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White Rose	By : CeeCee Category: X-men Comics > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 10605 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men fandom. Marvel Entertainment owns these characters. I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Summary: Christian's reunion with his lover precedes his worst nightmare. Emma's confronted with the truth of her father's sojourn at the Wind-Rider's castle. And once again, she begins to dream...
Author's Note: Life has been hell. I haven't been updating because I've been doing more artwork, and because my personal life has been floating in the crapper. This will contain a great deal of angst, but I never claimed to be the fluff queen, even when I write Archie stuff.
Emma hurried back up the stairs, ignoring her voluminous nightgown and nuisance it posed of tripping her. The thought patterns of the strange male were faint, but growing stronger the closer she grew to that end of the house.
"Who are you?" Emma asked again to herself. "And what are you doing here?" Her heart hammered at the thought of another person - another human - in the strange estate. She wondered if he could help her escape? Was the Wind-Rider holding him captive, too? Had someone bargained his life away, and if so, what was his fate?
Better still, what was hers?
Emma's mind reeled and she broke out in a cold sweat. There were still too many unknowns surrounding her situation and her status in the castle. Guest, or prisoner? Which one was she? Was the Wind-Rider her hostess, or her jailer? Emma reached the top of the stairs and jogged down the hall. She heard low, skittering steps in the corridor and she wondered if the tiny animal servants were tracking her location.
It's time to go. Emma picked up a stray flash of thoughts from the beast, and she shivered. Her psychic tone was calm but determined, and there was something furtive in her mood, almost secretive. Emma hesitated in her quest for information. The Wind-Rider was the mistress of all the secrets that Emma knew the castle held, so what would she be trying to hide?
The young man's thoughts were foggy, almost discernible. But suddenly...
Christian. Have to get back to Chris.
Emma emitted a low cry. "Chris!" She made her way down the next hall, to the west wing. She vaguely remembered the creature telling her that her parents once lived on that side, that was where their suite was located... and Emma's access to it was forbidden.
She didn't care. "CHRISTIAN!"
Ororo's heart leapt into her throat with uncharacteristic panic. "Damn! Damn it to hell!"
"Unnnngh..." The young man stirring in her arms moaned and squirmed in her embrace. Ororo held him easily against her, cradling him like a child despite his tall, muscular physique.
"Quiet. Be still." She received no argument, but she had no room for hesitation when the doorknob jiggled insistently.
"Hello? HELLO?"
"YOU DON'T BELONG IN HERE!" The Wind-Rider roared to deter her. But Emma wouldn't be swayed from her purpose.
"LET ME IN, NOW! I know you have someone in there! I can FEEL him! And he knows Christian! YOU LET ME IN, NOW, YOU DIRTY BEAST!"
A flare of rage bloomed in Ororo's chest, but before she could give it her full attention and focus, she made a last-ditch decision. "Hold on tight, love," she whispered to Jean-Paul. "I'm taking you back where you're needed most." She reached quickly for a small vial on the vanity, and she briefly caught her reflection.
Was that desperation in her face? Tinged with fear? Ororo's eyes narrowed and she shook herself.
"SANTO!" Emma cried out as she latched onto his stray thoughts.
What on earth is the matter, my lady?
"Come to me! I need to get in here! Hurry!"
As you wish.
Emma was grateful that he heeded her without question. Within moments, the ursine leviathan lumbered up beside her. He growled in confusion. "Milady, this is Mistress' chamber."
"Knock down the door," Emma ordered coldly. He huffed in surprise.
"She won't have it."
"This door stands between me and whomever she's holding captive inside," Emma snapped. Her cheeks were florid and her eyes shone with anger. Santo growled uncomfortably, his tone almost a low whine.
"This won't do," he informed her with a heavy sigh. Then he rose up on his hindlegs, standing massively tall, and with a mighty swipe of his left paw, he knocked the door off its hinges, scattering splinters and tearing the lock from its setting. The heavy wooden door hit the suite's floor with a loud BOOM!
The room was unoccupied. Emma let out a tiny sob and covered her mouth with her knuckles. "NO!"
"She's taken flight," Santo informed Emma futilely. "She's gone north."
"You can tell that?" Emma spun on him in surprise. "You know which direction she went that easily?"
"I can smell her scent on the wind. Emma rushed toward the window, whose long, heavy draperies swung in the breeze with loud flaps. She cursed under her breath at the chill in the air, her long nightgown no protection against it, and she saw the Wind-Rider's winged silhouette disappear into a rolling murk of fog.
"That's a dirty trick," Emma muttered. "Santo, she's gone!"
"She will be back, and no doubt irritated about the loss of a perfectly good door. Are you always this destructive with other people's property?" he inquired, ignoring the fact that he had done the actual bashing in question. Emma snarled under her breath and threw up her hands.
"I need to know where she's taking him."
"It's Mistress' business where she took her other guest," Santo reminded her, attempting to turn her away from such a touchy topic. Emma's blue eyes widened.
"You know," she accused.
"Er..." Santo sat back on his haunches and slightly ducked his large, shaggy head. Emma could swear she saw fear in his eyes.
"You know who she was keeping here."
"Not... really."
"You can't lie to me."
"Er... after a fashion... I might have some inkling, milady."
"Who was he, Santo?" Emma asked softly, taking a different tack. She reached up and scratched the great bear behind his sensitive ear, and he made a low, whuffling growl of contentment.
"Mistress will be angry with me if I divulge too much."
"Please," she implored him, continuing the petting and enjoying the warm, comforting feel of his plush fur. Her voice was smooth as honey. "I can't rest until I know. It's important to me. I heard his thoughts, Santo. He was wounded, wasn't he?"
"He was bleeding when she brought him home last night," Santo mused on a low near-purr as she continued to scratch his head and neck, leaning into her touch.
"Bleeding?" Her shift in demeanor made him rear up onto his hindlegs again, completely alert and less trusting.
"Please calm down, milady, and here me out." He huffed at her glare, nonplussed when she planted her hands on her rounded hips. "Mistress wants to protect you."
"That's the prevailing theory," Emma sighed, "even though it has too many holes in it for my taste."
"You were... distraught last night, milady."
