by AM Riley
Lyre stood staring at the bed. He could not touch it. Finally, he went to the cupboard and pulled from it a very old and fragile coverlet, its stitches broken and raveling with time, but the cloth untouched by moths. He carried it to a chair by the window, curled under it and slept bathed in the light of the moon Joseph had sworn by.
***
It was going to be a great day. Seamus snapped the wrists of his riding gloves, smoothing the thick leather across the back of his hands, and repeated that mantra to himself one more time.
In his stall, Finbar shook his reins impatiently and snorted.
“Yeah, sweetheart, he’ll be here. I’m betting they’ve got him held up in paperwork.”
Seamus’ new partner and he were on a routine mounted patrol this week. Central Park and environs. He’d met the guy at roll call that morning. Kid looked like a TV cop. Spit polished and correct. Dark hair cut just so, combed down and shining. So wet behind the ears, Seamus swore he actually saw damp soap behind the kid’s ears. Fuck.
It was going to be a great day.
You didn’t get mounted patrol until you’d put in some time in the NYPD. It took a certain amount of clear-headed experience to know how best to handle that particular role in this city. The kid had supposedly proven himself, but the word that trickled down to Seamus was he was an eager beaver, a particular sort of cop veterans like Seamus despised.
Behind him, Seamus’ new mount thumped his stall door a couple of times. Seamus turned to look at him, almost shyly. He was a beaut. Almost seventeen hands and pitch black, not a white spot on him. He’d been donated anonymously, so right now he was just called by a number, but Bobby’d let him in on the rumor that they were thinking of naming the new horse after his slain partner, so Seamus was already calling him ‘Riley’ secretly to himself.
“Hey boy.” The gelding nuzzled right up into his hand when Seamus rubbed his spot, nostrils flaring and big black eyes blinking. It made something quiver in Seamus insides.
“Detective Brady!”
Seamus turned his cop face toward the voice. At the end of the run of stalls, the kid was striding toward him in the newest riding uniform Seamus’d ever seen. Seamus noted all at once the helmet shield shining like it had been polished with a cue-tip, the knee high leather riding boots that the kid had chosen. Spit polished it looked like. Ex-military. Seamus had read the kids dossier, but it showed. He held out his ungloved hand.
“Morning, Parker. Welcome aboard.”
Officer Parker shook his hand hard and fast, nodding once. “Call me Joe.”
He was a little short, thought Seamus. And that bland, square face seeming humorless, without personality. He barely filled half the space that Riley would have, he thought.
The Parker kid was talking to Finbar now. He’d brought an apple and he was getting to know the horse a bit from the other side of the gate before pushing himself into his stall.
Finbar was as patient and good-humored as the old Irish cop he’d been named for. He let Parker love on him for a minute and then pushed at him gently with his head, as if reminding him of what they were there for. Parker finally entered the stall, checking the bridle, adjusting the stirrups.
“Oh, he’s a lover,” crooned Parker, low enough so Seamus could barely hear him. Fuck, he thought. He couldn’t imagine Riley talking that way to his horse. But Finbar seemed to go for it, batting his big eyes at Parker and eagerly clopping behind him when led from the stall.
A sudden sharp pain in his jaw made Seamus realize that he was grinding his teeth. He turned away from the sight of someone else where his partner ought to be. Clicked to his mount and led him out, following that familiar big brown rump down the aisle.
It was going to be a great day.
***
Daer lounged against the wrought iron gate, watching the passing humans, that cynical amused smile permanently tilting up his pretty mouth. Every now and then he’d twist his dark gaze up the stone steps toward the battered old wooden door, guarded on either side by carved stone mermaid likenesses.
He was a very patient elf.
After a long time, during which he felt rather than saw the curtains at the large window move a couple of times, the heavy door swung open.
Maeebsef looked tired and pale, but just as beautiful as ever. “Daer,” he said, his voice just a whisper. “What are you doing here?”
Daer took the steps in two effortless hops. He gazed down into those seductive violet eyes and licked his lips. “Is he gone?” he growled, stepping close to Maeebsef.
The Gianes stepped back. “He has clan business. You shouldn’t be here.” His iridescent, long white-blonde hair shimmered when he shook his head to emphasize his statement. He didn’t shut the door, though, Daer noticed. He didn’t tell him to leave.
Daer stepped over the threshold, eyes wandering over Maeebsef’s lithe form. Maeebsef was shirtless, wearing a pair of white silk leggings that only enhanced all the curves and bulges of his lower body. Daer’s palms tingled with the need to stroke those thighs.
“What do you want?” Daer’s eyes snapped up to meet Maebsef’s. The Gianes was looking at him with a kind of cynicism that was really out of place on that lovely face. He turned away from Daer, pulling on a long tunic top, which fell almost to his knees. Not before Daer had a good eyeful of that lush round bottom covered by nothing but sheer fabric.
He licked his lips again. “There was someone at the Bar asking about you.” He eased across the floor toward Maeebsef.
