“If you hurt him –” Galahad began.
“Shh,” I told him, placing a hand on his shoulder and sitting on the floor. “Let the man talk. We are his guests.”
“Your fathers’ union was blessed by Albion herself and I don’t like to cross that old woman,” the Mer King said quietly. “I also don’t like to cross The Lady, she and I have had our disagreements in the past and I have to say I usually came off worse. However, I don’t think she has control over your young pup.” He focused on me. “I think she’s lost her hold and doesn’t want to admit it. She lost his father to Morgana and she’s going to lose the Wolf’s pup to you.”
My father always said, ‘Never stop your enemy when he’s doing something foolish or doing something you want him to do.’ This man was thinking what we needed to him think and I wasn’t going to stand in his way.
“But I wonder how real these sudden shifts in loyalties are... What would you agree to, man of Camelot, to protect your pup?”
That I didn’t like and neither did Galahad. “Please, don’t hurt him,” my young friend whispered. “Please.”
Those black eyes glittered. “Oh, wolf pup, you have a lot to learn about leadership. Sacrifice being a fine lesson. Although you are a very beautiful man, despite the scars, I prefer my meat a little more...” His eyes swung to mine. “Educated and a great deal lovelier. So, will you agree to a sacrifice to save your pup?”
Me? Lovelier than Galahad? Never. And I already knew the answer to his question – no thought necessary.
“I’m flattered, Sire, but trade agreements don’t normally involve an intimate discussion,” I said carefully.
The right side of his mouth lifted in a smile, making his expression harsh and bitter. “Then you have a lot to learn about fey, man of Camelot. Answer the question.”
I knew in my heart where this was going, I could see it in the old bastard’s face. I just kept the image of Galahad’s beauty yielding to my soft touch, his strength in my arms, his whispers against my skin. I would do anything to protect him.
“Don’t, Holt. Please. I can survive anything...” he said with a softness belying his fear.
I didn’t need to look at him. I stared straight into the old man’s black shark eyes and said, “I will do anything for Galahad du Lac.”
He nodded briskly and large hands grabbed me and Galahad. He became a creature of savage intent. Though I have to say, the threat didn’t do much for me either.
Eight of those huge guards brought Galahad down and six dragged me from the large room. I lost sight of him but I could hear him and he screamed my name even as a door rumbled closed.
The guards threw me to the ground and pain sparkled through my face, shoulder and hip. A foot stamped on my back, tying my arms at the elbows, straining my shoulders badly and cutting off circulation to my fingers quickly. They hauled me up and dumped me on a chair, tying my ankles to the legs with practiced efficiency. I fought, I strained and I cursed and received a hefty punch to my guts for the trouble. My mouth opened in response and a rough piece of something disgusting found itself down my throat making me retch. I tried to spit it out but something tied it in place.
I screamed dumbly into the wedge of something nasty and rocked the heavy chair, every muscle fighting for release. Where the hell was Galahad and what were they doing to him?
You can’t fight rope forever with dump strength and I calmed eventually, sweat made my damp clothes stick to me and I was forced to breathe heavily through my nose. I hurt from the beatings I’d taken and I need to survive for Galahad’s sake. I looked around me trying to find something with which to free myself. I was in a bedroom.
I was in a huge, ornate bedroom with more ropes, ties, racks, whips and canes than I’d thought possible. I groaned and closed my eyes. This wasn’t going to go well...
The only thing I could do to save myself was escape and for that I needed to think calmly. I glanced around and saw little to be of interest to me. Nothing sharp lay on the surfaces and I sat in the centre of a space two paces wide. I tried to stand on my bare feet but they’d tied my ankles high so my heels were off the floor and my toes weren’t strong enough to take the weight of me and the heavy chair. I began to rock the chair to shuffle it toward a bench.
“All that strength...” sighed a sibilant voice.
I stopped and twisted, straining my neck. The old man shuffled into the room, an ornate white cane in his hand. It bowed under the weight he placed on it making it appear he was hardly strong enough to stand straight.
“I thought I’d want the du Lac boy. His beauty is already legendary. The scars just add a little something extra... But I don’t have to tell you that.”
I watched him move around me, not fooled by the weak old man act. His black eyes couldn’t hide his excitement at having me so vulnerable.
He stood in front of me and a smile of hunger stained his lips. “But, Pendragon, you are by far the loveliest creature I have seen in years. I would take the wolf pup just to see your reaction but not yet, I want you to know what he’ll endure before I do that.”
The panic spiked at the thought of this monster hurting Galahad and I fought the bonds once more, the effort utterly futile.
A dry chuckle made me stop. “I’ve heard about your desires, Pendragon. Your love for the wolf cub is glorious. I think I might make you watch, it’ll be stimulating.”
I breathed so heavily my nose tingled with the effort and my chest ached. The old man wandered off and rifled through a drawer. He found what he wanted and returned. A small double bladed knife.
“I want to see those muscles at work,” he said. He came close and I could smell rotting seaweed. He pushed his hand against my chest and I found myself completely unable to move as he thrust me back into the chair. He might appear frail but no weakness lived in that old body.
