The nereid’s embrace

Lux just has the presence of mind to suck down a lungful of air before she’s pulled under. The sudden movement and the rush of cold jerk her to her senses. Yet for a moment, she’s lost – disoriented in the swirling water. Her feet kick in search of the riverbed, finding no purchase. Where is – ?

Before she sees it, she feels its touch; like silk on her naked skin, cool and yet pleasant. The fey’s body coils against hers, and she almost exhales in surprise. A gentle hand on her breast, a thigh sliding up between her legs, lips kissing her neck…

Then that face, glimpsed in the watery murk. Stunning, yes, alluring, but some deep instinct tells Lux she’s in terrible danger. This is…what is the word? Naiad? Nixie? Something from the horror stories of sailors and fishermen, something that lures and kills.

Yet even as she hesitates, she’s pulled deeper, further from the valley’s hazy daylight. The world vanishes away. The rushing water steals sight and sound – all but the half-glimpsed vision of primal beauty, and the feral moans of the water-spirit carrying through touch as she kisses, licks, rubs herself against Lux.

Lux clenches her jaw, desperately holding on to all the air she has left. She tries to push away, to swim up, to break the surface – but her tired limbs only thrash feebly in the river fey’s grip. Another hand, small and delicate but with deceptive strength, strokes her cheek before moving down to close around her throat. Pushing her down, deeper.

Lux looks up into those cold, hungry eyes. There is no world now outside of her and the fey who seems to be everywhere at once; one hand now squeezing her hip before slipping between her thighs, teasing her entrance, while those small breasts now brush against her much bigger ones, making her nipples harden at the electric pleasure…

It’s too much. Lux wants to scream all the air from her lungs: in fear, in frustration, anger at her own carelessness, not to mention the passion that builds inside her with every silken touch. Maybe it’s for the best – better to go out this way than as a victim of the mites or some other idiot thing. The spirit’s face draws closer, leaning in to bring their lips together, and Lux is certain that will be the end. If only—

Through the roaring of the river, a distant, tinny sound reaches her. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the splash, and then a dull gleam of light. A small metallic shape, trailing bubbles as it sinks quickly down.

Lux’s failing mind kicks into gear. The knife – Minn must have thrown it in. It belonged to the gnome, the alchemist. Surely he would arm himself to fight the fey – cold-worked iron –

If only she can reach it…