If All The Sand Were Pearl

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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

Macon GA 31201

If All the Sand Were Pearl

ISBN: 1-60504-199-8

Edited by Sasha Knight

Cover by Anne Cain

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written

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First

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

electronic publication: September 2008

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If All the Sand Were Pearl

Chapter One

The small square box was the first direct communication between Jag Martin and his

husband-to-be.

Jag cradled the box in his palm, wondering if he should open it. Nobody had told

him what to do should Brace Rivers send him a gift. He supposed nobody had thought to

mention it because it had never happened before. All messages, all gifts, all introductions,

should take place between the families of the intended. Had his parents seen this tiny

box? Did they know who delivered it? It must have arrived while Jag was in the bath,

applying the strange concoctions and oils left for him by Drake, the family’s only servant.

The box arrived without a card, but Jag knew the gift came from Rivers. The box had

the traditional mark of a wedding present—two purple entwined vines growing towards

the ruby sun. The mark had infused his life for the past several tidal cycles, appearing on

contracts, gifts and clothing. His mother had even borrowed a large tapestry of the design

to hang in the room where both ceremonies would take place. Was he supposed to

smuggle a present to the other man? He looked around his small bedroom—he had

nothing to give. His intended husband would know that. His family’s current humble

situation was no secret. The two of them wouldn’t be betrothed otherwise. His mother

might have mentioned the gift to him that afternoon before she left to oversee the first

ceremony, but there was so much to remember that it might have slipped his attention.

He untied the heavy purple ribbon and slowly unwound it from the box. He didn’t

recognize the rich material, but it felt like fabric from a fine coat, or a heavy blanket, not

a humble ribbon on a small box. He traced the sharp points and the smooth lines of the

box before carefully easing the lid back.

Jag was almost afraid to learn what was nestled inside. His stomach had been in

knots for the past two months, and now all those knots tightened until he couldn’t even

take a breath. He looked around the room, expecting somebody to barge through the door

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and take the gift from him. But nobody barged in. And nobody was spying on him

through the window.

Jag tilted the box up to the light and his face flooded with heat from pleasure and

surprise. The yellow glow from the lamp above his head reflected off a perfectly black,

perfectly round, perfectly smooth pearl, delicately balanced on a silver band. Pearls were

almost mythic. He had never even heard of a pearl on the Timotai Peninsula. There were

dozens of stories and legends about the lack of pearls in the rich waters surrounding the

Peninsula, including stories of ancient curses and bloody feuds, but every telling ended

with lost pearls. He took the ring between his forefinger and thumb, gently lifting it from

the box to examine it. Ornate designs wound around the silver band. He recognized the

pattern after several seconds of scrutiny. The mark of Rivers’ house. The mark of his new

home.

Jag slid it over his right ring finger. It fit perfectly. He stared at the exquisite piece of

jewelry, his wrists tingling with excitement. A pearl that size, without any visible

imperfections, would be worth a literal fortune. He imagined calling his mother into the

room and presenting the ring to her.

Here, Mother, he would say, sell this and pay off your debt and use the remaining

money to buy back my freedom. I can stay here.

The first ceremony had already begun, when the parents stood in for the bride—Jag

in this case—and took care of all the legal business with the new groom. In the big room

with the new tapestry, his parents were making promises, signing contracts and

exchanging money. It was too late to call everything off. Even if Brace Rivers had given

him the very thing that would render the ceremony unnecessary. Even if he was certain

his mother would take the ring and do exactly as he suggested. Even if he was more than

a little frightened to learn what his wedding night held for him.

And the wedding would be the easy part. What came after that? Jag didn’t know.

He slid the ring off and folded his fingers over it. Jag didn’t want to let it go. He

wasn’t sure why it was so important to keep a hold of it, but the pearl was a small, hard

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ball of fire against his flushed skin. It seemed wrong to put it back in its box, to shut it

away, to make it lose the heat it had already absorbed.

Jag’s door was locked. It’s only tradition, his mother had assured him. We don’t

actually think you’ll go anywhere. But Drake was positioned outside. A guard? Jag

wasn’t sure. Maybe that was tradition too. For every piece of information his parents had

given him about the tradition, about the ceremonies, about the wedding and marriage, it

seemed like there were two pieces of information they left out. The ritual seemed

designed to distance him until he was nothing but a passive pawn—a point that was

beyond ridiculous given that the ritual was always held under the auspices of the

Goddess. She was worshipped for her strength, her cunning, her intelligence; the Goddess

was never passive.

Some people spent their entire lives being groomed and trained for marriage. Sons

and daughters were assigned at birth to a life of expectations, whether that involved

marriage, the priesthood, academics or being a caretaker. Jag was never intended to be

betrothed. His parents had had him late in life, long after his siblings had been promised

to their mates. While his siblings had been taught the nuances of everything from the

ceremony to the wedding bed to running a household, his birth order had given Jag a

certain amount of autonomy. He was allowed to choose between becoming a priest or a

scholar, and he had chosen to devote his life to the Goddess. He took the first orders at

the age of twelve, and now was within six months of finishing his vows and becoming a

priest at the Temple. But marriage put the priesthood out of his reach, and his parents

were anxious and sorry. Jag was anxious too, but he didn’t know how sorry he was. A

part of him refused to accept that he would be abandoning not just his dreams, but his

vocation. For what? For debts. For a stranger.

Jag knocked on his door, hoping Drake would hear him. Hoping Drake would

answer him. Hoping Drake would have an answer for him. Drake didn’t respond. He

knocked again. Still no response.

“Drake? Please?”

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A long pause before Drake’s low, gravelly voice answered, “You should be

meditating.”

“I know. But…”

“Do you need something?”

“I…” The pearl seemed to grow heavier in his hand. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to lift

his arm at all. “Has the ceremony started?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Drake?”

“Yes?”

“Did you see anybody come into my room today?”

“Nobody unexpected.”

“Can you please unlock the door? I’m not going to go anywhere.”

Jag released a long breath when the lock turned and the door swung open, revealing

Drake’s grim, foreboding form. Even when he smiled, he looked grim. His black suit was

impeccable, everything from the creases in his pants to the yellow ropes on his shoulders

broadcasting his status as the household’s butler. He bore the Martin family mark on the

back of his hand, a tattoo that had faded and wrinkled over the years but was still a source

of pride for Drake—if for nobody else. He had been with the family since long before Jag

was born, and looking at the man now brought a strange tingling to Jag’s throat. It hurt to

think he’d probably never see Drake again. He certainly wouldn’t be able to rely on the

older man if he had a question, and Jag didn’t doubt he would have several questions

about his new life. He remembered racing through the halls, ducking and dodging

between Drake’s legs while the butler tried to manage the house. Drake had the authority

to send Jag to his room at any time, or punish Jag severely, but he never did. Sometimes

he even gave Jag small treats and gifts—pieces of candy he never had to share with

anybody else.

“Do you need something?”

Jag wondered if that was a trick question. “Have you ever seen a pearl? A real pearl,

not just a picture in a book.”

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Drake didn’t look surprised by the strange question. He merely shook his head. “No.

I never have. They’re rare in this province, Jag. I would guess only the Vargas family has

any in their possession. And they certainly wouldn’t flaunt the fact. There’s also

supposed to be one in the Temple. A special gift from the Goddess, but I have never seen

it.”

Jag nodded. The ring in his hand wasn’t just a token. He couldn’t believe anybody,

even his betrothed, would offer such a gift. He struggled to remember every single detail

his mother had told him about the ceremony, certain she never mentioned anything about

rings.

“Drake, I’m not sure what to do.”

“About what?”

Jag held his hand out and opened his fingers, revealing the precious stone. It looked

darker against his skin, and he had been gripping it so tightly the silver band left deep

marks in his palm. Drake inhaled between pursed lips.

“Is that from Rivers?”

“I think so.”

“Nobody mentioned it would be something so dear…” He spoke under his breath.

“So you were expecting this?”

“What?” Drake tore his attention away from the ring and met Jag’s curious eyes.

“You don’t have to keep that.”

Jag blinked. “What?”

“You don’t have to keep it. You can send it back. Or you can sell it.”

“I can sell it? That’s…acceptable?”

“Of course it is. It’s a gift. It’s yours now. You can do whatever you want with it. I

can arrange the sale for you, if you’d like.”

“Just like that? Brace won’t mind? I can just…sell it? And use the money any way I

like?”

“Yes. It’s a sort of good-faith gesture. It’s perfectly acceptable to sell the gift.”

“And then I wouldn’t have to marry.”

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“Yes.” Drake’s voice dropped. “But there’s a time limit. You have until the

beginning of the second ceremony.”

While the first ceremony was all about sorting the business, the second ceremony

involved the personal vows and declarations of fidelity and love. That part made sense to

Jag, though it was about the only thing that did. A marriage involved the union of two

people and two families; the terms for each partnership needed to be dealt with.

Especially since it wasn’t unusual for the betrothed to be meeting the first time on their

wedding night.

“That doesn’t seem fair. I mean, that hardly gives me enough time to do anything.”

“You have until tomorrow night. Then you either keep the gift and complete the

ritual, or you use it to buy yourself out of the obligation.”

Jag wasn’t sure if his legs would support him. Hope and shock, and even fear, made

him weak. He took a few stumbling steps back and slumped against the wall. “Why

didn’t anybody tell me this?”

“I wasn’t supposed to.”

Jag looked up with questioning eyes to the man who had always been so patient with

him. “What?”

“It’s a test, Jag. It’s meant to prove your fidelity, though it’s becoming more and

more of a gesture, rather than an actual rite. Traditionally…the temptation is not quite so

extreme. This ring won’t just settle your family’s debts, it could very well make you the

wealthiest person in the area. If you find the right dealer.”

Jag didn’t need Drake to point that out to him. The weight of this understanding was

still settling on his shoulders and back, working into his skin, burrowing into his flesh.

“Why would he give me something like this? Surely he can’t think I’ll marry him if…

Does he not want me to marry him?”

Drake shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. And nobody is going to ask about the gift, or

try to influence your decision. It’s entirely up to you.”

Once again, Jag wanted to protest that it wasn’t fair. How could they force him into

this decision when the only decision he had been allowed to make in this whole affair

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was what gender he wanted to marry? From his father: Do you want to be betrothed to a

man or a woman? We have appropriate suitors either way. From his mother: I’m sorry,

Jag. He hadn’t been given names or pictures or even the chance to speak to his potential

suitors. He had pledged his troth to a man he’d never met, and now he was expected to

weigh his freedom against his family’s word of honor?

Why even bother with all the preliminary steps or the first ceremony? What was the

consequence for choosing to sell the gift? There had to be a consequence. Something

horrible, no doubt. This choice would have strings attached.

“When will they be coming for me?” Jag asked, his lips numb.

“Midnight. Two more hours. Then you’ll be taken to the marriage suite.” It was

actually his parents’ master suite, but they moved out a week before the ceremony and

had it transformed. Into what, Jag didn’t know yet. He hadn’t been allowed to see it.

“But we won’t officially be married until…after I decide whether or not to keep the

gift?”

“Yes.”

Jag turned back to his room, then paused and looked up to Drake once again. “What

would you do?”

“I’d sell the pearl.”

Taken aback by Drake’s blunt declaration, Jag wondered if he was bound to a troll or

an ogre of a man. “Have you met Brace?”

“I have.”

“What’s he like?” Which wasn’t the question he wanted to ask at all. He wanted to

know if Brace was handsome, or at least attractive. He wanted to know if Brace had all

his teeth. If Brace ever smiled. He wanted to know if Brace Rivers was cruel, or shy, or

indifferent. He wanted to ask if Rivers would make him happy.

“He’s lonely. I don’t think he ever expected to be married.”

“Why?” Jag could hear the trepidation in his voice. “Is he some sort of monster?”

Drake shook his head. “No, but he wouldn’t accept a woman. And most families

would not agree to marry their sons to another man. There’s no chance for grandchildren

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or carrying on the family name. Your parents were an exception because they were sorry

they had to do this to you at all.”

Do this to you. Like it was a punishment. Or a crime. His parents were committing a

crime against him. A criminal act inflicted on Jag’s passive body; they had promised him

the priesthood, and then they took it away because they had the right and the need to do

so. He knew that’s how the household viewed the situation, but Jag couldn’t quite see it

in those terms. “Thanks, Drake.”

“You’ve always been a good kid, Jag.” Now his grim face and stiff posture softened,

and for a moment Jag thought Drake was going to embrace him. But the moment passed,

and Drake stepped back, maintaining the same professional distance between them he

always kept.

Jag shut the door behind him and returned the ring to its box. He didn’t have time to

think about it right now. He needed to dress himself. The wedding costume was elaborate

and he would need Drake to help him get it on. Brace would have to help him undress.

Which only brought up more questions about his bridegroom. Would he have the

patience to unbutton what seemed like a thousand tiny gold buttons? Would he have the

dexterity? It was too easy to imagine a man with huge paws, bent, chubby fingers and

rough skin. He worked with horses, didn’t he? It seemed possible that he would have

mangled hands.

Jag needed to meditate. But meditating just reminded him that he needed to prepare

himself for his wedding night. If he understood Drake correctly, it didn’t matter what Jag

decided to do with the pearl, there would still be a wedding night, a chance for the couple

to meet, to talk, to decide if they were compatible. It was generally perfunctory, but

Brace’s gift changed everything. Their night together was the only positive thing about

the whole situation. He didn’t know if he would even be attracted to Brace when they

met, but he did know it would be good to feel a hand on his body that wasn’t his own.

Even if the hand might be rough and twisted.

Jag had wanted to be a priest since the day he understood who the men were in the

Temple. He had been fascinated by the richly attired men, watching as they paid alms,

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bowed in prayer, lit incense, and most importantly, aided the visitors in their worship. A

large, perfectly sculpted, divinely crafted image of the Goddess oversaw everything from

her lofty perch. His parents had encouraged his fascination with the Temple, taking him

to visit often, and allowing his education to emphasize the mysteries of the Goddess’

existence. Despite his devotion, he had dreaded the vows of celibacy. He understood he

could not be distracted with the worldly concerns of the flesh. Even so, he had spent

countless nights imagining what another man must feel like. A hard body. A hairy chest.

