6 comments/ 8000 views/ 1 favorites Homelands Pt. 12 By: jdnunyer Author's note Part Twelve concludes the portion of the story set in Winter, and the series itself (at least for now). Be forewarned that a lot of questions are deliberately left unanswered, though the conflict with Daphne is not among them. I haven't yet decided whether I want to write about what comes next or whether I'd prefer to let you fill that in for yourself. This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. In fact, there is very little sex in this volume. As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. Either way, I'll try to respond in a timely manner. ***** When she first stretched out on the dead man's bed, Yvette's intention was merely to revel in the moment. To bask in how cold and powerful she'd become. But then she remembered that the fucker hadn't given her any information before pushing her to take extreme measures. Her body tightened up and she began to shake as she fought to hold her rage inside. Blood ran down her palms, headed for her wrists. She was stronger than him. Didn't the fact that she was still alive while he was melting into puddles on the floor prove as much? Yet, for all intents and purposes, he'd won. Inside Yvette, a wave built and built and built then fell away without cresting. The violent outburst she'd thought inevitable didn't come and release her from all the toxic energy inside her. Instead, her eyes watered and she began to sob. She wasn't strong. At all. No, in fact, she was quite weak. Shamefully so. Would her mother ever let her temper get the best of her like that? Had Lady Winter ever even felt white hot rage? Of course not. Nor would any true daughter of hers. So long as she remained a slave to her emotions, Yvette had no right to those trademark blue lips. In her mind, she watched them turn black. And the tears that soon rolled down her cheeks were the same color. As was only fitting. Did it help anything to lay there and cry, when she ought to be out looking for her brother? Or at least informing someone of her massive fuck-up? No. It did not. But she was capable of nothing else. Once she started, she couldn't stop. Emotions she'd thought buried so deep as to be nearly fossilized came back to the surface, and she began to hate herself for things she'd herself no longer capable of feeling guilt for. Yvette had become an unstable, frightful, sadistic monster. On top of that, she wasn't even any good at it. Which a better person might have been proud of, if her failings at least stemmed from an inability to set aside her conscience. But no, it was worse than that. She desperately wanted to be as horrible as her mother, she just lacked the self-control. But a girl could only cry for so long. After hours that might have been ten or fifteen minutes, Yvette climbed out of bed. Or, part of her did. All that was weak and sad and pitiful remained, lying still as the mountain beneath her. The rest of her moved weightlessly out into the hall. Where she found Oberon, accompanied by the strangest little woman. The fairy prince, like she herself, was made of mist. His form was wispy and insubstantial. Colorless. But his companion was cast in sharp relief. And hoarding all the color in all the worlds. She wore it in streaks through her pale blonde hair, and it danced in her mercurial eyes. Her lips were red then purple, green then orange, even an unearned blue, though only for a brief instant. Her nails flashed neon this and pastel that, darker shades appearing here and there for good measure. Strangely, though, her translucent chemise was plain white. "Who are you?" Yvette demanded. But the woman did not respond. She just looked at Oberon then jerked her head ever so slightly towards Yvette in a gesture that was instantly recognizable as a mother giving her son permission to go after the girl. That was when Yvette realized she was sharing his dream, and that the woman beside him had to be Titania, Queen of Faerie. Or, rather, his recollection thereof, conjured up by his subconscious to tell him it was okay for him to let her go. It was almost sweet, but mostly amusing. In a pathetic sort of way. Had her mother finally broke him? Or had she? Perhaps he'd heard what happened in Cahill's cell. And figured he might be next. Terrifying as her mother might be, she was also rational. But Yvette? There was a reason Lex Luthor looked as pathetic when compared to the Joker as Superman was to Batman. That, and Kevin Spacey had nothing on Heath Ledger. But the point was, she was unpredictable. Maybe that scared the little fairy. As it should. Who said she was a failure? She wasn't her mother, no, but that was okay. It took all sorts. Daphne had her style, and Yvette had hers, which was different but no less effective. "I understand my nephew made you a promise," Oberon said. Beside him, Titania smiled with metallic silver lips. Though why that should amuse her so, Yvette had no idea. Especially since she wasn't even there, but a figment of Oberon's subconscious, and he himself seemed anything but amused. There was less charm in his surprisingly deep voice than she expected. But no matter. She understood what was happening. He was going to offer to save her now, in hopes that she might spare him. If for no other reason than his fey nature, he'd even do his best to follow through on that. If she gave him half the chance. Somehow, Yvette managed not to snicker. "He did," she replied. "Are you going to fulfill it for him?" He nodded. Because of course. Damn, it was a good thing children of Winter weren't bond to honor their promises the way the fey were. Yvette couldn't even begin to imagine how restrictive that must be. Granted, since they all played by the same rules, it might not be so bad for them most of the time. When they stayed in Faerie. But here in the big leagues, they were crippled by their childish code. The sad, pretty little things. "You're so gallant and noble," she said, trying to sound the way young women always did in fairy tales. Like she had no reason for existing other than to reward whatever brave young man might rescue her from her distress. "But first, if we could just-" A sword larger than the man who wielded it appeared. Yvette shrieked. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she gave the order to run. But her body refused to execute it. She was frozen in place. Staring in shock as the steel rushed towards her. The bed was cold. Of course it was cold. She was in Winter. Beneath the mountain's surface. But wait. No. That might all be true, but she was the queen's own blood. Cold was not something she could feel, except at the hands of a trusted lover. She had to want to be cold. And why was she so wet? It felt like someone had thrown a bucket of warm water on her abdomen. Only water wasn't that heavy and sticky. Molasses? Would somebody throw- Then she saw her insides giving off steam, and she knew. Panic set in, and was promptly pushed aside. She poured every drop of energy from her Libido into her midsection, trying to mend the wound. Except it felt like she was trying to fill a sieve. Something, or someone, was siphoning it off. Yvette screamed. For all the good it did her. "Yes, it was a dream," a woman said. The wall rippled like the surface of a pond, swelled, and became Titania. She stepped away from it as smoothly