Rhapsody: Child of Blood

41

From across the street Ashe watched the proceedings, first in amazement, then amusement. Whatever was beneath the hood of the remarkable creature in the gray mantle had clearly stunned the street merchant, but the woman had not seemed to notice.

The tradesman was standing, mouth agape, and staring intensely from the moment he had looked up inside her hood, while she continued about her business. Ashe’s dragon senses wondered if she might be hideous, but he could make out no deformity or injury at this distance. He would have to see for himself what the commotion was about.

Whatever it was about, the commotion was growing. Ashe was not easily rattled, but he was somewhat taken aback when the two oxcarts slammed into each other. The drivers obviously had been able to see what their vehicles had obscured from him—she had pulled down her hood a few seconds before the accident occurred.

Whatever else she was, she was agile; a second after the moment of impact she was under the table, rescuing it and its owner from the collision, then helping set things to rights before ambling off again.

She made her way down the street, oblivious of the havoc she was causing, as tradesmen and soldiers, farmers and peasants, women and men alike stopped and stared after her, some of them dropping their belongings. Ashe’s hand came to rest casually on the hilt of his sword as he turned to follow her with his eyes as long as possible, but all he could make out was a glint of sun-colored hair and a flash of agony shot through Ashe, twisting his stomach and nauseating him, originating at his scrotum, which had been violently wrenched to one side and had gone numb in preparation to experience excruciating pain.

In the moment of shock that preceded the wave of misery he knew was coming, his hand lashed out and seized the wrist of the young girl whose fingers still encircled his testicles. He felt the bones of her wrist grind as he squeezed with a crushing force, freeing his genitalia just before the incapacitating sensation coursed through him and made him gasp deeply.

The offending hand belonged to a young pickpocket, a girl of about sixteen, who had inadvertently mistaken his balls for a coin purse while attempting to raid his pocket.

Normally Ashe was immune to any sort of problem of this nature; between his dragon sense, his speed, and the near-invisibility afforded by his misty cloak, those who would bother him in any way would be unable to get within arm’s reach of him. The depth to which he had been distracted by the strange vibrations of the gray-cloaked woman had allowed him to be vulnerable for the first time to this form of attack.

The girl cried out in pain as he gripped her wrist even tighter and dragged her back as she started to run, lifting her off the ground.

She was tall and thin, with long, unkempt hair the color of winter straw, and Ashe allowed himself the involuntary mental check he made unconsciously any time he was near a blond woman; he pulled her within visual range and looked down at her. Her eyes, staring up into his hood in abject terror, were a pale, watery blue, and he noted, as he always did, that this could not have been who he hoped.

An ugly, guttural snarl escaped him; it was the only noise he was capable of making at the moment, compromised as he was by her actions an instant before. The pallid eyes widened in fear, and Ashe felt his jaw clench in preparation of his utterance of vicious threats. But as he struggled to control his fury for fear he might kill the street wench, he felt pressure, this time of a different nature, against the wrist of his other hand.

“Kindly unhand my sister, or I will unhand you.”

For the second time that morning Ashe had been caught off guard, and it both astonished and infuriated him. The dagger blade that now lay along his wrist had been put there without his notice, mostly due to the throbbing pain that threatened to cause him to vomit. The knife was pressing deep enough to serve as a warning without drawing blood yet.

He turned in fury to the other assailant, and felt his mouth drop open like those of the people he had been watching on the street a moment before.

Beneath his swimming gaze was undeniably the most beautiful face he had ever seen, or even heard tale of. Most incredible among all its exquisite features were two emerald green eyes, kindling in anger to the color of pale spring grass, glaring at him with a fury that superseded his own. Framing the elegant face were tendrils of hair that gleamed like gold in a smelting fire; had it not been restrained within its hood it would likely have outshone the winter sun.

The dragon blood within him danced in excitement. I want to touch it. Pleas; let me touch.

Ashe beat back the urge, but had to concentrate to force his mouth to close, and gave silent thanks for the anonymous cloak and hood that were both the bane of his existence and his saving grace, particularly in situations like this.

Realization that she couldn’t see his face gave him sudden confidence, so he tempered what would have been his normal reaction and took a deep breath. When he did, he inhaled her scent, and felt his head grow weak with the pleasure of it. He struggled to keep his voice under control.

