Unchaste

by Watts, Mia

  Fortunately, the pain began to subside into numbness. Flynn didn’t test himself by stretching out his legs, for fear the spasms would return.

  Alarmed male voices bombarded him. Flynn caught random syllables and he cautiously turned his head to see who spoke. Instinct told him to run and hide. Pain kept him in his place, but the hair on the back of his neck rose, and he growled menacingly at the approaching men.

  “…paapankamwa…” one of the men said.

  Paapankamwa. The word meant fox. Which was true, Flynn was in his fox form. However, more accurately, he was Chula, red fox. Shifting into a red fox was one of those genetic traits he’d inherited after six generations of nothing. But Flynn’s last name, Chula, had remained the same, a herald of the possible ability running through his family lineage.

  The men squatted at his head. One held a spear. Both talked in hushed voices. Just like paapankamwa, other native words morphed into clear meaning. Some he didn’t understand, but most of them he did. What’s more, memories that had been like vague, muffled whispers sprang to life with understanding. The more they spoke, the more he understood.

  The one with the spear gently rubbed the top of Flynn’s head to the scruff of his neck. Flynn growled. If this man meant to harm him, the scruff would be a logical place to hold him for the task.

  “…cocheta.”

  Stranger. They were telling him not to be afraid of the strangers. His consciousness was hungry for more words. Like the breaking of an egg, the yolk of understanding seemed to spread as the shells of language opened to him.

  Flynn remained quiet, warily darting his gaze from one man to the other.

  “Atvgi’a.” Hear, the one with the gentle eyes said.

  The man with the spear rattled off an angry set of words. Ahnigi’a, leave, was among them.

  Flynn desperately wanted to make them shut up, and atvgi’a him, but the prospect of leaving with either of these two strangers didn’t appeal in the least. A fox was walking fur trade, considering the loin clothes these men wore.

  And why aren’t they speaking English? We’re in the middle of Illinois, for God’s sake. They’re taking their method acting a bit far.

  Flynn had forgotten the pain as it eased. The noise in his head subsided with it. Understanding of their language took less effort.

  “It’s a gift from the gods,” the kind-eyed man insisted.

  “Manaba is neither dying nor feeble,” The other returned, gripping his spear with predatory importance.

  “The gods know Manaba will destroy our people. Perhaps they’ve sent another priest.”

  The one called Amaro, snorted. “Manaba has only been here two summers. The gods couldn’t wish to replace him so soon. The fox is sign from the gods.”

  Manaba. Return to war. But Amaro had given it importance as though it were a proper name. Which was interesting. Flynn recognized that Amaro meant strong and was also used as a name by the man who’d wanted to help Flynn. He perked his ears in anticipation of hearing the name of that guy.

  “Manaba’s temple spills with blood sacrifices. He may be a priest, but even a priest can abuse the power of the gods.”

  Amaro absently stroked Flynn’s fur. When he stopped to level a glare at the other man, Flynn nudged his palm with a wet nose.

  Amaro immediately looked at him. “You like that, do you?”

  Intensely.

  “We’ll speak of that another time. Send a runner to Macawi about this sign from the gods. I’ll care for him until you return.”

  “Perhaps I am meant to care for it,” Amaro argued.

  “I’m not a fool. We both discovered him. Send your best runner. I’ll see to the care of this little one.”

  The unnamed man scooped Flynn up in his arms. He held him to his chest and scratched under Flynn’s chin.

  Flynn tried to maintain some dignity and not nuzzle against his neck. He lost the battle, sighing into warm flesh and approving chin rubs.

  Both men stood.

  Amaro looked around. “We shouldn’t be standing in the portal.”

  The other man seemed to agree, and they exited Woodhenge. Somewhere in his haze of pleasure, Flynn thought leaving with these two was a bad idea. He struggled against the man as his muscles started to twitch with residual pain. The man hushed him and held tighter.

  Flynn snarled and opened his teeth on the wrist easily within reach, but didn’t close on it.

  Amaro laughed. “He seems well enough, now, Koda. Put him down. If he’s from the gods, he’ll know to follow us.”

