The Wellspring Page 11

  She felt a shaking hand caress her hair and her eyes rose to meet Prosser’s. The expression in those dark depths told her he was equally surprised and impressed by her accomplishment. Gaining confidence, Yule began to undulate her tongue along the length of the tool embedded in her mouth and throat. Swallowing in tandem, the flesh at the entrance to her throat massaged farther along the thick flesh. While her swimming skills had increased her capacity to hold her breath, she finally had to come up for air.

  Gasping as the last of the length departed from her mouth, Yule couldn’t repress a conqueror’s smile. “I did it!” she proclaimed, as if Prosser hadn’t noticed. “I didn’t think it was possible—” Here she broke off, suddenly realizing what she was saying aloud and blushing at her brazenness. Her eyes returned to the impressive erection bobbing in front of her, focusing on the moonlight glistening off of the spittle her talented throat deposited along the pulsing shaft.

  Prosser smiled down at her, stroking her hair. “Please tell me you aren’t done with me so soon?”

  Yule’s eyes rose to his again and she beamed in the moonlight. “I’ve only started,” she assured him confidently. Pausing to take one more deep breath, Yule opened her mouth and began her assault in earnest. Unlike the first time, she slid down the thoroughly lubricated length in one extended gulp, her gag reflex temporarily neutralized, and she began to suck the prodigious flesh with her gifted mouth. Prosser’s hands returned to either side of her head, directing a rhythm between them until the Magus was unable to withstand any more of the oral attack.

  Yule fell him tighten and contract under her chin and his hands tightened in her hair as if to restrain her, but she heard him cry out a warning that he was going to come and knew he was giving her the opportunity to withdraw.

  Hermes’ lurid stories guided her as she pushed her hands against the powerful man's flat stomach then pulled back until only the oversized head of his member remained in her mouth. Reaching up, she wrapped both of her thin hands around the daunting shaft and started pumping the remaining several inches of friction-hot flesh. She looked up and Prosser saw her intent in her eyes and groaned, throwing back his head, fingers now painfully twisting in her hair.

  She felt the first surge power through her fingers and out of the tip, having no practical knowledge of the force with which the ejaculate would hit the back of her throat so she had no time to compose himself before the next thick strand shot out after the first. She barely swallowed one offering before the next followed and had no clue as to how much her mouth was about to be filled.

  The thick fluid coated her throat and burned its way into her stomach and she suddenly panicked, thinking she might drown in the hot, salty wash of—

  She woke suddenly and sat up, coughing violently and spitting seawater as the next rush of incoming tide brought her back to wakefulness. As she coughed convulsively, eyes tearing, she looked wildly around at the beach.

  The beach!

  How had she gotten to the beach? She’d fallen asleep in her room and dreamed—something. She fought to remember anything about the dream, or how she’d gotten to the shore. She had an impression that someone was waiting for her here, but that was all she could dredge from her frightened mind. She was still clad in her nightgown, a pair of flat sandals lying in the sand a short distance away.

  I must have walked down her in my sleep! I could have drowned! On the heels of that fright came embarrassment. Had anyone seen her? She looked toward the horizon and saw the sun hadn’t yet crested the jungle. It was early, if she was lucky she might be able to sneak back to her room without witnesses. She grabbed the sandals, rose unsteadily to her feet, and hurried across the beach to the pea-gravel path that wound back to Drowsingfaire.

  Chapter Five

  Prosser didn’t comment on her presence at the breakfast table before his arrival, still appearing to be firmly suffused by a light-hearted holiday temperament. She suspected it was forced, then wondered why she had that idea this morning when she would have accepted it on face value the day before.

  She leaned on the marble railing, looking toward the snip of beach visible between the trees and was pricked by a thorn of guilt. She was suspicious because she was still embarrassed over her nocturnal wanderings, not to mention worried. Hermes told her she was quite the sleepwalker when she was a child, but assured her she’d outgrown the predilection in puberty. What if the excitement of being on Atlantis had brought it back? How could she make sure it wouldn’t happen again? She was brooding on this when something moved behind her causing her to whirl around with a small cry of surprise.

  “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to alarm you,” apologized Magus Teomond.

  “Do you always sneak up on people that way?”

  “Sneak?” His dark eyebrows rose. “This is my hearth.”

  “All right, do you always—prowl about so quietly?” she corrected her observation.

  “I only walked over to you to see what so captivated your interest. I didn’t realize you were daydreaming.”

  “I wasn’t!” she strenuously denied, recalling her first daydream about Prosser walking along the beach.

  “No, of course not. You’re probably going over today’s itinerary.”

  She tried to decipher his expression, but the rising sun was in her eyes and cast his face in shadow. “If my skills are substandard you’ve only yourself to blame for not taking the temp they offered,” she said with a sharpness that surprised herself. “You needn’t mock me.”

  “I wasn’t mocking you,” he countered sincerely. “Your work has been satisfactory, and if you indulge in the occasional daydream I envy you. I’ve been accused of having a particular lack of imagination.”