“I don’t know why you are snarling at me,” he said. “I’m not the one who transgressed.”

“You are hurting my sister, and if you don’t desist immediately I will return the favor.” The blade of her dagger bit a little deeper, but still did not pierce his flesh.

Good pressure control, he thought with a tinge of admiration. He released the girl, who remained staring up into his hood. To remedy that situation he moved away slightly, closer to the beautiful woman. She removed her dagger from his wrist, but continued to glare at him.

“My, aren’t you impressive,” she said sarcastically. “Don’t you have anything better to do than assault young girls in the street?”

Ashe’s jaw dropped again. “Excuse me?”

She turned to the street wench. “Are you all right, Jo?” The girl, still staring at him blankly, nodded. “It’s a lucky thing for you she’s not hurt.”

Ashe could not believe this was happening. Never in his life had he felt at such a loss to control a situation; in fact, he was having a hard time forming a coherent sentence.

“Your sister—your—whatever she is, your friend, tried to pick my pocket.”

The beautiful woman glared at the girl, but said nothing.

“And she missed,” he said, punctuating the last word for emphasis. “She reached in and felt what she thought was a coin purse, then tugged on it most ungraciously—tried to yank it free from my trousers, in fact.”

His ears began to burn; he could not believe he was having this conversation at all, let alone in the street and with a complete stranger. The otherworldly quality of the woman’s gorgeous face had totally unhinged his tongue, and it was flapping as though in a high wind.

The woman cleared her throat, and when she removed her hand from her mouth a slight smile remained behind.

“Let me guess; it wasn’t a coin purse.”

“No.” His tone was pointed.

She glared at the girl again, who seemed to wither at her glance. Then her gaze turned back to him, and she sighed. There was music in the exhalation of breath, a music that Ashe could feel in the tiniest hairs on the back of his forearms.

“I’m very sorry,” she said, her emerald eyes twinkling with effort to remain serious. “I hope there was no major damage done.”

“It’s a little early to tell,” he said ruefully, feeling the throbbing pain begin to subside and the nausea abate a little.

“Nonsense,” the woman said mischievously. Her hand shot out like a flash into his cloak and cupped his testicles.

Ashe felt his mouth drop open. Normally someone would have gotten as far as the mere thought of doing what she had before his reaction stopped them; his agility was thus far unsurpassed by anyone he had encountered in his 154 years. But here she stood, this enchanting thing, with his balls in her hand, smiling up at him before he had a chance to take a second breath.

She gave his genitals a gentle pat, sending waves of frenetic, if pleasant, shock through his entire body, and blood to many places she could not currently see but might be aware of momentarily. Then she bounced them carefully in the palm of her hand, her face intent on the reaction of their elasticity; at least, he hoped that was what she was gauging.

He knew he should ferociously order her to stop; had it been anyone else there would have been no point in speaking, as the dead can’t hear well. But again he said nothing, partly because he hadn’t recovered yet from his abject state of surprise, partly because he didn’t want her to.

Just as the reaction to her touch was beginning, she removed her hand. “They seem fine to me,” she said, her eyes sparkling wickedly. “Is the feeling returning yet?”

“The feeling was never gone; that was not the problem,” he said, attempting to match the humor in her tone. “But you could say that it has changed.”

Arousal was coursing through him now. He was extraordinarily uncomfortable with all this taking place on the street, and in particular with his stupid, moonstruck reaction to it. Then words came forth from his mouth, unbidden—words that must have been spoken by someone else, for surely they never would have come from him.

“They really need a more thorough examination.”

The beautiful woman laughed, and her laughter had the ring of wind chimes to it. The dragon’s interest piqued again, and it fought to emerge.

Let me touch it. I want to touch it.

He struggled to hold it down, but for the first time since he had entered the bazaar the dragon wanted the same thing he did.

A cold sweat broke over him as he had a dual realization. First, he knew that the dragon’s unpredictability and voracious appetite for whatever it desired made him dangerous at the moment. Before he might stop himself it was possible that he would take her right there in the street, which would surely be the death of both of them.

Second, and far more disturbing, he knew that he didn’t care. He wanted to let his senses run rampant over her, learning, in the time it would take for her heart to beat twice, every intimate detail about her. It was becoming more clear that he was going to. He fought it, but his twin nature defeated him before he even put forth a half-hearted effort.

