The Only Option (2 page)

Tilo licked his lips, eyes no longer banked coals but a blazing fire. “Shall we take this upstairs?” He rolled his hips, grinding the hard length of his trapped cock against Rochus's. “I promise all I want to do is fuck you.”

“After that display, I've little choice but to depart else the innkeeper will throw us both out,” Rochus replied and let Tilo pull him to his feet. He paused only to snatch up his discarded spectacles, and tucked them away in his robes as he followed Tilo out of the dining room.

Rochus paid the stares and whispers even less attention leaving than he had arriving, more distracted than he liked admitting by the warm hand clinging to his as he led the way up to his room. They were barely inside when Tilo pushed him against the door and practically climbed him. If Rochus had thought the kisses in the dining hall were impressive, they had nothing at all on the way Tilo devoured his mouth then, plundering it like he intended to take Rochus for his hoard, keep him locked up and ever-ready to be used when and how Tilo saw fit. Rochus shivered, arms tightening around Tilo as he met the fevered kiss full measure.

He still suspected Tilo's motives, but for the moment he wasn't going to complain if some young, fiery, pretty little dragon wanted to fuck him. With an effort, he pulled away just enough to say, “There's a bed, kit.”

“Stop calling me kit,” Tilo muttered between more kisses, but he slid down Rochus's body and walked backward toward the bed, stripping off his clothes as he went.

Tilo was even more beautiful naked, lean and long, light brown skin golden in the light of the fire someone had laid when they'd delivered the bathtub and hot water set in front of it. He perched on the edge of the bed and spread his legs, resting his hands on his thighs, baring everything for Rochus's hungry perusal. “Let's see you now, magus.”

Rochus double-checked the door was locked, then tugged the laces at the throat of his dark blue robe. In the warmer seasons, it was all he wore over a pair of breeches and high boots. In winter, he wore wool skirts beneath, visible through the open sides of the robe.

Discarding it, he sent the skirt and underclothes quickly following. His cock was harder than he could remember it being for longer than he cared to think about. He stroked it leisurely as he walked to the bed, where Tilo still sat, body still but his eyes vibrant with want. Tilo reached out and tangled his fingers with Rochus's around his cock, hand so hot it felt like fire. Rochus sucked in air, unable to breathe for a moment, shuddering as that heat rushed through him.

Tilo made a soft, growly little noise and then Rochus was being dragged onto the bed and stretched out across it. Tilo spread across his thighs and bent to put that impertinent little mouth to work, dragging a rough tongue and sharp teeth across Rochus's skin, chasing the stings with wet, sucking kisses.

Rochus wasn't used to being so overwhelmed he couldn't think, but he gave up the struggle with little hesitation, far too intoxicated by the heat and focus consuming him to care about what might come after. He twined his fingers in Tilo's hair and dragged him up to get another taste of that mouth, sucking on Tilo's tongue, pressing his own deep to taste every curve and crevice. Tilo fed more of those hungry growls to him, along with ragged moans and a few greedy demands Rochus was happy to oblige.

Getting his other arm around Tilo's lithe frame, Rochus flipped them over, got a grip on Tilo's wrists, and did some devouring of his own. His skin was soft, so hot to the touch it burned away any level-headed thoughts that might have remained. Rochus wanted to sink into that heat and stay there for hours. Days. So long he would never feel cold again.

“You should bite me,” Tilo bit out in ragged gasps, bucking up against Rochus, rubbing his hard, leaking cock against Rochus's skin and leaving trails of fire. “Bite me as you fuck me, necromancer.”

Rochus shuddered, let go of one of Tilo's wrists to grab his own cock to keep himself from coming.

Tilo chuckled, low and husky. “Thought you'd like that idea. Fresh blood with the pulse still going, you light up like a dragon with a chest of jewels, hmm.”

“Your mouth,” Rochus said and bit off Tilo's laugh with another wet, toothy kiss that left them both gasping.

“Jacket,” Tilo said. “My jacket has something useful in them.”

Rochus's mouth twitched with a faint smile as he withdrew and fetched Tilo's jacket, quickly found the little bottle of bedroom oil there. “You were on a particular quest tonight, weren't you?” He spread Tilo's thighs furthers apart and teased his hole with two slick fingers. “That's right,” he murmured as Tilo clung to him, shivered against him, eyes bright and hot with need. “Tremble for me, little dragon. Beg me for it.”

