; a couple of books that the warrior probably read before sleep, nothing more. Asher tried to work his way to that area, then rethought the idea as a wave of nausea hit him.

Remember, when the Lady showed you that picture, shared what she was? The creature who dominated that color-drenched panel had been dusky of skin, which made the cracked-ice blue of his eyes, his amber hair, all the more arresting. The glow around him had not been a painter's trick of light but part of how this being appeared in the world, Asher somehow knew that. Although the artist had been half in love with his subject matter as he painted it, he could do nothing to make the---man?---any more glorious than he truly was.

The Being perched upon a throne of fire, his attitude alert and filled with delight at merely existing, like an intelligent animal tasting the wind in his face. A court of men and woman knelt before him, beautiful people whose faces seemed empty and witless compared to his vibrancy. His smile was only gentle as he reached for them, a savior king not a tyrant.

"Who is he?" Asher remembered asking in awe. "He's beautiful!" And his Lady had smiled. He understood later that she had been watching his reaction closely. Any wariness on his part, or questions about how sheep-like the court of worshippers appeared, would have been noted, and he would have learned no more. And probably, he would have died that same night, a tool that had revealed its flaws.

"MaZell, god of the South," she had told him. That was as close as he could translate what she said; the actual name was full of numbers and symbols his mind seemed to shrink from in bewilderment. And she added proudly, before he could share his distaste at the idea of this Lord being a Southerner, "Me, beloved. Me, as I first was and shall be again. And you---as you shall be, after you ascend to what you truly are. See? Your devotion will not go unrewarded. We shall all rule together, in beauty and power. We shall eat this world and move to others!"

Asher gagged now at his memories. He had not wanted to study that picture any further. Its subject grew no less striking but the closer Asher looked, the grimmer the details seemed to be. The beautiful smiling lips were too crimson for comfort, and the fawning courtiers seemed to be wearing grave clothes as their finery, jeweled in blood and tears not rubies and diamonds.

And yet, he had gone to it in the night very often, to stare. To stroke himself before it, offering the gasping heat of his completion to the Lord of Air and Darkness who almost whispered to him, from that blazing throne.

And sometimes---he felt he became that Being, full of rage and glory. Smiling like a Prince of the Sun, as his matchless fire sucked the marrow from the bones of these Things that were made only to please him.

Firehawk was less than nothing, an annoyance to be removed. And yet, he loved and was loved, by someone real. Front and back, he had everything.

Asher had a remembered picture, a promise of ultimate power---and shuddering reality, where he puked his guts out and wished for someone mortal who cared enough to touch him and calm his panic.

Clinging like a mist to the surface of the tent wall, waiting for events to unfold, Jalin had nothing to do but assess his own abilities and feel that he came up pretty short. He still didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do, how he could possibly help his friends. And he was beginning to suspect that the dragon had bewitched him into this.

His frantic questions to Sa'thal had been answered most strictly, if with real regret. "Sorry, kid. It's not fair---but this is what the Gods here want. And we WILL do what they say. You included, however much it hurts!"

Firehawk would be a "necessary sacrifice" to "put the world back in order." And trying to avoid that reality, or change it, would make things ever so much worse.

Jalin had accepted her words finally after hours of argument, tears and outright hysteria. Despite all his defiance, she was the witchwoman, who knew the mind of the Gods and Fate. And even more important---and awful---she too had started crying suddenly. "You think I wouldn't give my own life to stop this?" she'd raged, angrily brushing her tears away. "Why the HELL did I have to get to know that bastard? A stranger is so much easier, dammit!"

Jalin, shocked and now really afraid, had been unable to argue much after that. There had been no doubt he'd bend knee to her wisdom. He'd been living with the knowledge for weeks, all defiance shattered.

And yet, one visit from the dragon had changed everything. Maybe, because the beast had championed him so fiercely even though he hadn't really asked for it?

He didn't care about the gods now, anymore than Nightwolf did. To the Hells with what they wanted! He couldn't let Hawk be hurt like that, just because the gods said so. And if Nightwolf had found a way around the oracle he'd help achieve it, even if he was cursed into nothingness!