"Just call me Emma."
"You're above my station."
"That's open for debate, here. Your mistress is above mine."
"She doesn't have to be... if you give her a chance," he suggested.
"Pardon?"
"I apologize. Ignore that last bit."
"No, what did you mean when-"
"Milady! I know that things took an untoward turn last night."
"To say the least."
"I carried you back to your room when you fainted," he pointed out.
"What?" Emma paled.
"You might have forgotten, but before Mistress left last night, you swooned. It was most unsettling. We'd feared the worst."
"You can't blame me," she murmured. "My brother's life was in danger. He's the only person in my life, other than my father, who loves me unconditionally." Santo rumbled low in his throat.
"Don't sell yourself short, milady."
"What do you know of love, you silly bear."
"You're distraught. I'll let that one go," he told her charitably, but he prefaced it with a growl of warning. Emma caught a flash of hurt when she read his emotions, and she once again felt that odd... unsettling feeling that she was missing something when she had these verbal exchanges with the Wind-Rider's odd menagerie.
Then again, it wasn't every day that she held a conversation with four-footed, furry or winged creatures, was it? Not any where they actually spoke back, she mused.
"Emma," Santo murmured as he began to lumber away.
"Yes?"
"That young man was attacked by the same one who threatened your brother. His name was Jean-Paul." With that, he left her alone, mumbling under his breath about How on earth will we fix that door?
Emma's mind raced as she darted back to her chamber, her previous plan for breakfast completely ignored.
*
She was evasive when Rahne and Dani padded into her suite and asked her how she slept.
"Er... restfully." Rahne gave her the lupine equivalent of a smug smile.
"You were out like a light," Dani pointed out, and Emma heard the same satisfaction in her voice, feeling it resonate in her emotions. She pushed it aside and refocused herself on the task at hand. She went into the armoire and pulled out a plain brown homespun dress with an empire-cut waist and full skirt. She pulled on heavy wool stockings and her sturdiest, hardest leather boots, glad she brought them with her. "What on earth are you putting that on for? You've so many lovely new clothes to choose from!"
"That one won't do at all," Rahne chimed in, whuffling and scratching her ear with her hind foot.
"It will do for now. I'm not going to be sipping tea in the library or partaking of any other ladylike pursuit," Emma informed them crisply. She adjusted the fastenings and ties on her dress and rapidly plaited her hair in a long, snug braid that fell halfway down her back. Both wolves sighed, wondering what bug crawled under their guest's bonnet now.
"Where are you going?" Dani asked.
"I can't tell you."
"If you won't tell us, then we can't let you go, milady," Rahne growled, bunching back her muzzle. Emma scowled and swatted Rahne's rump with a small, dainty fan, making her whine like a cub.
"You have little choice, dearies. There are things I must know, and your mistress isn't being forthcoming."
"She has her reasons," Rahne explained as Emma found her heavy, drab cloak. She did up the buttons and pulled the hood over her head, concealing her lovely golden tresses.
"She's divulged precious little of them since I've arrived. I abhor all of these bloody secrets in this house."
"Please don't say such things, milady," Rahne suggested sadly. Dani whined in her throat and nuzzled her mate. Emma felt as guilty as though she had kicked them.
"I wish you'd tell me what I need to know."
"I wish I could. Such things aren't within our purview, sweet." Dani sighed as Emma rummaged through the vanity. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for that little mirror," Emma muttered as she nudged aside brushes, tubs of cream and powder and other trinkets. She yanked open the drawer and let out a brisk "AHA!" as she found the silver-handled looking glass. She tucked it into her pocket and her cloak swirled out behind her as she strode out the door.
"EMMA!" Rahne cried. Both wolves dogged her heels, yipping, whining and making a large fuss. "Where are you going? You mustn't leave! Mistress will be upset if you aren't here when she returns!"
"You don't even know when she will return, or where she's going, or why," Emma complained sourly. Her strides were long, graceful and determined. She sprinted down the two flights of stairs toward the huge foyer and main hall. Manuel hopped out from behind the large grandfather clock and stood his ground, nearly tripping her. He almost looked cute as he cocked his ear curiously and held out his paw to halt her progress.
"You mustn't go, senorita. I can't let you. Mistress forbids it."
"Your mistress isn't my mistress," Emma argued. "She can keep me from my family, but she won't keep me in the dark. I won't have information witheld from me when it concerns my own blood. My brother's life is in danger, as well as his friend, and I need to go to Christian. He needs me there more than your mistress needs me here."
"BUT-" Emma cut off his pleas as she nimbly side-stepped the hare. Manuel's emotions were a frantic tumble, and she felt a flash of real fear from him, desperation and... despair?
"I can't stay."
"You MUST! EMMA! SENORITA! Don't go!"
"I must go to Chris! I'm sorry," she called back, hating herself for distressing the poor little creature.
Suddenly Emma felt a sharp, painful nip at her calf. "OW!" Manuel looked guilty as she kicked him loose from beneath her skirt. This time, there was no mischief in his thoughts or intent. He fixed his dark, beady eyes on her and spoke gravely.
"If you leave, you must come back immediately," he told her.
"I'll have my father give back everything your mistress spent in buying me." Emma's voice was cold and bitter. "But I need to return to find my brother. I can't rest until I know he's all right, and I owe that much to Jean-Paul for trying to protect him."
"The Wind-Rider saved them both," Manuel told her haughtily. "You owe her more than you think."
"Promise you'll come back," Rahne called out, bringing up the rear.
"You must," Dani added tersely. "Don't argue this with us."
"She can buy whoever she wants," Emma grumbled, but she sensed their anxiety, and it seeped deeply into her consciousness, flooding her with new guilt. "All right. I will return before nightfall." With that, she spun on her heel and left.
"Santo, follow her," Manuel murmured.
"At a distance. Otherwise, she'll hear me, whether I make a sound or not."
*
The mirror seemed to pulse in Emma's hand as she headed for the stable. None of the Wind-Rider's subjects stopped her, so she deemed it acceptable to borrow one of the horses.
