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Elven Treasure 1

The Enchanted Earl

Mark Rampling, an openly gay young Englishman with little
interest in history or his own aristocratic background, is less than

thrilled when he inherits an earldom from his elderly, childless
uncle. Even worse, the estate itself is run-down and nearly
bankrupt. It is, however, surrounded by a deep, lush forest.

To distract himself, Mark goes walking in the woods and
encounters Dorian Fairchild, a strange but alluring man whose

clothing and mannerisms seem more suited to another century.
Though the attraction between them is instantaneous and their

forest encounters are smoldering hot, Mark soon discovers that
Dorian has a secret that may make their love impossible.

Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Contemporary, Fantasy
Length: 20,106 words

THE ENCHANTED EARL

Elven Treasure 1

Cassandra Pierce

EROTIC ROMANCE

MANLOVE

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www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove

THE ENCHANTED EARL
Copyright © 2011 by Cassandra Pierce
E-book ISBN: 1-61034-753-6

First E-book Publication: August 2011

Cover design by Jinger Heaston
All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

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PUBLISHER
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www.SirenPublishing.com

Letter to Readers

Dear Readers,

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Pierce from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you.
Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

Regarding E-book Piracy

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THE ENCHANTED EARL

Elven Treasure 1

CASSANDRA PIERCE

Chapter 1

“Will you require tea, my lord?”
It took Mark Rampling a moment to realize that Anthony was

speaking to him. Grasping the cord around his neck, he jerked the
iPod buds out of his ears and looked up.

An apology rose to his lips, but he choked back the words with a

blush. An earl, including one who had held the title for less than
twenty-four hours, didn’t ask his butler’s pardon. At least, Mark
assumed that was the protocol.

He marveled that people even had butlers in the twenty-first

century. Now, like it or not, he had one…not to mention a title, a run-
down manor house, and a nearly bankrupt estate. What choice did he
have but to act as though he knew the ropes? Anthony, who looked
old enough to have changed Queen Victoria’s diapers, had always
been a stuffy sort who wanted things done in the traditional manner.
He seemed nonplussed at gaining a new employer, which was
understandable considering that he had served Mark’s uncle for as
long as anyone remembered. He wished he could find a way to let the
old man know the discomfort was mutual.

Mark cleared his throat and attempted to look haughty, the way

noblemen did in costume dramas on the BBC. “No, thank you,

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Anthony. I’m not in the mood for tea. My mother and Jason can have
some, if they’d like.” His voice sounded shaky. Good thing he’d
never longed to take up acting, he thought. Nonetheless, he soldiered
on. “And my stepfather, too, obviously.”

Anthony tipped his wizened head to one side. “The three of them

have gathered in the drawing room to await your arrival. Your mother
requested that I inform you.”

“You may assure my mother that I have been duly notified.

Meanwhile, you can go ahead and serve them.” Mark eyed the front
door with sudden longing. “As for me, I think I’d prefer to get out for
a bit. Maybe take a walk in the woods.”

“I would advise against it, my lord. Rain is expected, and dinner

will be served shortly.”

“I’ll wear a jacket, then. And I’ll be back long before the food gets

cold.”

“But my lord—”
“I appreciate your concern, Anthony, but it isn’t necessary. I’d

like to have a look around my new estate. I’m sure things have
changed since I last visited my uncle. That was years ago.”

Anthony’s skeptical expression never wavered. “I feel I must

caution your lordship that the trees are thick and the paths unmarked.
Your late uncle seldom ventured very far for fear of becoming lost.
And I might venture to add that, unless he was indisposed, the former
earl never missed his afternoon tea.”

“Well, I’m sure Uncle Edwin had his reasons on both counts. I’m

grateful for your concern. But I’ll be careful, and I can take my cell
phone with me.” Mark fished it out of his pocket and held it up, just in
case the old man was so out of touch he wasn’t familiar with such a
modern device.

Anthony raised his thick white brows in disdain. He averted his

gaze from the phone as though he found its very appearance
offensive. “I doubt there would be adequate reception out of doors,
sir. The forest is quite dense.”

The Enchanted Earl

“I promise I’ll be fine.” Mark pushed up his sleeve and thrust out

his wrist. “My watch even has a compass.”

“All the same—”
“Your objections are noted, Anthony. Thank you.”
Despite Anthony’s nervous look, or perhaps because of it, Mark

cut the debate short and headed for the foyer, grabbing his
windbreaker from the rack as he passed.

As he hurried out the door, Mark regretted letting his impatience

flare, but the funeral and all that followed had worn his nerves paper-
thin. After the endless parade of guests expressing formulaic
condolences, local reporters, and solicitors, all of them far more
excited about his inheritance than Mark himself, he craved some time
alone. Enjoying the vast expanse of nature surrounding the manor
seemed an ideal diversion before he had to face his family again at the
dinner table. Why was Anthony so dead-set against it?

The moment he stepped outside, he felt as though he could

breathe for the first time in days. The air in the decrepit old house—
his house now—felt stale enough to choke him, but the atmosphere of
prim respectability and the crushing expectations of his mother had
almost finished him off.

Ever since Mark’s father had died, Eleanor Rampling had spoken

of his great destiny as the future earl of Sidwell. He had never taken
her seriously, assuming Uncle Edwin would eventually produce a son
of his own. Only later, when Mark had realized the truth about
himself, had he understood Eleanor’s certainty.

So here he was, holder of an outdated and irrelevant title at the

age of twenty-four. His mother’s fondest wish for her older son had
come true. He hoped his new status would make up for some of the
other disappointments he’d caused her, like leaving university without
a degree and turning out more like his Uncle Edwin than she could
have imagined. After all, Mark wasn’t about to marry and produce
future earls, either. He’d have to leave procreation, along with the
brilliant legal career, to his younger brother, Jason.

Cassandra Pierce

He crossed the vast lawn, the overgrown grass and straggly weeds

dragging at his boots, pausing only to inspect the massive stone
fountain dominating the middle of the lawn. Sadly, the water had
dried up long ago, and a layer of grime encrusted the carved dragon in
the center. Dead leaves and other debris littered the basin.

Mark sighed. Uncle Edwin had certainly let the place go to seed,

both inside and out. Restoring Sidwell Manor would take a small
fortune and superhuman determination. Unfortunately, Mark
possessed neither.

At least the woods required little upkeep beyond the posting of a

few “No Trespassing” signs. Then again, it didn’t look like a single
soul, trespasser or otherwise, had journeyed past the tree line in years,
maybe decades. Mark had never seen a more pristine, or a more
primeval-looking, forest. Pure silence, unbroken even by birdcalls,
surrounded him. The path was thin and threadlike, forcing him to kick
his way through brush and brambles in certain places.

Having gone on nature walks before, Mark knew how to

memorize landmarks and check his watch from time to time to
facilitate his eventual return. Luckily, he found an abundance of
remarkable sights to use as signposts. Around him loomed an army of
odd, gnarly trees that had probably been growing since the founding
of the estate in the days of Queen Elizabeth I. Strange vines bristled
with prickles, and dark misshapen leaves drooped from their
outstretched limbs. Vaguely menacing rock formations lurched from
the uneven ground at various angles, like hulking creatures pushing
their way up through the soil. On the whole, his uncle’s private forest
looked more like the set of a dark fantastical movie than a nature
preserve.

He shuddered. No wonder people tended not to wander around the

area. For some reason, though, the sheer grotesqueness of it all
fascinated him. He marched on as if mesmerized.

Things soon got creepier. After a while, the sunlight began to

fade, smothered by the tangle of overgrown branches overhead. The

The Enchanted Earl

deeper he got, the cooler and sharper the air became. His windbreaker
soon wasn’t enough. He hugged his arms together and shivered.
Anthony had mentioned the possibility of rain—much as Mark hated
the idea of spending the hours until dinner cooped up with his family,
he wondered if perhaps he ought to head back.

Pausing, he opened his palms to check for droplets. He felt

nothing, but he did spot a flash of movement a few paces ahead of
him. A brief flutter of white cloth against the leaves told him the
intruder wasn’t an animal.

So much for the virgin forest.
“Hey!” he shouted.
The bushes swished as the intruder stopped for a moment and then

dashed away.

“Excuse me! This is private property!” Mark gave chase, though

he wasn’t sure why. It occurred to him that he might have stumbled
upon a transient who had been camping here and who could react
violently to being rousted. Still, the guy was an unwelcome
guest…and besides, after a long weekend cooped up indoors in a dark
suit, Mark was eager for a diversion of any kind.

They ran, crashing through the brush, leaping over rocks and

fallen trees. The stranger, no doubt familiar with the landscape and its
rough features, easily kept a substantial lead. No matter how thick the
brambles or how rocky the ground, he didn’t seem to slow down at
all. In stark contrast, Mark soon found himself growing winded. He’d
always been reasonably athletic, but the harsh terrain proved too
much of a strain on his body. Before long, his chest started to burn,
and the muscles in his legs ached.

Something else was slowing him down, too. Around him, the

forest itself began to change. The air grew warmer and thicker, more
like midsummer than early October. Though the massive trees still
towered above him, their trunks now looked smoother and their limbs
less grotesque. Bright sunlight poured through the gaps in the lush
canopy of vibrant leaves.

Cassandra Pierce

Under his light jacket, Mark’s body began to swelter. As he loped

along, he fumbled to peel it off and tie the sleeves around his waist.
While he did, he caught a glimpse of the compass embedded in his
watch. To his astonishment, the needle was swinging wildly back and
forth, and the hands hadn’t moved at all since the last time he’d
looked.

“Damn!” he muttered. Considering the price, he’d expected it to

stay functional a little longer. He cursed Anthony for good measure,
too, for tricking him into taking the jacket.

A few paces ahead of him, the runner paused and looked back.

Mark heard the burble of water and noticed a sparkling stream
winding its way between the trees. The man he’d been chasing stood
on the banks, watching Mark as though waiting for him to catch up.
When he did, the man went into a half-crouch, tensed his body, and
sailed across the brook in a single, graceful leap. When his feet landed
on the opposite bank, the stranger turned and faced him. Mark caught
up and stood at the edge of the brook, gazing at him in wonder.

If this guy was a vagabond, he looked like he had wandered in

from another century rather than a remote area of the estate. Tall and
lanky, he wore a wide-collared white shirt, tied shut with a jaunty
white-and-gold neckcloth. The frayed cuffs of his green swallow-
tailed coat stopped just above his slender wrists, and his button-fly
pants reached only to his knees. To Mark’s surprise, his feet and
calves remained bare. How had he been able to sprint so efficiently
through the woods?

More striking still were the man’s pale, flawless skin and startling

green eyes. Spiky blond hair dragged against his collar, framing his
face in a vivid burst of gold.

For one wild moment, Mark wondered if some kind of costume

event or Renaissance Faire was going on in another part of the woods.
Great—all he needed was for one of them to die in an accident or
overdose on drugs, and the estate’s financial woes would increase
exponentially. His brief exposure to law classes had taught him

The Enchanted Earl

enough to know that places of Sidwell Manor’s stature attracted
lawsuits like magnets, whether their owners had money or not.

“Who are you?” Mark asked, planting his feet in a way he hoped

would command respect. When the man peered at him without
responding, he sighed in exasperation. “Listen, mate, I want to know
who you are and why you’re trespassing on my property. So speak
up.”

The man tilted his head, causing flaxen strands of hair to brush his

left shoulder. When his soft lips curved in a smile and his white teeth
flashed in the sun, Mark felt an unexpected stirring between his legs.
He struggled to keep his expression neutral. Until he knew what sort
of trouble this fellow represented, he couldn’t afford to let his guard
down.

“Well? Are you going to answer me? You do speak English, I

assume.”

The man laughed. “Yes, I speak your language. I have been called

Dorian Fairchild for as long as I can remember. If I had another name
before then, I no longer know what it was,” the stranger said. Coming
from anyone else, it would have sounded like a smart-ass response.
With him, though, it seemed to fit. Mark noticed his voice had an odd
but pleasant lilting quality. Perhaps he really was some kind of actor.
“As far as trespassing, this property belongs to the Earl of Sidwell.”

Mark couldn’t resist puffing a little. “Damn right. And that’s just

who you’re looking at.”

The man’s delicate face registered surprise. Then, in a flash, a

grimmer expression took its place. “Yes…I heard the old earl was
dead, and another would soon take his place. Yet you are not his son.”

The statement was issued as a challenge—or a test, maybe.
“No. His nephew. Uncle Edwin died childless. My father would

have inherited the title, but he died ten years ago. That leaves me.”

“The last of a long and illustrious line,” Dorian said wistfully.

“You are younger than I expected. Yet you resemble your uncle. I can
see the common features now.”

Cassandra Pierce

“You have no idea.” Mark bit back a smirk. “Did…ah…did you

know him well?”

“I had not spoken with him in some time,” Dorian admitted. “Yet

I always honored and respected him.”