Large hands. A full mouth. Another erection, with smooth, velvety skin and a wet tip. He

always imagined a masculine body very different from his own form. Jag was not

muscled or rough. He was protected and soft.

Maybe he wasn’t what Brace wanted. Maybe when the other man closed his eyes and

stroked himself, he imagined somebody tall and solid, somebody who worked hard and

had the body to prove it.

But now, he supposed, he didn’t have to worry about that. He had the ring. If Brace

wasn’t attracted to him, then he would choose to sell the gift before the end of the

ceremony, and they would never have to see each other again. Or maybe he should turn

the ring over to his parents and spend the rest of the night praying in the Temple. It

always brought him peace, even when he was aching with sexual frustration.

Jag began brushing the lint from the heavy coat he was expected to wear with a

Burhman brush—a curved tool that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand with long teeth

designed to clean lint from the plush texture. He had never had to use the sort of brush

before, as none of his clothes were made from the same thick material of the coat. His

father had used it to clean his own wedding suit. Jag found the steady, repetitious task

soothing. It wasn’t just the wedding night that wore on him, or the fear of being betrothed

to some sort of monster. It wasn’t just the sense of unease at abandoning the Temple. He

had no idea what being married actually meant. He would not be the head of the

household, and so he assumed he would take on the wife’s role. Judging from the way his

parents treated each other, his mother’s role in the house was to raise the children, help

her daughter and daughters-in-law through their pregnancies, and then do what she could

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to help with the grandchildren. None of that would be in Jag’s future. So what would be

expected from him? If he dedicated his life to the Temple, he would know exactly what

to do. He had spent his life preparing to wed a distant Goddess, not a very close, very

physical man. That was a different kind of intimacy. A different kind of commitment. Or

maybe it was just the same sort of commitment?

Jag thought he should save both he and the stranger he married a great deal of hurt

and confusion. He didn’t even have to meet the man. There would be no awkward

explanation of why he couldn’t marry him, or why he wanted to choose a life of celibacy

and quiet devotion.

He concentrated harder on the coat, brushing it aggressively. Jag was an educated

person. He knew he had a great deal to offer a spouse, and his household. What he didn’t

know, he could learn. Jag wasn’t sure why being a good spouse, a good partner, meant so

much to him, but if he intended to go through with the ceremony, he didn’t want Brace to

have any regrets. He didn’t want to shame his family by being sent back to their home, a

burden once again, another mouth to feed.

A person did not have to be a virgin to take the vows. He could have his wedding

night, then turn the ring over and continue his life as planned. It seemed like a reasonable

plan, but the thought disgusted him. It tangled him up inside. It was dishonorable. Not the

sort of behavior befitting a priest of the Goddess.

The light caught the shine on the pearl, and he stopped brushing long enough to

study it once again. Its beauty made his chest hurt. How could something look so strong

and so delicate at the same time? He wondered if the ring was like Brace at all.

He could meet the man. He could give Brace a chance. That would take nothing from

either of them. Jag just wanted to do the right thing. For all of them.

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Chapter Two

Brace kept trying to fiddle with the ring that was no longer on his finger. It was a

nervous habit he picked up shortly after he inherited it, and now he couldn’t stop reaching

for it. If his father knew he had offered the family heirloom as the wedding gift, the old

man would have threatened to disown him. Or perhaps cancel the wedding entirely. But

his father was dead, the ring belonged to Brace, and he had no reason to be nervous.

Unfortunately, it didn’t matter how many times he told himself that. As he waited for

the bedroom door to open, and the stranger who would be his husband to enter, his

anxiety only heightened. He paced. He ran his hands through his hair and wondered if he

should have visited a barber. He smoothed his fingers over his beard and wondered if he

should shave. There might be time. But what did it matter? If the Martin family had lied,

a distinct possibility, and the young Jag didn’t want to be betrothed to a man, he could be

completely hairless and still be rejected. His ring would still be sold. He’d be sent home,

empty-handed, as alone as he was before.

Brace moved through the large suite, checking and double-checking everything.

There were certain steps he needed to take, certain traditions to follow. And the Martins

had thought of everything. An altar to the Goddess dominated one wall with the

appropriate number of candles for the marital blessings. They released a light yet rich

aroma, reminding Brace of the sea. The Euclid Province was the furthest inland and

Brace only saw the sea when he had business on the coast. But the coastal people were

devoted to the ocean, and it wasn’t a surprise to Brace that their devotions included the

aroma of salt air and seaweed. A tapestry hung on the opposite wall, the ruby sun rising

over silver-tinged waters, and the other two walls were bare, painted the bluish tint of a

full moon.

The family might be close to destitution, but they hadn’t stinted on their son’s

wedding night. The room had been stocked with the richest food and the finest wine, silk

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bedding, soft pillows. The food was of particular interest to Brace, as the table featured

delicacies he hadn’t enjoyed since he was a young man. The eyes from sea serpents, the

black-tipped fins from sharks with the same name, sweet raw lumi fish and lumi roe,

dried seaweed and several varieties of bread and crackers. A shelf next to the bed

contained everything else they would need for their wedding night—lubricant, massage

oil, creams and even an array of dildos, ranging in sizes. Young Jag Martin was a virgin.

He was planning to enter the priesthood. So he will not be…experienced on the

wedding night. That’s what Dame Martin had said in a hushed, apologetic tone. Her

words hadn’t been for Brace’s benefit. It had been for Jag’s. Brace understood the

subtext. Don’t hurt him, please, and don’t be disappointed.

But Brace didn’t care about the experience, or the lack of experience. He wouldn’t

force the younger man to do anything he didn’t want. That included having sex.

Brace was still pacing and double-checking the arrangements when the large clock in

his room struck the midnight hour. The knock on his door came before the chimes had

faded. Twenty-four hours. He had twenty-four hours to woo, to seduce, to make Jag

Martin agree to stay with him. He didn’t need a servant. He didn’t need somebody to run

his house. He didn’t even need somebody for the sex—he could find a willing partner

when he needed it. He was tired of waking alone, sleeping alone, traveling alone. He

hoped Jag would be the person who could share everything with him.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. The breath stalled in his lungs. Jag stood

in front of him in the traditional marriage garb, but Brace barely noticed his clothes. The

younger man had long black hair, tied back with a piece of leather at his neck, and the

sharpest green eyes Brace had ever seen. He had a hawk-like nose, thin lips and high

cheekbones. He looked like he was born to be a warrior. It was easy to imagine Jag

leading a band of the barbarians from the mainland into the Peninsula, and those ancient

bloodlines still ran in Jag’s veins. Despite the sharp angles of his face, he was young.

Older than Brace had expected, but an innocent all the same.

Jag’s smile was shy as he murmured his greeting.

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Brace stepped back and offered a formal half-bow, before allowing Jag to enter the

room. “Welcome. Please come in.”

Silence settled over them as Brace shut the door. He had memorized the entire

ceremony, each speech he was supposed to give, but now that Brace stood in front of Jag,

all the words fled his mind.

“Are you hungry?” Brace finally blurted.

Jag seemed surprised at the question, but he recovered, and the smile returned. “Yes,

thank you. I fasted today.”

Brace nodded. So had he. Tradition. Most of this stuff didn’t make any sense to

Brace. He had always known he didn’t want to marry a woman, and so he hadn’t paid

any attention to the lessons. It never seemed possible that he would find a spouse.

“We have a feast. More food than I think any two people could eat. Come, sit down.”

Jag moved with an obvious grace. His limbs were long, but not awkward. What

would he look like on the back of a horse? Wielding a sword? What would he look like

without his heavy clothes?

Jag’s eyes lit up when he saw the food waiting for them on the table. “These are my

favorites.”

Brace smiled at Jag’s obvious pleasure. How easy would it be to make this boy

happy? Would he let Brace try?

“Then we should definitely eat before it gets too cold. I’ll serve.”

Jag nodded, settling in the chair Brace was holding out for him. As he placed the

napkin on his lap, Brace noticed the younger man was wearing the pearl ring. His heart

clenched at the sight of it. It fit Jag’s finger perfectly, as though it had been designed for

his hand. Of course, he shouldn’t read anything in to the fact that Jag chose to wear it. He

could do anything he wanted with it. It didn’t mean anything.

Brace filled both plates with food, though he had no appetite. What did Jag think of

him? It seemed every time he looked at the young man, he found something else to

admire. His fingers were fine, but not delicate. His skin had a rich, golden color,

indicating that this young scholar did not spend all of his time locked in his room. Brace

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felt old and scruffy and coarse in comparison. Maybe he should have shaved. He still

could, if Jag wanted him to.

“What did your parents tell you about me?” Brace asked, as he poured wine into

silver goblets.

“You’re from the Euclid Province. You once served as Governor there. You have

one of the finest stables in any province. And you visit the Temple regularly.”

Brace had expected nothing more. “That’s a pretty good list of what I do. It doesn’t

narrow down who I am, though.”

Jag’s eyes were soft. “No, it doesn’t. I’m afraid they were not extravagant with the

details.”

“You’re free to ask me any questions you might have.” He leveled his gaze at Jag,

hoping the younger man would see the sincerity in his eyes. “I won’t keep anything from

you.”

Jag inclined his head. “Could I continue my studies?”

Brace blinked. That was not the first question he had expected, but he understood

why Jag asked. Many times, the younger or poorer in a union like theirs was forced to

abandon more than just his home and family. “Of course.”

Jag nodded and very carefully cut a piece of the black-tipped fin. He moved in

precise, careful angles. “Would I be expected to run the household?”

“You could, if you wanted to. But I never…I have a trusted employee to keep things

running smoothly.”

“You never what?” Jag asked, leaning forward.

“I never thought I’d marry anyway.”

“Me neither. But I guess your family may have expected you to marry.”

“Most of them, yes. Until I made it clear I wasn’t interested in marrying a woman.”

He said the words lightly, but he watched Jag’s reaction carefully. “Were you?”

“Was I what? Interested in marrying a woman?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

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Brace almost knocked over his goblet. It teetered dangerously before he grabbed it

with unsure fingers. He had hoped Jag would give him such an answer, but frightened

people were not above lying to escape unfortunate circumstances, and he wouldn’t have

been surprised to learn Jag had been a pawn.

Jag’s thin lips pulled into an amused grin. “You thought I was here completely

against my will?”

“Yes. It’s not unheard of for parents to arrange a match and lie about the suitability

of their child.” Brace grimaced. “Forgive me. I do not mean to call your parents liars. But

I feared that desperation might inspire them into…uncharacteristic acts.”

Jag waved his hand, dismissing Brace’s apology. “No. My parents asked me if I

preferred a husband or a wife. They would never…they’re not in a good situation, but

they did try to find somebody who would make me happy.”

Brace wanted to rush and say he would make Jag happy. He would do anything in

his power to make him happy. However, he knew that impulse came from a desperate

place. He didn’t want to do anything to unnerve his young groom—like making him

think he was some sort of basket case.

“That was very kind of them.”

“They were sorry to put me in this situation to begin with.”

They had never said so, but Dame Martin in particular seemed saddened and anxious

by the whole nasty mess they were in. Brace’s attention jumped to the ring. He had no

doubt Jag recognized the ring for what it was, and understood its value. But he had come

to the suite anyway.

“Your mother told me that you intended to become a priest.” It might have been a

dangerous direction to go, but if he was going to have a chance with Jag Martin, they

needed to discuss the issue.

“Yes. Since I was twelve.”

“That’s when you began the vows?”

“I wanted to start as soon as I could. And so my parents allowed me to begin

attending the Temple then.”

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“I had no idea it was so important to you.” Brace’s heart dropped to his knees. “Your

parents never mentioned that you had started your vows at such a young age.”

“Would you have agreed to the wedding if you had known?”

“I might have reconsidered my offer. I don’t want to… It was never my intention to

ruin anybody’s life.”

Jag’s lips looked perfect when he smiled. “I don’t think you’ve ruined anybody’s life

yet.”

“Why did you want to enter the priesthood?”

“It always just felt right.” Jag toyed with his fork, and Brace wondered if he was

going to get a more elaborate explanation. “There are always people at the Temple. There

are always people who need help, who need direction, who go there to find answers, or a

purpose. I always admired the men who were waiting for them.”

“You can still help people. If you…if we’re married. I won’t stop you from attending

the Temple.”

He ducked his head. “Thank you. Honestly, I’ve been very confused about the entire

situation. I’m still trying to process everything.”

“That’s understandable. I think I am still trying to process everything too.”

Jag lapsed into silence, and Brace debated drawing him into another conversation.

He was happy to let the younger man eat, and watch him, memorizing the small details.

He tried not to stare openly, but occasionally Jag would look up and their eyes would

lock. What did he see reflected on Brace’s face? Surprise? Wonder? Gratitude? Maybe a

hint of the lust that was growing in him the longer Jag sat within touching distance? Jag

was not the sort of man who typically attracted him. He did not enjoy feeling like a huge

oaf with his partner, and he had always been self-conscious about his size. He had had his

first growth spurt at eleven, and after that he had always been the biggest, the tallest, the

thickest. He was no longer the clumsiest, but the memory of that early awkwardness still

haunted him.

“I guess we just leave this?” Jag asked, once he pushed his empty plate away.

Brace nodded. “Do you have any other questions about…me or anything?”

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“No, but now I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do. Eating was not the first step.

At least, that isn’t what I was told.”

“I thought it would be better to start with food. Now I see why the whole night is

choreographed down to the second. Everything isn’t quite so awkward then.”

Jag studied him with shrewd eyes. Brace wasn’t accustomed to seeing such sharp

eyes in a young man. “Do you feel awkward?”

“Don’t you?”

“A little.”

“Me too.”

