Blood Lines
Apr. 7th, 2012 09:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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marysuevirusTitle: Blood Lines
Chapter One: Fresh Faces
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch. but with vampires. and werewolves. in a historical setting.
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, some language, anything else i can toss in. blood play/drinking. M/M, M/F, M/F, F/F, and any other combination that strikes my fancy
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
Blood Lines - The Index
~*~
He'd been watching her for days. She had no clue that he'd been doing so, her mind focused solely on the task that lay before her. He'd come across her little more than a sennight ago, hidden by the shadows that an old oak tree had cast across the road. She'd been waiting, nerves strung tight and hand idly caressing the highly polished wooden handle of the pistol that she carried. Actually, she'd carried a matched pair of pistols and she'd kept her hands wrapped in black leather gloves. In fact, she'd swathed herself in the hues and tones of darkness, the hood of a black wool cloak pulled up to keep her face in shadows.
He'd found it odd that a woman would be idling in the shadows, seemingly doing nothing. Especially when she wore the clothes of a man, feet encased in high boots that were years past their last shine and a pair of breeches that bagged and gave anyone who saw her the impression that she was slightly larger than she was. He might have slid past her and continued on his way, but he'd found himself intrigued by the quiet air of intention around her. And so he'd kept himself from sight and he'd watched her, waiting to see why it was she lingered.
The answer had come soon enough. A carriage, wheels making a loud clatter on the cobbled road, had announced itself. It had been moving fast and hard, the driver using the reins to whip the horses that pulled it into a frenzy. Behind the sounds of the carriage's passage, he'd heard the thunder of hooves. A pair of riders had been following the carriage. Men who had planned to do unlawful things.
It had taken her a few more minutes to hear the carriage and its pursuers. Even before the running lantern had come into view, she'd shifted closer to the edge of the tree's protective shadows and raised her pistols. A faint breeze had blown the cloak back to show a flash of silver at her waist. The hilt of a sword. The woman had come prepared to do battle. Terribly curious.
It was then that the carriage had come rocking into view, the horse's eyes wide with fright as they'd thundered along the cobbled road. For a moment, he'd been afraid that the lone woman would step out in front of the carriage, her silent steps taking her closer to the edge of the road than was wise. Her hand had moved, brought up a crossbow already loaded with a quarrel, and fired. The iron head of the arrow thunked into the ground between two of the stones, the metal hitting the stones to create sparks. The action had been smooth and effortless. And it had brought the galloping horses to a screaming halt.
"What the bloody 'ell is this rot?" a man's voice had snarled out even as he'd attempted to calm his agitated mount.
"Criminals aren't welcome on this road, gentlemen," the woman had said, her voice low and husky. To an untrained ear, she might have sounded like a man. Silver light had glided over her as she'd stepped out of the shadows, pistols held confidently in her hands. Her face had remained hidden behind the hood, just as her body was hidden behind the costume of men's clothing she'd donned.
"See 'ere, boy," the man had growled, obviously unaware that he was dealing with a female disguised in men's clothing. "Yer meddlin' in affairs that ain't yers to meddle in. I suggest ye be on yer way lest me an' me partner show ye what 'appens to those who meddle in our affairs."
"And if I politely decline?" the woman has asked lightly. "Will you teach me what happens to those who meddle?"
"Stubborn little sot, ain't ya?" This had come from the second man. He'd been able to see that both of them had shifted their hands to the butts of their own pistols. As yet, the woman hadn't made a move toward her weapons and the crossbow was useless unless she worked another quarrel into place.
"My mother claims I give her fits of apoplexy." There'd been a hint of cheek in the woman's words as she'd said it, as if she'd taken great pride in giving her mother those fits.
"Then per'aps we should see if we can put an end to yer mum's fits," the first had said, hand pulling his pistol free from the belt he'd tucked it into. Before he'd gotten it up, the woman had had her own pistols free and trained on both men. The criminals had been left blinking at her in surprise.
"Oh dear. Would you look at that?" She'd made a noise and shaken her head. One hand had moved slightly, just a faint twitch of her wrist. "Be good lads and toss those pistols aside now. Off in the bushes just there." She'd made a motion toward the bushes in question with one of her pistols without ever taking either weapon off the men.
They'd considered trying to take her. He'd been able to see it from where he was, the calculating gleam that had lit their eyes. But her unwavering hands and calm demeanor had obviously told them that she'd shoot them if they attempted to do anything other than what she'd said. Finally, after a good length of time, they'd slowly tossed their pistols away into the bushes. "Good lads. Now. Would you be so kind as to slide off those horses and start back the way you came? That carriage is probably already within the city limits and it wouldn't do for the two of you to follow after it once I'm gone. There are those in town who take less kindly to thieves than I do."
It had taken them a while, but they'd eventually decided that she meant what she'd said. As slowly as they were able, they'd slid from their horses to stand on the cobbled road with their hands hanging loosely at their sides. They'd turned and started walking. She'd stood watching them, pistols still pointing at their backs as they'd trudged off into the night.
He'd seen the flash of light a moment before the man had turned to throw the knife. Without thinking, he'd lifted the bow in his hand, nocked an arrow, and aimed it at the man with the knife. But he needn't have bothered. While her reactions had been a few seconds slower than his, they'd been fast enough to see her ducking out of the path of the knife, one pistol used to bat it aside. The second pistol had fired with a loud clap of noise as the powder had ignited to send the bullet shooting out of the barrel. The man with the knife had gone down with a shocked look on his face and hot, crimson colored fluid spraying from the hole in his chest.
The second man had drawn a sword then, all sharp edges and gleaming steel. He'd watched the woman so casually slip her pistols back into her belts so that she could pull her sword. He'd expected something slim and sleek, a fencing foil that would do little damage. But she'd pulled a thick, broadsword and had held it before her in two hands. The way she'd held the sword and the way she'd held herself had been utterly perfect.
Her opponent had charged her then, sword flashing as he'd lifted it high in the hopes that he'd be able to use brute force to smash past her defenses and put and end to her. She'd merely waited for him to come, lifted up on the toes of her feet so that she'd been able to dance out of the path of his blade and swing hers back into him at the same time. The man had gone down in a pile of limp arms and legs.
He'd been sure that the woman had been smiling the whole time.
It had gone this way for the past seven nights. Some occasions saw her standing under the tree without a single criminal to take to task. Some occasions saw her dealing with a pair or several pairs over the course of the night. The entire time, he'd remained hidden in a tree and had watched over her. Catalogued each and every move she'd made. He'd seen that she was as skilled a fighter as any man he'd ever known, that she was capable with each of the weapons she carried.
Not that she hadn't walked away from her encounters with a wound a time or two. There'd been one night that an opponent had grazed her arm with the tip of his dagger. And another night had seen the a pistol ball grazing her shoulder. Both occasions had left her bloodied and angry. And that had allowed him the chance to taste the flavor of her temper as it colored the air. Allowed him to memorize the sweet, maddening scent of her blood.
This night was one of those when the criminals were at large, when she'd already engaged in more than one battle and there was still another to come. He could hear the steady approach of horses. There were four, one at the front and some distance from the three following it. He drifted closer to where she remained hidden under her favored tree, steps quiet and stealthy. He could tell that she was growing tired. While she was good with her weapons, she was still engaging in battles against men who were stronger than she was. That was going to take a toll on her agility and stamina. Instinct told him that this fight would be her last of the night, whether she wanted it to be or not.
It didn't take long for the horses to reach the woman's hiding spot. Even though she was in shadow, he could see her hands move methodically, checking her weapons to ensure she was ready for the coming encounter. Where earlier there had been a gleeful excitement to her actions, there was now slow, steady motion that spoke of her growing exhaustion. She was good, but there was always someone better.
The familiar metallic sound of the crossbow quarrel clinking against the cobble stones rang out in the night, audible even over the clopping thud of hooves and the metal of their shoes striking stone. The single rider kept going on while the three that had been following him pulled up short. The horses snorted and whinnied stridently as their eyes rolled. He still wasn't sure what it was she coated the head of the quarrel with that made them so uneasy, but it was an effective ploy.
She didn't waste a moment this time. Instead of allowing them to wonder what was happening, she glided from the shadows, the empty crossbow still clutched in her hand. The cloak and hood hid her femininity from the men, made her appear larger and masculine and more dangerous than she was. "Gentlemen, there'll be no crimes committed on my road this evening. I suggest you go back the way you came before I'm forced to put an end to your thieving ways."
The men stared at her a second or two, then snorted out laughter. One of them spoke to her, still chuckling under his breath as he did so "You really think you can best the three o' us? You ain't got any more quarrels to put in that crossbow o' yours."
"I don't need this to defeat three louts like you." Even as she released the crossbow, her free hand was bringing a pistol up. She pointed it at the man who had spoken to her since he appeared to be the leader. Her newly freed hand brought up the other pistol and she leveled it on one of the other men.
"I don't think you can count, boy. There's three o' us and only two pistols. You can't kill all o' us with two shots."
"I don't need to," she replied. He saw her fingers pull the triggers of her pistols. Heard the click of the hammer as it cocked back. Heard the explosion of the powder when it lit. The end of the barrels belched smoke and flame, spat out the small round projectiles. Her aim was true and two of the three men flew off the horses, rolling backward off their mounts to land hard on the ground. The riderless horses galloped away at speed while the remaining steed reared back in fright.
She dropped the pistols and dragged her sword free before the third man had time to do much more than steady his horse. When he saw the moonlight gleaming off the sharp edge of the blade, he pulled his own sword and nudged the horse into motion. The beast's hooves pounded the stones as it charged in her direction. At the last moment, she ducked to the side and turned so she could face her opponent down. The man's horse halted even as he threw one leg over the saddle so that he could drop to the ground.
He advanced on her, sword held loosely in his hand. She waited for him without moving, a sense of calm emanating from her. He'd seen her fight more than half a dozen times and she'd never once acted as if it was something she couldn't handle. This time appeared to be no different. And yet, he knew it was. He could see a slight slump to her shoulders, a faint tremor in her hands. He could feel the exhaustion eating at her limbs, could taste the sluggish thoughts that flittered through her head as she faced down her opponent. She would have to return to her home after this battle if she had any hopes of living to fight another day.
The man swung his sword and, despite her exhaustion, she danced out of the path of the blade. When he swung again, she met his blade with her own. The metal clanged in the stillness of the night, tiny sparks bursting to life where the blades grated against one another. He pulled back, obviously surprised by her ability with her own sword. But the minute respite didn't last long. Seconds later, he was lunging at her again, obviously hoping to take her by surprise with his energetic attack.
She ducked under the blade, coming up so that she stood to his side. The man turned toward her before she could land a blow, forcing her to spin away again. Someone had taught her well, because she moved out of from his reach by twirling across his back so that she ended up on his other side. When he brought his arm around, intent on hitting her with it so he could slip away and bring his blade up between them, she caught it against the flat of her blade and flicked her wrist. The motion was slight and subtle, but it was enough to see the razor sharp edge of her sword biting through his coat and tunic, into the flesh of his arm.
The metallic tang of blood painted the air, mingling with the man's muttered curses and the clang of his blade when it hit the cobbles. The pain lancing up his arm had seen his fingers spasming involuntarily so that the sword slipped out of his grasp. He watched as the man shook his hand, then leaned down to curl his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Then he rose and lifted his sword in a gesture that said he was ready for her next attack.
He watched as she reached up and tugged at the frogs that held the cloak closed in front. The heavy black wool fell away to leave her smaller frame exposed. He'd never seen her remove the cloak before. Either she was too tired to fight with it on or she simply wanted the man to see her face when she gave him his death. Either way, there was no disguising how wide the man's eyes went when he saw he was being bested by a woman.
