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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
If Wishes Were Horses
Copyright © 2008 by Sarah Leslie
ISBN: 1-60504-058-4
Edited by Sasha Knight
Cover by Anne Cain
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
electronic publication: July 2008
If Wishes Were Horses
Sarah Leslie
Dedication
To all the members of the OWG, the critique team, the erotic romance crit corner. To
Donna for beta reading and to my editor Sasha. Without you all, I’d never have come this
far.
If Wishes Were Horses
Chapter One
The worst thing about attending fairy balls is the petticoats, fumed Lily as she
stomped her way through the forest. They tripped her up, scratched her thighs and rucked
up her ass. The backbiting, sniping and bitching, also de rigueur at these events, paled in
comparison.
For the one hundred and seventh time, the blue satin hem of her gown snagged on
brambles. She stopped, blew the carefully arranged ringlets off her forehead, closed her
eyes and counted to ten. “Shit!” That hadn’t helped at all. She was still pissed, and the
dress was still caught.
Twisting the fabric of her skirt in her fist, she gave a hard yank and ignored the
sound of tearing. Within moments of the material coming free the jagged edges rejoined,
bringing new meaning to the term “invisible repair”. Self-cleaning, self-mending ball
gowns may have gone out of fashion decades ago but they were a hell of a lot more
practical than a plunging neckline.
Maybe turning up at Alaric’s cottage already dressed for the Reconciliation Ball was
a bad idea. Presenting him with a fait accompli seemed the best solution when she first
hatched this plan. If he saw her in the dress, he’d assume she wanted to go and because
the event was couples only, he’d volunteer to take her. He knew no one else would offer.
Never mind that once they arrived most couples would be looking for fairer game. Stage
one would be complete. Stage two would be trickier and stage three… She couldn’t think
that far ahead.
The path opened into a clearing and her steps slowed. She could make out his shape
through the trees. Working—as usual. Even though the sun was low in the sky he would
labor until the light completely faded. Sometimes he’d bring lamps into the garden so he
could continue working well into the night.
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This was her favorite time of day. Usually she’d be sitting on the back step of his
cottage watching him work, not skulking in the shrubbery.
He’d made it pretty clear two weeks ago that he wasn’t attending the ball, and at the
time she’d agreed with him. They’d have a nice evening of their own, just the two of
them, drinking mulled wine, telling stories. But then Jacintha had come to see her. The
arguments of the old lorikii witch had changed her mind.
So what if just the thought of Lord Valerian grated on her last nerve. Whatever his
many faults, he loved Alaric, and Alaric loved him. She should be bringing them closer
together, not be the wedge that kept them apart. Soooooo…explain to Alaric her attitude
reversal or just not bother? Just not bother. She was a woman, she could change her mind
without explanation if she wanted to. But she was also his friend, and friends were loyal.
She kicked into the undergrowth. This being nice thing was hard.
She paused behind the pale trunk of a silver birch, half-hidden, drinking her fill of
the sight of him, whilst she procrastinated.
Alaric stood just outside the invisible protective barrier of an enchanted circle, within
which molten metal moved to his will. The auburn waves of his hair, caught in a strip of
leather at his nape, appeared to glow with a fire of their own. Beneath the material of his
shirt the muscles of his back tensed and relaxed, begging to be touched. His hand twisted
in the air and the liquid gold followed suit, a ribbon of metal breaking free of the main
mass.
Lily swallowed and licked suddenly dry lips, her fingertips digging into the bark. He
was a picture out of myth—Hephaestus at the forge. If only she were his Aphrodite, but
she wasn’t what he wanted or needed. It was past time for her to move on. But first she
wanted Alaric to be happy.
He turned towards her, the scars on his face made prominent in the light burning
from within the circle.
She ducked back behind the tree. Shit. She hated getting caught. One…one hundred,
two…one hundred, three…one hundred. After a few moments she peeked back out.
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His amber eyes were open but seeing nothing apart from the twisting metal in front
of him.
She put a hand to her forehead and let out a relieved sigh. He was in the midst of
creating…something…she squinted…a gold breastplate? An army of marauding orcs
could trample through the clearing and he wouldn’t see them. Lily took a calming breath
and moved closer.
Alaric tried to concentrate on the task at hand. He was a master metalsmith and
mistakes were costly. So, keeping ninety percent of his concentration on forming the
queen’s new breastplate, he used the other ten percent to wonder how long he could
pretend Lily wasn’t hiding behind a tree at the edge of the clearing.
A twig snapped.
“About that long,” he muttered and released his hold on the metal. Without his
support, the construct fell to the floor of his workspace, molten gold dripping down the
inside of the protective barrier. He’d have to pick this up again later.
He put his hand up to stroke the left side of his face. A touch he couldn’t feel through
the ridges of scar tissue. Once upon a time, he’d worked without the safety of the barrier.
His work had been easier then, the results more immediate, the metal working to his will
without effort. The price he’d paid for that arrogance had been high. If he’d kept the hot
metal behind a barrier, his attackers would not have been able to use it against him. His
fingers followed the river of scars to where they disappeared beneath his shirt. Too late to
change things now.
Gods, he was getting maudlin. Living alone in the woods wasn’t doing anything to
improve his social skills or his demeanor.
Lily marched across the clearing towards him, wearing a robin’s egg blue satin ball
gown even he realized was twenty years out of date. She was obviously here to persuade
him to go to the ball. They’d discussed this already. He thought they’d agreed they
weren’t going to attend. He had no interest in subjecting himself to the stares of the fairy
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nobility. Bad enough he had to deal with them as customers, he had no interest in
socializing with them as well.
Strike the maudlin, he was becoming a hermit. He’d be developing a predilection for
sheep next. Good thing the nearest flock was on the other side of the woods, halfway up
the mountain.
“Ahem.” Lily coughed delicately into her hand.
“Nice dress.”
She smiled.
Alaric frowned. Other fairies underestimated Lily at their peril, a mistake he never
made.
“I’ve come to take you to the ball,” she said.
Suspicions confirmed, Alaric backed slowly away from her, his hands held slightly
in front of him, warding her off. Him, one of the Forge Masters, afraid of a slip of a
girl…woman…fairy…a viper in sheep’s clothing.
She came forward and slipped her arm through his, escorting him into his own
cottage. Once inside he broke free of her hold and aimlessly sorted through the
paperwork he’d abandoned on the dining room table. If she’d give him just a few
moments, he could come up with an appropriate excuse. Maybe.
Undeterred, she pushed him aside and took over, rapidly sorting out the various bills
and commissions into neat stacks. “Now, Alaric, I hope you aren’t going to be difficult.”
She looked him up and down. “And that you’ve got something at least halfway decent to
wear.”
“Like your dress?” He regretted the comment as soon as it passed his lips. It was a
low blow. Lily had been nothing but kind to him, treating him as if he weren’t irreparably
damaged.
She stared down at the piece of paper in her hand, blinking back tears. “It’s self-
cleaning and self-mending. Very practical.”
He nodded. “Of course.” Lily, so self-assured and practical. It was sometimes too
easy to forget the little things that pricked like knives—the fact that the only dress she
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had to wear was twenty years out of style. The bitches at court would be quick enough to
point it out. He was her friend, he should know better. “I’m sorry” stuck in his throat. He
no longer apologized. Words were easy to say and they didn’t change anything. “Lily…I
appreciate the thought…but I really don’t want—”
“Valerian will be in attendance. He’s returned from patrolling the border.”
What had he just been thinking about the fairy folk who underestimated Lily at their
peril? She knew how to bait a hook. He could deny it all he wanted to, but his heart leapt
just at the sound of the name. Valerian.
“I heard he was wounded,” she said, nonchalantly ripping a request from the Duke of
Armik in two.
Not only how to bait a hook, but also how to set a trap.
“I heard it was nothing serious.” He came forward and wrestled the rest of his
paperwork out of her hands.
She smiled, crumpled another of the sheets up and threw it over her shoulder.
He followed its spiraling progress as it landed in the fireplace. Even though he’d not
built a fire that day, the edges of the paper began to smoke and curl, turning brown then
black. He could just make out the vague shape of a coat of arms, but had no idea who the
commission was from. What was he trying not to think about?
Ah…yes…Valerian…wounded.
Suddenly, she went to her knees, pressing her face to his leather-clad thigh. “Oh,
Alaric! I never could fool you. Please take me to the ball. If you don’t, I’ll have to accept
Jacintha’s invitation and she’ll expect favors. The Gods alone know what I’ll end up
doing to pay her back.”
He dropped the papers onto the floor, drew her to her feet, prepared to acquiesce to
her demands, to wipe away her tears. Only her cheeks were dry. He scowled. “I don’t like
to go out in public.”
“Yes.” She clasped his hands. “That’s why this is sooooo perfect. Everyone who
attends the ball is entitled to a wish. We’ll arrive unfashionably early and you can make
your wish before anyone else gets there.”
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He leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded. “What will this wish be? You seem to
have everything worked out.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She gestured wildly with her hands. “Wish to be seen as you
want to be seen.”
She stopped, slowed, looked at him with so much love in her eyes it was painful. Not
for the first time he wished he felt the same way about her as she did about him. But it
wasn’t to be. His heart already belonged to another.
“Wish for everyone to see you as you truly are…the way I see you.”
“Lily… It’s meant to be a celebration of reconciliation.” He motioned violently to
his scars. “I’m not reconciled yet.”
“Maybe you should be. Please don’t say no, Alaric.” She clutched his arm, and he
could almost feel her conviction pouring into him. “Valerian will be there. I know you
have feelings for him…from before. This is a chance for you to be with him.”
He turned away. “For one night? It’s not enough.”
“No.” She pulled him back towards her. “Once he sees you…I know…I know it’ll be
enough. Isn’t the prize worth the risk?”
He bent down and kissed her forehead, her flushed skin warm beneath his lips, her
ringlets tickling his nose. The “no” remained locked in his throat. Lily only wanted him
to be happy. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s worth the risk.”
At his words, she smiled and shooed him out of the main room to get changed into
something “more suitable” as she put it.
Once in his bedroom, he shut the door and leaned back against the solid oak. This
was a mistake. Valerian was beyond his reach. Yet the ability to deny Lily eluded him.
She asked for so little, and if he was honest part of him wanted to go, wanted to see
Valerian again. It had been so long.
Within his chest, he felt the barely mended cracks in his heart begin to break apart.
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If Wishes Were Horses
Chapter Two
Alaric tried to stand firm against Lily’s hand at the small of his back. She ignored his
reluctance and propelled him towards the marquee where the Wish Fairy would be
granting requests. The large tent had been erected within the grounds of the castle so
guests could have their wishes fulfilled before entering the ball. The billowing fabric at
the entrance rustled ominously in the evening breeze. The past hour had taken on the
sense of unreality he had come to associate with situations whenever Lily got involved.
What was he doing? “I’m not sure this is such a good idea. Maybe we should go.”
Lily came to stand in front of him, her hands fisted on her hips. “We’ve only just got
here.” Whatever she saw in his face stopped the rest of her tirade. “If that’s what you
want, we’ll leave.”
She took his hand but he refused to be led away. “Wait.” He pointed towards the
entrance. “Isn’t there something you want to wish for?”
Lily shook her head. “There’s nothing I’d wish for…for myself. The only thing I
really want is for you to be happy.”
“Lily!” Gods her adeptness at manipulation could be so infuriating. Even worse was
the fact he kept falling for it. He pulled his hand free and entered the tent. “This is a bad
idea.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected having never visited a Wish Fairy before, but he
was sure it wasn’t the tacky décor he found inside the marquee. As a crafter who made
his living through the artistic manipulation of metal, the inside of the tent was enough to
make him wish for temporary blindness. He smiled, though of course loss of sight wasn’t
what he would be wishing for.
He ducked under several layers of pink gauze, in ever-deepening shades, all studded
with tiny crystals—the cumulative effect of which made him feel like he was tunneling
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into the heart of a marshmallow. On the other side of the gauze, deep red curtains
shielded the central area and the fairy who would be granting wishes.
From within came the indistinct sound of voices. He stumbled back a step. It would
be incredibly rude to eavesdrop on somebody else’s wish. Wait a moment—the tent
shouldn’t have allowed him access if it was in use. He crept forward and tentatively
pulled back the curtain.
Swathed in crimson satin, the center of the tent gave the illusion of standing within a
rose. At one side of the room, a female fairy in a huge multi-skirted ball gown—also
sprinkled with crystals—stood facing a full-length mirror, hands clasped in front of her,
translucent wings fluttering uncontrollably behind. “Pleased to meet you… No… That’s
not quite right.” She frowned. “Greetings…I’m Flora and will be granting your
wishes…” She twisted her hands in the voluminous skirts of her dress.
Titania’s ass. Who on Earth thought it was a good idea to put Flora in charge of the
wishes? Was it still possible for him to make it out of here and convince Lily this was the
worst idea ever? He stepped backwards.
Flora spun round, a dazzling smile on her face, her hands still caught in the fabric of
her dress. “Hello!” Her smile dimmed when he said nothing. “Alaric, can I help you?”
“A wish.”
She beamed at him. “That’s what I’m here for.” With a snap of her fingers, an
ornately carved chair appeared and she lowered herself into the seat, spreading her skirts
out as she did so. Another snap of her fingers and the mirror disappeared, followed by the
sound of breaking glass outside the marquee.
Alaric winced. This expedition was doomed from the outset.
“Please,” implored Flora. “Give me a chance. I know I can do this.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. What a trio the three of them made. Lily the
rebel, he the outcast and Flora…well, he didn’t quite know where to pigeonhole Flora.
She was eager and earnest, wonderful traits in a Labrador puppy. “My wish—”
“Wait.” She held up her hand. “Terms and conditions first.”
“Terms and conditions?”
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“Wishes expire at the next turn. In this case, midnight—”
“Don’t they always?” he interrupted.
She carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. “—shouldn’t be used to inflict harm and are to
be of beneficial use only.” At his skeptical look, she added, “This is meant to be a
celebration of love and reconciliation. Does your wish fall within these guidelines?”
Did it? Did manipulating someone else’s perception count as a beneficial celebration
of love? He thought back to the last conversation he’d had with Valerian.
Six months earlier
In his hands, the sword trembled. He was an artisan not a soldier. The blade reflected
the dying embers of the fire, glowing a dull orange. A fairy weapon forged in steel. He
had achieved the impossible, as requested. The burns on his hands—not from the heat,
but from the magic infused in the metal itself—would take weeks to heal completely.
They would expect him to do this over and over again, until the war was finished. If he
were lucky, he wouldn’t be permanently crippled.
In a sudden move, he struck to the right. The sword scythed through the air,
humming with power—his finest work.
The sound of clapping had him stumbling backwards and hastily sheathing the
weapon.
Lord Valerian lounged in the entrance to Alaric’s workroom at the forge, one foot
casually crossed over the other, arms comfortably folded across his chest. His silver
hair—usually caught in a tight military braid—fell unrestrained almost to his waist, the
points of his ears peeking out provocatively as he moved.
Alaric swallowed. An arrow of heat fired straight to his groin. The two of them had
seen each other often over the past few months, each meeting more charged than the last.
For all that his skills were valued and needed, he was far below Valerian in rank. Their
courtship—if that’s what it was—flouted convention. It had come to the point where
Alaric dreaded and yearned for the next encounter with equal fervor.
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The lordling pushed off from the doorway and gestured at the sword. “Is that weapon
for me?”
Actually, it had been forged at Titania’s request, but since Valerian fought under the
newly crowned queen’s banner, Alaric saw no reason to deny him. He unsheathed the
blade, laid the hilt across his forearm and offered the sword to Valerian.
The goneril lord stepped into the shabby workroom.
Alaric hardly dared breathe.
Valerian accepted the blade and drew it towards him. The sensation of the metal
sliding over his skin—even through the coarse material of his shirt—was an exquisite
caress, almost too much to bear. Alaric bit his lip. This visit was an unanticipated
pleasure. He hadn’t expected to see Valerian for many weeks.
Valerian tested the weight of the blade and parried an imaginary foe, but his gaze
never wavered from Alaric. “It’s a weapon worthy of your skills, Forge Master.”
