The
upholstery of the luxuriously appointed coach
shielded Taren’s body against the
jarring ruts in the road. It did make it a
bit more comfortable to be tossed around like
a bone by a dog. Looking out the open window,
the eerie landscape held Taren’s
interest. Night had fallen and the light of
the full moon filtered through the trees. The
oddly warped trees seemed like twisted,
frozen giants dominating the night. Thick
vines and hangings of moss covered the trees,
and mist rose from the ground to curl around
the thick trunks.
Taren
heard the disturbing howls of wolves not to
far off and he suppressed the shiver of
instinctive fear. Suddenly Castle Vanest came
into view, nestled at the top of a mountain,
its black towers rising into the night sky.
The mist surrounding the base of the castle
made it seem as if there was nothing beneath
it. Even the bridge leading to the castle was
obscured from sight. Taren knew it
couldn’t be true, but it was one hell of
an illusion, and it made him shudder slightly
with the thought of falling off into
nothingness.
He
wasn’t sure why he had agreed to take on
Count Vanest as a client. Taren could have
told his boss to go to hell. Instead he found
himself jaunting thousands of miles from his
home to this godforsaken place.
The
clouds above drifted against the sky, adding
to the otherworldly atmosphere. As the coach
passed through the gates leading to the
castle, Taren noticed two huge stone
gargoyles sitting atop pedestals as if
waiting for prey.
Settling
back against the cushions, Taren closed his
eyes with a quiet sigh. Trying to find the
home Count Vanest wanted had not been an easy
task. He’d managed it, though. All that
would be necessary was a signature on the
contracts and his commission was in the bag.
When
the coach ran over a particularly vicious
rut, Taren’s eyes flew open. Right
outside the window, he saw several tombstones
in a gated cemetery. Silver moonlight bathed
the gravestones, but only one gained his
immediate focus. Obviously a mausoleum, the
building was larger than his apartment back
home. A massive angel, at least twenty feet
high, stood guard on its roof. The wingspan
of white marble stretched against the
backdrop of the darkened sky. Mist spread
over the ground like a sea of white, glowing
ghostly under the moon light. The dark trees,
with their strings of moss, appeared as
silent sentinels to the night.
It must
be Halloween here every night. Taren had to
chuckle at his own thought. Normally, he
wasn’t a fanciful person, but the
atmosphere was certainly conductive to
imaginings of a horrific nature.
Suddenly,
the coach sped up and the scenery became
blurred and indistinct. Oddly, a dizzying
sense overcame Taren and he had to rest back
against the cushion, closing his eyes.
Before
he knew it, the coach began to slow. A moment
later it stopped in front of the massive
doors of the castle. The coachman hopped from
his perch and opened the door for Taren. On
shaky legs, Taren got out of the coach,
clutching his satchel, and made his way up
the stone stairs to the enormous wooden
double doors. Before he could knock, they
opened. Behind him, the coachman unloaded
Taren’s luggage.
“The
Count has been waiting for you, Mr. Lindsay.
Please follow me.” Grizzled lines etched
deep in the sun-darkened skin and the old
butler appeared way past his prime.
Two
stairs on both sides of the room curved
upward to the second floor landing. An
enormous stone arch, between the stairs, led
to a long hall and a series of closed doors.
Taren silently followed the butler through
the arch, looking around. Old money showed in
the antiques and décor. Lifetimes were
represented in the armor, paintings and
furniture. Opening the massive door at the
end of the hall, the butler stepped aside and
waited for Taren to enter.
The
room was obviously the Count’s study,
done in dark woods, with a cozy fire burning
in the fireplace. Instead of electricity, a
host of candles lit the room. Settled in a
plush wing chair, the man himself drew
Taren’s gaze.
Oh, my
God. Taren’s first thought was quickly
followed by an immediate need to stifle his
own reaction.
Rich,
sable hair cascaded over the man’s
shoulders and blended with the fine black
velvet of the Count’s robe. Noble
features were intent on the book open in his
lap and he had yet to look up.
This
wasn’t the old man Taren had been
expecting. Instead, he faced a man worthy of
the description of a demonic god. Slender
fingers rested against the paleness of a
sculpted cheek, and long tapered nails
brought thoughts of how they would feel
against Taren’s skin. Lifting his head,
the Count looked towards him and Taren found
himself suddenly drowning in hypnotic black
eyes. They seemed to bore into his soul and a
slow smile crossed the Count’s lips, as
if he were pleased by what he saw.
Setting
aside his book, the man stood, offering his
hand to Taren. The faintly cool feel of his
skin enveloped Taren’s and caused an odd
sense of electricity to tingle over
Taren’s flesh. The Count would be a
temptation and a half to him, but Taren
suppressed the urges, just as he always had.
He was a respectable gentleman and engaged to
one of the daughters of a scion of New York
society. He had to ignore the unnatural lust
he felt with his first look at the Count.
“Good
evening, Count Vanest.” A smooth smile
hid much behind the mask of urbane
politeness.
“I’m
glad you’ve arrived so soon, Taren. I
hope the journey hasn’t been too tiring
for you.” The faint smile on the
Count’s lips widened ever so slowly and
the sound of his deep voice caressed in a
velvety touch. Taren had to suppress his own
shiver, trying not to react.
"I
thank you for your hospitality, Count."
Taren smiled as he withdrew his hand from the
count's, ignoring the ache that followed.
"I've brought the necessary papers for
you to read and sign." He busied himself
with his satchel. "Is--is there a place,
a desk, where we might look over them?"