Maeebsef was sufficiently distracted by this news to not notice Daer slowly advancing on him. “Who?”
Daer shrugged, within reach of Maeebsef. “A Gianes male. He had a portrait of you.” He leaned close to Maeebsef’s ear and whispered, “It made me hard to look at it.”
Maebsef shivered but he didn’t pull away.
“I’ve thought about you all week,” said Daer, moving by centimeters closer and closer to Maeebsef.
“That was unwise of you. I’ve told you how it is. Who…who…” Maeebsef stuttered, as Daer let his lips just touch Maeebsef’s ear.
“I’m going mad, Mobbie. I need you,” crooned Daer.
“O’Grady...”
“I’m not afraid of the Fearshee.” Daer slid one hand down quickly to cup Maeebsef’s bulging arousal, and grinned at Maeebsef’s gasp. “He isn’t enough for you, Maeebsef. Tell me it isn’t true.”
Maeebsef shook his head in denial, but his hips arched into Daer’s hand. “We are faithful to each other, Daer.”
Daer’s eyes narrowed and went completely black. Elves don’t think much of fidelity. “Then don’t tell him.” He fondled Maeebsef’s sacs, letting his thumb slowly trace up and down the rigid shaft. Maeebsef moaned deep in his throat, but when Daer would have swooped to capture those bee-stung lips, Maeebsef grasped Daer’s shoulders and pushed the elf away.
“He’d know.”
Daer’s eyes held white lightening in their depths, a promise of wickedness to be sure. He pouted and their light intensified. “You are a prisoner of that foul Fear Sidhe.”
“A willing prisoner.” Maeebsef’s cheeks were bright with arousal, but he skipped back from Daer and toward the door. He swung it open and bowed. “You must leave.”
Daer’s face went petulant and hurt, like a child’s. The dark eyes throbbed with sorrow, the pretty lips trembled.
Maeebsef couldn’t help but laugh. “You are very beautiful.”
Daer sniffled. But when he was in the doorway, he leaned down to kiss Maeebsef so quickly the Gianes couldn’t pull away. Daer’s palm captured Maeebsef’s head and he hissed, “Show me…” A pink tongue touching his lower lip.
“And very wicked.” Maeebsef pushed away again. Daer could feel and smell Maeebsef’s arousal but the message in his eyes was clear. Daer’s pride and sense of honor asserted themselves and he straightened in the doorway. Mocking smile back in place, cool dark gaze regarding Maeebsef.
“I didn’t tell him anything, Mobb
ie. And I instructed those we know to remain silent until I had spoken to you.”
“Thank you, Daer," said Maeebsef. “I will tell O’Grady and we will decide what must be done.”
Daer bit his lip and made his decision. “He spoke of a sickness that pursues the Gianes outside the Grove.”
Maeebsef was immediately alert.
“A sickness? What sort of sickness?”
Daer looked out toward the humans walking in the street. He shrugged an elegant shoulder. “He was singularly unattractive,” he said, his tone bored. “But not without his charms.” He looked back at Maeebsef, eyes wicked and playful again. “I thought all Gianes males were as beautiful as you, Mobbie.”
“They are,” said Maeebsef, not really acknowledging the compliment he’d been receiving all of his life. “Who?”
“Tall, big muscles, short pretty hair, dark green eyes, face square and too much like a human male's…”
Maeebsef gasped…”Lyre…”
“You know him?”
“He works for our law enforcement. He is almost a leper. He...” Maeebsef leapt to the clothes press and began extracting heavy outergarments. “I must find O’Grady.”
“I can help you, Maeebsef,” said Daer, all heroic.
Maeebsef shook his head. “O’Grady wouldn’t abide it.”
“He is jealous.”
“He has nothing to be jealous of,” said Maeebsef, his eyes snapping.
Daer flinched at the rebuke.
Maeebsef was immediately contrite. “Thank you for warning me, Daer. You have been a good friend. I…we will see you at O’Neills tonight?”
“The ugly Gianes was there.”
“Then we will face him,” Maeebseff nodded, buttoning the thick mauve coat. “Goodbye, Daer, until this evening.”
***
O’Grady, the Fearshee of the clan O’Grady, wrapped his great coat tighter around his hairshirt. If any of the passing humans could have seen him, the frown that creased his face would have terrified them.
He’d been called to this corner of Bowling Green twice now. Both times for the same clansmen. Once, he’d saved the man from a human with a gun. Another time, he’d stood by in agony while the man decided whether or not he wanted to step in front of an oncoming subway train. So he wasn’t much surprised when he saw that same clansman ascending from the subway entrance, his step quick and purposeful. O’Grady followed him, the clan blood rich in his nostrils, the harbingers tingling and prickling all over his skin. Seamus Brady, he thought to himself. What have you gotten yourself into now?
***
What a great day.
Seamus was aching with controlled emotion as he struggled with the buckles on his boots and pulled them off. He sat for a minute on the bench in front of his locker, making himself breathe.
“Great day, Partner,” said Parker-call-me-Joe and clapped him on the back.
