by Jamie Petit
He didn’t even notice that his eyes were screwed up shut. He forced them open and stared into Canthor’s lavender windows. Window eyes he didn’t understand, but loved no less. In his life amongst scientists and military strategists, there had been few things he allowed himself to be lost to, few mysteries he ever gave in to, little he allowed himself to not understand… but this was different. He didn’t know why he loved Canthor. He couldn’t begin to fathom how. But he did. There was tenderness and need and hope in those eyes. And he wanted to be a part of it.
A surge of emotion and urgency caught him and he began to move with greater need, riding with abandon. His cock leaked in great, endless rivulets, coating Canthor’s stomach and mixing with their mutual sweat.
Canthor pulled him in. They kissed as Canthor thrust up into him, his cock growing ever more. Merrick bit into the kiss, grinding his hips down with every hungry meeting of hip and thigh.
“God, I’m close,” Merrick groaned into Canthor’s mouth. He could feel that Wynmerian cock swelling as it neared its own heights of pleasure.
Canthor said nothing, but reached between them and grabbed Merrick’s cock around the head and jerked it, his fingers squeezing closed in a fist over the top, over and over, hurrying the orgasm.
Merrick sputtered and spasmed, his cock erupting, coating Canthor’s chest and hand in hot, human cum.
Canthor pulled out and swung his hand, drenched, to his cock and massaged it vigorously as well. Merrick clambered down Canthor’s mighty frame and wrapped his mouth around the head as it burst. He swallowed every bit, glad to have Canthor’s seed deep inside him.
They collapsed on the stone, out of breath, though Merrick felt a bit rejuvenated in spirit. He took a deep gulp of air and wiped at his mouth. “Why didn’t you cum inside me? I thought… I assumed…”
Canthor looked down. Then stood. “I wanted you to feel good. But…”
Cold filled the space where warmth had held an overdue sway just moments before. “But what?”
“I can’t. Not now.” Canthor bent over and helped Merrick to his feet. He bound his hands behind him. He gathered Tyllrn and rested it against his shoulder. They marched to the door and for the first time in what seemed like long ages, Merrick was outside his cell.
A guard came over holding a piece of paper. “Sir, this was delivered for you while you were inside.”
Canthor slipped it into his pocket without a glance. “Prepare the execution.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Canthor
Nausea wriggled violently in his belly. What had he just done? Hell on Wynmere, what had he just done? There was nothing but an angry static in his head as a surge of thoughts raced to take center point.
Did I just bond? If even a bit of seed—
I’m betraying him. How can I—
I’ve been here before I can’t—
Better to get it over with than—
A duty. A duty to my people—
He’s right, he’s right and you know it. He’s just—
I love him, I love him, I love him—
I wish I’d killed him when I had him in my sights, put a fucking bullet through that pretty—
I need him, I need him, I need—
Honor and the loyalty of your tribe, your people. You need—
Merrick.—
A disgusting human name. It sticks in your throat like—
Love. I found it again. I can’t let it—
There is no love only—
Love and a home and peace and—
The ruin of your people—
The ruin of yourself. You came. How much got in—
It doesn’t matter. If I’m dead either way, I’ll die in—
Honor—
Love—
Honor—
Love—
Honor—
Love—
“Canthor.” Merrick rested his head against Canthor’s arm. “I don’t know quite what you’re thinking now. But I know that I’ve never seen you look conflicted. Not until now.”
“I’m not.” It was an unconvincing lie. A pointless lie.
“I understand you might need to… do what you need to do. That’s,” he hesitated. “Well, it’s not ‘fine’, but it’s okay. I understand.”
Canthor narrowed his eyes at Merrick’s earnestness. “What?”
“I understand if you need to kill me. This war is bigger than either of us.” He smiled. “Despite what either of us might want to think.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do. You do too.” Merrick stepped in front of him. “But if you need to kill me—”
“Stop. I… I don’t…”
“You might.”
Canthor had no response except to bite back a sob that pressed onto his face as a snarl.
Merrick stepped to Canthor’s side, next to Tyllrn. “And if you do…”
What was this little human planning? Cut his bindings on the sword and get himself killed by Canthor’s guards, no doubt. Take a few swings, and when the guards saw, they’d rush over and cut him down. The thought of it, the closeness of death, clung to Canthor like tar.
“You need to do it here. Now.” There were no more smiles on Merrick’s face. “That wasn’t some offhand comment I made the other day. It wasn’t a lie for the sake of negotiating my way out. It was the truth. Earth will annihilate everything you love—”
“I love—”
“Shh.” Merrick’s eyes hadn’t been this clear since he’d charged the hallway at Canthor what seemed like a lifetime ago. They were bright and serious—full of certainty and finality. “Earth’s military will destroy your people. Every last one of them. There will be no room for negotiation. There will be no quarter. You have to kill me here, away from the cameras.”
