The Rising Page 25

“Yes, it was my place to tell her she was coming with us because she belongs to you and you belong to me, so she belongs to me. No, you will not be finding a dwelling in which to live with her, for you will be living with me. She can live with Nyx and Lorenz, or Saturn, if he wishes this, and she takes him. Or we will find somewhere else she likes that is comfortable and close to us, for I know you and you will not let me fuck you like I like with her down the hall. Now, come to bed so I can fuck you like I like to fuck you.”

  Teddy didn’t let that stir him either (though this was proving more difficult).

  “That wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about, though now I wish to discuss all of that.”

  “There is nothing to discuss, it is done.”

  And again, he could not find an artist or a teacher or a spice vendor.

  No, for him, it was a highhanded warrior.

  Teddy chose where to start and did that.

  “I’ll be living with you?”

  At his question, Faunus exited the bed and walked to their antechamber.

  He was gone but moments before he returned.

  And when he returned, he had something with him that Teddy had completely forgotten, but seeing it in the now made Teddy draw in a great deal of air.

  And hold it.

  His journal.

  Faunus resumed his lounge in the bed, head and back to headboard, long legs sprawled, and tossed the book to the end, close to Teddy.

  “You are in love with me,” he announced.

  By the gods.

  “You read it?” Teddy whispered, aghast.

  In the gift of the pages of the book that Lorenz had given him, he had written everything.

  About his father and mother.

  The first stable boy he took up his arse.

  Fenn and the Go’Doan and how he had lost his way in The Rising, confusing lust with love, misinterpreting manipulation for affection.

  How he had treated his acolytes.

  How Lorenz and Nyx had found him, what they had offered him, how they had changed him and how deeply he felt for the both of them.

  How Saturn amused him and enticed him and taught him the parts about what true friendship was that Nyx and Lorenz had not.

  And how he had fallen in love with Faunus. His beauty. His strength. His loyalty. His humor. His affection. His protectiveness.

  “I did,” Faunus answered “It was found as we searched for you. Upon perusing, it was clear it was yours. I wondered if it would give us clues as to where you might be—”

  “That isn’t why you read it,” Teddy accused.

  Faunus shrugged. “Perhaps not the only reason, but it is one of them.”

  “Faunus, those are my most private thoughts.”

  His brows shot up. “Do you think your love for me should be private?”

  “My feelings for you should be mine to share when I want to share them,” Teddy retorted.

  “And when would that be?”

  “I don’t know.” Teddy threw up both of his hands. “Whenever I decided.”

  “To be a Trusted, I have to take the cock of every Trusted,” he declared. “And I have to fuck them in return. Even Lorenz. This is why I am not yet a Trusted, Teddy. The invitation was extended. But until I go through the rituals, that being one of them, I will not get the mantle with the red and green.”

  “And?” Teddy asked.

  “And?” Faunus parroted dangerously.

  “Outside Lorenz’s position, that is the highest rank a Firenz warrior can have,” he told him something he already knew. “The Trusted Ones are revered in Firenze. Hell, they’re revered everywhere.”

  “Yes, and the man I love, who loves me, and owns my cock, not incidentally, indeed, who owns my entire body, will not be invited to these rituals. Thus, it would be an infidelity unless you give me permission. And I will tell you right now, unless I am watching someone play with you, Teddy, or participating along with it, it will not happen.”

  Teddy was stunned.

  “You…you want my…permission to be a Trusted?”

  Faunus shook his head. “I don’t want it. I must have it for you are mine and I am yours and that is the way of the Firenz.”

  It was?

  He didn’t ask that.

  He asked, “And if I say no, you would not do it?”

  “If you said no, I could not do it.”

  Teddy was no less stunned.

  “And you would…that would…you would be all right with that?”

  Faunus shook his head, but said, “I would wish to understand what is in you that does not trust me to go through the ritual understanding I am yours alone and am doing something I will enjoy physically but will mean little outside what it is supposed to build between me and my brothers. And after it is done, it will be done. But if there is something within you that cannot abide this without it coming between us, it is something I will come to terms with.”

  “I would not…ever…keep from you something you desire to have,” Teddy whispered fiercely.

  Faunus did not respond.

  That wasn’t true.

  He did.

  Or two parts of him did.

  His eyes, which were burning into Teddy.

  And his cock, which was stiffening.

  “Do you love me?” Faunus finally whispered in return.

  “Yes.”

  “When did you fall in love with me?”

  “It began when you kissed me after you fucked Saturn that first time at Lorenz and Nyx’s.”

  Faunus’s face grew soft and his hand went to his cock to stroke.

  “I am sorry, mio amore, but it took me longer,” he replied gently. “I liked you very much and wanted more from you. But I knew it would go much deeper when you annoyed me greatly by demanding to put your life at risk to become a spy.”

  “Don’t be sorry, I wasn’t worthy of your love until then.”

  “You are wrong, but we will not discuss it in the now for you need to come to me and kiss me, then you need to suckle me, Teddy,” Faunus growled.

  Teddy did not delay.

