by Lena Austin
Quenton fell bonelessly to the flagstones, out cold from the force of Remo’s wings. One of Remo’s talons was snagged on his jerkin, so perforce Remo went down with his former lover. Remo’s wyvern shriek of surprise and confusion echoed and bounced off the walls.
A purple wing interposed itself between the two of them and the rest of the students. The golden eyes of a dragon softened sympathetically, and winked reassurance.
“Easy there, Remo.” Prince Jack edged around the wing, moving slowly with his hands outstretched. “Calm down, pal. I want to help.”
Help? Oh, yes, he needed help. His wings stopped their agitated flapping, and the tension in his tail relaxed, uncurling until it lay flat upon the floor. Remo watched his tail -- with the wicked-looking stinger dripping poison -- in fascination.
Prince Jack moved closer, daring to kneel within easy strike range of Remo’s deadly appendage. “Remo, look at me. I’m going to untangle your claw from Quenton’s vest. Don’t bite me, okay?”
The other students peered around Aneurin’s wing, for surely the purple wing belonged to Jack’s dragon. One pronounced in an awed tone, “Gods. Does he know what he’s risking?”
Remo hissed at that remark, and they all stepped back a pace. A distant tugging distracted Remo, and he angled his long neck to see Jack working each individual claw out from the lacings of Quenton’s silk jerkin.
Quenton moaned and opened the one eye that wasn’t going to be swollen shut within a matter of hours. He reached one hand up feebly to caress Remo’s pointed muzzle. “That was worth every bruise and ache. Congratulations.”
Jack grunted and freed the last talon from Quenton’s clothes. “You pissed him off to make him change? That could have gotten you killed, dimwit.”
Quenton shrugged. “It was that or make him burst with lust. This was neither the time nor place for lovemaking. I had to risk his anger instead.”
Remo kept his thoughts to himself. He doubted his stinger would have done more than make Quenton sick, though it might have killed anyone else in the room. He blinked innocently and tried to remain calm. Wyverns were notoriously irascible creatures, inclined to sting first and not bother to ask questions.
Jack moved slowly away from Quenton’s supine body, careful not to startle Remo. He spoke gently and carefully. “Okay, Remo. Back up and allow Quenton to rise. He’ll pay for annoying you with a lot of pain tonight. Easy now. Use your tail for balance. Remember, you only have two legs and wings right now. Careful.”
Remo discovered “walk” was not part of a wyvern’s abilities. His legs responded more like an eagle’s, making it possible for him to hop, or move in an ungainly sidestepping motion forward. He settled for hopping a few feet backwards.
As soon as Remo was safely away, Jack moved forward to help Quenton sit up. “Anything broken?”
Quenton smiled, despite a cut lip. “Not even my pride. My thanks.” He allowed Jack to haul him by one arm to his feet. Quenton turned and bowed to Remo. “When you calm down, you should be able to return to your Elven shape. Perhaps I can repay the debt of my insults with a glass of Elven wine? I shall owe you and your dragon a glass of wine as well, Lord Jack, for you were the only ones brave enough to risk a painful death to save me. Again, my thanks.”
Aneurin quietly furled his wings and allowed Quenton to exit into the crowd of students, who followed him out the door murmuring like a pack of love struck maidens.
Lady Vera stepped forward, her hands on her hips, and shook her head at the exiting men. She sniffed derisively and then turned to nod at Jack. “I am most impressed, Lord Jack. You show the bravery of your aunts. I will see to it you are excused from Lord DeAngelo’s classes, if you wish it.”
Jack bowed. “I doubt that will be necessary, Lady Vera. Remo will calm down now that Quenton is removed from his sight, I’m sure.”
“Foolish thing to do. Never anger another mage until you know their full abilities. I shall speak to him once his bruises ache sufficiently to drive home the lesson.” She gathered up her skirts and swept from the room.
Jack muttered in the direction of the door. “Actually, it’s not bravery. I have no idea what wyverns can do.” He cleared his throat and looked nervously at Remo’s stinger. “Let me guess. That thing’s poisonous, right?”
