Peace

First all sexual activity is between adults.

Second Thanks to Whordinary Girl who's editorial skills helps bring this story to life.

Third thanks to all who have commented or posted your feedback is appreciated.

*****

Early morning light bathed the room. As usual, my back was to it. However, unlike most mornings, I woke to the warm feeling of being pressed against another. My memory was blank as I breathed in the scent of her and gently ground myself against her soft body. My left arm was wrapped around her front, across her chest, and lightly gripping her right shoulder. My left lay under my pillow and her soft auburn hair was spread across it.

Auburn? That thought slapped my half-awake mind into focus. It reminded me of the night before, lying with my sister, which brought me to the next uncomfortable thought: Not only was I hard this morning, but that hardness was also pressed tightly against her deliciously soft rear.

This brought me many unbrotherly thoughts about my older sister. I took a deep breath of her scent, the smell of her lavender shampoo and body soap. I closed my eyes and oh so gently thrust against her, the delicious feeling of rubbing myself against her soft warm body intoxicating my mind.

A sudden moan and shift from her had my eyes flying open to look upon her face in fearful wonder. Was she awake? She stirred and wiggled herself into me then started to lightly snore, something I was sure she would never admit to.

Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift. Something I did often in the early mornings when I wasn't ready to get out of bed.

Apologies and Sisterly Affection

Daphne

Daphne woke up to her brother's snoring. His face was buried against the side of her neck.

"Ugh, Bart, you're drooling," she laughed and elbowed him in the side.

"Huh what?" he mumbled out, still half-asleep.

"You were drooling all over my neck and hair," she said giving him a mock glare that lasted about a second before a big smile spread across her face.

******

I couldn't help but smile back at her. "So, sister Daph, how are you this morning?"

"Doing all right, brother Bart."

"Ah Maverick, you know I own all the seasons of that show on Amazon."

"Really, we have to binge watch that," she said smiling.

When Daphne and I were younger, and before my dad decided his fatherly duties were at an end, we used to watch old western shows like Rawhide, Gunsmoke, Wanted Dead or Alive, Bat Masterson, and, of course, Maverick. I never knew who I was named after, Bat Masterson or Bart Maverick, though I'm pretty sure it's the former, after all, Bart Maverick's full name is Bartrum.

"You remember that Halloween when you dressed up as Calamity Jane and I as Masterson?" I asked her and she smiled nostalgically.

"I was Annie Oakley, not Calamity Jane." I nodded with a smile, busily remembering chasing her around the house with a pop gun.

"Bart, I'm sorry," she blurted out of the blue I looked at her in confusion. "For yelling and screaming, calling you names," she started crying then.

I pulled her close whispering, "Shh, it's ok; whatever it is, it's ok."

She shook her head. "No, it isn't, I was just so angry at him, you, but mostly at myself and I took it out on you. I'm sorry," she finished quietly sobbing into my chest.

I didn't know how to handle this; emotions were not exactly my forte. Give me a problem to solve, whatever it is, and I'll give you solutions. Not always easy, not always simple, but still solutions. However, that emotional crying where a person just needs to get it out? What the hell does the even mean. If it's solvable solve it, if not, accept it and move on. Where does crying get involved in that.

So, I just lied there staring at the wall and running through the day's activities in my head. I would need to shower. Luckily after having to have one too many cold showers because my grandfather was too cheap to buy a new one, I did a little mundane/magical tinkering and the water heater no longer failed to keep up. Good thing with how many guests stayed over last night.

Breakfast was probably already seen to, but I'd still need to fix a plate for myself. The burial would be around noon; the preacher will probably attempt to get a sermon in, it was Sunday after all. Then I'd have to see the guests off, courtesy demanded it. Finally, after all that, I might finally do something constructive with my time to make up for the wasted two days.

Daphne had stopped sobbing and was at the light crying phase with the occasional sniffle. "You alright now sis?"

"No, but I'm better. Sorry you're all wet and snotty." She smiled briefly. "Guess I paid you back for drooling on me," she said.

"Ha, so, your dastardly plan was to play upon my sympathies so you could cover me in snot and crocodile tears," I said staring at her with mock reproach. "Oof," I grunted as she hit me and called me an ass. I sat halfway up, and with a huge smile said, "Oh ya?" Then I tickled her.

