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White Rose	By : CeeCee Category: X-men Comics > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 10609 -:- 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
- 14
- 15
- 16
Look to the Sun
Summary: Two different souls, staring out from two different cages. One captor dreams; the other schemes.
Author's Note: I'm trying not to overdo it with letting my subplots take over my main one. I don't want this to just read like a slashy rehash of the Disney version, either.
Adrienne cursed and staggered back from the dark plume of smoke that rushed up at her as she lifted the lid from the stew pot. "Damn it! No, no, no!" Burnt again. Her attempts at cooking yielded no successes so far. Cordelia sighed behind her as she entered the kitchen, shaking her head.
"It's apples for dinner again, I assume."
"Stop assuming and come cook, wretch. I tire of it."
"Cooking tires of you, sister. That's the last of the good pots you've ruined, too."
"You've done no better, Cordy." Adrienne fanned the air and coughed, then hurried to open a window shutter to let in some fresh air. The kitchen, without Emma's careful attention, had grown to smell like burnt grease; grime coated every surface, and crumbs littered the unmopped floor.
"We still have nothing to take to Papa." Cordelia picked up a large knife and began paring the skin from a red apple.
"We'll have to stop at the market, then."
"That's the fifth time this week, sister."
"He'll just be grateful to have something in his belly," Adrienne pointed out. The town jail was pitifully funded, and prisoners often subsisted on whatever provisions their families brought in to them.
"I'm worried for him. He's too frail, Adrienne."
"Don't you think I know that?" she snapped as she scraped the burnt stew into the slop bucket, tsking over the wasted food. Adrienne savagely kicked open the kitchen door, letting the pail bang against the frame as she entered the yard. She wrinkled her nose at the stench of low grunts of the hogs as she gingerly made her way into the barn. "Disgusting things," she grumbled under her breath. "There. Eat!" she commanded them as she dumped the bucket's shabby offerings into the trough. They bustled around it, snorting and lunging for tidbits, bustling up against her skirts. Adrienne shied away from them in distaste. "We can't do anything else for him, Cordy."
"We must!" her sister argued. "How can you just write Papa off as gone for good? We cannot leave him in that dark hole, Adrienne!" Cordelia watched her sister brush past her on her way back into the kitchen to select an apple and knife for herself. Adrienne shook her head and shrugged.
"What would you have me do?"
"Speak to Donald."
"Are you mad?" Adrienne was aghast. "I won't go to him with my troubles. It would be... unseemly."
"How? The man you've thrown yourself at for months refuses to 'trouble himself' with the fact that your dear papa wrongly rots in jail for murder?" She said nothing of Christopher; both women felt that he had everything to do with their father's predicament, and they refused the mere thought of sympathy. Adrienne felt nothing but disdain for him, owning the birthright to their father's estate, yet being such a weak, useless fop of a man. Oh, how Adrienne loathed him. The only one she despised more was Emma, not only for being her father's favorite, but for giving her sister competition for Donald's eye if she so chose to vie for his attentions. Adrienne was besotted with him, but his eyes wandered; that, she knew.
Mere beauty wasn't enough to engage him, Adrienne knew. Men weren't complicated creatures, to her knowledge. Smile knowingly, dab on some sweet perfume, and you had his attention. But Adrienne knew the way to his jaded heart lay between her legs. Donald's tastes were... uncommon, but they could be satisfied.
What Adrienne had lacked up 'til now was a dowry to ply a betrothal from him. Father had found his fortune again, but without him home to sell his wares at the market, Adrienne and Cordelia were living on dwindling resources. Neither woman was suited to farm life, and their mother, Hazel, had proven spoiled and delicate. She never instilled in them the importance and responsibility of running a household. Winston's last resort, after siring such a disappointing son, was to simply raise Emma as he would a proper boy. He'd spared nothing for her education or in showing her the ways of farm life; she tied a fishing lure as easily as a thread through a needle. Adrienne fumed at the lack of Emma's skills now.
They needed their father back. Adrienne's mind raced with possible solutions of how to free him from his imprisonment.
She would simply have to talk to Donald, and to Shaw.
*
Emma retired - rather, escaped - to the library once she finished her bath. She managed to weed out a serviceable, practical gown from the finery in the wardrobe that didn't make her feel as though she was on display. The pale blue muslin was sprigged with tiny white flowers. Soft, puffed sleeves and an empire-cut waist made it much more comfortable than the previous selections. Emma braided her hair into a neat plait and settled for a pair of simply brown slippers, perfect for a day that she expected to spend inside.
The small volume of apothecary methods and concoctions occupied her nicely while a cheerful fire crackled in the grate. Santo left her mistress' plate at the door; Emma ate alone in the breakfast nook again, realizing that she was growing tired of it. She preferred company when she dined, remembering meals filled with laughter and stories from her father and brother. Emma would fix Winston his tea and wash the dishes while he regaled her with tales of vendors he'd met and the towns where he'd traveled.
Efforts at busying herself with housework had proven futile. Santo and Manuel had discouraged her from it, and she no sooner finished bathing, dressing, or dining and turned to tidy up than she found the resulting chores done in the blink of an eye. She was tempted to roam the expanse of the house, and she craved a visit to the solarium and garden, but her promise to the Wind-Rider nagged at her, leaving her frustrated. Emma sighed aloud.
The life of a pampered woman - a kept woman - was dreadfully dull. Three days had passed since the Wind-Rider's scuffle with the wolves, and her wing was healing beautifully. Warily, she suffered Emma's careful removal of the sutures and dressing, as well as the young woman's warnings not to fly just yet.
The creature's expression was bland and annoyed. "Surely, you jest."
"Nay. I expect your feet to remain on the ground."
"Perhaps you need to change your expectations." The Wind-Rider's muzzle drew back and she huffed a low growl and something resembling a laugh. "I will fly whenever I choose."
"You will choose to remain on the ground until your wing is properly healed." Emma's blue eyes were cool and shrewd, and her posture stiffened visibly.
In challenge, the creature slowly extended her wings, rustling them impatiently. "That time is now. Step aside." Her demeanor was imperious, and she shooed Emma along with a taloned hand. Emma's mouth dropped open, but out of habit, she moved aside.
"I beg your pardon!"
