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Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 01

By: jdnunyer



"You kids ready?" Lance asked from the stairs, no more than his head and shoulders sticking up into Yvette's room. "Her Majesty sent me to fetch you."

Yvette sighed. She'd told Zach to hide when they heard the footsteps coming up the stairs, but apparently his illusion hadn't fooled their brother/father. Of course it hadn't. They were still new to all this, whereas he'd first set foot in Winter years and years ago. That he was able to escape her notice didn't mean anything. She was nobody.

"Don't worry," Lance added. "I won't tell anyone that I found the two of you together." He gave Yvette a small smile. "Lena and I have broken a few rules for each other too."

Zach stepped away from the frozen wall, carved as everything else was from blocks of solid ice, and came back into view. "I bet you did," he said, a hint of challenge in his voice. He stared at the older man the way one might a jailor.

That probably should have frustrated her. On the one hand, she couldn't help wondering where he got off acting so jealous over her when he'd given his virginity to Lena. The more she thought about it, the more that bothered her. He'd let a woman he knew next to nothing about, who might or might not have any decency left, claim the prize that was rightfully Yvette's. That he'd all but promised to her. On the other hand, seeing her one furry beast engage the other in a staring contest over her made her vadge tingle. Bad Yvette was just loving the defiance in her brother's eyes and hoped she might yet see the two of them come to blows over her. What greater validation of her desirability could a woman ask for?

Lance's eyes met those of his younger brother. Face utterly impassive, he sniffed at the air, as if testing the boy's scent from across the room. He evidently wasn't impressed by it. "It's not wise to keep her waiting," he said before turning to take a step down the tower.

With a mere thought, Yvette got dressed again. And this time, she chose an outfit that might better please the queen. She hoped. Her black top had loose sleeves that belonged on a more conservative garment. The sort women wore in centuries long past. But the fabric was so thin as to be translucent, and therefore did little to hide her otherwise naked breasts. The neckline, such as it was, left her shoulders and the better part of her chest exposed, putting her tattoo on full display. Lest it go unnoticed, she freshened the ink too, making the tattoo look fresh. Below the waist, she wore flowing black satin skirts embroidered with blue flowers. Her pumps, which hid beneath the ample skirts, were dark blue. As were her formerly black nails. Her thick eyeshadow incorporated many different shades of blue.

She was tempted to adopt the same blue lips Lena sported. But something told her that would come across as presumptuous. She wanted to look like a proper daughter of Winter, a little scary and a lot sexy, but also one who knew her place. Something told her those bold blue lips were something one had to earn. So she stuck with her favorite shade of pink.

To make her feel a little more decorative, though, she added the pentagram amulet that she'd stopped wearing after realizing the effect it had on the Jesus freaks handing out pamphlets on campus. A bunch of rings too. Almost every finger now had one, including her thumbs. Some had two. Most were plain metal, but a few were adorned with blood-red garnet or black onyx. She promptly replaced those with lapis lazuli.

For his part, Zach went with jeans, tennis shoes, and a simple white T-shirt. Which was less than most men would wear in that cold palace in the heart of Winter, but nonetheless struck Yvette as somewhere between a show of weakness and one of impudence. Lance wasn't wearing a shirt, and hadn't once since they'd arrived. At least, not that Yvette had seen. All he ever wore was a pair of black leather pants. He even walked around the icy palace on bare feet. It was like he wanted the world to know that no amount of cold could bother him. The same way Zach should have.

Still, at least he wasn't wearing a whole bunch of layers. And she had to admit her brother did look pretty good. Maybe not as good as he would bare-chested and squeezed into a tight pair of leather pants, but good. Which was saying something, since most guys couldn't pull that look off. Whenever Yvette saw a guy in a pair of ratty jeans and a too-tight T, especially one that was plain white, she wanted to slap a couple twenties in his hand and send him to the mall to get clothes suitable for a grown man. And tell him not to forget a good belt and a nice pair of shoes while he was at it. But Zach totally pulled it off. Probably because he had a simple, down-to-earth quality to him that she found intoxicating. Well, that and his great body. But the attitude helped. Even dressed like a boy, he didn't come across as immature. Not with that sexy beard and those wary eyes. No, he just didn't feel the need to impress anyone. He was who he was and that wasn't going to change.

Not even for Lady Winter.

Or so Yvette hoped. Because she really needed someone to keep her grounded.

Lance looked his brother up and down, snorted, and said, "Let's go."

"Like your outfit," Zach said to Yvette as he passed by her and headed down the stairs after Lance. He didn't even look to see how those three little words affected her.

She smiled to herself as she fell in behind him. There was no way he'd give her a second glance if they ran into each other on campus while she was dressed like that. Not that she'd ever let her pierced nipples show like that while walking around U-Dub, of course. But still. The missing bra wasn't the problem. She was way too goth for him. But at least here, in this cold world, she thought he meant what he said. And though they'd just spent hours in bed together, leaving little doubt that he was kinda into her, that somehow meant a lot.

The warmth of that smile soon faded.

By day, the palace was coldly beautiful. Now that it was dark, though, the walls and floors no longer seemed so charming. And the complete lack of artificial light seemed downright creepy. She had a few lamps in her room, but there were none in the halls. Nor any torches, unsurprisingly. Something told Yvette that no fire, however small, had ever burned inside that palace. But for the ball of blue light ahead of her father, then, they'd not be able to see a thing. Would have no idea who or what lurked in the shadows all around them.

They must have wandered those cold, dark halls for an hour. Maybe two. For all Yvette knew, they went round and round in circles, speaking hardly a word the whole time. But eventually, Lance led them up a long flight of stairs to the top of a tower that no doubt made hers look like little more than a parapet.

Music drifted down the stairwell to greet them. A fiddle, Yvette thought, though she didn't know her instruments too well. The melody was sad, haunting. If she didn't know who they were going to meet, she might almost have expected to find a ghost waiting for them at the top. Or perhaps the queen was forcing some long dead soul to play for her while she waited. From what they'd heard about Lady Winter, it wouldn't surprise Yvette in the least to discover that death was no escape from her icy clutches.

When they finally reached the last few stairs, she saw a man of flesh and blood working a gleaming bow across the strings of a golden fiddle. Like Lance, he wore nothing more than a pair of leather breeches. He had a broad back, strong shoulders, and arms that would have been better suited to working a hammer and anvil than a delicate musical instrument. He was every bit as pale and hairy as her brothers, and the ponytail falling well past his shoulders was no less black, but neither Zach nor even Lance had quite as much muscle.

At the other end of the room stood the most beautiful woman Yvette had ever seen, sipping from a silver chalice and staring off at nothing while the music washed over her. Lady Winter wore a black dress whose tight bodice accentuated her vast bosom and ridiculously narrow waist yet which hung loosely from the hips down, pooling at her feet like spilled blood. Her skin was whiter than white, her hair darker than night, her eyes bright blue and her lips the same dark shade as Lena's. Yvette felt she might go blind just looking at her. No woman should be allowed to be that gorgeous. Or have a body that perfect.

The man by the wall stopped playing. He turned and looked at the new arrivals and Yvette saw at once that he too had the queen's blood coursing through his veins. She'd suspected as much, but those blue eyes made it a certainty in her mind. Plus, his facial features were very similar to Zach's. Though he was perhaps a little more handsome.

He could stand to grow his beard out a bit more though.

If his eyes lingered more on Yvette than Lena, that was only because he'd never met her before. Had to be. A man like him couldn't be drawn to a girl like her. Especially not if he shared his bed with the woman who evidently found his music so enchanting.

Still, she got chills when she felt his eyes roaming over her body.

"Don't stop," the queen told him.

Without a word, he turned his back to them once more. His bow then resumed its dance, filling the room with sounds that could break the strongest heart. Words could not describe the sense of loss and longing he pulled out of those strings.

"Don't mind Quincy," their mother told the four of them as she swept across the small room, moving so gracefully that Yvette wondered if her feet even touched the floor. Assuming she had any. "He can be a little nosy, but he does as I tell him."

That was when Yvette realized they weren't in the queen's quarters. The room was too cramped. The bed too small. Ornate as the furniture was, there wasn't enough of it to house a royal wardrobe, however limited its color palette might be. This was Quincy's room. Why the queen had chosen to receive them in it, Yvette could only guess. But it had to be his.

"May it please Her Majesty, I present my brother Zach," Lena said, her hands on the boy's shoulders and her eyes on the queen. "His blood is as blue as ours, as are his eyes. He is strong and fearless. He will make a proud wolf or I will offer my throat in shame."

A chill ran down Yvette's spine. The two of them were not just introducing her and Zach to their mother, but vouching for them. With their lives. If she and Zach resisted this world's corruption, Lance and Lena would pay. Meaning she not only had to choose between the two as lovers, but her actions might well determine which of them would live.

Why did she find that so exhilarating?

The frozen goddess cupped Zach's chin and tilted his head down so his eyes might meet hers. Yes, he stood a good seven or eight inches taller, but there was no question that he was beneath her. In about a dozen different ways. No expression showed on the queen's porcelain face, but that itself spoke volumes. She looked like a woman who'd been given a gift she didn't like by someone whose feelings she nonetheless didn't wish to hurt.

"No," she said at last.

Yvette's throat caught. The air froze and no one moved a muscle.

"Not a wolf, I think, but perhaps a bear."

The tension went out of her body. Hers, and everyone else's. Lena's especially. She hid it well, but Yvette was sure her sister had nearly shit herself.

Then the queen added, "In time."

"Your Majesty?" Lena asked, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"And he's far from fearless," their mother continued. "If I'm not mistaken, he refused to take the life you placed in his hands. Though he spilled some blood."

For a moment, Lena looked terrified. Yvette wouldn't have thought that possible for her. It seemed outside her emotional range. But she recovered quickly enough.

"So why did you lie?" she asked Lena. There wasn't so much as a hint of anger in her voice. If there was any emotion at all, it was amusement. But there was no more than a trace of even that. Her deep voice, like everything else about her, was cold and lifeless. "Don't tell me you've developed feelings for him?" Her eyes slid over to Lance. "Already?"

Yvette braced for the violence that now seemed inevitable. In her mind's eye, she saw her sister's throat slashed open and blood spraying wildly out into the room. None of them would even see the blow that ended her life, Yvette was sure. But they'd see the effects alright. And none of them would make a move to help her. Not even Lance.

Only that didn't happen.

She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

"He fascinates me," Lena said at last. The fear was gone. Or buried more successfully. She was the smarmy student who refused to back down when challenged by the professor. Respectful enough to drain all emotion from her voice, but too convinced she was right to sit down and shut up like she probably should. "He was a virgin before I took him."

"He's not the first," their mother replied.

"I know," Lena said, her facade slipping just a bit. "But he's not like all those hares. He is strong, if not fearless. And pure as freshly fallen snow." A wicked smile spread across her lips. "We'll have us a lot of fun converting him."

Zach stood as still as a statue. Like they weren't even talking about him, but someone else entirely. His eyes stared straight forward, over the top of the queen's head. Yvette wished she could reach out and take his hand in hers. Tell him she wouldn't let that happen. Bad Yvette insisted that if anyone was going to corrupt him, it would be her.

"I've thought that before," the queen replied. "Only to have them break easier than I expected. Or beg to be put out of their misery. What makes you so sure he's different?"

To Yvette's surprise, Lena answered that with nothing but a small shrug. "I just am."

Was she crazy? Or did she just have bigger balls than any of the men in that room?

The queen neither laughed nor struck out at her. She didn't react at all. Not at first. After a few brief instants that felt like hours, she reached up and patted Zach's cheek in the most belittling way. "You better turn out to be a bear. I've grown rather fond of your sister." Her eyes darted to Lena then back to Zach. "I'd hate to have to lose her over this."

"You won't," Lena said. But even to Yvette's ears, it sounded like she was saying that for her own benefit more than the queen's. "You'll see."

The queen gave her a thin smile then turned her eyes to Yvette.

Lance put his hands on her shoulders and said, "May it please Her Majesty, I present my sister Yvette. Her blood is as blue as ours, as are her eyes. She is strong and fearless. She will make a proud snow leopard or I will offer my throat in shame."

The queen stared at her hard, and Yvette felt her insides laid bare. She was sliced open by a thousand razors, placed on little glass trays, and slid under a microscope. It made her squirm, though she was too scared to so much as blink or twitch.

She was weak.

Fat.

Ugly.

Unreliable.

There were two women inside her. One was worthy of Winter, the other was not. And it was as yet unclear which would prevail. The queen saw that. She saw everything.

"Maybe," was all she said.

"Her brother-" Lance began.

"Might hold her back, yes," their mother replied, speaking past Yvette. "Or she might succeed where Lena fails. Hard to say." She took a sip of her wine. Not a drop of the red tainted her perfect blue lips. The smell reached Yvette's nose. It was rich and fuity. And definitely wine. The fleeting thought that it might be blood proved every bit as ridiculous as she should have known it to be. That was far too cliche for this one. "No, you're not going to keep them apart. But you are going to keep a close eye on both of them."

Was that what her father had been about to propose? After he'd said he'd cover for them sneaking out of their rooms to be together? Lucky for him their mother didn't want that anyway, because otherwise he'd have found out what Yvette's knuckles tasted like.

Probably.

Unless Bad Yvette interceded. As she well might have.

"You'd like to please me, wouldn't you?" Lady Winter asked Yvette.

Something inside her started to boil. That made it sound unpleasant, which was far from true, but it was still the only word she could use to describe the sensation. The energy inside her Libido grew agitated, then angry. And her body was awash in ecstasy. She inched closer and closer to the most intense orgasm she'd ever experience.

Then stopped.

As she gasped for air, Yvette said, "Very much, Your Majesty."

Damn. She hadn't even laid a finger on her. Just looked at her with those crazy blue eyes. And reached inside her, in some non-physical sense. What could she do if she actually used her body? How must those lips feel? Could any other fingers deliver as much pleasure?

"Of course you do," she said with a hollow smile.

There was nothing Yvette wouldn't do to please that woman. What had ever made her think that it would be a good idea to resist? Simply looking upon her mother's face made her heart ache with desire stronger than any she'd ever felt before.

Then the queen turned away from her and the world ended. Or might as well have, for all the difference it made to how devastated she felt.

"Leave this one here," Lady Winter said to Lena, waving her free hand lazily in Zach's general direction. "I'll send for the other when I'm done with him."

"Let's go," Lance said, turning Yvette back towards the stairs.

She wanted to protest. To insist that she be allowed to stay with the queen. But she held her tongue. Protesting, even to her father, would not curry favor.

"I hope I didn't get you into trouble," she said instead, once they were far enough down the stairwell that the sad music emanating from the fiddle was no longer audible. Which presumably meant that they were out of their mother's earshot.

"You didn't," he said. "Nor will you."

A strong hand grabbed her shoulder and shoved her roughly into the wall. Yvette slammed into the ice roughly, lost her balance, and fell the rest of the way down the stairs. Pain bombarded her, rattling her brain and making her eyes tear up. The taste of blood filled her mouth. Her back was hot with pain, her legs and especially her bare arms cold.

Yvette tried to pick herself up, but she was in too much pain. And too disoriented. She wasn't even sure which way was up. It was all she could do to keep from crying.

Her father's face came into view. "You're gonna do as I say."

"Yes, Daddy," she said, whimpering. But not crying.

"Our mother says not to keep you from Zach. So I won't. But you're going to use whatever time we give you together to push him in the right direction. Let him think you're his, when in truth you belong to me. Isn't that right?"

"Yours and yours alone."

He smacked her. "Don't say that. The queen always comes first." Of course. She should have known that. "But I'm ahead of your brother."

The pain slowly started to subside. So did the cold. She remembered that she was born of Winter, and had no reason to find ice uncomfortable.

"Of course you are," she said, voice firm.

Bad Yvette needed no convincing. If anything, she wanted him more than ever. That he'd go to such lengths to ensure her devotion only showed how much he wanted her.

He regarded her silently for a time, then nodded. Offering a hand, he helped her to her feet. Then pulled her in for an aggressive kiss.

She couldn't help it. Her Libido stirred.

Yes, he'd just thrown her down the stairs. And no, he didn't love her. The sane part of her knew that. He was only interested in her because it would be his head on a pike beside hers if she didn't make their mother proud. He was nothing but bad news. As everything about this place was. She had to stick to the plan. She and Zach had to help each other survive. And, eventually, escape. Once they knew where to go afterwards.


Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 01



But his hands were so strong, and his lips so warm.

To say nothing of how good he smelled. Or how much she loved the feel of his hard abs, downy fur, and growing erection. Her father was more animal than man. But part of her didn't mind. Wanted nothing more than a feral beast to go crazy on her.

Finally, he pushed her away. But the wild look in his eyes, the blue light radiating from them, told her that he was far from done with her. "How long you think your brother might last?" he asked, letting breath warm with lust waft against her.

"Probably not long, to be honest," she said. "I mean, can anyone? With her?"

He snorted. "Not really."

"I'm sure you can. But he's not you."

A wolfish grin. "No, he isn't." He kissed her again, pawing at her breasts roughly. Her nipples quickly started to hurt, though not in an altogether bad way. "We better not go far then," he said when he finally came up for air.

Soon enough, Yvette was back down on the stairs. And there were tears in her eyes once more. But she wouldn't have had it any other way.

#

Her father stopped mid-thrust.

"What is it?" Yvette asked, trying to pull him in with the legs she'd wrapped around his back. His dick felt so good inside her, and he'd been driving at just the right angle. Even without him staring into her eyes with such intensity, tugging on her hair with just the right amount of pressure, and pressing his other hand over her throat, she'd be headed towards another orgasm. As it was, the imminent climax was likely to be epic. She really needed him to keep going. "Please," she whimpered, before leaning up to bite at his scraggly beard.

"It's her," he said.

Then he slammed into her real hard.

And quickly pulled back and did it again. And again. Several quick thrusts hit Yvette at lightning speed, sending her over the edge.

Her eyes rolled back in her head and her eyelids spasmed. Her mouth hung agape, a frozen scream caught in her throat. Waves of pleasure swept over Yvette, warm followed by bitter cold. All over her body, goose bumps formed. Then faded, then formed again, pebbling her skin. Her nipples hardened to the point that her piercings caused her pain.

For a few moments, she rode the orgasm, feeling as though she might burst into a thousand little crystalline pieces at any moment. It was the best thing she'd ever felt, but almost too much. Just as she was convinced the intensity actually would overwhelm her, shattering her very essence, Yvette's consciousness slipped out of her body.

She forgot all about the varied sensations, physical as they were in nature. Forgot even her name. There was but a floating intelligence, surrounded by endless calm serenity and gentle euphoria. It stared down at the handsome man kneeling atop the busty woman with too many tattoos and piercings, regarding them with a detached curiosity.

They looked perfect together. So alike, yet so different. His body was hard, hers soft. His skin had a little color to it, hers virtually none at all. But both had jet black hair and ice blue eyes. And the way she embraced him as her body convulsed bespoke a need more powerful than most couples would ever experience.

Their lips danced awkwardly, one set rushing forward while the other stood still or even slipped away. But neither gave up. Uncoordinated though their efforts might be, they needed each other. Desperately. That small little connection was of paramount importance to them. If the entity watching them had a mouth, it might have smiled.

Some might find the girl attractive enough, what with those huge breasts, flat stomach, slim legs, and perfect hair. But she simply wasn't in the same league as her guy. Or so the disembodies sentience felt. He was somewhere between extremely handsome and blindingly beautiful, whereas she was merely pretty, with relatively thin lips and small eyes. He had an amazing body whereas hers would only appeal to those who didn't care much for proportionality or symmetry. His waist was remarkably narrow, only a few inches thicker than hers. Yet his shoulders were broader than might have been biologically possible for a man of his height, which was right around average. The dick he was slowly withdrawing from her hungry snatch was huge, but not so freakishly oversized that a woman might worry about being ripped open or poked in the lungs. Just big enough, and thick enough, to make mouths water. To enable him to push deep even if they experimented with more exotic positions. His physique was perfect as well. Lean without being so lean as to leave him looking like a flayed man, raw muscles exposed to the open air. And he had just the right amount of bulk. All the right parts of him bulged, but he could move like a predator rather than a lumbering giant. His back and upper arms were hairless, but his chest, abdomen, legs and forearms were thickly covered with short dark hair. Watching the two of them together, the being-with-no-name both envied and pitied the girl, for though she had the most perfect man atop her at the moment, their union couldn't possibly last.

