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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
- 12
- 13
- 14
Summary: Ororo battles her inner demons.
Author's Note: Okay. I've been clamoring for some smut in this piece. I like angst as much as the next person, but bring on the heavy breathing, fer cryin' out loud... it's about to get citrus up in here.
Also, I'm sorry if the dream sequences are choppy. I'm still inspired by a cheesy flick of Beauty and the Beast with Rebecca DeMornay, I think it was made back in the eighties or early nineties. Also, if you read the old, original version of this fairy tale, Belle dreamed of a handsome prince at night, even while she tried to get to know the hideous beast during the day.
Right. No spoilers. Just angst, violence and smut. Tally-ho!
Emma woke with the sound of music drifting into her memory and with the scent of pungent herbs tickling her nose. Her limbs ached and felt heavy, and her neck had a crick in it from sleeping in unnatural angles. She reached up and rubbed her eyes, swiping at the grit that gathered there overnight.
When she tried to move her other hand to scratch, it was pinned down, caught in a warm, snug grip. Emma stiffened.
Slowly, her senses reminded her of where she was, rehashing what had transpired. Emma smelled her healing herbs and the funk of damp fur. The bed beneath her was lofty and comfortable, but it wasn't hers. She heard low, raspy breathing, not unlike the purrs a cat made when it was petted to sleep.
She blinked hard, two, three times, trying to clear away the fuzzy haze, and slowly the room around her took shape. She saw the dying embers of a fire, deciding that was why the room felt so drafty. The heavy draperies were pulled shut, blocking out most of the light, but Emma saw the faint silhouettes of the rich, heavy furniture and broad vanity.
The sight of the iron kettle and her pestle and bowls brought everything back into sharp, unwelcome focus. Emma's eyes flitted immediately toward the sound of that heavy breathing, underscored by a sleepy moan.
The creature. She was staring her in the face, which bore several scratches and a deep purple bruise that Emma could discern even through her fine fur. She remembered guiltily that the Wind-Rider had an unfortunate - albeit necessary - encounter with Emma's fist. Before she could stop herself, Emma traced the outline of the bruise with her fingertips. The creature's leonine nostrils flared, making her whiskers twitch. Emma's lips quirked at her reaction, surprised that she was that sensitive to touch, not unlike Jenny, really...
Large, slate blue eyes snapped open, and the pupils dilated into razor slits, making Emma's breath catch in her throat. The slender, taloned hand that clung to Emma as a lifeline throughout the night now manacled her wrist, ceasing its perusal of her face. The Wind-Rider felt the jump in Emma's pulse and the tension thrumming in her muscles, and she snarled, truly sounding like a great jungle cat.
Emma's heart raced and cold terror made every muscle in her body go taut as a wire. A surface scan of the creature's emotions told her that she viewed Emma as a threat, an interloper in her private chamber. "It's Emma!" she told her quickly. "It's me! Don't worry, it's all right... everything's fine. You were injured," she reminded her.
"How did I get here?" the Wind-Rider snarled as she jerked Emma close enough to feel her hot breath misting over her face. Emma longed to look away from her rage, but those eerie, reptilian eyes fixed themselves on her, sinking hooky claws deep into her soul. Her bladder was uncomfortably full, and Emma didn't trust herself to be able to hold it in the face of her fear.
"Santo b-brought you up h-here," Emma stammered.
"All the way from out there?" The creature jerked her head briefly in the direction of the window. "Don't you dare deceive me, witch!"
"It took some effort. Are you in pain?" Emma tried to sound calm in a vain effort to soothe her.
"What?"
"Do you hurt?"
"Does what hu..." Her words were cut off by burning, lancing agony that made her buckle. She gripped Emma's wrist, threatening to crush the bone, and Emma let out a brief shriek of outrage.
STOP THAT! LIE STILL!
Emma's lips hadn't moved. The Wind-Rider's eyes dilated with the realization that Winston Frost's daughter spoke to her with her mind. "You... dare..."
If it will make you pay attention to me and listen, then aye. You'll open your wounds. Emma's jaw was set, and her blue eyes challenged her.
"I should fling you out that window and give you another flying lesson," the beast sneered.
"I'd like to see you try. You're in no shape to fly," Emma told her dryly. "Let go of me. I need to get up."
"How do I know you won't try to escape?" Emma's eyes locked on hers, and her lips thinned. Defiance sprang into her chest.
"I could have by now," Emma pointed out. The creature scowled, uttered a low growl in her throat, then sharply released her.
"Go. Attend to yourself," she told her dispassionately. "But stay out of my head. Don't make me make good on my promise about teaching you to fly, Emma Frost."
"Don't make me teach you some manners, milady," she retorted as she flung the bedclothes free and rolled up out of bed. She regretted moving so fast; her leg muscles and upper back groaned in protest.
"You're a ragged robin," the creature muttered.
"That's the pot calling the kettle black."
"Burn that horrid frock. I don't wish to lay eyes on it again."
"Remind me to dig out my Sunday best when I'm finished saving your life," Emma sang over her shoulder as she marched out of the chamber.
The thought occurred to her that if the Wind-Rider was already giving her orders again, she must be feeling better. Small comfort, indeed.
Ororo watched her leave with a hint of longing, almost wishing she could call her back. She reached down and stroked the empty side of the bed, feeling the sheets cooling beneath her palm, but they still bore Emma's scent. For that matter, so did she. Ororo smelled Emma's fragrance in her fur, leaving her disconcerted and puzzled. Had she taken that many liberties with her while she was vulnerable?
No. Of course not. It wasn't in her. Despite Emma's psychic gift and Ororo's distrust of such a skill, she didn't sense dishonesty in the girl. She could have left while she was unconscious, couldn't she, and robbed her blind in the process. Or worse, and Ororo shuddered, she could have led the townsfolk through the brush to invade her home while she was weakened and defenseless. But Emma hadn't.
Ororo relaxed back against the lush pillows, wincing at the pain that caused in her pinion. Her entire shoulder felt like it was on fire. Myriad bruises decorated her flesh, joined here and there by lacerations and scrapes. She reached back as far as her reach would allow and felt for the odd pad of bandages around her wound. She tested her wing, attempting to unfold it, and she cried out against the burn that gripped her before she'd even opened it to half her span. Tears of outrage stung her eyes, and she was grateful that Emma had left her rooms, after all. She was helpless.