“Fuck me, magus. I've waited long enough.” He broke off with a hard shudder and a gasped curse as Rochus shoved a finger inside him, but by the time Rochus had worked in a second, he was back to giving orders. Rochus nipped at his throat, left a line of marks along the long line of it as he worked three fingers into that tight heat. Oh, to drag the torment out all night, see what it took to make his little dragon howl and scream.

He shook that thought aside, banished it to join all the other unwanted thoughts that had burned away. Withdrawing his fingers, he slicked his cock and pressed it to Tilo's hole, then once more captured those slender wrists and pressed them firmly to the bedding. He bit hard at Tilo's throat as he pushed inside his body, felt the deep moan that drew out.

“Rochus—” Tilo struggled against his grip, but not with any real effort. If he'd been trying, a dragon at full strength could toss Rochus clear across the room and, if angry enough, through the wall. He growled. “Fuck me, already.”

Rochus pulled out slightly and then slammed back in, stilling again as Tilo moaned even louder, then repeated the motion, stilling every time until Tilo finally howled for him, long and broken and desperate. Only then did Rochus give him the hard pounding they both craved, going until he could scarcely breathe and his entire body ached with it, trembled with the effort of holding off his own climax.

When he could take no more, he bent and sank his teeth into Tilo's throat, this time breaking skin, filling his mouth with the hot, sweet taste of fresh dragon blood as he slammed into Tilo's body one last time and came apart. Tilo screamed as he came, his release hot and sticky between them.

Rochus slumped atop him until he could muster the energy to roll off. He turned on his side to face the door, yawning as exhaustion followed quickly in the wake of several days of hard travel followed by an unexpectedly busy evening.

Behind him, Tilo had already dropped off, snoring softly, one arm draped lazily over Rochus's hips. Normally Rochus would wake him up and tell him to go, but he was entirely too lethargic to muster the energy. Against all sense, he let sleep overtake him.

He was stirred in the night by a mouth on his throat and slick, clever fingers returning all the teasing torment Rochus had subjected Tilo to earlier. Sleepiness warred with desire, and Rochus reached up a heavy, fumbling hand to drag Tilo closer, turning to kiss him awkwardly. “Get on with it then, kit.”

A husky chuckle filled Rochus's ear and then the fingers withdrew, quickly followed by a long, hard cock that wasted no time in fucking Rochus into sharp, hungry wakefulness. After a few firm thrusts, however, Tilo withdrew. Before Rochus could begin lobbing curses at him, he rolled Rochus to his stomach and up onto his knees, then spread him wide and fucked back into him, pounding with hard, deep strokes that left Rochus breathless and dizzy.

The hazy, dim-lit world around them vanished entirely as he came apart a second time, gasping for breath, then moaning as Tilo pressed his wrist to Rochus's mouth and filled it with sweet blood once more.

By the time Rochus once more stretched out on the bed, he could barely breathe, let alone think or, goddess forbid, move. He only barely felt the soft brush of lips against his cheek, barely heard the softly murmured, “Farewell, magus,” and the quiet opening and closing of the door.

He woke to gray, hazy sunlight and a familiar rough tongue on his cheek. Groaning, Rochus cracked open one eye and glared blearily. “Memory. Can't you ever let a man sleep?” Hadn't the door been closed? Well, that rarely did more than slow Memory down.

Memory purred at him and gently butted her head against his cheek. Rochus sighed and sat up, folding his legs in front of him and smiling faintly as Memory climbed into his lap for her morning petting. She was the very color of white-gray mist, long-haired, fluffy, and enormous—what was known as a Valder Mountain Cat.

She was also dead. She'd been the runt of the litter, too small and weak to survive, and had died within minutes of being born. Normally bringing the dead back to half-life was impossible, for the only way to do it was in the immediate moments following death, when the spirit was still within and there were sufficient dregs of life to be filled with necromantic power. But he'd been there when she'd breathed her last and surrendered to an impulse, filling her with his power. She'd been his faithful companion ever since. Though Song, Silence, and Fury were also dear to him, Memory was most precious.