Laughter bubbled up inside Remo, at first coming out like a raucous high-pitched screech before settling into normal tones as his sense of humor facilitated his return to his usual Elven form. “You are much too innocent for your own good, Jack.”
Grinning with relief, Jack snorted. “First time anyone’s told me that.”
Aneurin chimed in. “Well, you said you wanted a form with wings. You got one.” He eyed the tiny iridescent puddle of poisoned ichor where Remo’s tail had been. “With one helluva weapon included in the bargain.”
Remo sighed. “It is a saying among my people. Be careful what you wish for. The gods have a sense of humor.”
* * *
Quenton kept his chin up and his back straight while the sycophants chattered like magpies, commending his bravery and expressing their concern over his injuries. His head ached abominably, he could only see out of one eye, and he’d be black and blue in the morning judging by the way his muscles protested every movement. Still, he couldn’t help smiling in satisfaction. He’d mended the breach between himself and Remo, and possibly redeemed himself in Prince Jack’s eyes. His mission might yet succeed, if he could ally himself with the two most powerful wizards in the castle. If he’d manipulated the situation as well as he’d hoped, he’d also relieve the ache in his groin by sunrise. One could always hope.
The swordmaster’s salle and fighting field was a long, painful walk but well worth the journey. His muscles wouldn’t stiffen and they’d be properly warmed for swordplay. Lord Damek scared the whey out of the fools around Quenton, and they’d be silent, thank the Mother. He breathed a sigh of relief to see the husky, muscular warrior lounging in the sun on the bench outside the salle.
The gruff swordmaster studied Quenton’s black eye. “Fighting already? One might think you were boys, not men who should control themselves.” He scanned the crowd surrounding Quenton. “Well? What are you waiting for? An invitation from the king? Armor up! Move.” They scattered like geese.
Quenton turned to follow, but with dignity. The swordmaster’s hand on his right biceps stopped him. He swallowed a wince when the bruise twinged.
“Who were you fighting with, Lord Quenton?”
Proudly, Quenton lifted his chin. “It wasn’t a fight precisely, Lord Damek. I angered the Elf Remo to force him to transfigure. It worked, but I shall pay for my methods.”
Damek’s eyes lifted and looked over Quenton’s shoulder. Not that Quenton needed the hint. He’d felt Remo approach, for once alone. Prince Jack and his dragon would be at flight practice with that insane old wizard.
The swordmaster grunted once, his eyes still trained on Remo. “Remo, do you sword fight by the usual Elven methods?” Damek did not release Quenton’s arm.
Quenton turned in time to see Remo bow. “Indeed, good swordmaster. I do.”
The other students trooped out of the salle wearing various combinations of armor and weapons, according to their preferences and skills.
Another grunt. “Well and good then. I’ll have no ill feelings between my students.” The swordmaster studied the crowd with no pity. “You’re not all that handsome a lot, most of you, but I remind you that you’re all certified wizards and therefore at stud when requested. You can’t do your duty when you’re damaged goods.” He grabbed Quenton’s chin and jerked him around until all could get a good look at the blackened and rapidly swelling eye, then just as rapidly released Quenton entirely.
The students shuffled their feet, some with their faces as red as peonies.
Lord Damek snorted. “Virgins. Get over it. Lord Kyle will see to your training in pleasuring the ladies who hire you. That’s not my job. My job is to see to it your wizard skills ar
e up to the task of serving as warlocks in battle and that means learning to defend yourselves first. Can’t have you being killed. Just try not to damage your ugly faces any more than you have to.”
The students looked at one another, some grinning, some thoughtful.
Quenton moved to stand with the others, only a few feet from Remo, just to watch the Elf flush. Remo was in the same state he was, nearly bursting with lust. It radiated off him in red waves. Quenton suppressed a smile of satisfaction.
Damek wasn’t finished. He pointed at Remo and Quenton. “You and you. Pair up. Work out any ill will between you with blunted practice weapons. No rules. You may use the wooded area as well as that space.” He pointed to a round dueling circle. “I’ll grant the Elf will need a forest to use his skills. Return the blades and armor by sunset. Go.”
Quenton turned and marched into the salle without a word. He chose his weapon, an imitation of a hand-and-a-half broadsword, and shrugged on a lightly padded gambeson.