"It's about time," her mistress huffed.
"What?"
"You finally beg my pardon. So many sins, so little groveling," the Wind-Rider mused haughtily. Emma made a sound of disgust.
"I won't apologize for keeping you grounded, milady." Emma realized she'd gone too far when those eerie, intelligent slate eyes swirled with glowing white. "Especially if it's for your own good." Emma insinuated herself between Ororo and the window ledge. Mere inches lay between the women. Over Emma's shoulder, the blue sky awaited Ororo, billowing white clouds craving her caress. Her gaze shifted to Emma, planted before her with her arms folded staunchly beneath her breasts.
A dangerous glint flickered in her blue eyes, a razor-prism of rainbow-hued light, bright as a diamond. Ororo's eyes narrowed.
"You. Wouldn't. Dare." The Wind-Rider's wings unfurled in one sharp, quick snap.
"Wouldn't I?"
The feline lips peeled back in a low snarl. That was Emma's only warning before the Wind-Rider pounced. Roughly, Emma felt herself shoved down as the Wind-Rider vaulted over her head, diving neatly through the enormous bay window. "OH!" Emma cried out indignantly, shoulders tingling from the strong, rough grip of her mistress' taloned hands. The deceptively smooth, slick feathers adorned tendons and bones as strong and hard as iron bars, and those wings beat themselves as Emma as the Wind-Rider made her escape.
"No," Emma grunted and her arms flailed in an effort to grab her and interrupt her leap. Her fingers caught the folds of her robe, tangling in the heavy cloth. The Wind-Rider huffed a laugh as she flattened her wings to her back, narrowing herself enough to fit through the window frame, nearly rid of her nagging pet. "Oh, no, you don't!"
"Oh, but I do!" Emma's arms were nearly yanked from their sockets, but she held fast, breath rushing out from her lungs by the shock of being pulled off of her feet. A shriek bubbled out of her throat as the air rushed up around her, and the ground yawned from below. Ororo cursed briefly as she felt the tug at her robe of Emma's weight, but she summoned a buffeting wind to buoy her as she got her bearings and tried out her wings, exercising the atrophied muscles. It was glorious.
Emma closed her eyes against the sight of the trees blurring together below as the Wind-Rider gave into the wind and began to soar. She felt her hair whipping against her face, tearing itself loose from her braid, and she screamed in outrage and terror. "STOP THIS AT ONCE!" Her arms burned and her fingers complained at her demands, but she clutched the garment, fighting for better purchase. Emma managed to catch one of her mistress's ankles, manacling the taut tendons wrapped in lush fur.
"Enjoying the ride?" the Wind-Rider purred. "I certainly am!"
"Curse you," Emma muttered.
"You could always let go," she suggested helpfully as she soared higher, craving the sight of the hills from a loftier vantage point.
"No!" Emma's stomach nearly fell out with the shift in altitude, and tears ran in streams from her eyes, flying back into her hair. The wind disturbed her skirts, whipping them around her bare legs. If she wasn't terrified, it would be a heady experience, perhaps even one she would enjoy. For one crucial, spine-rattling moment, Emma felt the creature's ascent falter and jerk, dropping them several yards, and she screamed again. The jaunt nearly made her lose her breakfast. "You must come down! You cannot do this! Your wing isn't ready!"
"Look at us, Emma," the Wind-Rider argued. "This isn't 'ready' to you? You won't steal the sky away from me, little girl. I'm hale and hearty again."
"You should rest!" Emma cried back. "But at the very least, you might put me down!"
"How can you not love it up here?" the Wind-Rider teased. "It's lovely. There's nothing else like it."
"Because I'm afraid, and we could die, and in case you haven't noticed, I don't own a pair of bloody wings! Damn you, take me back down!"
But the Wind-Rider circled neatly, angling on wing-tip, enjoying the rush of air whipping through her hair and the sun beating down on them both. She laughed, a sound Emma still wasn't accustomed to, but it was a reckless, full-bodied sound. Emma's arms felt as though they would give out, and her heart was still pounding. "PLEASE, TAKE US DOWN!" she demanded. "You must!"
"I mustn't do anything of the - EMMA?!?!" Emma's grip failed, and Ororo peered back to find widened, terrified blue eyes as Emma began to plummet away from her. "Damn it! I'm coming, foolish wretch!" She doubled back and dove for her, wings thrashing the air. She summoned a warm jetstream to push her inhumanly fast, arms outstretched for Emma. Emma's body pinwheeled and flailed in the air, and Ororo heard her sobs and curses as she descended, regretting now that she'd taken them so high.
Emma began to tingle, and she wondered if it was her heart beating its last, but she felt her body beginning its change, manifesting her newest gift. Above her, she saw the Wind-Rider dipping, wheeling like a bird of prey, and in that moment, she was fierce and savage, completely in her element. Her eyes glowed bluish-white, marking her an outcast who lost her soul, but Emma felt her emotions, briefly, as the Wind-Rider couldn't shield her mind from her while she was so focused on her task.
Saving Emma's life.
The Wind-Rider's lungs burned and she felt her shoulder blades stinging with effort of beating her wings. They were less than a mile above the ground, and she counted wing beats left until impact. Emma reached for her, fingers flexing, clawing the air to bring her closer to salvation. "OROROOOOOOOOOO!" The creature's face locked itself in a grimace, determination gleaming in her eyes as she thrust herself down, down, and snatched Emma's hand. Emma shrieked at the shock of her grip, disbelieving, and she sobbed with relief. Ororo adjusted her wind to give her leverage, and she caught Emma close. She felt Emma's choking, halting breath against her neck and her hair tickled her lips. Emma was shivering and limp, but her fingers tangled in her robe.
"Are you all right? Emma?" The Wind-Rider barely heard her muffled words.
"Please... take us down, I beg you!" Emma risked drawing back to gaze up into Ororo's face, but instead of reassurance, the creature's face reflected shock, and to Emma's dismay, fear.
"Goddess help me... you silly biiiiiiIIIIIIITTTCCCHHH!" The Wind-Rider's scream gathered volume as they accelerated toward the ground once again, Ororo's arms taxed by Emma's weight, tripled in her now-diamond form, transformed by reflex to shield herself from impact. Emma felt her fear and heard the cacophony of her thoughts, jumbled and frantic.