Time froze for just a heartbeat as his eyes roved over her newly unveiled form. Moonlight gilded the darkness of her hair, turning what looked like a long black braid into a gleaming silvery rope that hung long and thick down her back. The tunic and breeches she wore did little to disguise the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips from his view, even though they were both loose enough to hang on her thin frame. Gems of emerald shone out of a porcelain pale face while lush, kissable lips curved up into a faintly knowing grin.
Anger flooded the air and the man leapt forward, sword at the ready. She offered him a full smile and it was the look that one usually found on the face of a predator just before they ate their prey. She dodged his blade, her body dipping down under it as it followed a path that would have seen it slicing through her throat if she'd not moved. Then she rose and brought her blade up, the tip of it plunging deep into the man's belly. Her hand twisted it around before she jerked the blade free. The air was ripe with the stench of torn bowel and the aroma of freshly spilt blood. The soft patter of liquid on the cobble stones was swallowed up by the wet, fleshy splats of the man's intestines as they spilled out onto the road.
He saw the man rise behind her, pistol bare in his hand. Pointed at her head. He was already in motion, hand nocking an arrow and pulling back the bow string, when he called out a warning. "Behind you!"
She spun, the man's fist catching her sword arm with a solid blow that knocked the blade from her grasp. The string twanged softly when he let go his arrow. He watched it fly straight and true, the sharpened head sliding past her ear so closely that it ruffled a few loose hairs before it embedded itself in the man's head. The dead man had enough time to roll his eyes up to look at the thin wooden shaft that protruded from his forehead before he toppled to the ground.
Despite the exhaustion that ate at her, she dipped down and retrieved her sword, then pivoted on her toes and came up with the tip of the blade only inches from his gut. Her eyes slid over him, taking in his loose fitting tunic and breeches, the short cape and the soft boots. She looked last at the longbow he'd slung over his shoulder so that it rested beside the quiver of arrows that resided there. A scowl spread like thunderclouds, bringing the corner of her lips down. Her eyes flashed in warning. "Is that anyway to treat someone who's just saved your life? You were seconds away from death." He gave her his grin, the one that said he was harmless. She narrowed her gaze on him, lifted her sword a little higher.
He darted forward, using speed to duck around her reach and catch her arm before she could swing the blade his way. His fingers pried hers from the hilt and tugged it from her hands. The sword clanged loudly when it hit the ground. She went for her dagger, but he caught her hand and tugged her into his body so that her back was pressed to his chest. His hands were curled about her wrists, her arms crossed over her chest. She struggled to pull herself from his hold, but her efforts gained her nothing. He smiled against her ear. "What's the matter? Can't break my hold? You must be getting tired, little girl."
~*~*~*~*~
She felt the blush stain her cheeks and was glad that it was dark so that this stranger wouldn't be able to see her mortification. She couldn't understand why she couldn't break his hold on her. It wasn't too tight and she didn't really feel constrained by his embrace. But nothing she did was capable of forcing him to free her. And, to top it all off, he'd called her little girl. Little girl? How dare he call her little girl! She was a woman grown. Judging by what she'd seen before he'd grabbed her, she wasn't that much younger than he was. And she was trained to fight with a sword. She knew how to fire a pistol and a crossbow. She could damn well take care of herself. He had no place to call her little girl. "Release me, sir, or I shall be forced to dispatch you."
"You'll be forced to dispatch me?" he asked, words filled with laughter. His mouth was still beside her ear, his voice low enough to send something decidedly thrilling and wicked pulsing through her body. She rather enjoyed the sensation, which left her uncomfortable. She squirmed in his hold in an attempt to once more get away from him. "Is that anyway to thank the man responsible for saving your life, little girl?"
She had to force herself into using a mildly pleasant tone, his continued insistence upon calling her 'little girl' only serving to rile her further. "I had the situation well in hand on my own. I didn't require any assistance from you, good sir."
"The bastard had a pistol to your head, little girl. Had I not warned you and then rid you of him, you would now be dead at my feet. And that, my pretty, would be a tragic waste." There was wanton suggestion in his tone and she was again assaulted with that forbidden thrill.
"Kindly release me so that I may gather up my weapons and be on my way."
"Your wish is my command, little girl." He chuckled beside her ear, then his hold was gone. She whirled on him, dagger in her hand and ready to strike. His hands were there to catch her wrist and carefully pry the wicked blade from her grasp. It hit the ground with a metallic clatter but she only paid it half a mind because he was once more dragging her body up against his.
"You've no right to take such liberties with me, sir. I am quite certain I've never met you before," she snapped at him, trying to slip from his hold again.
"You raised a weapon to me, intent on doing me harm, little girl. Its my right to defend myself," he replied, grinning at her like a madman.
"Call me that again, sir, and we'll find out if the family jewels are immune to the power of my knee," she hissed at him.
Her words saw him frowning at her, as if he wasn't sure to what she was referring. He pulled back just far enough to look her over with a sharp eye, his gaze raking her from head to toe. Something about that look was entirely too forward and, once again, she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment and emotions better left unexplored. But that odd, fluttery sensation that had sprung to life in the pit of her belly with his look died a quick, cold death when he turned his grin on her again. "You barely look old enough to know what a man's family jewels are, little girl. Perhaps I should warn you that it isn't wise to make such threats to a man. We are discussing a rather sensitive issue."
"I assure you I'm old enough. Now release me. And stop calling me little girl. I'm a grown woman."
He gave the appearance of considering her request for several long moments, then sighed and shook his head. She couldn't help but noticing as he did so how the moonlight caressed his hair. How it drifted down the line of his nose and crept across the curve of his cheeks. How it kissed his lips. The silver of the moon made him look pale, stole the color from his hair. Left his dark clothing standing out in stark relief against the white of his flesh.
The hands that held her arms were strong, strong enough to keep her from slipping away. She could see the ripple of muscle in his arms where the material of his rough tunic clung to them, could see the bulge of his thighs and calves within the confines of his trousers. He was taller than her by at least a head and there was a decidedly devilish twist to his lips. All in all, he was a very handsome man and simply looking at him did odd things to her insides.
"I rather doubt you're as old as you insist you are. And what am I to call you if I cannot call you little girl?"
"You could address me properly, as is fitting. Miss wouldn't be out of line. Or you could perchance address me by name. I might even do you the honor of responding." Much against her will, her temper was draining from her. There was some unexplainable, unnamable quality about the man that insisted she lower her guard and allow him to know every last thing about her. It was a quality she found hard to ignore.
"And how am I to call you by your name when I don't know it? As you pointed out not so long ago, we've never met before." He sounded utterly calm and logical. It left her inexplicably enraged and she tried one more time to extricate herself from his hold. His grip was absolute, giving her no opportunity to pull out of it. The look she gave him, meant to intimidate him into releasing her, only earned her a smug smirk. "Tell me your name, little girl, so that I may treat you with the propriety you demand."
She glared at him, hoping against hope that it would convince him that she was just as dangerous as she claimed to be. His only response was another of those knowing grins that did funny things to her insides. Combine that with the way her skin seemed to buzz from his touch and the fact that his eyes were filled with heat each time he looked at her and she was rapidly approaching a situation that would earn her some very unkind names from the general populace if they were ever made aware of her impure thoughts and desires.
"A name, my pretty. `Tis the only favor I ask. Nothing more. Unless, of course, you would like something more." The timber of his voice dropped, his eyes darkening even in the moonlight until she could see exactly what that something more was. That he hoped she would ask him for that something more.
She wasn't an ignorant female. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Despite the fact that her father was merely a merchant, her parents had insisted that she be taught all the finer things in life. Along with knowing how to sew and cook, she could do her numbers and balance books. She could read any book that was put before her. She was as fine a lady as one could be when one hadn't actually been born a Lady.
But she was more than that. Her brothers, boisterous and never still, had been the ones to teach her about weapons. They'd taught her to accurately fire a pistol, to use the crossbow, to wield a dagger effectively. They'd taught her the finer points of sword play until she'd been able to best them. When that had happened, they'd wanted nothing more to do with her. And still she'd been hungry to expand her abilities. It was that hunger that had brought her out onto the road at night, a shadowed figure who dealt with common thieves and criminals who thought to do ill.
When she wasn't busy trying to defeat the darker elements in the world, she spent her time locked away with any book she could get her hands on. It didn't matter the subject. If there were printed words, she read it. It was this thirst for knowledge that had seen her studying medical texts, pouring over them despite some of the difficult language. And those medical texts had taught her more about her body and how it worked than she expected was proper. She'd seen diagrams and figures, so she knew what she'd find under his trousers. She understood what sex was, how it worked. She'd always considered it extraneous information, nothing she'd ever put to use or wish to explore in depth at a later date.
Standing there, staring up into a strange man's heated, hungry eyes, she realized that she really did want to put her knowledge to use.
Dear God in Heaven! What was wrong with her? He was a complete stranger and a homeless one, by the look of him. She shouldn't want to do such private and wicked things with a complete stranger. And yet, just staring at him brought to life within her feelings she'd never felt for anyone before. Feelings she was sure could be called lust.
He smiled at her, as if he knew what was going through her head at that exact moment. She tried to school her thoughts and push aside the carnal desires that flooded her. "All I ask for is a name, little girl. Give me that and I give you your freedom."
She was skeptical about that, but she was beginning to think she had no choice. His hold was as firm as ever and she knew from experience that she couldn't break it on her own. Sighing, she straightened her shoulders and gave him what she hoped looked like a sincere smile. "My name is Alexis Quinn. You may call me Miss Quinn."
The smile on his face broadened and expanded until she couldn't help but stare at his perfectly formed lips. "Alexis Quinn. An Irish lass, full of spit and fire. `Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Quinn. My name is Clinton Barton. You may call me Clinton." His hands released her arms so that he could sweep into a low, courtly bow. He tipped his face up and smirked, winked at her knowingly. Alexis fought the smile that wanted to shape her mouth at his overly grand gesture. He straightened up again. "Now that we've established our identities to one another, perhaps I should remind you that `tis dangerous for a wee lass like yourself to be out on the road after dark without a chaperone."
Alexis frowned at that, then dipped and scooped up the sword that lay close to her feet. She held it loosely, the tip drooping but still pointed in his general direction. "I'm hardly without a chaperone. I believe that this should dissuade any ruffian who attempts to waylay me on my journey home."
"Perhaps, but you're exhausted from the fights you waged this evening. Allow me to escort you home, Miss Quinn. I would rest easier knowing you put your head down on your own pillow and not the cold, hard ground."
She drifted away from him and found her dagger. The moon was bright and full, gleaming off the blade of the knife. She bent and retrieved it before heading for the spot she'd been standing in when she'd let go of her pistols. They were tucked back into her belt, then she went in search of her crossbow. The last thing she picked up was her cloak. She was twirling it around her shoulders when the eerie, echoing, howling cry of a wolf rose up out of the darkness of the forest. She felt the hair on her arms stand up at the return call.
She looked up and Clinton was just standing before her, his eyes moving as he sought out any furred bodies that might be moving amidst the trees. She was startled by his actions because she hadn't seen him move. He'd just suddenly been standing before her. Without looking away from the darkened mass of trees that loomed up behind her, one of his hands found her arm with unerring accuracy. "Allow me to escort you home, Miss Quinn. It would seem that the woods are filled with more dangers than men with mischief on their minds."
She didn't want to admit that the sound of wolves' howling to one another in the trees unnerved her, that she'd be glad of his company back to her home. She had an image to maintain. But there had been a few people from nearby villages and towns who had disappeared lately. And those who had lived long lives and had long memories swore it had been a long time since wolves had dared wander so close to man's habitat and threaten their very lives. And her rescuer was correct. She was exhausted. Three fights in one night was more than she was used to. If she was menaced by a wild animal, there was no guarantee that she could fend it off.
