Tag Archives: bondage

The Dragon

Nia guides her horse around a twisted track in the mountains. Each step takes her farther from familiar territory and deeper into the lands of the dragons. It is a dangerous journey, but necessary. Coming around another turn, a valley suddenly opens up before her. The valley floor is a canvas of wild flowers, swathes of bright colors that delight the eye. The scent reaches even to the hills that formed the valley’s walls.

But Nia sees none of this. A glint of red in the air blinds her to the beauty spread before her. A dragon dancing through the air at the far end of the valley. The power and beauty bring tears to her eyes, and she releases a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. The last time she saw him, he had been barely able to walk, his scales tinged gray and edging towards black. She had been warned he would never fully recover, had dreaded what she would find. Now…

She allows the tears to spill freely as her horse picks his way down the rocky slope. Without warning, the dance ends. The dragon collapses, plummeting to the ground. A scream fills her throat as she pushes her horse as fast as she dares on the rocky slope.

The falling shape disappears behind a slight fold in the ground, followed immediately by a loud splash. She heaves a great sigh of relief, but doesn’t slow her horse. As she reaches the valley floor, the dragon reappears, climbing up the far side of the valley to a rocky ledge.

 

On a rise at the far end of the valley, Long is pleasantly exhausted. He had pushed himself that morning, flying high and far. The dive into the hidden lake had taken the last of his strength. Pleased with his recovery, he curls up on a ledge to rest. Just as his head touches the ground, he feels the quiver of approaching hoof beats. He stands, torn between hope and annoyance, and turns towards the sound.

Walking down the valley takes longer than flying, but he has already pushed himself too far today. His patience is hard pressed when he sees the figure riding towards him. He resists the urge to run, holding to a steady walk as she urges her horse to a canter.

When Long finally reaches her, he changes form, shrinking down to a human seeming, with coarse red hair and golden eyes. He goes to one knee and grins up at her.

Nia slides off her horse and grabs Long’s hands, pulling him up into an embrace. “Demons, I’ve missed you!”

He returns the hug and allows himself to rest his head on her shoulder. “Same. I’m sorry I wasn’t waiting for you. I must have lost track of time.”

“Not your fault. I’m early.”

They remain holding each other for long minutes. Finally, Nia steps back and looks Long over. His frame is gaunt, like a bear after long hibernation. New lines etch his face, and there is a weariness to him that is not masked by his joy at her arrival. “Let’s gather your things and hit the trail,” she says, hiding her worry, “There’s several hours of daylight yet, and I passed a good camping spot on my way in.”

 

To her surprise, he looks away. “I…I can try, Ma’am. I’m afraid I over did it flying. And—I’m still sleeping large parts of the day.”

Nia is disappointed, but understands. Nia makes a camp at the mouth of the cave where Long had made his temporary home. She hides her displeasure as Long makes no effort to help her, instead lying down and taking a short nap. When the camp is set, she watches him sleep; then decides that since they have time, she’s going to take advantage of it. She pulls out a rope and stake from the tent she decided not to bother pitching. With Long still asleep, she binds his wrists together with the rope and uses the stake to pin his arms to the ground above his head.

Long wakes as she pulls open the laces of his breeches and frees his shaft to reach for the sky. He groans and whimpers as her hands caress him. “Please, Ma’am, let me taste you.” She ignores him, using her hands and mouth to bring him right to the edge.

He quivers beneath her and she grins,”Don’t you dare cum.” Then immediately takes him in her mouth again, swirling her tongue around his head and playing her fingers up his shaft. “Yes, Ma’am” he bites out.

A few moments later she releases him and kneels over his head. He whimpers and strains to keep still, craving her hands on him but wanting desperately to reach up and claim her with his mouth. She reaches down and uses her fingers to pleasure herself, letting him watch and hunger as she teases her clit and thrusts her fingers deep inside herself.

She comes, long and hard, and collapses on top of him. “Do you still want to taste me?” she whispers in his ear..

“Please, Ma’am.” She allows him to suck on her fingers, slick with her juices. When he finishes, she releases his hands and helps him sit up. They make dinner together, then curl up and fall asleep in each others arms. As Nia falls asleep, his shaft pokes at her stomach, and she wishes that she had dared to use him as fully as she would have before his injury.

 

The next day they set out, Long walking while Nia rides. At first he keeps up easily, but overtime his energy sags. By noon he can’t push himself anymore. Nia is annoyed that he didn’t say something sooner, and annoyed with herself for not recognizing his weakness. She insists that they make camp early. Long fights depression, angry with himself for failing in something so basic. He feels even worse the next day when Nia puts him up on the horse.

The following week is a difficult one for both of them. Nia ends up doing most of the work of camp, taking care of Long as well as herself. She is very cautious in the things she asks him to do—asks, not orders, a difference he feels very strongly. Even worse is when he needs to tell her he can’t do something.

He is unaccustomed to riding. In its own way it is as tiring as walking, but when he needs to he can fall asleep in the saddle—and does so more than once.

At the first village they come to, Nia purchases a mule. Unlike Nia’s horse, the new beast isn’t used to the scent of a dragon, and doesn’t take well to Long as a rider. For several days their speed is reduced even further as Long needs to fight the best each morning to mount and gain control. It takes nearly a week to settle the beast down. Long tries not to think about the state of their coin purse. They had little money to begin with, and the mule took almost all of it.

 

A month after leaving the dragon’s valley they have an establish routine. Long wakes early and puts a porridge on the fire for breakfast. After they eat, he rests while Nia packs up the camp, saddles the mounts and gets them ready for the day. They ride out, moving at a slow and easy pace. After traveling half the day, they stop. Long rests again while Nia writes in her journal or carves. If Long is able to, they travel for several more hours after supper, otherwise they make camp and settle in for the night.

 

Nia is constantly watchful. More than once Long has tried to continue and ended up collapsing in the saddle. She hands down strict rules about what he should and shouldn’t do and just how hard he should push himself. Not wanting to push him herself, she hasn’t brought him to her bed since their first night together.

 

Long sleeps fitfully. He knows he is lucky to be alive, lucky that Nia was willing to wait for him,but he feels too strongly all he has lost. He can’t help wondering is Nia would be better off without him. She won’t release him—he knows her better than that. But he sees what his illness costs her.

 

The next day they are passing through a village when a messenger arrives. Bandits raided the next town, and they need help. Nia and Long know they need to respond, but the town is a full day’s ride away.

 

“You–” Nia starts.

“I’l–” Long cuts himself off.

Once they would needed no words. A glance, a nod, and they’d be off. Now there is a moment of silence.

“Follow as you can,” Nia finally says, “I’ll ride ahead and deal with this. With luck I’ll have it wrapped up by the time you arrive.”

“You shouldn’t face them alone.”

“And what good will you do anyone if you fall on your face getting out of the saddle?”

“I–” There is nothing he can say to that. And the truth burns like dragons-bane.

He says nothing as she gathers her things to ride out.

Nia hates leaving him behind. She isn’t fond of the idea of facing the bandits without him at her side, and she hates knowing she hurt him. But it’s the only answer. There is no way he can keep up in human form and…her thoughts skitter to a halt. Outside of battle, he stays in his human form—an old promise, and old rule, from when she first bound him to her. So long ago neither of them even thought of it any more. She had made an exception for while he healed, but the moment she had collected him, he had taken human form and stayed .

They were fools, idiots.

She turns back and pushes her horse into a trot. He is just leading his mule up to the mounting block when she pulls the reins out of his hands. Rebellion flashes in his eyes. She places a hand against his cheek and smiles. “Fly.”