Sadly, the sentience soon fell back into the girl's body. And remembered that it did indeed belong to her body, however loose the tether had been a moment before. The infinite contentment that had left Yvette free of all pain and worry and intense emotions, both positive negative, slipped through her fingers once more. Physical sensation returned to her, and she became aware of the fading reverberations of her climax.

Of course, even though they were dying out quickly, the aftereffects left her feeling pretty damn good. And she also became aware of her father's masculine scent, which if bottled would allow countless man to dramatically improve their romantic prospects.

But the loss still saddened her.

Her father had sent her to that happy place before, and no doubt would again before too long, but it was always for a brief time. Never long enough. Yvette longed powerfully to escape her body once and for all. To enter the blissful state that had temporarily erased her name and individual identity and remain there for all eternity.

"Let's go," Lance said, wrapping shadows around him from the waist down. The ethereal darkness solidified, becoming leather pants. "I told you, she's not to be kept waiting."

"How do you know?" she asked, too dizzy from her intense climax to think better of it.

Her head was still spinning and lungs pumping like bellows. The lingering aftershocks made her pussy quiver, her stomach churn, and her toes tingle. Dang, Lance was good. He hurt her at times, as Zach never would, but she liked that more than she'd ever admit to her sweet brother. And when he aimed to please? Forget it. He was without equal. Oh, Zach was better with his tongue. In time, Yvette suspected, he could be shaped into a true master of cunnilingus. But she'd never feel the broad range of sensations with her brother that she did with her father. With Lance, Yvette might feel a fire burning inside her even as her neck and breasts froze under his cool breath and icy fingers. Sharp needles would sting her cheek or scalp while purest ecstasy radiated out from her vulva to her ass, thighs, and hips. The pain of his teeth sinking into her neck would be offset by the supreme pleasure he visited upon her down below, or the way he pinched her nipples with exactly the right amount of pressure. Small wonder she couldn't think straight even after he pulled out.

He gave her a displeased look. For a moment she thought he might hit her again. And she wasn't sure if she wanted him to or not. But then he said, "You'll see. After you've spent enough time with her, you'll be able to feel her in your bones. You'll know when she's thinking of you, when she's upset, and when she's enjoying herself."

"Oh." That never would have occurred to Yvette, but the moment he said it, she realized it made perfect sense. How could that not be true of someone like their mother?

Lance ran a hand through his hair and let out a bemused laugh, which didn't seem like him at all. The brief appearance of something like vulnerability made Yvette's heart ache. "I sound like those old folks who swear they can feel a storm coming, don't I?"

Yvette grinned nervously as she magicked her clothes back on. "A little."

"Well, it's pretty much like that," Lance said. "Except it can be a lot more uncomfortable than arthritis, if you ignore her for too long." A wistful smile appeared, lingering for a long moment. "Though, when she's in a good mood...say, if Quincy's tending to her, or if she's kissing one of her tributes...," he shuddered almost exactly the way he had when she'd chilled her tongue and pressed it against his sensitive head.

"You don't really mean kissing," she said, climbing to her feet.

Her father snorted. "No. That's just what she calls it."

Right. Zach had told her about how the people of Winter sometimes paid their queen tribute. He'd been horrified not only at the concept, but the way Lena had expected him to find it arousing. Yvette had shared his reaction too, at the time. But just then she was thinking she'd like to watch and learn how her mother gave kisses.

"Anyway, this isn't one of those times. She's not upset, yet, but we should go."

So they headed back up the long flight of stairs.

Yvette wondered why she hadn't seen Zach come back down, but after seeing him walk on an ice bridge that he'd created just a moment earlier, and the way their parents had transported them from one world to another shortly before that, she'd given up expecting such things to make sense. The palace almost didn't need hallways and staircases at all, she figured. A cluster of towers, all near one another, would serve the same purpose. The inhabitants thereof would find a way to get from one room to another.

The music returned as they ascended, but where it was mournful before it was now upbeat, almost joyous. A whimsical melody that put one in a playful mood.

Whimsical and playful were not things she'd expect Lady Winter to enjoy, but then Yvette had to admit she really didn't know anything about her mother. The woman wrapped herself in symbolism, what might be described as an icy exterior beneath a cloak of darkness, but somewhere beneath all that must surely lurk an actual person. A complex being with virtues and vices, if not equal measure, and yes perhaps contradiction or two.

Or maybe she just liked to fuck with people's perceptions.

When they reached the small chamber at the top of the tower, they found it empty but for the queen and the third brother she'd unexpectedly learned she had in a span of less than twenty-four hours. There was no sign of Zach or Lena. As expected.

Her mother was lying sideways on the bed, wearing the same pitch black dress as before. Only now Yvette could see her black peep toe pumps, which were encrusted with diamonds in front and along the short heels. There was no way Yvette could squeeze into those tiny shoes. She wished she could though, because they were hella sexy. A bit dressy for her tastes, but she wouldn't mind changing that now that she was a princess. Of sorts.

She wished she could rock a dress like that too. Wear her hair that short, barely reaching past her ear on one side and hanging just below her chin on the other.

Most of all, she wished she was worthy of blue lips. The more she thought about it, the more she found them hauntingly beautiful. The boldest red would never grab attention as dramatically. They spoke of strength and a cold disregard for the wellbeing of others, power and relentless desire. A woman with lips like those would take and take and take, the way winter froze every tree and every lake, but the men who fell prey to her would die smiling.

"Make me proud," Lance whispered in Yvette's ear. He then gave her behind a smack before going over to their mother, kissing her on the cheek, and departing. He no more acknowledged Quincy than the latter did him.

"Wine?" the queen asked, raising her chalice.

Yvette shrugged. Then belatedly realize that was no way to respond to a polite offer from a queen. "Yes, please," she said. "Your Majesty is most gracious."

Dark blue lips curved in a faint smile. "Better to err on that side than the other, but such formalism isn't necessary." A second chalice, this one black crystal, appeared. It hung suspended in midair halfway between Yvette and the bed. "You are my blood, after all."

"So what should I call you?"

"Whatever you like," she replied. "The storm cares not what you name it. It brings the same amount of snow either way." A small shrug followed that strange yet fitting response. "I've met those who demand respect. Bestow title after title upon themselves. But I've never found words to be as important as the sentiments behind them, and the only name I've ever claimed for myself is Daphne."

Yvette considered that. Her mother's little speech reminded her of professors who insisted upon being called Dr. This or Dr. That, because they'd worked so hard for their degrees, and how no one took them as seriously as those who didn't really care what you called them, so long as you came to class regularly and turned your work in on time.

But this wasn't college. And queens had every right to make demands. Especially those as powerful and terrifying as her mother.

Still, Yvette liked that she could call her "Daphne" if she wanted.

Blue liquid began flowing, though where from was a mystery. Perhaps an invisible bottle floating about on its own. Yvette watched in fascination, then stepped forward and plucked the vessel into which the strangely colored wine had been poured out of the air.

"Sit," the queen said with an inviting sweep of her hand.

Yvette walked slowly, almost hesitantly, over to her mother and sat on the edge of the bed. She almost spilled her wine in the process. The mattress and boxspring sat right on the floor, without any frame to hold them up off the ice. Besides, Yvette wasn't used to wearing such voluminous skirts. She mostly wore jeans and the occasional peasant skirt. Nothing so elaborate, with many layers to keep track of. Tucking them all under her with one hand while holding her chalice steady might have been a little challenging even if the mattress wasn't so low to the ground.

Particularly after the reaming her father had given her.

The effects had finally faded, the last tremor having shot through her body long before they'd reached the top of the tower. But her muscles were still jelly. If she'd given him more time, Lance might well have left her unable to walk.

And just as incapable of wiping a smile off her face. But that was besides the point.

"Do you like it?" her mother asked, running her fingers lightly through Yvette's hair. The way a mother who didn't rule over a court of terrified immortals might. "I must confess I like mine a bit sweet. Fresh from the Lodge, you're probably used to something a little drier. But I bet you'll come to like it."

No subtext there.

Truthfully, Yvette wasn't used to anything when it came to wine. Nor was she sure what "dry" meant. Or what the heck tannins were, though she knew that you couldn't be a proper wine snob if you didn't throw that word around all the dang time. But the first taste was pleasant enough. It tasted a bit like blueberries. And, yes, it was sweet. More like a white than a red, though it was plenty dark. It wasn't as sweet as juice, of course. The alcohol was pronounced, and a hint of vinegar hit the mouth initially, though it faded quickly.

All in all, the beverage wasn't at all the sort of thing she'd expect her mother to drink. But that too could be seen as symbolic. Yvette was still trying to figure out what exactly to expect of Winter and the woman who ruled over it.

"It's good," Yvette said. Part of her wanted to elaborate, but she had no idea what else she could say that wouldn't make her look like an unsophisticated rube. Like the inexperienced teenage girl that she was. Why couldn't they have waited until she was a bit older to come get her? She so wasn't ready to drink wine with a woman like Daphne.

Daphne. That was strange. But not in a bad way.

"Good," came the reply. "Drink it slow. Takes some getting used to."

Her mother's voice was the very embodiment of sex. It made the breath catch in her throat and sent a shiver down her spine. Her poor, overstimulated vadge started throbbing.

Well, okay, she wasn't overstimulated. From the sound of it, such a thing wasn't even possible for their kind. As she'd started to suspect the previous summer, before discovering that she was anything other than a confused teenage girl.

"Was...did my brother...I don't know what I'm asking."

She sounded so stupid. What was wrong with her?

The blue wine almost washed the taste of humiliation from her mouth. Almost.

Daphne sat up and pressed herself against Yvette's back. Her breasts, so big and soft, felt strange on Yvette's back. She'd never really fooled around with other girls, except when she'd had too much to drink and there were a bunch of guys cheering them on, nor had she ever felt more than a passing curiosity as to what it might be like to do so. But somehow the feel of her mother's body against hers didn't make her too uncomfortable. No more so than having a guy who was too damn hot make physical contact. It was her mother's magnificence, her infinite sex appeal, that had Yvette on edge. Not her gender.

Cold breath fell upon her neck. Yvette felt crystals form on her skin and she couldn't help but gasp for air. Raggedly. Her nipples, already hard, started to ache fiercely. They could almost cut through the fabric of her top. Her mother had actually caused ice to form on her neck, simply by exhaling, but rather than freaking Yvette out, that only turned her on all the more. Besides, she was born of Winter. She had no cause to fear frostbite.

"He has potential," their mother whispered, delivering more frosty air.

Then a surprisingly warm tongue licked at Yvette's neck.

The touch was fleeting, but even that brief instant of pure ecstasy was enough for Yvette. She immediately slipped into a mild orgasm. Nothing like the epic one her father had induced before delivering her to the queen, but there was no mistaking the sensation.

Or the trickle the energy leaving her Libido. That was going to take some getting used to. She used to think of sex purely in physical terms. Well, psychological as well. Or physiological. Whatever. Now she had to keep track of the supernatural implications. Which was exciting, but intimidating as well.

"We need to bring the inner animal closer to the surface," her mother continued, in a voice that mercifully went no higher than four on the seduction scale. "But once he got going, it was clear he knew his way around a woman's body."

"He's...good with his togue...isn't he?" Yvette panted as she raised the crystal to her lips. The chilled wine helped bring her body temperature back down.

Her mother bit her earlobe and she cried out.

The chalice fell from her hand and spilled all over her dress.

A split second later, though, it was as though the wine had never been poured. She couldn't even remember if she'd done that, perhaps reflexively, or if her mother had instead. All she knew for sure was that she wanted to spread her mother out on the bed, rip her dress off, and feast upon her frozen flesh.

Not that she dared do so. Her ego might not be as fragile as her father sometimes made it sound, but Yvette still didn't think it safe to take charge like that. Besides, she'd just asked the woman a question. Who would push a queen flat on her back as she was about to speak? No one who enjoyed having a heartbeat.

"For one of his youth and inexperience?" her mother asked, again speaking almost normally. "Absolutely." The way she pressed her open mouth onto Yvette's shoulder, though, to say nothing of what her tongue did after the seal was formed, defied words.




Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 01



It took Yvette a moment to make the connection. To realize that her mother was saying something with that little move, not just delivering pleasure for the sake of doing so. Nothing Zach had done with his tongue had felt nearly as good as what Daphne was doing just then. To Yvette's shoulder. Not her neck, let along her stiff clitoris, but the not-altogether-sensitive part where her arm met her torso. It made no damn sense at all. Not that it needed to.

She soon experienced another orgasm.

Not a particularly modest one either.

Her mother didn't send her spiraling out of her body, the way her father had a few times, but even after she came down from her high, Yvette felt as drunk as she would have been if she'd finished not one but two chalices of that strange wine. And she knew that her Libido had surrendered more than a little of her precious energy. Had she not gotten her father off even more times than he had her, that might be a real cause for concern.

"Can we slo-"

Her mother guided her onto her back and set about undressing her. Yvette didn't bother finishing the request. Nor did she say a single word as the woman worked. She was too nervous to speak, pierced tongue frozen in her mouth.

Though part of her wanted to cover herself up, she forced herself to give her lover a good look. As much for that reason as to avoid looking timid.

"You're beautiful," Daphne said, staring up from between Yvette's legs.

The words sounded sincere. The queen of no less than three courts, Lady Winter, a woman of unnatural beauty and incredible power, thought she was beautiful. Shy, awkward Yvette. A girl so uncomfortable with her own body that she couldn't stop altering it.

She almost died.

Then her mother began pleasing her and she very nearly wished she had.

Nothing Daphne did brought greater pleasure than she'd felt with her father or even with Zach. After a certain point, it simply wasn't possible to feel better. But while those sublime moments had been fleeting with her father, and rarer still with her brother, her mother had her teetering on the edge of what her body could handle almost the entire time.

Each and every orgasm, of which there were a great many, came in at a ten out of ten. It was a wonder none of her bones cracked. That she managed to remember her name again and again, after being made to forget it so many times. Her Libido was nearly empty, but she was so deep in a cloud of euphoria that she just didn't care. If her mother hadn't stopped of her own accord, Yvette would have let the woman drain her dry. Because there was no way she was going to interrupt anything that felt that good.

"Wow," Yvette panted. "I...don't know if I can move."

Her mother smiled. "Then don't."

With that, Daphne cast her dress off. It looked like she was pulling away cobwebs, the way the fabric stubbornly clung to her body at first then came away cleanly.

She was absolutely perfect.

Some part of Yvette started to feel jealous, but quickly threw in the towel. There was no point. She couldn't compare to that. And no one would ever expect her to. Lady Winter was one of a kind. Her waist was no thicker than Zach's biceps, yet she had serious hips and huge breasts. Which were topped by thick nipples, dark blue of course, and light blue areola. Her legs were surprisingly thick, as the ass Yvette felt when she slid her hand down her mother's back was huge and soft, yet perfectly rounded and heart-shaped. Though Yvette had only gotten a brief glimpse before the woman started crawling up her body, she was pretty sure her mother was shaved bald down there. As Yvette herself was, though she hadn't expected a mature and elegant woman of Winter to submit to recent mortal trends in body grooming.

"I've never been wi-" Yvette began.

"Shh."

They kissed and for a time Yvette lost herself in her mother's lovely lips. Those blue beauties were so full and soft, and the pleasure they delivered was more than physical. But then she remembered that it was supposed to be her turn to do the pleasing. That she had to find a way to fill her Libido. To pry some energy out of her mother.

Delicately, she spread her mother's butt cheeks apart and slid a few fingers into the warm slit beyond. To Lady Winter, the young girl's movements probably felt awkward and unsure, but in Yvette's mind at least, she managed to be smooth. And the woman lying atop her started to moan into her mouth as she worked the slim digits.

But then the kiss ended abruptly. "Watch the nails, sweetie," her mother said. "A little pain can be good. But it's got to be done right. And that? That's not the way to do it."

"I didn't mean to," Yvette said.

Lady Winter smiled. The flowers in the vase by the bed wilted. The air went from crisp to frosty and Yvette could see her breath. "That's okay," her mother said. "I'll teach you."

Time fell away. At first, Yvette was painfully aware that she was the pupil being guided through the basics by a master. Only it was worse than that, because she'd always been good in school. The most difficult and technical subjects came naturally to her, whereas making love to a woman felt like breathing water, or swimming through a bed of gravel. She'd never realized how little she knew about using her body to please another. Though she'd never had trouble finishing her guys off, it hadn't occurred to her that it just wasn't that hard to get a guy to cum. But before long, the lesson stopped feeling like one. The techniques her mother taught her, from retracing her nails once her fingers were inside the other woman's body to hyper-sensitizing another's skin, were actually quite straightforward. She'd already figured out how to make her tongue as warm or as cold as she pleased, and so long as one kept their partner guessing about what they'd feel next, that was a powerful tool indeed. It took more effort to surprise her mother, to avoid falling into a predictable pattern, but every now and then she really made the other woman's eyes bulge simply by frosting her clit or closing cold lips around a hard blue nipple.

She'd have loved to keep at it for a while longer. But she could hardly handle her mother's orgasms. Every time Lady Winter let down her defenses, an avalanche crashed into Yvette. Her Libido went from nearly empty to painfully overfull in a relatively short period of time. If she got her mother off once more, she might well have exploded.

Through it all, Quincy worked his magic, fingers and bow making love to the strings with a delicacy and expertise that Yvette could only envy. His eyes lit up a few times, but not once did move to join them. Even when Yvette silently implored him to do so with her eyes. Which was probably just as well, since she found herself tapping out soon thereafter.

"That was good," her mother said afterwards, before conjuring up more blue wine. "Now that we've got a good foundation to build on, we can get into the rough stuff next time."

Yvette drank the sweet stuff with gusto. She hadn't worked up much of a sweat, but the simple task of containing all the energy she'd borrowed from her mother was exhausting.

"Sorry if I-"

The queen shook her head and Yvette swallowed the rest of her words. Then followed that up with a swig of wine. Which she realized tasted a lot like her mother's juices.

"You've nothing to apologize for," her mother said. A black nightgown appeared, covering her body. It it left a lot more of her ultra-pale skin exposed, but its rich, shiny fabric and elaborate lace trim was still fit for a queen. "I'm well pleased."

Yvette felt giddy. The most incredible woman in the world, who'd shown Yvette aspects of herself she'd never known were there, and would likely do so many more times in the coming days, was actually her mother. And was pleased with her.

Was this the life she wanted to escape? Whatever for?

"Now," her mother said, suddenly lashing out. One moment, her hand grasped a silver chalice. The next, Yvette's throat. Both their drinks were gone and so was all the air in Yvette's lungs. Cold fingers pressed hard against her skin, and sharp nails threatened to draw blood. "You like me better when I'm happy, don't you?"

She tried to respond, but could not. Not even by nodding.

"Of course you do," the queen replied. "I don't have to show you what happens when I get angry, do I?" Again, there was no way for her to answer. Not with that strong grip on her throat, rapidly sending her into oxygen deprivation. "Keep that in mind after you leave here. And make sure your brother does the same."

With that, she released Yvette. Just as spots began to dance before her eyes.

Before Yvette had quite finished recovering, her mother took her head in both hands and kissed her sweetly on the lips. "Everything will be okay, as long as you do as you're told."

Tears welled in Yvette's eyes. She felt overwhelmed with fear and relief and self-loathing. A stronger person would feel defiant. Would renew their commitment to getting away from the frozen nightmare that was her mother's world. But all she wanted to do was crawl into the woman's lap and cry. And never, ever disappoint her.

That wasn't even Bad Yvette speaking.

#

As soon as he realized the shadows behind him were moving, Frank went invisible and reinforced the mask on his Libido. Then he wolfed out and prepared to show the Winter whelp that Daphne's brood weren't the only ones that had claws.

But the attack never came.

Instead, a portion of the shadow broke off and slid away across the snow. He followed it silently, flying over frozen rivers and endless fields of snow as the shadow moved up the mountainside. Eventually, the dark circle slipped inside a cave.

Frank hesitated, decided he didn't care if he was being ambushed, and went in.

This could be it. The end he'd both feared and longed for. A release from the guilt and self-loathing he'd felt ever since he'd allowed his children to die and watched the woman he loved get Devoured by his grandmother. Or, there might just be the one, out on his own, in which case Frank could safely pick him off without giving himself away. That would bring his head count up to five. Which was nowhere near enough, but he wagered it would still feel every bit as good as the first four had. No matter that there were plenty more out there.

Or it might be something altogether different.

