The flame flickered out, casting Elvardo’s face in shadow again. Yhalen blinked, the mesmeric feeling fading. He took a backwards step, shuddering. Against all his better sense, he had been drawn to that flame like a moth to its destruction. He had felt the life within, the energy. How Elvardo had summoned it, he was uncertain, but he thought he held the glimmer of understanding how the man had held dominion over it.
And that he didn’t want to know. Did not want to admit ever tasting the flavor of such, though the hint of it lingered on his tongue. So he found himself with his back to the door to Bloodraven’s room, staring with mouth gone dry and heart hammering, at the large form sprawled upon the bed. Only this time, it was not Bloodraven that caused the fear.
He took a breath, calming himself and not thinking—stridently
not
dwelling—on what lurked in the halls outside the door. He moved to the hearth out of reflex, and added wood to a guttering fire, squatting there long after the flames had roused to greater life, staring. Pulled into the dance, into the life that dwelled within them.
No. He shook his head, standing abruptly and blinding himself to the sense of elemental power, just as he’d deafened himself to the whisper of the lady Duvera’s malicious whisperings when she’d tried to work her magicks on him. He moved back to the bed, hesitating a moment before shedding his trousers and slipping back into the space he’d left. Easier not to explain why he’d been up and dressed, then returned to bed. Easier to simply hide the fact.
It was a struggle though, to keep to the edge of the bed, what with Bloodraven’s weight dipping the mattress, and he gave up the fight soon enough, too preoccupied with the things he’d learned from Elvardo to wage war on two fronts. He let himself roll towards the center of the bed and let himself find a comfortable position against Bloodraven’s solid heat.
A Ydregi here, so far from home. So long from home that Yhalen didn’t even recall tales of such a man. Or did he? Perhaps he wasn’t connecting legend and rumor of old to a man so young seeming. He drifted to sleep turning over the improbability in his mind.
He came awake to the warmth of hands moving over his skin. It was early yet, he thought, and he was drowsy still from the lack of proper sleep his nighttime excursion had cost him.
He made no protest, shutting his eyes and sighing, content to let Bloodraven amuse himself as he would. Bloodraven turned him and he found comfort, nestled in the down pillows as Bloodraven’s 152
strong fingers stroked down the length of his back, smoothing his hair and parting it to either side of his neck.
Bloodraven’s finger slipped inside him, slippery with the oil from last night, and even that did not disturb his current languor. It was slick, firm pressure from within, warm and exhilarating as his body gave way to the bulge of knuckle. Bloodraven found that certain place and Yhalen moaned into his pillows, his cock gone hard between his body and the mattress. Bloodraven leaned over him, pressing him firmly into the softness of down, his mouth closing in on the back of his bared neck. A little bit of teeth, a little flicker of tongue, the warm suction of a large, hot mouth. The finger pumping in and out of him was joined by a second, and Yhalen’s drowsiness began to fade in the path of sensation and expectation.
Bloodraven shifted, withdrawing his fingers in favor of pursuing in earnest, the quelling of his early morning desires. His oil-slicked hands parted Yhalen’s buttocks and the hot head of his cock pressed eagerly against Yhalen’s loosened opening. He shut his eyes, digging fingers into the softness of sheets and pillows in expectation of the inevitable pain of entry. It came as ever, no matter the length of Bloodraven’s preparations, and he clamped his teeth against it and against the quivering jerk of excitement lacing through his lower regions as Bloodraven’s overwhelming thickness squeezed its way inside.
Somewhere along the way the pain of intrusion had become a thing that moved him as much as any lazy pleasure ever had. A shameful thing, really, if he dwelt overmuch on it. If he were to cling to the pride and the honor of the Ydregi ways. He might regret it later, when he had the leisure to work himself up over it, but for now there was no room for it. No room for anything but the weight and the heat of Bloodraven’s flesh inside his body, pulsing inside him with a throbbing heartbeat of its own. Of Bloodraven’s scent that invaded his senses, and the incomparable strength of his body holding Yhalen down beneath him, a powerless receptacle for his lusts. And that held allure, too, shame or no, the appeal of submitting to a stronger hand.