  She remained unmoved by his assurances and gazed at him with open incredulity that was more apparent than she intended. He stepped past her and turned to lean against the marble railing with his back, and now the sunlight fell directly upon his face. There wasn’t a race of mockery on his austere features and she let out her breath and glanced at the marble under her feet.

  “Are you still happy you came to Atlantis?” he asked out of the blue.

  “Very much!” But her unadorned countenance displayed such intensity as she raised her eyes to his again that his dark eyebrows curved questioningly.

  “Does something trouble you?”

  “I suppose it does,” she admitted, “when I come to think about it. Your itinerary was fairly packed with seminars and speeches, but I haven’t done nearly the kind of work I thought I was in for. I’d call my personal involvement somewhat—lackadaisical at best. I mean, there’s nothing I’ve done that the temp you were offered couldn’t have done and I just don’t understand why you brought me, even if it did save you money.”

  He returned her gaze evenly for a long moment before relenting. “I didn’t think I’d be able to keep the truth from you for very long. There is something we should discuss.”

  “The truth?” she asked suspiciously. “Is this some joke?”

  “No, what I have to say is of grave seriousness.” He pushed away from the railing. “Let’s go down to the garden, where we’re unlikely to be disturbed.”

  He didn’t wait for her to agree he simply walked away, down the stone steps, into the garden and Yule hurried after him, after a moment of consideration. He didn’t stop upon entering the flower-ringed grassy expanse, but crossed it to a fragrant border of blooming hedges, passing through an archway carved into the hedges and following a path through what became apparent to Yule was a maze. The light inside the maze was filtered, mottled on the clover ground covering and she glanced up. The hedges were fully eight or ten feet tall, it was hard to judge, and a canopy of flowering vines created a ceiling—and camouflage, she realized. From the terrace this simply appeared to be part of the encroaching jungle and she wondered why the maze was hidden. She didn’t have the opportunity to ask, concerned with keeping pace with Prosser to avoid becoming lost in the twists and turns. Finally the b
ewildering path ended, opening to a velvety green meadow dotted with low stone benches and surrounding a brilliant blue pool of water where a stone fountain of a maiden eternally poured water from an urn into the pool. Magus Teomond crossed to one of the stone benches and seated himself. He gazed at Yule enigmatically.

  “So, you suspect my motives for bringing you here?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t think you’re saving any money, considering the spending allowance with which you provided me,” she replied straightforwardly.

  He smiled ruefully. “What a discerning little thing you are. Yule. I thought that might have proved a miscalculation, but I didn’t want to risk your begging off because you had nothing to wear.”

  Resentment at his tone flared. “I’m not little and since when was being discerning a bad thing?”

  “No, I suppose you’re not. . . . ” His gaze and tone were musing. “Yule, as a spell-caster, how would you react to a power poacher?”

  “A power poacher?” she repeated. “Why would you ask? Who do you mean?” She backed up a step and felt the hedge against her back. When had she moved from the opening? “What are you trying to say, that you—?”

  “No, nothing like that,” he dismissed her trepidation sounding a little annoyed. “It’s a straightforward question. If you’re not a normal then you’re a spell-caster, or you must at least consider yourself to be one. Would you recognize a power poacher if you encountered one?”

  “Yes, of course,” she asserted with confusion. “But what on earth has that got to do with anything?”

  “Nothing, maybe something. For example, let’s say there is a man, no one you know, just someone in the world. He’s handsome, well-spoken, fashion sensible and money has no particular concern to him apart from finding new ways to spend it. What if this man turned his interest toward you? And what if you found yourself drawn to him, but you’re well aware that many women find him irresistible and he’s certainly not famous for ignoring their attentions. Add to this, there’s a dark little rumor circulating that he might be siphoning power from these conquests. What would you do?”

  “I’m—I’m not sure.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve never been introduced to a sexy lothario with bundles of cash to throw around.” She held up one index finger. “Is he the sneaky power poacher the gossips say he is?”

  “That’s the point I’m trying to make—you wouldn’t know unless someone spilled the beans about him.” The exasperation showed in his tone. “But can you have an instinct for that? Wouldn’t your intuition toss a massive red flag at you?”

  “Mine very well might,” Yule told him, having given up trying to fathom where this line of questioning was leading. “I’ve always had a fair instinct about stuff like that. I’d probably kick him in the balls then go out for drinks with Hermes to vent.” She wondered if she imagined him wince at that.

  “Charming, but I don’t believe the majority of women share your insight—or sense for swift justice. In fact, I would swear they wear sleep masks when they’re being—led astray sounds too sheep-like.”

  “Played?” suggested Yule, stoically.

  “Yes, played. Urban, but apropos.” His lips described an unbendable line of bronze. “Why do they run like lemmings to the cliff’s edge, then cry foul when they realize they’re in over their heads?”

  Silence followed. He wasn’t looking at her, he was watching the pareo draped woman endlessly pour her sparkling crystal offering into the sapphire pool that reflected the sky endlessly gazing upon it.

  Yule saw this, intensely aware of the playful breeze ruffling the man’s dark curls, feeling the same breeze teasing up her legs, under her skirt. “I suppose some women are attracted to danger,” she quietly ventured.

  “And the rest are simply blind to it,” he added, equally quietly.