Her breath caught when she spied the four perfect white mares penned inside, each in individual stalls. The barn was immaculately neat, and they each supped on a generous supply of oats. Emma approached the first stall and waited to get the beast's attention. The mare regarded her warily at first, but then she approached the guest, sniffing and lipping at Emma's hand when she reached out to touch the mare's ears.
"I need your help," she informed the mare. To her surprise, the beastie didn't reply. "You don't talk?" she said aloud. The mare tossed her mane and butted at her hand, looking for treats. Emma reached into the horse's grain bag and offered her some oats, talking to her soothingly. She found a well-oiled, clean saddle and blanket, and within minutes, she was astride the beautiful creature, trotting at first, then cantering into the woods, finally breaking into a steady gallop. The mirror flashed and suddenly fogged over. Emma ignored the cold bite of the wind and the sudden rain pelting her flesh as she waited for the mirror's image to clear. It wasn't long before the Wind-Rider appeared in its surface, flying hell-for-leather, carrying a tall, lean body against her with seemingly little difficulty. She was an awesome sight, feathers rippling, her long white hair whipping out behind her in a wild tangle. The image clouded briefly, and Emma cursed.
"No! COME BACK! I'm going to find you, damn you!" Emma reined in her mount for a moment, and it reared up at her sudden stop, but she brought the mare back under control, leaning down and caressing it with low shushing sounds, stroking its firm, smooth neck. "It's all right, girl. I'm sorry." She still felt bereft at the lack of a reply, but the horse whickered at her, annoyed at being brought up short. She headed in the direction that she thought Ororo would have flown, but the mirror's surface still remained blank. "Drat." Her horse fussed when Emma tried to sway her away from where she wanted to go, but then she noticed the river bubbling less than a meter away. "You're thirsty? I'm sorry, sweet. I'll let you drink." The mare flicked her tail and trotted them toward the sparkling water.
Emma was baffled when the horse carried them right through it, fording it and quickening her pace as they reached the opposite bank. "What on earth? Oh!" The horse whinnied and resumed its previous gallop, and Emma clenched the reins so tightly that her palm developed a blister. She reached for the mirror, and its surface was swirling again, showing her the Wind-Rider once more. "You knew! You wonderful beast! You knew I was going the wrong way! I'll give you more apples than you can eat once we reach Father's! Thank you." Her only reply was a low whicker as they headed through the forest, reaching the end of the tree line. The mare's hoofbeats increased in volume as they hit a rocky, gravelly trail, and Emma realized they were on the main road toward the village. Her heartbeat quickened in anticipation, but she was terrified.
What would Father think? What happened to Christian? Emma was upset that she hadn't had a flash of Christian's thoughts since the night before. Foreboding wrapped its icy fingers around her heart.
As the city's gates grew closer, Emma looked up into the sky and saw a figure emerge from the gray murk. "There," she huffed. "I see you, monster. You won't hide my brother from me; this, I swear." No more secrets. No more subterfuge or a monster's insistence that Emma had no right to pry, or that she yield. Emma's cheeks grew hot with a mixture of anger and impatience.
Emma entered the village at a canter, then slowed to a trot. Shopkeepers flicked her a brief glance, surprised at the fine white horse and the bedraggled girl astride it. She ignored them and resumed her perusal of the mirror. She'd lost sight of the Wind-Rider and Jean-Paul once more. Emma wondered if the glass would tell her where Jean-Paul lived...
"That's it," she whispered to herself. "Mirror, take me to Jean-Paul's."
But before the mare or the looking glass could respond, Emma was accosted by two gentleman in severe, dark garb.
"Miss Frost, please come down from your mount. We need to have a word with you."
"Whatever for?" she demanded, reluctant to dismount or dignify their demand.
"You're wanted for questioning in the recent murder of two men last night. We believe your brother and father were involved." Emma's heart pounded and her blood ran cold.
"No! No, that can't be! You're wrong!"
"Come with us."
*
Ororo landed in a narrow alley, much less fetid than the one where she'd found Jean-Paul. She knew it wouldn't help her cause to return to where she'd abducted him. He stirred against her but said nothing. His color was better than it was the night before, no longer that sickly gray, but his face was too drawn for her taste. She sighed and gave his temple one last, brief nuzzle. "It's all right. I'll return you to where you're missed." She liked his scent and the feel of his firm, supple body against hers, and once again, Ororo regretted the unchangeable.
She laid him down on the spare blanket she'd carefully draped around him and peered out into the street. She remained cloaked with a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face, and her hood once more obscured her horns. Only her unsettling, slate blue eyes were visible, and she wore heavy gloves to hide her talons this time. She folded her wings neatly and consulted the pocket-sized mirror again. It gleamed, then clouded over when she told her "Take me to the one this man loves."
She expected to see Christian, but instead, the mirror revealed a lovely young woman with long, black, wavy tresses and light blue eyes. She had a winsome figure and looked a great deal like Jean-Paul. Ororo was surprised. "I thought I was bringing you back to your friend," Ororo accused him softly.
"Nnngh..." He stirred and smacked his lips, then groaned in pain.
"You're not tip-top yet," Ororo reminded him gently.
"Chris," he muttered.
"I can't find him. I wouldn't know where to look first, darling."
"Aur- Aurora," he muttered.
"Who?"
"Aurora. Where is she?"
"She? Ah. Lovely woman, dark and pretty like you?" That made Jean-Paul's eyes open, and once again Ororo was taken by how pretty they were, such a clear, pure shade of light blue. It dawned on him who she was, and he began to panic, attempting to jerk himself upright. "No. Stay where you are. I told you, you're in no shape."
"Stay back!"
"I'm here to help, if you'll let me. You're wounded, badly."
"Where's Christian?" he hissed, rewarding her candor with a fierce glare.
"I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine. But Aurora is nearby, if my source is correct, and it usually is." Jean-Paul scowled.
"Jeanne-Marie. I'm the only one who calls my sister Aurora."
"Ah. Your sister." That explained enough to Ororo. "That's why we're here, then. You recognize this place?"
"Damn... ow. Yes. We're in the alleyway behind our tenant home."
"That's convenient." Ororo was thankful that the mirror directed her to the alley, since it would seem odd if she just randomly knocked on the front door, dropped off Jean-Paul with his sister, and then said how-do-you-do before taking her leave, on black-tipped wings along the north wind.