"You can fly!"
"I have... a cramp!" Her voice was strained, and Emma felt her pain, a burning, knotted bundle of her nerves in her shoulder blade through their newly established empathic link. "Change back! NOW!"
"Bloody hell," Emma muttered. "Wind-Rider?"
"What?!?"
"Please tell me you can swim!" Their shadow over the lake, crystal blue and sparkling, seemed to grow larger the closer their hurtled toward its pristine surface.
"Swim?!?"
"Make more wind! Fly! FLY!"
The impact knocked them senseless. Ororo's frantic wing beats barely slowed their descent, and her concentration on the weather faltered, nearly broken when Emma had changed. They hit the water like a stone, swallowed up by its bracing depths.
A rush of bubbles swarmed over Emma's flesh, glowing and sparkling in the darkness, and her weight pulled them down. Her heart pounded and her lungs strained, at once thirsty for air. Her thoughts screamed in defiance of the new peril she faced.
Ororo's eyes fluttered open, no longer glowing, and she looked dazed. They widened when she saw Emma in her diamond form and realized they were sinking. The dazzling fractals of her substance were less spectacular, gradually robbed of light the deeper they sank. Her thoughts were a riot of panic, but Emma was relieved that they were still open to her.
Ororo. Can you take us up?
You're still pulling us down. You must change! Now, Emma!
Nay. You must let me go. Mutely, the creature shook her head.
You've gone mad.
You must. In this form, I do not have to breathe.
Emma, there is still a chance! Change! We can both swim for it if you are flesh once more. As she pleaded for her to see reason, Ororo's wings strained, ineffectual amidst the depths. Her legs burned as she kicked, struggling to keep them both afloat.
Ororo, listen to me. You have another gift, one more helpful to us than your wings. You can move the waves. Do you hear me? You can move them to your will.
That's ridiculous!
Nay. You can. It's there. You've never tried it before, but that ability exists. Let me go. Save yourself.
I won't leave you! Not here in the dark! Emma felt her struggle and a soul-deep anguish. The Wind-Rider's fear of the dark, how she despised feeling trapped, overrode the reason of Emma's words and this new revelation. Emma felt Ororo weakening, and the bubbles drifting out from her mouth decreased. Her breath was nearly gone. Emma shook her head sadly and gently broke the Wind-Rider's grip. Despair choked Ororo as this time, she was the one who fought to retain her grasp as Emma slowly, silently sank away from her. Emma saw horror in her eyes, and she closed hers against the vision, as it broke her heart to cause her such pain. She winced at the creature's psychic scream of grief and outrage, keening and wild.
We tried, Emma mused. Oh, how we tried...
If she changed now, she was too deep to reach the surface, no matter how she fought. Emma wasn't a strong enough swimmer, that much she knew. If she remained in her diamond form, there was a slim chance she could navigate the lake's floor and merely walk to shore, but her boast about not needing to breathe was unfounded and poorly justified.
The sudden rush of pressure surrounding her, buffeting her, took the decision out of Emma's hands. She opened her eyes and saw two piercing, glowing orbs penetrating the darkness, boring into her. The Wind-Rider manifested her gift, thanks to the channel opened between them when Emma entered her mind, releasing her knowledge of her ability to bend the currents of water, as well as air. Emma felt herself beginning to rise toward the surface, painstaking inches at a time, and her diamond form protected her from the depths, not suffering from the "bends" her dive would involve. Above her, the Wind-Rider floated, locked in an eerie, yet lovely dance. She molded the currents, manipulating their flow and ripple, gathering the pressure around her.
Foolish woman! Emma cried out to her. Save yourself!
I'm already damned. I won't suffer the hell of a life without you.
Emma tried to master the warring emotions in her chest. She felt her mistress' determination and fear, and certainly, her refusal to accept an early death, coupled with her own, but Emma joined her, sharing her perceptions, feelings, and experiencing the true essence of her need. Emma floundered through remembered loss and anguish, knowing completely the dearth of love, stinging from her past rejection. Emma, during her short life, had known love from her late mother, her spirited and eccentric brother, and her father, short-sighted, foolhardy, yet tender and caring beyond measure. The Wind-Rider's need for love had been thwarted early on, the submission from her devoted staff and her vast riches poor substitutes.
Don't leave me alone in the dark. It wasn't a plea; it was a command. Come back to me, Emma.
Foolish witch, Emma chided her, but the currents and pressure buoyed her up as the creature wove them to her will. Her movements sped up, and she slowly ascended even as she struggled for breath. Her wings were limp, barely joining the effort to bring them to the surface, and Emma knew they were spent, their owner having demanded too much of them that morning so soon after her recovery. Lectures could wait for later, provided they were granted the opportunity, or even a next breath.
Emma encouraged her, kicking her own legs and mustering her strength. The lack of air wasn't weakening her, but her effort to stay in contact with Ororo was taxing and consuming. We're nearly there.
I can bring you up more quickly if you change, Emma, she insisted. Emma could feel her strain.
Your will... be done, Emma promised as she submitted to her command, finally. A glow enveloped her as her molecules reverted from glittering diamond to pallid flesh, and Ororo grew alarmed to see how depleted she looked.
Come to me. Save me. I need your light, Emma. The void between them narrowed until Emma miraculously reached out for Ororo and grasped her hands. Her breath was nearly gone, and Ororo enjoyed equally grim chances, but they struggled together, propelled by one last thrumming, rough current, finally exploding through the surface of the lake.
"I'm with you! I'm with you!" Emma gasped, choking on the brisk air, too exhausted to draw enough of it into her chest. The Wind-Rider's voice rasping in her ear was equally haggard.
"Swim!"
"I...I don't think I can..." Emma saw spots before her eyes and she felt her grip on her mistress loosen, arms limp and spasming. Ororo watched Emma's eyes roll back in her head and panicked.
"EMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Ororo's murky slate eyes once again swirled with white light, their membranes charged with electricity. She was weak as a baby, but the earth's kiss and her first taste of air fortified her after her immersion. Around her, the wind began to whip the trees, tossing their branches roughly, and the lake became choppy with wavelets and froth. Ororo gathered Emma to her tightly and spoke to the water currents, but they tired of her commands. The wind, however, ever her loyal lover, submitted to her, and she extended her wings to greet it. The wind playfully tugged at their pinions, wrapping around them and yanking both women from the water. They sailed gracelessly onto the shore, landing in a tangled heap. The slick grass and unyielding earth abraded and bruised them, but Ororo never released Emma.
Minutes ticked by as Ororo regained her bearings. The world seemed to spin around her, or perhaps it was the ground beneath her. Her nose twitched as she drew in the scents and the fresh, crisp air filled her lungs. She could smell Emma's damp hair and the waterlogged fabric of her gown, the pungent soil and the fetid tang of the lake water, as well as a hint of wildflowers. "Emma," she croaked. Ororo righted herself, hoisting herself partially upright. She stared down into Emma's pale, unresponsive face. Her hand was shaking as she caressed her cheek, then lightly slapped it. "Emma," she repeated. "Answer me, girl." Emma disobeyed. Ororo grasped her shoulders and shook her. "EMMA!"
Emma heard the voice as if in a dream, but the darkness in her mind was too peaceful, too seductive, and she couldn't resist its pull.
"EMMA! ANSWER ME, DAMN YOU!" Ororo shrieked. She shook her, but she was so limp. Ororo didn't like her pallor, how her time in the freezing water had washed all color from her lips and cheeks, and she could see the delicate vessels in her eyelids. Overhead, the clouds loomed, gathering into a graying, gloomy blanket and locking out the sunlight. The trees rustled and groaned at how strongly they were tossed, and the air crackled with electricity. Ororo knelt beside her and gathered her against her chest, cradling her, crooning over her. "Emma...I command you to wake up, you selfish wretch! Emma, do you hear me?" She rocked her, shaking her, smoothing back the damp, beautiful ropes of blonde hair from her face. "Please... don't leave me alone." The clouds above erupted with thunder and streaks of lightning, and sheets of rain pelted the earth. The scent of petrichor and ozone filled her lungs and assailed her senses, signifying her grief. "I need you," she growled. "Emma. EMMA." Her palm sank to Emma's chest, feeling for any sign of life, but she found no heartbeat. She shook her head in denial and misery, tears streaking through her fur. Her lips peeled back from her teeth, and Ororo roared up at the sky, railing and keening. Thunder rolled and drummed, overruling her heartbeat.
The clouds answered her rage, no longer subservient, and the lightning spun itself in arcs across the darkened palette, streaking it with palest blue and purple. The wind tore at her robe and hair. Ororo roared her fury and was answered again in kind. The lightning surged together into a blossom of fire, then emitted a stream of blinding light, zeroing in on the grieving soul on the ground. It struck her, filling her with its fire and brilliance, suffusing every molecule of her body with energy. She whipped and jerked, muscles and limbs locked in a hideous dance. She never released Emma. For several heart-stopping seconds, she remained a conduit for the sky's fury, unable to discern it from her own.
The current ebbed, exhausting itself, and Ororo collapsed with a tiny whimper. The thunder calmed, no longer fed by her rage, and the rain slowed to the faintest drizzle. Ororo's breath was ragged and hitched, gulping for air. As she mastered the need, she felt something softly graze her cheek.
Emma stared down into her eyes, the last thing she saw before she blacked out.
*
When Emma awoke, the only impression she could form was that she was warm.
Delicious warmth radiated most strongly at her back, and she squirmed against the source. She heard a fire crackling in the grate, and the room she occupied was strangely quiet. Emma had grown accustomed to hearing psychic whisperings of other people's thoughts at low, continuous volume, but it struck her as off-putting to know she wasn't alone, even as she basked in the silence. The warmth at her back stirred, confirming her guess.
A long, slender, fur-covered arm tightened around her waist and she felt a low gust of breath pool over her shoulder where it joined her neck. The Wind-Rider sighed in her sleep, comforted by the presence of the woman in her arms and assured of her safety. Emma's eyes slowly drifted around the room, recognizing the rich furnishings as the Wind-Rider's. Another name came to her lips, unbidden yet familiar.
"Ororo," she murmured aloud. The Wind-Rider moaned in her sleep and smacked her lips, and she shifted against Emma, hammering home the fact that her clothing was gone. She caught sight of her ruined gown puddled on the floor, a damp, torn, soiled wreck. Her mistress' robe lay draped and discarded from a chair beside the vanity, and Emma's cheeks flushed. "Oh, my..."
She's awake.
Emma picked up the stray thought from slightly above her. Jenny lay balled up on the pillow just above her head, and she stretched and yawned, revealing her tiny pink tongue. She poked Emma's brow with her paw and purred.
Shush, darling. How did I get here? Emma didn't question the logic of speaking with Jenny telepathically; Santo and Manuel had already proven to her that it was possible, even though she wasn't sure how. Yet, weren't most beasties usually mute? How many of them spoke perfect English every day or replied to their names?
The two of you staggered into the house and just laid where you flopped. Manuel was in a lather, sweet, and truth, so was I.
Goodness... this is rather unseemly.
Nothing wrong with it from where I stand, Jenny sniffed. Safe and sound, snug as a bug.
You know what I mean.
She nearly lost you. You can't blame her, Emma, surely. Nor those two. Emma frowned, then craned her neck around, finally noticing the slight weight against her feet. Over the covers lay Rahne and Dani, curled together and slumbering, their thick-furred backs rising and falling in an easy rhythm. Or me, if you want to be honest. We feared for you. We feared for you both. Emma relaxed and sagged back down into the pillow. Your skin was like ice. We had to warm you up. This was simply the best way. Please forgive Mistress for being... familiar.
This is nothing new, Emma conceded. I've grown used to liberties being taken since I arrived in your home, kitten.
You've never offered any of them, then? Jenny challenged. You aren't trying very hard to get up. Emma's eyes were drowsy, and she yawned in contentment. Ororo's hand caressed her belly and she felt her stirring again. They were spooned snugly together, every curve flush and aligned, and it felt natural and right.
Oh, do shut up. Emma reached up and scratched Jenny under her chin, receiving more purrs as thanks. She decided to stop arguing, and she sank once more into slumber.
