by Pearl Love
A razor tip raked across this skin, reopening the shallow wound caused by the priest’s dagger until it welled with a threadlike streak of fresh blood. Alen gasped when a long, heavy tongue appeared from between the creature’s fangs and laved gently at the trickling drops of red. He supposed he should have felt ashamed at the way his body hardened at the beast’s touch, but the sentiment was nowhere to be found. It seemed almost natural that his arousal should swell and his breath quicken as the creature fed on his blood with the unknown gentleness of a lover’s caress.
Peering upward through thick lashes, Alen looked past the frightful muzzle, suddenly desperate to meet the demon’s gaze. What he thought to find, he could not say, but no frightful evil stared back at him. Rather, his eyes grew wide as a visceral shock of recognition twisted in his gut, causing his heart to pound. The beast looked back at him with burning, aureate eyes that were both alien and familiar, like the haunting refrain of a song once heard in a dream. Alen stared with wondrous disbelief, his mind unable to comprehend what his heart knew to be true.
“You,” he breathed, the utterance no louder than a sigh.
The demon’s face seemed to blur, as if rising through water that had been disturbed by the wind. The fangs retreated, the dark lips lightening as they grew soft and full while the snout flattened into a regal, arrogant nose. The beast’s massive forearms narrowed and waned while the shorter hind legs lengthened and grew straighter, neither losing any hint of strength. The mane of fire remained, merely shifting in character, becoming instead a glowing crown of flowing tresses. When the demon had fully transformed, Alen was not startled by what appeared in its place. For through it all, the golden eyes had gazed upon him tenderly as they had always done, and Alen knew an unspeakable joy as the man in the flames smiled at him at last.
“Such a lonely soul, to look into the fire and call me friend.”
The voice, though gentle, held the deep resonance of untold millennia. The man raised an arm, the muscles shifting beneath the dusky red surface of his skin much as they had beneath the short fur that had covered the demon’s powerful limb. A long-fingered hand closed about Alen’s throat, allowing a tapered thumb to stroke over the small hurt he had bestowed. The tingling heat was reborn within Alen’s body, spreading through him even more intensely than it had before, leaving him aching with a need he dared not name.
The man’s smile grew as he whimpered and twisted against his bonds. But when the golden gaze fell upon the chains that held Alen fast to the burning pyre, gleaming, white teeth bared with a ferocity reminiscent of the beast he had so recently portrayed. A growl of barely leashed fury spilled from the man’s full lips and the metal links melted away as though cast into a blacksmith’s forge. Alen moaned as he was borne aloft from his fiery bed, held safe in a pair of strong arms that threatened to burn him still. The tawny gaze held his own, possessive and beautiful in its savagery.
“Long have I kept my vigil, watching you grow in beauty and in sorrow. Countless nights I wanted to reach out to you as you have reached so many times toward me, yet I was powerless to comfort you as I yearned to do. But no longer.”
Clutching the boy to his broad chest, the man lowered his face until their breaths mingled. The aromatic bouquet of burning wood filled Alen’s lungs, calming him and drawing him helplessly toward its source. Their lips were so close that he could almost feel as well as hear the man’s words as he spoke.
“You have been presented to me upon this pyre of malice and betrayal, and I shall not reject my gift.”
Alen shuddered as the arms tightened around him, singeing his abused flesh and searing away any desire for escape.
“For I am Firnal, the god of the mountain, and I will accept my offering of love.”
The god’s dark lips were firm of line, brooking no mortal defiance, the capacity for divine cruelty evident in subtle curves. And yet when they met his, Alen was certain that he had never felt anything quite so restful. Not the thick quilt that covered him in the deep of winter, nor the comforting touch of his mother’s hand.
Alen melted helplessly into the kiss. Firnal’s lips incited within him a blaze both corporeal and erotic, cleansing him and searing all memory of the priest’s disgusting touch. He knew that he should pull away, should shun the god’s caress before his body succumbed to an embrace as dangerous as the inferno from which he had just been liberated. But he could no more abandon the arms that held him than he could quench the flames of the fiery peak that raged above them.
