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  “No, my lady,” Thomas snapped. “I forbid you to offer him your life.”

  “You call him ‘my lord’ now,” Zorac said, his voice muffled by the fire.

  “I do,” she said. “I gave him that which you wished most from me, my heart and soul. He is my Master now, and you have no more claim on me, save that you may take my life.”

  Zorac stared at her. She stared back, but remained on her knees.

  “What was my brother’s name?” he asked, his voice faint, strange.

  Lilith met his gaze without flinching. “I do not know, my lord. I forgot it, and you have never spoken his name to me, even when you brought me the necklace.”

  The wizard made an anguished roar, and his arm jerked out from his body as fast as the steel flashed from Thomas’s scabbard. The knight leaped over her, and Lilith screamed his name.

  The silver fire from the wizard crashed into the blade and wrapped around it, crackled down to the hand guard. The impact made Thomas stagger, took him to one knee, his profile still shielding his lady, knocking her with his shoulder so she tumbled back.

  “Zorac, no!” she cried.

  Thomas snarled and righted himself. The blade he held shimmered, a golden glow rising from the steel, rippling fingers of light that linked with the silver and bound the power of sun and moonlight together. He made it to his feet, still holding the sword upright. He met Zorac’s hard gaze across twenty steps that separated life from death.

  The golden light spread from the sword, over Thomas’s hands, across his chest. The silver stayed firmly anchored to the blade. Zorac snarled, tried to loose his magic, but found it held fast in the golden grip.

  Lilith scrambled to her knees, and the golden light washed over her, as if Thomas was becoming sunlight. She found herself surrounded by it, bathed in warmth. The short path to her lord had become a shifting, blinding path of diamonds, like the track the sun laid down upon the sea in the early mornings.

  Come to me, my lady. His voice was in her head and she obeyed, pressing through that warmth until she was against the back of his calves. She curled her arms around his one leg, her fingers pressing into the hard muscle of his thigh, her cheek against the back of it.

  Do not let him die. I can bear it all again, I truly can, but do not take him from me.

  “Give way, my lord,” Thomas said hoarsely. “Your vengeance is not worth this price to your soul. Give way, I say!”

  With a snarl, Zorac loosed his hold on the barbed silver light and it crystallized and fell, shattering into pieces so there was a mirror of silver shards littering the golden pathway between him and Thomas.

  The golden light became matter and slid over the silver, silver and gold embracing and becoming one. The light slid from Thomas’s shoulders and cloaked Lilith entirely for a moment. The touch of such purity held simple forgiveness. She could forgive herself, and Zorac. She believed in the love Thomas offered her. She clung to his leg, weeping, until he lowered his sword and bent, lifting her gently to her feet, holding her close against his side with one arm.

  The last of the light faded, but the floor was a mosaic of two colors that showed the path of power between the two men. A golden circle marked the floor around Thomas and Lilith, a silver disk around Zorac.

  The wizard’s face was haggard. “So you are a magician after all,” he said.

  Thomas shook his head, raised his sword arm to wipe at his face with the point of his wrist. “You know better than that, my lord. You could defeat me in time, for I do not control the power that comes to my defense.”

  “I could kill you,” the wizard agreed. “But I would not defeat you.”

  Lilith cried out, seeing the blood on the hand Thomas had lowered to his side. Her hands sought his face, where blood ran from his nose and his right ear.

  “Easy, lady, I am well,” he bade her. “This Light, pure as its intentions are, is not always kind to poor mortal flesh.”

  “You will not let him hurt you,” she insisted, her mouth tight and stubborn. “I will not allow you to die for me.”

  “So you are giving the orders now, are you?” he teased her in a soft murmur, but he would not let her put her arms around him and hold him with her slim body covering the most vital parts of his. He set her to his side, and held her there, his sword point now to the ground, but not sheathed.

  Zorac had not moved during this time, but now he did, sitting heavily in his chair and staring at the new design of his floor.

