“You’re mine, Dylan.”
“I know.”
Behind him, Travis sighed. Somehow a circle had closed, and in his chest, a knot unraveled. Dylan remembered what peace felt like. He remembered how it felt to be happy and loved.
“I don’t have lube.” Travis played at Dylan’s hole with his fingers, then rubbed Dylan’s cockhead to capture the precum that dripped liberally to the ground. “I can make you come, and lube with your spunk.”
He started to pump Dylan’s cock, and groaning, Dylan reached down to still Travis’s hand. “Just spit.” He didn’t want to go like this. “I want you inside when I come.”
“Shit, D.” Travis’s voice was shaky, and his cock nudged the back of Dylan’s taut thigh. “It’ll be a rough ride.”
“I’ll love it.”
Travis prepped him quickly, and when he pushed into Dylan’s ass, the burn was acute. Travis cursed, pulled out, and spit again. After their false start, they began in earnest, sweat building, slipping and stinging in the small wounds on Dylan’s shoulder. He rocked back onto Travis’s cock, opened, relaxed, and took him inch by inch until they paused, panting. The pressure on his prostate was so good it nearly undid him, and Dylan fell forward onto his elbows.
Travis pushed in the final distance until they were fully joined, and then he looped an arm around Dylan’s waist and pulled him upright so they were both on their knees.
Dylan was completely open at the front; only the shifter’s strong hands held him immobile. He looked at the charred field; then his gaze traveled to the sky where the heavy moon shone down on them. His spread knees straddled the ancient seed he’d buried in the dirt and ash, and his sweat and precum dripped down onto the disturbed soil.
Travis thrust into him slowly, so deeply Dylan felt they were joined all the way from hips to heart. Travis pulled Dylan’s hair to the side and kissed and nibbled, his tongue teasing Dylan’s ear. One hand came around to lightly pinch his nipple, and Dylan cried out, bearing down hard on Travis’s cock.
He was long and thick, and the drag in Dylan’s passage was almost too much. Dylan gripped the shifter’s thigh and leaned back, breathing heavily. His vision began to dim, and Dylan saw stars when he closed his eyes, stars when he opened them. Travis took his cock in a powerful grip and pumped, then used the welling fluid as lube as he matched the tempo of his hands to that of his hips.
“Stop fighting,” Travis whispered. “Just let yourself go.”
And Dylan released the last bit of control he possessed, letting both his hands drop to his sides. He was helpless, yet he was free—finally free. The clasp around his waist tightened, and Travis’s hips smacked noisily against his ass.
The chilly breeze caressed their wet skin, and he caught the fragrance of rain and pine and flowers.
“Ahh…” His body went taut, his channel gripping the man who fucked him. He was coming, his seed spurting, spattering the green grass and the black, charred soil. He felt Travis come deep inside his body, filling him with the life Dylan needed in order to give his own away. They struggled, and Dylan fell forward, then caught their combined weight on his hands, because Travis had collapsed over his back, panting and moaning, still in the grip of his orgasm.
Slowly, bonelessly, Dylan melted down to the soil. He felt the dry dirt against his sweaty cheek. He watched his semen soak into the soil and felt Travis’s seed give life to his body.
Life and death—it was all intertwined. He needed to die a little to give life to the land. It was all so simple.
He visualized the drawings: trees and tangled bushes, birds flying and a red fox curled up in its den. A guardian, this one with pale hair and a wolf by his side. Grass grew everywhere, and tall fir mingled with aspen and oak and trees that had long been absent from the forests of the world. And as he lay with his face in the poisoned soil, he willed it, desperately and with every fiber of his being.
Drained and happy, they rolled to their sides, and Travis spooned him from the back. Dylan started to speak and instead sighed, that single breath carrying every ounce of happiness and contentment he’d felt in his life. After a moment Travis rolled him to his back and looked down at him. Love shone from his eyes.
“Hey, D?”
“Mmm?”
The shifter traced his face with the tips of his fingers. He ran them over Dylan’s arched brows and into the hollows of his eyes, down his nose, and along the curves of his lips.