He started to cut away my clothing, muttering to himself in a language I didn’t know. Occasionally he would stop and run his fingers over the surface of my skin. I whined in panic the first time and he chuckled, my flesh screaming silently in rejection. It took a long time for him to cut away my clothes. When he exposed my manhood I grew cold and very still. I was not going to let this man touch me, he would not reach me. I lived a long away from the shell which held my soul.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
I could not hunch over to protect myself; my elbows being tied behind my back forced me upright in the chair. I did not look at the old man, I stared at the wall and carefully thought about nothing – not even the countless ways I could kill this creature who now stroked my thighs.
He spoke to me but the words rolled around, they didn’t enter my ears, I couldn’t respond so there didn’t seem much point listening.
Then it happened. Fingers touched my manhood. I jerked hard against my restraints, I couldn’t help myself and a sound of protest squeezed past the gag. The fingers explored. I willed myself to remain soft, flaccid but those fucking awful fingers knew what they were doing and I felt the changes despite my mind screaming at my instincts we didn’t want this to happen. I felt sick, my body betraying me so completely, I tried so hard to deny the growing disloyalty but nothing worked.
The old man sat back once he’d forced me hard.
“Impressive,” he muttered. “If you’ve fucked the wolf cub with that The Lady isn’t going to be pleased.”
I glared at the old bastard and gradually the stress of the situation made me able to reclaim my body. I breathed deeply, grateful for the instantly flaccid cock. The only time in my life I’d been grateful.
He harrumphed in irritation and yanked my gag out of my mouth, taking most of the remaining skin on my lips with it. “I’ll bring the boy in here if you don’t improve this game,” he snapped.
I stared into the cruel dead eyes of a man who’d lived far too long with his own bitterness and smiled. “If you wanted Galahad in here, he’d be here already. You are afraid of crossing The Lady, but she wants me dead so you can play
with me until you grow bored with the game. You will beat me, rape me and I will suffer. You will torture Galahad with the knowledge you’ve hurt the mighty King of Camelot, but in the end it won’t do anything other than add to a long list of pointless atrocities.” I spoke with surprising calm. I doubted it would last, the power in this old man could crush me effortlessly so I was dead whether I played the game or not.
“I will fuck that wolf cub,” he hissed.
“No you won’t. You are a cruel bully and when Galahad is King of Albion he will find a way to kill you. He is not a forgiving man and he loves me – as a brother loves another brother,” I said.
The old bastard’s hand slapped me hard across the face, then instantly came back and did it again. My eyes felt like they were going to fall out of my head it hurt so much and blood flowed. I spat it out but not on the old man, I wouldn’t be that petty.
He called for his guards and I swallowed hard. Here we go, I thought, time to be the victim. They cut the bonds and I instantly started to fight but they weren’t going to be stopped by me. They were full fey and whatever fey blood might run in my all too human veins I didn’t stand a chance of using it. I found myself held down and strapped to a bench, bent at the waist and my neck tied down as securely as my arms. My legs were forced apart and I felt something liquid trickle down that most intimate of places.
Enjoying sex with men and rape are as different as the sun and moon. Women know this but men, even men who like sex with other men, don’t think too deeply about such things. The great adage – it’ll never happen to me – holds sway. Really? You sure?
I fought. I had to fight even though it was pointless, just so I could tell myself I did everything possible.
The old man laughed at my antics and slapped my backside a few times, nicely humiliating, then I felt it. His dirty, stinking, foul cock pressed against me and I couldn’t do a fucking thing to stop him. I bellowed in rage until the gag was roughly thrust into my mouth and he fucked me. He crowed his delight and made it as hard and fast as possible, rutting like some foul animal, chortling his delight about destroying Camelot’s crowning glory.
Tears filled my eyes. Not for me but for the shame brought to Camelot and my father’s honoured name of Pendragon. I’d let him down so completely his shade would never forgive me. I wasn’t worthy of the throne, I wasn’t worthy of the name and I wasn’t worthy of Galahad.
The old bastard finished, grunting hard and filling me with his disgusting seed. He pulled out but I couldn’t move until they released me. He shared words with his guards, words of contempt, and I mourned. The bonds were released. I didn’t fight – no point now – the worst was done.
The guards hauled me off the table and I found myself standing, they held my arms tight enough to add to the bruises and I walked out of the bedroom. I couldn’t think but a place inside me remained forever separate.
‘Fight’, it said.
I ignored it – what was the point?
‘Fight and survive,’ it whispered in the quietness of my shocked mind.
I felt something disgusting trickle down my leg. ‘Fight and survive,’ it cooed quietly.
Rage took over. It happened so fast one guard was dead and I didn’t even know how it happened. I only noticed because I stumbled on his body.
Three others were there and I fought, the beating hurt like a bitch but they had to get close enough to pin me down and in the process one of them didn’t notice me carefully remove a small eating knife. I flicked it into the palm of my hand and took the pounding like a good boy, hiding my hand in my chest and hiding the knife along with it.
Some cursing, some dragging and another few hefty blows, making my ribs finally give way before they threw me to the ground. The door closed with a thankful crash.
“Holt?” came a small voice.