Another couple of hours went by, judging by the angle of the sun in the sky when Emma woke, enjoying the shards of light breaking through between the gap in the curtains. Ororo hadn't budged, and Emma nestled back against her soft bulk, feeling oh, so cozy. The freedom of her nudity and the rich smoothness of the sheets was luxurious, coupled with her hostess' fur tickling her skin. Emma could grow accustomed to it, she mused, provided she could accept some of the Wind-Rider's... compulsions. The struggle for control between them could be maddening...
"Mmmmnnngggh..." Emma felt the warm exhalation of breath against her shoulder as the creature yawned and stretched, momentarily releasing her. She grew alarmed as the sound was cut short by a groan of discomfort.
"Are you all right, Ororo?" Emma felt her stiffen, suddenly, and wondered how she'd erred.
"What did you just call me?"
"Ororo. By your given name." She took away her luscious warmth, to Emma's dismay, and Emma oof'ed as she was rolled to her back more roughly than she would have liked.
"You don't know that name. I've never told you that name." Her expression was put-out and mulish, and Emma didn't like her accusing tone.
"I... I don't know where it came from." The face above her showed conflicting emotions.
"I've never shared it with you."
"It's lovely." Emma's ivory hand reached for her, smoothing back a clump of hair from the feline face. "You needn't have hidden it from me."
"You've been in my mind!"
"There was no other option, milady. My visit was brief." Ororo's eyes darkened with turmoil, pupils dilating as her breath quickened. "I only saw what you shared with me."
"Lies! You're a thief, and a sneak, nosing about where you don't belong!"
"Ororo," Emma whispered. "I stole nothing. I didn't pry. You let me in." Emma stroked her cheek, cradling it. "Do not be angry. Circumstances demanded that we act as one, wouldn't you agree?" She cupped the alien face and spoke gently, soothingly, attempting to soothe her ruffled feathers - her wings were bristling and spreading defensively. Emma knew she had to tread lightly. Ororo scowled, and she attempted to look away, but Emma gripped her jaw and held her gaze. "Forgive me?"
"Do not... do not presume. You may not use that name."
"Why not?"
"Ororo is dead."
"Whuzzat?" Rahne raised her lupine head and shook it to clear the cobwebs away. Beside her, Dani yawned, bristling, and Emma chuckled at two wolves. Her mistress gently removed her hands and rose from the bed, giving Emma her back. Emma sighed, frustrated. The psychic link between them was closed, and she felt bereft of her presence.
"Who's dead?" Dani demanded sleepily.
"No one. Never you mind," Emma told her curtly. "Look at you two lazy bones!"
"That nap did me good," Rahne announced. She stretched, sticking her haunches up in the air and wagging her tail, and Emma giggled at the sight. "Yuir lookin' a sight better, colleen."
"I count myself among the living." Ororo's wings rattled briefly in irritation, and Emma realized her boast came too soon. "I'm lucky."
"Ye both are," Rahne informed them grimly. Black-rimmed eyes pinned Emma, and she could not break her gaze. "Yuir both daft."
"What? I was wrong to demand that she remain on the ground?"
"If ye canna fly yuirsel', and if ye kinna swim, then, aye. Twas foolish tae ride her coattails."
"I can swim... er, I can wade, anyway," Emma insisted. She clutched the covers around herself more snugly. Dani yawned against and padded up to her, stretching out along Emma's side. Emma reached down and scratched behind her ears, and the she-wolf's long tail thumped the thick feather bed.
"Twas foolish," Rahne countered.
"Indeed," Dani agreed. "Santo and Manuel were beside themselves."
"Where are they now?" Ororo inquired from the window, not bothering to turn around. Emma drank in the sight of her, unclothed and mussed from sleep. The sunlight kissed her feathers and set her white hair on fire, and she cut an elegant, regal figure.
"Downstairs, locking up." Emma wanted to voice how peculiar it sounded to her that such a task was left to an enormous black bear and a diminutive bunny, but little could surprise her since she'd arrived in the remarkable household.
Rahne yawned and joined Dani and Emma at the head of the bed. Rahne made herself comfortable, laying her head across Emma's lap, looking to have her ears scratched, too. Emma obliged, setting her tail thumping, too. Emma chuckled. Rahne licked her wrist, and the caress felt ticklish.
Ororo flinched at the sound, and Emma saw her face turn in profile. She emitted a low growl. Dani lifted her head, ears pricking up.
"Mistress?"
"Out," the Wind-Rider hissed.
"But, what-"
"NOW. Gone from me, out of my chamber!"
"Aye, milady," Rahne murmured, chastised. Dani and Rahne both leapt from the bed and disappeared in a twinkling, dragging their tails. Emma stared after them, missing the warmth of their combined bulk. She shivered and burrowed beneath the covers.
"Do you plan to throw me out, as well, mistress?"
"Do not call me that."
"Milady, then. Or 'Wind-Rider,' I suppose." Emma emphasized the name with a flourish of hands and her expression mocked awe. She sighed, and Ororo faced her fully, arms still folded.
"Do I entertain you?"
"That depends on which side you show me on any given moment. So far, I've seen you amused - at my expense, of course - angry... enraged, really. Demanding. Rude. Aggressive. Lustful. Jealous, today," Emma emphasized, and this was met by another low growl. "Afraid-"
"Ha! Ridiculous." Ororo's wings rustled with annoyance.Emma narrowed her blue eyes and leaned up on her elbows, still concealed by the sheet.
"Do not lie to a telepath. Even if you don't open your mind to me directly, I can feel whatever you feel." Emma sighed. "I've felt your sorrow."
"That doesn't elevate you in my eyes."
"Of course it doesn't. You've purchased me. Nothing will elevate me, will it?" Emma shook her head wryly. She sank back down to the pillows and pulled the covers up to warm herself, suddenly chilled despite the thick bedding and roaring fire. She gave the Wind-Rider her back, deciding she was finished with the conversation.
She didn't expect the low, slow pad of footsteps across cold marble, or the dip of the bed beneath her. Slender fingers gently scraped her hair back from her cheek, sweeping it aside.
"I can share my wealth with you. I can welcome you into my home, fully. There is very little I wouldn't give you, child. But there are some things you cannot know, and some doors that must remain shut."