I want to touch that. I want that; So do you.

The magnificent face broke into a dazzling smile. “Well, I’m glad to see you’ve recovered your sense of humor, at least. With any luck the rest will return momentarily. I apologize to you, sir, on behalf of my sister, and ask your pardon. We’ll be on our way and out of yours now. Come along, Jo.” She wrapped a protective arm around the shoulders of the younger, taller girl and began to lead her away.

“Wait,” he said. The word tore forth from his throat before he could stop it. She turned back to him.

As she turned her hair caught the light; even under the hooded cloak she wore the glint of gold was obvious. She blinked, and as the long black lashes touched the bottom of her deep green eyes, the dragon rushed forward again, straining against his will.

I want to touch that.

She could be a servant of the demon, Ashe thought, his resistance crumbling.

I want to touch that.

Yes, he thought silently, succumbing.

It began like a rapid boiling in the pit of his stomach, awareness rising with the temperature of his skin and the frequency of his respiration. Then, like the repercussion of a bowl of finest crystal falling onto cobbled stone, shattering in a final, terminal puff, clarity of sight and sound and mind followed, dilating his pupils and making his skin conduct electrical impulses of the tiniest frequency. His blood surged, primed for discovery, and his muscles knotted throughout his body to withstand the rush of his newly dominant nature.

The dragon roared forth, consuming him internally, taking the reins of control away. With a mind and sense born of the elements that made up the fabric of the universe, it expanded its awareness to the outward limits of its reach, making note of all things within a five-mile radius down to the most infinitesimal detail. The total number of lenses in the eyes of the ants within the cracks of the city streets was as evident to him as the state of the weather. That awareness then centered on the woman before him, to the exclusion of everything else.

First the dragon sought to find and define the source of the odd magic that emanated from her. It was singular, different from the two other sources, which were also unrecognized, and unique.

There was a music to her that touched every nerve in the dragon’s mammoth network of senses, a song that came forth from her and was tied to the world around her; she must be a Singer of great power or potential, she might possibly even have attained Namer status. Though he himself knew nothing of the art of music and its use in other forms, he was fully cognizant of what power lay in it, and it made him crave to touch her more deeply, to learn this lore, to take it, even.

There was more to it, an exquisite blend of other elements. He could sense she was out of time and space, but wasn’t sure what that added up to. The concept excited him greatly; possibly she was only prescient, with the ability to see into the Future, but more than likely she was in fact Cymrian. There was a strong air of it about her, but that could be deceptive as well. There was more, but it was unknown to him; he assumed she was somehow tied to fire, the one element he couldn’t recognize, being void of it himself.

Her physical form was a jubilee of observations. The outer edges of his senses swept over her, unabashedly drinking in all the information he could receive about her physical makeup. The heavy cloak by which she shielded her body from the eyes of the public was irrelevant to him, as were her clothes.

She was robustly healthy; the signature from her physical form swelled with life and energy and a surprising muscularity, given her size and stature. She was very small, even for a woman with Lirin blood, but her body was long and willowy, giving her a sense of height she did not merit. The lines of her figure were lithe; she was perfectly apportioned, with narrow shoulders, long arms, and longer, exquisite legs, the incredible beauty of which even the casual wool pants could not contain.

In addition to the sleek, long legs, her torso was long and slender, as was her beautiful neck. He found himself staring at the curving indentation at the hollow of her throat, imagining caressing it with lazy, warm kisses, breathing her in there.

That neck tapered down to a bosom that was in keeping with the rest of her, with breasts that were graceful and small, but perfectly formed. It was a good thing he could only sense their shape; he knew that the sight would reduce him to a quivering mass, mist cloak or no.

Her abdomen was slender and flat, and Ashe knew he could easily span her waist with both of his hands. She had the slim hips typical of the Lirin build. With great difficulty he stopped his physical assessment of her before his senses swung around behind her; he was afraid of what might happen if he allowed himself to continue.

Besides, the unpleasant side effect of such a search was that the longing welled up in the corresponding places to those he had concentrated on; his lips were beginning to burn when he imagined kissing the hollow of her throat, his fingers stung at the thought of caressing her waist. Since the dragon required satisfaction to calm itself completely, he was buying a lifetime of permanent, though minor, discomfort if he never had the opportunity to touch her as he imagined. Given how well he was doing with her so far, he was unwilling to risk it, despite the fact it could never compare to the agony he carried anyway.

