The Vampire & Her Witch

Ashlynn closed her eyes and let the warmth of the garden and the steady pressure of Nyrielle’s hands hold her in place. For a long moment, there was nothing but the rustle of jasmine-scented air and the distant, silvery sound of water from a fountain hidden somewhere deeper in the garden.

When Ashlynn slipped into the dream, she’d already been half undressed, but clearly, Nyrielle wasn’t content to leave her lover even partially covered. Somewhere between one moment and the next, while Ashlynn moaned softly under the pressure of Nyrielle’s strong thumbs kneading into the muscles around the base of her spine, the skirt Ashlynn had been wearing faded away, along with everything else she’d been wearing.

”Nyri,” Ashlynn said, tensing to sit up when she realized that her lover intended to work her way even lower. ”I...”

”Hush,” Nyrielle breathed as her fingers glided along Ashlynn’s lush hips, dipping into the hollow where her legs and hips met. ”You’ve been cooped up in a carriage for hours, and now you’re trapped in a tiny boat that only has one mast,” she teased.

”We have time. Let me tend to all of you,” she said as she pressed her fingers deeper into the soft curve of Ashlynn’s buttocks, finding knots and stiffness in muscles that Ashlynn hadn’t realized she possessed.

”Yes, Mistress Nyrielle,” Ashlynn said obediently, smiling into the pillow as Nyrielle worked her magic on Ashlynn’s body.

True to her word, Nyrielle tended to every curve and hollow of Ashlynn’s body, from her firm, toned thighs and calves to the delicate arches of her feet and even her slender, ticklish toes, eliciting a light yelp of surprise from her lover.

”Better?” Nyrielle asked gently as the tray bearing scented oils faded away into the tenuous fabric of the dream they shared.

”Mmmmm,” Ashlynn said. ”Much better,” she added a moment later when she felt less like she was about to drift off to sleep. She had no idea how much time had passed, but for as long as Nyrielle’s hands had roved over her body, time didn’t seem to matter much at all.

”Turn over,” Nyrielle said gently. ”I want to see your face.”

Ashlynn shifted onto her back, pulling the sheet beneath her up just enough to cover herself before settling against the cushions. When she opened her eyes, Nyrielle was there, gazing down at her with those midnight blue eyes that held more stars than the sky above the garden. Her dark hair fell in silken curls around her face, and the moonlight caught the faint curve of a smile on her plum-dark lips.

”There she is,” Nyrielle whispered, reaching down to brush a strand of blonde hair from Ashlynn’s forehead with a tenderness that made Ashlynn’s chest ache. ”My orchid in the night.”

”I must look terrible,” Ashlynn said, trying for lightness even as moisture pricked at the corners of her eyes. ”I’ve been sleeping on a cot that smells like river damp.”

”You look like the woman I love,” Nyrielle said simply. She shifted on the sofa, lifting Ashlynn’s head and shoulders with effortless care and settling herself so that Ashlynn’s head rested in her lap, her fingers threading through the pale blonde hair in slow, rhythmic strokes. ”And you feel exhausted. When did you last eat properly?”

”Isabell gave me a hand pie on the boat,” Ashlynn said, nestling against the cool silk of Nyrielle’s skirt. Even in the dream, even through the softening veil of distance, the sensation of Nyrielle’s fingers in her hair was achingly good.

”A hand pie,” Nyrielle said, her voice carrying the particular blend of affection and exasperation that she reserved for moments when Ashlynn’s self-neglect tested her patience. ”My darling, you are marching toward a confrontation that will free you from the ghosts that haunt you and reshape the fate of both our peoples...”

”And you are sustaining yourself on tavern pastries,” she said, flicking Ashlynn’s forehead lightly with one finger.

”It was hearty. Pork and turnip,” Ashlynn offered, though the excuse sounded childish even to her own ears.

”That makes it worse,” Nyrielle said. From somewhere, the dream provided what Nyrielle desired without being asked, a silver tray appeared on the sofa beside them, laden with chilled summer fruit: fat, dark cherries glistening with moisture, slices of ripe peach flushed with gold, clusters of pale green grapes, and wedges of yellow melon so fragrant that Ashlynn’s mouth watered at the sight.

”Eat,” Nyrielle said, selecting a cherry and bringing it to Ashlynn’s lips. ”And then you can tell me everything.”

Ashlynn accepted the cherry, and the sweetness of it burst across her tongue, vivid and bright despite the dream’s softening of sensation. She chewed slowly, savoring it, while Nyrielle’s free hand continued to stroke her hair.

”More,” Nyrielle murmured when Ashlynn swallowed, already lifting a slice of peach. The fruit was cool and perfectly ripe, and when a drop of juice escaped the corner of Ashlynn’s lip, Nyrielle caught it with the pad of her thumb, her touch lingering against Ashlynn’s lower lip for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Their eyes met, and the warm summer air between them grew warmer still.

”You’re spoiling me,” Ashlynn whispered.

”I’m feeding you,” Nyrielle corrected, though the smile that curved her plum-dark lips suggested that the distinction was meaningless to her. ”Because apparently no one in your retinue has the courage to tell the Mother of Trees to sit down and eat a proper meal.”

”Isabell tries.”

”Then I shall have to thank her when we meet,” Nyrielle said, offering a cluster of grapes. Ashlynn took them from her fingers one at a time, and each small act of receiving; from the lift of Nyrielle’s hand, to the brush of cool fingers against her lips, and the quiet intimacy of being fed by the woman she loved, unwound something tight and brittle in her chest that she hadn’t realized was there until it began to release.

”This, this isn’t just fruit,” Ashlynn said as she realized that each sweet, succulent bite filled more than her belly.

”I told you in the High Pass that you should use our bond to strengthen yourself,” Nyrielle chided. ”You didn’t ask for my help then, and you haven’t asked for it still, so I’m not going to wait for you to ask this time.”

”But, if you’re feeding me, then you’ll need to...” Ashlynn started to say, only to be interrupted by the arrival of a soft, fuzzy slice of peach pressing against her lips.

”Your blood is rich and powerful, my sweet,” Nyrielle said. ”I’m just returning to you a portion of your own strength. And if you require more, then so be it. There are others in the Vale who would be happy to offer up their blood,” she pointed out. ”Just as I fed before you arrived. So let me do this for you,” she said, tapping the slice of peach against Ashlynn’s full, pouty lips until her lover opened her mouth and took a bite.

By the time the tray was half empty, Ashlynn’s eyes had grown heavy, and her body had sunk deeper into the cushions, lulled by the warmth and the gentle rhythm of Nyrielle’s fingers in her hair.

”Don’t fall asleep inside a dream,” Nyrielle teased softly. ”Without you close to me, it would be hard to pull you back into the dream. You’d have to wake and come to find me again.”

”I’d always come to find you,” Ashlynn murmured. ”Over and over again,” she said, reaching up to put a hand on Nyrielle’s chest and feeling the other woman’s heartbeat both beneath her fingertips and echoing in her own chest.

”You saved me again, Nyri,” Ashlynn said softly. ”You’re always saving me. So I’ll always come back to find you...”

Nyrielle was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, the playfulness had given way to something deeper and more raw.

”Tell me what’s happened, my darling,” she said. ”Tell me everything, and let me help you carry it.”

Ashlynn drew a slow breath, opened her eyes, and began to speak. She started with the trip to Maeril from the moment she felt Ollie falling toward the void. Nyrielle listened without interrupting, her fingers never pausing in their slow, steady rhythm through Ashlynn’s hair, as the summer garden held them both in its warm and sheltering dark...