“What were we supposed to do first?”

“I was to undress you.”

Jag smiled. “I don’t think that would have made things less awkward. In fact, I think

it would have ruined our meal.”

“The meal was supposed to happen after…”

“Does it make a person hungry?”

“Sex?” The question startled Brace, but he kept his voice even. “It could, if you do it

right.”

Jag looked down, his gaze focused on the intricate patterns of the tablecloth. “What

if I don’t? I’m not even sure what the right way is.”

“Nobody really does the first time, I guess. But I don’t think you need to worry about

it.”

Now he looked up, and the smile still lingered on his lips. “Do I look like some sort

of sexual prodigy?”

“I have heard you’re a quick study. I could spend the night teaching you a few

things.”

“I think…I don’t know.”

“We don’t have to,” Brace said gently. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t

want to do, you know.”

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“It doesn’t feel that way right now. I don’t think I would have ever chosen to get

married.” Jag’s eyes widened and he leaned forward earnestly. “Don’t misunderstand me,

please. I am not saying that because of you.”

“I understand. This is a big change for both of us. How much do you want to be a

priest?”

“I thought it was the only thing I really wanted. But that might have been because I

was not aware of any alternative.”

“Were you lonely?”

“What?”

Brace sat back in his chair. “I do not mean to be too forward. But your parents did

not offer a guest list for the final ceremony tomorrow. And I know your siblings are quite

a bit older than you. Were you lonely?”

“I was never lonely at the Temple.”

Brace nodded. That was the answer he expected. It might also explain why Jag even

deemed to continue with the wedding. Maybe a part of Jag wanted somebody who could

give him undivided, unconditional attention and affection.

“Did you study at the Temple?”

“I did.”

“You would not have to stop studying.”

“You don’t need me to run your household, and you don’t want to infringe on my

studies, and you’re obviously not looking for a wife. What would you like from me?”

“A partner. I don’t have anybody to celebrate holidays with, so I can’t perform the

proper rituals. I’ve traveled the country, and I’ve seen all sorts of amazing things that I

never got the chance to share with anybody else. I have nobody to speak to after dinner,

and nobody to share breakfast with. I never knew how exhausting it was to be alone.”

Brace smiled self-consciously and looked away. “I guess that might sound pathetic.”

“No, it doesn’t. It sounds honest.” A small pause. “I know what that’s like. I was

treated like an only child because my siblings were already gone, and my mother wanted

to keep me pure for the priesthood. I’ve spent a great deal of time alone.”

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“This is our chance to change that.”

“It is. Am I what you expected?”

“Yes. More or less. Your mother gave me a good description. She told me you

planned to enter the priesthood, and she told me what you studied. She also told me your

age, and the color of your eyes. But I think I was still a little surprised.”

“By what?”

“She gave me a litany of what you are. But now I think I’m beginning to know who

you are.”

“Who am I?”

Brace picked a piece of lint from his pants. He hadn’t expected the younger man to

be so straightforward in his questions, but he liked it. The bold questions revealed a

curious and busy mind. Jag wanted to know about the world. He wanted to understand

the people he met. Brace would not discourage that.

“You’re a good person. You’re aware of the pain in the world, and the good things as

well. You’re honorable, or else you would not be here at all. You’re intelligent, but it is

not just because you have read a number of books.”

“You can tell all of that from a single meal?”

Brace smiled. “You’ve got an open face. I can read your eyes. But I would love to

have the time to learn more about you.”

“And not just because you are lonely?”

“No. Because you are you.”

“I want to learn more about you too.” Jag stood. “Maybe we should start with the

next part of the ritual.”

Brace didn’t move immediately. He wanted to. He wanted to tear the clothes off his

groom’s perfect body. But he was surprised by the boy’s boldness. Jag must have seen

the shock on his face.

“I know that was a little…straightforward. But honestly, I’ve been thinking about it a

lot. And I find you…” A slight blush crawled up his cheeks. “I was worried that I would

not find you attractive.”

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“But you do?”

“Yes. Will it bother you if I haven’t yet…made up my mind?”

Brace frowned, confused. “Made up your mind? Do you mean about staying with

me?”

“Yes. I don’t want you to think that I’m…” Jag paused to gulp the rest of his wine.

“Maybe we should just follow the ritual, and not overthink everything.”

Brace stood as well. “I am happy to do whatever you wish. We can follow the ritual,

or we can chuck all the traditions out the window.”

“I’d like to follow the ritual. Wouldn’t you?”

Brace moved around the table, and he didn’t speak until he was standing toe-to-toe

with Jag. “More than I can say.”

Two dozen small gold buttons held Jag’s jacket closed. They were meant to be

removed by a smaller, feminine hand, and Brace felt ham-fisted as he slipped each button

through its hole. Jag stood patiently, without fiddling or shifting his weight. This close,

he could smell the soap Jag had used in preparation, and it reminded Brace of riding

through a thicket of trees on a rainy morning. He longed to bury his face in Jag’s neck

and inhale deeply. He wanted to know what Jag’s skin would smell like after standing in

the rain. He pushed the jacket over Jag’s shoulders and down his arms. Was he supposed

to hang up the jacket? Fold it? Brace couldn’t remember. He tossed it aside, captivated by

the defined muscles covered by the thin white silk shirt.

“There are so many buttons,” Brace murmured.

“I think it was somebody’s idea of a joke.”

Brace chuckled. “A very cruel joke.”

It was slightly easier to deal with the buttons on the shirt, but it was harder to

concentrate as he exposed Jag’s smooth chest. His skin was taut, and he wanted to run his

tongue down Jag’s body, tasting the salt and rain.

“What now?” Jag’s words were as thick as Brace’s throat felt.

“Your pants.”

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Jag nodded. His belt joined the shirt and jacket on the floor. The pants were fastened

with a leather lace, and Brace wished for the simplicity of buttons.

“At least it’s less elaborate than a wedding dress,” Jag offered, as Brace pulled the

thin leather loose.

“That’s a small comfort.”

It took all of Brace’s concentration to speak, because he felt Jag’s cock hardening

against his tight pants. The boy was nicely endowed. His mouth was watering long before

he had the pants undone, and his cock was erect and throbbing. The only thing he wanted

to do more than get his hands on Jag’s length was free his own from its confines.

His fingers felt fat and useless by the time he unthreaded the leather. He gripped

Jag’s pants and gave them a sharp tug, exposing muscled thighs and calves, skin

sprinkled with dark hair and the most gorgeous cock he had ever seen.

“You’re perfect.” The words rushed out before he could stop them. Surprise mingled

with admiration, and Brace didn’t want to look away. Jag had enough modesty to blush at

Brace’s frank appraisal, but he meant it. He planned to show Jag how much.

Brace straightened and tilted his head. His mouth hovered over Jag’s. He wondered

if the younger man would pull away, but Jag was still. Nothing betrayed Brace’s effect on

him except the quickening of his warm breath. “I’m going to abandon the rules again, if

that’s all right with you.”

Jag nodded, his green eyes wide. Brace didn’t know where kissing came in the order

of festivities. Towards the end, he thought. Maybe even after intercourse. But he didn’t

care. He cupped the back of Jag’s neck and pulled him close. His breath smelled of wine

and pepper, and Brace’s body tightened with desire. Knowing that this young man was

his, could be his permanently, sharpened his lust.

Brace had planned to tease a response out of Jag, but Jag opened to the kiss without

hesitation. He made up for his obvious inexperience with his undeniable enthusiasm.

Brace shivered as their tongues touched, and each subsequent brush of contact after that

sent a jolt to his groin. Moaning, he wrapped his free arm around Jag to hold him closer,

and deepened the kiss. He explored and tasted every inch of Jag’s sweet and peppery

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mouth. Did Jag mind? Given the intensity of the kiss, Brace doubted he had a single

protest.

Brace smoothed his hand down Jag’s spine to splay his fingers across his perfectly

rounded ass. He intended to bury his tongue, and then his length, between the fleshy

cheeks. But not before he got a taste of Jag’s cock. He sucked Jag’s tongue between his

lips, licking and teasing it like he planned to do to his shaft. Jag moaned, a sweet sound

that Brace was addicted to before it was even over.

He tried, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the kiss. It evolved and shifted and

made his head spin. When it was slow, it was very slow, teasing low moans from his own

throat. And when it was hungry, it was very hungry, like Brace hadn’t been the only one

longing for something besides his imagination and dreams. But it was never rushed. It

was never half-hearted. It was never anything except an honest exploration, a gradual

testing of boundaries, a blurring of borders.

When Brace finally found the will to break the kiss, he realized he couldn’t take his

mouth from Jag. He kissed a trail down his jaw and throat, then down his chest. He

skimmed his lips over Jag’s nipple until it was hard, then went on to focus on his muscled

stomach, circling his navel with the tip of his tongue. Jag moaned again, and out of the

corner of his eye, Brace noticed Jag’s hands in tight fists.

“Do you want to touch me?” Brace asked as he settled on his knees in front of Jag.

Jag merely nodded, his lips swollen, his skin red from Brace’s beard.

“Go ahead.”

“I thought…”

Brace knew what he thought. No doubt, he had been instructed by somebody to

remain passive. He was to give himself to his husband. That was procedure.

“Go ahead.” Brace closed his fingers around Jag’s wrist and brought Jag’s hand to

his mouth, kissing each knuckle. As soon as he released the other man’s hand, it went

right to Brace’s hair. Despite his willingness, Brace understood that Jag would still be a

little shy, a little unsure of himself. Brace didn’t mind.

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He licked the skin on Jag’s hip, then followed the line down to his groin. With his

nose buried in the kinky hair surrounding Jag’s cock, he took a deep breath, inhaling the

smell of sweat and soap and musk.

“Oh Goddess,” Jag whispered.

Brace looked up through his lashes, waiting for Jag to continue. Did he want more?

Did he want Brace to stop? Did he want something else entirely?

“No, don’t stop. Please, Brace…don’t stop.”

Jag’s cock jerked as Brace touched the base with the tip of his tongue. Brace knew

the young man wouldn’t last long once he swallowed his shaft, and he didn’t want to rush

this. Even so, he couldn’t help seeking out another taste, and another. He pulled the slick

head between his lips and sucked hard, his cheeks hollowing. Jag gasped, pushing

forward, and Brace allowed more of his length to slide against his tongue. He let Jag push

his cock right to the back of his throat, then held him there for a few moments before

easing back.

“Don’t be in a hurry,” Brace murmured. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Jag’s breath was already coming in sharp gasps. “I know. I know. What’s supposed

to come next?”

Brace didn’t know if Jag meant what came next in the choreographed ceremony, or

what came next in Brace’s process of seduction. The answer to either question was bed.

He wanted to see Jag stretched out on the silk sheets, the lines of his body hard against

the soft mattress. Stretched out like a feast for his eyes, and hand, and mouth.

“Bed is next.”

“When do I get to undress you?”

Brace didn’t know if he had the patience for Jag to deal with the elaborate costume

he wore. It had more buttons, zippers, belts and loops than Jag’s did, and it took him

nearly a half hour to get into it earlier that day.

“Later.”

Brace straightened and took Jag’s hand. Jag automatically curled his fingers around

Brace’s, and a thrill went through him at the casual response. He glanced away, trying to

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hide his reaction. It seemed ridiculous to be so pleased by the gesture. It was hardly a

declaration of Jag’s intentions.

Jag lay flat on the bed without prompting from Brace. He looked exactly like Brace

had imagined, his golden skin a sharp contrast to the dark sheets. Brace’s heart twisted.

There had been other lovers. But all of them, every single one, had been gone by the next

morning. Some of them had been paid for their services. Others relied on the secrecy of

the night, unwilling to reveal the fact that they favored their own sex. For once, Brace

wanted to spend more than one night with a lover. For once, he wanted somebody to

belong to him.

“Turn over,” Brace instructed.

Jag rolled onto his stomach without question, his arms resting above his head, his

cock trapped between his abdomen and the mattress. Brace managed to work his pants

off after several attempts, and Jag remained still, his breathing finally even. Brace sighed

with relief as he finally freed himself from the garment, his cock hard and thick, jutting

out in front of him.

He straddled the younger man’s thighs and ran the tip of his cock down Jag’s ass.

His flesh was warm, and Brace sighed at the thought of sinking into his tight heat. But he

couldn’t do that. Not yet. Not until Jag was properly prepared. Brace knew if he took the

time to do it right, Jag would beg for more. But if he didn’t, Jag might never want

anything to do with him.

Brace bent, pressing his chest against Jag’s back. Jag looked up, over his shoulder,

and his lips were pink and a little swollen from their previous kiss. Brace was drawn to

them, and their mouths connected.

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do?” he asked without lifting his head.

“No. Please, Brace. I’ve been waiting for this.”

Once again, he was tempted to just sink into him, bury himself in Jag’s ass up to his

balls. And then pound into him until they were both screaming.

Later. Later. When he’s ready.

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Brace reached over to the shelf beside the bed and snagged the lubricant and three of

the smaller dildos. With those in hand, he moved down Jag’s body, tickling Jag’s back

with the soft hair around his mouth. Jag wiggled, a low moan indicating his approval.

Once his mouth was even with Jag’s ass, he pulled his betrothed’s cheeks apart, seeking

his tight hole. Brace pressed the back of Jag’s thigh until he lifted himself off the bed, the

tip of his erection scraping across the sheet. Jag hissed at the contact, and the hiss turned

into a long moan as Brace dragged his tongue from Jag’s balls to his ass.

Brace sighed as the tip of his tongue found Jag’s tight ring of muscle. His skin still

smelled like rainwater, but here it was a deeper, earthier scent. Brace’s cock was already

throbbing, but now the ache spread through him, acute and overwhelming. He even felt it

in the back of his throat. His mouth sparked and tingled as he circled Jag’s hole, coaxing

and teasing the muscle. He felt more than heard Jag’s moans, vibrating through Jag and

into his body.