"I need to find Christian."
"No, you don't. Not yet."
"He said he would stay with us." The attack in the alley was coming back to Jean-Paul, one gruesome image at a time, and his eyes were desperate. "He needs to see me! He needs to know I'm all right!"
"He will, in due time."
"You! Chris... he didn't trust you. He didn't want you to take me."
"I'm not someone people around here trust to tend to their loved ones at first glance," Ororo said wryly. Her eyes flashed white, briefly, and Jean-Paul heard thunder rumble in the sky. "Christian has an issue with me right now, to put things lightly."
"Lightly?" Jean-Paul almost shouted. "You're the one. You took Emma from him."
"That's not altogether accurate. I demanded her from their father, and she came to me."
"Not willingly."
"She walked into my castle on her own two, dainty feet." Ororo tried not to sound smug, but she was in no mood to pacify Christian's lover, when he really needed to get inside from the cold. "Your sister must be worried. Come along." She bent over him, but he fought her, rearing back and scuffling away on his haunches.
"No! Don't touch me!"
"I've seen you naked. Don't be shy," she mocked. Jean-Paul looked horrified, and Ororo chuckled. She was all right with his hatred, as long as he had some fight left in him. That meant he would recover from his injury. But in the meantime, she couldn't afford to be polite. She reached into her pocket and swooped down on him, wrestling him onto his back. She held his wrists high above his head and uncapped the vial she brought along with her, and he struggled futilely, cursing and gagging as she forced a few drops from it into his mouth. He spat them out, but the medicine was fast-acting and potent. His vision blurred, and he felt weak and disoriented. Before he blacked out, he felt Ororo loosen her grip on him and shift him, lifting him from the cold ground.
"Jeanne-Marie will be thrilled to see you. But not to see me," Ororo mused as she consulted her mirror again, carefully covering Jean-Paul with the blanket, obscuring his handsome face. She headed inside through the back door, kicking open the shoddy, creaky door. She descended the stairs, surprised that it led to a basement of some sort.
Ororo saw an equally shabby interior door, its varnish worn and brass knob rusted and slightly bent. The corridor was frigid, and she wondered how they managed to live like this. She was unaccustomed to squalor, herself, and she pitied Jean-Paul and his sister. She sighed and knocked on the door, listening for sounds on the other side.
She heard quick footsteps and someone panting, a feminine voice, and she guessed it was Aurora. That was Ororo's cue to take her leave. She gently set Jean-Paul down, propping him against the wall. She didn't wait for Aurora to answer the door, and by the time she reached the corridor, breathless, heart pounding in her throat in anticipation, the Wind-Rider was gone.
She shrieked and sobbed with relief when she found Jean-Paul huddled against the wall, wearing fresh clothes and a clean dressing on his wound. She sank down beside him and pulled him across her lap, cradling him while he slept. She just needed a moment... just a moment to recover her bearings.
Her tears were thick, her sobs were loud as they wrenched themselves from her throat, but the one person who she loved in this miserable world had been returned to her.
*
Winston huddled miserably in the cold, dark cell, staring balefully at his only son, who sat across from him in the corner. Both men were cold and unshaven, dirty, and dried mud spattered their worn boots. They were restless and exhausted from a sleepless night, and neither of them could believe the horrors that befell them in a mere few hours.
Christian and Winston argued at length as Winston tried to force him into the wagon to head home. "Get in, damn it! We need to get ourselves gone from here!"
"No! I can't leave! I need to go to Aurora! She'll be devastated when Jean-Paul doesn't come home!"
"I don't give a damn! You're my concern, not her, and definitely not that... that fop," Winston spat disdainfully.
"You don't even know him, Father!"
"I know enough about the kind of people you attract. I know about your 'hobbies.' Get in the wagon.
"No. You go. I need to go to his sister."
"You should have remained home with your own sisters! They're home alone, on a cold dark night, when the one who should be protecting them is out here, fraternizing with thugs, meeting with your deviant friend -"
"I should be protecting them, Father? You mean like you protected Emma? You looked out for our best interests? She worked like a slave to take care of Cordy and Adrienne, all while you just roamed around the countryside and the beach, looking for your miserable fucking ships-" Winston's palm struck Christian hard enough to make him bite his tongue and his ears ring. He stared at his father numbly. Winston's pupils were dilated, and he was panting, hand poised to strike him again.
"Never judge me. Ever."
"That won't be a problem anymore, Father. I'm no longer your son. You've judged me for the last time, too." Christian turned on his heel and ran down the street. Winston paled, realizing what he'd done, what he'd said...
"CHRIS!"
Christian ignored his father's voice, and hot tears zipped down his cheeks, teasing the corner of his mouth. He stumbled through puddles and nearly fell off he curb as he crossed the street. The cobblestones were slick and hard to discern in the dark, with too few candles lit in villager's windows and very few of the lanterns lit in the street.
"YOU! HALT!" Christian's stomach dropped into his shoes as he heard footsteps hurrying after him. He saw the constable come trotting up on his bay horse, and he knew that he and his father were in trouble.
He bolted, determined now to hide, dissuaded from his goal of finding Aurora. His heartbeat and footsteps pounded and thundered in his ears as he ran, careening around street corners and knocking over crates and rubbish bins, bowling over a vendor's barrel of apples. "STOP!"
"Bugger off," Christian muttered. His chest burned and his soles complained about the rough treatment he gave them, protesting the feel of the knobby cobbles beneath them. The sound of hoofbeats seemed to close in on him, thundering up behind him, and Christian's last impression before he felt the impact of the club was that there were too few stars in the sky...
*
Winston sighed. "You wouldn't listen to me, and now look where we are."
"We'd have ended up here, anyway." Christian shrugged hollowly, then chuckled, an ugly, gruff little sound. "You were so worried we wouldn't get home to Cordy and Adrienne."
"They're home alone," Winston spat.
"Hardly. Adrienne's no doubt with Donald, letting him under her skirt. He's no doubt mounted her behind the Trident by now."
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Winston's face turned beet red, and he balled up his fist menacingly.