as if her body and the cold stone had never been one. "I-" Yvette said. She couldn't finish the sentence. There was no strength left in her. Every word cost her another few precious seconds. What was there to say anyway? That she was sorry? That she didn't understand? What? Could it be more obvious? "That Frozen Cunt's not the only one who knows how to hit a mother where it hurts," Titania said, purple lips contorted into what nearly passed for a smile. "Nor is she any more a queen than I. She thinks I'm one of her subjects. But she's wrong." "Is this necessary?" Oberon asked, from right beside Yvette. How had she not noticed him? How had he gotten free? Was his mother really there? In the flesh? "Please!" Yvette gasped. If the woman would just stop disrupting her attempts to heal herself, Yvette would forswear her mother and all of Winter. Titania laughed. Yvette's last thought, as the black spots rushed in, was that it was strange how a sound so cruel and so mocking could still be so beautiful. ***** The shadow-master wasn't the weak link after all, Lena soon realized. At least, not in all the ways she'd assumed. The wolf, who could almost have passed for Lance if he'd been a little leaner and a lot lighter in the fur, had initially seemed like the dangerous one. But it wasn't his idea to make Lena talk by torturing Zach while she watched. That was shadow-boy's idea, and his doing. And once the questioning started, the wolf fell silent. He didn't turn his back, like the blonde one did, but he seemed to take no pleasure from it, the way her son's persecutor did. That one truly enjoyed his work, almost as much as Lena would when the tables were turned. As, of course, they would be, in time. The cruel delight she saw occasionally flash across his face made her want to rip his entrails out. Or throw him down and ride him cowgirl til he made her cum at least a dozen times. She was, after all, her mother's daughter. But that second impulse was surprisingly weak. Ordinarily, the sight of a man inflicting pain upon another would have driven her wild with lust. Even if his subject was her blood kin. Had it been Lance whose limbs were being stretched so hard that bones would soon pop out of sockets, she'd have felt almost indifferent. Enraged, yes, but amused and aroused as well. But the need to protect her son was something altogether different. Her motherly instincts refused to cede ground to her womanly desires and Wintry sadism. Especially because of the way he took it. Zach stared defiantly at their captors, the pain she sensed in his Libido, which was increasing at an increasing rate, almost completely absent from his face. And it was because of her, she knew. More or less. He certainly had no particular desire to give shadow-boy the satisfaction of seeing him in agony, but the icy ball in doing its best to absorb his pain was, at core, his desire to impress his mother. It was working too. Had she thought him weak? Feared that she might yet have to bare her throat to her mother? Well, then she'd been mistaken. No, he was no wolf. The queen was right about, as she always was about everything. But he was a proud and strong bear, who'd protect his kin with his life. Her, especially. Even though she'd done nothing to earn that. "Stop," Lena said. The shadow-worker and his wolfish overseer, who'd long since returned to the form of a man, regarded her quietly. Even blondie looked over a broad shoulder at her, though he went right back to ignoring them a moment later. "Don't," Zach said. "I can handle anything they've got." He stared directly into one pair of brown eyes then another. "And then some." Shit. No. No, no, no. She appreciated the testicular fortitude, but the last thing Zach needed to do was provoke them. And if he made the same mistake she did, they'd start working her over while he watched. Which she had no doubts she could handle better than her son could, but she feared that he'd offer them anything they wanted to make them stop. Or, worse, launch a surprise attack that would end very poorly for her only son. A snicker came from the wolfish one. Shadow-lover grinned, but didn't make a sound. That was worse, because the look on his tanned face told Lena that he at least wasn't all that eager to draw out the information they thought she and Zach could provide. Information that they probably thought was all that stood between them and returning to the pathetic courts they ought to be grateful her mother was trying to save. The bronze-skinned one was clearly itching to complete their mission and get gone, but the one sitting comfortably on the floor of the dark cave, using the shadows to slowly ratchet up the pain her poor son felt, was enjoying himself. The dial hadn't yet passed four, if she had to guess, and he looked like he intended to take his sweet fucking time turning it up to ten. Lena wanted to scream. At herself for letting them know just how hard it was for her to see her son suffer. At her son for tempting them to try something new, something that might actually work, without even realizing he'd done so. Most of all, at the three bastards who'd dared trespass on Lady Winter's court, let alone kidnap two of her children. Actually, what really made her want to scream was how powerless she felt. That was not something Lena was used to. Once upon a time, yes. Back in the Lodge. She'd nearly drowned one summer, and the feeling of helplessness she'd experienced that day would probably always be with her, no matter how long she lived. From that day forth, she'd hated the water. And warm weather. And, to some extent, her parents, who'd made her go in despite knowing that she was a terrible swimmer and all-around klutz. At the end of a week-long vacation in California, most of which had been spent in fancy hotels, shops, and restaurants, they'd driven out to the beach. "This'll be your last chance to say you've swum in the ocean," her mother had said. That hadn't convinced Lena, so her father threatened not to let her on the plane the next day if she didn't. That was not her favorite memory. Since arriving in Winter, though, she'd never feared anything or anyone. Well, except her mother. As anyone with any sense did, even those who did their best to please her. Yet here she was, watching a boy she ought not care quite so much about endure what was probably only a modest amount suffering and she was ready to fucking explode. What if he wasn't even her son? She didn't know that he was. Would that make a difference? Some. But maybe not that much. He was though. He had to be. The irony of it all was that there wasn't even much she could tell them. They hadn't believed Lena when she'd told them that a war was coming and that her mother intended to protect them all from the Garden and the Glade. And they might even have been right to call bullshit! But if that wasn't the truth, Lena sure as shit didn't know what was. Her mother never confided in anyone, after all. Except maybe Quincy, who hardly ever spoke. "What are you going to do when you've broken us and we still don't have another story to tell?" Lena asked, with just a touch of condescension. "Please tell me you've got some sort of plan for that. Because that's really, truly all I've got." "If nothing else, your mother will negotiate for your-" shadow-master began. Her laughter drowned out the rest