Beasts in Winter [Tangere Tales 1] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting) Page 3

  “Okay, I’m here.”

  “I am your mirror. I reflect your beauty, but I will also show you that which you desire most. Be it past, present, or future, you have only to ask.”

  The reflection focused, and she could see the tear tracks on her cheeks from her earlier fright. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. Worry distracted her from the reflection as she wondered if Caresse and Elaina had made it out of the cave all right. The mirror lost focus and then showed her a clear image of the girls as they’d peered into the cave and then entered. She touched the gilt-edged frame of the mirror and noticed her hands were shaking.

  Yeah, sexual frustration will do that to a girl. Darn it.

  The reflection altered and refocused, and she gasped as the image from her dream became crystal clear. She’d been unable to see, but now she watched as the two men joined her in pleasuring herself, one bulky with massive arms and shoulders, the other lean and athletic and no less sexy for the difference in size. And both were naked. From the neck down was clear but she was unable to identify them.

  “You spied on my dream?” she asked sharply of the mirror.

  In a softer, placating tone, the mirror’s voice responded, “I showed you that which you desired to see.”

  Her favorite sexual fantasy was getting way more airtime than she’d ever imagined it would.

  She rested her head in her hands and whispered, “I need a shower to clear my head. Do I have time?” she asked to no one in particular.

  Her answer came with the ringing of water on tile in an alcove behind a large carved screen.

  “You have only to ask, Angel.”

  “Can I go home then?’

  “Non, my lovely mistress. Thanks to the fae, I am enchanted, but I’m not a miracle worker. I can say no more. Enjoy your toilette.”

  Figures.

  Standing, she peeked around the screen to find a bathroom, complete with a shower, a tub, vanity, and sink. After taking care of business in what turned out to be a little potty room off of the alcove, she undressed, grimacing as leaves and dirt flecked out from her hair and clothes onto the pristine white and pink marble floor.

  Spotting a silver hairbrush on the vanity counter, she picked it up and gave it a hard look, waiting for it to do something crazy like start talking to her. It remained inanimate.

  “Okay, I can deal with this. Until I find my way out of this whacked-out dream I will find the value in it. That’s what Dad would tell me to do. Find the value in every situation, good or bad. This whole castle has to be really cool. Maybe I can explore. Shoot.” She remembered her smartphone was in her bags back at the campsite. She could’ve taken pictures. “Oh well,” she murmured as she stepped into the misty shower. A fresh cake of French milled soap, scented with a delicate fragrance, had been provided for her in the soap dish.

  She lathered the soap on a sea sponge, and as she scrubbed herself clean, she became aware of a sensation not unlike what she’d experienced in the sex dream. Her pussy quivered as the water from the shower trickled over her lips.

  “Ooooh.” That felt good.

  Then she moved so her entire body was under the showerhead in the ceiling and stood still.

  With her eyes closed, it felt as if warm fingers were trailing all over her body, caressing her, even between her legs and her ass cheeks. Nerve endings sparked to life on every inch of her flesh, and she spread her legs slightly, just to see what happened.

  Those fluid fingertips found her most sensitive areas, rubbing and stroking her clit, her pussy lips, until she had to put out her hands to brace herself on the walls. Like a bowstring being put to use, her body tightened, her pussy becoming hot and liquid with her own juices, and she bit her lip as the sensual touch rubbed at her asshole, as well.

  “I wonder if there is—” She giggled as she turned to the shelf on the wall and spotted the bottles containing what she hoped was shampoo and conditioner of some sort. She didn’t recall seeing them earlier, but for now, she’d go with it.

  “Thank you, freaky enchanted dream-porn shape-shifting shower slash sex toy.”

  “But of course, mon ange. I exist to serve you.”

  Okay, that shouldn’t make her laugh. She should be totally freaked out, but this was her dream and she had an orgasm to chase, though she didn’t say that out loud.

