Chapter 15
Chaos reigned for seconds that felt like hours. Guards surrounded them, pushing Akito to his knees, separating Lyandros from him. Lyandros inhaled deep as a grunt from Akito was followed by a cry of pain. Akito might be a traitor, but no matter the label or their relationship, Lyandros counted himself responsible for any being under his care. Fording through the fae, Lyandros captured Akito by the back of his shirt and hauled him over the guards to safety. The warrior emerged, hair askew.
Akito, hands on his knees, panted and glared up at him through the curtain of his hair. “Thanks.”
Isander, who had attempted to enter the fray, was flanked by two guards while the rest fell back.
“You are lucky they did not kill you,” Isander chided Lyandros. “He is not worth your blood.”
Indeed, what in the nine hells would have caused him to come to the defense of a man neither of them truly knew? What was it to Lyandros if Akito suffered the wrath of the fae?
The fae king tapped his staff against the floor. A high-pitched note rang at decibels that vibrated the air and disturbed the candle flames. Waiting out the cacophony, the fae king leaned forward, on the edge of his seat.
“We have decided upon our gift.” A silver tipped nail flashed, pointed at Akito. “This human.”
The Justice Giver in Lyandros rebelled twofold. Once at the taking of a man he’d judged would suffer his sentence for crimes committed against the mora, and once at Akito’s mistreatment by the fae without true cause.
Lyandros stepped in front of Akito, shielding him from the king. “As I said, he is mine. My tribute. You may have me, or no one.”
The fae’s expression turned stony. “He is not your tribute. I can sense the magic in my realm. Do you take me for a fool?”
“It is only that we were unable to complete the sentencing.” Lyandros bowed low. “I only await a private moment to complete what my judgement and the gods have ordained.”
A slow smile spread over the king’s face. Raising his hands, he beckoned a liveried attendant and whispered in his ear. The man—boy-faced and willowy—nodded and signaled the guards. Lyandros stiffened, prepared to fight, but relaxed when the guards produced the keys to unlock his, Akito, and Isander’s chains.
“You have amused us,” the king explained, rising, and those seated in the gallery rose with him.
“Majesty?” Isander queried.
Every arched brow and fluttering fan spoke of universal bemusement. Lyandros stretched his shoulders, shaking off the stiffness from the chains.
“Go. Wash. We will provide you with more suitable attire. Then join us for our banquet. After, we will have a display of your magic and this tribute’s sentencing…for our gift.” The king’s brittle smile glinted with steely resolve. “We know you would not wish to disappoint.”
Lyandros bowed his head and retreated, walking backward. He knew better than to turn from a monarch, especially this one. A knife in his back wouldn’t have surprised him as much as validated what he knew. The fae were alright, but they had a tyrant of a king and an aristocracy as depraved as they came.
Sleeves pushed back, Akito rubbed at his wrists. “I can’t believe they let us go.”
“For a price,” Isander reminded him when Lyandros remained silent.
A fae guard led them down the mirrored gallery. Candlelight and colors danced in Lyandros’s peripheral vision, kicking up a headache. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. “This presents difficulties.”
Isander raised silver brows. “Our laws do not apply here, in Faerie.”
Lyandros cast him an arch look from under his hand. “But honor does.”
Usually, vampires did not bond with humans in any way. Not because they couldn’t, but because they shouldn’t. As a Son of Pollux, Lyandros had more than his fair share of magic in his veins. To lord that magic over someone wholly human was tantamount to asking for consent from a child. You could not freely give that which you had never experienced, and therefore could not understand.
“If it helps…” Isander glanced to Akito, who had dropped behind. “He does have magic from his taking of my blood. If released properly from his cells, it could turn him, ultimately.”
This information brought Lyandros’s head around. That must have been why Akito’s body still lived although he wasn’t a vampire. That made so much more sense than Akito not completing his transformation, Lyandros had to smile.
“Will you take him on as tribute?” Isander’s expression neither swayed nor dissuaded Lyandros’s decision. It merely said he would support whichever path the Justice Giver chose to follow.