The kiss was slow and wondrous, full of gentle promise and vowing nothing less than eternity. It ended as sweetly as it began, and it took a moment for Alen to notice that the air against his scalded lips was cool. He opened his eyes, which had fallen helplessly shut, and gazed up at his savior. Golden eyes captured him once more as his hand strayed toward the raging flame of the god’s hair. It was as though the fire still surrounded him, the heat pouring from the body pressed against him as intense as that from which he had been salvaged. The pain was exquisite and Alen reveled in it, wrapping his arms around Firnal’s corded neck and laying his cheek upon the god’s powerful shoulder.
For so many years, he’d silently communed with his mysterious companion, keeping the treasured secret of his existence close to his heart, believing his friend was real even when he was old enough to know better. How wondrous it was to learn that his unwavering devotion to this magnificent being was real and had not been borne of madness.
Though his loneliness threatened sometimes to swallow him whole, Alen had never given in to the desire to join the man in the flames and give himself over to that final embrace. He understood now that it was not cowardice that had stayed him. Rather, he had still been bound to his life, not yet fain to leave his mother behind to endure alone. So he had been obliged to patience, suffering through his allotted time as best he could, content in the knowledge that escape awaited him in the bright energy that filled his home with warmth. But now, his days, at last, were done. His most fervent wish had been granted, and all remaining feelings of duty or obligation to his mother, all of his final ties to this life, were burned away by the god’s magnificent presence.
“I love you,” Alen whispered, the certainty of his heart unequivocal. They were words which he had longed to say ever since he’d been a small boy, enchanted by the improbable miracle in his mother’s hearth. Saying them now took less effort than did drawing his next breath into his ravaged lungs, and once they were spoken, the lingering clouds of sadness that had shrouded his heart were banished like shadows before the radiance of the sun. Alen stared in awe at the smile that blossomed on Firnal’s lips, the brilliance of it rivaling the bright star that burst across the heavens to herald the end of night. Though filled with an unknowable grief, it was no less luminous for its melancholy.
“And I you, my little in’zati, my beautiful little ember, who dared to seek out and befriend a god. For though you may seem small and insignificant to some,” Firnal murmured as long, crimson fingers captured their pale, slender kindred, leaving behind blemishing smudges of burned flesh on the boy’s skin, “just the slightest touch of your hand can incite a firestorm of jealous passion in men’s hearts.”
Alen looked away from Firnal’s warm gaze, ashamed to let the god see the bitterness engendered by the unerring observation. “I did not ask for that power,” he murmured. “It has been nothing but a torment.” He shuddered for a moment at the remembered feel of the guard’s bruising hands, the priest’s abhorrent caresses, the cutting pain of the stones thrown by the villagers as he’d been forced to march though the square. Alen closed his eyes against the disgraceful sting of tears. “I did not wish it.” A choked sob caught in his throat, but it faded away as a touch at his chin bade him to raise his gaze.
Firnal smiled down at him with tenderness and regret. “No, but the unhappy burden was yours to bear.”
Alen looked up as gentle fire traced down his cheek, the path of Firnal’s finger marked by the cha
rring of his fair skin. “Was I, then, sired by hell as the villagers claim?”
The god’s tawny gaze narrowed in anger, though his ire was not directed at the boy in his arms. “Give no credence to such absurdity. You were meant to be cherished, though the narrow-minded peasants who surrounded you were unable to appreciate the beneficence bestowed upon them. Your loveliness, though no fault of your own, has been your curse, but you need no longer be a prisoner of your beauty.” A dusky thumb brushed gently over Alen’s lips. “For now you belong to me.”
Firnal’s keen gaze sharpened suddenly, peering into the widened blue that stared up at him. The boy was reminded of the pitiless gaze of a bird of prey, unrelenting and brooking no attempts at diversion.
“Hence, tell me,” the god demanded in tones dulcet, yet resounding with power. “What is it that you wish? Are you prepared to abandon your life, to give up all that you know of this world?”
Alen knew with abrupt surety that, did he but say the word, Firnal would whisk him back to his mother’s caring bosom. The priest would not risk subverting the will of the god of fire, nor would the rest of the village once obliged by divine command. The smallest utterance would grant Alen that of which he had merely dreamed: a life where he might finally know the blessings of obscurity and the peace of his mother’s boundless love. But the conjecture was no more than an idle notion that drifted but briefly across his thoughts. What other choice was there to make when his utmost desire stood before him, holding him close and enfolding him with loving warmth?
