Page 17 of The Mage’s Rake (Catkin Trilogy #2)

After ensuring that Aileen had a comfortable seat by the hearth, I slipped out of my usual robes and donned the white, almost translucent gown I had chosen for the evening.

It was a simple garment that fastened at the neck and wrists with narrow drawstrings and then fell to the floor about my spare frame.

Thus garbed, I placed the candles, the inked sigils, and the incense in the appropriate corners of the room.

Another podium had been placed in my bedroom for easy access to my tome, which I checked over and over again as nervousness mounted.

As if in defiance of my mood, Hugh showed up, looking more cheerful and relaxed.

At the sight of me standing in my gown, he blinked.

He glanced over at Aileen who paid him no heed as she spilled a libation of mead on the hearth in a ritual offering to the goddess.

Beside her, the small leather tom drum sat waiting.

Tipping my head in invitation, I took Hugh’s hand and grimly escorted him to my inner chambers, where my actual bed stood ready and waiting.

Under my careful eye, Hugh slipped into a red robe that I had one of the servants retrieve from his wardrobe.

Ordering him to sit on a short stool, I pulled the upper part of the robe down to bare his shoulders.

Chanting softly in the old tongue, I began to carefully draw circles and curlicues on his tan skin.

To the uninformed eye, it looked artistic, but to any mage, the symbology was clear—the runes, the position of the sigils, and the lines spelled out a magic as old as time.

A plea to Nyria and Meryn, the twin Goddesses of Fertility and Love.

Mages as a rule disliked involving themselves in the matters of the gods.

The gods were ancient sources of power just as like to burn you as give you warmth.

Nevertheless, for Hugh’s sake, I would do what few others would dare to do—I would harness what I could to break the curse.

“Anor en caele…”

I began the chant. As the ink dried, I handed him a small silver cup filled with his potion.

Hugh, realizing now the lengths of the formality, said nothing.

His light brown eyes followed me with a touch of concern and awe.

After downing the potion, Hugh watched as I continued to move about the room, completing the magic circles, enclosing him.

“…elenya en elcar, arda en melda, síla en yéni.”

The ink was now dried. I carefully pulled the robe about him and guided him to the bed, where I encouraged him to lie down on his back.

Judging by the bulge beneath the thin red cotton robe, Hugh was more than ready.

I smiled and continued droning the spell while rearranging the pillows so that Hugh’s head was raised a little, allowing him to see what would happen.

“Alcar i nísima, alcar i lúmenna, alcar i elenillor…”

Beneath the sky and the sun, beneath the moon and the shadows, that which is of earth now sings, bathed in silver and gold. I now call, I now light the way, I now sing:

With Hugh now installed, I began to down the first of five potions—a silvery liquid for the stimulation of one’s magical aura, a turquoise potion for enhancing one’s spiritual connection, a golden-orange tincture for warmth, and two deep red elixirs for healing and pain.

Opening the twin doors that separated the chambers all the way, I moved back into my private greenhouse.

By my favored armchair, I set my spectacles and mentally prepared myself for what was to come next.

At my nod, Aileen began to drone her own spells and rituals, which she had chosen to enhance my spellwork.

“Ar síla lá! Ar i laisse vilya ar i ante vilya!”

Silver light! Come bathe anew, as I give of life.

Settling into the chant of the ancient spell, the old molly took up the tom drum and began to lightly patter against the stretched hide.

Swaying from side to side, I allowed my focus to dim even as I stared at the bright flames of the fire.

Aileen’s chant drew me deeper and deeper into the glow until I felt the tell-tale surge of magic beneath my skin.

It threatened to burst out of my very skin, but now that my mind was submerged, I was able to surf along its glistening waters, calling it easily at my whim.

“Nai elen siluva lyenna, Nyria, Merynia,” I whispered as I began to twirl in time to the music, now one with dancing flames. “Lóteo elen siluva lyenna, mírilya elen siluva lyenna.”

My hands rose in a graceful arc as my body answered the call of the chanting. From the ends of my fingers, my ears, and my tail, the tell-tale glimmer of magic began to spurt. I whirled about, taking three steps to the bedroom.

Ar síla lá! Ar i laisse vilya ar i ante vilya!

With each twirl, each graceful bend, each arc of my hands and tail, the magic emanated about me. It bathed me in its gentle silvery glow. I was no longer Alan Carwick. I was Silverflame, the White Tower’s most powerful spellcaster.

Ar síla lá!

More and more power entwined about me. The soft glimmers of Nyria’s power stirred.

Her heartbeat was driven in time with the patter of Aileen’s drum.

I was one with her heart even as I finished filling the last of the sigils that had been drawn on the ground.

With the sigils now activated with the combination of Nyria’s blessing and power alongside my own, I opened my eyes.

Ar síla lá! Ar i laisse vilya ar i ante vilya!

I finished my final, slowest twirl tracing the magic along the bedposts, running along the bed covers, reaching Hugh, connecting with him and the lines of power I had traced upon his skin.

It was the most intimate of connections I’d ever felt.

The power and the lure and the vulnerability of moon magic.

I could feel Hugh’s excitement, his fears, his concern, and his raging desire as his darkened gaze reveled at the sight of me. Desire and a glimmer of something else.

Ar i laisse vilya…

My fingers rose to the edge of my white gown where I had prepared the next step with the simple snip of scissors.

I reached up and tore the white cotton open in a single motion, baring my chest which now glimmered with silver sigils activated by Nyria’s blessing.

Hugh’s chest now rose and fell faster. His long, broad fingers tangled in the sheets tightly, causing the muscles of his arms and shoulders to flex.

Allowing the fabric to fall, I leaned forward.

My knees shook as I crawled forward and then straddled Hugh.

He lay obediently beneath me, his eyes wide with surprise that rapidly gave way to lust as I slowly began to untie the loose knot of his robe’s sash.

I slowly pushed the soft fabric back, baring him to me, but my knees, pinning the fabric down, would not allow the robe’s sleeves to move any further.

Hugh was trapped beneath me. I knew that he could have easily lifted me up, pushed me down into the mattress, and had his way with me, but Hugh remained taut beneath me.

The power of the moment was heady, making my skin tingle.

My heart began to race, and I was overwhelmed with the desire to bend down and taste the warmth of his tongue and lips.

Instead, I focused on the feel of his hardened muscles flexing between my thighs.

My hands ran up the bunched muscles of his stomach to the curve of his ribs and up to the hard planes of his chest. My cock was full—with magic and desire.

I could feel how much Hugh wanted me, and he could feel the echo of my twinned desire call back in response.

Choking out the final spell, I allowed myself to lower, rubbing my hard length against his throbbing erection. The potions had taken full effect. My body was fully prepared, open and aching and ready for the one who had been made to fill me, match me, drive me wild.

Biting my bottom lip, I moaned softly as I positioned myself over his cock.

Already, the tip pearled with pre-cum, ready for me.

I too was slick, thanks to the preparations earlier in the evening—All thought fled as I eased down.

Hugh’s length filled me. Unyielding, yet velvety; strong, yet smooth.

My back arched instinctively as I thrust myself down onto him brutally.

I nearly screamed, then. My body gave its last offering to Nyria—that of pain and passion.

…ante vilya!

Of life.