For that reason, he forced the examination to stop here, before he turned to the shining hair that peeked out from under the hood. From what little he had seen already, he knew he would be helpless if he let himself think about it at all.

To keep himself from becoming even more entranced with her than he already was, the dragon searched for flaws, any imperfection that would prove she was real. Ashe found it on her fingers. They were well formed and soft, but the tips were hardened with dry calluses, owing to years of playing at least one stringed instrument. It was the only imperfection he could find.

The man, subservient by choice to his own dragon sense, shivered as the dragon’s senses explored her more.

Her face was crafted as though by an expert sculptor lovingly working a lifetime on a masterpiece he would one day finish and commit to humankind. The features were all in perfect harmony with the possible exception of the large, deep-green eyes. They were fringed with thick black lashes and were intense in their colors, the whites very white against the dark green contrast. They sparkled with a light of their own; they were hypnotic, and even the dragon had a difficult time pulling away from them.

She’s perfect, it said in ringing tones, inaudible to all but Ashe. I want her.

But behind the fascination of the dragon was the interest of the man. What appealed to him about her was altogether different. He could see that she was comfortable in her own skin, and confident, but if she had any idea as to the staggering nature of her own beauty it wasn’t apparent in any of her outward signs.

She had a gentleness in her eyes that pulled him in, but only so far; there was pain there, too, pain the depth of which he could not even see a bottom to. He found himself wishing he knew what it was that troubled her so greatly, and knew he would go, without request, to the end of the Earth to find her the solution to it. When she laughed her eyes laughed first, and when she was angry, they were the bellwether of that emotion, too. Everything he was—secretive, solitary, hidden from sight—she was not. There was an openness to her that he envied, that he wanted to touch.

She is untouched, a virgin, whispered the dragon excitedly. Perfect. But within his subjugated awareness the man knew something more. There was a sensuality about her, too, an obvious knowledge of the charms of the flesh that bewildered him utterly. A virgin with the enchantments of a courtesan. It was too fascinating; she was a true paradox. He wanted to know more. His mind reached out to the Future.

As clearly as he saw her now, attired in traveling clothes and a soft gray hooded cloak and mantle, he could see her in her wedding gown, smiling at him, flowers in her hair. He allowed the fantasy to run further and pictured her in her wedding night peignoir, and could feel the heat rise to his face. He saw her cradling their child, and their grandchild. He could imagine her bent with age but unbowed, still beautiful; his throat tightened as he saw her in her shroud, white film netting covering the amazing eyes, closed now eternally.

The eyelashes returned to their open position. “Yes?” she said. His dragon sense abated; his research was all accomplished in the blink of an eye, a verdant green eye.

“Why don’t the two of you join me for lunch?” he said lightly. “Just to show there are no hard feelings.”

The woman’s eyes sparkled wickedly. “If there are no hard feelings, either I didn’t do it right, or you are more grievously injured than I thought.”

He laughed. “Maybe it’s just because I didn’t pay first.” The beautiful eyes opened in shock, then narrowed in anger. “Excuse me? What are you implying?”

Ashe knew immediately he had made a huge tactical error. “Nothing—I’m sorry, I was only kidding. I just think you’re lovely enough to turn quite a profit as a courtesan.” He winced; now the hole he was digging for himself was even bigger.

“You think I’m a courtesan?”

“No, not at all, I—”

“How dare you. Come along, Jo.”

“Wait—I’m very sorry, please; don’t stalk off.”

“Stand aside.”

“Look, really, I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out of the way.” The woman glared daggers at him, and guided the girl away and back toward the town square, keeping herself between them. He felt a wave of deep despair wash over him as they walked away, and whatever fear that she was a demonic minion that had remained vanished. He remembered that she had responded to humor, so he made a last-ditch effort.

“Does this mean we won’t be having lunch?”

She whirled in the street. “Given the size of your coin purse, I doubt you would be able to treat both of us. In fact, you would be lucky to pay for yourself.” She turned, and she and the girl disappeared into the crowd.

Ashe laughed aloud, causing a number of people around him to start in surprise; until they heard him, they had had no idea he was there.