“I see.” Mark began to get the picture. Obviously, his uncle had

made some kind of arrangement with this guy, and possibly a bunch
of other squatters, to hang out on his land in exchange for manual
labor, or maybe just company. Anthony likely knew about the
situation and thus had not wanted Mark to wander down here. Edwin
had certainly been a strange old bird, he mused. What other secrets
had his uncle and his eccentric servant shared? “Well, I’m glad to
hear all of you got on, anyway.”

Dorian gave an odd half-bow. “Of course. Loyalty was his due as

lord and protector of these woods. As it is now yours.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Look, if your hanging about the estate was all

right with the old man, I won’t make things hard for you. Just try not
to get into any trouble that can come back to haunt me. Are there
more of you out here?”

“These woods have been our home for as long as we can

remember. There are generations of us here...and generations to come,
I hope.” He raised his eyes and scanned the treetops as though his
future progeny floated among the branches.

“Oh.” Mark scrubbed a hand through his hair and exhaled. So

Uncle Edwin had invited a whole city of hobos to camp on his land?
This didn’t sound promising. “In that case, I guess I should warn you
about something. My uncle left this place in serious debt. So far, I
can’t see any possible way to make it profitable. I may have to sell it
or turn it over to the government as some kind of land trust. The new
owners probably won’t be so understanding about you and your
friends staying here.”

The easy smile returned, and those sharp green eyes flashed in the

sun. Mark noticed they were shot through with flecks of gold,
perfectly matching the man’s luxurious mane. “I’m not worried about

The Enchanted Earl

being driven off the land,” Dorian said. “I’ve lived here for a long,
long time. That won’t change. But frankly, I am surprised you would
consider relinquishing your ancestral home. You should take pride in
your heritage.”

“Now you sound like my mother. Unfortunately, she’s not

inclined to invest much but lip service in the estate’s future. She’d
rather haul her share of the family to Monte Carlo and help my
stepfather gamble it away.”

“Gambling doesn’t interest you?”
“No. I don’t think it interests my mother, either, except that it

pleases my stepfather. He’s about half her age. She tends to give him
anything he wants.” As soon as the words spilled out of his mouth,
Mark reddened. Why had he blurted out such personal details to a
complete stranger? That wasn’t like him at all—usually he was
reticent to the point that people mistook him for a self-centered snob.
With Dorian, though, his tongue and emotions alike felt completely
unfettered. Something about those wide green-and-gold eyes had
mesmerized him.

“I believe you are immune to the lure of easy gold,” Dorian said.

“Yet I suspect you would have a much harder time resisting the
temptation of a younger man’s admiration and affection.”

“Well…” Mark paused, momentarily taken aback. Then he

relaxed and laughed. Dorian could see right through him, he
marveled, and he now understood why. “I’d have to see the guy first.
But it might.”

Just like that, the man was back on Mark’s side of the stream.

He’d moved so quickly that Mark hadn’t seen him actually step
across. But somehow, he had. His face loomed close. So close. Mark
inhaled his fresh, woodsy scent and half-closed his eyes. The power
of Dorian’s presence made him shiver.

“What if the man looked like me?” Dorian whispered. His lips

were almost—not quite—touching Mark’s. His long fingers rested
against Mark’s forearms, subtly tilting his body forward.

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Mark’s breath came out in a hard, forced rush. “Then…I guess I’d

be tempted.”

The moment seemed to last forever. Mark felt his muscles go rigid

and his groin flush with heat. His senses sharpened until he could hear
every rustle of the trees around them, smell every droplet of dew
clinging to the fresh leaves. His heart thundered in his chest, and he
felt sure he could hear Dorian’s, too. At last, Dorian’s mouth came
down on his.

His lips were sweet, tasting like the forest and the sunlight and the

crisp cool water flowing beside them. Mark responded eagerly,
pressing his body against Dorian’s. He sensed the firm outline of
Dorian’s hard cock straining against the thin knee breeches to rub
against his own. Boldly, he reached around and ran his hand along the
curve of the other man’s trim buttocks. The contact made the muscles
there tighten and jump.

Though they had wandered far from the comforts of civilization,

electricity crackled between them. Their kiss deepened as Dorian’s
lips became hard and insistent. Mark even felt the light scrape of his
teeth and the pressure of his tongue.

All too soon, Dorian pulled away, causing Mark’s hand to drop

from his rear end. Through half-closed eyes, Mark watched him take a
step back. He was licking his lips as if to savor the imprint of Mark’s
kiss. Then, in the space of a single breath, he was gone and Mark
stood alone beside the stream.

He listened for rustling branches, broken twigs, or any other clue

to tell him which way Dorian had run. Instead, an almost unnatural
silence, unbroken even by birdcalls, blanketed the forest.

Dazed, he shook his head. Had he somehow imagined the whole

thing?

When he licked his lips, he tasted that blazing kiss again. Dorian

had been real enough. Where had he come from? More importantly,
where had he gone, and how could Mark find him again?

The Enchanted Earl

Of course, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell anyone what he had seen.

His mother would insist on calling the local authorities, and for all he
knew, Anthony would be all too willing to assist her. As far as Mark
was concerned, a few random vagabonds hiding out in this eerie place
was nothing to get worked up about.

He only hoped Dorian, and whoever else camped out here with

him, didn’t make it too hard for him, and his solicitors, to unload this
place to the highest bidder.

Cassandra Pierce

Chapter 2

Mark navigated his way back to the estate lawn with no difficulty,

thanks to his foresight in memorizing the natural signposts. Oddly, his
watch and compass began working again when he reached the
halfway point. As he passed the run-down dragon fountain, he noticed
how dark the sky had grown. Maybe Anthony had been right about
the storm rolling in.

Back at the house, he found the old man anxiously waiting for him

in the foyer.

“Your lordship’s presence is requested at dinner,” he informed

Mark stiffly.

Mark glanced up at the stately grandfather clock in the corner.

Almost seven. Damn!

“My watch stopped,” Mark said, remembering too late that he

didn’t need to make excuses to Anthony. “I’ll change and be down in
a moment. Ply them with strong drinks in the meantime.”

“Very good, my lord,” Anthony grumbled.
Mark took the stairs two at a time. Upstairs, he scrubbed his face

and hands and tossed on a white button-down shirt and a blazer. Not
exactly formal attire, but it would have to do. Besides, what
difference did it make? His khaki pants, though rumpled, wouldn’t
show anyhow once he was seated.

When he got to the dining room, he found Eleanor and Silvio, his

scandalously young stepfather, at the table with his brother. His
mother was haranguing Jason about his upcoming return to
Cambridge. No doubt she intended to ensure that her younger son
avoided the pitfalls that had destroyed Mark’s academic career. Jason

The Enchanted Earl

looked miserable, as though the perfect knots in his silk tie had been
pulled too tight. His face registered relief when Mark strode into the
room.

“We wondered what had become of you, Mark,” his mother

sniffed.

“Don’t forget, Eleanor, he’s a lord now.” Silvio, his stepfather,

laughed and took a deep swallow of wine. “He’s entitled to keep us
on ice if he wants to.”

“I realize you are more flexible with time in Italy,” Eleanor said.

“In England, it’s considered rude to leave one’s guests waiting and
hungry. And his lordship might have made the effort to put on a tie.”

“I didn’t want to drag it through the soup,” Mark groused. He

started to sit down next to Jason, but a sharp glance from his mother
reminded him to go to the head of the table. He did so reluctantly. No
one spoke until Anthony arrived with soup and bread. He served
Mark first while the others watched. Mark began to wish he had opted
for a quick, greasy meal at the pub in the village.

“So just where have you been?” Eleanor asked, dipping her spoon

into the broth.

“Exploring the grounds.” Mark, too, tasted the soup and found it

delicious. Anthony had certainly honed many diverse talents during
his long years serving Uncle Edwin. “I wanted to survey my new
domain. Unfortunately, I couldn’t locate a white stallion to ride, so I
had to go on foot. It took me longer than I expected to get back.”

“And what were your impressions?” Silvio asked as he poured

himself another glass of wine.

“That the place needs some work. How we’ll ever manage to pay

for it, I can’t imagine.”

Eleanor and Silvio exchanged a look and a sigh. “Your uncle

wasn’t at his best with finances. Still, I’m sure you’ll figure
something out. You always were a clever boy, even if you don’t like
to use your intelligence,” Eleanor said.

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Mark groaned. Why did every conversation with his mother veer

into the same mine-strewn direction? Naturally, he wasn’t proud of
his failure at university. After leaving in the middle of the autumn,
during Michaelmas term, he’d lived with a man in London and made
a hash of that, too. His mother insisted on bringing these missteps up
whenever possible, perhaps believing she could shame Mark into
accepting her own rigid prescriptions for his life. He wondered how
long it would take her to realize how misguided her tactics were.

“There is another possibility, of course,” Silvio mused, reaching

for the wine again. His voice grew thicker, and his accent more
pronounced, with every word. “You might do as most of your
ancestors did and consider marrying someone wealthy. Get her to pay
for things.” He laughed heartily, and alone, at his joke.

“Silvio has a point, you know,” Eleanor put in. “Strategic

marriages among the ruling class helped build this country. At times,
duty should come before personal satisfaction.”

“Well, none of us would be sitting here at all if Uncle Edmund

had done his duty and produced an heir,” Jason said.

“All I’m saying is that the idea may be worth considering at some

point in the future. Besides, finances need not be the only issue.
Appearances must be considered as well.”

“That isn’t going to happen, and you know why.” Mark ground

his teeth. “And appearances be damned. I’m not ashamed of who I
am, and I intend to live my life the way I want to.”

“No one is asking you to be ashamed, dear. I, for one, would settle

for simple discretion.”

“I don’t think we’ll gain much by rehashing that subject, Mother.”
“Very well. I’m not in the mood to have…that…talk again.”

Eleanor took the wineglass from her husband, who scowled and tried,
without success, to snatch it back. “Especially not now.”

“Or ever. Shall we consider it dropped?”
“For now,” his mother agreed. Mark rolled his eyes. No matter

what he said or did, no matter how open he tried to be about his life

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and his feelings, Eleanor insisted on seeing his sexual preference as a
phase. His stepfather never commented one way or the other, except
to make silly comments like the last one. At least that had been the
wine talking. His mother had no such excuse.

Thankfully, she returned her attention to Jason and picked up

where she had left off. Though Mark pitied his brother, he didn’t dare
involve himself in their one-sided conversation for fear of saying
something he would regret later.

Instead, he drifted back to his interlude with Dorian. By the time

they were halfway through the meal, he had half-convinced himself
he had fantasized the whole thing. Dorian had been a projection of his
own troubled mind, he suspected, a way for him to express his
misgivings about inheriting the estate and to blow off some steam
about his mother. Months of sexual frustration had no doubt played a
role.

Damn. He wished he’d paid more attention in psychology class

during his brief stint at university.

After rushing through his dinner and gulping down the last of his

wine, Mark stood.

“I hope you’ll all excuse me,” he said with exaggerated politeness.

“As the new Earl of Sidwell, I have some…ah…lordly matters to
attend to. Mother, Silvio, I’ll be sure to see you off in the morning
before you leave for Monte.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to reply, but he turned and marched off

before she finished. Back in the guest room he’d chosen for himself,
Mark shed his shirt and jacket and dropped onto the bed. Grateful just
to be alone, he unzipped his pants and reached into his boxers. His
cock was hard in moments, responding to his touch as readily as it
had to Dorian’s presence, real or imagined.

While his fist stroked up and down, he pictured himself walking

in the forest again. This time, he wore garments befitting a fine
English lord, including a cape and shiny black boots with little gold
tassels at the knees. Dorian waited by the stream, shirtless. His knee-

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length pants were damp from wading through the water, and most of
the buttons were undone. Mark caught a glimpse of lusty male flesh
pressing against the moistened fabric.

“My lord,” Dorian said. The knowing smile never left his face as

he gave that same half-bow. “Welcome.”

Mark stepped forward. Dorian came to him.
This time, he and Dorian went further…much further. After

leaving Mark’s lips bruised and wet from the fury of his kisses,
Dorian knelt, wrenched Mark’s fly open, and applied the same fervor
to the straining flesh inside. Not at all shy, he used every inch of his
mouth. His teeth rubbed Mark’s shaft, his tongue burnished the
domelike head, and his cheeks curved inward with the vigor of his
suction. Mark tilted his head back, moaning, the wings of his cape
swirling around him as he rocked back and forth on his booted heels.
He gripped Dorian’s head with both hands, twisting his fingers
through the silky long hair, urging him forward with greater force on
each downstroke.

“Mmmm. Yeah…yeah,” he growled. His wrist moved faster,

mimicking Dorian’s movements. The muscles ached and his hand
grew numb, but he kept going. His mind flashed back and forth
between the forest and his bedroom until everything blended together
and imploded in a white-hot burst.

Mark felt as though a bomb had gone off inside his body. He

came with lordly speed and abundance, his fingers standing in for
Dorian’s probing tongue as he whisked the creamy beads from his
shaft and rubbed the hot fluids into his skin.