“I’ve never flown before.”
“You’ll love it.” He smiled, because Travis probably would. He’d be fascinated by the mechanics, the people in the airport. He’d most likely go into full-on chaos mode. “And if you don’t, we don’t have to fly. There are other ways to get to Homewood.”
“Boats? Now that makes me a bit nervous. I’ve never even seen the ocean up close. Just from the distance when I drove to Oregon with my dad.”
“You’ll love the ocean too. But that’s not what I meant.”
Clouds passed over the face of the moon, casting them in darkness. They both had acute senses, though, and the darkness didn’t frighten them.
“I remember how to get to Homewood. I don’t know how I ever forgot.”
“Maybe because you were cursed?” Travis asked wryly. “So what is it? An alternate dimension? A magical gateway?”
“No, and yet…yes.” He frowned, struggling for a way to explain. “Like Arcada, it’s rooted to a geographic location, but unlike this town, the entrance is always nearby.” He patted his heart. “Here.”
“There? Inside you?”
Dylan nodded. “And…here.” He swept his hand, and as he did, the light of the moon illuminated the landscape. Just feet away, a straight, young oak was reaching to the sky. Farther, trees and foliage emerged from the seeds he’d flung out into the night. From there, grass spread, covering and healing the wounded soil. It crossed from Arcada and down the mountain to the wild lands outside the magical boundaries.
He looked at Travis. “Homewood is here. When I left, I took bits and pieces of it with me so I’d never forget.” He picked up the empty pouch from the pile of clothing he’d left on the ground. Thunder rumbled, bringing life-giving rain. As the rain came down, it would further coax the growth of the old wood in this new land.
“Once the wood has matured, all I have to do is come here, and I’ll be home.”
“Figuratively?” Travis looked around, awe in his eyes.
“No, literally. I can cross over to my town. To my people.”
“Damn, Dylan. Just…damn. And did I help?”
“Gods, yes! Your pictures… They reminded me, told me what it should look like, where it all fit. Who I am in the picture. And your body…your love.”
“Wow.” Travis wrapped his arms around Dylan and clasped his wrists just over Dylan’s belly. He rested his chin on Dylan’s shoulder. “You figure Arcada’s been lonely all this time?”
“Oh yes. I think that’s why she kept giving me chances, even after I tried to hunt Jason. She wanted someone to talk to.”
“Huh.” Travis kissed his neck. “Wonder if the new forest is a guy or a girl…”He trailed off suggestively.
Dylan laughed. “I don’t really think that’s an issue with Arcada.”
“Bummer.” Travis was quiet, but Dylan could almost feel his thoughts racing. “Hey, Dylan, tell me a story. One that ends happily.”
Dylan felt tears well up in his eyes, the sensation still unexpected yet welcome. A story? He knew what Travis was really asking. His shifter needed to know, to share in the healing and Dylan’s recovery. He thought of times long past and laughter long gone. Through the tears, he smiled.
“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful village in a magical forest. It was called Homewood, and there lived a prince who dreamed life into the woods…”
Sneak Peek: The Tenth Muse
I hope you enjoyed Silver/Steel. If you are so inclined, please leave a review!
Here’s an excerpt from The Tenth
Muse, a romantic urban fantasy in which the ancient gods of Greece find themselves entangled in very human affairs…
CHAPTER ONE
“Oh Eros…you fucking little son of a satyr…you’d better not—oh…ohhhh—“
Rees staggered back from the anachronistic machine on his work table and pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes. He was firmly caught between swearing in fury and laughing hysterically. Because what he’d just witnessed on the computer…he shook his head in resignation and returned to the laptop his sister had procured for him. He wasn’t sure what powered the thing, or by what magic it connected with the human world, but he’d fallen in love with the device on first sight.
But now, he was cursing the screen. Because surely he didn’t need to witness Ero’s mind-bending, skull-crushing mishief. Still, he bit a knuckle and leaned closer to the view screen and almost stopped breathing. Rees had never met Eros in person, but was familiar enough with his image to know that the man moving down a long stage wearing nothing but women’s underwear was the darling son of Aphrodite, who just happened to be Rees’s mother’s closest friend.
