He did, only to kiss his way up her body. "Don't you see, Tink?" He supported himself with one hand, his other undoing his pants. "There's no reason to wait now. There's no getting older for you."
He was up against her, hard as steel, large as the rest of him. His weight was on her thighs and hips and chest, pinning her down so she couldn't even kick at him.
"No!"
"You're going to look this way for the rest of my life." He moved, seeking her entrance. "But the beauty of it is that with you being an elf, no one will think anything of you being young."
"Get the hell off me!" She got her hands to his face, thumbs pressing in warning at the edges of his eyes. "I said no! You of all people should understand that no is no."
"I love you, Tink."
"Then get off me. We're not doing this, not now, not this way. Be nice, and there's still a chance for us. Force me, and I'll press charges."
He stilled, hurt and guilt warring for control of his face. "Tink."
Was it a plea for forgiveness, or permission to continue? She couldn't tell, and it was rendered moot by a sword blade suddenly appearing at Nathan's neck.
"Naetanyau!" The elf from the Rolls growled, pressing the sword tip until it cut Nathan's skin and Nathan's blood dripped onto Tinker's breasts. "Batya!"
Nathan jerked back, shoving Tinker up and over the back of the couch like a rag doll as he moved. While she found herself deposited behind the sofa, Nathan tumbled back, coming up with his pistol. "Put down the weapon!"
"What the hell are you doing?" she shouted at the elf in Low Elvish. "I told you to leave me alone!"
Both males moved toward her, and checked as it brought them closer together.
"Put down the weapon!" Nathan commanded again.
"Ze domou ani said that I was to watch over you," the elf said to Tinker in Low Elvish. "This man was forcing himself on you. I couldn't allow that."
"Put down the weapon!" Nathan cocked his pistol. "Drop it or I'll shoot!"
And he would. Tinker edged between the men, facing Nathan, holding out her hand in warding. "Nathan! Nathan! Don't. He's just protecting me. He thought you were going to rape me."
Nathan flinched at that. "Tell him to put the sword away."
God, what was the word for policeman? "He's—he's a law enforcer," she said to the elf. "Put the sword away, or he'll kill you." That just got a look of stubbornness from him. "I command you to put your sword away."
That got a startled look. The elf obeyed grudgingly.
"Put your gun away, Nathan."
"Who the hell is he?"
"He works for Windwolf. Put the gun away."
Nathan holstered his pistol and zipped his pants. Tinker picked up her towel and wrapped it around her again; it seemed to have shrunk in size over the last few minutes and was woefully inadequate at covering her.
"What's his name?" Nathan asked.
Tinker looked to the elf, expecting him to answer, since the question had been fairly basic English. He gave no indication of understanding. "Do you know any Pitsupavute?" The human language spoken in Pittsburgh, or in other words, English.
The elf nodded stiffly and said in English, "No. Stop. Don't. Water. Rest room. Please. Thank you. Yes. Go." Had he listed them purposely in order, to indicate he understood her refusing Nathan? His English used up, he switched back to Elvish. "Windwolf did not expect you to leave home, so my lack of Pitsupavute seemed unimportant."
"What's your name?" Tinker asked the elf.
"Galloping Storm Horse On Wind." He gave it in Elvish, which was Waetata-watarou-tukaenrou-bo-taeli, which made her grimace. "My family calls me Little Horse, so domi zae says I would be Po-nie." Po-nie? Pony! "If you find that easier, I would be pleased for you to call me that."
"Yes. Thank you," she said. She switched to English. "His name is Stormhorse, but he says I'm to call him Pony."
Nathan snorted at the name, then sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Tinker. I had no right to do that."
"Damn right you didn't." She had trusted him more than almost anyone else on the planet. She wished Stormhorse had waited, given Nathan a chance to back off and apologize. She wanted desperately to believe he would have, that her trust in him could remain intact. That things could go back to the way they were.