"If you feel you must ensure my safety, Mr. Barton," she said with a touch of disdain in her voice. It wouldn't do to let him think she'd given in without putting up a fight. Alexis made a sweeping gesture with one arm. "By all means. Lead the way."
He flashed her a smile before starting along the cobbled road toward town. Alexis kept her sword bare in her hand, remained silent so that she could listen for any tell-tale rustling in the undergrowth. Clinton said nothing, his hands relaxed and loose at his sides. She wondered briefly, should they be attacked by a snarling beast, if he planned on fighting a wolf off with his bare hands. That would be quite the feat.
Half an hour on the road brought them within sight of the town her family resided in. She was reluctant to see their walk together end because some insane part of her liked his company. Liked the sensation of his body moving beside hers. It was the same insane part that was unrepentantly imagining what it might be like to kiss him the way she'd seen her parents kiss on more than one occasion. It was the same part that was terribly curious about just what lay beneath his clothes. She'd felt the hard strength in his arms and legs, the rippled cascade of muscle under the skin of his chest and abdomen. But there was that part that wanted to see all of him. She pushed that thought aside before her mind could conjure images and send more blood to her cheeks. He'd see her embarrassment in the lights from the gas lanterns that illuminated the streets.
She turned to him before they'd stepped into the yellow circle on the ground and offered him a pretty smile. "Thank you very kindly, Mr. Barton. I appreciate the escort. I shall be quite capable of making it home on my own now. I'm certain you have more important things to do with your evening."
He tipped his head at her, his smile growing ever wider. "There is nothing more important to me than seeing that a beautiful young woman reaches her doorstep unmolested. Of course I'm going to see you all the way. If I didn't know better, I would have to think you were trying to find a way to be rid of me, Miss Quinn. Do I make you nervous?"
She snorted in reply, earning a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "You do no such thing, Mr. Barton. Its very egotistical of you to think so. I merely thought that you might have more pressing engagements this evening than showing me to my door. Like perhaps hunting Her Majesty's deer."
His laughter, warm and alive with joy, pierced her all the way to her core. He shook his head at that and motioned toward the waiting town. "There is nothing I would rather do, Miss Quinn, than while away the evening hours in your most enjoyable presence. But the hour is late and pretty little girls need their sleep."
"You take great joy in needling me, sir," she sniffed and once more began walking. He fell into step beside her, mouth still stretched with an infectious grin. Alexis had to force herself to keep her mouth pursed and her brows drawn down. She didn't want him to know how easily and thoroughly he affected her.
"I'm sure I would," he remarked, voice low so that no one could overhear him but her. She felt blood flood to her cheeks and offered up thanks that the lamps put out an oily black cloud of smoke. Perhaps she'd get lucky and that smoke would hide her embarrassment from him.
There were few people on the streets so late at night. Anyone who dared look their way found themselves on the receiving end of a glare from Clinton that sent them scurrying off in the opposite direction quite rapidly. Alexis wondered if she should point out to him that he had no right playing the jealous suitor, but some hidden part of her thrilled with the thought that a man as handsome as he would take notice of someone like her. Not that she wasn't passing fair, but there were far comelier women in the world. Clinton was the type of man who, in the most fashionable of clothing, would turn the head of every woman who crossed his path. His presence at her side made her feel... special.
She led the way through the streets, taking the twists and turns that would bring them to the gate that opened into her family's back yard. She was reassured to see that all of the lights in the house were out, the windows dark and empty as they stared blankly out on the surrounding houses. Alexis stopped at the gate and looked up at him. "This is where we part, Mr. Barton."
His gaze swept her face before lifting to look at the house beyond. "Which room is yours?"
"A proper lady wouldn't divulge such information to a complete stranger," Alexis countered smoothly.
"A proper lady wouldn't be challenging common criminals to a duel on a darkened stretch of road by herself," he reminded her. But he fell silent and studied her for several long moments. His lips curled up in a smile she'd already learned meant nothing but trouble. "However, I am feeling quite generous this evening. I will offer you a choice. You can tell me which chamber is yours. Or you can allow me a kiss. `Tis my boon for coming to your aid."
She stared at him, not quite sure she could believe what she was hearing. Of all the audacious things to demand! Even worse, though, was the fact that she wanted to do both. That secret, insane part of her wanted to tell him exactly which room in the house was hers. Because she wanted to see if he would put that knowledge to use. And she wanted to give him the kiss he asked for. Because she wanted to know what his lips pressed against her would feel like. But she had an image of propriety to maintain.
She heaved a sigh that was entirely theatrical. "Then I shall have to allow you a kiss. Just one kiss. A single, chaste kiss."
He grinned at her like he had known that such would be her answer. His hands lifted and tugged her back into his chest. Before she had time to protest the fact that their closeness wasn't seemly, his mouth covered hers. His lips were soft and yet hard, moist as they moved over hers. His hands held her close, molded her to his torso. For a moment or two, she was so surprised that she could do nothing. Then she let go a soft sigh and melted into him. Without knowing why, she wrapped her arms around his shoulder and pressed herself closer.
She was gasping for breath when he finally set her away from him, her legs shaky with the rush of wanton emotions that flowed through her. His smirk was wide and all knowing. How dare he take such liberties! Drawing her tattered composure around her, she gave him a haughty look. "I believe I said you could have a chaste kiss, Mr. Barton. That was no where near a chaste kiss."
"That was very much a chaste kiss. I promise you, when I kiss you with intent, you will know it. Now I suggest you get up to bed before you're missed, little girl." He laughed again, then turned to stroll slowly up the alley. "Sweet dreams, little girl. May they all be filled with me."
She sent a very unladylike curse after him before letting herself into the back yard. And she was still cursing him when she finally climbed between the cold sheets of her bed. Because if that had been a chaste kiss, she was both eager and afraid to find out what his real kisses would be like.
~*~*~*~*~
"Where are the Lord and Lady?" he asked as he passed through the double doors into the long Great Hall where the nighttime revelries took place. Where the meetings were held. Where everything that involved the entire coven happened.
"They've retired to their private chambers," the youngest of the guards told him. When he took note of Clinton's direction, he hurried to get between him and his goal. "But they've asked not to be disturbed."
He stared at the guard. It was obvious the young fool didn't know who he was. Clinton pulled himself to his full height and stared down into the younger man's eyes. "How old are you, boy?" he asked with a quiet snarl.
The boy blinked and hurried to reply, his voice coming out in a stammering mess of fear and confusion. "Only a few months old."
Clinton looked past him to the other guard on the door. "Explain to him just who I am. And when you're done with that, you can finish his training. Find out who started it and punish them accordingly." After receiving a nod from the senior guard, Clinton gave his attention back to the younger guard still barring his way. "I suggest you step out of my way. Now."
The young guard's face went paler than it already was and he hurried to step out of Clinton's way. He gave the boy a snarl of a smile, then continued on his way. He had no worries that the boy would ever question him again. Just as he knew that his partner wouldn't really hurt the lad. The man would ensure that the younger guard was properly schooled and leave it at that. The one who had failed to teach the boy everything, though, would not be so lucky.
He traveled the halls in silence, unchallenged by any of the other guards that stood against the walls at uneven intervals, his mind going back over everything he'd seen and heard and learned that night. There was so much to tell the Lord and Lady that he didn't even know where to start. None of it was especially good, which made the telling that much worse. The night had been entirely too depressing. Well, with exception of the time he'd spent observing and talking to Miss Alexis Quinn.
Just thinking of her brought back his final images of her. He'd left her at the gate to her home and slipped into the shadows so that he could watch her enter the dwelling. It had amused him to no end that she'd climbed up a trellis hammered to the wall, covered over with tendrils of ivy. The trellis had run right past a window that she'd nudged open with one hand before grabbing hold of the casement and pulling herself inside. He'd lingered long enough after the closing of the window to know that she'd let herself into her own chambers. His superior vision had allowed him to pick out the shadowed shape of her figure as she'd set about readying herself for bed in the darkness. He'd left then, accompanied back to the lair by the memories of his encounter with her.
Clinton had met many, many women over his long life. He'd met beautiful women that found their place in legend. He'd met homely women who had been burdened with a forgotten existence. He'd met women who were intelligent and fierce, who were insipid and weak, who were incapable of deciding between one gown and the next. He'd met so many women that he couldn't remember all of the faces and names. The memories of some were strong and vibrant, as if he'd only met them moments ago. And some memories were little more than faded, ill-remembered dreams.
Alexis Quinn was unlike any woman he'd ever met. She was smart and capable. Fierce and loyal. Strong and soft. She was as capable with her wit and her tongue as she was with her sword and pistols. She stirred something inside of him that women had failed to do for... If he was being honest, no one had done this to him since he'd been a ignorant young man easily led about by his family jewels.
A pair of tall, heavy oaken doors loomed up before him. Clinton came to a halt and took a moment to right his clothing, then he lifted his hand and knocked loudly. The guards on either side of the door didn't look at him, their gazes fixed straight ahead. As they were meant to be. A momentary sense of pride swelled within him at their obvious attention to their duties. He'd trained them himself, after all.
Come. The voice echoed through his head, a mere breath of sound that was filled with the warmth of affection. He pushed the doors open far enough to allow himself to enter, his hands absently pushing them closed behind him. None other within the lair was so trusted as he was and he was rarely, if ever, turned away from the Lord and Lady's private chambers.
He was greeted with the sight of his Lady's bouncing breasts, pale and perfect, as she rose up and down on his Lord's lap. The light thrown off by the fire crackling in the hearth gilded her flesh and gave it a warmer, more living appearance. Her head was tossed back, fiery red tendrils of hair trailing down her back like a waterfall. He'd had his hands in her hair and knew it was as soft as the finest silk. He couldn't help himself. He came to a halt and allowed his gaze to rake down her front. His view was unobstructed and he found himself mesmerized by the way his Lord's cock stroked in and out of her lush body.
Silence unfurled between them as she continued riding her husband's cock, her mouth hanging slightly as pleasure blossomed within her body. His hands crept slowly up over her abdomen until they could cup her breasts and soon he was pinned in place by his Lord's blue eyed stare. The air was heavy with their lust and passions, tendrils of it curling around his body. They were calling to him, asking him to join them. It took every last ounce of strength to keep his feet rooted to their spot. If he stripped down now and climbed into bed with them, he'd forget what he'd come here to report.
They understood. They always did. While he enjoyed passion and took the art of pleasure seriously, he took his duties as the head of their Elite Guard even more seriously. So they kept moving, their bodies shifting up and down in a single motion that was graceful, erotic, and deadly. The desire and pleasure on the air thickened and grew heavier, wrapping themselves around him as the two of them rapidly approached climax. His Lord's mouth traced well known paths up and down his Lady's throat while his hands manipulated her nipples and massaged her breasts.
Her eyes finally slid open, purple jewels heavy with need. Her gaze landed on him and with it came every last ounce of emotion and sensation they'd been holding back from him. Their pleasure screamed through him and left him gasping for breath. For just a moment, his mind was a confused myriad of images; blue eyes and purple eyes and green eyes. When the waves finally ebbed away to nothingness, he was left panting for air he didn't need
His Lady was coiled around her husband and lover, her hand stroking his bared flesh possessively. Her eyes were on him, though, her smile telling him of her pleasure. "We've missed you in our bed, Clinton. What important events have kept you from us so long?" she asked, her voice a purr of sex and pleasure. It crept up his spine and wrapped around the base of his brain, leaving him momentarily unable to do anything but wish for a chance to lavish her with his love.
"Lord Philip," he intoned when his thoughts were once more his own. He inclined his head toward them both, a sign of the respect they were both due. "Lady Miriam."
She heaved a sigh and pulled herself up into a sitting position. She was still naked and utterly at ease with it. She sent a mournful look toward her husband. "He's all business this evening, Philip. How dreadfully boring. I'd much rather have him join us than talk business."
