Chapter Nine
Soldier sat on her heels in Nicneven's parlour.
She had relieved herself of her backpack and jacket, removed her gloves and rolled up the sleeves of her suit to reveal the silver cuffs. She had watched from the periphery of her vision both Nicneven and the effeminate man recoil slightly at the sight of them, perhaps they sensed the magic, or perhaps they were merely offended by the aesthetics.
There were more eyes on her; the most curious of the witches were staring at her from the doorways and secret spy holes.
Soldier pushed all of that away and closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing the simple inhale and exhale that commanded the flow of blood, and rhythm of her heart. The whole world receded to her body and its functions and within it the magical thread that was at the core of her.
That was when the heat gathered at her wrists and a breath hissed sharply between her teeth.
She began to chant, the sound she had heard escape her mother's lips, summoning her magic. The Power was sluggish in coming and it hurt and even in this she mourned that she would never be as Powerful as her mother, she would never be much of a Hearth Woman although it was still in her blood. Half her blood anyway.
In her mind she shaped her magic into the form of a grappling hook and with a shaky breath she launched the shape like a weapon at the once-goddess; Nicneven doubled over, not prepared for the moment of impact. Soldier tugged on the metaphysical line until Nicneven's crone magic came flittering down the cord.
The effeminate man moved to intervene but Nicneven stalled him, the witches at Soldier's back were moving into the room caught between fear and the duty to help their queen.
The Power adhered to Soldier's will and she would use Nicneven's magic to amplify what she fought to bring about.
She could hear her own voice like a dulcet bell echoing in the background but more than her voice was a chorus of women's voices, she felt as if her mother and more than her mother, the first mother were with her. The magic was that had started as a small current spread like electricity through her body, the pain at her wrists became almost unbearable and her chanting soon turned into screaming.
The first snowflake landed between Soldier's right eyelashes.
Everybody went still.
Icy wind tore through the room, more real than Nicneven's ice had ever felt and on the wind the snow was falling in spirals and melting into the paisley rug.
Nicneven cried out in joy and Soldier opened her eyes in time to see the once-goddess decay reversing, she was becoming whole and then she was becoming young and suddenly she was the willowy beauty of legend.
Soldier collapsed on the ground when it was done, smelling the faint scent of her own singed flesh, the clammy touch of her bandana soaked through with the sweat of her exhaustion and the flakes of snow melted before they descended tot touch her steel wrist cuffs.
Soldier was drained after the exertion of power and Nicneven had her carried to a small, dark place to sleep without fear of being disturbed. She flashed in and out of consciousness, enough to see the small pale faces of the witches stroking her face and laying a hessian blanket over her body. The scent of fresh blooming flowers rose around her and it was sweet.
She succumbed to exhaustion, more than any physical battle drill in the barracks or mission in the field. She slept and she dreamt.
It was a dream and it was a memory both; the grey old woman glared at her. "You should never ever use your magic." She admonished and struck Soldier on the back of the head. "Do you hear me, girl?"
Soldier remembered the wizened old face, the shrewd and narrowed eyes framed by an overreaching brow. The nursery tutor Miss Harty, the old bat who used to tell tales of ancient dragons and princes such tales to insight the imagination of all the young who gathered to her like bees to their honeycomb.
But Soldier was grown and clothed in her army garb, the bandana tight around her forehead, her cuffs glinting like silver moonlight.
"Yes miss." Came Soldier's tremulous reply.
"What would your mother think?"
"Please; don't tell." She had reached and touched the soft, aged hand, small fingers clinging to the hard knuckles, squeezing desperately. It was not her mother's wrath that she feared; it was her disappointment even though she was long since passed.
"Your magic is evil that must be bound up." Miss Harty hissed, her breath whistling through her false teeth.
Soldier felt fear strike like black lightning into her very heart.
She woke with a start, a sudden icy thrill raced up her spine tearing her from sleep and into the darkness of Nicneven's room. She knew she was not alone. It took a moment for her eyes to become accustomed to the dark and she could see the figure beyond the bed.
He was beautiful, olive skinned, green-grey eyes, long dark lashes, he had a sensuous mouth with its full bottom lip and cropped brown hair. He was young, in his mid -twenties, hard muscled and lithe like any good soldier. Her eyes flicked to the black faceless mask, then back to his face.
He was watching her intently: eyes like fingertips moving over her exposed skin.
"What do you want?" She asked petulantly, her voice hoarse from newly waking.
"That's an interesting tone coming from a whore." He said as he undid his utility belt, there was something clinical about the whole thing, the belt fell to the floor with a thud.
Her eyes went to his flat stomach, his slender hips then back up to his face. "I'm not a whore." She countered though her voice was softer than she'd like.
He took off his shirt exposing his well sculpted chest, no ounce of fat on him, his body was all muscle and purpose, trained for the kill. "I haven't come for the fantasy." He said with a smile, straight white teeth flashing in the semi dark. "I've just come for the flesh."
She knew then that he was a shape shifter, muscles rippling under his flesh, but she could not sense what beast hid beneath his skin maybe something canine or feline. She pulled out her knife from her thigh sheath, holding it low to her leg, his eyes flicked to the blade and then to her eyes. "Take one step and I'll slice you." She warned.
"Like I said." His gaze was bright, venomous. "I've come for the flesh."
He rushed at her; he was a blur as he tackled her to the ground. He was a well-trained soldier, he was a Dragon's man, she had known it from the uniform but it didn't prepare her for his deftness. He pinned her down, his hands clasping her arms, her wrists, and she gasped in pain and a moment later a glittering thread was pulled taut, and they collapsed in a heap of limbs.
She was trapped in a crystal prison of her mind and she felt his presence too and fury blossomed to overpower her panic. She sensed his curiosity, he was already confident that he could defend himself and that he deemed her nonthreatening. "What is this place?" He asked.
He probably thought this was part of a witch's parlour tricks, the whore's fantasy weaving, and it only amplified her anger. "Get out of my mind." She growled fiercely and with all the psychic energy she could muster she forced him out and they were back in Mistress Nicneven's dark, grimy little room.
He was still on top of her blinking down at her with wonder. She saw the flecks of blue and grey in his green eyes, the eyes of a predator. He was a leopard. His dark hair fell onto her forehead, tickling, intimate. His body was incredibly warm and all hard muscle and her breath felt hotly out of her mouth. "Get off of me." She pushed him off.
She rolled on her side and grasped the knife that had fallen from her grasp when he had touched her and she was quickly on her feet ready to defend herself.
"Who are you?" He asked softly.
The door burst pen. "Oh, my." The painted man said, hand fluttering to cover his mouth. "You are in the wrong room, sir."
The soldier's eyes flicked to his and then back to Soldier.
"Come I have a girl that is much more amenable to your needs."
The soldier smiled, just a hint in the corner of his mouth.
"If you would please come with me, sir."
He allowed himself to be pulled along by the man but he glanced over his shoulder until Soldier was out of his sight.
Miss S