He had no real magical skills, save for shielding and gathering of information. And now, of course, he was subtly tuned into the dragon. On the edge of his mind, he felt it still playing with Sun Eagle, like a lazy cat with a fat mouse it was too fastidious to eat but didn't mind hurting. The man had been allowed to shudder to his feet and stagger to his horse, riding away as wildly if a demon had given him a love bite. Well, good. That was done for the moment. Back to the real task at hand.

He'd experienced the elven senses through Keith, before realizing that he himself could access dragon-senses. The two were alike, but only in the heightening, the god-like sense of power, not to be surrendered to until one had mastered control. Easier said than done, that!

But the elven senses were all about feeling; a sensual rush as taste and hearing, sight and smell became enhanced, refined. Not painfully so; rather as though another plane of the world too high and keen for mortals to grasp was suddenly all around. Filled with richer colors, the faint music of magic so thick in the air you could taste and smell it, feel it like dancing silk on your skin.

Oh, yes, touch also taken to another level. He shivered and smiled within himself, remembering that one joining with his lovers where Keith had surrendered to his elfin side. Definitely, touch became different---became "more".

Keith had the power, Jalin thought, to keep those senses on high most of the time. He chose not to. "Too damn distracting," he'd explained to Jalin, but with a dreamy, slight smile that the boy suspected meant he was thinking of Carson. But Keith was gaining the ability to damp them down to whatever level he chose, to not get caught up in the sheer rush of power and the pleasure in it. Except of course when he wanted to. And he could also share the experience with others; another thing Jalin was not skilled enough yet to do. Though at this point, Keith's talent for sharing was not exactly under his control. More like if he indulged, everyone around him breathed the same magical air and had no choice but to join in.

Jalin wasn't so sure about himself ever becoming so skilled in magic, not at this point. And the dragon senses weren't about feeling; they dealt with expanded knowledge, something he found as enthralling if not more so than any sensual experience. In fact, he wasn't sure if what he learned from the dragon was magic at all, in the hocus-pocus sense most Tribesmen thought of it.

Carefully, watching almost detached as Nightwolf softly wooed and persuaded his lover, Jalin dipped into the too-colorful Wellspring of limitless dragon-knowledge, searching for what seemed useful. He thought he had caught a wisp of thought from somewhere---Black Moon Bonding? Was this what Nightwolf was attempting?

Jalin had heard of it, but the particulars were foggy. It was forbidden knowledge, not something Sa'thal would be eager for him to know of in detail.

Wellsince she hadn't bothered to instruct him, and the dragon was occupied with making Sun Eagle regret he'd ever been born even as the man fled the area---

"Beloved," Nightwolf whispered, his lips so close I could taste his fevered breath. "Come to me. You must ask for it first, or the ritual will be useless to us."

I didn't doubt his statement but I still felt weird. Like I just opened an email from someone claiming to be my bank, asking for a ton of personal info so as to upgrade an account I didn't even have. "How stupid do you think I am?" was my general attitude, then and now. Until I was in a better position to dicker---i.e., full of elf and certain it was entirely my lover who was demanding this crap, I wasn't askin' for nothin'.

I eyed the dangling cuffs and winced without meaning to, felt his eyebrows tighten with impatience. "I'm workin' on it," I assured him. The elf was filling me up slowly, like beer being carefully poured into a skinny necked bottle that was too small to hold all the foam. "Give me a few, fer cryin' out loud! You know me and submissive stuff, man!"

"I do indeed." Humor touched his mouth for a moment, and fleetingly he was Carson, not just Nightwolf the Slayer. It gave me all kindsa hope. Hurry up, you damn elfbait!

//Relax a bit// the creature that brushed my mind suggested dryly. //I am giving you skills and knowledge, not trying to possess your feeble intellect. I must go slowly or you will be overwhelmed and lose consciousness. That would not be good in this instance.//

Carson pulled back from me, startled. His eyes narrowed, and all trace of the Berkeley boy seemed to vanish. Oh, fuck me and my big honkin' mouth! "What are you doing, beloved?" he inquired narrowly. The "beloved" now seemed tacked on to something dark and deadly, and suddenly I was sweating bullets. Or arrows, or poison darts---whatever this world allowed me to perspire, I was doing it.