He raked a hand through his hair, and then stood tugging at it, as if he wanted to yank the whole handful out. "It's just I spent all those years, wanting you so badly, and I finally had you. You were going to be mine. There was nothing stopping the whole marriage and kids and growing old together thing. Then Windwolf walked up, waltzed you away, and I let him. I fucking let him take you to do anything he damn well pleased to you. I've been going nuts the last three days, trying to find you, and now . . ." He held out his hand to her, tears coming to his eyes. "It's like he killed you, and all I have left is an elfin shadow. I just wanted to claim you, before he took that too."
"Your timing sucks. If—if—if . . ." If what? She didn't know what to say to make things right. Could anything make things right after he'd almost raped her? After Windwolf had made her into an elf? After she'd gone molten in Windwolf's arms? Would she have said no to Nathan if Windwolf's smell and touch weren't still lingering in her mind?
"If things were different?" Nathan asked. "The shitty thing is, they were different until Windwolf did this to you without even asking."
"I know," she whispered. "Look, things are too screwed up right now. I'm hungry, and confused, and hurt, and scared. Don't ask me to make decisions like this. You're just hurting me."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Go home."
"Tinker—Tink—please . . ."
The front door opened, and Oilcan walked in.
8: Redefining Self
Oilcan called out, "Tinker? Are you here?" as he came through the door and then checked at the sight of angry Stormhorse, flustered Nathan, and Tinker in a towel.
The sight of Oilcan destroyed all control Tinker had, and she went to him, suddenly crying. Her cousin held her without asking questions, and the males regarded each other in tense silence.
"I think it's time for you to go," Oilcan said quietly, and Nathan left without another word.
Stormhorse's hand rode his hilt, and he eyed Oilcan with open suspicion.
"Nagarou." Oilcan identified himself as a sister's son of Tinker's father. His Elvish had always been better than hers. He and Stormhorse launched into a High Elvish discussion, faster than she could follow, which ended with Stormhorse bowing and letting himself out of the loft. And then Oilcan held her until she wept herself out. Then, in fits and starts, mostly from editing out what she didn't want him to know, she told him about Windwolf and Nathan.
"Look at me; I'm shaking so bad."
"If you haven't eaten anything for three days, then you're probably weaker than you think. Stormhorse went to get you something to eat."
"He did?" She got up. "Where would he get anything this time of night?"
"I don't know. Why don't you get dressed before he comes back?"
So she went back to her bedroom to dress. She found herself pawing through her underwear drawer, looking for the plainest pair of panties she owned. She stopped herself, picked a pair randomly off the top, and pulled them on. Clean jeans, a T-shirt, socks, and then her boots. She stomped around, feeling more like herself.
Oilcan had cleared her kitchen table, wiped it clean, and was washing her few pots and dishes. She got a clean towel and started to dry.
"How long do you think it will take him to get back?"
The sweep of headlights through her loft announced Pony's return.
"Not long," Oilcan said dryly.
She smacked him with the towel and went to open the door.
Pony came in carrying stacked wicker baskets, wreathed in the perfume of heavenly smelling food. Setting the baskets lightly on her table, he undid the lid and lifted it off to reveal noodle soup in the hand-painted bowl of an enclave restaurant.
"I didn'
t think enclaves did takeout." Tinker sat down on the footstool, leaving her two battered and mismatched chairs for the males.
"I persuaded them to do so this one time." Pony sat the noodle soup in front of her. "It would be best if you eat this first."
"Why this?" The noodles were long as spaghetti but nearly as thick as her pinkie and had a slightly waxy appearance. After her experience with the beer, she eyed the soup with suspicion.
"Rich foods on an empty system might upset your stomach, and you need to eat as much as possible. This has very little fat."
Oilcan found her a spoon, and she tried the stock. It was keva bean paste mixed with hot water, simple but delicious. She had to fight to get the noodles into her mouth. Despite their looks, they were mild but good.
"I told them of your nagarou, and they sent enough to share." Pony unlocked the top basket and lifted it off, exposing the next level of food: steamed meat dumplings.