“You’ve
come a very long way to accommodate my
pleasure, Taren. I’m sure we can discuss
business tomorrow night. For tonight, you
should relax. Would you care for a
brandy?” Somehow his words seemed to
hold a more intimate meaning as he moved back
to his chair, gesturing to the other one
beside him. “Please be
comfortable.”
"I..."
Taren swallowed, unable to finish his
protest. "Yes, thank you," he found
himself saying instead. He took the offered
seat, setting his bag beside the chair as he
sat down. "This is quite an interesting
home you have here."
Pouring
them both a brandy, the Count handed one to
Taren before he took his own and settled back
into his seat. “Thank you, but it has
long outlived its usefulness, and it’s
time for me to get out into the world.”
"Has
it been in your family long?" Taren took
a slow sip of his brandy, looking everywhere
but at the count--or at least trying to.
Unable to resist, his gaze constantly
wandered back to Count Vanest, taking in the
man whose influence had pulled him away from
all manner of civilization for the sake of a
sale. But what a presence to be in!
“For
many centuries, Taren.”
The
caress of his voice lingered over
Taren’s name as his dark eyes remained
fastened on Taren. Something within the
depths of the piercing gaze drew Taren in, as
if the Count were aware of every intimate
thought in his head.
“I
believe it’s time for a return to the
world outside. It’s been many, many
years since I’ve ventured outside the
castle.”
Since
Vanest didn’t appear to be much more
than on the low side of thirty, his
pronouncement seemed at odds with his
appearance.
Taren
opened his mouth to ask another question, but
yawned before he could stop it. "I
apologize, Count. It's been a long day and
the ride was quite tiring, I'm afraid. If I
may see my room?"
“Most
certainly. I understand very well.”
Setting his brandy aside, he stood and
motioned for Taren to follow him. “Seth
has already put your luggage in your room, so
you should be quite comfortable.”
"Thank
you. You are too kind, Count Vanest."
Taren
followed him, eyes fastened on the count's
body, watching the way the count moved. The
effortless flow of muscle and motion was
otherworldly, and not even a whisper of sound
accompanied the Count as he headed towards
the door.
“I
expect to be ready to return to the States
with you within a week, Taren.”
"A
week?" Taren stopped for a moment, brow
furrowing. He hurried to catch up with the
Count. "I'd not planned on a week,"
he said apologetically. "I told my
fiancée that I would only be gone for a day
or two."
Still…as
he watched the count walk, Taren felt a tug
somewhere deep within him, wanting to stay as
long as the count would have him.
Looking
at him over his shoulder, the Count smiled.
“I’m sure she will understand the
necessity of you remaining, Taren. I cannot
finish my business here any sooner than
that.” Leading the way up the staircase,
slender fingers drifted lightly over the
thick wooden banister.
"Yes..."
Taren murmured, too entranced by those long
fingers to form anything more coherent. He
could only imagine how those fingers would
feel sliding over his heated skin, how they
would feel sliding inside him.
“It
will be an exquisite feeling.” At the
landing, the Count half turned towards him
with a faintly knowing look. “Living in
a new land shall be most interesting.”
Taren
gripped the banister railing, unable to stop
the hitch of his breath. He looked from the
count's eyes to his fingers, biting at his
lip. God, what he wouldn't give to feel
that... Shaking his head, he looked back up
at the count and said, "Yes, it will
be."
The
count chuckled softly and the rich sound
brought goose bumps to Taren’s flesh.
“Please forgive me for keeping you,
Taren. It has been some time since I’ve
had the pleasure of another’s
conversation.”
Moving
down the hall, the Count stopped in front of
one of the doors. “Here is your room. If
you need anything, don’t hesitate to
come to me. My room is next to yours, and I
am always up most of the night. Seth will
wake you for breakfast tomorrow, and I will
see you in the evening.”
Taren
nodded slowly, praying he could keep his
arousal hidden until he was safely behind
closed doors. But--that entailed stepping
toward the count--just to get to his bedroom
door.
"Thank
you," he said as he moved closer. Unable
to stop the trembling of his hand, he cursed
himself silently as he triggered the latch on
the door.
Before
he could open the door, the Count reached up
and those slender fingers slid slowly along
the line of Taren’s forehead, the small
gesture brushing back his hair. “Are you
all right, Taren? You
seem…feverish.”
"I..."
Oh, sweet God. Taren closed his eyes, swaying
just slightly, reeling from such a simple
touch.
The
Count’s hand lowered to grasp his arm
and pull Taren into the room. Appearing
greatly concerned, he said in a low, soothing
voice, “I believe you should lie down.
The coach ride can be rough over this
terrain.” Tugging on Taren’s arm
gently, he supported Taren as they walked
towards the massive, four poster bed.
Blinking,
Taren just let the count lead him. "I'm
fine. Really, I am. I just need--need to
rest." Then he made the mistake of
looking up into those eyes that seemed to
stare deep into him.
A light
touch pushed him to the bed, and the Count
stood next to him, hovering over Taren as he
laid back. His voice was the softest of
whispers, yet it surrounded Taren with its
soothing cadence. “I know you need to
rest. Relax. You are safe here with me.
Nothing shall harm you.” Within the tone
was an insistent command, hard to deny, and a
reassurance Taren couldn’t understand.
“Close your eyes and sleep. Your dreams
will fulfill you.”
Taren
closed his eyes, settling into the plush
blankets, letting the count's voice lull him
into sleep.
* * *
When
Taren felt the movement of the Count sliding
onto the bed, he opened his eyes and smiled
up at him. He reached out, fingers sliding
through raven hair, bringing the Count
closer.
"A
kiss?"
“If
that is what you wish.” Lowering his
head, the soft brush of the count’s lips
tempted Taren.
Taren
moaned softly, lips parting as his tongue
played across the Count's.