"Um, shit," I squawked, thinking as fast as I could with an ancient elf muddling about with my brain trying to get a comfortable fit. "I didn't mention, I, um, tossed back a few with Do'nar before leaving for here. I'm just a little wasted, Carse; nothin' you ain't seen before!"

He studied me, and my guts seemed to drop to the floor beneath the bed. "You drink too damn much," he finally stated flatly. "It is neither healthy, nor attractive!"

I wheezed with relief. Now *that* was Carson! A pure darkangel woulda probably been happy as a clam that I admitted being drunk and stupid, rather than caring squat about my health. Make things easier.

Then I did a double-take and my mouth shot off before my brain could rein it in. "Not attractive, the hell you say! That's a new complaint; the health one was bad enough on its own, Mother! But 'unattractive'! Well---all I can say is, screw you!"

"My apologies," he said softly, eyes not leaving my face. "I meant I dislike the smell and taste, as you well know. But strangely enough, you do not stink of liquor in the slightest this time. I suppose I am lucky at last?"

Jeez. Why was life so fucking hard? He was expressionless, but I could definitely feel the question coming. Why would I lie about something like that? Well, to keep you and more importantly your friendly neighborhood demonic fiend from knowing I'm discussing tactics with a dead elf!

Aside from the above doubtless suicidal reply I didn't know what to say, but I said it anyway, looking him dead in the eye as he crouched above me. "Yeh, ain't magic wonderful? And still I get a lecture, even after I finally work out a spell to keep you from wincing when you kiss me!"

I thought my abused attitude might have been a hair overdone, but it worked anyway. His eyes lost that narrow, speculative look, and cleared to softer shades of blue as a thread of uncertainty crept into them. "I have never winced!"

I coulda argued the point---there was a rum and coke night in Berkeley where I remembered him actually making faces, and with a restrained guy like Carson that is serious disapproval.

Instead I gasped, as faucets creaked open and my mind and body were without warning flooded with cool green fire. I felt as if an ocean had burst free inside me and was pushing to explode through my skin. "Arrrgh!" I remarked intelligently.

It was not him taking over my body. I'd assumed, both from words and former experience, that Stormblade was "my elf side". But what came to me, filled me with cool darkness, was something---someone---else, entirely.

This was me, enhanced to the 12th power. Neither dark nor evil, just very cool and collected. I mentioned I was always bad at math? Well, this me had a knack for math, for logic, for assessing gains and losses. He was almost a calculator unto himself, goddamn it! Or a fucking banker.

And---sensual. Light years sexy beyond anything I'd ever thought of or managed before or since. Made me feel like the real me had five left feet, a complexion problem and gopher teeth. Not to mention zero charm! "Let a pro show you how it's done," this new me seemed to whisper in amusement.

The hell! I might not of been an Elven Noble, but I wasn't chopped liver either. I was one badassed musician, a hell of a crotch rocker rider. We'd see who won, when all this was over.

I felt a breath of cinnamon wind on my face, in my heart. A touch from the inside, like smoky velvet. //The name means Feather of the Flame, half-elf!// someone within me whispered. //My head is not a duck's, nor do I quack! And you---my avatar---you are as perfect as you can be, given your disadvantages of upbringing. I am here to help you, not upset you. Relax, and be angry at the correct target. That THING!//

Ever had an epiphany, all of a sudden? It wasn't just that this being inside me---this Kef---spoke to me like a Dutch uncle about my attitude. He also had sense enough to use his magic, and calmly delivered some information to me. We didn't have time for teaching, though I for one would have preferred that method. More like, he took a slice of his own memories and shoved the rich texture of his knowledge into my brain like a cherry poptart.