To Frank's surprise, the man who waited by the fire had a deep bronze complexion. And his shadowy companion, once solidified, had skin like caramel. Which meant that whoever they were, they weren't Daphne's. Or from Winter at all, for that matter. Frank had yet to come across anyone in the land of snow and ice who looked like these two. They didn't all have black hair and blue eyes like Daphne, in fact most had blonde hair, but the denizens of the Wintry courts all had very fair skin. Even more so than one tended to find in Autumn.

Could they be from Summer? He'd never been there, but he recalled there being a few refugees from the island courts in the Forgotten Tower that Iva had pointed out to him. Distantly remembered though they were, the ones he had in mind were all darker complected.

Which only made sense, really.

He could definitely picture these two hanging out on a beach, soaking up rays. Surrounded by tanned women in bikinis, drinking fruity cocktails. Fuckers probably liked to surf too.

What were two guys from Summer doing here?

Well, that was a stupid question. From what he understood, Daphne's frozen fingers reached into every court. They likely had just as much reason for raiding Winter, killing as many of Daphne's monstrous offspring as they could, as he did.

But what why were they doing following him? And why hadn't they revealed themselves?

Perhaps the most important question of all was whether he wanted to reveal himself to them. He'd been doing just fine by himself. Gathering information from Daphne's terrified subjects, taking out her children whenever he found one all alone. He didn't need or want help. Besides, they might prove more of a hindrance. They obviously weren't very powerful or all that bright, or he'd never have realized he was being followed.

And what if he finally gave into that fatalistic impulse, the growing sense of nihilism he was finding harder to ignore, and wanted to go all kamikaze on the ice palace high up in the heart of the mountain range? Would they try to talk him out of it? Would he let them?

On the other hand, working together, they wouldn't need to shy away from groups of two and three. And he knew it really wasn't all that damning that he'd spotted Mister Shadow. That was a skill that could come in handy. And the bronze blonde looked like he could handle himself in a fight. He was tall, probably over six feet, and well-built. Plus, there was that badass sword strapped to his back. And the soft blue nimbus surrounding it.

All practicalities aside, though, he'd grown quite accustomed to being on his own. Making contact with others only when he needed to refuel. Frank had never really understood why people said that misery loves company. When he got into one of his darker moods, all he wanted was to be alone. The thought of talking about what had happened, why he'd decided venture deep into the heart of Winter without any backup, did not appeal to him. At. All.

"I found him," the brown one said.

So it was no coincidence. The guy hadn't just happened upon him while he was out exploring, looking for wolves to hunt. It hadn't felt like that was what had happened, but Frank supposed it was good to have it confirmed.

"Really?" the blonde said, bolting to his feet. "Where? Why are you back?"

They spoke softly, even when excited. Perhaps they had some idea what they were doing after all. Frank could have amplified his hearing, but he decided to move a little closer to them. Get a better look as well. Maybe even bask in the warmth of the fire.

He didn't have any trouble withstanding the cold, of course. None of their kind did. But he felt it. And had grown to hate it as he never had back in Autumn's echo.

"He disappeared," the shadowman replied. "Not sure how he knew I was there, or if he even did. But pretty much as soon as I happened upon him, he vanished." He held up his hand and snapped his fingers. The sound echoed through the cave. "Just like that."

Well, one of them was careful. The one who hadn't given them away.

"Shit," the other one said, sitting back down. "Well fucking done."

He looked funny, sitting there wearing his jeans, Timberlands, and hooded UCLA sweatshirt, like someone from the mortal world, yet with a huge ass sword on his back. The oyster shell in the pommel and the blue waves decorating the blade, which Frank hadn't been able to make out from the entrance to the cave, pretty much confirmed that he was from Summer, but some part of Frank could almost believe he was dealing with a couple of mortals who really had no fucking idea what they'd gotten themselves into.

"Yeah, well, you'll change your mind when you realize he's standing right behind us!" the first one replied, spinning around to point right at Frank.

He was too stunned to say anything. Or to get the hell out of there, as he probably should have. He just stared dumbfounded at the man dressed all in black, wondering how he could see him. Whether he'd known all along that Frank hadn't actually disappeared.

"Um," his companion said, "you sure about that?"

"Yup. Notice how the air blowing in from outside is split into two streams now? Like there's something right there in the middle? That's no stalagmite."

Huh.

That was actually pretty clever.

Frank had hidden himself from view and suppressed all smell and sound, a potentially unnecessary precaution since he never touched the ground, but he hadn't thought of other little ways he might nonetheless reveal his presence. He'd figured that as long as no one could see, smell, or hear him, or track his footprints, he basically didn't exist.

"You got me," he said, slipping out of from wolfman as he popped into view. He stayed suspended in the air, though, as he walked towards them with his hand outstretched. Because fuck it. Why not. "Frank Orwin." He gave them a moment to react to that, confirming that they knew who he was. "I'd say I'm pleased to meet you, but that would be a lie. I am, however, curious as to who the fuck you are and why you're following me around."

The one in black melted back into the shadows and the blonde looked like he might draw his sword. But he didn't. Just stared at Frank with his pale blue eyes, rose slowly to his feet, and circled around the fire to take his hand.

The fucker squeezed good and tight, so Frank threw that right back at him. To his credit, though, he barely winced. Even as Frank came really damn close to breaking some bones. He wasn't as strong as Frank, or as willing to sacrifice some precious energy in order to make what was ultimately a pretty stupid point, but he wasn't weak. Or afraid of pain.

"Eric Moody," he said through gritted teeth.

Frank let up, held the grip a little longer, then released. "And the elusive Mister Shadow?" he asked, making a point of looking around the dark cave.

No reply came at first. But eventually, the guy rematerialized. "Nick Hardt," he said. "And I'll just go ahead and stipulate that you're stronger than I am."

Frank laughed. "So you're the brains of the operation."

"Or thinks he is," Eric replied, giving Nick a sidelong glance.

The latter stared right back, and something passed between them that made Frank no longer feel like the outsider they needed to team up on. Neither spoke a word, but he sensed that their little mission hadn't exactly brought them closer together.

Had it driven them apart? Or had there never been anything but bad blood there?

"We were sent here by Flori of House Hardt, Queen of The First Court of Summer," Nick said at last, turning to face the newcomer. His eyes were dark and malevolent. Or so they seemed to Frank. Suspicious, if nothing else. "She wishes us to assist you."

"Oh, she does? And why is that?"

"You hate Daphne?" Eric asked.

"Of course. Everyone outside her family does. And many of them do too."

"Well, then, there you go," Nick replied. "The enemy of my enemy-"

"Is no one to me," Frank finished. "Maybe even tomorrow's enemy."

"But today's friend," Nick said. He took a step nearer the fire.

Though he was more or less of a height with Frank, perhaps an inch taller, and nowhere near as muscular, his advance still made Frank uncomfortable. Almost without meaning to, he floated a bit back. Then wished he hadn't when he saw the faint grin on Nick's face.

"Do the smart thing," Nick said. "Worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Because if that frozen bitch gets her way, none of may live that long anyway."

"You guys know what she's planning?"

"No. Do you?" Eric asked, putting a hand on his arm to stop his retreat. There was a hint of optimism in his voice, and Frank realized they'd pinned all their hopes on him.

Shit out of luck then.

"No," he said. A reproachful look sufficed to remove Eric's hand. "I think it has something to do with the Shackled Maiden, but I don't even know who that is."

"You mean the Unshackled Maiden," Nick said.

Frank shrugged. Having heard the term precisely once, right before making a promise to Iva that he'd broken within the hour, he figured he could be forgiven for getting mixed up.

"And she's no one, anymore," Nick continued. "Been dead since our courts came into being. Matter of fact, it was her death that allowed them to do so."

The two of them gave him a quick history lesson. He was tempted to ask how they knew so much, but that really wasn't important at the moment. Instead, when they finished telling him about the Trilateral War and the civil war the followed, Frank asked, "So you think she's trying to get back to Earth?"




Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 02



She waited and waited for Zach to show up, unsure what she'd do or say when he did but nonetheless certain that she needed to see him. Her brother didn't come, though. Not up the stairs of her tower, nor across an ice bridge leading up to her window.

Was he too busy with Lena?

What was it between them, anyway? The woman was a monster, so far as Yvette could tell. Of course, after meeting the queen, she was pretty sure she would soon be as well, but still. Zach didn't know that. And he wasn't the kind of guy who'd go for that sort of thing. Was he? Heck, he'd not even been able to bring himself put Curt out of his misery. He'd hurt the guy real bad, but when push had come to shove, his sense of decency had won out. How then could he be drawn to the very woman who'd tried to get him to kill his friend?

Perhaps he had more of Daphne's cold blood in him than was outwardly apparent. He pretty much had to. Which was good, all things considered. But she wanted to be the one to draw it out of him. Fuck Lena.

With a sigh, Yvette mirrored a section of the ice walls.

There was no question that she'd changed since arriving in Winter, and that was as true on the outside as much as anywhere else. Once upon a time, her figure had brought her more shame than pride. But as she turned this way and that, studying her proud breasts, narrow waist, flat butt, and long, slender legs, Yvette couldn't help but smile. She would've liked to be more proportional, but she looked good. Fuck that false modesty shit.

She was a good deal prettier than she'd once been too. Not as pretty as Lena, let alone the infinitely gorgeous Lady Winter, but she definitely liked what she saw. Her nose was smaller, her blue eyes brighter, and her brows had acquired the shape she'd always tried to give them but had never quite been able to pull off. Thin, but not overplucked. Arched, but not excessively. Her complexion was perfect, entirely free of the acne she'd still struggled with after graduating high school. And even on her best hair day, the sheets of black silk falling to her shoulders hadn't been so perfect, so straight and shiny.

What did Lena really have on her, anyway?

Well, okay, the bitch had taken his virginity.

That was a cold, hard fact she couldn't deny. However much she wanted to. A freezing rain that kept falling on the mental parade she held in her own honor. Yvette might be looking better than ever, and feeling a confidence she'd never even imagined possible, but in at least one important respect, Lena would always have an advantage over her, just because she'd been Zach's first. It was that simple. All the more so because he was, at heart, a decent guy. Assholes didn't get sentimental or overattached just because a girl had spread her legs for him. But nice guys did. All the fucking time.

Damn. She'd really fucked up back in the cabin.

There were only so many ways that night could have ended, all of led to Winter, but at least Yvette could have given herself some chance of holding onto her brother. But noooo. She just had to have the confident, mysterious stranger instead. And so she was left wondering whether Lena would be the one to bring Zach over to the dark side.

No. No, no, no. She wasn't going to do this to herself.

Yvette snapped her fingers, shortening her skirts so they stopped at her ankles. A second snap collapsed the layers of satin into a single sheet of rumpled cotton, free of blue embroidery. Elegance might be called for when appearing before a queen, but her brother was a simple man, and he'd appreciate a more casual look. Besides, she didn't want him thinking she'd already decided her loyalties, even if she had. He might pull away if he realized that Daphne had brokered a peace agreement between her and Bad Yvette that gave all the territory to the latter and required the former to fully disarm.

Yvette pushed the thought aside, gave herself another look over followed by an approving nod that was mostly sincere, and then headed for the stairs.

Her brother would be hers soon enough, she assured herself as she made her way over to his tower. Well, no, not hers. The queen's, really. Which meant it didn't really matter who won him over. But even so, she'd be the reason he came around.

When she reached Zach's tower, her heart started racing. Yvette stopped at the bottom, listening for Lena's voice. Or the squeaking of a mattress. Realizing such was not only possible, but trivially easy, she projected her hearing up the long stairwell. Yet heard nothing but the cry of wind dying on the mountain and the low groan of thick blocks of ice. Drawing a deep breath, she ascended the stairs.

"Hey," her brother said before she quite reached his room.

"Hi," Yvette replied from the second-to-last step.

Zach was sitting in the air, legs folded beneath him, reading something on a tablet. There was something strange about the juxtaposition a feat rightly thought impossible in the world that had produced the advanced technology he held in his hands with the presence of a gadget few in Winter would find much use for.

That could be considered really symbolic. It probably didn't mean anything at all, but she couldn't help thinking that her brother was revealing just how conflicted he was. How close to giving in he'd already come. And why not? Though the powers they'd just discovered worked well enough in the Lodge, to truly embrace them would be to remain in Winter. To serve the glorious queen from whom they'd inherited them.

It was almost a wonder he hadn't laid the old Zach to rest already. Their mother was that amazing. And then some. There was simply no one like her.

"Whachya reading?" she asked, hoping she sounded casual.

It was a perfectly innocent question. She wasn't looking for clues as to where his mind was. Nope. Just making conversation. Nothing more.

Lady Winter had to have made at least as strong an impression on him as she had on Yvette. Nothing else would make sense. She was beyond amazing. So beautiful, so serene, and so powerful. Who could resist her?

Zach settled back down to the ground. As he did, he reached to the side and placed the device on a non-existent table. It winked out of existence. Or went into some extra-dimensional storage space. Whatever.

Yvette was surprised to realize that such things hardly seemed worth paying any attention to, though just a few days ago, the future engineer would found the mere mention of them somewhere between absurdly fanciful and utterly ridiculous.

"Oh, nothing," he said.

Yvette waited for him to elaborate, but he din't. "Something she gave you?"

"Lena? Or the queen?"

"Either, I guess," Yvette said, though she'd meant the former.

Her brother shrugged. "Nope." For a moment, she thought Zach was going to force her to settle for a clipped response again. But then he said, "I don't think she's ever read anything that wasn't printed on dead trees." One half of his beard shifted as he scrunched his face up pensively. "Hard to say, really, since none of us has apparently ever set foot in the real world. Or the real version of that world. Or whatever. Point is, she's a lot lot older than us, however young she might look."

She didn't look young, though. Not to Yvette's eyes. So far as she was concerned, the queen had an ageless look. The wisdom and patience of one who'd been around forever, but the skin of a teenager. And a figure that was not to be found on a mortal of any age.

The same was more or less true of all of them. For the rest of their lives, they'd look as young as they wished. Should they decide that a few hints of maturity might look good on them, the way Lance had, then their black manes would sport some silver and a few grooves might etch themselves into their faces. But otherwise, they'd stay young forever.

Wow. That was going to take some getting used to.

It was entirely possible that Daphne was nearly as old as time. That she'd come to Winter before empires Yvette had learned about in school had risen, let alone fallen. If she didn't consider such things beneath her, Lady Winter could disabuse lots of people of lots of strange notions about history. Like the greatness of the Great Man, for starters.

"How old, exactly?" Yvette asked, a tone of reverence she hadn't quite meant to adopt creeping in. But who could blame her?

Zach shrugged. "Didn't ask. But she did say she's been in power for over a decade."

"Only a decade?"

Her brother snorted. "Time flows differently here. She said that more than a week has passed back in...the Lodge," he explained, stumbling over their name for the false world in which they'd grown up. "We haven't even been here for twenty-four hours." He said that last part with a detached curiosity, the way she might talk about the results of a lab experiment in her chem class. And without any appreciation for how unnecessary it was to mansplain that to her, as most of the guys in her chem class might. "If the simulations we'd though were our families were real, they'd be worried sick." He ran his hand through his hair. Yvette loved when he did that. For a nervous tic, it sure was cute. But just at the moment, she was more concerned with his tone. Not too long ago, he hadn't considered the people of that world mere simulations. "Well, they probably still are," he added, which was probably good, but he accompanied it with an indifferent shrug that seemed entirely at odds with the words coming out of his mouth. And with the boy she'd first met not so many hours ago. "I don't know. Makes my head hurt," he said, without much concern. "Either way, I figure it's possible she lived through the turn of a different century."

Well. That wasn't quite what Yvette been thinking. But it was still crazy.

Almost as crazy as Zach being totally unconcerned with the anguish they were causing, whether to real people or bits of software that could pass the Turing test.

"Of course, we didn't really spend that much time talking," Zach said with a half-smile.

Yvette grinned lasciviously. There was definitely a reason they were letting go of their old selves. Her more so than him, perhaps, but even her brother had noticed their mother's charms. Because of course he had. Lady Winter could make one forget that there was such a thing as warmth. That were colors other than black, white, and blue. That some people didn't live in homes made of ice, surrounded by snow that would never melt.

"She's something else, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Yvette said. "You could say that."

He nodded. And for a time, they both lost themselves in the memory of her touch.

It almost surprised Yvette when a trace of her brother's scent reached her nose. The air temperature in the frozen palace would have been murderously low, were they mortal. And she knew that odor molecules moved slower through cold air. All the same, his musk teased her nostrils, giving her a faint rush.

He hadn't smelled quite like that back in the Lodge, but then, their appearances weren't the only things they'd been masking subconsciously for most of their lives. When she'd first met Zach, he'd smelled like most college guys trying too hard to impress girls they didn't really see as people so much as potential fuck buddies---which was to say, he'd sacrificed an entire bottle of Axe body spray to the sex gods. But now, he smelled incredible. A little like a wild animal and a lot like a man, with the faintest trace of crisp peppermint. He smelled clean and fragrant, and not because of anything he'd applied via aerosol.

That almost made Yvette forget the conversation they were fumbling their way towards starting. She wasn't sure she'd ever met a man who smelled so good. Or that anything could enhance a guy's sex appeal as quickly, or disarm a girl as deceptively, as working through the power of scent. Especially since so many guys didn't try at all, or went crazy with the chemical crap. It seemed like there was something in the y-chromosome that damaged the olfactory senses. Or maybe smell just didn't play as big a role in attraction for men as it did for women. Either way, Yvette was having trouble thinking about anything other than how badly she wanted to throw her brother down on the bed, rip through that ridiculously-flattering-if-not-exactly-fashionable white T-shirt, and bury her nose in his chest hair.

Zach went and sat casually on the bed. His beautiful blue eyes beckoned her to join him, and Yvette didn't hesitate to comply. "So what do you think of her big plan?"

"She told it to you?"

A sheepish look came over her brother's face. "Didn't realize she'd held out on you."

"Well, she did," Yvette replied. Why tell her brother and not her? Wasn't he the one whose loyalty was in doubt? "But you're not gonna, right?"

The knife digging into her midsection, tearing roughly through her intestines, was cold and dull. Whatever she needed to do to convince the queen to open up to her, she'd do it. Gladly. Had she somehow given the impression that she wouldn't?

Zach frowned. "If the queen wanted you to know, you'd know." With a shake of his head, he added, "This must be some kind of test." He sighed. "I'm not sure how worthy of her trust I really want to be, but I do know I'd like to go on living."

Yvette regarded him in silence for a time. She didn't like it, but his reasoning was sound.

"Though I think I know what you meant about being at war with yourself," he added.

A faint grin spread across her lips. "But not the part about wondering whether you should kill me to prove you'd fit in here, right?"

"No, not that," he said quickly, and with genuine amusement. Awkward as the moment was, he seemed to be saying that they were in it together. He could be forgiven for being taken aback by the question, but he wasn't. In fact, he placed a hand on the bed beside her, letting his bicep and forearm press against her back in a way that was at once intimate and familiar yet not forward or presumptuous. It wasn't an assertive gesture, yet neither did it lack confidence. "That's pretty much the last thing I want to do to you."

Yvette felt like a schoolgirl again. It wouldn't be fair to say she hadn't feel like that in a long time, because Daphne had humbled her like no other lover. But this was different, if only because she could tell that her brother was feeling a little nervous himself.

"I just meant...is it wrong that when Lena said she and the queen could have fun converting me, it made me really hard?" he asked. But he didn't wait for her to answer. "Okay, of course it is. I know that. And part of me wanted to tell them I'll never be a wolf or a bear, whatever the heck they even mean by that. But another part of me...."

"Yeah," Yvette said. "They have that effect."

Maybe even Lena.

"She's not as bad as she seems," Zach continued. "I don't want to say it's all a front, because I don't think it is. There's no sympathy there for those who are not of her blood. Not even a little. And it seems that even some who are deserve only contempt, in her eyes." He let that hang there for a moment, as if hoping Yvette might disagree. But she saw absolutely no reason to. He gave himself a nod before resuming. "But in the end, I think she's working towards the right goal." He frowned. "I can't say what it is obviously, but I don't think it would bother her to hear me say that she's doing the right thing for the wrong reason." Then he laughed. "Well it might, but not because I gave too much away."

That gave Bad Yvette chills. They were beholden to a woman who might take offense at being accused of doing the right thing, and at some point in the last twenty-four hours, her brother had become the sort of person who might find that amusing. But even though she knew that ought to have unnerved her, she found it as thrilling as having ice swirled around her nipple, which she'd enjoyed even before first her father then her queen showed her how those with the right blood could produce such an effect with the tips of their fingers.