It amuses her, the way his jaw drops. “Ma’am…Nia….”

“Fly ahead. You’ll have time to rest before I arrive.”

Finally he nods. “If that is what you want me to do.”

His odd response disturbs her, but she needs to hurry. “Yes,” she says, and still leading the mule, pushes her horse into a fast trot out of town.

 

Long soars above the forest. Nia is right, even a full day’s ride is only a few hours flight. The flight will wear him out, but with time to rest at the end he will be able to fight. Not like riding the same distance. She is, he assures himself, just being practical. But he is used to being restricted to the smaller form, and it feels like a betrayal, to shed his human skin and take to the skies, tracking Nia from above like choice prey. He is supposed to be hers, to serve her and care for her.

Disgusted with his own melancholy, and sure Nia would have some choice words for him is she could hear his thoughts, he puts his attention on flying, and tries to forget his disquiet.

 

Nia finds Long resting at a bend in the road outside of town. Being able to trade off the horse and mule had allowed her to make better time than she expected. Even knowing what is waiting for them, she is tempted to let him rest longer, but his eyes pop open at her approach, and before she can say anything he leads the mule to a convenient stump to mount.

 

The bandits are easy to find, and as always break quickly when one of the adventurers hunting them turns out to be a red dragon—even a young one. When the battle is over, Long collapses, leaving Nia to clean up on her own. They will get the traditional adventurer’s 10% of the goods the bandits stole, which to her experienced eye looks to be about what they had spent on the mule. So, no great profit, but at least they will get their reserve back.

 

She and Long need to have a long talk. They’d avoided discussing the future, the way his illness was impacting their adventuring. They haven’t talked about the way they are being pulled apart, how uncomfortable they both are with the changes in their lives. She sits down next to him, and builds up the fire. ”I should have done that,” he murmurs.

“Shh.”

“What else is a crippled dragon good for?” he tries to make it a joke, but the hurt and bitterness and self-pity seep through. He shakes himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t–”

She kisses him. “You shouldn’t, I shouldn’t. We’ve both been under a strain lately. You’ve been so worried about letting me down…”

“You’ve been terrified of pushing me too hard…”

“I think it’s time we remember a few things. Put your hands behind your head.” She pulls out several sets of thongs and ties his hands together. A few moments later she had his fully bound.

“Um…Nia…?”

“That’s ‘Ma’am’ unless you just want me to gag you…”

He swallows. “Yes Ma’am”

Pleased, she unlaces his pants and rips open his shirt, leaving him fully exposed. Then she pulled a hood over his head before going to prepare a few things.

 

Long squirms against the ties, and shivers as the wind teases his exposed shaft, reminding him that he is in the open where anyone can see…assuming anyone would walk down this rarely-traveled lane that leads only to a bandit’s hideout. He is tired and already hurting from the long day, and the ties cut into muscles that spasm randomly in the chill. He bites back a moan, and tries to listen for the sound of Ma’am’s footsteps.

He smells it first, a sharp astringent smell makes him whimper in the darkness under the hood. He feels her hand, warm and greasy, caress his shaft , and each touch leaves behind a warmth that quickly grows into the burning sensation he both loves and hates. She reaches further between his legs, and he gasps as she smears a great glob of the liniment about his hole. A few moments later something presses against his hole, entering him, filling him and bringing that hot burning sensation inside of him.

He moans and thrashes in his bonds. She just laughs. After that becomes a blur, Pleasure and pain mixed in ways he will never be able to sort out, her own moans and cries filling his ears as she uses him for her own pleasure, her own fulfillment. Then she was cumming, bucking against him, and he screams as she grinds herself against his abused flesh. She bends down over him and bites him hard on the side of his neck, breaking the skin and drawing blood. Marking him once again as her own.

They both sleep that night, better than they have since his injury.

 

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Salvage

Hey, I’m excited to announce that my novel-length webserial Glamourhai starts tomorrow at 6pm ET. Stop by and check it out!

ETA: Trigger warnings for transphobia.

Aidohán, formerly Skerrie, was dragged before the new king. He had failed to overcome the young challenger, and lost his throne. Such was the way of the Skul Skerrie. What happened next was not.

The new king–Aidohán never even learned his name–tore Aidohán’s seal skin from him and slashed it to pieces. Trapping him forever in human form. He had expected the king to turn on him next. Instead, the king turned his back, saying, “Leave him for salvage.”

Aidohán screamed then. Screamed and fought with every ounce of strength left to him. But he was old, and injured. The guards were young and hale.

They brought him out of Skul Skerrie and to the human realm. With strong ropes, they tied him to the piling of a pier. As the tide was going out, they left him there. Unless someone salvaged him, when the tide returned, it would cover his head, and he would drown.

Throughout the long day, the tide slowly receded until his feet hung in the air, then crept back in, covering first his feet, then legs, hips, stomach… He listened in silence to the humans walking the pier above his head. He thought of calling for help, shouting loud enough for the humans to hear, and come find him. But he feared being salvage more than he feared death. Or thought he did.

When the sun set, the waves were rolling across his chest. The courage, or foolhardiness, that held him silent through the day ebbed with the light. A clean death, he could have faced unflinchingly. A sword, a shark, a hunter’s harpoon even. But to drown, slowly suffocated by the sea which was Ruler and Mother of them all…He would have called for help then. Begged, pleaded, screamed. But the pier was silent. The humans gone. And what little pride he had left would not allow him to weep. So he closed his eyes and waited.

John stuck to the shadows. Going out at night was a foolish risk, but he needed to get away for a while. Needed to get somewhere he could just relax, be himself. He loved his family, and they tried, they really did. But they didn’t understand. After two damn years, he shouldn’t still be hearing, “Joan—oh, sorry, John, can you— ”

He crossed his arms across his chest, flattening his thankfully-small breasts. Maybe this time the docs would come through for him and he’d be able to start on T. Ya just gotta keep going, he told himself, never give up, cause when you give up the fuckers win. Which didn’t keep him from needing a break sometimes.

Lost in thought, he didn’t see the figures standing in the warehouse door until it was too late.

“Hey, Joanie, here for the party?”

“Fuck off, Ned.” He started walking faster.

John’s ex-boyfriend and his friends swung in beside him. “Aw, don’t be like that, hon. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“I said, fuck off.”

Ned grabbed his arm. John tried to pull away but couldn’t.

“Let go.”

“Make me.”

John rolled his eyes, “What are you, five years old?”

“What you running away from?” Ned spat on the ground. “Real man doesn’t run away. Guess you’re not a real man, hey Joanie?”

John took a deep breath and carefully didn’t think about the knife tucked in his boot. He started carrying it with him after a bad incident last month…

A police car turned down the street, and they all froze. It slowed as it passed the small group. Ned cursed and dropped John’s arm.

“See you next time, Joanie,” he called as he and his buddie headed back to the warehouse. John nodded to the officer—no one he recognized—and hurried down the street. It was only two more blocks to the pier.

The sea was calm. If it hadn’t been, the waves would have been rolling over his face long since. Instead, the swells passed just under his jaw—if he lifted his chin as high as he could. When Aidohán heard the first steps on the pier, he thought he was dreaming.

“Ho!” The cry was torn from his lips. An unusually large wave washed over his head. He sputtered and spat sea water, gulping for air. Pride tried to rear up, but was strangled by survival. “Under the pier! Help!”

Only silence answered him. Silence and the sound of footsteps, walking away.

John enjoyed visiting the pier at night. It was peaceful and quiet. He could watch the stars and forget about the shit he dealt with everyday. Just be for a while.

