by Lena Austin
“Good. I began to wonder if you expected me to provide the oil you intended to fuck me into forgetfulness with.” Remo knew his eyes flashed with heat equal to his lover’s.
Quenton chuckled and lavished the oil upon his cock, teasing Remo by slathering it inch by inch with the glistening lubricant. “This will ease my way, though I admit I considered doing without when you dismissed me so blithely before the Trials.” He pressed into Remo’s body, sliding slowly home. Even after so long, he fit as a sword in its own scabbard.
Remo cried out in joy and sensation. Quenton’s cock filled him and completed his soul, with pleasure and pain so intricately mixed, they became a wicked dichotomy. Too long had it been since he’d felt so full, locked in his one true love’s embrace.
Quenton’s face mirrored his own passions, but perhaps he had learned patience and consideration, because he chose to stay still and allow Remo’s body a chance to adjust to the intrusion. Instead, he used his oily right hand to grasp Remo’s cock and stroke it. “We will come together in our own good time, lover Elf.”
The double entendre did not escape Remo, despite the dual pleasures that had him writhing beneath Quenton. He wasn’t sure what to focus on -- the tug and pull on his aching length or the stretch and pull of his full ass. To do what Quenton asked was so very tempting, so very easy. Just relax and let it happen. If only he dared risk his heart again. One word hissed from him. “Perhaps.”
“From you, that is concession enough you admit it could happen. I can be patient, for I’ve learned to wait for my forest lover.” Quenton pulled out and pushed Remo’s legs until they slid beneath the lordling’s arms. Effortlessly, he leaned backwards, lifted Remo on his lap, sitting simultaneously on his own heels and balancing his lover there. “Ride me this way, then.”
Happily impaled once more, Remo rode, using Quenton’s broad shoulders to lever himself up and down, pushing Quenton’s cock deep within. He could have died of the pleasure, for Quenton’s hand had returned to teasing his cock to screaming life. Could a near-immortal Elf die of such ecstasy? Perhaps. He didn’t care anymore. “I bless your queen for sending you to protect the young prince. I’ll send her one of my best jewels for her collection.”
Quenton’s free left hand pinched the Elf’s pale nipple, but Quenton’s face twisted with the effort of holding back his full passions. His true voice grated out in a growl. “Not here for that.”
The surprise was enough to distract Remo from the dichotomy of the two different sensations, and he threw his head back as their passion merged into a seamless whole. His body flared, signaling impending release.
Quenton roared and his hands grasped Remo’s waist to pull him up and plunge him down, hard and fast, impaling his Elf lover deeply in their joining.
With their shared release, Remo’s soul soared without wings to the sun, as Quenton had always done for him before -- giving him wings when he had none of his own. He’d longed to fly, and now Quenton had given him that, too, risking his own life.
The years fell away, and the trust returned, more precious than love itself. His heart and mind opened and allowed Quenton reentrance. The whirlwind of shared emotion and experience came flooding in, never to be sundered until death.
Still now, with the juice of Remo’s ecstasy between them, they paused and allowed the bond to finish it. Remo leaned in and allowed his head to rest against Quenton’s forehead. Between their harsh, panted breaths, an image floated to the surface of Quenton’s mind.
Remo blinked. He knew that image. Had he not seen it the day before? “Why does that odd rock Prince Jack chose in the Trials hold your attention when you should be thinking only of me?”
His teasing words brought a startled jerk from Quenton. His bond mate’s strong arms painfully latched on to Remo’s biceps. “What do you mean?”
Despite the bruising, Quenton’s intense question was more than startling to Remo. He wondered at the shock in Quenton’s eyes. “Didn’t you see the stone? You were tested before Prince Jack.”
Through their shared link, Quenton absorbed the scene of Jack moving about the table, hand out to test mage currents, and eyes shut to minimize distraction. Then Quenton saw in Remo’s mind the detail even the Elf mage had missed. An ordinary stone charged with mage energy flared and was exchanged for… “No. I don’t believe this.” He released Remo, setting his bonded love aside, and put his face in his hands.
