Bent over the supine form, the moon cast his silhouette in silver and ice. He leaned back from the woman who had mysteriously appeared in front of his destrier, taking in her features by Diana’s light. She was unconscious, her dark lashes resting against high cheekbones. Her face was pale- too pale for women of this region; she must be a Northern woman. He registered this, but noted with a frown that her hair was nearly black, unlike the fairness of those northern women.
He looked a long time at her mouth, the rosy lips seemed petal-soft and tempting. He leaned down to her, intending a tiny taste; her breath whispered against his cheek.
He stood abruptly and, without effort, took her up, and placed her on his war-horse, noting appreciatively the way her shift draped over her lush backside. He mounted behind her, placing a large hand in the small of her back to keep her in place.
And the man took the reins in his gauntleted hand, and nudged his horse in the direction of home.
The only thing left on the ground after man, woman and beast disappeared was a pair of horseshoe-shaped crescents of molten rock.
***
Ariadne jerked up in bed, breathing heavily. What a dream! She must have gotten to bed late after getting out of the bookstore. She would have to stop reading that book of Greek mythology she’d acquired a few days ago.
Hmm, too bad. I was enjoying it.
It was then that Ariadne noticed that the bed she was in was not her dainty, quilted bed, but a bed of an entirely different personality.
This bed was easily twice the size of her own queen-sized bed, and about seven feet long. The proportions were enormous, but it was the rest of it, illuminated by a pair of torches to either side that took her breath away.
It was carved out of ebony and was covered with intricate knotwork. She glanced down at the covers; they were animal pelts, with a black velvet blanket under it all. She glanced up in trepidation, and saw where the posts ended and transparent silk banners- also black- hung from the stone ceiling
Had she died and gone to Hell? No, of course not, she reasoned with herself. The bed was far too comfortable for her to be in Hell.
She dangled her feet over the edge of the bed, letting her bare toes trail on the cold floor. She leapt lightly to the bear pelt on the floor, moving quietly across it, towards the heavy oak door. She managed to reach the door without incident or demonic apparition.
As she reached for the doorknob, however, an arm snaked around her waist, throwing her off balance and into a very solid chest. She could feel the man’s stubble against her cheek, and was startled when he whispered in her ear. She didn’t understand a word of it, but chills ran freely on her spine.
She soon realized he waited for an answer from her.
“I can’t understand you,” she said firmly, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. Instead, his arm tightened around her waist, and he growled to her, his words passing her ears in the garbled tongue he’d spoken before, but reaching her brain in strangely accented English.
“Where do you think you’re going, I said?”
Ariadne drew herself up to her full five foot eight inches, her muscles stiffening and pressing her harder against his chest.
“I am going home,” she said, her voice quivering slightly. She was frightened of this place, this man, and her fear was rapidly turning to anger.
She took a deep breath and grabbed his muscled arm with both hands and wrenched it around. Her assailant was thrown over her shoulder and landed heavily on the floor. She briefly reflected that he was immense and her momentum would probably leave a few cracked ribs. She prepared to drop onto his windpipe, elbow first. As she finally fell upon him, he was no longer there. Her elbow met with air, and she tumbled over, hitting the stone floor hard.
His arm came around her again, lifting her off her feet, and tossing her over his shoulder. She could see down his back for an instant. In the dim torchlight, the only thing Ariadne could tell was that he was clad in black leather. She might have laughed at the color theme, if she hadn’t been dangling over his back.
She could feel him moving beneath her, and thought he was going to leave the room. Instead, he dumped her on the bed, the torches guttering wildly. The man, keeping to the flickering shadows, retreated to the corner, his body movements telling Ariadne he was very angry.
“I just want to go home,” she whispered, not knowing whether he’d said anything at all. He became less visible in the shadows, and Ariadne’s anger finally got the better of her. “Why have you brought me here? Speak!” Her voice quivered, but was full of imperious command. This was her dream, after all, so why shouldn’t he obey?
It surprised her greatly when a low rumble of laughter emanated from the shadows.
“You think to challenge me?” His voice, again in her head, was laced with humor, and a deeper tone that made her feel as if he would love to best her, and would do so easily. She shivered, but stood on the bed as best she could, her balance precarious.
“Of course.” The steel reentered her voice. “You’re not a god, after all.” The silence was palpable, and Ariadne could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. A shiver of doubt coursed over her, leaving her cold. She couldn’t hear him, even in the silence of the room, and leaned forward to get a better angle. Instead, she fell forward, and would have fallen off the bed if there hadn’t been what she felt was an arm, gently pushing her back. She hadn’t seen anything touch her, and was shaken with the possibilities. She fell back on the bed, her face a mask of surprise.
She quickly recovered, however. Her courage was backed by her confidence that, in a dream, she could do whatever she damn well pleased. Ariadne sat up, her eyes becoming more accustomed to the dark. “I know you’re still here.” Nothing; he was silent and invisible. She could nearly believe she’d imagined it, except where she was sitting, and the fact that her elbow hurt like a bitch. Ariadne crawled back from the inky, unnatural dark of the other side of the room.
She took a torch in one hand, careful not to catch the coverings on fire, and stepped of the bed. The cold seeped into her feet, and was contrast to the hot branch in her hand. She walked steadily- despite the torch’s violent guttering- towards where he had spoken from.
She reached the wall. There was nobody there. A slightly hysterical laugh escaped her. And another. She nearly dropped the torch when he materialized out of nothing in front of her.
“Holy shit. How? No, I don’t want to know.” He was scowling, and so was she. His muscular arms were crossed over his chest, and his legs were braced apart. It was the classical stubborn pose. His face was tilted down towards hers, and she stared angrily at him.
When he spoke, his mouth actually formed the words that she heard. “What odd language do you speak, mortal?”
“Ha! So you admit to being otherworldly,” she burst out. His scowl deepened, but Ariadne hardly noticed; she could feel herself sinking into hysteria.
“Of course.” He growled something in his own language. She just knew he was cursing her.
The torch guttered suddenly in her hand, and she did drop it, the brand extinguishing as it hit the floor. She could feel the residue of power in the air: it was oily and cloying. He’d made her drop it, she knew, and the idea that he had utter control over her irked her.
Ariadne let out an exasperated sigh, and turned towards the bed, and the other torch. She knew she’d have to wait for better light, and rest before she could tackle him efficiently. And it was a dream, anyway. “Look, I can’t deal with you right now. I’ll just go to sleep and wake up in my own bed in the morning.” For some reason this saddened her. It wasn’t as if working in a used bookstore was an exciting life for her. Okay, so it was
her