  She took her time lathering her hair, rinsing it, and applying conditioner, allowing the waterfall showerhead to run all over her body. She was probably taking way too long, but she didn’t mind a cold supper. They hadn’t said they would be joining her.

  Finally, she stood beneath the spray. The silky conditioner did marvelous things to her, just as the bubbling shampoo had, as it coursed its way over her skin and down her legs. If she didn’t come this time, she was taking things into her own hands.

  The pleasure of cascading water sliding over her skin intensified, and her pussy pulsed and ached with tension as she sailed higher and higher into the stratosphere. The water warmed slightly, and a rivulet trailed right over her clit. “Oh, fuck, yes,” she whispered as her orgasm crested, the quivering ache exploding into waves of pleasure as she cried out.

  The water shut off and was replaced by a comforting warm breeze that blew her and the shower dry as she slid to the floor. It even dried her hair. Looking around she didn’t spot any vents or wall-mounted dryers or anything mechanical. “Wow. Just wow. I need a minute.”

  She spotted a length of ivory fabric hanging on a hook by the vanity, and after she was completely dry, she slipped it on over her head. The shift-like garment was made from a fine silk that warmed and caressed her skin with a sensual touch and fit as if it had been made for her. She hadn’t spied anyone entering the room through the carved screen. Was this castle run with magic, or had she been that out of it?

  “I could get used to this,” she murmured as she peered in the mirror at herself. The mirror made a slight affirming sound as if agreeing but said nothing else. Her nipples tightened as the silky fabric brushed against them, and she giggled.

  She took a few moments to take in the splendor of the room, the dark wood floors beneath her feet, warmed by the fireplace, the leaded glass windows keeping out the snow and wind, the luxurious bedding and drapes, and the furniture, substantial but obviously intended for a special woman.

  A sudden stray thought brought a frown to her face. While her parents had been alive, her father had always strived to provide a good home and everything she and her mother needed. Like with any family, there were occasional hard times. Her mother, a woman prone to negativity, had resented those times. Yet she had always made a point of telling Angel, when she complained about not having something she wanted, that anything she could get sick of she could also get used to—in other words, to just get used to being unhappy and unfulfilled.

  Then her father would’ve told her, “Lean times or feast times, always find the value in a situation. It’s there if you look.” As if to give credit to his good advice, her father had gotten lucky when he’d invested in a new technology. Very lucky. With his passing, Angel had become an heiress, although his advice to her had felt like the greater inheritance. The money was nice, but complications had come along with it, including her cheating, gold-digging ex-fiancé.

  On the heels of that thought, a voice from the shadows of her memory whispered, “Remember, mon ange, do not trust in appearances.”

  She stilled and scanned the room. Was that voice in her head? As her gaze lighted on the mirror, she thought she saw the fading image of the scary beast. She blinked, and the mirror glass was clear.

  Covering her breasts, which were completely visible through the silky fabric of the shift, she checked around her room, finding nothing out of the ordinary…except for the gown on her bed.

  “Holy mackerel.”

  From the other room, she’d thought it was made of velvet, but no. It was made of the same fabric as the shift, and just as sheer, dyed a vivid shade of ruby red.

  “D
o I get bra and panties? A slip? My nipples are going to be visible and my pussy for that matter.”

  “Oui, ma jolie maîtresse,” the mirror affirmed, a slight hint of mischief in its whispering tone.

  Fresh from the best shower orgasm she’d ever had, she was perhaps braver than she might’ve been as she said, “Fine,” and proceeded to get dressed. The bodice had many gathers and a soft ruffle, all of which did nothing in the way of camouflage, and it was the same with the skirt. The empire waist fell from just beneath her breasts, and while the skirt was full so the fabric folded upon itself, she still felt very much exposed when she saw in the mirror reflection how the sunlight from the balcony lit her form from behind.