A trembling little whimper escaped his throat, a beseeching sound that he hardly believed issued from his lips, and Bloodraven growled in response before lying down in full upon Yhalen so that the weight of his own big body drove his cock deep inside Yhalen’s insides.
Bloodraven kept his weight from completely crushing Yhalen and driving all air from his lungs, but enough of it pressed down to envelope him and immobilize his body entirely, limbs and torso helplessly pinned under a much greater body, his anus burning from the stretch of a cock that felt like it had nestled somewhere within the center of his being. For a moment, Bloodraven lay that way, weight beginning to become more than stifling, then he began to pump, pulling out and driving back into Yhalen’s supine body, harder and faster until the breath was driven out of Yhalen’s body upon each inward strike. All he could do was lay there and gasp for air as bright lights danced before his eyes, his own cock so hard beneath him that it hurt.
Bloodraven surged into him, hard enough to drive them both towards the headboard, forgetting for a moment as he spewed into Yhalen’s body, to support his weight and crushing all the air from Yhalen’s lungs.
Yhalen gasped after it frantically, breathless cry muffled under Bloodraven’s body and against smothering pillows. He blacked out in a wash of sensation so intense it left red stars in its wake...and came back a moment later, free of burden, and breathing easily on his back with Bloodraven leaning over his sprawled body, a crooked twist of his lips chasing away what might have been concern on his face.
He seemed to be of an unusually good humor. Yhalen frowned, the ache between his buttocks still vivid enough to make him wince and in no wise stimulating now that the sex act was over and done with.
“Make use of the baths again today,” Bloodraven said, in a tone that implied that it was an order rather than suggestion. He trailed the back of a large knuckled hand down Yhalen’s sweat-sheened chest, from sternum to pubis, and then spread his palm flat across Yhalen’s belly. His finger span reached from hip bone to hip bone. He pressed down hard enough to make Yhalen gasp.
“You left this room during the night,” he said, leaning over, the humor gone from his face as golden eyes went narrow and dangerous. Yhalen blinked up, startled by the accusation—by the fact that Bloodraven had noted his absence at all. He had been so certain that his departure had gone unnoticed.
He could not, caught so off his guard, come up with a glib lie.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he gasped, not even bothering to attempt to push Bloodraven’s hand away. “I 153
didn’t go far. There’s a garden....”
He didn’t mention Elvardo. Elvardo and Elvardo’s claims were a secret as uncertain and tremulous as the exhilaration he felt when Bloodraven’s body sated itself upon his own. He couldn’t speak the words or admit the fascination.
Bloodraven stared at him a moment more, then the furrow between his brows smoothed out and his hand became gentle once more, sliding down between Yhalen’s legs to idly fondle softened cock and balls.
Yhalen shut his eyes, letting out a breath of tension and hoping the relief he felt was not so evident upon his face.
Bloodraven, having satisfied his morning urges as well as his curiosity, was not content to lie abed, and rose to don the new clothing Elvardo had provided. He rebraided the two long braids behind his ears so that they were tight, sleek ropes of dark hair once more. He seemed to be in an entirely good mood, as well about some purpose. His purposes concerned Yhalen to some small degree, since he seemed destined to be dragged along in the wake of them. So he pulled on his own clothing and finger combed some of the tangles out of his hair, following Bloodraven as he left the chamber with intent.
Bloodraven made no efforts to conceal his passage, and one of the doors along the hall opened as they passed, Sir Alasdair’s head protruding.
“Where are you going?”
Bloodraven’s stride did not falter, though Yhalen looked back warily.
“To look about the valley.”
“You are not!” Alasdair exclaimed.
Bloodraven didn’t look back or comment, and Yhalen doubted, short of overwhelming force, that the knight would have any better success arguing against Bloodraven’s set designs than Yhalen himself did.
Sir Alasdair cursed and retreated back into his room and Yhalen heard the faint sounds of a man hastily donning clothes.