  Koda, the man who held him, meant allies.

  Flynn’s gaze moved between them. Then withdrawing his teeth, he lifted his muzzle and licked Koda’s jaw. He squirmed until Koda couldn’t hold him.

  Flynn’s paws hit the ground, and he darted off several paces. He paused to look over his shoulder at the two men. Fire, seized Flynn’s joints. He howled long and high when it radiated outward to his muscles and skin. His body tingled with the sensation of a thousand needles, short-circuiting his will into a forced shift.

  Animal howling became human yells. His eyes watered through the pain, and he watched his forelegs become arms, lengthening, widening, grotesquely shedding rusty fur for pale skin and fingers that gripped the grass as though it alone kept him from falling apart.

  His shoulders spread and his ribcage cracked, reformed, filled with human lungs gulping mouthfuls of air. His knees broke and twisted, popped the opposite direction and Flynn pushed his toes deep into the dirt, holding on for dear life.

  Gasping as the transformation subsided, Flynn collapsed on his side.

  Amaro stilled as fox became man. Though his knees weakened, and his stomach quivered, he accepted what he saw as truth. The gods had chosen a change in his path. He’d hoped, when they’d seen the fox in the portal, that it had merely been a coincidence paired with timely thunder, but there was no mistaking the gods’ intent now.

  A shifter was among them. That meant only one thing, Amaro and Koda had been chosen to prepare Manaba’s replacement. Should Manaba know, Koda had every reason to worry about the new priest’s fate. He would be killed, as would Amaro and Koda for finding him.

  Beside him, Koda sucked in a sharp breath, and he wondered if Koda had the same dawning horror as he did. One apprenticed priest would never accept a challenger into his midst. Did the gods mean to tell them that as Macawi, his master, drew his last breaths and passed from this life into the arms of the next, Manaba’s reign would end? Or that the gods were so displeased with Manaba, that they’d sent another to replace him before the high priest could formally name his heir?

  Amaro couldn’t reject what he’d witnessed with his own eyes. Or the burden the gods had placed on him and Koda to see it finished.

  The man breathed, his lungs expanding beneath pale flesh unlike any Amaro had seen before. A soft groan escaped the stranger. Koda started toward him. Amaro blocked his way and Koda bumped into his outstretched spear arm.

  “The gods have answered, Amaro.”

  Koda seemed to have no difficulty in accepting the burden they’d been given.

  “This will mean war among our people,” Amaro snapped. He didn’t know why he argued with Koda. They both understood the potential for disaster, and they both recognized they had no choice but to do as their gods demanded. The ones that found the priest were the ones chosen to test his worthiness, or the gods would have waited until another passed the portal before sending the shifter.

  “Are you so determined to keep the favor of the blood priest that you’d disobey the ones who gave you breath?” Koda shoved his arm away and jogged the short distance to the sprawled man.

  From here, Amaro could make out the rounded backside and long, lean thighs. Dark earth-colored hair curled around his calves and as though making a point, the gods drew down bright sunlight which caused shades of holy ochre to glint within each hair. Amaro’s breath caught. He touched the sacred pouch around his neck as realization dawned on him. A
man given by the gods and anointed with ochre coloring on pale skin? There could be no mistaking that this man had been set apart as blessed above Manaba.

  Amaro hurried to his side, astounded to find that the man’s hair, cut short, twisted and curled with golden-ochre lights inside each brown strand. Fearfully, he touched it, gasping at the thin, soft feel of it.

  The man groaned again. He twisted his shoulders facing upward.

  “Do you doubt now?” Koda asked him, his brown eyes daring Amaro to argue.

  Amaro shook his head. “No. Now I only fear our futures for carrying out the gods’ wishes.”

  Koda touched the soft hair, too. “He’s unusual.”

  Amaro could hardly disagree. Features that might have appeared ugly seemed strangely appealing. His forehead was higher, his brows thicker and the same color as on his legs. He had more hair on his body too. It was something all the shifters shared. Body hair and skin slightly different than the various tones of the people.