Afterward, he drifted off with the clean scent of the trees and the

sweet smell of Dorian’s flesh tickling his nostrils. For the rest of the
night, half-naked forest sprites haunted his dreams, unfurling their
strong, youthful limbs as they danced in total abandon and tantalized
him with their laughter.

* * * *

The Enchanted Earl

In the morning, Mark awoke more refreshed than he’d been in

days. He showered, dressed, and made it to the foyer just in time to
find his mother and Silvio supervising the transfer of their luggage to
their waiting car. He was a little taken aback to see Anthony shuffling
the huge cases down the stairs. Good thing the old guy hadn’t suffered
a heart attack thanks to his mother’s penchant for overpacking.

“That looks heavy. Let me help you,” he said, reaching for the

handle of a bulging suitcase. Anthony discreetly moved it away from
his grasp.

“Certainly not, my lord. I have the task well in hand.”
Mark blushed, recalling the way he had coaxed himself to sleep

the night before. Not wishing to insult Anthony, he stepped back.
Without even breaking a sweat, Anthony added the case to the small
mountain at the foot of the stairs. His elderly servant’s obvious
strength surprised him.

His mother looked up at him. “Do make sure Jason gets back to

school on time, dear. He’s missed several lectures as it is, and we
don’t want him to…well, we don’t want any difficulties, do we?”

Mark’s jaw tensed. He knew very well what she had been about to

say. At least he didn’t have to pretend to be sorry she and her Italian
playmate were leaving.

Jason soon appeared, and the four said their goodbyes with mutual

relief. His brother avoided looking at him while their mother was
present, but once the car had pulled away, he turned to Mark with a
grin.

“Come with me,” he said, gesturing for Mark to follow. “I want to

show you something.”

They walked to a room their uncle, and no doubt many previous

Earls of Sidwell, had used as a study. Jason had been poking around
among the antique books and maps, spreading several of them open
on various tables and stands. A sheaf of yellowed newspaper
clippings lay on the mahogany desk beside Jason’s laptop.

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Proudly, Jason led Mark over and showed him a particular article

his uncle had saved. Scanning it, Mark read about a farmer who had
uncovered a miraculous find in one of his fields—a massive hoard of
Anglo-Saxon gold, which netted him half a million pounds from the
British Museum.

“Just look at that stuff!” His younger brother beamed. “Might

have belonged to King Aethelfrith himself. And the reward is all
above-board and legal. That blighter with the metal detector is rich as
a lord now.”

“Richer than this lord, that’s for sure.” Mark grimaced. “Why are

you telling me this? Did Uncle Edwin know him?”

“Not that I can tell, but he obviously kept these cuttings for a

reason. Mark, what if there’s treasure on the property somewhere?
Think about it—in the old days, before banks and vaults, rich squires
used to bury their goods so the barbarians wouldn’t find them. I’d be
willing to bet no one’s excavated around here in a long, long time.”

His brother’s earnest enthusiasm made Mark smile. Still, he didn’t

want to get Jason’s—or his own—hopes up. “Don’t you have to know
a leprechaun to find treasure in the woods?” he joked. As soon as he’d
said it, he paused and frowned. A vision of Dorian’s bright green eyes
and shock of gold hair flashed through his mind. Dorian had been the
closest thing to a leprechaun he’d ever seen…even if he hadn’t really
seen him.

Jason didn’t notice the change in his expression. “There’s more.

I’ve been researching our history so I can do an essay about it when I
get back to school. So listen to this. The name Sidwell comes from
Seid-weald. Do you know what that means?”

Mark shrugged. “I was never into books like you are.”
“Weald is woods, remember? Seid is a kind of witchcraft. Goes all

the way back to Beowulf’s time. Bottom line, someone thought there
were witches and elves hiding in that forest when people believed that
stuff.”

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“Our ancestors probably burned them all at the stake. They didn’t

fool around in those days.”

“But suppose pagans really were camping out there during the

Middle Ages. They might have brought a stash of gold with them. It
might still exist.” His grin widened. “Can you imagine? Elves and
witches. This is a cool place after all. We have to save the house,
Mark. If we found that treasure and sold some to museums, we’d
make more than enough to restore the whole place.”

“Good idea.” Mark nodded indulgently. “Just don’t get carried

away. Seems like a lot of speculation at this point, though I’m glad
you haven’t been wasting your time at university the way I did. Well
done.”

“So you do think it’s possible? I suspect Uncle Edwin did, too.”
“Well…when it comes to a wood full of witches and elves, I’d say

just about anything’s possible. Right?”

“That’s the way I see it,” Jason agreed.
Later, as he sipped his coffee in the dining room, Mark reflected

on Jason’s discoveries. He doubted they’d find a cache of Anglo-
Saxon jewelry buried in the backyard, but the connection with ancient
magic intrigued him. Was there also some connection to his odd
experience the day before?

As he remembered his encounter with Dorian, he found himself

getting excited all over again by the memory—or the fantasy,
whichever it turned out to be.

Only one way to find out for sure, he decided. He had to go back.
Dashing upstairs, he changed into jeans, sneakers and a

sweatshirt, all suitable for stomping through brush and brambles, and
headed straight across the lawn and into the forest.

He walked faster this time, noting the same landmarks he’d

memorized. Quickly he located the rocks, the trees, and finally the
stream. He passed the gnarled old oak he’d seen the day before, its
stooped frame reaching toward him as if to sweep him into its

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embrace. The embrace he sought, however, was far softer and
warmer.

His heart pounded with anticipation as he walked up and down the

bank a few times, whistling and making noise, hoping to announce his
presence. In spite of the misgivings he’d had before, he had no doubt
at all that Dorian would turn up. As he’d told Jason, out here anything
seemed possible.

Sure enough, the face he’d dreamed about soon appeared, peering

out between two leaf-laden trees. Dorian’s vibrant green eyes
glistened with curiosity.

“Good morning, my lord.”
Mark blushed. The words were so similar to those Dorian had

spoken in his fantasy that hearing them spoken aloud made him
nervous.

“Please, don’t call me that. I told you yesterday I have no interest

in titles. It’s Mark.”

“As you wish. I’m surprised to see you back here so soon…Mark.

It seems as though you just left.”

Mark scowled. To him, it seemed like a long, slow aeon had

passed since he’d last been with Dorian. It also seemed that he hadn’t
truly been alive during the hours they’d spent apart. “I’ve…I’ve been
thinking about what happened here,” he blurted. “I had to come back
and work out a few things.”

“Like what?”
“Like the…the spell you put over me yesterday.”
“You think I bewitched you?”
“Did you?”
Dorian laughed. “Why would I tell you if I did? You would be on

guard in case I wanted to do it again. Perhaps I do.” He stepped into
full view, and Mark saw that his white shirt billowed open and the top
button of his trousers hung undone. His pale skin looked damp and his
hair clung to his shoulders in wet strands. Clearly he’d been bathing
in the stream. He must have heard Mark approaching and slipped out

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without being spotted. From what Mark could see, Dorian’s upper
body was utterly hairless. He wondered about the parts he couldn’t
see.

He moved closer, resting his hand on Mark’s chest. “In the old

days,” Dorian said, “the lord of the manor commanded not just the
land and its resources, but the bodies of his tenants as well. With a
single word, he could demand they give themselves to him. His
subjects’ only defense was to bespell him.” Those long, white fingers
slid upward, pressing into the soft fabric of Mark’s sweatshirt. Mark
caught his breath. He knew Dorian could feel the insane hammering
of his pulse. “Assuming, of course, they wanted to turn him away.”

“I can’t order anyone to do anything.” Mark’s voice grew husky.

“I’m even shy around my own butler.”

“Do you mean if we had met centuries ago, you would not have

commanded me to please you?” Dorian whispered. He moved closer,
until their bodies pressed flush together. Mark felt Dorian’s hard cock
nudge the inside of his right thigh. His own hard-on was swollen to
bursting.

“I might,” he admitted. “But those days are gone.”
“True enough.” Dorian’s hand dropped from the sweatshirt to the

front of Mark’s trousers. He began to knead the growing mound
slowly, maddeningly. “You could still try.”

“Wouldn’t…wouldn’t you prefer I just asked you?”
The kneading stopped. Dorian tilted his head and laughed. “I

suppose that would be a start.” Then his finger started moving again.
“So try. Claim me as your lover, Lord Sidwell.”

“I do,” Mark whispered. “I mean…can I?” He was blushing

furiously now, his mind in a whirl. He wasn’t sure whether he had
wandered into an open-air seduction, or some kind of costumed
historical reenactment, with the costumes about to come off in a most
dramatic fashion.

He gasped when Dorian suddenly opened Mark’s pants and

shoved them halfway down his thighs.

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Dorian’s long fingers slid inside the gap in the fabric and grasped

his cock, stroking it until moisture bubbled up around the tip. Mark
groaned and leaned against Dorian, his breath shuddering in his chest.

As he was about to come, Dorian loosened his grip and instead

positioned himself on his knees on the ground. His long tongue slid
around Mark’s shaft, drawing it fully inside Dorian’s hot, wet mouth.

Within moments, Mark was pumping his hips into Dorian’s face

as an amazing climax tore through him. Overcome with a rush of pure
pleasure unlike anything he’d ever known before, he let his head fall
back and wailed like a rutting forest creature. The trees, ground, and
bright morning sky tilted, spun, and contracted into a pinpoint of blue-
white flame.

When he opened his eyes again, he was half-reclining on the

forest floor with his pants and undershorts around his knees. He
detected no trace of Dorian. A balmy breeze, too warm for autumn,
brushed across his skin like fingers.

Dazed, Mark lurched to his feet and zipped up. His sweatshirt and

the front of his jeans were a little rumpled. His lower body throbbed
with the aftershocks of an amazing release. Other than that, he had no
real evidence that the whole incident hadn’t been a dream.

What was happening to him?

The Enchanted Earl

Chapter 3

After breakfast the next morning, Mark drove Jason back to his

college at Cambridge. He tried to focus on what his younger brother
was saying as they sped along, but with each passing moment he
found himself growing more distracted. Thoughts of Dorian’s lithe,
naked body and skillful mouth crowded his head and nudged at his
cock. At one point he had to drop one hand into his lap so Jason
wouldn’t notice the straining bulge in his jeans.

He did, however, notice Mark’s waning attention. “Hey, have you

heard a word I’ve said?”

“I…uh…I was thinking back to what you said before,” Mark

improvised. “Tell me more about the woods at the estate. You know,
the witchcraft and so on.”

“Apparently, some people back in the day thought the place was

enchanted. The hobgoblins kept to themselves as long as no one
threatened them or invaded their territory. That’s probably why the
trees never got cut down, like they did on so many similar estates. So
I guess superstition did some good for once in history.”

“Yeah.”
Jason looked out the window and chewed his lower lip. Finally he

turned back around. “Mark…we’re going to be able to hold onto the
house, aren’t we? There’s got to be a way.”

“I wish I could tell you yes. The thing is, at this point I don’t see

how. Seems Uncle Edwin was just biding his time, knowing he
wouldn’t last long enough to run out of money. No wonder he made
do with Anthony, when he needed a full staff to keep the place up.
We do, too, but what would we pay them with?”

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“We can figure out something,” Jason insisted. “Maybe we didn’t

know him well, but he was family. That house is our heritage.”

“I guess you’re right.” Mark sighed. “I’ll keep trying.”
“Me, too. And promise me you won’t give up on the treasure.

Sure, it’s far-fetched, but stranger things have happened.”

Mark laughed heartily. “You’ve got that right. Stranger things

have definitely happened.”

They pulled up to the front gate of Jason’s college, and the porter

appeared to retrieve his luggage from the boot. He gave Mark a
respectful nod.

“If we do find gold, maybe next time we can have a chauffeur

drive us here,” Jason quipped.

“Nothing doing. I don’t trust anyone with my car.”
“Simple. We’ll buy ourselves a fleet.” Jason paused with his hand

on the door handle. “By the way, do you think I’ll need a bodyguard
now that I’m a great lord’s brother?”

“Only if you don’t attend to your work here. If you slack off, I

might personally show up and thump you.” Mark grinned. “Get
yourself into law and start making pots of money. Then we can keep
the estate going.”

Jason’s expression grew serious. “Give me enough time and I can.

I will.”

“Off with you, then,” Mark said. “Back to your books.”
He eased the car back into traffic, pausing to let a group of

laughing students cross the road in front of him. He spent a moment
lamenting his own lost academic career. Had Keith ever realized how
much Mark had given up to be with him? If so, he never gave any
indication that he cared. The sacrifice had been a complete waste in
every way. But there was no going back now.

On the drive home, he mulled over Jason’s theory about the

treasure. The idea of witches, or druids, or some other ancient group
of loonies burying gold behind Sidwell Manor seemed too fantastic to
take seriously. Then again, the woods certainly held their share of

The Enchanted Earl

surprises so far. Could they offer monetary as well as bodily
gratification?