"Mauzouan! You can count me in." Oilcan fetched plates and silverware, got himself a beer from the refrigerator, and settled at one of the chairs. Pony unloaded the rest of the baskets, but remained standing.
"Why don't you sit?" Oilcan paused in sharing out the mauzouan to three plates.
"I am Tinker domi's guard. I should stand."
"Sit," Tinker snapped.
Pony wavered a moment, then pulled out a chair and sat unhappily. "This isn't proper."
"Currently I'm too peeved to care," Tinker snapped.
Wise man that he was, Oilcan set a dish of mauzouan in front of Pony without comment.
With Pony on the other side of the table, and food in her hands, Tinker could study him now at leisure. While pretty as all elves tended to be, he was by far the most solid of elves she'd ever seen. He wore wyvern armor, harvested from a beast that ran to the dark blues, with an underlining of black leather to keep the sharp edges of the overlapping scales from cutting him since they themselves couldn't be dulled. The armor left his arms bare from the shoulders. Permanent protection spells were tattooed down his arms like Celtic knots. For reasons she thought were no more than artistic, the spells were done in graded shades of cobalt; they shifted with the play of his muscles. Unlike most elves she knew, who wore dazzling jewelry, from complex dangling earrings to rings, Pony's only decoration was dark blue beads woven into his black hair.
While previously it had seemed to Tinker impossible to judge an elf's age, Pony struck her as young, but she couldn't tell if that was from some hint in his face or just his manner. He fairly bristled with weapons: a long sword strapped to his back, a pistol riding his hip, and knife hilts peeking out of various locations. Still, he met her gaze with a look that shifted from open honesty, to slight embarrassment, to bewildered confusion, and back around again.
"Where is Windwolf?" Oilcan asked as Tinker ate her soup and studied Pony.
"A message came from Aum Renau." Pony glanced at them to see if they understood. Aum Renau was the name of the palace on Elfhome in roughly the same place as the Palisades were on Earth—overlooking the Hudson River, near New York City. "His presence was requested by Queen Soulful Ember. He couldn't refuse the summons. He had to go. He wished to leave Sparrow to care for you. She's quite fluent in Tanianante"—the Elvish for "those many human languages"—"and Pitsupavute. The queen, however, requested her appearance specifically along with Windwolf's."
"The queen is in the Westernlands?" Oilcan asked.
"It is very unexpected. She has not been here since the treaty signing," Pony said. "He wished to bring Tinker domi with him, but he didn't want to take her so far away without consulting her first."
That would have pissed her off proper, but at least it would have saved her from Nathan being a jerk.
"How did Windwolf change me?"
"I-I do not really know, honestly." Pony screwed up his face, and Tinker suddenly liked the sturdy dark elf. "I am only of the sekasha caste, and still considered young. The domana understand the great transformation spells. Windwolf took blood samples while you slept; by the old reckoning, you're genetically domana caste now."
She shivered. "What do you mean 'by the old reckoning'?"
"There was a time when clan leaders often transformed their most trusted followers to domana caste. They were then considered full equals by the rest of the caste."
"And now?"
Pony touched his own forehead where Tinker bore Windwolf's mark. "There is the dau."
Which Maynard said elevated her to Windwolf's caste.
"When is Windwolf coming back?" Oilcan asked.
"He couldn't say," Pony said. "But if he can't return soon, he might choose to send for Tinker domi." Seeing the look on her face, Pony added, "If she wishes to join him."
* * *
Unfortunately, all the wonderful food meant lots of delicate dishes to be cleaned. Still, with all three of them washing and drying, the work went quickly. Pony, however, made no sign of leaving.
"Shouldn't you go back to the lodge?"
"Windwolf told me to guard over you. I can't do that at the lodge."
"So, you plan to stay with me until Windwolf comes back to say otherwise?"
"Yes."
Oh, great.
Tinker saw the look on Oilcan's face. "What?"
"You're sleeping at my place tonight," Oilcan said in English. "I wasn't crazy about you being alone, but him here too—I'd feel better being close."
"Then stay the night."
"You only have your bed and the couch."
