It was inevitable that all the fluid would need to come out. The next time Dee woke, the pain in her head was overshadowed by the messages from lower down. Her bladder was overfull, and worse, the room was ominously silent.
"Hello. Are you there?"
No answer.
Damn. He'd always been right beside her. Where was he? Her thighs tensed. She'd just have to do it alone. She couldn't wait.
But first she had to be able to see.
Reaching up with an arm that still felt heavier than it should, she grasped the compress's squishy edge and lifted. It peeled off easily enough but left wet, sticky eyelids that had to be pried open.
She blinked, looked around, saw… nothing.
She blinked again, incredulously. Surely she wasn't blind? It couldn't be…?
It wasn't. A couple of despairing seconds later she realised the room was in darkness. A few seconds more and she could see faint outlines. The relief she felt was enormous, but she wasted no time in thankful prayers.
Instead, she pushed herself up on one elbow to look for the door. Her head throbbed warningly and muted colours spun in front of her eyes but she ignored them, concentrating on absorbing her surroundings.
She was on a large fur in the middle of… a circular tent? There were wall hangings with feathers and -
There was an opened flap through which a slight breeze entered. Her thighs tensed again. She had to go.
Rolling up on to her knees and ignoring the scream of pain from behind her eyes, she paused only a moment to make sure she wasn't going to faint, then stood, taking a step forward to grab at the tent opening, fighting vertigo. She was weak and wobbly but the insistence of her bladder was an excellent distraction.
Two, maybe three seconds, her head felt clearer and she stumbled outside into the night. The tent was in the middle of a cleared area and twenty paces away was a stand of trees. She set off straight away, dog-trotting towards them, using impetus rather than co-ordination to get her there. And she made it. Just in time.
Her relief was euphoric, but it so relaxed her limbs, she had trouble forcing them to work. Pushing herself from one tree to the next, she stumbled back towards the clearing, only to stop at its edge, trembling with the strain of her exertion.
At that moment the moon came out from behind a cloud and ethereal light spilled across the clearing like the hand of Tinker Belle sprinkling pixie dust. Dee, her cheek against the smooth bark of the tree, paused to stare at the magical sight.
The round 'tent' she'd emerged from was indisputably a tepee, and against its side rested a long bow and a quill of arrows.
She sighed, then closed her eyes briefly to send up a silent prayer, dispelling forever the insidious doubts that had crept into her mind. She wasn't insane.
It was all true. Never Land was real. Peter was real. And just as she was hugging her shoulders and promising herself she'd never doubt again, a wild creature stepped into the clearing and was bathed in the ghostly light.
Dee moved her lips but no sound came out. Her vocal chords had been paralysed by awe, and instant desire.
He was tall, with black hair that fell like a sheet to his waist, and wet, as though he'd been bathing. Fringed buckskins encasing his long legs and a breast-plate of bone and bead adorned a chest that rose and fell with untamed magnificence.
Dee watched, mesmerised, as he padded silently to the tepee only to stop at its entrance, his hand resting on the opening as he gazed up at the sky, his brow troubled, his eyes searching.
Seconds dragged by as she stared at his profile, the proud tilt of his cheekbones and the high forehead. Could this warrior be the owner of the soft voice she'd come to trust — the gentle hands that had ministered to her needs?
Her lips parted as she remembered the last time he'd touched her. The expertise. The pleasure. She looked at his hand resting on the tepee opening. The long, blunt fingers, the beaded wrist-band leading on to a forearm so negligently masculine it made her chest tight.
He moved then and she blinked in surprise, drawn out of her daze of appreciation as he stooped to enter the tepee, only to emerge a moment later, his quick gaze scanning the encampment before it came to rest on her pale figure silhouetted against the dark background of the forest. She saw his chest relax as he released the breath he'd been holding.
Then he started towards her and again her lips moved soundlessly. Oh, my. She'd thought the Lost Boys were breathtaking.
Her cheek rested dreamily against the tree trunk as he strode across the clearing, sure-footedness belying his towering stature. His skin was darker than her own. Smooth. And under it flowed muscles as invisible as a cat's.
The closer he got, the weaker her knees felt until he stood right in front of her, blocking the light and all she could see was the dark intensity of his eyes. She stared up into them, dizzy with desire.
Then she realised she was just dizzy.
Her head fell forward and he caught her as she slumped, lifting her into his arms. Dee was only vaguely aware of being carried the few paces back to his tepee. But she was intimately aware of the body she was cradled against. The skin was damp and exuded a mysterious nocturnal scent so laden with pheromones that it bypassed the foreplay build-up and took her straight to the point of penetration-readiness. He stooped to enter the tent, then laid her on the furs, her boneless body melting into a puddle of limpid desire.
But that desire was suspended as he turned away to put wood on a fire she hadn't known was there. In a daze of readiness, she waited for him to return to her side, and once back, he knelt and rested a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't be frightened of me," he said, gazing deep into her eyes. "I won't hurt you."
"I know you won't," she said softly, recognizing the voice. It was that of her rescuer. Her champion. "You've been very kind." And gentle. Yet there was no gentleness in his eyes. They ate hers.