I trapped her under my body, my left leg between both of hers. Well, my larger bulk held her underneath me. My hands squirmed up and down her sides as she twisted and laughed underneath me. I grinned at her just desserts for calling me an ass. How dare she.

Her squirming, however, had a rather different effect on another part of me. Her hips moved against mine as I tickled her, grinding her into me. I noticed quickly and stopped and pulled back. She encircled my shoulders in her hands, not letting me off her.

I opened my mouth to speak, perhaps to apologize, I don't know; my mind clouded with lust as desires tickled my brain just as I had tickled her. Then she kissed me. Her lips softly pressed against mine, and slowly her kiss grew harder more demanding. Her tongue slipped from her mouth to lick at my lips. I didn't think for the first time, I simply did. I opened my mouth and met her tongue with mine. Music played in my head, "When marimba rhythms start to play dance with me make me sway."

Our tongues danced, sometimes in my mouth, sometimes in hers. "Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you." I turned, falling on my back, her lying on top of me. When one of us pulled back to breath, the other would lay soft kisses against the other's skin. "Only you have the magic technique, when we sway I grow weak." My hands moved to her back, and Slid against the soft skin there to catch her shirt to pull it up. We separated just long enough for her to remove it. I moved up to meet her and she fell to meet me. "I hear the sound of violins long before it begins." Our lips were seconds from meeting with no desire to stop.

Knock Knock! "Hey Daph, you going to sleep all day? By the way, you know where Grinch is?" Elsie called out rudely, popping the private little world of ours that consisted of the bed and nothing else.

"Alright, hold your horses, Barts here with me," she called out in answer. "Oh, well both of you get a move on, it's almost ten. Aunt Jean said there won't be any hot water left if you take too long." Elsie said before leaving.

Daphne leaned down and whispered, "Now, how would she know that?" I dumbly responded "Who, what?"

She smiled and laughed. "Oh, look at that. I kissed my brainy little brother dumb. How would Aunt Jean know the water will get cold?"

"Ohh, her and grandpa occasionally knocked boots."

She sat back, which conveniently placed her ass on my rather hard package. She looked at me in astonishment. "Really? Really? Her and Grandpa?"

"Yup, they're both widowers, and occasionally they got together to do the horizontal mambo."

She had been gently thrusting her hips as we spoke, not enough to get me off, but more than enough to have me completely in the moment. "So, I guess I better get up and find the shower."

My eyes went wide. "What? Wait, what about-" I started to say but she was already off me. I watched her ass as she bent at the waist to grab her shirt. Straightening, she looked over her shoulder and with a wide shit-eating grin said two words: 'cold shower'- then she was gone.

Goodbyes

I lied half considering using my hand, knowing that my evil sister would be sure to let someone know I was being slow this morning. So, embarrassment would surely follow if I did that. I finally pulled myself out. I looked down at my mast, trying to will it away, which proved to be futile, so I gave up with a sigh and made way for the bathroom.

I was pretty sure that no one would be using the shower that was in my grandfather's bathroom which was located through his room. I was wrong. Distracted by what had just happened, my mind replaying every wonderful moment, I just opened the bedroom door.

"Dammit Bart! Don't you know how to knock?" Sandra petered off, looking decidedly south of my face while I took in the sight off her naked form.

Her blonde hair was slightly damp and laying against her neck. She was turned toward me, her skirt held to her crotch which left a clear view of her rather impressive mammaries. I stood for a heartbeat, options running through my mind. It settled on simply saying "Hi" and heading for the open door of the bathroom.

I did not take a cold shower. I washed, and by the time I got out, things were a bit more manageable.

I dressed and headed for the main rooms. People were milling about here and there. I glanced into the kitchen, Evil was speaking to Aunt Maureen, but she gave me a wink mid-sentence. I just glared. Sandra was talking to Bethany. I couldn't hear what was said, but from the many furtive glances I was receiving I had a guess. I had a bad feeling that my rep would be thoroughly tarnished by day's end, and there was nothing Sandra liked better than gossip.

I stretched for a moment. "Still sleepy Otis?" Aunt Jean called.