  The fabric stroked and warmed every inch of her skin as she made use of the lovely silver-handled brush to tidy her hair. She sat down before the mirror once again and gaped at her reflection as the bristles ran gently through her hair, leaving it dry, silky, tangle-free, with a lovely shimmering wave to it.

  Tapping her lip with a fingertip, she said, “Mirror, do you know a good hair stylist?”

  “Oui, beauté. Arise.”

  When she stood up and looked at her reflection, she gasped. Her hair was up off of her shoulders in a lovely up-do with a comb decorated with rubies tucked into it. On her brow was a circlet dripping with ruby teardrops. “Mirror, Siri’s got nothing on you, honey.”

  “Merci.”

  The dress shifted around her, seeming to cuddle and caress her as she moved. From downstairs, she heard the chiming of the second bell.

  “Your dinner awaits you downstairs. Bon appétit.” The door to her bedroom slowly swung open.

  Outside the bedroom, she recalled the nature of the males of the castle and looked down at her extremely visible nipples, her bravado slipping a notch. Approaching a mirror in the corridor at the bottom of the tower stairs, her dress moving sinuously over her skin with each step, she did indeed spy the nest of red curls between her thighs. “Well, just awesome,” she whispered to herself. “Guess I’m sitting with my legs crossed tonight.” By the time she reached the dining room, her heart was palpitating with anxiety and her pussy was throbbing with arousal.

  She peeked around the doorway and found a huge table laden with food, elaborately prepared and displayed. She wandered the table with her plate, trying first this and then that, and wound up spending her meal and her evening in solitude. Not even Fleur joined her.

  But at least her heart had a chance to settle, as well as her libido. She left the dining room with a full stomach and a fresh dose of curiosity for her sumptuous prison.

  The castle was lit by candelabra and candles in sconces on the walls, and she took this as a sign that she was allowed to explore.

  Wandering from room to room on the ground floor, she realized exploring the castle, with its numerous floors and attached buildings, would take a few days. With many of the rooms connected by adjoining doors, she’d probably get lost more than once. Her sense of direction left much to be desired.

  Her footsteps echoed as she traversed the marble floor down a long, wide corridor. The doorways in this part of the castle were crowned with intricate stone arches, giving it a stately but somehow intimidating appearance. Opulent but dusty drapes hung on the windows opposite the row of doors, and she stopped to peer out. The massive gardens beyond took her breath away. She imagined in the spring they would be indescribably beautiful. Looking around, she noticed the network of branches she’d glimpsed on the front of the castle spread all the way around to this portion. The branches twined on each other and leaning forward near the window she stood before, she spied thorns.

  “A climbing rose,” she whispered, spotting the plantings at the base of the walls. Part of her wished she could be there in spring, just to see how the blooming roses would festoon the structure.

  Not wanting to waste the dwindling light, she marched forward to the nearest door. The knob turned easily, and the door swung open on silent hinges into a cavernous, darkened room. A huge carved chair and two smaller but no less luxurious seats sat on either side of it in the shadows on the far wall. She frowned, realizing she stood in an audience chamber. It appeared all the doors in the corridor opened into that room. Tapestries hung on the walls, but the draperies were all drawn so she was unable to see many details. A chill whispered over her flesh, as if someone had walked across her grave, and she backed from the room, determining to explore more fully when the light was better.

  Venturing back in the direction of the dining room, she found a library. The light was better, thanks to a pair of tall leaded glass doors leading out to a balcony, so she could see that leather-bound books by the hundreds, maybe thousands, lined its shelves from the floor nearly to the ceiling.

  “Wow.” It would take her weeks just to scan all the titles. “Spectacular.”

  A hiss made her spin around, the dress caressing her with sensuous strokes as the fabric twirled with her, and she gasped as a fire burst to life in a fireplace so large she could stand in it, stretch out her arms, and still not touch the sides.

  “Okay, if Angela Lansbury pops out of the woodwork and starts singing, I’m seriously going to freak out,” she whispered as she drew near, the heat from the merrily crackling blaze warming her chilled skin and lending further light to the room. Portraits hung on the walls, the figures seeming to move and watch her in the flickering light.

