by Ella Frank
* * *
Kai stared down at the temptress under him and held her hands in place. The little minx had just about driven him out of his mind, and he’d been trying so hard to take this slow, as to not scare her.
Clearly, Naeve was not scared.
She now had his waist wrapped with her legs, and was arching her hips to get his cockhead to slide inside of her. Her eyes were locked on his, and the combined heat of their bodies was close to molten.
He could taste the salty sweat on her skin as he nipped at her lips, and when the tip of his cock began to slowly sink inside of her, he felt as though his shaft would melt from the liquid heat.
Like a silky, wet, fist, her body swallowed him and squeezed him tightly, causing any thought of slow to disappear from his mind. Her eyes slid closed and he felt her nails dig into his hands as he fully entered her, and with no thought but release now in mind, he began to move.
“Oh God,” she moaned as he slid out of her, and when he pushed back inside she cried out and clutched her thighs tighter around his hips.
“Damn,” he cursed, and began thrusting as she desperately writhed under him, almost as though she were trying to get him deeper inside.
She let go of his ass and reached up to tangle her hands in his hair, and Kai closed his eyes when she tightened her fists in it and pulled.
His shaft slid in and out of her with ease, over and over. Every time he sunk inside, she’d arch up and rub her mound against him, letting out a sensual sound that just about undid him.
He could tell that whatever it was she was doing to herself felt damn good, because her cunt clenched around his cock tight as he dragged it from her. He continued thrusting, until her body bowed off the bed and she pressed her head back into it, shutting her eyes.
That was when a shiver raced down his spine and made his balls tighten, right before she screamed his name and her entire body tensed around him.
Her hands twisted in his hair, and her heels pressed into his ass, and that was when it hit him and he exploded inside of her, groaning out her name.
If anyone had slept on the same floor as he, their mutual shouts of ecstasy surly would’ve awoken them.
Luckily for them…they did not.
Bastian didn’t know how long he’d been sequestered in his ‘chambers,’ but his ass was now numb and the aches in his head and limbs had intensified.
Not to mention the empty ache in my stomach.
He glared over at the trays of food that had continually been brought, left, and untouched. It would come as no surprise to his father that he was refusing meals. He’d always been accused of possessing a stubborn streak, even as a child. It had once been a way to see the great Commander, Li’Am—now, it was a way to never see him.
If I am dead, Bastian thought, and then he froze as the door to his bleak chambers opened. Instantly, he shut the door on his dismal musings.
He squinted as the light from the hall shone through the opening, but it soon faded to reveal none other than the head guard himself. Ry’Ker stood in the archway and, with the light behind him, looked like Bastian imagined death might—a fearsome but dark relief.
Maybe I’m already dead?
“Gods. You still haven’t eaten?”
Si’Bastian dismissed his comment as he stood watching the irritated guard storm in the room, but this time, he was not alone. Trailing close behind, looking at him as though he were an oddity, was a man he’d never met before.
He was a few inches shorter than the guard, which Bastian realized put him at roughly his own height. He also noted that the man was dressed as one of the common folk.
“Who’s this?” Bastian asked, as Ry’Ker poked the cold food on the tray.
Instead of answering him, the guard picked up a stale piece of bread and turned his way. “Is there a reason you are intent on starving yourself?”
Bastian glanced over at the silent man, who’d stopped just inside the door, then flicked his eyes back to Ry’Ker. “Perhaps I am attempting to relieve myself of your witty repartee.”
Ry’Ker threw the bread on the table and marched over to where Bastian had made himself stand. When he was as close as he dared come, Bastian noted the way Ry’Ker’s eyes focused in on him intently, and he knew that whatever was about to come out of his mouth would not be anything good.
“I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to locate it and move past it. In case you misheard me the last time I was here, you are stuck with me, sensualeer. And trust me when I tell you that no one is unhappier about that situation than myself.”
Bastian didn’t need to get inside Ry’Ker’s mind to know he was frustrated because every emotion he was feeling was stamped all over his face. His nostrils flared in agitation, and the creases lining his forehead indicated just how exasperating the guard really found him.
“Who is he?” he asked for the second time, deciding that butting heads with this man was almost as low on his list of things to do as pleasing his father.
Ry’Ker glanced at the third person in the room. “This is Ai’Den. He’s a healer.”
The chain attached to the cuffs around his wrists rattled as Bastian stepped back and used the wall to hold him up.
“Get him out of here.”
Ry’Ker pinned him with a flinty stare. “No.”
Returning the guard’s look without flinching, Bastian told him quite adamantly, “I don’t want a healer. I will die before I let Li’Am feel better about what he’s done.”
“Listen to me,” Ry’Ker advised, moving so he was now standing directly in front of him. This close, Bastian could swear he saw flecks of silver around the iris of the guard’s hard, grey eyes. The color was a distinct reminder of exactly who he was, and his usual Imperial armor. “Li’Am agreed to release you. Don’t you want that? But he will only do it if you agree to this.”
“Release me?” Bastian asked in disbelief. “Try again, Guard. That just doesn’t fit Li’Am’s psyche.”