“Thank you.” Alaric bowed his head so his desire would remain hidden.
Not so easily dismissed, Valerian stepped forward and grasped the leather at Alaric’s
waist, slowly returning the blade to its sheath. “Have you missed me?” he whispered in
Alaric’s ear.
Alaric remained frozen, unable to believe what was happening. Through the open
doorway he could hear the laughter of Valerian’s men. The two of them had never risked
discovery before, always taking care to be private. When the lordling then took his hand,
stroked his fingers across the most recent scars and entwined their fingers, Alaric stopped
breathing. Valerian had obviously become tired of playing games. No more clandestine
meetings. No more hiding away. Was he ready for this?
His heart pounded like a hammer. “Yes. I missed you.” Maybe their relationship
wasn’t appropriate, but the war had taken so much from them all. Surely society would
forgive them? Gonerils didn’t always mate with gonerils, there were exceptions to every
rule. He raised his head and the slumberous desire he saw in Valerian’s eyes further
enflamed his own. The lordling pulled him closer. The distance between their faces
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decreased to nothing. Their lips met, the briefest of touches. Alaric closed his eyes.
“What is this?” he whispered.
Valerian rubbed his mouth back and forth against Alaric’s parted lips. “Just a kiss.”
Alaric stroked his tongue into Valerian’s mouth, the taste of cinnamon spice heady to
his senses. “Are you playing with me?”
The lordling stepped back, brought Alaric’s hand to his lips and crushed his mouth
against the scarred knuckles. “I want you for my mate.”
Valerian wasn’t smiling. Alaric swallowed down the teasing remark he’d been about
to make. The goneril lord was serious, and in his hand he held a ring.
External sounds faded to nothing. There was only the blood rushing through his
veins, the breath soughing in and out of his lungs and the man standing in front of him—
the moment pregnant with anticipation.
“Is that a yes or a no?” asked Valerian, his calm demeanor belied by the way his
hands trembled.
“Yes!” said Alaric. “Yes.”
A bark of laughter escaped Valerian. “I wasn’t sure… I hoped.” He took hold of
Alaric’s left hand, the fingers thickened with scar tissue and in some places still tender
from barely healed burns. He closed the ring in his fist. “You can’t wear this. I’m an
idiot.”
Alaric grasped Valerian by the back of the neck, brought them close until their
foreheads touched. “My idiot,” he murmured. Tilting his head, he brushed his lips against
Valerian’s. “I think I have something that will work.” He turned to his workbench and
picked up a length of silver chain, then held it up so Valerian could slip the ring onto it.
Once the ring was secure he used his magic to seal both ends of the chain together,
creating an unbroken circle.
He offered the chain to Valerian and bowed his head.
The chain touched the back of his neck and at the same time Valerian spoke the
ritual words. “This ring is a symbol of my commitment to you. Do you accept it?”
Alaric looked up. “I do.”
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Valerian smiled. “Then I think we should do something to celebrate.” He slipped his
hand underneath the chain where it lay on Alaric’s chest. “I’ve a yearning to see you
wear nothing but my ring.”
“There’s a half-broken couch in my office,” suggested Alaric.
Valerian pushed him up against the workbench. “Don’t think I can make it that far.”
His hands grasped Alaric’s shirt and pulled it free of his trousers, then up and over his
head.
As soon as his head cleared the material, Alaric bent in for a kiss, his teeth nipping at
Valerian’s lips. “One of us is overdressed.”
“And I’ll stay that way. You don’t see my back ’til the mating night. Remember?”
Alaric smiled. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
“No, you’re definitely persistent.” Valerian undid the buttons of his own shirt. “Now
where were we?” He crowded Alaric back against the workbench.
Alaric closed his eyes and dropped his head back, reveling in sensation. The warmth
of the sun against his face, the rough wood beneath his hands, and Valerian’s knuckles
brushing against his flesh as the goneril wrestled with the buttons on Alaric’s trousers. He
sank his teeth into his bottom lip, stifling his cries of passion, lest the men outside hear.
Valerian may think he was ready for the world to know about them, but thinking and
doing were two different things.
Valerian’s hand closed around his cock. There… Ah Gods! His hips surged forward
and he thrust against Valerian’s grip. This was what he wanted…what he
needed…always.
From outside came the sound of booted feet and voices calling Valerian’s name.
The two of them broke apart, the moment shattered. Alaric refastened his trousers.
Lord Reynard burst into the forge. “Valerian!” He stopped at the sight of them.
Alaric wondered how they must appear. Him shirtless, Valerian bare-chested, skin
sheened with sweat, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. Where was his shirt?
Reynard regained his composure. “Sorry…I didn’t realize… Valerian, we ride.
Torluin’s men have been sighted in the area. We must head back to the castle.”
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Valerian didn’t take his eyes off Alaric.
Reynard punched the doorpost. “We can’t stay here.” He departed without waiting
for a response, shouting instructions to the men outside.
Valerian remained. With Alaric, but apart from him. “I have to go.”
“I heard.” They’d lost the intimacy of the moment. The ring burned like a brand
against his skin.
Valerian quickly did up the buttons of his shirt, tucking it tightly into his trousers.
“You should head to the castle. It isn’t safe here. Not if the pretender has reached this
far.”
Alaric shrugged off the concern. “Forge Masters are a neutral party. We serve. And I
serve by standing ready at my forge.”
In less than three steps, Valerian stood against him, his hand once more on the hilt of
the sword. “When you create weapons such as this, there is no neutrality for you.” He
stroked his hand down the side of Alaric’s face, his neck, then followed the length of the
chain ’til his fingers touched the ring. “You’re stubborn. I don’t expect you’ll listen to
me.” So saying, he pressed a hard, brutal kiss to Alaric’s lips. “I wish you would.”
Alaric watched Valerian’s retreating back and listened as the guard left. In the
silence that remained, he castigated himself. Words didn’t come easily to him, his skills
centered in creating things. He picked up his sketchbook from the bench. He’d carve
something for Valerian, a betrothal gift, something unique. Inspired, he settled down to
work.
It was a short time later that Torluin’s men found him and made the burns on his
hands look insignificant. If he and Valerian had been socially separated before, it was
nothing compared to what they became after Titania secured her throne. The queen learnt
from her mistakes. Instead of forcing everyone to obey her mandates, representatives
from the older races were invited to join an Interspecies Council. But her own people—
the goneril—were held to an even higher standard than before. One he just didn’t
measure up to.
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“Alaric,” Flora prompted. “I asked if your wish fell within these guidelines?”
He banished the memories. “Yes.”
“Then proceed.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap, with her wand clenched
between her fingers, and looked at him with a suitably attentive expression. Though it
was anyone’s guess what thought process actually took place behind her eyes.
“I wish…”
Flora leaned forward.
“I wish…”
She took a deep breath.
“I wish…I wish to be handsome.”
She sighed, leaned back in her chair and waved the wand in a desultory fashion.
“Granted.”
A bang followed by a small puff of smoke. He sneezed. The air cleared.
The plain linen shirt he’d worn on entering the tent had been replaced by silk shot
with gold thread, overlain by a tunic of copper-colored fabric. His boots were now black
leather polished to a brilliant shine, his breeches a soft black fabric with a snug fit. He
looked about for a mirror before remembering Flora had removed it.
“I’ve made you a goneril,” she said. “That’s Valerian’s people, right? Famed for
their beauty and grace.”
“How did you—?”
“Everyone knows, Alaric.” She shook her head. “I just hope this brings you some
happiness.”
He bowed low to her and turned to go.
“Remember the wish expires at midnight.”
“I’ll remember.”
Outside, Lily paced up and down, muttering, “This was such a… Why did I let…?
Jacintha has a lot…”
Alaric paused by the opening of the tent, only catching part of what she was saying
each time she passed in front of him. Any second now she was going to see him standing
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there. Suddenly, the collar of his shirt felt far too tight. He inserted two fingers inside the
neckline and pulled, but it didn’t seem to help any.
At the movement Lily turned and dashed up to him. She looked at him warily.
“Alaric?”
He nodded. “How do I look?”
She took his hand and pulled him away from the tent. Whilst he’d been inside, true
darkness had fallen, lamps had been lit to guide partygoers to the ballroom. The place
wouldn’t be deserted for much longer.
Lily stroked a hand down his chest, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from his
shirt. “You look stunning.” She laughed. “The Wish Fairy made you a goneril? Is that
what you wished for?”
“I wished to be handsome.”
She smiled and glanced away.
“What is it?” Maybe this hadn’t worked the way he thought it would. He caught her
chin and forced her to face him. “You look exactly the same way Flora did when she
granted the wish.”
“Flora’s granting the wishes? Titania’s really scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
“Lily!”
Reaching up, she stroked her fingers down his now unscarred flesh.
Alaric sucked in a startled breath. He’d felt her touch, soft against his cheek. Or did
the magic just make him think he could?
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re beautiful.”
Behind them other couples strolled out of the woods, some heading for the tent,
others ambling up the long drive. Shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts, she
laughed and grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let’s go to the party.”
***
Darvan stared down at the guests arriving for the ball. His hiding place on Valerian’s
balcony was the perfect observation point.
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He watched while Lily and a male he didn’t recognize made their way up the drive.
His fingers tightened on the balustrade, the stone digging into his skin. He’d seen enough.
He slipped back into the bedroom, a single black feather drifting to the floor behind him.
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Chapter Three
His cravat was crooked. Valerian scowled at his reflection. He didn’t look up when
Darvan entered the room from the balcony. How could everything be perfect if he
couldn’t get this damn neckcloth to cooperate? Maybe if he just teased the material
slightly? Excellent…now it was crooked in the other direction.
Valerian threw the neckcloth onto the dresser in disgust. He was never going to be
able to tie the thing right anyway. He focused on where Darvan stood like a monument of
doom. “What?”
“Lily’s here.”
Valerian turned back to the mirror. Should he attempt the cravat again? “That’s what
you wanted. Jacintha delivered on her promise.” Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted
something on the carpet. He pointed to the black feather. “You’re shedding.”
Darvan gracefully knelt and picked up the offending object before depositing it on
the dresser. “The correct term is molting.” He bent and whispered into Valerian’s ear.
“She was escorted by a goneril lord. Guess that means Jacintha hasn’t kept her promise to
you.”
All thought of what he should wear vanished from Valerian’s mind. He half turned
towards the raven prince. “Is that what he thinks I want?”
Darvan took a step back. “Alaric?”
For a moment Valerian thought he saw genuine surprise on the raven’s face.
“That was Alaric?” Darvan glanced back toward the balcony. “I thought you said he
was a Forge Master?”
“He is.” Valerian pulled another loose feather from Darvan’s hairline and placed it
next to the first on the dresser. “But on a night where Titania has released the power of
the wish, you shouldn’t expect anyone or anything to be what they appear.”
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The raven prince nodded. “Point duly noted.” He crossed the room and threw himself
onto the bed—stretched out, booted feet crossed at the ankles, hands behind his head—a
study of rumpled elegance. “Must be difficult for you being able to see through the
glamour.”
“Not difficult… Sad.” Valerian closed his eyes. “Seeing so many people unhappy
with themselves. Pixies flitting through the room, followed by the shadow of the troll
they really are, and at midnight it all changes back anyway.”
“Your Alaric must really want to be with you.”
“But only until midnight.”
Darvan grimaced and changed the subject. “So…will Titania be attending?”
Valerian turned from the mirror and leaned back against the dresser. “Why do you
insist on asking questions to which you already know the answer?”
Darvan became very still. “I don’t like to look into the future unless I have no
choice. Spend too much time seeking visions, you forget who you are.” He smirked.
“Besides it’s just like Titania to throw a Reconciliation Ball when she’s not reconciled.
At least she doesn’t play the hypocrite and attend.”
Valerian stared at the floor. It was easier than facing the raven’s knowing eyes. What
could he say to defend his queen? Most goneril accepted Titania was far from perfect,
even if it wasn’t mentioned in public. She was too young, too easily influenced by the
opinions of others and too powerful. “The idea the other fey would accept her rule merely
because she was the goneril heir had been ill-advised. She didn’t understand enough
about how their various cultures and societies functioned. She offended people.” He met
Darvan’s unblinking stare. “She’s acknowledged there’s a need for an Interspecies
Council.”
“The Council was Torluin’s idea.” The pupils of the raven prince’s eyes expanded,
swallowing first the iris, then the white. Ebony pools of darkness that no longer saw the
present, but witnessed possible futures. “I wish you could see the world he would have
created. The only man born with the potential to unite the fey…all of the fey.”
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Valerian glanced away. It didn’t do well to stare too long into those dark eyes. “Then
why did the ravens fight alongside the goneril during the war?”
The prince swung his legs round so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Utopia
could never last forever. We’re a pragmatic species, we take the long-term view. Titania
is essential to the survival of the fey.” He locked eyes with Valerian. “We’re not the only
ones who think so.”
“Jacintha,” Valerian guessed. He sighed. He’d been so grateful for her help in getting
Alaric to the ball, even if, as it turned out, the Forge Master had come in disguise.
Darvan nodded. “So unlike a lorikii to grant a favor without asking for one in return.
Did you never think it strange that she chose to remain amongst the goneril during the
war?”
Silence descended on the room. Valerian didn’t know where the mention of the war
took Darvan, but he was back in that glade six months ago. The sound of insects buzzing
lazily on the sultry air, the smell of meadow flowers overlain with a coppery tang filled
his nostrils, and his hands covered in blood. Marek’s voice behind him, crowing because
the murder of a Forge Master might mean the end of a war they were all tired of fighting.
He ignored Darvan’s curious stare. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened
in the past. He’d rather concentrate on tonight. “Why are you so interested in Lily?”
Darvan laughed. The tension in the room eased. “How about this? I can promise you
by the end of the evening you’ll understand.”
Valerian folded his arms and waited.
“Not good enough?” asked the raven.
Valerian refused to be placated by the easy response, determined to get at least one
straight answer from Darvan tonight. “No. The woman despises me and I’ve never
understood why.”
The prince stood and smoothed down his tunic. “Raven women are like that.” He
looked over at Valerian. “They get passionate over the most inconsequential things. She
cares for Alaric and you’ve hurt him. The way she sees it, suffering her petty
vindictiveness is a small price for you to pay for the amount of harm you’ve done.”
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Valerian caught hold of Darvan’s arm. “Lily is a raven?”
Darvan patted his cheek. “It’s going to be a most interesting evening.” The prince
checked his pocket watch. “I think it’s time to go.”
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Chapter Four
Alaric sipped his nectar wine and tried to project a confidence he wasn’t feeling.
On entering the magnificent ballroom, he’d been momentarily stunned at the variety
of the guests. He’d never seen so many of the fey races in one place before. Trolls,
dwarves, pixies, lorikii and goneril mingled together. It was overwhelming to say the
least.
His first instinct had been to search for a mirror, and he’d found one in a deserted
reception room, Lily tight at his heels as if she were afraid he’d run if he didn’t like what
he saw. He stood there for five minutes trying to memorize his appearance. Shallow he
knew.
“Is it what you hoped for?” she asked, standing behind him just out of sight of the
mirror.
He’d shaken his head, unable to respond.
“I best go find Jacintha. No doubt she’ll be wondering where I am.”
At that he’d turned from his reflection. “Lily?”
She paused in the doorway, glanced back at him over her shoulder. “A goneril lord
wouldn’t bring a laundress to a ball.”
His heart thumped in his throat at the thought of Lily abandoning him, but he could
hardly look for Valerian if he escorted her. “He would if he were me.”
She smiled. “That’s why I love you.” She’d disappeared into the throng of people
crowding into the ballroom.
He turned back to the mirror. For tonight at least he was a goneril. No matter his
thoughts on Flora before she granted the wish, he gave credit where it was due. He was
beautiful, if not in the way he expected. He didn’t appear the way he had before the
scarring. He hadn’t become some overly refined version of a Forge Master. A good thing
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he supposed, and one he should have thought of. The gossip would be unbearable if
anyone found out what he’d done.
Instead, Flora had removed his scars and distilled his features to their purest form.