The technicality of Isander’s magic in Akito’s veins was a thin justification for an act Lyandros normally wouldn’t have considered; however, what options did they have? The fae king wanted a gift, and Akito owed the mora his life. All in all, the sentence was a lenient one.
“It is either that or kill him.” Isander observed when Lyandros remained silent.
In the heat of his rage, Lyandros would have chosen execution over Akito’s life sentence as tribute. Then, inexplicably, the man had volunteered to become the fae king’s property in Lyandros’s place. Jealousy’s toothy jaws had clamped down on Lyandros, and his path had been clear. Justice would be better served by claiming Akito as his tribute.
Akito caught up to them as Lyandros nodded. “Yes, I will do it.”
“Do what?” Akito asked.
Flushed from the heat of the candles, Akito stared up at Lyandros, eyes bright.
“Take you as my tribute tonight.”
“And if I say no?”
Choosing not to answer, Lyandros completed their journey to a set of tall, lacquered doors, their panels painted with a Greek hunting scene. Their escort opened the ornate entrance, giving Lyandros a temporary reprieve as the fae showed them around. When he exited, Akito leaned one hip against a silk-upholstered settee.
One soft-soled boot crossed insolently over the other, Akito folded his arms across his chest. “I repeat, what if I say no?”
Liveried servants, their jackets a soft forest green, flitted in the bathing chamber, running water and laying out clothing. Lyandros felt Isander’s regard. For now, the King Ruler would stay out of the matter, but Lyandros was secure that if he overstepped, his brother would step in.
“Your choice in the matter was forfeit when you took the life of my people and the blood of my brother.” Lyandros held Akito’s gaze. “You will submit to me in all things, or pay a penalty. Please me, and I may allow you pleasure.”
“And does that pleasure include whips and chains? Riding crops and knives?”
The challenge in Akito’s eyes only barely masked the real intent behind his words. Fear. While pain wasn’t an uncommon punishment, it was never a sexual reward in Lyandros’s book. That kind of play was just that. Play. He only engaged in it when it brought everyone pleasure, including his tribute.
“Punishment is a separate matter altogether and never mixed with sex.” Capturing Akito’s shoulders, Lyandros made sure the man felt the weight of his words. “If you or I do not desire sexual congress, it will not occur.”
Akito’s chest rose and fell on rapid breaths, the air escaping his nostrils in shallow puffs.
Lyandros released Akito and stepped away. “Attend me in the bath.”
Akito stepped back. “I’m not your tribute yet.”
“He is right,” Isander offered. “He is not your tribute, yet.”
Lyandros gave his brother a look that said You’re not helping. Lyandros sighed. He had lost his touch. Either that, or he’d lost his balance and reason where Akito was concerned.
“You will do it,” Lyandros decided, “or you will not share my bed.”
Akito laughed in his face. “I don’t want to share your bed, Justice Giver. That’s your conceit talking.”
Dipping his gaze to Akito’s sex, Lyandros twisted his mouth to one side, considering. “I did not say I wouldn’t use your body
. Only that it would not share my bed.”
Mutiny sparked in Akito’s eyes, overshadowing fear, and Lyandros realized he preferred the man’s fight to his terror.
Let him be, his conscience said. He will submit to his fate eventually.
“I’d rather sleep on stinging nettles,” Akito muttered.
Turning his back, Lyandros dismissed the problem to go to the bath alone. Pausing in the doorway, he cast a last look at Isander who tore his attention from Akito’s rigid back. A silent, Let us hope it does not come to that, passed between them.
Lyandros left, closing the door with a soft click behind him. He had a feeling that if anyone ended up stung in this situation, it wouldn’t be Akito. It’d be him. And the bed would be made not of nettles, but of his own regrets.
Chapter 16
Akito emerged from his bath to find the central chamber blessedly empty. A jar of honey, some apples, and a decanter of golden liquid graced the sideboard. He took an apple and bit into it, munching as he wandered from room to room. He glanced to the darkened window, contemplating escape. A glance down at the torch lit gardens, however, showed it too far to jump. He sighed, turning back to the room. Towel wrapped around his hips, he prowled around in search of the rough garb they’d given him in the dungeon, but it appeared to have been taken. He hunted through the wardrobes in the adjoining bedrooms, but they were empty.