"It's true. If you're in the dark about it, then it's your own fault." The color drained from the old man's face, and he sat back against the wall, staring down at his hands when he could no longer meet his son's gaze. He had lost his family, but it was even worse to realize that he didn't know them at all.
*
Ororo hadn't even reached the city's gates before she heard a high-pitched ping in her pocket. "Blast," she muttered as she reached into it and extracted the mirror. "What now?" The image swirled briefly and revealed Emma, but not the clean-scrubbed, outspoken houseguest she was about to return to.
She saw her on foot, leading a white horse - one of Ororo's precious white mares - by its reins while she was being roughly escorted by two hard-looking men. She saw a sheriff's insignia on the one man's coat, and Ororo huffed in rage. She sputtered in confusion and shock.
"What... how? Oooooooo!" Ororo spun on wing-tip and careened back in the direction she came from, summoning a jet stream to carry her at impossible speed toward the village. "That little upstart! How dare she?" Ororo wasn't sure which of her servants she'd skin first, but she planned to hang their pelt over the fireplace once she returned to the castle.
A frisson of fear clutched Ororo beneath her veil of red rage. Where were they taking Emma? Why had she come to the village? Worse yet, where was that fool brother of hers? Scenarios crowded Ororo's head, and each one was worse than the last. The sky was dark, now, and it had nothing to do with Ororo's powers. There was an incoming storm, one that threatened to flood the valley once it fully blossomed. Ororo could taste it, feel it singing in her veins, and normally she wouldn't mind, since she was so far up the mountain.
But Emma had rode into town unescorted, and she couldn't fly. She was vulnerable. Ororo's wing muscles strained with the effort, but she pushed herself harder, faster toward her goal. In her mind's eye, she saw Emma, helpless, cold, confused...
That simply wouldn't do at all.
*
"Milady's been gone too long."
"Enjoy her delay for what it's worth. She'll have all of our hides for letting Emma go."
"I don't know that we could have stopped her," Jenny meowed. "She's a determined little thing."
"And a minx," Santo grumbled.
"Got that spot behind your ear, I take it," Rahne said dryly.
"Do shut up."
"The storm's growing; I can smell it," Marie-Ange admitted.
"We all can. My fur's standing on end," Roberto informed her. "Mistress is in a foul mood."
"I hope they're both all right."
"They'll be back, right as rain, Danielle." But Manuel was fidgety, nose twitching, and he couldn't stop rubbing his ears nervously with his paw.
"This doesn't bode well," Santo told them. "Not well at all."
"We're doomed."
"You mean cursed." The occupants of Ororo's castle miserably let the she-wolf have the last word.
*
"What's the meaning of this?" Emma demanded, drawing herself up proudly, not caring how bedraggled she looked, catching a brief vision of herself in their minds. Annoyed, she also felt a frisson of lust emanating off of them, due in no small part to the rain that drenched her humble gown, plastering it to her body. Her nipples were erect, sensitized to the cold.
"You're wanted for questioning. We have evidence fingering your brother, Christian Frost, in the deaths of two men."
"Where is he?"
"We're holding him where we can keep an eye on him."
"You've placed my brother in custody? He's in prison?" she accused, blue eyes narrowing into hard slits.
"Not to worry, love. He's in good company."
"Your father is also under suspicion," the deputy chimed in brusquely. Emma gasped.
"Release my father, AT ONCE! Have you gone MAD?" she shouted, feeling her heart pound, ricocheting inside her ribs. "He's elderly and frail! He deserves to be in front of a warm fire, safe in his bed!"
"It's likely he was an accomplice. We found sign that both of them were in the alley where we found both victims."
"The alley?" Emma drew herself up short, and panic consumed her.
Drat. Drat, drat, drat. Confound it. The sheriff and deputy eyed her suspiciously, realizing that she knew more than she let on.
"And where were you, madam? Last night? You've only two men in your household, am I right?"
"I don't see why it should matter who lives on our property," she said haughtily.
"We'll haul every Frost we can find in for questioning. Do you know what happens when we place someone under arrest and place them in custody?" the sheriff murmured as he invaded her space. He advanced on her until Emma was backed up against the side of her mount, with the man's breath misting hotly over her face, scented with acrid pipe tobacco. Her stomach quivered from the menace in his expression and the contact of his pelvis pressed against her belly. "We search them. We take them into a dark little room," he crooned, "with no one there to stop us from stripping them down."
"You won't have to take me," Emma assured him, eyes flitting from the space between his brows to his lips, which he licked in anticipation. It sickened her.
"Oh, but we do," he argued smugly, and she felt wicked glee surge in his deputy's thoughts behind him. "We have to make sure you're telling the truth. If you have nothing to hide, little Emma, then you shouldn't be afraid to come with us."
"Who said I was afraid?" she snapped. But her chest was heaving and her cheeks were flushed, and she slapped away the hand that found its way to her breast, giving it an experimental squeeze. Emma felt nauseous, a sensation curbed only by his sharp slap against her cheek.
"Don't get fresh."
"Stay away from me. Get your hands off of me." Emma feinted and squirmed from one side to the other, while her mare whinnied and shied. He felt her body tense as he toyed with her, gripping her slender wrist in his manacle fist. It aroused him, and the need to dominate her superseded common sense.
The wind howled, almost masking a rush of flapping wings, but Emma saw glowing white eyes and hair that was no less brilliant in the gloom. How was it dark, when she had breakfast only a few short hours ago? Her breath hitched, and her anger gave way to terror as the Wind-Rider's talons found their mark. The sheriff's face twisted into a mask of disbelief as he was savagely lifted into the air.
"AAAAAAHHHH!"
"You dare," Ororo hissed as she swept him along into the jetstream and flew higher, faster, tearing screams from his throat. Triumph mingled with rage in her breast. She smelled a hint of urine and smiled demonically, enjoying his humiliation.
"FatherinheavenprotectmeFatherinheavenprotectmedon'tdropmeDON'TDROPME-"
"You laid your foul hands upon what's mine. You've committed a sacrilege, and you will pay, little man."