of his sentence. "You'll be our battery then," he continued, speaking now through gritted teeth. She didn't need to ask what they meant by that. But Zach did. "Battery?" The shadowy one nodded. "When we get low on energy, we'll spread her legs-" "And I'll Devour you," she said. "That's a promise." "If I don't kill them first," her son added. "Guess we can't afford to wait until we're too low then," the little shit said with a sneer. "We'll have to top ourselves off a couple times a day." Did he think that would save him? That she wasn't far stronger than he was even at full strength? The three of them would be dead already, if it weren't for Zach. Probably. She had to admit, the wolf gave her pause. And not just because he almost looked like he belonged in Winter, what with that fair complexion, black hair, and thick fur. If his skin had been just a little paler, and his eyes blue rather than brown, he could have fooled Lady Winter herself into thinking he was one of them. None of which really mattered, but the time it had taken him to decide he didn't want to face six of her kitties at once had made an impression on her. Especially now that she saw he wasn't a rabid dog. Still, if the shadow-worker tried to take her energy, she'd take his life. He, at least, was far beneath her. If one of them knew how to seal someone off from their Libido, the way her mother did, then Lena would be in trouble, but if they did, they'd have done so already. And she'd never gotten the impression that many immortals knew how to do that. The wolfish one stared at her with those dark brown eyes. "You realize you've made a big mistake," she gambled. "You can't control me. Even through him." She jerked her head towards Zach as she said that last part. "In the end, I'm going to eat every one of you alive." The line came out so perfectly, she almost gave herself the chills. Too bad she only half-believed it. "Assuming my mother doesn't find you first, in which case you'll only wish I had." "All you have to do is tell us what your mother is really planning," the one sitting on floor said, as if anyone in that cave believed he'd be anything but disappointed if they did so before he'd had a chance to have his fun. "That, and open a way out of here." So they did know. Sort of. "I couldn't if I wanted to," she said. "You expect us to believe you're low in the pecking order?" the wolf asked. "I've killed enough of your brothers and sisters to know the difference." He said this so casually that Lena would have liked nothing better than tear his throat out. Maybe even before that of his dark-skinned, shadow-loving companion. "Maybe I am," she allowed. It made no difference if they knew that. "But you seem to think the queen entrusts her favorites with a whole lot more than she does. We're still kept in the dark. And are no freer to leave than you are." Why had she said it like that? It almost sounded like she wanted to. Which she didn't. Did she? If the three of them would let her go-her and Zach-and it was actually possible to leave Winter, wouldn't she? This was the only life she'd ever known, but the feelings her son was awakening both frightened and excited her. Could a snow leopard change her spots? Become a house cat? "Let him down," the wolf suddenly told his companion. "What?" came the reply. "Why?" asked the blonde tending the fire. "You believe her?" the shadow-worker asked. "No," the wolf replied. "At least, not yet." There it was. An admission that she just might be telling the truth. Or at least didn't know what her mother was really up to, if preparing the seasonals for a war against the ancients wasn't it. In this form at least, that one was pretty sensible. "But it doesn't matter," he continued. "This isn't going to get her to talk." He regarded Zach silently for a time, brown eyes traveling up and down the boy's form. "He's aching to prove himself to her. She'll squirm, sure, but she won't deny him that. And the whole ordeal will probably just strengthen the bond between them." "And as long as they've got that, they're going to hold out that much longer," shadow-boy finished for him, adding a sigh of resignation. Fuck. Neither one of them was stupid. The dumb ones were so much easier to deal with. They were going to work her instead. And then Zach would get himself killed. Lena almost summoned up her kitties then and there, but that would do her son no good. A moment later, he fell the cave floor, and still Lena didn't act. But she couldn't have said why. It certainly wasn't because she wanted to see where this would go. Because she held out some hope that this might end up being the start of a new life for her, somehow. One where she left all the cold and killing behind and went to sleep each night snuggled up against her son inside a warm house. Homelands Pt. 12 Zach let out of a woof, but picked himself up quickly enough. Then, without a word, he came and sat against the wall beside her. That drew no objection from their captors, which didn't really surprise Lena. They wanted her to think they were badasses, but she really didn't think they were. And she wasn't sure whether she pitied or envied them that. But more importantly, her son was close enough for her to smell him, to feel his Libido reaching out to hers, and that wouldn't last. So for the time being, she was going to savor it. "So. Now what?" the shadowy guy asked. "Nothing," the wolf said. Lena furrowed her brow. Whatever game he was playing, it was a strange one. "We separate them," he eventually added. "But do nothing else. Something tells me that will bother them just enough to make them want to talk, but not enough to make them do anything stupid. Come morning, we'll know whether they know anything more." Lena tried to act disappointed. It wasn't too hard, because he was right that it would hurt to be away from her son. But if there wasn't going to be any more torture, of the physical kind, she could bide her time until the three fuckers were convinced that she and Zach had passed their breaking point. She wasn't sure what would happen then, but she'd cross that bridge when they came to it. No sense risking her son's life unnecessarily. Especially since she lacked certain talents her mother possessed. Like the ability to raise the dead. "We'll take turns watching over them," the wolf said, looking from his dark-skinned companion to the blonde. "Two with her, one with him." "I'll go solo first," the blonde said straight away. That caught Lena's attention. Perhaps he was only slightly more fond of his companions than she was. It had been clear all along that the three of them weren't too close, but she hadn't realized just how uneasy he was with the other two. She shouldn't have made the mistake of devoting all her attention to the dark-haired ones. When next the opportunity presented itself, she'd have to drive a wedge between Blondie and the others. Neither of the others objected. Which was for the best. At least Zach would be in relatively good hands. If anyone was going to go off script, it was shadow-boy. Best he do so with her. Still, Lena reached out and gave her son's hand a quick squeeze. Because feeling his warm skin against hers, however briefly, was more soothing than she cared to admit. Once she was alone with the two dark-haired men, she felt like the world had ended. Like no one else drew breath