Eros sauntered, his body wrapped in a complex black corset, his privates barely hidden behind a filmy triangle of black silk. Under a frothy train of netting, his muscular ass was bare as that of a marble statue.
“Eros, I don’t know where in hell you’re hiding your balls, cause they must be big as a minotaur’s.” Rees felt heat in his fact and knew he was blushing.
The camera cut tight to the god’s beautiful face. He looked wicked and sexy under a mask of elaborate make-up. His ong blonde hair was tipped with silver and blue, standing up in a wild halo around his head.
His legs were buckled into black leather boots that rose to his thigh.
And he was wearing a bra.
Rees groaned again, chagrin mingling with reluctant arousal.
“By Hades whiskers…is that Eros?”
Rees nodded, not turning to look at his sister.
“Rees, that’s the Dark Angel’s live telecast. it’s one of the biggest fashion shows in the world!” Like his other eight sisters, Calliope spent most of her life walking Earth, whispering inspiration in the ears of artist, writers and musicians. She was frighteningly knowledgable about human culture.
“Do you suppose he hijacked that outfit from one of the girls? Because I know damned well that there’s never been a male Angel before.” Gracefully, she leaned down, looking closer at the screen.
As if in answer to her question, the camera panned back, showing a stunned audience and an parade of beauties who looked angry, resentful and outraged. In the audience, one particularly lovely woman was laughing helplessly.
“That’s Rosalinda, she’s one of the top models in the world. It’s nice to see her laughing.”
He kept an eye on the screen as he spoke to his sister. “Calliope, how likely is Ares to find out about this? Unless I’m way off, Eros is using his own wings. He’s just charmed the color to black.”
“Gods.” Calliope went sober. “What Ares will do to Eros will make Orpheus’ death look kind.”
At the mention of the ill-fated god, Rees went breathless. He felt slightly sick. The brutal death of Orpheus was now a legend, one made resonant in its horror. The Maenids were bad enough, but frighteningly, Ares was far worse.
Rees had to deal with the God of War on occasion, when Ares came into the Elysian Fields, bullying former warriors into returning for another journey to an Earthly life.
The big guy didn’t like to take no for an answer, nor did he appreciate Rees’s quiet stewardship over Paradise. More than once, he’d not-so-subtly evicted Ares from this realm of peace. It hadn’t been hard; everything here was the antithesis of war. But still, it was never a good idea to make Ares mad. He had a vengeful that spanned centuries.
On the screen, the shots faded to a scrolling list that he remembered were called ‘credits.’ He studied the names, committing them to memory. He wasn’t sure why he’d do that, but instinct told him he’d need information. Calliope reached around and closed the lid of the machine, and he glared at her. He then followed her to the balcony that looked out over the streets below and leaned forward, resting on his elbows.
Strains of music rose on the sweet air, gently competing with the song of myriad birds as they flitted from tree to tree. Laughter echoed as the residents of the Elysian Fields wandered, serene in their eternal peace. There was no rebirth for Rees’s people; no more sadness and pain. They’d learned all they needed from their Earthly lives and had chosen to drink the water of memory, and would never again be born to the human world.
Everthing was perfect here.
As one of the stewards of Paradise, Rees was entitled to remain within the godly domains but Hades was too grim and Olympus too large. Though he was the son of the Goddess of Memory, he was simply not large enough to walk with the other gods.
Rees was merely the younger brother of the muses. Talented, but a teacher rather than inspiration personified. He preferred to live with the people he was responsible for.
Calliope tilted her head, peering at a handsome man. “Is that Archilochus the Poet?”
“It is. I was pleased, though puzzled that he opted to remain here.”
His sister laughed merrily. “Given that irreverent poem about abandoning his shield, I’m sure he still has Spartans after his head.” Her smile was slow to fade. Clearly, she had a fondness for the poet.