If Brace didn’t have other pressing needs, he might have been able to simply fuck

Jag with his mouth all night. He had always enjoyed pleasuring his lovers this way, and

Jag was so responsive. He seemed thrilled by every motion, by every stroke of Brace’s

tongue. He grew more and more vocal, voicing his approval in shouts and moans and the

occasional coherent word. More. Please. Oh Goddess. Brace.

But if Brace didn’t find out soon what it felt like to be buried in this boy, he’d burst.

Long minutes passed before Brace straightened again. Jag kept moving against the

sheet, unable to hold still for even a second, like he had too much energy to burn off.

Brace understood the impatience. He put one hand against Jag’s back, between his

shoulder blades, holding him still. He didn’t want to discourage Jag’s responses, but

Brace feared hurting him if he didn’t remain still.

“If this hurts…or feels uncomfortable at all…tell me.”

“I will.”

The first and smallest dildo wasn’t as wide as two of Brace’s fingers, or as long. It

wouldn’t be enough to stretch Jag’s walls. Its sole purpose was to introduce Jag to the

sensation of penetration. The small plastic dick was practically swallowed by Jag’s

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muscles. Brace held it inside him for a long moment, waiting for Jag to voice any

dissatisfaction. But he didn’t say a word. Brace thrust it in and out of his body, simply

using it as an instrument to spread the lubricant.

“Ready for more?”

Jag’s answer was immediate and breathless. “Yes.”

Brace nodded and discarded the dildo for the next largest one. The new toy was

slightly thicker and a little longer. Brace chose it to help Jag adjust. With a sharp edge of

hunger, he watched the slick black toy disappear into Jag’s ass. He wanted to say, See?

Look what I’m doing for you. Would anybody else be so careful?

This time, Jag wasn’t a passive recipient of the toy. He lifted his hips, rising to meet

each gentle thrust. Brace fisted his own cock with his free hand, stroking himself

slowly—so slowly—as he imagined what it would be like to have this enthusiastic and

responsive young man stretched out on top of him, riding him as hard as he wanted.

Jag didn’t wait for Brace to ask. He merely croaked out, “More.”

Brace took the biggest of the three dildos he had grabbed. It was much wider than the

second one, and Brace was careful to smear lube over it. If Jag could take this, then he

would be ready for Brace. If not, Brace might just have to settle for the boy’s mouth.

Jag resisted the new dildo at first, his muscle clenching, trying to repel it. But Brace

was patient. He released his shaft and smoothed his hand over Jag’s ass and back in slow,

soothing caresses.

“I won’t hurt you. Not going to do anything to hurt you,” Brace promised under his

breath, repeating the words until Jag relaxed, allowing Brace to push the thick toy

completely into his ass. He let him adjust, not moving at all until Jag did.

“Do you want me to fuck you with it?”

“Yes.” More of a rush of air than a word.

“That’s it. Take it. That’s it. Good.”

He offered more soft words of encouragement as he began to move the toy faster.

His hand slid down Jag’s thigh so he could cup Jag’s heavy balls. The boy shuddered at

the first contact, and tried to spread his legs wider, bending at the knees. Brace fondled

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and caressed him, increasing the pressure to what he considered would be almost, but not

quite, painful.

“Are you ready for me to fuck you now?”

“Oh Goddess…yes…please…”

Brace pulled the dildo free from Jag’s body and tossed it aside, then pried his ass

apart to examine his hole. It was stretched now, the muscle slick, waiting to be filled with

Brace’s cock. Brace was leaking pre-come freely, and he couldn’t help but think he

wouldn’t last long inside that tight channel.

“Been waiting for this.” Brace slid the blunt tip into Jag’s warm body. “For so long.”

Brace’s cock was longer and thicker than any of the dildos he had used, but Jag was

well-stretched, and he didn’t resist as Brace finally sank into him. He was tighter than

Brace had even imagined. He wanted to unleash himself. He wanted to pound into the

boy with all his pent-up lust and passion and energy and fear and desire. He wanted to

completely dominate Jag, to mark him, to make the younger man understand he really did

belong to Brace.

But he didn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he gripped Jag’s hips tightly—tight

enough to mark him in a different way—and he forced himself to move in a measured,

deliberate rhythm. Jag made the most wonderful noises. He moaned. He cried out. He

whimpered. But he never told Brace to stop.

Brace’s skin felt flushed, and his muscles were tense. He could feel Jag everywhere,

not just clenching around his aching shaft. Sparks went up Brace’s spine each time his

balls brushed against Jag’s sac.

“Harder, please.”

Brace’s throat constricted. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Jag…”

“I’m sure.”

Brace didn’t ask again. He didn’t need to. He slid out of Jag’s passage almost

completely, then slammed forward again. Jag shouted hoarsely, and followed that up

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with, “Again.” Brace obliged. Each time he pulled back, he slid out of Jag’s body, and

each time he slammed forward a little harder.

He didn’t want to stop, but he realized he did want to see Jag’s face, especially when

he shot his load. He wanted to kiss him. He pulled out once again, but only long enough

to flip Jag around. Jag allowed himself to be repositioned without protest, his legs going

around Brace’s hips. His eyes were wide and dilated, his mouth parted, allowing short,

sharp gasps to escape.

This time, when Brace sank into the boy’s ass, he didn’t want to move. He rotated

his hips, grinding himself into Jag’s body. Jag clawed at him, his nails sharp and hard, as

he arched back. The tendons in his neck stood out, and Brace could see his pulse

pounding near the surface of his skin.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I do. Brace. I do. I…”

Brace cut off his words with a hard kiss. A hard kiss Jag returned without hesitation.

Their tongues and teeth clashed. Brace had been careful not to show this level of need

and want and desperation before now, but he didn’t try to hide it anymore. It felt like he

was holding his last chance in his arms, and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life

wondering if he had done enough to keep that chance from slipping out of his grasp.

Jag pushed one hand between their bodies and gripped his shaft. He stroked himself

in time with Brace’s long strokes, and Brace just kept kissing him. Jag would moan often,

and Brace swallowed each one, like he could somehow trap Jag’s pleasure, consume it.

And when the moans increased in volume and intensity, Brace’s own satisfaction went up

accordingly.

Finally, Jag screamed. The sound was ragged and muffled, but unmistakable. A

second later, Brace felt Jag’s cock jerk and then coat his stomach in sticky fluid. His ass

clamped down around Brace’s shaft, holding him and squeezing him. Brace wanted

nothing more than to coat his walls, fill him with come. The thought, combined with the

sudden pressure around his length, pushed him over the edge. He tore his mouth away

from Jag’s, gasping for breath as he drove into him one final time before he erupted.

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“Goddess…Goddess…”

“You’re shaking,” Jag murmured.

Brace nodded. He was shaking. And he didn’t know if he could make himself stop.

“Are you okay?”

Jag smiled. “I’m fine.”

“Not too sore? You can have a warm bath. That’ll help.”

“Give me a minute to catch my breath first.”

Brace smiled. “Of course.”

He rolled to his side, expecting Jag to put space between them, to go to his own side

of the bed. But Jag seemed perfectly happy where he was, pulled securely against Brace’s

body.

“Well, if that’s not part of the traditional ceremony, it should be.”

Brace’s smile widened. “I agree.”

“I bet everybody in the house heard me screaming.”

“Probably. They’re listening for screaming, one way or the other.”

Jag actually blushed a light pink. “Does this whole thing seem ridiculous to you?”

Brace stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Why couldn’t we meet before tonight? And if I’m given a choice to accept or reject

you anyway, why go through this whole stupid tradition?”

“I…don’t know. I guess everybody figures we should just stick with what works.

So…you know what the ring is for?”

Jag nodded. “Yeah. My butler explained it to me.”

Brace wanted to push for more, but the gift came without strings, without pressure.

Brace didn’t have the right to ask what Jag wanted to do, or planned to do, with the pearl.

“Did he tell you how much it’s worth?”

“He gave me an idea.”

Brace didn’t know if Jag’s careful answer indicated he didn’t know the exact

monetary value, or if he was purposely playing his cards close to the chest. So he brushed

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his lips across Jag’s sweaty forehead. “You can rest for a bit. Just tell me when you’re

ready for that bath.”

Jag nodded. “Rest sounds good.”

He closed his eyes without further prompting, and his face went lax. It occurred to

Brace that he must not have been the only one suffering through sleepless nights since the

wedding was officially announced. But it was the complete trust that really made Brace’s

heart twist. He wanted to be worthy of that, wanted to be worthy of this fine young man.

And he had a little under a day to continue to prove his worth.

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Chapter Three

The warm water did help soothe his sore muscles. Jag leaned back against the side of

the tub, not the least bit self-conscious about his nudity when Brace let himself into the

bathroom. Why should he be? Brace clearly adored his body. And if they were to be

married, he didn’t have anything to hide.

“Sorry.”

Jag looked up. “For what?”

“Your face.” Brace gestured at his own chin and jaw. “It’s all red. From my beard.”

Jag rubbed his skin absently and smiled. “I hadn’t even noticed. Would you let me

shave it?”

Brace looked startled by the question. “I guess so. You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that. But I am curious about what you look like without it.”

“You can do whatever you want to me.”

Jag studied his face for a moment and realized Brace absolutely meant it. He wasn’t

just saying that. Every word he said, everything he did, indicated Jag was dealing with a

man almost desperate to please. Jag didn’t know if Brace was always this way, or if it

was just a result of their circumstances.

“What happens if we don’t finalize the wedding?”

“What do you mean?”

Jag gestured with the hand that still bore the pearl ring. “What happens to you? Do

you get to try again?”

“There’s nothing stopping me from becoming betrothed again. But this is the first

time anybody has offered their son’s hand. I doubt it’ll happen again. Especially since

I’m getting older now.”

“So you’ll still be pretty lonely.”

“Yes.”

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He didn’t want Brace to spend the rest of his life alone. It wasn’t right. He deserved

to have a partner, somebody he could trust and be comfortable with. Jag remembered the

care Brace took to make sure Jag wasn’t hurt when they had sex, and he had a very strong

feeling that Brace took that sort of care with everything he did and everybody he met. He

was a large man, but he was almost achingly aware of his size and strength. Jag knew he

would never be hurt, purposely or accidentally, by Brace’s hand.

He stood, water dripping down his skin. Brace immediately reached for a towel and

held it open for Jag. He wrapped the warm material around Jag’s shoulders as soon as he

stepped out of the tub, and Jag stood in his embrace for a long moment. It felt good to be

this close to another person. The sex was also good—fantastic. Better than anything he

had imagined. Nobody had told him it could be like that. But this simple contact was

almost better. Especially since Brace was a big guy. And his skin—what little Jag had

seen—was a deep tan that bespoke of hours in the sun.

Jag kissed Brace’s neck. “Sit down.”

“You’re going to shave me now?”

“Can you think of a better time?”

Brace shook his head. He pulled his shirt off before sitting on the toilet. He was

wearing a loose pair of pants now, but Jag could still see the outline of his thick cock.

Jag’s ass clenched at the sight of it, and he thought he would be ready to be fucked again

very soon. He had never felt anything better than Brace’s weight holding him down as he

pistoned in and out of his body.

The bathroom was well stocked. His parents really hadn’t forgotten a single detail. It

was a little surprising and very alarming. How much money had they sunk into this

ceremony? Were they obligated to go this far? The thought that they would be put in a

worse situation because of this wedding made him feel sick.

Of course, if he sold the ring, it’d be a moot point. They could probably afford a

dozen weddings with enough left over to live comfortably. But that was up to him.

Maybe this was why they had never mentioned the ring or informed him of the

possibility. They truly wanted it to be his decision.

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Jag found a straight razor and foam. He made a good lather between his hands, then

smeared it over Brace’s cheeks, upper lip and chin. He didn’t mind the beard, but he

thought Brace would be very handsome without it. And he was curious about just how far

Brace would let him go. It would take a long time to grow a beard that length and

thickness, but Brace hadn’t raised a single protest to the idea of shaving it.

“Tell me a bit more about yourself,” Jag invited as he wiped away an errant bit of

foam.

“Not sure what you want to hear.”

“Well, you’re still basically a stranger to me. So anything would be interesting.”

Brace’s gaze moved from Jag’s face to the ring, and then back again. “Would you

like to hear about the ring?”

“If that’ll tell me more about you.”

“It might. The story goes that a very distant ancestor found the black pearl and made

it a gift to his bride. The marks on the ring are really their vows in a dead language. It’s

always passed on to the firstborn son, so it stays in the family.”

Jag ran the razor down Brace’s right cheek. It made a soft scraping noise against his

face, and revealed a smooth patch of skin. Jag wanted to kiss it.

“Do you believe it’s that old?”

“Might be. I can’t find anybody who can translate the words, so that seems to

support the story.”

“So it’s a priceless family heirloom and you gave it to me anyway.” Another pass of

the razor over Brace’s cheek. Another smooth piece of skin to tempt his mouth. “Why?”

“I was worried.”

Jag gently coaxed Brace’s head back, exposing the bottom of his jaw and his throat.

He moved easily beneath Jag’s fingers, and then was utterly still. “Worried? About

what?”

“That you were here against your will. The youngest son of a no-longer-affluent

family wouldn’t necessarily demand the best match.”

“So you wanted to make sure I had an out?” Jag asked softly.

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“Yes.”

“Do you have any other family?”

“No.”

So he didn’t have anybody to pass the ring to, anyway. But that hardly mattered. He

could still bequeath it to a worthy recipient on his death. He didn’t have to give it to a

stranger to turn around and sell it to another stranger. Somebody who wouldn’t appreciate

it for what it was, or cherish it, or honor it.

“What was your out?”

Brace’s gaze met Jag’s. “My out?”

“If you didn’t want to marry me. Did you need an out, or could you have just called

it off?”

“No. The contract we negotiated does not allow me to call the wedding off for any

reason.”

The tips of Jag’s damp hair tickled his cheeks as he tilted his head. Brace had risked

so much to be with him. Jag wondered if Brace wanted to be with him, or if he would

have accepted any person who would accept him. “That seems dangerous to me.”