  He crawled into bed and did just that.

  And their avowals of love were not sealed by making love, as Faunus had been doing to him since he saved Teddy and his women.

  No.

  It was rough and wild and domineering.

  And when Faunus pulled Teddy up to his knees after Teddy had been taking his cock on all fours, and he seized his shaft and was stroking it savagely, Teddy would know why.

  “Is this mine?” he demanded on a tug.

  “Yes,” Teddy breathed, riding the big cock up his arse.

  “Is this yours?” Faunus asked, ramming up inside him.

  “Yes,” Teddy groaned.

  “Yes,” Faunus whispered, fucking him and milking him and fucking him and milking him until his lover, his love forced him to gush his seed up his chest right before he took Faunus’s up his arse.

  They were both breathing heavily, Teddy’s head back on Faunus’s shoulder, Faunus claiming him by filling him as well as at his cock and with an arm about his upper chest, his breaths whispering in Teddy’s ear.

  “You are mine,” he said softly.

  “And you are mine,” Teddy returned.

  “Yes, I am. But you are mine.”

  Teddy started to turn his head but stopped to grunt when Faunus pulsed up his arse.

  “You are mine,” he growled.

  “Yes,’ Teddy confirmed.

  “That means we detour, bello.”

  He was not following.

  “What?”

  Suddenly, he was down, on his stomach, with Faunus still in him, and covering him.

  And his mouth was still at Teddy’s ear.

  “We’re going to visit your father.”

  Oh.

  Shite.

  141

  The Escape

  Jellan

  Road Between Cyrus and Sky Bay

  AIREN

  Jellan was lik
ely the only man on Triton who was pleased Airen was engaged in a civil war.

  And in that moment, he was the only man perhaps in history who was pleased to be set upon by highwaymen.

  He had not, since his decision to escape, found an opportunity to do that.

  Until, hopefully now, as moonlight lit their path and the mount that Marian and Daemon were atop, bearing both their weight, had trouble racing away from the highwaymen chasing them.

  Thus, once they caught them, Jellan felt he could get away.

  In the fracas, he would magick a cloak about him so they could not see him, and he would ride off.

  Maybe they would think his horse panicked, took flight, and he was lost.

  Or perhaps they’d know he escaped.

  Though, as he would be gone, it wouldn’t matter what they thought.

  But in case it didn’t work, he had to make it look good.

  It was late at night, they were in the middle of nowhere, nothing about them but fields and forest.

  He had told them the last town they rode through, miles back, they should stop at the inn.

  Did Marian and Daemon (mostly Marian) listen?

  No, they did not.

  She said press forward, complaining she didn’t like the looks of that inn and, truth be told, she was correct. It appeared rank.

  But would they be dashing down a road in the moonlight chased by highwaymen if they’d stopped?

  No, they would not.

  Did they ever listen to Jellan?

  No, they did not.

  But hopefully this would end well for Jellan.

  Even if he suspected it would definitely not end well for the highwaymen.

  Which was a shame.

  They rode up alongside them, and Jellan surmised it was a band of five.

  This he surmised for he could hear hooves pounding at their backs, they had a man either side of them, and one was taking the front.

  In a well-established maneuver, they cut both horses off, making Jellan’s rear, and he was forced to lean well forward to keep his seat.

  He needed his steed to appear panicked.

  But he couldn’t have the animal throw him.

  For, in the end, he’d just need his steed.

  As a warning, one of the highwaymen cracked a whip.

  And as Daemon and Marian’s mount circled in place and whinnied, Jellan shushed his and patted its neck to soothe its dancing even as he squeezed it with his thighs, giving it mixed messages that he hoped would be confusing to the steed.

  He then looked about the men.

  All in dark clothing. All wearing large-brimmed, handsome hats adorned with wafting feathers with their hair flowing long from under them. All with dark scarves with holes at the eyes covering the top half of their faces.

  He had never been set upon by highwaymen, though he’d heard the tales since he was a boy, and he’d never tired of listening to the telling of them.

  In the now, seeing them, their sturdy bodies with their thick thighs on their glorious steeds washed in moonlight, he lamented his choice to become a Go’Doan priest and not a highwayman.

  All those men in one city, it had been an enticement Jellan could not forego.

  But a life beholden to no one and nothing…you had your merry band, preyed on the weak, enjoyed your takings, wore a handsome hat, and then you did it all again.

  Oh, what a life that would have been.

  Jellan had a decent seat on a horse. If he spent more time on one, he was sure it would get better.

  And he’d be keen to learn his way about a whip.

  “Stand and deliver!” one of the men shouted.

  Ah, the romance.

  “What do these words mean?” Daemon asked Marian, regarding the men with some interest, and surprisingly, or perhaps guilelessly, no ire.

  “Let me handle this,” Marian said by way of answer. Then, to the highwayman who spoke, she called, “It would be good you leave us be.”

  “It would be good you toss that purse, madam,” the man replied. “And then we would be pleased to bid you goodnight and take our leave.”

  Of course, they had a purse. Or Daemon did, hanging at his belt.