“Yes, I'm aware I smell funny,” he said when she mewed at him and pricked his skin slightly. “You'll have to get over it because I'm not remotely sorry.” The only thing he was sorry about was not being able to enjoy a morning farewell, but given the night's performance, he doubted he'd have been capable of it anyway.

That being said, he could not remember the last time he'd felt so invigorated. Tilo's blood was like nothing he'd ever had. Or was likely to have again, since Tilo was the only dragon in his forty-three years who'd offered him blood. Until then, the finest thing Rochus had ever tasted was the blood of a healer, and that had been given with great reluctance. No one had ever offered it up so willingly—so eagerly.

“Best not to waste it then,” he murmured, and after a few last pettings, lifted Memory off his lap and set her aside. “You're in a good mood this morning. Catch yourself a nice plump bird to feast upon?” Memory meowed and preened, and Rochus smiled as he climbed out of bed and went to bathe in the long-cooled water.

When he was clean and dressed in fresh clothes, and his belongings were packed away, he lifted Memory up and settled her in the crook of one arm, his saddlebags slung over the other shoulder. “Come on, then. The sooner this is over with, the sooner we can all be home again.”

Not that he was in a particular hurry to know why the queen was summoning him to the royal castle. Usually when she had work for him she sent a clerk with all the necessary information and payment. The one and only time he'd had to go to the castle for an assignment was when he was fresh out of training and they wanted a look at him before trusting him to act in the crown's name.

Hopefully the task would not be too onerous, but he wasn't counting on it. Any problem requiring a necromancer was already nearly as bad as it could get, and any problem requiring he first speak directly to the queen…

Well, he'd almost rather be a damned vampire.

Outside, he walked through the chilly, faintly misty air to the stable across the yard and handed over a pence to the boy who'd watched his unicorn for him in the night. Though Fury was missing his horn, sawed off long ago by poachers who'd left him for dead, he was still as beautiful and lively as any unicorn Rochus had ever met. At least he had been once he'd healed up, which had taken time, not least of all because keeping things alive was not a skill Rochus had ever been required to learn.

Fury's coat and hair were the color of pitch, with a faint rainbow luster to it in full daylight. The stump of his horn gleamed like a black pearl, and his eyes were a swirling, jewel-bright green. He whinnied softly as Rochus approached.

“Good morning, my handsome fellow,” Rochus murmured, stroking Fury's velvety nose. “Were you treated well?” That got him nuzzled, and Rochus smiled. “Good.” He led Fury out of his stall and got him ready, then led him into the yard. Rochus swung into the saddle, then called to Memory, who mewed and launched up to settle in front of him, purring softly as they headed out.

A short distance down the road, two ravens burst from a nearby tree and rose into the sky to fly above him. One cawed out, the sound ringing far and loud in the cold, still morning air. The other was silent, but that was typical of the slightly smaller of the two—Silence, and her chattier sister Song, both dead like Memory. They'd been accidental casualties of one of his first assignments, and he'd been young and reckless enough to try bringing them back, still smugly satisfied with himself for managing so well with Memory only a few months prior.

It wasn't the last time he'd been that cocky, but it was the last time his attempts had been successful. After a few horrific, near-fatal failures, he'd quit making himself pets. Though he couldn't swear he'd behave should something happen to Fury.

The mist cleared away as morning turned to afternoon and came creeping back in as day slowly began to fade to night. He reached the gates of the royal city just as the last of the sun sank beneath the horizon and the call of ghost owls began to fill the night.

“Hold!” called a guard. “Who goes there?”

“Magus Rochus Kraemer, Necromancer of the Queen.”

“Hail and good evening, magus,” the guard replied and vanished from sight as he called, “Raise the gates!”

The portcullis rose a moment later and Rochus rode through, Memory on his lap, Song and Silence on his shoulders. The streets were largely deserted as he rode through the city. He navigated its twists and turns with familiar ease, for though he did not visit often, he had a sharp memory for such things, a byproduct of all the traveling he did and what he needed to know and be able to recall on a moment for his work.

When he reached the castle, he rode straight to the stables and tended to Fury himself. He left Memory to her hunting with the admonition not to go killing anyone's pets, unimpressed with her obedient mew. Glaring one last time at her, he left with Song and Silence still on his shoulders.