Third Night in Stockholm

Third Night in Stockholm

He's coming, he said to me last night. His eyes were fixed on the stars overhead, and his voice seemed to come from far away. Was that regret I heard?

I have been seducing him for three days. If he is correct, this will be our last night in the forest before Dumbledore comes to rescue me. Now there is no margin - it must be tonight.

Fear excites him, as it does all his kind. It was my fear when encircled by his brethren that compelled him to seize me and carry me off, for what purpose he had not thought or planned. Now he has me, and knows not what to do with me, save that he must keep me from rescue.

I know exactly what I want him to do with me.

On our first night, I huddled by myself in my inadequate day robes, stubbornly refusing water or warmth. I was consumed by defiance, and pride, not realizing the allure of the picture I painted for him, how he respected my display as one he might have affected himself, had our fortunes been reversed.

Now I know why he feels such contempt for Firenze, to see a human woman more centaur than he.

The next day, my feet were swollen and cracked. I tottered along after him as best I could, my mouth full of bitter retorts to his insults and pretenses of superiority. Several times he turned away, to hide his laughter, and I would be silenced momentarily to see him striding before me, flawless living sculpture of glossy coat and gleaming flesh. He pranced a little, then, knowing I was looking, and thought to intimidate me with his size and power.

Oh, I was impressed, yes I was, but not the way he intended.

He used the excuse that we were searching for the rest of his herd. He knew well enough where they were, but wanted an pretext to keep me out of doors, weary and uncomfortable, wanted to taunt me with my human softness and inferiority.

He didn't know who he was dealing with. You don't get to the number two position at the Ministry without having more than a little by way of fortitude and determination.

Finally, when I had trudged after him over stone and briar until the late afternoon, the wind shifted and he caught the scent of my exhaustion and pain. He whirled to see me stagger against a tree, foolish decorative shoes torn through and running with blood. To continue the charade, I pretended to refuse his aid, thrusting at him with impotent human arms until he growled and swung me forcibly onto his back, where I had wanted to be all along.

I rode him until sunset, my face pressed against his shoulder and my arms around his waist. I teased him by letting my hands drop to the velvet juncture of human and equine below his navel, let him feel my quickened breath against his neck.

That night I allowed him to make a nest of grass for me, and to heal my feet. By unspoken agreement, my shoes were discarded. I smiled indulgently at him as he mocked my ineffectual constructs of arches and toes, saw him swell with pride as I stroked his hoof appreciatively.

As we lay together, alongside but not touching, he made his prediction. I squinted at the stars, said Venus is in retrograde, and saw his head flash to me out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look him full in the face from no more than three feet away, read respect and desire there. I turned back to the stars, letting my throat stretch upwards in the moonlight, making sure he saw.

I don't need youth or beauty. No one does. The most celebrated hetaera in all of ancient Greece was nicknamed "Toad" because of her pebbled complexion. All any woman needs is courage, and willingness, and determination. All any man wants is to be wanted.

Today we rode aimlessly, all pretense of herd-finding discarded. He showed me flowers and a waterfall, a cave full of bones and the darkened grotto of the giant spiders' lair. My hands clung to him, now on his waist, now on the warmed marble of his torso, feeling the shivers under my fingertips as I lazily caressed him. I nestled my cheek against the riot of black curls cascading down his back, breathing his clean scent of moss and moonlight. The sun peaked, then started to set as desire and anticipation strung ever tighter in my breast. Once or twice I saw his nostrils flare as he scented my arousal, and I felt his gait grow more labored underneath me as he struggled to contain his own desire.

Tonight it must be. He will not have read the stars incorrectly; Dumbledore will find us tomorrow, and I must go with him, and there will be no more Bane and Dolores, curse and sorrows, how appropriate.

When we stopped for the day, I wandered down to the stream for a bath. He knew I wouldn't run, and I knew he would follow me. I didn't see him watching me as I shivered naked in the clear water, but when I returned I saw the black velvet between his hind legs pulsing and stretching as he displayed himself to me.

Perhaps he thought to frighten me. He still had not learned who he was dealing with. I let my brazen eyes linger on him, felt my tongue wet my lips of its own accord, thinking of taking him into my mouth, of tasting him. Desire welled in my throat, forcing me to swallow, and swallow again, and he smiled as he watched me shiver in the thrall of his beauty. He tossed his hair, pranced for me, clicked his hooves against the stones and roots in shameless whirling seduction.

This evening he brought me berries and water cupped in his own hands, so I would not have to walk barefoot to the stream in the dark. I let my tongue touch his palm, just once.

Night has full fallen, the moon is high and the nest is made as he lies upon it, half-reclined, his hind legs scissored apart so I can see everything, everything, every rigid sueded inch of power and ruthless desire. He will not be gentle. His kind have thrived for millennia on lust and rapine; generations of hapless humans and dryads and nymphs seized to gratify their heartless pleasures can attest to that.

I don't need gentleness. Kittens and fluffy sweaters and hair bows are ploys I affect to disguise the ruthlessness of my own nature. There is no room in Fudge's timid bureaucracy for an ambitious virago such as I. But Bane knows who I am. And what I need.

Now he lies absolutely still, his eyes glittering in the moonlight, motionless except for his restless tail flicking against the grass and the pulse beating relentlessly in his belly, luring me. I cannot prevail against his strength and size. He will pin me beneath his giant horse's body and tear into me, splitting me as I scream underneath him, battering and opening my very womb with cruel wounding thrusts that I have waited a lifetime to endure.

And when we have done with each other, he will heal me, and there will be no sign of our coupling save a few twigs in my hair, and perhaps even a new life anchored within me. Magic coupled with magic; who is to say what may happen?

Desire draws at me, my breasts and loins grown heavy and expectant as I step forward and kneel in the grass before him. The cold glitter in his eyes has turned to fire as his hand reaches toward me and grasps me by the throat. As I sink beneath him and open my legs, I feel my robes begin to tear.