  “My lord,” Thomas said after the silence drew out long, and his lady’s hand trembled on his arm. “I thank you for your hospitality, and ask your leave to depart, the lady Lilith with me.”

  Zorac’s gaze rose. His eyes burned deep in his head as if he were fevered, or in great pain. “Does it matter whether I give you leave or not?” he croaked.

  “It matters, my lord,” Thomas’s attention did not waver. “Not to me, but to you. You must let her go.”

  “Your powers let you do as you will.”

  “They are not mine, my lord. They come when they desire and I am not privy to the why. They felt this woman was worth defending. So did I. Perhaps they felt she had earned her release from your spell. Or perhaps the light was defending you.”

  At Zorac’s startled look, Thomas inclined his head. “Much of what I see tells me you are a good man, Lord Zorac. Perhaps the light was keeping you from traveling down an even darker road than you have already.”

  Zorac’s eyes closed. “Take her from here,” he managed, his voice the growl of a wounded animal.

  Thomas nodded, took his lady’s arm, and guided her to the door.

  “Let them go,” Zorac snapped, when Cullen peered in around them. “And close the cursed door. I do not wish to be disturbed until…until I say so.”

  The guardsman gave a hesitant nod. Thomas and Lilith moved past him. When Cullen and one of his men shut the heavy double doors, a man in pain howled behind it.

  * * * * *

  Thomas kept Lilith with him, taking her back to the rooms to collect his things, delivering a short order on the way to Elias to prepare his horse. The word spread quickly through the castle, and none barred their way. The stable boy was waiting, the mount saddled, when they came back to the bailey, and he appreciated the boy’s responsiveness. He did not desire to linger. Zorac’s sound of pain had bordered on savage, and he knew wounded animals were unpredictable.

  “Lady,” the stable lad reached out, touched Lilith’s waist. She knelt, and to the boy’s surprise as much as Thomas’s, she hugged him close. The little arms crept around her as he obviously warred between suitable manly behavior and the motherly attention an orphan craved from a sweet-smelling lady with gentle hands.

  “You will take care of Lord Zorac,” she said. “He will need your goodness, and Asneth’s.”

  She held onto him tightly and he patted her hair, touched her cheeks. She laughed, and then she was crying, so Thomas knelt and held her when the boy squirmed away and ran.

  She shook her head when at last she could speak. “It has been five years since I have been able to touch a boy child without the agony of the curse. As awful as it was to feel that way, I cannot express the horror of feeling that way when a child touched me, my lord. I tried to believe it was not the intent of his spell, that it was something he overlooked, that he would not have condoned such an abomination as that. Today, I believe that to be true. But oh, it feels good to hold a child again.”

  Thomas kissed her, a light caress, and lifted her up onto the horse, his hands staying at her waist. “Perhaps I shall give you a boy child all your own to hold, my lady. What think you of that? Zorac’s spell prevented you from being fertile. It is so no longer.”

  She was stunned, and then she felt a becoming pink flush crept into her cheeks. “I would love to hold your child in my arms, my lord,” her eyes darkened and she reached down, sliding back full into his arms, so he held her off the ground as she kissed him urgently, then tenderly, framing his face in
her hands.

  “I am afraid it is not real, my lord. That the dream will become the nightmare again.”

  “You can choose in dreams as well as life, my lady,” he said, holding her as close and as tightly as he could without crushing her with his strength. “You have chosen, and this particular dream will have no more nightmares to it.”

  The stallion threw up his head and snorted as a bundle fell to the ground beside them. Thomas tensed and she looked up, where Zorac stood above them on the archway overlooking the courtyard, the same on which he had stood and faced outward to greet Thomas only a short day before.

  “A gift to take with you,” he said. His gaze flicked to Lilith and then back to Thomas. “To remember, for good or bad, that all choices have consequences.”