He hadn’t gotten halfway across the pier when he heard a voice. He cursed. There went some time alone. But looking around, he didn’t see anyone. He heard the voice again. This time it sounded like it came from below. From under the pier. Shaking his head, he walked off the pier and went looking for the stairs down to the beach. Some fool kid might have gotten stuck down there when the tide came in.

It was pitch black under the pier, and there was nothing to hear but the waves slowly rolling in. John nearly decided he had been imagining thing. Then he heard a sputtering cough. Cursing, John plunged into the waves. “Where are you?” he called.

After a moment, “Here.”

John hurried towards the voice, first wading, then swimming. “Keep calling!” he yelled, then had to spit out sea water.

“I’ll try.” A pause. “Over here.” A pause. “The waves are too high.”

It was the calmest sea John had seen in months, but by then he was close enough to see what looked like a head, leaning against a piling. As he watched a wave rolled over it. When the wave passed the voice cried again, “Here!”

Now that he had a target, John was able to reach the person before another wave passed. “I’m here. Just grab hold of me. I’ll get you to shore.”

“I can’t. I’m tied.” Up close, John could see the face more clearly. Long brown hair floating in the water to matched the beard on the chin held above the waves. For a moment, John couldn’t understand. Then his eyes widened in horror.

Taking a deep breath, he ducked below the waves, feeling in the dark water for whatever had the stranger trapped. It took only a moment. He was cocooned in rope from nipples to knees. Pulling his knife, John went to work on the first coil. The rope and the water both fought him, but he managed to get half way through by the time he needed to go up for air.

As he gasped for breath, the stranger watched him with despairing eyes. “Not enough time.”

John ignored him and dove again. It took him a moment to find the cut, but he managed to finish sawing through the first loop. It uncoiled and fell away. More rope remained.

Surfacing, he saw the waves were getting larger. As the trough of a wave passed, the man, or at least, he presents as a man, and isn’t that a stupid thought to have at a time like this, gasped for breath. “Go.” he said. “Don’t…” another wave cut him off, but John knew what he would have said. A whisper in the back of his mind agreed—it was foolish to risk his life for a stranger. If he got himself tangled in the rope, or a wave bashed his head into the piling, they’d both die. Even more foolish to risk his life pointlessly, for a stranger he had little hope of saving. He heard the whisper, and ignored it.

Never give up. Another dive.

Two dives later, he had cleared the ropes to the strangers waist. He was tiring, losing focus. So at first he didn’t realize that the waves had completely covered the man’s head. Cursing, nearly weeping from exhaustion, he took a breath and grabbed the strangers chin. Leaning down into the water, he pressed his lips against the stranger’s and opened his mouth. Air passed between them. The breath of life, John’s mind conjured the phrase from somewhere.

He dove again. The rope that fell away this time freed the stranger’s hands. The stranger grabbed him. John cursed and kicked—if the guy didn’t let go they would both drown. A hand grabbed his wrist. Another tried to wrench the knife away from him. Unable to fight any longer, praying the guy knew what he was doing, John let go. As soon as he released the knife, the stranger grabbed it, letting John swim for the surface and fresh air.

A single breath and he dove again. The stranger was bent over in the water. Sawing at the remaining ropes. As John came near, he exhaled, a stream of bubbles tickling John’s nose. Desperate, John grabbed him, pressing lip to lip and giving the maniac air. For a moment, they held each other in a desperate embrace. Then John lunged for the surface. Understanding came. He would breathe for both of them, while the stranger cut the last of the ropes.

A few minutes later, the stranger flailed free. For a moment, he just floated in the water. John grabbed his arm, pulling him to the surface. Clinging to eachother, they swam for shore.

Aidohán lay on the sand, desperately dragging air into his abused lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his salvager sputter beside him. By mutual agreement, they had staggered out of the shadow of the pier before collapsing. Under the water, Aidohán would have sworn he felt small breasts press against him, but in the moonlight it was a man who knelt on the sand and wrung water from the hem of a brightly colored shirt. In the end, he ignored the confusion. The stranger had salvaged him from the sea. That was all that mattered.

And he was delaying.

He forced himself onto his knees. If anyone had asked him that morning, he would have said that lowering himself to kneel before another would be the hardest thing possible. It was ironic to find how hard it was to RAISE himself to his knees. But he managed it. Managed it and bowed his head to the stranger before him. “Thank you… Master.”

His salvager shook his head, spraying water across the sand. “What did you say?”

“I said, thank you, Master.” Remembering the feeling of breasts, Aidohán asked, “Should I say Mistress?”

“I am not a woman!”

Aidohán heard the sea’s rumble, and held up a placating hand. “Master, then. I meant no offence.”

John blinked. “You…you don’t care?” Then realized how stupid he sounded. The poor guy was nearly dead, and probably shocky. How could he have any clue that John was trans?

The guy chuckled. “In one day, I have lost my throne, been left for salvage, and rescued by a human even as the sea stole my breath. Whether my rescuer is a man or woman is not exactly a concern at the moment, Master.”

For one moment, the idea of someone who just accepted John as he was shut his brain down. Then the rest of the guy’s words registered.

“Hold on a bloody moment. Master? Throne? What are you talking about, anyway?”

The stranger looked up at him. His eyes seemed to shine green in the light of the full moon. “I was king in Skul Skerrie. Early this morning I lost a challenge. The new king ordered me brought here and left as salvage. You pulled me from the waves. By the law of the sea, I am yours now.” The words were full of bitterness, but the man took a deep breath and said, “I mean my thanks truly, Master.”

“Oo-kay. I think we need to get you to a doctor.” Did near-drowning cause hallucinations? John thought he remembered something about divers hallucinating if they stayed down too long.

The man looked down and rubbed at the raw patches the rope had left on his skin. He moved like something was wrong with his side, too. Definitely needed to get this guy to a doctor. “If that is your wish, Master.”

John took a deep breath. “Don’t call me that. I’m glad I was there to help, and I’m gonna stick around and make sure you land on your feet, but I’m no ones ‘Master.’ You’re no ‘salvage,’ or whatever you call it, of mine.”

Aidohán gaped. In all his nightmares, in all his worst fears and imagings, never had he imaged this. He would have begged, but pride closed his throat. Head bowed, he crouched on the sand and waited for the end. It came quickly. With a roar the sea reached out and grabbed its stolen prize. He didn’t bother trying to fight the wave that dragged him from the beach and pulled him to the Deep. He was cast off, not even worth claiming as salvage. At least, it would be quick.

John had no warning. One moment, the stranger was staring at him like John had just stuck a knife in him, the next a monster wave knocked him head over heels. He caught a single glimpse of the stranger, an arm flailing in the waves. Then he was gone.

Without stopping to think, John dove after him. Two steps in it was like the sand disappeared under him, and he struggled through a malestrom of water far to deep to be a few feet from the beach. Blind in the dark water, he flailed desperately. Seeking air, seeking the stranger, seeking something to grab hold of. But there was nothing.

Aidohán floated in the dark of the Deep, feeling the burn of his lungs and waiting for the end. The sea cradled him one last time, and with utter hopelessness came a kind of peace. A few minutes more and it would be over.

Suddenly, someone else was there in the deep with him. Even in human form, he could hear the vibrations of their flailing. See them in the phospherescent outline of the plankton they disturbed.

He recognized the shape. The human who rescued him and cast back to the sea. Bitter grief nearly had him turning his back on his might-have-been master. But there was no point in that now. The human probably didn’t know what he had done.

