WHEN LOVE HAS WINGS…AND WHEN NO CAGE CAN HOLD YOU

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“If you hear the dogs, keep going. If you see the torches in the woods, keep going. If there’s shouting after you, keep going. Don’t ever stop. If you want a taste of freedom, keep going.”

 

Harriet Tubman

 

Chapter One

Innocence Lost

 

 

Two boys walked down a street in Summerford, Maine on a June day, dribbling a basketball, unaware that each step was taking them smack-bang toward a brick wall of evil that would leave scars on their souls forever.

The two boys, Jimmy Hankins and Mickey O’Hara, thirteen and twelve respectively, intended to go shoot some hoops in the schoolyard.

It was a bit chilly for early June, but the sun was shining and very welcome.

Jimmy, or Jim, as he had been trying to get people to call him—since he was thirteen now—had his gray hoodie up, looking tough. He thought.

Mickey, usually the most sensible really, wore a long sleeved white tee that was a size too big for his thin, bony frame. It made his collarbones stand out too much, and he didn’t think he’d wear it again, he’d decided that morning.

In fact, Mick had been eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches a lot in hopes he’d gain more weight. In a way, he wished he looked more like Jim, but his body type was different. Jim’s larger, square frame wasn’t as suited for basketball as Mick’s was. Mick was the taller of the two, though a few months younger. There was some promise there if he wanted to play basketball seriously. But while Mick loved basketball, he loved learning most of all.

A bookworm. Though he tried to keep a balance between sports and his academic focus.

Jim, on the other hand, knew he would never be the guy who could get the ball in every time. Nevertheless, his dad had told him that a well-rounded athlete should be able to at least hold his own in the regular, common sports. So he kept working at it. And he liked Mick. They just sort of clicked, the way some people do at any age.

Jim was pretty smart, but not super-smart like Mick.

The Scouts had made a difference in Jim’s solid build. Since he was little, he had loved the whole thing. His uniform sported a ton of badges and he was always working on the next one. An Eagle Scout now, he was looking forward with excitement to becoming a Venturer Scout. He wanted to do everything that took him outdoors.

Just how difficult and painful would be the wave of oncoming events, might depend on how the boys stood up to it all. Of course, if they could’ve had so much as an ounce of warning, it would have helped. A lot.

“So, you want to shoot some hoops, or do something else?” Jim asked his friend.

“Nah. Not yet. Let’s go get some fries first. I’m hungry. Cut the lawn for dad, he’s paying me. I’ve got some money.”

So instead of heading straight to Cambie Street schoolyard and the basketball hoops, the two good-looking, reasonably happy kids turned the corner and followed their noses toward Miller’s Café, four blocks away.

A wind blew up, pushing Jim’s hood off, blowing his thick, wavy, dark hair across his forehead. Annoyed, he pushed it back and tugged the hood back on. Mick shivered a little in the cotton tee, hunched his shoulders. Even his head felt the wind since he’d gotten one of those really close-cut hair jobs; you could almost see his scalp in fact.

“It’ll grow back,” his mom had said resignedly when she’d seen the result of his trip to the barber. But she’d liked the way the short cut had brought out her son’s brilliant blue eyes, sparkling with intelligence and life.

***

The white van slunk along in almost total silence, the driver and his passenger moving their heads back and forth, watching left and right for any sign of prey.

“How about that girl there, the blonde with the high shoes? She can’t run in those. She’s not very big. I can have her in the van in five seconds. Just pull over there.” The small guy in the passenger seat leaned forward, peering at the girl through the tinted glass. They could see her but she couldn’t see in.

“Nah, doesn’t feel right,” muttered the driver, gripping the wheel with large, meaty hands.

“What? You going psychic on me? Just pull over,” the other said irritably.

“Just wait, dipstick. Patience is the only way to go in this game. That’s how we’ve survived so long. You want the money, you wait like a cat at a mousehole. No rushing things.”

