Forever 8

He had been watching the woman for some time. She went among the crowded plaza, stopping now and then to look at a booth or some artwork. She seemed to be alone and he was surprised. She laughed easily and spoke with people. She had no fear. He watched the petty thieves try to get close to her, try to steal from her. She deftly kept her hand on the small purse she had slung across her body.

She eventually wandered in his direction. He stayed in the shadows of his booth, waiting to see if she would stop to look at his wares. She had purchased very little. She finally came to his booth. He saw her eyes light with surprise. She stopped to look carefully at his display. Knives and swords. She looked at each carefully, eyes shining with appreciation. His eyes warmed. She did not fear steel.

"You may handle them if you wish," he said softly.

She looked into the shadows and saw the big man standing there. "Thank you!" she said. She stroked the swords as if looking for one in particular. She would put her hand around the hilts and seemed disappointed when she did not seem to find what she was looking for.

He took out a long box and came forward into the light. She saw him clearly. Very tall, well muscled arms and bare chest under a leather vest. Long black hair pulled back, pale gray eyes, and strong, handsome features. He opened the box. Inside were two swords. One huge, long blade obviously meant for someone of his size and a smaller, more slender blade. "Perhaps one of these?" he offered.

"Oh!" she said, "they're beautiful!" He tensed slightly as she stroked the longer sword. He saw her expression change. She looked up at him, eyes wide. "It tingles!"

He smiled faintly. She looked at the second sword. She started to reach for it. "May I?" she asked.

"Please," he replied with a nod.

She lifted the sword from the case with both hands. It was sheathed in a black leather scabbard. She hesitated and then put her hand to the hilt and drew the blade. The tingle was stronger with this blade. The hilt fit her hand perfectly. She sighed. This was the one she had been searching for. Reluctantly, she resheathed the blade and returned it to the case.

"This is the blade you have been searching for," he said, his soft, deep voice certain.

She sighed again. "Yes," she said softly. "They are a set, aren't they?"

He nodded, silvery eyes gleaming. She looked up at him and was caught by his gaze. He laid his hand on the larger blade. "This one," he said quietly, "is mine. The other…" he hesitated. "The other belongs to no one. Yet."

He was amazingly attractive and her breath caught. She knew nothing about him, not even his name, and she wanted him. She blushed faintly. "I see," she said softly. "Thank you for showing them to me." He smiled at her again. Her heart was pounding.

"You are welcome," he said. His deep voice made her quiver inside. She turned away, reluctantly and left.

The bazaar was scheduled for two weeks. She had come on the first day. He hoped she would come again. She did. He saw her every day. Sometimes she would come to him again and look at his display. She never asked to see the paired blades. Each time she left, he sighed. He had hoped she was the one.

The last day. She was there again. He watched her. She seemed aware of his scrutiny and constantly looked in his direction. Finally, as things were closing down and everyone was packing up, she came again to his booth. "What magic did you use," she demanded hoarsely, "that I cannot forget you or those blades?"

"No magic of mine," he insisted. "The blades choose." He gazed down at her. "I must pack these away. Will you help me? And we can talk." She nodded. She helped him wrap and case his display. "You do not fear the steel," he commented.

"No," she said. "It has always fascinated me." They finally put the last case in his trailer and he locked it.

"May I offer you dinner?" he asked quietly. She took a deep breath and agreed. He took her to an out-of-the-way café where they could eat and continue their conversation. Finally, he looked at her and sighed. "The sword has chosen you," he said softly, "but you have not yet accepted the choice. And there is one thing you should know." He hesitated. "To choose the sword is to choose me. It is a pairing in all ways." He looked to see if she understood.

She did. To have the blade that called to her, she must accept the man. And lie with him. She closed her eyes. She had been dreaming of that for two weeks. Did she dare go to him? She looked at him again, deep into his silvery eyes. She saw loneliness and sorrow. He was big, strong, and alone. "Has the blade chosen before?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, "and was rejected." She saw the hurt and hope in his eyes. She touched his hand, looked at it, saw strength, felt gentleness as he clasped her fingers.

She made her decision suddenly, ignoring her brain that screamed at her to leave, NOW, and obeyed her heart. "I will accept the choice," she said softly, "and I will accept you."

Joy and hunger flared in his eyes. "Come with me?" he asked. "Now?"

"Yes," she replied. She went with him back to the trailer. He took out the long case and opened it. He picked up the smaller sword. "Oh!" she exclaimed softly. It felt as if he had touched her. He smiled and gave her the blade. She accepted it as he laid it across her palms, his hands caressing hers. Her eyes were shining as she smiled up at him.

"Hey look!" The strident interruption was abrupt and unwelcome. "The sword man has a date!"

She looked around at three young men who had been loitering around the bazaar.

"Hey, sweetie!" called one, "come party with us!" He grabbed his crotch and jerked his hips suggestively.