"NO! Please! I swear, I didn't-"
"You'll swear nothing to me." Ororo throttled him, squeezing his windpipe until only a needle's breadth of air could escape. He realized with horror that he was only being held aloft by the wind and her mean grip around his neck. His legs kicked futilely, feet finding no purchase. There was far too much air between him and the ground. Far too much. Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch...
"Urrkggkk...kkkg..."
"I can hear you. Did you just beg me for forgiveness?"
"Nnngggk. Gkkk." Spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head, bulging horrendously.
"You disgust me." She dropped him like a dirty rag, and he free-fell on the whipping wind for countless seconds.
Emma watched his descent in horror, hands clasped over her mouth. "NO! DON'T! YOU CAN'T! I'm begging you, please!" Her vision blurred with tears as she willed her fearsome keeper to hear her, to heed her words.
Don't do this. You're better than this. Ororo cursed under her breath as she felt Emma touch her mind, heard her psychic cry and tasted her terror. She remembered the incident over the lake and once again felt the guilt, heard Manuel chiding her for her rudeness.
"For you. Only for you," Ororo muttered as she corrected her flight, changing her trajectory. She careened into a sharp dip, summoning a counter-wind to buffer and slow his fall. His scream was long and choppy, like the jerky, interrupted speech of someone driving a wagon over cobbles as the wind stole his breath, whooshed into his lungs, puffing out his cheeks in a grotesque mask.
You're more trouble than you're worth, little one. Emma collapsed against the horse's warm hide, hanging onto her bridle to steady herself and relieve her wobbly knees. She heard the Wind-Rider's voice in her mind, impatient and chiding, and she never knew she would feel so grateful for its presence.
"Hear me. This one's under my protection. She's sacred. You won't violate her with your touch. I'll know if your foul breath so much as mists over her cheek." The Wind-Rider shook the sheriff like a rag doll, then shoved him away from her. He was a gibbering mess as he scooted back away from her on his haunches. His deputy helped him to his feet, but he, too, cowered at the fearsome beast that spoke - growled - with a woman's voice. "You try my patience." They needed no further bidding, scrambling awkwardly into their saddles. Their horses' whinnies resembled screams as they spurred them into a ridiculous, breakneck pace through the village.
"You don't know how glad I am that you showed up," Emma exclaimed hollowly as the Wind-Rider collected herself, rustling her wings and folding them neatly across her back. She soon wished she had remained silent.
"You. DARE."
"Oh, my," Emma squeaked, dismayed at the renewed rumble of thunder in the sky. Lightning split the billowing clouds with white-blue fire, throwing arcs and ribbons of light in a mad array. It would have been beautiful if Emma wasn't so terrified, once more.
"You left my estate. On one of my mares. Those are sacred animals. Untouched. Unsoiled. Unused."
"This one was champing at the bit to be ridden," Emma argued as she reached down to stroke the timid animal's nose.
"IMPUDENT." Ororo's eyed dilated, and static made her hair rise up in an eerie nimbus.
"I had to find Chris. And... and that man you were keeping in the castle. I don't know how you could be so deceitful as to keep him from me, when I was so worried about my brother! How dare you!" Emma snapped. "You don't scare me. You can't control me! I'll never willingly obey you, no matter how many pretty dresses you throw at me, or if you promise me an entire library of books! You're a MONSTER. You're a heartless beast." Emma's pulse raced when her rant was cut off by a taloned hand circling her wrist. The Wind-Rider's body was a hard wall as she jerked Emma into it, and once again, hot breath bathed her face in harsh gusts.
"Go back to the part where I don't scare you," she murmured. "Tell me again." Emma was in danger of wetting her drawers.
"You d-d-don't."
"You're coming with me."
"NO!"
"Yes."
"Help! Help! Help meeeeEEEEEEEEEE!" The Wind-Rider wrested Emma's grip from the bridle and leapt astride the antsy mare. The horse bucked and shied, but Ororo maintained her grip and added insult to injury when she yanked Emma over the saddle, forcing her to hang on in ungainly fashion. With a savage "HYAH!" the creature goaded her mount into a breathless gallop!
Emma was torn between struggling to hold on or to get free. The cobblestones became a blur to her line of vision from where she hung over the side of the horse. The Wind-Rider took the decision from her hands, manhandling her, scaring her out of her wits with each jerk until she was properly seated, riding side-saddle in front of her captor.
Her mistress. The niggling thought hit Emma, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She didn't know whether to be relieved at the change in predicament or not. On the one hand, she'd escaped the castle. On the other, she'd nearly been raped. Now, she was back in the beast's clutches again, and she hadn't laid eyes on Christian for her troubles. Emma mulled these events miserably as the mare traversed the now familiar landscape, climbing back through the hills and brush.
The being behind her resonated with anger and disbelief, and Emma shivered. Or perhaps that was from the cold and the wind whipping through her hair, much of which had come loose from her plait, and her hood refused to stay up. She tried not to let her teeth chatter, but it was a vain effort.
A long, slender arm wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her close. Emma felt the creature's body heat at her back, and short, surprisingly soft fur grazing the side her neck. She stiffened at the initial contact, but she felt a change in the temperature as the Wind-Rider shared the atmospheric barrier she generated around her, a minor aspect of her power. Warmth flooded Emma's muscles and chilled flesh, and she released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, sighing at the change.
The scent of Emma's hair was a distraction, its soft tendrils tickling Ororo's face as they rode up the gravel trail. She wanted to focus on rage, dwell upon Emma's betrayal and the ugly shock she'd received that morning, but it was difficult. Ororo felt frustrated at the conflicting emotions. How dare Emma. How dare she defy her.
But the sight of that man groping her, forcing himself upon her enraged her, and nothing else mattered than the immediate need to protect her. Even if she now wished to throttle her. Even from her vantage point in the sky, she saw his filthy hands roaming her body, felt Emma's scorn mingled with terror. Emma's psychic shields slipped, and her empathy leaked out, projecting instead of receiving. Ororo felt her helplessness, and it unnerved her. She was thoroughly unaccustomed to that condition...
...unless she was inflicting it. It irked her.