“It was worth it to me.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Or could he ever be in love? Jag wasn’t even sure

how love worked, but he was still worried about Brace’s answer.

“You have a lot of questions.”

Another swipe of the razor, more smooth skin exposed. And a small trickle of blood.

Jag winced and reached for a towel to wipe it away. Brace didn’t move, and didn’t seem

to be in pain. “Do you mind? The question, I mean.”

“No, I don’t mind. I’ve never met anybody else I wanted to marry, if that’s what you

mean.”

“Do you want to stay married to me?”

“Yes.” The word was soft but undeniable, and a wave of satisfaction flowed through

Jag.

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He had more questions, but he held back in favor of focusing on his task. Brace

seemed to shed years with his beard, and his cheek and jaw were unmarred by scars.

Jag’s desire to kiss the other man only increased.

“What do you study?” Brace asked, his lips barely moving as Jag continued his

precise work.

“History, mostly. And mathematics. You should see how happy a book about the

history of math makes me.”

A few more careful passes with the razor exposed a full set of lips. Jag already knew

his lips were soft and the right size for kissing, but the visual evidence had an immediate

effect on him. He knew Brace noticed it too. His gaze went from Jag’s face to his

growing erection, and lingered there.

“You would have made a fine scholar,” Brace murmured.

Jag chuckled softly. “How do you know?”

“Your parents showed me the book you translated. It was impressive work for

somebody who is mostly self-taught.”

Jag nodded. Of course his parents would have done everything in their power to

make him more appealing. See how smart our son is? See how clever he is with numbers?

And languages? He’ll learn anything you need him to learn.

At the moment, he was interested in learning what made Brace tick. Could he spend

the rest of his life with this man? Or would his personality change once he had what he

wanted? As soon as Jag committed to him, he would be trapped. There wasn’t any clause

in the wedding contract that would allow him to leave. But Brace seemed genuine.

Brace held Jag’s hip, using his thumb to caress him in slow, almost hypnotic circles.

His hands were large and rough—another sign that he spent most of his time outdoors.

They were calloused, but they were gentle too. The gentleness of his touch surprised Jag.

Brace didn’t look like a gentle man. In fact, he looked like a man who could break Jag’s

smaller frame in two without blinking.

“You can still do that, you know.”

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Jag glanced up from where Brace was holding him and tried to focus on what

remained of his beard. “What?”

“Translate books. Study. Travel. Whatever you want.”

“If I stay with you, you mean.”

Brace’s grip tightened slightly, his thumb digging into Jag’s skin just a little bit

harder. “Yes. That’s what I mean. You can do whatever you like.”

Jag shaved the last patch of hair away then reached for one of the warm towels. He

dabbed the towel against Brace’s cheeks, wiping away the lather. Jag caught his breath as

he pulled the towel away, and his cock jerked again. Without speaking, he cupped his

betrothed’s face and tilted his head.

He didn’t seek out Brace’s mouth immediately. He skimmed his lips across his upper

lip, his cheeks and jaw. Each caress was soft and thin, the barest brush of contact

connecting them. Brace held still, his muscles tense, holding his breath. Even his thumb

stilled. Jag kissed his brow, and his eyes fluttered shut, allowing Jag the chance to kiss

each of his eyelids.

Jag didn’t quite understand why, but the longer he teased Brace with his mouth, the

harder he got. His cock jutted between them, the tip brushing against Brace’s stomach.

As soon as his mouth drifted closer to Brace’s again, Brace turned his head and caught

Jag’s lips. Brace traced his bottom lip with his tongue, seeking the access that Jag wanted

to grant. Jag parted his lips, welcoming Brace’s caress.

The first kiss they had shared had made Jag’s head spin. The kiss they had shared

while Brace was inside of him had made him melt. This kiss was a curious combination.

The back of his neck prickled, and so did his palms, and lips, and the bottoms of his feet.

In a way, it was like kissing an entirely new person. Before, the bristly whiskers had

scratched against his chin, providing a contrast to Brace’s soft, probing tongue. But now

there was nothing but smooth skin and a demanding mouth, and Jag didn’t know how he

was going to keep his feet.

Brace put a hand up to his face once the kiss ended, rubbing his cheek with a nod of

satisfaction. “Better than my barber usually does it.”

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“I think I bring a little something extra to the work.”

“You do. A certain passion that the barber lacks.”

Jag’s lips were still close to Brace’s, and each word was a warm puff of breath

against his face. “Not everybody can be as passionate as I am.”

Brace teased his mouth with his tongue, licking his bottom lip before drawing it

between his teeth. He nipped at the soft skin playfully before deepening the caress. If

there was one thing Jag had learned about Brace, it was that the man liked to kiss. And he

was good at it. Jag didn’t have anybody to compare him to, but he was still certain that

Brace had to be an expert. Only a man of great learning and skill could reduce him to

such an incoherent mess so quickly.

When Brace broke the kiss, Jag sank to his knees. Partly because he was weakened.

Partly because he was eager to explore other parts of Brace’s body. He didn’t know if he

could be so bold with anybody else, but Brace so obviously appreciated everything Jag

did. Jag had never felt so confident about something so alien to him.

Brace rested one hand on top of Jag’s head, but he didn’t apply any pressure, or try

to guide Jag towards anything. Jag trailed hard, sloppy kisses down Brace’s chest and

over his stomach. His skin radiated warmth, and Jag thought he could catch a trace of the

scent of green leaves and clover lingering on his body.

Jag looked up and blinked. “Your horses.”

“What?”

“That’s why you’re tan. That’s where you spend your time. In the stables, with your

horses.”

Brace nodded. “It’s spring. I’ve been training them.”

Jag ran his fingers over Brace’s muscles with new appreciation. “Could you show

me how to do that?”

“Train horses?”

“Yes.”

“If that’s what you’d like. I spend a lot of time in the spring and summer with the

horses. I rarely even return home during those months. I would appreciate the company.”

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Jag smiled, trying to imagine what his own skin would smell like if he were

surrounded by horses and clover and sunshine. Resolving to ask more questions about it

later, Jag returned to his exploration. Brace’s stomach was hard and flat, and the line

from his hip to his groin was well defined. Jag followed it with his tongue until he

reached Brace’s groin. His tight hair tickled Jag’s chin and nose, and here he didn’t smell

like clover. It was a musky, darker smell, and it triggered something in the back of Jag’s

mind. Something like hunger, only deeper.

He dragged his mouth over the top of Brace’s erection, surprised by how smooth and

soft his skin was. He tasted salty, but otherwise Jag mostly tasted soap. Until he reached

the crown. There the texture of the skin changed, and Jag ran the flat of his tongue over it

again and again, caught up in the differences, until Brace’s hand tightened on the back of

his head.

“Goddess, Jag…”

Jag looked up from beneath his lashes and smiled shyly. “Was that not okay?”

“No,” Brace said quickly. “No. It’s good. Just…I’m very sensitive.”

Jag ducked his eyes. He moved from the flat top of the crown to the tip. His

betrothed’s slit was already leaking a little bit, and Jag swiped his tongue over the slick

skin. Brace hissed, his fingers flexing against Jag’s skull. Jag didn’t know if Brace

wanted him to move faster, or if he was pleased with the pace. And he didn’t understand

how he could get so much satisfaction from this act. But his flesh was warm, his stomach

tied in pleasant knots, and his groin was tight. He gripped Brace’s cock with one hand

and wrapped the other around his own erection and began to stroke them both in an easy

rhythm.

“Oh…don’t stop. Please. Just keep doing that.”

Jag had always been the sort to lap up attention, and this time was no different. The

more Brace spoke, the bolder Jag felt, until he had his mouth completely around Brace’s

shaft, gliding between his lips and against his tongue. More pre-come leaked from the

top, and Jag tried to catch as much as possible. He stroked himself faster and harder,

trying to keep up with the soft moans and sighs coming from Brace.

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“Don’t come yet.”

Jag didn’t know how he was supposed to stop himself. He couldn’t control his

body’s responses, and the orgasm was already threatening to flood him. He couldn’t

concentrate on anything else to distract him, or to quiet his nerves. Brace surrounded him,

enveloped him—his taste, his smell, his texture, his sounds. It was a sensory overload,

and how could Jag hope to resist that?

“I’m going to…Jag…you can stop…”

But Jag didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to miss out on the entire experience. He felt

like he’d be cheating both of them if he took his mouth from Brace’s body now. Instead,

he moved lower, trying to take in all of him. He didn’t stop until the head of Brace’s cock

brushed his throat, and nearly triggered his gag reflex.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to go that deep.”

Jag nodded slightly. He understood, but it didn’t stop him from trying again. Brace

shuddered, his other hand caressing the side of Jag’s face.

“If you want to do it, relax. It’s just like swallowing anything else.”

It wasn’t quite like that. For one thing, Brace’s cock was the biggest thing Jag had

ever put in his mouth. Despite his attempt to relax, the third attempt failed as the first two

had, and Jag pulled his mouth away, gasping for breath.

“I can’t do it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“It’s not that important.”

“I want to.”

Brace regarded him for a moment before nodding. “Lay back on the floor.”

Jag didn’t understand why, but he did what Brace instructed without hesitation. Once

he was flat on his back, Brace straddled his shoulders. Jag tensed, waiting for Brace’s

weight to settle on his smaller frame, but Brace supported his own weight. The tip of his

cock brushed against Jag’s mouth, and he felt both overwhelmed and strangely

comfortable.

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“Are you okay?”

Jag nodded.

“Just let me do everything. Don’t resist me.”

“I won’t.”

Brace guided himself between Jag’s lips. Jag opened his mouth as wide as he could

and exhaled through his nose. He made sure to keep his breathing deep and even as

Brace’s shaft filled more and more of his mouth. When he reached Jag’s throat, he didn’t

stop. Not even when Jag began to gag. He kept pushing, inch by inch, until Jag’s throat

stretched around his shaft, and Brace’s balls were flush against Jag’s chin.

The sensation wasn’t unlike when Brace took him on the bed. At first it had been

overwhelming, frightening, a little painful. But it only took a few moments for his body

to adjust to the new experience.

Brace smoothed his palm over Jag’s forehead and pushed back his hair. “Do you

want me to stop now?”

Jag moved his head slightly. No.

Brace began to rock his hips. Jag closed his eyes, caught up in the sensation, but

Brace brushed the pad of his thumb over Jag’s eyelid. “Look at me.”

Jag immediately opened his eyes, and Brace pulled his cock out, giving him the

chance to catch his breath. He wiped the tip across Jag’s mouth, smearing more liquid on

his lips, before sinking into his waiting throat again. The second time was easier than the

first. And the third time was easier than that. Jag began to stroke himself again, his wrist

moving faster than Brace’s rocking hips.

When Brace slid out of his mouth again, Jag couldn’t help his moan of protest. Brace

stroked his shaft, pointing the tip towards Jag’s open lips, and then shouted as his cock

jerked and warm streams of come hit Jag’s lips, tongue, chin and cheek. The first drop of

the spunk on his tongue triggered his own orgasm, and fresh come splashed on his

stomach.

Brace wiped his thumb over Jag’s chin and brought it to his mouth. “Looks like

you’re going to have to clean up again.”

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Jag smiled. “I don’t mind.”

Brace straightened then took Jag’s hand and helped him to his feet. “Thank you.”

Smiling, Jag gestured to the drying fluid on his stomach. “I think it was literally my

pleasure.”

He responded by leaving a soft kiss on Jag’s forehead. “Are you hungry?”

“A little bit.”

“I think I heard them bringing in food while we were in here. I’ll go get our

breakfast.”

Jag nodded, waiting until he was alone before stepping back into the tub. He felt

good, satisfied, but he couldn’t ignore the weight of the ring on his finger, or the weight

of the decision he still had to make.

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Chapter Four

Jag was draped over Brace’s back, silently tracing patterns across his shoulder, and

Brace tried not to dwell on the fact that he could get used to that sort of attention. Neither

spoke, but Brace didn’t feel like he needed to say anything. They still had three hours,

and Brace was determined to enjoy the quiet minutes together as much as he enjoyed

everything else.

But it didn’t take much effort to enjoy it. Especially when he started listening to the

rhythm of Jag’s breathing and felt himself falling into the same rhythm. There had been

so many long nights when he had just wished for somebody to hold. His eyes were heavy,

but he refused to let himself sleep. There would be plenty of time to sleep after midnight,

regardless of Jag’s decision.

Now that they had spent twenty-one uninterrupted hours together, Brace knew two

things to be true. He didn’t want to go home without this boy, and he didn’t regret giving

Jag the ring. If nothing else, he deserved to be happy, and the ring would buy him that

opportunity. No matter what Jag did with the ring, Brace could feel good knowing that he

had made the right decision.

“Why are you so quiet?” Jag asked, the words blurring together a little.

“You’ve worn me out.”

“Are you feeling rested yet?”

Brace chuckled. “Why? Haven’t you had enough?”

“No. But it won’t kill me to rest for a bit longer.”

“I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have that much energy. You’re making me

feel old.”

Jag kissed his shoulder. “You don’t seem that old to me. I was just thinking…being

cooped up in the same room for twenty-four hours is a bit…annoying. Even if the

company is nice. I haven’t been able to leave the house in the past week.”

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“Because of all the wedding preparations?”

“Yeah. They wouldn’t even let me take a walk. I pointed out that nobody’s going to

try to kidnap me and make me marry a barbarian, but you know, tradition.”

“I know.” Brace rolled over and pushed the hair off Jag’s face. Jag hadn’t bothered

to tie it back again, and Brace preferred that it hang loose around his ears. “There is

literally a guard outside the door.”

Jag’s eyes lit up. “But there’s not one outside the window.”

“You’ve got a bit of mischief in you, don’t you?”

The smile he offered would have looked innocent if his eyes weren’t still twinkling.

“I’m the youngest son. My parents let me get away with more than a bit of mischief.