"Hey, I didn't drink enough to earn that," I whined. Yup, rep ruined.

"Just picking on you, Darling. Oh look, Bart, Jen; Jen, Bart," she introduced, and I turned to see a girl standing there. She had an easy smile that lit up her face.

"So, hi, grandma Jean said we should meet. I'm a first year at Ferris. You planning on going to college? Wow, you're really fit; work out? So, what do you like to do? Me? I like to read and..." Blah, blah, blah, she ran on and on. My eyes were wide. I stopped trying to keep up and just nodded my head as I ate my food.

Jen was 5'5, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She was a bit plump but not overly so. I'd call her more cute than beautiful. Like her grandmother, she was wild fey a bear to be precise. I could feel it in her soul, that slightly primal feeling that came from her.

The next two hours passed quickly. Everybody was in decent humor until an old grandfather clock in the living room struck noon. People slowly made their way outside. I went with the vets who were to be pallbearers. Closing the casket, I walked at the head as we moved outside. The honor guard followed beside us with their rifles. The rest of the guests trailed behind, with the immediate family taking the front. It was about twenty yards to the short stone wall that separated the family plot from the rest of the land.

We laid the coffin in the cradle to be lowered in the ground as people took their places. I laid one hand upon the coffin in final respect before taking my spot with my sisters, cousins, and Aunt. They cried freely. I watched the proceedings stone-faced. The honor guard fired their rifles. The preacher began his sermon. When he finished, the honor guard folded the flag and handed it to me before saluting.

It was strange, the pain in my chest I felt when taking that flag. It was like someone was squeezing my heart in their fist. I stared at the flag for a moment when suddenly arms surrounded me. The pain lessened.

As the others went back to the house, I stayed behind with several others who had volunteered to help place the dirt in the grave. George was there as well as Sheriff Tanner and a few others whose names I didn't know right off the bat. I'm good with faces, but names always eluded me.

The Lord's Hound

Maria laid her overnight bag down on the floor as she waited for the knock. She had smelt them before she saw them as she had walked into her apartment complex. Orcs, they smelt different than humans, earthier. Groch and Delcath were her Lord's main enforcers and bodyguards mostly for his guests. As her Lord enjoyed saying, 'the fear they inspired with a simple knock ferreted out traitors far more effectively than any trap'. It was true. There had been many who had heard their knock and ran.

She opened the door and watched the two imposing orcs. True, they both had glamours, but glamours were skin deep. They both stood an impressive seven feet tall, and Groch's face and head were both clean shaven. Dark, twisting tattoos ran from the collar of his dark pinstripe suit over his head and down his face. Orcish tattoos told the story of their greatest successes and failures and were displayed proudly, which is why the glamour did not hide them.

Delcath wore a similar black suit; however, his hair was shaved on the sides and worn in a long braid that fell to the base of his spine. He also had the facial tattoos that started somewhere beneath his suit. His tattoos were different then Groch's as they both came from different though allied clans.

Maria nodded to the two then walked with them out. They entered a black sedan with black double-tinted windows. She knew from experience that the car was also sound proof and the upholstery was easily removable and extremely flammable.

Still, the car was incredibly luxurious for a rolling torture chamber. She sipped at a glass of eighty-year-old Brandy as the car rolled into the large estate. The estate was a massive mansion that almost looked like a castle overlooking lake Michigan. Large decorated gates opened for the car.

The estate screamed opulence in the extreme. Maria and her escorts stopped in front of the large Victorian-style doors. A massive coat of arms was carved into depicting a shark eating a British flag while the jolly roger stood in the background.

The door was opened with only a moment's notice. A butler quietly stood aside, waiting for them to enter. When they did, he spoke, "Lord Avery awaits you in the gym." Maria merely nodded before heading for the gym. Before even opening the door, she could hear sounds of steel striking steel.

Opening the door, she saw a large room with an older man with cold dark eyes and silver hair training a young man. Neither wore protection, and the younger had several small cuts on his face, chest, arms, and hands. The older bore not a mark.