There should have been no way for the human to enter the Deep, and there was no way out now that he was here. The sea did not easily release what it had claimed.

With powerful strokes, he approached the half-seen shape and grabbed a flailing arm. They were both dead, but they did not need to die alone. The man stilled, and Aidohán pulled him close. The burning in his chest was unbearable. He couldn’t hold his breath any longer. He found the human’s lips, and pressed his against them. As he released his last breath, he felt the man’s lips move.

The feel of bearded lips against his pulled John out of his panic. He didn’t know what had happened. Didn’t really need to. He and the stranger were underwater–again. Even as his lungs screamed, his mind and body reacted. “Salvage, then.” The words bubbled from his lips, lost in the water. He didn’t care, he hooked an arm under the other’s shoulder and started swimming. Didn’t matter where. Didn’t matter that it was hopeless. You never gave up. “Salvage us both, I will.”

Aidohán awoke to the feel of sand under his belly and an arm across his back. Stunned, he sat up slowly and looked around. Next to him, the man who had twice pulled him from the sea coughed weakly.

Not knowing what else to do, Aidohán helped him sit up. The man coughed up a pint of sea water, then looked at him with bleerly eyes.

“The laws of the sea, hey?”

“Yes, Master.” Aidohán shuddered.

“Call me John.” John slowly stood up, and offered Aidohán his hand. “Ah…will that be a problem?” He looked nervously over his shoulder at the now-calm sea.

“Not if it is your wish…John.” Thankfully, the sea stayed quiet.

“Ah…I’m thinking it’s best we stick together for a bit. But there is something you should know.”

John pulled up his shirt, and Aidohán could clearly see that he did, indeed, have breasts. What he couldn’t see was why his salvager thought it mattered. He shrugged. Yes, it was strange for a man to have breasts, but it was no concern of his.

John stared at him a moment then stood and offered him a hand. Aidohán took it, and leveraged himself to his feet. “Let’s get you some clothes, and then I think I should hear about these ‘laws of the sea.’

“Hey, what’s your name?”

John found a tatty pair of sweats someone had tossed in a dumpster. It wasn’t much, but it covered things until they could get Aidohán some actual clothes. They’d need to call the police, but somehow he was pretty sure his ‘salvage’ wasn’t going to turn up on any missing persons list.

Distracted (again) he didn’t realize they were taking the same route home until Ned called out to him from a doorway.

“Hey, Joanie. Where’d you find this weirdo?”

John froze. He couldn’t deal with this right now. He couldn’t…

Aidohán strode forward, still favoring his left side. He grabbed Ned by the front of his shirt and lifted the bigger man into the air. “His name is John.” He waited a moment. Ned kicked and flaied in the air, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Aidohán set Ned back on his feet, gentle as anything, and brushed him off. “I think you have somewhere else to be. Now.”

Ned took off.

John started breathing again. “I can usually handle that myself. And you aren’t in any shape to be picking fights.”

Aidohán ducked his head and chuckled. “You pulled us both from the Deep. I believe you could do anything, if you wished. That doesn’t me you should need to.

“And I fought for my throne for 30 years. If I couldn’t intimidate a fool like that while half-dead, I would have been all dead long ago.”

They walked on in silence. Each, in their own way, thinking that they could get used to the strange twist their lives had taken.

And under the pier, a ripped and tatted seal skin floated on the waves. Lost and waiting to be found.

A Hole in the Pack

The pack gathered together at the end of a successful hunt. Flopping down to rest in a clearing, their bellies matched the curve of the full moon overhead.

It had been a good hunt, a good night, a good month. They should have been relaxed and playful until the sun sent them on their way. But they weren’t.

One of their number was missing. The hole in the pack was an ache that pulled at them. Instinctively a space had been left where he should be. At the kill, those below him in rank milled about uncertainly when it should have been his turn to eat. Those near him in rank snarled and snapped, seeking to establish precedence around the hole his absence left. He was one of them, but not one of them, and the pack was broken.

Sitting apart from the others, the pack leaders surveyed the world, ever alert for possible threat. But the greatest threat came from within. A quick glance, a flick of an ear, and a decision was made. It was time.

David breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled his old Jetta in between an equally battered pick up truck and an immaculate Miata. Two weeks away from his adopted not-quite family was too damn long. But the full moon was for family only, and when it fell over a weekend… well, that’s the way it went.

Depending on who carpooled, there’d be a half dozen or more cars parked on the flat spot in front of the old hunting lodge before the night was over. Stepping out of his car, David stretched out fully, allowing the silence of the Appalachian forest to sooth city-tight nerves.

“David!” Raul called from the door, “Got your skinny white ass in here, chico. We’ve missed you.”

Later that evening, David was relaxing in a corner of the couch and staring into the fire, trying to ignore the tension in the family around him. His friend John sat on an ottoman next to him and Melissa sprawled on the floor between them, trying not to draw attention to herself. The rest of the family had spread across the room, however they were comfortable. Dinner had been a tense affair, and only the respect everyone had for Raul and Olivia kept it from spilling into open fighting. In the two years since John had introduced him to the family, David had never seen anything like it.

Just as the charged undercurrent was beginning to get to him, an arm wound itself around his neck. Jules whispered in his ear, “Would you be willing to share my bed, David?”

Butterflies began twining in his stomach. If he went with her, he was putting himself fully in her hands. Somehow over the past year the family had determined where he fitted within their hierarchy – and Jules outranked him. She would have full control from the moment he agreed until the moment she was done with him.

Nervous as he was, he didn’t need to think about it. He nodded, and stood. “As the lady wishes.”

“Don’t be long, Jules,” Raul said, “Olivia and I still have a few announcements to make this evening.”

“Yes, sir.” Jules winked and led David from the room.

“Undress me.” Jules closed to door to one of the many bedrooms in the lodge and turned to face David.

He carefully unbuttoned her shirt, sliding it over her shoulders and off her arms. The light camisole she wore in place of a bra went next. She hummed every time his hands brushed her skin, making him flush like a school boy.

Away from the rest of the family, the tension wasn’t as obvious, but it remained. A shivery feeling that added to his growing arousal.

Jules pants had no fly and slipped easily over her hips and down to the floor, as did her white cotton underwear. Like the rest of the family, she wore no shoes or socks indoors – or any other time she could do without them.

“Now yourself.”

David felt her eyes on him as he pulled off his shirt and scrambled out of his jeans. Freed of the tough fabric, his erection became instantly noticeable, and Jules’ grin just made him blush more.

“Yum.”

In spite of his embarrassment – or rather, because of it – he managed a flourishing bow saying, “What you see is yours, ma’am.”

She laughed. “Is it now?” She walked over to the bed and yanked the cover off, revealing leather cuffs attached to each bedpost.

He nearly swallowed his tongue, but had to admit a part of him found the idea exciting. He started to lie down on the bed, but she stopped him.

Lying down herself, she said, “Strap me in.”

He was so surprised it took him a few moments to understand what she wanted. Feeling a bit as if he was in a dream, he buckled the cuffs around her wrists and ankles. When he was finished, she stretched and writhed, pulled against the restraints, but they held fast.

“There’s a blindfold by the bed.” Her voice, low and velvety, caused desire to knot inside of him. “Put it on me.”

Hands trembling, he obeyed. Then stepped back from the bed and stared fixedly at the wall. He had never wanted anything so much as he wanted to jump on top of her and take from the temptation she deliberately spread before him.

“Now, David, what are you going to do?”

“Wh-whatever you want me to.”