Emma tried to obey her mistress' wishes, initially, but she was projecting her emotions, and Emma was having a difficult time blocking them out. By the time Emma reached her own suite, she was consumed by the Wind-Rider's anguish and rage. A deep red flush rose up into Emma's cheeks and she broke out in a cold sweat. Dizziness swamped her, and her legs turned into jelly. Emma fell against the vanity, gripping its edge for support. "Damn it... I can't get out if you don't stop snatching me back inside."
"Please tell me you haven't started talking to yourself. I don't know what we'll do if you go mad," Jenny mewed from the doorway.
"Sorry. I wasn't... never mind. I always talk to myself when I'm frustrated."
"Are you?"
"No. I'm terrified. And I'm exhausted."
"We all are, after last night," Jenny chimed in, yawning widely and displaying her broad pink tongue. Her blue eyes were sleepy slits as she wandered over to Emma and wound around her ankles. Emma reached down and scratched beneath her chin, and the little minx purred loudly, butting her head against Emma for more.
"I smell," Emma complained.
"No worse than you'd expect after spending most of the night out in the woods."
"I had to keep your mistress' chamber warm so she could sweat out the fever."
"You were probably sweating it out, too, then."
"I need a bath. Ooh. And the chamber pot," Emma remembered, suddenly darting away.
"Want me to have water sent up?"
"No. That will take too much time." Emma found the pot and dragged it with her behind a screen. Jenny heard the rustle of her skirts and yawned again.
"So how do you plan to bathe? I could have Rahne and Dani sent up," she suggested coyly.
"Rahne and Dani? But how would they... oh." Emma tsked. "Naughty girl. Bad kitty." But her skin tingled at the memory of lying with the she-wolves, and how decadent their lush fur felt against her skin, and the exquisite stroke of their tongues. Emma finished up, then stripped down to her chemise and drawers. She gathered up a small basket of soap, a wash rag, and two folded towels. Emma emptied the pot and took the basket downstairs to the lake.
The air was chilly, but the sky was clear and calm. The sun peeked through the clouds, shining through the branches and throwing a feathery lattice of shadows over the ground. Emma approached the edge of the water and toed off her shoes. She stripped and set down her basket, folding her garments before she braved the chilly-looking water. But to her surprise, it was more warm than tepid, and she strode in up to her waist. Emma dipped the lump of soap into the water, rubbing it between her palms to create a lather. The scent of lavender and cassis tickled her nostrils as she cleaned herself, being mindful of her many nicks and bruises. She dipped the soap again and ducked under the water to wet her hair.
Ororo reached for the pillow that bore an indentation from where Emma lay. She lifted it to her face and inhaled, and yes, that was her scent. It was natural and unmarred by perfumes, but it was still intoxicating. Ororo's eyes drifted shut as she inhaled again...
Her reverie was interrupted by a low splash. "What's going on?" she mused. Ororo teased the winds outside her window, drawing the sound closer to better discern where it was coming from. There it was again, low splashes and the rush of ripples as someone waded out in the lake. Her lake. The interloper identified herself with cheerful, feminine humming.
Emma was bathing outside.
How dare she do such a thing without permission! That disobedient, willful little tart! Ororo took a breath and heaved herself from the bed, flinging away the covers. She wandered over to the window and yanked back the curtains, searching for the intruder.
There.
Emma's back was turned to her, long, lean and gracefully curved. Her hair was damp, its usual ash blond darkened to molten honey where it flowed down her back. Her creamy skin was marred by bruises and scrapes, and Ororo felt regret at their cause. But her mouth went dry at the sight of her curves and elegant muscle tone, enhanced by her proud posture.
She was exquisite. Truly. She ran the small lump of soap over her skin, cleaning beneath the curves of her lush breasts. Her wet flesh gleamed in the sunlight when Emma turned around, and Ororo's eyes dilated at the sight of her nipples, tourmaline pink little buds begging for -
No. It didn't help her to think such thoughts. But Ororo felt her body betray her yearning as she watched the girl cleanse herself, touching her body intimately, without a thought as to who might be watching.
Emma continued her bath, wading out further to better submerge herself and to avoid the chill from the light breeze. When she was in up to her elbows, she dunked herself again to rinse off. On a whim, Emma fell back and floated belly-up, supine and carefree. Her hair fanned out around her head like a halo as the water lapped at her.
Want seized Ororo in its choking grip. "Blast," she muttered. "Minx." She could see the sweet rapture of how much she was enjoying the water and her own solitude. Her breasts, the smooth curve of her belly, long, creamy, tapered thighs and the soft, sandy mound of her sex pouted up at the sky like an offering to the gods. Ororo felt her loins tighten and stomach clench, and unwelcome heat rushed into her sex. "Damn it," she hissed.
This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all.
Ororo craved nothing more than to fling herself outside and to spiral down to the ground in that moment. She longed to join Emma in the lake and claim her, to hear her heart pound and feel her slick, cool flesh. It had been too long since she'd felt that pull, that passion...
... as a woman. Not as a beast who had to solicit favors in exchange for gold coins in dark of night, the Wind-Rider reminded herself. Emma found her repulsive, that much was obvious. And why shouldn't she?
Ororo would have to woo her. Emma wasn't that hard to read, on the surface. She was sensitive and caring, certainly, with just a hint of haughtiness that made Ororo smile. She was intelligent enough to give Ororo's girlhood tutors and headmasters a run for their money. She recalled the moment that she stepped into her vast library, the hunger on her face like an urchin staring through a bakery window. She wondered how she could appeal to her studious side and curiosity.
How could she break the curse?
How, indeed.
Emma felt an odd frisson of emotions that were foreign and unsettling. A tingle of electricity ran up her back; she snapped upright, no longer supine. A wave of lust hit her, so forceful and overwhelming that she shuddered, groaning out of duress. The fierce need was tempered with despair and yearning, and Emma's throat clenched. How was it possible to feel such pain, and such need, and not know an inkling of relief? Emma had a sudden flash in her mind, a psychic imprint that felt like an echo. She saw herself through another's eyes, dripping, skin gleaming in the morning sunlight.
She was being watched. A low, feminine whisper reached her, as close as a kiss...
Please.
Emma's eyes darted toward the faintest flickers of movement and sound, fearing the snap of twigs or thud of footfalls. The Wind-Rider's estate was remote, but not hidden from passerby. She no longer felt confident in her solitude.