"Fool! Maintain your attention at all times!" He struck the boy and left a racking slash across his chest. "Your wards are pitiful. If I had not held back, you would be dead. How I worry for the legacy of our family with you as head. Our territory will be dragged out from under us in a month. Get out of my sight," Lord Henry Avery XV said in disgust.

The Lord turned. "Ah, Maria. I have a matter for resolve. Leave us, that means you," he ordered, giving a hard look at his son.

Damian Avery was twenty-years-old and lived in privilege his entire life. He was treated for the most part like a king, but his father treated him only as a disgrace.

"Maria, the task I have for you concerns the mistakes of emperors and kings," Lord Avery stated, making sure his son heard.

The Prince

Damian stormed from the room. The many cuts covering his body burned as his sweat dripped into them. The pain from the lacerations took second to the rage burning inside him. Then his mother was there.

"Oh, my handsome son, I must remind your father not to be so tough. Still, it's proof that he cares." She crooned as she begun to use magic to close the wounds, her head shaking at both her husband and son. Her husband laced the cuts with curses to make them slow to heal and grow in pain with each passing hour. It standard in fights between mages to do such things, and therefore to check for them, but these were painfully obvious, pun intended.

Damian growled. "Bullshit. He thinks I'm weak. A fucking chi—" Whack!" Damian's head flew forward. His mother's hard eyes were upon him. Then her voice slithered out like a snake.

"Last one to use foul language in front of me lost his tongue. You, my wonderful son, will lose far more my respect." With that, the woman turned on her heel and left.

Damian did not speak, but the words screamed in his mind. 'Fucking bitch, how dare she hit me'. His hands twitched as he stormed through the estate. He entered his room and he looked at his "doll." His doll was a human woman, twenty-years-old, with her mind completely destroyed, and all she could do was follow commands. He gripped her tight before raising one hand, and calling out his mother's name, he smacked the doll.

Cinderella?

Catherine did not move. Her scent erased, her mind calm, and her form hidden completely, the magic was held to a minimum, but still active as she listened to her father speak.

"Maria, tell me of this Schultz boy. How capable is he?" he asked.

Maria spoke, "I know very little other than he's observant. He spotted me as a killer, that is the most I know."

"Yet his grandfather was incredibly capable, but he did not know magic?" Avery asked.

"His grandfather may not have used magic, but he quickly grasped the concepts and there were few better in his field," Maria explained. Avery looked at her then his shark eyes studying her face even as his magic filled the room in preparation of attack and defense. The grandfather trained you in combat and was responsible for getting you and your family into The States. Do you feel loyalty for the boy?"

Maria spoke one word in response. "No."

"Good. I have a task for you."

******

Catherine slipped from the room as plans began to form. She was so lost in thought, she almost missed the attack. The knife flashed like lightening as Catherine moved away and dodged the strikes. Catherine's assailant wore nothing special but a dress. Catherine moved her left hand and shifted the knife away as she struck with her right fingers held stiff as she jabbed for the throat. Her assailant moved back avoiding the blow, but their back hit the wall.

"Very good Catherine, very good." Her mother laughed and clapped her hands. Catherine nodded but stayed on guard. Years of training taught her that attack came when you least expected it.

"Daughter, I need you to support your brother. Help him, please, with your father and excelling in his studies?" her mother asked with her face slightly strained.

"No, besides, father would never agree to this. An Avery succeeds or fails by their own merit. His words," Catherine stated. Diane Avery nodded with a scowl. She knew her daughter did not care about the rules, she simply had no desire to help.

Diane's mind fell back to the past as her daughter walked away. Her unclaimed daughter. There were traditions, more like rules, that the Avery family kept to. One of which was simple: women are tools, nothing more. Another was, the most deserving led two traditions that contradicted each other.

****

"Damn that boy!" Henry growled as he stormed into his wife's room. "Dear, you know how I feel about foul language." In public, Lord Avery differed to no one. In private, Henry differed to his wife more often than not. She was his most trusted advisor and confidant. "Sorry, my love, he's just so aggravating. How I wish he were more like his sister. Had she been born a man, I would have given her my territory years ago and watched it expand two-fold. Instead, she is stuck killing her brother's mistakes," he lamented.

His wife nodded before going to him and wrapping him in her arms and saying, "Then my love, you must find a way to motivate him."