"Forgive me, my Lady," Clinton intoned softly, once more inclining his head to hide the smile that played at the corners of his lips.
"Patience, my love. I do believe that Clinton has something serious to discuss," his Lord told her. She pretended to huff about it, but he knew better. Lady Miriam was just as blood thirsty and ambitious as her husband. Possibly more so. The two of them settled themselves on the large bed, their backs pressed up to the headboard while their hands constantly moved. His Lady let her fingers trail over the length of her husband's cock, still erect despite their former play. His Lord's hand drifted between her breast and the tangle of hair between her thighs.
"What news do you bring us, Captain?" Lady Miriam asked, her tone officious and even.
"The wolves are encroaching upon the humans again, my Lady," he reported. The wolves were the reason why he'd been ranging out of the lair these past days. Because he'd heard whispers of discontent among members of the pack and he'd made it his duty to see whether or not those whispers bore any truth to them. "I was near the village and heard them calling back and forth to one another. If we don't do something about them, humans will be slaughtered without care."
"A few lone wolves near the village doesn't mean that the humans are in danger," Lord Philip suggested, tone calm and steady. Clinton knew his words weren't meant to be taken as they sounded. Lord Philip was a man of reason, who thought about all of his actions before committing them. This was only another instance of his need for every last scrap of information before making a decision.
"I slipped into one of their pubs. The locals are talking. A few people have gone missing recently. Word is traveling like wildfire, my Lord," Clinton informed them. "I believe that the pack, or at least a few select members of the pack, are on the move."
"To what purpose, my Captain?" Lady Miriam asked him.
"Perhaps to start a panic. Or perhaps to force our hand. Imagine what would happen if war broke out between the coven and the pack." War would mean discovery of their secret. War would mean death for everyone. The coven. The pack. The humans. Death would destroy everything. They couldn't take the chance. The risk was too great.
"I'll send word to Lord Fury," Lord Philip said. His tone told Clinton that he believed him, that there was more to this than a few lone wolves straying too close to civilization. Clinton inclined his head again.
Lady Miriam smiled at him. "Now. Tell us what other reason has seen you avoiding us these past days. Something has captured your attention."
The tone of her voice was so knowing that his cheeks would have been flaming had he been capable of blushing. She must have read the blush on his face because she laughed, a sensuous sound that slid up and down his spine in much the same way her hand slid up and down her husband's cock. "Ah. I understand now. What is the name of this vixen, Clinton?"
"Her name is Alexis, my Lady," he replied. She shook her head at him and held one hand out to him. This time, he went without thinking about it. Lady Miriam pulled him onto the bed, guiding him between herself and her husband. Even before he could settle, they were both plucking at his clothing, helping rid him of each piece.
"Tell us about her, Clinton. Your eyes shine in ways I've not seen in centuries. She must be very special."
"She's a warrior, Miriam," he replied, his hands already gliding over the silken skin of her belly so that he could cup her breasts. She sighed softly when his fingers tweaked her nipples. He sighed when Philip's hands found his cock and stroked it languidly. Philip leaned over him to press a kiss to his mouth. "This past sennight, I've watched her battle criminals and thieves. None of them has defeated her. She's trained in the use of many different weapons. She carried with her a pair of pistols, a dagger, a sword, and a crossbow. She's as brave as any warrior I've ever known."
His keen hearing picked up the sound of the door opening just far enough to allow a human into the room. One of them had sent for a donor so that he would be capable of joining them in their games. Miriam leaned down and took his mouth in a fiery kiss before relinquishing her hold on him so that the human could tend to him.
Miriam and Philip watched as he pulled the woman to him. She was young and had been crafted with amazing curves. Her breasts strained against the shift she wore, the material sheer enough to show him that her nipples were soft, pale pink and eager for his touch. Clinton sat up and pulled the girl into his lap, his mouth latching on the pert peaks pressing against the thin barrier of her shift. She moaned softly when his teeth scraped her skin, when his fingers found their way between her thighs. She was ready for him, would have gladly taken his cock inside of her had he been capable. When his mouth drifted upward toward her neck, she tilted her head to the side and exposed the line of her throat to him.
The big vein there throbbed under her skin. When he sank his fangs into it, she tensed a second, then her body spasmed and she keened out her pleasure while he drank from her. The moment he finished, he lowered her to the bedding and left her there to recover. Philip and Miriam pulled him into their arms and between rounds of kissing and sucking and fucking, he told them everything he knew about Alexis Quinn.
~*~*~*~*~
"Alexis Eirinn Quinn!" Her mother's voice dragged her away from the ragged edges of slumber. She opened her eyes to the painful realization that she hadn't pulled her curtains before climbing into bed. Brilliant golden light streamed into her room, leaving her temporarily blind. Groaning softly, Alexis tucked her head under her pillow and hoped that the world would go away. A fist pounded on the wooden panel. "Alexis! Are you deaf, girl! Get yourself up right now. You've slept half the day away and we've got appointments to keep! The dressmaker is expecting you for your fitting. Come on, girl. Get up!"
Damn. She'd forgotten all about the dressmaker. Sighing, she dragged her head out from under the pillow and slid from the bed. Her head was fuzzier than usual after a night on the road. A glance at the clock showed her that it was well past ten and her appointment was at eleven. It would take at least half the time between now and then to get into every last piece of clothing before she would be considered proper.
She shuffled to the en suite loo and took a good look at herself in the mirror. There were large circles under her eyes and a general look of exhaustion in her eyes. She'd expected to sleep better than she had after all of the activity the night before. But for some reason, that hadn't happened.
As if they had been waiting for her to acknowledge them, those reasons rose up out of the shadows of her mind to remind her exactly why she'd slept so poorly. Not that her memories of the dreams that had plagued her were clear. It was like staring at figures moving in the fog, only thin wisps of the whole picture. She was sure that the center of her dreams had been the stranger from the road. Clinton Barton. He'd made quite the impression with his kiss the night before. Her lips had still tingled from his kiss when she'd finally drifted off to sleep.
Perhaps that was why her dreams had been so... sinful in nature.
She remembered the feel of hands stroking her body. Large hands of strength that had belonged to at least two men. One set belonged to Clinton. She was sure of it. She didn't know who owned the other set. And that was worrisome because they'd given her such pleasure. She should have been ashamed of the knowledge that she'd enjoyed having two sets of hands on her at the same time. But she wasn't. Even stranger was the fact that there'd been a third set of hands. Thin and delicate fingers that she'd known had belonged to a woman. It had been thrilling to feel them seek out all of her most intimate places and bring fiery tendrils of pleasure with them.
Even now, just thinking of those hands was enough to send more of the same wicked pleasure coursing through her. She had to wrap her fingers around the porcelain of the sink to remain standing. Her knees went weak with the remembered need and hunger that had clawed at her.
The dream hadn't stopped there. Those hands had been replaced by lips and tongues and... A groan rolled up her throat as she recalled what it had felt like in her dream to be breached by a man's thick, swollen...
She did stagger then and had to move to the fainting couch that made its home in her bathing room. Now that the memories of her dream were coming, there was no stopping them. Sensations stole her breath, saw her writhing on the couch as she felt the phantom touch of fingers and lips and tongues and a man's penis. It was so overwhelming that she had to find some way to relieve the tension that grew within her.
Her hand moved of its own accord, fingers frantically pulling the length of her night dress up until her thighs were bared to the room. She followed the trail of memory, one hand shifting so that she could explore the hard, swollen points of her breasts. Each touch, each shift of material over them, saw her panting and gasping. Her hips moved on their own, mimicking the actions of her hips in her dream. They bucked up even harder when her free hand glided between her thighs and her fingers grazed the swollen nub of her clitoris. She rubbed, body moving to the pleasure that rode her even though it begged for more. She wanted something inside of her, wanted to feel a man stroking in and out of her body.
Her fingers dipped deeper, stroked harder and faster. Soft gasps and faint mewling sounds fell from her mouth until, without warning, everything went white and the room around her faded. The tension knotted up before it exploded outward like a bullet from the barrel of her pistol. Her limbs went limp and she came back to herself to find that she was sprawled gracelessly over her couch. One hand still cupped her breast, the nipple tight and aching from her treatment of it. The other hand remained wedged between her thighs, fingers slick and sticky with fluid.
It took a while to get her coordination back. When she was capable of standing, she went to the sink and poured water into it, then splashed the cold liquid on her cheeks. She could still clearly recall the last bits of her dream. When Clinton had been between her thighs, his body pumping in and out at a furious pace. He'd been nuzzling her neck, his mouth pressing dizzying kisses to her flesh. And then there'd been a sharp, intensely pleasurable pain and the world had spun away from her in a rush. And he'd been smiling down at her.
She was sure that there'd been something else, something that was important, but she couldn't quite recall what.
A knock on her door had her hurrying to clean up. "Alexis! I swear, you're lazier than your brothers!"
"I'm up, Ma!" she called back.
"Good. I'm sending Helen in to help you with your dress. Don't make me wait or you'll go to the dressmaker in your under things!" Mary Magdelaine called.
"Yes, Ma!"
As soon as she was sure her mother was gone, she risked a glance in the glass. Her cheeks were still flushed and there was a oddly soft look to her eyes. What did the hell did the dream mean? And why had she had such an explicit dream about a man she'd only just met? She searched for answers that she knew she'd never find, then set about cleaning up. By the time her maid arrived to help her into her clothing, she'd managed to erase the marks of pleasure form her face.
Helen helped her into her undergarments, making sure that Alexis' corset was pulled tight. Then she was bundling her into the layers of cloth that served as her shield from the world during the daylight hours. The last thing was to work her feet into her shoes and allow Helen to put up her hair. A touch of cosmetics gave her the look that society deemed acceptable. By the time Helen was done with her, Alexis felt like she wasn't even the same person any more.
She went straight from the dressing table to the carriage they would take to the heart of the city and the dressmaker's shop. Her stomach rumbled noisily, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since dinner the night before. She intentionally didn't look at her mother, because she knew what Mary Magdelaine's reaction would be if she did so.
The sun was shining, the sky blue with only a few puffy clouds floating across its expanse. It was a mild day and it should have been a good day for a trip to the dressmaker's shop. But she dreaded it with everything that she was. Because it was one step closer to loosing her freedom. One step closer to a wedding she didn't want to have happen. One step closer to being saddled with a husband she didn't even want.
"Alexis? Are you listening to me, girl? What in the name of God is wrong with you today? I swear, talking to you is like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall." Mary Magdelaine shook her head at Alexis, frowning as if she was disappointed in her only daughter. Alexis often thought she was.
"I'm sorry, Ma. I don't think I slept very well last night."
Her mother smiled and reached over to pat one of Alexis' hands with her own. "There, there. I know today is a busy day. Its only fair that you'd be anxious. The big day is so close. I remember how I felt before my wedding. I don't think I slept until after your Da and I were married."
Alexis shot her a stiff smile that she hoped her mother would read as anxiety and not as 'Please, God! Don't make me do this!' Her mother wouldn't listen to her if they got into another one of their rows centered around why Alexis didn't think she should have to get married. Especially not to someone she barely knew.
Without warning, images of Clinton filled her head and, with them, the sweet, wicked sensations that had she'd felt in her dreams and then again in her bathroom. If she was to marry anyone, why couldn't it be someone like him? Instinct told her that he'd be the kind of husband any woman would want.
The carriage came to a halt, the wheels creaking ever so slightly as it stopped before the dressmaker's shop. Alexis found herself pushing those thoughts away. They were replaced by a sense of dread and regret. She would do well not to dwell on such things, because she'd likely never see Clinton Barton again.
It was better that she resigned herself to her fate now, lest she do something stupid like go look for him and let him really kiss her.