His helper snorted in disgust. He felt wired, nervous. “Ron, I swear, sometimes I think you get scared. These kids don’t know what hits them. They haven’t got a chance. What, you waiting for some big brawny guy to take down? That chick was just right.”

“Kip, it has to feel right. If you don’t have that feeling thing, you’ll never make it in this business. I’ve been snatching kids for five years now, here and in Europe. Listen to the master. You’re always in a rush. That’ll finish you in the end. Trust me…”

He paused, leaned over the wheel, stared at the two boys walking along, talking. Paying no attention to what was going on around them, as usual. Kids never did. One carried a basketball, dribbled it a bit every now and then.

The van was just a block from the busy section of town, where the boys were clearly heading. Right now, nobody was around to see a thing.

They pulled over gradually toward the boys. This vehicle was specially built for quietness. One of the things that made the team so deadly.

“Get ready, Kip. Get in the back, open the doors, keep it quiet. I’ll pull real close, you jump the skinny one. I’ll keep the engine running and grab the big square kid. Get the handcuffs on as quick as you can. Throw him down on the floor, hard. He won’t know what hit him.”

Ron looked around one last time. No witnesses, nobody. Perfect.

Kip made a quick jump from the van, rushed the skinny kid and grabbed his arm, pulling him round, face to face. Drew back his fist and connected hard, but not too hard, with the twelve-year old’s jaw. Dazed and shocked, Mick yelled, “Hey.”

And he was down on the concrete, then lifted swiftly. Next thing he knew, his bony frame was dropped harshly onto the metal floor of a van. To his horror, handcuffs clicked behind him and something snapped over the handcuffs, holding him fast to the wall of the van.

Before Mick recovered to even look around, Jim was on the floor, yelling and squirming, trying to get a kick in, fighting back. In a flash, the big guy pulled him to his feet by the front of his hoodie, pulled his arm back and slammed a hard-driving smash to Jim’s jaw.

Within seconds Jim, too, was handcuffed and fastened to the van wall. Both had a cell phone in their pocket, but they were no use now. Besides, Jim was barely conscious, the blow to his jaw having almost knocked him out cold, but not quite. The guys were experienced and fast, and they knew exactly how hard to hit. These were kids, not fully grown men with thick sturdy jaws. Too hard a blow and there’d be medical personnel involved…not what the bosses wanted. Ever, at all.

Duct tape was slapped harshly around their faces and a black sack dropped over both their heads at the same moment.

They were prisoners. Powerless and trapped, only half conscious and dazed.

Swiftly, Kip searched the pockets, pulled the cell phones out, stuffed them both into the glove compartment for now. They’d be destroyed and dumped later.

In this game, there were no ransom demands.

Satisfied with their afternoon’s harvest, Ron jumped into the front, grinned, looking in the rearview mirror at their quarry. A perfect day’s work. Kip, meantime, was panting and puffing, brushing stuff off his thin plaid shirt as they pulled out toward the centre of town and into heavy traffic. They had to get over to the shop across the city where two trucks were coming for the pickup. And these kids, along with a couple of dozen others, would start a  new life, on another continent, far from home. Their days of being Americans were over.

Annoyed at the noises coming from behind the duct tape, Kip yelled, “Shut up, you two. Don’t piss us off.”

“Boss’ll be pretty happy with this load,” muttered Kip. “Two boys. They want more boys. This shipment is mostly girls.”

“Yep, and we have to move on to a different state. Can’t stay any longer here in Maine. Keep moving, that’s the key to this game. The cops are out of luck. We’re good, real good.”

 

 

Chapter Two

Wings of Love

 

Asleep in Melchior’s arms, Theresa dreamed of rolling landscapes, ancient plains, mountains of ice and cloud. Her vast wings, the wings of a golden eagle, thrust downward, pushing her higher and higher.

As she breathed words softly in her sleep, Melchior lay awake listening and watching. He slipped inside the recesses of her mind, watched her rise and fall on fierce winds, winds belonging to some galaxy light years from Earth.