His eyebrows feathered delicately over amber eyes, intensified by the brilliant copper
hues of his hair. His nose was aquiline, his chin stubborn. And his ears! He stroked the
delicate point of his left ear, not even trying to control the shudder of pleasure that went
rushing through him at the touch. Forge Masters were of ancient fairy stock, their ears
barely pointed at all. Flora had truly made him over into a goneril. An aristocrat.
So now he waited. Or perhaps hid was a better word. He’d been asked to dance
twice, and refused each offer politely. He wished Lily could just stand with him, if only
to distract him from the butterflies currently residing in his stomach. But that wasn’t
possible. As part of the nobility, he wouldn’t associate with a fairy like her—born
without any form of wings. An ironic form of bigotry, since of the larger fey, only the
lorikii and the Forge Masters were born with true wings. Torluin’s betrayal had plunged
the lorikii into disgrace, and Forge Masters’ wings were removed at birth.
He looked up to the balcony for what felt like the hundredth time since he’d arrived.
Valerian had lived at the palace since he’d returned from patrolling the border, bringing
with him one of the raven princes. When he entered the ball, it would be from that
balcony, descending the staircase into the main room.
“Looking for someone?”
Startled, he found Jacintha poised at his elbow. Dressed in a blinding shade of
yellow, she gazed up at him with a sly smile, her wings folded flat against her back. “I’m
Lady Jacintha. And you are?”
“A—”
She reached up and placed her right index finger over his mouth. “Lord Ciral. It’s a
pleasure to meet with you again. This must make such a lovely change from your
mountain retreat.” Her fingertip stroked across his lips before withdrawing. She stood on
tiptoe and pulled him down so she could whisper in his ear. “Lily sent me over. She said
you looked anxious and anxiety is really not what Valerian is attracted to. Well, she
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didn’t say the last part, but he’s not.” Releasing him and dropping back down to her feet,
she tucked her hand through his elbow. “Don’t look now, but the object of your affection
just entered the room.”
His attention automatically shifted to the balcony. He had a brief glimpse of Valerian
before a vicious pinch from the harpy standing next to him brought tears to his eyes.
“Ouch!” He fixed her with a resounding glare.
“I see you have the goneril scowl down pat.” She tilted her head and smiled up at
him. “I told you not to look. It’s never a good idea to be so obvious.”
“Pinch me again, and I’ll pinch you back.”
“Promises, promises,” murmured Jacintha. But she didn’t try to prevent him from
glancing back towards the staircase.
Valerian’s silver green tunic reminded Alaric of the trembling willows growing near
the stream at his cottage. The lordling had restrained the shimmering length of his silver
hair in a formal braid. He looked different from the last time Alaric had seen him, but he
couldn’t pinpoint how. At his side, the raven prince loomed like a shadow, dressed in
black, his forbidding countenance softened by the smile he shared with the goneril
nobleman.
Alaric looked down at Jacintha. “Are they…?”
“Lovers?”
He nodded.
“No, not to my knowledge. Just friends.”
He released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Now, how did he get
himself introduced to Valerian? It wasn’t possible for him to just stroll up and say,
“Remember me?”
Jacintha plucked the wineglass from where he clutched it in his fingers. “Dance with
me.”
“I don’t dance,” he muttered.
She took a sip from his glass of wine. “I wondered why you turned Raphael down.
He is rather gorgeous.”
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“I didn’t come here to dance with anyone.”
“That’s all right.” She discarded the glass on a nearby table and grabbed his hand. “I
much prefer to lead.”
A few seconds later, Alaric found himself in the middle of the dance floor, a place as
far out of his comfort zone as it was possible to get. He froze. They hadn’t even begun to
dance yet and he could see fingers pointing at them. “People are staring,” he hissed down
at Jacintha. She barely made it to the middle of his chest—they must look ridiculous. He
was about to make a fool of himself in front of Valerian.
“They’re staring because you’re the most beautiful man here tonight.” She laughed.
“If you could see the look on your face. Close your mouth, dear. There might be moths in
the room. Now, put one hand on my shoulder, the other on my waist and just leave
yourself in my capable hands.”
He did as she asked, and she reciprocated, though her upper hand only just reached
his shoulder. The music swelled and her grip tightened like the vise back in his
workshop. As the first strains of a waltz filled the room, she swirled him round the dance
floor.
“Relax,” she commanded. “You look terrified.”
“Couldn’t we dance when the music is a little slower?”
As they passed the orchestra, she nodded, and the music decreased in tempo. “There
you go.” She smiled. “It’s slower.”
Despite her small stature Jacintha was incredibly strong, a gift of her lorikii heritage.
She led him through the dance, weaving effortlessly in between other couples. Gradually
he began to feel his own way with the steps and her grip loosened.
After three rounds of the dance floor, he felt confident enough to engage her in
conversation, though he was painfully aware she was still in charge.
“Why are you helping me?” he asked.
“Lily wanted me to.”
“And?” he prompted.
“It fits in with my own plans. That’s all you really need to know.”
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So Jacintha was playing her own game. He wondered if Lily knew what she was up
to. Somehow he doubted it. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to.”
He wanted to pursue this further. If he was being used as a pawn of some kind, he
needed to know. He opened his mouth to continue questioning her, when he became
aware of a change in the atmosphere. A subtle shift of sensation, not there one moment,
then apparent the next. “Valerian is watching me.”
“Yes,” said Jacintha. “He’s standing at the edge of the dance floor. I will admit he
looks particularly fine this evening.”
“Is…is the raven prince still with him?”
She smiled, that sly little grin he was quickly coming to detest. “For the moment.”
Alaric wanted to whirl Jacintha so he could get a better view, but her hands tightened
on him like iron manacles. “Wait.”
Thwarted, Alaric tried to force a turn.
But Jacintha wouldn’t bend. “Listen to me, Lord Ciral. You’ve been waiting a long
time for this opportunity. Pity to waste it.”
What had Lily told her? The idea that Lily may have gossiped about him was a slash
across his heart. He wouldn’t believe it. Before he could question her, his dancing partner
spoke.
“He’s still looking at you, which is good. It means this might not be as difficult as I’d
thought.” She stroked her hand down his arm. “You must remind him of a dream he once
had and lost. I know how that feels.” She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “As
the music slows, we’ll turn and leave the dance floor and I’ll introduce you.”
Alaric felt his head begin to turn almost of its own volition. He could feel a warmth
on his back—Valerian’s stare.
Jacintha sank her fingernails into his arm through his shirt, drawing blood. “Pay
attention. He doesn’t know who you are. Remember?”
Alaric stumbled slightly but kept dancing. Despite Jacintha’s warning he constantly
scanned the crowded outskirts of the ballroom but couldn’t find Valerian.
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“Are you ready?”
He nodded.
The music slowed, they reached the edge of the dance floor and entered the crowd.
Jacintha kept a tight grip on his arm and pulled him onto the terrace and into the night air.
Valerian stood with the raven prince by the marble balustrade, a glass of nectar wine in
his hand, staring at them as they approached.
The goneril lord remained utterly still, a statue come to life. The night breeze lifted
an errant strand of his silver hair, and he raised his hand and pushed it behind his ear.
Would his eyes still be the startling shade of silver blue Alaric remembered so
vividly?
This was too real. A dream shouldn’t be this real.
He strained against Jacintha’s implacable grip, trying to get free. But she wouldn’t be
denied and pulled him forward.
“Lord Valerian? Here’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
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Chapter Five
Valerian bowed low over Jacintha’s hand. “Lady, a pleasure as always.”
Such a courtly gesture, one Alaric knew he didn’t have the grace to emulate. That
hardly mattered however, as the ability to speak had apparently deserted him. Why had
he let Lily persuade him to come here?
Valerian smiled at him.
Alaric’s heart stuttered. Ahhh. Yes. That was why.
“Who is it you wish to introduce?” asked Valerian.
“Lord Ciral.” Jacintha pulled him forward. “A distant relation by marriage, from the
mountains. He doesn’t get out into society very often.” So saying she pressed Alaric’s
hand into Valerian’s. “If you don’t mind looking after him, I have other business to
attend to.” She turned to the raven. “Prince Darvan. Come. There is someone I’d like you
to meet.”
Before Alaric could even attempt a protest, she disappeared in a flurry of yellow
skirts, dragging a bemused raven prince after her.
He was alone. With Valerian. And the lordling still held onto his hand.
“Jacintha doesn’t believe in taking no for an answer,” Valerian commented. “Her
determination awes all of us.”
The statement didn’t seem to require a response, so Alaric maintained his silence.
“And I see she’s left her mark on you.”
“What?”
“Your arm.” Valerian grasped Alaric’s wrist and pushed his shirtsleeve back to
reveal the crescent moon wounds left by Jacintha’s fingernails. “She always did like to
lead. I can take care of those if you’d like.”
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Alaric nodded, somehow managing to speak despite the fact that his heart was
lodged in his throat and his lungs had ceased to function. “That would be acceptable.”
Acceptable? Such a bland word to express the intensity of his anticipation.
Knowing what was coming next and experiencing it were two different things. Some
of the fey had an ability to heal minor wounds with their saliva. A trait which had
virtually disappeared from the goneril race, yet it remained in Valerian’s family line.
He’d sometimes used the ability during love play. Almost in slow motion, Valerian
lowered his mouth to the cuts. Feeling as if sight and sensation were remotely connected,
Alaric watched Valerian’s pink tongue sweep slowly across each wound, gently closing
each bleeding crescent before moving onto the next.
It had been too long.
A weakness invaded Alaric’s limbs, starting at his shoulders, down through his ribs
and thighs. Only by locking his knees did he manage to remain standing.
“There.” Valerian raised his head. “All better.”
Alaric needed time to think. “Do you dance?” he blurted.
Valerian snorted and looked at him, amused. “Of course. What happens at that
mountain retreat of yours that you need ask?”
Shit. “We’re a very secluded branch of the family. We practice meditation and
academic research rather than pursue aesthetic frivolities.” What am I saying? Alaric
didn’t know where the words came from but he seemed unable to prevent them from
spewing out of his mouth.
He was an artisan. He lived for aesthetics. Creating beautiful things was the only
thing left that brought him any joy. If Valerian asked him anything about science or
theology he wouldn’t know what to say. His mouth was obviously no longer connected to
his brain. He needed to keep it shut.
“Well I believe every experience should be tried at least once.” Valerian took his
hand. “Let’s see about broadening your horizons.”
Alaric ignored the stares he felt boring into his skull as the two of them made their
way back inside and onto the dance floor. Do you dance? You couldn’t have asked him to
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do something you actually have some skill at? They weren’t the only males dancing so
the scrutiny had nothing to do with that. He hadn’t spilled any food or wine down his
clothes, his stomach churned too much to allow him to eat. And Jacintha had whisked
him away before he’d managed more than a few sips from his nectar wine. The other
revellers must have guessed he was under the power of a wish. Were they trying to work
out who he was? What a foolish concern. That was surely the game of choice for this
evening. He wouldn’t be the only one appearing under the guise of a glamour.
“Stop thinking,” whispered Valerian into his ear. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed,” Alaric said through gritted teeth.
“Then could you stop squeezing my hand quite so hard? My fingers have become
quite numb.”
Mortified, Alaric dropped Valerian’s hand. The two of them stood in the middle of
the dance floor staring at each other. Valerian had a calm acceptance on his face that
looked straight through him as if he would wait all night for him to be ready. Did he
know? Had he guessed? Other couples grumbled when they were forced to dance around
them. Anyone who hadn’t been looking before turned to stare now. Alaric was
peripherally aware of comments being exchanged behind raised hands, and the excited
fluttering of fans.
The two of them continued to stand there, eyes only on each other.
So strange for him to be on the same eye level with the goneril. He was used to being
the taller of the pair. He put a hand up to his chest to touch his betrothal ring, but of
course it wasn’t there.
Valerian’s eyes flicked down to the betraying movement. He half-smiled, reached
out and tucked an errant strand of hair behind Alaric’s ear. His fingers lingered on the
curved point. “Are you ready now?”
Alaric swallowed, but didn’t move away.
The orchestra segued into a new piece, a waltz. The music floated over the dance
floor. Couples continued to dance around them.
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Valerian’s hand drifted down to Alaric’s shoulder, his other hand settled over the
copper tunic at his waist.
Alaric mirrored the movement, just as he had done with Jacintha. But this was so
different. Gods! He hoped Valerian didn’t expect him to lead.
Almost as if he could read his thoughts, Valerian smiled and took the first steps of
the waltz, encouraging Alaric to follow him. Cautiously at first, then with enthusiasm,
Alaric allowed himself to be led.
Over Valerian’s shoulder he was stunned to see Lily dancing with the raven prince.
As she caught his glance, Lily rolled her eyes. Alaric surmised this outcome wasn’t one
she had anticipated when she’d encouraged him to attend the ball. It appeared Jacintha
had more than one trick up her sleeve. What concerned him more, however, was the
smile of satisfaction on Darvan’s face.
The music slowed, Valerian drew him closer and thoughts of Lily evaporated from
Alaric’s mind. He’d have time to speak to her later. He nestled his head in the crook of
his lordling’s shoulder, breathing in the spicy fragrance of his skin.
The couples dancing nearby became transitory intrusions. All he was aware of was
the man who moved with him, the pulse of blood against his cheek, the soft strains of
music in the air. Valerian maneuvered them out onto the terrace where fewer couples
danced.
Alaric held his breath.
Valerian slid his hand hesitantly from his waist to his hip. He waited, as if to give
Alaric the chance to move away, and then pulled them even more tightly together, hip to
hip, chest pressed against chest, groin to groin. Now it was only the pretense of dancing.
They stood nearly motionless, moving slightly to the variations in the music. The other
couples swirling around them—also dancing closer than protocol dictated—discreetly
pretended not to notice.
This was more than Alaric had dared to hope for. He had thought maybe to speak to
Valerian again, to spend time with him. To stand with him here, even under the eyes of
these spectators, was more than he’d imagined his wish might bring.
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He closed his eyes, trying to memorize everything. The sound of the music—how
one of the violinists seemed to be constantly out of time. The feel of Valerian’s breath,
almost panting, against his neck, the clutch of fingers digging through the material at his
hips. The velvet of his companion’s tunic beneath his own fingers, the rich fabric warmed
by the skin beneath.
“Come upstairs with me.”
The words were only whispered into his ear, and yet the promise of what they
offered had Alaric nearly jerking backwards out of the embrace. Only the tight hold
Valerian maintained on his body prevented him from doing so.
“Is that a no?” Valerian sighed, gently releasing him.
Alaric swallowed, trying to think quickly, to weigh the pros and cons. This was
beyond foolish—to steal this moment, based on a lie. Yet it was only in this borrowed
guise he felt capable of accepting the offer. His voice came out raw and thick. “It isn’t a
no.”
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Chapter Six
Valerian’s room wasn’t at all what Alaric expected. With the goneril love of trinkets
and comforts, he’d anticipated an overdone luxuriance instead of the room’s simple
décor. The carpets and coverlets, although finely made, were plain and functional rather
than ostentatious. The furniture was basic—a bed, small bedside table, dresser, couch.
The only clutter was a writing desk in the corner, overflowing with papers that rustled in
the night breeze drifting in through the balcony windows.
He tried to imagine if things had ended differently. Could he have ever felt at home
here—away from the woods and his forge? His commissions and contracts mixed in with
Valerian’s paperwork? Even in his borrowed form, he felt too large and cumbersome, the
room too small and intimate to hold him.
“Sit down.” Valerian poured two glasses of wine from a decanter on the dresser.
“You look like a rabbit about to bolt. I promise I don’t bite.”
Next to the decanter were an abandoned silver neckcloth and two black feathers.
Jealousy coated the back of his throat like viscous slime. Darvan had been here. For a
moment he imagined the two of them—Darvan slammed Valerian into the dresser, the
glasses tumbled over but they didn’t notice. Valerian’s head thrown back in ecstasy as
Darvan sank to his knees between the goneril’s legs. I have no right to feel like this. He
was the one who’d refused to see Valerian. If the goneril now chose to ease his loneliness
with others, Alaric couldn’t complain. At least he’d be the one easing Valerian tonight.
