silver-gold cloud of it blew around her in a wild tangle, grew diabolical.
The cat, drawn up in a bow and hissing, emerged from where he had been begging under the table. He looked at Carita , then streaked for cover beneath a china closet.
“You enjoy nakedness?” she asked in musical tones that carried easily above the clamor. “That seems bizarre under the circumstances, but is easily arranged.”
He felt the cold, wet wind on his bare skin even as he looked down. His coat, shirt and trousers were parting at the seams, falling away to lie in a tailor's puzzle of pieces in the water that washed across the floor. Even his evening shoes disintegrated, along with his braces and underclothing. His watch, chain and fob rattled into his lap. He was left with nothing by way of concealment, or dignity.
Renfrey surged to his feet in a blaze of temper. The table, unbalanced by the rising wind, overturned with a horrendous crash of china and crystal. The broken pieces and dented silver scattered over the floor, spinning into the far corners.
“Oh, by all means,” she shouted at him as she leaped up also and backed away, “destroy this nest of seduction. That's all it is, all it ever was. What a jest, to call it a home. How would someone of your kind know what a home is or what a half-mortal woman might do there, or feel about it? You're only a misfit, an oddity, a mere creature with no more idea of love and home than a beast in the field!”
The bestial Minotaur, half-bull, half-man, came to him, summoned with the rage of denied desire and vanished hope. Its fearsome strength was his, and its brutish instincts. He advanced on her, inflamed, out of control, as intent as ever a mythological being had been on rapine and destruction.
She saw it in his face and alarm sprang into her eyes. Whirling away from him, she sprinted toward the open vestibule and the dark tempest in the courtyard beyond.
She was fleet, but he was faster. He caught her halfway along the path to the fountain. Snatching a wrist, he wrenched her to a halt and dragged her into his arms. He leaned over her, letting her feel his hot breath in her face while she twisted in his hold and pounded at his chest.
“No!” she cried. “No, not like this!”
But he hardly heard for the boil of the blood in his veins and the sweet thunder in his heart and soul. He was as wild as the wind that swayed the creaking limbs of the oak above them, as fierce as the lightning that lit the sky. He wanted the woman he held and there was nothing to stop him from taking her. The principles and restraints that had once guided him had been abandoned as he divested himself of his normal body. Though they lingered, silently clamoring, in the depths of his mind, they had no power to deflect his half-crazed lust.
The colored stones of the courtyard floor were wet and matted with torn leaves and tree limbs and crushed flower petals. Still, he forced her downward with inexorable strength while tearing away, with fiendish joy, the last thin, wet layer of silk over her delectable body.
“No. Renfrey , please,” she said again, a whisper of unimagined grief. “I never meant to do this to you.”
He heard, oh, he heard, and something cried out in pain inside him. Still, it was not loud enough to compete with the bestial growling he made. Leaning over her, he reached for the cool, firm globe of her breast and closed his hand around it with mindless rapture.
And abruptly he felt a tearing agony in his nose. Wetness flowed, hot and brilliant vermilion in the lightning. He bellowed, roaring with the pain. Releasing her, he staggered back, off balance. As he lifted his hands to clutch at his face, they fastened on the huge brass ring that pierced his nostrils.
Carita struggled to her feet. In her hand was the nose ring's chain. She held him while the wind whipped her hair into glittering witch's locks and her eyes reflected the fire of the lightning. There was no victory in her
The cat, drawn up in a bow and hissing, emerged from where he had been begging under the table. He looked at Carita , then streaked for cover beneath a china closet.
“You enjoy nakedness?” she asked in musical tones that carried easily above the clamor. “That seems bizarre under the circumstances, but is easily arranged.”
He felt the cold, wet wind on his bare skin even as he looked down. His coat, shirt and trousers were parting at the seams, falling away to lie in a tailor's puzzle of pieces in the water that washed across the floor. Even his evening shoes disintegrated, along with his braces and underclothing. His watch, chain and fob rattled into his lap. He was left with nothing by way of concealment, or dignity.
Renfrey surged to his feet in a blaze of temper. The table, unbalanced by the rising wind, overturned with a horrendous crash of china and crystal. The broken pieces and dented silver scattered over the floor, spinning into the far corners.
“Oh, by all means,” she shouted at him as she leaped up also and backed away, “destroy this nest of seduction. That's all it is, all it ever was. What a jest, to call it a home. How would someone of your kind know what a home is or what a half-mortal woman might do there, or feel about it? You're only a misfit, an oddity, a mere creature with no more idea of love and home than a beast in the field!”
The bestial Minotaur, half-bull, half-man, came to him, summoned with the rage of denied desire and vanished hope. Its fearsome strength was his, and its brutish instincts. He advanced on her, inflamed, out of control, as intent as ever a mythological being had been on rapine and destruction.
She saw it in his face and alarm sprang into her eyes. Whirling away from him, she sprinted toward the open vestibule and the dark tempest in the courtyard beyond.
She was fleet, but he was faster. He caught her halfway along the path to the fountain. Snatching a wrist, he wrenched her to a halt and dragged her into his arms. He leaned over her, letting her feel his hot breath in her face while she twisted in his hold and pounded at his chest.
“No!” she cried. “No, not like this!”
But he hardly heard for the boil of the blood in his veins and the sweet thunder in his heart and soul. He was as wild as the wind that swayed the creaking limbs of the oak above them, as fierce as the lightning that lit the sky. He wanted the woman he held and there was nothing to stop him from taking her. The principles and restraints that had once guided him had been abandoned as he divested himself of his normal body. Though they lingered, silently clamoring, in the depths of his mind, they had no power to deflect his half-crazed lust.
The colored stones of the courtyard floor were wet and matted with torn leaves and tree limbs and crushed flower petals. Still, he forced her downward with inexorable strength while tearing away, with fiendish joy, the last thin, wet layer of silk over her delectable body.
“No. Renfrey , please,” she said again, a whisper of unimagined grief. “I never meant to do this to you.”
He heard, oh, he heard, and something cried out in pain inside him. Still, it was not loud enough to compete with the bestial growling he made. Leaning over her, he reached for the cool, firm globe of her breast and closed his hand around it with mindless rapture.
And abruptly he felt a tearing agony in his nose. Wetness flowed, hot and brilliant vermilion in the lightning. He bellowed, roaring with the pain. Releasing her, he staggered back, off balance. As he lifted his hands to clutch at his face, they fastened on the huge brass ring that pierced his nostrils.
Carita struggled to her feet. In her hand was the nose ring's chain. She held him while the wind whipped her hair into glittering witch's locks and her eyes reflected the fire of the lightning. There was no victory in her
Similar Books