Ry’Ker’s jaw bunched, and Bastian knew he was clenching his teeth.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he pushed.
“He has agreed to a partial release.”
A mocking laugh left Bastian, and he pushed himself off the wall, stepping toward the man who was trying so hard to make what he was offering sound appealing.
“And how do you feel about that?”
He caught a quick flash of apprehension enter Ry’Ker’s eyes, but it quickly dissipated as he squared his shoulders.
“I don’t feel anything about you either way. Eat or don’t eat. Wallow in self-pity or regain some dignity. Those are your choices, sensualeer. I’m not the one chained to a wall.”
Ry’Ker’s words provoked his ire most effectively, and Bastian knew that, if he were in possession of his—
“Wishing you could crawl inside my mind right now, aren’t you?”
When he remained stubbornly silent, the infuriating arse continued.
“Wouldn’t you enjoy the opportunity to make me suffer for this?”
That finally got a response from him. “I couldn’t get inside your head before I was drugged. Why would you assume that thought would entice me now?”
With a cruel sneer of his lips, Ry’Ker answered, “Because you’re arrogant. And the thought of hurting me is the only thing that has made you stop thinking for one second about how powerless you feel.”
Bastian didn’t deign to answer, instead letting his eyes move past Ry’Ker to focus on the healer. Ai’Den, he’d called him.
“What does my father wish him to do?”
“He is to check you over.”
Bastian brought his eyes back to the guard. “With magic?”
“You are opposed to having magic used on you?”
Bastian raised his arms and pointed out, “As you so astutely reminded me, I am not currently at my full capabilities. If someone plans to use powers on me, I’d like to know in advance exactly what is to occur.”
; Ry’Ker gave a kind of grunt in response before responding, “And are you so forthright with your intentions before you poke around in someone’s head?”
“You seem overly concerned with that particular trait of mine. Perhaps you are more worried about your ability to block me than you’d have me believe.”
“I told you. To me, it matters neither here nor there what happens to you. But I will be very clear about one thing. I don’t want you in my mind, and I made sure that Li’Am taught me how to shut down to your kind.”
Bastian had to give Ry’Ker credit. He’d certainly accomplished one thing since walking inside the room.
He’d given him a reason to live—if just to take pleasure in watching him die.
* * *
Ry’Ker could sense the roiling anger in the man before him, and he was satisfied with the fact that he’d put it there. He was frustrated by everything that had happened since returning to L’Mere, and after having dealt with three angry women he’d had to walk away from, he was itching for a fight.
He’d disliked the role of ‘keeper’ back when the sensualeer had merely been Si’Bastian, the Commander’s son. But with the knowledge of all that Si’Bastian was, Ry’Ker’s aggravation had reached a whole other level.
“Ai’Den,” he bit out, turning to face him where he stood by the door.
The usually chatty healer had remained silent since entering the room, and Ry’Ker knew that it had everything to do with the person chained to the wall.
“Yes, Ry’Ker?”
“Come here.”
As he issued the order, he heard a sound emerge from Si’Bastian.
“Do you have something you wish to say?”
Like a belligerent child, Si’Bastian clamped his mouth shut as he watched him with those dark eyes of his.
Ai’Den came to a standstill beside him as he looked over at the young man.
“Can you explain what you will be doing to Si’Bastian? It seems he is sensitive to others wielding magic when he is helpless against it. The irony is almost laughable, is it not?”
The words that came next didn’t come from Ai’Den, but from the man he was quite openly mocking.
“And you say that I’m arrogant. Tell me, Guard. Will you be so daring once the chains are removed?”
“Chain. As in one. That means you will still be—”
“A prisoner?”
“Contained.”
Si’Bastian gave him a cool once-over before stating, “Much like yourself then, or so I’ve heard. Though my prison is not of my own volition.”
Ry’Ker knew that the sensualeer was trying to insult him, get a rise. But he already knew what was said about him. That he was cold, detached, an emotionless vault locked away.
Ai’Den cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable in the silence that had followed Si’Bastian’s statement, and addressed the sensualeer. “Forgive me for staring earlier. I have only ever heard of you, my Prince. I never thought I’d be in your presence.”
Ry’Ker observed the way Si’Bastian looked at Ai’Den and realized that he was studying the healer. He started at the top of the young man’s head and then inspected every inch of him. First, he searched his face as if he were memorizing all the tiny details that made up his particular bone structure. His shoulders, chest, and arms were closely evaluated next, all the way down to his feet. And then those dark eyes came back up to Ai’Den’s before they shifted beyond, catching Ry’Ker’s own observation.
“Are you done?” Ry’Ker asked, curious as to what Si’Bastian had been looking for.
“He is young,” the sensualeer announced. “Why should I entrust my health to him?”
Holding Si’Bastian’s stare as if Ai’Den weren’t standing between them, Ry’Ker countered, “How would you know his age?”
“His skin. It is not yet hardened from years of living. Touch him and you will see. Or better yet, let me and I shall confirm it.”