  Manaba’s pale brown hair had been unusual upon his arrival as well. His eyes, unusually golden in color, had astounded all the people in the empire. To look him fully in the eye was a challenge few took.

  This new priest had more than unusual color. He had a form unlike Manaba’s. He had height and his body disdained the thin, sunken chest, and unformed muscles Manaba had. This new man gleamed with health and vigor.

  His features were familiar, yet different. His nose had proud prominence, yet its angles were subdued. His cheekbones cut high, but were not wide. His lips were full, but the color of a budding flower. His jaw was strong, but not squared.

  “He is,” Amaro paused to find the right word. “Beautiful.”

  He noticed Koda’s gaze travel over the man’s form, and Amaro made a disapproving noise that didn’t stop him in the least.

  Koda’s eyebrows rose.

  “What do you see?” Amaro asked reluctantly.

  Koda met his gaze, dryly. “A rightfully proud warrior.”

  “Silence,” the man said, lifting a hand to his temple and wincing. “Argue enough.”

  Amaro and Koda exchanged looks. Koda shrugged.

  The man blinked, and once again the men stared. Amaro had never seen eyes the color of pine needles before. It was as though the forest had hidden away deeply colored leaves, and when the gods had chosen to form a new priest, they’d sprung open the arbor-shaded treasures, just for this man.

  “Looking strange at me?” the man said. There were other words in between his words which weren’t familiar to Amaro.

  Amaro cocked his head. It had sounded like a question, but the formation of words and thoughts weren’t quite right. “What have the gods sent you to do, priest?”

  “Priest?” he asked. He put a hand on his bare chest. “Called, Flynn.”

  “Flynn,” Koda repeated, though he didn’t appear to know why he was repeating the word either.

  The man tentatively touched Amaro’s knee. Amaro scrambled back.

  “You Amaro.” He then touched Koda, who swayed away, ready to leap to his feet if necessary. “You Koda.” He touched his own chest again. “Flynn.”

  Amaro automatically filtered out the words he didn’t understand to catch the meaning of the ones he did.

  “You’re called Flynn,” Koda said, understanding.

  “We must begin testing him soon,” Amaro said.

  “Tested how?” Flynn asked.

  Didn’t the pale man know?

  “Tested for the chastity of priesthood.” Amaro ignored the startled sound Flynn gave, and addressed Koda next. “I’ll send a runner to speak directly with Macawi.”

  Koda lifted his chin in agreement. “I’ll take Flynn to our people, and they will help us while we test him.”

  “How do you know your people won’t send word to Manaba?” Amaro demanded to know.

  “How do you know your people won’t?” Koda countered.

  “Tested?” Flynn repeated. “What mean, tested?”

  Koda and Amaro stared each other down, ignoring Flynn’s curled, naked form.

  “Neither of us tell our people,” Amaro conceded at last. “He remains hidden through the testing time. When Macawi sends for him, then we tell our people.”

  Chapter Four

  Flynn struggled to make himself clear. “What’s this about testing?” He knew he wasn’t making much sense to them. Plucking words from his veiled memories was getting easier, but he still missed a lot of others. For those, he threw in English.

  Amaro and Koda looked at him. Their ebony hair falling past their shoulders, proud jaws and burnished copper skin were as real as he was. He had no idea what the fuck was happening, but these pranksters seemed completely sane, even if their words didn’t.

  “You’ll be tested,” Koda assured him.

  How could he understand them, but have so much trouble finding the right words to express what he meant. He’d felt the same way in college French classes. Understanding came first, followed by usage.

  But what language were they speaking?

  “Priesthood, yeah, you mentioned that. Look, I’m not a priest any more than you are.”

  Amaro’s nostrils flared with anger. He pushed Flynn’s partially elevated body back to the ground. “You will not test me, Flynn-priest!”

  “I think that’s my line, Amaro-brute. There will be no testing of the Flynn,” he shot back, knocking Amaro’s hand from his chest.

  Amaro looked down at his palm, then at Flynn’s chest. His nose wrinkled and he brushed his fingers over the dusting of dark auburn curls across Flynn’s pecs and down his stomach.

