Winter's Knight

This is a work offiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidentaland beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Winter’s Knight
Torquere Press Publishers
PO Box2545
Round Rock, TX 78680
Copyright 2012 byHJ Raine and KellyWyre Cover illustrationbyAlessia Brio
Published withpermission
ISBN:978-1-61040-683-3
www.torquerepress.com
All rights reserved, which includes the right to

reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For informationaddress Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

First Torquere Press Printing:April2012
Printed inthe USA
For the fans who like their beautiful men to kick

ass.
Chapter 1
It was snowing in NewAmsterdam. Big, fat, flakes

fell from a low ceiling of black clouds and covered the empty patios behind The Magnolia Hotel. In more seasonable weather, the patios were open to guests at Leaf, the hotel’s five-star restaurant, but for now, a mere two weeks before Christmas, the outdoor dining area was a graveyard, the tables and chairs tombstones ofgood meals past.

Without taking his eyes off of the bank of windows that made up Leaf’s rear wall, Lucian Edward Gray waved a hand at John, one of the attentive waiters who usually served him when he conducted business here. Lucian’s glass was still half-full of the driest red wine that Leaf’s winery had to offer, and he had no intention of drowning his anxiety in alcohol to the point that it dulled his wits. He would need every single scrap of the considerable intelligence he possessed for this evening’s meeting and possibly more than the reserve could spare.