save her. The brown eyes focused unfailingly on her might as well have been sheets of ice, their bodies rock formations. Eventually, she forced herself to push the ache aside. She'd reunite with her son in time. That much sooner if she played the two of them carefully. Which required her to learn more about who they were and what made them tick. "So what're your names?" she asked in precisely the tone of voice she'd have used if they'd bumped into each other at a party. They looked at each other. "Well, at least give something to call you. Make them up if you have to." "Goatlicker," the shadowy one said. Which was even better than the nicknames she'd come up with on her own. Or would have been, if it wasn't so obvious that he'd have liked nothing more than for her to giggle at it. His companion frowned. "Frank Orwin," he said. That drew a disapproving look from Goatlicker, but Frank didn't seem to care. Lena sort of admired him for that. What made him think he needn't fear retaliation against either him or his family, she wasn't sure, but perhaps if he'd been dealing with anyone other than her mother that confidence would have been warranted. Yeah, in a different life, he definitely could have been Daphne's. "Lena," she said with a fake smile. Because screw it, they had nothing over her. Even if she was, for the time being, their prisoner. They were right that she'd find it hard to bear being separated from her son, but that didn't change the fact that they'd grabbed the wrong fucking woman. "As bestiality goes, I'm more a wolf kind of girl than goat. But hey, no accounting for taste, right? And I suppose those horns give you something to hold onto." Frank snorted as the faintest of grins passed across his face. Goatlicker, though, was not amused. He stared at her like he was picturing his hands closing around her throat. "So what you're saying is that he should go first," Goatlicker said at last, jerking at thumb at Frank. "Suppose I can live with that." Frank scowled. He, at least, had understood what she'd meant. No, they both had. Goatlicker was just trying to get a rise out of her. Perhaps he was the weak link after all. The more she studied his face, the more convinced she became that there was some measure of intelligence behind those dark eyes. But so too did her sense that he needed to be in control. The more she teased him, and the more his attempts at doing the same fell flat, the more likely he'd be to offer her an opening. "Who's missing you guys right now?" Lena asked, the way she would guys who came in for a bachelor party. Like she was just making conversation, or giving them an opportunity to make sure she knew that other women found them attractive, when in reality all she was after was fueling their guilt. "I mean the most. Your mothers? Sisters?" Perhaps predictably, Goatlicker said, "My goats." Then spat on the floor. With a playful tone that suggested he might just understand her game, Frank said, "Both, I'd say. But that doesn't exactly put them in an exclusive club. Half the women of Autumn are thinking about me right now. The other half are making love to me in their dreams." Lena smiled. "I bet they are," she said. She didn't lay it on too thick, but some men might find their knees buckling if she spoke to them in that tone. The way she dragged her lower lip against her upper teeth was almost unfair. And she knew it had the intended effect. Maybe not to the degree she'd have liked. But it did. Even Goatlicker was staring at her with a little less hate and little more lust. "I really don't know anything more than I've told you," she said, dropping the act abruptly. Sticking with it a bit longer might have paid dividends, but not much. Besides, catching a guy off-guard was no less effective than getting him to lower it the way he was her panties in his mind. "And there's no way out. But if you let me couple with my brother a few times a day, I'll gladly spread my legs for you as well." "Oh come on," Goatlicker said with evident disgust. "How stupid does she think we are?" he asked Frank. Then, turning back to Lena, he added, "You just promised to Devour me if I ever tried to get between your legs. Now I'm supposed to think you'd be perfectly willing, so long as we let you get a bit of your brother's cock from time to time?" "He's good," Lena replied with a shrug. "What can I say." He wasn't, really. Not yet. But he had serious potential for one so inexperienced. And he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. That was it. The one thing he had to offer that Lance didn't. Well, aside from being more generous when it came to oral sex. But more importantly, when she was with her son, she felt like the only woman alive. And she hadn't even realized how intoxicating that was. How desperately she'd been craving just that feeling, for years and years. He might be a little too afraid to get rough with her, and he wasn't quite as you've-got-to-be-kidding-me hot as Lance, who despite being so impressed with himself that she'd never ever say as much where he could hear her, really was the perfect manifestation of male sexuality. But she could step out of her mother's shadow with Zach. And that was a singularly gratifying experience. Yes, she loved her mother. Or, at least, was unfailingly loyal. And duly afraid. But the thought of being something other than her servant held enormous appeal. Why couldn't Lena be the object of worship for a change? She didn't need a court, let alone three of them. Just one devoted subject, with a nice beard and blue eyes. "I'm sure he is," Goatfucker scoffed. Frank gave no reaction at all. She hadn't really expected anything else. But their responses were still somewhat informative. The impressions she'd had of them back in the palace appeared to be a bit wide of the mark. Yes, Goatlicker was the one to focus on, but not because he was reasonable whereas Frank was rabid, but because he couldn't stand letting someone else hold the reins. That made sense to her, but Frank did not. Had he been putting on a show back there? Or did he find it harder to control his baser instincts when he wolfed out? Lance got wilder when he went furry too, but she'd always assumed that was intentional. That her brother had just been playing the part. Besides, he wasn't all that tame to begin with. But maybe she was wrong about both of them, in every respect. They could just passing the role of bad cop back and forth. They were going to take turns watching over her and Zach, after all. And none of them seemed to be the clear leader. Maybe they did everything on a rotating basis. If so, she'd seriously underestimated them. But she hadn't become her mother's favorite daughter by failing to consider such possibilities. There was but one strategy that she'd found reliable in those rare instances where she found herself a position of weakness-change strategies so often that no one could possibly figure out what she was going to do next. "So. How about a game? Two truths and a lie?" Frank snorted. Goatfucker flipped her off. Still, she forged ahead. Because the confusion strategy didn't work if you didn't make at least some effort to sell each and every shift. "I'll start: I used to be a stripper; I have no piercings; and my favorite position is missionary." "The second one," Frank said after just a moment's hesitation. "I'm guessing