"Justinian..." Taren pulled him
down, bringing their mouths together fully,
his tongue sliding into the count’s
mouth, tasting.
Feeling
the drift of the Count’s fingers over
his chest, Taren arched to the skim of
sensation to his bare flesh. The slow
circling of Justinian’s tongue twirled
to his in a sensual duel of pleasure, leaving
Taren wanting more.
The
Count’s lips left his and traveled
slowly across his cheek to his throat.
“What is it you want, Taren? I will do
whatever you want of me.”
"I..."
Taren swallowed and shook his head. "I
don't know. Anything...everything..." He
looked up at the Count, confusion and need
and fear all warring within him. "I want
to touch and taste, to feel what only you can
give me."
“Then
that is what you will have.”
Justinian’s
lips left a tingling trail in their wake as
they slowly moved downward to Taren’s
shoulder. A light nip of teeth made small
indents in his skin before Justinian’s
head dipped lower. Taren felt the cool
sensation of the count’s mouth engulf
his nipple, sending sensation shooting
straight through him. The scrape of the
Count’s teeth increased the intensity.
Taren threaded his fingers through
Justinian’s hair, chest pushing up for
more.
"Justinian...please..."
Beneath
the blanket, Taren was hard, aching. Never
had a woman done this to him, made him need
until he hurt, until he was ready to forsake
everything for a single touch, a single kiss.
With a tug of Justinian’s hand the
blanket slid off of Taren, leaving him
completely exposed to the Count’s eyes.
Taren could feel the heated gaze traveling
over him. Their eyes locked and Taren lost
himself in those dark depths.
“You
must give everything to me, Taren. Hold
nothing of yourself back.” The quiet
demand sank deeply into Taren, and his body
arched towards Justinian in answer. The look
of flaring desire in the Count’s eyes
sent a trembling thrill through Taren.
"I
belong to you."
The
words hung thick in the air, feeling like
both a prayer--and a curse. Yet Taren
couldn’t take them back, didn’t
want to take them back. He needed this. He
needed Justinian. At the bidding of the
Count's hand, Taren parted his legs, keeping
his eyes on Justinian’s and away from
the hand that stroked his thigh, teasing
soft, hidden flesh.
“You
will always be mine, Taren. No other can
fulfill what you crave inside.”
A
moment of silence followed the words, and
Taren felt the sweep of Justinian’s gaze
over his body. A startled cry broke from him
with the sudden feeling of that cool mouth
surrounding his hot flesh. As the
Count’s lips tightened around him,
Taren’s hips thrust upward, needing to
bury himself in the delicious cavern
enveloping him.
Sweet
God!
Taren
had never felt anything such as this, not
even from a woman. There had never been such
pleasure at another person's mouth. Caught
between shame and desire, he rocked and
writhed, hips pushing him deeper as his mind
told him this was sin of the darkest kind.
And then the Count touched him there, where
no one had ever dared to mention, let alone
penetrate.
"Justinian!"
Taren
jerked even as his body drew the Count's
finger deeper. The finger moved inside him,
rendering him utterly breathless as it
stroked over a hidden place deep inside,
sending lightning bolting up his spine until
the Count's name was a benediction as he was
pouring his seed down Justinian's throat.
Justinian’s throat closed around him,
drinking in Taren’s release. Each action
increased the shudders of his body as Taren
gave in completely to the forbidden pleasure.
The intense orgasm blended with an emotional
need Taren dared not admit to. When he could
catch his breath, he opened his eyes to find
the Count staring at him.
“Soon,
my beloved, soon, you will be with me once
again.”
The
words quieted something within Taren that he
couldn’t understand.
Closing
his eyes, Taren settled, body quiet even as
his mind raced with the thoughts of what he'd
done.
* * *
Settled
in the chair, Justinian remained focused
inwardly, drifting through the landscape of
Taren’s mind. He wasn’t at all
surprised by the atmosphere of the young
man’s dreams. Before he had even sat
down on the chair near Taren’s bed,
he’d felt the tug of Taren’s dream
on his psyche. He followed the fragile thread
and entered Taren’s mind and the dream.
Already he knew Taren suppressed much about
himself behind the thin veneer civilization
forced on him.
Deep
inside, the Count knew who Taren was. Though
the outside shell of the man was different,
inside dwelled the soul of his beloved Enoch.
Dead these many centuries, Enoch’s
essence had found a way to return. Justinian
had bided his time patiently, hardly ever
leaving the castle as he’d waited for
Enoch to find his way back to him.
And he
had, but the young man had no clue. Even
though his instinct had drawn him to the
Count the first moment they meet, Taren had
inwardly denied the need of his body and
soul. Yet in his dreams, no shell of proper
conduct could intrude. Within the safe
sanctuary, Taren had allowed himself to give
into the inexplicable feelings riding him.
Justinian
had watched it all unfold, directing none of
it. He had wanted to participate, but stilled
the urge in favor of learning everything
Taren wanted from him. So he let the young
man’s mind fully direct the dream, and
what he saw pleased him greatly.
Already
an innate need possessed Taren with fevered
intensity, and Justinian had done nothing
more than to simply touch him earlier. The
cost of Taren’s denial of himself was
coming to head, and it had taken very little
on Justinian’s part to begin the
process.
“Soon,
my beloved, soon, you will be with me once
again.” His whispered words had the
power to reach Taren deep inside his sleep.
The slender form quieted beneath the blanket
Justinian had pulled over him.
His
eyes traveled slowly over the reclining form
of Taren’s body. For the moment, Taren
rested quietly, yet Justinian knew if he left
the room, the young man would become restless
again. As he leaned closer, the gentle drift
of his fingers ran slowly along Taren’s
cheek. The simple touch drew an instant
reaction as Taren’s head moved towards
him.