There was special joy for him in Theresa’s freedom to take flight, to visit distant worlds, to take on the body and mind of another creature, for teaching these freedoms was his life’s work. In Theresa, he could see that life’s work fulfilled, over and over. As, indeed, he could in other students as well. But none could compare to this, the love of his life.

When Melchior, Teacher of the Bright Arts, had first come upon this beautiful being, she had been slightly more than a child, a girl of sixteen, orphaned and alone in the world.

By his mandate, handed down centuries ago, to recruit students and train them in these skills, he had lifted her in mind and heart, watched her courage develop, seen her physical and metaphysical skills flash forward to amazing heights and depths.

She was a natural, and he had spotted her. Gifted her these immeasurable gifts, because the ability lay within her, seeking expression.

But all of it had become so much more than that. For there’d been other bright students whose achievements gave him great pleasure and pride. But this one, Theresa Bordils, this one was different.

She’d stolen his heart long, long ago in ancient Majorca, as she’d first learned to shape shift to animal form, take flight to the sun, perform martial art moves with a speed that challenged the eye to follow.

And looking to him every moment, hoping for his praise, hoping to please him. It was obvious that her heart had fallen at his feet, despite his stringent resistance to any such temptation. Only sixteen. Sweet sixteen, humans called it nowadays.

And he had resisted, as his Calling demanded of him. But after her death, after her heroic battle to save lives from the flames of the Inquisition, he’d realized that his time was come. In Theresa, the fates had finally chosen a mate for him, after centuries of waiting.

As Prince of Faeries, destined for the Throne of Avalon, he’d had to wait. But that wait was over, for he’d travelled through the centuries, seeking her, his heart contracting with every failure as he faced the possibility of a long Faery lifetime without a mate.

This chosen one, this dark Hispanic beauty, who held his heart in her hands, was dreaming her eagle-dreams beside him, here in the palace of Avalon, here in his own royal bed.

He smiled, green eyes darkening with lust as he returned to his own body. Slipped his hand between her legs, carefully, so as not to waken her… yet.

Shuddering with pleasure at the sweet wetness he found there, the velvety smoothness, he felt himself go rock hard in anticipation.

She moaned, still mostly asleep. Lifted a long, sun- browned leg up over his for a moment, then gave in to desire and dropped it back to the sheet, spreading herself  open, sinking under waves of rising passion, floating her into gentle wakefulness.

He raised himself up on one elbow, leaning forward slightly to watch his beloved’s face as she left her dream world behind.

Teri arched her neck, groaned and twisted under his hand. So sure, so practiced, so knowing, those hands.

She was powerless in Melchior’s hands, her body turned to fire, and she had no will to pull away, to protest in search of more sleep.

As long as she was in the grip of rising passion, she was helpless as a small sparrow or a butterfly.

He knew well, if you brush the light dust off a butterfly’s wing, it cannot fly again. Great gentleness and good hands were needed to handle sparrows and butterflies.

Surrendering, she lay her arms on the bed, her  hands flat on the sheet, her fingers trembling and grasping at the fabric, seeking an anchor in this unexpected, storm- tossed reality of pure, undiluted sensual opening. Her back arched, her long black hair falling thickly in waves across his pillows.

He could not resist those luscious lips, bending forward to claim them fully with his own.

Tender, tender.

Oh, Love. Love he had dreamed of for so long.

Centuries.

Sex, yes. Sex and faeries pretty much go together. One of the highest of art forms in Faery World, in Avalon.

But love of this caliber, love that answered the call of every cell in his body and soul, this could only be a dream, he had always thought.

Yet, here she was, in his arms, responding to his every wish and whim. Pure passion. And everything else he wanted and needed, every challenge any woman could be to any man, of any race. Smart beyond measure, a Wizard not quite on his own level—yet. But moving toward that lofty place.

And therefore, what a conquest, what a gift. She was here, in his bed, mind and body surrendered to his careful hands. This incredible mate, presented to him by forces beyond his understanding. Made just for him. Soon to be his Queen.

A human woman. A mere human. But still, a Wizard in the making, human or not.