He understood. And it wouldn't take much to win him over.

"Maybe just a hint," Yvette asked, batting her eyelashes at her brother.

He laughed. The way he stared at her with those intense blue eyes made he feel penetrated as deeply as she hoped to be by his hard cock soon. Though nominally still interested in how he might respond to her request, she took the opportunity to lean in and taste his minty lips. Feel his soft beard bristling against her face and the palm she pressed to his cheek.

His breath was so cold. It hardened her nipples. Sent frozen fingers dancing down her spine. Mortal men neither kissed like that nor had the sense to wish they could. It was bewildering. When Yvette finally withdrew, she felt like she'd wrapped her lips around a bottle of peppermint schnapps rather than pressing them against her brother's.

It took a while for him to open his eyes again. "You know what you're doing."

"Damn straight."

They shared a laugh at that.

"I don't just mean with your lips," he said. "The way you reached inside me? That was...I don't know how to describe it. But I liked it."

She hadn't even realized she'd done it. But once he brought it up, she remembered exactly how she'd stimulated his Libido. Poured a thin streamer of her energy into the shallow depths of his own, agitating the latter for no reason other than that she could.

"We're not the same people anymore, are we?" he asked.

"Not really," Yvette said.

Not at all.

"And that's bad, right?"

"Maybe."

No. It really wasn't.

"Yeah," he said with an awkward chuckle. "I'm not sure either."

Yvette forced herself not to straddle her brother's hips and start ripping at his clothes while sinking her teeth into his neck. Didn't even allow herself to play with his beard, though it wasn't shy about tempting her to do so, sitting there looking all manly and sexy. "Tell me what good will inadvertently come from her master plan," she said. Her hand rubbed his hard cock through the fabric of his jeans and she noted with delight that he closed his eyes and groaned as she did. "Or I just might refuse to suck your big dick."

Zach laughed, eyes opening again. "No, you won't." He looked surprised at his own boldness, but alas, he wasn't wrong. "We both know you love the taste of cum."

Her head spun. He'd struck her at first as the type of guy who was enough of a pig to speak that way when he was with his friends, but too timid to ever say such things when alone with a girl. Yet here he was, calling his very own sister a cocksucker.

And she loved it.

"Only your cum."

"Or your father's," he said.

That sounded so strange. She couldn't consider Lance her father anymore. He was a brother, as he insisted. To think of him otherwise was to put him on the same level as Daphne, and that just wasn't right. Impressive as he was, she was in a league of her own.

"Probably Quincy's too, if the queen ever gave you the chance to find out." Zach laughed. "Fuck, who knows how many brothers we have. A veritable army, from the sounds of it. All supernaturally sexy. Each with his own unique taste."

"If you're trying to talk me out of your bed, I think it might be working," Yvette said. "Think I might go wander the halls and see who I bump into. Round up a bunch of brothers I've never met and start getting acquainted with them."

The hand behind her moved from the bed to her butt. It squeezed tighter than she'd ever have expected it to. The way Lance might.

"You'd like to watch that, wouldn't you? A brotherly blowbang?"

He leaned closer. "Just your mouth, then?"

"Oh, we're getting dirty now, are we?"

Again, he made her make the move. Or made too hard for her to resist the kiss he hadn't been looking for. Whatever. Either way, she could keep her lips from his no longer, so Yvette claimed another dizzying, breath-destroying frozen treat. And it was even sweeter than the first, even if it left her lips tingling and her brain filled with ice crystals.




Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 02



It did not, however, abate her lust. Not even for a moment. In fact, it left her hornier than ever. She couldn't even remember what she'd been trying to get him to discuss. A hunger such as she'd never felt had come roaring out of its wintry cave.

"Two can play at that game," Zach said with a smirk.

What was he talking about? And why was he talking at all?

Right. Her Libido. He'd made it feel too small to contain her energy.

Zach ran his fingers lightly through her hair and Yvette wished he'd grab a fistful and yank hard. She wanted to feel her scalp sting. Wanted to know that his desire for her was as potent, and as primal, as what she felt for him. But he remained in control, both of his urges and of her. Those cold eyes froze her in place, and though she'd lost all interest in their conversation, she made no move to push things forward. Because he commanded her not to, without speaking a single word. And she was her brother's willing slave.

"We've got plenty of sisters too," he said, gentle mockery in his voice. It almost felt like they'd grown up together. This Zach most certainly had pulled her hair before, though not in sexual way. Maybe ripped her colorings off the fridge because they covered up his kindergarten report card. "How would you like to watch me entertain a dozen of them?"

The words hurt, though she knew that was their only purpose. He'd never do it. Somehow Yvette was sure of that, despite having just met the guy. And having already been proven wrong about the range of temptations to which he'd succumb.

Then she realized how she knew. She could feel his Libido. Read it, though that sounded awfully sterile for what was an incredibly intimate connection.

Yvette could sense that Zach was less powerful than Lance, nevermind the queen, and that no matter how restrained he appeared outwardly, he was nearly as eager to get inside her as she was to have him there. More than that, though, she could tell what her brother was into. What sorts of things excited him, which repulsed him, and which he'd go along with but wouldn't really enjoy too much himself. He wasn't into kink, though he'd experiment a bit for his lover if asked. And he was more into giving than receiving. He'd rather participate in a gangbang of which she was the focus than arrange a reverse one for himself, and if she chose to leave him out, he'd enjoy that too. More than he'd ever admit. He'd hate himself for it, but it would excite him all the same. The idea of having several women all to himself didn't do much for him, though. Come to think of it, he'd hardly reacted at all when she'd all but confirmed that she too had experienced the queen's sexual prowess.

"Okay, I'll be a good girl," she said. "Kinda. Sort of. For a little while."

At last, Zach initiated a kiss. One so good it made her cum. Twice.

Long after she returned to the body she'd all too briefly escaped, Yvette felt waves of ecstasy roll over her. They quickly grew gentler, though. Her breathing returned, as did her senses. Her thoughts remained a jumble, and there was a gaping hole in her memory, but she no longer felt incapable of surviving the pleasure. And after surrendering a good deal of energy to her brother, her Libido no longer felt too small.

At some point, she'd apparently found her way onto her back. But all her clothes were still on. As were most of her brother's. His shirt had disappeared, though. And so Yvette had no choice but to run her hands over his torso. He wasn't quite as muscular as Lance, and his abs weren't as defined, but he still had an amazing body. And the sexiest layer of fur. Thick and dark, but not overgrown. It made him look masculine, almost wild, yet didn't obscure the beautiful muscle and pale skin beneath.

"You really want to know?" he asked. "Why I support her plan."

"Oh. That," Yvette said. It was tempting to tell him to forget about it, that she was more interested in getting his big dick out of those pants, but she knew she'd regret it later. "Yeah. I do," she said as she teased one of his nipples with alternately cold then warm fingertips. "If what you like about it is more a fortunate byproduct than the actual intent, she can't really mind you telling me."

He looked uncertain. So she nibbled his ear, making sure to leave a little frost behind.

"Fuck," he gasped, cold breath reaching her neck. "You don't fight fair."

"Nope," she confirmed before licking the frost away with a suddenly warm tongue.

He pulled away so quickly she almost thought he was mad. But then she realized he just couldn't handle being that close to her without getting physical. Which was pretty okay.

As her brother poured steaming hot coffee into a pair of porcelain mugs that hadn't existed a moment ago, he said, "Winter's not the only fantasy world in existence."

"Right. There's Middle-Earth, Narnia, Krynn, Westeros-"

"That's a continent, not a world," Zach corrected.

She smiled. He wasn't the same kind of geek she was, perhaps, but he was a geek. And as weak in the knees as alphas like Lance made her, she liked that.

"Anyway, that's not what I mean," her brother continued. "We're not talking fiction."

"I know," she said, taking her coffee from him. It was too hot to drink, until it wasn't. Because she was born of Winter, and if there was one thing her powers allowed her to do, it was manipulate temperature. "Lena said something about the Homelands earlier."

Zach nodded before raising his coffee to his lips. "And while our mother's only real concern is Winter, she's going to end up saving several other worlds in the process."

"From what, exactly?"

"That, I don't think I should tell you."

Yvette took a long sip. "Tell me more about these other worlds."

"Courts," Zach said. "I think they're worlds unto themselves, but for some reason we still call them courts. Though I'm not sure that means what it would to a Medieval European." He frowned. "Anyway, there's not much to tell. Like I said, we didn't really talk much."

"And our sister? Did she not tell you anything?"

"We haven't spent a lot of time talking either," he said, blushing.

That was almost good news. Much as she hated the idea of them having sex, the fact that their interactions went past the physical bothered her even more. She'd yet to have a conversation with Lance that anything but superficial. They certainly hadn't discussed the geography of the Homelands or the hierarchy of its courts.

Why, why, why had she let Lena be his first?

"We're part of the seasonals," Zach said. "As you probably guessed, there're courts named for Summer, Spring, and Autumn," he added, with the cutest little self-effacing wince. She hadn't, actually, though it made sense. "And we're all in danger."

"From another court?" she asked.

He looked uncertain.

"Okay, don't answer that," Yvette said as she drank more of the gourmet coffee. She hadn't ever gotten around to developing as big a caffeine addiction as everyone assured back in the Lodge had assured her she would before graduation, particularly in her major, but she appreciated a good cup. And that was just what her brother had conjured up. "But there are other courts? That's why it's worth referring to some of them as seasonals?"

He nodded. "Lena thinks there might be an infinite number. Or at least so many that no one can count them all. Except the ancients maybe."

Yvette's brow furrowed.

Again her brother sat on empty air, though he now hovered a bit lower than when she'd arrived. He suspended himself at just the right height to look her in the eyes, though she was a few inches shorter than him. "It's almost worth asking for a map."

She snickered. "Sounds that way."

"Apparently there's not just multiple worlds, but multiple levels. Or realities even. There are only two courts that exist on every level. In every reality. I guess they're at the center of the Homelands." He chose that moment to sip his coffee, naturally. The jerk. "The Shadowed Glade of the Moon and the Eternal Garden of the Sun."

"Heaven and Hell?"

"Basically," he said. "At least, the queen thinks they're responsible for mortal beliefs in such, which they far predate." Then, speaking soft and quick, almost as if he wasn't sure he actually wanted her to hear, he added, "According to Lena." He then hurried to add, "On this level, there's those two, the seasonals, and a place known as the Hinterlands that isn't really populated by our kind," . "But there's really no saying how many other layers there are, or how many immortals they contain. Makes me think of Men in Black."

What he'd described didn't really imply universes contained within marbles. What Yvette pictured in her mind instead was a network with a bunch of clusters, all connected to two central nodes but not each other. But perhaps her brother wasn't familiar with graph theory. That was okay, though. He might be the wrong kind of geek, but he was still cute.

Especially because he didn't realize that he'd as good as told her what threat their mother was going to save the seasonal courts from.

Figuring she probably ought to stop asking questions, lest she get him in trouble without meaning to, Yvette banished their coffee mugs. As well as most of her clothes, leaving only the underwear she'd prefer to have him remove himself.

With his teeth, if she was lucky.

Then she crooked a finger at her brother, inviting him into his own bed.

He smiled as his feet returned to the floor. His jeans fell to the floor in a fine powder, then his boxers did the same, revealing a nice length of pipe. She fretted at her lower lip as she studied its magnificence. He wasn't quite as big as Lance, but neither was he small. And Lance was so huge he sometimes hurt her. No more than she was willing to take, of course. She'd learned that their powers were remarkably effective at analgesia. But even so, she actually considered her brother's size perfect.

Yvette couldn't believe how nervous she felt as he climbed into bed with her. It had only been a matter of hours since they'd last coupled, but it seemed like a lot had happened since then. And in certain respects, Winter's hours weren't like other hours. Especially for neophytes such as themselves, who were still discovering their true bodies and what they could do with them. The rate things were going, they'd hardly recognize themselves by next week. She couldn't wait to see what her brother had learned from the queen.

And Lena, she supposed. Boo-hiss.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, you know," he said as he knelt towards her crotch.

"I know," Yvette replied, running her fingers through his hair. It felt like silk. She wondered if she'd like to see him grow it out. Long-haired guys had always looked a little silly to her, but maybe that was only because so few men knew how to keep their hair strong and healthy. That wouldn't be an issue for her brother, no matter how clueless he might be. Perfection came naturally to their kind. "You can if you want to, though."

Now it was his turn to say, "I know." He kissed the lace waistband of her panties. Then her mons, through the fabric. He paused to breathe in her smell then planted a trail of kisses up to her pierced navel, which he then tongue-fucked like it was a tiny vadge.

That made her giggle. And moan. Because wow. He either did something to his tongue or her body or both that made it feel like he was tending to parts farther south.

Just as she was about to cum, he stopped. "Relax."

"Is that an order?" Yvette asked, smiling.

"Yes."

Where had all this confidence come from? She supposed hearing a queen scream one's name might do the trick. Had he made an impression on Daphne? Or was it Lena stroking his ego? No, best not to think about it. All that mattered was that her sweet brother was coming out of his shell. That he was learning to assert himself without turning mean.

In time, she might stop feeling pulled in two different directions. She'd forget all about Lance, gladly surrendering all that she was to the only brother that mattered.

And their queen, of course.

Her most of all.

"Kind of hard to relax when someone gets me all worked up, then backs off just when I'm about to get my release," she said, giving one ear a reproachful squeeze.

"You think that's bad?" he asked.

Yvette groaned, throwing her head back against the mattress.

But at the same time, his words very nearly made her ejaculate. If a guy wasn't going to get rough, he damn sure better learn how to make his lover suffer through other means. And it sounded like her brother was aware of that.

In fact, he was pretty damn good at teasing.

He did indeed remove her underwear with his teeth. Then kissed his way up from her feet to her hips, worked her breasts for a while, then made his way down between her legs. Her poor nipples felt abandoned, but when he started working her vulva, she forgave the sleight. Soon enough, warm fingers were steadily working her G-spot while a cold tongue assaulted her clitoris, each frigid stroke causing her to gasp and shudder. Though he hadn't drawn things out too much, neither did he let her reach the desired end state. He brought her to the brink then eased her back a dozen times. By the third, she was whimpering pathetically. The fifth, pleading. The tenth, crying. Actual tears. But just as she thought he was going to deny her a thirteenth time, he guided her through the most amazing orgasm she'd ever experienced. Which was itself topped by several others in the hours that followed.

#

The next morning, a very satisfied but very sleepy Yvette descended the stairs from her brother's tower. Her feet were unsteady, her eyelids heavy, and her mind in a fog. But she was smiling from ear to ear. Her brother's style might be less kinky than she tended to prefer, but he sure knew what he was doing. In his capable hands, and beneath his cold tongue, she learned to appreciate the tender approach a whole lot more.

It wasn't until she nearly reached the stairs to her own tower that Yvette realized she was literally walking on air. That it hadn't just felt like that because her brother had released her from her corporeal form so many times. That made her giggle uncontrollably.

The giddy feeling went away when she reached her room.

"Good morning," her father said, quickly moving between her and the bed that called to her so insistently. "Hope you weren't planning on sleeping the day away."

"Mmmph," Yvette mumbled.

"You should make better use of your nights," he said. "For the foreseeable future, your days are going to be pretty busy." The cold expression on his face thawed, allowing something like sympathy to make a brief appearance. "Unfortunately, you came of age at a bad time."

"Why's that?"

"I'll explain later," he said, waving the comment away. "For now, it's time to learn some of the other ways we serve our mother."

She nodded. Every part of her was screaming out for sleep, but she dared not refuse.

"Take a minute to clean up and get dressed," he said.

"Can I shower?"

He gave her a skeptical look. Yvette knew there were more efficient ways of getting rid of the stink of sex, but a good cold shower would help her wake up.

"Fine. But be quick about it."

Without a word, she stripped down and padded over to the small bathroom. Despite her father's words, she took a little longer than necessary. But not much. No more than she thought she could get away with before rousing his temper.

Though it turned out she'd given him too much credit. The first thing he did after she returned was smack her across the face. He didn't even explain why. There was no need for him to. She knew. And he apparently knew that she knew.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said, though only because he liked being called that.

"I don't want your apologies. I want you to do as you're told." He looked her up and down, face expressionless. Yvette suddenly felt ugly. There was no look of disgust on his face or anything, but the lack of desire spoke volumes.

Zach would never look at her like that.

Yvette clothed herself instantly, donning a pair of combat boots, black cargo pants, a blue tank top, and black fingerless gloves. Her black hair tied itself into a pony tail. What made her go militaristic, she wasn't sure. It's not like that made her any safer from the back of his hand. But the outfit nonetheless offered some measure of comfort.

"And don't call me that," Lance added. "Someone might hear you. I'm just your brother, remember? We're all brothers and sisters here."

She almost snorted. He should count himself lucky she'd called him that. Never again would she consider him above her in any way, let alone equal to Lady Winter.

He gave her a penetrating look but apparently judged her words sincere enough. "That's right. No one knows who their father is, because they don't need to. And we all have the same mother, no matter that some of her more loyal daughters have been allowed to give birth." He gave her another once over followed this time by an approving nod. She'd have preferred the naked Yvette to earn that reaction, but she'd take what she could get. "Learn a little obedience and you might too, one day. But we'll start with earning you the blue."

"Lips, you mean?" she asked.

The moment the words left her mouth, Yvette wished she could take them back. What else could he mean? A blue belt?

Lance glowered at her. No response came, verbal or otherwise. "You ready?"

"Yes," she said.

It wasn't easy, though. Because she was really turned on.

Or, part of her was. Had she thought Bad Yvette retired, just because she'd been quiet for one night? If it was possible to free herself of the dark impulses her darker half personified, it would take a lot more than that. Though her brother just might be the key to doing it.

"Actually, no, you're not," he said, pressing a knuckle against his lips as he visually inspected her. Then he snapped his fingers. A moment later, a pair of combat knives appeared in his hands. "These suit you."

Did they? Better than a fire poker, she supposed.

They were heavier than they looked, and they didn't look like they'd be light. From the tips of the wickedly curved black blades to the points of the blue crystals inset in the pommels, they were well over a foot long. The blades alone had to be close to ten inches.

"Thank you," she said.

He gave her a wolfish grin. Then went full wolf, turning into that towering monstrosity of white fur and yellowed claws that he favored so highly.

It wasn't until they reached the first cottage that he explained what they were doing. And they only did that after braving a steep and narrow trail down the mountainside and tramping through snow so deep Yvette couldn't have said when she'd have stopped sinking if she didn't follow her father's lead and make herself weightless. For the better part of two hours, silence hung over them, interrupted only by the occasional howl of wind so bitter that mere mortals would have found it deadly and inexperienced immortals still found rather unpleasant. Although that might only have been because she was so tired and had---willingly, yet unadvisedly---fed most of her energy to her brother the night before.

Before he spoke, though, he shifted back to the body of a man. And the first thing he said was that Yvette should put away her knives.

"Are we not here to administer the queen's justice?"

Her father, who she really had to start thinking of as her brother, snorted. "Justice. I don't know that she'd ever call it that. But no, the wetwork will come later."

A crystal vase appeared in his hands, containing a lovely arrangement of flowers. There were blue roses and white begonias, blue tulips and white daisies, carnations both blue and white, a single gigantic blue orchid, and lots of delicate baby's breath. Each and every one was more beautiful than any of its counterparts in what she'd once thought was the real world but now knew only as the Lodge. Some were larger, some simply more colorful or the petals more elaborate, but all were stunning. And quite fragrant. The same was true of the flowers in the palace, but Yvette realized she'd never really stopped to admire them.




Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 02



"This fortunate family," he said, "is receiving a small gift from the queen."

"Have they been loyal then?"

"If they hadn't, they wouldn't be alive," he said. Which only made sense. "Our mother likes her subjects to fear her, and she's found that true terror comes from not knowing when her wrath might strike. Yes, they all know for a certainty that if they transgress, they will pay the price. But even if they don't, they must sometimes pay tribute. On the other hand, if they knew that every knock at their door spelled death-"

"They wouldn't answer," Yvette said, nodding.

"No, they would," Lance corrected. "Better to sacrifice one member of the household than the entire family. But they wouldn't panic. Our mother describes the brief interval between when they hear the knock and when they see whether we're bearing flowers as the finest of delicacies."

"She feeds off it? Like sex?"