Remo recognized his distress, not only from the miserable picture before him, but from the horror that echoed through their shared bond. He kissed and petted his lover, coaxing Quenton to share. “Why do you worry so about a rock?”
Quenton did not lift his head. “That was no ordinary rock, my lover Elf. That was the Dragon’s Stone, and it has done what was only legend before now. It has chosen a human to bond with.”
Slowly, Remo’s jaw drifted downward. “But, but, we thought the human king stole it.”
“He did. And now his son has bonded with it. Prince Jack now controls the entire dragon race if he so chooses.”
Chapter Four
“Prince Jack must die.” The utter despair of voicing those words made even Quenton wince. By all the commands issued by his beloved Queen, his orders were clear -- allow no human to control all dragon kind. Never before had his duties caused him one second’s thought. Now he felt his bile rise, and he choked.
Remo clutched his arms, shivering. “No, Quenton. You must not! Prince Jack is not like his father! This I would swear before your queen and my king both.” His lips twitched. “He is perhaps the most innocent of humans, and certainly of nobles, that I’ve ever seen. Most endearing, actually. Even if he never ascends to the throne, he does not deserve to die.”
Quenton lifted bleak eyes to Remo. His gut wrenched, and he held his Elf close, both to warm him and to promise love. Above all else, he would not destroy the fragile bond they’d forged that very hour. “Do you say this because you are charged with guarding his life?”
A mock slap on his cheek, barely enough to sting, answered. “Come! We have played assassin many times, but always upon a deserving culprit. We merely arranged their meeting with the Creative Force a bit sooner than fated. When have we ever felt sorrow for our target? The fact that we do feel it is wrong to harm Prince Jack is warning enough.”
Quenton looked up, wishing and hoping for an answer from the Queen of Heaven. The fading light through the trees gave him a chance to seek a way to stay his hand. Quenton took the excuse of the setting sun like a gift. He would think. Jack need not die tonight. “Our time alone is over, my little love. We must dress before the weapons master seeks us and we give him cause to blush.”
Remo nodded and squirmed lithely off Quenton’s lap. He fetched their clothes and tossed Quenton’s beside him. Quickly, he dressed and picked up his sword.
Wordlessly, Quenton slid into the hated human clothing, and longed for the freedom of nothing between his body and the air. The night was chill, and this frail human form felt the cold rising like an accursed fog. He tried for a bit of humor, hoping to bring back the joy of their bonding. “I think we may honestly tell the weapons master that we have fully reconciled our differences.”
The Elf snorted, his eyes twinkling with humor. “Indeed. I agree with that statement. Though in the interval since he saw us last, you have grown much the worse for wear. Are you in pain?”
Quenton blinked, and assessed his injuries. Yes, his eye hurt and a few muscles twanged, but now he had the nearly unlimited power of an Elf mage to draw upon. He would be fine in the morning. “Nothing that would cause me to lose sleep. I’ll be nearly healed by morning.”
Woods-wise as his race’s reputation claimed, Remo sniffed the breeze once and sure-footedly led the way back to the dueling circle. “Of course. I can feel you drawing on me.”
“Only fair, since you caused these injuries.” Quenton suppressed the pride he felt in having given his love his fondest wish -- wings to fly.
Lord Damek wai
ted with folded arms in the center of the dueling circle. The last of their fellow students, looking sweat-soaked, trudged toward the castle. He grunted to see them both disheveled, with moss and bark in their hair. “Good. You made it rough on each other. I declare Remo the winner, since he looks barely touched, and you look like twenty leagues of bad road. Get on to the castle for your suppers. Quenton, mind you visit the herbalist for a poultice for that eye after dinner.”
As soon as they were out of earshot, Remo pretended to stumble so he came closer to Quenton than normally allowed. “I’d best not be seen with you. A public enmity suits me for now.” He grasped Quenton’s arm and pulled himself upright. “Don’t make me harm you to protect the prince, I beg of you.” He then sprinted toward the palace.