Alaric swallowed and moved with as much grace as he could muster to the nearest
seat. He sank gratefully onto the couch’s thick cushions, relieved his legs no longer had
the responsibility of holding him up. It took him a moment to realize Valerian wasn’t
going to join him, but was staring at him via the dresser mirror.
“What’s wrong?” asked Alaric.
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Valerian looked away from the silvered surface. “Nothing.” He picked up the
wineglasses and approached the couch. “Just thinking about the past.”
“The war?”
Valerian handed him a glass brimming with nectar wine. “Regrets.”
Having exhausted his supply of irrelevant conversation, Alaric retreated into silence.
He covered his withdrawal by taking a large gulp of wine. Not the best tactic he knew,
and one that would very soon have him incoherent and spilling all of his secrets if he
wasn’t careful.
Instead of drinking, Valerian pushed a stack of papers aside and set his glass on the
edge of the writing desk. He returned to the couch, undoing the fastenings on his silver
tunic as he glided forward with fluid grace, his agile fingers making short work of the
job. Once undone, he shrugged out of the tunic, letting the metallic fabric fall to the floor.
Underneath, he wore a simple loose linen shirt, tied at the throat.
Alaric took another swallow of wine.
“Is it so bad that you have to be drunk to be here?”
Stunned, Alaric lowered the glass from his lips. “No.”
Valerian removed the glass from Alaric’s grip. “Then maybe we should save this for
later.” He placed it next to his own glass on the desk, the two vessels touching.
Valerian turned, pulled his shirt up and over his head and dropped it on top of the
tunic.
Like any soldier, he had his war wounds. But there was a scar Alaric hadn’t seen
before. Darker than the others, it sliced across Valerian’s collarbone. How close had he
come to losing his goneril lord? Not close this time, but what about the next?
Alaric wished he still had the glass of wine so he could do something with his hands,
with his mouth, with his eyes. Valerian was more than he had dared to dream or
remember. The lordling’s clothes concealed a body made lean but sleekly muscled by the
rigors of serving as a captain in the queen’s guard. His skin was nearly as white as snow,
the dusky nipples already tightened into nubs. The pads of muscle on his chest rose and
fell with each breath, the ridges of his abdomen trembled.
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Alaric reached out to touch that trembling skin. His fingers hovered mere inches
away when Valerian stepped back.
“There’s something you must see first.”
Valerian unknotted his military braid, finger-combed the strands and then gathered
his hair and pulled it over his shoulder so the mass hung down over his chest.
Alaric forgot to breathe. He knew what came next, and what an honor it was. To be
shown the markings of another goneril encompassed more than foreplay, it was a deep
intimacy reserved for family members, lovers and close friends. If he and Valerian had
mated, he would have first seen the mark on the night of their ceremony. That Valerian
would waste this on a lordling he barely knew was something Alaric couldn’t understand.
But neither could he look away.
Valerian turned, displaying the markings of what—centuries ago—would have been
his wings. The design emerged from the waistband of his pants, rising up either side of
the hollow of his spine, pale blue lines intertwined with navy, aqua, turquoise and silver.
The pattern broadened over his shoulder blades before narrowing across the back of his
arms and terminating just above his wrists.
Without being aware of how it happened, Alaric rose to his feet, his hands tracing the
marks. Thumbs on either side of Valerian’s spine, he followed the pattern, his fingers
fanning out where the lines broadened, hands smoothing down his upper arms, gently
clasping his forearms where the mark ended.
He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Valerian’s nape. The fine hairs there tickled
his lip. Then he opened his mouth and bit down, just hard enough to test the skin.
Valerian arched backwards, gasping at the sensation. Like a slippery fish, he twisted
in Alaric’s hold so they faced each other. He framed Alaric’s face in his hands, traced the
line of his cheekbones, furrowed his fingers through his hair. Kissed Alaric’s mouth,
once…twice. “Will you show me?”
Alaric pulled back, confused. “What?”
“Your mark.”
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Alaric broke from the embrace, the erotic feelings dampened by the sudden
understanding of what Valerian asked.
Valerian touched his shoulder, instantly contrite. “Forget I asked?”
Alaric moved away from the contact and stepped out onto the balcony, leaving
Valerian alone in the room. How could he explain? How to say he didn’t even know what
marks were there? How to say any mark there had nothing to do with who he was—it
was merely the product of a wish? How to say his body was marked but not with familial
lines?
The man who stands before you is a lie…a construct.
He turned back into the room, intending to end this deception before it went any
further.
Valerian lay facedown on the bed—naked—the muscular planes and ridges of his
body exposed, his mark fully displayed.
Alaric traced the pattern with his eyes. His gaze drifted lower over the taut curves of
Valerian’s buttocks, down the strong columns of his legs. He clenched his hands into
fists, nails biting into his skin. By the Gods, Valerian was beautiful, and all he had ever
wanted. His tongue slicked out over his bottom lip, and he swallowed against the dryness
in his throat.
Valerian glanced over his shoulder. “Come here.”
Alaric remained where he was, frozen in the doorway.
Valerian turned over, the movement a seduction in itself. He lay on his back, legs
slightly parted.
Alaric watched, unable to look away when Valerian smoothed his hand down his
body, down the ridges of his abdomen. He wanted it to be his hand caressing that taut
flesh.
Eyes closed, Valerian grasped his erect cock, lingering at the head before stroking
down to the base. He opened his eyes and slanted a hungry look at Alaric. “I’d much
rather you did this for me.”
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Alaric took a step forward. The glow from the fairy bulbs illuminated every corner of
the room. As soon as he turned round the light would expose the false lines on his back.
Stupid! He was already lying to Valerian. What did it matter if his lover thought he were
a goneril too? Yet the sharing of the mark was such a personal and private thing. He
stopped. He couldn’t do this.
Valerian gestured and the lights dimmed, leaving him silvered in pale moonlight.
“Better?”
“Thank you.” With trembling fingers Alaric divested himself of his clothes, tearing a
button from his shirt in his haste. Abandoning them in a pile on the floor, he hurried over
to the bed.
Valerian laughed, his hand still moving rhythmically against his body. “Not so shy
now, eh?”
“Not so much.” Alaric sat down, his right flank against Valerian’s thigh. He placed
his hand over Valerian’s, an erotic follow the leader. His own cock responded to the
rhythm as if they were somehow connected, growing in hardness with every touch and
caress.
The reduced lighting gave their intimacy an almost surreal quality. He relearnt the
textures and contours of Valerian’s body through touch. Just there.
Valerian arched into the caress.
He remembered that. The musky scent of their arousal filled the air.
Before he lost himself completely, Alaric pulled their hands out of the way and took
Valerian’s cock in his mouth. He relished the feel of Valerian’s veined hardness against
his palate, the salty taste of him, the sound of his companion’s gratified moans filling his
ears and warming his blood.
He swirled his tongue round the sensitive head, swiping at the moisture on the tip.
His left hand remained entwined with Valerian’s, whilst he dipped the other between
Valerian’s legs, caressing his balls.
Valerian thrust his free hand into Alaric’s hair, pulling him closer, thrusting his shaft
further down his throat. “More.”
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Valerian’s fingers found the sensitive point of his ear. Alaric groaned. His cock had
grown hard to bursting. His balls tightened with the weight of his seed.
Those skilled fingers stroked his ear back and forth, up and down, mimicking the
movement his mouth made.
Too soon, Valerian’s cock grew even larger in his mouth, his balls drawing closer to
his body.
Yes! Alaric swallowed him down.
With a triumphant shout Valerian came in a series of frenzied thrusts, his body
bowed off the bed, his fingers clasped in Alaric’s hand.
Alaric couldn’t take his eyes off his lover. He reluctantly let Valerian’s cock slide
from his mouth. The taste of him on his tongue, the scent of him in his nostrils sent heat
surging through his veins akin to standing before his forge on a hot summer’s day at the
moment of creating something unique.
He raised his head and laid it on Valerian’s abdomen, content just to be there. The
puffs of breath from between his lips raised goose bumps on Valerian’s skin.
Sadness knifed through him with icy-cruel awareness. One night wasn’t going to be
enough.
Valerian tugged on his hair. “Not going to sleep down there, are you?”
Alaric smiled and lifted his head, kissed the fuzzy spot just below his lover’s navel.
“Just recuperating.”
Valerian sat up, dislodging Alaric, who came to his feet. “Recuperate later.” He
reached across to the bedside table and withdrew a bottle of oil. “I want you.” He tipped a
small amount of oil into his hands and gestured for Alaric to come closer. A soft growl
vibrated in his throat. He grasped Alaric’s semi-erect cock, lubricating the growing
length.
Liquid warmth shuddered through Alaric’s shaft. He gasped and bit his lip in a futile
attempt to control his body’s ardent response to that simple caress.
Valerian caught hold of Alaric’s nape and pulled him down so their lips met. He
brushed his mouth against Alaric’s, the softest of touches.
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Alaric thrust his hands into that mass of silver hair, slanting his mouth over the
sweetness of those lips, his tongue delving into the recesses of Valerian’s mouth.
Valerian’s oil-slicked fingers tightened on Alaric’s cock. Alaric helplessly thrust his
hips against him.
Valerian withdrew from the kiss, his lips spread into a smile full of sensual promise.
“I want you inside me.” He handed the bottle of oil to Alaric, rolled onto his stomach and
stretched out like a giant cat on the bed. Tucking a pillow underneath his stomach, he
raised his buttocks high in unspoken invitation.
Moving between his legs, Alaric dipped a finger into the oil, liberally coating the
puckered entrance before carefully pushing past the tight ring of muscle into Valerian’s
warmth. He couldn’t believe he was here, doing this, being with Valerian this way.
They’d made love before, but never like this. Completely naked. Skin to skin. It could
have been their mating night. After imagining it for so long, finally all of his fantasies
were becoming real. Except this time, he was the one hiding what he was. He pumped his
finger deeper into Valerian’s passage.
Valerian tensed at the intrusion.
Fuck. Alaric withdrew his finger. “Sorry.”
Valerian caught hold of his wrist, stopping him from moving away. “It’s okay. It’s
been a while, that’s all.”
With Valerian’s hand on his wrist, Alaric guided his finger back into the tight
passage, liberally coating the tender flesh with oil. Alaric withdrew his finger, and
Valerian released his wrist. The second time, he added another finger, stretching and
lubricating once more. His fingers dipped down between Valerian’s legs on withdrawal
to fondle his lordling’s sac.
“Don’t tease,” Valerian said breathlessly. “We’ll have time for foreplay later. Fuck
me now.”
At those words Alaric felt a surge of heat that threatened to undo him. “As you
wish.” He slathered his cock with oil, turning the rock-hard length slippery with
readiness. Pre-come leaked from the swollen tip. His balls twitched and jerked with
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molten sensation. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled with care… I can’t come. Not
yet. He had to make the moment last. It had to be perfect.
He guided his cock into position and slowly pushed into Valerian’s snug passage.
Gods, it had been so long… To be with a person he cared for. Until this moment he
hadn’t realized how lonely he’d become.
Valerian pushed back against him, groaning at the penetration.
Tight. So tight. I have to control myself.
Alaric withdrew and then pushed forward once more, a little further this time. The
sweet clasp of Valerian’s ass pulled him deeper with each thrust.
His legs shook. His arms trembled. He closed his eyes and tried to restrain the
impulse to just slam into his lover’s body.
He held his chest tight against Valerian’s back, their skin moving against one another
with a delicious friction. He leaned down and licked the back of Valerian’s ear. A tremor
passed through Valerian and he twisted his head trying to reach Alaric’s lips with his
mouth. Alaric laughed, avoiding the kiss for a few moments before finally relenting and
crushing his mouth to Valerian’s.
Valerian swept his right hand back, grabbed hold of Alaric’s thigh and tugged him
even closer against him. With eager pulls of his hand, he encouraged Alaric to increase
the pace of his thrusts.
Alaric buried his face in Valerian’s shoulder. The tendons in his neck strained as he
tried to hold off the moment of orgasm. His hips pumped frantically against Valerian. His
cock slammed into that tight entrance with brutal force. Their bodies slapped together,
sweat slicked and hot.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. One final thrust.
Alaric came—sensation barreled up through his loins, into his balls and spilled in a
glorious rush from his cock, his semen flooding into Valerian.
He collapsed, the muscles in his arms trembling as he quickly rolled to one side, flat
on his back. After this how would he ever be able to go back to his old life, his Valerian-
free life?
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Valerian watched from the corner of his eye. His strong masculine mouth formed a
smile of utter satisfaction, like the cat that’d had the cream. “That was certainly
something.”
Alaric laughed. “It was that.” He stroked a finger down Valerian’s face. Maybe, if he
memorized every contour, he could recreate this moment. Perhaps in wood. He hadn’t
tried carving before…he’d only considered it once—the betrothal gift. He thrust the
recollection out of his head.
Valerian turned his face and pressed a kiss into Alaric’s palm. “Stay.”
Alaric tensed. He had perhaps a couple of hours. “I—”
He put his finger against Alaric’s lips. “Stay…please.”
Alaric nodded. If this was all he would ever have he needed to make every second
count. He sighed and relaxed onto the bed. Shivers galloped through his trembling body.
Valerian pulled the covers over them.
He could stay for a little while longer.
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Chapter Seven
Alaric lay in the darkness, Valerian cradled against his chest. The brush of cotton on
his face from the bedclothes was slowly being replaced by a feeling of numbness. He was
reverting, the ticking of the clock on the dresser an unstoppable reminder this was all he
would ever have. There were still a few moments before he had to leave. Time to
remember what the weight of his lover felt like against his body. Time to remember the
scent of the night breeze, the sounds of the ball drifting up from the floor below. Two
empty wineglasses on the writing desk.
The skin on his left side rippled and twisted. He bit his lip at the pain, tried to breathe
through it. He was out of time. As carefully as possible, he slipped from the bed. Valerian
grumbled in his sleep and turned over. Alaric held his breath, but his lover didn’t awaken.
He didn’t know whether he felt relieved or disappointed. He pulled on his shirt and
trousers, the clothes once more his familiar homespun rather than the borrowed finery of
the wish. The fantasy night was ending. Soon it would be as if it had never happened.
He opened the door, intending to just slip away. The light from the hallway
illuminated the bed, highlighting Valerian’s sleeping form. Alaric lunged for the bed and
pressed a desperate farewell kiss against his lover’s face.
Valerian grabbed hold of his arm. “Don’t go,” he mumbled.
Alaric pulled free, grateful for the light behind him that kept his face in shadow so
Valerian wouldn’t know he’d been deceived. “I have to.” He didn’t wait to hear any
further protest. It would be too easy for him to be persuaded to remain.
***
Lily anxiously waited in the gardens, knowing Alaric would have to pass this way.
The number of guests departing increased as the time drew near for glamours to fade.
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Minutes from midnight, she hoped against everything she wouldn’t see him, that perhaps
this insane gamble had paid off and even now, he was planning a future with Valerian.
She winced. It was so unlike her to be romantic.
“Remind me again why we’re hiding in the bushes.”
Then there was the other half of her problem. Prince Darvan had attached himself to
her with all the tenacity of a limpet and had proven extremely difficult to dislodge. “How
would you like to have your balls permanently relocated to your throat?” she asked
sweetly.
He threw back his head and laughed.
Lily scowled. His amusement was not the response she’d been hoping for.
He moved closer and whispered in her ear. “Lady, I guarantee when you handle my
balls you won’t be relocating them anywhere.”
It was quite possible she could have caused an interspecies incident at that point.
However, Alaric stumbled through the ballroom’s back exit and headed down the
driveway before she could respond.
“Do me a favor,” Lily snarled at the raven prince and yanked his arm from her waist.
“Hold your breath.” She tripped over a rock, caught her balance and rushed down the
path.
The sound of his laughter echoed after her.
She hiked her skirts higher, increased her speed and called as loudly as she dared,
“Alaric!”
He stopped and allowed her to catch up.
She touched his arm. He tensed, and she braced for him to shrug her off. Instead, he
crumpled. Turning to her, he enfolded her in his arms, his tears wet against her face. She
was peripherally aware of the sound of crunching gravel as the raven prince came up
behind her. But he said nothing, merely watched.