"No, no," he said, shaking his head disdainfully. Was it such a stupid question? "That only works with mortals. This is just for her amusement."

"But she can feel their reaction from all the way up in the palace?"

The grin Lance gave her made her blood curdle. "Our mother is everywhere." Before she could ask if he meant that literally, which would only have surprised her so much, he said, "Well, not really. But near enough that you'd do well to assume she is." Jerking his head towards the squat cottage behind him, he added, "As they all do."

So they delivered the flowers to a woman who was at first frightened then so relieved that she wept right there in front of them. As did three of the next four recipients. The man who didn't had nonetheless been so choked up that he could barely stammer out a thank you.

After the third stop, Lance sped things up, teleporting them from one humble abode to the next. He also informed her that this was his usual means of transportation. He'd only made them do things the hard way the first few times for her sake. He didn't use the term "hazing" but Yvette recognized it for what it was. And wondered if her brother had been a frat boy back before leaving the Lodge. However long ago that might have been.

Yvette was surprised to see that all of her mother's subjects had skin as pale as hers and the same piercing blue eyes, but none had dark hair. Every last one was blonde, though there was perhaps some variation in the precise shade thereof. Apparently in Winter, black hair meant something it didn't mean back in the Lodge. That pleased her. She'd always liked her hair, even if people had assumed it was dyed to make her look more Goth. In that world, it marked her as a freak. A social misfit. Here, it was a sign of royalty.

Finally, Lance wolfed out again.

He didn't need to tell her at that point to have her knives at the ready. She understood that the next family wouldn't be getting flowers. And the man who answered the door after she rapped on it with the pommel of one knife knew it too. Even before he saw the great white wolf waiting in the snow behind Yvette. The twin black blades she held didn't register right away either. All it took to make him wet himself was the absence of a vase.

That pleased her.

She wished it didn't. Just a few hours ago, she'd convinced herself that she was no monster, and wouldn't allow herself to become one. But when the smell of urine hit her nostrils and the man fell to his knees, pleading mercy for his brothers and sisters and all their kids, she very nearly climaxed. And there was no "nearly" about it when she sank one blade into his gut and the other his throat.

#

"So we're really doing this?" Eric asked.

How had it gone from being a bad idea to good one just like that? Because Captain Wonderful had finally fucking showed up? How did that help them get around the fact that any woman who they had to coerce into sleeping with them would have nothing to offer, even if they could have lived with themselves? And what about...about....

He pulled and pulled at the thread, but there was nothing to unravel. Inside his mind, there was a big blank spot. And he suddenly knew who'd put it there.

His brother eyed him warily. Did he know that Eric had figured it out?

Fuck, what else had Nick done to him?

"Any reason why we shouldn't?" Frank replied.

A shudder ran down his spine, though whether because of the things he wasn't quite sure he remembered doing with his brother or the cold challenger in the stranger eyes, he couldn't have said. The one seemed more like a bad dream than anything, but the latter shouldn't have intimidated him in the least. The guy was even shorter than Nick, if not by much. Sure, he was more muscular. More so even than Eric, perhaps. But still. Should the need ever arise, Eric did not doubt that he could cut the man down before he had a chance to react. And at any rate, they were on the same side. It was Daphne they had to worry about, her and her winter wolves, polar bears, and snow leopards, not each other.

But it sure would be nice if the fucker would blink.

"We've been trying to keep a low profile," Nick said without looking up at either of them. He'd appointed himself fire marshal, though the humble pile of logs was burning well enough already. "Her Frostiness doesn't even know we're here. We'd kinda like to keep it that way."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were on vacation," Frank replied.

Eric's jaw tightened. Just at the moment, he wasn't feeling all that protective of Nick. Heck, if their Autumnal friend took a swing at him, Eric might pretend not to notice. But it wasn't just his brother the guy was insulting. The look on his bearded face, as much as his tone of voice, told Eric that he thought him a coward.

"Fuck it, let's storm the palace. Right now," Eric said.

Nick snorted, but for a moment it looked like Frank was going to agree. With what he should have known was anything but a serious proposal. Shit. What Eric taken for brass balls might actually be a death wish.

"Look, I don't know what you've been through," he said. "But we've suffered too. That bitch is hellbent on ruining everyone's life. Tearing all our families apart-"

"She kill your kids?" Frank demanded, with a hint of righteousness. And maybe self-loathing, Eric thought. Like he blamed himself almost as much as Daphne.

Eric snapped his mouth shut. Nick finally looked up from the fire.

"Right," Frank said. "I take your point. We've all got a dog in this fight. But next time you feel like pretending you know the first fucking thing about me-"

"I was trying to say I don't know-"

"-do us both a favor and shut it."

The two of them stared at each other for a while, listening to the crackling of dry wood.

"I'm sorry," Frank said at last. "Look, we're all here for the same reason, and the three of working together can accomplish a lot more than any of us on our own. So what do you say we focus on that and get some shit done?" He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, fogging up the air in front of his face. For some reason, Eric found that reassuring. He'd not laid eyes on any of Daphne's brood but two or three times since they'd arrive, Nick being the stealthier one and all, but that alone had been enough for him to notice that their breath didn't react the same way to cold air as everyone else's did. "I'm not looking to go out in a blaze of glory, if that's what you're worried about."

That, however, was not so reassuring. The words sounded too forced.

So. Their big damn hero had a messiah complex. Fucking wonderful. Between that and Nick's willingness to manipulate his own brother, Eric had all the support he needed to face the forces of Winter. A real fucking dream team.

But Frank was right that they needed more information.

"So how do we go about this?" Eric asked. "Camp outside some commoner's house and wait for one of her children to pay a visit? Shouldn't take too long, right?"

Frank shook his head. Even before the words left his mouth, Eric knew what they'd be. "We raid her palace. Grab someone who matters. Someone who might know something."

Fuck. It actually made sense.

Nick stared an accusation at him, like he was betraying not only his brother but all of Summer by listening to the guy. Which was strange, because it wasn't too hard to imagine a similar conversation playing out between the two of them, with Nick proposing the exact same thing their newfound partner now was. Was he just that bothered by having a stranger in their midst? Had he forgotten the reason his grandmother had sent them here?

"Yeah," Eric said, pointedly avoiding Nick's gaze.

Frank gave an approving nod.

"Now who's reckless?" Nick asked Eric, to all outward appearances unaware that the two of them weren't alone. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Got a better plan?" Eric asked.

He hadn't really seduced Eric then made him forget it, had he? That would be seriously fucked up. He wasn't the same person Eric remembered, but that was a helluva line to cross.

Nick had nothing to say to that. Of course.

"So," Frank said. "Everybody ready?"

Eric drew a deep breath. If he was a little more confident that no part of the guy was hoping things would go sour, he might find himself a little impressed with Mister Orwin. He himself was not one for waffling or wasting time.

"Sure," he said, grabbing his sword.

Nick shook his head, but offered not a word of protest.

And with that, they departed, leaving the fire to burn out on its own.



Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 03



Yvette's Libido didn't stop humming until they got back to the palace. And even then, that was only because Lance pushed her up against the wall, forced himself inside her eagerly awaiting vadge, and ravaged her wildly. With tooth and claw, he drew blood, but that hadn't bothered her at all. If anything, it had only intensified the experience. Yvette had never cum so fast or so hard as she did then for her big bad wolf.

That was what he wanted from her, was it? To embrace her darker side? Become Bad Yvette? Well, she could do that. Happily.

Granted, that hadn't come as a surprise. The guy hadn't been subtle about it. Nor had their mother, Lady Winter. But Yvette hadn't quite realized until that point that her brother had other reasons for wanting to see her earn the blue. That something more than loyalty to their queen compelled him to corrupt her.

When he'd pushed her face flat against the ice wall while handling his twin cocks, Yvette had felt something she'd never felt before. Something Zach would never give her. Couldn't, even if he wanted to. The kind of selfish, primal lust that kept a true man warm in the heart of Winter. A powerful need, utterly unconcerned with her own wants and desires, that her softer brother would never understand. Only it was more than that. Lance was a true wolf, and his hunger never truly abated. But it wasn't just the baseline animalism that led him to pummel her like that. No, Yvette had broken the chains shackling his inner beast, in ways only Daphne ever had before. Even Lena could not cause him to lose all sense of time and place, forget that he did not always have fur and a tail. Or so Yvette told herself.

When it was over, which it was far too soon, her knees buckled and Yvette nearly fell over. But she couldn't stop smiling. Her father had drained a lot of energy from her, but she still felt omnipotent. There was no force in existence that could bar her from taking what she wanted. Nor do her any harm she'd not welcome.

None save Lady Winter. Who'd tasted the sweet wine responsible for Yvette's intoxication more than a decade past. She was more than a little late to the party.

But she had arrived.

And she wasn't about to leave.

"We should go," her father growled through wolfish jaws.

"Mmm hmm," Yvette muttered. To say more would have meant moving her lips. But she couldn't. Not yet. They were frozen in the most blissful of smiles.

The spotted tail she'd just grown lashed at her brother's chest. Sharp claws sank into the icy walls as though they were made of soft wood and the purr in her throat couldn't have been more feline, and her whiskers twitched.

The change, incomplete thought it was, felt good. Yvette suddenly detected smells her mortal nose could never hope to process. And she felt both graceful and deadly.

But there was something that would feel even better.

He wasn't wrong. They really should get going. But she wasn't nearly done with him. The half-leopard Yvette spun around and pounced on her wolfish brother. Though he was far bigger and much stronger, the element of surprise favored her. Blood welled up against her palms as her claws dug into his shoulders and she growled into his ear before setting about licking and biting playfully. Or perhaps not so playfully.

That was more than enough encouragement for him. He wrapped both arms about her waist and pulled her down hard, impaling her on his oversized cock. It hurt, at first, but it wasn't long before Yvette was once again lost in ecstasy.

Their movements were furious and the sounds escaping their throats even more menacing. They tore each other up mercilessly, but that only made it more exciting. Yvette wasn't sure she'd have been able to handle that much pleasure without a little pain to distract her. Not that the latter ever lasted more than a few seconds, quick as her subconscious was to heal any wounds her lover inflicted.

When her brother whimpered submissively, she almost laughed. She wasn't sure whether to pity him or allow her mouth to return to that of a woman's so she could kiss him. As best as one might kiss a wolf's muzzle, that was. But she probably couldn't have followed through with it even if she'd wanted to. The primal fury driving her left no room for such tenderness and affection. She growled and pumped her hips faster and faster, using his hard cock to generate the friction she so desperately needed to get off.

At long last, a monster orgasm fell upon her. It sent her into wild paroxysms of pleasure and made her previous climaxes feel like mild shudders in comparison.

Finally, Yvette climbed off Lance. With a thought, she disintegrated the remnants of the outfit her brother had torn to shreds. Then she replaced it with a decadent black gown, all shiny satin and thick brocade, that revealed only a glimpse of cleavage. About her waist, she wore a string of black pearls. Her black patent leather boots had six inch heels. Black lace gloves covered her hands and a matching veil hung before her eyes. The blue choker encircling her throat was the sole bit of color.

Lance grunted. Then collapsed back into the form of a man. One who wore a black tuxedo with a blue vest and bow tie. He looked ready to attend a wedding.

Which was only fitting, Yvette supposed. But he had to know he couldn't keep her for himself. Not anymore. Not now that she knew what she was and was ready to accept it.

At times, Yvette had gone a little boy crazy. Once, when she was younger, and her breasts had just started to develop. She'd made out with lots of boys. And had gone further with many of them. But then the slut-shaming came, and she learned to keep her sexuality tied up. Then, a few months before the fateful trip into the mountains, she'd developed an alter ego, who was not at all concerned with the consequences of her actions. Who cared not what others thought. Even revelled in the thought of what they might say, if they knew.

Now she and that woman were one and the same. There was no more Bad Yvette.

Just Yvette.

"Ready?" Lance asked, offering her his elbow.

Yvette nodded and looped her arm through his.

There was no need to ask, "What for?" She knew. He would present her to the queen, for the second time in as many days. And not so he could offer his throat in shame.

The journey up to Quincy's tower took forever. Yvette's Libido had stopped humming, but that only brought so much relief. Her heart was still racing, her head felt like a helium balloon, and she was having a hard time remembering all the reasons why she shouldn't tackle Lance again and ride him some more. Yvette told herself over and over that no matter much it felt like his big dick needed to be back inside her, however desperately she wanted those strong hands to grab at her, or slap and choke her, or better still, pop claws to help her cum blood for him, there'd be time for that later. After she was proclaimed a snow leopard. Then she could kiss Lance with cold, blue lips instead of sugary pink ones.

When they arrived, they found the queen much as they had before, staring wistfully out the window while drinking wine and humming softly to the tune of Quincy's music.

At first, Daphne didn't notice their arrival. Or so she let on. Yvette wasn't quite sure which. It was hard to believe that a woman as powerful and universally feared as her mother could be caught unaware under any circumstances whatsoever. But then, neither would she have guessed that Lady Winter had a soft spot for music.

Though she had to admit that to describe her brother's work as mere music was almost a grievous insult. Pure magic flowed out of his golden fiddle. Yvette hadn't noticed it before, focused as she was on the queen. But she did now. The excitement she'd felt, agitating her energy til it raged against her Libido, quickly began to fade away. It bled out of her slowly, but the effect was still noticeable. Cliche as it was, his music soothed the savage beast.

"May it please Her Majesty," Lance said, stepping forward, "I present once again my sister, Yvette." He waited until Daphne's eyes turned on him. They lingered there for but a moment before turning to Yvette, whose calm shattered like an icicle.

No golden fiddle could still her nerves when those eyes fell upon her.

"Her blood is bluer and colder than when last she stood before you," Lance said. "I ask that you recognize her for what she is---a snow leopard. Worthy of your blue lips."

That nearly made Yvette faint. Did that mean he was asking Lady Winter to kiss her? Or grant her permission to wear the royal hue? Perhaps both.

Daphne regarded her silently. Inside her mind, Yvette felt cold fingers rifling through thoughts like a secretary in search of accounting files. Her nipples hardened as the air grew bitter cold. She could hardly breathe, though no external force constricted her airway. A shiver ran down her spine and it was a wonder that she kept her teeth from chattering.

There had never been a test she was more eager to pass. No man had ever looked her over and made her fear so strongly the shame of being found wanting. Her mother was the greatest woman who'd ever lived, and pleasing her was the truest of callings.

With the barest of nods, Lady Winter bestowed the highest of honors upon her.

And a split-second later, she followed it up with a kiss the likes of which Yvette had never savored. Though, in truth, that had as much to do with how unprepared she was for it as anything. The brief time she'd spent with Daphne earlier had been filled with pleasures she could not describe. The least of the queen's kisses left nothing to be desired. But that one in particular was long and sweet, infused with incredible energy, and caught her completely off-guard. The queen hadn't bothered covering the distance between them. One moment, she'd stood at the window, a dozen paces of translucent ice beneath them, and then the next she had one hand on Yvette's hip, the other buried in her black hair, and her blue lips pressed against Yvette's pink. Wave after wave of ecstasy rolled over Yvette, guiding her through one orgasm after another. She must have cum a dozen times in her queen's arms. Not one of them was the thrashing, screaming sort, but there was something to be said for small pleasures. Especially when there were that many of them experienced in so short a time. Besides, it wouldn't be good to accidentally kick the queen in the shins.

Somehow, Yvette managed to avoid slipping out of her body. But it was a close thing. She felt the window open behind her, so to speak, and some force tug at her consciousness.

When the queen finally pulled away, a translucent white curtain fell upwards, separating the two of them. It took Yvette a moment to realize that was her warm breath. That she was gasping for air. Fighting to regain control of her body and her senses.

The woman knew how to kiss.

She was tempted to ask if her lips had changed. But there was no need. She knew they had. It wasn't that they felt any different. They didn't, of course. But she did. Her mother had marked her as a favored daughter. One of her chosen. A snow leopard, worthy of the the most distinctive aspects of Lady Winter's visage. And the very air around her seemed to recognize it. She could almost hear the drops of water vapor crystallizing around her. Wherever she went, now, she'd bring snow and ice. Flowers would either wilt or turn blue, depending upon her mood and their beauty. Flames would self-extinguish, unless she gave them permission to continue existing in the wake of her passing. Men would either tremble before her or inside her, as she saw fit. Women would cry tears that would turn to ice upon their cheeks, hating her with all their hearts while quietly envying her as well.

Daphne leaned back, her slender hands planted firmly on either of Yvette's shoulders. She smiled and the air turned colder still, but the beauty of that gesture made Yvette wonder why anyone thought of warmth as anything but detestable. "We must celebrate."

Yvette nodded. A bit of her mother's sweet blue wine sounded perfect.

"I've recently acquired some pets I'd hoped might serve me well in the days to come," Daphne said, almost disinterestedly, though Yvette knew better than to fall for that. "Only one is showing any promise. At least, for the purpose I'd intended." The shorter-but-in-no-way-lesser woman let that sink in for a moment, and Yvette got the distinct sense that it was important for her to note how quickly Lady Winter could decide to dispose of those she had no use for. Or if not dispose, then find a way to repurpose. "The other two have a few redeeming qualities, perhaps, but I'd just as soon see them honor you."

"Meaning?" Yvette asked, head swimming. This was not at all what she'd expected.

If it was time for that, she'd rather have Lance. Maybe Quincy. Or the two of them at the same time. Not a couple of "pets" the queen was none too impressed with.

Daphne turned to Lance. "How long has it been since we had a duel?"

The rhetorical question was met with a wolfish grin.

#

The mountain winds being what they were, the sheet of snow blanketing the courtyard was uneven in thickness. Here, it swallowed little more than an ankle. There, it reached the knee. How men were to fight in such, Yvette didn't know. But that was their problem.

She sat at her mother's right atop a blue pavilion, wearing the same outfit as before, with the addition of a black shawl. Lance occupied a seat to Lady Winter's left, wearing the tux that made him look abso-freaking-lutely amazing. Quincy stood before them, playing a solemn tune on his golden fiddle, protected from the snow by no more than his usual leather breeches and a flimsy white top with puffy sleeves. His feet remained bare and the collar of his silk shirt was worn open. Yvette could almost feel sorry for him, if she didn't know that the queen's blood ran through his veins the same as it did hers.

Though, come to think of it, his eyes had looked more gray than blue when they'd passed out into the sunlight. She could almost think he wore an illusion of some kind to look more like his siblings. Or that he might not even be one of them. But that was ridiculous. What man could be worthy of Daphne save those to whom she had given birth?

As the first of the combatants joined them, marching dejectedly before an ice statue that held the steel tip of long spear a few inches from his back, Yvette forgot all about the parentage of the-brother-who-might-not-actually-be-her-brother. She was too stunned by the beauty of the lifeless guard and the rush of pity and disgust over its charge.

Sure, part of her could tell that he was handsome. Or there'd been a time when he was, back when his shoulders neither slouched nor curled forward. He was a bit tall, and could perhaps use just a little more muscle on that long frame, but Yvette couldn't deny that he had one of the nicest faces she'd ever seen. He might even have been as handsome as Lance, what with those perfect features, big blue eyes, and chin beard. But however nicely he might potentially clean up, at the moment, he looked like a man marching to the headsman's block. One who accepted his fate. There was, so far as Yvette could tell, no fight left in him.

How could there be any excuse for that? What sort of man just gave up? Had Lady Winter done that to him, or had he willingly relinquished his survival instinct?

She suspected the latter. Her mother savored the taste of terror too much to crush a man's spirit so thoroughly. No wonder she'd sounded so disappointed in him.

It really was a shame. If he had some back bone, he could have been quite impressive. Had he strode in, back straight and head held high, Yvette might not only have felt some sympathy for him, but some lust as well. But no. He stared at Daphne without the least bit of defiance or even pleading in his eyes. This was a man who'd gladly give his life twice for the queen, if it were but possible. Anything to bring her the smallest pleasure. Granted, it wasn't hard for Yvette to understand how one might consider doing just about anything for Lady Winter. But there were certain lines that ought not be crossed, if only because Daphne could never respect a man with no sense of self-preservation.

His counterpart, just then entering the courtyard from the opposite side, couldn't have been more different in his bearing. He was unfazed by the glowing chains dangling from his iron necklace and bracelets, the spear at his back, and the fate that so plainly awaited him. If he felt naked or cold wearing nothing but a loincloth, it didn't show. His skin was nearly as white as his hair, but he stood up straight and proud and Yvette caught sight of nary a shiver nor goosebump. He had fine features that almost made him look effeminate, and his waist was narrower than Yvette's, but with shoulders that broad and muscles that glorious, no one would mistake him for anything but a painfully beautiful man.

