The Red King Read online

  Rory and Andrew waited until the party was out of sight before turning back to each other. “Your eyes,” Rory said, staring, unable to stop it.

  “I look like a girl!” Andrew chortled.

  “No, you are still a man, with a stubborn jaw and breadth of bone. You are lovely, though. Very lovely,” Rory said, fingers tracing lightly down the side of Andrew’s face.

  Andrew licked his lips. “We are alone.”

  Rory was sorely tempted, eyeing those lips and the pink tongue just beyond. He knew they must follow his plan. “We must ride,” he said, cursing the need to wait, yet again.

  “So soon?” Andrew asked. His disappointment flavored the words sweetly to Rory’s ear.

  “Yes, we need to put as much distance between us and the city as possible before the sun rises,” Rory answered. He turned to Brighid and found his burnoose stowed carefully under one of the straps. Gratefully, he removed it and wrapped it around his shoulders against the cool night air.

  Andrew returned to his camel, saying not another word. When he was mounted, he covered his head and face once more and waited. He held himself stiffly in the terik, the Bedouin-style saddle, and stared forward.

  Rory read the frustration in his squared shoulders and sighed. Moving Brighid closer, close enough that his leg pressed into the camel’s side, he reached out and tugged the fabric down to expose all of Andrew’s face. “I’m not sure we are safe here, Andrew. I would rather wait for dawn, when we can make camp and rest without concern,” he said, taking that proud chin with his fingers.

  “In my mind I know that. It’s just that I want…” Andrew stopped. His cheeks colored and he looked away.

  Rory smiled, happy to hear Andrew confess his hunger, happier than perhaps was wise. “Hold fast. The time approaches when we’ll have no distractions.”

  This leg of their journey was tedious. There was only the light afforded by the moon and their path was alternately rocky and barred by thick shrubbery. Yet they made steady progress with Rory’s careful navigation.

  “You’re good with the camel,” Rory commented, noting the ease with which Andrew handled the animal. He sat in the terik comfortably, not once seeming overbalanced or in danger of falling.

  “Etienne made me practice, to be sure I could do it,” Andrew answered. He leaned over and scratched Esme’s head, appreciatively. “And she’s very patient.”

  Rory laughed. “Camels aren’t known for their dispositions. No, you’ve charmed her. It is your Changeling blood, I suspect, that has the beasts favoring you.”

  “Is that your excuse, as well?” Andrew grinned.

  “I will use it as such, if necessary,” Rory said, smiling in return.

  They passed the next while in companionable silence. The moon was lowering in the sky, beginning to touch the tips of the mountains in the distance when Rory recognized a particular peak. He knew they were midway to the stopping point. “We turn to the north soon. We should be able to stop come first light.”

  The turn north came more quickly than Rory remembered. He was glad for it, for Andrew appeared to be sleeping in his saddle. Rory took one of the reins, sliding it carefully from its rider’s hand, and looped it over his own pommel. He guided the animal the rest of the way, finding the stream just as the sky started to grey. Gently, he tapped Andrew on the knee, not wanting to startle him. “We’ve arrived,” he called, softly.

  Andrew opened his eyes, straightened immediately and said, “Yes, I’m awake.” Then he caught sight of the stream, its grassy banks lined on one side by ground hugging plants with painful looking spines. Beside it was a copse of trees laden with oblong, bright yellow fruit. “Or maybe I’m not.”

  “Are you able to help me with the shelter?” Rory asked lowering himself from Brighid’s back.

  “Of course,” Andrew replied, stifling a yawn. He had the camel kneeling and was on his feet momentarily, stretching with a puzzled look on his face.

  “What causes you to look so confused?”

  “I did not expect…such abundance. I pictured the desert, or maybe rocks like we crossed last night.”

  “This feeds into the Seybouse which then flows all the way into Tunisia. We will not be going that far. Our path takes us north, back to the sea,” Rory said, unhooking the woolen tent from Andrew’s saddle.

  “How long will it take?” Andrew asked, yawning again.

  “That depends on how late we start out this evening.” Rory watched Andrew unwind the wrap, down to a simple black tunic and drawstring pants beneath. Against them his skin seemed even more lustrous, and the depth of the color gave his form a lithe, feline appearance. The kohl around his eyes had spread, as it was meant to, making them seem even more startlingly blue.