“I wish to be with you.”
The reply was but a whisper, yet its power resonated through the mountainside, shaking the ground beneath the god’s feet. The mountain’s shudder was echoed in the subtle tremble of Firnal’s majestic figure. Alen wondered at it, unable at first, in his own contentment, to notice the mournfulness in his love’s smile. But when he did at last perceive it, all his earlier doubts flooded back, the sharp rush of pain like a dagger through his heart. Had he been presumptuous in his declaration, reading more into the god’s words of affection than had been intended? Was he after all, despite Firnal’s reassurances, unworthy of love?
“D-Do you not want me?” he stuttered, uncertain as to whether he could bear the answer to his query. The fist of dread that crushed him rendered the ache in his scorched flesh a mere trifle. The god’s silence continued through several heavy thumps of Alen’s heart, assaulting his thirsty ears, and for the first time, the arms around him were a source of discomfort. He began to struggle, longing to distance himself from the hurt seeping into his body and his soul.
But before he could win free, a large palm gently cupped his cheek, spreading warmth through him like a soothing balm. Alen raised his eyes, the pounding in his chest speeding with a more pleasant sort of anticipation at the look of ardent need in Firnal’s gaze. Joy, both tender and ardent, jealous and benevolent, shown in the shimmering eyes which held Alen captive. The god’s passion was evident in the huskiness of his voice as he ended his reticence.
“I desire nothing more than to spend eternity with you, in’zati, and I will accept nothing less. But understand this,” the fire god persisted, his expression gaining an edge of urgency, willing Alen to understand the full implications of his decision. “If you become mine, you forsake your life, for your mortal flesh will not withstand our joining.”
Alen wondered at Firnal’s grim frown. He could not comprehend why the comment was even put forth. Of course his life would end. It was to have ended on the pyre, which still spat a frozen column of dark smoke into the star-strewn sky. Such was the fate he had chosen and he would hold fast to his pledge. His elation at the prospect of meeting his end, not in lonely torment but at the hand of this glorious being, was more than he could ever hope to express. He had not dared to envision such fortune, not even in the wildest of his childish fantasies. Would he be so foolish now as to deny the miracle that was finally within his reach?
“All that matters,” he murmured, smiling away the reservation in the god’s eyes, “is that we are together.” He reached up and brushed Firnal’s crimson cheek with the back of his fingers, unaware of the resultant burns that seared his pale skin. His voice, though soft, rang with conviction. “It is all I have ever wanted.”
Fire flashed in Firnal’s molten gaze, and a gust of wind caught the flames of his hair, whipping them about his broad shoulders. Alen felt the god’s arms tighten about him until he was nigh crushed by their might. But all was perfect, and he rejoiced as his gaze took its fill of his love’s splendor.
“Then, my in’zati, my own you shall be. From this moment until the world shudders with its last breath. Nay,” he whispered, dipping his head to close the distance between them, “even beyond.”
Firnal’s lips traced along the delicate line of Alen’s jaw until they reached the shell of the boy’s ear. Alen quivered at the teasing stroke, his fingers flexing helplessly into the corded muscles in the god’s neck. A moan fell from his lips, sighing into the night as heated breath drifted past his ear.
“Our joy shall be a herald of doom for the impudent churls who looked down on you.” Firnal lifted his head, meeting Alen’s enraptured gaze. “Though they have given me a prize beyond measure, the suffering they have inflicted upon you has incurred my wrath, and they shall reap my vengeance. Though there may be some who dwell there who have not wished you ill, they spoke not against your persecution. They were content in their indifference to let you come to harm, and that I cannot forgive.”
The god spoke with an unshakable certainty that caused a twinge of foreboding to seep into Alen's happiness. He opened his mouth, a moment’s protest upon his lips, but at the implacable glint in Firnal’s gaze, he knew any attempt to dissuade the god would be futile. If this deity to whom the element of fire pledged its undying allegiance truly meant to destroy the village, then destroyed it would be. However, there was one soul amongst the inhabitants of the town that prompted Alen to speak.
