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Pink Petal Books Pink Petal Books, an imprint of Jupiter Gardens Press, publishes romance novels where the relationship is primary. It doesn’t matter if you want to read super erotic or sweet inspirational books. Pink Petal Books believes that love is a beautiful thing, no matter what form it takes. For more information about Pink Petal Books visit http://www.pinkpetalbooks.com/.
Additional Titles by the Author Spinning Grounded Goodbye Scrooge Passionate Ink Ghosts And Lovers The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. Permission is granted to make ONE backup copy for archival purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
FINDING HOME ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ISBN# 978‐0‐9837809‐7‐7 Copyright © JAIME SAMMS, 2011 Cover Art ® 2010 by Winterheart Design Edited by Mary K. Wilson
Electronic Publication Date: August 2011 This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Jupiter Gardens Press, Jupiter Gardens, LLC., PO Box 191, Grimes, IA 50111 For more information to learn to more about this, or any other author’s work, please visit http://www.pinkpetalbooks.com/
Finding Home Jaime Samms
PPB
Chapter One The hair on the back of Ken's neck stood on end. His jersey t‐shirt clung to his skin. Static electricity hung in the air. Outside the bedroom window, a shroud of gray covered the world, sea to sky. Mist, so thick it beaded on the pane and rolled in fat drops, distorted his view of the rolling horizon. Inside, the air was dry, crackling, and he rolled over to find himself under the intense scrutiny of Mikko's pale blue gaze. "What is it?" He couldn't help the concern lacing his voice or the worry prowling the pit of his stomach. Wanting to reassure them both, he lifted a hand and touched Mikko's face. The sharp sting of static shock zinged through his fingers, but he managed not to flinch. Over the weeks since Dean had arrived to care for Darian, Mikko's mood had steadily deteriorated. Ken knew the house, their little haven, was overcrowded. But Darian's injuries had been Ken’s doing, and while Mikko might not like the fact of Ken’s feeling obligated to help the wolf shifter, he had agreed. Part of helping the man heal included availing themselves of Dean's medical knowhow. Without him, Darian would be dead and they both knew it. But even after days and days of his presence, Mikko still seemed hyper‐attuned to the other Dom's presence. Almost, Ken thought, like he felt threatened by Dean's older, steadier power. He watched Ken now, as though he expected at any moment his lover was going to get up and walk out of the room, abandoning him. Superimposed in Ken's mind's eye, over Mikko's features for just an instant, were a pair of slanted green eyes, a fall of long blond hair, a vision of his past he'd hoped he'd been able to purge. That past lover had worn this look a lot. A desperate, frightened need, fuelled by the fear of being left alone, had driven Ken's last lover to make demands, then promises, bargains neither he, nor Ken had a hope of fulfilling. Guilt and anger surged up. Because Ken had left. He had abandoned that man. But he'd had no choice. He'd scooted out a door already swinging closed, sure if he stayed, he'd be trapped, and never to survive the crumbling relationship intact. "Mikko, what's wrong?" he whispered, dropping his voice low, blanketing it in soothing layers over his lover's apparent fear and his own unease. "You're not going to leave me." Mikko grated out the statement, the snapping energy in the air responding to the bright demand in his eyes and nipping at Ken's bare skin. Ken frowned. He'd only just found this love, the security that Mikko gave him. "No." Sitting up, Ken had to shove the unwanted reminder of his last disastrous relationship out of his head. This was not the same. That time, he'd been with a man who loved him to distraction but couldn't be the Dom he needed, couldn't even find the strength to look after himself, let alone a submissive lover like Ken who had needed rehabilitation from a horrific past. Mikko was different. He was strong and sure, and if something was wrong to make him this insecure, Ken had to figure it out. He had to figure out what Mikko needed and give it to him. "What makes you think that?" Ken asked, reaching up to where Mikko hovered over him. The overcast day gave their room a gray cast, allowing Ken a clear visual of the tiny sparks that snapped between them when he stroked his lover's cheek.