He arrived back at the estate around lunchtime. He hadn’t asked

Anthony to prepare anything, so he saw no need to hurry inside.
Bypassing the driveway that led to the house, he parked a little ways
down the road and got out. He hoped Anthony couldn’t see him slip
to the edge of the forest and duck between the trees. He didn’t owe his
servant any explanations, he assured himself. He just didn’t want the
old bird to worry about him or pepper him with unwelcome questions
when he got home later.

It had rained while he’d been off with his brother. He could smell

the fresh droplets clinging to the leaves and freshening the dirt,
mingled with the sharp scent of damp pine. Before long, he reflected,
the grounds would start to take on the mellow, burnished look of
autumn. Briefly he wondered how Dorian, and the friends who shared
the woods with him, coped with snow and cold weather. Did they
huddle together in lean-tos, burning branches and debris they
salvaged from the forest floor? And how did they feed themselves?
Surely people didn’t hunt deer and wild boar, Robin Hood-style, in
the modern world? Besides, no such game thrived on the Sidwell
grounds.

Soon he heard the familiar trickle of the stream and felt the even

more familiar tightness in his groin. How could he get Dorian’s
attention this time? Stomping around and whistling had worked
before, but perhaps he could find a more efficient way to announce
his arrival. Leading with his shoulder, he pushed through a web of
branches and vines and found himself standing beside the rushing
water.

He realized at once that he didn’t need to do anything to lure

Dorian to him. His mysterious lover had already arrived.

Dorian lay on the bank of the stream, so close he was almost at

Mark’s feet. Half-sunk in a pile of leaves, he stretched out in a relaxed

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pose, on his back with his ankles crossed and his hands clasped
behind his head. He was entirely, breathtakingly, naked.

Mark couldn’t help staring at the erection curving up, ruddy and

thick, from Dorian’s pale torso. As he had suspected, Dorian’s entire
body was as hairless as his chest. The milk-smooth skin of his groin
and thighs made his cock look huge. Even more amazing, Dorian
seemed in no hurry to touch himself, though Mark was sure he could
hear his shaft pulsating with lust.

“Took you a while.” Dorian wriggled his bare toes in

contentment. “I expected you in the morning.”

“I had to run an errand.” Mark’s dazed voice sounded dull and

robotic. “But I’m here now.”

“Yes. Obviously.” Dorian smiled, brought his hands out from

behind his head, and patted space beside him. “Come and join me.”

The pile of leaves looked remarkably deep and soft. It was also

much greener than anything on the trees, though for some reason the
area around the stream always seemed warmer and sunnier than the
rest of the forest. When Mark sat down to pull off his shoes, he found
it held his weight like a genuine mattress.

It occurred to Mark that Dorian didn’t have a rake with him, much

less a leaf blower. Gathering so many leaves would take hours—days,
maybe. “How did you do this?” he asked, running his palm over the
makeshift bed. The leaves felt clean, dry, and inviting.

Dorian caught his hand and pressed the knuckles to his cheek.

“Easy if you know how,” he teased as he rubbed Mark’s wrist against
his face.

Mark’s eyes traveled over Dorian’s body, taking in the sleek

curves and creamy, nearly translucent skin tinted with blushes in
strategic places. “I enjoy looking at you,” he blurted. “You’re
so…unique. Almost like you’re from a different…”

“World?” Dorian answered for him. His long fingers moved to

Mark’s chest and began undoing the buttons in a slow, precise way

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that drove Mark wild with anticipation. “Yes. I am used to a life quite
different from yours.”

Mark blushed. He’d been about to say “species,” but that sounded

so bizarre he was glad Dorian had misinterpreted his meaning.
“Because you live off the land, you mean?”

“Among other reasons.” Dorian peeled back Mark’s white shirt

and tossed it aside. Then Dorian reached for Mark’s jeans.

With slow, precise movements, Dorian unbuckled Mark’s belt,

glided it through the loops, and let it fall beside the shirt. Keeping the
same measured pace, he undid the top button and zipper. Sliding his
hand inside the gap, he kneaded the growing mound in Mark’s Jockey
shorts. Mark’s breath trembled in his chest as Dorian stroked him to
his full, straining length before hooking his thumbs around the twin
waistbands of his trousers and undershorts and husking them off in
one graceful sweep.

Now that they were both nude, they took a few moments to lay

back and drink in the sight of one another’s body. Dorian, despite or
perhaps because of his own exotic appearance, seemed as fascinated
by Mark as Mark was with him. His hand stroked Mark’s bare chest,
tracing the outline of each nipple and the indentations of each rib.
Though Mark was by no means hairy, Dorian made a great show of
exploring the downy trail connecting his pectoral plane to his groin.
He even licked a few places, as though the very sight of the tiny, dark
curls fascinated him.

Dorian was right, Mark reflected. They came from different

worlds. He only wished he could identify which world Dorian hailed
from.

“Did you always know you fancied blokes?” Dorian asked

between playful nips at Mark’s skin.

The question caught Mark off guard. “Pretty much. I mean, I

experimented with a girl or two when I was younger…but somehow I
knew it didn’t feel right. Was it the same for you?”

“More or less. Have you been in love before?”

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For a moment, Mark grew wistful. “I thought so, once. His name

was Keith. I met him at a pub. Before long, I left university to live
with him. We got a flat in London. I was so naïve, I expected our
relationship to last forever…but the truth was, it ended before I even
unpacked my first carton. He liked the convenience of living together,
but commitment wasn’t in his vocabulary.”

“It’s in yours, I assume.”
“Yes. I would like to love someone permanently—and have him

love me back. I don’t see anything wrong with that, though I guess
plenty of guys disagree.”

While he spoke, he scrutinized Dorian’s reaction. He felt a little

odd revealing such personal information to someone he knew nothing
about. Maybe Dorian himself had lovers scattered through the
countryside. He hoped not. “So what about you? Have you had any
serious relationships back …you know, where you came from?”

“A few. Like every young man who shares our tastes, I have

entertained passions for various friends and schoolfellows. None rose
to the level of what you described.”

“You mean you haven’t lived with anyone.”
“No.” Dorian shrugged. “Such arrangements are not common

among my people. Although such things are not exactly frowned
upon, they are not spoken of openly, either. To establish a home
together…well, no one I know has ever been that daring.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well,” Mark said. Secretly, he felt a little thrill

to hear Dorian was unattached and only marginally experienced. “The
whole romance thing all turned out to be an illusion.”

“Illusions have their place. I grew up in a very different way than

you did. But emotion is the same the world over. And desire.”

“I have to agree there.” Mark’s hand moved to Dorian’s midriff,

traced the contours of his muscles and indented navel, and finally
slipped between his legs. His hairlessness made the twin planes of his
thighs feel like two sheets of pristine white cloth, while his balls
remained as sleek and smooth as two ripe fruits. He couldn’t detect

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the slightest trace of razor stubble, suggesting that Dorian’s
smoothness came naturally. Something hormonal, maybe? Either
way, Mark found his silky texture an unbelievable turn-on.

His cock seemed as lean and delicate as the rest of him, though

when Mark wrapped his fist around the shaft, he felt it surge and
harden with a burst of lusty strength. He thumbed the tip, which
responded to the contact by swelling and reddening like a ripe cherry.
He heard Dorian exhale and knew his touch pleased his mysterious
partner.

Everything felt so good between them…almost too good. Was

this, too, a dream?

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you’re real,” Mark confessed.
“Does this seem real?” Dorian reached over and grasped Mark’s

erection, stroking it in the same deliberate way. Every muscle in
Mark’s torso clenched with need.

“Yes,” he gasped. “It always does, while we’re together. Then, as

soon as I get home again, I can never be sure if I’ve been dreaming.”

“Perhaps going home is the dream. Perhaps you are really here the

entire time, asleep beside the stream.”

“I’d find that sort of a relief. The house…my life there…they’re

something of a burden.”

Dorian’s caress became more forceful. “You’ll learn to bear your

responsibilities, as has every lord of the manor for the past five
hundred years.”

“But what if I don’t want to? What if I’d rather just take myself

off into the woods with you?”

“I suppose at times we all wish we could be other than what we

are. However, we are not always free to choose.”

Was he talking about having to live as a vagabond, or alluding to

something metaphysical? Despite his apparently humble conditions,
Dorian seemed like a person who was more than capable of steering
his own fate.

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“Do you mean our roles are…predestined somehow?” Mark

asked. “No matter what we do, we can’t live the life we want, but
only the one already mapped out for us? I admit I have trouble
believing that.”

“I don’t pretend to have the answers,” Dorian replied. “I do know

that in many cases, things are not as they appear.” He paused,
glancing down at the stiff flesh burning in his palm. If Dorian’s
erection resembled a bright cherry, Mark’s had become a succulent
plum, bulging juicy and dark. At last, Dorian’s good humor returned.
“At other times, we cannot doubt the…ah…situation at hand.”

With a jerk of his wrist, Dorian turned Mark’s shaft to the side so

it rubbed against his. Their cocks nuzzled together like courting
serpents dousing each other with sweet venom.

A rush of warmth shot from the space between Mark’s legs

straight to the top of his head. He closed his eyes as he experienced a
brief, pleasant dizziness. Meanwhile, Dorian moved to lie on top of
him.

“Dorian,” he murmured, sliding his arms around the lithe waist.

He raised his mouth and parted his lips. Dorian’s met his eagerly.

The kiss grew urgent, but just as it reached a feverish point, Mark

broke free and moved lower. He kissed his way from the hollow of
Dorian’s throat to the velvety-soft center of his chest. Mark paused to
savor one pebbly nipple and circled the tip briefly with his tongue.
When Dorian moaned, he dragged his tongue over the preternaturally
smooth skin of Dorian’s chest, abdomen, and groin.

“Let me,” he said. He cupped Dorian’s nut sac and tilted it toward

his chin, cuddling it against his face and then trailing his lips over its
delicate curves. At first, he simply feasted on the warm, moist flesh
still resting in his palm. Growing bolder, he opened his mouth.

Dorian’s cock slid easily into his throat, sailing along the flat of

his tongue. The fit amazed him, as though they had been made for one
another. Mark tightened his lips and used them to massage the base

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for a while. Then he began to rock slowly, pleasuring Dorian with a
steady in-and-out motion.

An unexpectedly wonderful sensation bloomed between his legs

as Dorian stretched out and found his cock, too. Working in tandem,
as though they were two halves of the same being, they stroked,
licked, and sucked each other. Their bodies relaxed and their
emotions mellowed as they drifted toward a state of total bliss.
Mark’s world contracted until all he was aware of was the warmth of
his own passion and the fresh, almost minty, taste of Dorian.

His hips began to tremble as his climax built in a kind of

delightful slow motion. He could tell Dorian was getting close, too.
Those sleek, hairless balls drew up tight between his mouth and
Dorian’s thighs, and he both heard and felt Dorian’s breathing grow
ragged as a tremendous orgasm built in him.

Though Mark wasn’t ready to stop, all at once his lower body

clenched, and his hips thrust forward into Dorian’s face. He closed his
eyes while a delightful burst of energy flowed through his veins and
gathered in his balls. His nerves sang and his skin blazed, almost as if
he’d been struck by a pleasant sort of lightning. Another strange but
exciting feeling flashed down Mark’s throat, thick and hot as
quicksilver, when Dorian finally came.

Mark expected their shared climax to crest hard and fast, giving

them both a swift bolt of pleasure, flashing and fading as all orgasms
inevitably did. This time, though, the typical process took a different
turn. Instead of cooling, his skin only got hotter. Dorian’s skin began
to feel feverish as his temperature soared far beyond the normal
human range.

Gradually, Mark realized that the heat flooding his body wasn’t

coming from his own skin. Dorian was generating it. He opened his
eyes, and his jaw dropped so far that Dorian’s softening cock slid all
the way out. At first, he assumed he was hallucinating.

Dorian wasn’t just flushed and red from excitement and the

increased blood flow brought by orgasm. He was actually glowing. A

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kind of metallic shimmer covered his entire frame, giving the illusion
that his skin was turning into liquid gold. Even his hair seemed to lift
from his shoulders and dance in the strange current.

Mark sat up, stunned, while Dorian remained on his back in the

leaves, thrashing his limbs as spasms of energy tore through him.

“What the hell?” Mark yelped, not sure if he should reach out for

Dorian or not. His hands hovered awkwardly in midair between them.
He worried that if they touched, Mark’s flesh would singe or even
melt. The aura radiating off Dorian seemed strong enough to do real
damage.

When the glow began to fade, Dorian stared up at Mark with an

expression suggesting shame.

“Are you all right?” Mark asked, bewildered.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Dorian said, his voice harsh

and raspy. “I must have lost control.”

While Mark fumbled for a response, Dorian rose to his feet. He

looked normal again, though his skin was a little more flushed than
usual and his blond hair remained mussed and static-filled.