  Andrew caught him staring and paused, the corners of his mouth curled up just a bit. “We are alone.”

  “Yes, we are,” Rory answered, dropping the still bound tent and moving to him.

  Within moments, they were stretched out in the grass, hands wandering as they kissed hungrily. Andrew was moaning and thrusting his hips up into Rory’s even as the other man pressed him down. When Rory untied the string of his trousers and shoved his hand down their front, Andrew shouted. Rory went to his neck, now arched and straining and begging for lips and teeth.

  He expected Andrew to moan or cry out, certainly not giggle. “Brighid!”

  Rory raised his head and saw Brighid nuzzling at Andrew’s face. He was trying to gently push her away, but she returned each time to press her nose against his cheek.

  “Brighid, must you? Now?” Rory asked.

  She nodded, blowing agitatedly.

  Sighing, Rory buried his face into Andrew’s neck. “We will return to this, immediately.”

  Andrew sighed with him, but still chuckled. “I think she did not like the noise. I will have to be more subdued.”

  “You will scream unto heaven and she will be lashed to a tree,” Rory said his ear. When Brighid started lipping at Rory’s shirt, he pulled away to stand. “Fine! Fine! Let me see what Etienne has packed,” he grumbled.

  Determinedly, he forced his thoughts to the mundanity of caring for Brighid; removing her saddle and blanket, lashing her reins to a tree by the stream, and searching the packs on the now sleeping camel as he removed them. He heard Andrew straining with the ropes as he hoisted the tent, but he did not look at him lest they neglect their duties again. Rory quickly inventoried their stores; flatbread, dried meats and fruits, water and a full wineskin, three fresh red apples and a hand-high bottle of fragrant oil. “Ah, Etienne,” he murmured, smiling to himself.

  He fed two of the apples to Brighid. She nickered and whinnied and Rory couldn’t tell if she was jealous or laughing at him. “You are a shrew. You’re lucky you are beautiful or I would sell you to the next junk trader I see,” he said to her, softly. He stroked her nose and left her nibbling the sweet grass.

  Esme opened one eye to acknowledge him when he removed the final pack from the terik. “I suppose you will be fine where you are?” he asked her. She raised her head only to turn it to the other side. “Good.”

  Rory turned to the tent and paused. Andrew had strung it between two trees, only using one staff to support the rear. It was low, not tall enough to stand in and barely wide enough for their stores and themselves. Flaps came down to enclose the interior making it dark and inviting. The front remained open and Rory could see it was floored with two rugs and a single bedroll. Half on the bedroll, head resting on his clasped hands, lay Andrew. Sleeping soundly.

  Not knowing whether he wanted to laugh or rail at the sky, Rory crawled into the shelter. Carefully, he slipped his arm beneath Andrew and pulled him onto his shoulder. Andrew sighed deeply and curled around him, slipping one leg across Rory’s thigh. Surely, there are similar tortures in Hell, Rory thought with an internal sigh. Still, he was very comfortable, and Andrew’s rhythmic breathing was a balm to his soul.

  ***

  Rory jerked awake, heart hammering
in his chest. His dream was fading, but he could hear the fading rumble of cannons in the distance. No, not cannons, it came from the stream. Brighid was making high, nervous sounds and he was one second from springing up to come to her aid. He did not get the chance.

  The lion sauntered into view on the opposite bank. He was massive, his black mane thick and lengthy, growing down to his belly. He made noises deep in his chest, a constant growl that vibrated across Rory’s skin. The beast was wholly disinterested in their camp, in Brighid, though his presence clearly disturbed the horse. Rory waited. He expected him to move on, but there was movement in the fruit trees. This was what the lion wanted.

  She was beautiful, seemingly unaware of the male approaching, but her crouched position was all the lion needed. The lioness made a sound, a sort of scream, and Andrew came awake beside him. “What…” he started to say, but Rory quieted him with a finger to his lips.

  “Look,” Rory whispered. Quietly he moved over Andrew, settling at his back. Slipping one hand into Andrew’s trousers, he breathed into Andrew’s ear, “Watch.”