Remo, in the manner of his people, chose a thin, light sword and a similarly padded vest.
As one, they stalked outside, shoulder to shoulder, ignoring the crowd now spread about the field under the supervision of Lord Damek. Lord Damek’s insults as to their clumsiness and “dancing” peppered the air.
They took positions in the dueling circle, saluted, and warily began to circle one another, as they had done many times before.
Quenton couldn’t repress his grin any longer. “Just like old times, eh, Remo?”
Remo made the opening move and danced away from the parry. “Not at all.”
“I wish it were.” Quenton returned a strike, moving with all the speed he could muster. He clipped Remo’s shoulder, but once more the Elf escaped with nothing more than a touch.
“If wishes were dragons, we all could ride.” Remo tossed back his braid and wove a complicated pattern with his blade.
Quenton laughed. There was the opening he’d waited for. He rushed Remo to break the woven pattern of the sword dance. “You can ride me anytime and you know it.”
Remo stepped backward, until he stood just inside the ring of trees marking the edge of the woods. He snorted once and stepped into the shadows. “I know it.”
Quenton raced after him. “Then let the chase begin.”
Chapter Three
Remo blended into a clump of bushes, and squatted down to hide for a moment. The scent of the earth, normally so soothing, did not still his beating heart. He heard Quenton crash through the foliage, intent on pursuit. Remo put his head in his hands and swallowed a moan. What was he doing? One did not tease a dragon without risking a burn, as the humans said, but teasing Quenton was doubly foolish. They risked both their missions.
“I can smell you, Remo,” Quenton’s voice coaxed. “I know you’re nearby. What do you fear from me?” The dark-haired wizard stalked right by Remo’s hiding place. It wouldn’t be long before he sniffed out his Elven prey, damn his superior senses.
Failure. Success. That’s what I fear. Remo shuddered, admitting to himself he wanted to be back in Quenton’s arms, damn their separate goals. He ached for Quenton’s lips on his body, to taste Quenton’s sweet cock in his mouth before they fucked each other into oblivion.
Quenton sniffed loudly. “I can smell your lust, my Elven lover. Why do you hide?” He turned, tasting the air without changing to his true form. “You know I won’t hurt you.”
That was true. Remo studied Quenton’s strong, muscular back, his gaze trailing down to the well-sculpted buttocks of one who took his part of a human lordling seriously. Had Quenton been playing his role all the time they’d been apart? What was his mission here that his queen had sent him to do?
Quenton’s face turned up to gauge the time by the sun’s position. “We have only a few hours until sunset, Remo. Would you have me chase you or spend this interlude in pleasure?”
The temptation was too great. Remo had to ask. He sighed and stood, smiling slightly. Soundlessly, he moved as only a forest dweller could, and then raked his hand between Quenton’s butt cheeks. His grin widened when the dark wizard yelped and spun in midair. “And what of afterward, lover? Will we return to our separate duties, waiting until we have prevented this race war to be together again?”
Quenton gathered his smaller lover into his arms with tenderness. He buried his face in Remo’s neck. “Right now, I am too impatient to care what becomes of tomorrow. Why can we not just be as we once were?”
Remo squirmed in delight as Quenton’s dark curls tickled his sensitive ear tips. His mind fogged like an autumn meadow on a misty morning, with Quenton’s hardness poking insistently through his light Elven vest. “We are older now, that’s why. No longer can we run off into the woods like naughty younglings to play. We… oh, spirits of air… stop that. I can’t think.”
“Good. I don’t want you to think. I want you to feel.” Quenton lifted his lips from Remo’s ear, where he’d been diligently flicking his tongue just inside the shell. His arms, still wrapped around Remo, lifted the Elf off the ground as if he were a feather. “Come here. I will do now what I didn’t know was needed then. I will seduce my bright star into flaming for me.”
The last of Remo’s resistance crumbled. Of their own accord, Remo’s legs wound around Quenton’s hips. The barrier he kept around his heart, allowing only light love affairs, cracked and shook. “You haven’t called me that in a very long time.”