“He does tend to stir strong emotion…even here.”
“That’s your kind way of saying that he pisses people off.” She squeezed his arm gently.
If there were reincarnated Spartans after Archilochus, he’d be fairly safe here, though he might become a bit bored. Warriors and adventurers rarely chose the Elysian Fields. Hercules, Achilles and Jason had all chosen Hades, taking the waters of forgetfulness so they might live once more. Men and women of passion returned to their rocky human lives, leading Rees to one conclusion: life in Paradise was a bit of a bore. When one was able to indulge all their appetites and desires, there was no challenge. He had no doubt Archilochus would eventually petition Hades for rebirth.
Folding his arms, Rees leaned on the marble ledge and looked down at the residents of Heaven and had an epiphany: He did not belong here. Those men and women had struggled and fought for their peace. In all his existence, Rees had faced no decision more difficult than which shade of blue to paint the sky or which turn of phrase most perfectly described the serene beauty of Athena.
And he didn’t particularly like Athena.
He sighed heavily. What to do? He’d once approached his Aunt Aphrodite about working on the Earth with the hunters she employed. True, he lacked the knowledge and experience a tracker might require, but Rees had a sharp mind and found he had skills with computers, using them to monitor random humans as they moved through their lives. That particular hobby had led him to discover Ero’s gender-bending turn in that foolish show.
Aphrodite had politely considered his request and then moved on to visit his mother, leaving Rees feeling rather silly. When she had men like Zagerus the Shadow working for her, what need had she for a second rate muse? The son of Hades and Persephone was the perfect hunter. He never lost a quarry, never took a life. He did his job and then vanished into the darkness from whence he came.
Rees was an ornament. He was lovely to look at, skilled at entertaining and said the right words at the right time. His skills with the sword and bow were flawless, though he’d never seen battle. His strategic abilities were legendary…in the chess circles. He knew nothing of the other world, yet he ached to learn…to prove himself.
“Brother?”
Barely hearing his sister, he turned and stared behind him, into the rooms where he lived his endless life.
His studio was a vast, airy space peopled with exquisite statuary and colored with paintings and frescoes. A section of the room overflowed with harps and other stringed instruments. Walls were lined w
ith books ranging from truly ancient scrolls to the latest literary offerings from Earth. A large double door opened into a small amphitheater where he lectured and taught history, art and poetry. One wall held his most cherished possessions, a collection of ancient lutes, many too ancient and fragile to play. Not that he’d ever tried. When he held the lute, his usually skilled hands went numb and stupid.
“Eros?”
“Calliope.” He stood and crossed to the elegant form of his sister, taking her hands in his and leaning in to kiss her soft cheek. Like all his sisters, she was beautiful. Exquisite. After all, the Muses were the inspiration for some of the greatest minds ever to have lived. Their faces graced paintings by great masters, their forms immortalized in marble. Words describing their beauty danced through the years in verse and song.
He led her to a low chaise and with a wave of his hand, a tall glass of wine appeared, its surface beaded with chill water. With a smile, she took the glass and sipped, pleasure brightening her face. They sat quietly, for they’d existed so long in harmony that the siblings simply enjoyed the presence of one another. He gazed at her in appreciation, taking in the soft golden curls nestling around her face and neck, and the gentle brown eyes that were the mirror image of his own. She then looked away, her gaze far-seeing and sad.
“Calliope, you worry about your son.” He didn’t need to guess. She was unhappy, and few things affected her as deeply as the misfortune of her oldest child. “How is Orpheus?”
Her face went stark and grim. “I fear for him. He remains sleeping in in the Underworld, recovering from his injuries. I have heard that Eurydice is once again reborn. By the time Hades will release my son for reincarnation, his love will be many years older than he. Hades delights in cruel trickery.”
“I am so sorry.” He remembered his earlier thoughts about warriors and adventurers. “It seems that those who live with great passion repeat their mistakes again and again.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “No, Orpheus had the great misfortune of drawing the ire of Hades when he charmed Persephone with his song. Hades cannot let go of his jealousy.”
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