After a few moments, Lily pulled back so she could see Alaric’s face in the
lamplight. He was back in his own clothes, but the features staring down at her were still
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those of a goneril lord. Only the slightest twisting on the left side of his face hinted at the
magic’s unraveling.
“I was wrong,” she said.
“Ah, Lily.” He somehow managed to dredge up a smile for her. “It was a wonderful
evening while it lasted.”
“Did you tell him?”
“I didn’t know how.”
“But—”
“If wishes were horses then beggars would ride.” He placed his finger over her lips.
“It’s time for me to go home.”
He turned and walked down the path.
Lily started to go after him, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.
“Let him go,” said the prince.
“You don’t know—”
“I know he’s hurting. And I know Valerian—”
“Valerian.” She frowned. “He should have seen…” Her eyes flicked towards the
wishing tent. It was before midnight, there was still time.
The prince caught hold of her arm. “Whatever you’re thinking—stop. It’s too close
to the turn. Don’t you think you’ve interfered enough for one evening?”
She pulled her arm free and stomped towards the tent, aware he followed her and not
caring.
Flora sat in the middle of the tent, her dress bedraggled, hair coming loose from its
combs, her wand held limply in her hand. She radiated exhaustion.
Lily quashed any sympathy she felt. “I want my wish.”
Flora peered at her through tired eyes. “You’re too late.” She held up her wand. “The
magic’s depleted.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” snapped Lily. “I attended the ball. I want my
wish.”
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Flora stiffened. “It’s not a question of refusing you. The turn is imminent, results
could be unpredictable, and from your tone of voice I’m not expecting your wish to be
full of sweetness and light.”
“Aren’t you perceptive?” Lily sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands.
Her motives may not have been entirely selfless, but she’d wanted this gamble to pay off.
The touch of Darvan’s hand on her shoulder had her raising her head.
“Make your wish,” he said.
“You heard Flora. It’s too late.”
The raven prince reached down and grasped Flora’s hand. The wand that had been
dull and lifeless moments earlier glowed with newly infused power. “Make your wish.”
Lily stood up, cleared her throat. “I wish that Valerian would see the truth.”
“No!” protested Flora. “Wishing for foresight or truth this close to a turn is madness.
It will rebound on the wisher. You don’t know what the consequences will be.”
Lily stood absolutely still. “I’ve made my wish.”
“Grant it,” said Darvan.
Flora shook her head, but whatever she saw in Darvan’s eyes overwhelmed her
conviction. “Granted.”
The explosion at the inception of the wish set Lily back on her ass. While the smoke
cleared, she staggered to her feet and scowled at Flora. “Do you have a license for that
thing?”
Flora said nothing, though her mouth opened and closed several times.
Lily watched her with helpless fascination. “What?” Worried, she put her hands up
to her face. Everything felt the same as always. Damn, these tents usually came with a
mirror so wishers could check for gross errors in judgment before leaving. “What’s
wrong?”
Darvan came over and took her arm. “Nothing’s wrong. Flora’s just overcome from
all the magic she’s expended tonight. Right, Flora?”
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Flora stared directly at him. She pursed her lips, opened her mouth and at the last
moment glanced away and studied the ground at her feet. A dull flush stained her
cheekbones. “That’s right.”
He smiled. “We must be leaving. Lily, you wanted to speak to Valerian?”
That’s right. Valerian, she had to see him, had to make him see sense. As Darvan led
her from the tent, Lily glanced back at Flora’s dejected figure. Whatever the other fairy
meant to say, she didn’t think it had been to agree with the raven prince.
***
Valerian twined the button between his fingers. The polished mother of pearl had
reverted to bone. It was the only evidence he had that the encounter had actually taken
place. That it hadn’t been a dream. He didn’t look up when Lily burst into the room
uninvited. He’d expected her to show up sooner or later.
The sound of her labored breathing filled the air.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Take a long hard look at yourself in the mirror and tell me what you see.”
He smiled, but it was bitter. Whatever game she wanted to play, he’d play it. With
the button clenched in his fist, he walked over to the mirror and studied his reflection.
“Tell me,” she shouted.
“I see what I always see,” he said. “A man who let the person he loved slip away.”
In the mirror, he saw her move to stand behind him. Her voice quieter now,
confused. “You already knew who he was.”
“From the moment I saw him in the ballroom.” He locked eyes with her. “I’m a
captain in the queen’s guard. It would be incredibly dangerous for me to be influenced by
any glamour. Assassins would have a field day. All Titania’s bodyguards are given
immunity.”
Lily sank backwards onto the bed. “How could you let him go?”
“I didn’t ‘let’ him do anything. He left. I decided to give him time on his own, to
gather his thoughts. I should have anticipated further interference.” He flung a peeved
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glance at Darvan, who waited in the doorway. “I’d been told it was going to happen.” He
turned around and grabbed Lily by the shoulders. “You’re very good at deciding what’s
best for other people. Why don’t you take a long hard look at yourself?”
He pulled her forward, paying no attention to her startled gasp when she saw her true
self for the first time. “Take a long hard look.”
Opening the drawer in the dresser, he removed the betrothal ring still hanging on its
unbroken chain.
Lily wrenched her gaze away from the mirror and fixed on the ring. “What’s that?”
“None of your business.” He pulled a black feather from her hairline and laid it next
to the two already on the dresser. “You’re molting.”
Ignoring her scowl, he swirled his cape about his shoulders and left. Outside in the
hallway, Darvan paced up and down.
“Wait.” The raven prince caught hold of his elbow as he walked past. “None of this
was my idea. If you remember, Jacintha arranged this.”
“But you knew what was going to happen,” responded Valerian. “You were happy
enough to be along for the ride.”
“I’m practical,” said Darvan. “It’s going to get me what I want, but you were too
hard on her.”
“How so?”
“He would never have come to you on his own. No matter what you might have
hoped.”
Valerian looked away. Darvan was right. He’d waited for Alaric, too bloody scared
to make the move himself. Well he wasn’t waiting any longer. He gestured over his
shoulder through the open doorway to where Lily sat on the bed. “I’ve opened the door
for you, Darvan. I hope you know what you’re doing when you walk through it.”
He pulled his arm free and walked away, not looking back to see whether the raven
prince entered his room or not. Tonight he had to worry about his own love life. Darvan
was on his own.
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Chapter Eight
From behind the shelter of a silver birch, Valerian watched Alaric’s cottage. His
fingernails dug into the bark of the tree. The last time he’d felt this sick he’d been about
to go into battle. Then again, this wasn’t so very different.
Less than a hundred yards away, Alaric set out torches to light the area around the
enchanted circle where he would work. He’d always preferred working outside, close to
the elements. The flickering glow revealed an abandoned lump of metal welded to the
dirt floor of the circle. He frowned—so unlike Alaric, not to tidy up after himself.
He flicked his tongue across his lips. I should stop this idiotic waiting. No more
giving Alaric time to think. That strategy had failed. The fey may be immortal, but life
was too unpredictable and eternity too long to spend alone.
Alaric looked as he had the first time Valerian laid eyes on him, working at his forge,
caught up in his art, oblivious of his audience. He hadn’t known then whether to be
amused or affronted. Instead, he’d been drawn back to the forge time and time again,
each visit another step in his seduction. ’Til that last time…
He stepped out from his hiding place and with determined steps strode across the
dew-dampened grass towards his quarry. He knew the instant Alaric became aware of his
approach.
Like a hunted stag, the Forge Master reared his head, nostrils flaring, inhaling the
scents on the air. Russet hair burnished almost gold in the lamplight, the scarred half of
his face in shadow.
Alaric’s molten gaze unerringly locked onto Valerian’s face. A deep flush stained his
cheekbones but he didn’t flee and he didn’t turn away.
So far so good.
“Why are you here, Lord Valerian?”
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“We have unfinished business between us, Lord Ciral.” He didn’t give Alaric a
chance to voice a protest. He caught his lover by the waist and pulled him flush against
his body. Without the obscuration of the wish, the embrace became even more intense,
more real. No longer muffled by the cloak of the glamour, finally he held his beloved’s
thick-muscled form in his arms instead of a simulacrum.
He stroked his tongue along the seam of his Forge Master’s closed mouth and almost
laughed with relieved delight when that hard flesh opened to his caress. Their tongues
dueled. Alaric tasted of cinnamon and apple brandy, a flavor uniquely his. Strong, forge-
tempered arms crept round his body, ’til they clutched each other. Bodies pressed as one
from groin to chest, mouths fused, months of denial finally over.
Reluctantly, Valerian broke the kiss. Their lips clung for a moment before the final
parting.
“You knew,” whispered Alaric.
Valerian moved back a little, allowing some space between their bodies. “From the
moment I first saw you at the ball.” Keeping one hand at Alaric’s waist, he raised the
other and gently touched the scar marring the left side of his lover’s face.
Alaric flinched at the contact.
Valerian paused but refused to stop his exploration. No more running. From
anything. For either of them.
The muscles in Alaric’s jaw tightened and the tendons in his neck hardened to taut
prominence, but he didn’t move away.
“You can’t feel this at all?”
“No.” He closed his eyes. “The nerves were burnt away. It’s just dead tissue.”
“Yet it causes you so much pain.”
Alaric wrenched free from the embrace. He turned his back on Valerian, shoulders
hunched defensively, his hands fisted at his sides.
No more hiding. “That wasn’t a rejection.”
When Alaric didn’t turn back, Valerian repeated the request he’d made in his
bedroom. “Show me your mark.”
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Alaric stiffened, his spine rod straight, apprehension simmering off him in palpable
waves. “Is that why you’re here?” He raised his hands. With excruciating slowness, he
unfastened each bone-carved button, pulled the shirt from his pants and let the homespun
fabric fall to the ground.
The skin of his back was smooth and unblemished in the firelight, save for two short,
narrow scars on either side of his spine. The marks were all that remained of the vestigial
wings, which would have been removed at birth.
Valerian reveled in the luxury of this moment, even though it took place in an
emotional minefield. The air was so heavy with need and expectation he had to take deep
breaths through his mouth for fear of passing out.
He stepped forward. The tension between them increased to the point where he
feared Alaric might shatter if touched or bolt at any unexpected movement.
Sucking in a deep breath, he held his hand barely an inch from Alaric’s spine. So
close, he could feel the life pulsing within, merely a whisper away.
Alaric moved into the touch and pressed his back against Valerian’s hand.
Permission to explore. For the briefest moment he just enjoyed the simple luxury of
being able to touch the warmth of his lover’s skin.
Valerian swallowed against the tightness in his throat and eased his hand down the
planes of Alaric’s back, the curve of his spine. The rough-fabric pants rode low on his
hips, and just above, twin dimples peeked out begging to be kissed. Maybe later, when
things weren’t so fraught.
Using his index finger, he traced down Alaric’s spine, then continued over the
material of his pants, following the cleft of his buttocks, lower still. His heart pounded in
his throat.
“You wanted to see my mark?” Alaric turned, breaking the sexual contact. “Here it
is.” He smoothed his hand down the scarred flesh of his chest and abdomen, defiant and
defensive at the same time.
Nicely done. You bring me close, only with the goal of pushing me away.
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It had been six lonely months since he’d last seen the damage inflicted on Alaric’s
body. Whilst healing had taken place during that time, witnessing the scars anew still
held the ability to enrage him beyond reason—which must have shown on his face.
Alaric bent down and picked up his shirt, thrusting his arms into the sleeves,
shouldering his way past Valerian. “I’d like you to leave.”
Valerian turned, but made no move to follow. Instead, he called, “I found you that
day.”
Alaric froze, not quite at the sanctuary of his cottage. “What?”
“I turned back. Halfway to the castle, I knew something was wrong and I turned
back.”
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Chapter Nine
Six months earlier
Valerian rubbed his stomach. Ever since he left Alaric’s forge a growing sense of
unease had settled in his gut like a ball of lead. His relationship with the Forge Master
had made this bloody conflict bearable. Although he always loathed having to leave the
charming artisan, today felt different. Wrong. He hated leaving him there, unprotected.
Reynard brought his horse alongside. “So that’s why.”
He turned his head in a futile attempt to ignore his comrade. Reynard had finally put
two and two together. He’d never hear the end of it. He felt Reynard’s gaze burning into
the side of his face. “What?”
Reynard smirked. “That russet-haired beauty is why you ignore Titania’s hints about
making a suitable marriage. I thought it might have been the fact the raven princess is
rumored to be a cripple, but that didn’t sound like you.”
“Firstly, I’d hope you know me better than that. Secondly, Titania can suck my
dick.”
Reynard threw back his head and laughed. “I’m not sure she’d take you up on that
offer.”
Up ahead, Jerin and Marek pulled their horses up at the sound of his laughter.
Valerian gestured for them to continue with a negligent wave of his hand. He urged his
horse to a trot. Hopefully, Reynard would take the hint and leave him to his thoughts. No
such luck. Reynard merely quickened his horse’s pace and returned to Valerian’s side.
“You should let this fixation go. She’ll never consent to you taking a Forge Master
as a mate.”
Valerian averted his eyes. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “I don’t need her
permission. I’m an independent goneril lord. I’ll mate with whomever I see fit.”
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“What about your Forge Master? Do you intend to expose him to the vultures at
court?”
He winced. Trust Reynard to pick at the seat of his own worries and concerns. He
couldn’t imagine Alaric at court, fending off bribes and threats, skirting around political
intrigue. “That’s a long way into the future. We have a war to win first.”
Reynard touched his arm. “I want you to be happy, Valerian. But happiness comes
with a price, and you might not be the one paying it.” He looked ahead, away from
Valerian. “I’m speaking from experience.”
“I know you’re—”
An intense pain speared behind his breastbone. He clutched his chest. The pain
blinded him with its strength. He’d taken a dagger in the side during a fight and it hadn’t
burned like this. A faint glow emanated from his chest.
“I see it,” said Reynard. “Mage light. Concentrate. There may be a message of some
sort.”
Valerian rode the pain. “It’s an alarm call… A summons… Alaric!” He reined his
horse around and headed back down the trail, heels digging into the horse’s sides, urging
the animal onwards. Not caring if the others followed, he concentrated on avoiding low
branches and tried not to worry as the pain in his chest dissipated, leaving a hollow ache.
Even before they reached the forge, Valerian smelled smoke on the air. As he
galloped into the clearing, cinders rose on the breeze and the scent of burnt ash stung his
nostrils. He dismounted, sword drawn, and ran towards the empty glade, his three
companions close behind him. The forge had been transformed into a smoking ruin.
There was no sign of Alaric. The attackers must have waited until the Forge Master was
alone and then moved in. Had they taken him with them? What in the seven hells was
going on? Alaric, like all the other Forge Masters, remained a neutral party in the
conflict. If word of his innovation with the sword had leaked out, he could understand it,
but Alaric had only just completed the weapon.
He turned to the others. “Spread out. Search for Alaric, but be cautious, we may not
be alone.” He marveled that outwardly he could be so calm, whilst on the inside he was
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screaming his grief and denial. He refused to believe this was happening to him. Think.
What had taken place here? What had they hoped to achieve?
Torluin’s desperation to wrest control of the throne meant he wasn’t particular about
who served in his army. Not just loyal lorikii troops, but troll, dwarf and goblin regiments
flocked to join his cause, as they became increasingly dissatisfied with Titania’s rule over
the fey. Now, from the stench hanging over this place, it appeared he was hiring human
mercenaries as well. Human mercenaries who might not care about any neutrality
agreement.
Valerian sheathed his sword. He would find who had done this, but for now, his
priority was to find Alaric. Revenge would have to wait for another day.
All that remained of the wooden walls of the forge were the blackened support posts;
the rest had been razed to the ground. He thrust his head through what was left of the
doorway, scanning the empty shell of the interior. Twisted lumps of metal, the discarded
remnants of Alaric’s work, destroyed. The workbench where he and Alaric had engaged
in love play only hours earlier, gone. His fingers sank into the ruined wood of the
doorjamb. He turned away. Where was his Forge Master? He pushed down the sick
feeling in his belly and tried to focus.
Reynard knelt and picked up the broken hilt of a sword. It crumbled in his grip. He
sniffed the debris in his hand. “They had a mage with them. Only a magic-user could
have caused so much destruction so swiftly.”