Unless you don’t want to?”

“I think I might enjoy a bit of fresh air.”

They bypassed the complicated wedding clothes in favor of the more comfortable

lounging outfits left for their convenience. Jag pulled the heavy curtains open, and Brace

wasn’t surprised to see the moon was hanging over the horizon, fat and blue. When he

pushed the window open, the night breeze was heavy with the scent of blossoms and cut

grass. The purple and green smell rested heavily on his tongue.

“After you,” Brace said.

Jag put one leg over the window ledge and paused. “You’re not going to lock me

out, are you?”

“Never.”

There was about eight feet between the window and the ground, but Jag made the

jump gracefully, his knees bending as he landed. He looked a little wild with his baggy

clothes and long hair. Brace followed without hesitation, landing easily in the soft grass.

“Where to?”

Jag surprised him by curling his fingers around Brace’s hand and giving him a gentle

tug. The boy might have been in training to be a scholar, but he moved through the night

silently. He was sleek. Brace felt lumbering and bulky beside him, but if Jag noticed how

clumsy he was, he didn’t give any indication.

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As soon as they stepped away from the house’s high walls, the soft breeze from the

sea caressed the back of Brace’s neck. He heard the waves splashing against the hard

black sand, and it was hard to believe the shoreline was actually several minutes away.

He felt like he could glance over his shoulder and see the broad plain of silver water

stretching away from him. The blue moon sailed through a cloudless sky, and if Brace

squinted, he could see the much smaller partner moon, orbiting far out into space.

Jag led him further from the house, and long witch-hair moss brushed Brace’s

shoulders from the trees. They felt like hair, and looked like phantoms dancing in the

light breeze. The moss made Brace nervous, especially when it fluttered in the corner of

his eye. He had never walked through it before, and Jag didn’t know a life without it.

“I know a spot. We just have to cut through the pasture.”

It was on the tip of Brace’s tongue to ask what the spot was for, when he saw the

silhouette of the horse against the pasture fence. It looked like a perfectly normal horse,

but its right foreleg was lifted, and each time the animal put it down he immediately lifted

it again.

“Wait a minute, please.”

Jag glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“That horse. Come here.”

Jag didn’t resist as Brace led him across the pasture to the lame horse. He moved

towards the animal, careful not to startle it or spook it into fleeing. The horse lifted its

head, watching him warily, but it didn’t seem interested in running. Brace doubted it

could, even if it wanted to.

Brace didn’t have to tell Jag to be quiet. He crept forward at Brace’s side, but he

could tell Jag wasn’t entirely comfortable with the beast. He wondered if Jag had any

experience with horses at all.

“Just stay back in case he jumps,” Brace murmured.

Jag nodded and came to a stop. Brace hunkered down beside the horse and reached

for the foot. He hoped it was nothing serious, because he didn’t have anything to treat it.

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He would send Jag to the stables if he had to, but if Jag didn’t have any experience with

horses, he might not even know what to look for in the tack room.

Brace squinted in the dim light, running his fingers over the horse’s foot. He brushed

against something hard embedded just below the shoe. It seemed like a pebble to Brace,

but it was impossible to tell for sure. He could feel the horse quivering, and knew the

animal wanted to bolt. As soon as he freed whatever was causing it discomfort, he’d have

to get out of the way.

He managed to grip the pebble between his finger and thumb, and gave it a good tug.

It took a second attempt to loosen it and a third attempt to finally pull it free of the

horse’s foot. The animal whinnied and Brace released its leg. As he suspected, as soon as

he let go, the horse tested its weight and then galloped away.

“What was that about?”

Brace held open his palm. “He just had a sore foot.” Jag continued to stare at him

with a furrowed brow, and Brace smiled self-consciously. “The horse will be fine.”

“What if it had been something other than a pebble?”

Brace shrugged. “Then I would have fixed it. It wouldn’t be easy in the dark, but

fortunately, you were here. You could have gone to the stables if it had been serious

enough.”

“What if you didn’t know how to fix it?”

“I would have. Now, weren’t you going to show me your spot? And I don’t mean

that in a dirty way. Unless you did.”

The frown between Jag’s eyes disappeared and his playful smile returned. “Maybe I

did, a little. Come on.”

Brace took his hand again. He scanned the rest of the field as Jag led him closer to a

grove of trees, watching the horses as they ate and slept. Their ears twitched as Brace and

Jag passed, but otherwise the horses didn’t acknowledge them at all. He was able to pick

out the horse he had just helped—it was still favoring his foot, but it was moving and

eating with the rest of the herd.

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He lost sight of the horses as Jag guided them under low-hanging branches. The trees

were thick and difficult to walk through, but Jag knew the trail well, and he never slowed.

Brace had to duck a few times to keep from getting slapped in the face. They emerged in

a small clearing. There wasn’t anything special about the spot, except the way Jag smiled

as soon as he broke through the trees.

“You don’t want to leave here, do you?” Brace asked softly.

“No. I don’t.”

Brace wanted to tell him that they could visit, if he wanted. That he had land Jag

could explore, and experience, and own. It wasn’t the same as his childhood home, but it

would still be nice.

“I don’t know if I’d want to leave either. This place probably looks even better

during the day.”

“It does.”

Jag walked the perimeter of the clearing with slow strides, but Brace remained where

he was. The pebble from the horse’s foot was still in his hand, and he bounced it against

his palm, the sharp point hitting the base of his thumb.

“We could go to the stables, if you want.”

Brace shook his head. “We don’t have to. I like it here.”

When Jag passed him on his circuit, Brace reached for his arm, pulling him to a stop.

Jag’s eyes were dark and unfathomable in the dim light, and Brace’s heart twisted a little

bit. He could grow to love this young man, given the smallest chance.

“No matter what happens later, I’m glad we had tonight. I’m glad you brought me

here.”

Jag smiled. “I’m glad too. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t…it wasn’t a

man like you.”

The ground vibrated as the herd on the other side of the trees broke into a gallop. The

vibrations traveled up through Brace’s feet and legs, and he tightened his grip on Jag’s

arm. It would be easier to hear the truth out here, Brace decided, in the fresh air and the

moonlight.

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“Have you made your decision?”

Jag looked away. With a gentle tug, he was free again and roaming through the

clearing. Brace didn’t follow, afraid his disappointment would lead him to lash out

somehow. How could he not lash out when the disappointment was something that bit

into him with rows of sharp fangs? Perhaps Jag had planned this the whole time. He was

clearly curious about, and interested in, sex. Experimenting with Brace would have been

the safest way to deal with his questions and frustrations. Then he could take the ring,

save his family and move into the Temple.

It was logical, but it was cold. Could Jag really be that cold? Brace didn’t think so.

The younger man was too open, his eyes too warm, his body too innocent to be used in

such a deceitful way.

He didn’t want to let Jag go without a fight, but Brace wasn’t sure what else he could

offer. Jag had his flesh, and his ring, could have his heart if he wanted it, and everything

else Brace owned.

“I had so many questions before we met,” Jag said, from across the clearing. His

voice was soft, but the sound carried easily in the still night. “About you. About being

married. About turning away from the priesthood.”

“Do you have any answers now?”

“I think I might. Except…” Jag crossed the clearing and stood in front of him. “I

don’t know anything about horses.”

Brace frowned, waiting for clarification, but Jag just looked at him. “Do you want to

learn?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll be easy enough to teach you.”

Jag nodded, then pulled the pearl ring from his finger. The silver band reflected the

moonlight, and there was a sheen of gray over the smooth black jewel. Jag took Brace’s

hand, pulling his fingers open, and the ring joined the pebble in the center. “Here.”

Brace looked down, confused. “This is yours.”

“No. It belongs to you and your family.”

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“But…”

“I don’t have any right to it. Not right now, at any rate. It’s passed down to the oldest

son, and you shouldn’t break that tradition.”

“I’m not going to have a son.”

“Not through traditional means, no. But there are plenty of boys who need a home. I

see them at the Temple, hoping to find a place to sleep at night. We could adopt one. Or

more.”

“We…” Brace looked up, meeting Jag’s eyes. “You’re staying? You’re going to

complete the ceremony?”

“Of course. I…”

Jag didn’t even finish speaking before Brace wrapped his arms around him,

engulfing him in an overwhelming embrace. Jag didn’t resist being pulled against Brace’s

body, and he didn’t resist when Brace claimed his mouth, and he didn’t resist the long,

hard kiss. He didn’t even resist when Brace guided him down to the soft grass without

breaking the kiss.

Jag’s body was more familiar now, and Brace knew every spot he wanted to touch

and taste. He knew each sensitive point, and he pushed his hands under Jag’s clothes,

seeking out his smooth skin. Jag sighed against his mouth, softly surrendering to Brace’s

onslaught. The ring and pebble fell unheeded to the ground as Brace ran his fingers over

Jag’s chest, seeking out the nipples that were already hardening in the cool air.

Brace rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, alternately pinching and

caressing. Each time he applied a little pressure, Jag shuddered and swayed closer. Brace

knew he should wait until they got back to the room, but he couldn’t pull himself away

from Jag’s lips. His cock was hard—he was hard before they kissed. Just being near Jag

was enough to make him erect, make his body thrum with excitement.

Jag reached between them and wrapped his fingers around the outline of Brace’s

shaft, prompting a soft moan from both of them.

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“I want to know you’re mine,” Brace said against his mouth. Mine was too

simplistic. He wanted more than that. Mine was the perfect summation of all his desires

and feelings. He couldn’t have wanted more than that if he lived for another century.

“I am.”

The words sent a ribbon of electricity down his spine. It was just a simple,

straightforward declaration, but it was worth more to Brace than any ceremony or any

gift. He knew there were still steps they had to follow before they belonged to each other

formally and legally, but he didn’t care. As soon as Jag said those words, Brace

considered himself married. Bonded.

“I’m yours, Jag. My whole life is yours.”

“Nobody’s ever been mine before.” Jag pushed his shoulder gently until Brace was

forced to lie back on the ground. Jag knelt above him, studying the shape of Brace’s

body. The moon hovered behind him, casting his face into shadows. Brace couldn’t even

see his eyes. “I’m glad you’re you, Brace Rivers.”

“As opposed to somebody else?” The ground was cool against his back, and the

night dew seeped into his thin clothes.

“Yes. I don’t think I would like a different Brace Rivers as much as I like you.”

Brace smiled. “I don’t think I’d like a different Jag Martin as much as I like you.”

Jag straddled him, gently pressing against Brace’s erection. Brace put both hands on

his back and pulled him forward, until their lips were almost touching. He liked having

the weight of this boy—his husband—settled on his body. He liked the way his skin

smelled with the night air, and the coolness of his mouth when they finally kissed. He

sampled Jag’s lips with his tongue, testing the texture, thinking of all the ways he could

kiss and touch Jag in the future. A future that only a few hours before didn’t seem

possible at all.

“You ever kiss anybody before?” Brace asked.

Jag smiled against his mouth. “Why? Am I really bad at it?”

“No. You’re really good.”

“I must have a good teacher, then.”

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Jag sat up, fumbling and pushing Brace’s pants out of the way. The cool air glancing

across Brace’s cock drew a sharp sigh from him. Brace hooked his fingers around Jag’s

pants and pulled them down his hips and thighs, exposing Jag’s cock to his hands and

eyes. Brace grasped both of their cocks, sliding them together, holding hot flesh against

hot flesh.

Jag shuddered. “Goddess. I can’t believe how good that feels.”

Neither could Brace. Jag’s skin felt like warmed satin against his, and Jag trembled

with each stroke. Brace swiped his thumb across the heads, mingling the thin, salty fluid,

and it was his turn to shiver with pleasure. Once Brace slid his hand down their shafts,

Jag palmed the sensitive tip of Brace’s cock. He rubbed the flesh directly, smearing the

pre-come, and applying more and more pressure until Brace writhed beneath him, torn

between begging for more and pleading with Jag to stop.

“You’re killing me…” Brace gasped.

“I like the way you feel.”

The combination of his own hand, Jag’s hand, and the friction created between their

shafts was enough to make Brace’s eyes roll back. Pleasure wrapped tighter and tighter

around the two of them, until Brace had difficulty breathing.

“I know…I know…I like the way you feel too. But you’re going to make me come if

you keep this up.”

The look Jag gave him was complete innocence. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Come here.”

Brace gripped the back of Jag’s neck and drew him forward until their chests

touched and their mouths came together again. Brace wanted to feel Jag’s ass sinking

down on his shaft, but he knew Jag wouldn’t be ready for that without lubricant. He loved

the way Jag’s body arched when he rode Brace’s cock, and the hungry sounds he made,

and the way his body tightened. The desire for more only increased as Jag rocked,

building friction and heat as his shaft moved against Brace’s.

Brace didn’t feel the hard ground beneath him. All he felt was Jag’s solid weight, his

long body, his smooth skin and the moans that seemed to vibrate through Jag’s chest.

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“I want you inside of me.”

Brace groaned. “I want to, but we can’t. Not unless we go back.”

“No, I want you now.”

“Jag…”

“Please.”

“I’ll need to get you ready. Turn around and straddle my shoulders.”

Jag stood, kicked off his pants and resettled on Brace’s chest, facing away from him.

Brace reached beneath the shirt Jag still wore and ran his fingers down his lover’s straight

spine. He felt different to the touch. Brace thought it was because they were outside, and

Jag belonged outside, away from the stuffy house and rigid expectations he didn’t know

how to break. With his hand against Jag’s back, he pushed forward until the boy stretched

over Brace’s body. Jag’s hot mouth closed around Brace’s cock without further

prompting, and Brace had to bite back his shout. Jag’s mouth felt divine, like Brace had

no right to experience this sort of pleasure outside of heaven. Jag’s tongue seemed to be

everywhere, the flat of it moving up and down his shaft over and over. He was thorough,

and Brace thought he’d never loved anything as much as he loved Jag’s mouth. It was

perfect. His tongue was perfect. His lips were perfect. Brace was just thankful that Jag

was so willing to use his mouth.