  She bent and picked up the bundle, a strand of the unicorn’s mane exposed by the fall and the hasty wrapping.

  “Lord Zorac.”

  The wizard had been turning away from them. At her voice, he stopped. Lilith waited, feeling Thomas’s tension next to her. The wizard finally settled his gaze upon her, his body as still as a statue upon the wall of his castle.

  “I spoke true, when I said I did not remember his name,” Lilith said softly. “But when I came here, and found I had to create a soul, to give myself a place to go to survive each day, I found it was not born empty within me. It was a place filled with things I should have noticed. I remembered he was good, and kind in his ways, and you shared the same smile. I hope…” her voice faltered and Thomas put a supportive hand on her back.

  She flinched, then relief swept across her face as she realized anew that the most casual touch would not arouse her to the painful lust. In time, she knew Thomas would teach her to do nothing but welcome his touch. It was a lesson she could look forward to learning.

  “If you ever find it in your heart to do so, please know…I beg your forgiveness for taking him from you.”

  * * * * *

  The horse had no fear of the unicorn’s skin, but Lilith asked Thomas to carry it in the saddlebags, preferring to ride cloaked only by him. She sat before him on the horse, her body close, pressed in against his chest, her bottom between his legs, her legs over one of his thighs. He rode with her cradled thus in his arms, his cloak pulled around them both. He had not taken time to don his mail. He did not wish to tarry, he knew the people of Zorac’s land were peaceful, and, most importantly, he wanted to feel her against his body.

  She did not speak much, and Thomas did not disturb her. He watched her take in the world around her, seeing it through eyes no longer distracted by unabated need pouring through her body. Each bird’s movement, each ray of the setting sun that flickered past an opening made by a fluttering leaf in the forest canopy, held her attention. At length, her body grew heavy and relaxed, and he pressed her jaw against her temple, comforting her as she slept, a deep easy rest.

  He rode through the night, his horse not objecting since he set an easy pace, so as not to disturb his lady. His lady. The night was much like a dream itself, her softness in his arms, her sweet scent, the quiet of the forest, the routine of the creatures in it, unmolested by humans.

  She was woken by the rays of the rising sun, and found herself still in his arms. They had stopped, standing on the edge of a clearing, where the meadow grass was as gold and rose as the sun rising above it.

  “I dreamed of you, my lord,” she breathed into his skin.

  She felt his jaw move, and knew he smiled at the sound of her voice. She felt something move, deep within her. It was physical and emotional all at once. She tightened her hold around his waist and he responded in kind, surrounding her with his strength and warmth.

  “And was the dream pleasurable, my lady?”

  “Almost as pleasurable as waking up in your arms, my lord. I’ve no other desire beyond that, ever again, I think.”

  Thomas tipped her chin back and drank from her lips. They trembled beneath his and he deepened the kiss, until her hands were gripping his shirt in two fists.

  His hand gently touched her cheek, where she had scored herself.

  “You should not have done this,” he murmured. “You must never hurt yourself, it displeases me greatly.”

  “And what of you?” she looked up, touched her hand to his ear, where the blood had dried to a brittle crimson crust yet to be sponged away by her cozening. “It displeases me to see you harmed, as well.”

  “You will take good care of me, I am sure, my lady, and be sure I do not displease you often.”

  “I am at a loss, my lord,” she said softly. “It will be some time before I know my place in the world. I may be a poor mistress in your home.”

  “You are the only mistress for my home, and your place will always be with me,” he asserted. “If you will still have me.”

  At her surprised look, he lifted a shoulder. “I told you, my lady, accepting me as your lord and Master is your choice, and it always will be. Though be fair warned,” he gave her a look that tightened things low in her stomach and brought a flush to her cheeks, “I will never make it easy for you to choose otherwise.”

  His lips were upon hers again, and the kiss went from spiritual to ravenous in no more than a breath, leaving her gasping in his arms. He raised his head, cursing himself for the need for restraint, but his lady took care of his worries.