Jerin grabbed Valerian by the arm. “He might not be here.”
He wrenched himself free. “He’s here. I can feel it.” He looked down at his chest but
the mage light had dissipated. If he’d been quicker, if he’d ridden harder. Maybe he’d
have gotten here in time.
“You have to face the fact that Alaric could be dead. You need to prepare yourself—
”
Valerian snarled, completely feral. He refused to accept that. He wasn’t living out
eternity on his own. Then he heard it, the faintest of whimpers. There and gone. “Quiet!”
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The other men froze, only their heads moving as they tried to locate and identify
each of the sounds emanating from the forest.
Reynard pointed. “Over there.” Discarded at the edge of the trees, a body lay partly
concealed by the undergrowth.
Valerian scrambled over to the body, half stumbling, only partially aware Reynard
and Jerin followed. Halfway there, he wanted to stop, didn’t want to see. Didn’t want his
lover to be dead. But his legs kept moving, pounding down the distance between them.
The Forge Master lay on his back, partially concealed by the long grass—not
breathing.
Valerian slowed but kept walking forward. His mouth worked but no words came.
His eyes were open but everything seemed so distant. The smell of meadow flowers was
heady in his nostrils, overlain by the rich coppery tang of blood. A flash of silver caught
the light.
Alaric still wore the betrothal ring.
Valerian wanted to kill someone. Rip them to shreds. Eviscerate them. Hurt them
until they felt every single ounce of pain that was tearing through him.
Behind him Reynard spoke. “Looks like they dumped him and took off. I’ll see if I
can find their trail.”
Valerian dropped to his knees by Alaric and didn’t even acknowledge Reynard’s
departure. What did it matter anyway?
Then…the slightest breath.
Valerian froze.
Another rasping breath.
“Bring me a medicine pack!”
Keeping his hand close to the hilt of his sword, he assessed Alaric’s injuries. The
Forge Master had been abandoned like a broken toy. The left side of his face was a raw
wound, impossible to tell if his eye had been damaged. Rope marks circled his wrists and
neck. The skin of his left side and shoulder runneled like melted wax, deeper burns
circled his nipple. Blood and fluid seeped out onto the grass.
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Jerin touched his shoulder. “We don’t have the correct supplies to deal with this.
What we do have is nowhere near sufficient to even begin treating these wounds. We
need to take him back to the castle.”
“No,” snapped Valerian. “He must be stabilized before we move him.” He looked up
at Jerin. “I won’t chance losing him on the journey.”
Marek brought two supply packs over. “This is all we have. I don’t know if it’s
enough.” He handed the packs over, retreated a few steps and whispered, “If he dies it
could mean the end of the war. The Forge Masters will relinquish their neutrality… The
conflict could be over in a matter of weeks.”
Valerian tensed, but before he could gut Marek where he stood, Jerin spoke. “Do
something useful. Go and find us a wagon so we can get him back to the castle.”
Once Marek was out of earshot, Jerin said, “Forgive him. He doesn’t think before he
speaks. He doesn’t know of your feelings.”
Valerian grunted. “I’ll forgive him later.”
Once emptied, the medicine packs proved to be of little use. Geared more towards
the immediate treatment of fractures or minor wounds, there was nothing there to treat
the horrific burns on Alaric’s body.
“What do we do now?” asked Jerin.
“Poultice the eye, use healing ointment on the worst burns, dress the other wounds as
best we can.”
Jerin hovered at his shoulder.
“What?”
“Should we remove the ring?”
He shook his head. “No. Alaric’s magic is in the ring. It won’t hurt him.”
Reynard emerged from the forest carrying Alaric’s dagger. “They’ve left a trail a
baby could follow.” He handed the dagger over to Valerian. “There’s another body not
too far away. I took this out of its guts. Your boy didn’t go down without a fight.”
Valerian managed a bitter smile. The knowledge that his Forge Master had resisted
would be cold comfort if he died before they could get him treatment.
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Marek ran across the clearing. “I’ve found a cart. I’m sure we can rig it to one of the
horses. It’ll be slow going but it should get the job done.”
As the others got the cart hitched to the horses, Valerian took Reynard aside. “Their
trail’s easy to follow?”
“Yes.” Reynard smirked. “It’s almost as if someone wanted them to be found.”
“Find them for me, Reynard. Use caution, but find them. Even if they’ve returned to
the human world.”
“And when I have?”
“Come get me.”
***
Valerian squeezed out the cloth he had been using to sponge Alaric down. Still no
response. Alaric lay in a small room located off the main infirmary, the left side of his
body swathed in bandages. His hair was like a dull flame against the stark white of the
pillows. The healers had praised Valerian’s makeshift efforts. He’d saved the eye and
there was hope Alaric’s left nipple would retain some sensation.
Two days had passed since the attack and during that time Valerian had left Alaric’s
side only to take a piss, or when chased out by the nurses so they could change the
dressings.
He dropped the cloth by the washbasin, and leaning over, drew the blankets up over
Alaric’s body, careful not to disturb the bandages. He felt useless here. He wasn’t used to
having to wait for anything. He could almost hear Alaric’s voice telling him that patience
was a virtue. What had he replied? Some clever comment about virtue being overrated.
Behind him, a nurse entered the room, her long skirts swishing against the floor.
“Lord Valerian, you have a visitor. He’s waiting for you outside.”
Valerian bent and placed a kiss against Alaric’s brow. He didn’t know if Alaric could
hear him or not but he whispered into his ear. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
Outside, Reynard waited, covered in dust from the trail, slapping his gauntlets
rhythmically against his thigh.
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Valerian took him by the elbow and led him a short distance down the corridor.
“What news?”
“I found the men who attacked the forge just over the border. They have a mage with
them… It’s Genys.”
Valerian said nothing.
“Probably why I found tracking them so easy. She must have left the trail.” He
paused as if considering his next words. “That’s why you knew to turn back when you
did. That sudden pain in your chest? Best guess is she used Alaric as an anchor for a
distress call.”
Valerian nodded. There was no other explanation for that severe chest pain and the
mage light. If she hadn’t been there, would Alaric have been able to get away? Had she
used magic to keep him there? She appeared to have taken no part in the attack. The only
evidence of magic use was the destroyed forge and the crumbled sword. Valerian rubbed
his breastbone. She’d also sent the warning. “Why is she with them?”
“I…I have no idea.” Reynard bowed his head. “At the onset of the war, I left her in
the care of Torluin. There was nowhere else I could take her…for her to be safe. I have to
know what you intend to do, Valerian. Genys is my… We belong together. If you intend
to harm her you’ll have to go through me first.”
“She could have stopped it,” he pointed out. “She’s a mage. Those men were only
human.” Valerian grabbed Reynard by the shoulders and slammed him up against the
wall. “She could have saved him.”
Reynard swallowed, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “She won’t change the future.
Not for Alaric. Not for herself.”
He twisted his hands in the fabric of Reynard’s tunic. “Easy to say.”
“I agree. It was much harder for her to stand and watch what they did to him,
knowing she had the power to stop it and not using that power. I’m not a mage. I don’t
understand it. But I’ll die before I let you lay a hand on her.”
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Valerian spoke quietly, choosing his words with care. “Are you telling me this is all
part of some greater destiny?” He gripped Reynard’s chin, forced him to face the
infirmary. “Would you like to go and explain that to him?”
Reynard wrenched himself free. “I don’t know why it happened, Valerian…I don’t
know. But Genys has suffered at the hands of unscrupulous men, and she would never
willingly visit that fate on another. Not unless it was a price that had to be paid.”
Valerian took a step back. “I’ll get the men who did this.” His hands tightened into
fists and he made a conscious effort to relax them. He jabbed his index finger into
Reynard’s chest. “I don’t want to see your mage. You keep her far away from me.”
The other man nodded. “Agreed. Genys and I would be leaving anyway. Once the
war’s over, we couldn’t stay. I may only be half goneril, but Titania would never agree to
my mating with a human mage. Not pure enough for even my tainted bloodline. We
won’t be around to remind you of what happened. Acceptable?”
He and Reynard had been friends for centuries, yet at the moment he could hardly
bear to look at him. “Come with me. Rescue your mage. Then leave.”
“When do we ride?”
Valerian looked back towards the infirmary. “Now. There’s nothing more I can do
here.”
***
Valerian slid from his horse’s back, tossing the reins to the nearest stable boy. Jerin
and Marek journeyed to see their families. Reynard and Genys had disappeared as soon
as the fighting was over. He didn’t know for certain but he thought they’d probably
traveled north. Prince Aethalvar was renowned for taking in strays. Part of him regretted
the way things had gone between him and Reynard. They’d been friends for a long time.
Maybe they could be again in the future when the wounds weren’t as fresh.
He was finally free to spend a few days with Alaric. Four days he’d been gone.
Though he’d bathed in the blood of his enemies, it wouldn’t bring back what had been
taken from Alaric. And it had done little to quell the rage that still burned inside him.
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He hurried through the castle, down to the infirmary, shocked to hear the sound of
tormented screaming coming from within. He burst into the room. Four nurses held
Alaric down, whilst a fifth applied ointment to the raw wounds on his chest and
abdomen.
A nurse he didn’t recognize looked over her shoulder. “There’s an infection.”
The tendons in Alaric’s arms and legs strained against the holds but he couldn’t
break them. A sign of how much his physical condition had deteriorated. His eyes rolled
in his head, sweat poured off his body. As the last of the medication was applied, he
quieted, and a sigh of relief went up in unison. The nurses released him.
Rose smiled at him. “Lord Valerian, we weren’t expecting you back so soon.”
He swallowed. “Is there anything I can do?”
“We’ll be applying clean dressings, giving him something stronger for the pain. If
you’d like to wait for a few minutes you can come and sit with him for as long as you’d
like.”
Valerian nodded and took a seat outside. After what seemed an eternity the nurses
filed out and Rose gestured him into the room.
Alaric lay in the same bed, sheets tucked tightly round his hips, dressings covering
the left-hand side of his body and face. The betrothal ring and its chain were gone.
Valerian ignored the hitch in his heartbeat. Most likely one of the nurses had had to
take it off whilst the dressings were being changed. Nothing to worry about. He sat down,
slipped his hand into Alaric’s where it rested on top of the sheets.
Alaric slowly turned his head and opened his eye. The pupil nearly eclipsed the iris.
“Hello.”
A laugh burst out of Valerian. He hadn’t expected him to be talking so soon. “How
do you feel?” Stupid question.
“Like I’m floating.” He tried to push himself further up onto the pillows.
“No.” Valerian stood, then realized he didn’t know whether it was all right to move
him. “Just stay still.”
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“Okay.” Alaric closed his eye, and after a few seconds opened it again. “In the
drawer.”
Valerian turned to the small bedside table. “Here?”
“Yeesssss.”
Inside the drawer was the betrothal ring on its chain. It was safe. Thank the Gods.
“Take it.”
Valerian removed the ring from the drawer. Time to put this back where it belonged.
“Did you know Torluin had a Forge Master?”
At the abrupt change of subject, Valerian sank back into his seat, the ring tight in his
grip. Where was this going? “Yes I knew.”
“Torluin’s Forge Master…Bragan…our leader… Did you know Torluin let him keep
his wings? Stumpy little things.” Alaric’s laugh turned into a racking cough.
Valerian grabbed the glass of water from the table and held it whilst Alaric drank.
“Yes I knew.” And now I know what you’re going to tell me. And I want to know who was
so cruel as to tell you what happened.
Alaric’s eye seemed to bore into him. “At the end of the war Torluin fled… Didn’t
stand and fight. He left his people behind. The goneril came to his castle.”
He reached down and stroked Alaric’s hair. “Shhhh. I know.”
“They made him kneel. They made Bragan kneel. Such a proud man. They cut off
his wings…and they laughed.”
Valerian said nothing. He was goneril. If those ignorant fucks had served under him
he’d have had them whipped until they couldn’t scream for mercy. But they were
nameless…faceless. He couldn’t put this right. “Who told you this?”
“Everyone knows…I heard the nurses talking.” Alaric closed his eye. “If they can do
that to Bragan, what chance do I stand in finding a place for myself amongst the
goneril?”
“You don’t find a place with the goneril. You find a place with me.” When Alaric
tried to pull away from his touch, Valerian refused to be cast aside. “You think the
goneril are perfect but it’s all on the surface and it’s empty. We create nothing—no
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paintings, no music, no sculpture. Don’t you see? It’s you who completes me.” But Alaric
wasn’t listening to him. “Why can’t you believe that I love you?”
Instead of replying, Alaric twisted away and from beneath the bedclothes produced a
hand mirror.
Valerian quashed the impulse to rip the object from his grasp. Who the fuck had
given him that? Where had it come from? The same person who had told him about
Bragan?
The Forge Master stared at his reflection. “How can you even bear to look at me?”
he asked quietly.
“How can you think I’m so shallow?” retorted Valerian.
“I don’t,” said Alaric. “I think I am.” He peeled back the bandage from his face and
stared at his reflected image with a seemingly reluctant fascination. The artist analyzing
himself. The wounds still raw, oozed fluid, the pulse of blood visible beneath the thinned
layers of skin. “I must disgust you. Just like Bragan repulsed those soldiers.”
“No!” To be put on the same level as those thugs. This couldn’t be happening. No,
not just the thugs, but the goneril as a species—judged and found wanting.
“Take the ring and leave, please. It’s better this way.”
“For you?” Valerian heard what he sounded like—his voice near shouting. He took a
calming breath. His life, the life he wanted, was slipping out of his hands when it had
been so close. He took the mirror off Alaric and placed it face down on the dresser. “I’m
not leaving you. I’m not like them.”
“You didn’t want your men to see us together at the forge. Reynard did, but I think
that was a mistake.”
“That was…” different.
But Alaric just looked at him, a bitter, knowing smile on his face.
Valerian trailed the betrothal chain through his fingers onto the bedspread. It was
different. I wanted you just for myself. Just for me. “It wasn’t shame,” he said quietly. “It
was selfishness.”
One of the nurses appeared in the doorway. “Is everything all right?”
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“Get out.” The voice from the bed was little more than a hoarse croak. At the sound
of those words, the nurse’s attention immediately turned to Alaric.
Valerian wanted to berate him for speaking to the nurse that way, then he realized
Alaric’s words hadn’t been for the nurse.
Alaric’s eye locked on Valerian. “I said, take the ring and get out.”
Valerian shook his head.
Alaric struggled to lift himself up. “Get out!”
For a few moments, Valerian remained where he was. He could insist on staying, and
Alaric could injure himself further. Or he could leave and confirm Alaric’s worst fears.
Alaric fumbled onto the bedspread, caught hold of the chain and threw the ring at
Valerian. It bounced off his chest and landed on the floor.
The action exhausted the Forge Master and he fell back onto the pillows gasping for
air.
Nurses swarmed past Valerian, taking charge of their patient, and he just stood
there… Superfluous… Empty… Alone. He bent down, picked the ring and its chain up
off the floor and slipped from the room.
One of the nurses followed him, though he didn’t recognize her.
“Give him a few days. His world has been torn apart. He doesn’t know what he’s
saying.”
Despite the twisted pain tearing at his heart, Valerian dredged up a smile. “A few
days? You’re probably right. He just needs time to get used to what’s happened.” From
the expression on her face, he could tell he wasn’t convincing her. He ignored the voice
in his head telling him it was over. “I can wait. I’m a patient man.”
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Chapter Ten
Present
Valerian stopped speaking.
Alaric focused on his hands where they twisted together in his lap. “I don’t
remember.”
Valerian started. “What?”
“I was out of my head on poppy juice.” Alaric leaned his head back against the door
of the cottage and sighed. The tension drained from his body, leaving him empty. “I don’t
remember you finding me, the journey back to the castle, you being in the infirmary. I
thought the mercenaries must have taken the ring. The first thing I remember is Lily
reading to me, those sonnets she’s so fond of.”
Valerian didn’t take his eyes from the flickering flame of the nearest torch. “You
never looked for me…after?”
Alaric closed his eyes. “No. The longer I didn’t face what had happened, the easier it
was to hide away. I thought my scars… It doesn’t matter.”
Valerian gently placed his hand on Alaric’s knee. “Maybe I should have come for
you sooner?”