~*~
Chapter One: Fresh Faces
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch. but with vampires. and werewolves. in a historical setting.
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, some language, anything else i can toss in. blood play/drinking. M/M, M/F, M/F, F/F, and any other combination that strikes my fancy
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.Blood Lines - The Index
~*~
He'd been watching her for days. She had no clue that he'd been doing so, her mind focused solely on the task that lay before her. He'd come across her little more than a sennight ago, hidden by the shadows that an old oak tree had cast across the road. She'd been waiting, nerves strung tight and hand idly caressing the highly polished wooden handle of the pistol that she carried. Actually, she'd carried a matched pair of pistols and she'd kept her hands wrapped in black leather gloves. In fact, she'd swathed herself in the hues and tones of darkness, the hood of a black wool cloak pulled up to keep her face in shadows.
He'd found it odd that a woman would be idling in the shadows, seemingly doing nothing. Especially when she wore the clothes of a man, feet encased in high boots that were years past their last shine and a pair of breeches that bagged and gave anyone who saw her the impression that she was slightly larger than she was. He might have slid past her and continued on his way, but he'd found himself intrigued by the quiet air of intention around her. And so he'd kept himself from sight and he'd watched her, waiting to see why it was she lingered.
The answer had come soon enough. A carriage, wheels making a loud clatter on the cobbled road, had announced itself. It had been moving fast and hard, the driver using the reins to whip the horses that pulled it into a frenzy. Behind the sounds of the carriage's passage, he'd heard the thunder of hooves. A pair of riders had been following the carriage. Men who had planned to do unlawful things.
It had taken her a few more minutes to hear the carriage and its pursuers. Even before the running lantern had come into view, she'd shifted closer to the edge of the tree's protective shadows and raised her pistols. A faint breeze had blown the cloak back to show a flash of silver at her waist. The hilt of a sword. The woman had come prepared to do battle. Terribly curious.
It was then that the carriage had come rocking into view, the horse's eyes wide with fright as they'd thundered along the cobbled road. For a moment, he'd been afraid that the lone woman would step out in front of the carriage, her silent steps taking her closer to the edge of the road than was wise. Her hand had moved, brought up a crossbow already loaded with a quarrel, and fired. The iron head of the arrow thunked into the ground between two of the stones, the metal hitting the stones to create sparks. The action had been smooth and effortless. And it had brought the galloping horses to a screaming halt.
"What the bloody 'ell is this rot?" a man's voice had snarled out even as he'd attempted to calm his agitated mount.
"Criminals aren't welcome on this road, gentlemen," the woman had said, her voice low and husky. To an untrained ear, she might have sounded like a man. Silver light had glided over her as she'd stepped out of the shadows, pistols held confidently in her hands. Her face had remained hidden behind the hood, just as her body was hidden behind the costume of men's clothing she'd donned.
"See 'ere, boy," the man had growled, obviously unaware that he was dealing with a female disguised in men's clothing. "Yer meddlin' in affairs that ain't yers to meddle in. I suggest ye be on yer way lest me an' me partner show ye what 'appens to those who meddle in our affairs."
"And if I politely decline?" the woman has asked lightly. "Will you teach me what happens to those who meddle?"
"Stubborn little sot, ain't ya?" This had come from the second man. He'd been able to see that both of them had shifted their hands to the butts of their own pistols. As yet, the woman hadn't made a move toward her weapons and the crossbow was useless unless she worked another quarrel into place.
"My mother claims I give her fits of apoplexy." There'd been a hint of cheek in the woman's words as she'd said it, as if she'd taken great pride in giving her mother those fits.
"Then per'aps we should see if we can put an end to yer mum's fits," the first had said, hand pulling his pistol free from the belt he'd tucked it into. Before he'd gotten it up, the woman had had her own pistols free and trained on both men. The criminals had been left blinking at her in surprise.
"Oh dear. Would you look at that?" She'd made a noise and shaken her head. One hand had moved slightly, just a faint twitch of her wrist. "Be good lads and toss those pistols aside now. Off in the bushes just there." She'd made a motion toward the bushes in question with one of her pistols without ever taking either weapon off the men.
They'd considered trying to take her. He'd been able to see it from where he was, the calculating gleam that had lit their eyes. But her unwavering hands and calm demeanor had obviously told them that she'd shoot them if they attempted to do anything other than what she'd said. Finally, after a good length of time, they'd slowly tossed their pistols away into the bushes. "Good lads. Now. Would you be so kind as to slide off those horses and start back the way you came? That carriage is probably already within the city limits and it wouldn't do for the two of you to follow after it once I'm gone. There are those in town who take less kindly to thieves than I do."
It had taken them a while, but they'd eventually decided that she meant what she'd said. As slowly as they were able, they'd slid from their horses to stand on the cobbled road with their hands hanging loosely at their sides. They'd turned and started walking. She'd stood watching them, pistols still pointing at their backs as they'd trudged off into the night.
He'd seen the flash of light a moment before the man had turned to throw the knife. Without thinking, he'd lifted the bow in his hand, nocked an arrow, and aimed it at the man with the knife. But he needn't have bothered. While her reactions had been a few seconds slower than his, they'd been fast enough to see her ducking out of the path of the knife, one pistol used to bat it aside. The second pistol had fired with a loud clap of noise as the powder had ignited to send the bullet shooting out of the barrel. The man with the knife had gone down with a shocked look on his face and hot, crimson colored fluid spraying from the hole in his chest.
The second man had drawn a sword then, all sharp edges and gleaming steel. He'd watched the woman so casually slip her pistols back into her belts so that she could pull her sword. He'd expected something slim and sleek, a fencing foil that would do little damage. But she'd pulled a thick, broadsword and had held it before her in two hands. The way she'd held the sword and the way she'd held herself had been utterly perfect.
Her opponent had charged her then, sword flashing as he'd lifted it high in the hopes that he'd be able to use brute force to smash past her defenses and put and end to her. She'd merely waited for him to come, lifted up on the toes of her feet so that she'd been able to dance out of the path of his blade and swing hers back into him at the same time. The man had gone down in a pile of limp arms and legs.
He'd been sure that the woman had been smiling the whole time.
It had gone this way for the past seven nights. Some occasions saw her standing under the tree without a single criminal to take to task. Some occasions saw her dealing with a pair or several pairs over the course of the night. The entire time, he'd remained hidden in a tree and had watched over her. Catalogued each and every move she'd made. He'd seen that she was as skilled a fighter as any man he'd ever known, that she was capable with each of the weapons she carried.
Not that she hadn't walked away from her encounters with a wound a time or two. There'd been one night that an opponent had grazed her arm with the tip of his dagger. And another night had seen the a pistol ball grazing her shoulder. Both occasions had left her bloodied and angry. And that had allowed him the chance to taste the flavor of her temper as it colored the air. Allowed him to memorize the sweet, maddening scent of her blood.
This night was one of those when the criminals were at large, when she'd already engaged in more than one battle and there was still another to come. He could hear the steady approach of horses. There were four, one at the front and some distance from the three following it. He drifted closer to where she remained hidden under her favored tree, steps quiet and stealthy. He could tell that she was growing tired. While she was good with her weapons, she was still engaging in battles against men who were stronger than she was. That was going to take a toll on her agility and stamina. Instinct told him that this fight would be her last of the night, whether she wanted it to be or not.
It didn't take long for the horses to reach the woman's hiding spot. Even though she was in shadow, he could see her hands move methodically, checking her weapons to ensure she was ready for the coming encounter. Where earlier there had been a gleeful excitement to her actions, there was now slow, steady motion that spoke of her growing exhaustion. She was good, but there was always someone better.
The familiar metallic sound of the crossbow quarrel clinking against the cobble stones rang out in the night, audible even over the clopping thud of hooves and the metal of their shoes striking stone. The single rider kept going on while the three that had been following him pulled up short. The horses snorted and whinnied stridently as their eyes rolled. He still wasn't sure what it was she coated the head of the quarrel with that made them so uneasy, but it was an effective ploy.
She didn't waste a moment this time. Instead of allowing them to wonder what was happening, she glided from the shadows, the empty crossbow still clutched in her hand. The cloak and hood hid her femininity from the men, made her appear larger and masculine and more dangerous than she was. "Gentlemen, there'll be no crimes committed on my road this evening. I suggest you go back the way you came before I'm forced to put an end to your thieving ways."
The men stared at her a second or two, then snorted out laughter. One of them spoke to her, still chuckling under his breath as he did so "You really think you can best the three o' us? You ain't got any more quarrels to put in that crossbow o' yours."
"I don't need this to defeat three louts like you." Even as she released the crossbow, her free hand was bringing a pistol up. She pointed it at the man who had spoken to her since he appeared to be the leader. Her newly freed hand brought up the other pistol and she leveled it on one of the other men.
"I don't think you can count, boy. There's three o' us and only two pistols. You can't kill all o' us with two shots."
"I don't need to," she replied. He saw her fingers pull the triggers of her pistols. Heard the click of the hammer as it cocked back. Heard the explosion of the powder when it lit. The end of the barrels belched smoke and flame, spat out the small round projectiles. Her aim was true and two of the three men flew off the horses, rolling backward off their mounts to land hard on the ground. The riderless horses galloped away at speed while the remaining steed reared back in fright.
She dropped the pistols and dragged her sword free before the third man had time to do much more than steady his horse. When he saw the moonlight gleaming off the sharp edge of the blade, he pulled his own sword and nudged the horse into motion. The beast's hooves pounded the stones as it charged in her direction. At the last moment, she ducked to the side and turned so she could face her opponent down. The man's horse halted even as he threw one leg over the saddle so that he could drop to the ground.
He advanced on her, sword held loosely in his hand. She waited for him without moving, a sense of calm emanating from her. He'd seen her fight more than half a dozen times and she'd never once acted as if it was something she couldn't handle. This time appeared to be no different. And yet, he knew it was. He could see a slight slump to her shoulders, a faint tremor in her hands. He could feel the exhaustion eating at her limbs, could taste the sluggish thoughts that flittered through her head as she faced down her opponent. She would have to return to her home after this battle if she had any hopes of living to fight another day.
The man swung his sword and, despite her exhaustion, she danced out of the path of the blade. When he swung again, she met his blade with her own. The metal clanged in the stillness of the night, tiny sparks bursting to life where the blades grated against one another. He pulled back, obviously surprised by her ability with her own sword. But the minute respite didn't last long. Seconds later, he was lunging at her again, obviously hoping to take her by surprise with his energetic attack.
She ducked under the blade, coming up so that she stood to his side. The man turned toward her before she could land a blow, forcing her to spin away again. Someone had taught her well, because she moved out of from his reach by twirling across his back so that she ended up on his other side. When he brought his arm around, intent on hitting her with it so he could slip away and bring his blade up between them, she caught it against the flat of her blade and flicked her wrist. The motion was slight and subtle, but it was enough to see the razor sharp edge of her sword biting through his coat and tunic, into the flesh of his arm.
The metallic tang of blood painted the air, mingling with the man's muttered curses and the clang of his blade when it hit the cobbles. The pain lancing up his arm had seen his fingers spasming involuntarily so that the sword slipped out of his grasp. He watched as the man shook his hand, then leaned down to curl his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Then he rose and lifted his sword in a gesture that said he was ready for her next attack.
He watched as she reached up and tugged at the frogs that held the cloak closed in front. The heavy black wool fell away to leave her smaller frame exposed. He'd never seen her remove the cloak before. Either she was too tired to fight with it on or she simply wanted the man to see her face when she gave him his death. Either way, there was no disguising how wide the man's eyes went when he saw he was being bested by a woman.