Emma, once she was warmed, found herself better able to enjoy the exhilaration of the mare's swift, steady gallop, the way her muscles contracted and rolled beneath her and how the gusts of wind filled her lungs. She felt the Wind-Rider's anger slowly losing steam, but she was still vexed at her. Emma hadn't given up on her demand for answers, and she was still determined to contact Jean-Paul about Christian. Her brother's freedom was her obsession, and woe to anyone who came between Emma and her goal.
Even if "anyone" happened to be a six-foot tall, winged creature who could fling lightning from her fingertips.
Emma felt the Wind-Rider's arm tighten around her waist, and her body responded without her permission, molding itself to her bulk, goosebumps rising on her arms. She still felt the uneasy conflict of knowing she shouldn't trust her, but she couldn't deny that she needed the protection she offered, now more than ever. Christian was a marked man, and by extension, she, too, was suspect.
"Why so pensive, pet?" the Wind-Rider purred. Her tone mocked Emma, making her fume over her predicament even more.
"You know why."
"You can enlighten me once you've bathed." Emma opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Then, briefly, she lifted her sleeve to her nose, wondering if her hostess was correct.
"I don't have to explain to you why I'm vexed at this turn of events," the creature added. "When I expect you to come down to breakfast, you come. Promptly."
"I did. I wasn't particularly hungry after what I discovered."
"There wasn't anything to discover."
"I beg to differ. And I won't be kept in the dark."
"What happens under my roof is my business."
"That will change, if you expect me to grace you any further with my presence." Emma drew herself up haughtily. "I don't trust people who keep secrets."
"That's ironic, dear. Especially since you've compromised my trust, running off with one of my precious mares without permission."
"Would you have granted it?"
"Nay. Don't be ridiculous."
"Now I'm ridiculous."
"Nay. You're the child of a thief." Emma's cheeks colored and she felt shame envelop her with hot prickles.
"I resent that."
"Of course you do." Irritation lingered between them, bitter and sticky. They finally reached the clearing of the Wind-Rider's estate, and as the mare slowed to a trot, Emma began to wrest herself free. "Don't be so hasty, miss."
"Let me go. I'm tired of riding for one day." Ororo snorted, and she reined the mare in, allowing Emma to slip down to the ground. She stalked toward the castle's entrance in high dudgeon, eager to put distance between them.
Don't be so hasty, the Wind-Rider beckoned, and Emma froze. She hadn't realized that her shields were still down, and the beast's thoughts were still open to her. She obviously knew it, as she directed them to her with little discretion. We're not finished.
"We will be, very, very soon," Emma muttered aloud. She heard the beast's low chuckle as she retreated to the barn to stable her mare.
Emma's strides were long and quick as she made her way into the foyer. Before she could head for the stairs, however, Santo stopped her. "Nay, miss."
"Nay? Why?"
"You're not to retreat to your rooms just yet."
"She told me she expected me to bathe. I don't pass muster."
"She would like a word with you first. She mentioned this before she went out. She was rather insistent about it." A cold gravity settled over Emma with his words.
"I see."
"Wait here."
"You can go back to what you were doing."
"I can't."
"Oh." Emma's shame grew as she realized how her flight from the castle must have angered the Wind-Rider, and it occurred to her that her servants must have suffered from their failure to keep her there. Santo's eyes shone with hurt, and guilt stabbed at her.
"May I wait by the hearth?"
"Aye." She was still cold, and the foyer was too open, chilling her. She missed the sheltering warmth of the Wind-Rider's buffer, almost regretting the distance she put between them. Emma retreated to the kitchen, warming herself by the hearth, flexing her stiff fingers. Santo accompanied her, standing like a sentinel by the door.
"You don't have to stay."
"I do."
"So be it."
"Milady?"
"Yes, dear?"
"You angered Mistress. I can't describe how much."
"I realize that." Emma's stomach knotted and her heart pounded in her chest. She kept her back turned on the great bear, hoping he didn't notice her consternation.
"I don't think you do. A suggestion."
"Certainly."
"Once. No more."
An uncomfortable silence rested between them, and Emma felt stifled by her heavy coat now. She unfastened it and hung it on a nearby peg, and the heat from the hearth sank further into her bones, giving her some relief. Then her stomach growled, reminding her that she'd skipped breakfast.
The food was still laid out on the table, dishes untouched and still covered. Emma lifted the tea towel laid over the bowl of biscuits and selected one, not caring that they had gone cold. Her stomach wasn't choosy at this point. It was still light and flaky, if a bit dry, but before Emma could reach for a spoon and some of the berry preserves, she felt a malevolent presence enter the room. The hairs on her nape stood on end and she shivered.
"Come with me."
"I haven't eaten."
"More's the pity. Come along." Emma paled, and when she set down the unfinished biscuit, her hand shook. She turned and faced her hostess, and she was alarmed to see that Santo had disappeared. Emma's eyes darted back to the Wind-Rider's face.
The creature's expression was eerily calm, too collected. Calculating. With an elegant gesture, she waved Emma ahead of her toward the kitchen's door. Reluctantly, Emma preceded her through it, surprised to see a hallway she didn't recognize before. It wasn't as well lit, and there were no windows to the outside.
Emma jumped at the sound of hissing sparks, and suddenly, she could see the corridor clearly, illuminated by white light from behind her. She turned and gasped at the ball of what appeared to be lightning dancing over the creature's palm. The light picked out the Wind-Rider's features, rendering them more sharply in the gloom, and Emma felt as though she were staring Death in the face. Leonine eyes examined her coolly, and her lips curled back from her teeth in a low snarl.
"Where are you taking me?"
"There's something I need to show you before we can further our acquaintance, darling Emma. I don't think I was succinct enough when we first met."
"About what?"
"About guidelines. And boundaries."
"I see."
"No. Not yet. But you will." They reached a tall, heavy door with a slightly rusted lock. The Wind-Rider reached into her cloak and pulled out a ring of small brass keys. She inserted one with jagged teeth into the lock's hole and gave it a sharp twist. The lock gave way, and the door swung open with a low squeal of hinges that made Emma's teeth clench. The Wind-Rider nodded to her, beckoning for her to enter. Emma noticed that there was no actual room, only a stairwell, once which she couldn't see the bottom of from where she stood. "Go."