  The lioness was still, coiled tight as she waited for the male to mount her. When he did, she growled, and commenced panting as he thrust into her. The lion bit the back of her neck and made low, chuffing sounds. It lasted only a moment and both animals reacted with alarming viciousness. The lioness reared back, lunging for the male’s throat and the lion swatted her head with one huge paw. They separated with angry snarls.

  Andrew had gone hard against Rory’s palm as soon as the lion had mounted. He was shaking.

  “Are you afraid?” Rory asked, still just a breath in Andrew’s ear.

  Andrew nodded, wordlessly.

  “We are nothing to them. It is only each other they see,” Rory told him. Andrew began to move against his hand, his trembling became more pronounced when Rory thrust against him in tandem. “They are driven by nature to mate. All other urges are abandoned for that sole pursuit.”

  The lioness had walked away but now returned. She positioned herself at the lion’s feet and he took her again.

  “He will take her dozens of times and she will come back for more.”

  “Does it hurt her? It sounds…like it hurts her,” Andrew whispered. His breath was coming more quickly.

  “Even if it does, she willingly gives herself to him.” Rory was running his lips across Andrew’s neck, licking up into his hairline, behind his ear. He nipped and Andrew shuddered, so he did it again. “Does that hurt?” he asked, kissing the reddening mark.

  “Yes, a little.”

  “Does it add to your pleasure?” Rory squeezed his cock and bit him again.

  Andrew gasped then moaned. “Oh, yes, yes.”

  Rory rolled forward, putting his weight entirely on Andrew. He heard the resulting groan, muffled into the carpet for fear of the prowling beasts outside. With his free hand he pushed himself up, going back on his haunches and lifted Andrew at the hips as he rose. Andrew came up on his elbows with a yelp and he looked to the big cats. Neither animal showed any interest in what they were doing. “Rory,” he whispered, thrusting into Rory’s curled fingers. “Please.”

  Releasing Andrew’s cock, Rory loosened his drawstring and hurriedly pushed the trousers down, yanking them at his feet until they were gone. He reached into that last bag, carelessly thrown atop the others when he came to rest, and pulled out Etienne’s bottle of oil. The sweet smell of almonds filled the tent when Rory poured some on his fingers, letting it drip onto Andrew’s lovely pale hole. He tried to be gentle but Andrew still jumped when he pressed his fingers past the entrance. He added more oil as he prodded and stretched, responding to Andrew’s gasps and soft moans with soothing murmurs. When Andrew pressed back, opening for his third finger, Rory’s patience abandoned him.

  “Andrew, I’m sorry. I can’t wait anymore.”

  The oil helped, but Andrew still made that mewling, pained sound when Rory pushed in his cock. One hand flew back to halt the forward momentum, holding Rory’s thigh while he took slow, deep breaths. Rory was the one trembling now, holding still while half his cock was wrapped in the velvet heat and pressure of Andrew’s ass. “Christ, Andrew, I have to,” he groaned and thrust again.

  Rory knocked Andrew’s hand away and dug his fingers in at the hip. He pulled back and sank in all way. Andrew was crying, or maybe laughing; the blood rushing in Rory’s ears made it difficult to tell. He didn’t try to pull away, though, even when Rory set to fucking him with a long, steady stroke. Andrew gasped, moaned, even screamed, but he only ever pushed back, meeting Rory’s hips with equal ferocity.

  Covering Andrew, as the lion did his mate, Rory reached down to take Andrew’s hot, hard cock once more. He pulled and thrust, trapping Andrew between palm and prick. Andrew began to lose the rhythm, his hips stuttering. “Howl for me, Coinin,” Rory commanded, and set his teeth to the back of Andrew’s neck.

  The sound of Andrew’s voice, the sudden clench of muscles on his cock, and the slippery hot come spilling over his hand pleased Rory so thoroughly that his climax followed. He bit harder, frenzied, thrusting until he too screamed unto heaven. For a moment he was drifting, insensible from pleasure and weak with release. He came back to himself when Andrew collapsed, grunting as Rory’s weight finally overpowered his shaking limbs.

  Quickly, Rory pulled out and gathered Andrew close to him. It was quiet, save for their panting and Brighid’s regular blowing. “The lions are gone,” Rory whispered.