I can't do this.
That wasn't an intruder. Not a physical one, at any rate. Emma waded out of the water, and her pace quickened once she reached shore. She scooped up the rough towel and wrapped herself up against prying eyes. She crammed her feet into her slippers and snatched up her basket and clothes, and Emma ran back into the house as though she tread red-hot cinders.
The voice haunted her, so familiar and so full of need, pulling at her. Had she imagined it? She couldn't have, could she? Was she just so exhausted that she was going daft?
Emma was too relieved once she was safe within stone walls again to ponder that her psychic gift might have allowed stray thoughts leak into her consciousness, or that the owner was desperate, in her own way, to make them heard.
Emma brought up a luncheon tray loaded with silver dishes and teapot, taking care not to spill anything. She was certainly used to performing the task for her sisters, lazy baggages that they were, so why should her stay at the Wind-Rider's keep be any different? She had no more freedom than before, despite her richer surroundings. She trod quietly over the plush rugs and felt the customary chill of the darkened corridor that led to her patient's room. Emma knocked out of courtesy.
"What do you want?" came her reply, raspy and gruff.
"To feed you. I've eaten; you haven't." Emma began to let herself in, but the door was locked. She jiggled the knob impatiently. "If you're capable of getting up, you can let me in."
"Go away. Leave me be."
"Ridiculous. You're starving by now, I'm sure of it." In the dark confines of the room, Ororo's stomach growled.
"Are you deaf? I didn't ask you to wait on me!" Ororo longed to add, Nor did I ask for your pity.
"I've nothing better to do," Emma shrugged.
"I'll give you an hour head-start this time if you plan to run. This time, I can use the shackles, instead." Ororo huffed in pain as she turned on her side, tugging the covers up to her chin. Her wing and various other bruises and lacerations on her body throbbed miserably. Aside from the aromas of the food, Ororo caught Emma's tantalizing scent; it evoked the sight of her floating on the water's surface, and she suppressed a moan.
"Surely you jest."
"Surely you didn't hear me the first time," Ororo countered dryly. "Go. Leave the tray."
Emma sighed. Fine, then.
CRASH!
Ororo's eyes snapped wide in shock, and she nearly injured herself again as she flipped over at the sound of splintering wood exploding from the doorway. Emma strode smoothly into the room, and what scant light that was thrown from the fireplace was captured by Emma's gleaming body. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear," Emma suggested coolly as she set down the tray and approached the bed. Ororo's mouth dropped open, then closed again. She narrowed her cloudy eyes.
"That's a fine trick. You owe me a door."
"Any fool can replace a door. I lived on a farm." Emma's eyes glittered with prisms of light; her entire body refracted the firelight, spinning it into myriad rainbows. She wasn't transparent; rather, she seemed carved of the most brilliant of diamonds. Ororo was awestruck, despite her annoyance at the little chit. Ororo edged back slightly against the headboard as Emma sat beside her. The rushes sagged beneath her weight, something Ororo would have expected from someone more like Santo. Ororo would know; Santo had, indeed, shared her bed during his tenure at the estate as her servant, but that memory wasn't helping her right now. Ororo felt cornered, and she bared her teeth accordingly. Emma chuckled and shook her head as she reached for her. Her cool fingertips grazed the bruise along the side of Ororo's jaw, and she winced. "Sorry."
"I thought you were trying to ease my pain."
"Provided that you'll allow it. You're rather stubborn."
"Just leave the tray."
"I wanted to change your dressings. And it's time for you to eat."
"I eat alone," Ororo growled.
"If you can manage it yourself, then fine," Emma said. "Do you want to sit up and get dressed?"
"I'm fine," Ororo muttered. "I'll get around to it eventually."
"I can help you," Emma offered. The bed sprung back to its usual level once Emma rose to her feet. The sunlight filtered in through the gap in the curtains, and it shot through Emma with piercing intensity. Ororo hissed at the glare. "What's wrong?"
"Change back. It's... blinding to look at you that way."
"Oh. Certainly. Sorry." Emma shifted back, her tawny skin slowly replacing the crystalline radiance. Ororo felt slightly satisfied that she wore one of the frocks she gave her, a day gown of gray lawn. Emma had braided her hair and coiled it at her nape in a neat bun. She looked fresh and unspoiled, no longer the temptress adrift in the pond.
She hummed as she turned her back and opened Ororo's wardrobe.
"What are you doing?"
"Finding something to lay out for you. You don't have to get dressed now... what on earth? Look at all this," Emma accused. "Look at these gowns!"
"Quit poking around," the Wind-Rider growled. Her hackles pricked up and her wings extended to half their span in warning. She rustled them to drive home her point.
"But... they're beautiful. You complain and call my things rags, but you skulk about in that miserable, horrid robe. I'd wondered if you even had anything less dreary than- "
"GET OUT OF MY THINGS!" the Wind-Rider boomed. Her pulse spiked and she heard a rushing in her ears. Emma felt resentment and fear hit her in waves, and the creature's eyes dilated before the irises were washed free of their customary slate blue, and replaced with eerie, glowing white. Outside, the sunlight fled and the chamber went dark, and Emma heard thunder boom overhead. "You're intruding where you're not welcome," the Wind-Rider told her with menace in her voice.
"I didn't ask to be here," Emma reminded her gently. Her posture was stiff and her lips flattened mulishly. "Truthfully, I wonder why you even keep me here."
"Reasons," the Wind-Rider said simply.
"Reasons," Emma sighed, rolling her eyes heavenward. Thunder continued to roll across the sky at a low rumble. "Oh, stop that nonsense. Eat, before I feed you myself."
"I eat alone!"
"I'm going to check your wound. I can do that while you eat."
"It's not necessary."
"Why are you making such a fuss? You're ravenous. You're practically slavering..."
"Just leave it there."
"Wind-Rider, for heaven's sake-"
"I DON'T WANT YOU TO WATCH ME!" the creature railed, her voice rising to a shriek. Her anxiety assailed Emma's senses, rocking her back on her heels. Her wings snapped open and rustled, bristling at Emma's temerity. Despite the rebellion inherent in such a gesture, the Wind-Rider's taloned hands clutched the bedclothes to her chest.
"I'm... disgusting." Her voice cracked and wavered. "Don't... don't watch me."