A woman who could fly, fly up to the sun, command the stratospheric winds, take the form of any animal in the universe. Or any person, for that matter.

And right now, he intended to see her fly. Right up to the sun.

He laughed softly, pressed himself against her silky leg, managing his own lust with the perfect, meticulous command learned long ago in the Temple of the Moon, the Gardens of Desire, at the hands of the faery high priestesses.

Leaning down once more, he tasted her lips lightly, teasing her with his tongue, knowing how she loved for him to kiss her. She still tasted of raspberries from last night’s dessert. Thirstily, she protested as he moved away, raising her head in vain to search for his lips. “No, not right now,” he murmured, drawing away, denying her.

She made a soft sound of disappointment, falling back against the pillows.

His eyes darkened and slitted, his mouth settling into a thinner line. He could feel his heartbeat beginning to race, and deliberately slowed everything down. Self- command was the foundation of love making.

Passion was the fuel for all of life’s most vital moments and events. Crowned King of All Faeries and Commander-in-Chief of Faeryland’s dreaded Armed Forces, Melchior’s self-command was impervious. Not only in matters of lust, but in all things. To teach a Time Lord’s wisdom to others carried the expectation of near- perfection, a state he had reached aeons ago through a painful refinement of skills and compassion.

For a moment, he closed his own eyes, moaned, aware that he was dripping small, crystal-like beads of child-making, of yearning. The urge to rush to completion was complicit in every moment of arousal.

There was little any willing woman could do to deny her body’s demands when lying within the compass of his arms. Those hands alone were magical weapons of sensual dominance.

And, thus, how much greater his responsibility. As royalty, Melchior would never enter or impregnate any woman, faery or otherwise, until joined at last by proper ceremony together, for their union would be everlasting, through all of earth life and into an immortal afterlife beyond.

It had been so for faery royalty since time immemorial.

All these awarenesses drifted through his mind even as he grazed Theresa’s body with his fingertips, immersed beneath the layers of joy they both shared as skin moved on skin. His touch awakened the firm, swelling, blood-gorged center of her body’s nervous system, causing her to arch, lift, her mouth open, gasping for air, writhing, whimpering, stop, stop, no, don’t stop, don’t stop, pressing her pelvis hard against his hand, and he changed position to release his other hand, the hard nipples on her taut, marble breasts demanding attention.

He dipped his head, closing his teeth a little around one small, rigid pink nipple, hurting her a little, now suckling, now biting, just a bit, confusing her brain, and she whipped desperately, mindlessly as he moved more deeply over her, his hard shaft brushing the delicate, sensitive area of her lower belly. She cried out, spreading her legs more widely, crying out for the impossible, for him to enter the welcoming warmth of her body. He was moving her relentlessly toward a towering climax, and he loved this part, to watch her drop all resistance, her mouth open, her velvet vagina open, a royal palace opening its doors to him, to him alone.

Even though that pleasure must wait for the completion of their vows, in the months up ahead.

Despite his own rising lust toward a hungry climax, he smiled. Such pleasure. How could any living being deserve such pleasure?

She arched further, her head driven back into his pillows, her throat exposed to his will, and her entire body began to jerk and shudder as seizures of climax took her, took her to places he could not know, yet could understand. She collapsed, turning away from him, pulling her knees up to protect herself from further onslaught, going into fetal position, panting, her face buried in his pillow. Her hair lay tossed across shoulders and face, sticking damply to her skin.

He gently reached over and brushed aside the clinging strands, moving to lean over her, laying his lips with immeasurable gentleness against her cheek, her shoulder.

“I love you, Theresa, Queen of my heart,” he whispered. “Never doubt it. My heart could burst right now with how much I love you.”

She rolled over onto her back, stretched and sat up, leaned into him and took his face in her hands.

“Now, my darling, now I’ll kiss you as I want to. You stay right here and don’t move!” and Terri lifted her lips, annoyed that he still denied her, moved his lips away gently, amused at her annoyance. Determined, she followed his movements and finally those luscious lips trembled lightly against his, and in a moment, he was lost, sinking into her kiss and she climbed up against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him down into the warmth of her deep, deep love.

