What Elves Eat

by Cassandra Kane

  What Elves Eat

  Cassandra Kane

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2006 Cassandra Kane

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file copying or sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Changeling Press LLC. Willful violation of this policy will result in suspension of account privileges and will lead to prosecution.

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  ISBN (10) 1-59596-522-X

  ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-522-6

  Formats Available:

  HTML, Adobe PDF,

  MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader

  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1046

  Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Vikky Bertling

  Cover Artist: Karen Fox

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Chapter One

  The Queen’s Challenge

  Elorien, known throughout Faerie as the most beautiful of elves, re-strung his lute and strummed a delightful tune he’d composed that afternoon. He frowned at a discordant note and twisted a tuning peg. Listening with satisfaction as he flicked an elegant finger over a series of chords, he was distracted by the sudden hubbub outside his window.

  He was accustomed to the excited giggles of the silly young faeries who liked to sit beneath his window hoping for a rare glimpse of him while they listened to his music. Every now and then he would even deign to lean nonchalantly out on his windowsill and offer them a view of the best side of his beautiful face -- his left -- to their tinkling sighs of longing.

  But this was different. This was the sound of sudden laughter and a most disagreeable chatter which seemed to ebb and flow as if a crowd was winding its way past his house.

  Holding his lute close to his side, Elorien looked out and saw a group of young elves hurrying past, chattering and giggling in barely contained excitement.

  “What goes there?” he called, his curiosity piqued.

  “Guntoras has returned from the World,” said Ansaran, a female elf who had spent a lengthy period some time back anxiously waiting outside his door. Elorien had finally put her to good use running his errands, to her gratitude and delight. “He recounts his experiences now to Queen Elucinara, and to all who gather at the Circle.”

  “Indeed.” Elorien watched as Ansaran hurried away with her friends.

  He wasn’t sure what bothered him most, the fact that Ansaran only a few months ago would not have hurried away so quickly, or the fact that Guntoras, his best friend and sometime lover, was regaling the queen and her court with stories before he’d even stopped to say so much as a hello.

  “Guntoras be damned,” he muttered darkly to himself, and turned again to strum at his lute. “By the Queen’s Crown!” His fingers found themselves clumsy on the strings.

  Thoughts of Guntoras filled his head. He placed the lute on the chair by the window, flung his cloak about his shoulders, and stormed out of his house toward the Circle.

  Let it not be said he would not greet his friend as was befitting. Even better, beneath the admiring gaze of all of Faerie. For it seemed that all of Faerie was indeed gathered at the Circle, that sacred ring of trees where Queen Elucinara held court.

  The crowd parted for Elorien in deference to his beauty, and he made his way amongst the elves and faeries who strained to hear the words of Guntoras.

  “…and he is the most beautiful I have ever seen,” Guntoras was saying as Elorien approached.

  Elorien smiled. Perhaps Guntoras had not forgotten him so easily after all.

  Elucinara, sitting on a silver chair with her seven ladies-in-waiting draped about the grass at her feet, glanced at Elorien as he came into the clearing. A glint of mischief appeared in her eyes and her soft mouth twitched.

  “The most beautiful, say you?” she murmured, turning her bright gaze to Guntoras.

  Guntoras, a sturdy and handsome elf known as much for his love of embellishing a tale as his love of male companionship, bowed low before her. He was unaware of Elorien’s presence behind him.

  “The most beautiful man I have ever seen, my Lady,” Guntoras asserted boldly. “You would have thought him Elven-born. ’Tis a shame he is only human. But he possesses such beauty as has never been seen nor shall ever be seen again amongst humankind, or my name is not Guntoras.”

  Elorien felt the blood draining from his face.

  Elucinara looked at him. “What say you to that, Elorien?” she asked in amusement.

  Guntoras whirled about. Red flared up his prominent cheeks as he saw Elorien standing stiffly before him.

  The crowd fell silent as they watched the lovers, except for a small faery who tittered nervously.

  “I have nothing to say, my Lady, as I was not privy to the whole of the tale,” Elorien said through frozen lips. He refused to look at Guntoras.

  “It is short enough,” Elucinara said demurely. “Guntoras claims to have met the most beautiful man in the World. Is it possible, Elorien, that more beauty exists in the World than here in Faerie?”

  It was a loaded question. Elucinara had never forgiven him, Elorien knew, for being more beautiful than she. Manners dictated that he flatter her and declare her the most beautiful elf in Faerie, as most wise courtiers would willingly do. But he was no courtier, and he was unwilling to give her this small victory.

  Not when it wasn’t true.

  “I would not know, my Lady, never having been in the World,” he said.

  Elucinara’s bright eyes sparkled dangerously. “That is easily remedied. You must go forth, Elorien, and meet this human. I must have your opinion.”

  “What could my opinion matter, my Lady?” Elorien said, horrified at the prospect of visiting the World.

  “But you are famed for your love of beauty,” she replied with an edge, “as you are for your love of music and poetry. What better judge of beauty have we in all of Faerie?”

  She looked about the crowd and all immediately murmured their assent.

  Caught in a web of his own making, Elorien turned to glare furiously at Guntoras. His friend turned away, shamefaced.