"Oh." Emma's mouth formed a tiny moue. "I... I see."
"No. No, you don't see. You don't understand, you can't." Ororo's wings gradually drooped, and she hissed in pain. Once her rage began to flag, the burning, knotted tendons flared anew and she felt her stitches pulling. What had the minx done to fix her?
"Certainly you're no worse to watch than Chris when he's hungover," Emma mused. She brought the tray to the bed. "Sit up."
"No." Ororo's eyes were still glowing white-hot, but the thunder was down to its last gasp.
"I'm don't remember giving you a choice." Emma's eyes glittered, and Ororo noticed ions of sparkling light rising and washing over her flesh.
Clearly her nurse - her houseguest - meant business. Ororo sighed, and she felt the fight leave her. Her eyes swirled back to periwinkle blue, gradually deepening back to slate.
"They're pretty," Emma murmured as she set the tray over Ororo's lap, neatly hemming her in with its pegs.
"What?"
"Your eyes. They're pretty."
"You lie. Don't patronize me." Emma shrugged as she poured her a cup of fragrant tea and lightened it with cream. She shook the sugar tongs at her pointedly.
"I don't lie, unless the situation truly calls for it. But there are ways to tell the truth without revealing everything."
"You don't lie," the Wind-Rider snorted. "Ridiculous. You're a mind-bender. You could make me believe anything."
"If I chose, your mind could be an open book to me. I won't force my way in."
"Whyever not?"
"Because I'm a lady. That would lack honor." The Wind-Rider was irked with her temerity; was she suggesting that she, her hostess, was without honor? She stacked the cup on the dainty, gold-rimmed saucer and handed it to her. "Is it sweet enough?"
"I'm not crippled." To her credit, she didn't snatch it away, deciding not to soil her bedclothes. She sniffed it, and Emma suppressed a giggle at the way her leonine nose scrunched back, nostrils flaring slightly. Instead of sipping it, however, Ororo began to lap at the tea, her pink tongue flicking out in rapid, fluttering licks.
"Er... I'll just... check your wound."
"Be gentle, curse you. Hurts."
"Gentle as a breeze," Emma promised. Perhaps the Wind-Rider was right, Emma considered; it was strange watching her eat. She busied herself with the dressings, carefully removing them, cleansing the wounds and being mindful not to break the tender scabs or pull at the stitches. The Wind-Rider flinched a few times, but she wasn't in any distress. Ororo decided to forgo the utensils, and she tore savagely at the leg of fowl with her teeth. Emma ignored it as she discarded the soiled bandages and applied clean strips.
"You... erm... you have a bit of... right there," Emma said, pointing. The Wind-Rider's brow furrowed.
"A bit of what?"
"Er... meat. In your, er, whiskers." Emma reached out gingerly, and the strand in question twitched. "I'll get it."
"I don't see-yeeeee... yowtch!" Ororo jerked back as Emma tugged the offending fragment of meat from her whisker. She swatted her hand away sharply. "Those are sensitive. And they're attached," she reminded her sharply.
"It hurts that much?"
"It smarts," Ororo corrected her. "Jenny would tell you the same."
"I suppose she would," Emma agreed. She glanced down at the unfinished plate. The roll of fresh bread and boiled greens hadn't been touched. "You aren't going to eat that?"
"I prefer meat, or the occasional fruit. Berries. Not much else appeals to me. I only drank the tea because you added the cream."
"You don't like tea?"
"It's tolerable."
"Thank you for tolerating my efforts."
"Just don't give me anymore of that foul stuff you concocted for me before. It was horrid."
"That horrid concoction broke your fever and beat your infection."
"Cure me or kill me, I take it?"
"You're welcome." Emma rose and stacked the dishes back on the tray. The Wind-Rider dipped her talons into the finger bowl, something Emma didn't expect, before she removed that, too. The Wind-Rider meticulously cleaned her fingers with the linen napkin, then hissed when she hit a tender scratch. "What's wrong?"
"Ow," she complained, sucking on the tiny wound.
"That won't help it," Emma insisted as she set down the tray on the ottoman. "Let me take care of it."
"How, by pouring vinegar on it?"
"So petulant," Emma tsked. She went to the small collection of pots that remained by the fire after she tended to the Wind-Rider's injuries. Emma reached for a small white bowl of salve that she'd mixed, stirring it with the pestle. "Give me your hand."
"Must I?"
"You must." The creature sighed and reluctantly offered it to her. Emma turned up her palm gently and inspected it. "It already looks a little infected. I missed it before." She touched the pestle to the wound, spreading it with a dab of the cool white paste. Ororo hissed.
"Ow!"
"Don't be such a child."
"Perhaps, if you would stop injuring me."
"I'm sorry. I was trying to help." Emma pursed her lips and blew gently on it to cool the sting of the salve. Her thumb stroked Ororo's palm in a soft caress.
Desire flared in Ororo's belly and her hackles stood on end. She jerked her hand away sharply and looked away, but not before Emma saw how her eyes had dilated and the way her breathing quickened.
"You should go. I'm finished."
"Let me help you put on a fresh gown," Emma insisted.
"You've helped me enough," Ororo snapped. "Go. Now." She realized how hasty and ungrateful she sounded. "Please."
"All right. I'll get this out of your way," Emma promised. She began to leave, then paused at the threshold. "Rest." Ororo heard her footsteps grow fainter and then drift off.
She was shaking.
*
Her dreams didn't show Ororo any mercy. She felt herself falling, faster, more deeply into darkness while the visions rushed up at her, mocking her.
She heard music, lilting, merry strains of her father's orchestra. Ororo smelled the sweet tang of wine and savory canapes and meats mingling with cologne and pomade as she drifted inside. She recognized some of the faces, yet everyone she passed ignored her entirely. She felt unsettled, yet relieved.
She made her way through the crowded parlor, realizing why it felt familiar. She heard a shrill, detested voice and sighed. Loud, girlish giggles assailed her ears.
Anna Raven Darkholme. Still a fashion plate, and she knew it, but her outer beauty couldn't hide the defect of a vapid mind. She simpered and held court with Ororo's friends while they whispered behind their lacy fans about the other guests, giving no quarter.
"Remy visited me last night," she confided to Lady Elizabeth Braddock. "He kept throwing pebbles at my window until I begged him to stop. He said he wouldn't until I met him at the stables."