I've been afraid before, mind you. I'm not as fucking brave as everyone thinks. Even the normal Earthly crap---bills to pay, relationship issues, arrest and punishment---those were like minor league tensions, but still scary enough at the time. I grew up as the middle kid of a hippie family and had to take care of everyone including my parents. I'd learned how to get along, talk fast and look cute when the rent came due. Point I'm making is, being scared has never stopped me from doing what has to be done. I don't freeze. I feel like moose crap half the time and I sure do wish someone else would grab the reins, but I do the necessary and then barf about it later.

Now I cared. I held my whole world in my arms and was about to see it eaten, poisoned, ravaged. I knew what I was facing, and I should have been scared shitless. I WAS scared shitless dammitall!

And so I relaxed into Carson's arms with a faint sigh; in fact I stretched and moaned a little. Hadn't realized how tense I'd been, until I allowed the rich pleasure of being held by him kick in. And even though I realized there was at least 50% of someone else on-board, my physical self responded to Carson's body with almost annoying knee-jerk (or dick-jerk) reaction.

He groaned softly, pressed the hot thrust of his need against my hip. Totally forgetting he'd had a purpose a second before---that purpose being to cuff my ass---or rather, my wrist. I wanted to just pull him in and start kissing---but that cold, knowing part of me kept me from it.

I felt Stormblade back in my head somewhere. I expected him to be laughing his elfish butt off. But to my surpriseand alarm---he seemed almost sympathetic. Kinda like someone who's watching his buddy juggle and is totally expecting the poor guy to start dropping the chainsaws and bowling balls any second.

My *feelings* split. On the left side, I could feel Carson. Flip through the memories between us, a sometimes frightening but always beautiful slideshow, know that I loved him beyond life. Feel his dick rearing against my flesh and want it. And him, want him terribly. Oh, yeh.

Even worse, this darkangel was a Godrider, not a weakened alien grasping for power in a near-magicless universe. Some people might have thought this made things more difficult, but I was suddenly too pissed off at its arrogance to even care.

I hoped to hell this Kef was as good as he was arrogant. Because Carson was still with us---but so was that nameless thing he'd tricked and captured.

No, it wasn't winning or even close yet. But the bastard seemed to be bleeding through, I could sense it. Or at any rate, it was nudging the darker parts of my lover to the surface, the parts that he avoided showing even me too often.

I just wished I was in the driver's seat goddammit! I've never been comfortable as a passenger, because generally anyone else behind the wheel never seemed to know where the hell they were going or how fast they needed to get there. And this was *Carson's* life and sanity at stake, fucking hell, and I was gonna have to leave control to someone else?!

My/his fingers raked down Carson's chest negligently, catching a nipple. I half saw my nails lengthen into pearly spears, enough to draw a thread of blood. Then I was blinking at my own hand as Carson gasped and pushed his surging erection against my thigh, thrilled to the max.

Oh, just great. My loveror what was in him--thought my BadElf side was uber sexy. I could only hope Kef would fucking leave after everything was over; he seemed pretty damn comfortable here at the moment!

There was a soft laugh in my mind. *There is some merit, yes, to facing things down instantly and destroying what is wrong. But to play with evil before you kill it, is so much more----*

"Groovy," my other self whispered, as his eyelashes fell to hide the myriad colors beneath them. Then, he spoke out loud, in an imitation of me so perfect I wasn't sure which of us was the visitor. "Okay, I'm askin'. Do it, warchief. Take me, I'm yours, and all that good stuff."

The words were light and close to what I'd say in such a position. But I dunno if I could've reproduced his tone, so lush and smoky, faintly teasing but utterly serious as to what was promised. Remember that dumb movie "Love Potion Number 9?" All eroticism came from the voice, and once you drank the stuff you could have people ripping their clothes off just by coughing. Well, this boy had guzzled a triple dose. I almost wanted to jump my own bones just from listening!

As if in a dream from which awakening was impossible, he slowly moved his hand. That long-fingered, powerful hand, capable of killing, of touching gently, of painting images beautiful enough to take the breath away.

Slowly and painfully, he moved. Eyes so blue, so furious and afraid in the mask of desire his face had become. His fingers brushed my racing pulse as he clicked the slim bracelet over my motionless left wrist. What the FUCK, you goddamn stupid elf, you're supposed to be STOPPING this!!