  “Take me here, my lord, under the first light of this new day. I want to feel you within me, as it was in my dream. I want the stroke of your lance to burn away the touch of all others and leave me branded by you only.”

  “It is perhaps too soon, lady. I can certainly contain my desire and give you time.”

  “My lord,” she looked up at him, those dark eyes alive with need, and a promise of the smile he knew he would coax from her when her heart had healed under his care. “I am asking my Master to fulfill my desires. Will he deny me? I need you, my lord,” she added quietly. “What I experienced in Zorac’s castle is no more like what I share with you than taking the sacrament is to spitting in the dirt. I feel I have been empty so long, I need you to fill my body to fill my heart. Please do not make me beg.”

  “Forgive me, lady,” he swung down, a smile in his voice. He took her with him, carrying her in his arms. “I forgot. As your Master, my first task is always to serve your desires.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  About the Author

  I’ve always avoided interviews of favorite personalities because so often the person doesn’t measure up to the beauty of the art they produce. Their politics are distasteful, or they’re shallow and self-absorbed, a vacuous mophead without a lick of sense. From then on, though I may appreciate their craft, it has somehow been tarnished. Therefore, when I’m asked to provide personal info for readers, a ball of anxiety forms in my stomach as I think: “Okay, my next words may forever change the way someone views my stories.” Why does a reader want to know about me? It’s the story that’s important.

  So here it is. I’ve been given more blessings in my life than any one person has a right to have. Despite that, I’m a Type A, OCD phobic paranoiac who worries I’ll never live up to expectations. I don’t like talking on the phone, I dread social commitments. Living in monastic solitude with my husband and animals, books and writing, is my idea of paradise. I love chocolate, but with that irrational female belief that weight equals worth, I keep it to a minor addiction. I adore good movies. I’m told I work too much. Every day is spent trying to get through the never-ending “to do” list to snatch a few minutes to write.

  Despite all these mediocre and typical qualities, for some miraculous reason, these wonderful characters well up out of my soul with stories to tell. When I find that precious “stillness”, which calms all the competing voices in my head, I can step into their lives, hear what they are saying, what they’re feeling, and put it down on paper. It’s a magic beyond description, akin to believing my husband loves me, winning the trust of an abused animal, making a true connection with someone or knowi
ng I’ve given a reader something special through those written words. It’s a magic that reassures me there is Someone, far wiser than myself, who knows the permanent path to that garden of stillness, where there is only love, acceptance and a pen waiting for hours and hours of uninterrupted, blissful use.

  If only I could finish that darned “to do” list.

  Joey welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

  Tell Us What You Think

  We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at [email protected].

  Also by Joey W. Hill

  Chance of a Lifetime

  If Wishes Were Horses

  Knights of the Board Room: Afterlife

  Knights of the Board Room: Board Resolution

  Make Her Dreams Come True

  Nature of Desire 1: Holding the Cards

  Nature of Desire 2: Natural Law

  Nature of Desire 3: Ice Queen

  Nature of Desire 4: Mirror of My Soul

  Nature of Desire 5: Mistress of Redemption

  Nature of Desire 6: Rough Canvas

  Nature of Desire 7: Branded Sanctuary

  Snow Angel

  Threads of Faith

  Virtual Reality

  Print books by Joey W. Hill

  Behind the Mask anthology

  Faith and Dreams

  Hot Chances anthology

  If Wishes Were Horses

  Nature of Desire 1: Holding the Cards

  Nature of Desire 2: Natural Law

  Nature of Desire 3: Ice Queen

  Nature of Desire 4: Mirror of My Soul

  Nature of Desire 5: Mistress of Redemption

  Nature of Desire 6: Rough Canvas

  Nature of Desire 7: Branded Sanctuary

  The Twelve Quickies of Christmas, Volume 2 anthology

  Virtual Reality