“I should go,” he said. In three quick strides, he left the bed of

leaves and rushed for the stream.

“Wait!” Mark jumped up and bolted after him. He watched Dorian

leap effortlessly across the bank to the other side and started to
follow. Dorian held up his right hand, palm out, stopping Mark in
midstride.

“No, Mark. You can’t cross.”
“Why not?” Though he knew he wasn’t athletic enough to jump

over as Dorian had, he saw no reason not to wade through. The brook
looked shallow, and the mild current was nothing to worry about. At
worst, the water would be cold on his bare skin. Mark felt more than
equal to the challenge.

Stubbornly, he lunged forward. Yet he found himself stepping

back as though some invisible sentry had pushed him away.

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“Don’t try.” Dorian had been watching intently, his face taut.

“Just believe me when I tell you it’s impossible.”

Mark’s mind reeled. How had everything changed in the space of

a few seconds?

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Tell me what you are—what

these woods are. I know about the magic in the old days. Is that it?
Are you practicing some sort of witchcraft?”

Instead of answering, Dorian backed away, his hands still up in a

defensive posture. Suddenly he turned and sprinted away into the
thick foliage. Mark caught the flash of his white buttocks and
streaming gold hair as he fled.

Gritting his teeth in determination, Mark tried to step into the

stream again. An imaginary force field, like something out of a goofy
science fiction film, shoved him back…a bit more vigorously this
time.

“Come for dinner!” he shouted. “Tonight! Prove to me you’re

real!”

Some distance away, the bushes quivered and rustled as though

Dorian had paused to listen.

“Come at sundown! I’ll be waiting!”
Then the scrub moved again, and the forest went still.
“Damn!” Mark grumbled. He couldn’t be sure if Dorian had heard

him or not.

When he bent to retrieve his clothes, he froze in surprise. The

thick bed of bright green leaves, which the two of them had lounged
on only moments ago, had vanished. Only a few scraps curled, dried
and grayish, around his feet. The rest had scattered into the breeze, as
though they had never existed at all.

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Chapter 4

“I’ll be dining with a friend tonight, Anthony,” Mark announced

the moment he entered the house. “We’ll need enough for two. Better
cook vegetarian. I’m not sure if he eats meat.”

Anthony raised a brow, regarding his employer as though he were

daft. For all Mark knew, he was right.

“Very good, sir.”
Mark spent the rest of the day in a state of anxiety alternating with

frustrating boredom. In an attempt to pass the hours until dinner, he
went to the study and browsed through the books Jason had left on the
desk. Mark had never been a history buff, and he wasn’t interested in
antiquarian artwork and jewelry. Still, as he read accounts of
distressed warlords and rural gentry burying their booty in the woods
for modern treasure hunters to dig up centuries later, he wondered if
Jason wasn’t onto something.

Finally, the sky turned grey and he headed for the guest room he

was still inhabiting. He dressed in a striped blue suit and crisp white
shirt, making sure to add a tie. The one he chose featured row after
row of tiny Stonehenges. While he knotted it in front of the mirror, he
tried not to consider the very real possibility that Dorian wouldn’t
show up. He could already envision Anthony’s scowl, pitying and
disapproving all at once.

The lights in the foyer were burning by the time he came out of

the guest room and stood on the landing. The front door remained
closed and silent. He had begun to sweat when Anthony emerged
from the double doors that led to the dining room.

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He looked up at Mark and offered a short bow. “Your dinner guest

is here, sir.”

Mark bounded down the stairs two at a time, which he knew was

very unlordly and undignified. He didn’t care. He rounded the corner
and headed into the dining room at top speed.

Sure enough, Dorian stood just inside the door. Mark stopped in

mid-step, his tongue going dry in his mouth.

Dorian looked magnificent—as though he himself were a treasure

from another century. His dark blue coat hung below his knees, and
an elegant lace cravat flowed from his high collar to the lapels of his
silvery waistcoat. He had donned a different pair of knee breeches,
ivory this time, but his usually bare feet were covered with crisp black
boots lined with rows of small gold buckles. Best of all, his long
blond hair was pulled back from his face, framing the delicate bone
structure, and fastened at the base of his neck.

As his gaze flowed over Dorian, Mark felt his lower body tighten

with excitement and anticipation. Much as he liked Dorian’s outfit, he
couldn’t wait to strip it off him. He noticed belatedly that Dorian held
a corked, amber-colored bottle tucked under his right arm.

“I…I can’t believe you’re really here,” Mark stammered.
“Did I misunderstand your invitation?” Dorian smiled.
“Of course you didn’t misunderstand. I just wasn’t sure you’d

come. You didn’t exactly answer me.”

“Nor did I refuse. Here, my lord—a gift.” With a bit of a flourish,

Dorian held out the bottle. Mark accepted it and turned it over in his
hands. Though the surface of the glass and the cork appeared clean,
the bottle looked quite old and bore no label. “You will enjoy its
contents, I promise.”

“Thank you. I’m sure I will.” Mark was dimly aware that Anthony

had stepped up behind him. He handed his servant the bottle without
turning around. What must Anthony think of this odd dinner guest?
Perhaps he would assume Dorian was on his way to or from a
costume party. What else could he think? He doubted Anthony would

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jump to any conclusions about the more carnal side of their
involvement, but then again Mark suspected the expression of pure
lust on his face would be embarrassingly easy to interpret.

“Perhaps your lordship and his guest would like to be seated,”

Anthony said drily. He carried the bottle over to the table, holding it
gingerly in front of him as though it were an infant.

“I’ll open it, if you don’t mind,” Dorian said when Anthony came

forward with a corkscrew.

“As you wish, sir,” Anthony groused. He showed Mark to the seat

at the head of the table and Dorian to the far end, opposite him. As
soon as he left for the kitchen, Dorian moved his place setting to the
space next to Mark.

“You look amazing,” Mark stammered. He couldn’t help staring

at Dorian’s unusual outfit. Outside of a theater, he’d never seen
anything similar.

“I was about to offer you the same compliment. The Stonehenge

neckcloth was a clever touch.”

Mark looked down at the tie self-consciously. “Uh…yeah. I got it

in a museum once. It seemed appropriate for tonight, somehow.
Mystical.”

“Indeed. I admit I’ve never seen the stones in person, but I

daresay we’ve all felt their influence, whether we recognize it or not.”

“You could be right.”
“Shall I pour the wine?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Dorian lifted the bottle and poured. Mark hadn’t seen him remove

the cork. The wine that splashed into their glasses was neither red nor
white, but a vibrant green. He stared, perplexed.

Noting his horrified expression, Dorian laughed and raised his

glass. “Distilled from honeysuckles and other secret ingredients. An
old family recipe. And I do mean old.”

Mark waited until Dorian gulped some down and then hesitantly

sampled the concoction. Its flavor struck him as odd, even bitter, but

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to his surprise he enjoyed it. It tasted like the forest—and like
Dorian’s lips. Before he had a chance to comment, Anthony returned
balancing a tray laden with food.

Mark had to hand it to the man—he never ceased to amaze. He

managed the entire house singlehandedly, attended to its master’s
needs, and still had the time and energy to produce mouth-watering
meals. The main course tonight consisted of an aromatic
conglomeration of vegetables resembling a cross between a stew and
a stir fry, which Mark thought rather progressive for Anthony.
Dorian’s eyes lit up at a loaf of fluffy homemade bread, most likely
brought in from the local bakery shop. He helped himself to a large
hunk before Anthony even had time to ask, slathering on thick wads
of creamy butter.

“That will be all, Anthony,” Mark said as Dorian gobbled down

the bread and immediately reached for more. “I’ll handle things from
here.”

“Very good, my lord,” Anthony said. He gave his usual half-bow

and withdrew.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had bread like this,” Dorian said

with his mouth half full. “A girl in the village used to leave it out for
me. One day, she stopped. I wonder what became of her. Grew older
and found other interests, I suppose. Inevitable.”

“I’d be happy to bring you some any time,” Mark said as Dorian

washed the bread down with another glass of wine. “Or you could
come here.”

“Not necessary. I’m skilled at pinching a loaf every now and then.

Often, no one even notices anything missing.”

“I don’t want you to steal. You could get caught, maybe arrested.”
“Impossible.” Dorian shrugged and scarfed down another helping

of bread. “Besides, I enjoy sneaking about in the village. I want the
people to feel my presence.”

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Mark chewed on a much smaller piece of bread while he

considered Dorian’s statement. “So you do slip out of the woods now
and again. I wondered about that.”

“I don’t make a regular habit of my excursions, not the way I once

did. I suppose I got older, too…more careful. Still, I can’t deny I
enjoying causing a bit of trouble here and there.”

“Is that what you’re doing here? Causing trouble and making sure

I feel your presence? Because I have, believe me.”

He’d spoken in a flippant tone, but Dorian turned introspective.

Threading his fingers together, he leaned his chin on them and
narrowed his eyes.

“Whether or not I have caused trouble remains to be seen, I

believe. I am, however, glad to hear I have made an impression on
you.”

Mark’s voice caught in his throat. His hands began to sweat.

“How could you doubt it? I think about you every minute. All I do is
plot to slip away and go looking for you. Then, when I find you…I
end up more frustrated than I was before. I don’t quite understand
what’s happening here, Dorian. Part of the reason I invited you here
tonight was that I’d hoped you could explain some things to me.”

“Are you sure you’d like that? Isn’t it more exciting to keep

certain details shrouded in mystery? Isn’t that what makes romance so
addictive? There’s always more to find out, more to experience.”

“To some extent, but I do want something to go on. Something

that halfway resembles a reality I can understand.”

“At least you know now I am real.” After lifting his glass in a

mock toast, Dorian finished off the last of the wine. The final scrap of
bread vanished a moment later, too. “That was the purpose of the
meal, was it not? To see if I take sustenance like an ordinary being?”

“Yes. I now believe you’re real…sort of. Exactly what you are

I’m not so sure.” Anthony had not returned, so Mark took it upon
himself to serve the main course. Dorian set his butter knife aside and
leaned back while Mark doled out two helpings of vegetarian stew

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onto their china plates. His guest tore into this offering as well,
leading Mark to wonder how long it had been since he had sat down
to a nourishing meal. “I’m glad you like the food, by the way. My
butler has many talents.”

“True enough. Be sure you never take him for granted.”
“I won’t. Trust me, I couldn’t even begin to manage this place

without him. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Precisely my point.” Dorian cleared his plate in three bites and

pushed it away.

“Why don’t I see if Anthony left us any pudding?” Mark asked,

grateful for the chance to get up and collect his thoughts for a
moment. In the spotless kitchen, he was pleased—though not
surprised—to find an exquisite chocolate trifle in a glass bowl. A
polished serving spoon rested on a strip of linen.

He carried both to the table and watched Dorian attack the dessert

with equal enthusiasm. When he had eaten most of it, he leaned back
in his chair, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and sighed with
appreciation.

“I hope you’ll forgive my lack of manners,” he said and then

laughed. “I never was one to stand on ceremony. Besides, you invited
me to eat, so clearly I should give the dinner my full attention.”

Mark suppressed an amused smile. Perhaps the wine, which

Dorian had apparently enjoyed every bit as much as the food, was
responsible for his relaxed mood. Its effect on Mark had been more
subtle, though a slight buzz droned in his temples.

“Of course.”
“However, now that it is finished, I can once again concentrate on

you.”

“I’m glad. Because I haven’t forgotten what happened this

morning. I still have some questions.”

“They can wait,” Dorian said.
Mark felt his pulse quicken and the crotch of his pants tighten as

Dorian’s smoldering gaze penetrated him. He longed to be penetrated

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by another, more tangible, part of him as well—right here on the
dining table, if necessary. Naughtily, he wondered how Anthony
might react to walking in on such a scene. No doubt he would blame
Dorian’s influence. He’d be right only up to a point. Mark found his
own imagination veering off into some unexpected places lately.

Without leaving his chair, Dorian leaned in to plant a chocolate-

flavored kiss on his lips. His hand slid under Mark’s jacket and
between his legs, swiftly coaxing his erection to full mast.

The room tilted. Was the wine, or Dorian’s touch, making his

senses swim and his vision blur? He’d been about to ask Dorian
something important. Shaking his head, he placed a hand over
Dorian’s and stopped him in mid-stroke.

“Wait. You can’t distract me so easily. I meant what I said before.

If we’re going to be together…well, I need to know a few things.”

“I also meant what I said.” Dorian’s mouth turned downward.

“All right. I will answer your questions, but be careful what you ask
me, my lord. The answers may bring you anything but peace.”

Though the warning disturbed Mark, he had to know. He shook

his head to clear away the lingering effects of the wine. Though his
groin ached for Dorian’s touch, he forced himself to continue. “Tell
me about the stream. I couldn’t cross. Why?”

Dorian sighed. “It was enchanted—centuries, maybe aeons ago.

Your people and mine were supposed to remain forever separated.
That was its purpose.”