Dee had trouble keeping her heavy eyelids open, so deep was her arousal. She couldn't seem to remember to breathe and the light-headedness was getting worse.
"You removed the compress," he said, in such a strange voice she felt a shiver chase down her spine.
"I had to," she replied. "Too much liquid."
He nodded. "I should have thought of that," he said, and his forehead creased into a frown of such beauty it made her throat ache just to look at it.
They stared at each other in silence and a stray breeze came through the opened door-flap caught the feather hanging from his hair, brushing it against his slightly parted lips.
Dee felt her own lips tingle. She imagined herself as that feather, hiding in his silky hair, brushing over his lips, perhaps sliding inside. She looked at his dark skin and wanted to taste every inch of it, wanted to hear the fierceness in his eyes escape his lips.
"I don't even know your name," she said, wanting to draw the moment out even as she knew it couldn't go on much longer.
"Among my people I am known as Long Shadow," he replied and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice.
She nodded. "I like your name. It suits you." There was a sound of permanence about it that made her think of canyons and tall trees. A dependability she sensed in the man too. Having given his word, he would keep it. He'd make a formidable champion. And an unforgettable lover.
He was staring into her eyes again, but reluctantly, as though he couldn't break away.
"Are there others?" she asked. "Other…?"
"Redskins?" He gave the word an odd inflection but she was too dazed to look for hidden meanings. "No. We are alone," he assured her.
"Good." Any second now he'd reach for her, yet she prolonged the moment with conversation. "My name is Wendee — "
Disconcertingly, his eyes flickered and managed to disengage from hers. "I know you are Wendee. You are Peter's Wendee," he said, and abruptly released her shoulder to sit back cross-legged.
Dee lay still, staring at him, lost to this sudden shift of intention. Her body cried, come back to me, take me, but her mind argued caution.
She knew he desired her. She'd seen it in his eyes. And he'd already touched her intimately… when he'd thought she was asleep.
What did that mean? He didn't look shy. There must be another reason. Perhaps he thought she belonged to Peter and was not to be tampered with?
That was a misconception she could quickly dispel. "I've been with the Lost Boys and the mermaids," she said, displaying her credentials.
"I know. My camp overlooks the mermaid lagoon," he replied, his face curiously expressionless. "I watched you there every day."
She caught her breath, the liquid desire resurging. He'd seen… "What did you see?"
"I saw…" He blinked, a slow deliberate motion. "…two women."
"Making love?"
There was a pause where she held her breath. Then he said, "Yes. I saw that. Many times."
Dee nodded. She could feel the flow between them. Their eyes were locked and sexual energy coursed through her. The weakness she'd felt moments earlier was gone. She wanted this man and she wanted him now.
"I wish I'd known you were watching," she said, her breaths coming more quickly as the heat of his gaze worked on her. She could almost feel her juices flowing, her muscles growing lax. She licked her lips and he followed the movement with deadly attention.
"Someone always watches," he replied softly, his eyes still on her lips.
"Even now?"
"I watch now."
"What do you see?" she asked. And as his eyes returned to hers, her hand rose to rest on his thigh. Beneath the soft buckskin his muscles were tensed and hard, and the combination of sensations was breathtaking. Her fingers spread in a stroking action, enjoying the feel of it.
"I see a woman…" his voice was barely above a whisper, his chest, under the breast-plate, rising and falling faster than her own.
"Who…?" she prompted, her hand drifting closer to the symbol of masculinity she'd so wanted Skye to experience — the testosterone driven force she herself wanted to feel rampant between her thighs.
Lying so close to him, she could scent the muskiness of his desire. But one sense wasn't enough. She wanted to touch and taste and see this warrior's ultimate weapon. She wanted it to conquer her.
And he knew. His eyes were staring straight into hers and she knew it must all be there for him to see.
She wanted to hear it. "What do you see?" she asked again, softly, seductively.
"I see a woman…" A muscle twitched along his jawline. "I see… a woman who's yet to regain her strength," he finished purposefully, his hand closing over hers to return it gently but firmly to her side.
Dee blinked, as though she'd been slapped, and her preoccupation with her own desire dissipated as the focus of her attention switched back to Long Shadow.
"I'll make broth," he said, only the slight tremor in his voice betraying his arousal. "You're not ready for solid food yet."
She watched incredulously as he rose in a single smooth motion to move about the inside of the tepee collecting pouches and a gourd. That done, he knelt at the fire with his back to her and began preparing the meal.
He wasn't going to make love to her.
Dee felt panic welling up inside. Sex was like eating and breathing to her now. She needed it to survive. But having accepted Peter's dominion over her life, she must have faith in him to provide for her.
She closed her eyes, forcing her mind to blankness. She heard his movements, the crackle of the fire, the slight breeze that had sprung up outside. It was familiar, comfortable, and she let it soothe her feverish body. After a time she felt some calm come over her. But she was still a long way from understanding.
Long Shadow seemed to be struggling with himself, but why? Was he under some constraint, as Christophe had been? It didn't make sense.
Unless this was another of Peter's tests.