"Oh, yes. Okay." She sighed and yawned. "Your place."
* * *
Oilcan had lucked into a place on Mount Washington, a sprawling three-bedroom condo in a high-rise apartment building, on the sole condition that he keep the elevator, air-conditioning, and heat working. His balcony looked out over downtown Pittsburgh and the endless canopy of elfin forest.
Pony worked to make himself invisible to them, keeping still and quiet. As Oilcan went to check on his rarely used guest beds, Tinker strolled out onto the balcony and looked down at the city.
Why had Windwolf changed her? Was it a gift for saving his life—a life for a life? Or was it more, as the sex implied? Did he love her? And what exactly did she feel about his gift? It was too frighteningly huge to handle. She was an elf.
"You okay?" Oilcan padded out onto the balcony with her.
"I'm fine—just a little rattled. What about you?"
"You mean, how am I with this?" Oilcan flicked his hand up and down to indicate her new body. "I'm cool. So you've got dorky ears." He leaned out and fingered one tip, and it felt embarrassingly good.
"Hey, don't mess with the ears."
Oilcan jerked his hand back and looked hurt. "Sorry."
"It's just—they're erogenous zones."
"Oh. Oh!"
"Exactly."
"Are we still cousins? At least in the genetic sense?"
"Would it matter if I'm not?"
"No, but it would be comforting if you were." Oilcan took her hand. "After my mother died, Grandpa said something to me. He said that as long as I and my children after me lived, my mother would be alive, living on through her bloodline. It's how humans reach immortality. It's why he made sure you were born, even after your father had died so long ago."
They lapsed into silence.
"Lain could check and see," Tinker whispered. "We could go see her tomorrow."
"But what if she says we're not?" She wondered how much it meant to him. If it meant a lot, she wouldn't give up Oilcan for Windwolf; she'd find some way of getting back to her real self.
"Whatever Lain finds, you'll always be my best friend and little sister."
"Little sister?"
"Based on love, not blood," Oilcan said. "Nobody can touch that if we don't let them."
She hugged him hard and wondered if he wasn't the smarter of the two of them.
* * *
They made an odd threesome on Lain's porch. Oilcan with his blatant humanity, Pony unmistakably elfi
n, and Tinker caught somewhere between the two. Lain answered the door, went pale at the sight of Tinker, and murmured, "Oh dear. Oh dear."
"It's really not that bad." Tinker tried for a brave front, and then failed. "Is it?"
Lain gazed at her for another minute before saying, "No, love, no. It's fine. Come in. I'd ask what in the world happened, but it's obvious that Windwolf happened."
"Pony, this is Lain." Tinker introduced the warrior. "Lain, this is Galloping Storm Horse On Wind, but he goes by Pony. He's one of Windwolf's bodyguards, but he's been told to guard over me. He doesn't speak English."
The two bowed to each other.
Lain led the trio back to her sprawling kitchen. Pony ranged through it and the connecting rooms, looking for danger.
"Where's his master?" Lain asked quietly in English, avoiding Windwolf's name.
Tinker followed suit as she explained about the queen's summons as Lain put the teakettle on. "Oilcan and I want you to test us to see how much he changed me—are we still cousins?"
"Of course you are!" Lain cried, then saw the looks on their faces. "There's a good chance you'll only be disappointed. He's obviously done something quite radical."
"But I'm still me. I feel the same. I think the same way. I have all my memories." Tinker had woken in a blind panic the night before, searched through old memories, factored out several large numbers, and considered a fix to one of her newer inventions before satisfying herself at that level. "The only thing different seems to be my sense of taste. Beer tastes awful, and I couldn't stand the instant hot chocolate this morning. Pony wouldn't drink it either."
"Well, beer is bitter because of the hops." Lain shooed Pony out of her path to the fridge with her crutch. "Elves seem to have evolved an intolerance to alkaloids. That's why they avoid coffee, tea, and nicotine in addition to the many toxic alkaloid-containing plants we stay away from as well."
"Well, that kills most of my favorite drinks," Tinker said.