"I feel him everywhere," Mikko said, eyes shifting, darting his gaze about the room. "Every breath is tainted with him. He's too strong." For a moment, that green‐eyed vision ghosted through the room again, and Ken felt the familiar, constricting sadness of failure. He brushed those feelings away, pretty sure he knew Mikko was talking about something completely different. "Who, Mikko? Who is too strong? Too strong for what?" "There shouldn't be another Dom in this house." Mikko's gaze came back, fixing on Ken's face with the light of fevered command in them. "He's not welcome." His head wagged from side to side, nostrils flared, like a dog searching for the right scent and not finding it. He strode away from the bed, quick steps carrying him across the room and back. "Dean is here to help us, Mikko." Ken knelt, letting the soft folds of bedclothes fall away, and took his lover's face in both hands, stilling the agitated shifting of his head. "He has no interest in me." "He's a Dom," Mikko snarled. "And you're—" "I belong to you," Ken said firmly. "You and only you. I have no interest in him." "You did once." Ken shook his head. "In the convenience of him, maybe. He was there, and it wouldn't have mattered who he was. That was a different time, and I don't need that kind of temporary comfort now. I have you. You are all I want or need." How many times over the past few days had he made this very same argument? How many times had he had to reassure his partner he was not going to stray, that he didn't want anything but what Mikko had to offer. It was feeling far too much like what he had escaped with his last lover. The constant reassuring and placating, giving over and over again until he was depleted and lonely had finally driven him out then. He was stronger now. But he was still submissive, still needed the touch and guidance of a firm hand. He quailed at the thought of losing what was still so new. "There's something wrong, Kenny. Something..." Mikko trailed off. His gaze lost its focus and the air once again crackled with an excess electric charge that had the hairs on Ken's body dancing upright. Mikko's fingers idly traced patterns over Ken's sides and every few seconds, a tiny discharge of static electricity shocked along Ken's skin. Ken didn't know if Mikko was aware of the vibration he was creating on the air. It had pretty much become the norm whenever the man was wake. He hesitated to point it out. The last thing Mikko needed was more cause for concern over his control of the situation or his powers. "Tell me what you're thinking. Please." Ken knew he skirted the edges of the boundaries they'd set. Mikko had every right to ignore the question. It was his prerogative as the controlling partner, and lately, he'd asserted his control over Ken in every way. As reassuring as it was, as different from every other Dom or lover he'd known, right this moment, it would be less than helpful. Ken hoped this wouldn't be one of the times Mikko decided to lay down the law and demand service rather than risk answering Ken's questions. There was no way for Ken to find the answer to what his lover needed if he didn't know what was going on in the man's head. For that, he needed Mikko to talk.
"It feels...he feels so much like Morgan. He's there, hovering around the edges, just..." Mikko waved a hand at the side of his head, "there." "His only concern right now is making sure Darian recovers. When he knows that the werewolf isn't going to die, he'll leave." Ken said the words, but cold fear slithered like melting ice through his veins. So much about their powers, about Morgan, and what he could and couldn't do, even from an ocean away, was unknown. "He's not a werewolf," Mikko said, irritation grinding his normally soothing voice rough and bringing Ken's focus back to the charged room. "There's no such thing." "Right. And I'm not some kind of freaky, in between enigma that no one understands, either." "I understand you," Mikko said, suddenly and completely focused on Ken again. "You're scared I'm going to fall apart. You're trying to figure out how to hold me together, keep me strong so that I don't leave you without a Dom again." "I'm trying to figure out how to help you get this power under control so you don't burn the house down." Ken said, deflecting. Let this be about Mikko controlling the power he clearly did have, not about how his hold on Ken was slipping. "So you don't have to worry about me. I'm not worried about your leaving. You promised you wouldn't and I believe you." That much was true. Mikko would never leave him. Not on purpose. "I am worried that the more agitated you get, the harder it is for you to control the electrical storm