He had meant it when he said that he was happy Jag was Jag, and not somebody else.

The pressure of his lips, the texture of his skin, the warmth of his mouth, wouldn’t have

been nearly as amazing on anybody else. Jag’s curiosity, his thoughtfulness, his

dedication, his good humor and his kind spirit set the young man apart from anybody else

Brace had ever known.

Possibly the only thing he loved as much as Jag’s mouth was his ass. He gripped

Jag’s hips and dragged him backwards to close his mouth over Jag’s pucker. Holding

Jag’s cheeks apart with his thumbs, he slowly and deliberately fucked him with his

tongue. He alternated his tongue with his fingers, pushing in and out of his tight flesh

with the same thoughtful rhythm. He wanted to be sure Jag was slick and stretched, ready

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for him, able to take all of Brace’s length. He didn’t want to hurt Jag—he never wanted

to hurt Jag.

Brace knew Jag was ready for more when he began to shift his hips back, trying to

force Brace to move faster. He pulled his mouth away and pushed three fingers into Jag’s

hole. His flesh clenched around him. Jag responded by lowering his mouth on Brace’s

shaft until his nose was resting against Brace’s balls. Brace moved his fingers until he

found that spot that would always make Jag cry out. His shout vibrated through the roof

of his mouth and down Brace’s cock, making his balls pull up into his body. Aching for

more, he curved his fingers again, until they were both trembling with the force of Jag’s

muffled cries.

Brace eased his fingers from Jag’s body and squeezed his thigh lightly. “Turn around

here.”

Jag didn’t need to be told twice. The tips of his hair tickled Brace’s face as Jag

positioned himself once again, allowing Brace’s slick cock to slide between his full

cheeks. He lifted and lowered his hips, rubbing against Brace’s shaft. Brace looked up to

the stars, watching them swirl in a lazy circle. They tugged at his body, until he was

swirling too.

Jag’s patience snapped first. He positioned Brace’s blunt tip at his opening, slowly

working the crown into his passage.

“Just go slow,” Brace cautioned.

Jag nodded, his fingers curling into Brace’s shoulders. Brace held him gently, but

didn’t try to control the speed or the force of their joining. He let Jag move at a

comfortable pace, fascinated by the way the moon and shadows played on Jag’s face as

he sank onto Brace’s shaft. He looked wild, like he had never seen anything as boring and

civilized as a book or a temple. He looked like an ancient warrior, his blood pulsing with

the cry of battle, and his flesh responding to the earth’s rhythm, its pull and resistance.

Neither one of them could breathe, and they were both silent. Jag didn’t break the silence

until he was fully seated.

“Oh Goddess…oh my Goddess…Brace…”

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“I know…I know…”

This felt like their first time together, and it felt better than their first time. He knew

exactly what Jag’s ass felt like clenched around his cock, but he still didn’t know what to

expect. And in a way, Brace had never let anybody this close, with so few walls between

them. His emotions were stripped naked and plain on his face, and Jag must have been

able to read every thought and feeling, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to try to hide

anything from Jag. He could only hope Jag would hide nothing from him.

Jag waited for countless seconds before he began to move. But he didn’t rise up on

Brace’s shaft. Instead, he rotated his hips, grinding against Brace, creating the most exact,

excruciating friction. He didn’t seem to want to separate from Brace at all, or lose even

an inch of his length, and that was fine with Brace. His heart matched Jag’s, his flesh

throbbing with Jag’s pulse. He wanted Jag to feel it too. He wanted Jag to understand that

everything between them was stripped down to its most basic, primal essence. But this

wasn’t anything he could express with words, so he took one hand from Jag’s hips and

twined their fingers together. Jag squeezed his hand, a short, reassuring motion that told

Brace everything he needed to know.

Jag’s lips met his, sealing their mouths together. They both moaned when their

tongues touched, and the contact sent jolts down Brace’s spine. He was desperate for Jag

to begin moving. His grip on Jag’s hips tightened, and he forced the younger man up one

slow inch at a time before guiding him back down. Jag allowed himself to be moved,

while Brace found the rhythm he was looking for. Soon, they were moving together

effortlessly, the pleasure building in Brace’s body until he wasn’t sure he could contain it

all.

One word thrummed through his mind as Jag rocked against him—mine, mine, mine.

There would be no walking away from this boy, no leaving him. Brace would keep him

as long as Jag wanted him.

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The suite felt stuffy and small compared to the grove, and Jag couldn’t wait to

escape its confines again. He remained still as Brace carefully re-buttoned his heavy

jacket, his clever fingers moving up the garment much quicker than they had moved

down it. He was perfectly capable of dressing himself, but Brace insisted on helping,

beginning with lacing up his pants, and ending by brushing the lint and hair from the

material. He worked with a furrowed brow, but Jag could see the smile lurking in his

eyes.

In the full twenty-four hours they’d spent together, Jag hadn’t once seen Brace this

happy. The man he had met had been self-conscious and nervous, his eagerness in his

eyes and in his touch. But Brace was relaxed now, and he moved with a grace Jag had

suspected but hadn’t witnessed until that point.

Brace stepped back and gazed approvingly at Jag. “You look perfect. But…” His

smile turned into a frown. “There’s something missing. Where’s your hair-tie?”

“I think it’s in the bathroom. Wait a minute.”

The small leather tie was on the side of the tub. Jag wasn’t sure how it got there, but

he had found one shoe under the bed and the other on the table, and his jacket on the

floor, and his pants by the window. Clothes had been flung from one end of the bedroom

to the other as soon as they returned from their walk. He pulled his hair back and secured

it, then studied himself in the dressing mirror.

He looked the same. To his parents, he would look like the same young man who

had entered the marriage chamber. His eyes were the same color. His hair was the same

length. He filled out his wedding suit exactly as he had before. Jag couldn’t locate a

single physical difference, yet he felt like a completely different man. A spouse instead of

a priest, a partner instead of alone, no longer an innocent, no longer confused.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Brace was standing with his back to him,

struggling with his own jacket. Jag wanted to help with the dozens of gold buttons, but he

didn’t make a move forward. He watched Brace’s broad shoulders shrug beneath the

jacket, and noticed the way his hair curled over his collar. He seemed to take up so much

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of the room, and Jag knew that if he had met Brace under other circumstances, like at the

Temple, he would have been intimidated. Or even frightened.

And now, he was calmly watching the other man dress.

This was his life now.

Jag braced himself against the wall, his head swirling as that knowledge sank into his

flesh. Brace was his life now, and once he stepped out of the room without the pearl ring

in his hand, it would be official. They had to exchange a few simple vows, sign the legal

documents, and then he would no longer belong in his family home, in his own bedroom.

“Jag?” Brace looked over his shoulder. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine. I’m just…this is really big. I thought I was ready for everything and then it

just struck me. This…this step is huge.”

“Being married?”

“Yes. This is probably…no. Not probably. This is the biggest change of my life.”

Brace turned around, and Jag couldn’t help but notice that his jaw was already dark

with stubble. He needed to shave again, but there wasn’t time. They only had a quarter of

an hour left to dress themselves.

“It’s not too late, Jag. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Jag shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you.”

Brace crossed the room and put a steadying hand on Jag’s shoulder. His grip was

firm, but gentle. He cupped Jag’s chin with his other hand, his thumb caressing Jag’s

bottom lip. “I know it’s a little scary. I’m still a little scared too.”

Brace’s touch, combined with his voice, soothed Jag more than any words could

have. He knew they were both nervous, and that people went through this strange fear

every single day. He wasn’t special. But Brace was there, at his side without question or

hesitation. Jag looked up through his lashes, studying the older man’s concerned face,

and his ribs constricted. Or his heart expanded. Maybe his chest was just too small a

cage.

“I think this is just delayed reaction to the stress. I’m feeling better now.”

“Are you sure?”

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Jag nodded. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m just…excited and nervous. I don’t

think I’ve ever quite felt anything like this.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You’ve never been married before.”

“Neither have you, and you’re not pale and shaking.”

Brace smiled. “I was yesterday. But I was more scared that I wouldn’t get married.”

Jag glanced at the clock. Just twelve more minutes, and Brace still needed to put on

his boots and comb his hair. Jag didn’t want him to walk away just yet, and he wrapped

his arm around his waist. Brace didn’t protest, or try to step away.

“Do you think it will be difficult to put our lives together? You might get annoyed

with having me under foot all the time.”

“I’ll never get annoyed with you. Besides, my house is big enough for several

families to live comfortably. If you’re worried there’s not enough room for you, don’t

be.”

Jag didn’t even have enough belongings to take up a single bedroom. He wasn’t

worried about not having enough room. He wasn’t worried about being comfortable. Jag

just knew it would rip him apart if Brace ever grew tired of him.

He skimmed his mouth over Brace’s jaw, the stubble tickling his lips. “I should let

you finish getting ready.”

“You’re fine, though?”

“I’m fine.” Jag released him and smiled. “I am.”

Brace studied him, and then nodded as if he approved of what he saw on Jag’s face.

Jag remained leaning against the wall as Brace perched on the edge of the bed and pulled

one long boot over his leg.

“Do you want to go straight to my home?”

Jag tilted his head. “Where else could we go?”

“I have a friend who has a very nice home. He doesn’t use it this time of year, and

it’s not far from here. We could spend a few days there. Or more.”

“Spend a few days there like we spent the last day here?”

“Unless you think you can’t handle any more good food, lazing around and sex.”

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“I think I could handle a bit more of that, yes.”

Brace offered his hand and Jag took it, their fingers folding together. The ring on

Brace’s finger pressed against Jag’s flesh, and he had to admit that the black pearl did

look much better on Brace. Like he had been born to wear it.

“Are you ready?”

“I am.”

Brace paused at the door and smiled at him. It was the sort of smile that could make

everything better. Jag knew his husband was not physically perfect, but at that moment,

he had never seen anything more beautiful. Not even the statue of the Goddess that had

stolen his breath could surpass the beauty he saw in Brace. He is mine. And I am rich in

having such a jewel.

The only man he can trust is the killer he can’t stop thinking about.

Walk Among Us

A Calling of Souls story.

As an artist in New York City, Calvin Shumacher finally has the life he’s always

wanted. In fact, only one thing can get him to come back to Illinois—his father’s funeral.

All he wants is to bury his dad and hightail it back to New York, but a sniper at the

graveyard puts those plans on indefinite hold.

So does Matthew Soto. The gorgeous gunman who speaks of monsters wearing

human faces. And predicts there won’t be a body for police to find.

Calvin doesn’t know what to think when Matthew claims he didn’t do anything

wrong. All he knows is that this man’s haunted eyes seem to pierce right into his soul.

But as each of Matthew’s assertions comes true, Calvin slowly realizes this killer

could be the only thing standing between him and an unspeakable evil…

Warning: Contains explicit m/m sex, violence, and an ex-priest wondering how he

can change the world.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Walk Among Us:

He never would have found the house on his own. Maybe if his rental had GPS in it,

he could have done it. But the directions Matthew dictated to him over the phone had him

pulling off the highway ten minutes outside of Watson Park, and then winding down a

two-lane road with tall trees on both sides. Dusk stole what little sunlight filtered through

the branches. By the time he found the driveway, the partly cloudy sky was nearly pitch

black.

Matthew lived in a two-story farmhouse, complete with small barn set further back

on the property. The porch light was on, illuminating the porch that ran the length of the

house. Screens protected it from the night bugs, but it was the figure sitting on the top

step that Calvin noticed as he bounced up the dirt drive.

His forearms rested on his knees, and his obsidian gaze tracked the car’s path as it

came to a stop. Matthew didn’t stand when Calvin got out, and he didn’t rise as he

approached.

“The body’s gone.” Calvin didn’t bother with a greeting. “Just like you said.”

“Did you doubt me?”

“How was I supposed to believe you?”

The cant of his mouth might have been a trick of the light. “It’s funny how an artist

can find faith in beauty, but not in the word.”

An odd choice of phrase, Calvin thought. But it didn’t change the fact that Matthew

hadn’t answered his question.

“The police never identified him. How did you know that?”

“I’ve already answered these questions. Asking me again isn’t going to change what

I said.”

When Matthew rose and turned to go back into the house, Calvin darted forward and

grabbed his arm. He yanked him back, forcing their eyes to meet, but didn’t let go, even

when he felt just how hard the muscle was within his grip.

“You said he wasn’t human. A monster. Tell me what that means and I’ll leave you

alone.”

The smile this time was no illusion. “That’s not exactly incentive,” Matthew said

softly. “I like your company.”

Though the other man hadn’t moved, Calvin felt the pressure of a foot against his

own, a ghost of a memory taking form without any additional contact. “Then let’s try

this. Tell me what that means and I’ll stay.”

The offer took Matthew by surprise. His nostrils flared, and his gaze ducked to the

hold Calvin still maintained on his arm. Calvin thought that might be it, that he’d pushed

too far and Matthew was going to either snap or make it more than necessary for him to

leave.

Neither happened.

“What it means is exactly what I said. There’s no body because it never really

existed. The monsters I mentioned are literal, not metaphorical.”

The chilly night cut into Calvin’s lungs with each breath, but it wasn’t enough to

make him retreat to the warmth of his car. Neither was the answer that wasn’t really an

answer.

“I saw it,” he argued. “We all saw it. The police hauled it away.”

“But you didn’t know it. Nobody recognized him.”

“And you’re saying you did?”

“I’m saying…” His voice drifted away, his gaze softening as he weighed his words.

Matthew took a deep breath and looked off into the darkness, focused on something else,

something that wasn’t Calvin. “I see things that aren’t human. Demons. Almost every

time I get in a crowd of more than a handful of people. Like yesterday.”

Calvin shook his head. “I don’t believe in demons.”

“No, of course you don’t.” The eyes that swiveled back to meet his were soft and

sad. “You’re an artist. You see shapes. Forms. Color. You believe in beauty, not the

blackness that walks among us. You’re lucky that way.”