Then she drew away and grinned wickedly.

Leaned over and without warning, sank that mouth around his shaft, sucking hard, then letting go, flicking her tongue down its length, around the tip, reducing him immediately to putty, and it was his turn to twist, groan, and arch under her tongue and her gentle hands.

Melchior thought he would, at last, lose the control he had so perfected throughout his amorous life. He struggled to maintain rigid constraint, but finally went over the top, flew to some light-filled astonishing place, always new, always indescribable, in the hands of this woman.

This woman made just for him.

And he soared, lost his vision, shuddered and cried out, jerking against her lips, her luscious mouth, and then sank back to earth with quivering slowness.

Sank back against the pillows, mouth open, gasping for air, spread-eagled on the bed.

Whoa. What a woman. And all his.

But right now, he couldn’t move to tell her.

And he wondered briefly, that if their passion could thrill like this now, when there were such constraints against their consummation, when self control had to be retained at such a level, he wondered what it would be like when, finally, he could employ every wizardly trick of passion to send his beloved on flights beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of.

For tradition and faery law strictly stayed his hand against such flight. Until the laws had been fulfilled.

So sacred did faeries regard the expansion of soul which accompanied the depths and breadth of complete faery lovemaking.

Oh yes, he knew she thought this was the apex of pleasure, of joy, these sessions of loving in his bed.

How little she knew .

And how desperately he yearned to show her. But he must wait.

“The best is yet to come, my love,” he whispered. “It couldn’t possibly be better, my darling,” she

responded, her voice already filled with sleep.

Terri stretched out beside him, her energies as spent as his own. Soon fell into a deep sleep on her back, one leg tossed possessively over his, one arm resting on his chest.

He was first to wake, half an hour later, refreshed and enthused with his great good fortune in life. Turned his head, watched her chest rise and fall, watched her eyelids moving in dreams. Thought to explore her mind and its dream, but left her alone.

Turning on his side, he continued to gaze at his beloved’s face, studying each curve, each soft feature. Thought about how he loved when her long eyelashes brushed his face when they kissed. Thought about her soft hands all over him.

Wondered at the love Spirit had for them, to arrange this centerpiece on the table of his life.

Spiritual love, the source of all love, the source of their own loving.

Elation, ecstasy, joy.

How to pay back such gifts?

He only knew to serve, serve without stinting. To protect those given to his care, the hundreds of thousands  of Faery lives, and the human lives which, unknowingly, depended on Faery military and Faery intervention, to survive, so often.

He thought about alien forces from afar in space, those few with dark plans, bent on having the planet for themselves, bent on eradicating all life on earth so they could start civilizations that suited themselves only.

But not all alien visitors shared those intentions.

On the contrary, many alien races on the planet, having established bases in hidden parts, some under the deepest oceans, enjoyed the blue planet, teeming with life. Kept their own counsel, stayed out of sight, bothered no one, and flew to assist when crises struck.

On more than one occasion, when warring countries were about to launch nuclear strikes, these visitors from planetary systems light years away had taken up position at the doors to the nuclear arsenal and to computers controlling the metal beasts, locking them shut so no personnel could enter. Until things calmed down and cooler minds prevailed.

Saving the human race from itself, one more time.

And then there was Avalon. Faery World, hidden from humans. Also mandated to assist and protect the slowly developing human race.

Care of the earth, the human race and his own faery people, burdens he’d been born to carry. A great responsibility, but he did not bear them alone. He thought with gratitude of all the thousands of heart-centered faeries serving in his widespread government, and also of those human hearts, equally dedicated to good, serving in all levels of human governments worldwide.

Not to mention those decent hearts beating somewhere in the bodies of benevolent aliens with their various physiologies, quite different from both faery and human.

No, he did not carry his burdens alone.