"And some indeed have. I haven't tasted your joy, Wind-Rider. For a brief moment, when you flew away from me, there was this heady excitement, so mischievous, almost jubilant. And there was that arrogance that you've shown me, too, that a mere woman could own the sky, and command the sun and rain. But you've never known joy, anymore than you've known a worn out slipper or empty belly, or lacked a fire to warm yourself by at night." Emma sighed again. "I want to pity you."
"You're hardly in a position to pity anyone. You presume to teach me about joy, Emma Grace Frost, but you've known little enough of it in your short life." Emma frowned, but the Wind-Rider continued to stroke her hair. "I felt you, too, and saw things you haven't hurried to share with me. You can't save them all, darling. Christian has to follow his own road, and Adrienne has thrown her lot in with those who would ruin them both." Emma's eyes prickled and she swatted her hand away. "You weren't born to be their salvation, Emma."
"I'm ill-suited to be yours," Emma murmured.
She gave slight resistance when she was rolled to her back once more. Emma glared up at her and was annoyed to find the Wind-Rider offering her something akin to a smile.
"You suit me very well, Emma Grace." Emma opened her mouth to protest, but the Wind-Rider's fingertips brushed over her lips, gently silencing her. "Emma... thank you." She reached for her hand, turned her lips into her soft palm and feathered a kiss over it. "I never thanked you properly for saving my life."
"We've hardly done anything 'properly,' Wind-Rider," Emma reminded her. "Not since we've met."
"Apologies." Ororo nuzzled her pulse and closed her eyes as she inhaled her scent.
"You... apologize?"
"Yes, little rose. I'm sorry."
"I must be daft, or hearing things. I could have sworn you just said you were-" Her words were interrupted by the Wind-Rider's lips, and Emma's attempt at sarcasm faded to a muted mumble. Rational thought left her head, replaced with the feel of the heated kiss, her first. It was a sweet, soft brush against her mouth, insistent but tender. Emma sighed, a low sound of wonder and pleasure, but it was over too soon. She opened hazy blue eyes and met the Wind-Rider's indolent, smug smile.
Another first.
"You heard me correctly."
"I didn't expect that."
"I thought my expectations were transparent, child." Exasperation broke through the first stirrings of arousal, and Emma reached up this time, silencing her hostess.
"You could've taken what you wanted by now, if that was all you expected."
"By force?" Ororo's voice was incredulous. "Am... am I that much of a monster, Emma?" The smile evaporated, and she averted her gaze once more. Emma would have none of it. She sat up, clasping the bedclothes to her breast, and she caressed the Wind-Rider's cheek again.
"No more of a monster than you believe yourself to be, Ororo. I don't see a monster."
"I'm hardly human."
"You're as much of a woman as I am."
"And perhaps something else..."
"Oh, do shut up," Emma snapped. She cupped her face in both hands again and pulled her down into a kiss that stirred Ororo's senses. This time, the Wind-Rider moaned in pleasure, warm breath misting over Emma's lips, her self-deprecation silenced. Emma took her time, stroking her lips, gradually more firmly as she grew accustomed to how she felt. Heat grew in her belly and a warm flush crept over her chest. Emboldened by Ororo's hand sifting through her hair, Emma's lips parted slightly, extending an invitation. Ororo purred, a low, throaty sound of anticipation and pleasure, and her velvety tongue swept inside the recess of her mouth.
Emma's breasts were exposed to the air of the suite when the Wind-Rider gently drew down the bedclothes. She replaced the sheets with her palms, cupping the sumptuous, supple mounds, and she began to knead them, pleased with their weight and shape. "You feel like silk," Ororo murmured into their kiss. Emma moaned with need. Butterflies took wing in her stomach, and she felt new sensations rippling in her core.
"Please," Emma gasped when she let her up for air, lips traveling over the crest of her cheek.
"Please, what? Tell me, little rose." Ororo swept aside her fall of tangled blonde tresses and exposed her ivory throat, then laved it with her tongue. Heat filled Emma's loins.
"You've... you've done this before."
"Yes."
"Show me. Please." Ororo nibbled Emma's sensitive earlobe, and she moaned aloud.
"Tell me." Ororo barely grazed her throat with her sharp teeth, stimulating every nerve she touched. She teased her right nipple into a stiff, ruched nub with her thumb, craving the taste of it.
"Show me... everything."
"You suit me very, very well indeed, Emma Grace." She traced the tendons of her throat with her tongue, lapping at her pulse, and Emma was undone. Her hands wove themselves into the Wind-Rider's hair and caressed her horns, exploring their curve and hardness. Ororo shivered. "They're sensitive."
"You told me," Emma agreed. She felt herself being urged down onto her back, and the rest of the bed clothes fell away. The suite was warm from the fire, and Emma was comfortable enough as her companion closed the gap between them. Emma gasped at the contact of Ororo's body covering hers, fur sliding against bare skin, belly to belly. It was so foreign and new, this intimate press of two bodies. Ororo hadn't been with someone so unschooled and fresh in so long. Emma wasn't a courtesan from the village or a paid companion, blindfolded and waiting for her behind heavy drapes in a darkened chamber, sent away with more coins than her purse could carry before dawn.
She isn't afraid of me. The revelation stunned Ororo. Emma moved beneath her wantonly, craving more of what she had to give. She arched her back, raising her breasts in invitation, and Ororo heeded her desire, trailing her tongue down the valley between them, slowly circling the first mound. Emma clasped her head, urging her to continue.
"Nothing feels like this," she whispered. Her body trembled with every lap of Ororo's tongue. The Wind-Rider's desire mounted, and her hips began to thrust and rut against the young woman beneath her instinctively, heeding the call of the willing flesh. Emma's scent changed, gaining a musky tang that went to Ororo's head. Her head descended and her mouth zeroed in on the waiting, tender nipple. Ororo moaned at her taste as she twirled it on her tongue, and Emma arched into her ministrations. The sensations were wild, maddening, and she needed more. She teased the other peak with skilled fingers. Emma tossed her head back and closed her eyes, savoring the journey the Wind-Rider took her on, knowing it would lead to sweet ruin.