“Nyx, if you could see me now…” Thinking of Nyx dropped a curtain of sadness over his mood, and he flopped onto a tufted red velvet settee where he closed his eyes.
“You have two choices,” Lyandros said, seeming to appear from nowhere.
Akito sat up so quickly his towel fell away, and he snatched at it and covered himself. Lyandros approached the settee to loom over him, and Akito bunched his fist over the towel.
“Next time I command you to do something…” In one hand, the vampire held up a strip of golden cloth, and in the other a pile of unfamiliar clothes. “You obey, or you wear this until you earn back these.”
Eyes on what appeared to be a loincloth, Akito licked his lips. “You can’t make me wear that.”
Shoving the cloth in his coat pocket, Lyandros approached the fire with the bundle of clothes.
Akito shot to his feet. “Stop!”
Lyandros shot him an arch look. “You will obey?”
“You have no right to destroy those.” Akito’s face heated with fury.
Lyandros wadded the bundle of clothes and turned fully to the hearth.
Envisioning being dragged to the fae king’s banquet hall in chains, wearing nothing but the scrap of fabric, Akito balked. It was bad enough he was to be made a servant to the Justice Giver. To have to do so nearly-naked was unthinkable.
“No. Don’t.” The words stuck in his throat, but he forced them out. “I’ll obey.”
“Kneel.” Lyandros issued the command, facing Akito.
“What?”
Dark brows lowered. “Prove your obedience.”
Swallowing a surge of anger, Akito froze. Visions of black boots and his own spit reflecting his face back to him shoved a hot poker through his middle. Gut twisting, he breathed deep and searched for the far-away place in his head he’d always gone to at these times with the Morgan. Lowering to one knee, he stumbled in the process. His shin impacted black and white marble with a thwack and he grimaced.
“Head bowed. Both knees on the floor” Lyandros ignored the ungainly maneuver, where the Morgan would have made him rise and practice it until his muscles gave out.
Akito swallowed against the restriction in his throat and bowed his head. A shiver skipped up his spine to jostle his shoulder blades. Lyandros leaned down and took one of Akito’s wrists and flipped his palm upward, then rested the backs of Akito’s hands on his thigh. The Justice Giver repeated the exercise with Akito’s other hand.
“This is the position you will hold when in company or when awaiting my pleasure.”
Akito’s head came up. “Your pleasure?”
Tapping the toe of his boot against Akito’s hip, Lyandros said, “Down.”
Scowling, Akito lowered his chin again.
“No.” Depositing the bundle of clothes on a gilt and brocade chair, Lyandros pressed the tips of his fingers between Akito’s shoulder blades. “All the way down. In penance for lifting your head without permission.”
A choked sound broke from Akito’s lips. Though his mind rebelled at the idea of prostrating himself, his body roused at the command. “Are you serious?”
“Do I sound as if I jest?” Lyandros asked, dryly.
Used to the Morgan’s harsher tactics—a raised fist or kick to the more tender parts of his anatomy—Akito’s mind and body didn’t know what to make of this new kind of discipline. Discipline that required not just obedience, but complicity on his part. Stiffly, slowly, Akito leaned forward until his forehead touched marble warmed by the fire. Lyandros adjusted his arms, this time so they aligned backward along his body, palms up. Eyes closed, breath rushing audibly his chest with each exhale, Akito bit his lips between his teeth against a wave of lust-chased embarrassment.
“Good. Very nice.” Lyandros ran an appreciative hand down Akito’s spine in a gentle, soothing stroke.
At the first brush, Akito flinched, his shoulder blades moving together like a butterfly’s wings. Lyandros continued caressing him in slow, swirling motions, massaging the tense knot of muscle at the base of Akito’s neck before moving lower. With each pass of the Justice Giver’s hands, Akito relaxed further until his entire being grew languid.
“I thought this was supposed to be a punishment,” Akito quipped, growing bold.
Lyandros landed a stinging slap on Akito’s rump, making him yelp. “That is punishment. The massage was praise for doing what I know was difficult for you.”