  Feeling a little dazed, she took her time walking around the room, lusting after the books and taking note of the comfortable-looking padded chairs that were placed about the room. Wind buffeted the leaded glass doors and stained glass windows, drawing her attention, and she gasped as she drew near to the multi-hued work of art.

  “Wow.”

  She’d never seen anything like it. The pattern on the window resembled a rose garden in bloom, but when she drew close, she realized that it wasn’t made up of colored pieces of glass that had been cut and fitted together. It looked as though it had been painted…but not really.

  She stroked a gentle finger on the glass and felt no texture of paint. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  The color seemed to be suspended within the clear glass. She blinked as the pattern shifted slightly, as if it was an optical illusion, and she backed up to focus on it.

  Affirmation that the room and probably the entire castle were magical arrived when the seat of a velvet-upholstered chair nudged her slightly from behind and she felt the urge to sit before the window.

  “Thanks, because I need time to take this all in.”

  As she studied the window in comfort, her eyes blurred. Her breathing slowed and contentment from her wonderful meal made her muscles relax. She blinked and watched in fascination as the stained glass seemed to undulate and then coalesce into a series of panels, top to bottom, so it resembled a graphic novel. Trying to focus on the movement of the glass only made her tired, and eventually she gave up. At that moment, the first clear image at the top left formed and made sense…somehow. She contented herself to experience the spectacle of the stained glass vision, or dream, or whatever it was.

  The scene involved the occupants of the castle, both highborn and low. A flamboyant and charming prince and a proud father who was also king. A young princess with long hair so pale it was nearly white. The queen was lovely, with flowing auburn hair the same color as the young prince’s. This was the royal family.

  The next panel began to reform, the colors dazzling her eyes as it displayed a dark-haired boy working in the castle gardens, encouraged by the chief gardener in learning his trade. At night he cared for his loving mother who was a maid in the castle.

  In the next panel, the handsome young gardener grew muscular and tall, working with his hands. The new castle gardens were his design and creation. He planted the climbing roses that grew around the castle to please the young princess and her mother.

  The gardener grew handsome, and courtiers and servants alike whispered behind their hands that, with each passi
ng day, he resembled the king more and more. One day he noticed the resemblance himself as he worked at replacing a broken pane in the glass house where the queen’s favorite flowers were cultivated. The king paused in his walk to observe the work, and the gardener spied his reflection side by side with the king’s. He’d never given his reflection much notice before, but the resemblance there was startling and undeniable.

  That night he sat at his mother’s bedside, worrying for her deteriorating health. Finally, he took her hand and asked her who his father was. Seeing the knowledge in his eyes, she confessed all. As a young maid, new to the castle staff, she’d fallen in love with the king, who was at that time a young prince himself. The attraction had been mutual, and the prince had taken advantage, as people in power will do, wooing the maid in secret until she gave in to his lusts. The baby the young gardener had once been was the result. She’d remained at the castle because she had nowhere else to go, alone and with a baby, and continued to love the young prince from afar, even though he never acknowledged her again or claimed his firstborn infant son as his own. Instead, he married, and the young queen bore his legitimate offspring, whom he showered with love. Hearing this news, the young gardener was devastated.

  Angel’s heart ached as she watched the young man embrace his weeping mother.

  Chapter Three

  Angel awoke the next morning in her bed, disoriented. Her last memory was of sitting before the stained glass window…or whatever it was. She must’ve fallen asleep, but then who had brought her to her room and placed her on the bed?

  Gasping, she lifted the covers to find she was clad only in the transparent shift. Pursing her lips, she threw back the warm bed covers, bracing herself for the cold before she went downstairs to kick two beasts’ asses or only one if one of them confessed to undressing her while she was unconscious.

  “The bastards! If they think I’m going to—oh wow.”