"Who are they?" Yvette asked, leaning over to whisper in the queen's ear.

"Men of the fey," Lady Winter replied.

Yvette had no idea what that meant. A remote corner of her mind itched, telling her she'd heard the term before, but she couldn't remember where or in what context.

Their chains were struck off by their icy guards. Then stone daggers were placed in their hands. Then the spearmen went still, becoming no more than statues once more.

Daphne rose to her feet and Quincy immediately stopped playing. Bow and fiddle alike fell to his sides and he could almost have passed for one of the ice statutes. The wind itself went still, lest it besmirch her glory by trying to speak on top of her.

Blue eyes directed towards the younger man, who Yvette already knew would die that day, the queen said, "Cahill of Clan Walker."

"Oberon of Clan Dreamsmyth," Daphne said to the other.

The white-haired man acknowledged his name with a slow swivel of his head, tossing an almost indifferent gaze at the woman who held his life in the palm of her hand. Yvette had never seen such a shade of gray. It was almost like his eyes were entirely white save for the pupils. The effect was unsettling. But not entirely in a bad way.

Then it came to her---"fey" was another word for "fairy." The sort geeks who played Dungeons and Dragons used when no one normal was around. She couldn't stop giggling after that. They certainly were pretty enough, especially Oberon.

Oberon. Right! The king of the fairies, according to Shakespeare. She'd read A Midsummer Night's Dream in high school. Or the Spark Notes version, anyway. And now here he was, in all his slim-waisted glory, ready to battle to the death for her amusement. At least, she assumed that's where this was going. Not that it even mattered. The Oberon, King of Faerie, was her mother's captive. As was only fitting.

"What would you ask of us, Your Majesty?" Cahill asked, voice wavering.

So. There was a little reluctance there after all. Not much, but some. He would do as she bid him, without balking, but he'd hate himself for it. Yvette wasn't sure if that made him more or less pathetic. Probably the latter, but it was still sad.

Daphne smiled thinly, almost mocking his obeisance. Did this Cahill not see that nothing could have curried less favor with Lady Winter? That he'd have done better to follow the lead of the one called Oberon? Or was he just too hopeless enchanted by her?

"We're to fight to the death," the older man said. There was no emotion in his voice. No fear, no anger, no indignation. Nothing at all. Well, perhaps there was a trace of sadness for the man he'd have to kill, who appeared to respect more than Yvette did, but that was it. And not much of that. "I hope you know that brings me no pleasure," he said, with neither an abundance of sincerity or a trace of mockery. It was a mere statement of fact.




Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 03



Without awaiting word from his queen, Quincy struck up a tune. A lively one, more suitable for drinking and merrymaking. Which amused Yvette greatly.

Until Cahill turned and looked at him quizzically. Then her amusement turned to curiosity. "Do you know the tune my brother plays, fairy boy?"

He gave her a sad look but did not reply.

"No, not to the death," Daphne said. "Though should one of you end the other's life, there'll be no repercussions." The perfect sheets of black silk framing her gorgeous face stirred, particularly the longer one on her left side, though there was no wind to tease them. "You'll fight until my daughter is satisfied, at which time she'll name a champion."

"Who will go free?" Cahill asked, standing a little straighter and sounding almost as though he still wanted that. Good for him. The poor bastard.

Lady Winter's laughter was haunting, even to Yvette's ears. There was something of icicles clinking together to it, accompanied at the end by a dead man's last breath passing through his lips. "My dear. You're never leaving this palace. Would you even want to?"

For a moment, he looked as though he didn't know the answer to that question himself.

"The winner lives," Oberon said.

Yvette wouldn't quite say he was growing impatient, but he was only a few small steps shy of it. His eyes kept flitting back and forth from Cahill to Daphne and his slender fingers tightened then loosened then tightened once again their grip on the knife. If they didn't get on with it soon, he'd spill the other man's guts before he had a chance to ready his weapon. Then maybe launch himself at the queen in hopes of doing the same.

And were she any other woman, Yvette figured, he might even succeed. Pretty though the hairless man might be, there was a deadly air about him. A quiet confidence. He was no wolf, but he was every bit as dangerous. She was sure of it.

"You are both mine, and will be forever," Daphne said. "No man dies while I still have use of him." She said it so casually, Yvette almost forgot that it didn't work that way most of the time. Neither man seemed surprised to learn that even death did the queen's bidding.

And why should they be? Yvette was beginning to wonder if there was any force in existence that was not loyal to her most wondrous mother.

Except she remembered Zach saying something about the seasonals all being in danger. That their mother was, in his estimation, doing the right thing for the wrong reason. Who or what could possibly threaten so many courts? And why would they not back down the moment they learned of her intent to stand in their way?

She almost wished he was there with her. Though she did not lament Lena's absence, which she could only assume was related to her brother's. Later, she'd worry about whether that was worth getting jealous over. But for the time being, she was just glad that her sister wasn't there to ruin her moment. Hell, she could have Zach, so long as she stayed out of Yvette's way when it came to Lance. That was more than a fair trade.

"Suppose I should have gone a little easier on them, though, huh?" she asked Yvette, speaking too softly for the fey to hear. "The one's proving so hard to break, I sort of figured they might both be. But I guess not."

Oh. So it wasn't that he was weak. Just too doped up on her mother's scent.

"It'll wear off. In time," Daphne added. "Probably."

"Probably?"

The queen shrugged. "Some men never manage to pull themselves back together again." She gave the sort of grin that was equal parts guilty and bemused. That girls Yvette's age followed up with, "Sorrynotsorry," all as one word.

Yvette's head spun, seeing her frozen queen look for just a moment like every bitchy girl in high school. But unlike them, Lady Winter really was all that. And it wasn't too hard to believe that men lost their minds over her when she but meant to enchant them for a short period of time. Heck, Yvette would never be the same herself, and she could only attribute so much of that to Lance. Or even the darkness that had always been within her.

The need to please Lady Winter was a powerful thing.

Daphne turned back to the combatants. "The winner gets to share my daughter's bed."

Her cheeks colored. They were fighting over her?

The remnants of the girl she'd once been started to protest. There was no need for bloodshed on her behalf. She'd gladly take both of them as lovers and be done with it. But the ice in her veins kept her from speaking. After all, it wasn't every day a girl had two unnaturally handsome immortal men duel over the right to have sex with her.

And she fucking deserved it.

The shy U-Dub student would never have told herself as much. But she was. And false modesty was unbecoming for a proud daughter of Winter.

Just to keep things interesting, Yvette gave Cahill a smile and a wave. And she made sure it was her best smile, putting a little energy into the effort so her teeth would sparkle and her eyes glow. She might not have her mother's charm. No one did, after all. But she had some of her own. And she was getting more comfortable admitting that.

He noticed, alright. The cocked eyebrow made that clear. But whether she'd had the effect she'd been aiming for, Yvette couldn't have said.

Well, fuck him sideways then. The other one was just as hot anyway. Maybe even more attractive in some respects. Confidence, for one thing. Deadly grace for another.

"Shall we get started?" Lady Winter asked, as though it was a request they had even the slightest ability to deny. She gathered her skirts up beneath her as she settled back down atop her velvet seat cushion. Though she needn't have. The black silk did precisely what she wanted it to whether she helped it along with her hands or not. As did everyone and everything that was fortunate enough to come into her presence.

Hardly a moment later, Cahill was flat on his back.

It was hard to tell if Oberon had even moved, though Yvette supposed he must have. Or maybe not. Maybe he'd delivered a powerful blow with an unseen hand, the sort Lance used to such great effect whenever he fucked her. She really wasn't sure. All she knew was that the younger man lay buried in the snow almost the very instant Daphne sat down.

"Stay down," Oberon said.

Cahill sat up.

The older man sighed. Then delivered his second blow.

This time, Yvette saw it. But just barely. It would be more accurate to say she saw the snow clouds he kicked up as he zipped across the courtyard. When he stopped moving, Oberon stood before a portcullis, two stone daggers in his hands.

For his part, Cahill was supine once more.

"Stay down," Oberon repeated.

Cahill rolled onto all fours, making Yvette wonder if maybe her mother hadn't thoroughly ruined his mind after all. She felt a stirring in her loins.

The kick to his ribs, however, could have split the mountain in two. It sent poor Cahill a good ten feet into the air, spinning like a top before he landed with a loud, "Oof!"

"What, are you trying to put on a show for them?" Oberon asked, walking slowly towards his fellow fey. "You know you can make this a lot easier on both of us."

Cahill coughed blood into his fist. "Why are you doing this?" he eventually managed. "Don't tell me it's because you've got a thing for the daughter."

"Hey!" Yvette snapped. Then instantly covered her mouth in shame. Though the comment only seemed to amuse her mother, which made her giggle.

"Fine," Oberon said. "Your turn then." He tossed both daggers contemptuously. They landed in the snow near Cahill. "But one of us needs to end this." He held his arms out wide, exposing his torso. "Come and get me."

"He can't do that, can he?" Yvette asked her mother. "They have to fight, don't they?"

From the other side of the queen, Lance gave her a cold look. She couldn't tell if it was reproachful or mocking, but either way, she didn't like it.

This wasn't how it was supposed to work. By making a mockery of the duel, they were insulting the queen. And Yvette, though that was less important.

But the queen didn't seem to care. All she did was shrug.

"Come on," Oberon said to Cahill as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

"You're just going to let me?" Cahill asked.

The white-haired man gestured for the dark-haired one to retrieve the weapons. As he did, he said, "Nothing I haven't done before."

Yvette didn't catch the significance of that, but she didn't need to. One thing was certain---the one she'd thought defiant was even more so than she'd realized. He didn't even care if he died, though whether that was because he knew Lady Winter would bring him back or in spite of it was not clear. Either way, he was telling them all that there was nothing anyone could do to him that he would count as defeat. Nothing. Not even Daphne.

That filled Yvette with unspeakable rage.

And yet seemed to amuse the queen.

She was still tempted to shout out that she chose Oberon, if only because she knew he wouldn't want that. But that would only make her look weak. Unable to control her emotions. Besides, she no longer had any desire whatsoever to take him inside of her. Perhaps, then, she ought to have declared Cahill her champion. But that too would reveal that Oberon had gotten under her skin. And while it would be bad enough to give him the satisfaction, it'd be worse still to have her mother think that she was easy to manipulate.

So Yvette did her best to overcome her frustration. She pictured cold wind blowing over snowcapped mountains. Saw herself lying abed in her frozen tower, surrounded by ice. Those images and thoughts cooled her off, drawing out the heat of her anger.

Quincy's music helped. Under different circumstances, and with a few more drinks in her, she'd get up and dance to it. Maybe pretend she knew what the heck a jig was until some sweaty guy came over and spared her further embarrassment.

"You're serious?" Cahill asked Oberon, apparently having realized there'd be no intercession from the pavilion. He bent down and picked up one of the daggers.

The older man nodded. His long hair whipped about him like a cloak. Aside from that, though, he was perfectly still. And incredibly vulnerable. It'd be so easy to strike a vital organ, even with rough hewn stone. But the prospect apparently did not bother him at all.

Cahill hesitated a moment, then charged.

And buried the knife deep in the other man's abdomen.

"Again," Oberon coughed, taking a half step back. One could almost think he'd suffered no more than a shoulder bump at moderate speed. "Give them what they want."

Except that wasn't what Yvette wanted. She wanted a real fight. With some uncertainty over the outcome. But, sure, if she must, she'd settle for a little blood and brutality instead.

"Do it," Daphne whispered.

Her words were like a thunderclap.

Cahill drew the bloody knife back slowly then thrust it forward sharply. Again and again and again, a little faster each time. His grip soon grew slippery and Yvette suspected at least some of the blood falling onto the snow with a steaming hiss was his own. But he didn't let up, nor did Oberon ask him to. Before long, the one was crouched atop the other, screaming in rage as he bashed the other man's chest in, shattering ribs and puncturing organs.

"Enough," Yvette finally said. "My champion."

She looked not to Cahill but to her mother as she said this. Daphne gave her a small nod of approval. As did Lance, for what that was worth. Meanwhile, Quincy played on, filling the courtyard with a chipper tune utterly at odds with the carnage they'd just witnessed.

The knife fell limply from Cahill's hand, landing in the bloody snow beside Oberon's corpse. The victor rose slowly. As he turned to face the pavilion, he nearly fell over. Tears streamed down his cheeks but he did not sob. He looked too numb for that.

Lady Winter snapped her fingers. A second thunderclap.

A rough cough followed on its heels. It came, of course, from Oberon, who then sat up with no more effort than a man who'd slept too long after a night of drinking.

That he hadn't really killed his friend apparently gave Cahill no consolation. He looked worse than Oberon. The color was gone from his face.

Yvette tried her best to feel something other than shock, but failed.

#

The most wicked idea occurred to Yvette as she was leading Cahill up to her tower.

The tiniest little part of her felt bad for what she was about to do, but mostly she just wanted to laugh aloud at her own deviousness. The poor fairy had no idea who he was dealing with. She might be the youngest of her mother's favored children, but it was only a matter of time before she was occupied a primo position.

She tightened her grip on Cahill's hand, the way she might have Zach's not too long ago, and forced herself back into that same frame of mind. Daphne was not her role model, she told herself, but a loathsome tyrant she couldn't wait to escape. It took some effort to convince herself to take such nonsense seriously, but she wanted to be convincing.

"I'm so sorry about what happened back there," she said.

Cahill looked around, unsure if they were alone.

Yvette gasped like a frightened sparrow. "You're right!" She wrapped them in a cloak of silence before even realizing she knew how.

The ways of their kind came so naturally to her. More so than they did her elder siblings before her, she was certain. That made her wonder if Lena knew that her position at the top of the pack was in jeopardy. Probably not. The poor thing.

"If she heard us...," Yvette added, allowing the thought to trail off. She then feigned a shudder for good measure.

Her fairy knight gave a wary nod.

"How long ago did you discover this place?" he asked.

"Mmmph," she groaned in protest. "Only a few days ago. But it feels like it's been longer than that. Everything's been so crazy. You've no idea!"

She caught his frown over her shoulder before she started up the steps. "You'd be surprised," he said in such a solemn tone Yvette almost laughed.

"No, you're right," she rushed to add. Her outfit changed, growing more casual. And colorful. Let him think it was all a show. Where there'd been a black gown, black boots, and black accessories, she now wore a loose white peasant skirt embroidered with pink flowers, strappy pink sandals, and a sheer pink top that clung to her like cellophane. A few pink bows tied themselves in her hair and the dark shade of blue she'd worked so hard to grace her lips with faded back to candy pink. Yvette even removed her tattoos and piercings, the better to look like a scared teenager playing at fearsome for the sake of avoiding her mother's suspicion. Though that was probably unnecessary. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't presume-"

"It's okay," he said.

"When did you find out?" she asked, genuinely curious.

His weary sigh told her that it had either been a long time ago or was a long story. They nearly reached the top of the stairs before he spoke again. Granted, her tower wasn't as tall as Quincy's, but that still left them in awkward silence for longer than she'd have liked.

"I don't know," he said at last. "I left the Dreaming for Faerie a few years ago. But I think, on some level, I knew what I was many years before that. I just refused to believe."

Yvette spun around after entering her room, dragging Cahill gently by both hands towards her bed. She stared at him with the most innocent, trusting look as she slowly backpedaled. At least, she was pretty sure she pulled that off. His reaction was certainly along the lines of what she'd been hoping for, at any rate.

"Is that like a Lodge?" Yvette asked. "The Dreaming?"

Cahill shrugged. "I guess. That what you guys call the fake world you grow up in?"

Yvette nodded as she planted first one leg then the other on the bed behind her. She hoped the graceful move didn't give the lie to her act. Could he tell how many men she'd welcomed to her bed before? No. He didn't seem to. Or, if he did, it didn't occur to him that she was toying with him as a cat does a mouse, for no other reason than because she could and it amused her. Perhaps her fairy boy figured that being sexual experienced and being ultra-sadistic were two very different things.

His reasoning might even have been sound. Were she not born of Winter. But she was Daphne's own daughter, and she meant to make her mother proud.

"Is it nice there? Or is it like here?" he asked.

"Are you kidding?" Yvette asked. "I wish I could go back."

The idiot still hadn't gotten into bed with her. So Yvette slid back, allowing her legs to unfold out to the sides and then scissor back together until she was sitting flat on her bottom, skirt stretched out daintily before her. She wiggled her sandaled feet at him playfully.

Cahill finally took the hint, climbing awkwardly up onto the mattress. He had the look of a man who'd bedded more than his share of women. Why was he so shy? Did he not trust her, despite the act? Or was there someone back in Faerie he felt he was betraying?

Perhaps a mother? Or a sister? That was the way of things throughout the Homelands, wasn't it? Or maybe it was a daughter. He was old enough. Assuming that the Faerie courts and their Dreamings had the same sort of time differences Winter and its Lodges did.

Once he sat facing her, her fairy friend said, "But she won't let you."

"No indeed," she said. That had been one of the first things Lance had told her that first night. After they'd fucked each other silly. Several times over. "She's got this, I don't know, semi-permeable membrane around all of Winter. Or whatever. Anyone foolish enough to want to can come right in, but no one can get out." She sighed with what she hoped sounded like resignation. "I was starting to think that maybe I should just throw myself out that window over there, but after what she did to your friend earlier, I have a feeling she'd just bring me back to suffer some more."

Cahill had nothing to say to that. Because what could he say? That was exactly how her mother operated. Neither he nor Oberon would ever find any sort of escape, whether in life or in death. Yvette would never suffer that fate, of course, but if she was half as disloyal to her mother as she was letting on, she just might. And she'd deserve it.

"Have you tried to escape?" he asked.

Yvette frowned. "What do you think this is, a B-rate horror film?"

She'd seen entirely too many movies where the creep eventually reveals to his captor that the door had never been locked or some such. Like assuming the evil mastermind was somewhat competent was the same as secretly wanting the torture to continue. Ridiculous.

That, and movies that ended with the big twist that the protagonist was the killer the whole time. If she ever saw another one of those as long as she lived, she'd go on a murderous rampage that no one in Hollywood would survive. But that was besides the point.

Cahill shrugged. "I just figured-"

Yvette sighed. "She's into head games. But she's even more into control. There's no way she'd risk even one of her precious subjects escaping, as some brave soul would be bound to sooner or later if there was no actual barrier. She doesn't even like letting people die."

He looked like he was going to ask again if she'd actually tried, but eventually he gave in and nodded. Granted, if Yvette really ever had wanted to escape, rather than simply toying with the idea so as to keep from admitting to herself that she'd known deep in her Libido from the moment she'd arrived that she belonged here, she might give it a shot. But she was no less confident that her mother would know if she did than that it wouldn't work. And what sense would there be in giving her the impression that Yvette wanted out?




Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 03



"Okay. Well, there has to be another way. She's not invincible is she?"

Yvette nearly laughed. Then realized there was no reason she couldn't, so long as she made it sound bitter. "She might as well be," she said. Was her voice, ordinarily so deep, sounding a little more normal? What a coincidence. "You know how old she is? I think she's been around for centuries." She knew better, of course. Now. But he didn't know that. And she figured it would make her sound more naive to say that.

Cahill frowned. And placed a sympathetic hand on her leg. About fucking time. "We'll think of something. Not an hour ago, Oberon and I thought we were alone."

And they still were.

"I bet you did too," he said, leaning closer.

Yvette nodded, and gave him her best puppy dog eyes.

"Do you have any idea if-"

Oh, fuck that. Yvette had waited long enough. The bait had been set in the trap. He'd moved towards taking it. Time to lure him in a little deeper, then snap her jaws shut.

Besides, she was legitimately horny. Not least because the bulge in his drawstring pants suggested he was hung like a fucking horse. If not bigger than Lance, then no smaller either. And she was willing to bet he had a few fairy tricks up his sleeve she'd never seen before.

His kiss was odd. Not at all like a mortal's. Far too enjoyable for that. But the exhilarating rush she felt whenever cold, Wintry lips pressed against hers wasn't there. His tongue was warm, warm, warm. All one note. As were the fingers that slid across her cheek and into her hair. But there was something more. A faint fire, not quite hot but definitely warm. She opened her eyes at one point, just for an instant, and saw a light silver nimbus surrounding them. Or at least their heads. And his hands. Wherever it touched her, she felt a pleasant tingle. Nothing too intense, but nothing to scoff at either.