I whimpered, I couldn’t help it. To hear that soft sound, the tones of the man I loved broke something in me the Mer King hadn’t managed to breach. I lay on my side on the cold stone floor, huddled around the fist holding the knife.
A hand touched my shoulder. I flinched. I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t help myself.
A small sound of extraordinary pain leaked from my companion.
“Holt,” he choked. He muttered something. His grip on my shoulder strengthened. “Come, you need someone to see to your wounds. We have to get you dressed.” I heard him moving and a small grunt. “Here, you can wear my shirt. It’s very soft...” he said pointlessly.
I tried to talk but only strange warbling escaped. He draped the shirt over my shoulder. “Here, up, we’ll help each other. I need you, Holt. I’m very scared and I’m confused. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to kill them all for hurting you. You’re the one with the brains, brother, so I need you to feel better.”
While he talked he lifted me gently off the ground and slid his legs under my head and neck. He tucked the shirt in like a blanket around my tight arms and began to stroke my hair. His hands were large but so gentle and his fingers were kind, not curious. They felt like my father’s hands, they felt like his father’s hands. The two most powerful men I would ever know and I’d failed them both.
He kept talking softly but I could hear the tears and he stopped to sniff occasionally. I gradually started to relax and began to calm under his gentle persuasion.
“That’s it, Holt. Sleep. I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered.
Safe, he couldn’t keep me safe. No one could keep me safe. The old man would drag me back into that room and he’d fuck me, hurt me but he’d also hurt Galahad. I had to protect the wolf pup...
“Galahad...”
He sobbed. I uncurled at last, my legs and arms stiff, the small knife still held tightly in my hand.
“Holt, look at me, love,” begged Galahad.
“You don’t have to call me that,” I said. I sounded rough and harsh. “You never call me that again.” I struggled upright and pulled the shirt over my head. “Thank you for this.” My back remained firmly toward my young friend. I couldn’t look at him, not yet.
“You’re bleeding, Holt,” he said as if trying not to wake the monster he tiptoed around.
“Yes,” I said.
“There is place you can wash. You might want to wash.”
“I stink of old man and sex.”
“No, Holt. You smell of you but you are bleeding, your hand is bad,” he said. “Look at me, love.”
I finally turned toward him. “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever fucking call me that. I am not your love. I am not loved by anyone.” The words came out in a shouted rush.
Galahad’s eyes instantly filled with tears and his mouth wobbled. “Sorry,” he said.
My high temper dropped. “No, no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I reached out and grabbed his hand. “Don’t listen to me. I’m hurting.” I tried to raise my eyes to his face, rather than his shoulders and I tried to smile. My lips were swollen and hurt, making it a grimace. “I’ll wash.”
“I can help.”
“No!” I swallowed hard. “No, Galahad. I’d like you to turn away.”
We were in the small room we’d occupied before but now a bucket of water, some rags and another bucket for our waste sat in a corner.
“I can help, Holt. It doesn’t matter what he did to you. Nothing will change how I feel about you...” he spoke quietly but stopped when he saw something in my eyes. “I’ll turn my back,” he promised.
I rose on weak and shaking legs to use the water. I placed the knife on the ground where I could see it and first cleaned my hands. I had cut myself and I tied a rag around the wound. I washed my face, found the abrasions on my ribs and arms. I then began to wash my genitals and legs. A gasp of pain escaped me at one point, the water stinging, reminding me all too clearly. I guessed I should be grateful the old bastard didn’t have a bigger cock.
“I have a plan,” I said, trying to distract myself.
“I knew you would,” Galahad said. �
�You are the best of us, Holt.”
He was trying to make me feel better but nothing would make this better. I ignored him and carried on. “I have a knife, only a small one, but it’s something. We can try to get you out. There must be a way to the surface and you are the one that can use whatever is here to get out. You are the fey, Galahad. Once free you can find the others, save them if you need to. The main thing is Albion will be saved.”
A long silence. “What about you?” he asked. “Where do you fit in?”
“The important thing is getting you back to land and for you to fulfil your destiny.” I winced again at the stinging water.
“No, the important thing is to kill the man who hurt you,” he said.
I glanced over my shoulder, he sat as he promised with his back to me, staring at the wall. The tension in his shoulders made it look as if he’d snap his spine.
I stopped cleaning myself – it was pointless, I’d never be clean – and rose, walking slowly to my young friend. I placed a hand on his naked shoulder and he glanced up at me in surprise. His face was a mess, his knuckles were bloody and bruises covered his chest and ribs.
“You fought,” I said.
He blinked and frowned, confused for a moment. “Of course I fought.” He glanced at the door and my eyes tracked his, blood stained the stone. He’d tried to punch his way out of the cell.
I lowered myself to the floor, keeping my back to the wall so we were facing each other. I took hold of his hand and placed the knife in it. “You are stronger, faster and fitter than me right now. When they come you must attack them. I will join you and find another weapon, then you will run while I hold their attention. Albion is what is important,” I said patiently.
“No,” he said.
“Galahad...” I wanted him to be reasonable, I couldn’t fight him over this, I didn’t have the strength.
The Pendragon Legacy: Sons Of Camelot Book One Page 19