in your head. I feel how powerful it is right now. If you get out of control, a lot more people than me are going to suffer. I want to make sure that doesn't happen." "I'm supposed to look after you," Mikko whispered. Worry clouded his normally bright eyes. Ken could hardly pretend they didn't both know their relationship was caving in on itself. "We look after each other." He stroked his thumbs over Mikko's cheeks. "We look after each other because we're partners and just having you makes me strong enough to do this. I was a mess when you got here, Mikko. I was. No denying that. But I've learned so much. I can help. Please. Let me." Mikko just stared down at him. His fingers had travelled upwards, playing over Ken's chest and jaw, skipping along the side of his neck, trailing an electric current of almost‐pain in their wake. "Do you feel it?" he asked after a few minutes. Ken nodded. Sweat had broken out along his back. His cock was hard, beginning to ache with the need for Mikko's touch. He wondered what that slink of gentle lightning would feel like on his more vulnerable and sensitive parts, fearing and craving the answer. "Touch me," he pleaded, curiosity winning out over the trepidation. "I want to know." He peeled away the clinging shirt and pushed down his boxers, revealing his need to his Dom. Mikko yanked him off the bed, pulled him close and rocked his hips, running his own hard cock alongside Ken's, controlling the power enough that it seemed only to emanate from his fingertips. "I could make you come just like this." His voice held a teasing note Ken hadn't quite realized he missed until he heard it. He moaned his appreciation and ground against
Mikko. His Dom continued to rock against him, running their cocks along one another and smiling, watching Ken start at each tiny blip of electricity on his skin. A shiver ran through Ken that had nothing to do with Mikko's Ageless power. It was pure need and desire for the man that set his skin on fire and made him moan out loud. This was the power his Dom had over him on any day and he relished it. "Please," he begged, not caring how desperate he might sound, aware how much his lover had given him that he could beg, could express himself without fear. "I want to feel it." "You want the electric hum of my hands on your cock?" Mikko watched him, eyes dark with lust, voice dropping low and seductive as his fingers traced a path along Ken's hip. Ken nodded, unable to tear his gaze from the hard light of demand and desire in his lover's eyes. He could only nod his affirmation, admitting his utter fascination for the kind of pain it might bring. "You're a glutton, Kenny." Mikko ran his fingers down the side of Ken's face. His eyes sparked and so did his finger tips. "My little glutton." Ken gasped. Searing heat stabbed down just in the wake of Mikko's touch. It lit up Ken's nerves like wildfire, and he whimpered out another moan. "You want that?" The spark flashed brighter against the darkness in Mikko's gaze. "I want it. Please." Ken backed to the bed and stretched out on his back. His naked lust and naked body put him exactly in the vulnerable position they both loved. He stretched himself, open and without fear, ready for whatever power Mikko chose to use on him. His cock ached to be touched, his mind burned with the excitement of this new possibility. "Do it again." This time, Mikko's fingers settled on Ken's clavicle as he knelt on the bed over him. He trailed them across his shoulder, down his arm. Sparks ignited all the way and Ken's back arched off the bed. His cry this time was a guttural moan through clenched teeth. "Too much?" Mikko asked. Ken shook his head, dug into the pillow, and arched his hips up ferociously into air, frustrated by the lack of contact. "Again. Lower." "Who are you to order me?" "No one." Ken settled back into the mattress. Sweat poured off him, he alternately shivered and strained, his muscles clenching against the onslaught each time Mikko's fingers tripped over his skin. He wanted it, feared it, and ultimately, needed it like the sun. "Please. I want to come. Need to. Touch me. Please..." His last, begging word trailed off as Mikko's fingers slipped down his abdomen. Sparks followed. Ken's vision blurred, his heart sped. He gasped and jerked. The sheets felt unnaturally crisp against his skin as every nerve ending came alive, and he flew beyond orgasm into that coveted, rare state of bliss. His blood rushed and roared in his ears. The room faded. Energy sizzled through him, the spangled lights of it leaving trailers of colour in his eyes. The zinging sensations shot through him again and again, left him floating in a void of singing light and sharp heat.