“So
beautiful, my lost one, and so needful of me.
It has not changed at all for you.”
Where once Enoch had long, flowing golden
hair, his hair was now a dark brown that
shone auburn under the light. The cloud of it
pillowed beneath the young man’s head,
and Justinian combed his fingers through the
soft strands before drawing a lock of it to
his lips.
* * *
Taren
couldn't believe the expanse of the castle.
Granted, he'd been in many, but this one
captivated his interest like no other place
ever had. Without fully realizing how, he'd
found many hidden doors and passages, even
followed a few of them. He'd just come out of
one, backtracking his way through the
labyrinthine stone tunnel, to find that it
was six o'clock in the evening. Where had the
time gone? He'd not seen the Count all day,
which was probably best. Last night's dream
still lingered in Taren's mind. He wasn't
sure how he could face the Count, knowing
that he'd dreamed of the man's touch.
"Master
Lindsay."
The
sound nearly had Taren clinging to a nearby
suit of armor. Managing to swallow his heart
back down, he nodded at the butler.
"Yes. I am sorry. You startled me for a
moment."
"My
humblest apologies, sir." The man smiled
and bowed. "I only wished to inform you
that dinner will be served in five minutes in
the main dining hall."
"Thank
you," Taren said, straightening his back
and trying not to look like the scared pup he
was sure he seemed like. "I will be down
momentarily."
The
butler nodded and turned on one heel, back
ramrod straight as he went back down the
stairs. Taren slumped into the chair beside
the suit of armor. Without any real thought,
he reached up and touched the gauntleted
fingers. The metal was cold, yet soothing
somehow. Shaking his head to dismiss any
thoughts of fancy, Taren headed downstairs.
As he
entered the immense dining hall, he saw the
table laid out with a veritable feast. A
center plate of roast duck was surrounded by
bowls of potatoes, gravy, bread, vegetables
and fruit. A slender decanter of wine stood
near the one lone dinner plate. Assuming it
was his seat, Taren sat down in front of the
dinnerware. Unsure if he should wait for his
host to join or start on his own, Taren
folded in his hands in his lap, waiting for a
few moments.
As he
stared at one of the paintings mounted on the
wall, he studied the details of the face of
the man astride a black stallion. The dark
flowing hair reminded him of the Count, and
he wondered if it was an ancestor. The silver
armor worn by the man suggested an era gone
by. In fact, he could have sworn it was the
suit of armor he’d seen earlier.
“You
must be hungry, go ahead and eat,
Taren.”
Standing
and bowing, Taren said, "Thank you,
Count Vanest. I was just admiring the
portrait. The resemblance is uncanny."
He sat down and began filling his plate.
"Are you not dining this evening?"
Gracefully
settling in the chair near Taren, Justinian
reclined at his leisure, appearing very much
the lord of the castle. “I ate earlier,
Taren. Help yourself to everything you
want.”
Reaching
for the decanter, the Count poured two
glasses of wine for them. Glancing over at
the portrait in question, a bit of a smile
played over his lips. “It’s always
been a particular favorite of mine.”
"That
looks much like the armor in the second floor
hallway," Taren commented as he ate.
“It
is.” Shrugging slightly, the Count took
a sip of his wine. “You will see various
portraits in the castle of my ancestors in
their best finery.”
"And
what of you? Are there any portraits of you
in your finery?" The second the words
were out, Taren couldn't believe he'd said
them. Cheeks flushed, he all but drowned
himself in his wine, gazed fixed on the table
instead of his host.
“There
is one in the library if you would care to
see it, Taren. I commissioned it recently to
join the endless parade of other
portraits.”
When
the wine failed to alleviate the spark
flaring within him, Taren looked up slowly,
meeting the Count's gaze from across the
table. "I would like that," he said
quietly.
“When
you are done eating, we will retire to the
library. I also have a splendid collection of
books that may interest you.”
Taren
nodded and finished his dinner, unable to
keep his gaze from moving back to his host.
When he was done, Taren set his cloth napkin
over the plate and drank the last of his
wine. A moment later, a servant came to take
his plate away and refill his glass.
"I
would very much like to see the portrait and
your library."
Count
Vanest stood, taking his glass with him and
moved towards the open doors. Heading through
the archway between the two main staircases,
he led the way back to the hall. Opening one
of the doors on the right, the Count stepped
inside the library. The room was completely
open for two floors, and two of the walls
were lined with shelf after shelf of books.
It seemed the Count was a prolific reader.
"Very
impressive," Taren said as he walked
into the library. Then he saw the portrait.
Situated
above the mantle of the fire place, the
painting dominated the room. Somehow, the
artist had captured the hypnotic quality of
the Count’s eyes, and they seemed to
follow Taren as he moved further into the
room. The same faint smile graced the painted
lips and the full-sized painting seemed
almost ready to step away from the wall.
Something
within the painted features beckoned to Taren
and the blending of the dark background with
abstract lines drew him towards it. With a
start, he realized, upon closer inspection,
that the lines were complete drawings of
their own. Archaic symbols and images he
couldn’t make sense of formed the
outlines of the painting's background.
On the
opposite wall were smaller paintings, done of
men in various acts of pleasure. A few were
of women together and some were male and
female, but it was the pictures of the males
that were the most vivid.
Try as
he might to ignore the other paintings, Taren
couldn't stop himself from putting one foot
in front of the other, taking him clear
across the room. He was unable to look away,
unable to hide the sudden hitch of breath. He
couldn’t stop the racing of his heart as
he fell into the spell woven by the images
before him.