Ororo dawdled and played, plucking at her, devouring her sweetness. It had been too long. She caressed the arch of Emma's torso, counting her ribs with her caress. She continued to suckle her and shifted her weight off of her, lying alongside her and staring down the smooth plane of her belly. She caressed it, circling the tiny indent of her navel. Emma twitched and shivered. "Please," she begged.
"Yes, Emma," she promised. "Everything." Emma strained and sucked in a desperate breath when those fingers grazed her sex, exploring the soft mound of sandy gold curls. Wanton, unladylike sounds worked their way out of Emma's chest. Ororo's talons barely grazed her, combing through her nest, raking over the sensitive nerves. She bucked into the insistent suck of the creature's mouth, and her thighs quivered. "Open your legs for me, Emma. That's it. Let me touch you."
"It's too much."
"No. Feel me. Don't hide." She caressed the silky flesh of her inner thigh, and Emma moaned for more. "Let me make love to you, Emma."
"I don't know how."
"Learn, now." She caressed her, cupping and kneading the sweet mound. "You've never played before? At night, when you're along in your bed? Or taking a bath?"
"Not... so much. I... didn't have anything to inspire me. I've... I've read books, but... I couldn't relate."
"Ah." It added up. "Romance novels?"
"Y-yes." Ororo's fingers found the tiny pearl hooded by the folds of her sex, and she stroked it with accuracy borne of experience.
"With men making love to women."
"Yes. Those."
"That, Emma, is why you've remained so uninspired." She withdrew her hand and licked a warm sheen of moisture from her fingertip. "Oh, Emma, you've been so deprived..." Emma whimpered, and she mercifully resumed her touch, exploring her, teaching her. Emma's thighs spread eagerly, giving her room to move. Ororo gifted her breast with one last kiss and gazed into her face. Emma was flushed with pleasure, face suffused with color, hair mussed and spread across the pillows. Her breathing was uneven, hitching and exhaling on moans of delight with each stroke of Ororo's hand. "Emma, you're made for this."
"Please, don't stop."
"Never." Ororo kissed the soft, quivering belly, teasing her navel with her tongue. "I'm going to treat you so well." Emma closed her eyes and opened herself to the sensations, lust overwhelming her. Ororo's fingers toyed with her pearl, stroking her folds, parting them, and a fresh wave of pleasure washed over her. Tension coiled in her belly and her lower spine tingled. Emma couldn't name what was happening to her body, but every signal of pleasure originated from the core of her womanhood, up until now untapped and never explored. If she'd only known!
"So beautiful," Ororo murmured, eyes consuming the sight of her in the throes of passion. Emma felt the bed shift, wondering why she was moving between her thighs, but she fit there easily, and she felt the mounds of Ororo's breasts pressed against her thighs, parting them like a wedge. She breathed over Emma's belly, kissing a trail down to Emma's treasure. "I'm going to treat you well, Emma," she repeated.
"What... oh." Emma's voice shrank to a whimper at the first stroke of Ororo's lips against the weeping petals of her sex, slick with arousal and need. "Oh. Ohh..."
"Mmmmm..." Ororo purred and moaned at the musky tang flowing over her tongue. Emma was so soft and warm; it was like coming home. She massaged the tiny nubbin and dipped her tongue into the folds, lapping at her and transporting her to a place where pleasure lived. Emma grasped the pillow beneath her head, pulling the sides against her ears. She moaned and wailed, paying little heed to discretion. Ororo didn't care who heard; her servants were familiar with their mistress' habits; the sounds of flagrant lovemaking weren't new to them, certainly, but it had been a long time since the Wind-Rider's bed creaked so loudly. Emma thrust and ground herself into the source of that wild, hot wetness stroking her so expertly.
"Nnnnnggg..." Ororo couldn't get enough of her. In consuming her flesh, she, too, was consumed. She felt her own dampness and she wasn't far from her own fulfillment. Ororo wanted to push Emma farther, tip her over the edge, and she was oh, so close. Emma's hands drifted to her breasts, and she plucked at her nipples until Ororo stopped her, taking the task away from her. The tips were stiff and rosy red; Ororo twisted and tugged at them in concert with the strokes of her tongue, thrusting more deeply into her. Emma bucked and bit her knuckles against crying out any louder.
"No. Don't hold yourself back. I want to hear you, sweet. Give in to it. Let me hear how good it feels." Her hand lowered, caressing the planes of her body and finding her pearl once more. She kneaded it with firmer pressure, and it was turgid and hot. Ororo breathed into Emma' flesh, baptizing it, owning it, until the waves of sensation swept Emma away. Her climax crashed over her like a storm, battering her senseless. Emma couldn't think. She could only feel, only drift on wave after wave of pleasure, fed by shared lust. She bathed in Ororo's desire for her, in her complete focus on the task of making love to her.
Emma lay panting and fulfilled, quivering and limp. Ororo kissed her thigh. "How was it?"
"Oh..."
"Speechless?"
Lovely. That was lovely. A slow smile graced Ororo's face.
"Emma?"
"Mm?"
"We're not done." Emma's eyes flew open.
"There's more?" Her voice was confused, but a smile tugged at her lips. Ororo nodded solemnly.
"You sound surprised." Ororo eased herself against her, and Emma sighed up into her kiss. Ororo moaned in pleasure as Emma's hand stroked the curve of her horn and caressed her peaked ear. "Naughty girl..."
"Show me," Emma pleaded. Ororo devoured her lips, and Emma lost herself in the kiss, welcoming the stroke of her tongue. Ororo ground against her, finding Emma's sex once again, and Emma's eyes widened at the sensation of friction. The brush of her fur against her skin was decadent, and she craved it.
"I want to know all of you, Emma Grace."
"Yes..."
"I want to make you lose yourself."
"Yes! Please... oh, please." Emma couldn't bear it, being stimulated so soon after her climax, but she felt pleasure building again. Her hands roamed over Ororo's body, stroking and combing through her lush fur. Her breasts intrigued her, and Emma reached down, cupping one. She gently squeezed it, and Ororo's eyes shuttered in pleasure.
"Minx..."
"I want to touch you."