"Did you?" Eliza wondered, arching one dark brow. Her blue eyes looked calculating. "Your father will have him castrated one of these days."
"Not if he offers for me," Anna snickered. She toyed with her green satin glove and leaned in conspiratorially. "He's well-endowed."
"That's no secret," came the whispered retort.
"Anna Marie," a smooth, deep, feminine voice beckoned. Ororo's blood ran cold.
Reluctantly, she faced herself and felt shame wash over her, thick and cloying. She turned twenty-one that night, and Lady Ororo Munroe was in her physical prime. She stood taller than any woman in the room, and she drew the most stares in her gown of midnight blue velvet. Her ivory hair was soft and lustrous, held back from her brow with row after row of pearls. She arched her brow at Anna's nerve. She had the nerve to show up in velvet that night, too, in a rich forest green that matched her eyes. She wore her chestnut hair in a cascade of Grecian curls and she hadn't been shy with the rouge, Ororo noticed. "I'm so glad that you came," Ororo lied. She accepted Anna's fragrant kiss and inwardly recoiled. She'd heard every word of their chat, and she wasn't impressed. Remy LeBeau was in high demand as a prospective suitor, but he was a rake. Anna Marie toyed with him, teasing him beyond the limits of propriety. From the sounds of things, she'd moved beyond teasing.
If he didn't ask for her hand, Anna was ruined. Ororo felt a delicious, tempting flush of power.
This was simply too sweet an opportunity to pass up.
"Happy birthday, darling."
"I'm glad you made it here without incident."
"Wouldn't miss it."
"Your glass is empty," she pointed out. "Manuel? Get them some more of the sweet red."
"I've already finished my second glass. It's heavenly," Anna admitted. "I shouldn't..." It was a ruse; Anna boasted that she could drink any of her peers under the table. Ororo smirked at her attempt at discretion.
"You must," Ororo insisted. "I don't want to drink alone."
"Not in this crowd," Eliza pointed out. But she paused in accepting a fresh glass of claret from Manuel, Ororo's handsome steward, and she nudged Anna sharply. "Look," she muttered. "Is that Allison?" Anna's green eyes widened and she smothered a shriek.
"What's Remy doing with her?" she railed. "Ororo, look!" she hissed. Ororo's blue eyes darted in the direction of Anna's stabbing finger. The girl had no subtlety...
Allison Blaire, the youngest child of a duke, practically hung from the tall, dashing gentleman in a dark silk coat. She was a petite strawberry blonde, fresh and charming in her pink gown. She was wily and flirted without shame. Remy was clearly enjoying himself, if his sly smile was any indication as she pretended to straighten his cravat.
"Allison arrived early," Ororo mused.
"There's no surprise," Eliza sneered.
"She seems overly eager," Anna decided. She didn't excuse herself from her companions as she cut through the milling crowd of guests.
"She simply knows a good opportunity when she sees one," Ororo remarked as she sipped from her flute.
"What opportunity? Remy's going to ask for Anna!" Eliza exclaimed. She narrowed her blue eyes at Ororo accusingly.
"That's not the behavior of a man about to make an offer."
"Anna will be heartbroken if he doesn't," Elizabeth scolded her. "Blaire's nothing but a little baggage and a cow."
"Sheathe your claws, dear."
"You don't act like it's a problem that Anna's interests are being comprised."
"I suppose I'm not. I did introduce Allison to Remy, after all. She wouldn't be keeping such easy company with him without a proper introduction," Ororo reasoned. Betsy's mouth dropped open. "That's unbecoming, sweet. Flies might get in."
"You introduced them? Are you mad?"
"Didn't I just tell you that she arrived early? She was simply talking my ear off, and if I had to tolerate her singing along with my pianoforte for one more minute, I was going to drown myself in the punch bowl. I needed to give her a distraction. Remy's doing a splendid job." Ororo watched the drama unfold with little pity as Anna dragged Remy away by the arm toward the balcony. Allison looked confused for a moment, but Ororo's father intervened, appealing to her ego by complimenting her gown. Ororo cringed when she heard him murmur to her consolingly.
"Allison, you've grown so skilled on the pianoforte. Surely you'll indulge us in another song?"
"It would be my pleasure, Highness," she insisted, beaming.
"Anna's about to shame herself," Eliza cut in, interrupting Ororo's reverie.
"Anna took care of that already when she met him at the stable. It's called finesse, Eliza."
"Have you really so little loyalty to your friend?" Elizabeth's voice was filled with gall.
"My loyalty only extends as far as my sympathy. It's run out. If she can't remember the rules, she shouldn't play the game. It's that simple." She toasted her with her claret, which needed to be refilled already. "Cheers, sweet." Ororo sailed off, and she smiled to herself as she heard a sharp slap and brief shriek echo back from the balcony.
Ororo watched her younger self with a mixture of amusement and gall. Had she truly been that shallow? She had been so complacent, blissful in her ignorance of the misfortunes to come. She continued to immerse herself in the visions, hearing the familiar chatter and watching the elite mingle and exchange the usual pleasantries without a shred of sincerity.
Princess Ororo knew all of the correct things to say, how to hold her wine goblet, which spoon to use for the caviar, and how to dance an elegant reel. By the third hour, however, she began to grow bored. Anna retired to N'Dare's suite with a fit of the vapors, and Ororo was glad to see the last of her for the evening.
The ball gradually roared into full swing, and Ororo held court with myriad dance partners, ignoring her screaming toes. They throbbed in the expensive, spool-heeled slippers, but she didn't care. She chatted and laughed herself hoarse, enjoying and even inviting the innuendos from Warren Worthington, who had become one of her favorite pastimes.
Ororo watched herself being led away, and she almost wanted to call out to her, but she knew it was a futile effort. Regret warred with satisfaction when she remembered that night. Warren was handsome in his ice-blue cravat and charcoal gray coat. His thick blond hair felt soft and cool whispering through Ororo's fingers as he devoured her throat. His mouth was hot, and the planes of his body were firm and hot, flush against her velvet-draped curves.
"How long do I have to wait for you tonight? When will this blasted thing end?"
"You haven't even wished me happy birthday," Ororo chuckled. Her voice was like thick, dark honey. He growled into their kiss, and Warren roughly palmed her breast. She enjoyed making him suffer...