  Yule was about to offer a sharp retort to that when she realized he hadn’t taken his eyes from the fountain. What the hell was so damn interesting? She imagined it was old, possibly ancient considering where it stood, and she admitted it was effectively rendered, almost lifelike, from the slender hands clasped firmly on the subtly phallic urn, to the folds of the pareo clinging to her rounded curves, to the long hair curling loosely over competent rather than excessively slim shoulders—and Yule smiled, moving closer to see the face of the fountain maid. She had a sudden inspiration that this sculpture was created from reality rather than artistic fancy and to look upon the memorial of her face would be akin to gazing through an ensorcelled mirror into the past—and so she felt oddly uprooted and cast adrift in her own mind because what she faced was exactly like looking into a mirror.

  “That’s—that’s me!” she gasped.

  “Imagine my shock when I saw you in my office foyer,” Prosser spoke quietly from directly behind her. He slipped his arms around her waist and whispered into her ear. “I only half-believed the legend until that moment.”

  “Legend?” Yule repeated, feeling as if she were sinking into the sapphire pool, too lightheaded to fight to the surface.

  “Since magic cannot be created or destroyed, where does it come from when we are born, and where does it go when we die?” Sheirienu replied with a question as she entered the center of the maze from the opposite side of the pool.

  “And all of those Groves that have lost their power—where did that power go?” Prosser whispered seductively into her ear.

  “No one. . . .knows,” Yule replied with a faraway voice, uncertain she was speaking aloud until she received a reply.

  “There are all kinds of theories, but the Tahain Grotto knows the answer,” Sheirienu told her certainly from where she stood on the opposite side of the pool and she swept an aristocratic hand toward the fountain. “The Wellspring.” Her hand became a pointing finger and slowly traced a path to Yule. “You are she, the Wellspring.”

  “And I will be the Font, from which all the power in the world flows,” Prosser told her as she sank into soft midnight blue darkness. Yule wanted to tell them they’d made a mistake, that she was a Stunt and if there was a more wrong place to look for all the power of the world she didn’t know it. But the blue enfolded her and took her thoughts away to gentle, wave washed shores.

  Where she was drowning! Stupid lemming! She thought as she thrashed wildly to keep her head above water. Just had to jump off that man-cliff, didn’t you? And see what it got you?

  “Stop fighting me!”

  Why would Prosser be shouting at her in Hermes’ voice? He was doing enough shouting in his own.

  “She isn’t yours! I’m her destiny!”

  Yes, that, and a lot of swearing too. And was that Sheiri screaming at someone?

  “Back off, Tahainian bitch!” Marc shouted.

  “Marc?” Yule fought her way up from the depths of unconsciousness to discover Hermes and Marc standing in the pool holding her between them. “What the hell—?”

  “She’s awake!” Marc shouted.

  “Yule, hold your breath!” Hermes ordered, and she didn’t have time to ask anything more as the two men dove toward the bottom of the five-foot pool—

  And they fought to the surface in a lagoon of teal and richer greens, startling colorful fish that darted away from the sudden presence of humans in their midst. Yule had too many questions savaging each other to comprehend any of them so she locked them down in cages and focused on getting to the pink sand shore, collapsing on her belly between the two men, panting.

  Pink?

  There weren’t any pink sand beaches—well, there were, but only on..."The Shelf!” she gasped, struggling to her elbows.

  “It’s all right, this beach was swept years ago, it’s safe,” Marc assured her, referring to the procedure used to magically clear an area of spell-created weapons and traps.

  “It’s safe? I’m safe?” Yule heard her voice rising as she got to her feet, but was unable to stop it. “What the hell is going on? What was going on at Atlantis? How did I get to the Shelf?”

  “Ca
lm down, Yule. We brought you here,” Hermes maintained a calm tone as he got to his feet beside her.

  “We? We?” she demanded.

  “One more we and she’ll have cried all the way home,” Brenna’s smug remark brought Yule’s head around with the speed of a striking cobra, but the smile did not become less smug.

  Standing beside her, Jory elbowed the willowy redhead. “He means all of us, we brought you here,” he explained.

  And now Yule noticed two more things; the Falmont brothers stood on the opposite side of Brenna, and all four of them were pale. Even Brenna, despite her smug expression. She looked at Marc and Hermes and corrected herself—all six of them looked like hell.

  "You brought me here from Atlantis? The six of you pooled your power?” She received a nod from Alan Falmont. “Why?”

  “Because you were about to be offered up as a sexual sacrifice on the Tahainian altar,” Marc explained.

  “And as hot as that kind of ritual can be, you’re not ready for it,” Hermes added.

  “Not to mention it would make Prosser the most powerful man in the world,” Jory inserted helpfully.

  “Allegedly,” Hermes interrupted, looking from Jory to Marc. “You still haven’t convinced me of that.”

  “We can prove it,” Marc assured him. “All we have to do is find the Archetypum.”

  Silence.

  Waves rolled up the beach. Seagulls wheeled overhead occasionally crying. Yule usually thought they sounded plaintive. Right now, she was sure they were having a laugh. Palms rustled in the trade winds and Yule finally decided she could speak without hysteria.