She laughed. “Oh, you truly are one of us, aren’t you?” She rattled the chains attaching the cuffs to the bed. “Consider this an order then: do what you want.”

He was on her almost before she finished speaking.

Weeks ago, when Raul and Olivia had made it clear they approved, he had asked Melissa to share his bed. Knowing he could do whatever he wished with her, he had still taken his time, made sure that she had her pleasure before he took his. Now he wasted no time on restraint. He straddled Jules and thrust himself within her, gasping as her warmth enveloped him. She cried out, writhing under him, her hips thrusting in time with his.

He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her throat. Without fully understanding why, he thrust himself deep into her, then bent forward and took her throat between his teeth. She froze, panting and whining faintly.

After a long moment, he released her. Then he began thrusting again, hard and fast. He didn’t try to hold back, didn’t try to restrain his pleasure. He came, exploding into her, emptying himself, then collapsed on top of her, spent.

She lay under him, quivering. He forced himself to sit up, knowing if he didn’t move quickly she would say something, and he wasn’t done yet. He slid down between her legs, and parted her delightfully furry lips with his hands. “David…” Whatever she had been about to say trailed off in a moan as he began licking. It was harder than he expected it to be – the taste gave him a new appreciation for why women didn’t like to give blow jobs. But he ignored it as best he could and focused on the feel of her under his mouth, the sound of her pleasure. He found her pearl easily and gave it special attention, licking and sucking until his tongue was going numb.

In spite of the taste, and the occasional hair in his mouth, he was rather enjoying himself. He found if he paced himself properly he could bring her right to the edge of cumming over and over again, without ever taking her over. Her moans alternated with curses and pleading.
A knock at the door finally interrupted him. “Jules, I can tell you’re putting the boy to good use in there, but Raul says you’ve had long enough.”

David cursed under his breath and sat up. Jules was not nearly so restrained. “God damn you Ben, next time I get my hands on you I will chew your tail off and use it for a belt! You go tell Raul he’s a selfish, sadistic, ornery, coyote-spawned sack of shit and I will be out when I am damned good and ready!”

“Uh huh, it’s your skin honey.”

He said nothing further and after a moment Jules turned towards David and hissed, “We have 30 seconds before Raul breaks down that door and if you do not finish what you started I will make sure I have your mangy hide for a rug if it’s the last thing I do!”

David didn’t wait for her to finish her threat. He dove back between her legs, and quickly brought her to the edge. Her moans grew in intensity and she exploded under him just as someone began hammering on the door.

David scrambled off the bed and began unbuckling the restraints. Jules was struggling to catch her breath but finally choked out, “We’re coming.” Then, as the second wrist cuff fell away, she hissed at David, “Open the door.”

He jumped off the bed and grabbed up his clothes on the way. He knew better than to take the time to get dressed, but damned if he wasn’t going to have something to cover himself with!
Raul stood in the doorway, glowering like a pissed off demigod. He didn’t even need to say anything. Jules whipped off the blindfold and hopped off the bed to kneel in front of him.

He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. “I know Ben must have misunderstood you, Julie. Surely you did not ignore an order and refer to my sainted mother as a damned coyote.”

“No sir,” Jules chirped, “I was referring to your father.”

David managed, barely, to turn laughter into a sudden burst of coughing.

“I see,” Raul crooned, “that does make a difference. Get out to the main room and don’t bother with your clothes. I’ll come up with a proper punishment later.”

He released her hair and she scooted out of the room – but David saw her turn and stick her tongue out at Raul’s back before heading down the hallway.

David now bore the full brunt of Raul’s glare. He was a still guest, not yet a full member of the family, but keeping his feet was one of the harder things he’d ever done. After a moment, though, he detected a faint twinkle in the leader’s eyes. “You can get your clothes on first. Don’t be slow about it.” He turned to leave the room, but looked back over his shoulder, “I would advise you to be careful what reputation you create. The ladies, they can be demanding.”

And then he was gone.

David couldn’t remember ever dressing faster in his life.

When he got back to the main room, Jules was sprawled out across the couch (and several laps). Wolf whistles greeted his return. He felt himself flush, and wanted to disappear, but he’d never let embarrassment stop him yet, so he dropped into the bobbing bow of a stand up comedian, “Thank you, thank you ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be here the rest of tonight, and tomorrow night as well.”

He kicked his heels together as the room burst into laughter and Olivia gave him a very pointed look. “Be careful what you promise, David. I have… uses for an energetic young man.”
“At your convenience, ma’am.” He dropped onto the ottoman next to John and breathed a quiet prayer that something else would catch everyone’s attention. Soon.

He half got his wish.

After the laughter died down, Raul and Olivia both got up and stood in front of the fire. No one moved. It was suddenly quiet enough David could hear himself breathing. “Now that the night’s entertainment is over,” Olivia said, “we have a few serious matters to discuss. In particular, a few months ago we received a petition from someone wishing to join our family.” David swallowed. Every eye in the room was on him. Somehow, he was reminded of a deer surrounded by hungry wolves.

Raul scanned the room and took over from his partner, “On the last full moon, we found our answer. Does anyone wish to dispute it?”

The room was silent. David fought to keep from hyperventilating.

“Very well then. David, come here.” David got to his feet and joined the two before the fire. “This is your last chance to back out, my friend. You know there are things we keep secret even from you. If you truly wish this, you may find yourself in over your head and eaten alive.”

“Or eating us alive!” Jules called out, to general laughter.

“Ben,” Olivia sighed, “Please find something to gag her with until we are done here.”

David did his best to ignore the byplay, and the way the tips of his ear burned. “I understand, sir.” He took a deep breath, “and I’m not backing out.”

Olivia nodded, “Alright then, we’ll… Ben, that is not what I had in mind!”

David glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Ben had ‘gagged’ Jules but unzipping his pants and stuffing his cock in her mouth.

“You just said ‘something’! And it was convenient!”

Olivia muttered under her breath, “Are we sure we want a third brat?”

“No,” Raul replied, “but think of the entertainment on the winter nights.” Slightly louder he asked David, “We can do this formally, or we can make it official tonight.”

Pulling his eyes away from Ben and Jules, David shrugged, “Tonight is fine. And… are we really capable of ‘formal’?”

Raul chuckled, “One day you will see. But not, I think, tonight.” He looked over the room. “John, you stood as sponsor, would you allow Jules to do the honors? Seeing how she is dressed for it.”

David tried to hide his surprise while John nodded his agreement. David knew there was some initiation into the family, but had no idea what to expect.

Olivia whispered into his ear, “You may keep your clothes on if you want, but it’s better to take them off. Less mess.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Raul silenced him. “No questions. You will know soon enough.”

David swallowed, and after a moment of thought began undressing. He could afford embarrassment more than new clothes. He was grateful when no one made any comments, and a few people even seemed to be deliberately looking away.

When he was done, John came up and took the clothes; giving him an encouraging pat on the back at the same time.

Raul took his arm and turned him to face the room squarely. Olivia took his other arm. For some reason they were holding so tight he was sure he would have bruises. Then he saw Jules.

She was advancing towards him on all fours. But it wasn’t her anymore. She was changing, her hair sweeping out to spread over her body in a tawny pelt. Her bones shifting, muscles twisting… When she finally stood before him, she was a wolf.

Before he could wrap his mind around it, before he could think to scream or do anything rational, she leaped at him. Olivia and Raul held him fast, he couldn’t get away. Her teeth latched onto his shoulder and ripped downward. He screamed. His chest muscles peeled away, revealing white bone. His legs went out from under him, and Raul and Olivia lowered him to the floor.

