"Let me see!" He pulled away the towel.
"Nathan!" she cried, trying to tug the towel out of his hands, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Then the mountain moved of its own will, lowering itself to kiss her bared skin. When Windwolf had kissed her in the same way, it had been like plugging straight into a 220 line. This hurt in a way that had only a little to do with bruising flesh. "Nathan! Don't! Stop!"
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.