“Your people? What does that mean? Who are they—er, you?”
“We are known by many names in many languages. I suppose the

word you would be most familiar with would be alfar…or perhaps
elven.”

Mark gaped. “You mean elves? Like at Christmas?”
“Certainly not! Such dreadful caricatures bear no resemblance to

true elven. We were warriors at first, though thankfully we have
become civilized along with the rest of the world. I admit, a certain
nostalgia for the past has kept us from embracing more than the most

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rudimentary technology. That’s why I, unlike some of my brethren,
venture into the human world every so often. I find modern ways
amusing, though tedious in some respects.”

If anyone else had told him such a tale, Mark would have laughed

it off. Coming from Dorian, and coupled with the strange things he’d
already seen and experienced firsthand, the tale sounded just bizarre
enough to make perfect sense.

“But you crossed the stream—you’ve gone to the village, you

said. And you came here. Does the enchantment work only in one
direction?”

“Of course. My people were the ones who bespelled the water.

They were more concerned with protecting themselves from your
ancestors than preventing emigration. Behind the stream, our world
has remained the same for thousands of years. As a rule, most don’t
venture very far from what they know. I am something of an
exception—in many ways.”

“I’m sure of that.” Despite his bewilderment, Mark couldn’t help

smiling. He knew what Dorian was talking about. “I guess there aren’t
a lot of guys like us where you come from?”

“A few. I told you before of my unfortunate and short-lived

passions. But I’ve always felt I would find my destiny, and perhaps
my mate, outside the confines of my birthplace. You may think living
in an enchanted forest provides unlimited freedom, but you’d be
surprised how boring it really can be after nearly a hundred years.”

“A hundred years? What do you mean?”
“It’s quite simple. My people age so slowly that the changes

would be imperceptible to humans. Our adolescence alone takes
nearly a century. I am actually much, much older than I appear, yet in
some ways my life has really just begun.” Dorian watched Mark’s
face for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction. “We are not exactly
immortal, though our lives are so long it might seem that way to you.
This is a lot for you to accept, I’m sure. I warned you to be careful
what you asked.”

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“No, I’m glad you told me. Strange as it sounds, things are finally

starting to fit together. I have one question, though. How much of this
did my uncle know?”

“All of it. In fact, every new Earl of Sidwell has known. Your

ancestor, the first earl, agreed to keep the forest in its natural state to
protect our people. Each new earl in turn has made the same pledge.”

“So the land was never developed,” Mark said. Jason had guessed

the truth. Dorian nodded. A less pleasant thought struck him. “Does
that mean you met with my uncle or visited him…the way you’re
visiting me now?”

“I met your uncle once or twice, as he was walking in the woods.

He was an intensely private man, and in truth I think he feared me a
little. He understood his duty toward my people well enough. I
suspect your grandfather informed him before he assumed the title.
Your father may have died before he could pass on the information to
you.”

“I see.” Mark raked an annoyed hand through his hair. Many years

had passed since he and his uncle had spent time together, and he
didn’t think they’d ever had a serious conversation. Mark had been
too caught up in his own problems and pleasures to worry about
family secrets, manor houses, and titles. He wished now he’d paid
more attention to the old man and made some attempt to earn his
trust.

Dorian seemed to sense his frustration. “Well, no matter. The

former earl no doubt assumed one of us would fill you in. He was
correct. You found me before a more formal delegation had been
appointed. One was in the works, believe me.”

“So you knew about my uncle’s death, and my taking the title?”
“Yes, we always know when a new earl inherits. It’s rather a

matter of survival for us, as you can imagine. That’s why we have a
contact inside the estate.”

“But who…” Mark began. Then, suddenly, he knew. “Anthony!”

The Enchanted Earl

“Yes. A long time ago, Anthony came to live among your

people.” Dorian winked. “He was smitten with your ancestor, the
third Lord Sidwell.”

“The third? So you’re saying…no. That’s impossible.”
Dorian shook his head. “For nearly four hundred years, Anthony

has served this house and your family. In some ways, he’s come to
think of both as his own. But he still has ties to his first family…the
elven.”

Staggered, Mark sat and stared at Dorian with his jaw hanging

loose. “I’ve always thought of Anthony as ancient,” he confessed
when he finally found his voice again, “but to learn that he’s a
genuine fossil!”

“You wondered how he maintains this entire house, and all the

people in it, and never breaks into a sweat?” Dorian continued with
obvious amusement. “He uses magic, you can be sure. Only when no
one’s looking. Don’t tell him you have learned his secret.”

“I won’t. It’s just…well, I’m speechless.”
Dorian laughed, got up from his chair, and pulled the bewildered

earl to his feet. He wrapped both arms around him, kissed Mark until
his entire mouth felt deliciously bruised, and then wrenched open his
belt and zipper in a single determined move. He slid his hand inside
Mark’s trousers and pushed down the waistband of his Jockey shorts.
His fingers curled around Mark’s balls, cupping the steamy mass of
sweat-moistened flesh in his palm.

“You think you’re speechless now?” Dorian asked when he lifted

his mouth away. “Just wait until we get upstairs.”

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Chapter 5

Mark pushed back his chair and stood. “Do you…um…want a

tour of the house?”

“Only the part surrounding your bed.”
Dorian’s smoldering gaze sent a shiver up Mark’s middle. “Right.

Come on, then.” Swallowing, he held out his hand.

The two jogged up the stairs together, fingers intertwined. Mark

headed for the bedroom he’d been using and opened the door.

Dorian paused in the hall, squinting at the plain furnishings and

uninspiring décor inside. Mark’s suitcases lay open on the floor by the
bed. The rest of his things remained in sealed cartons stacked along
the walls. “Surely this isn’t your room.”

“No.” Mark blushed. “It’s the guest room. I…um…couldn’t bring

myself to move into the master bedroom just yet.”

“Why not?”
“I guess I’d feel strange. Like my uncle would be watching me

somehow.”

“He won’t be. You are master here now. Let’s go there.”
Mark paused, gripping the knob until his fingers grew slippery

with sweat. Slowly, he let go. The door swung shut.

“This way,” he said. The two continued to the end of the hall,

where a pair of large double doors faced them. Mark took a deep
breath and pushed them apart.

“Yes.” Dorian nodded when they walked in and turned on the

lights. “This is what I had in mind.”

Though he had stood in Uncle Edwin’s room before, for the first

time Mark began to think of it as his. The heavy antique furniture

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wasn’t to his taste, but it certainly spoke of the power and prestige
befitting an earl. Mark had never associated either quality with
himself. Maybe the time had come to change his thinking in that area,
too.

Dominating the room was a huge feather bed, freshly changed and

made up by Anthony. The crisp scent of fresh linen teased his nose,
making his cock harder. The thought of rolling over that vast mattress
with Dorian’s limbs tangled in his banished any lingering fears of an
appearance by his uncle’s angry ghost.

Dorian seemed to sense his arousal. He drew up behind Mark and

slid one arm around his waist, pulling their bodies together. Mark felt
Dorian’s erection nudge the curve of his buttocks. Not even several
layers of fabric masked its distinctive thickness and obvious strength.
Meanwhile, his other hand moved across Mark’s chest, teasing open
his jacket and shirt and undoing the Stonehenge tie. Mark shed his
clothes and tossed them to the floor. Next, Dorian’s fingers drifted to
Mark’s fly.

His belt and top button were already undone, so it didn’t take long

for Dorian to get down to business. Almost before Mark’s whirling
mind had time to process the event, he was naked on the bed.

As he tugged off his coat, Dorian reached inside an inner pocket

and took out a tiny bottle fashioned of blue glass. He set it on the
bedside table while he finished stripping. Soon Dorian stretched out
on top of him. His long limbs spread Mark’s outward in every
direction, opening his body as if he were unfolding a garment.
Exposed, vulnerable to anything, Mark lay still and waited to find out
what Dorian had in mind for him. His erection throbbed painfully
against his taut stomach.

At first, Dorian simply rocked back and forth, stroking his cock

over Mark’s. Every sweep of impossibly smooth elven skin over his
own coarse thatch of hair sent electrical tingles through his balls. His
cock was so stiff he was afraid the shaft would split right down the
middle.

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“That feels…fantastic,” he managed to whisper when Dorian

slowed his movements. “Don’t stop.”

“You can thank the wine,” Dorian said with a smile. “As I told

you, it’s made with a special recipe. It relaxes the mind so the body
experiences every sensation more acutely. I knew you would
appreciate it.”

As his cock ground against Mark’s, the familiar heat began to

suffuse Dorian’s skin. Mark thought back to the strange display he
had seen in the woods.

“Are you going to use magic on me?” The words came out as a

groan.

“Magic is part of who I am. A large part. I can’t always separate it

out.”

“Was that why you ran away before?” Mark asked. “You seemed

to…glow.”

Dorian nodded. “Yes. That was magic. The whole time we were

together, I tried not to let my powers show, but the intense emotion
weakened my defenses.” He sighed. “Such a potent sensation can
prove harmful to some humans. That is why, in general, we try to stay
away from them. Somehow, though, I think you can handle me. The
wine should help.”

“I’m glad to hear I bring out strong emotions in you. I feel the

same, though I’m afraid I don’t have any magic to prove it.”

“Don’t be too sure. I suspect we’ve both held back until now.

Let’s see what the rest of the night brings.”

“I want all of you,” Mark said. “Exactly the way you are. There’s

no more need to pretend. Is there?”

“No. None.”
Pushing himself up, Dorian released Mark’s hands and the two

wound together on top of the downy quilt, kissing and stroking.
Dorian’s graceful fingers moved lower until they wrapped around
Mark’s cock and began to rub the swollen shaft. Mark untied Dorian’s
tiny ponytail and slid both hands through his hair, watching the long,

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feathery strands flash and twist like threads of gold. A current of
excitement raced up his torso and down his legs as Dorian’s strokes
grew forceful. His blood rushed and his nerves sang as the first
twinges of orgasm gripped him.

“Not yet,” he gasped, to himself as well as Dorian. He wanted to

experience more, so much more, before he came. He longed for
Dorian to pivot and fasten his lips around Mark’s straining cockhead.
Maybe he would suck Dorian at the same time. He could almost taste
that exotic spice on his tongue.

To his surprise, Dorian suddenly let go, climbed onto his knees,

and reached for Mark’s ankles. Mark’s thigh muscles tightened as
Dorian hoisted his legs up, curving them over his own shoulders. He
spread them as far apart as possible.

“We agreed not to hold back any longer,” he reminded Mark.
Mark swallowed and nodded. “I’m ready.”
Dorian’s white teeth flashed. He reached for the tiny bluish bottle

he’d stashed on the night table. “As you wish, my lord.”

Releasing Mark, he popped the cork and tipped a generous

helping of the contents into his cupped palm. His full lips parted
slightly, and his eyes narrowed with pleasure and anticipation, as he
lowered his hand and slathered the oily substance over his cock until
the tight skin shimmered. If possible, it looked bigger and more
aroused than Mark had ever seen it before. He then poured a second
handful and smeared some between Mark’s open thighs and buttocks.

When Dorian seemed satisfied that he’d greased Mark up

sufficiently, he aligned his cock to the split in Mark’s rear end and
fitted his domed head into the tender hollow.

“Does that stuff work like the wine?” Mark asked, his voice little

more than a whisper.

Dorian winked. “Even better. Most deny the existence of true

aphrodisiacs, but my people have come as close to anyone at
perfecting one.” He nestled himself in tighter. Mark felt his muscles
squeeze around the flared ridge of his lover’s cockhead. “Does the

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bottle contain a touch of sorcery? Perhaps. The apothecary who
prepared it for me refuses to divulge his ingredients. The formula is a
guild secret, apparently.”

“That…sounds like…a guild worth joining,” Mark observed. His

words came in short bursts as Dorian forged his way inside. Given
Dorian’s size, he’d expected, and even welcomed, a little pain in his
most sensitive area. Yet what his mind registered was not
uncomfortable in the slightest. A soothing heat entered his
bloodstream, sending tendrils of healing energy curling through his
nervous system. The deeper he thrust, the more intense the experience
became and the bigger his cock seemed to grow. Mark’s entire
being—mind, body, and spirit—opened to swallow Dorian up.

“I’m afraid they wouldn’t accept either of us,” Dorian said. “The

members are quite focused on their trade. We would never keep our
minds on our work.”

Mark exhaled as Dorian’s cock came to rest fully inside him,

embedded so deeply that his balls wedged between them. The heat at
fever pitch now, burning a trail of pleasure from Dorian’s submerged
cock straight up to Mark’s nipples. They were bulging, too, he noticed
as he looked down across his chest, expanding at the same rate as his
erection. And that particular appendage was swelling to a most
impressive proportion.

Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed and force, Dorian

began moving his hips up and down. The tingle from the oil
intensified along with the friction of skin on skin. Dorian hadn’t been
kidding about the potency of the stuff. Mark couldn’t resist grasping
his own cock with both hands and pumping to the rhythm of Dorian’s
thrusts.