Quenton continued his slow, painful walk toward the palace, hoping he’d arrive long after all others had settled in the dining hall. Were it not for his rumbling belly, he’d prefer to barricade himself in his room. His supposed rank had secured him a private room, but that did not guarantee peace.
He scrubbed his one undamaged eye and wished fervently for an end to the masquerade. No, he did not want to kill the prince. He’d admired Jack for rushing to defend one he saw as smaller and weaker, and then for risking a wyvern’s sting to rescue one he perceived to be an enemy. Did such humans really still exist? Apparently so.
He swung through the doors of the dining hall as carelessly as he could manage, pretending to be the arrogant lordling once more. The normally noisy room was unusually silent. He bowed to the frowning headmistress, earning himself a curt nod for interrupting her speech.
A servant brought him a platter laden with meat as Lady Tilda continued. His starving state encouraged him to stuff as much as he dared in his mouth without losing the hard-won manners of human nobility.
She fluttered and fumbled with her notes, as if she’d lost her place. “Ahem! As I was saying, His Majesty is most concerned for the students here, especially the dragon mates.”
That statement got his attention in a hurry. Quenton looked up, pausing in mid-chew. What about the dragon mates? What had he missed? He glanced over at Jack and Aneurin, the two most notable dragon mates present, though there were a few others as well. They were lovingly sitting shoulder to shoulder, their attention focused on Lady Tilda. Quenton swallowed sheer envy.
Tilda’s falsely guileless blue eyes strayed to study each of the dragon pairs in turn. “Yes, this concerns you most of all. It is moving toward fall, when dragons often rise to mate. His Majesty recognizes that this is a natural occurrence, and has given a special dispensation to all the student wizards bonded to a dragon. If your dragon shows distress and the need to rise, all you must do is contact the nearest teacher. A noble lady will avail herself in your rooms to provide you with comfort during that arduous time.”
Snickers and outright titters erupted around the room. Good-natured pokes in the arm hit all the grinning human partners of a bonded pair. All except Jack, who had turned white. Quenton didn’t blame him.
Tilda sniffed and cleared her throat. “Settle down. Settle down. This is no cause for amusement. I daresay you’ll be less amused when a normally placid dragon suddenly becomes irritable enough to cause you injury. Any change in personality or normal behavior is to be reported immediately, in case the dragon needs sequestering.”
The dragons barely controlled snarls of outrage. Even Aneurin seemed insulted, and well they all might. One of the female dragons stood up, her fists clenched at her side and her eyes blazing. Her mate tugged her back down beside him and cuddled her close.
Such rubbish. Quenton restrained himself from displaying one iota of the insult that had just been handed down so blithely. Sequestering his bruised ass. Restraint, she meant. As if any dragon would put up with any loss of their freedom, much less a separation from a bond mate.
Remo’s worried eyes caught his from across the room. One silver eyebrow lifted in silent question.
Quenton shook his head minutely and speared another piece of meat as if it was no concern of his. He longed to reassure Remo, and more so did he ache to share Remo’s bed and warmth. But for this night if no other, Quenton would be alone. He would not sleep in any case.
As Lady Tilda rattled on, listing a ridiculous litany of supposed signs of an impending need to rise that came close to laughable, it dawned on Quenton that the excuse of watching for dragon heat was just that -- an excuse.
Changes in behavior and personality were signs of the Dragon’s Stone in use. He stole a glance at Prince Jack, engaged in soothing his outraged dragon. They were trying to ascertain if he’d bonded with the Stone. Quenton would have given his teeth to be certain of that as well.
He had to warn Remo, but their newly awakened mating was too fresh even if he dared try to speak to Remo’s mind across a crowded, noisy room. Anyone with the ability would hear Quenton make the attempt, and his ruse would be up. No, he would have to wait until tomorrow and no help for it.
The meal seemed to last hours, even after Lady Tilda finished her long-winded speech and permitted conversation. The sycophants he’d cultivated chattered inanely, cooing over Quenton’s bruises like a bunch of brainless dryads. His dinner soured in his stomach.
