Wings (7 page)

gagged but eventually swallowed enough to satisfy the healer, and they released him.

Vanyae watched with some concern as the boy continued to thrash, but within moments

the movements slowed, then gradually ceased altogether as he blinked dazedly under the

influence of the potent drugs.

They took the opportunity to release his bonds and wrap his damaged wrists and ankles

before putting the cuffs back on. Vanyae unchained him, lifted him into his arms, and relished

the warmth of the golden body against his own as he carried him to beside the huge bathing pool.

He laid him on one of the ornate benches, then stood beside him and stripped off his own clothes

swiftly, breath coming hard and fast as his eyes swept over the body before him.

Lifting his prize once more, he stepped into the warm waters, sat on one of the steps, and

cradled the Melanian in his arms as he took the opportunity to trace Anyar's features and marvel

at the beauty of high cheekbones and slim, narrow face so different from his own wider features

of Nazar. Such skin. It was soft with youth and the color was natural, not borne of the sun, for

even in his most private places, the skin was uniformly golden.

Vanyae took his time washing the boy, lingered over every bit of skin, every fold, every

crease. He played at the entrance to the sweet haven of that beautiful body and had to restrain

himself from simply lifting the boy up to straddle his lap and taking him there and then, pliant

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and tractable. No, he wanted to watch Anyar's face when he took him, wanted him aware, wanted

him to understand his slavery would not be such an unpleasant thing with Vanyae as his master.

That would further the taming already begun this day. Still, he could not restrain himself totally,

and he let his pulsing shaft sink between the boy's legs and began to thrust into the channel

created. Rubbing against Anyar's testicles as he pumped, he threw his head back in pleasure at

even this touch. He lifted from the water partway as he came, so that his seed spattered over

Anyar's chest in profusion. Panting, trembling, he took some of the seed on his fingers and

pressed within the young guard's pliant lips, rubbing the essence thickly over Anyar's tongue

until the boy swallowed involuntarily.

Vanyae shuddered as he watched. He took the remaining seed and bit by bit smeared it

over Anyar's face, shoulders, and chest, scent marking him.

He held him until his body recovered; then he gently washed him, paying particular

attention to the great wings, dust covered as they were. He felt a pang then, remembering how

beautiful Anyar had looked in flight. He wished there had been another way.

He stroked the short black hair, already looking forward to when it would grow.

The golden eyes were glazed, unseeing, but Vanyae stroked his cheek, laid a soft kiss upon

the unresponsive mouth.

“You will be happy here, little one. One day you will not want to fight anymore; you will

truly be mine.” He smiled at the thought, then carefully lifted the limp body and rose from the

waters.

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Chapter Four

Anyar was getting very tired of waking in places he had never seen before. He thought

longingly of home, remembering somewhat bitterly that he had often wondered what it would be

like to live somewhere else, see places he had never been to. Sheltered in his ignorance, never

having traveled farther than a few miles from his town, he had dreamed of knowing so much

more, and look where he was now.

His lips twisted.
Beware thinking such things before the gods, because they might grant

your wish in ways you could not imagine
. Horrible ways.

He curled tighter into himself where he sat in a corner of the room, back against the wall,

both literally and figuratively. He had woken gradually, groggily, becoming aware of the

incredible softness he lay on. When he finally had the strength to sit up, he had stared about with

fearful awe.

The bed he had been lying on was large enough for six people, at least—and the room

made it seem small. Ornate trappings covered the bed, the walls, the floors, the furniture. He had

never seen anything like it. He had slowly risen, shaky, his feet sinking into a carpet of such

depth and softness that he had to squat down to feel it with wondering fingers. Everything was

strange and beautiful and rich.

Foreign to his simple tastes and life.

He took a step then and felt a constriction shift about his ankle.

An intricate chain, silver and twisted into beautiful links, was attached to his left ankle

cuff. Beautiful but strong. His fascination with his surroundings faded, and after struggling

futilely to remove the chain, he had retreated to a corner, as far from the bed as he could manage,

and sat there on the carpet, waiting for he knew not what. He had curled around his nakedness,

shamed.

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There was food and water upon a small table near the bed, and hungry and thirsty though

he was, he made no move toward them. They were not his.

He dozed lightly, starting at every little sound, but his eyes flew open when he heard firm

footsteps outside the large door, and his whole body stiffened as the prince entered.

Vanyae looked like he had been riding. His hair was slightly windblown, and he was

stripping off fine leather gloves as he walked. The green eyes sharpened as they saw the great

bed empty, and they swept the room until they found Anyar's location.

Vanyae frowned, a quick look of regret washing over his face before he sighed, never

taking his eyes from the young guard.

He smiled then, and Anyar gritted his teeth and wished he could strike that expression

from his captor's face. The way those eyes traveled over him made him want to be sick, and he

had to fight to hide the trembling in his limbs.

Vanyae felt himself harden just meeting those angry golden eyes, and the adrenaline from

his ride coursed faster through his veins. Anticipation made him catch his breath. The time was

now. If he could just show this beautiful creature what pleasure could be had in his own body, if

he could begin to waken to his sexuality; Vanyae could be the one to show him everything.

Savoring the anticipation like fine wine, the prince turned and seated himself at the small

table, picked up a piece of fruit, bit into it, and made a soft sound of pleasure at its taste. He

watched Anyar out of the corner of his eye, as one does a wild animal one wants to coax.