your belly button, at the very least. But probably your nips and clit too." "Ha!" Lena said. "So you believe I was a stripper?" "Was that the lie?" he asked, brow furrowed. Her sense of triumph deepened. Not only had she fooled him with her statements, but by drawing him into the game in the first place. She supposed it was possible that he was just trying to let her know that he saw what she was doing and was still in control, the way he had earlier with his flip answer about the women of Autumn, but she didn't think so. If Goatlicker's weakness was that he needed to be in control, Frank's was his curiosity. "Nope," she said, popping the "p" the way cutesy teenage girls did. "You should've seen me. I worked that pole like a boss." Frank smiled and in spite of herself, Lena felt her pussy get wet. This was almost too easy. "But no ink or chrome for me." "Don't mess with perfection?" he asked. Lena shrugged. The look of pure hatred on Goatlicker's face only pleased her more. "I guess. That sounds good, doesn't it? But I probably would have if I'd stuck around longer." "Hmm," Frank said. "Your turn," she told him. Goatlicker stared daggers at him, and Frank yawned. At first, Lena thought that was feigned. But then she saw the guy's eyelids start to droop. She'd never seen anything like it. A moment ago, he'd been wide awake. Now, he looked like he wouldn't last another minute. Forty seconds, as it happened. "I know what you're doing," Goatlicker said. "And I know what you just did," she said, running a hand through her hair absentmindedly. "That wasn't smart. You need backup for what you're about to try." "Do I?" he asked, moving towards her. "Someone to tell me not to go too hard on you and your stupid brother? That's what you honestly think is in my best interests?" Lena almost laughed at him as she realized that he really saw himself as something more than a control freak. He thought he was taking a stand on behalf of their courts against the wicked Winter witch. The poor fool. Even more amusing was how quickly he'd decided to make his move. She'd expected it to take more time than this. Part of her had even hoped to get through this without having to kill any of them. But that had only been a small part. And she was glad he'd be the reason it didn't. Though she wasn't sure exactly he'd had in mind, she knew that if she baited the trap, he'd head straight for it. So she started throwing off pheromones like crazy as she got down on her back and slowly parted her legs. Meanwhile, the zipper of her dress undid itself. Sure enough, he began removing his own clothes as he fell atop her. He might have had murder on the mind before, but no longer. The look in his eyes was one of pure lust. If his hand found its way to her throat now, it would only be in the fun way. He might not know that she was a fan of erotic asphyxiation, but that didn't matter. He was rough. Nearly as rough as she liked it. And, yes, he cut off the supply of oxygen to her brain in the most delightful way, making every part of her body tingle. For an attempted act of rape, it came awfully close to being enjoyable. But once he realized she was sorta kinda into it, he started getting sweet with her. Kissing her on the lips, when she forgot to turn away. Cupping her breasts softly and tweaking her nipples so gently that she wanted to bite his tongue out. Knowing that it wouldn't upset him if she got off, that he'd feel validated, in control of the situation, she decided she was done playing games. Even if she was most of the way there and in desperate need of release. Her legs tightened like a vice and she made her womb as cold as could be. His prick turned into a fucking icicle and he gasped for air, eyes bulging out of their sockets. "I told you what would happen," she whispered in his ear. "Didn't I?" Her arms tightened around his shoulders and her thighs cracked his backbone. "Shouldn't have put him to sleep." The fucker tried to get another word out, but he ceased to exist before that could happen. Lena pulled him into her Libido, by way of her cunt, and immediately got a huge rush. It wasn't the first time she'd Devoured a man, but it was either the first in too long or he'd been stronger than she realized. Because the high she got as his energy forced her Libido to expand was indescribable. Her consciousness was divorced from her physical being. From everything. It was better than the orgasm he hadn't quite given her. When she returned to her body, Lena realized it had changed. Of course. That happened as they grew stronger, though typically that process unfolded more gradually. As did the acquisition of power. Her already slender waist had grown even thinner. A quick clench of her ass cheeks, pushing her up off the cave floor, told her she'd added some mass there. Which was fine by her, though she might have preferred that have happened to her breasts instead. A lot of guys liked bubble butts. Zach might even be one of them, despite his interest in Yvette. And she couldn't wait to see her face in a mirror. But even more important than any physical changes was the metaphysical one. She felt as though all of existence was humming, the vibrations in her Libido rippling across the fabric of reality. Had she ascended to the lofty heights upon which her mother was perched? No, probably not. But could she rip a hole in the membrane wrapped around Winter? Maybe. Or...maybe not. She pushed, poked, and sliced at. Then she tried freezing a patch and smashing it. But that got her nowhere either. It was im-fucking-pervious. But maybe if she joined her Libido to Frank's? The right thing to do, some lingering sense of fealty insisted, would be to turn them over to the queen. But she had no intention of doing so. Or of ever laying eyes on her mother ever again. An idea had bloomed in her mind like a flower, pushing up through the permafrost and thick layers of snow. She was her own woman now, and she'd not give that up. Her days as a snow leopard were in the past. She was Daphne's daughter no longer. Only Zach's mother and lover. And that was all she wanted to be. "Wake up," she told Frank, kicking him in the ribs. He groaned and stirred but did not wake. "Wake UP." Another kick. This time, he rolled away. And then looked up at who was doing the kicking and immediately transformed into a hybrid man-wolf-beast coated in black fur. "Where's Nick?" he demanded, using a mouth that was not accustomed to speech. "Was that his name?" Lena asked. She was impressed by the alacrity with which he changed. Lance couldn't do that, at least not when he was still half-asleep. Could he really be stronger than her brother? "Huh. You know, come to think of it, he didn't look like a Goatlicker." She smiled. "No, wait. I take that back. He really did." Frank growled. "Where is-" "I Devoured him, just like I said I would. C'mon, you're smarter than that." He curled his fingers out then in, again and again, dragging sharp knives through the cold air menacingly. But spoke not a word. "Something tells me you and I can come to an understanding, though." "You think you can seduce me?" Lena snorted. "Honey, I don't want your cock. I want to get the fuck out of this place. And so do you. If we work together, we can make that happen." She hoped. "What about the others?" Frank asked. "Zach comes with me. Blondie's your problem." He