And he thought of the selfish, violent ones, those damaged in childhood, untutored in higher things. Hungry for power, manipulating. Those who bought and sold arms, purposely starting wars so their wealth could grow. And the thousands of young lives, young soldiers, sacrificed coldly and brutally, so the armaments makers could grow richer.

War was necessary sometimes. If attacked, a population had to fight back. As Faeries well knew. To protect the good, the innocent, the civilization. But war, for the most part, was fought to make certain parties richer, to make the gold bullion flow from one coffer to another.

More women were needed in politics on earth side, this all faeries knew. Looked on in confusion while so many human societies disregarded and devalued the female. For some reason.

They talked about apples and snakes as reasons for women’s low place in the world, about woman being made from a man’s rib. Strange tales that cast the female human in a secondary light. Tales no woman could argue against or prove, right or wrong. The injustice of it seemed impossible to understand.

Humans also had a different attitude toward the ecstatic enjoyment of sex. For humans, it was fraught with danger, fenced about with guilt and threat of punishment.

For humans there was something called Planned Parenthood. For faeries, every pregnancy was planned, while sexual joy was spontaneous and viewed as a pathway to higher spiritual experience. Faeries were just made differently. He’d never been able to fully understand the complex conflicts humans endured regarding sex. But that was it… they were made differently.

Faeries, somehow, were made by the Creator so that the act of lovemaking was a fine art, regarded as one of the highest forms of spirituality possible. Goals to aim for in development. Indeed, they had a whole science dedicated to helping the faery population grow in grace with regard to their sexual experience. Sacred experience, protected by angelic beings on heaven side.

In his training in the Gardens of Desire, Melchior had been taught not only about the joys of sex, but in great depth about the wonder and mystery of the female psyche, both faery and human, as well as females of other species and races.

The differences between male and female went so deep, much deeper than humans seemed to guess at. And there were reasons for these differences, since souls of all kinds had long, long journeys to travel before their ultimate expression could be reached. The complex needs of civilizations could not be met without all the many facets of both manhood and womanhood.

Human attitudes and beliefs toward the female moon-time, or menses, had always bewildered the faery world. For, as the many strengths of the male were vital to the survival of human civilizations, so the profound strengths of the female stood as a match, every one, to the male powers. Both were needed for the Creator’s long, long plan to come to completion.

When a human female was in her moon-time, it was a symbol of the coming forth of life. Of power. Of new energy.

When a woman gives birth to new life, it is a miracle, a pouring forth of incredible power and potency.

When a woman was not pregnant, but had her menses, that time of the month signaled, also, a pouring forth of incredible power and potency.

Female women have the gift of using those few days of every month to access the sacred dreamtime, so they might bring forth personal achievement and works of beauty in the world,

For these days of the month are a powerhouse for the human woman.

Faery girls were taught this early on in life, viewing their menses as sacred days.

Human girls, however, were taught to feel humiliation, shame, embarrassment, apology.

How had human spiritual beliefs so utterly failed women? When had this travesty begun? Had it been so forever?

Even faeries did not know that answer.

But the world was sore-pressed these days for beauty and joy, for new creation of wonderful things. It was so important that the human race finally begin to find its way to full expression of the feminine.

Melchior pondered sometimes if Faeryland would be different if his sister, Cyera, had been born first rather than second. She would have been the reigning monarch and would have, without a doubt, administered the faery world with a style different from his own. His beautiful sister had a passion for young children and for mathematics. A strange combination, but she didn’t find it so. And she taught mathematics to children with a special flair.

The diminishment of the feminine in the earth world psyche was a continuing concern for Faery educators. A mystery to be solved and healed.

He sighed. It was hard, not knowing how to help. But there was a place where answers were given, where guidance lay.

In universal time, in the subconscious. Both humans and faeries could stand with one foot in universal time, and one foot in relative time, while in this three-dimensional reality of earth and faery world.

While in universal time, information was transferred to the higher mind in holistic imagery from the subconscious, making learning instant, the message clear.

And to share a joint meditation experience, walking through each other’s minds as information poured in, was a bonding experience second only to passion.