“You have not eaten, little one. That is foolish. You want so badly to escape this place.

Will weakening yourself achieve that?”

He saw the young guard start and had to suppress a smile. Did the boy think he hid his

intentions so well? His face was not one to disguise emotions; his eyes betrayed him to one who

wished to see.

“Come eat with me. Do not waste your strength on foolish pride. The weaker you become,

the less you will be able to fight me.” The growl made him want to smile, but he stayed

expressionless, neutral, and nonthreatening. When there was no move from Anyar, he mocked

him gently.

“A man would come face his fate. Only a boy crouches in a corner, hiding.”

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The hiss of fury was victory, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the young guard rise

to his feet, outraged, then flush brightly, remembering his nakedness.

Vanyae had to repress a chuckle, but his face stayed calm as he ate, never directly looking

at his quarry.

“I left some clothing for you at the foot of the bed. You must have missed it.” He waved a

hand negligently in that direction.

There was a pause; then Anyar slowly began to edge in that direction, found the thin pants,

and drew them on swiftly with an expression of relief that was endearing. He bent to do up the

ties that ran up the one leg to accommodate the cuffed ankle, and then, and only then, did he

straighten, put his shoulders back, and approach the table on the side away from Vanyae.

The prince looked at him, smiling inwardly as he regarded the pants. He doubted Anyar

had noticed how thin they were, that every crease and crevice was a tantalizing shadow, leaving

very little to the imagination. He would not mention it.

Vanyae looked up into the young guard's smoldering eyes and let his lips curve ever so

faintly. “Sit,” he said softly, gesturing with one long hand to the other chair. “I am sure you have

questions. I will answer them as you eat.”

He could see the young man's bewilderment and resistance at his captor's calmness and

lack of direct conflict. This was not what he had been expecting. Good. Keeping the Melanian

off guard and wondering what Vanyae would do next was crucial to his taming. Confusion left

him vulnerable, off center.

Anyar's hands folded into fists, then tried to relax, clearly revealing his inner turmoil.

Vanyae continued to eat calmly, never looking up.

“What have you done with Commander Tanyan?” Anyar's voice was close to a snarl, his

anger and fear a potent combination.

Vanyae looked up slowly. “Are all Melanians as discourteous as you? I will answer your

questions as you eat, not before.” He shrugged. “Your commander took breakfast with my father.

He may be angry, but he is also well mannered.”

Anyar fairly vibrated with fury, but the words confused him also, and finally he drew back

the other chair sharply and sat, jaw clenched in defiant readiness.

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The prince did nothing but eat, savoring each bite, smiling to himself as the young guard

swallowed hard, trying to control his hunger. The younger man had to be starving at this point

and thirsty nigh to desperation, but still he tried to resist.

Vanyae took a small plate, put bread and cheese upon it with several slices of tender meat,

then pushed it toward the Melanian and followed it with a mug of fresh water. Wine could come

later.

Anyar's fingers shook upon the edge of the table; then slowly, very slowly, he reached for

the bread and brought it to his lips, taking a bite and chewing thoroughly, trying to hide his urge

to bolt it down.

Vanyae watched his lips, watched him chew and swallow, and had to hold himself back.

Not yet.

It was not long before Anyar spoke, as though he could no longer endure the silence.

“I want to see Commander Tanyan.”

Vanyae looked up at him calmly, taking a small sip of wine.

“No.”

Anyar froze, and the prince could see his jaw grinding as he tried to withhold the vitriolic

words he wanted to release upon his captor.

Vanyae met his eyes squarely. “You have not yet earned such a privilege.”

Silence.

The prince's tone changed, became commanding, and the young guard's body stiffened as

he responded to that tone without thinking. He had been commanded in the military, and that was

now ingrained in him, something Vanyae had full intentions of taking advantage of.

“You must earn everything you are given here, Anyar. You will obey; you will do as I tell

you, and with your good behavior and obedience, you will keep Commander Tanyan safe and

whole. That is why you are here. You are surety as to his inability to escape, but your own

behavior will dictate how the commander is treated. It is up to you.”

He paused then, watching Anyar's reactions, and softened his voice. “You must keep

yourself from my father's rules. He decreed long ago that Melanian prisoners were to be

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wingless, so much trouble did they cause. I do not want that for you, and I tread a thin edge with

keeping you whole.”

Anyar shivered, once, eyes blank with inner thought. He swallowed hard, then straightened

his back, facing Vanyae squarely, something the prince could but admire.

“What do you want of me? I would know the whole of what you expect of me.”

Vanyae smiled a little, only a faint curving of his lips.

“To keep you whole, you will be my slave. You will lie in my bed and do as I bid,

anything I bid. You will not try to escape; you will not try to harm any Nazarian. You will

control your pride and bend to what is expected of you, or Tanyan will suffer. It is that simple.”

He stifled a sudden pang of guilt at the thought that it was his decisions that had brought the boy

here at all.

Anyar stared at him, eyes huge, fingers tightening upon the bread that lay forgotten in his

hand. Shock and disbelief held him motionless.

“No,” he finally whispered, panic beginning to creep into his whole being as he read the

truth in the prince's hard eyes. “I cannot do this. I won't do this!” He sprang to his feet, dropping

the bread to the floor, casting a desperate look about the room as he backed away from his

tormenter.

The open window beckoned, and he flung himself toward it, not caring where it led, even