Men
upon men upon men. The darkest sin, yet his
darkest dreams.
“I’m
a collector, Taren. Mostly of unusual things
that others might not appreciate so much. Yet
I see the beauty nonetheless.”
Justinian’s voice seem to enfold him in
its quiet cadence.
Every
muscle in Taren's body reacted to the
closeness as the count stood behind him, and
before he knew what he was doing, he leaned
back, needing the contact. "How can
something so wrong...be so perfect," he
whispered.
The
Count’s hands came up, resting on
Taren’s shoulders. Leaning forward, he
whispered in Taren’s ear. “Because
it is not wrong at all. It is merely another
form of pleasure, one to be savored with all
others.”
Taren's
breath caught in his throat and he closed his
eyes. Everywhere the Count touched him, his
skin tingled, even through his clothing. He
couldn't pull away and found himself turning
to look up into dark, fathomless eyes, unable
to speak.
The
count leaned slightly closer and his lips
hovered near Taren’s yet didn’t
touch them. “In matters of the heart and
pleasure, there is no right or wrong,
Taren.” Count Vanest’s hands
remained where they were, a light press of
fingers to the fabric of Taren’s shirt
as he watched him silently.
"I
shouldn't want this," Taren murmured.
“But
you do, and you can take it if you
wish.” Finally, the Count stepped back
to return to his seat. Settling back into the
cushions, he reached for his glass of wine.
“Perhaps it is time for us to
concentrate on the paperwork I must
sign.” Giving no sign of whether or not
he felt perturbed by Taren’s hesitation,
the Count gazed at him in a mild, questioning
way.
Taren
reached out briefly, then let his hand drop
back down to his side. The ache inside him
was strong, making something as simple as
breathing difficult beyond measure.
"Yes, of course," he said finally.
“Your
briefcase, Taren. You must have left it in
your bedroom. Go ahead and get it, and meet
me in my study.” If the count noticed
Taren’s difficulty, he showed no signs
of it.
With a
nod, Taren turned and left the library. He
made the climb up to the second floor in a
daze, arriving at his room before he realized
it. Finding his bag on the chair by the bed,
he closed the door once more and headed back
down to the Count's study. The fog had only
begun to lift from his brain when he walked
into the study.
Seated
at his desk, Count Vanest looked up at Taren
when he came in. Reaching out his hand, he
beckoned Taren closer. “We should get
business out of the way before we talk more
comfortably. It is the main reason you are
here.”
Taren
settled into the chair on the other side of
the desk and leafed through the papers in his
bag until he found the ones for the Count's
newly-purchased estate. He pulled them out
and set them on desk in front of the Count.
Setting his bag on the floor by his chair, he
leaned forward and opened the folder.
"If
you would, please look over the
contracts," he said. "Make sure all
information is correct and then sign them
where indicated."
“You’ve
done very well to find me what I wanted,
Taren. I prefer a great deal of space and
dislike having other people living too close
to me.” Turning the pages, the count
intently perused the legal terms, seeming to
have no problem understanding the wording.
"Thank
you, Count Vanest. It took some time, but I
think you will like this property."
Reaching
for his pen, the count signed on the spaces
where his signature was needed. When he
finished, he settled back in his chair,
looking at Taren. “I am sure I will. I
will be expecting you to show me around the
place after we leave here. And please, call
me Justinian. There is no need for such
formality with me.”
Taren
met his gaze and nodded. "I would like
that very much, Justinian." It felt odd
to address a client in such a familiar
manner, and yet, with the Count, it felt
right.
Standing,
Justinian smiled down at Taren. “Come.
Join me in my private sitting room. Now that
we have business out of the way, you can
relax for the time being.”
Wondering
if that was such a good idea given the
direction of his thoughts as of late, Taren
nevertheless stood and followed Justinian out
of the study. As he watched the Count, his
thoughts drifted back to the dream and to the
paintings. He wanted that; he knew it now. He
could think of nothing but the Count's touch,
those lips on his, devouring him. He wanted
to know what the man sounded like when
pleasure overrode everything else.
As if
aware of the stray thoughts crossing
Taren’s mind, Justinian looked back at
him over his shoulder as they walked up the
steps. A distinct glittering showed in the
dark eyes before it was veiled. Leading the
way to his private chambers, the Count said
nothing as he opened the door. Walking across
the room, he headed outside to the balcony.
The sheer drop down the side of the mountain
was breath taking, and the vista encompassed
the range of mountains surrounding the
castle, the dark shapes distinct under the
light of the moon.
Stopping
at the balcony door, Taren leaned his
shoulder against the frame, hands in the
pockets of his pants. He watched Justinian
for several minutes before pushing away from
the door and walking over to him. He put a
hand on Justinian's shoulder lightly.
"I
don’t know the wisdom in any of
this," he said quietly, "but I will
never be able to live with myself if I don't
at least try."
“You
think I am not aware of what you feel,
Taren?” Slowly turning to face him,
Justinian leaned against the stone railing at
his back. “You must make the choice, not
I.”
Coal
black eyes held Taren’s with a faintly
questioning air, waiting for him to react
however he wanted to. Justinian’s hand
rested lightly on Taren’s arm, yet
didn’t draw him forward. Taren's gaze
slid from the Count's eyes to his lips. He
could no more deny what he felt than he could
deny himself breath. Looking back up to
Justinian's eyes, he stepped closer.
"I
want this."
He
brushed his fingertips slowly over
Justinian's lips and leaned forward. Within
seconds, the ache flared to life, turning
curiosity into a burning need as he covered
the Count's mouth with his own, tongue
pushing between Justinian's lips, seeking to
taste and learn.