  Flynn grabbed his wrist. “Mind your manners, buddy. You’re sexy as hell, but I don’t find the prospect of confinement to be a turn on. That’s what you plan on doing right? Until this indigenous final exam is finished?”

  “He has hair everywhere,” Amaro said to Koda out of the side of his mouth.

  “He’s blessed with animal form. It’s natural he’d have aspects of his totem as a man,” Koda answered. “Manaba has body hair, too.”

  “Not as much.”

  Koda didn’t seem to have an answer for his pal.

  Flynn sat up. “It’s been real nice chatting with you boys, but how about I leave you to this, uh, discussion, while I find some clothes and my tour guide?”

  “Stay,” Koda commanded.

  “I’m not your priest,” Flynn said, heading off the argument before he got going again.

  Amaro grunted with annoyance. Roughly, he gripped Flynn’s thigh, pulling it until he’d exposed Flynn’s cock. Then reaching for it, Amaro cupped his balls and gently worked them.

  Flynn wasn’t amused. He struggled to backward crawl out of reach, but Koda put a hand on his chest. That warning look and the pissed off one he got from Amaro, kept him still.

  To Flynn’s embarrassment, his cock swelled.

  Amaro gave a cry of triumph. “You are a priest.”

  “It proves you gave me a hard on, not that I’m a priest.” Flynn scrambled away. He got to his feet, ready to bolt, or shift. God, he didn’t want to shift. He was still aching from the last time.

  “I don’t know hard on.” Amaro rose too.

  Koda followed suit.

  Flynn motioned to his semi-erect cock. “Hard on.”

  “All priests prefer sex with men. That’s why they require the test of chastity,” Koda offered casually.

  “Jesus H. Christ! I’m gay, and while that may indeed be a state of holiness and worthy of almighty praise, my cock gets stiff if a man is messing with it. It’s anatomy, guys. Back the fuck down.”

  Amaro inhaled sharply. “He wishes to join roughly. We must hurry toward his preparation before he takes a woman.”

  Flynn didn’t know in what universe a gay man would ever take a woman, but this whole priest-chastity-testing thing was going to have to work itself out without him. “I’m gonna just go catch up with Bubblegum Barbie. I see the henge. Can you point me toward Mound 44? Or Monk’s
Mound?” He turned a slow circle, keeping half an eye on Amaro and Koda. “Hell, just tell me where the road is and I’ll do the walk of shame all the way into town.”

  “He uses odd words,” Amaro complained.

  “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re an odd word,” Flynn countered.

  Koda shrugged. Flynn seemed to make him do that a lot. Then, without warning, Koda tackled him, and rolled him to his belly. Wrists caught low on his back, Flynn knew he was well-pinned.

  The spear butt hit the ground inches from Flynn’s face. Amaro pulled a leather thong from the waist of his loin cloth and held it out of visual range. Flynn felt it bite his skin as his hands were tied.

  Koda climbed off, and together, he and Amaro lifted him to his feet.

  “We must find a place for the testing.” Amaro said.

  “I have a cave by the river. It can’t be seen from the drop edge.”

  “Good. I’ll keep watch the first night. We will begin testing him tomorrow at first light.”

  “Wait! People will miss me. I have a hotel reservation. You can’t just kidnap me like this and think no one will notice,” Flynn protested.

  A sharp crack to the back of his head, dancing swirls of black and pinpricks of white filled his vision. Then the numbness wore off, and Flynn hit his knees. Suddenly, everything went dark.

  * * * *

  Flynn came to with a splitting headache. Something tickled his nose on each inhalation, and he discovered, upon opening his eyes, that he’d been placed on fur bedding. A cozy fire lit the walls of a dank cave. Remembering the earlier conversation, he supposed this was his holding cell.

  With the backdrop of foliage and the barest hint of a river bed beyond, Amaro’s stoic form blocked Flynn’s exit. Given the amount of wild overgrowth, it appeared the cave was well hidden. The natural barrier against the cooler night air, and the insulating properties it provided for the warmth of the fire, left Flynn feeling surprisingly comfortable.

  If not for the headache. And that he had to pee.