“Very good. Will we have the pleasure of serving your guest soon?”
“Soon enough,” Lucian answered in the slow, modulated tone he used to ensure the lisp that haunted him in childhood didn’t betray him in adulthood. It was easy enough to manage, now, and he’d stopped hating the idea that his ornate, sometimes magniloquent way of speaking was his father’s doing. The man had once said Lucian’s tongue would be cheap pine and never stately silver. Sucha pitythe man’s foresight was poorer thana simpleton’s use ofmetaphor.
“We agreed to six-thirty, but he’ll be late.” Lucian lovingly watched winter craft icicles, their points stabbingtoward the slate liningthe courtyard.
“Verywell,”said John.
“Is it?”Lucianasked, absentlyinquisitive.
“I’m sure I don’t know for certain, sir,” John recovered smoothly, and Lucian gave the man points for grace. “Shall I have anything prepared for his arrival?”
Lucian slowly spun his wine glass on the linen tablecloth. He knew what his guest drank for all meals of the day. He knew what his guest sipped for comfort in the middle of the night when the man couldn’t sleep, and so of course he knew what his oldest friend would want when forced to dine at Leaf among the high-class humanitythe manusuallyavoided like the plague.
“Jack Daniels, gold label, on ice with a glass of water, bottled.” Lucian paused, an image of a skinny kid wearing a rumpled Academy uniform, tie undone and shirt tail mostly untucked, floating through Lucian’s mind like a ghost. “And he’ll likely need a suit jacket. Never was muchonsocialconformity.”
“Of course, sir. Would you know the size, perchance?”
“Thirty-eight long,” Lucian replied, thinking of lean lines and tanskin.
“I’llsee that it’s done, sir,”Johnsaid witha nod.
The waiter vanished, and Lucian sipped his wine, hardly tasting it. He smoothed fingertips over the shining flatware and finally glanced at the small box sitting on the bench next to him. It was professionally wrapped, the midnight blue paper thick enough to need special tape to hold its shape. The bow was silver and constructed from ribbon in complicated loops and twirls. Lucian traced an edge, and barely stopped himself from running for the exit and backing out of the entire evening. The excuses would be unpleasant business, however, and might suggest Lucian had made an error by setting up the date in the first place. Obviously, that couldn’t happen.
Lucian sighed. He checked the time on his cell phone and slid out of the booth. He buttoned his dark gray suit jacket while he walked toward the men’s room, and he acknowledged a handful of the appreciative stares or bids for his attention from men and women alike. None of them were high enough on the city’s food chain to deserve a nod fromLucian, son of the infamous, corrupt Mayor Hendrick Gray, and none of them were involved in any of Lucian’s side affairs. Not the clubs, not the charity work, and certainly not the night job. That was one of the many nice things about Leaf-- legitimacylingered inthe air.
In this town and in this life, however, everybody wanted something: information, connection, money, power. Lucian only rarely had incentive to provide such favors for free, and only a flaming idiot would try to take something fromLucian he did not wish to give. He reached the men’s roomwithout incident and reminded himself not to let paranoia trump good sense as he shoved openthe door.
“Good evening,” said the restroom attendant, and Lucian tipped his chin in greeting. He walked to the farthest sink, let the automatic tap run, and stared into the mirror. Wide-set, nearly colorless eyes in an expressionless face regarded him. Sometimes blue, sometimes steel, they reflected what Lucian wore, and tonight they shone darker above the deep gray jacket, black shirt, and pale lavender tie. Lucian’s eyebrows were waxed to a hair’s perfection, his cheekbones prominent and jawline inherited fromhis father’s side of the family. His waist-length dark brown hair was without split end, the shortest layer falling just beneath his chin. He examined every pore of clean-shaven pale skin for a flaw that didn’t exist thanks to continuous upkeep, and finally satisfied, he accepted hand soap fromthe attendant.
Three years, Lucian thought as lather built. It’d been over three years since Lucian had laid eyes on Shea, and though Lucian would never admit it to a soul, he had felt the loss every single day. There’d been no fight or falling out, just a protracted silence perpetuated by both sides. Because Lucian couldn’t assume it had anything to do with his own actions, else the mystery drive him insane, Lucian thought the cessation of communication had to do with Shea finally getting away fromfamilyexpectations. The Ollivanders owned one of the largest dairy manufacturing facilities in the country. Shea had never wanted anything to do with it and had gone to schoolfor economics. He’d been successful, of course. With a mind like Shea’s, being bad at much of anythingwould take work.
Three years ago, however, Shea had quit his job and vanished, quite literally, into the woods. Shea had built a cabin on the fringes of his family’s land with his bare hands. He’d retreated from people and eventually took a job in construction, of all things. Lucian would have been worried, but every source Lucian used to keep tabs on Shea didn’t indicate that Shea suffered from anything worse than exhaustion. The rat race didn’t agree with Shea, and so Shea had dropped out ofthe competition. That was allwelland good, so far as Lucianwas concerned. Lucianwanted Shea happy, and ifthe manliked diggingditches, more power to him.
But Shea didn’t call, and that was not so well and good for Lucian. Granted, their lives were busy and verydifferent, but theyusuallygot intouchat Christmas. It was a tradition they’d begun back in college. Both of them went to schools on the West coast to get away fromtheir families, and they saw one another fromtime to time to get into trouble. Shea, though, always went home for the holidays, and Lucianfollowed.
Back intheir familiar stompinggrounds, they’d meet in a bar, get drunk, talk about how their lives were going to be different from their parents’, and that was how they’d celebrated. It was far nicer than his estranged father’s empty penthouse or, later, Lucian’s quiet home. The tradition had lasted through Lucian’s law school stint and Shea’s Master’s, through life decisions both big and small, and through tragedy, familyproblems, and comingout.
December twenty-fifth meant a night of platonic companionship with Shea instead of a lonely night of longing, and that meant the world. Shea meant the world, had always been there as long as Lucian could remember, and if he somehow fucked that up tonight, somehow lost the friendship he treasured because Lucian couldn’t keep his fucking feelings to himself, he would never-
“Sir? Are youallright?”
“Yes,” Lucian answered the attendant with a deliberate smile that Lucian watched in the mirror. It was a careful turn of thin lips, nothing more, and the attendant looked away. Lucian dried his hands on a towel, tipped the man generously, and left. He returned to his table and watched the door for a familiar, slender form.
Three years. Lucian swallowed bile and wanted to laugh at himself. Corporate climbing, speeches, charity functions, shady deals, meetings to discuss the nastiest parts of the city he claimed as his own and tried to save fromhis father’s network, and a dinner date with a man he had known for a lifetime made Lucian feel sixteen and virginal. He just couldn’t believe it was actually happening, couldn’t believe he was actually going through with this. He’d been shocked to hell and back again when Shea had answered the phone three nights ago-