As
Taren moved in closer, the press of the
Count’s body to his betrayed the arousal
in the hard feel of Justinian’s cock.
Justinian’s arms encircled Taren’s
waist, keeping him trapped against the
count’s body.
Taren
moved his hand from Justinian's shoulder,
tilting the Count's head to deepen the kiss,
plundering Justinian's mouth with a surge of
desire he'd never felt before. Feeling the
hardness pressing against his own, he moaned
into the kiss, all thoughts shutting down but
the driving need to feel the man against him.
Breathless, he pulled back from the kiss,
eyes wide and just a bit wild as he stared
into the Count's.
"I
need this," he said, almost growled.
"I need you."
Drawing
back his head to stare at him, the Count said
softly, “Are you sure, te amin’le?
Already I speak to you in the ancient tongue
of my people. It will take little before I
claim you as my own. Do you know what you are
asking of me?” The gentle caress of his
hand smoothed over Taren’s skin, yet his
eyes burned with an unearthly fire. Without
doubt, the fire had been caused by Taren, and
it raged within Justinian nearly out of
control.
"Please."
It was the only thing Taren could say. He
caught Justinian's hand and brought the
Count's fingers to his lips, sucking two
fingers into the heat of his mouth, eyes
never leaving the Count's.
A soft
groan of sound escaped Justinian as the
warmth of Taren’s mouth surrounded his
fingers. The fire in his eyes intensified and
with a rising growl, his body pushed against
Taren’s, forcing him back into the room.
“In my bed. Now, Taren.”
Pulling
Justinian's fingers from his mouth, Taren
said, "Yes." He reached out and
curled his fingers to the Count's shirt,
tugging Justinian with him. A moment later
the backs of his legs hit the bed and Taren
fell back, pulling the Count down on top of
him. "Everything. I want to be
yours."
“You
were born mine, Taren.” The length of
his body stretched over Taren’s in the
huge canopied bed. The velvet draperies fell
around the bed, surrounding them in their own
world as one of Justinian’s hands
traveled slowly over Taren’s body. The
press of the Count’s lips caught his in
a hungering, bruising pressure. Nothing would
come between them now; Justinian’s kiss
left Taren no doubt of that.
Taren
couldn't argue; he knew it was true down to
the pit of his soul. Somehow, he belonged to
this man. Hands gripping Justinian's head, he
let himself go, the spread of his legs and
arch of his body making it clear what and who
he wanted.
Easily,
the Count divested Taren of his clothing in
between the devouring heat of his kisses.
Then his own clothes joined Taren’s,
leaving their bare skin flush with one
another. As if in answer to the rising need
inside Taren, a cool touch strayed over his
revealed flesh before Justinian’s mouth
followed in the wake of his hand.
Justinian’s lips, tongue and teeth
seemed to worship the skin beneath them in a
series of kisses and nips, trailing slowly
over Taren’s chest then down to his
stomach.
Shuddering
under the touches, Taren opened himself
further, splaying his legs apart.
"Justinian," he whispered, gasping
as the muscles in his stomach jumped beneath
the Count's touch.
“Shh,
te amin’le. Soon we will be joined. Let
me taste you as you were meant to be
loved.” His soft whispered words
surrounded Taren’s senses in tender
warmth. One of his hands slipped down, gently
exploring what Taren offered to him. The
caress of his fingers drifted over
Taren’s inner thigh before moving higher
to the sensitive skin just beneath his balls.
Another series of kisses brushed over his
stomach.
A small
sound escaped Taren and he pulled his legs up
and apart, exposing everything to Justinian's
touches. His body strained to feel more, to
feel heat and warmth, to feel Justinian
filling him.
"Love."
The word slipped from his lips on a breath.
"Devour me..."
Taking
a jar from the stand, Justinian opened it and
dipped his fingers in the salve. With
Taren’s soft begging, the tip of the
count’s finger began to slide gently
inside him. His mouth lowered to take in
Taren’s cock, the circle of his tongue
bathing him as his finger pushed deeply
inside. A moment later, a second finger
joined the first, expertly stretching the
muscles to make Taren ready for him.
"Oh,
sweet God..."
Taren's
breath left him, his hips rocking of their
own accord, driving Justinian's fingers
deeper. Gripping the Count's head, he thrust
up, the room starting to spin as he lost
himself in sensations he'd only dreamed about
before.
"Justinian..."
The name grew into a soft chant as he started
rocking between Justinian's fingers and
mouth, body shaking uncontrollably.
"Please!"
The
Count’s mouth completely devoured him to
the base of his cock and a hungry pressure
slid repeatedly over the hard flesh.
Carefully he only stretched Taren with his
fingers, leaving him needing far more of what
the count could give. It would take very
little for Taren to come and the relentless
glide of Justinian’s mouth and tongue
worked him into a frenzy of overwhelming
need.
His
mouth opening in a soundless scream, Taren
jerked, thrusting against Justinian as he
came. The rush left him dizzy and shaking,
rocking and bearing down on the fingers
working inside him. He needed more, needed
Justinian to stretch him, fill him. To
possess him.
The
movement of Taren writhing for him made
Justinian shiver as he swallowed the salty
sweet taste of his seed before releasing him.
Quickly, he covered his own cock in the
salve, and then he shifted back up
Taren’s body, hovering over him as he
guided his own aching flesh.
“There
will be pain, te amin’le, but I need
inside you.” With his words, the slow
push of his cock penetrated Taren. A shudder
overtook him and before he could stop
himself, a hard thrust pushed past the
barrier of tight muscles, unable to control
the overriding instinct to burying himself
with the tight, hot sheath of Taren’s
body. Abruptly, he stilled as he stared down
at Taren, seeing the pain etched on his
features.