Finally, he could take no more. Quenton shoved his chair back and grimaced at the loud scrape. “Forgive me, my friends, but I would like to acquire a poultice for my eye and shroud my aching head in darkness.” He bowed politely and swallowed contempt as they simpered like untried maidens. “I shall see you on the morrow, if I am better.”
Without waiting for their agreement, he turned and sauntered toward the door that led to the chirugeon’s office.
Once out of sight, he fled up the stairs and slipped into his room with a grateful sigh. His friends weren’t really that bad for company. He’d chosen them all carefully for their value as information siphons, connections to others, or other reasons that had little to do with true friendships. It was hard to hold a decent conversation when you had so many secrets to hide, but a good conversationalist was one who said little and listened much.
Once, just once, he’d like to have a whole day where he did not have to be anything but what he truly was.
Quenton sighed and pulled out his scrying ball from its leather case. The clarity and size of the crystal was more than most wizards could ever hope to afford, but its true value lay in who it connected to. Quenton knelt before it and keyed the spell that opened a direct communication between himself and his queen. Had he been in his true form, his head would be in the dust before her, but this would do.
“Quenton! What news have you? Have you found the Stone?” The great dragoness hissed and put her golden head forward eagerly. A few of the many gems that made her glittering bed rattled off the pile, to be scooped up by her fire elemental servants and returned carefully to their positions.
“I have not found the Stone, My Queen, but I bear news that is both good and bad.” He faltered and choked, knowing his duty but not liking what would happen. “The Stone has chosen a human and, I believe, bonded to him.”
The roar, muffled by the crystal, still hurt his ears. “Kill the human. No. Wait. You say there is some good from this?”
“Yes, Mother. I mean, My Queen.” Quenton bowed his head hastily, knowing he was but one of the queen’s many offspring, and certainly not her favorite. “The chosen human is by all accounts just what the legends say the Stone chooses. He is reported to be kind, intelligent, and wise. What I have seen of him bears this out. Additionally, he does not yet know what has transpired.”
A puff of smoke from her nostrils matched her thoughtful snort. “I see.” Her golden eyes closed for a moment. “I sense in you a reluctance to kill the human. Why?”
He swallowed, not sure how to answer. “Not only do I feel the human may be what the legends say, but also…” Quenton winced. This was going to hurt. “He’s the son of the present Usurper.”
Only distance and the muffling spell on the cry
stal kept the whole castle from hearing her roar. He privately wondered why the crystal did not crack under the strain. The queen’s forelegs trampled her nest in her agitation, dislodging so many gems her servants could not gather them all. “By the eggs of our foremothers!”
Quenton waited patiently while she worked out what he’d already had time to consider. The cold of the floor was seeping up through his knees, and he stilled his shivers. If she kept him on his knees until he fell into torpor, so be it. He’d prove himself to be a worthy son, able to do the most difficult task unflinchingly.
Finally, she sank back on her nest. “So. We skim a cliff in a tempest. If we kill the prince, we risk war. If we do not, we risk losing our freedom to his commands.” She closed her eyes, weighing all the options. “Very well. I am forced to trust your observations. If you can, ally yourself with the prince, for he may now act as the northern star to guide us to the Stone. We shall test his mettle, and see if he is the stuff of legends.”
Chapter Five
She grasped the shaft of meat firmly in her hand, and licked the end just under her nose with loving delicacy. Her tongue flickered into the hole, drinking in the salt-sweet sauce oozing from the core. A tiny bit of cream dribbled down her chin, plopped on the tip of one breast, and slid between her thighs. The males watching her performance followed the progress of the cream avidly. She giggled. “Whoops, I’m feeding everything, aren’t I?”
Aneurin jerked and looked accusingly at his lover, Jack. “I thought you said they had no teeth down there!”
Remo’s beer spattered across the table while everyone roared with laughter. He’d been totally unprepared for the joke, being preoccupied with his longing for Quenton. In the three days since their tryst in the woods, no other meetings had been possible, and they’d been forced to content themselves with longing looks across the dining hall. But this evening, Quenton had not appeared at all.