Akito growled into the floor, turning his head to the side. Throughout the entire experience—kneeling, prostrating himself—it was his pride that had been bruised, and his cock certainly didn’t seem to mind any of Lyandros’s commands one bit.
“Rise,” Lyandros ordered, stepping away. “And dress.”
Knees and thighs prickling Akito winced and stood. Turning away from Lyandros, he dressed, pulling on the unfamiliar clothes in jerks meant to showcase his irritation. When Akito finished buttoning his shirt, Lyandros snapped his fingers and pointed to the spot in front of his feet. Akito gritted his teeth and moved to the place Lyandros indicated.
“Hands behind your back, parade rest, when you stand before me. Head bowed,” Lyandros commanded.
Father fucking Zeus, Akito growled inwardly, surprised he managed to keep the curse to himself, but did as Lyandros commanded. The Justice Giver observed him, motionless, long enough for Akito’s breaths to even and for him to notice that the vampire’s leather trousers were fitting a tad too snugly.
A self-satisfied smile played about Akito’s lips. At least he wasn’t the only one sporting an uncomfortable erection in too-tight pants. Eventually, Lyandros slipped two fingers under Akito’s chin to raise his head. He met the vampire’s gaze.
“You have sinned against my people and owe the gods restitution.” Blue eyes, thickly lashed, searched his face. “I give you the opportunity to right your wrongdoings through me, as my tribute. Will you take it?”
Akito exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. “Do I have a choice?”
“To be forgiven?” Lyandros brushed the pad of his thumb across Akito’s lips. “Only the gods know the answer to this question. In all else, my judgment is my own.”
Recalling the moments when he’d fought side-by-side rather than against Lyandros, Akito realized he longed for those moments of comradery again. Of heroism. The vampire had admired him once, if briefly, and he longed for the opportunity to earn forgiveness and walk beside him once more. A doorway to hope opened, though he did not yet fathom where it led.
Taking a wild chance, Akito answered, “All right. I’ll try.”
Lyandros reached behind him, f
isting Akito’s hair, and pulled his head back. Akito whimpered at the pleasure-pain. Lyandros bore down on him in a punishing kiss, taking all he desired. When Lyandros finally lifted his head, Akito gasped for air.
Lyandros made a feral sound. “Later, I will take you. Any way I wish.”
Akito nodded, unable to speak—no, not given permission to speak. His arousal gave a ferocious kick, stealing his voice. Submitting to Lyandros felt absolutely nothing like submitting to the Morgan, and he found he wanted nothing more than to explore what other powers of command the Justice Giver had in store.
Lyandros relinquished his hold and moved toward the door. “Follow.”
Fingers of panic reasserted themselves, constricting Akito’s ribs. What if the Justice Giver abused his position? What if Akito had willingly walked into another trap like the one with the Morgan? What if Lyandros was only gaining his trust so he could walk away and leave Akito more vulnerable than he had been in the Morgan’s hands?
Lyandros turned, his gaze concerned rather than displeased. “Speak freely.”
“I shouldn’t want this,” Akito whispered, rooted to the floor. “I shouldn’t want you. Trust you.”
Lyandros quickly stowed a shocked expression. “I will allow no one to mistreat you. You have my word. Obey me, and all will be well.”
Akito shook his head, thinking of the chains in Lyandros’s bedroom at the mora. “I just—I don’t want to disappear. Be some decoration on your wall. I want to still…be me.”
It wasn’t the bonding that he was afraid of, however, but what would come after. How much trust could he put in a man who hated him? And yet, Lyandros hadn’t behaved at all like the Morgan. Akito had to believe that the Justice Giver would treat him well.
“Submission means different things to different people. I imagine…you will attain whatever lesson from the experience you need.”
The dispassionate explanation didn’t exactly help, but it didn’t hurt either. Akito had lived a life full of unknowns in his friends’ shadows. Could this really be any different? Besides, once they returned to Boston, he doubted Lyandros would be able to command his discorporate form. Ghosts didn’t have servants as far as he could tell. They were solitary figures. At least here, in Faerie, as Lyandros’s tribute, neither of them had to be alone.
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