Taren
dug his fingers into Justinian's biceps as
the pain shot through him. Shaking, he clung
tightly to the Count, seeking to anchor
himself in Justinian's eyes. His chest rose
and fell with quickened breath, and he dared
not to move, not wanting to lose the feeling
yet.
"Justinian...my
Count..."
“I
have always been yours, Taren.” The
truth was clear in the black eyes as they
locked with Taren’s. The rest of his
words came out in a soft growl. “I am
the only one who will possess you this way,
the only one allowed to have you.”
With
the slow relaxation of Taren’s body,
Justinian slowly withdrew and began making
love to Taren with his body and mouth. Each
slow graze of penetration filled Taren
completely and made the Count’s body
tremble in reaction. The effort at control
showed on his face and in the tension of his
body as Justinian kept to the slow thrusting
pace.
Taren
met every movement, circling Justinian's
waist with his legs, hips rocking up to meet
the Count's slow, deep thrusts. Realization
began to settle within him, unlocking
memories that his soul had suppressed for
ages. Reaching up, he touched Justinian's
lips with his fingertips.
"Justin."
“Yes,
my beloved,” Justinian whispered softly.
“You have finally returned to me.”
Pressing a soft kiss to his fingertips,
Justinian smiled slowly at him. “Take
your place within me once more. I have
starved without you.”
As he
spoke, the Count’s mind fully opened to
envelop Taren’s, seeking to desperately
draw him inside the safe harbor. He’d
waited for centuries to feel his beloved
Enoch again, and his thoughts surrounded
Taren in his need and love.
Taren's
eyes closed and he pulled Justinian down into
a kiss. Heat rushed through him and he
arched, screaming into the kiss as he shook,
spilling across his stomach as he held
Justinian deep inside him.
"Claim
me, my love." Taren’s mind both
pleaded for and demanded what he wanted.
With a
sudden surge, searing need laid waste to
Taren’s mind as it flooded him from
Justinian. The movement of Justinian’s
hips became bruising in the sudden craving
that burned through them both. It branded
Taren, and Justinian as well. Sharp fangs
dropped, piercing Taren’s tongue to
taste his blood before Justinian shook
violently, spilling inside Taren’s body.
This time he would not let Taren go, ever.
The harsh tangle of his thoughts took hold of
Taren’s, refusing to relinquish any part
of him.
"Yes,
yes..." The one word repeated
incessantly from Taren as the Count marked
Taren as his own.
Taren
tore away from the kiss and pulled
Justinian's head up to see his face.
"Now. Bring me over. Don't ever let me
go."
Justinian’s
own need struggled with the sanity of what he
was about to do. A world of anguish was clear
in his eyes as he stared down at Taren.
Instinct demanded he take everything he
wanted this time and not let any other
consideration stand in his way. The last time
it had cost him far too much. Each and every
one of his thoughts filled Taren’s mind
as well. He’d never wanted the darkness
to claim the beautiful light of innocence
that surrounded his beloved’s soul. Yet
he had no true choice because death would
take his love, and there would be nothing he
could do to stop it. Tears of blood spilled
down his cheeks as he slowly nodded to Taren.
Lowering his head, he nuzzled gently against
Taren’s throat with a soft press of his
lips.
"Shh,"
Taren murmured. "Take me, love, and we
will never be apart again." His hand
rested on the back of Justinian's head,
applying a gentle but insistent pressure.
A brief
flash of pain accompanied the strike of his
fangs deep into Taren’s flesh. The tight
pressure of his mouth drew life and warmth
from Taren’s body as he drank deeply
from him. The soft, loving caress of
Justinian’s hand ran over his skin in a
soothing tempo to keep Taren calm.
Pain
and pleasure wound tight together, curling
through Taren as Justinian fed. When fear and
the instinct for survival set in, however,
his eyes flew open, fingers clawing deep into
Justinian's arms and back, drawing blood to
the surface of the cuts as Taren struggled
against the inevitability of death.
Regret
transferred to Taren as it washed over
Justinian, but it was too late to stop. The
weight of his body pinned the struggling
Taren to the bed as he continued draining him
nearer to the point of death. A quiet,
soothing rush of emotion filled Taren as
Justinian pulled abruptly away from his
throat. Lifting his hand, his nail slashed a
jagged wound at his own throat then slipped
beneath Taren’s head to draw him to the
cut. “Drink, beloved. Stay with me
forever.”
Slipping
in and out of the haze slowly enveloping his
mind, Taren began to swallow the thick, rich
blood flowing into his mouth. As it spread
through him, the haze began to clear and his
mouth tightened on Justinian's throat, the
pull becoming strong and steady.
Slowly
Justinian let go of the momentary guilt and
regret as he felt the strengthening draw of
Taren’s mouth. His hand soothingly
caressed to the flesh beneath him, and his
thoughts surrounded Taren’s mind,
drawing him deeply inside. A quiet wash of
peace from Justinian flooded Taren, joining
them irrevocably beyond all doubt.
Pain,
pleasure, need, and hunger--it all formed a
knot deep inside Taren's soul, spreading out
as he continued to drink Justinian's blood.
When he'd taken enough, his head fell back,
peace and darkness setting in.
"Don't
leave me," he whispered, eyes opening
slowly. "Promise you'll be here when I
wake."
“I
will always be here, Taren. Far beyond the
time when you awaken again. Now sleep and
rest in my arms.”
Sliding
to the bed, the Count’s arms drew Taren
in against him, and Justinian’s hand
tucked his head beneath his chin. A soft,
pulsing growl rumbled from Justinian, the
sound of it calming Taren.