Time froze for just a heartbeat as his eyes roved over her newly unveiled form. Moonlight gilded the darkness of her hair, turning what looked like a long black braid into a gleaming silvery rope that hung long and thick down her back. The tunic and breeches she wore did little to disguise the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips from his view, even though they were both loose enough to hang on her thin frame. Gems of emerald shone out of a porcelain pale face while lush, kissable lips curved up into a faintly knowing grin.
Anger flooded the air and the man leapt forward, sword at the ready. She offered him a full smile and it was the look that one usually found on the face of a predator just before they ate their prey. She dodged his blade, her body dipping down under it as it followed a path that would have seen it slicing through her throat if she'd not moved. Then she rose and brought her blade up, the tip of it plunging deep into the man's belly. Her hand twisted it around before she jerked the blade free. The air was ripe with the stench of torn bowel and the aroma of freshly spilt blood. The soft patter of liquid on the cobble stones was swallowed up by the wet, fleshy splats of the man's intestines as they spilled out onto the road.
He saw the man rise behind her, pistol bare in his hand. Pointed at her head. He was already in motion, hand nocking an arrow and pulling back the bow string, when he called out a warning. "Behind you!"
She spun, the man's fist catching her sword arm with a solid blow that knocked the blade from her grasp. The string twanged softly when he let go his arrow. He watched it fly straight and true, the sharpened head sliding past her ear so closely that it ruffled a few loose hairs before it embedded itself in the man's head. The dead man had enough time to roll his eyes up to look at the thin wooden shaft that protruded from his forehead before he toppled to the ground.
Despite the exhaustion that ate at her, she dipped down and retrieved her sword, then pivoted on her toes and came up with the tip of the blade only inches from his gut. Her eyes slid over him, taking in his loose fitting tunic and breeches, the short cape and the soft boots. She looked last at the longbow he'd slung over his shoulder so that it rested beside the quiver of arrows that resided there. A scowl spread like thunderclouds, bringing the corner of her lips down. Her eyes flashed in warning. "Is that anyway to treat someone who's just saved your life? You were seconds away from death." He gave her his grin, the one that said he was harmless. She narrowed her gaze on him, lifted her sword a little higher.
He darted forward, using speed to duck around her reach and catch her arm before she could swing the blade his way. His fingers pried hers from the hilt and tugged it from her hands. The sword clanged loudly when it hit the ground. She went for her dagger, but he caught her hand and tugged her into his body so that her back was pressed to his chest. His hands were curled about her wrists, her arms crossed over her chest. She struggled to pull herself from his hold, but her efforts gained her nothing. He smiled against her ear. "What's the matter? Can't break my hold? You must be getting tired, little girl."
~*~*~*~*~
She felt the blush stain her cheeks and was glad that it was dark so that this stranger wouldn't be able to see her mortification. She couldn't understand why she couldn't break his hold on her. It wasn't too tight and she didn't really feel constrained by his embrace. But nothing she did was capable of forcing him to free her. And, to top it all off, he'd called her little girl. Little girl? How dare he call her little girl! She was a woman grown. Judging by what she'd seen before he'd grabbed her, she wasn't that much younger than he was. And she was trained to fight with a sword. She knew how to fire a pistol and a crossbow. She could damn well take care of herself. He had no place to call her little girl. "Release me, sir, or I shall be forced to dispatch you."
"You'll be forced to dispatch me?" he asked, words filled with laughter. His mouth was still beside her ear, his voice low enough to send something decidedly thrilling and wicked pulsing through her body. She rather enjoyed the sensation, which left her uncomfortable. She squirmed in his hold in an attempt to once more get away from him. "Is that anyway to thank the man responsible for saving your life, little girl?"
She had to force herself into using a mildly pleasant tone, his continued insistence upon calling her 'little girl' only serving to rile her further. "I had the situation well in hand on my own. I didn't require any assistance from you, good sir."
"The bastard had a pistol to your head, little girl. Had I not warned you and then rid you of him, you would now be dead at my feet. And that, my pretty, would be a tragic waste." There was wanton suggestion in his tone and she was again assaulted with that forbidden thrill.
"Kindly release me so that I may gather up my weapons and be on my way."
"Your wish is my command, little girl." He chuckled beside her ear, then his hold was gone. She whirled on him, dagger in her hand and ready to strike. His hands were there to catch her wrist and carefully pry the wicked blade from her grasp. It hit the ground with a metallic clatter but she only paid it half a mind because he was once more dragging her body up against his.
"You've no right to take such liberties with me, sir. I am quite certain I've never met you before," she snapped at him, trying to slip from his hold again.
"You raised a weapon to me, intent on doing me harm, little girl. Its my right to defend myself," he replied, grinning at her like a madman.
"Call me that again, sir, and we'll find out if the family jewels are immune to the power of my knee," she hissed at him.
Her words saw him frowning at her, as if he wasn't sure to what she was referring. He pulled back just far enough to look her over with a sharp eye, his gaze raking her from head to toe. Something about that look was entirely too forward and, once again, she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment and emotions better left unexplored. But that odd, fluttery sensation that had sprung to life in the pit of her belly with his look died a quick, cold death when he turned his grin on her again. "You barely look old enough to know what a man's family jewels are, little girl. Perhaps I should warn you that it isn't wise to make such threats to a man. We are discussing a rather sensitive issue."
"I assure you I'm old enough. Now release me. And stop calling me little girl. I'm a grown woman."
He gave the appearance of considering her request for several long moments, then sighed and shook his head. She couldn't help but noticing as he did so how the moonlight caressed his hair. How it drifted down the line of his nose and crept across the curve of his cheeks. How it kissed his lips. The silver of the moon made him look pale, stole the color from his hair. Left his dark clothing standing out in stark relief against the white of his flesh.
The hands that held her arms were strong, strong enough to keep her from slipping away. She could see the ripple of muscle in his arms where the material of his rough tunic clung to them, could see the bulge of his thighs and calves within the confines of his trousers. He was taller than her by at least a head and there was a decidedly devilish twist to his lips. All in all, he was a very handsome man and simply looking at him did odd things to her insides.
"I rather doubt you're as old as you insist you are. And what am I to call you if I cannot call you little girl?"
"You could address me properly, as is fitting. Miss wouldn't be out of line. Or you could perchance address me by name. I might even do you the honor of responding." Much against her will, her temper was draining from her. There was some unexplainable, unnamable quality about the man that insisted she lower her guard and allow him to know every last thing about her. It was a quality she found hard to ignore.
"And how am I to call you by your name when I don't know it? As you pointed out not so long ago, we've never met before." He sounded utterly calm and logical. It left her inexplicably enraged and she tried one more time to extricate herself from his hold. His grip was absolute, giving her no opportunity to pull out of it. The look she gave him, meant to intimidate him into releasing her, only earned her a smug smirk. "Tell me your name, little girl, so that I may treat you with the propriety you demand."
She glared at him, hoping against hope that it would convince him that she was just as dangerous as she claimed to be. His only response was another of those knowing grins that did funny things to her insides. Combine that with the way her skin seemed to buzz from his touch and the fact that his eyes were filled with heat each time he looked at her and she was rapidly approaching a situation that would earn her some very unkind names from the general populace if they were ever made aware of her impure thoughts and desires.
"A name, my pretty. `Tis the only favor I ask. Nothing more. Unless, of course, you would like something more." The timber of his voice dropped, his eyes darkening even in the moonlight until she could see exactly what that something more was. That he hoped she would ask him for that something more.
She wasn't an ignorant female. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Despite the fact that her father was merely a merchant, her parents had insisted that she be taught all the finer things in life. Along with knowing how to sew and cook, she could do her numbers and balance books. She could read any book that was put before her. She was as fine a lady as one could be when one hadn't actually been born a Lady.
But she was more than that. Her brothers, boisterous and never still, had been the ones to teach her about weapons. They'd taught her to accurately fire a pistol, to use the crossbow, to wield a dagger effectively. They'd taught her the finer points of sword play until she'd been able to best them. When that had happened, they'd wanted nothing more to do with her. And still she'd been hungry to expand her abilities. It was that hunger that had brought her out onto the road at night, a shadowed figure who dealt with common thieves and criminals who thought to do ill.
When she wasn't busy trying to defeat the darker elements in the world, she spent her time locked away with any book she could get her hands on. It didn't matter the subject. If there were printed words, she read it. It was this thirst for knowledge that had seen her studying medical texts, pouring over them despite some of the difficult language. And those medical texts had taught her more about her body and how it worked than she expected was proper. She'd seen diagrams and figures, so she knew what she'd find under his trousers. She understood what sex was, how it worked. She'd always considered it extraneous information, nothing she'd ever put to use or wish to explore in depth at a later date.
Standing there, staring up into a strange man's heated, hungry eyes, she realized that she really did want to put her knowledge to use.
Dear God in Heaven! What was wrong with her? He was a complete stranger and a homeless one, by the look of him. She shouldn't want to do such private and wicked things with a complete stranger. And yet, just staring at him brought to life within her feelings she'd never felt for anyone before. Feelings she was sure could be called lust.
He smiled at her, as if he knew what was going through her head at that exact moment. She tried to school her thoughts and push aside the carnal desires that flooded her. "All I ask for is a name, little girl. Give me that and I give you your freedom."
She was skeptical about that, but she was beginning to think she had no choice. His hold was as firm as ever and she knew from experience that she couldn't break it on her own. Sighing, she straightened her shoulders and gave him what she hoped looked like a sincere smile. "My name is Alexis Quinn. You may call me Miss Quinn."
The smile on his face broadened and expanded until she couldn't help but stare at his perfectly formed lips. "Alexis Quinn. An Irish lass, full of spit and fire. `Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Quinn. My name is Clinton Barton. You may call me Clinton." His hands released her arms so that he could sweep into a low, courtly bow. He tipped his face up and smirked, winked at her knowingly. Alexis fought the smile that wanted to shape her mouth at his overly grand gesture. He straightened up again. "Now that we've established our identities to one another, perhaps I should remind you that `tis dangerous for a wee lass like yourself to be out on the road after dark without a chaperone."
Alexis frowned at that, then dipped and scooped up the sword that lay close to her feet. She held it loosely, the tip drooping but still pointed in his general direction. "I'm hardly without a chaperone. I believe that this should dissuade any ruffian who attempts to waylay me on my journey home."
"Perhaps, but you're exhausted from the fights you waged this evening. Allow me to escort you home, Miss Quinn. I would rest easier knowing you put your head down on your own pillow and not the cold, hard ground."
She drifted away from him and found her dagger. The moon was bright and full, gleaming off the blade of the knife. She bent and retrieved it before heading for the spot she'd been standing in when she'd let go of her pistols. They were tucked back into her belt, then she went in search of her crossbow. The last thing she picked up was her cloak. She was twirling it around her shoulders when the eerie, echoing, howling cry of a wolf rose up out of the darkness of the forest. She felt the hair on her arms stand up at the return call.
She looked up and Clinton was just standing before her, his eyes moving as he sought out any furred bodies that might be moving amidst the trees. She was startled by his actions because she hadn't seen him move. He'd just suddenly been standing before her. Without looking away from the darkened mass of trees that loomed up behind her, one of his hands found her arm with unerring accuracy. "Allow me to escort you home, Miss Quinn. It would seem that the woods are filled with more dangers than men with mischief on their minds."
She didn't want to admit that the sound of wolves' howling to one another in the trees unnerved her, that she'd be glad of his company back to her home. She had an image to maintain. But there had been a few people from nearby villages and towns who had disappeared lately. And those who had lived long lives and had long memories swore it had been a long time since wolves had dared wander so close to man's habitat and threaten their very lives. And her rescuer was correct. She was exhausted. Three fights in one night was more than she was used to. If she was menaced by a wild animal, there was no guarantee that she could fend it off.