“Merrick…”
“Here. Now.” Merrick stepped up to the blade, pressed his neck to it. A series of footsteps came closer. No doubt to announce the execution was ready. “Now, love.”
Canthor’s eyes flitted from the approaching footsteps to the thin red line growing where Merrick pressed firmly.
“Sir, the platform is ready,” said the lead guard. Two others followed behind.
Canthor’s hand shot out like a brick, slamming Merrick into the wall. “Keep your filth away from the blade of my people.”
“Need help sir?” The guard grinned gleefully, pulling on his own sword.
“Get back!” Canthor growled. “This vermin is mine.” He grabbed Merrick violently by the nape. “Come. Death awaits.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Merrick
There was emptiness where fear should be. Where hope might have been. There was nothing to fill it up. Not even love. Not any more, it seemed.
He watched the guards turn around to head back to the execution staging area. Their backs facing them, Canthor leaned over.
He whispered in Merrick’s ear. “Trust me.”
There it was. In that selfsame instant, he was full again. If there was one thing he believed about Canthor, it was that he could trust him. He didn’t dare flash a glance at his captor. It was unnecessary. He merely walked, guided by the hand above his back, leading him forward.
They made their way together through the winding stone pathways to an open space, awash in dusty light. The platform was there, along with a cutting block fashioned from the stump of an old tree. A small camera stood in front of it. Around the platform were about forty Wildmeres, sitting on their folded legs.
The Wildmeres made no motion of noticing Merrick’s arrival. There was a grimness about their silence. He could hardly read into it anything of value. But it was not a normal Wynmerian silence, not even for those who lived outside the cities. It was cold, anxious, hopeless, eager.
He was a little uneasy about the chill in their colorful eyes. But not afraid. Canthor’s hand was warm and soft.
He considered the thought that Canthor was merely comforting him. That he had every i
ntention of swinging that giant blade and parting Merrick’s head from his heart. But that was that. Even there, he decided he could trust Canthor.
He climbed onto the platform and knelt placidly before chopping block. The camera’s red light was on. He gave it a serious look, followed by the venture of a slender smile. It was enough that it would make for a good story if this went well. The man who smiled at his execution. Defiance? Expectation? He didn’t know right now what his smile meant, he just knew he’d like the stories later on.
He settled into position and closed his eyes. He was either going to sleep for a long, long time, or he would need the brief respite. Either way, he decided to rest. “Executioner? If you please…”
CHAPTER TWENTY
CANTHOR
The curved blade was heavy in Canthor’s hands. Tyllrn was not a weapon of war—stronger, longer, and weightier than any other sword by ten fold. It was an honorable tool of execution, meant to fall hard and fast to slice through the tough skin of the backs of enemy Wynmerian necks. The soft, human flesh beneath its glinting steel would split like the air before it.
The handle felt unsure in his hands as he began to sweat. The camera’s focus was on him, broadcasting in real-time across the planet and, with lag, back to Earth. Billions watching, waiting, expecting. His tribesmen stood just a handful of paces away, staring expectantly, waiting for the moment when Canthor’s swinging arms would end the enemy in their midst and begin the final war for Wynmere.
Canthor licked his lips, looking down at the man with his head on the block. Merrick must have felt his gaze. It made sense—they were connected now. No one in the whole world—this one or Earth—knew what was between them. If the tribal Wildmeres standing nearby knew, they’d have rushed the platform and torn the blade from Canthor’s hands and thrust it through him without apology.
Merrick turned his head as much as he could, enough to catch Canthor’s eye. He gave a last, shallow smile. One that was full of affection and forgiveness. Love, unconditional.
Just days ago, Canthor had been ready and resolved to execute this human—he had been prepared to exterminate the whole species. And now this. His whole life turned over in what felt like an instant. All his hates, his fears—gone. Canthor had become something he’d once loathed—and he was never happier.
This—to be forgiven his evil, was all but too much. The sword was heavy, but with Merrick’s trust filling him, it began to turn in his hands like a quill. He turned to the cameras, taking a hand from the hilt, spreading his arms, Tyllrn held in a single grasp over Merrick.
He spoke to his tribesmen in thick, woodsy Wynmerian. “We’ve been wrong. Wronger than I could have imagined. If you are truly loyal to me, and not to your hate, then lay down your weapons and join me with the humans.”
The ultimatums flew back at him fast. He hadn’t expected that to work, but it was worth a try. Merrick had trusted him as much. It was the least he could do for the men he’d lived with. The men he’d led.
“I will not allow you to do this,” he said to the tribes and the cameras. Tyllrn flashed in the air with impossible speed, freeing Merrick from his binds. “If this ends with blood, so be it. But it will be your blood in which you drown.”
Merrick got on his tip toes, leaned in, and kissed Canthor on the cheek. He took the pistol from Canthor’s belt, wrapped a hand around his waist, and pointed at the Wildmeres with a grin on his lips. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Fear knotted up with hope in his stomach. “Set it to stun.”
“Of course.” Merrick flicked the little switch.