“Lucian Gray calling for Sheldon Horatio Eucristicles Alexander Ollivander the Third.”
A heavysigh. “Luke, this is mycellphone.”
“Yes, Sheldon. So I realize.”
“Lucian.”
“Shea.”
Another deep breath. “Well, who the hell else do youthink is goingto answer?”
“Anynumber ofa harem, no doubt.”
Anunkind snort. “The fuck do youwant, Prince?”
“It’s Christmas.”
A pause tinged with resignation. “…yeah. Okay. Whichbar?”
“I thought maybe this time we could upgrade.”
Hesitationand interest. “Oh?”
--and even more shocked when Shea had agreed to meet. It wasn’t like Lucian had called at any point over the last few years, either, and by all rights Shea could have told him to go commit an anatomically challenging act. When that didn’t happen, and when Lucian cleared the dazed fog in his brain, cellphone still clenched tightly in one hand, he started preparing a plan and bracingfor the worst.
Lucian finished off his wine, watching a tall, broad man in jeans stop at the host station just inside the entrance. Lucian grumbled a curse under his breath and checked his phone. Shea was officially late by ten minutes. Naturally. The man had never been on time for anything since they were six, so there was no reason why Shea should begin now, and why was that man shrugging into a borrowed suit jacket walking toward the table like it was somehow appropriate? The man looked familiar and, God, Lucian hoped it wasn’t a scorned lover about to make a scene. That was the last thingLucianneeded tonight.
Lucian glared at the interloper until the man shoved hands into jean pockets and glowered at the ground. Luciansucked a breath. He would know that scowland body language anywhere. It had been directed at hima million times, and Lucian clenched his teeth to keep fromgaping.
Shea had started out as a tall, lanky kid and not much had changed over the years. The last time Lucian saw Shea, the man was skinny, geeky, and adorably self-conscious. Shea wore glasses and a buzz cut, his lack of fashion sense put the entire gay community to shame, and he tried to blend into the wallpaper.
The man approaching Lucian’s table, however, walked with a stride that owned every inch of his sixfoot-two build. The suit jacket, which was definitely not a thirty-eight and more like a forty-four, was too tight across broad shoulders and defined arms. The Shea that Lucian remembered could scarcely grow a mustache, but this man had a rugged five-o-clock shadow that any masculine member of Hollywood would envy. The light brown eyes weren’t disguised by thick metal frames held together by tape, and instead glowed with a confidence that aroused Lucian at twenty yards. The buzz cut was now a shaggy mess of brown curls begging to be touched. The jeans were snug over heavy legs and a pleasant bulge, the sweater was plain, but the beige color did amazing things for the tan complexion. When Shea paused next to the table, Lucian started at the dark brown boots and didn’t stop panning up and admiring until Lucian met a completely unreadable gaze.
“Hey.” Shea nodded curtly and slid into the seat across fromLucian.
“Hello there,” Lucian said, setting down the wine glass before it shattered in his fist. Lucian struggled to account for such a drastic change and couldn’t get past sending flowers to construction foremen and personal trainers.
Shea rolled his shoulders in a fascinating display of bulk. The borrowed fabric stretched, and Shea frowned at the table. “This thing’s like a fuckin’ straitjacket.”
“Such pleasant images,” Lucian commented in a monotone that hopefully masked exactly how pleasant he found them. Shea gave Lucian a dark look, and Lucianchuckled. “Perhaps I’llsupplythemwithclothing of my own taste that would fit your more substantial frame.”
Candlelight flickered against honey-gold irises that narrowed in cunning suspicion. “Give ‘em shit for me? Why? You want me to meet you here every Christmas, now?”
Lucian stopped himself from requesting they meet here every week. That might be a bit transparent. Instead, he casually shrugged one shoulder while his heart pounded in his chest. “Well, I’d never wish to put you out.” Shea kept studying, and Lucian sweated beneath his suit. His nod to John, however, was slow and polite. The waiter set the whiskey on ice in front of Shea along with the water, and Lucian waved John awaywithone finger.
Shea looked at the glass. “Tryin’ ta get me drunk before the food. Hmm.” Shea deftly picked up the water with his left hand, the wrist banded by two inches of black leather watch. Lucian tried not to stare at it, or anyone part ofShea, for too long.
“Though, knowing you,” Shea began, trailing off and pouringhalfthe water over the whiskey.
“Ah, yes. Knowing me,” Lucian repeated, the words nearlyinaudible.
Shea eyed Lucian, and hefted the drink to gulp a swallow. “Yeah, I might need ta be loose for this talk. Yougot that pine-cone-up-your-ass look.”
“Do I?”Lucianasked, amused.
“Oh yeah. A whole fuckin’ tree’s worth. What’s up? Three years and now youcallme?”
Shea’s tone was full of banter, but guilt still filled Lucian’s cracks and crevices. He crossed his arms and rested his elbows on the table. “My apologies. I have no mentionable excuse.”
“Mention--”Shea started.
“How’re the girls?” Lucian interjected, smoothly. “And Shelby?”
Shea heaved a sigh and sat back in his chair, and Luciannoted tinyscars, some pink and some red, crisscrossing Shea’s thick fingers. “Fine,” Shea said, resigned. “We’ll play it that way, then. Shelby’s still spoiled rotten, and he doesn’t give a shit. Lana and Claire are fine, and Kristy’s gotten fascinated with cow tits. Dad’s pretty proud of her. Mom asked about you when I refused to go home for Thanksgiving.” Shea paused, expression arch. “How’re the boys? And Clark?”
“Chance is well,” Lucian said, ignoring the sarcasm and referring to his blond, brazen business partner. “Spending a lot of time dealing with manufacturing contracts for his family’s company and driving me crazy with his whims for Club Break. You know how he gets when fixated on some particular hunk of metal and chain.”
“Uh... yeah,” Shea said, and the subdued tone made Lucian look hard at Shea, note the tenseness of jaw and brow. Perhaps Shea had lost patience with Lucian’s interest in kink. Lucian still remembered the Christmas he told Shea about his idea for the clubs: Bliss, a massive cathedral-shaped dance club atop a ridge, and Break, a high-profile BDSM club beneath it. Lucian had been raised in an environment where power exchange was as common as dirty laundry, and one of Lucian’s goals in life was to provide environments where such activities could be done welland right by all parties involved. Lucian and Chance had the funds, and they’d found their architect in Tim Akkard, a military friend of Maxwell Clark’s. Clark used to be a trainer at the dojo where Lucian and his Academy friends took classes. An ex-special forces officer, Clark was the man Lucian tapped to check backgrounds of potential club members, among other things. Lucian had told Shea the entire plan all those years ago, and they’d spent hours discussingthe land preparation, alone. Shea even used to listen to Lucian’s rants about Scene with passinginterest, but maybe that had waned.