"If you feel you must ensure my safety, Mr. Barton," she said with a touch of disdain in her voice. It wouldn't do to let him think she'd given in without putting up a fight. Alexis made a sweeping gesture with one arm. "By all means. Lead the way."
He flashed her a smile before starting along the cobbled road toward town. Alexis kept her sword bare in her hand, remained silent so that she could listen for any tell-tale rustling in the undergrowth. Clinton said nothing, his hands relaxed and loose at his sides. She wondered briefly, should they be attacked by a snarling beast, if he planned on fighting a wolf off with his bare hands. That would be quite the feat.
Half an hour on the road brought them within sight of the town her family resided in. She was reluctant to see their walk together end because some insane part of her liked his company. Liked the sensation of his body moving beside hers. It was the same insane part that was unrepentantly imagining what it might be like to kiss him the way she'd seen her parents kiss on more than one occasion. It was the same part that was terribly curious about just what lay beneath his clothes. She'd felt the hard strength in his arms and legs, the rippled cascade of muscle under the skin of his chest and abdomen. But there was that part that wanted to see all of him. She pushed that thought aside before her mind could conjure images and send more blood to her cheeks. He'd see her embarrassment in the lights from the gas lanterns that illuminated the streets.
She turned to him before they'd stepped into the yellow circle on the ground and offered him a pretty smile. "Thank you very kindly, Mr. Barton. I appreciate the escort. I shall be quite capable of making it home on my own now. I'm certain you have more important things to do with your evening."
He tipped his head at her, his smile growing ever wider. "There is nothing more important to me than seeing that a beautiful young woman reaches her doorstep unmolested. Of course I'm going to see you all the way. If I didn't know better, I would have to think you were trying to find a way to be rid of me, Miss Quinn. Do I make you nervous?"
She snorted in reply, earning a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "You do no such thing, Mr. Barton. Its very egotistical of you to think so. I merely thought that you might have more pressing engagements this evening than showing me to my door. Like perhaps hunting Her Majesty's deer."
His laughter, warm and alive with joy, pierced her all the way to her core. He shook his head at that and motioned toward the waiting town. "There is nothing I would rather do, Miss Quinn, than while away the evening hours in your most enjoyable presence. But the hour is late and pretty little girls need their sleep."
"You take great joy in needling me, sir," she sniffed and once more began walking. He fell into step beside her, mouth still stretched with an infectious grin. Alexis had to force herself to keep her mouth pursed and her brows drawn down. She didn't want him to know how easily and thoroughly he affected her.
"I'm sure I would," he remarked, voice low so that no one could overhear him but her. She felt blood flood to her cheeks and offered up thanks that the lamps put out an oily black cloud of smoke. Perhaps she'd get lucky and that smoke would hide her embarrassment from him.
There were few people on the streets so late at night. Anyone who dared look their way found themselves on the receiving end of a glare from Clinton that sent them scurrying off in the opposite direction quite rapidly. Alexis wondered if she should point out to him that he had no right playing the jealous suitor, but some hidden part of her thrilled with the thought that a man as handsome as he would take notice of someone like her. Not that she wasn't passing fair, but there were far comelier women in the world. Clinton was the type of man who, in the most fashionable of clothing, would turn the head of every woman who crossed his path. His presence at her side made her feel... special.
She led the way through the streets, taking the twists and turns that would bring them to the gate that opened into her family's back yard. She was reassured to see that all of the lights in the house were out, the windows dark and empty as they stared blankly out on the surrounding houses. Alexis stopped at the gate and looked up at him. "This is where we part, Mr. Barton."
His gaze swept her face before lifting to look at the house beyond. "Which room is yours?"
"A proper lady wouldn't divulge such information to a complete stranger," Alexis countered smoothly.
"A proper lady wouldn't be challenging common criminals to a duel on a darkened stretch of road by herself," he reminded her. But he fell silent and studied her for several long moments. His lips curled up in a smile she'd already learned meant nothing but trouble. "However, I am feeling quite generous this evening. I will offer you a choice. You can tell me which chamber is yours. Or you can allow me a kiss. `Tis my boon for coming to your aid."
She stared at him, not quite sure she could believe what she was hearing. Of all the audacious things to demand! Even worse, though, was the fact that she wanted to do both. That secret, insane part of her wanted to tell him exactly which room in the house was hers. Because she wanted to see if he would put that knowledge to use. And she wanted to give him the kiss he asked for. Because she wanted to know what his lips pressed against her would feel like. But she had an image of propriety to maintain.
She heaved a sigh that was entirely theatrical. "Then I shall have to allow you a kiss. Just one kiss. A single, chaste kiss."
He grinned at her like he had known that such would be her answer. His hands lifted and tugged her back into his chest. Before she had time to protest the fact that their closeness wasn't seemly, his mouth covered hers. His lips were soft and yet hard, moist as they moved over hers. His hands held her close, molded her to his torso. For a moment or two, she was so surprised that she could do nothing. Then she let go a soft sigh and melted into him. Without knowing why, she wrapped her arms around his shoulder and pressed herself closer.
She was gasping for breath when he finally set her away from him, her legs shaky with the rush of wanton emotions that flowed through her. His smirk was wide and all knowing. How dare he take such liberties! Drawing her tattered composure around her, she gave him a haughty look. "I believe I said you could have a chaste kiss, Mr. Barton. That was no where near a chaste kiss."
"That was very much a chaste kiss. I promise you, when I kiss you with intent, you will know it. Now I suggest you get up to bed before you're missed, little girl." He laughed again, then turned to stroll slowly up the alley. "Sweet dreams, little girl. May they all be filled with me."
She sent a very unladylike curse after him before letting herself into the back yard. And she was still cursing him when she finally climbed between the cold sheets of her bed. Because if that had been a chaste kiss, she was both eager and afraid to find out what his real kisses would be like.
~*~*~*~*~
"Where are the Lord and Lady?" he asked as he passed through the double doors into the long Great Hall where the nighttime revelries took place. Where the meetings were held. Where everything that involved the entire coven happened.
"They've retired to their private chambers," the youngest of the guards told him. When he took note of Clinton's direction, he hurried to get between him and his goal. "But they've asked not to be disturbed."
He stared at the guard. It was obvious the young fool didn't know who he was. Clinton pulled himself to his full height and stared down into the younger man's eyes. "How old are you, boy?" he asked with a quiet snarl.
The boy blinked and hurried to reply, his voice coming out in a stammering mess of fear and confusion. "Only a few months old."
Clinton looked past him to the other guard on the door. "Explain to him just who I am. And when you're done with that, you can finish his training. Find out who started it and punish them accordingly." After receiving a nod from the senior guard, Clinton gave his attention back to the younger guard still barring his way. "I suggest you step out of my way. Now."
The young guard's face went paler than it already was and he hurried to step out of Clinton's way. He gave the boy a snarl of a smile, then continued on his way. He had no worries that the boy would ever question him again. Just as he knew that his partner wouldn't really hurt the lad. The man would ensure that the younger guard was properly schooled and leave it at that. The one who had failed to teach the boy everything, though, would not be so lucky.
He traveled the halls in silence, unchallenged by any of the other guards that stood against the walls at uneven intervals, his mind going back over everything he'd seen and heard and learned that night. There was so much to tell the Lord and Lady that he didn't even know where to start. None of it was especially good, which made the telling that much worse. The night had been entirely too depressing. Well, with exception of the time he'd spent observing and talking to Miss Alexis Quinn.
Just thinking of her brought back his final images of her. He'd left her at the gate to her home and slipped into the shadows so that he could watch her enter the dwelling. It had amused him to no end that she'd climbed up a trellis hammered to the wall, covered over with tendrils of ivy. The trellis had run right past a window that she'd nudged open with one hand before grabbing hold of the casement and pulling herself inside. He'd lingered long enough after the closing of the window to know that she'd let herself into her own chambers. His superior vision had allowed him to pick out the shadowed shape of her figure as she'd set about readying herself for bed in the darkness. He'd left then, accompanied back to the lair by the memories of his encounter with her.
Clinton had met many, many women over his long life. He'd met beautiful women that found their place in legend. He'd met homely women who had been burdened with a forgotten existence. He'd met women who were intelligent and fierce, who were insipid and weak, who were incapable of deciding between one gown and the next. He'd met so many women that he couldn't remember all of the faces and names. The memories of some were strong and vibrant, as if he'd only met them moments ago. And some memories were little more than faded, ill-remembered dreams.
Alexis Quinn was unlike any woman he'd ever met. She was smart and capable. Fierce and loyal. Strong and soft. She was as capable with her wit and her tongue as she was with her sword and pistols. She stirred something inside of him that women had failed to do for... If he was being honest, no one had done this to him since he'd been a ignorant young man easily led about by his family jewels.
A pair of tall, heavy oaken doors loomed up before him. Clinton came to a halt and took a moment to right his clothing, then he lifted his hand and knocked loudly. The guards on either side of the door didn't look at him, their gazes fixed straight ahead. As they were meant to be. A momentary sense of pride swelled within him at their obvious attention to their duties. He'd trained them himself, after all.
Come. The voice echoed through his head, a mere breath of sound that was filled with the warmth of affection. He pushed the doors open far enough to allow himself to enter, his hands absently pushing them closed behind him. None other within the lair was so trusted as he was and he was rarely, if ever, turned away from the Lord and Lady's private chambers.
He was greeted with the sight of his Lady's bouncing breasts, pale and perfect, as she rose up and down on his Lord's lap. The light thrown off by the fire crackling in the hearth gilded her flesh and gave it a warmer, more living appearance. Her head was tossed back, fiery red tendrils of hair trailing down her back like a waterfall. He'd had his hands in her hair and knew it was as soft as the finest silk. He couldn't help himself. He came to a halt and allowed his gaze to rake down her front. His view was unobstructed and he found himself mesmerized by the way his Lord's cock stroked in and out of her lush body.
Silence unfurled between them as she continued riding her husband's cock, her mouth hanging slightly as pleasure blossomed within her body. His hands crept slowly up over her abdomen until they could cup her breasts and soon he was pinned in place by his Lord's blue eyed stare. The air was heavy with their lust and passions, tendrils of it curling around his body. They were calling to him, asking him to join them. It took every last ounce of strength to keep his feet rooted to their spot. If he stripped down now and climbed into bed with them, he'd forget what he'd come here to report.
They understood. They always did. While he enjoyed passion and took the art of pleasure seriously, he took his duties as the head of their Elite Guard even more seriously. So they kept moving, their bodies shifting up and down in a single motion that was graceful, erotic, and deadly. The desire and pleasure on the air thickened and grew heavier, wrapping themselves around him as the two of them rapidly approached climax. His Lord's mouth traced well known paths up and down his Lady's throat while his hands manipulated her nipples and massaged her breasts.
Her eyes finally slid open, purple jewels heavy with need. Her gaze landed on him and with it came every last ounce of emotion and sensation they'd been holding back from him. Their pleasure screamed through him and left him gasping for breath. For just a moment, his mind was a confused myriad of images; blue eyes and purple eyes and green eyes. When the waves finally ebbed away to nothingness, he was left panting for air he didn't need
His Lady was coiled around her husband and lover, her hand stroking his bared flesh possessively. Her eyes were on him, though, her smile telling him of her pleasure. "We've missed you in our bed, Clinton. What important events have kept you from us so long?" she asked, her voice a purr of sex and pleasure. It crept up his spine and wrapped around the base of his brain, leaving him momentarily unable to do anything but wish for a chance to lavish her with his love.
"Lord Philip," he intoned when his thoughts were once more his own. He inclined his head toward them both, a sign of the respect they were both due. "Lady Miriam."
She heaved a sigh and pulled herself up into a sitting position. She was still naked and utterly at ease with it. She sent a mournful look toward her husband. "He's all business this evening, Philip. How dreadfully boring. I'd much rather have him join us than talk business."