Carson reached for my other arm as my inner scream faded. And Kef arched languidly; a casually erotic, graceful move I doubt I coulda copied with months of practice. The stretch pulled my arms away from my lover's reach, then he---I---rolled to my stomach across the wide, furred bed, peeking teasingly over my shoulder at my startled Bonded. Damn if he hadn't tucked my arms safety underneath me by the move, and not looking a bit suspicious at all. I couldn't have brought that one off, I admitted grumpily. Damn, I have a killer ass! I then thought without meaning to.

"You have to work for the second one, big guy," he purred mockingly, flapping his lashes. Gaah---he was clever enough to copy my speech style---sorta! Big guy? Well, if I was in a flippant mood. But would I EVER do the eye thing? I think not!

But Carson seemed to fall for it, the big dumb sex-fiend! A visible spasm went through his body, and he swallowed thickly. "Not a problem," he whispered, and I wasn't pleased to see a flash of cruel anticipation visit his darkening eyes as he reached for me.

But almost as soon as I noticed it, it was replaced by pain, and his fingers clenched viciously. Damn it all, how I wanted to go to him, be with him, do something active, goddammit! All I could do was watch his silent struggle to master himself, and swear an internal blue streak at the lazy-eyed seducer who studied my lover's torment whimsically over my shoulder.

We both watched, as his fist slowly unclenched. His fingers drifted to my butt, stroking me there with a gentleness that must of about killed him, comparing that restraint with the lurching erection that by now was almost painful to behold.

"Turn over," Carson said, in a low and toneless voice that spoke of the iron control he was forcing on his own desires. "Much as I want you, lanisha, the ritual must be complete---first."

Was it him saying this, or the Beast? A little of both? I was chilled at the thought. Yeh, they both wanted me in cuffs, but for opposite reasons and damn if I could figure out just what was off about this whole ceremony thing! Why had Carson started it if there was a chance the darkangel could still claim me through it? Fuck this shit, I was confused as hell and madder than dammit! Scared, I'd left a few miles down the road by now---but I felt like water boiling in a pot with no way to climb out the sides. Or like corn left unattended in a popper and about to blow the lid clean off!

The Elven Prince---as me, and as himself---laughed very softly. At everything, damn him----my frustration, Carson's heroic effort of will. Life in general, don'cha know.

"Very well; your choice," he breathed, turning and sitting up in one fluid move like warm honey come to elegant life. He propped himself lightly on the cuffed hand, and brushed back his hair with the other, eyes dancing. His smile was blindingly sweet, but I at least could see the sword-edge underneath it. What the---I didn't remember my teeth being that white. George Hamilton should have such glowing choppers. Definitely didn't remember them being that sharp.

Kef's amusement wasn't as friendly, this time. Because now Mr. High and Mighty Sex on a Stick was laughing at the Dark Angel. And once again, I just hoped he could back his play, as Carson frowned slightly and reached again.

Kef didn't try to pull back at all. Instead, he negligently swung his free hand. It connected with Carson's forehead; a light knuckle-rap, not even fisted.

There was a crack of impact, a snarl of cold energy. Carson fell back with a road of astonishment and fury, which I echoed soundlessly, since I had no freaking vocal chords at the moment. Before I could start frantically seeking a way to burst out of my prison and throttle myself, I realized that the blow had struck only that darkness haunting my lover.

"Hello, rudeness. You may not remember ME, but you I have met before." Kef's eyes glittered, emeralds set in molten gold and fired with topaz crystals. "You think we tolerate your presence in our lover, obscenity? We will not. We refuse to be joined with such a pathetic leech, who feeds on the life of others and believes that thievery makes it superior!"

Somewhere inside Carson, the darkangel roared in surprise and fury. Well. Nice way to out us, you fruitcake! Did you havta make me say that aloud? But I had to admit, it was more impressive and just as effective as "Fuck you, darkangel!" woulda been.