  This was because Marian proved deft at lifting them from unsuspecting citizens strolling the pavements.

  She was a clever cunt, that Marian. Crafty. Skilled.

  Jellan detested her.

  “Truly, it’s in your best interests to move along,” Marian advised.

  “I think not,” the man said.

  “I think so,” Marian retorted.

  Another crack of a whip, this from a different highwayman, and Jellan saw his chance.

  He kicked his heels into his mount’s sides, jerked the reins back, and with nowhere to go, as they were surrounded, his mount rose up, pawing the air with his front hooves.

  When the highwaymen’s steeds automatically drew back at the rearing horse, and Jellan’s mount came down, he cut the reins again, cried out in false surprise, and dug his heels violently into his horse, who bunched his back haunches and burst forth, nearly bowling into one of the gentlemen robbers.

  “Give chase!” he heard yelled, not by Marian or Daemon.

  By a highwayman.

  This was unexpected. He had no purse.

  He had nothing.

  And it was his understanding they took only coin, jewels worn by women, timepieces from men, thanked the travelers for their generosity (to the point a lady’s hand was often kissed, to her swooning with desire), bid them good eve, then went about their way.

  At least that was what the tales told.

  Why would they give chase to him?

  He bent over his steed’s neck, slapping its reins, and cutting toward the trees, desperation driving him, for in truth, he knew he had no hope of outrunning a highwayman. They were legendary riders.

  But if he could get into the shadows of the barren trees, and find the right turn to take, he could stop and be right there, but disappear, and his pursuer would ride right past him.

  He heard shouting, his name bellowed by Daemon, and a commotion, but he kept speeding toward the trees.

  He made them and raced into them, the lower branches whipping his face. He had to duck and sway this way and that to avoid stouter ones, but his lovely horse, to his delight, did most of the work.

  And in no time, the gods shined fortune on him for he saw a rise, a tall mound that he hoped he could ride behind with enough time to gather a magical cloak to shield him.

  He called upon his power, feeling it sing through him, gather in his balls, and oh…there it was. Unused for so long, it was mighty.

  For the first time in a very long time, Jellan smiled.

  Then he rode behind the mound and put his hand to his face, his fingers extended, before he drew it over his head, through his hair, to the back of his neck.

  And he and his steed were hidden.

  He rounded his horse, pulled it to a stop so the beating hooves of an apparently invisible animal would not sound in the dead leaves, or be seen thrashing them, and he threw his hand up, out and over himself, magically muting the noises of his and his mount’s labored breathing.

  Jellan then watched as the highwayman chasing him rounded the mound, rode the length of it and beyond, disappearing into the night.

  He held steady and did not move.

  He gave it time, listening to the faraway shouts of men, Marian’s repeated screeching of Daemon’s name, feeling morose that the fantasy of those highwaymen would be no more.

  He then heard his name being called by both Marian and Daemon.

  Gods.

  It was done.

  These calls echoed into the night and got farther and farther away until he could hear them no more.

  Eventually, the one who gave chase after him rode back and Jellan had to fight calling out to warn him not to find Marian and her creature.

  But in order to look after himself, something he was adept at doing, he won that fight, sat
astride his horse and waited.

  He was not wrong to wait.

  For Jellan heard Marian and Daemon come back, still calling for him, and he held his breath, and his magical cloak, as they entered the forest.

  Marian had magic and Daemon was…whatever Daemon was.

  They might sense him. Even though he was concealing his magic as well, they might sense his power and that he was using it.

  Not only sense him and find him.

  But also realize he had tried to escape.

  He held his breath as they came into view around the end of the mound and Jellan sat very still atop his horse. As such, he prayed to every god he knew that he would remain undiscovered.

  “Where the fuck is that arsehole?” Marian groused as their horse picked its way through the trees not thirty feet away from him.

  “Can you not use your magic to track him?” Daemon asked.

  “It doesn’t work like that,” Marian snapped.

  It absolutely did.

  Or it could, if you knew how to do it.

  Jellan stared as they wandered, looking this way and that.

  She did not only not know how to read the veil.

  She did not have a very good understanding of her power.

  By the gods, he wished he’d known that before.

  But in the now, he relaxed, kept himself cloaked and felt the sneer hit his lips as they rode past him.

  His sneer faltered when he saw, to his astonishment, that it appeared Daemon had cuts that were bleeding through his shirt at his forearms and one along his neck.

  Marian had none.

  The lash of a highwayman.

  Ever the chevalier, he would never strike out at a woman.

  However, he would a man.

  But…

  Daemon let it get to that?

  And…

  Daemon bled?

  He turned in his saddle to watch them ramble away, but that was all he did, and he remained where his was, how he was, for a good long time.

  After that, he closed his eyes, cast his senses, and when he did not feel them near his vicinity, he cast his senses to something else.

  Remaining masked, he clicked his teeth, touched his heels to his now-beloved steed, for the animal had served him well, and started to amble through the forest, following where his perceptions told him to go.

  And he was surprised it did not lead him back to the road where they were confronted.