“Now. Let’s.”
They flew off the stage into the fray, taking the Wildmeres by surprise. Merrick fired rapidly, taking down almost a score before anyone could scramble for their weapons. The gun clicked empty.
Canthor struggled with Tyllrn. That little flourish a few moments before had certainly been impressive, but it’d drained him completely. His muscles groaned and creaked with the effort of holding it in a battle-ready position.
“You can’t win,” he said to the almost two dozen warriors in front of him. “You know this. Your numbers will not protect you.”
“Traitor,” a voice growled from within the group in thick Wynmerian. “Better to die than admit of another moment as your follower.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said in response.
Another voice curled out of the pack. “You could hurt us no more than you already have.”
“Everything I’ve ever done,” he pleaded, “has been in the best interests of you—of Wynmere. Even this.”
“Then kill the human.”
“Kill the human.”
“Kill it.”
“No,” Canthor said at last. “I love him. And… and we are paired.”
A wild cry poured from the belly of one of the Wildmeres to his right. They charged, blade flashing in the air. Canthor ducked the swing and spun, parrying with a quick counter. He slid Tyllrn forward over the top of his attacker’s wrist, severing a much-needed muscle. Their weapon fell into the dust, them beside, clutching a bloody wound.
Canthor reached into the ammo pack on his belt, pulled out a magazine, and tossed it to Merrick. “Little help!”
He heard the mag clip in behind him and the sound of stun rounds charging. Four seconds until Merrick would be of any use. But the Wildmeres weren’t waiting for that to happen. They launched at once, some after Canthor, some after Merrick.
The ones who came after Canthor got simple wounds. Enough to make them useless in battle for the next couple of weeks.
The ones who went after Merrick died quickly.
Never in the many-centuries-long history of Tyllrn had it ever been wielded with such ferocity. Meant for crude hacks, Canthor found the strength to swing it like a saber. No one expected it. And so they fell.
Merrick barely found need for the second magazine. He fired off a few helping shots, but it wasn’t even certain that Canthor had needed that much. At last, the gathering area was filled with prostrate Wynmerians—some unconscious, some groaning, a few dead.
Tyllrn dropped from Canthor’s hands, pounding against the ground. His arms trembled with fatigue. “There will be reinforcements, no doubt,” Canthor said, breathing heavily. “We need to move. Fast.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Merrick
Even in his boot camp days, he’d never given so much. He didn’t know he had so much to give. They ran alongside the city wall for at least two hours, never pausing, only occasionally slowing. They finally came to a stop at a large stone slab that lay on the ground next to the wall.
“I need you to help me move this,” Canthor said.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m afraid I’m not.”
“That must a ton.”
“Not quite, but it will definitely be difficult, even working together.”
“Why is this there? What is this?”
Canthor bent down and began scraping under the edge of the slab to create a finger hold. “It’s the entrance to the tunnel we dug into the city.”
Merrick followed suit, digging in his fingers. “Why was such a heavy stone used? No way this is convenient.”
“Two reasons,” Canthor explained, grunting against the strain. “First, the scanners that are used to detect tunnels register air pressure changes. We needed something sturdy and weighty. Something that couldn’t be moved and that would seal off the entrance.”
“Hell, some saran wrap would do the trick.”
“It was also a conscious choice to make sure that no one Wynmerian could move it by themselves. There would always need to be at least two in agreement on a choice to enter the city.”
“Yes, well, I don’t quite have Wynmerian strength,” Merrick said, chewing his lip. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
“We’re both tired, but there isn’t time to rest. We have to use everything we have.”
“Can’t we just tunnel into the tunnel? Go
under the slab?”
“Nope. The tunnel is reinforced with steel tubing all the way through. No way for us to get in.”
“Alright then. Let’s do this.”
Merrick jammed his fingers in under the rock and dug his feet into the dirt, leveraging himself as best he could. They moved together, but the stone barely moved.
Merrick’s eyes swept the immediate area. They were in a dusty clearing. Nothing to use as a lever.
They tried again, making barely a centimeter’s progress.
Again and again. Centimeter by centimeter, until they could hear the sound of heavy footsteps echoing off the wall from far away.
“Shit.” Merrick saw that the hole was barely wide enough for him at this point—not a chance for Canthor’s broader frame to squeeze through. And they’d been at it for almost twenty minutes already.
“Go,” said Canthor. “I’ll figure something out.”
“They’ll kill you.”
“We can’t know that. I might be able to talk my way out of this.”
“You can’t—”
“Go.” There was no more room for discussion. No negotiation. Just action. “I have a better chance if you’re not standing next to me when they round the corner.”
“But—”
“Merrick, this is why I didn’t finish inside you back in the cell. Because I knew something like this might happen.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just a partial bond for now. If I’d completed the process, we’d be bound for good. And if I died—as I might—it would destroy you. I couldn’t do that to you.”
“Canthor…”
“Soon, we’ll finish our bonding. But for now, you need to run.”