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THE SUNBLADE CHRONICLES: Book 1
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CHAPTER TWO: The Stranger
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The Emerin forest was deathly quiet as Aran trod carefully through the undergrowth. Each step onto the dead leaves and twigs carpeting the forest floor sounded as loud to his ears as spring fireworks popping and snapping in the sky. The wood felt different, at night. In the day, it was a place of excitement and mystery, promising discovery of hidden secrets lost to time.
At night, it felt... oppressive. The huge trees loomed menacingly in the dark, and branches with spindly twigs like fingers seemed to reach for him, catching in his hair, snagging his cloak. The hookvine was even worse. This part of the forest was rife with the thorny tendrils.
Owls hooted occasionally, and mice and rabbits skittered from his path when they heard him coming. A fox yipped insistently in the distance before going silent.
'Stop being a fool,' he chided himself mentally. 'Get your head right. The trees are not trying to grab you.' A wolf might, or a bear woken early from its winter slumber, but he put that out of his mind before he found himself running back toward home.
It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought he might be getting close to where he had found the note earlier that day. The moon was yet to reach its zenith, so he might even get there early. It would be a chance to find a hiding spot and get a look at whoever wrote the note.
He hoped his mother was well, and the rest of Korrin, for that matter. That shouting from the square had bothered him. Heralds were only heavy-handed with folk if they'd done something to bring it on themselves. What could have stirred them up so?
Suddenly he stumbled into a small clearing where a shaft of pale moonlight illuminated a pool fed by a stream that ran in from the west. Aran and Jered had been swimming here not half a day ago. The silvery light rippled as a light breeze touched the surface of the water. It was rather beautiful.
He smiled as he imagined going back home and sorting things out with Jered so he could bring Jillia here. They would take off their clothes and swim together under the stars. Aran had always wondered what Jillia looked like without clothes on. What her skin would feel like as her soft body pressed against him...
There was a very uncomfortable tightness in the front of his breeches when he brought himself out of his little fantasy. The clearing was vacant aside from Aran, but still he blushed.
With no sign of this person he was supposed to meet, he decided to shimmy up a sprawling oak nearby. The branches, as thick as a man, held his weight without shifting as he climbed. He found a good vantage point on a branch that hung over the clearing a little, and he lay down on his belly, hugging the thick limb with his arms and legs.
Now, he would be able to get a good look at this mysterious note-writer when he or she arrived.
Aran didn't have to wait long. Not ten minutes after he had settled himself in the tree, a black-cloaked figure stepped into the moonlight, stopping just inside the clearing. The stranger's cowl swung slowly back and forth, searching.
Aran held his breath. Something inside him seemed to pull him toward the figure, and he gripped the branch tighter. Wild fancies of the Emerin Witch sprung into his mind. He didn't really believe the stories, but if this really was a witch, he would not be seduced so easily.
The stranger raised hands and pulled the cowl back, and Aran's heart skipped a beat. It was a woman! And she was stunning! Straight, flaxen hair fell to just above her shoulders. Her eyes were big, catching the moonlight, though Aran couldn't tell their colour. Her nose was petite, and her lips were full and lush.
Aran had never seen such a perfect face in his life. Even Jillia paled in comparison to whomever this goddess was. He clung to the oak branch like a barnacle as her hands went to the clasp of her cloak. Unclipped, it fell to the ground. Aran's throat tightened as he drank in what he was seeing.
She wore a tight white blouse of thin material that molded itself to her skin, and leather breeches that must have been painted on, they were so tight! Her body was voluptuous, lusciously curved yet fit. Her thighs were plentiful, but if Aran had to bet, he would say they were strong. Her hips flared enticingly, her belly was flat, and her waist was like the inner curve on an hourglass.
The most spectacular breasts Aran had ever seen graced her chest, large enough that he would never be able to fit them in his hands. The white fabric hugged them closely, leaving nothing to his imagination. The laces of her blouse were only done halfway up, leaving acres of delicious, pale cleavage exposed.
Aran's cock was stiff against the unforgiving wood of the oak branch, but he didn't dare move to adjust himself. The warm glow inside him was suddenly pulsing strongly. It seemed to want to reach out to the woman, as if it had a life of its own.
Who in Heaven was she? Did she live in the forest somewhere? Was she the Emerin Witch? Surely this woman would never harm anyone! She was perfect!
Or was this all just a part of some illusion? Some black magic?
"You may as well come out, Aran," she said suddenly, lifting her head to look directly at him.
Aran nearly fell out of the tree in shock, but managed to save himself just in time. How did she know he was there?
"We have much to do. Very much." Her voice was husky, a little smoky. Pleasing to the ears. Aran had heard a similar tone on a travelling performer, once, a woman who had spent many years singing.
"And it's best we start sooner rather than later," she added, crossing her arms beneath those tremendous breasts and cocking her head. Her booted foot started tapping.
The warmth in his belly and loins grew hotter, and his body seemed to want to move of its own accord and go to her, but Aran fought the impulse down. "Who are you? And how do I know I can trust you?" He demanded. "How do you know my name?"
"I am Elaina Fairborn," she answered, striding forward until she was almost directly under him, her face tilted up.
Such a beautiful face.
Green. He couldn't be sure, but he thought her eyes might be green. He forced his gaze away from her cleavage despite the excellent the view from his vantage point.