“Wait one moment. You’ll harm yourself on my sword belt. Let me remove it, I beg.” Quenton’s voice was thick with emotion. It gratified Remo to know he was not the only one in danger of losing all discretion.
“Remove it all or remove me from your arms, but be quick about it.”
“As you wish.” Quenton lifted Remo out of his arms and placed him on a low tree stump where Remo could be eye to eye with his taller lover. “I will not risk magic. There are too many here who would recognize my spell. You must watch me strip away these human clothes one by one.”
“To the darkest dwarven halls with that. No one knows Elven magic.” Remo swept away their clothes with a wave of his hand. Their clothes landed in piles at the base of the tree. “We’ll sort them later.” He wriggled forward, prepared to jump down and join Quenton on the soft, springy grass.
Quenton’s hands grasped Remo’s thighs and held him in place. “Nay, do not be so anxious. We have an hour or two as yet, and I’ve dreamt of tasting your honey sweet flesh so often, I wish to sup and savor.”
“Oh.” Remo bent forward, his lips hovering above Quenton’s, torturing them both with anticipation. “Well then, I admit I dreamt likewise. These first, I think.”
A growl tore from Quenton’s throat. His hand tangled in the braid at the back of Remo’s neck and he yanked the Elf forward. “Who said I would permit you to be in charge?”
Quenton took Remo’s mouth with his own, a silent dare to Remo to stop him. Fortunately, such a halt was far from Remo’s plans. He parted his lips and let Quenton’s long tongue taste what they’d both denied themselves for far too long. He wanted to swallow Quenton whole, devouring… oh, wait… that would be Quenton’s thoughts, merging with his own. He shoved them aside, determined to keep his soul-self separate.
Chuckling, Quenton released Remo’s lips. “One day, you’ll let me in all the way, Remo. I want more than your body, and I always have. Now I’m just less afraid to take what I want.”
Remo shook his finger at his lover’s long, elegant nose. “Take what I give and be grateful. If you think you can simply saunter back into my life and body after well over one hundred years, you are sadly mistaken.”
“Now who’s counting time?” Quenton’s eyes glittered with mischief.
Stammering was not elegant, but Remo choked when he realized he had indeed marked the passage of the years. “I could not help but notice.” He looked into the dark, earth-brown eyes he loved and softened his voice to a bare whisper. “I missed you so.”
Quenton’s hands gr
asped Remo’s arms and yanked him off the tree stump. He crushed Remo to his chest, sheer happiness lighting his face. “And I could not live one day without thinking of you, wondering who shared your bed in my place, and if you would ever forgive me for running like a scared rabbit.”
“Oh, I think I can manage a bit of mercy.” Remo’s eyes glittered with mischief, and his heart was lighter than it had been in many decades. “Perhaps if you could satiate us both before the sun sets, this might ease the way?”
“Oh, I do love a challenge. They’re irresistible to me.” Quenton gently put Remo down atop some thick moss growing between two tree roots. “Here’s a fine bed to lay the most beautiful Elf in Honalee.”
Remo snorted, mildly insulted. He ignored the cool moss that would stain his silver hair to green. “Females are beautiful. Males are handsome. I remind you that for all that I’m smaller than you, I am not weaker.”
Quenton knelt next to Remo, his appreciative gaze warmer than the sun filtering through the trees. “I know this quite well. Your king was wise to send one who is fond of other races, but yet is powerful and clever enough to do battle.” He bent to taste one of Remo’s nipples, his teeth nipping just at the point of pain.
The Elf buried his hands in his lover’s familiar curls, savoring the long remembered feel. His heart soared higher than eagles… or dragons. “Exile among humans was a fate worse than death.”
Quenton’s eyes were large and round when his gaze lifted from Remo’s body. “Exile? How dare they?”
Blushing at having revealed too much, Remo lifted his heels. His body shook with both embarrassment and need. Fortunately, it was easy to distract his lover’s emotional outbursts. “We will discuss it later over that wine you owe me.”
Fire heated the large dark eyes he so loved. “Don’t think I’ll forget. I, too, am older, and my memory more refined. But for the moment I will permit an interlude of mystery. Meanwhile --” and in his hand appeared a small flagon of oil, “-- we shall indulge ourselves.”