“No.” Alaric stroked his hand down his scarred cheek, the texture of his skin uneven
against his fingertips. “I wouldn’t have been ready.” He looked away. “I’m barely ready
now.”
He didn’t resist when Valerian took hold of his hand and kissed his scarred knuckles,
the touch both a comfort and a promise. He turned back and searched the goneril lord’s
eyes. Maybe this could work. “I don’t want to wait any longer,” he confessed.
Valerian stood in one fluid motion, pulling Alaric to his feet. “You don’t have to.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver chain. “I’ve a yearning to see you wear
nothing but my ring.”
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For an instant Alaric was back at the forge that day, six months ago. In the hours
before everything changed. The betrothal ring—once he accepted it, he accepted
everything that went with it as well. His choice would be made.
He bent and bowed his head, allowing Valerian to settle the chain round his neck.
Finally, the part of him that had been missing had come home. He closed his fingers
around the ring where it lay over his heart.
Valerian stroked his knuckles against Alaric’s cheek. “Never take it off again.”
Alaric looked up. “I won’t.”
He opened the cottage door and led Valerian through its homey interior. A battered
table dominated the room, covered with neatly piled contracts. On the mantel his
abandoned glass of wine waited, his tools laid out on the rug ready to be cleaned. An
overstuffed couch, patched in a couple of places, was positioned in front of the fire.
Valerian turned his head back and forth, straining to see everything. “Cozy,” he
commented.
Alaric recalled the ordered simplicity of Valerian’s room at the castle. “It’s not what
you’re used to.”
“Thank the Gods.” His hand tightened on Alaric’s as if he sensed the underlying
insecurity. “That’s just somewhere for me to sleep. This is a home.”
When they entered the bedroom, Alaric turned the lamps just high enough to lend a
soft glow to the room. He hovered by the door, suddenly unsure. This was different.
There was no Lord Ciral here, only him. He stood there feeling like an over-muscled fool.
“I don’t think…”
Valerian placed his index finger against Alaric’s lips. “Shhhh. Exactly. Don’t think.
This time is for you.”
Valerian stroked open the material of Alaric’s shirt, pushing the material over his
shoulders. He shoved the fabric down the length of his arms.
Those agile fingers stroked down the scarred flesh of his forearm.
Alaric tensed.
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Valerian bent forward and brushed his mouth against his lips. “Your scars belong to
me.”
The shirt dropped to the floor.
Valerian fell to his knees in front of Alaric and grasped the back of his boot. He
motioned to the bed. “Sit down. Tonight, let me be your servant.”
Alaric sank onto the bed. “You don’t have to do this.”
Valerian pulled off first one boot, then the other. “Yes. I do.” He unfastened Alaric’s
trousers and slipped his calloused hand inside for a caress that had Alaric helplessly
thrusting into his grip. “Lie down and lift up.”
Alaric did as he was asked, supremely aware of every sensation. The unfamiliar but
comforting weight of the ring against his chest, how the rough slide of his trousers down
his legs exposed his body. He’d never felt so naked, so exposed, in his life. The soft glow
from the lights suddenly seemed bright and garish, leaving him no place to hide.
“Are you all right?” Valerian’s eyes held only concern.
Alaric took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it. There was nothing
to be scared of here. “I’m fine.”
“Move back onto the bed.” Valerian placed a bottle of oil on the bedside table. He
stroked his hands down Alaric’s calf, pausing to massage his foot. “Try to relax.”
Alaric obeyed. He lay back and focused his attention on enjoying the simple luxury
of being able to watch Valerian remove his clothes. The goneril’s body limned in the soft,
golden light from the lamps was so beautiful it seemed almost unreal. Part of him still
couldn’t believe this was happening, that he was finally here with Valerian.
Valerian crawled onto the bed, straddling Alaric’s torso, hands resting on either side
of his head. He lowered his mouth for a kiss, lips touching first, then tongues tasting each
other, rekindling the hunger.
Alaric reached for Valerian, wanting to pull him down so their bodies could touch.
Valerian gently disengaged his grip. “Patience.” He pressed Alaric’s hands back to
the bed sheets. “Just watch me.”
“Patience is a word I’m quickly coming to detest,” Alaric grumbled.
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Valerian laughed. “But the rewards are so much sweeter if you have to wait for
them.” He traced the path of scars down Alaric’s face.
He couldn’t control his instinctive flinch. This was going to take some getting used
to. After a moment he nodded to let Valerian know he was okay, making a conscious
effort to remain still. He couldn’t feel Valerian’s touch on the withered skin of his face,
but was aware of the caress moving lower, following the ridged length of the scars.
Abruptly, it was too much. He tried to sit, only to be brought up short by Valerian’s palm
on his chest.
He tried not to tense as Valerian brushed his hair away from his face. “I’m not going
anywhere, Alaric, and neither are you. No more running, remember?”
Alaric managed a smile, though he was sure it was little more than a sickly grin. He
nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
The goneril lord continued his intimate exploration, tracing the scars down his throat,
across the planes of his chest, lingering at his nipple.
He tensed.
Valerian looked up. “You can feel that?”
“A little.”
Valerian lowered his head. “How about this?” He gently flicked the nub with his
tongue.
Alaric hissed, and his torso rose off the bed. He fisted his hands in the bed sheets.
Valerian smiled. “Guess that answers that question.” He flicked it twice more with
his tongue, his fingers remaining to stroke and tease as he slid his body down the bed, his
mouth following the runnels of destroyed flesh down Alaric’s abdomen.
Alaric, already erect, tensed in anticipation of what was to come. Waited for the
instant Valerian’s lips would leave the nerve-deadened scars where he couldn’t feel, to
touch the aching flesh he could.
Valerian lowered his head and took Alaric’s cock into his mouth.
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Alaric closed his eyes. He arched helplessly upward, pushing himself even further
into the warm velvet of that mouth. Part of him wanted to freeze this moment forever,
though the larger part screamed for Valerian to continue.
The goneril lord swirled his tongue round the sensitive head of Alaric’s engorged
cock, dipping into the slit.
Alaric twisted the sheets tighter at the delicious pleasure of that carnal touch, his toes
curling into the mattress. This must be what heaven felt like. If it was, he never wanted to
leave.
Valerian’s fingers dug into his hips, pulling him closer, and Alaric wanted to laugh
because he knew there’d be bruises to show for it tomorrow. Wrenching his hands free of
the bedclothes, he pushed his fingers into the silken length of Valerian’s hair, twining it
round his fist, forcing a rhythm, even as his movements grew frantic. He was so close.
The muscles in his buttocks rigid, he helplessly spurted his seed down Valerian’s
greedy throat. He shouted, he didn’t know what. The release left him drained but replete.
He felt empty, renewed. No longer alone.
Valerian stroked his fingers across Alaric’s lips. “What are you thinking?”
“How lucky I am.”
Valerian kissed him. “Glad you finally realized.” He picked up the oil bottle, settled
back onto his knees between Alaric’s legs and tipped a generous amount of scented oil
onto his hands. He smeared the fragrant liquid between his palms before smoothing them
down the pale ridges of Alaric’s abdomen and wrapping his fingers around both of their
cocks. He worked the oil up and down, his eyes languorous with desire, never leaving
Alaric’s face.
Alaric propped himself up on his elbows so he could enjoy the view. The way the
light cast shadows over Valerian’s sculpted body. How their cocks moved against each
other, beneath the motion of his lover’s hands. His heartbeat increased, breath soughing
in and out of his lungs.
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Valerian smiled. He dipped his hand down between Alaric’s legs, up between the
crease of his ass and inserted his oil-slicked finger past the tight ring of muscle.
Withdrawing slightly, then pumping back in.
Alaric closed his eyes as he rode the wave of pleasure, the muscles low in his belly
tightening. Valerian’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once. His eyes flew open as the
goneril threaded his arms underneath Alaric’s knees, forcing them up towards his chest.
His hands planted on the mattress, he used his body to hold Alaric in position, bent and
sank his teeth into the fullness of the Alaric’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth then
letting go.
Alaric’s startled laugh turned into a groan of pleasure as Valerian pushed into him.
“All right?” asked Valerian.
Valerian’s cock throbbed inside him. He had never been more all right than he was at
this moment. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” promised Valerian, slowly withdrawing, only to slam inside him again.
He leaned down and slanted his mouth over Alaric’s, taking hungry, biting kisses,
which Alaric enthusiastically returned. He felt as if they were each trying to consume the
other, to brand each other with their need. Trying to lay to rest the six months they’d
wasted by being apart.
Valerian broke the kiss and, rearing back, pounded into Alaric. “Never leave me
again.”
Alaric gloried in the sensual assault of that cock reaming him, filling his ass with
long, hard strokes. At the same time, his cock slid against the tense flesh of Valerian’s
abdomen.
Sweat and muscle. Bodies slapping together.
“Never… Never.” Valerian stiffened above him. The thick length of his cock
twitched and spilled hot come inside Alaric’s ass.
Mine. He’s finally mine. He loves me.
“Never,” agreed Alaric, as his lover, his love, collapsed against him.
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When Valerian withdrew from his body, Alaric lowered his legs, muscles twitching
with the absence of restraint. He pressed a kiss against his lover’s forehead. “Never,” he
said again.
Valerian rubbed his lips against Alaric’s mouth. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
Alaric pulled the covers up. In the darkness it was still so easy to believe this was a
dream, that it would disappear in the heat of the rising sun.
His goneril lord snuggled against his side and threw his arm over his belly, holding
him close.
“Love you,” mumbled Valerian, already half-asleep.
Alaric’s heart soared as he used his magic to turn out the lights with a lazy motion of
his hand. In the darkness he could no longer contain the smile that burst from within him.
He pressed a gentle kiss against Valerian’s forehead. “Love you too.”
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Epilogue
Lily had to admit the shirt and trousers she’d borrowed from Valerian’s closet were
eminently more suitable for charging about the forest—especially at such an ungodly
hour of the morning. The predawn light barely allowed her to see her way.
Valerian—the arrogant prick—hadn’t returned to the castle, which she took as a
good sign. But she needed more. Her curiosity wouldn’t let her accept not knowing the
outcome of her matchmaking. She needed to see with her own eyes that everything was
fine.
Unlike yesterday evening she didn’t venture close to the forest’s edge. Instead, she
remained hidden in the dense shrubs and brambles. Close enough to observe without
getting caught.
Alaric emerged from his cottage, shirtless, carrying a lit torch. He used it to relight
several burnt-out torches. He was starting work early, obviously inspired by something.
She felt a twinge of guilt at the twisted metal that still contaminated his workspace. A
perfectionist, he wouldn’t usually have abandoned such a mess.
Of Valerian, there was no sign.
Alaric gathered the remnants of yesterday’s abandoned effort into a molten ball,
ready to be reformed into something new. When he set it aside to cool, she rose from her
crouched position.
Valerian exited the cottage carrying two steaming mugs of tea.
Lily froze.
Alaric accepted a mug of brew and leaned close for an early morning kiss.
Their voices carried on the cool, crisp air.
“I would never have taken you for a slug-a-bed.”
Valerian chuckled—a sound Lily would have previously thought him incapable of
producing. “You exhausted me.”
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She waited for a few moments longer. The two of them sat side by side on the stoop,
Valerian in the place that used to be hers. “Times change.”
She managed a smile. Times had changed and all for the better.
Without disturbing them, she drifted back into the forest, onto the path that would
return her to the castle, certain, if nothing else, that a huge pile of laundry awaited her as
usual.
She crested the hill just as the sun broke the horizon, the first rays of morning
fingering across the land. When the sunlight touched her, raven feathers fell from her
hair, swirling to the ground. The consequences of her ill-thought wish destroyed at the
turn of night to day.
“Everything’s back as it should be.”
She spun in a dizzy circle of delight and laughter and continued her journey, leaving
behind a pile of black feathers, dissolving in the early-morning dew.
About the Author
To learn more about Sarah Leslie, please visit
email to Sarah Leslie at
sarahleslie_silvertree@yahoo.co.uk
Look for these titles by Sarah Leslie
Now Available:
If Wishes Were Horses
Love triangles. Alien monsters. Planetary war. Just another day in space.
Interstitial
© 2008 Ann Somerville
Sebastien ven Hester, decorated war hero and captain of the sentient cargo ship
Naurus, can face any danger—except his own feelings. Jason North, his pilot, finds out
the hard way that Seb’s not ready for a relationship after his recent divorce. And Jatila
Kan, their engineer, discovers her feelings for North aren’t returned—because her lover’s
pining after another man.
Not the best situation for a crew starting a three-week run across the galaxy.
But there are bigger terrors in space than their messy love triangle. A ruthless,
horrifying enemy stands ready to test them to their physical and emotional limits.
Failure means certain death not only to themselves and their passengers, but to the
entire planetary alliance.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Interstitial:
T plus ten minutes
North amused himself for several minutes thinking Seen ya NA-ked as loudly as he
could in the hope Captain Tightarse could hear him, even though the telepathy pretty
much cut off at the cockpit hatch. Seb was supposed to be an adept. Huh, adept at
BRAINs maybe. People, nah. Sure, he was smart and sharp and had a dry way with
words that always made North laugh, and he was one of the best-looking guys North had
ever met, but…
He jabbed his stylus at the console screen, just stopping short of actual damage, and
wondered if he’d get through a three-week journey without punching his captain right in
his rakishly broken nose.
Cowardly, lousy…
T minus sixteen hours
Seb wouldn’t look at him as he sat up, pulling away from North’s sleepy cuddling.
That was his first warning things weren’t going to be all roses and puppies.
“Hey, Seb.”
His captain’s broad shoulders stiffened, as if expecting a blow. North felt his own
chest go tight in response.
“North. Jason—”
“Fuck it, Seb, I’ve told you not call me that. I hate that name.”
Seb turned, his brown eyes bruised and tired, his mouth unsmiling. “Sorry. North,
look, it was great but—”
“Wait, wait, wait. Is this a brush-off?”
“I wouldn’t say—”
“Seb, you were the one…” North got to his feet, put his hands on his hips, wished he
was wearing clothes, that this conversation was happening anywhere but this grimy
spacer hotel. “I offered you company, you accepted. Last night was great. You’re single,
I’m single. What’s the problem?”
Seb winced. “That’s not the problem. We can’t do this. You’re my subordinate.”
North blinked in surprise. “Wasn’t your subordinate last night. I wasn’t just drilling
for ventum, you know. It’s not against regs, not if it’s off duty.”
“No, I know it’s not.”
Seb wouldn’t meet North’s eyes as he stood, found his trousers and pulled them on.
It shocked North to realise he looked almost old. Such a handsome man, fit and lean, easy
to forget he was twelve years older and a war hero. In a couple of years he’d be forty.
He seemed so damn miserable, North wanted to give him a hug. Do something.
Anything but listen to his secret crush destroy his hopes.
“You’re still my subordinate. It’s bad for discipline. I’m saying this can’t happen
again.” He tugged his shirt on, didn’t bother with all the buttons, and searched around for
his boots.
“Oh, you’re saying it. Nice to know you think you can tell me what to do off-ship as
well as on.” North stalked over to his pile of clothes. He smelled of sex and needed a
shower, but he needed to be dressed more. He dragged on his underwear, his lips curling
over gritted teeth. He couldn’t fucking believe this, he really couldn’t. “I didn’t exactly
force you in here.”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly—”
North whirled and jabbed a finger at him. “Are you saying I took advantage of you?”
“No—”
“I didn’t.”
With difficulty, he reined in his churning emotions. He had to try and make Seb see
what this could do to their friendship, because he couldn’t afford to lose that. “Seb, we’re
pretty close, right? We could talk about it. We might have something here. We can talk,
take it slow. We’re still friends, right?”
Seb stared for a couple of moments, before shoving his feet into his boots and
grabbing his pack. “I can’t do this.”
“What? No, wait—”
But Seb walked out, closing the door behind him without another word, leaving
North to stare in disbelief at the space where he’d been. He wished he’d never met
Sebastien ven Hester, and certainly never fallen for the whole wounded, brave war-hero
thing. Cowardly fucking prick.