Then she realized what it was. Fairy fire.

How fucking cute.

Yvette's first orgasm came before she'd quite finished lowering herself onto her back. It wasn't particularly intense. Nothing like the climax her mother had kissed her to earlier. But it boded well for the rest of the encounter.

Once they started going at it, Cahill's reluctance fell away. She found him cool and confident. Not controlling, like Lance, but hardly shy. He knew his way around a woman's body, and he knew how to put her needs ahead of hers without making that seem like a sign of insecurity. She was a musical instrument in the hands of a master performer. He made sweeter songs pass through her lips than Quincy ever had coaxed out of his fiddle. And her Libido sang along in perfect harmony. And, in time, Yvette realized that was more than mere metaphor. A beautiful melody filled her tower, making the ice walls vibrate softly. From whence it came, she couldn't have said, but she knew her fairy prince had something to do with it. And the light show that soon accompanied it.

Yes, she wanted him to speed things up a bit. To get real primal with her. His soft lips delivered only pleasure, never pain. It took a supreme act of will to keep from sprouting claws and shredding his back and shoulders while he lapped at her labia. But even if his preferred style was different from her own, he needed no more than five minutes to secure a place in her mental Hall of Fame. Right up there with Lance, and ahead of Zach. That felt wrong to admit, even if she was less and less sure that her brother was right for her now that she'd embraced Winter. But Cahill was just that good.

And those were just the thoughts she had while her skirt was bunched up around her hips and her champion feasted on her pussy. When he set about making love to the rest of her body, she doubled down on her assessments. Both that he was incredibly talented, better than the more similar of her brothers, and that he was painfully, offensively, unbearably patient. She needed to get him out of those pants and inside her. Needed his lips on hers, no matter how good they felt on nipples that otherwise seemed naked now that they were free of the piercings she'd had for years. Let his hands take up that task.

"Please," she panted.

What was that about springing a trap?

He looked up at her, his colorless eyes glowing. Damn, but he was handsome. Not beautiful. That was too effeminate, emasculating, a term. Maybe it suited Oberon, but not this one. He might be fey, but he was no fairy. He looked like the paragon of a Hollywood actor. Everything the best-looking mortal men aspired to, only better. His complexion would have been unremarkable in that world, and perhaps even his own, but by the standards of winter, he was positively dark. And she found she liked that, however much the fair skin of her brothers appealed to her. Yet he had a full head of glossy black hair, which was perfectly messy, blue eyes, though less intense in hue, and a sexy, scruffy little beard running along his jawline and then up to his lower lip. His torso was not as thickly matted with fur as Lance's or Zach's, but neither was he hairless like the pointy-eared Oberon.

Lance was better. In just about every way. But it wasn't fair to compare anyone to him. Save Daphne, who belonged to an entirely different category. Short of that, the man lying atop Yvette, tending to her nipples like they were a pair of clitori situated on her chest, with precisely the same effect, was as glorious as any she'd ever known.

Over and over again, she melted for him. The need to ascend the ladder, go up a rung in intensity, grew unbearable. In the best possible way. She refused to beg for it, though. Either out of pride or some lingering sense that she was performing a role. Instead, she dug her teeth into her lower lip, let her body writhe as much as it needed to without thrashing violently, and rode out one climax after another.

All the while feeding him precious energy he could use against her mother.

Not that she had enough self control to stop him. Or even feel too bad about it. The song he played on her body was too compelling.

To interrupt it partway through would leave her with an aching sense of frustration that might last for days. Weeks, even. The way she'd heard comp sci guys say they felt when someone opened a set of parentheses in gchat and never closed it.

A few more hands appeared, at long last. Mouths too. The tongues of fairy fire multiplied. Soon, every part of her body was in agony, so intense was the ecstasy. Yvette threw her head back, hard, mouth open in a frozen scream. Her muscles tensed, relaxed momentarily, then seized up again. She wasn't sure if she was caught in a monster orgasm or experiencing several dozen of them in rapid succession, but either way, the dam burst. Her Libido cracked open and its contents poured forth freely, filling Cahill up. And she didn't even care. She'd left her body and gazed down upon the mismatched lovers from above with detached curiosity.

Bliss.

That was all there was. In all of existence. Maybe some peace and serenity as well. But nothing else. No fear or pain, no longing for power or validation, and certainly no malice or deceit. In her or in him. In that moment, the world and all its inhabitants were pure.

But, then, there was that old saying about all good things.

As Yvette's consciousness settled in behind the controls once more, she remembered who she was and what she had planned for the hapless soul sharing her bed with her. And while his prowess had convinced her to hold off a little longer before showing her true colors, she'd spent too much time on her back. It was time for him to see what she could do.

Chains of ice shot up from the ground and wrapped themselves around Cahill's back and waist. They spun him around til he was facing up at the ceiling, then ensnared his wrists and ankles. Yvette pulled his pants away as though whipping a napkin off a dinner plate. His proud member, freed of its meager constrain, snapped to attention.

It was every bit as big as she'd hoped.

For a moment, all Yvette could do was stare at it. Not too long ago, she'd been half-afraid of penises. Absolutely convinced that she loved the attention men showed her when they thought she might play with them, but not too comfortable with the organs themselves. But at some point, she'd gone from ambivalent to comfortable to craving. And the glorious slab of meat starting at her now couldn't have been more impressive.

She really wanted to suck it. To show him how exquisite the interplay between warm and cold could be. But that would have to wait. Just then, she really needed to ride him.

"Oh!" he grunted as she took the better part of his monstrosity inside her at once. His hips jerked down into the mattress, as if he did her some sort of favor by denying her everything she needed. "Careful there. Lot to play with."

"Don't I know it," she said with a wicked grin.

"Hmm," Cahill replied. "You're not quite as innocent as you seem, are you?"

Fretting at her lower lip, Yvette shook her head.

Her champion laughed. If he suspected all that her response entailed, he didn't let it show. "You're not going to kill me, are you?" he asked in a tone that suggested he thought he was sharing a private joke with her. Because of course they both knew how ridiculous that was. That she'd never take a man's life.

With a pair of combat knives. While Lance watched.

Nope. Never.

Still, she decided that she could wait a while longer to truly reveal herself to him. Let him think she was a little kinky but still, deep down, a good girl. One who wanted to escape. So Yvette got a little rough with her fairy prince, but only a little.

The fur, claws, and tail she'd so recently come to consider vital extensions of herself made no appearance, and not once did she draw blood. When she bit him, she did so playfully. Her black nails left minor indentations in his skin, even a few red marks, but no more.

And she brought him plenty of pleasure to go with the pain. First with her womb, then later her mouth. The first time she licked him with a frosty tongue, Yvette made him squeal like a banshee. And when her cold lips, pink though they might be, left a light rim of frost on his foreskin, well, the poor guy nearly fainted. But she warmed him back up properly, and the stark contrast between that and the modest discomfort she'd made him suffer just a moment before made him appreciate the warmth all the more. He made such sweet sounds while she fellated him, his Libido moving steadily all the while towards a low boil.

Yvette was surprised by how much energy he had to offer. Each and every time he exploded---and Yvette saw to it that his orgasms were always explosive---he threw so much energy at her that she almost got swept away by it. As disappointed as her mother was in him for breaking so easily, as unimpressive as his performance against Oberon had been, she'd almost expected him to be weaker than Zach. But in many ways, including the size of his Libido, Cahill reminded her more of Lance.

That reminded her that her mother was on a whole different level than the rest of them. But it also made her think that Oberon wasn't quite as far below Lady Winter as everyone else. And that both intrigued her and gave her a sense of relief. She felt almost as though she'd dodged a bullet. At first, she'd been a little disappointed about having to name Cahill her champion. But as the hours fell away, she became more convinced that the other fey lord was out of her league. The one she had in her bed, she could have some fun with. Manipulate to her heart's content. But the other? He might not fall for her tricks. And even if he did, she might regret toying with him.

All the more reason to take her time with Cahill. To drag things out and savor the surprised look on his face when she betrayed him.

"That was amazing," he said, running his fingers through her black hair.

"Hmmmm?" Yvette asked in a throaty purr, pretending she'd not just lost herself in thought but actually dozed off. Which wasn't such a stretch, come to think of it. His chest made a surprisingly decent pillow, considering how hard it was. "What was?"

"Right," he said, laughing.

Yvette twirled her finger around the dense tuft of hair just below his navel. It was too bad his fur wasn't that thick all the way up to his collarbone. He was more than a little attractive, but with just a few improvements here and there, he could be even more amazing.

His smell, though, was perfect. She thought Zach smelled good. He had nothing on Cahill. The former had hint of the wild that made him seem more dangerous than he was, but all in all, his scent was crisp, clean, and cold. Reminiscent of mountain snow as much as the creatures that thrived in such an environment. The latter, however, was earthy and strong, somewhere between fragrant and pungent. If someone had described it to her, she'd have thought it unpleasant. But more so than anyone in Winter, he smelled alive. When his musk filled her nose, Yvette pictured vibrant forests teeming with life rather than a frozen wasteland. Knowing who he was and where he hailed from probably helped with that, but even so. She couldn't get the image out of her mind. And she found it strangely appealing.

And when she pictured a blizzard sweeping in and dropping several feet of snow on that idyllic forest, destroying vegetation and thereby starving whatever animals didn't freeze to death, the biggest smile spread across her face.

"You weren't too bad either," she said, letting her hand move a little further south. "Who would've thought Spring and Winter would go so well together?"

Cahill groaned softly as she began stroking his semi-erect penis. "Well, your heart's not really frozen yet. And with luck, we'll find a way to get you out of here before it is."

"You promise?" she asked, fighting back laughter.

"I do," he said. "And you should know we fey take promises very seriously."

That gave Yvette a bigger rush than any mere orgasm.

#

Nick was tempted to hang back and watch the two idiots get themselves killed. But he couldn't do that to Eric. Or, for that matter, Flori. He figured the odds of their desperate gambit paying off weren't very good, but neither were they quite bad enough for him to abandon the cause with a clear conscience. Especially considering what was at stake.

Still, his heart started beating faster and louder than ever before as soon as they arrived in the frozen palace. Going up against House Bravo, reckless as that had been, seemed like a good idea in comparison. At least that had only cost him his legs.

Heck, it hadn't even cost him that much, thanks to his incredible grandmother. Just consigned him to bed for longer than he'd have liked while they grew back.

Though, in fairness, he wasn't sure whether he was more afraid now than he'd been then because it was Daphne they were going up against or because his sister wasn't with him. Merciless and powerful as Lady Winter was reputed to be, he thought it might be the latter.

Without Vee, he was incomplete.

He'd have given anything to have her at his side rather than Eric, even if she wasn't quite as good with her telekinetic knives and throwing axes as He-Man was with that damn sword of his. And Nick really wished he had Vee to help keep his batteries charged.

But that was just how it was. And there was no time to dwell on it.

They moved quickly but without purpose. At least none that Nick could discern. If anything more than mere whim dictated which turns they made and which they did not, it was not apparent. But that was for the two heroes to sort out. He was just the backup.

He did his best to keep to the shadows, but that wasn't really working. The hallways were made of pure ice, and they reflected the distant sun brilliantly. Sure, he was still immaterial, but he'd not escape notice with so little darkness to hide in. And something told him the Bitch of Winter had her ways of inflicting pain even upon the incorporeal.

At least the other two would take the brunt of whatever she or her children dished out. The giant blonde Adonis, wielding his massive length of steel, and the snarling death-beast their suicidal leader had become, would naturally draw the eye a bit more than a slippery pool of shadow. Heck, he'd nearly lashed out at Frank himself after the guy had transformed. He'd figured the only wolves they'd run into here would be part of Daphne's brood.

Nick supposed it helped that his fur was dark. That should serve to distinguish him from the Winter wolves, all of whom seemed to favor coats white as snow.

Just as he was beginning to wonder if the palace had maybe been abandoned at some point, left to intimidate everyone despite its emptiness, just like Bentham's Panopticon, they ran into a trio of pale-skinned, black-haired, blue-eyed fuckers.

Two were female, one male. They'd had their arms looped through his. One woman wore a pair of black panties, a tight black bustier with white leopard print over the abdomen and cups, and matching heels. The other wore a black dominatrix suit that left little more than her blue lips and blue eyes exposed. The man wore leather pants and nothing else.

At least, that's how they appeared at first. Before they caught sight of Eric and Frank.

A moment later, the three of them were flanked by two massive white tigers with lengths of steel chain that ended in broad spearheads for tails. The beasts also had sharp antlers, which were also made of steel. The more scantily clad woman seemed to be in charge of those. The other grew two feet taller and acquired a pair of blue samurai swords. Her suit grew shinier still and Nick suspected it was no longer made of vinyl, or whatever the fuck it had been before, though it looked too flexible and lightweight to be metal.

The guy, however, didn't transform, conjure up any weapons, or anything. He just stood there, dumbfounded, mouth agape. Maybe he couldn't believe that the universe would cockblock him like that, just as he was about to land himself a threesome. Under different circumstances, Nick might almost have felt bad for him, even if his two ladies looked like they'd have delivered more pain than pleasure.

Instead, he decided to go straight for the weakest link.

Thanks to him, the fight was over before it began. Or would have been, if the others had reacted a little quicker. Eric had cut through a blue blade and split the torso it had so ineffectually protected in two before Nick had even rematerialized. And an upward slash of Frank's right paw had splattered one of the tiger's heads like an overripe pumpkin, while the other had bit down hard on his hind leg and run its tail through his abdomen.

But the woman who controlled the beasts noticed the hands Nick had clasped over her lover's wrists, as well as the semi-substantial tendril that had wrapped itself around his torso. And the additional shadows pouring down his throat and running up his nostrils.

"Stop!" she said, stretching a hand out to Nick.

Her remaining pet released Frank's leg and withdrew it's spear from his midsection. Unfortunately for it, Frank wasn't so inclined to observe the ceasefire. He tore the thing's head off and sent it rolling down the hall like a grisly bowling ball before healing his wounds.

Eric, on the other hand, was more reasonable. Or perhaps saw the value in taking two of Daphne's children hostage. After making sure the woman he'd nearly cut in half was actually dead, he readied his blade and put himself between Nick and the beastmistress.

"Don't hurt him," the woman said.

Frank hunched forward, claws extended, and growled at her, causing the ice to vibrate with a soft hum. Even doubled over, he was nearly her height. How she managed not to piss herself, daughter to the great and terrible Daphne or no, Nick wasn't sure. He was on the same fucking side as that thing and he nearly lost control of his bladder.




Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 04



Yvette was on her way back to her tower, after returning Cahill to his cell deep beneath the surface of the mountain, when she ran into her brother. He was all in a huff, of course. As he should be. She had spent the past few hours with a man who wasn't him, after all.

Oh, and she was still wearing her white skirt and pink top, with pink sandals and pink lips to boot. Lance was no idiot, so he ought to have known that was all for Cahill's benefit, but perhaps he was too busy being jealous to give her the benefit of the doubt?

As she was switching over to black and blue, he grabbed her by the arm, roughly, and demanded to know where she'd been. "Do you have any idea what's happened?"

"Noooo," she said. "What?"

"Lena's been taken," he said, as though that were the end of the world. Like she was half as important as their mother. "Zach too," he added, as if just remembering that their brother existed and that Yvette maybe cared a little bit about him.

"Whoa," Yvette said, yanking away to free her arm. "How do you know they've been taken? Maybe the two of them just wanted some privacy." It probably wasn't a good idea, but she couldn't stop herself from adding, "Maybe if you were a little better in bed-"

The slap was entirely expected, but it still hurt.

In a good way.

Fuck, that made her want him. There was nothing healthy about that, of course, but she was who she was, and there was no sense denying it anymore. A child of Winter. A snow leopard. So Yvette grew a tail and claws and pounced on her brother.

This time, though, he was having none of it.

He'd hardly even noticed her outfit, either. Which was more than a little disappointing. The leather boots, with their half-dozen silver buckles apiece, sheer black thigh highs, tiny black and blue plaid skirt, and leather corset looked damn good, if she did say so herself. The sapphire necklace might have been a bit much, warring for attention as it did with her tattoo, but though she hadn't had a chance to look in a mirror yet, she thought it worked.

But all he could think about was Lena.

"Seriously," she said, wiping the blood from a cracked lip that was already healing, "they could just be under a cloak. They're not particularly hard to construct, you know."

He gave her the most patronizing look, as if to ask if she really thought the double entendre was clever. Which, okay, it might not have been. But still. Who the hell could break into the royal palace and kidnap two of the queen's children without anyone noticing?

"Our mother is not often mistaken."

Yvette forgot all about her clothes and her jealousy of Lena. "She-"

"YES," Lance snapped.

Well, shit.

A sudden sense of vertigo hit her. How could they not be safe here, in their mother's stronghold? She was the most powerful woman the Homelands had ever known.

"So what are you doing roaming the halls?" Yvette finally asked, channeling fear and confusion into anger and accusation. "Why aren't you out looking for them?"

"Because she told me to find you."

The floor fell away beneath her again. She felt weightless and yet was half-convinced that she was plummeting towards the base of the mountain at the same time. Was she in trouble with the queen? How could she have known what would happen? Did it matter? Were they even allowed to hide themselves from their mother's view while under her roof? In any of her courts, for that matter? What had she been thinking?

Lance slapped her again. "Pull yourself together."

This time, when she lunged towards him, it wasn't to climb atop him and guide his throbbing member inside her. She feinted towards his face then raked his midsection viciously, nearly disemboweling him. Well, okay, her claws hadn't bit quite that deep. They weren't long enough to do more than inflict a good bit of pain. His insides would, for the time being, remain on the inside. Doubled over and covered in blood, Lance nonetheless had the wherewithal to stare pure hatred up at her.

His blazing blue eyes nearly liquefied hers.

Yet Yvette held his gaze, because fuck him. It hurt, and spots would dance in her vision for a time after he relented, but she'd not give him the satisfaction of thinking he could intimidate he so easily. Even if he was older and more experienced than her.

"You only get to do that when we're playing around," she said in a voice so level and cold that she kind of wanted to give herself a gold star.

Her brother sneered as he stood back up. His hand tentatively fell away from a freshly mended abdomen, but it made no move to strike her again.

"It was probably some moonlit or sunlit infiltrator," Lance said. "We've been expecting them to make a move for some time." He said that as if it was obvious, even though she still had no idea why they opposed her mother. Were it not for Zach dancing around the edges of what he was allowed to divulge, she wouldn't even know what those terms meant. "But we can't rule out fey involvement. She wants you to question Cahill and Oberon."

"And Oberon?" she asked.

Then immediately wished she hadn't. Whatever points she'd earned putting him in his place went right down the drain.

Lance snickered. "Figure that's a little out of your weight class?"

"No," Yvette said, though even to her own ears, she sounded more than a little like a child who stubbornly refused to swallow its pride. "I can handle him." That sounded a little more convincing. "I just thought the queen would want to question that one herself."

"She's got more important things to do."

"And you?"

Damnit, but that wolfish grin was pretty fucking hot. She kind of wanted to knee him in the testicles. But she was starting to remember how good it felt to be on top of him too. Or beneath him. To have his hand around her throat and two of his cocks stretching her cunt and ass at the same time. He was so strong. So assertive. So dominant.

"I've got to look for Lena."

"And Zach."

"And Zach," Lance agreed.

Was that not what their mother would be doing? No, of course not. If she thought the attack had come from the Eternal Garden or the Shadowed Glade, it was there she would go. To make her wrath felt. They'd regret trespassing on her territory, Yvette was sure.

So. She was supposed to go right back to Cahill. And play bad cop to her own good cop. Meanwhile, Zach was somewhere out there, at the mercy of who-the-fuck-knew, and she was supposed to trust Lance to bring him back safe. She wasn't sure where things stood between her and Zach anymore, but she didn't like that at all. If there came a point where had to choose between saving Lena and saving Zach, she knew what choice Lance would make.

"So? What are you waiting for?" he asked.

The air before her was empty a moment later.

"Fucking asshole," Yvette said. Even though her pussy was throbbing and her breathing belabored. She'd never met a more infuriating individual than the man who might or might not be her father. Nor one excited her so powerfully and so unpredictably.

Yvette looked down at the outfit she now felt she'd put entirely too much thought into and decided it wasn't worth changing things up again. True, she could keep the ruse going for a while longer if she slipped back into some pink and white, or whatever, but play time was over. Under different circumstances, she'd have been all too happy to let Cahill go right on thinking that, deep down, she was a good girl. But he might actually know something that would help her get Zach back. And whatever the future might or might not hold for her and her brother, she had to do what she could to get him back.