  Elorien hoped he realised he had committed a betrayal that could not be forgiven. And if he didn’t, the day would soon come when Elorien would let him know plainly. Haughtily, Elorien turned to Elucinara and nodded curtly. “My Lady, I will do your bidding.”

  “Go then,” she said. “I will have your answer in three days.”

  Elorien turned and stalked from the Circle.

  “Guntoras, you must tell him where to find this beautiful human,” Elucinara said, smiling as she watched Elorien’s retreating form.

  “My Lady, I did not mean --”

  “You did not mean what you said, my Guntoras?” she asked lightly. “This boy is not as beautiful as you claim?”

  Guntoras nodded miserably. “I’m afraid he is, my Lady.”

  “How unfortunate for Elorien,” she mused. “His answer will be most interesting.”

  Chapter Two

  Hollywood Whoredom

  Dario gingerly touched his reddened cock and winced. Damn Zinnah and her tendency to use her teeth. He didn’t mind a nip or two, but when she had the amount of alcohol she’d drunk tonight she lost all restraint.

  He zipped up his trousers and looked down at Zinnah’
s prone body lying on the floor of the closet. She’d passed out soon after he came. Truthfully, after he’d forced himself to come as quickly as possible just to get her off him. He hadn’t felt like a fuck but Zinnah had dragged him away from his party and into the nearest closet, kneeling eagerly on the floor as she grabbed his cock with one hand and his balls with the other.

  She thought she was being sexy and spontaneous. He thought she was being a spoilt brat. As usual. But who the hell said no to Zinnah, the most famous pop princess in the world? No one, that’s who. Not if you wanted to avoid her trademark diva’s tantrum.

  Dario knew he should do the gentlemanly thing and carry her to his room. But he didn’t feel very gentlemanly tonight. Tonight he was utterly sick of being used and flung aside like a wrung dishcloth. Zinnah, he thought, could stew in her own juices. Literally. She’d wake soon enough.

  He stepped over her prone body and opened the closet door. Outside, the party continued to rage, more than a hundred revellers in fancy dress crammed into his Malibu beach house.

  Not really his. It was rented, though the landlord kept urging him to buy it. But he was reluctant to settle here. Not in Malibu. Not yet. He was only twenty-three. Wasn’t this to be achieved when he was much older?

  Ashley Parker, stylist to the stars, immediately swooped on him as he closed the closet door behind him.

  “You’re not going now, are you, darling?” he cooed, running his black-painted nails over Dario’s chest. “Not when you look so sexy in that costume.”

  Dario was dressed as Legolas from Lord of the Rings, with all the trimmings, long blond wig and pointed ears included. The costume had been forced upon him by Zinnah, who’d chosen it to complement her sexy Galadriel outfit, which left very little to the imagination.

  “I live here, Ash,” Dario said edgily, firmly removing his hand as it angled toward his groin. Fending off Ash was one of life’s consistencies.

  “And where is our lovely Elf Queen?” Ash asked, his black-rimmed eyes darting toward the closet. Ash was dressed as a vampire teddy bear, a reflection of his own personality -- seemingly sweet and cuddly but with a nasty bite.

  Surprisingly, Dario didn’t feel any of his usual defensiveness. Normally people wanted the dirt on his relationship with Zinnah and a chance to pass it to one of the gossip rags for a tidy sum of money. Under normal circumstances, and to safeguard her reputation, he might have steered Ash away from the closet with a mild flirtation. Ash, he’d heard on the grapevine, was making a small fortune as a “friend to the star” in various magazines and was not to be trusted.

  Instead, he shrugged. It was a situation of Zinnah’s own making. Let her deal with it.

  Before he could answer, Karlie Jones tapped Dario’s shoulder. His fifty-year-old business manager pursed her collagen lips and air-kissed him somewhere near his right ear. “Darling, I must go.”

  Ash snickered, earning Karlie’s contemptuous glare. The skinny stylist at least had the sense to slink away. There weren’t many who could withstand the withering scorn in Karlie Jones’s big baby blues, nor her ability to make good on threats of personal ruin if she was crossed.

  “You can’t leave now.” Dario heard the edge of panic in his voice. “Please don’t leave me here with them.” He jerked his head at the room.

  The party seemed to have descended into orgiastic chaos during his brief time in the closet. A group of male models were playing drinking games by the bar, spilling most of the beer over his expensive carpet.

  Two musicians, an actress and her director husband were taking turns snorting coke from a mirror they’d placed on a coffee table. Nearby, a starlet and her boyfriend were fucking on one of the couches while two movie producers looked on, talking business.

  “Quite an audition, but I think she’s overacting,” Karlie commented, amused. She turned to Dario and saw something in his eyes that made her own soften. “Listen, darling, you’ve been in the business long enough to know how the game’s played. How long has it been?”

  “Almost seven years,” Dario said tiredly, bracing himself for her usual lecture.