T plus fifteen minutes
“Lift your feet, Pilot. I need to get under there. And stop playing with your
penis…oh, excuse me, your stylus. Easy mistake to make.”
Jati shoved North’s legs aside, banging them hard under the console.
“Ow!” He yanked himself out of harm’s way and rubbed his knee. “Watch it, you
homicidal bloody—”
“Yes? Speak up. The loggers won’t catch it.”
He snarled at her and snapped his harness undone so he could push himself farther
away from her vengeful damn hands. She smiled sweetly and inserted herself into the
space he’d freed up.
“What’re you doing in here, Jati? I thought you had equipment repairs to make in the
shop.”
She poked her head back up. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t get the notice. Congratulations
on your promotion, Captain North. I’ll just ignore Captain ven Hester’s orders, shall I?”
“Fuck off,” he muttered, hopefully too low for the recorders. She’d probably rig a
wipe on them anyway, like she usually did when they let fly in the cockpit, but he
couldn’t count on it. “What are you doing?”
“None of your business, just as anything else I might be up to is none of your
business, Pilot. Move your damn feet or I’ll drill a hole in them.”
She made to poke his boots with her power tool. He hastily moved away. In her
mood, he couldn’t tell if she was joking, and he didn’t feel like losing a toe.
“Now let me do my job. You go back to fondling your rod.”
He tossed his “rod” at the console. It floated gently towards the viewing window and
bounced off again, tumbling clumsily in midair until he caught it again.
“Can’t you do this while Seb’s in here, not me?”
“Oh, so I’m not good enough to work with you now? Not good enough to be with,
not good enough to explain things to…” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And now this?
You want to make that charge formal, Pilot? I’d love to see you try it.”
“Fuck it, Jati, will you back off?”
“No. No, I really don’t think I will, Jason. You back off. Shut up and let me do what
the captain asked me to do, and then I can remove myself from your odious presence. Say
one more word to me and I’ll put a complaint in.”
He started to frame the “you wouldn’t”, but caught the glint in her eye.
“One more word, I swear. You’ve said more than enough.”
He sighed quietly, hoping that wouldn’t count as “one more word” in her book, but
when she pressed her lips tightly together, he held up his hands in surrender and climbed
out of the chair. He wasn’t supposed to leave the cockpit but he needed to get out of
swinging range.
This would be a hell of a long run.
The man Arun loves is kin to the wolf; but Arun is kin to darkness itself.
Wolfkin
© 2008 Emily Veinglory
Book 1 of the Kin series.
Arun is in training to be a priest of the Fire God when he is abruptly plucked from
his peaceful studies, bespelled and staked out as bait to capture a monster—a wolfkin.
But the wolfkin isn’t quite what Arun expected. He has a name, Trae, and he’s more man
than beast. And from their first touch, they are far more than predator and prey to each
other.
Instead of killing Arun, Trae spirits him away to the distant city of Shireen. There,
on a family plot of land, they should have a good life together. But the spell that a witch
cast on Arun is growing stronger, taking over—and it still wants to destroy the wolfkin.
Torn between the power of the spell and his love for Trae, Arun must face the
darkness within him—or it will kill them both.
Warning: This title contains some tie-me-down M/M content, spellbinding love and a
quest to face down the darkness within.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Wolfkin:
He lay down on the hard, musty needles, his back to Trae. With a sigh, the wolfkin
eased closer to him and shifted slowly to his brawny human form, rolling so that his arm
fell naturally, protectively over Arun. Trae’s hand smoothed across Arun’s shoulder,
turning him to lie upon his back and leaning to tuck the meager blanket around them
both.
Arun lay, feeling the cold soil across his shoulders and back and observing dully as
Trae reached up to touch Arun’s cheek and neck. Trae loosened the laces of Arun’s shirt,
pulling the cloth back to reveal his chest. The wolfkin was always so warm, his skin like
a hearthstone, his fingertips, wandering embers. Leaning forward, Trae laid his tongue on
the raw bite marks that pocked Arun’s skin. The wet, cautious touch tugged at the small
wounds, moving with care to clean and explore each puncture. Sensation started to build
and Arun shuddered.
The wolfkin pulled back, watching him mournfully. “I forget of course, how you
must see me. And although I think that it was some unwholesome spell that made me use
you so hastily, it is not the sum of what I felt then, or feel now. Nor, perhaps, how you
would feel about me, with time. I would know…but not if you do not choose yet to tell
me. And for my part, I am sorry for the hurt I caused you. To take the blood, it is not
normally… It is an important thing for us—done properly and only with very…specific
people. People we search for, sometimes for years. But even now, I take without asking.
The greatest wrong my people know.”
Arun felt a cold panic as Trae drew back from him. Arun reached out, hands tangling
in the coarse hair that trailed down the wolfkin’s back. “I should never have agreed to
lure you in. I knew the spell was black. I should have insisted on going to the temple for
guidance first. I didn’t know what was really happening, and with no reason to
assume…but I did not know. I didn’t really know what your kind were, and I suppose I
don’t know much better, now. And I don’t know why you do so much for me. I don’t
begrudge you the few drops of blood I lost. I don’t begrudge more if you need it.” But he
knew his voice still betrayed some fear.
Trae settled down carefully, leaning over Arun with their bodies pressed together.
“We go traveling. The wolf-kind—when we feel lonely and can find no one nearby who
answers the need within us. We go searching and fate finds a way to place before us what
we seek. The spell made me unable to resist your body, but I still feel it—in a fuller
sense—that you answer the question in my heart. I only pray you’ll feel the same for me,
in time. Because taking the blood is more than one needing and one not minding, Arun.
Much more.”
Arun pressed his cheek against Trae’s warm chest, his arms encircling the wolfkin’s
muscular body, tracing the subtle peculiarities of his form so close to that of a man, but
not quite… Reaching up, he touched the side of Trae’s face. His high cheeks and straight
brow, the hair sweeping back from it dense and multicolored, only gray from a distance.
“Please, what little I can do for you, I owe. But for myself, I only ever wanted to be a
priest,” he said softly.
“And you think you are not?”
“I know I’m not.”
“You called fire from the air, golden fire. Isn’t that this Fire God’s power?”
“I also called a wolfkin from the swamp and beguiled him against his will. I do not
believe that was with the Fire Lord’s blessing.”
“That wasn’t you though, was it? It was the work of a witch, revenant witch by the
feel of it which…”
“It’s in me now, I can feel it. Dark powers, things men shouldn’t know or seek to do.
Magics. I am afraid. I don’t even know what I know, now. I don’t know what is true and
what is just something I have been told. I’ve never called fire before and only the priest,
should, can…” Arun stumbled into silence.
Trae held him close, easing his arm under Arun’s head and planting a kiss upon his
cheek and lightly on his mouth. “Trust yourself, Arun. You have a true heart. I am sure of
it.”
Trae’s naked body curled next to his, Arun’s hands settled almost of their own will
against Trae’s suede-soft skin.
“You are so cold,” Trae said with concern, easing his thigh over Arun’s body and
pulling him in close.
Arun reached up over Trae’s bare chest and smoothed down the mane of hair that ran
along his spine. The slight strangeness of Trae’s form didn’t scare him, anymore. Trae
seemed complete, seemed right, in himself, true. They kissed again, more deeply. Trae,
with a stifled growl, pushed up Arun’s shirt and pulled it over his head.
In Arun’s gut something dark moved sluggishly like a snake warming in the sun—
but he ignored it, clinging to the yearning inside him. If he become even less worthy, he
wanted love all the more. He yearned for someone who cared for him, for himself. The
shelter of love, not the cold comfort of his former calling. Even if he felt nothing himself,
he would feel the urge to cling to the vehemence of Trae’s emotions for him. Was it love?
He hadn’t quite said as much. And was he deserving of it, anymore?
“Trae, I…” He wanted to say that he was afraid, that the amulet had tainted him, and
its power still lurked within, waiting to strike. But try as he might, the words faltered and
nothing but a strangled, irritated sigh escaped. His body responded with a surge of
warmth and passion.
“You need only ever to tell me ‘no’,” Trae said. “Ever.”
Trae’s broad tongue stroked Arun’s skin, moving down the center of his chest
slowly, exploring the sparse hair. He pinned Arun gently down with his broad hands.
Any sensible consideration floated out of Arun’s head, any thought of “no”. His skin
ached and sparked, the pleasure almost hurt.
He reached out, half-hesitant, feeling the hard lines of Trae’s shoulders shifting as he
bent. Trae drew down Arun’s leggings, easing down his body—holding the blanket up
over his head. At first Arun did not even know what he was intending to do. He tried to
draw Trae back up to him, embarrassed to have his own arousal so exposed.
He felt Trae’s wet, warm mouth slide down over his cock. Embarrassment warred
with lust as he squirmed, Trae’s hand pressing lightly on his stomach. Under that firm
grip, he let go and lay back. Wet, hard lips stroked up and down him with lazy ease,
drawing him up hard and tight.
A Sidhe warrior in exile. A young man with powers he’s only beginning to understand. In
their hands, the fate of two worlds.
Fireflies
© 2007 Ally Blue
A childhood encounter with one of the Sidhe sets Joseph Vines’ life on a fateful
course. Unable to forget the beautiful creature who promised to one day return for him,
Joey spends the next twenty years learning, dreaming and waiting.
Braeden Shay, a warrior of the Sidhe, has spent those same twenty years watching
Joey from a distance, waiting for Joey’s heritage to make itself known. When the time is
ripe, Braeden steps in to protect Joey from those trying to kill him, and to help him deal
with the changes turning his life inside out.
During the days that follow, as Braeden teaches Joey to harness and control his
newfound power over the natural world, Joey finds himself falling for the gentle, patient
Braeden. Braeden, who has watched over Joey for most of his life, is already deeply in
love with him. When the forces targeting Joey for death catch up with them, it will take
all their magic—and the power of their love for each other—to survive, and to save both
their worlds.
Warning, this title contains the following: explicit male/male sex, graphic language,
violence, and inappropriate use of plants.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Fireflies:
Braeden laid his hands on Joey’s cheeks and pinned him with an intense, searching
look which made Joey feel far more naked than his lack of clothes. The silvery eyes
brimmed with the same need Joey felt, underscored with a hint of sadness. Joey wanted
to ask why Braeden was sad, but he couldn’t seem to make the words come out. The feel
of Braeden’s hands on his skin utterly destroyed his power of speech.
Whatever Braeden was looking for in Joey’s eyes, he must have found it, because he
bent and pressed his lips to Joey’s. In an instant, Joey’s world spun off its axis and went
flying, and he was lost. With a low moan, Joey wound an arm around Braeden’s waist,
opened his mouth and took the kiss deep.
He’d thought about it, of course, ever since he’d first become aware of his sexuality.
Imagined what it might be like to hold the faery’s bare body, to feel the electrifying touch
of Braeden’s lips on his. But even his most fevered fantasies had never come close to the
reality of Braeden’s slim but strong arms around him, or the mouth that took his with
such hunger. Braeden’s tongue tasted smooth and sweet, and his long fingers left tingling
trails across Joey’s bare skin.
As the kiss grew more heated, Joey felt a ghostly caress against his shoulders and
calves and realized with a shock of delight that Braeden had wrapped his wings around
him. The delicate membranous feel of them against his skin made him weak with desire.
Wishing his own wings were alive instead of a tattooed image, he wormed a hand
between their bodies and curled his fingers around Braeden’s cock, gently manipulating
the foreskin with his thumb.
“Sweet Goddess,” Braeden gasped, his lips still brushing Joey’s. “I have wanted you
for years. I never dared dream this could happen.”
Joey let out a breathless laugh. He stroked one of Braeden’s wings with his free
hand, and it undulated under his touch, sending a delicious shiver up his spine. “Please
tell me you weren’t perving on me when I was five.”
The horrified expression on Braeden’s face was answer enough. “By Danu, no. You
were a singular child, to be sure, but I never felt this…this desire for you until you were a
man full-grown.” Digging his hands into Joey’s buttocks, Braeden pulled him closer,
pressing their erections together. “But by the Goddess, I do desire you now.”
Joey moaned when Braeden’s lips brushed the shell of his ear. Turning his head,
Joey captured Braeden’s mouth in another hungry kiss.
One step backward was all it took for Joey to tumble them both to the bed. He landed
flat on his back with Braeden on top of him, straddling his hips. Braeden rubbed his cock
against Joey’s, sending sparks zinging over Joey’s skin.
“Braeden,” Joey growled, nipping Braeden’s lip. “Can…can we…? I mean, you
know, since you’re—ah, oh fuck yeah—you’re Sidhe and I’m human.” Hooking a leg
around Braeden’s back, Joey canted his hips up, searching for more of Braeden’s skin on
his. “It’s possible, right?”
Braeden drew back, staring hard into Joey’s eyes. “There is nothing to stop us from
making love. But, Joseph, I must tell you—”
Joey stopped Braeden’s words with a hand against his lips. He didn't know what
Braeden was about to say, but he knew whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to hear it.
“Don’t. Not yet.”
A faint smile curved Braeden’s mouth. Leaning down, he gently kissed Joey’s lips.
“Love me, Joseph. Fill me like I’ve dreamed you would.”
Something about Braeden’s lyrical, old-fashioned way of speaking tugged at Joey’s
heart. He tucked a lock of gleaming white hair behind Braeden’s ear. Which, he noted
with a smile, was ever-so-slightly pointed at the tip. “Do you have lube and condoms?”
Braeden’s brows drew together, his eyes fluttering closed. Joey felt a strange
vibration in the air, followed by a faint popping sensation beside his right shoulder.
Turning toward the almost-sound, he was surprised to see a small, unmarked blue vial. It
hadn’t been there a moment ago. He picked it up and examined it.
“Oil,” Braeden explained. “We do not need condoms. We’re not susceptible to
human diseases, and the few illnesses our kind do succumb to cannot be stopped by a bit
of latex.”
We. Joey suppressed the rush of mingled terror and anticipation from that one word.
He didn’t want to think about that now. Not with Braeden kneeling astride his thighs,
savagely beautiful and thrumming with a power Joey felt deep in his bones.
Flipping open the lid of the little vial, Joey poured a dollop of oil into his palm. A
scent like rain and clover filled the room as he massaged the viscous fluid between his
fingers. He pushed up on one elbow and reached a slippery hand between Braeden’s legs.
Braeden let out a soft “oh” when Joey’s slick finger rubbed against his entrance. His
wings fluttered in response to Joey’s touch. “Yes, Joseph. In me.”
Panting, Joey circled the tiny opening, marveling at the downy softness of the skin
there, the way the muscles rippled and relaxed as he stroked them. When the tightness
eased suddenly and Joey’s finger slipped inside, he and Braeden both gasped out loud.
Joey’s heartbeat faltered, stumbled and resumed in triple time.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” Joey breathed, staring up at Braeden with naked wonder. He
pumped his finger a few times, just to watch Braeden’s ghostly skin flush with lust.
“How long since you’ve done this?”
Braeden moaned, translucent wings fanning the air behind him. He gave Joey a
dazed smile. “Since before you were born.”
“Damn.” Pulling his finger out, Joey grabbed the vial again and poured more oil in
his hand, then replaced the single digit with two. “Are you sure about this?”
Braeden nodded, sending a cascade of fine snowy hair tumbling over his shoulders to
pool on Joey’s stomach. “I need this. Need you.”
He needs me. The knowledge glowed like an ember in Joey’s chest, warming him to
the core. Plunging his fingers deeper, Joey twisted until his knuckle brushed a small, firm
spot almost at the limit of his reach. Braeden let out a keening cry, hips canting forward.
A glistening drop of pre-come oozed from the tip of his cock and splashed onto Joey’s
belly, and Joey grinned. I guess faeries have the magic button too.
“Joseph, please,” Braeden begged. “Please take me now.”
The raw need in Braeden’s voice shot through Joey’s blood like lightning. Slicking
his cock with the oil still coating his hand, Joey held his prick upright and pressed his free
hand to Braeden’s hip. Braeden straightened up and scooted forward on his knees, lining
himself up with Joey’s erection. Their gazes locked as Braeden sank down, taking Joey
deep with one slow, smooth movement, and it was all Joey could do to keep from coming
right then.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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