He only very slowly returned to himself. The light in the room had changed. The peculiar grayish pall of overcast dawn had been replaced with the brighter silvery‐edged, mid‐morning sunshine breaking through the clouds and glinting off the sea. He moaned. Every part of him stung and ached. His muscles were heavy with lethargy. He didn't want to move. He was sated. Happy. "Don't try to move." Mikko's voice floated to him on the light, sounding tired and cautious. "You reading my mind now?" Ken asked. "No." Ken turned his head to see his lover sitting cross‐legged on the bed near his knees. His lips turned down slightly and his gaze skittered away as soon as Ken looked at him. "That was beautiful." Ken smiled. "Why do you look so sad?" Mikko just shook his head but he still had trouble meeting Ken's gaze. Fighting his lethargy, Ken pulled himself to a sitting position. "What is it, love?" "You trust me so much," Mikko said. His voice was flat, a sure sign he tried to hide fear. Ken knew it from their long ago past, near the end, Mikko had been so flat, so closed. Because he'd been afraid, Ken now knew. Afraid of Morgan and Darian and his involvement with them. Afraid he'd never get free and that somehow, he'd lose Ken over it. All his fears seemed to have come true back then. Ken scooted closer. "Of course I trust you. You came back. I love you. I know you won't hurt me." "What if I lose it completely? What if..." "I am not going to run away from you again," Ken promised. "No more running for either of us. We end this, one way or another, and if that means we work with Darian and Dean to do it, then so be it. Our lives are going to remain ours, not anyone else's." "You sound so sure." Mikko touched his cheek, but this time, there was no electric charge to delight. There was just the shaking, tentative touch, the warmth of Mikko's skin, and the need for reassurance. Ken knew what that need felt like. He took Mikko's hand in his, leaned close and kissed his lover, a deep, heartfelt kiss that left them both breathless. "I'm sure of us, Mikko. I've never been sure of any other man in my life like I am sure of you." And saying it, he knew it was true. Even in the depths of crazy, dizzy love with the last guy, he had never really felt the security of permanence. It had been a grab‐all‐now feeling of giddy, precarious joy. Not this. This was as steady and stable as the rocks on which their home was built. No sea of uncertainty could batter his surety that he and Mikko were one. "You're the man for me, the Dom I've always searched for. I'm not scared to fight for this. For us. Whatever it takes." "I might...turn dangerous. For you. I might not be able to control it." Mikko got up and paced across the room. "We can't do this again." "It's fine. And feel the air now." Ken rose and followed him. Ignoring the ache of every muscle, the stiffness, he held his arms out form his sides, spinning in a circle. "Feel it. No more rogue energy. I say we do it more often." He cornered Mikko near the dresser and wrapped his arms around him. "What you just did...that's beyond."
He didn't even know beyond what. It was a place he didn't get to often, that place nothing could touch him but Mikko and Mikko's love and care for him. He'd live there if he could. Mikko accepted the embrace, accepted Ken's words without responding. Ken decided it was as far as he dared push for the moment. Later, when they were alone again, he would get Mikko to do this again. Call it love making. Call it practice in controlling this power of his. Call it gluttony on Ken's part. They both needed it, and Ken would make Mikko see that.
Chapter Two Ken set a tray laden with specialty tea and empty mugs carefully on the coffee table at Dean's knee before retreating back to the kitchen doorway where he leaned against Mikko ever‐so‐slightly. Fits of sunshine and fast‐moving shadows streamed across the gleaming hardwood floors. Cheerful new milk paint on the walls soaked up the ever‐changing light bouncing from the ocean through the windows to fill the room with warmth. The living room's occupants sat in stony, uncomfortable silence, chunks of granite not moved by nature's intrusion in the man‐made space. Eddies of tension and worry flowed around them. Mikko's hands remained in his pockets, but that was okay. Ken knew it was to disguise the shaking that had become almost constant. For once, Ken pressed against him, not for his own comfort, but for Mikko's. They huddled out of reach of the sun's rays. Need for the light's caress pebbled Ken's skin, but Mikko shied away from the fiery touch. Too many powerful Ageless crammed in too small a space were playing havoc with his barely controlled abilities. The static electricity was already beginning to build again, and he clearly did not want to take a chance the addition of the sun's ambient energy might throw him over the edge into chaos. Over the past week, their nightly love making had grown more and more frantic, and more than once, despite Mikko's dictate against it, Ken had felt the sting of his powers nip across sensitive skin. Not in the same controlled, focused way as that first time, but that didn't stop Ken from enjoying the sweet sting when it came. But ignoring them was not making Mikko's powers any easier for the Dom to control. Ken hadn't said anything about the burns left behind the last few times. He wasn't sure Mikko knew it had happened, and if he didn't, then he certainly didn't need the added stress. Ken kept the tender marks hidden and held his tongue. He wasn't sure, and didn't want to think about whether he was keeping quiet for Mikko's benefit or his own. He liked the sensations of power skating over his skin. Maybe not when it was strong enough to burn, but otherwise he did. He feared if he mentioned the injuries, Mikko would stop. Perhaps stop touching him altogether, and the memory of the long months when Mikko had first arrived when Ken had waited and waited for that touch kept him silent. The need for physical connection was too strong in Ken for him to go long without. That had always been his problem. Even when he had no one, he couldn't go long without the absolute need for touch driving him into the arms of anyone willing to give him that. So many of the men he'd ended up with had been...damaging. Ken shuddered and pushed those memories away. They were in his past. He had Mikko now, in his life, his heart and his bed. He never had to go back to what he had been. Ever. "You all right?" Mikko murmured. Ken pressed against him and Mikko pulled a hand from his pocked, wrapped his arm around Ken and pressed his palm against skin under his shirt. Ken sighed. "Yeah." Some of the tension flowed out of him, just having Mikko's hand against his chilled skin. "Yeah." He managed a smile. "Thank you for the tea, Ken." Dean flashed a smile in their direction.