She saw the anger flare in his eyes and knew hers matched it. Side by side, sheathed blades in their hands, they faced the young men.

"No," she said. Just then, the moon came from behind the clouds. The silvery light revealed their cold expressions. Identical, hard, unyielding. All three suddenly decided to leave. They backed away, unwilling to turn their backs on the man and woman standing there.

He looked down at her. "Let's leave," he suggested softly.

Her cold expression eased. "Yes," she said, "lets." They got into his car and drove away. He took her first to her place to pack some things. Then he took her home. He had a large warehouse at the edge of town. He had generous living quarters and his workshop and forge. He made all of his own blades. He showed her everything and gave her time to unpack. She finished and went looking for him. She found him in his workshop. She sat in a corner, out of his way, to watch him work. He had stripped to the waist, his muscular body gleaming in the work lights. He was sharpening some blades, concentrating on getting the edge just right. She felt her attraction to him growing stronger.

He finished and looked at her. "You should learn to use your blade," he said quietly. She had been holding it as she watched him. He picked up his blade and motioned for her to come with him. She took off her jacket and shoes. Since she favored loose clothing, he said that was all she needed to remove. "Although," he said, "sometimes I practice nude." She found herself very short of breath at that thought. He showed her a simple pattern and had her repeat it until her arms trembled. He massaged her muscles and had her do it again. Finally, he was satisfied. He smiled down at her. "You do well," he said. "More tomorrow."

He took her to the bedroom and let her shower first. She was curled on the pillows, nude, sleepy-eyed, waiting for him. She looked at him as he came to the bed. Tall, strong, long hair flowing around his shoulders. And very well endowed. He lay next to her and gathered her in his arms. Warm flesh to warm flesh. He kissed her gently. "Sleep now," he said softly. "The time is not yet." She sighed and lay on his shoulder, surrendering to sleep. He held her close. It had taken a long time, but she had finally come. He sighed and slept.

The days were filled with work and practice. He taught her metal work and sword work. She taught him to laugh again. A fair bargain. Still, he had done nothing more than hold her at night and it was beginning to frustrate both of them. "Soon," he promised as he kissed her goodnight. The day came when he finally crossed blades with her. The moves she had practiced were now second nature to her. They thrust, parried, countered. Attack and defense. She learned her blade and how to use it. It had taken a surprisingly short time. He had expected to wait until winter solstice at least. She was proficient by the fall equinox.

On the day of the fall equinox, he came to her with his arms full of leather and silks, all of it in black and silver. Easy fitting pants, silk shirt with easy yet close fitting sleeves, a leather vest that formed to her figure and pushed her breasts high, ankle boots of soft suede. And a baldric for her sword. She favored wearing it on her back and her baldric accommodated that. He pulled her hair back and fastened it with a plain clip. She did the same for him. His clothes mirrored hers except that he wore no shirt. Instead, he had a sash of the same silvery silk around his waist. He, too, favored wearing his sword on his back. He held her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. "Tonight," he said and was rewarded by the joy and anticipation that flared in her eyes.

He led her out of the warehouse by the back way and deep into the woods. He took her to a circle of stones that she never knew existed. At the edge of the ring, he said softly, "Draw your blade and do as I do." He smiled at her. "You will know what to say." He reached for his blade. Together, they drew their swords and stepped into the ring of stones. Dim shapes could be seen in the fog.

"The blades have chosen," he said, his deep voice echoing in the mist.

"And the choice has been accepted," she replied in clear, ringing tones. They tapped blades and stood side by side, ready, waiting.

Two armed and masked figures came out of the fog and moved to either side of them. Each turned to face one of the figures. They were now back to back.

"There has been challenge of the choice," said a voice in the fog. "Do you defend the choice?"

"I accept the challenge and defend the choice," he replied.

"I have accepted the choice and defend my decision," she replied in turn. They waited for the next move.

The masked figures raised their weapons and attacked. She silently blessed his teaching and the hours of practice as she countered the lazy stroke swung at her. She grinned coldly. Evidently no one expected her to know how to use the blade she carried. The next strokes were more determined. She countered them easily. She kept her moves defensive on purpose. She heard a grunt and clang of metal as he disarmed his opponent. She bared her teeth and attacked, surprising her opponent and disarming him (her?).

"You have met the challenge and defended the choice," said the voice in the fog. "The choice is valid."

"No!" Her opponent leapt at her, a long knife upraised. Surprised, she countered, disarming her attacker and drawing blood. His sword was suddenly beside hers.

"The choice was made, defended, and declared valid," he snarled coldly. "Do you declare feud?" She quietly cleaned her blade and waited beside him.