Olivia sat down with him and got his head settled in her lap just a moment before he went into convulsions. And then the world went black.

David woke to music. Song invaded his dreams, danced with him and drew him back to the real world. When he opened his eyes, he was in bed. Raul sat in a chair next to him, picking a simple melody out on an old guitar.

“Good. You are back with us.”

David shook his head, trying to sort out dream from memory and not having much luck. Before he could find words, a tawny wolf crept up besides Raul and laid her head by his thigh.

He bolted upright – or tried to. Under the blanket he was tied spread eagle to the bed.

Raul chuckled, “Do not worry. Those kept you safe during the change, nothing more. Normally we would have removed them before you woke up.”

David’s mind latched onto that as something relatively sane to worry about. “Normally?”

Jules-the-wolf dropped her jaw to grin at him. “I am afraid,” Raul said, “that you made a foolish promise last night. You told Olivia you would be available to her ‘at her convenience.’ She has decided it would be ‘convenient’ when you awoke.”

David gaped at him, his brain trying to come up with some coherent memory that would make sense of Raul’s words. “Oh my god.”

Raul chuckled again, “I believe her thought is in part that a… distraction is often good when a new cub awakes. She will be here soon.”

David tried to swallow with a throat gone dry. “Tell me this is a dream?”

“That I cannot.” Raul pressed a cup to his mouth and David drank, grateful for the cool water. “This is reality, and we are not just leather, but wolf pack. A pack you are now part of.”

David tried to muster up some humor, some smart comment to gloss over his shock and fear, but found nothing.

“Later, when you’ve had a chance to calm down – and when Olivia is done with you – we will explain everything and answer your questions. Until then, try to relax and enjoy yourself.”

The door opened. Olivia entered and shooed Raul and Jules out.

David never did managed to relax, but he did enjoy himself.

The next full moon, the pack’s song rang with a new voice. Whole and sound once more, they ran the mountains. And if their newest brother stumbled from time to time, there was always a shoulder to help him gain his feet.

Fealty

Beloved,
The baron, my husband, is dead. I am fighting to secure these lands and title in my own right as his widow. If you still feel as you once did, come to me now. I have need of you and your sword both.
With all my love,
Myrtle, Baroness Fireridge

Eryk folded up the well-worn letter and tucked it away in his jerkin. Six months ago Baron Balmont of Cliffside had invited him to swear fealty and become one of Balmont’s knights. For the bastard son of the hated Black Baron it was a chance to belong and a dream come true. He accepted the lord’s invitation without a moment’s hesitation. Three weeks later, Myrtle’s letter had reached him.

Three weeks.

From the tower, a bell rang the time. He stood and stretched, forcing his thoughts to more productive trails. He had a patrol to run. The border with the Cirisian Empire might be quiet, but it still needed watching.

A short time later, he and his detachment of men at arms rode out from the castle. One of several fortifications on the Baron’s lands, High Range Castle overlooked one of the few roads to cut through the mountains between the Westerlands and the Empire. The mountains were the main protection for the warring minor lords of the Westerlands against the ever-expanding Empire. The mountains -and the Empire’s knowledge that if attacked those feuding lords would band together until the intruder was driven out.

The trade caravan Eryk saw passing by as they exited the gates was the most common traffic on the road. Still they guarded, just in case.

The patrol was simple routine. When they stopped halfway through their circuit to water the horses, Eryk set sentries more by habit than need. Or so he thought.

Eryk was checking his saddle’s girth when he heard the first of several strange “thuds”. He whirled around, to see the men of his detachment falling off their horses without a sound. He had barely taken a step toward them when exhaustion swept over him, and the world went black.

Eryk woke to the movement of a horse under him. He came awake in an instant. His hands were tied to the saddle in front of him and there was a blindfold over his eyes. Straining his ears, he heard the quiet clomping of horses walking a forest trail. Too few horses. “Where are my men?” His voice was hoarse with disuse.

There was a long moment of silence, then, “Told you he’d beent alright. Long sleep never hurt none.” The voice was rough with the accent of a mountain peasant and full of good cheer. Eryk growled and pulled at the rope binding his hands. “No need to get excited. We left your men sleeping like babes. Even tethered the horses so theys wouldn’t get stepped on.”

Eryk started to ask how knew he was being told the truth, but stopped himself. Even if they were lying, there was nothing he could do until he was able to escape.

They rode through the afternoon and made camp in the evening. His guards were careful, and never gave him opportunity to get free. Nor did they answer any questions.

For three days and two long nights, he endured. By the middle of the first full day, he knew they had to have left Balmont’s land behind, but he no clue where they were. The long ride gave him plenty of time to think.

Magic was rare – very rare. He had only even heard of three mages in the Westerlands, but the way he and his men had collapsed had to be a spell. Someone very powerful or very rich had sent these men to capture him. There was no way this was an attack o the Baron. He didn’t know enough of the Baron’s secrets to be worth interrogating.

Years ago, the Black Baron had terrorized the northern Baronies. Even though he had been killed over two decades ago, there were still people who hated, and feared him. Eryk had spent a life time fighting to be accepted as himself and not the Black Baron’s child. Might someone have decided that with the father dead, they would have to take their revenge on the son?

It was not a comforting thought.

The third night they didn’t stop, but pushed on. Eyrk couldn’t tell exactly the sun set, but shortly after the frogs started singing, the horses moved onto a cobblestone road. A few hours later they passed through a guarded check point.
Soon after, the horse under him stopped, and his captors pulled him from the saddle. They led him into a building, and a tired voice told them to bring him upstairs.

Climbing those stairs, blind and with his hands bound, was slow and nasty. But they allowed him to move as best he could, rather than dragging him or carrying him. He was grateful for the small dignity.

A hand on his elbow guided him through the second floor until they stopped in a carpeted room that smelled of wood polish.

“You hain’t caused us trouble yet, sir. That change if I untie you?”

Unarmed against three men with swords, and god only knew how many guards stationed about this place, “I don’t think I’m ready to commit suicide today,” Eryk replied. He felt a tug at his wrists, and then the ropes fell to the floor.
“I’m told the lady’s spelled the room to keep you here. She don’t throw around magery much, but when she does it usually works.”

There was nothing to say to that so Eryk didn’t reply. A few moments later he heard a door close behind him.

He reached up and pulled the blindfold off. The room was faintly lit by a single candle, yet even that was painful to eyes that had been blind for days. Gently chafing wrists that had been rubbed raw, he tried to get a feel for where he was.

A wooden bed with a sturdy post at each corner dominated the room. It was covered with thick blankets, and larger than some wagons. The only other furniture was a small table and single chair. There was carpet underfoot, and while only one candle was lit, he could see two oil lamps hanging on the walls. All in all it was a room that wouldn’t have been unsuitable for a minor lord.

It was a ridiculous place to stick a captive, and made his revenge theory seem even more ludicrous than it was to begin with.

In the end, it didn’t matter. He had to get out of here and back to Baron Balmont. Unsurprisingly, the door was the only way in or out. A few minutes careful listening left him confident that no guard had been left on the door. Apparently they trusted their mage.

He turned the handle, and it moved easily under his hand. The door swung open, and could clearly see the empty hallways beyond. Either the men who brought him here were idiots – in which case he should have been able to escape days ago – or their mage was good enough might as well give up now.

Well, no one ever called him smart. He reached a hand through the door way, prepared to pull back at the first sign of danger.

His eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed to the floor. Sound asleep.

He woke on the bed, with his hands and feet bound to the bed posts. This was starting to turn into a habit. One he didn’t like.