  “Seven years since you were plucked from the streets of New York where you were, I believe, eating leftovers from restaurant Dumpsters. Now you’re one of the most famous men on the planet. Just this month you’re on twenty-four magazine covers worldwide, and you were voted Sexiest Man Alive. Not to mention the two movies you’ve already done.” She smiled. “I shouldn’t get your hopes up, but there’s talk of you being nominated for Best Supporting Actor.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” Dario said. A rare anger was surging through him. “On the minus side, I have no personal life, I can’t walk out the door to buy my own milk without being attacked by nutcases, and my girlfriend is a drunk and a junkie.” He paused. “Ex-girlfriend.”

  “She’s good for your career,” Karlie said, her voice turning cold.

  “Not any more.”

  Karlie’s heavily mascaraed eyes narrowed. “I hope this is another one of your passing phases of self-doubt, Dario, because I haven’t worked my butt off for the last seven years to have you give it all up and decide you want to go off and find yourself.”

  Something in him snapped. “It’s none of your business what I decide to do,” he snarled at her.

  Karlie’s eyes widened in shock at this unexpected rudeness. He had never, ever spoken to her like that before. Her mouth opened and closed as if she were a breathless goldfish. Dario watched her visibly swallow her anger, replacing it almost immediately with an expression of artificial cheer.

  “OK, OK,” she said, quickly backpedalling. “Why don’t you just sleep on it, darling?” Smiling brightly, she patted his cheek slightly harder than she needed to. “I’m sure you’ll think differently in the morning.”

  And with another quick air-kiss, and looking superbly unworried, Karlie sauntered out of the house.

  Dario was overcome by a stifling wave of despair. Not even his own business manager believed him. Just how lightweight did she think he was? More importantly, just how lightweight did he believe himself to be?

  Angrily, Dario turned and quickly pushed through the partying crowd, heading to the porch at the back of the house. On the porch, he pulled off his wig and fake ears and threw them into a corner with a sigh of relief.

  He leaned on the handrail, looking over the beach and the sparkling Pacific Ocean as he breathed in deep gasps of fresh air. A north-easterly wind had blown the smog back into Los Angeles and the night was clear, stars twinkling in the dark-blue sky.

  A bright shooting star arced across the sky.

  Dario wished desperately that he could go somewhere cleaner, purer, where people would see him for what he truly was. Love him for what he truly was.

  Whatever that was.

  He no longer knew, and wondered if he ever had.

  Through the sound of the revelry inside the house, he heard the doorbell ringing insistently. He frowned, and decided that one of the catering staff could open the door to the latecomer. He’d welcomed enough guests tonight. He wanted them all gone anyway.

  Dario began to ponder Karlie’s statement. Seriously, would he think differently in the morning? He’d thought of jacking it in many times. Almost since the beginning, if he were honest. He had no taste for the adulation, the sycophancy, the constant bitchiness and backbiting in the modelling world.

  It was worse since Karlie had orchestrated his move to Hollywood. He kept at it because it beat eating out of Dumpsters. He’d been a runaway for many years before he’d been “discovered” and his education was practically non-existent.

  Now he could afford to get himself an education, could afford to get a proper life. But doing it in relative anonymity anywhere on this planet was impossible -- everyone knew him and everyone wanted a piece of him.

  “There you are!” Ash peeked his head around the French doors. “Dario, you have a visitor.”

  Dario groaned. “For God’s sake, just show them to the b
ar and leave me alone.”

  “Well, well, we are in a grumpy mood today,” Ash said, eyes gleaming. “A tiff with your better half, perhaps? Has the little dear gone home already?”

  Dario gritted his teeth and refused to rise to the bait.

  At Dario’s silence, Ash sniffed. “Play it that way, then. But I really think you should go to the door. This guy keeps insisting he wants to see you.”

  “I’m in no mood --”

  Ash stepped back in mock horror. “Don’t tell me, I’m only the messenger. You can tell your brother yourself.”

  “I don’t have a brother,” Dario growled, “so you can tell him to go to hell.”

  Ash raised his hand. “I get the picture. But if this guy isn’t your brother, someone’s been keeping secrets from you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “This guy, he could be your twin.”

  “I’m not in the mood for your practical jokes, Ash. You know I don’t have any family.”

  “OK, so someone’s hired a look-alike, is that it?” Ash was unbearably thick-skinned. “I bet Zinnah thought it would be fun. You’ve got to hand it to her, she can always come up with a good idea to liven up a party.”

  As Dario realised what Ash meant, a wave of heat suffused his face. It could only be another of Zinnah’s stupid ideas. Goddamn her! He’d set the look-alike straight and send him packing. He was in no mood for more of Zinnah’s crap. He stalked into the house, Ash gleefully following.

  The dynamics of the party had changed, Dario noted. Now a crowd had formed around someone who stood in the middle of the large open-spaced living room. People standing on the outer rim of the crowd were trying to crane their necks to get a better look.

  “Jesus, he looks just like Dario,” someone said as he pushed past.

  At that, and as if they sensed the impending confrontation, the crowd parted before him.

  Later, Dario remembered that moment as if in slow motion. The crowd parting, the stranger coming into view, his back to Dario. The first glimpse of a gold-embroidered cape flung over wide shoulders, fine hose encasing strong, shapely thighs, and soft gold boots.