"Surely not alone?" she demanded.
"I will accompany you, dear."
For now.
Emma felt the psychic channel between them close itself completely off; the Wind-Rider had been shielding her thoughts since she entered the kitchen, but now she masked her emotions as well, so abruptly breaking the connection between them that Emma felt as though she had lost a limb.
The Wind-Rider felt her apprehension, finding herself completely immersed in it. She took no joy in what she did, she realized, but it still had to be done. There was no help for it. In her heart, she knew she risked losing Emma. She risked losing everything. The spell would bound them forever.
And it would destroy her.
"How far down does it go?"
"Far enough." The stairwell wound around, and around, seemingly endless. It boggled Emma's mind how far they had descended so far. Her footsteps sounded hollow on the stairs, and it grew chillier. This time, she felt no warm emanating from her hostess; she was completely vulnerable.
It was so difficult for Ororo not to touch her, to want to reassure her. Terror had filled her heart the moment she realized that Emma had run off, alone and unprotected. Despite her anger with the girl, Ororo was relieved that she crossed the threshold of her estate unscathed. She was torn, so tempted to strike her, yet... at most, she would likely scold her like an errant child deserved. Then, perhaps, bathe her, wrap her up and send her off to bed with a hot cup of tea in her hands.
Things weren't that simple. Emma wasn't truly a child. Ororo had no time for juvenile antics, even if Emma felt her actions were justified. Ororo chuckled inwardly, with great irony; Emma had certainly gotten her attention, hadn't she?
She didn't like what she had to do. Not one bit.
They reached the bottom of the stairwell, and Emma hesitated. "I don't wish to go any further."
"You must. Come, now."
"I'm... not fond of the dark," Emma confessed.
"I've grown rather accustomed to it," Ororo shrugged. "As you well might have to, darling." Cold terror froze Emma's blood in her veins.
"What are you saying?"
"Come with me." The Wind-Rider's taloned hand wrapped itself around her upper arm and pulled her along. Emma's feet dragged, but Ororo expended little effort taking her where she wished to go. "There's something you need to know about your father's visit, darling. It was unannounced, unwelcome, and unseemly. I extended my hospitality to him, at first, much as I have to you." They came to a door, which the Wind-Rider also unlocked, and Emma noticed a profusion of cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling. She hissed in disgust when she felt something scrabble over her foot, hearing the sickening chitter of a rat.
"I knew his whereabouts from the moment that he entered my home. I have sharp senses and instincts, you see, not unlike a great cat on the hunt. Through my servants, I have eyes and ears, as well. Your kindly old father couldn't make a move, or so much as sneeze or fart without my knowing it. It was no trouble to let himself warm up by my hearth. To feed him. Lay out some warm clothing. Rest his weary feet and head."
Emma knew she was staring at a prison immediately. The lightning ball illuminated rows and rows of sturdy iron bars, and Emma noticed a faint stench of rotted food and stale urine. She gave a small cry and covered her mouth to hold back nausea.
Ororo fought back guilt at her distress, but she continued to speak. Her tone was low and calm, but even her lightning ball wavered slightly, losing some of its brilliance. "He went into my garden. That, I cannot abide."
"They were flowers. Miserable, bloody flowers that would die, anyway. It was a trifle. He only meant to bring me back a trifle, you bloody beast!"
"You call them a trifle. I'll forgive you your ignorance, darling, but only because I was unable to forgive him his transgression. Manuel told me you went into my garden the other day."
"I wanted some fresh air!"
"I would think you'd had enough out at the lake."
"You're a cruel creature. Aye, madam, I've deemed you cruel, and heartless. You'd hold me here, for the sake of mere blossoms?"
"I deemed you a fair price. Aye, your father was telling the truth when he said you were lovely." Emma shook her head, and tears spilled from her eyes. They didn't move the beast; she only strengthened her resolve. "I kept him here. I didn't trust him once I caught him redhanded."
"You kept my father in this cold, stinking hell? You forced him down here?" Emma's eyes were bleak, and her heart shattered.
"Aye. Here is where he slept. I gave him time to think about his transgression, while I considered the proper punishment, and the bargain for his freedom."
"Monster," Emma whispered.
"You don't often meet talking animals. My home is fraught with magic, dear. It's brimming with it. That much you've witnessed, and more. You're unique, yourself, darling. It's not often I meet someone who can tear the very thoughts from my head, or speak without moving her lips. Your father was crafty; he didn't want to let you go, because you're precious, a rare flower. Like my white roses." The Wind-Rider sighed, and her ball of lightning shrank, dimming the glow in the cell. "Enter."
"No!"
"You have no choice in this matter."
"There is a choice! Kill me! Go on! Take my life!" Emma beat her chest with her fist, and her cheeks were reddened and tear-streaked. "God, how I hate you! I won't stay with you! I won't! I'd rather die than... than fulfill whatever strange, twisted purpose you've brought me here for. I'd rather die. Do you understand me." Her bosom heaved like a bellows, and her breathing was uneven and ragged, as though she'd run for miles.
It hit Ororo at that moment that she was truly doomed.
She was resigned. There were some things she needed to sort out.
She cracked open her wings and bared her teeth, and Emma stumbled back, scrambling to get away from her. She looked like a vengeful swan protecting her cygnets, and Emma knew one sweep of those wicked wings could break her arm. She was willing to die, but perhaps not so painfully, and in one piece.
"Get. Inside."
"You can't just leave me here."
"If you would repeat your father's folly, you would suffer the same punishment."
"I hate you." Emma drew herself up, and before the Wind-Rider could advance upon her again, she backed herself into the cell. She tried to master the urge to weep, but the odors gagged her, and she instead began to wretch into the stagnant corner.
"I hope you enjoy the luxury of your new quarters. Perhaps now you'll appreciate my previous hospitality, Emma darling."
"Leave... me alone..." she gasped.
"As you wish." The Wind-Rider backed her way out of the cell, and the bars's clang reverberated through Emma's body as the door slammed shut.
Emma sunk to the floor, breathless and hollow. She heard nothing but the low, rustling sweep of her captor's robes over the sound of her weeping.
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White Rose