In what seemed like no time at all, Mark found himself

shuddering as Dorian drove in and out with determination. Twin
rivers of perspiration ran down both their bodies and pooled in the
space where their midsections joined. Was Dorian glowing again?

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The sweat in Mark’s eyes made it difficult to tell. Closing them, he
tilted his head back and focused on what was happening inside him.

They found release together. Dorian moaned as he unleashed his

body’s wet fury into Mark. A few well-timed jerks of his fists and
Mark was also coming—profusely. Creamy white lava boiled up in
his stalk and bubbled out over his wrists, splashing onto Dorian’s
chest. Never had he come so hard, or spewed so much. Dorian, and
perhaps his enchanted oil, had provided almost more inspiration than
he could handle. He drained his balls until they ached.

Exhausted and drenched, Mark collapsed on the bed and lay

panting while Dorian slid out of him. He expected they would rest for
a few minutes, if not longer. Surely, he reasoned, Dorian had to be
worn out after those acrobatics, too. But Dorian was ready for more.
Before Mark uttered a word, he picked up the tiny bottle, dumped out
another palmful, and greased up Mark’s cock.

Though Mark had worried about getting soft after such a

spectacular orgasm, he soon realized his fears had been in vain. The
oil sank into his flesh, reheating and restoring him. Seconds later, he
was back at full mast and eager to go.

Rolling over, Dorian positioned himself on his hands and knees

and angled his body so Mark could enter him. With a feeling of
incredible strength and power flowing through him, Mark jumped up,
pushed the hair away from his dripping forehead, and fitted his cock
between Dorian’s buttocks.

This time, there was no question when the magic kicked in. As

Mark slid inside and steered them to a second mutual climax, Dorian
began to glow just the way he had in the forest. Light seemed to spill
from his elven pores and envelop the two men in a misty radiance. It
lifted Dorian’s long, flaxen hair and ruffled Mark’s short, dark locks
as though a breeze had blown over the bed. And was the room itself
trembling, or was Mark imagining that? With the enchanted wine
coursing through his veins and Dorian’s miracle potion smearing

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them both, he couldn’t tell where the fantasy ended and the reality
began. More to the point, he didn’t care.

Afterward, they pulled down the covers and curled together under

the quilt. A single pillow cradled both their heads. One of Dorian’s
arms was slung over Mark’s middle, and his fine hair trailed over
Mark’s damp chest.

“You must stay in this room from now on,” Dorian said. “It’s the

only fitting place for the lord of the manor.”

“I will.” Mark nodded. “Not that there’s much of a manor to lord

over. I think I told you before…I honestly don’t know how I’m going
to keep the estate afloat. I wonder if my uncle went bankrupt buying
all this fine antique furniture in the first place.”

“Don’t worry. This estate has endured for hundreds of years. It

will last a few more.”

“I’m glad you’re so confident. I don’t have that luxury.

Everything’s about to fall on my head.” Mark paused and forced
himself to laugh. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the time to be discussing
money.”

“Indeed not.” Dorian turned his face to Mark’s, and the two

shared a slow, easy kiss that gradually built in passion and intensity.

“Do…um…you have any oil left?” Mark asked.
“Unfortunately, I was not as judicious in its application as I

should have been. Until I return to the apothecary’s shop, we will
have to make do.”

“Well, I think we can manage.”
Dorian responded by playfully flicking his tongue tip over Mark’s

nose.

* * * *

In the morning, Mark woke alone and adrift in the enormous bed.

The tiny blue bottle remained on the nightstand. He turned it over and

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found it empty. This time, he knew for sure that he hadn’t been
dreaming. His body still ached, though in a pleasant way.

Dorian’s clothes were gone, but his own lay crumpled on the floor

where he’d left them. Rising, Mark pulled on his suit pants and
looked around the room, resolving to clean everything up before
Anthony saw the mess and had a fit.

He wandered into the master bathroom, expecting to find Dorian

in the shower. Yet there was no sign of him, not even a damp towel.
Maybe Dorian used magic for such things. For all Mark knew, he
bathed in the enchanted stream every morning to enhance his powers.

Mark moved on to check some of the other rooms on the same

floor. He turned up nothing. When he crossed the landing, still
shirtless and barefoot, he spotted Anthony at the bottom of the stairs.
The old man looked up at him, unusually cheerful.

“Good morning, my lord.”
“Anthony, the…ah…fellow I had dinner with last night. Is he still

here?”

“He is not, but he did mention that he would be pleased to meet

your lordship at what he termed the usual spot as soon as it is
convenient.”

“Right.” So maybe he had gone to bathe in the stream. Mark raked

a hand through his matted hair. He needed a non-magical shower
straight away. “Thank you. And Anthony—stay out of the master
bedroom until I’ve had a chance to tidy up, would you?”

Anthony bowed without a trace of emotion on his face or in his

tone. Mark wondered how much he knew about what had transpired
in his old employer’s room the night before. “As you wish, my lord.”

Mark dashed back across the landing, showered, and grabbed his

preferred outfit of jeans and a sweatshirt from the guest room. He
rushed down the stairs with his sneakers untied.

As he approached the stream at a brisk jog, he slowed to an

astonished stagger.

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An endless line of glistening gold coins, far too many to count,

lined the water’s edge. They stretched into the distance as far as he
could see.

Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Mark followed the treasure trail,

scooping up as many as he could, stuffing them into his pockets and
holding the rest in his hands. Eventually he couldn’t carry any more.
When he stopped and lifted his gaze, Dorian stood, barefoot and
jacketless, propped against a tree.

“You left this for me to find?” Mark held out a handful of coins.
Dorian grinned. “I told you not to worry about money. There

should be enough to keep your estate functioning for many years.”

“Where did this come from?” Mark recalled the story of the bread.

“It isn’t…stolen, is it?”

“Of course not. Consider it a gift—from my people to yours,

welcoming you as lord of the manor. The tradition goes back
centuries. We even did the same for your uncle, though he seems to
have had no knack for investing. The only thing I ask in return is a
promise to use the funds to protect these woods, and my brethren.”

“You know I will.” Mark dropped the coins, grabbed Dorian

around the waist, and kissed him long and hard. “Come back to the
house with me so I can thank you properly.”

To his surprise, Dorian didn’t return the kiss. Instead, he eased

himself out of Mark’s embrace and stepped away. Even before Dorian
spoke, he sensed he was about to be punched in the gut.

“I can’t go back with you, Mark. I’m sorry.”
“What? Why not?”
“The blame is entirely mine.” Dorian shook his head. “I have

overstepped my bounds most egregiously. I was sent to welcome you
in as lord and give you the treasure to ensure our people’s safety.
Instead, I became involved with you. I can’t consider that a mistake,
though perhaps in an objective sense, it was.”

“I don’t think it was a mistake. Why would it be? We’ve been

happy with one another…haven’t we?”

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“We have. I shall never forget the time we spent together. But our

worlds are too different, my lord. You cannot enter mine, and I am
not like Anthony. I will never blend into yours.”

“I know…but why does anything have to change? We can meet

here, in the woods, just as we’ve always done.”

“How satisfying would that be? Assume we go on meeting

furtively. Over time, we will change. Your world will call you. Mine
will call me…until, one day, one of us doesn’t turn up. Then another
day will pass, then another day.” He paused, squared his shoulders,
and sighed. “The situation is hopeless, Mark. We must part. In the
end, a fast, deep cut is less painful than a festering wound. And we
will always have last night to remember.”

Mark hardly knew how to respond. His mouth went dry and his

whole body started to tremble. He felt as though his knees were about
to give out. Dorian began to back away.

“Wait! Let’s discuss this some more. I’m not…I’m not ready to

say good-bye to you for good.”

Dorian paused. “I think you are. You’ve moved into the master

bedroom, after all.” A slow, sad smile raised his lips. “Trust me, it
will be better this way. Farewell, and be well, my lord.”

A rush of tears blinded Mark for a moment. By the time he had

wiped them away, he found himself alone. Only the leaves, fluttering
without the slightest breeze to propel them, suggested anyone had
been there.

But the gold remained. He bent down, scooped up a handful, and

clutched Dorian’s parting gift to his chest.

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Chapter 6

“You look sad,” Jason said. He stood beside the stone bench

where Mark had spent the morning observing a lawn crew hard at
work on beautifying the grounds. Now they’d packed up and left him
alone, though the landscape had certainly benefitted from their efforts.
The grass grew plush but even, the autumn-kissed trees waved with
neatly trimmed branches, and the old fountain burbled brightly again.
Amazing what a little cash flow could do for a place. “I thought you’d
be a lot more cheerful now that we can keep the house…and Mum
and Silvio can stay in Europe for the winter.”

Mark looked up and forced himself to smile. “Believe me, I’m

fine, especially with that last part.”

Jason took the spot beside him. “We’ll be happy here. And you’re

going to be a great earl of Sidwell. I just have this feeling.”

“I’m glad everything worked out, for you in particular. I know

how you’ve come to love this place.”

“Well, it’s history, you know. Our family’s history as well.” His

younger brother watched a frothy stream of water pour from the
glistening dragon’s mouth into the pristine white basin. He shook his
head in wonder. “I still can’t get over Uncle Edwin keeping a secret
stash of gold in the basement all this time. You’d never know it the
way he and Anthony lived. What a pair of old misers.”

Mark nodded. He felt a little guilty concealing the real source of

their newfound wealth from Jason. Given the circumstances, he
preferred not to draw too much attention to their sudden windfall,
either from inside or outside the family. Keeping his word, he’d never

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mentioned any of the secrets Dorian had told him about Anthony or
the forest. “I guess he was just eccentric.”

“At least now we know why he had all those clippings about

buried artifacts. Hell, maybe he was planning to stash his own coins
before he died.”

“You never know.”
“Well, I still think there might be more hidden out there

somewhere.” Jason’s eyes scanned the forest line. “Next summer, I
plan to head out there and do some searching.”

“I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” Mark said in sudden

alarm. Jason didn’t seem to hear him. He had moved on to another
topic, much to his brother’s relief.

“You know, now that we have something in the coffers, maybe we

can hire some staff members to help Anthony out around the house. I
always felt sorry for the old buzzard, doing all this work by himself.
No wonder he’s in a constant foul mood.”

“He’s been better lately. As far as hiring him an assistant, I

already offered, but he insists he’d rather do it all on his own. I didn’t
have the energy to argue with him.”

“Maybe Uncle Edwin wasn’t the only daft one around here. No

surprise there.” Jason grinned, but his humor faded when Mark
continued to look glum. “Look, I know this isn’t the kind of life you
envisioned for yourself. You have a lot of responsibility, and I see
how it might get lonely up here with no one but Anthony to talk to.
Why don’t I come up on weekends whenever I can? We can troll the
pubs or something.”

“No, I want you to enjoy your time at university. You don’t have

to nursemaid me. I’ll be all right.”

“It was tough for you when you split up with Keith, wasn’t it? In

some ways, I don’t think you ever got over him.”

Mark laughed bitterly. They’d never discussed the details of that

first, long-ago breakup, but obviously Jason had been clued into his
feelings more than he’d thought. How could he ever begin to explain

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the bizarre tale of his relationship with Dorian—if what they shared
could be called a relationship? Mark wasn’t sure he understood the
whole thing himself.

“Oh, I’m over Keith—you can trust me on that.”
“If you say so. All the same, I want you to know I’m willing to

help whenever you need me.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Guess I’ll head back inside for a while. Coming?” Jason stood.
“Not just yet. Maybe I’ll be in for lunch.”
“Right, then. See you a bit later.”
Mark watched his younger brother walk away. He knew his

distant behavior had disappointed Jason, but all he wanted lately was
to be left alone.

He checked his watch and wondered, as he had every day for the

past month, whether he should head out to the stream and look around
just once more. The whole thing was getting ridiculous. Every day he
told himself he wouldn’t go. Every day, he gave in and trudged off
through the brambles and brush, only to find nothing. Most likely he
would find the same today. Yet sitting here like this, gazing out at the
trees and knowing Dorian might be hiding among them, threatened to
drive him mad.

A brisk wind fluttered over his face, stinging his lips and cheeks.

The air had grown much cooler lately as winter inched closer. Dorian
probably wouldn’t venture far from home once the snow began
falling. By spring, his elven lover would most likely have forgotten all
about him. The realization brought him one step closer to total
despair.

Maybe Jason was right—maybe he needed to get out for a while.

Visiting a pub didn’t appeal to him, but a solitary walk through the
village might provide a reasonable diversion. With an effort, he
heaved himself to his feet and headed for his car. As he walked across
the freshly manicured grounds, he had to fight the urge to glance back

The Enchanted Earl

at the woods. No, Dorian wouldn’t be creeping out after him, he
reminded himself sternly. He had to accept that.