With unerring sense of direction, Bloodraven found his way to the main hall. One of the women drifted out to meet them—the redhead, who smiled benignly and offered her services.
“I would ride outside the keep and into the valley,” Bloodraven explained.
“Of course,” the woman said. “I’ll let my lord know of your wish. In the meanwhile, will you break your fast?”
Bloodraven frowned, not eager to be deterred from his goal.
“The valley is large, and the day will be an arduous one on an empty stomach.”
That reasoning seemed to sway Bloodraven’s decision. He inclined his head and they followed her, not to the grand dining room they’d eaten in the night before, but to a smaller, plainer room that, from the smell of it, was probably located next the kitchen. A table against the wall held an array of covered platters that hid thick slices of smoked ham, diced potatoes with onions, honey-sweetened porridge, fresh baked bread and a sharp yellow cheese. It was a feast more welcome than the one last night and more to Yhalen’s tastes.
Appetite suddenly ravenous, Yhalen piled his plate and sat down on the bench a body’s length from Bloodraven, who was efficiently demolishing the heaping stack of food upon his own platter.
“What will you do in the valley?” Yhalen surprised himself by asking.
Bloodraven’s shoulders twitched in a shrug. “Look,” he said simply.
And Yhalen understood. If this was to be a home for his half-blood people, it must meet Bloodraven’s standards first, and he’d seen little enough of it on the trip here.
There was the stomp of feet outside the door of the little dining room, and soon enough Sir Alasdair appeared through the door.
“Damned place is a maze,” he complained, even as Bloodraven rose, the set of his body emanating threat to anyone who stood in the way of his intentions.
Yhalen thought the king’s man might have very well reached the limits of his authority over the halfling. Bloodraven had played at being a complacent captive long enough. He strode towards the door and Alasdair had little choice but to move backwards and out of his way, or be shoved aside. As big as the knight was, Bloodraven might have had to put a bit of effort behind it and that would have ended in violence that Yhalen did not think the knight wanted. Not if his king’s mission was to be 154
carried out.
“You’re not to just traipse about without consulting....” Alasdair shook his head, gathering his calm and stalked after the retreating form of Bloodraven. Yhalen trailed further behind, not trusting Bloodraven’s patience as much as the knight’s. Some of Alasdair’s men had followed their commander and gathered in the hall that led to the courtyard. Yhalen thought he saw the lady in the shadow of the grand stairway.
Alasdair caught at Bloodraven’s arm and the halfling paused, his muscles twitching and head turning ever so slightly to look down at the offending fingers at his elbow.
“Damn it, you don’t have my leave for this!” Alasdair shouted.
Bloodraven’s lip curled.
“He doesn’t need your leave, knight.” A lazy voice drifted down from the shadows at the top of the stairway. Elvardo drifted out of the darkness, movements as indolent and sinuous as his voice. “You have no power here. Your
king
has no authority over my guests.”
“The hell.” Alasdair whirled to glare at Elvardo, who’d made his way to the bottom of the stair and leaned upon the carved banister. “Last I heard, this side of the mountain was still a territory of Suthland. We haven’t banished you yet,
my lord
.”
He put the same sneering innuendo in the title as Elvardo had used when mentioning his king.
Elvardo’s lips turned up in a faint, amused smile.
“You think you could, knight? You think all your little men in their tin suits could take this valley if I chose not to allow it?”
Alasdair took a breath, a big man with a quick temper, but not a foolish one, or one who lost his reason even in the midst of anger. The king had chosen wisely in placing him in command of this wild mission.
“I think,” he said, “that you like to play games and push men to their limits for your own amusement.”
“I think your king is a weakling and an idiot, grasping at straws,” Elvardo said lightly, and there was something in his eyes that hinted that was indeed high amusement for him.
“Traitorous cur!!” The cry echoed, filled with outrage, and a man of Alasdair’s rushed at Elvardo, sword drawn and face red.
“Stop!” Alasdair roared, lunging forward, but the man had his momentum and the reach of his sword and swung.