Besides, no one embarrassed her mother like that.

An eye blink later, she stood in his cell with him. He was right where she'd left him, shivering under his blankets, trying his hardest not to stare at the cold hearth that had never been, and never would be, home to any fire.

Yvette almost pitied him.

And most certainly envied her mother. The woman knew how to break a man down slowly. Yvette really couldn't see herself ever being patient enough to make a guy stare so forlornly at a useless fireplace, hating himself for wishing it housed warm flames. He'd be too deep in pain to worry about such things were she in charge.

As he was about to be.

"Hey. Thought you-" he began. The rest of the sentence trailed off in a breathless gasp as unseen hands clasped his balls tightly in fists as frozen as the walls of the palace above.

"What. Do. You. Know?"

"Uunngh," came the reply.

Hmm. Well, she probably shouldn't have expected anything more. Perhaps a little restraint was in order. Yvette willed the fists to ease up just a little. He'd still feel the biting cold of their immaterial presence, and know that at any moment they could apply enough pressure to pop his testicles like grapes, but he'd also be able to breathe.

After filling his lungs all at once, then slowly expelling the air, shoulders dropping as he deflated, Cahill finally met her icy blue gaze. "What do you want?" he asked.

To his credit, there was no more than a hint of pleading in his voice. And no surprise, protest, or betrayal. He'd been taken in by her act, yes, but he understood deception. Granted, he pretty much had to, given that the fey were reputedly all about blurring the line between perception and reality, wakefulness and dreaming. At least, according to Shakespeare, her one and only source of information on such matters. All the same, Yvette was kinda sorta almost impressed that her fairy prince was taking things more or less in stride. As well as a man could, when lying in bed, his berries clasped by frozen fists.

"Information," she said. "Mostly."

Cahill raised an eyebrow at her.

"To be honest, I was hoping to get more of a reaction when you realized that I've been playing you," she admitted as she pulled a pedestal up out of the floor with a thought. "But that would've only been a fringe benefit," she added, taking a seat on the cold stone.

He regarded her impassively. She could almost think her mother was wrong about him.

Yvette suddenly saw two overlapping images, as though she were looking at a poorly edited old film reel, or perhaps a skillfully altered digital image. The more solid Cahill, in the foreground, looked the same as ever. He was unbearably handsome, if a bit taller and darker-skinned than she liked. His eyes were the wrong shade of blue, but at least they were blue, and though she'd have liked to see what he'd look like with more facial hair, there was definitely something to be said for the whimsical bit decorating his chin and jaw line.

The hazier background image wasn't too different, perhaps, but Yvette might have had a harder time remembering that she'd come here to interrogate a prisoner rather than get her rocks off if that had been the dominant version. This Cahill was even taller, which didn't do much for her, but he was also hairier, which did. And he had the most impressive rack of spectral antlers sprouting from his skull. Their tips extended up into the roof of the cave, making it impossible to tell just how huge his embellishments were. And something told her that the difference between the real Cahill and this wilder version was even more pronounced below the waist. As in hooves for feet and lots more fur. Nothing else, of course.

Just as suddenly as the second Cahill appeared, it winked out.

"You're trying to break free," she said aloud.

Of course he was. How stupid could she be? Did a small display of animal virility, hyper-masculinity taken to mythological proportions, have such an effect on her? Well, okay, yes, it clearly did. But it shouldn't have.

A flute appeared in his hands.

Yvette reacted immediately. She didn't know exactly what he could do with that, but she knew it couldn't be good. That there was real power in music, at least when made by the right immortal, was clear enough. Her mother wouldn't favor Quincy the way she did otherwise. And she was pretty sure the fey had a special affinity for music. The length of green wood flew from his hands so fast it made the air buzz for a brief instant. Then it broke apart, raining splinters and kindling down beside the fireplace.

So. There was a reason her mother had sealed him off from his own Libido, and it wasn't just to fill him with despair. He was dangerous. Not due to any great capacity for violence, but for seduction, either directly through sheer sexuality or indirectly through enchanted music. She had to keep her guard up with this one.

No, she had to do more than that. She had to go on the offensive.

And she did.

First, she squeezed. Really, really hard. His scream of agony nearly pierced her ear drums, but that made her smile even as she winced. While he recovered from the nearly crippling blow, Yvette fumbled around until she found the thin layer her mother had wrapped around his Libido and fed it as much energy as she could. Whether it would have been enough had she not been building off her mother's previous efforts, she wasn't sure. Probably not. But reinforcing what was already there was something she could handle. She immediately felt the difference. The warm, pulsating presence of his energy vanished, and she realized she ought not have felt it in the first place.

And wouldn't have, if she hadn't cracked the seal earlier, up in her room.

Her mother had authorized her to have some fun with the guy, but she'd never meant for Yvette to empower him. Whatever was wrapped around his Libido worked just like the membrane surrounding Winter, only in reverse. Energy could leave his Libido, but none was meant to enter it. Or something like that. Yvette wasn't really sure exactly what she was feeling as she probed her mother's handiwork, but she knew it was sophisticated and had served its purpose perfectly until she'd gone and torn through it by mistake.

Was she really ready to take her place at her mother's side? To serve Lady Winter faithfully and effectively? How could she be, when she couldn't even figure out how to keep a broken man from posing a threat? Her cheeks burned with shame and indignation.

"You," she spat, "I went easy on you."

Maybe it hadn't been out of the goodness of her heart, but she had made his time with her a lot more pleasant than it needed to be. Than it should have been.

"Fuck...you," he said, hands clamped over his gonads. Or what was left of them.

Yvette down off her stony perch and strode over to the bed. She towered over him, tall though he was. The pain she'd inflicted on him had him hunched over, shoulders folded inward and head hung low. He looked small, weak, and pitiful, and that made her feel strong. It didn't matter that there were huge differences between them physically.

He was her bitch.

Then she remembered yet another source of power she had over him.

"As I recall, you promised to help me escape," Yvette said with feigned confusion. "But I'm not going anywhere. What's that going to do to you? At what point is the promise officially unfulfilled? Does the pressure just keep growing and growing until it becomes unbearable? Are you going to start bleeding from the ears and eyes?"

Cahill stared pure hatred up at her, but his hands hadn't left his crotch.

"Hmm? What's that? I can't quite hear you."

He swung his legs to the side and with a laugh Yvette jumped back. Then she realized he wasn't trying to kick her, but to stand up. Did he plan to take her away forcibly? Would that discharge his obligation? It didn't matter. So long as her mother's membrane was in place, neither of them was going anywhere.

Him especially.

Yvette tapped a finger against her blue lips and Cahill's started to turn roughly the same color. Minus the gloss and shine. The color drained from his skin and his hair froze. With a soft pop, his fingernails cracked and various bones snapped. His limbs locked up, his mouth froze in a silent scream, and he quickly turned into a icy statue, much like the bodyguard that had escorted him into the courtyard earlier. That was no way to get information from him, of course, but Yvette was too angry to care. He'd made a fool of her, when it was supposed to work the other way around. Fuck him, his promise, and all his people.

With a mental flick, she shattered her fairy statue into a million pieces.

#

Caronwyn felt something pass over her. It took her a moment to realize that it was just a breeze coming in through the open window, not some unseen pair of eyes piercing her best glamour. She probably ought to have assumed that right away. By Faerie standards, the Autumnal courts were not just windy, but blustery. The fallen leaves that made the place what it was were always drifting past her, whether she was indoors or out. And though it was a bit unsettling to see so much death around her, all that should be green painted instead in red, brown, gold, and orange, that didn't mean she'd fallen under Winter's gaze.

Still, she wasn't entirely comfortable believing herself beyond Daphne's ken. Especially since she was currently looking to escape her notice by hanging in one of the many sitting rooms in a vast palace belonging to one of the damned woman's most loyal servants.

At least, so far as the rest of the Homelands was concerned, that's what Iva Farrier was. Caronwyn had been led to believe otherwise. But she was only so convinced as of yet.

True, the woman seemed different enough from Titania, Daphne's other collaborator. And behind the right glamours, she said all the right words. But the thought of trusting anyone outside Clan Walker, no matter who she was, held less and less appeal.

Every second she spend in Autumn felt like a betrayal. It was wrong to leave her children in Savannah, knowing that they'd never been as safe from Titania as she and Cahill had believed. Yes, they were in capable hands. But her mother hadn't always come out on top when the two of them had tangled in the past. And while Clan Walker's numbers had not been so plentiful in her lifetime, there were too few adults to back Aeife up.

Yet, at the same time, every second she'd spent in Faerie felt like a betrayal as well. Cahill needed help, sooner rather than later. Did she not get that? Was she not equally worried about Oberon? How could she sit there and do nothing?

No, that wasn't fair. She wasn't doing nothing. Her mother was keeping them all safe from Titania while Fi and Seamus played diplomat to the Eternal Garden and Oona and Gallech did the same for the Shadowed Glade. There were worse ideas than waiting to see whether the Sun and Moon would move against Winter.

Like asking Iva to do the same.

But she'd consulted her talismans and they'd never spoken to her so clearly. True, she was no more a druidess than her son was a horned god. Than Aeife was a fairy godmother. Not in truth. Sometimes she believed, though, and belief was powerful. Belief had brought her daughter back from the dead. Her talismans had been right too often for her to ignore the reading. Especially with Cahill's life hanging in the balance.

So here she was, in the land of dying things, waiting on a Matriarch who might or might not wish to see her lands blanketed in snow, against the wishes of a mother she knew to be wise and patient. Perhaps even without her knowledge, though it was even harder to imagine Aeife failing to discern her whereabouts than it was Daphne.

The leather bound books stacked neatly on the shelves before her should have occupied her attention, but Caronwyn couldn't get her nerves to settle down enough for that. Some day, she'd think about the knowledge assembled before her, offering itself to her, and she'd kick herself. Just at the moment, though, she knew there was no way she could focus long enough to accept their gifts. All she could do was stare at them with unfocused eyes and wait for an end to Iva's audience with the very woman they sought to conspire against.




Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 04



She hoped.

At long last, the oak double doors at the other end of the small room opened and Autumn's Matriarch swept in. She looked resplendent, as ever, making Caronwyn keenly aware of how dull and drab her brown robes were. Of course, she was but a druidess, whereas the buxom blonde ruled over four noble courts. But still. The gown of rich red silk, heavily accentuated with gold embroidery, struck the absolute perfect balance between modest and seductive. Between her belt, her crown and scepter, and all the jewelry worn on her fingers, around her neck, and dangling from her ears, she wore more gold and precious stones than Caronwyn had seen in her entire life. Before coming to Autumn, that was.

Titania made do with colorful hair hair, eyes, and makeup. Not this one. She evidently fancied herself a slightly sexier version of European royalty.

And that impressed Caronwyn more than she cared to admit.

"I'm sorry about that," Iva said with a weary sigh, pulling her heavily bejeweled crown down from its perch atop a silky gilded throne. One didn't see hair that golden every day. Blonde hair was often likened to the precious metal, but Caronwyn had never before seen a mane with such metallic sheen. Such rich, vibrant color, only a few shades nearer to yellow than orange. If Titania had hair like that, she wouldn't feel the need to fill it with purple, green, and blue streaks. "That woman loves to hear herself talk."

Caronwyn folded her arms across her chest and leveled a frown at the golden queen.

That look would have stopped Cahill, or any of her other children, in his tracks. But Iva either didn't notice or chose to pretend she hadn't. She'd tossed the crown aside, where it promptly faded into nothingness, and was sweeping her red cloak, lined with ermine of course, from her dainty shoulders. Then she reached down to remove her golden heels, which were of course thickly encrusted with rubies. Those too disappeared without a trace.

"I've never had the displeasure of meeting her," Caronwyn said, "but I'd have thought she chooses her words carefully." She hadn't quite accused the woman of lying, grievous accusation as that was amongst the fey, but she'd walked right up to the line before stopping.

Iva shrugged. "I suppose you could say that." A moment later, she held a gold chalice. "Can I offer you a drink?" Her brown eyes dropped down to the vessel, as though she'd forgotten what she herself had filled it with not an instant before. "You know, I used to favor cosmos. But trendy cocktails don't seem very royal, you know? So these days, I stick to red wine. But I'd be happy to offer you whatever you like."

Caronwyn pushed the hood of her robe back. "No thank you."

"Right," Iva said, snapping her fingers. "You're not big on accepting gifts. Fair enough. Doesn't mean as much here as I'm sure it does in Faerie, but still not the worst habit."

"Can we talk about-"

The blonde held one hand up, cutting Caronwyn off, while raising her chalice to her ruby lips with the other. To her consternation, Caronwyn found herself falling silent.

Something thick and heavy stretched across the room. Like a fog. Only it was invisible. Caronwyn felt it, but she couldn't see it. It made her own glamour look piddling.

"Could she hear us?" Caronwyn asked, lowering her voice reflexively.

Iva shrugged. "I don't know. Probably not. But no precaution is unnecessary when it comes to her, so far as I'm concerned." She took another gulp of her wine.

"If you really oppose her, why haven't you done anything yet?"

The golden queen laughed bitterly. It was a strange sound. In Faerie, women that beautiful made music when they expressed amusement. Or when they spoke. Or did much of anything. But things were different in this dying land. Every sound they made was reminiscent of sighing trees casting off their dying leaves to be carried to the feet of those who never smiled. Or never meant it if they did. It made Caronwyn shudder.

"Truthfully?" Iva said. "Because I'm afraid. Aren't you?"

Caronwyn regarded her quietly, unsure whether to admire the woman's honesty, which she knew could not be taken for granted here, or despise her cowardice, and the way she so casually admitted to possessing such. It was like she saw no reason to be ashamed of it.

How did such a women get to be queen of a single court, let alone Autumn's matriarch?

Well, she was certainly powerful. Caronwyn had to give her that. Each of the handful of times she'd stood in the woman's presence, she'd witnessed unspeakable feats. Like a cloak ten times thicker and stronger than Caronwyn's best glamour.

But that made her inaction even more puzzling. Autumn's Matriarch might not be as powerful as Winter's---few were---but if anyone had any hope of resisting Daphne, it was her. Her and Titania, though the latter was an absolutely lost cause.

"That, and my niece assures me that she can deliver at least a few of the lesser houses in the Shadowed Glade," Iva continued. "I don't like waiting any more than you do, but some outside assistance would sure come in handy."

Caronwyn grunted. "We had the same thought."

Iva nodded. "I've also spoken to Summer's Matriarch."

"Flora?"

"Flori," Iva corrected. "But yeah, her."

"And?" Caronwyn asked. She decided she could use a drink of her own after all. A stone goblet appeared out of nowhere, also filled with red wine.

Iva dropped herself onto one of the sofas. By the time her taut bottom hit the leather, she was wearing faded blue jeans and a loose white top. One could almost think they were two old friends alternately complaining about the husbands and gossiping about girls they'd roomed with in college rather than powerful immortals planning the opening stages of what might well prove to be a protracted and devastating world-spanning war.

Caronwyn joined her, settling down gently atop the marble coffee table upon which Iva had propped her bare feet. She too had switched into jeans and comfortable top, though hers was brown and had long sleeves. Autumn's weather did not suit her.

"She's been doing her best to stave off a war with the Eternal Garden at the same time that she's trying to avoid Winter's subjugation," Iva said, chalice nestled against her full red lips. "I honestly have no idea how they're still standing, let alone independent." She took a quick sip then added, "I do not envy that woman."

In spite of everything, Caronwyn found herself smirking. She couldn't tell how much of Iva's nonchalance was an act, but it was somewhat amusing. Mostly frustrating. Incredibly, stupendously, frustrating. But there was something charming about it too. The woman reminded her, in a strange way, of the son she hoped to rescue. It was almost hard to believe she didn't have any fey blood in her, despite the lack of music to her voice.

"The Garden has a grudge against Summer?" Caronwyn asked.

Iva nodded.

"So I guess we can't count on them as an ally."

"Summer?"

"I meant the Garden," Caronwyn said, taking a tentative sip of her own wine. It was more acidic and bitter than she preferred, though she herself had conjured it forth. 

Her subconscious must have been in the mood for something a little more bitter. 

"But I suppose that goes for them both," she added, once her lips were done sneering.

"Maybe," Iva said with a mischievous smile that was very, very fey. "I've been thinking of telling my niece that it'd be an even bigger help for her to start another war between the Glade and the Garden than to send a few token forces our way."

"Well," Caronwyn said, both impressed and disconcerted by the woman's cunning. She supposedly wasn't one of Daphne's lackeys, but that was precisely the sort of cold, calculating thinking that Daphne supposedly excelled at. "I suppose there's some logic to that."

Iva gave her a skeptical look. It was, somehow, really alluring.

Caronwyn tried hard not to notice how beautiful the woman was. The fairness of her skin, the radiance of her hair, or the gleam of her plump red lips, to say nothing of how deep her dark eyes were. Like black holes that threatened to consume her.

When this was all over, she just might have to find out whether those ruby lips were as soft and kissable as they looked. But not until then.

She shuddered. Never before had she felt such desire for another woman. Not even her own daughters. But this golden queen of Autumn was something else.

"Some," Iva said, with a bemused grin.

"You think that would free Summer up to join forces with us?"

"Summer? I don't know," Iva said. Her words were casual, but her eyes were waging war. The gold woman stared so intently at her that Caronwyn almost felt violated. "Someone's got to stick around just in case. But Flori? Yes."

Caronwyn took another sip of wine, nearly spilling it on her brown shirt. She couldn't take her eyes off the other woman's. Those big brown pools were bottomless. She could stare into them forever and not uncover all their mysteries. The little flecks of gold, green, and amber were absolutely hypnotic. The dark lashes and thick eyeshadow framing those beautiful orbs, the latter of which was a bold shade of blue, did not hurt either.

Wait. She was using glamour on Caronwyn, wasn't she? 

Probably. 

She didn't sense any manipulation of her Libido, but as powerful and practiced at deception as the other woman was, that didn't really say anything. And she'd heard from various sources, both fey and local, that Autumn's Matriarch was partial to women. 

The funny thing was, even knowing that she was probably being seduced supernaturally, she couldn't help falling for it a little. The woman was that desirable. 

Or maybe just that powerful. Which was probably be a good thing.

"So that's the plan, then? We three lay siege to Winter, while trusting our families to protect the home front?" It didn't sound so ridiculous when she said it aloud. In fact, it almost sounded smart and strategic. They were none of them weak, after all, and they all had children to worry about. They couldn't take their whole families to war. Someone had to stay behind and look after the little ones. A lot of someones.

"Assuming you're on board," Iva said. 

Only a few dozen.

But they didn't seem worth expressing.

"A moonlit or sunlit assault isn't in the cards, huh?" Caronwyn asked, though she knew the answer. Even her mother had, before they'd sent their envoys. "Let alone a joint effort?"

Iva snorted. It was perhaps the least harmonious thing Caronwyn had ever heard. Yet she still ached to feel the woman's lips pressed against hers. To see if her breasts would look as big as they did currently once freed from her loose-fitting cami. 

Damnit. That wasn't what she wanted to be thinking about. Didn't the woman see that she already had the answer she wanted? That Caronwyn was plenty compliant already?

And then, just like that, the unwanted thoughts went away.

"Sorry," Iva said.

Caronwyn fumbled about for something to say, but ended up swallowing a mouthful of wine instead. She wasn't quite sure what to make of her new ally, except that she knew she needed her. Desperately. Taking umbrage at the unnecessary manipulation wouldn't help.

Besides, she couldn't put all the blame for her distraction on Iva. In truth, the woman was disarmingly beautiful. And rather well-proportioned.

"For what?" Caronwyn asked.

Iva favored her with a knowing smirk.

"So. You, me, and Flori?" 

Iva raised her eyebrows.

Caronwyn felt her cheeks redden. She hadn't meant that.

"Still not hearing any objections," Autumn's Matriarch said.

"Perhaps because I can't come up with any," Caronwyn replied.

"Hmm," Iva replied. "Well, then," she said, raising her glass in salute.

Cahill deserved better. A bigger, badder, invasion force. Rescue team. Whatever. Didn't he? Or would that just provoke greater resistance? Perhaps the three of them could slip in undetected and get their men out before Daphne even noticed? Or something.

She'd have to consult her talismans.

Later.

For the time being, she raised her stone goblet to meet Iva's gold chalice.