Behind Ken, Mikko growled low in his throat. The air around them electrified and lifted the hair on Ken's arms. Ken lifted the corners of his mouth. "You're welcome." To Mikko, he whispered, "He's just being polite." Mikko only grunted. Both men watched silently as Dean poured two cups of the steaming brew. One he handed to Darian, propped on pillows on the couch. White bandages covered a wide swath of Darian's middle, from just below his nipples to where they disappeared under the waist band of his stretchy bottoms. Dean had brought the big shifter clothes of his own to wear with the promise that soon, his own lover would arrive with enough new clothing to keep him modest. Dean sipped the other cup of tea himself as his gaze drifted to the wolf lying across Darian's lap. "Would Myra like?" he lifted his cup, slightly. Darian shook his head and let his hand trail over the fine black fur on the top of his mate's head. She shifted her weight, slipping a little more off his legs and into the warm crack between him and the back of the couch. Dean turned slightly, not quite looking over his shoulder. "Are you two going to come sit?" It was just short of a command, and Ken shifted his feet but remained at Mikko's side. "Just say what you have to say," Mikko snarled. His hand snuck lower, fingers dipping behind Ken's waist band and belt, pulling his attention to the soft flick of electricity skipping along his skin. His cock twitched and a flush of excitement washed through him. Dean raised one eyebrow, lifted his cup and sipped before speaking. "You can't stay here," he said, finally, lowering the cup and glancing between them. It was what Ken had feared he would say. He couldn't quite tell if it was an order to leave, or just a warning. He took a small step forward, even while reaching back for Mikko's hand as he slipped out from under his touch. "This is our home." Mikko's fingers twined with his and he lifted his chin, squaring off. "We aren't leaving." Dean settled back in his chair, two hands on his cup as he lifted it and peered at them over top. His voice never wavered from calm and stern. "Darian found you easily enough." "And I ran him off just as easily. The fact he's back is only because I talked Mikko into helping him, otherwise, he'd be dead now." Myra lifted her head, glaring at him with her unblinking canine threat. Ken glared right back. "I can defend what's mine." Dean glanced around the room at them all. "The lot of you can barely control your abilities." Ken had nothing to say to that. Mikko stiffened and Myra whined deep in her throat, lowered her head, though she didn't seem to relax any. Ken watched Darian's eyes darken. "Myra and I stabilize each other," Darian said. "We have better control together." His hand once more went to her ruff and slowly, her muscles eased back into relaxed alertness. Dean nodded. "As it should be, but better than nothing is still far from good. Look how long it took you to heal. Weeks. And for a wound that should have healed within days. Right now, an unstable shift could still kill you as surely as an attack by one of Morgan's rogues." He leaned forward, pinning Darian with his gaze. "You don't shift often, do you?"