“Yeah, great,” Seamus responded hoarsely. He held it together until the kid had left the room, then he kicked his locker hard with one stockinged foot and cursed.
Nothing really wrong had happened. They’d done their due diligence, circling the crowds and controlling traffic more by their presence than by any verbal directions. That was one of the advantages to mounted patrol. Another was publicity and PR, something which Parker seemed to excel at.
He saluted old ladies and shook people’s hands and encouraged the fucking citizenry to get too close to his horse in such a blithe and friendly manner it made Seamus want to vomit at the same time as it made him shake with nerves.
Seamus dressed for the street quickly, his thoughts a dark cloud. Once he glanced automatically at Riley’s locker, the instinct to commiserate with his partner still in his body if not in his conscious mind. And he noticed that Riley’s name had been scraped from the locker. A little of the sticky whiteness of the peeled label was all that remained.
Well, fuck. His whole body went tight and Seamus gritted his teeth as he felt his heart squeeze painfully.
“Lieutenant Brady,” said a woman’s voice in the men’s locker room. Seamus registered the wrongness of that almost at the same time he recognized the voice. Panic shot through his system. But there was nowhere to go. “Ma’am?”
Margaret Riley stood in the door of the men’s locker room, a bundle in her arms. “I came to get …” She lifted the burden, unable to name it. “And they said you were here.”
Seamus felt his insides twisting like steel beams bent by a supernatural hand. “Yeah.”
“I’m glad you are back to work.”
“Yeah.” God, he couldn’t do this. He’d avoided her at the funeral, at the memorial, managed to find a million excuses over the weeks to avoid going to her home. “Yeah, it’s good to be back to work.”
Margaret nodded, seeming just as uncomfortable as he was. “Riley…” she stopped, and Seamus was struck by the fact that even his WIFE called him by his surname. “…he would have wanted you to have this,” she said, lifting something from the bundle.
Oh no. Oh fuck no. Watching his hand as if it were a foreign entity, Seamus held it out, so she could gingerly place the Smith and Wesson there.
“I can’t have them around the house,” said Margaret. “I hate guns,” she whispered. Her voice was shaking and Seamus thought he might die.
“Thanks.” He pocketed the thing before it burned him.
“Well. You’re welcome to visit whenever you want, Lieutenant,” said Margaret woodenly.
Seamus was suddenly very relieved to realize that Margaret Riley didn’t want to have anymore to do with him than he had to do with her.
“I will,” he said, easily. “Thanks.”
“Goodnight, Lieutenant.” And boy didn’t she get out of there fast.
Seamus finished up at his locker, twisting the combo and zipping up his jacket, feeling the weight of Riley’s favorite handgun bang against his hip as he did so.
He didn’t even think about it when he got on the subway. He knew exactly where he was headed.
***
There was somebody different at the desk and when he asked for the guy he knew, the clerk just tsked and didn’t even look through that book.
“We have Master Scarlet,” he said. “And that’s it.”
Seamus eyed the kid, wondering if he oughta card him. He looked all of sixteen, with sleepy eyes, a used-looking mouth, and a manner which Seamus instincts told him was more male prostitute than receptionist. It gave him those prickles up his neck. He glanced around nervously, but everything else was the same.
“He the same kind of ‘service’ as Master Daniel?”
The clerk’s eyelids drooped a bit. Was he leering? Christ. “Yes, sir.”
Seamus’s instincts were screaming now, but so were the muscles of his body and he just didn’t care anymore.
“Fine,” he said. “Master Scarlet it is.”
And apparently for once those famous Brady instincts were misfiring, because after that, things pretty much fell into place.
Master Scarlet looked like what Seamus expected. Black clothes, weird ass mask and a riding crop now, instead of the cat-o-nine. The room was the same he’d been in before.
He was commanded to strip. Restrained across a leather ‘horse’, his ankles tied this time as well. The first sharp blow across his backside made his hips jump up against the warm leather and his cock press in and he sort of thought this might be one of his better visits.
Seamus howled as the blows came more rapidly. A series of really vicious slashes across his upper thighs, catching his buttocks. The pain screaming in the top of his skull until his mind just reached in like a big hand and lifted Seamus right up and out of it.
He screamed and the blows rained down. Just like it was supposed to be.
And then Master Scarlet stopped and all Seamus knew was the sting across his ass, his cock hard as rock, grinding into the heated leather and his loud breathing in the quiet room.
He nearly jumped out of his skin
when he felt the heat of someone leaning close over him. Moist breath at his ear. Rough leather gloves rubbing at his cleft, over his hole.
“Wait,” he said, his voice rough from the screaming. He coughed. A finger pressed inside his hole. “No,” he said. “I don’t want that.”
A hiss at his ear, so inhuman it made his belly coil in fear and he darted a quick look to the side. The black leather mask rested on a sharp nose. Below it thick dark lips, a tongue licking them as they opened revealing sharp crooked teeth more like those of a shark than a human being. The finger pressed past the first ring of muscles and Seamus started really panicking.