Standing at the foot of the bed was… Shock turned his blood cold in his veins. “Baroness Fireridge.”

“Eryk.” The passing years had only made her more beautiful. The lithesome girl he knew had turned into a full figured woman. Her hair had darkened to a deep sable that didn’t yet show any white.

He pulled against the ropes, but it was clear they weren’t coming loose anytime soon. A thousand questions flooded his mind, but he said nothing.

“I’m sorry the ropes are needed.” She shrugged. “Even if I knew you still loved me… well, I couldn’t risk pitting love against honor. Your honor would always win.”

In what world, he wondered, would he ever not love her? “Is this your notion of love?”

She shrugged and came to sit on the bed next to him. Looming over him.

“Balmont will be dead within the season. Five months ago he accepted an overture from the Cirisians. He would give them access to the Westerlands and help them conquer us and they would make him their puppet king.”

“What!” Surprise jerked him upright – or tried to. He wrenched his shoulder and collapsed back with a groan.

Myrtle murmured something and ran her hand along his arm. The pain faded, but he barely noticed. “If I thought your sword would have made one lick of difference in Balmont’s survival, I would have left you there. But the other lord’s are mobilizing now. And my own forces, of course, will join them.”

The Cirisian Empire had outlawed magery centuries ago. Myrtle’s life – and why didn’t he think of her when he realized a mage had helped capture him? – would be worth less than rock in the mountains if they conquered the Westerlands.

And the life of the bastard son of the Black Baron, who had taken service with Balmont mere weeks before he accepted the Empire’s overtures? That, Myrtle knew, would be worth even less. Her fellow lords would never believe he wasn’t the instigator of Balmont’s treachery.

She watched as he worked through the same logic. The same distrust he had faced throughout his life would be the ultimate cause of his death, even if he survived Baltron’s downfall. The old pain flickered across his features before he relaxed against the bed.

“Better dead than forsworn, Baroness.”

“Perhaps. But you aren’t forsworn.” She couldn’t help grinning. “You’re a captive. My captive. And anything that happens to Balmont while you are my prisoner is no reflection on your oath.”

She gave in to her desires, and allowed her hands to wander over his body. By the mulish expression on his face he wanted to argue with her. But he wouldn’t waste words, he’d just do everything he could to escape.

That was fine with her.

His eyes widened as her fingers unlaced his shirt and pulled it up. Of course, with his hands tied to the bed, it couldn’t come off. But it was out of her way.

“What are you doing?”

“My captive, Eryk.” She bent down and bit his exposed nipple. Hard. “When Balmont is dead you will be free of your oath. If you swear fealty to me, the other lords won’t be able to touch you. If you don’t, I’ll just keep you here. Either way.” She sat back and began unlacing her own dress, “You’re mine to do with as I wish.”

Eryk didn’t know if he was in heaven or hell. He watched, helpless as Myrtle slowly stripped off her gown, then her under garments. He knew that body better than his own, or he had 10 years ago. But still it captivated him. He pulled against the ropes, and tried to ignore his growing erection.

When she was finished, she began unlacing his hose. He kicked and squirmed under her hands, wondering why he fought so hard against something he desperately wanted. But not like this, the thought ghosted through his head, not when my life is sworn to another.

She straddled him then, setting his hard length against her cleft.

“Tell me you don’t want this, Eryk.” She leaned forward and her hair became a curtain cutting them both off from the world. “Here, where it’s just the two of us. Where you have no choice, because I’ve taken them all away. Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”

He opened his mouth to tell her exactly that. But he couldn’t. Could lie to himself. Couldn’t lie to her. “I want this. And damn your eyes, Myrtle you know it.”

Her eyes gleamed and she seemed to sag against him. “I hoped, Eryk. I hoped.”

She sat back and pushed her against his length. But instead of taking him inside her, as he expected, she began to rub herself against him. Pleasuring herself while denying him.

He fought against the ropes binding him, and he truly didn’t know if he fought to escape or to take her for himself. And it didn’t matter.

She moaned deep in her throat, the soft sound driving him crazy. Her warm wetness caressed him without surrounding him, a sweet torment he’d never imagined.

She moved faster, eyes wide and face rapt. He wanted to beg, to plead. He bit his lip, refusing to make a sound.

He began to move his hips against her, trying to throw off his rhythm, to shift enough that-

His length slid inside her. She stilled. Her warmth engulfed him, but pleasure was in abeyance as she sat unmoving across his hips. “Naughty, Eryk. I wasn’t done yet.”

She squeezed and he gasped as pleasure shot through him. “Next time you interrupt me I’ll stop and leave you like this for the maid to clean up.”

“Damn you, Baroness!” he snarled.

She laughed, then, slowly, started moving. Instinct and desire overwhelmed him, and he moved with her, reveling in the feel of being inside her once again. Pleasure built filling them both. He couldn’t hold back and didn’t even try. He came, the shock and ecstasy ripping through him. She peaked a moment later and cried out, digging her hands into his chest.
They remained still for a long moment, each catching their breath.

Eryk wanted, desperately to reach out to her and take her in his arms. But he couldn’t. And if he could, if he was free… he didn’t want to think about it. Was grateful that he couldn’t make that choice.

As if she saw into his thoughts, she leaned close to whisper in his ear. “There is one question you needn’t torment yourself with, beloved. Killing me won’t undo the spell at the door. It will fade on it’s own if I don’t remove it. In five months or so.” He shuddered. The thought hadn’t occurred to him – yet.

After a moment, she lay down beside him. Curling up with her head on his shoulder, she was asleep almost instantly. After a few minutes he allowed himself to relax – what other choice did he have after all – and enjoy the feel of her beside him.
When he woke in the morning, the ropes binding him were gone. And so was she.

“The lady be asking if you’d like her to visit this evening.” Eryk looked up from his exercising to see Pawl leaning in the doorway. The old warrior had been the one who led Eryk’s capture. Since then, Pawl was always present whenever the maids came in to clean the room or bring Eryk food. Myrtle wasn’t taking any chances with Eryk getting his hands on a hostage.

“If you think I’m going to sit quietly and let you tie me up, you are crazier than the Baroness.”

Pawl chuckled, “Well, you could always try and stick your head out the door again. Beent a week since your last try. Starting to think you’re getting cozy in there.”

For two weeks Eryk had tried any number of desperate things to trick the mage ward into letting him through. He hadn’t been surprised when things like throwing a blanket over himself hadn’t worked. But he had to try. About half the time, he had woken up tied to the bed with Myrtle waiting – or on one memorable occasion not waiting – for him to awaken. Eventually, he ran out stupid ideas.

For the past week he’d been slowly chipping away at a section of the wall where it was hidden by the shadow of the bed. God only knew how long it would take to scratch his way through to the next room, but be damned if he wouldn’t try.

When he didn’t say anything further, Pawl closed the door, leaving him alone.

He’d had far to much time alone the past few weeks, and next to nothing to do. Most of the time he hadn’t been unconscious had been spent thinking.

He’d doubt his own honor before he doubted Myrtle’s honesty. But even if Balmont was selling out to Cirisia, that didn’t change his fealty. Yet there was nothing he could do. No way he could even send his lord a message of warning. He was literate – barely – but had nothing to write with or on. And even if he could convince a maid to carry a message, Pawl was always right there.

With nothing else to do, he lost himself in the effort of exercise. At the very least, whenever he managed to get out of this room he would be fit enough to do something with the opportunity!

He woke up and found he was sitting. Tied, this time, to a chair. He didn’t remember going to sleep, and he damn well hadn’t put an eyelash across that damn door.