considered for a time, then nodded. That surprised Lena. She figured he'd come around eventually, but so soon? "And they say Winter's children are cold," she said with a grin. No response came, predictably enough. "So. How do we play this?" she asked. The look Frank gave Lena almost made her shudder. He could teach Lance a thing or two about brooding. She knew she could take him. Or at least, was pretty sure she could. But for a moment there, she was reminded of why she'd initially thought him the loose cannon. "We see if we can't tear a hole open," he said. "If that works, we go get the others." As he said this, he split in two. The second Frank then turned into Nick. Then a shadow-Nick, only partially corporeal. "I wait until you and Zach go through," he said, putting an odd emphasis on her son's name that seemed to imply that he thought she'd given him a false name, "before telling Eric what really happened to his brother." His brother? Lena would not have guessed that that Blondie and Goatlicker were related. "As you said, my problem," Frank said, with a look that almost made her feel sorry for him. What sort of flack would he catch for allowing her to escape after she'd killed Goatlicker? Lena couldn't believe she found herself caring about such things, but it was too easy to picture him as her brown-eyed brother. Until he said, "But if we can't get through, the deal's off." After a moment of stunned silence, she asked, "And if it doesn't?" He didn't answer, but the look on his face said everything. He'd decorate the inside of the cave with her blood and viscera, even if he might not take any pleasure in it. And she couldn't help thinking he just might pull it off. That look, so full of confidence yet tinged with enough regret or perhaps resignation that she had a hard time convincing herself that he was giving himself too much credit, simply paralyzed her. "Shall we then?" she asked. Frank nodded. There was no reason for her to feel so nervous as she took his hand. Even if the Libido she joined hers too was just as vast as she'd feared-slash-hoped. If things didn't work out...but they did. On the first try, Lena ripped a small tear in the layer surrounding Winter. ***** At first, Eric didn't believe what he'd heard. Homelands Pt. 12 Then, for a brief instant, he almost convinced himself that he ought not cleave the fucker in twain. Hadn't he himself started to wonder what his brother was becoming? Whether he could take Nick back home, should the opportunity ever present itself? But that was bullshit. Whatever had passed between them; however much he might have started to remind Eric of their father, or at least someone he'd ever again let his mother or Patty or any of his children within a hundred yards of unsupervised, the guy had still been his brother. And that meant that Mister Frank of House Will-Never-Win had no fucking right to pass judgment on him. To kill him. Which he basically had, so far as Eric was concerned. His brother was dead. More or less at the hands of their nominal ally. A man they'd braved the cold of Winter to find, for whatever stupid ass reason. Worse, the dick had lied to Eric only to then spontaneously come clean once Daphne's bitch and her runt were gone. Like he knew Eric would be upset but figured he wouldn't take it out on him. Because, what, they were best buds or something? FUCK. THAT. His great sword didn't even slip out of the little pocket universe he kept it in until he was halfway through his swing. That felt strange, but it was worth it, because Frank had no idea what was happening until it was too late to get himself out of the way. Unfortunately, he had incredible reflexes. The sword cut straight through his arm halfway between elbow and wrist. Which was good, but it should have split him in two. Worse, Frank was halfway through his transformation by that point. Not only did his thick and furry limb slow the blade down, but the enchanted, ultra-strong yet featherweight steel came to a complete stop after sinking a few inches into his hide. Despite all the energy, physical and otherwise, that Eric had put into the blow. Despite the fact that he'd just about convinced himself, not long ago, that he could slay a dragon with such a swing, if need be. Which he really could. He'd just lost some of his confidence because the whole Winter mission was such a massive fuck-up. He and his blade were one, though. And even if he wasn't as powerful as former Autumnal monarch, he sure as hell wasn't weak. The blue nimbus surrounding the blade intensified. Eric felt energy gush out of his Libido. His shoulders burned and his forearms ached, but he pushed and pushed, driving the steel up and in, towards the wolf-beast's intestines. Frank screamed in pain, grabbed the blade with his remaining hand, and tried to wrench himself free. When that didn't work, he slashed at Eric. He missed, of course, but the lazy blow succeeded in driving his attacker back. The next thing Eric knew, his blade hung free in the open air and a grievously wounded Frank was snarling at him from the other end of the cave while hurriedly growing his arm back. Shit. It only took him a few moments to do that. Once upon a time, Nick had lost his legs. It had taken him a helluva lot longer than that to recover, and he'd done so under the loving care of his grandmother, the legendary Flori Hardt. A forearm was not half one's body, but still. The asshole was apparently even more powerful than Eric had realized. Maybe even on par with Hank. "You had no right," he said, pointing his blade at the wolf. It glowed so bright now he wondered if maybe Daphne could see it from her tower. But he couldn't worry about that at the moment. Just then, he had more immediate problems. And the light seemed to give Frank pause. "How could you let her do that? And then help her escape?" "Because I want to do the same. And so do you," the wolf growled. "And however ill-gotten her strength might have been, she was the only one who could make that happen." "You don't know that," Eric said. What was wrong with him? It didn't even matter if he was right! "Plus? Fuck you anyways. Asshole." He spat on the ground and tried not to notice how quickly his saliva froze. Yes, he wanted to leave this place. But at what price? That was when they both felt the tear in the middle of the cave start to suck in air. As it began to close. "I'm going through," Eric said, thoughts of his mother suddenly dancing through his head. Her, and their beautiful children. His sister too, but Gabby most of all. "You're not." Frank didn't even argue. Just growled. Eric kept the tip of his sword leveled at his onetime ally, like the point of a gun, as he slowly advanced towards the shrinking hole. "I hope you die here." "Nice knowing you too." Strange how he spoke with that muzzle. His speech didn't sound normal. But it came a lot closer than made any sense. Somehow, that only made Eric hate him more. "If I ever see you again, I'll finish what I started." "You'd be welcome to try," Frank said, returning to his own body in what Eric took for a taunting show of dominance. Like the bastard didn't even consider Eric enough of a threat to justify the need for teeth and claws. Of course, he was right to think so. But only because Eric would miss his one and only opportunity to reunite with his family if he didn't get gone right