Cravings by Laurell K. Hamilton, Eileen Wilks, REBECCA YORK, MaryJanice Davidson

runes, and the
sound of the surf always through the windows, so that even if he turned away, he
could still hear it. She'd given him one of the best rooms in the castle as his
prison, because she had a way of knowing what things meant to you. A way of
knowing what would hurt the most. It was her gift.
    Someone kissed me, hard and fast, forcing my mouth open, pushing his tongue
so far in I almost choked, but it brought me back, brought us all back from that
lonely room and the sound of the sea on the rocks below.
    Nathaniel drew back enough to say in a harsh whisper, "Happy thoughts, Anita,
happy thoughts." Then his mouth was on mine, tongue, lips, even teeth light
against my own lips, so that it was more eating than kissing, but it brought a
whimper from my throat, a small helpless sound of pleasure.
    My hands were on his body, following the flow of his shoulders, his back, and
the smooth silken curve of his ass. The back of his body filled my hands, and
the front of him was like heat wrapped in flesh, as if we'd burst into flame.
    Damian's hands were on the back of my bra; somehow it had survived that first
rush. He snapped it open, and the front of it fell against Nathaniel's chest.
Hands spilled over my breasts; one from behind, and one from the man pressed
against the front of my body. Damian's touch was delicate, stroking. Nathaniel
wrapped his hand around my breast and dug his nails into my flesh. It was
Nathaniel's hand that bowed my back, tore my mouth away from his, and forced a
scream from my mouth.
    Damian hesitated, pulled back from that scream, though he had to feel that it
was pleasure and not pain. He didn't like to hear women scream. And just like
that we were back in his memory. There was a room underneath the castle,
torches, darkness, and women, any woman that she thought was prettier than she.
No one was allowed hair more yellow than hers, eyes more blue, or breasts
larger. These were all sins, and sins were punished. A rush of images; piles of
yellow hair, wide blue eyes like cornflowers, and the spear that put them out, a
chest as pale and fair as any he'd seen, and the sword…
    Nathaniel screamed, "Noooo!" He reached past me, and grabbed a handful of red
hair. He jerked Damian so hard against me, that just feeling the hard length of
him made me writhe between them. "Happy thoughts, Damian, happy thoughts."
    "I don't have any happy thoughts," and on the heels of that statement were
other dark rooms, and the smell of burning flesh.
    I was the one who screamed this time, "God, Damian, no more. Keep your
nightmares to yourself." The memory that had gone with that smell had dampened
the ardeur. I could think again, even pressed between both their bodies.
    "Tell him to fuck you," Nathaniel said.
    I stared at him. "What?"
    "Order him to do it; then he won't be conflicted."
    It seemed almost ridiculous to be huffy, kneeling pretty much nude between
two nude men, but it was still how I felt. "Maybe
I'm
conflicted."
    "Almost always," he said, and smiled to soften the words.
    Damian's voice came, low and heavy with something like sorrow. "She doesn't
want to do this. She wants me to help her stop the ardeur, not to feed it.
That's what she really wants, I can feel it, and that's what I have to do."
    "Anita, please, tell him."
    But Damian was right. He was the only port in a storm of sexual temptation. I
valued his ability to make me not feel the ardeur. I valued that more than
anything his body could do for me. And because I truly was his master, and that
was my true wish, he had to help me do it. The coolness of the grave rose
between us, and it wasn't frightening this time. It was soothing, comforting.
    "Anita, no," Nathaniel said, "no." He put his face against my shoulder. The
movement put his body further away from mine, and that helped me think, too.
    I turned to look at Damian, though I didn't need to see his face to feel the
overwhelming sadness. The sense of aching