  Andrew’s hand crept up to touch his face. “Not all of them,” he answered.

  ***

  Such pleasure…such joy…he was at peace after the throes of if had wracked his body. His body was limp. His mind clear. Then there was fire across his back and he screamed. The fire went on and on, peeling his flesh away, leaving nothing but blood and muscle and he cried, begged for it to stop. Stop. Please stop.

  “Please stop! Stop! Stop it! Stop it!”

  “Rory!”

  He was shaken, hard, and held down. Rory opened his eyes.

  Andrew was above him. His face was drawn, pale, eyes full of fear and concern. Both hands were gripping his shoulders, pressing him into the bedroll. “Rory, are you awake?”

  Still unable to speak, Rory felt the world tilt on its side. He was breathing quickly with short shallow pants and could not make his body respond. He could tell his eyes were wide, could feel the tension in his body, but could not release it. The terror was too sharp. Too real.

  Andrew began to stroke his face and hair. He lay down beside Rory and pulled him close, holding him as the fear began to fade. It took a long time, but Rory’s breathing slowed and he was able to put his arms around Andrew soon after. As his trembling eased he lifted his head to look at Andrew and saw red eyes, damp cheeks. His throat finally free, Rory asked “Why do you cry?”

  “You screamed, but it wasn’t you. Not as you are. I heard a child’s voice, a child in pain.” Andrew paused, his face crumpling.

  “It was a just a dream.”

  “No,” Andrew asserted, shaking his head. “No, that was more than a dream.”

  Rory returned his head to Andrew’s shoulder, treasuring the feeling of Andrew’s hand in his hair and stroking down his back. They were proof that living did not have to hurt. “I cannot answer you now, Andrew. Not about the dream. I can tell you how it started, if you would hear it.”

  “Of course,” Andrew said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

  “My mother, sister and I lived in Baltimore, a village on the southern coast of Ireland. It was raided for slaves to bolster the Ottoman rule. The man who led the attack brought his bastard with him. While the father might have been driven by greed and the quest for riches, the son was fascinated by the flesh. He saw me in chains and claimed me for his own.”

  Andrew had gone still. “How old were you?”

  “Ten years, but I was already tall. He thought I was older until he took me the first time.”

  Andrew’s arms ti
ghtened. “Rory, oh, Rory,” he whispered, pressing his cheek to Rory’s hair.

  “Thinking on it now, I remember him being rather gentle, much gentler than I was with you,” Rory continued, smiling with the irony of it. “There were times that it was…strangely pleasant. I didn’t know the words at the time, those that I flung at you in anger. After mourning my mother and sister, I adapted. I became the catamite and it was all I knew.” He stopped, the dread of facing the next part of the story was too great. “I’m sorry Andrew, I…I cannot go on.”

  “Shhh, it’s enough for now.”

  Rory was happy to stay where he was, listening to Andrew’s heart beating in his chest. He did not know when he had been comforted, held, in this manner. When he’d told Fleming, it had been over cups of rum or after a particularly rousing session in bed. Not after a nightmare. Not while being held so sweetly. He was debating the wisdom of each, weighing how sensible it was to confess in Andrew’s arms, and he started to drift into sleep again. This time, peaceful and dreamless.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Rory woke again it was after midday. He did not hurry to rise, choosing to stay close to Andrew, to watch him sleep and dwell upon his confession. Only the smallest trace of the dream remained, for which he was thankful. As he thought back to what he’d told Andrew, however, he realized his memories were sharper. He could recall details more vividly, it seemed. The clarity of it was alarming. Rory knew the story, had lived it, but shunning the emotions it wrought had turned the devastation into merely a wordy tale of woe.

  Today Rory could remember not just the order and events but how he felt; all of the fear, pain, and emptiness of a broken child. When he’d been given attention, affection, he had followed willingly. Happily. Even when the descent into torture began, he submitted because of that promise of love. He had felt such shame, even as it happened, even as he gave more and more of himself. Hate and anger had come later, after the end. Before that there had been love; of a perverted sort, but love it was. To be exiled from that, as twisted as it was, had been Rory’s breaking point.