* * *
Hunger
the likes of which he'd never known pulled
Taren out of the peaceful darkness. He sat
up, blinking until he realized that it was
dark--and he could see with no trouble at
all. Looking to his side, he saw Justinian,
still sleeping peacefully. Taren smiled and
leaned over, circling a dark nipple with the
tip of his tongue before closing his mouth
around it.
Feeling
his lover nuzzling at his nipple, Justinian
opened his eyes and chuckled softly. His hand
moved to Taren’s hair, combing his
fingers through the thickness.
“Awake
and hungry, are you?”
"Yes,"
Taren said, sliding up until he hovered over
Justinian. He dropped a quick kiss to the
Count's lips, then another, the second
turning hungry.
Justinian
opened fully to him as his body stretched
beneath Taren’s. His arms slid around
him, and his hands rested to the curve of
Taren’s ass. An equal hunger answered
the kiss as Justinian’s fingers kneaded
gently to his skin. Humming softly, Taren
shifted, sliding their cocks together as he
moved to straddle Justinian. He pulled back
slightly and licked Justinian's lips, hips
beginning to move and grind.
"Hungry,"
he whispered. "Need you, Justin."
“How
do you need me, beloved? Inside you or inside
me?” As Justinian’s body shifted
beneath Taren’s, an upward arch applied
more pressure to the slow grinding movement.
For a
brief moment, Taren's thoughts stuttered, the
movement beneath him too distracting to form
words. The thought of sliding deep into
Justinian's body, however, was enticing.
Leaning down, he licked at Justinian's lips,
then slid down, settling between his lover's
legs as he drew a nipple into his mouth. He
teased it to hardness, flicking his tongue
over the bit of flesh before sinking his
teeth into the sensitive skin around it.
Parting
his legs, Justinian let Taren settled between
them. A soft cry of pleasure formed on his
lips with the bite of Taren’s teeth, and
Justinian’s nails dragged gently upward
over his back. “You want to be inside of
me. I can feel it, Taren.”
Lips
sealing around Justinian's nipple, Taren
reached blindly for the salve. Finding it, he
dipped two fingers into the still-open jar
and then released Justinian. He wanted to
watch, wanted to see his lover's face.
Tentatively, he probed at the Count's
entrance, then slid one finger inside him.
Instantly
Justinian’s body shuddered, and his eyes
widened with a heated flare as he stared at
Taren. His expression became one of deep need
as another groan escaped him. The movement of
his hips bore down, trying to drive the
finger deeper inside him. “Taren.”
One
finger became two and Taren sucked in a sharp
breath as he scissored them, stretching
Justinian open. Looking down, he watched the
way his lover's cock throbbed. He curled his
fingers forward as Justinian had done to him,
searching for the small spot in the Count's
body that he knew would spark lightning up
Justinian's spine. Finding a smooth mound, he
rubbed it gently, watching Justinian closely.
Already
hard and wanting, the sheer intensity
increased with the pulses throbbing through
him. Writhing on the bed, Justinian’s
hips bucked against Taren’s hand. He
reached for Taren’s hand and drew it to
his cock, the look in his eyes literally
begging Taren not to stop. Closing his eyes,
his head fell back to the bed, and his body
began to tremble as the need started to take
him over.
Taren
withdrew his fingers and quickly slicked
himself. Kneeling between Justinian's legs,
he rubbed the head of his cock over his
lover's hole and pushed in, groaning as tight
heat enveloped him. He took Justinian's cock
in a firm grip, sliding his fist up and down
the shaft as he started to move, thrusting in
and out of Justinian's body.
"Oh,
God..."
As his
legs wrapped to Taren, a hard jerk of
Justinian’s hips ground his ass against
him. An incoherent stream of sound rose in
his throat as he let Taren take him
completely over. Opening his eyes, pure need
and desire flamed in their depths as it
devoured Justinian. He could do nothing but
writhe helplessly with it, the urging of his
body grinding harder and harder to Taren.
Crushing
Justinian's mouth with his, Taren let himself
go, his thrusts going deep, growing stronger
as he stroked his hand up and down his
lover's shaft. He jerked away from the kiss
and the hunger overtook him. Fangs bared, he
drove them deep inside into Justinian's neck,
hips slamming against the Count.
Baring
his throat to him, the hard shudder of
Justinian’s body followed in the wake of
Taren’s bite. Justinian’s orgasm
left his mind reeling in the exquisite wash
flooding his body as his hands and body clung
to his lover. Over and over the sensations
rose and increased as Taren drank his blood,
leaving Justinian oblivious to everything but
sensation alone.
Taren
had only a split second to stop feeding
before his own orgasm hit, crashing into him
as he buried himself in Justinian's body.
"Justin!" He jerked hard, cock
pulsing as he filled his lover with his
release.
Justinian’s
body became limp beneath Taren. Dazed eyes
stared up at Taren as his hand reached up to
his cheek. “You are the only one
I’ve ever allowed to touch me in such a
way, Taren. There has never been
another.”
"Who
am I?" Taren blinked, turning his head
to brush a kiss to Justinian's fingers.
"I know you," he whispered. "I
know I loved you." He looked back at
Justinian, back into those dark eyes. "I
still do..."
“You
are my beloved Enoch returned to me. So many
centuries have passed since I last held you
in my arms. Too many. You wear a different
shell, but inside you have his soul.”
Taren
smiled and kissed him softly, whispering
'"I love you" on Justinian's lips.
“And
this time you will never leave me,
Taren.” The quiet promise of the
Count’s words settled deeply into
Taren’s soul. They were bound together
and would share an eternity between them.
This time death would not win.
