'You always have.' The words crashed through her mind like a tsunami. Mirya stilled, studying the young face turned up to hers. She brushed her fingertips over Valkyrie's lips, lightly tracing their shape. This...this was too much. She could no longer judge where this tide of
feeling was taking her, sweeping her off the charts of her experience.
What was this strange emotion? She remembered physical passion, simple lust, infatuation. All too clearly, she recalled the shriek of maternal instinct, the snarling fury of defend. What she felt now...was like trying to compare "Chopsticks" to Beethoven.
"Yes," she breathed, staring into Valkryie's eyes. She caught her paladin's hand, giving a whisper-soft caress across her palm with the side of her thumb. Never looking away, she guided the young Tzimisce's hand to her breast.
More than touch, she wanted another kiss, another taste of Valkyrie's flesh, the teasing promise of her blood.
With a trembling hand Valkyrie cupped Mirya's breast, tenderly caressing it through the fabric of the blouse that covered it. The intensity of even that indirect contact nearly stunned her.
"My Liege," she whispered again, raising her eyes to meet Mirya's. "I..." she broke off for a moment, and then finally managed to finish the sentence. "I love you."
"My swan," she breathed, almost trembling now with the force of the emotions roiling inside her.
Valkyrie swallowed to wet her inexplicably dry throat. She lowered her gaze again and slowly went down on one knee, then looked back up at Mirya. "Yes," she breathed. "I am yours."
Seamus frowned. This was...not right. The Passions flowed, turgid and dark as Oblivion's shadow. He could feel them washing into him, making him stronger. But...
What was that? That thing coiling around the pale sexless one? It tasted of shock, surprise, and yes, the hint of shame. But if it could have been put to music, it would likely rival a Moon Dancer's hymn of praise.
And that hadn't been in the program.
"Surprised you, didn't she?" laughed a despised, familiar voice.
Seamus whirled around, his furious gaze coming to rest on the figure lounging behind him.
Jamie Decameron's dark eyes glinted with some secret amusement, as if the punchline to a universal joke had just been whispered in his ear. The Psyche smirked in response to the Spectre's glower.
"What are you up to?" Seamus growled.
Jamie folded his hands behind his head. "Not a damn thing. I'm just here to enjoy the show." He nodded towards the Tzimisce females. "Quite a couple, don't you think?"
Seamus responded with a wordless snarl. Jamie ignored him, continuing on.
"Just look at them...they could light up the Shadowlands. And to think, none of this would have been set into motion if you hadn't interfered."
A howl of sheer rage erupted from the
Spectre, sound and fury a potent weapon to one who knew the mystery
of Keening. Jamie gave his dark self a wicked grin and twisted
away. He neatly sidled past the women--
but not before he stroked a hand down Mirya's back --and stared back at the Spectre.
"You've forgotten everything, haven't
you? The woman who stood her ground against the Delerium, the
woman who fought vampires alone while still torn and bleeding
on her childbed... and you thought you could control
her?" Jamie laughed, a high, sharp sound of bitterness.
He leaned forward, all of his jocular
demeanor falling away. "We're not in control, she
is. Look at you... twisting yourself into knots, just to get
a taste of what's inside her. You want to be that one,"
he stabbed a
finger at Valkyrie.
"You can still remember what it felt like, can't you? You want her mouth on your skin, your hands in her hair. You want to see her eyes change, the way they only do in bed, only when she's touched just there. Except she's not touching you. She'll never look at you like that again--"
Seamus lashed out, funneling his Rage into a heavy, vicious blow that knocked the Psyche back. It was weak, that annoying sliver of his mortal self. It didn't have what it took to survive here in the Shadowlands. Jamie stumbled, caught himself. He grinned up at his darker self, teeth bared in a lupine grin.
"Good work," he rasped.
"Shut UP!" Seamus roared.
The edges of the Psyche's Corpus fuzzed and flickered, and then collapsed into a cloud of psychic static.
"Bastard," Seamus hissed. He was wrong, that sniveling little wolf-boy. His weakness had lost Mirya to the Undead, but he, Seamus, he had her now.
And he wasn't letting go.
Mirya shivered, an unexpected chill sweeping over her skin. What was that? she wondered. But it didn't seem important, not with the distraction of the young girl in her arms. With a massive effort of will, she tamped
down her own eagerness. The effort left her shaking.
"Touch me then, my swan," she said, her voice ragged.
"Oh, yes," Valkyrie whispered. At last free to respond as her body demanded, she pressed her head to Mirya's stomach.
She slid her free hand beneath the older
Tzimisce's blouse and slowly, almost reverently slid it around
to her back. When Valkyrie's fingertips found Mirya's spine,
they ran lightly up along it only to slowly slide
down again. At length the paladin shifted her hand to Mirya's other breast, _beneath_ the blouse, hunting for and capturing the nipple between two fingers for a brief moment before she began to fondle the whole breast with the palm of her hand.
And then she rose partially to her feet again, closed her eyes and laid her head backwards, exposing her throat to Mirya and leaving herself utterly at the older Tzimisce's mercy.