soon. Was it terrible that his thirst for vengeance had suddenly dissipated? Perhaps a little. But only a little. After all, Nick had done things to Eric that he preferred not to think about. Out of necessity, perhaps, but the guy had still grown all too comfortable manipulating others. Making decisions for them that they alone had any right to make. Maybe it was best if Summer remembered him as a hero. One who'd died fighting the forces of Winter. Maybe even saving Eric's life. "I'd just like to remind you, though, that he was going to rape her," Frank said. "After he knocked me out. The guy who was supposed to be watching his back, so that she didn't try anything like that." He sounded so disinterested, like it didn't matter to him if Eric believed him or even stuck around long enough to hear all he had to say. That irritated Eric further. But made his words harder to ignore as well. "I get that you need someone to blame, and she's not here anymore, so that doesn't leave you too many options. And, yes, I let her go. But I did not let her kill your brother. That much, he brought on himself." He should have replied to that, somehow. But Eric found he had nothing to say. So he bent low and slipped through the hole, leaving Winter behind without any parting words. ***** Iva felt the membrane close back up as soon as they passed through it. The others somehow didn't, though. Not even Caronwyn, who was hardly weak. Hardly weak? The woman had brought the freaking dead back to life! She was stronger than Iva's mother had ever been. Apparently, at some point, Iva had reached a place where she could look at someone like that and still think they were one or two steps below her. And not be wrong. Which was kinda scary. Odd, too, in a way. She could still remember a time when Caronwyn would have awed her. When hearing that the woman had revived not only her daughter, but her sister and her son as well, would have left Iva speechless. Or maybe given her the idea try bringing her mother back the same way. But no more. On either count. She wasn't sure whether it was possible to bring back someone who'd been Devoured. But she didn't really care to find out either. More and more, she'd come to realize that Kaitlin was responsible for all that had gone wrong in her life. No, that wasn't quite fair. She herself was responsible. But her mother had been there by her side, pointing her in the wrong direction when she ought to have been talking sense into her. It was because of her mother that she'd come to hate her one positive role model, a man who'd rejected Iva because he'd been told he wasn't good enough for her, not because he didn't consider Iva good enough for him. And who'd told him that? His wife, of course. The same woman who'd convinced Iva to imprison House Orwin, then banish them to their own court. To ally Autumn with Daphne. And make so many other terrible decisions. Some part of her would always love her mother, who for all her failings had also taught Iva to be strong and independent and to believe in herself, but that didn't mean she wanted her back. Setting all that aside, Iva should have been in awe of the fey beauty and what she'd accomplished. But she wasn't. She liked Caronwyn well enough, and was confident the woman would contribute more to the mission than either of the ones Flori Hardt had sent in her stead. But she didn't affect today's Iva the way she would have a younger version. Which was...weird. Good, maybe, but also weird. "So we can't leave?" Jennifer Hardt asked, eying Iva skeptically. Gabriella shrugged, as if the question had been directed at her. Which seemed to be how things went with those two. Iva had been a bit surprised at first to learn that they'd once been married, but the more private conversations they had like that, saying so much without speaking a word, the more she believed it. "Can we trust her?" the brunette might as well have asked the statuesque blonde. "I don't know," the latter had essentially replied. And not without reason. Even Caronwyn, whose trust she'd thought she'd made some real progress towards earning, seemed to be entertaining the possibility that Iva just might be trying to trick them. Iva sighed. The other women looked like they were about to call an emergency meeting of the G-3 in order to discuss whether to trust her. And she couldn't even blame them, even if their reason for doing so was mistaken. They ought to believe her about there not being a way out. That she was every bit as interested in putting an end to Daphne's reign as they were. But they shouldn't be treating her like their de facto leader. Or even an equal. In a sane world, she'd still be stuck in the Forgotten Tower, where she couldn't let anyone down. Couldn't fuck things up any more than she already had the day she'd come of age. "Okay, so can we at least find somewhere to gather our thoughts?" Gabriella asked as a strong wind blew up the mountainside, throwing snow and ice into their faces. Though she'd dressed more or less appropriately-wearing camo utility pants and a matching jacket, combat boots, leather gloves, a green long-sleeved T, and a camo ball cap-she was from Summer. "It's, you know, preeeetty cold out here." Caronwyn, who wore the same druidic robes she always wore but seemed entirely unaffected by the elements, looked a question at Iva. Who sort of wished she shared the mountaintop with no one else besides the fey woman. Flori's help, they could definitely use. But Jennifer and Gabriella? They were more likely to prove a hindrance, she feared. Or worse. Damn it, if she'd wanted a larger force, one more prone to drawing unwanted attention and staffed with those who had little chance of holding their own against Lady Winter, she'd have picked a few winners from Autumn as well. On the other hand, she couldn't risk offending Summer's Matriarch. Odds were, this was just the beginning of a long, hopeless campaign. And they'd need all the allies they could get. Even those who couldn't stand the cold. She drew a deep breath. There was no time to dwell on all the other ways in which the situation was less than ideal. Too many people were depending on them. Time to grow a pair of ovaries and act like the woman she was, rather than the scared teenager she felt like. At least the woman wasn't questioning her loyalty. At the moment. A small, one-room cabin formed around them. The air inside was warm and the oak walls would be entirely invisible to anyone on the outside. Maybe even Daphne herself. A fire blazed in the hearth beside Gabriella, who let out a sigh of relief as she stretched her hands in front of it. Jennifer did much the same, though without making as much noise. "What's the plan?" Caronwyn asked, stepping close. Iva tried not to notice how good the woman smelled. She might have grown powerful enough to think the Caronwyn something less than her equal, but she still had urges. And the redhead was gorgeous. Shapely too, however much her outfit might hide it. But those were things she'd have to wait until later to worry about. Assuming there even was a later. Of course, if there was, she'd want to celebrate with her son. As she should. Which was fine. Iva had...well, no one, but whatever. That, too, was besides the point. "You tell me," Iva said. "I'm not the one who casts talismans." Caronwyn blushed. "Well. I don't know if it