And joy of joys, I suddenly shared more control of my body, at least for the "unimportant" stuff. How gracious! But I wasn't arguing. I grabbed Carson's rigid arms and held on tight.

Carson's face tightened as Jalin watched, his lips twisting and thinning down as something within him fought for freedom. And even though it was still the Nightwolf---Carson---in control, to Jalin's surprise he could track the snarling reply of the thing within the warchief, to Keith's unexpected, lilting speech.

"You little rat. You have no choice! Why keep fighting, you can't win. I am more than you fought in that fireless other world, fool. He's strong for a human but *I* have ridden a god for decades! I'll show you suffering you'll never imagine if you continue this defiance! Damn you, you fear me as you should and still you struggle! What is WRONG with you bastards?"

Firehawk's voice was light, for a man's---flexible and clear, but almost boyish compared to the Warchief's rich thunder. In fact he'd mentioned once in total exasperation, that arguing with his lover made him feel like a "piccolo" having words with a "church organ." Nightwolf had grinned at that, the quick rare flash of teeth that made him endearingly young for an instant, and even more dangerously sexy.

Now, Hawk spoke in another tongue, and his voice was strange and altered. Like falling crystal, even lighter than usual, but too cold to seem the least feminine.

Somehow, to Jalin, it seemed as if the remark about fear was a quote from Keith's other life. With his altered, dragon vision, he could actually see the runes of a fabled language appear over the wizard's fiery head. Sparkling glyphs of blue-black edged with silver, surrounded by hooks front and back that explained the strange words had been spoken many times.

"Omigawd, stop quoting 'Dune'! That was the only good line in that whole long-winded boring-ass book! But me and Carse are FAR from dead, you shit!" And that was Keith, Keith down to the bone in Tribal, in any language, as he moved and spun and struck out in a wild force of elvin magic.

Just long enough, a gasping second. Long enough for Keith to flick his hands in a juggler's move, and trap one of Nightwolf's wrists in the crystal magic of the bespelled cuff rather than having both his own hands imprisoned as had been the plan. The click as he linked his own hand to his lover's seemed to fill the tent---the Tribe---the world, a clear crisp music that moved things ajar just the tiniest bit.

The earth rolled slightly beneath them. Yells of startled Tribesmen filtered dimly through to Jalin, experiencing another earthquake and not liking it any better than the first one the wizard had brought. How glad he was, he was floating!

Then the dark Wolf slammed against Jalin's shield full tilt, hurting him awfully, and his amusement faded in pain, and terror, and the fear of failing them. Maybe if the creature had expected such defiance he could have dodged or destroyed the magic. Now at least he was delayed. And Hawk's triumphant crow of "Gotcha!" was reward enough, for a moment at least.

Jalin spun free, dizzy and disoriented. The strike on his mental shield had been harsh, even as a glancing blow. He could protect neither of them a second longer.

Nightwolf's hands, cuffed and uncuffed, were tangled in those of his lover. And he was laughing---wildly, almost insanely. Stress relief. Finest kind.

Fire and ice roared through the tent, screeching and impotent. Only for an instant, then it was sucked away by a force stronger than the will of gods, a magic older than the seas. Firehawk not only belonged to the Nightwolf, now, as both Carson and the thing haunting him had intended.

The opposite was also true. Nothing of gods, demons---or darkangels---could touch the Wolf unless the wizard willed it so. And Firehawk's first move in that direction had been to smack the alien being out of his lover with a vengeance.

"That is how a Bonding *really* works, among the elves! Black Moon Bonding, what arrogance! Stolen from us and twisted so only one is supreme, no elf would allow another to dominate so totally. That is human---and darkangel---foolishness, this idea of owning another. Elves only tolerate equals!"

Jalin wasn't sure if the cocky, rather lecturing tone was meant for him, hanging weakly in the place between worlds. Or for Carson, panting and white with reaction, yet pulling Firehawk to him with sudden, fierce need.

"Oh, shut the fuck up, thanks loads for helping, and don't let your ass hit the door on your way out!" Keith mumbled through the wild kisses his lover was placing on his face and mouth and forehead.