Lord of the Forest by Dawn Thompson

archipelago.
    The full moon was brilliant in the clear dark sky, and it was possible to discern fires along the shorelines of the Forest Isle. Had the revelers attending the Midsummer solstice stayed on?
    The event always caused trouble for Marius of one kind or another. But Vane knew better than to go over. The Lord of the Forest’s talking trees had fainting fits the second the Lord of Fire stepped foot onto the island. In any case, he had not been summoned.
    He looked elsewhere, to Gideon’s island, the Island of Mists. The lair of the Lord of the Dark was shrouded in it. Vane supposed that the winged one was safe inside his labyrinth of caverns, lying with his love, Rhiannon.
    How nice for them both, he thought bitterly.
    His heated blood raced in his veins. Late as it was, he could do with a dip. Would Marius mind if he swam over through the subterranean tunnels that connected one isle to the next?
    The shady pools in which the tunnels ended were delightful places to loll and there was always a chance of a tryst with a naked naiad. Of course, a water spirit could never set him on fire like the incomparable Hella, but they were fun to catch, squirming deliciously and pretending to protest as they took full advantage of his famously long shaft. All he had to do was sit down naked, spread his muscular thighs, and beckon. They were happy to sit down right on his lap, their sinuously curved backs and napes presented for his kisses. His shaft filled the smaller ones to the limits of their tight cunnies. Feeling cool, moist buttocks against his thighs while abundant breasts filled his enormous hands would assuredly calm him down.
    He would pull the excited naiad off before the hot lava in his balls shot out, letting her wriggle in the air and marvel as his scarlet, scorching ejaculate arced over the water of the pool and formed pretty drops of volcanic glass in its depths for her to dive for.
    His own arid domain afforded him no such amusements.
    Vane resolved to swim over then and there.
    Deep underwater, his fire banked by his leathery skin, he counted the twists and turns, figuring out where he was and popping up in a pool that seemed familiar. An aged willow draped its feathery leaves over one side of it, murmuring to itself in Treeish. Vane couldn’t make it out and didn’t care.
    The moon hung above, heavy and full and glowing white. Vane dipped back down again when he heard a rustle but saw nothing. It was even more fun to get a naiad by her slender ankles and make her fall upon his naked, dripping body. He knew and they knew that they came to the pools for the same reason, especially during a full moon: to indulge their sensual appetites.
    He rose again, squeezing the cool water out of his long black hair, and realized he’d lost the scrap of silk from Hella.
    Somehow it seemed like a bad omen. He began to walk out of the water, not making a single splash as he did. He saw not a soul, female or male. A sense of fiery frustration made his body steam faintly in the moonlight. Had the lusty female spirits of the forest all moved to a vestal nunnery? The thought was infinitely depressing.
    Bah. His long swim had been a waste of time.
    And then he saw her. She was a glow of white that he had at first assumed was moonlight on a wet rock, so still did she lie. She took no notice of his presence, paying homage with her naked body to the heavenly sphere that hung in the night sky.
    The most beautiful naiad he had ever seen was about to mate with the moon. Its shimmering reflection in the water pointed directly between her opened legs. In a little while, when it had reached the highest point of its rise in the sky, its changeable light would penetrate her to her core.
    Her orgasm would be as changeable and subtle. How eagerly she must be anticipating the moment. Thighs of pure white parted as he watched—no, they were pressed apart by her hands, spread wide and welcoming. She touched a fingertip to pink labia fringed with