"You don't want to let me see my next one. You're killing me. I want you so badly. I want you out of this damned gown..."
"So impatient," she chuckled. "Soon."
"Not soon enough." Heat crept into her loins, and he ground himself against her. She felt the hard knot at the apex of her thighs, throbbing for her, and Ororo savored her role as his tormentor.
"When the last dish of cake is cleared away, I will have Father call an end to it. And I have a surprise for you."
"Ororo," he warned, but she raised a hand to his lips when he tried to change her mind with more kisses.
"You'll love it. I promise."
The Wind-Rider remembered every note of each waltz, re-heard every compliment and every proposition made to her. Some she refused; some she deferred. Ororo once again lacked pity for Anna as Remy handed Allison his calling card. He was so fickle...
The cake was sumptuous, a towering confection of buttercream frosting and marzipan. The guests barely touched it, a monumental waste to Ororo's mother, who abhorred excess, but it was her only child's coming of age, and the night was hers. Rahne, the modest, red-haired scullery girl, began to gather up the plates from the long tables while Danielle, the dark, exotic maid she shared a suite with, discreetly swept the crumbs from the fine linen tablecloths and began retrieving guests coats and wraps.
The Wind-Rider watched them, resigned. She'd doomed them, as well, with her choice. She felt a sense of growing dread as the night progressed. She watched the vision from beneath a dark cloud of gloom. Outside, the stars grew obscured by dark clouds. The moon struggled to reign over the inky sky.
The last plate was swept away. Ororo nodded to her father and toasted him with her glass. He looked relieved and exhausted as he beckoned to the guests, clapping his hands.
"My lovely wife and I would like to thank all of you for attending my daughter Ororo's special night. Alas, I'm afraid that I have to bring this evening to a close. But I'd like to propose a toast to my daughter's future. N'Dare and I were blessed, richer than ever before the day she was born. Happy birthday, darling." Ororo teetered slightly on her feet, drunk and spent, and her father's face pleaded with her. She mustered her balance and gave him a dutiful kiss on the cheek. She heard his low sigh and found Warren across the room, watching her with smoldering eyes.
He winked. She smirked. Oh, it was going to be so delicious.
*
Ororo watched herself bid her parents good night as they climbed the winding stairs. David retired to the master suite without any further delay. N'Dare paused in the corridor once the door clicked shut. Her eyes pinned her daughter and she folded her arms.
"I assume you're going to turn in for the night?" N'Dare suggested nonchalantly. She peered out the window and saw that Worthington's carriage was still outside.
"Heavens, no, Mother." Ororo's eyes were glazed but hard. Her smile was haughty. N'Dare shook her head.
"I wash my hands of this."
"Good night, Mother."
"Good night, Ororo." The Wind-Rider saw herself march down the staircase, discretion completely absent, and she sighed.
It was the beginning of the end.
*
Warren lingered in the kitchen, munching on some sugared almonds. Manuel suffered him easily enough, making casual small talk as he polished the silver. Santo merely looked annoyed as he discarded the empty wine bottles and listened to Warren drone on.
They both straightened up as the young mistress of the house entered. "You both did a lovely job," she told them. Manuel winked; she winked back, patting his arm fondly.
"Would you like a fire for tonight?"
"Not in my suite," she told him. He arched one dark brow.
"Then... where, senorita?"
"In Rahne and Dani's. It's drafty at night. They deserve a roaring fire, don't you think?"
"They've probably already set it," Santo grumbled.
"I'll take care of it," Manuel assured her.
"The silver can wait until morning," Ororo agreed cheerfully. Warren gave her a pointed look and held up his palms in a telling gesture. Why was she dissembling and wasting time?
They exited the kitchen, but instead of leading him upstairs, they detoured down the back hall, following Manuel. He knocked on the door to his left, and it opened a crack. Rahne's green eyes peered out at her, and the girl gave her a bashful smile. She still wore her serving uniform, and behind her, Danielle sat at the vanity. She'd removed her cap and was unwinding her long, black plaits.
"Can I get you anything, Mistress?"
"Let us in?"
"Of course. Come in." Rahne was nervous, but Danielle smiled invitingly as they entered and rose from her seat, ready to serve. Manuel came in and stoked up the fire that was already set in the grate, throwing on another log of almond wood that gave off cheerful red sparks as it hit the flames. Warren looked amused but impatient.
"Are we here to play cards with the help?" he inquired innocently.
"That will be all, Manuel," Ororo told him. He bowed and backed out of the room. Ororo retrieved the small brass key and locked the chamber door. Warren huffed in surprise.
"What are you ...?"
"I told you that you'd like my surprise," she chuckled as she crossed the room and sat at the vanity. "Help me," she told Rahne. She automatically began removing the pearls from her mistress' hair, unwinding them carefully, taking care not to tangle them. Before he could protest, Danielle took his hand and led him to the high-backed chair upholstered in dark tapestry. She gently nudged him back into it and knelt before him, unlacing his boots. Understanding dulled his resistance, and a slow smile spread across his face.
Rahne's fingers combed through Ororo's hair, smoothing it. The gentle caresses felt luxurious against her scalp. She removed her jewelry, setting the bangles, sparkling ear drops and pendant on the vanity, and her touch was gentle and solicitous. Without being asked, Rahne began to undo the long row of tiny buttons down Ororo's back, sweeping her fall of hair over her shoulder and revealing the graceful curve of her spine and flawless brown skin. She parted the bodice and skimmed the sleeves down her slender arms, and Warren's mouth went dry, not only at Ororo's beauty, but at the clear pleasure her maid took in undressing her. Ororo stood, and Rahne helped her step out of the dress, leaving her in her corset, drawers, stockings and garters. While Rahne assisted Ororo, Danielle made short, efficient work of his cufflinks and divested him of the bothersome cravat. He didn't scold her for her temerity as she sank down onto his lap and unfastened the buttons of his coat and shirt. Her fingers felt cool where they grazed his bare chest. His manhood stiffened and he quivered at her touch.
"Are your servants always this... friendly?"