Another figure came out of the mist. Almost as tall as her swordsman. The same ebony hair and silver eyes. The stranger looked at her, appraising. Then he looked at her companion. "Sheath your blades," he said softly. "There will be no feud." They locked eyes briefly. Then he nodded. They sheathed their blades as they had drawn them. Together. The stranger's silver eyes gleamed with appreciation. "A true pairing," he said. He motioned. The masked figures came forward, one holding a bloody cut. They removed their masks. Alike as two peas with tawny hair and green eyes. She looked warily at the one she had bloodied.

He blushed. "I ask pardon, lady," he said. "I did not think you were serious and it made me foolish."

Her eyes warmed at the graceful apology. "Pardon is granted, sir," she replied. "Shall I tend that for you?"

He smiled ruefully. "No need, lady. But thank you for the offer." She nodded.

"You and the swords have chosen well, my son," said the black haired man.

He looked down at her and smiled. "Yes, father," he said, "I know."

The older man placed his hands on her shoulders. "Welcome to our clan, daughter."

"Thank you, father," she replied softly.

He turned to the other figures in the mist, a hand on each of their shoulders. "In three days, we will feast," he said, "to celebrate the pairing and the choice." He turned both to face him and smiled at them. "Return in three days, my children. Until then," his smile broadened, "enjoy each other."

He bowed slightly. "As you command, sir," he murmured. The older man laughed and urged them out of the circle. He took her hand and went back to his warehouse. They went up to the bedroom. The swords were placed in their case. They stripped off the leathers. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back against his body.

"Shower?" he whispered.

"Ah, yes!" She leaned back against him, feeling his warm skin against her. They went into the shower together and slowly, sensuously washed each other. He leaned down and kissed her. She leaned into him, kissing him, holding him to her. They dried each other, still kissing. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. She clung to him, her lips on his, holding him to her. He caressed her body. Then he moved over her and entered her slowly. She moaned against his lips, arching up to him.

He was very large and filled her completely. He moved slowly in her, stimulating her, arousing her. She convulsed in orgasm, her body throbbing around him. His movements became harder as he thrust deep into her. She was writhing and moaning under him. Her orgasm again surged through her. And again. Still, he thrust hard and deep into her. On and on until they climaxed together.

She lay under him, savoring his heavy body on hers, his immense, hard penis deep in her. She stretched against him, moaning softly with pleasure.

"We have three days," he murmured, "and I intend to enjoy you for every minute."

"Ah, yes!"

He thrust sharply into her. She trembled. He thrust again and she arched up to him. Harder and deeper until her orgasm again claimed her. He moved in her until she was thrashing under him, her body tender and quivering. He took her hard and long until she screamed in climax, throbbing hard around him. On and on, to one shrieking orgasm after another until she lay exhausted and trembling under him. His thrusts continued until they climaxed together. For three days and nights, they hardly left the bed. They finally slept a few hours before they had to prepare for the feast.

This time, he brought her loose trousers and a tunic in soft black silk with a silver chain belt. His clothing again matched hers. The baldrics for their swords were black leather with silver medallions.

At moonrise, they were again at the ring of stones. His father welcomed them, flanked by the tawny haired, green eyed twins. "Welcome, children," he said. They were ushered into an isolated manor house. The party was already in full swing. They were escorted to seats on either side of his father. During the party, she met cousins and siblings. The clan were metal workers and jewelers. And something more.

As the revels were winding down, his father took them to a private room. "My son," he said, "you know what we are. And you know the potential of this choice. My new daughter, you have another choice." His eyes were very serious. "You may have my son for your allotted years. Or you may stay with him forever." He paused.

Her swordsman spoke. "I would have you forever," he said softly, "but…"

His father continued for him. "But to do that you must first die. By violence."

She looked startled and confused. "Die?" She looked up into his silver eyes. Eyes that seemed to plead for understanding. Eyes that held a desperate hope.

"We are immortal. If we die by violence, we awake and cannot die again." The older man made the explanations. "The swords choose. They tell us who has the potential. But it is potential only. Unless the bond is strong enough to bridge life and death."

She felt the sword at her back. And remembered the wonderful intensity of the past three days. "I see," she murmured. "How? Who?" The silence answered her. She smiled softly as she took out a dagger he had given her. She handed it to him, hilt first. Her eyes were on his, trusting, full of desire. "I choose forever," she whispered.

His father smiled slightly and left them. The door locked behind him and could only be opened from the inside.

She removed her sword and laid it aside. Then she removed the soft silks and folded them beside her sword. She went to him. He had also stripped. He stood holding the dagger. "Kiss me," she whispered. The knife was poised to enter her heart. He had his arm around her. His lips met hers as he plunged the knife deep into her heart. Her eyes widened with the shock, then softened. She looked up at him and smiled softly. "Forever," she whispered as she died.

He carried her to a bed and laid her carefully on it. He cleaned her wound. And waited, holding her. Long hours. Anxious hours. Until she arched and gasped. She awoke in his arms and looked up into his anxious silver eyes.

"Forever?" she whispered.

He smiled at her. "Forever," he promised as he kissed her.