He hoped to take Theresa aside that evening, to train her in the art of joint meditation; joining their minds so they could see as with one mind, and enter the subconscious and universal time together, gathering understanding, together.

These skills would only enhance and raise their sexual connection, which, again, would act as catalyst to their further growth in grace and spirit in the larger world outside.

A royal couple must be able to make decisions in tandem, in agreement, but that agreement had to be genuine, from the heart and the expanded mind.

He drifted off, back to sleep, lying close to the warmth of his beautiful mate. For an hour, the two slept side by side, unaware at a conscious level of angelic visitation in their sleeping minds, visitation that happened every time they slept. These caretakers from the other side ensured the two had the knowledge to guide them through these complex issues, through burdens of responsibility that would have broken weaker souls.

It was Terri’s turn to waken alone, to turn and watch her King dream, watch those gorgeous lips breathe softly, to lean quietly over and feel his life-breath on her face.

So powerful. Strength and self-discipline personified. But—putty in her hands. Watching him sleep, those beautiful green eyes closed, that impossibly perfect face, entirely relaxed. Defenseless.

Her mind flashed back to their first meeting, in a dream, a dream on All Hallow’s Eve. Then once again, in her home as he proposed the possibility of a different destiny, a future she had never imagined. A future that she could embrace, if she wished, as Arch Wizard, as magnificent magician.

Visiting Majorca on holiday shortly after, she had wandered through some tourist sites, some caves, and found there a secret lake where Melchior had tutored her patiently in the Bright Arts, first level Wizard training, long ago in the 15th Century.

A training she’d used finally to save helpless victims of The Burning Times. Rescuing souls from the torturing flames of the Inquisition, she herself had been killed as she flew on eagle’s wings in shape-shifter form, flying home to the secret cave. High, but not high enough

to escape the arrow meant for her brave heart, sending her plummeting to earth below.

Her soul, fleeing the eagle-body, had spread its own wings and turned for its ultimate home in the Afterlife.

And then, to be rediscovered, to be found, hunted down by his hungry heart. Hunted through the centuries, until finally, one day, he had materialized in her home and begun the lengthy process of persuasion. To convince her that she was more than physical, more than history student.

To convince her, ultimately, that she was his heart, made for him, and he for her.

This faery-male would partner her through this life and into immortality. This ferocious soldier, Commander- in-Chief of all Faery Armed Forces, feared in battle on more than one distant planet, would soon take her as his Queen. Her training toward full Arch Wizard status would continue. One day she would mature to a point where her presence at his side would make him even more dangerous and powerful. And she, Theresa, would also become “made” as a great name, listed for all time in faery annals with her own heroic deeds.

He’d spoken to her gravely of the skills she would eventually excel in, skills that would drive the forces of evil back. But mostly, he’d spoken of her need to develop leadership to the point where she would become a whetted sword in both debate and battle. Self confidence was the issue. Terri had proven one of his best students, but the complex abilities soon to be hers demanded total self- mastery. Her training would see to these things, but she must be resolved to see it through.

And see it through she would, Theresa reminded

herself.

Right now, as she gazed down at her beloved’s dear

face, here in the 21st Century on planet Earth, right then, she was his only defense. And her heart almost stopped as she pondered the responsibility life had handed her.

To watch over him, this Lord of Life, as he watched over her.

Forever.

 

……………………….

 

IF YOU’VE ALREADY READ PAGAN FLAMES, the introductory book to the Wizards Melchior and Theresa..

 

These two chapters are part of the sequel to Pagan Flames, The Boy Scout.

In this book, Theresa and Melchior continue their battle against sex trafficking, this time placing Terri in mortal danger in the far distant past.

This is a Vision Quest for her, arriving without warning, as most of our Vision Quests do.

 

To read the whole book … dinosaurs, evil Shaman, police raid, time travel, ancient China, and more…

 

Click here:

 

myBook.to/TheBoyScout

 

To see all my books, click here:  Author.to/somers

 

 

www.romancejunkie.ca

 

 

 

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