Darian scowled. Something of the wolf he was showed in the yellow tint and slant of his eyes. "Can you move fluidly from one to the other? Or do you get caught? Half wolf, half man. Do you think your body can last long in that half state?" "This is not about me," Darian snarled. "No." Dean settled back in his chair, his voice easing back to a soft baritone. "But it's about how much fear Morgan has instilled in you that you cannot even do what's natural. You're Ageless. It's in your DNA to do this thing. It is who and what you are, and this man has taken that away from you." Dean glanced at Myra. "And in her fear, your mate cannot remain long in her human form." He pinned her with his stare. "She's weak in that form. Helpless, relying on everyone around her to protect her." She growled, menacing, even thought she didn't otherwise move. "Is this really how you want to live out your lives together?" Dean asked. "What has Morgan done that he owns you both so thoroughly? You won't shift. You won't leave his influence." Dean glanced at Mikko. "You won't fight." "What would you know about it" Mikko snarled. "You've been hiding out here for how long? If you cared what was going on, you would have done something. You don't care what's causing the problem. You only want us gone so you can protect your cozy little sanctum." "What would you have me do, Mikko?" "Stop him." "How?" Dean turned in his chair to fix a questioning gaze on Mikko. "If you were right there, at his side, and you couldn't do it, how should I do it from here?" "You're just as strong as he is. You could find him." "Don't you lot know where he is?" Darian and Mikko exchanged a look and a cold shiver passed through the room, born of something they didn't say and carried on Mikko's power to everyone else. "We never saw him," Darian confessed. "Except as a face on a view screen, or an image in our heads. No one was ever allowed to actually be in his presence. He said he needed his sanctum, his personal space undisturbed in order to concentrate enough to help us." He snorted. "We bought that for a while, too. He only ever communicated with me inside my head." He tapped his skull. "It was enough. He felt real, then, close. Most of his lieutenants were the same. The rest, he used implants, mods to communicate." Mikko nodded sullenly. "But you're more powerful than any of us are." He lifted his head and stared at Dean. "You have better control. You could find him." His eyes took on a fevered glow and the air around Ken began to vibrate. "You could find him. Call him out. You could make him face what he's done, force him to stop. Or—" "Kill him?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Kill my own brother?" Ken sucked in a breath. Mikko's fingers tightened in his. "What?" Dean faced Ken, nodded once, affirming the statement and refusing to look Mikko in the eye. "Morgan is my brother. We have the same skills. He's my twin, and we share the same abilities. Rare, in Ageless, to have identical twins, but it proves nothing is impossible." He
sighed and sank back into the cushions of his chair. For the next few silent heartbeats, his focus shifted to the foul‐smelling tea cooling in his cup. It then turned inward, bringing a frown to his handsome face. "When we were much younger, we set out to change the world. We saw it collapsing. Occasionally, we caught glimpses of things we didn't fully understand; half‐formed ideas, thoughts that didn't belong to us. Morgan got it into his head he was seeing into the minds of world rulers and he didn't like what he saw. He decided it was his gift to see what he did, and his responsibility to stop it." Dean let out a long sigh. "It was just residual vibrations on the air, bits and pieces of the worry and fear everyone was feeling by then. He was so blinded by the chaotic feelings of the people around him, he could no longer hear the truth. We were born to listen to the wind. And he saw only the swirling debris. It distracted him. He got lost in it." "You can read minds." Ken held onto Mikko's hand a little tighter. Suddenly the benign man calmly sipping tea in his living room was something else. "You can—" "Not exactly. I can feel the way people's emotions change the energy in the air around them. It makes it easy to know how people are feeling. It isn't possible to know what they are thinking, but I can understand how they are feeling. Morgan chose to use his skill to manipulate people, to make them feel what he wanted them to feel. It's easy to control people who don't know they should be afraid of you." "How do I know you aren't doing the same thing?" Ken inched back, his agitation, or Mikko's causing their clasped hands to quiver. "Because if I was, you would not be questioning me. You'd trust me." "But—" Dean sighed. "I can decipher what people are feeling, Ken." His gaze shifted to Mikko. "And if they let me, I can teach them how to understand themselves. I won't use what I can do to control people. I've seen the devastation that happens when they eventually discover what's been done to them, and they always figure it out. I've seen men do terrible things to loosen my brother's hold on them, and seen them die still in his grasp." His gaze shifted to Myra. Her big, gold eyes fixed on his face. "I've seen animal shifters lose all trace of their humanity, desperate to not let him gain a foothold." Myra whined, more like a scared puppy than the formidable wolf she currently was. Darian's fingers sank into her ruff. "As far as I can tell, he truly believes he is fighting for the earth. He will do anything to reverse what humans have done, and he doesn't flinch at the lives he destroys in his quest." "And yet you," Mikko shook himself free of Ken's grasp and stalked forward. "You sit here, at the ass end of the world and do nothing to stop him." "He's not evil, Mikko. He's my brother." "He's a destructive, self‐serving bastard. He doesn't want to save the world. He wants to be the most powerful person left in it. The enclaves didn't close their borders to keep the Young out. They closed themselves off to keep out the Ageless he's contaminated. What do you think he wanted Trackers for? Whether he listened to the wind, or the whispers of the technology he's raped his own body with, he knows they're out there, and he knows how to control those of us who can find them. When he's scoured the world for the ones we missed,