At least, if he was in a chair, he could be reasonably certain Myrtle would be leaving his clothing alone this time. That was a good thing. Right, just keep trying to convince yourself, m’lad.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t surprised to find himself sitting at the table in the corner of his room. A second chair had been added and Myrtle sat with him. The table held plates of rather finer fare then he’d been receiving the past weeks, not that it did him any good with his hands tied behind his back.

“Baroness. So good of you to invite yourself.”

She just grinned at him. “You told Pawl you wouldn’t sit still for him to tie you. Not that you didn’t want me to come.”
It was so typically Myrtle he couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Her grin stretched wider.

Then she sobered. “No games tonight Eryk. I have news for you, if you wish it.” She speared a vegetable on her knife and offered it to him.

He leaned forward to take it.

“Balmont’s lands are overrun. He’s retreated into his central keep and the other lords have him under siege.” She took a bite herself while he struggled to swallow with a mouth suddenly gone dry. “I’ll being joining them tomorrow. I expect to see Balmont’s head off his shoulders by the end of the week.”

The vicious delight she obviously took in the prospect twisted his stomach. But he was honest enough to admit he would have felt the same way about any other lord who had cut a deal with the Cirisians. Damn it had Baron Balmont been that greedy? Or just that stupid?

He managed to swallow and cleared his throat.

“Baron Balmont is known for his siege-craft. You’ll need more than a week.” And if the Cirisian Empire found out, they might send troops through the mountains to help their erstwhile ally. Might.

“Your forget.” Myrtle offered him meat this time. He bit into it savagely. “Balmont won’t be fighting just warriors. And he won’t last long once I dry up his water source.”

Eryk felt himself blanch. Mages were so rare, and so valuable, that their skills were almost never used in warfare. What mage would risk themself in battle when they could command a king’s ransom making sure the crops prospered?

He swallowed the meat with difficulty. “I don’t suppose you have a drink you care to share with me? Or are all the baron’s loyal men going dry?”

She picked up a tankard and raised it in salute before taking a long drink. He closed his eyes and forced back rage and grief and something very like hate.

Gentle hands took his chin and tipped his head back. Soft lips pressed into his and for a moment he wondered what the hell she thought she was doing. Then she parted her lips, and ale flowed into his mouth. He took the liquid, letting it wash away the dryness of his mouth and throat, and his rage as well.

She released him but didn’t move, staring into his eyes for a long moment. “Why, Baroness?”

“I will share everything I have with you, if you will let me.”

“But I am to sit back and accept your part in destroying my lord, in slaughtering the men I served with and commanded?”
She sat down and applied herself to her food. She offered him nothing further, but then, he wasn’t sure if he would have accepted it.

So he watched her eat in silence. Damn it he knew, he KNEW she had no choice. But then, what choice did she think he had? He had given fealty.

She ate slowly and neatly, and didn’t look at him again. Once, he thought he saw a glitter of tears in her eyes, before she blinked them away.

“The castle you patrolled from was overrun with few casualties. Sleep spells, you may have noticed, are useful things. Though crafting them large enough to affect entire arrisons is hard enough I could only prepare a few.”

And the castle that guarded the invasion route of the Empire was important enough to spend one on. So most of the men he knew would have survived.

“Those who were captured and knew nothing of Balmont’s treachery will be released to seek new service. If you can tell me which ones are worth their salt, I might invite them to enter my service. After Balmont is dead, of course.” She met his gaze, her own eyes seemed to plead with him.

He looked away. “I can’t answer you, Baroness. And I’m not going to stop trying to escape, however futile it may be.”

“I know.” When he looked up, she held out another piece of meat for him. He leaned forward and took it gently between his lips. “And I’m not going relax the safeguards I’ve set on you. Hopefully… hopefully soon you will be able to answer me.”

The grin came back, like the sun shining on water. “What I’m going to do now is forget about this mess for a while, and enjoy a meal with an old friend. Care to join me?”

After a moment he nodded, “But you’d better not hog the turnips.”

The next time he asked for a drink, he was vaguely disappointed when she gave it to him from the tankard.

The next several days were spent in thought. Not, this time, of escape, but of the future. He had, he realized, accepted Baron Balmont’s death as inevitable. There was nothing he could do, with the whole might of the Westerlands, and the first mage to go to battle in three generations, arrayed against him.

At first he worried over his honor. There was no question of if he wanted to be free to offer his fealty to Myrtle. His fealty and, he knew, a great deal more. More which he fully expected she would accept. It wasn’t like she’d been at all shy in her affections over the past several weeks.

The mind boggled at putting Myrtle, Baroness Fireridge and “shy” in the same sentence.

But could he offer that fealty, in all honor, when she had prevented him from defending Baron Balmont, ripped him away from his duty?

On the third day he realized he was being ridiculous. He would have no such doubts if he were taken captive in battle, so why was he tormenting himself with them now?

Then, he began to plan.

When Pawl mentioned in passing that the Baroness had returned, five days after her departure. Eryk knew what he would do. He stuck his hand directly through the door, and caught a glimpse of Pawl’s smile before his eyes rolled back in his head.

He was a bit surprised to wake up in the chair rather then the bed. But Pawl clearly hadn’t shorted on the rope. Myrtle sat across from him, holding a goblet of something that smelled like sweet wine. He’d seen dead men that looked healthier. Whatever magic she had used to reach Balmont Keep, dry their wells and return in under a week hadn’t been without cost.
“Tell me.”

Myrtle smiled. It was a bitter thing. “It’s done. Balmont was killed when the walls were breached. I am hailed as hero by my fellow lords for ending the siege so quickly and offered Balmont’s lands in addition to my own.” She drank from the goblet and set it aside, “I told them to go to hell and left them to squabble over the scraps.”

Eryk couldn’t help grinning at her obvious distaste. Maybe there was more than one reason mages didn’t go to war.

She licked her lips, then spread her hands on the table between them. “I assume you wouldn’t have sent for me unless you had an answer?” Her eyes skittered about the room, looking everywhere but at him.

“Yes, Baroness. I will offer you my fealty. If-” her eyes snapped to him but the spreading grin froze at his pause, “if you swear that you will never again use magery on me unless I ask you too.”

Myrtle didn’t hesitate even a moment, “Never. My magic will never touch you again unless you wish it too.”

Now it was his turn to grin and leaned back against the chair, “Then will you please untie these damned ropes?”

She laughed and moved to stand behind him, using her belt knife to cut through the knots rather than picking them out. A waste of good rope, but he wasn’t complaining.

He stood, shaking out his arms. For the first time since he arrived here, he was able to look down on her. He’s forgotten how small she was, barely reaching his chin.

She looked up at him but before she could say anything, he sank a hand into her thick hair and yanked her head back. She stumbled against him and his other hand caught her wrists easily. “Eryk! What are you–” He silenced her with a deep kiss.

“I will give you my fealty, Baroness, but before I give you power over me again,” he released her hair, and let his free hand grab a breast that had dangled just out of his reach for far to long, “I am going to repay you for some of the torment you put me through these past weeks.

“As I believe you once said to me, Myrtle, if you want me to stop, say so now. Otherwise, I will do with you what I choose.”

She gave a breathless laugh, “I should have known better than to let my guard down before you were fully mine.”

“I am yours.” He picked her up and tossed her on the bed. Before she could move he climbed on top of her, pinning her with his weight and hands both. “But you are also mine.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “Yes or no, beloved.”

She laughed again, reaching to pull him down for a long kiss. “You need to ask?”

Author notes for Fealty