"For the most part," Ororo replied casually as Rahne unlaced her, freeing her from the confines of the satin corset. Her full, firm breasts threatened to spill over the top hem, and Warren was tempted past reason by the first glimpse of her dark, gleaming, plum brown nipples as her maid relieved her of the punishing garment. Rahne's soft, full lips traced the marks made along her back by the stays and lacing, and Warren's breath caught. Ororo took Rahne's hand and pulled her around to face her, and she began to return the favor, untying her apron and pulling it over head. Before he could watch them any further, Danielle gently gripped his chin and tilted it up into a kiss that consumed him. He groaned into her mouth and allowed her entry, giving himself up into her caress and the slow, deliberate grind of her hips.
"I need you to serve me a while longer before I retire tonight," Ororo murmured as she unfastened the buttons on Rahne's sleeve cuffs.
"Your wish is my pleasure, Mistress." Ororo tired of looking at Rahne's drab work dress and was glad to see it puddled on the floor around her dainty white feet.
"I wish you to show me pleasure," she agreed with a langorous smile. "I wish you to show our guest the best hospitality that we have to offer."
"Will he stay the night?" Rahne inquired politely.
"Of course," Ororo husked into her ear. "Make him comfortable. See to his needs."
"Yes, Mistress." Her voice quivered at her touch, and her full, soft lips invited Ororo to use her, dominate her and exhaust her completely. Ororo traced the lower one, and Rahne accepted her role in the night's revelry with a slight dip of her head as she suckled her fingertip. Her linen chemise whispered over her skin as it dropped, soon replaced by her mistress' caress.
They converged on the bed, a constantly shifting arrangement of tangled limbs and stroking hands. Ororo reveled in the fading fog of wine and brandy, driving it away with the stroke of hands over her body and rough, lusty kisses from servants and guest alike. The room filled with the scent of musk and lust and grew humid with the heat of the fire. She tracked the sensation of Warren's mouth pulling at her breast in tandem with Rahne's lapping at her sex. Danielle kissed her like a lover, contradicting their mistress/servant relationship. Ororo was spoiled and capricious, certainly, but she treated them well within the confines of their chambers.
Warren recovered from the distraction afforded by the winsome young maids and mounted Ororo neatly, roughly. She delighted in the driving thrust of his hips and the lean, hard perfection of his body. He had the golden, flawless beauty of an angel, but insolence and lust radiated from his eyes. There was no love exchanged between them, only savage, unslaked need. Ororo stirred from the haze of their mating and nodded briefly to Danielle, a silent directive to satisfy themselves, a privilege they'd earned. Their embrace was fiery and possessive; cinnamon brown skin melded with fairest cream, between one maid and the other, then one prince with a princess.
She must have dozed. Through a bleary fog she watched Warren beside her, face contorted in bliss. Danielle's long black tresses tented his hips while she serviced him, teasing his taut abdomen with her fingertips. She caught his glance at that moment, and his blue eyes were burning into her with some hidden need, one that wasn't being met. Ororo tutted under her breath and kissed him in sympathy.
She rose and stretched indolently and rang for Manuel. His footsteps thudded into the corridor and Ororo shivered with anticipation, despite how sated and exhausted she felt. Her birthday celebration wasn't finished. She peered through the crack of the door, and Manuel's dark, hooded eyes were knowing, even though he went through the expected motions.
"Would you care for another log on the fire, senorita?"
"No." Ororo stepped back and opened the door fully, beckoning to him. Her hair was a wanton tangle and her eyes were drowsy but hungry. He was nonplussed by the tang of sex in the air or the occupants' nudity. Ororo closed the door and he'd begun unfastening his shirt buttons before the lock clicked into place. Danielle had been about to climb onto Warren's lap until she saw the resigned look on Manuel's face. Warren's eyes dilated as the tall, dark Spaniard made short work of his clothes, revealing firm, olive-toned flesh. Warren leaned up from the pillows, propping himself back on his elbows as Manuel approached. Warren's eyes devoured him and he gave him a lazy smile.
"Do you know why you were summoned, man?"
"It never matters why" was his casual reply. Manuel approached the bed, and Rahne and Danielle eased back, clearing the way for him. The men converged, Warren sliding to a seated position while Manuel bent his knee and propped it against the edge of the bed. He hissed out a stuttering breath at the warm fingers that enclosed him in their grip, and Manuel's dark eyes closed in pleasure and expectation, even though he felt resigned.
His mistress owned power, beauty and crafty intelligence, but she never knew true joy, love and respect. Manuel feared the day when her influence wouldn't buy her what she wanted, and he knew that she stood on the precipice of one day losing everything.
That day had come.
*
Ororo stirred from her slumber with a coated tongue and throbbing head. Her limbs were heavy and slack, and she lifted her drowsy head from Warren's chest. She wasn't sure what woke her at first. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness of the chamber, and she made out the forms of the furnishings and heavy drapes.
She did a head count and noticed that Manuel was gone. That puzzled her; he wasn't in the habit of leaving until she dismissed him, a testament to his decorum and loyalty. Perhaps he merely stepped out to relieve himself...
Curiosity warred with the comfort of the warm bodies hemming her in and the soft sheets. Ororo eased herself out of bed and searched the piles of clothing on the floor for her chemise. She wrestled one of the blankets out from between Warren's legs where it was bunched. He grunted and jerked the arm that Rahne was using as a pillow, but he quickly settled into a deeper slumber. Ororo smothered a snicker. Warren's household would be gossiping as voraciously as hers in the morning when he didn't return home.
Ororo padded silently down the corridor toward the kitchen, but she was stopped by a low hiss.
"Highness," Santo husked from the darkness. "We've a visitor."
"Nonsense. Certainly not at this hour?" Ororo accused. "Anyone who my father allowed to stay the night is already abed. Send them away!"
"Your visitor insists upon an audience with you."
"Tell them I refuse."
"Highness... forgive my impertinence."
"Haven't I always?" she challenged, raising one ivory brow.
"The woman is elderly and frail. It would seem like the humane thing to do to offer her a hot cup and shelter."
"Frail? What on earth is she doing this far out of town?" Ororo wanted nothing more than to fix herself a posset before returning to her warm, well-populated bed. "Ridiculous. Tell her to seek an audience with me tomorrow, at a sensible hour. Preferably not before noon." Ororo swept out of the kitchen, but Santo's entreaty slowed her down.
"It's a cruel night outside, Highness. Hear the rain and wind; it's stirred itself up into an ugly gale." Santo's expression pleaded with her in the darkness.
"You won't let me rest until I speak with her, will you? You realize I have every right to punish you for disturbing my rest in the middle of the night, sir?"