meant-" "Whatever it means, we've got to find the golden fiddle," Jennifer cut in as she removed her leather gloves. Why the woman had chosen to dress like one of the agents from The Matrix, Iva wasn't quite sure, but it made her look pretty awesome. In a gender-bending way that Iva would ordinarily be totally down with. On the other hand, it also gave the impression that she saw the whole affair as a chance to indulge in some cosplay. There was a fine line between expressing yourself and not taking things seriously. She hoped the woman was on the right side of that line, but she wasn't sure. Her demeanor was deathly serious, but Iva still had her doubts. It didn't help that she was so weak. Even setting aside Iva's somewhat warped standards, the raven-haired woman was somewhat less than impressive. Which would be fine, if this was a social gathering. But it wasn't. They were invading Winter, in hopes of rescuing the previous expeditionary force. No place for amateurs, in other words. "How many can there be anyway?" Jennifer continued. "Seriously," Gabriella said. "You probably trip over them all the time, and silver flutes and ruby harps and whatnot, in Faerie. But I'm guessing it's a bit different here in Winter." Iva gave Caronwyn a sympathetic look. Because the ladies of Summer were giving her a hard time unnecessarily. Not because any excuse to look at those full, red lips was a good one. Nope, that had nothing to do with it. The druidess frowned. "It's not that. I'm sure we'd know it if we saw it, but there's no guarantee it even exists. I mean, the readings have too often been reliable for me to discount them entirely, but they're...it's just complicated," she said with an exasperated sigh. "We don't have time to get into it. Let's just say I'm at least one-third a fraud." "So two-thirds legit?" Gabriella asked. "I'll take those odds." "Me too," Iva said, daring to give Caronwyn's hand a squeeze. "I said at least-" she replied. If she'd noticed Iva's gesture of solidarity, she gave no indication. Which was probably just as well. "That's not the point," Iva said. No part of her mental energy was being spent worrying about how good she looked in her color-reversed, all white SWAT uniform. Whether it had been a mistake to turn her hair platinum blonde rather than sticking with her usual deep gold. Because she was all business. "We've got nothing else to go on. We either look for that, or we go straight to Daphne and negotiate from a position of weakness." "Wait, who said anything about negotiating?" Gabriella asked. A combat rifle appeared in her hands. "I say we just put the bitch on ice." Jennifer threw a sidelong glances at her ex-wife. "You did not just say that." "Please tell me I'm not the only one taking this seriously," Caronwyn demanded. Wonderful. So the humorless air she had about her was just part of the costume after all. As Iva had feared. Jennifer's handsome face returned to a neutral, expressionless setting almost as soon as the words left her lips, and her tone hadn't exactly been light-hearted, but Iva still found it less than reassuring. But they didn't need to get into a contest over who was the most focused . "Maybe you should tell us more about the talismans," Iva suggested to Caronwyn. "What they told you, and what that might mean. Even if you have to get into all the reasons why you think you're one-third a fraud." The fey woman regarded her quietly for a time then nodded and pulled her hood back before launching into monologue. It was long and meandering, filled with details even Iva wasn't sure were relevant. But for the most part, it served to get everyone back on the same page. And to give Iva a sense of what the talismans might have been trying to say. Though she realized it wasn't actually the talismans speaking. Iva was pretty sure Caronwyn was exactly right to say that the fey were just like other immortals, except that they thought they weren't, which ended up making them different after all. She'd never thought much about it before, but it made sense. Belief was a powerful thing. Even when it wasn't entirely sincere. Caronwyn's powers differed from those of the other women only because she'd played that part for so long that she'd come to think of herself as a druidess. But so what? She still had abilities no one possessed. And the information she'd gathered when performing her ritual, arbitrary though it might be, was legit. Iva was sure of it. Whether the woman herself was or not. "Tell me again," Iva said, "what sorts of mag-err, glamour-can music perform? Could the instrument be a means of control? Of keeping us all trapped inside Winter?" Caronwyn fretted at a lower lip as red and ripe as a strawberry. "I guess I'm not explaining it well. Glamour's no different from what you all do. Well, it is, but it isn't." "And music?" Jennifer asked, a little more patiently than Gabriella would have, but not by much. The way she nudged her sunglasses down the bridge of her beak of a nose with one finger was hella intimidating. Or, would have been, if Iva wasn't so frustrated with the woman's misplaced priorities. "Any limits on that?" "Music is like...a microphone," Caronwyn said. "Okay, that's a terrible metaphor" She made a sound of disgust which Iva hoped everyone else realized was targeted at herself, not Jennifer. "But the point is, you can use it to magnify anything. Anything." She let that sink in for a moment. "Could it be the key to taking down the dome? Or membrane, or whatever it is? Sure. Or it could help her be in ten places at once, the way we all know she does. Or it could just make really pretty music." She stared at them like they were children, and Iva half-expected her to point out that she'd seen instruments used for that very purpose. "Does the glamour it magnifies need to have an emotional basis?" Iva asked. The druidess frowned. "That's a good question, actually," she said. "I think it works best that way, but no, I don't think it has to." She ran a hand through her beautiful red hair. "I don't know. I wish Cahill was here." Iva winced. She hadn't meant to remind her of the son who was probably enduring some horrible form of torture as they stood around talking. "Okay. So we don't know why it's important, but we've got to assume that it is. Do you think you can locate it?" "Me?" Caronwyn asked. "With your talismans?" Gabriella gave Jennifer a look. If they thought Caronwyn was the one dragging things down, they were sorely mistaken. Iva was tempted to tell them so, but she held her tongue. "I think they've told me all they're going to." Iva considered pressing her on it, but decided not to. Her talents were better suited to reading Libidos, but she supposed she could at least give it a try. Besides, the greatest limits on what she could do were those she chose to accept. She was a massive fuck-up, who'd let her mother talk her into some truly terrible mistakes. Who'd tried and tried to win the affections of a sister who was only interested in their brother. Iva's real father, though she preferred not to think about that. Who'd very nearly killed the one and only person who'd ever made any attempt to understand who she was really was. Who very appropriately judged the more violent aspects of her personality, but accepted everything else about her at face value, even the parts her sister wouldn't or couldn't.