"After," she told her through gritted teeth. Ororo growled at the tension in her loins. She pressed herself into her more insistently, needing more friction, and it had the desired result. Emma's hips bucked, finding her rhythm, and they strained against each other, giving in to passion once more. Ororo's muscles burned as she moved, wreaking sweet havoc in Emma's body. The room filled with the scent of their combined musk, and both of them began to sweat. Emma's hands grasped Ororo's hips, stroking over the generous hills of her ass. Silently, she gripped her harder, urging her to move faster. Ororo heeded her call, taking her farther, pushing her faster, letting the fire burn between them and taking away all reason...
Ororo's moans deepened into husky, ragged cries of fulfillment. "Now, Emma!" Her climax broke, and as her muscles faltered, Emma pushed her over the edge, moving and grinding beneath her and taking her the rest of the way. Ororo's eyes widened and her back arched; spasms of pleasure worked their way down her spine, pooling in her core as she rutted against Emma, stealing the last frissons of pleasure and riding them out. She collapsed, panting and spent; beneath her, she felt Emma quivering again, once more fulfilled.
The suite was filled with the sounds of both women catching their breath and the crackling of the fire. Outside, Emma heard the patter of a gentle rain.
"Is that your doing?" she rasped.
"Completely unintentional. Just enough to fill the creeks."
"How... wondrous," Emma murmured. Ororo lay against her, head nestled at Emma's bosom, their limbs comfortably tangled.
"You suit me very, very well, Emma." They listened to the low slap of raindrops against the roof and the low breeze until they both dozed off.
The tinkling strains of a four-piece orchestra playing a waltz filled Ororo's dreams, haunted by girlish laughter and blue eyes.
*
Shaw nodded gruffly to his butler as the elderly man let him into the foyer of his estate and took his broad-brimmed black hat and overcoat. His footsteps were heavy with annoyance as Jarvis explained that tea had already been set in anticipation of his arrival.
"Brandy," Shaw demanded. "I need something more substantial than tea tonight."
"Very good, sir."
"Turn down the bed."
"As you wish." The man dithered over him and brought him his pipe. Jarvis wheeled the tea cart in and set it up beside the large, crimson, damask-upholstered chair with black nailhead studs. Shaw's study was elegantly furnished, the walls hung with paintings in silver frames. A framed daguerreotype of Shaw's father hung above the fireplace, and Shaw imagined the elder man was smirking at him, unsympathetic to his plight.
Shaw hated funerals. He'd buried two of his men, and had stood in the mud as the village pastor gave them last rites. He despised the rain, his only consolation being the increase in revenue at his club as patrons took shelter at his gaming tables and bought more of his whiskey. Shaw offered Jase's mother and sister's shallow, insincere solace at the gravesite, and they wept all over him, making him cringe. Jase's mother insisted that they would pay him back his generosity, which allowed them to bury Jase in style, including an engraved headstone.
It was money he could easily make back, but it posed an inconvenience, more than anything else. The loss of his two men distracted him from his goal.
There was still no word of Emma Frost. Shaw's investigators that he'd hired had turned up nothing so far. They combed through the neighboring three villages, along the seashore, and throughout the forest with no success. Shaw had a sinking suspicion that Christian, that weak, simpering wretch, hadn't been lying...
... except for the condition of Emma's new "owner." Sebastian refused to accept the man's wild tale of a "creature" whom his father had bargained with.
"He thinks me a fool," he muttered as he settled back into his chair. Jarvis removed his muddy boots and propped his feet on the small, tasseled hassock. Jarvis handed him a small snifter and filled it with the fragrant brandy. Shaw stared into the glass, watching the reflection of the fire flickering on its surface as the amber liquid warmed.
"Will that be all, milord?"
"That will do."
"Good evening, sir." Jarvis backed out, taking his boots with him to be polished. Shaw sighed and helped himself to a wedge of cheese. He remembered Christian's demeanor, stubborn, yet desperate. It had taken forever to beat the truth out of him, but Shaw found it extraordinary. Laughable.
He claimed the woman could fly. Preposterous. Shaw had met remarkable people in his travels, and on occasion, met individuals with strange abilities that challenged his sense of logic, even beggared his imagination. But flight... wings...
Ridiculous. Even more fantastic was his claim that she bore the visage of a beast, with the muzzle and fur of a lion, and the eyes of a snake. The description he gave recalled an illustration in one of Shaw's texts from his boyhood depicting a gryphon, mythologic and fantastic. The creature gave him nightmares as a child, but he chuckled wryly now and shook his head.
Christian's face bore fresh bruises and a cut lip when Shaw tired of watching Donald exhaust himself. The memory made Shaw smile.
*
"Leave him. Let him be." Donald threw Christian aside and gave him one last kick in the ribs. Christian crawled miserably toward the corner of the tiny chamber. The flickering of the small lantern's insufficient flame cast Shaw's face in an eerie light, darkening the shadows beneath his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks, rendering his face into a demonic mask. Shaw tutted.
"Really, Christian. This simply won't do."
"Emma's... gone to you," Chris spat. Flecks of blood sprayed from his lips with his words, staining the filthy floor. "You'll gain nothing from me, or my father." Shaw shrugged.
"We're of different minds on that topic, Christian. Different minds, indeed. I plan to get exactly what I need from your father. The guards tell me he's in a delicate state since he arrived here." Christian's face contorted with anguish.
"What have you done to him? Bastard!" he cried. Donald kicked him in the chest, and he rolled onto his back with the wind knocked from him. Breathing was torture, and he was trembling from the pain.
"Nothing, friend. I have Winston's best interests at heart! He's old and frail, and this is no place for him to spend his final days. He deserves the comforts of somewhere kinder than this, and the comforts that money can buy." Shaw began to pare his nails with a small belt knife as he spoke. "I've reserved him a bed at the sanatorium."
"WHAT? No! You mustn't! You can't! Go to hell, Shaw!"
"Hell is for those with no resources, Chris, and no imagination. I'm planning to visit your father and to share his new, good fortune. It's such a pity to waste away behind these dank walls, isn't it, with no contact from the outside. I expect we will enjoy a fond reunion, Christian." Shaw nodded to Donald, who knocked on the door, beckoning to the guards. "We're done here," he called out, "take him back."
"Monster," Christian rasped. "Leave him alone!"
"Worry not for your family, Christian. Your father will receive his salvation, even as you rot. And Emma will be reunited with her bridegroom."
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White Rose