"Forgive me, my Lady," Clinton intoned softly, once more inclining his head to hide the smile that played at the corners of his lips.
"Patience, my love. I do believe that Clinton has something serious to discuss," his Lord told her. She pretended to huff about it, but he knew better. Lady Miriam was just as blood thirsty and ambitious as her husband. Possibly more so. The two of them settled themselves on the large bed, their backs pressed up to the headboard while their hands constantly moved. His Lady let her fingers trail over the length of her husband's cock, still erect despite their former play. His Lord's hand drifted between her breast and the tangle of hair between her thighs.
"What news do you bring us, Captain?" Lady Miriam asked, her tone officious and even.
"The wolves are encroaching upon the humans again, my Lady," he reported. The wolves were the reason why he'd been ranging out of the lair these past days. Because he'd heard whispers of discontent among members of the pack and he'd made it his duty to see whether or not those whispers bore any truth to them. "I was near the village and heard them calling back and forth to one another. If we don't do something about them, humans will be slaughtered without care."
"A few lone wolves near the village doesn't mean that the humans are in danger," Lord Philip suggested, tone calm and steady. Clinton knew his words weren't meant to be taken as they sounded. Lord Philip was a man of reason, who thought about all of his actions before committing them. This was only another instance of his need for every last scrap of information before making a decision.
"I slipped into one of their pubs. The locals are talking. A few people have gone missing recently. Word is traveling like wildfire, my Lord," Clinton informed them. "I believe that the pack, or at least a few select members of the pack, are on the move."
"To what purpose, my Captain?" Lady Miriam asked him.
"Perhaps to start a panic. Or perhaps to force our hand. Imagine what would happen if war broke out between the coven and the pack." War would mean discovery of their secret. War would mean death for everyone. The coven. The pack. The humans. Death would destroy everything. They couldn't take the chance. The risk was too great.
"I'll send word to Lord Fury," Lord Philip said. His tone told Clinton that he believed him, that there was more to this than a few lone wolves straying too close to civilization. Clinton inclined his head again.
Lady Miriam smiled at him. "Now. Tell us what other reason has seen you avoiding us these past days. Something has captured your attention."
The tone of her voice was so knowing that his cheeks would have been flaming had he been capable of blushing. She must have read the blush on his face because she laughed, a sensuous sound that slid up and down his spine in much the same way her hand slid up and down her husband's cock. "Ah. I understand now. What is the name of this vixen, Clinton?"
"Her name is Alexis, my Lady," he replied. She shook her head at him and held one hand out to him. This time, he went without thinking about it. Lady Miriam pulled him onto the bed, guiding him between herself and her husband. Even before he could settle, they were both plucking at his clothing, helping rid him of each piece.
"Tell us about her, Clinton. Your eyes shine in ways I've not seen in centuries. She must be very special."
"She's a warrior, Miriam," he replied, his hands already gliding over the silken skin of her belly so that he could cup her breasts. She sighed softly when his fingers tweaked her nipples. He sighed when Philip's hands found his cock and stroked it languidly. Philip leaned over him to press a kiss to his mouth. "This past sennight, I've watched her battle criminals and thieves. None of them has defeated her. She's trained in the use of many different weapons. She carried with her a pair of pistols, a dagger, a sword, and a crossbow. She's as brave as any warrior I've ever known."
His keen hearing picked up the sound of the door opening just far enough to allow a human into the room. One of them had sent for a donor so that he would be capable of joining them in their games. Miriam leaned down and took his mouth in a fiery kiss before relinquishing her hold on him so that the human could tend to him.
Miriam and Philip watched as he pulled the woman to him. She was young and had been crafted with amazing curves. Her breasts strained against the shift she wore, the material sheer enough to show him that her nipples were soft, pale pink and eager for his touch. Clinton sat up and pulled the girl into his lap, his mouth latching on the pert peaks pressing against the thin barrier of her shift. She moaned softly when his teeth scraped her skin, when his fingers found their way between her thighs. She was ready for him, would have gladly taken his cock inside of her had he been capable. When his mouth drifted upward toward her neck, she tilted her head to the side and exposed the line of her throat to him.
The big vein there throbbed under her skin. When he sank his fangs into it, she tensed a second, then her body spasmed and she keened out her pleasure while he drank from her. The moment he finished, he lowered her to the bedding and left her there to recover. Philip and Miriam pulled him into their arms and between rounds of kissing and sucking and fucking, he told them everything he knew about Alexis Quinn.
~*~*~*~*~
"Alexis Eirinn Quinn!" Her mother's voice dragged her away from the ragged edges of slumber. She opened her eyes to the painful realization that she hadn't pulled her curtains before climbing into bed. Brilliant golden light streamed into her room, leaving her temporarily blind. Groaning softly, Alexis tucked her head under her pillow and hoped that the world would go away. A fist pounded on the wooden panel. "Alexis! Are you deaf, girl! Get yourself up right now. You've slept half the day away and we've got appointments to keep! The dressmaker is expecting you for your fitting. Come on, girl. Get up!"
Damn. She'd forgotten all about the dressmaker. Sighing, she dragged her head out from under the pillow and slid from the bed. Her head was fuzzier than usual after a night on the road. A glance at the clock showed her that it was well past ten and her appointment was at eleven. It would take at least half the time between now and then to get into every last piece of clothing before she would be considered proper.
She shuffled to the en suite loo and took a good look at herself in the mirror. There were large circles under her eyes and a general look of exhaustion in her eyes. She'd expected to sleep better than she had after all of the activity the night before. But for some reason, that hadn't happened.
As if they had been waiting for her to acknowledge them, those reasons rose up out of the shadows of her mind to remind her exactly why she'd slept so poorly. Not that her memories of the dreams that had plagued her were clear. It was like staring at figures moving in the fog, only thin wisps of the whole picture. She was sure that the center of her dreams had been the stranger from the road. Clinton Barton. He'd made quite the impression with his kiss the night before. Her lips had still tingled from his kiss when she'd finally drifted off to sleep.
Perhaps that was why her dreams had been so... sinful in nature.
She remembered the feel of hands stroking her body. Large hands of strength that had belonged to at least two men. One set belonged to Clinton. She was sure of it. She didn't know who owned the other set. And that was worrisome because they'd given her such pleasure. She should have been ashamed of the knowledge that she'd enjoyed having two sets of hands on her at the same time. But she wasn't. Even stranger was the fact that there'd been a third set of hands. Thin and delicate fingers that she'd known had belonged to a woman. It had been thrilling to feel them seek out all of her most intimate places and bring fiery tendrils of pleasure with them.
Even now, just thinking of those hands was enough to send more of the same wicked pleasure coursing through her. She had to wrap her fingers around the porcelain of the sink to remain standing. Her knees went weak with the remembered need and hunger that had clawed at her.
The dream hadn't stopped there. Those hands had been replaced by lips and tongues and... A groan rolled up her throat as she recalled what it had felt like in her dream to be breached by a man's thick, swollen...
She did stagger then and had to move to the fainting couch that made its home in her bathing room. Now that the memories of her dream were coming, there was no stopping them. Sensations stole her breath, saw her writhing on the couch as she felt the phantom touch of fingers and lips and tongues and a man's penis. It was so overwhelming that she had to find some way to relieve the tension that grew within her.
Her hand moved of its own accord, fingers frantically pulling the length of her night dress up until her thighs were bared to the room. She followed the trail of memory, one hand shifting so that she could explore the hard, swollen points of her breasts. Each touch, each shift of material over them, saw her panting and gasping. Her hips moved on their own, mimicking the actions of her hips in her dream. They bucked up even harder when her free hand glided between her thighs and her fingers grazed the swollen nub of her clitoris. She rubbed, body moving to the pleasure that rode her even though it begged for more. She wanted something inside of her, wanted to feel a man stroking in and out of her body.
Her fingers dipped deeper, stroked harder and faster. Soft gasps and faint mewling sounds fell from her mouth until, without warning, everything went white and the room around her faded. The tension knotted up before it exploded outward like a bullet from the barrel of her pistol. Her limbs went limp and she came back to herself to find that she was sprawled gracelessly over her couch. One hand still cupped her breast, the nipple tight and aching from her treatment of it. The other hand remained wedged between her thighs, fingers slick and sticky with fluid.
It took a while to get her coordination back. When she was capable of standing, she went to the sink and poured water into it, then splashed the cold liquid on her cheeks. She could still clearly recall the last bits of her dream. When Clinton had been between her thighs, his body pumping in and out at a furious pace. He'd been nuzzling her neck, his mouth pressing dizzying kisses to her flesh. And then there'd been a sharp, intensely pleasurable pain and the world had spun away from her in a rush. And he'd been smiling down at her.
She was sure that there'd been something else, something that was important, but she couldn't quite recall what.
A knock on her door had her hurrying to clean up. "Alexis! I swear, you're lazier than your brothers!"
"I'm up, Ma!" she called back.
"Good. I'm sending Helen in to help you with your dress. Don't make me wait or you'll go to the dressmaker in your under things!" Mary Magdelaine called.
"Yes, Ma!"
As soon as she was sure her mother was gone, she risked a glance in the glass. Her cheeks were still flushed and there was a oddly soft look to her eyes. What did the hell did the dream mean? And why had she had such an explicit dream about a man she'd only just met? She searched for answers that she knew she'd never find, then set about cleaning up. By the time her maid arrived to help her into her clothing, she'd managed to erase the marks of pleasure form her face.
Helen helped her into her undergarments, making sure that Alexis' corset was pulled tight. Then she was bundling her into the layers of cloth that served as her shield from the world during the daylight hours. The last thing was to work her feet into her shoes and allow Helen to put up her hair. A touch of cosmetics gave her the look that society deemed acceptable. By the time Helen was done with her, Alexis felt like she wasn't even the same person any more.
She went straight from the dressing table to the carriage they would take to the heart of the city and the dressmaker's shop. Her stomach rumbled noisily, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since dinner the night before. She intentionally didn't look at her mother, because she knew what Mary Magdelaine's reaction would be if she did so.
The sun was shining, the sky blue with only a few puffy clouds floating across its expanse. It was a mild day and it should have been a good day for a trip to the dressmaker's shop. But she dreaded it with everything that she was. Because it was one step closer to loosing her freedom. One step closer to a wedding she didn't want to have happen. One step closer to being saddled with a husband she didn't even want.
"Alexis? Are you listening to me, girl? What in the name of God is wrong with you today? I swear, talking to you is like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall." Mary Magdelaine shook her head at Alexis, frowning as if she was disappointed in her only daughter. Alexis often thought she was.
"I'm sorry, Ma. I don't think I slept very well last night."
Her mother smiled and reached over to pat one of Alexis' hands with her own. "There, there. I know today is a busy day. Its only fair that you'd be anxious. The big day is so close. I remember how I felt before my wedding. I don't think I slept until after your Da and I were married."
Alexis shot her a stiff smile that she hoped her mother would read as anxiety and not as 'Please, God! Don't make me do this!' Her mother wouldn't listen to her if they got into another one of their rows centered around why Alexis didn't think she should have to get married. Especially not to someone she barely knew.
Without warning, images of Clinton filled her head and, with them, the sweet, wicked sensations that had she'd felt in her dreams and then again in her bathroom. If she was to marry anyone, why couldn't it be someone like him? Instinct told her that he'd be the kind of husband any woman would want.
The carriage came to a halt, the wheels creaking ever so slightly as it stopped before the dressmaker's shop. Alexis found herself pushing those thoughts away. They were replaced by a sense of dread and regret. She would do well not to dwell on such things, because she'd likely never see Clinton Barton again.
It was better that she resigned herself to her fate now, lest she do something stupid like go look for him and let him really kiss her.
~*~