When he got to town, he parked a little ways from the center and

set out to do some exploring on foot. Between moping around for
Dorian and sending Anthony out to purchase necessities, he’d never
taken notice of the shops and people here. Not that there was much to
take note of, since most of the goods for sale were of a strictly
practical nature and the shoppers looked all too comfortable with the
unimaginative selection. A month ago, he reflected, he would have
found the scene dull, even irritating. Today, their unassuming way of
life struck him as peaceful and comforting.

To his surprise, a few people recognized him when they passed

him on the pavement. They greeted him by his title. One man even
eyed him suggestively, offering an unspoken but clear invitation.
Mark quickly dropped his gaze and moved on. As he walked, he
wondered how his ancestors, the previous earls of Sidwell, had
regarded their subjects and territory. Had they taken a gentle,
protective approach, or had they ruled through fear and tyranny?
Mark himself could hardly imagine having, or even wanting, so much
authority over others. Only one person’s attitude toward him mattered
at all.

At the end of the street, he spotted a sign that held his attention.

According to the calligraphic letters above the door, the bakery had
been operating in the same location since 1858. Several rows of
enticing pastries and loaves filled the large front window.

Mark ventured inside. A husky, bearded man about his own age

stood behind the counter. In the days before Dorian, Mark might have
found him attractive, but now the only thing he noticed was the
contrast between the baker and the lover who still haunted his dreams.

The man seemed quite excited to greet such a distinguished

customer. “Good morning, Lord Sidwell,” he said, beaming. “Nice to
see you about the village.”

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“Thank you.” Mark scanned the racks behind the counter and

breathed in the succulent aroma of freshly prepared dough. “I
understand my servant, Anthony, shops here.”

“Indeed he does, and has for many years. It’s been our pleasure to

serve the manor for as long as this shop’s been in existence.”

“And by that, I presume you mean the year 1858?” When the man

looked surprised, he grinned. “I read the sign outside.”

“Right you are, sir. May I wrap up something for your lordship? I

can put it on account.”

Mark ignored the sales push and attempted to sound nonchalant.

“You know, I heard a story about this shop. Family legend says that a
girl who worked here used to put out bread for elves.”

The baker laughed. “Yes, sir. That would have been my great-

grandmother. When I was very young and she was still alive, she told
us tales about the elven. Used to out a loaf out every night she did,
until she married my great-grandfather and stopped working here. For
the rest of her life she worried about the faery folk not eating right.
Rattled on for hours to anyone who would listen about her secret
faery friend. Funny what people believed in those days, isn’t it? But I
suppose those were simpler times.”

“True. All the same, I can’t help but feel we’ve lost something in

our modern world. A sense of wonder, maybe.”

“Right you are, m’lord. A bit of fantasy never hurt a body, I

always say. Makes life interesting.”

A few minutes later, Mark emerged from the shop carrying a

warm honey-flavored loaf wrapped in a neat white napkin tied with
string. Bypassing the house, and his brother’s inevitable questions, he
parked in his usual hidden spot and headed into the woods with the
parcel under his arm. When he reached the edge of the stream, he
opened the napkin, placed the bread in the center of a large rock, and
concealed himself behind a nearby copse. He just hoped the scent
would prove too enticing for Dorian to pass up, even if Mark himself
wasn’t.

The Enchanted Earl

Crouched in his hiding place, he kept watch until the bread cooled

and its sweet scent faded. After an hour, Mark began to face the
hopelessness of his mission. Tears rose to his eyes as he contemplated
abandoning the stream and his hopes of seeing his elven lover again,
for the last time.

He swallowed. If he had to survive without Dorian, he would

learn to do so. A month ago, he had walked into this forest as Mark
Rampling, a confused young man with an unwanted title and little
else. Today, he would walk out as Lord Sidwell, master of a great
estate, ready to face his future.

All that remained was to retrieve the bread, give it to Anthony,

and have him place it on the dinner table. He and Jason would enjoy
it, and his adventure in the enchanted forest would be over. Sighing,
he crawled out of the brush and stood up.

As he took a step forward, he heard a twig break.
He turned.
Dorian stood beside the stream, looking almost exactly as he had

the day they had met. The main difference was that today he wore the
boots with the shiny buckles, no doubt a concession to the change of
season. His hair seemed a bit longer, too. That detail helped convince
Mark he wasn’t hallucinating.

“I saw you put the gold to good use,” Dorian said with that old

grin. Yet Mark thought him a touch less flippant now. “The old place
is looking better already. I’d caution you not to use it all up, but
there’s no need. Plenty more if one knows where to look.”

Mark had dreamed of this moment over and over. He’d played it

out and scripted it in his mind. He’d practiced all the loving words
he’d say, all the seductive hints he would use to lure Dorian back into
his arms and his world. Now that the reality was upon him, he
couldn’t remember a single detail of his plans. His tongue went numb,
his mind turned blank. An empty hollow throbbed where his heart
should have been.

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“So you’ve come back,” he finally managed to say. His voice

came out hoarse and unnatural. He wanted to kick himself for not
sounding more forceful. “Do you…ah…mind if I ask why?”

Dorian licked his lips. “I could say I wanted to check on the

estate, or to gather some supplies from the village, or simply to pinch
that exquisite morsel you’ve left for me there.” He paused. “But the
truth is I couldn’t stay away from you.”

“I’ve been here every day. Waiting. Looking for you.”
“I know. I saw you here. That’s partly why I came back. I admit I

spoke too hastily about not believing you would.”

“How could you doubt it? Ever since that first day I found you

here, there’s been only you. I’m in love with you.”

“I believe you,” Dorian said. “Mostly because it’s been the same

for me.”

“You’re saying you love me, as well?”
“You know I do.” He moved forward, lifting his arms, and Mark

stepped into them as naturally as if they’d never been apart. They
leaned into each other, their lips meeting hesitantly at first, and then
hungrily.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispered between kisses.

“I couldn’t stand that, Dorian.”

“I thought we would be safer if I stayed away,” Dorian said with a

sigh. “However, I have come to believe we are better off together.”

In his mind, Mark was transported back to that first day they’d

been together. The hurt, the disappointment, and the uncertainty
vanished amidst a flurry of wet kisses. The fear had left him, too. This
time he knew who he was, why he was here, and where he wanted to
be the next day, and the next after that. He wanted to be with Dorian
Fairchild.

They sank to the forest floor, their hands working in unison to

remove their clothes. Wrapped around one another, they melted
together in a perfect mixture of passion, lust, and flesh. Despite the
crispness of the autumn air, Mark didn’t feel the slightest chill. If

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anything, fire blazed between his legs and warmed the rest of him.
His spine prickled with beads of sweat.

Desperately, he crushed his cock onto Dorian’s. It had been so

long since he’d felt that warm satin skin slide against his. He didn’t
want to waste a moment. He kissed his way over the delicate slope of
Dorian’s shoulders, across his chest, and down the center of his
abdomen. He spent a long time teasing the base of Dorian’s cock,
delighting in the way it stiffened and vibrated under his tongue’s
ministrations.

Mark wasn’t sure which of them spun around first, but suddenly

he found himself spread-eagled on the ground with Dorian’s cock in
his mouth and his own embedded in Dorian’s throat. Once again, he
marveled at how perfectly Dorian filled him, at the way their pulses
throbbed in unison. They were from different worlds, maybe even
different species depending on how one looked at it, yet they seemed
made for one another.

The beat of their coupling was steady but never frenzied or

rushed. They rode the wave gently, thrusting in perfect tandem. Yet
Mark knew there was more, so much more, they could learn together.
He only hoped they’d get the chance.

They came together, sharing the sweetness of a mutual climax.

Greedily he feasted on Dorian’s exotic nectar. At the same time, he
felt Dorian reach down and massage Mark’s own balls, coaxing him
to even greater heights of ecstasy. Eager to share the amazing
sensations coursing through him, Mark did the same for Dorian.

Somewhere in the middle, Mark sensed that Dorian had begun to

glow again. He imagined himself lighting up, too, sharing his lover’s
special gift. As lightning coursed through his body, he wondered if
maybe he wasn’t imagining the effect. Perhaps Dorian’s powers were
strong enough to illuminate him, too.

“Time for some more magic. Close your eyes.”

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Mark did so. Dorian drew his palm across Mark’s brow, down the

bridge of his nose and, and over each of his closed eyes. He left it
there for a moment, perhaps assuming Mark would try to peek.

Mark felt a strange sensation in his head and chest, similar to what

he’d felt when lifting off in a plane. He heard nothing except his own
heart thudding—or perhaps it was Dorian’s.

The hand dropped from his face. “All right. You can look now.”
When Mark opened his eyes, he was astonished to find himself

and Dorian nestled among the branches of a gigantic tree that had to
be as old as England itself. Burnished orange and red leaves hung
around them like a veil. His eyes widened as he took in their strange
surroundings.

“Where are we?”
“A little-traveled part of your own estate.” Dorian’s arms slipped

around his waist and drew him closer. The limb they perched on was
easily wide enough to hold both of them, but Mark appreciated the
extra precaution. He felt a touch of numbness in his toes as he
realized just how high off the ground they were.

“I have to admit, I don’t particularly care for heights.”
Dorian smiled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “This is

magic, remember? You have nothing to fear.”

“Do you mean we aren’t really here? Is it some sort of illusion?”
“Never mind about the details—just enjoy.”
Mark forced himself to relax against Dorian and gazed at the

spectacular view that stretched beyond the colorful screen of leaves.
Off to the left, he could see Sidwell Manor with its round green lawn
and speck of a fountain. A dark, threadlike road connected the village.
Farther off, he could see the town, which resembled a collection of
miniature buildings with a few toy-sized cars moving between them.
An endless mesh of trees stretched around them on every other side—
gold-and-red autumn treetops and stately pines. He and Dorian
towered over the entire scene, detached from the human condition and

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free of the confines of civilization. Mark had never seen anything so
beautiful.

“We can’t stay long,” Dorian whispered. “My powers aren’t

strong enough. Still, I thought you might enjoy the view of your estate
from here. While we were apart, I sat up here most every day.
Watching over your house made me feel close to you.”

Mark turned his face to Dorian’s, preparing to say something, but

Dorian’s lips met his before he could find the appropriate words. He
shivered as Dorian’s tongue probed his mouth, stroking and seeking.
Mark closed his eyes, basking in pure pleasure, and met his lover’s
gentle thrusts with a few of his own.

When the kiss ended, they were back beside the stream, still

clinging together.

Afterward, they lay together on the ground, using their discarded

clothes as a bed. Dorian split the loaf of bread in half, and each of
them munched on a delicious slab of honeyed dough.

“What will you do when the snow comes?” Mark asked. “I

suppose your people use magic to keep yourselves warm.”

“Possible, but not necessary,” Dorian said between mouthfuls.

“Believe it or not, some of my people enjoy the snow. They’ll huddle
together and make the best of it until spring.”

“Does that include you?” Mark asked with a stab of

disappointment.

Dorian paused. “The thing is,” he said after finishing off his half

of the bread, “I’ve already told everyone back home that I’m going to
spend the winter among humans. They couldn’t quite work out why I
wanted to, but they didn’t object. Truthfully, I think I’ve been sort of
a burden to them lately, moping about the way I was.”

“I know the feeling.” Mark grinned. “I believe Anthony suspected

what was going on, but he never said a word.”

“He won’t. He’s the soul of discretion…in both worlds.”
Mark felt a sudden spasm of doubt and insecurity. “So let me

make sure I have this right. You’re suggesting that we live together?”

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Dorian stroked his cheek. “I’m suggesting that we stay together.

Unless you have an objection, my lord.”

“None. None at all.” Mark smiled, and they kissed. “I’m looking

forward to introducing you to my brother. I think you’ll like him.
He’s mad for history. The things you could tell him. He’ll be
fascinated.”

“I look forward to it,” Dorian said.
They curled up together, oblivious to the uneven, bumpy ground.

As far as Mark was concerned, it was the most comfortable spot he’d
ever lain in. Dorian’s body was the only pillow he would ever need.
He shook his head in wonder.

“The two of us, snowed in together, with Anthony underfoot. How

will that work out?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Dorian said.
Mark laughed as he polished off the last piece of bread.

THE END

WWW.CASSANDRAPIERCE.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cassandra Pierce has been a fan of Gothic literature for most of

her life, even studying the origins of the genre in college and graduate
school. Before long, she got the urge to create paranormal romances
of her own and is now hard at work on the third Darkisle novel
(among other projects). When she is not writing, she teaches English
(including a course on Vampire Lit) at a small New England college
and is active in a charity that rescues and rehomes abandoned pets.

Read more about Cassandra’s upcoming books at

www.CassandraPierce.com, and visit her on Facebook!

Also by Cassandra Pierce

PolyAmour: Terran Border Patrol: Captain Gareth’s Mates

Siren Classic: Darkisle 1: Heirs to Darkisle

PolyAmour: Darkisle 2: Loving Two Vampires

Siren LoveXtreme: The Aquans 1: Jewels from the Sea

Siren Classic ManLove: The Vampires of Anarchy 1:

The Vampire’s Vacation

Available at

BOOKSTRAND.COM