“You make your own luck.”

“Really? You don’t think what you have is a gift?”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with luck.”

“But it does. How many people do you think see the world the way you do? You

look around, and you see your own art.” A smile haunted his mouth. “I’d bet you even

look at me and don’t see what’s real.”

Calvin swallowed against the tightness of his throat. That sense of being transparent

Matthew had evoked at the diner was back. Added to the flush of desire that refused to go

away, it left him struggling to maintain his composure.

“Can you even imagine something not nearly as pleasant?” Matthew continued.

“What if you saw evil coalesce into something tangible, something that looked real but

wasn’t? Something that wore a human face but fed on our grief until it destroyed

everything it touched. Hatred. Death. The destruction of everything good and decent

about the world we walk in. When I talk about monsters, about evil, that’s what I mean.

Demons.” He sucked in a deep breath. “You might see a blank canvas, waiting for you to

fill it, but that’s what I see, every single day.”

He spoke with the low, fervent passion of a believer. Calvin had heard many such

speeches from others, though the topic might vary. Two days earlier, he would have

walked away from the crazy and not looked back.

He still should. Because crazy had a way of infecting when you least expected it to.

Two days ago, he’d been a different man. He hadn’t been touched by this murder/not

a murder. He hadn’t yet watched his father get lowered into the ground. He hadn’t stared

into eyes that looked like they’d witnessed hell itself.

Hell itself. Demons. Walking among us.

A man who didn’t see shapes and forms and colors that might not be there wouldn’t

believe him.

This man wasn’t sure that he did anyway.

But he wanted to.

One night, no defenses…

No Fear in Love

A Calling of Souls story.

Weston Scott is happy with his simple, quiet life in a small English village. Yet he is

haunted by deeply closeted yearnings, a secret he has shared with only one person. His

best friend, Mark. As a constant reminder to guard his own heart, Weston wears an

emerald ring on his hand.

Mark Goudy has a secret of his own, one that drove him to live far away in London

rather than betray his best friend’s trust: He’s always been in love with Weston. Now he’s

back, but not for a friendly visit. Mark’s through denying his emotions.

And if he can manage to slip that ring off Weston’s finger for one night, he’s sure

things will change. For both of them.

Warning: This title contains explicit M/M content and tender seduction that strips

away all defenses.

Enjoy the following excerpt for No Fear in Love:

“I think…we should try for the bed again.”

Mark let him go, dragging his hot palms over the twitching muscles of Weston’s

stomach as he slowly straightened. His irises had been devoured in black, and his breath

quickened enough to be hot and heavy against Weston’s neck. But it was the hunger that

gleamed in the depths, the need that kept him pinned to the wall, that left him speechless.

“I get in that bed, and there won’t be any kicking me out tonight,” Mark warned.

“But I promise you, Wes. It’ll be the best bloody night of your life.”

Weston appreciated that Mark was still giving him the chance to end this before it

went any further. His orgasm hadn’t dampened his desire. If anything, it was sharper

now, more demanding. He wasn’t perfect. He was mere flesh and blood, prone to

mistakes. His catalogue of sins flashed through his mind, great and small. He had done

many things he hadn’t been proud of. He had lied to his parents, he had taken the Lord’s

name in vain, and some days he was crippled with envy over a life he could never have.

He had been spiteful and petty. He had been thoughtless. He knew about mistakes. This

didn’t feel like a mistake. He didn’t know what it felt like, exactly, but it didn’t feel

wrong. Not anymore.

This time he instigated the kiss, drawing Mark closer even as he shuffled to the bed.

Mark wrapped his arms around Weston’s back the second before they toppled onto

the mattress, legs tangled for the few moments it took Wes to kick off his pants. Mark’s

hands traced over the muscles, down his spine until they cupped Weston’s ass, grinding

their groins together with a desperation that had been missing in their earlier groping. Not

once did their mouths part. Each time Wes thought he would need to gasp for air, Mark

would tilt his lips at a slightly different angle, affording just the faintest of cracks for

breath to rush into his lungs. It left no doubts as to what he wanted. It only cemented

what Wes did.

Weston tore at Mark’s shirt, desperate to push it out of his way. Mark’s muscles

twitched as soon as Wes touched his bare skin, and a thrill raced from his fingertips to the

base of his spine. He had seen Mark in various states of undress over the years. He had

never been a shy or modest person. Weston had always forced himself to be satisfied with

casual, friendly gestures—a tap on the back, a handshake, a steadying arm around his

narrow shoulders. He had been tempted to prolong the contact a few times. Now he could

touch as much as he wanted. Weston rolled without breaking the kiss until Mark was

settled on top of him, and he could free him of his clothes without hindrance.

The first touch of his trembling fingers on Mark’s cock made both of them jump.

“You see what you do to me?” Mark propped himself up on his knuckles, powerful

biceps taut, and rocked his hips back and forth so that he left a slick trail of pre-come

along Weston’s stomach. “You’ve got no idea how much I’m holding back from just

pounding into you, Wes.”

It took a moment for Weston to find his voice, and when he did, the words were

hoarse. “Don’t hold back. We might…I don’t know if this can happen again. So don’t

hold yourself back.”

For a moment, Mark’s eyes darkened, but almost as quickly as it occurred, the

familiar spark returned. The wicked smile that had led several men astray trained on Wes

now, Mark’s intent clear.

“You want me to bury my cock in you, is that it?” Mark tilted his body even more,

allowing the wet tip to drag down Weston’s shaft. At the base, he shifted upward again,

keeping the friction slow and even. “I don’t hold back, and you’re going to be screaming

my name.”

Weston had no idea what it would feel like to be fucked, and a part of him was more

than a little worried that it would hurt. He didn’t care. He wanted it. His whole body

wanted it. He wanted to fold his arms and legs around Mark and let the other man fill

him.

He nodded. “Yes. That’s what I want.”

Without lowering his chest again, Mark bowed his head to seek out Weston’s mouth.

His teeth caught the lower lip, and he sucked at it as their cocks continued to rub against

each other.

“Turnabout’s fair play,” he whispered. “If all I get is tonight, I want you in me too. I

won’t have to wonder anymore what you feel like smothering me into a bed, then.”

Weston tried to imagine what it would be like to do exactly what Mark was

suggesting…demanding. Maybe it would be like his mouth, except tighter and hotter, and

Mark’s whole body would be flexing beneath his, rising to meet him, holding him. The

two of them joined, sharing the same passion and ecstasy. Sharing everything between

their bodies. The sort of union that shouldn’t have been possible for him. The sort of

union he should not have needed. Or wanted.

The sort of union he had always known was possible with his best friend.

“Anything you want.”

Mark stilled. Weston tore his attention away from the succulent mouth that was now

depriving him of kisses to see Mark’s eyes boring into his.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly firm. “Anything we want. I’m not just taking here,

Wes. I won’t do that. Not to you.”

Torn apart by Fate. Reunited by a wish.

If Wishes Were Horses

A Land of the Fey story.

The Fey civil war has ended, but some of the remaining wounds are still raw. Not the

least of which is a rift suffered between Alaric, a respected Forge Master, and Lord

Valerian, Captain of the Queen’s Guard. Alaric, horrifically scarred during the course of

the conflict, feels his disfigurement is an insurmountable barrier between him and his

lover.

Alaric’s best friend Lily knows, left alone, Alaric and Valerian will never resolve

their issues. She has her own reasons for playing matchmaker, and since patience isn’t

her strong suit, she decides it’s time for some gentle interference. The upcoming

Reconciliation Ball will be the perfect opportunity, for at this ball a gift will be given to

everyone who attends—the granting of one wish.

But Lily isn’t the only one playing a game with other people’s lives. One wish will

set in motion a chain of events that will bring them all face to face with the past, the

future…and the truth.

Warning: Hot male/male sex. Make sure your computer is surge protected!

Enjoy the following excerpt for If Wishes Were Horses:

In his hands, the sword trembled. He was an artisan not a soldier. The blade reflected

the dying embers of the fire, glowing a dull orange. A fairy weapon forged in steel. He

had achieved the impossible, as requested. The burns on his hands—not from the heat,

but from the magic infused in the metal itself—would take weeks to heal completely.

They would expect him to do this over and over again, until the war was finished. If he

were lucky, he wouldn’t be permanently crippled.

In a sudden move, he struck to the right. The sword scythed through the air,

humming with power—his finest work.

The sound of clapping had him stumbling backwards and hastily sheathing the

weapon.

Lord Valerian lounged in the entrance to Alaric’s workroom at the forge, one foot

casually crossed over the other, arms comfortably folded across his chest. His silver

hair—usually caught in a tight military braid—fell unrestrained almost to his waist, the

points of his ears peeking out provocatively as he moved.

Alaric swallowed. An arrow of heat fired straight to his groin. The two of them had

seen each other often over the past few months, each meeting more charged than the last.

For all that his skills were valued and needed, he was far below Valerian in rank. Their

courtship—if that’s what it was—flouted convention. It had come to the point where

Alaric dreaded and yearned for the next encounter with equal fervor.

The lordling pushed off from the doorway and gestured at the sword. “Is that weapon

for me?”

Actually, it had been forged at Titania’s request, but since Valerian fought under the

newly crowned queen’s banner, Alaric saw no reason to deny him. He unsheathed the

blade, laid the hilt across his forearm and offered the sword to Valerian.

The goneril lord stepped into the shabby workroom.

Alaric hardly dared breathe.

Valerian accepted the blade and drew it towards him. The sensation of the metal

sliding over his skin—even through the coarse material of his shirt—was an exquisite

caress, almost too much to bear. Alaric bit his lip. This visit was an unanticipated

pleasure. He hadn’t expected to see Valerian for many weeks.

Valerian tested the weight of the blade and parried an imaginary foe, but his gaze

never wavered from Alaric. “It’s a weapon worthy of your skills, Forge Master.”

“Thank you.” Alaric bowed his head so his desire would remain hidden.

Not so easily dismissed, Valerian stepped forward and grasped the leather at Alaric’s

waist, slowly returning the blade to its sheath. “Have you missed me?” he whispered in

Alaric’s ear.

Alaric remained frozen, unable to believe what was happening. Through the open

doorway he could hear the laughter of Valerian’s men. The two of them had never risked

discovery before, always taking care to be private. When the lordling then took his hand,

stroked his fingers across the most recent scars and entwined their fingers, Alaric stopped

breathing. Valerian had obviously become tired of playing games. No more clandestine

meetings. No more hiding away. Was he ready for this?

His heart pounded like a hammer. “Yes. I missed you.” Maybe their relationship

wasn’t appropriate, but the war had taken so much from them all. Surely society would

forgive them? Gonerils didn’t always mate with gonerils, there were exceptions to every

rule. He raised his head and the slumberous desire he saw in Valerian’s eyes further

enflamed his own. The lordling pulled him closer. The distance between their faces

decreased to nothing. Their lips met, the briefest of touches. Alaric closed his eyes.

“What is this?” he whispered.

Valerian rubbed his mouth back and forth against Alaric’s parted lips. “Just a kiss.”

Alaric stroked his tongue into Valerian’s mouth, the taste of cinnamon spice heady to

his senses. “Are you playing with me?”

The lordling stepped back, brought Alaric’s hand to his lips and crushed his mouth

against the scarred knuckles. “I want you for my mate.”

Valerian wasn’t smiling. Alaric swallowed down the teasing remark he’d been about

to make. The goneril lord was serious, and in his hand he held a ring.

External sounds faded to nothing. There was only the blood rushing through his

veins, the breath soughing in and out of his lungs and the man standing in front of him—

the moment pregnant with anticipation.

“Is that a yes or a no?” asked Valerian, his calm demeanor belied by the way his

hands trembled.

“Yes!” said Alaric. “Yes.”

A bark of laughter escaped Valerian. “I wasn’t sure… I hoped.” He took hold of

Alaric’s left hand, the fingers thickened with scar tissue and in some places still tender

from barely healed burns. He closed the ring in his fist. “You can’t wear this. I’m an

idiot.”

Alaric grasped Valerian by the back of the neck, brought them close until their

foreheads touched. “My idiot,” he murmured. Tilting his head, he brushed his lips against

Valerian’s. “I think I have something that will work.” He turned to his workbench and

picked up a length of silver chain, then held it up so Valerian could slip the ring onto it.

Once the ring was secure he used his magic to seal both ends of the chain together,

creating an unbroken circle.

He offered the chain to Valerian and bowed his head.

The chain touched the back of his neck and at the same time Valerian spoke the

ritual words. “This ring is a symbol of my commitment to you. Do you accept it?”

Alaric looked up. “I do.”

Valerian smiled. “Then I think we should do something to celebrate.” He slipped his

hand underneath the chain where it lay on Alaric’s chest. “I’ve a yearning to see you

wear nothing but my ring.”

“There’s a half-broken couch in my office,” suggested Alaric.

Valerian pushed him up against the workbench. “Don’t think I can make it that far.”

His hands grasped Alaric’s shirt and pulled it free of his trousers, then up and over his

head.

As soon as his head cleared the material, Alaric bent in for a kiss, his teeth nipping at

Valerian’s lips. “One of us is overdressed.”

“And I’ll stay that way. You don’t see my back ’til the mating night. Remember?”

Alaric smiled. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

“No, you’re definitely persistent.” Valerian undid the buttons of his own shirt. “Now

where were we?” He crowded Alaric back against the workbench.

Alaric closed his eyes and dropped his head back, reveling in sensation. The warmth

of the sun against his face, the rough wood beneath his hands, and Valerian’s knuckles

brushing against his flesh as the goneril wrestled with the buttons on Alaric’s trousers. He

sank his teeth into his bottom lip, stifling his cries of passion, lest the men outside hear.

Valerian may think he was ready for the world to know about them, but thinking and

doing were two different things.

Valerian’s hand closed around his cock. There… Ah Gods! His hips surged forward

and he thrust against Valerian’s grip. This was what he wanted…what he

needed…always.

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