Ry’Ker knew just like every other Arcanian that sensualeers craved physicality. Their power fed off it as much as it did heightened emotions. To them, touch was essential, socialization critical, and for someone like Si’Bastian, who’d been isolated for years, Ry’Ker imagined he was accustomed to manipulating everyone within walking and talking distance the second they entered his domain.
“I can ask him his age. I don’t need to touch him,” Ry’Ker announced while Ai’Den, who seemed rooted to the spot, said nothing. “And neither do you for that matter.”
Si’Bastian gave a humorless chuckle as he raised his hands palms up and stepped forward, stopping when he reached the end of his leash. “It was merely a suggestion. I couldn’t touch him, Guard—even if I wanted to.”
Having had enough of the taunts, Ry’Ker dismissed him to ask Ai’Den, “What do you need?”
Ai’Den looked up at him and seemed completely unsettled. He understood. Si’Bastian had that effect—even on him.
“I don’t need anything. I just wanted his permission.”
Ry’Ker turned his head to see that Si’Bastian’s brow had risen and he’d gone back to leaning against the brick wall. He felt an immense sense of pleasure in knowing that he was about to do something that would really irritate the sensualeer.
“Luckily for you,” Ry’Ker said, “you do not need Si’Bastian’s permission. You have mine. Make sure he’s of good health—from a distance. Then we will begin the removal of the left cuff.”
Ry’Ker spun on his heel and was halfway across the room when he heard his name. He stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and heard Ai’Den ask, “Where are you going?”
He let his eyes shift to Si’Bastian’s and responded clearly, “To get some alcohol. I’ve heard that removal of a cuff laden with mossfire bark is excruciating. Even someone such as the Prince here deserves something to ease the pain.”
And with that, he exited the room, determined to hunt down some alcohol to ease his own damn mind.
* * *
Li’Am prodded the shoulder of the man in front of him, and as he stumbled down a step, he waited for him to right himself before they continued down the winding stairs to the cells below. He was a man on a mission, determined to uncover the secret wrapped up in his son, who was, for now, safe in the East tower.
He grabbed a torch that was hanging on the wall at the base of the stairs and held it out in front of himself. Making his way down the narrow walkway, he heard the sound of dragging across dirt and stone as the occupants in the cells clambered to their feet and pushed toward the iron bars holding them prisoner.
He knew that what he was doing was wrong. It was a risk, a monumental one, but it was one he was willing to take if it meant the survival of his people and the safety of his boy.
The fact that his sisters had gone missing and Si’Bastian had been born on the same day could not have been a coincidence—of this he was certain. He’d become consumed with unraveling the mysteries surrounding his family, and with each day, month, and year that passed, he’d carefully honed the deceptive mask he currently wore. But the reality of what truly was, was anything but that which he presented.
The shoulders of the prisoner shook, and Li’Am knew he feared what was about to happen. He didn’t blame him. The fear was something that had been instilled over years and years of tyranny, and it was so deeply rooted in their people that only something extraordinary could change it.
As they continued down the dank hall, garbled threats reached his ears as they passed by each cage.
You’ll die for this—
I’ll happily kill you—
Torture? Torture will hold new meaning for you—
“Nothing shall change his fate—”
Li’Am came to a stop at those unexpected words and turned to the guard standing watch outside one of the cells. The man was one he’d known for years—Finn. But today, he looked haggard, older than he’d been only days before.
He drew the prisoner to a halt and addressed the guard, who was stu
dying him as if today were the first time they’d met.
“What did you say?” Li’Am demanded of him.
The familiar face he was looking at didn’t change expression as grim, black eyes held his in eerie silence, and Li’Am found himself doubting what he’d heard. He turned away, about to continue down the hall, when Finn once again dared to speak.
“He is here by the will of the Guardians. Nothing will change his path. Not even you.”
Li’Am spun back to face him and yanked the chains on the other man’s wrists. “You dare speak to me of my son as if I do not know him as you do?” he grated out, his tone menacing as he stepped so close to the guard that their boots touched.
Finn didn’t cower, didn’t even flinch. He merely returned the stare in a way that made Li’Am feel that his deception of reality had somehow taken a toll on his soul. He’d played his part for years, but as the anger rose inside him, he feared the darkness he’d had to portray had now begun to consume him.
Disgust in himself flooded his conscience as he jerked the prisoner at his side to move forward. He staggered and tripped, but Li’Am’s patience had now worn thin—the sooner he got this done, the sooner he could get out of here and at least try to breathe.
What did he care what this guard thought of him? He would not let him shake his footing. He had a plan, a purpose, and Finn was not going to stop him.
Not giving the guard another thought, he propelled the prisoner forward, and as they rounded the far end of the hall, they came to a large, rectangular room. In the center rested a single cot. He pushed the man to be seated on the stool that was situated by the door and peered inside to find the occupant.
His eyes scanned the darkness and then moved over to the barred window of the cell. The square opening provided the only light in the room and overlooked the vast waterfalls of which L’Mere sat upon the edge. As the brightness of it blinded him, his eyes took a moment to adjust, and then he spotted her.