"Apologies, Highness. However, it's merely an hour before dawn."
"Ah. Thank you for clarifying the hour. I was mistaken."
"She's still outside, Highness." His voice still pleaded with her, but there was a chiding note in it, not unlike how N'Dare scolded her for her exploits.
"Very well." Ororo stalked across the cold marble, haughty and impatient, yet she was intrigued by the temerity this visitor had. She stood aside and allowed Santo to unbolt and open the heavy door. The scent of petrichor and damp leaves tickled her nose, and Ororo stared blearily at the woman before her, taking in her shabby appearance with distaste.
The Wind-Rider watched her younger self, wishing she could feel her desperation and fear. She stood on the edge of ruin, proud, vain and detached from the wretch suffering before her.
The woman was indeed elderly and wizened. Rheumy gray eyes stared out from a face that likely never knew beauty. Her skin was yellow like parchment. Tendrils of frizzy gray hair straggled around her face. Pock marks scarred her hooked nose, and deep, mulish brackets flanked her thin lips. Her smile was broad and almost comical, revealing rotting teeth with gaps here and there where some had deserted her mouth. The woman dropped a slight curtsy and spoke in querulous, raspy tones.
"Your Highness! Good evening, milady. Forgive me for stopping by so late-"
"My steward informed me it's nearly morning," Ororo snapped. "What brings you out in this gale, madam?"
"Forgive me," she repeated hastily. "I live off the land in these parts. I ran out of firewood, and I cannot afford more. The woodsman refused me a loan until I can pay him two quid."
"Ah," Ororo murmured with a nod. "I see."
"I live on my own. I seldom ask anyone for anything. I've no family to support me since my man passed from this earth."
"So are you taking this rare opportunity to ask for money?"
"Nay, milady. I ask only for shelter until the storm passes. It's cold and the wind has given me the ague. My bones throb miserably once the chill sets in."
"You ask me for shelter? How... quaint. And unfortunate." The woman's smile dropped, while Ororo's spread slowly across her face.
The Wind-Rider cried out, "NO! You FOOL!" She reached out to shake her, but her talons passed harmlessly through her.
"Highness, I beg of you. Have you a cellar of some sort, or even a place in your stable? It's quite large, and I wouldn't disturb anything..."
"You'd disturb me," Ororo argued. "Why on earth would I trouble myself with an unwanted guest? I don't know you, madam, and I cannot make assumptions about your intentions. You seem vagrant and desperate. You can see by the luxury of my home that I would be very protective of it." The old crone's lip quivered, but she smiled again as she reached into her long, dark cloak for something.
She withdrew a long-stemmed white rose. Its petals were luminous and silky, and the raindrops studded them like the finest pearls. The rose trembled in her grip. Her skin was so thin that her bumpy blue veins were visible, stretched across thickened, gnarled joints. It was a hand roughened by work, something Ororo had never experienced. They were the sort of hands that had darned socks, dragged shirts over a washboard and churned cream.
They were grasping hands, Ororo thought disdainfully. The crone beseeched her. "I come bearing a gift, Highness. A token of beauty, in honor of yours."
"Nay." Ororo's chin rose a notch. "I refuse you entry."
"You wouldn't give me shelter?"
"No more than I would an ant, or other vermin. Begone, old woman, and take your 'token of beauty' with you. You've disturbed my rest enough this night." The crone nodded sadly.
"I see." She stepped back from the door and curtsied neatly. "Highness, know this. You will never know another night's rest again." Her eyes hardened into flinty chips.
"What did you say?" Ororo demanded, now fully awake and in command of her wits.
"Your pride has come to an end." Overhead, the black clouds split open and spewed pelting rain. Lightning crackled and sizzled, illuminating the trees and limning the crone's silhouette in eerie silver light. "You would refuse shelter to one in need out of selfishness, and foolishness when you have so much to share. You would say nay to a helpless old woman." She huffed, scoffing at Ororo's nerve. "Silly wretch."
She stepped back and held up her hands, spreading her palms. Her gesture called down the might and fury of the lightning, and it struck her on the spot! Ororo screamed and drew back inside the door, fleeing the horror of seeing a human being incinerated...
...except that she stood unharmed, and completely transformed.
Ororo didn't trust her eyes, and her heart hammered in her chest. She was lashed by the cold winds that swept into her foyer as her visitor strode inside.
She was at once terrible, fearsome, and beautiful beyond compare. Gone was her shabby cloak and withered flesh. She stood taller than Ororo, willowy with elegant curves. Her features were delicate and patrician, and her pointed ears marked her as a faerie. Her robes were filmy, glowing silver-white and woven from moonbeams. Platinum blonde hair whipped around her face, held back from her brow by strings of crystal and tiny pearls.
"You've been tested and found lacking. Unworthy," the creature pronounced.
"Unworthy?" Ororo rasped. She stumbled back onto the cold stone, and she continued to recoil from her wrath.
"Indeed. You've been given a lifetime of chances to change your selfish ways, young one. You were blessed at birth with the favor of faerie protection. You've enjoyed health, riches, intelligence, charm and beauty, yet you've squandered all of these. You lack sympathy, kindness and compassion. Woe to you, Highness."
"That's... ridiculous," Ororo spat. "You're... an illusion! I merely drank too much wine! Begone, vision! SANTO!" Ororo cried out.
"He can't help you. You've brought this penalty down on your own head. You couldn't offer the merest kindness, and you've revealed your ugly heart and black soul. Since you don't know how to be humane... you no longer deserve to be human."
Ororo sat, baffled and entranced, as the faerie reached out with one long, slender finger. She touched the center of her forehead, and all at once her blood ran ice-cold. Light exploded between them, and the clamor of a thousand drums rang in her ears.
The creature released her as the glow faded away to a shower of twinkles, like errant fireflies. "Cursed," she pronounced. "Beautiful, no more."
"What?" Ororo croaked. She didn't recognize her own voice. It was so hoarse and guttural; she wanted to blame it on the excessive drink.
"You ordered me to leave. As you wish, Highness." As a final insult, she tossed the rose before Ororo's bare feet. "Godspeed." She turned her back on her, striding proudly into the dark night.
"WAIT!" The creature peered back over her shoulder for a moment and smirked coldly.
The lightning streaked down and consumed her neatly, and she vanished.
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White Rose