“My mother,” he whispered, his voice tight with concern. “What of her? She has done no wrong to me, nor indeed, to anyone in the whole of her life.” Alen looked up beseechingly at Firnal, the crimson glow about them tinting the blue of his eyes with violet. The god’s reverent gaze revealed his enchantment with the precious creature nestled so trustingly in his arms.
“Fret not, little in’zati. She will, of course, be spared. I should cease to exist before I caused her harm, for she is the instrument of that which I treasure most.” His tone held no false note nor did any hint of insincerity mar the tawny brilliance of his regard. “But all else will perish. Those that have caused you misery shall burn in the molten flow of my rage and they shall lament their trespass in the very fires of hell.”
Whatever reservations Alen might yet entertain at the prospect of the imminent demise of all he had ever known were soon swept away as Firnal’s kiss claimed not only his gasping lips but the entirety of his soul. A bold, scorching tongue swept into his mouth, seeking out his own and leaving it with no place to hide. He was permitted no youthful bashfulness. All hesitation was seared away by a fierce wave of want and need that drove the breath from Alen’s lungs and left his body aflame.
Without warning, the world tilted askew as large hands encompassed his waist and lifted him as though he weighed but a trifle. Alen clung to the god, fearful that he might fall, but Firnal held him fast. The sureness of the god’s powerful arms promised that never again would Alen have to depend on his own strength, yet they laid him upon the ground as gently as a drop of dew coming to rest upon the petal of a tender spring flower. As Firnal stretched close beside him, Alen marveled at the muscled perfection of the god’s imposing form. He reached out hesitantly, uncertain in his innocence, but a scarlet hand captured his and brought it to rest upon a firm, broad chest. Alen sighed as warm flesh and rippled steel passed beneath the sensitive pads of his fingers, and when Firnal exhaled a soft groan at his untutored touch, the sound of the god’s desire emboldened him.
Measuring the breadth of Firnal’s shoulders, the corded strength of his neck, the heavy power of his chest, Alen delighting in the difference between his own slender form and the god’s potent might. Again he smelled the pleasing scent of fragrant wood chips and knew it for the aroma of the god’s rising desire. The knowledge served to inflame his own passion as he charted the glorious expanse of his lover’s body.
A line of fire traced down his chest, distracting Alen from his exploration. Hissing from the sensation that bordered on pain, he glanced down toward the crimson finger that was the source of the sting. The smoke-singed fibers of his homespun shirt parted in the wake of the god’s passing, the edges of the rift left brown and scorched. Alen’s tunic fell away, baring his alabaster chest, and color bloomed becomingly in his cheeks as Firnal’s eyes blazed with an ardent passion that incited nervous longing in Alen’s virginal heart.
The finger mirrored its earlier course and Alen moaned in blissful anguish as nothing remained to guard over his vulnerable flesh. The heat was intoxicating, seeping through his skin and into the growing ache between his thighs. His eyelids fluttered at the sensation, and he nearly missed the sorrow that darkened the god’s eyes as the deity mourned the violent char that now marred the formerly pristine expanse. But along with sadness was a fierce possessiveness that filled Alen with a sense of power he had never before known. Firnal’s gaze drifted over his body like a physical caress as he lay before the god with unreserved trust. The scalded tenderness of his lips, the angry burns that marked his face and scorched his body—Alen welcomed them as a declaration of the god’s claim over him.
As though the sight of the cherished hurts had pushed him to the very limits of his control, Firnal bent low and laved the tempting pebble of an enticing pink bud with a clever tongue. The licking tendrils of his hair fell over Alen’s arms and chest, and Alen’s voice rang out into the clearing with astonished passion as the exquisitely new sensation coursed through him. Neck curving in a graceful bow, his chin pointed toward the sky as he silently encouraged the god to take further liberties. Mere moments ago, he had been sure there could be nothing more perfect than the divine touch of his lover’s hand upon his body, but the limits of his knowledge were becoming ever more clear. The fiery tongue abandoned him, leaving his damp, tender flesh to cool in the night air. But before he could collect his wits sufficiently to muster a protest, the scalding heat lashed out again, bathing his other nipple in the same luscious warmth. Certain that he had reached the very pinnacle of bliss, Alen could do no more than press toward Firnal’s lips with an arched back, his peaked nipples glistening salaciously in the firelight as he begged wordlessly for more of the delicious torture.