Long Shadow came back to her. "Here it is," he said, seating himself beside her again. "Can you sit up?"
She opened her eyes. "I think so," she said, accepting his help and deliberately hiding how affected she was by his arm around her shoulders, the closeness of his body to hers and the scent of his skin. She simply drank the broth, her eyes gazing at nothing over the edge of the wooden cup as she thought.
"That was good," she said blandly as she finished the cupful, all he'd allow for her first meal. Then he settled her back onto the fur and they looked at each other.
"I think you should try to sleep," he said.
"Yes, I am tired," she lied, knowing the arousal that throbbed within her yet, would not allow rest. "Can I have the compress back?"
Her question had been guileless but Dee could see he was unsure. "You don't need it any more."
She probably never had. "I want it," she persisted. "My eyes feel sore."
He leant closer to look at them, his hair spilling over her breasts.
"The right one especially," she said, pointing at it.
He touched the pad of a finger to the delicate skin beneath her eye and drew down the bottom lashes, leaning closer. The silky strands of hair slid up her chest, caressing the hardened nipples that strained towards him. She held her breath.
"I can't see any damage."
"Well it hurts." She stared at his lips, memorizing them for future reference.
"Are you sure?" He straightened, his hair sliding off her chest.
She let out a shaky breath. "Definitely," she said, and a moment later felt the familiar light pressure over her eyes. Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled. "Thank you. I might want it on for a few days yet. I hope that won't be inconvenient."
Dee heard no sigh of relief but was sure it was there. "We'll… work something out," he said.
"Good. And by the way, thank you for saving my life."
There was a pause. She felt a touch on her forehead, light fingers brushing her fringe back. Then the hand was gone.
"That's what Champions are for," he said enigmatically and Dee wished she could see the expression on his face.
She wished that many times over the next few days. But curiosity was easily subdued when the reward was a return to their earlier intimacy.
Exactly as she'd suspected, as soon as the compress was back in place, she had but to feign sleep and he would lavished her body with attention.
Deliciously slow sponge-baths that made every nerve in her body tingle with anticipation were followed by drying with the softest of furs. He would linger over her throat and the top of her chest before floating over her straining nipples on his way down to tease her inner thighs and the back of her knees.
It was heaven and hell. She struggled with herself in an effort to lay still, so desperate became her need. But she knew to wait. The cream would be next. He applied that at least five times a day, many more times than were necessary, she was sure, but as with the first, each time he gave her the release she craved.
The waking hours were different. At first he was distant with her, but the handicap of her dark world soon drew him in and he began to talk, about the beliefs of his people and their connection with the land. In turn, Dee told him of the country of her birth, and her childhood among the pastureland, the dams and the stately gums.
Neither made reference to their lives immediately prior to Never Land, and in that Dee was content. She could maintain the fantasy Peter had constructed for her and also avoid the subject of women in Long Shadow's past, which whenever she thought of it, bothered her. Despite the fact that he was clearly experienced, she wanted to think she was the only woman he'd touched. And so, in the fantasy, she did.
For his part, he appeared to enjoy the burden of caring for her and the anticipation of her needs. He fed her by hand. Soup at first, then small delicacies — bite-sized pieces of unidentified meat in an oystery sauce. Protein to help her regain her strength, he said as he slid them into her mouth.
It frustrated her that the only physical contact he'd allow was with his hands, and she found herself increasingly lascivious with them, especially at mealtimes. She'd lick his fingers and capture them with her mouth, sucking them if he'd let her, and all the while imagining what was happening to his body — the body she was denied.
But her body was not denied to him and within the boundaries he'd set himself, he gave her every pleasure she could imagine. First it had been only his hands. Then when he discovered she responded to the feel of his hair sliding over her trembling skin, that too was added to his repertoire. A simple feather became the pathway to indescribable ecstasy, and when on the fourth day she felt his lips against her breast, she knew they were close to a breakthrough.
Yet she held herself still, wary of disrupting his concentration. The culmination of his excruciatingly restrained courtship meant more to her now than merely another physical pleasure — a different orgasm. It would be proof that he could no longer deny the connection between them.
His gentle touch and soft voice were disguises for the conquering warrior she sensed within him, the man she wanted as her mate. She'd felt it in the tremor of his hands and the strained edge his voice sometimes assumed.
It could only be a matter of time before that fierce demand broke through, overwhelming her with its potency, and she would be ready then with her own passion. She wanted no other. Only this man. And she'd not be satisfied with the mere capitulation of his body. She wanted his heart and mind as well.
But she didn't let herself think on these strange longings as she lay still as death, allowing herself only the occasional sigh as his lips, soft as the feather that had preceded it, brushed over her quivering skin, his tongue emerging to savour the taste of first one tight nipple, then the other.
His breath was hot on her throat as his lips trailed kisses up to her chin, then on to the edges of her mouth. She held her breath as his lips brushed fully against hers. Then she sighed, her breath easing into his mouth as it became one with hers in the deepest, most fulfilling kiss she could have imagined. A kiss that made her forget the taste of every other man. A kiss that spoke of love even as it inspired her to lust. The moment had come.
She reached up and removed the compress.