the few left on the outside, he'll go after the enclaves, too, and the war that he starts really will devastate the earth." Dean raised his gaze to Mikko's and even from across the room, Ken could see the big man's pain. "I know that." "Why do nothing?" It sent a cold wave of nausea through Ken to hear Mikko, his strong, assured Mikko, plead like that. "You don't know what it feels like to destroy the thing you love, Mikko, to watch everything you care about disintegrate around you. Morgan did some terrible things to our family. I couldn't stop him." "But you're willing to sit back and let the man who did that keep doing it? To everyone he comes into contact with?" Mikko glided up behind Ken, wrapped his arms tight around his chest and held him there. All the hairs on Ken's body sizzled up on end. The air crackled around him. "Because I won't. I'll protect what's mine, and if you won't help, you can get the hell out." "Mikko—" Ken rested his hands on Mikko's forearms. "Be quiet, Ken." Ken snapped his mouth shut, stung. He could feel the intensity of Mikko's glare over his shoulder, the tension in his lover's body and the dangerous snap in the air. Even the patch of sunlight they stood in heated and sweat broke over his brow and upper lip. Dean looked away first. "You don't understand, Mikko. Morgan didn't kill our family." When he looked up, Dean's dark eyes were glassy, his face grim. "You once asked me if I'd ever done anything I was ashamed of. I believed in my brother. I let him convince me of things…" Dean shook his head. "He knew from the start the only way to control me was to take away everything I loved. Everything that mattered, but he couldn't do it himself, could he? I'd hate him. So he convinced me I had no choice, that they were part of the problem, and he manipulated me into doing it myself. When I say I know the devastation of finding out how he controlled people, I mean, I know. Firsthand. He wasn't just my brother, he was my other half. I believed him over all. Over everything. Over the screaming and the pleading, over my own family begging for mercy. He destroyed who I was. I should hate him. You're asking me to do something I cannot do. He's a reminder of everything I did wrong. And of everything I once loved." "You should hate him," Ken said softly. But he could look back into his own past and see the possibility of loving the thing that made you what you were, no matter how painful the process. He straightened and faced Dean down. "You understand we won't leave. This is ours. This house, this little square of land. If you don't want Morgan to bring the fight here, then we will take it to him. Maybe you can't hate him." Ken's fingers clenched around Mikko's arm as the snapping air licked at his cheeks and the backs of his hands, leaving behind red, stinging marks. "I can." He would do whatever had to be done to free Mikko from the hold Morgan obviously still had on him.
"No!" Mikko moved so fast, Ken barely had a chance to suck in a breath before it was being knocked from him in a loud whoosh. His back hit the wall with a thud, his head snapped back. The ding of pain rang in his ears, and he blinked, gasping to draw a breath. "You will do no such thing. You belong here. With me. You will not fight Morgan." Mikko's hand on his chest exerted far more than physical pressure. Ken gulped in tiny, shallow breaths and pried at his lover's fingers. "Let go. Mikko, please." "You won't fight Morgan." Mikko's eyes glittered, sharp, so bright, the blue faded behind the brilliance of his power. "Say it!" "I won't," Ken wheezed. "I won't." Mikko relented just enough. Ken sliced upward, dislodging Mikko's hold on him. He ignored the burns and the need for air, spinning, clutching, and ending the flurry of motion with Mikko against the wall. "I won't," Ken hissed between clenched teeth, "let him win. I won't let him threaten our home or you. I won't let him get away with this." "Get. Off. Me." Mikko's eyes blazed, too bright to look into. Ken fixed his furious gaze on the man's pursed lips, white with the strain of holding in his temper. Around them, the air snapped and tongues of it licked at Ken's exposed skin. He didn't flinch. Concentrating, he drew on the force of his own powers, toughening his hide to a black sheen of ebony skin where Mikko flicked at him with the lightning rod of his anger. "You can't hurt me," he grated through clenched teeth. It didn't matter that the forced transformation felt like ripping his own skin off and abrading the wounds with sandpaper. It was his choice to allow that pain over the sting of Mikko's wild power. Mikko bared his teeth in a snarl. "Stop it." "I won't let you go until you see reason." "There is no reason in going after Morgan. He'll kill you." "He can try." Mikko struggled to free himself from Ken's forearm across his chest. He concentrated his physical strength and the nipping pricks of light there. Ken hardened his skin further, pushing the power deeper until his muscles ached and turned to hard obsidian, crushing the breath from Mikko's lungs. "Ken..." Mikko's eyes went wide. "Kenny stop. You'll hurt yourself. Stop." "I won't let that monster mess with our lives. I'm through running, Mikko. You hear me? Never again." Mikko nodded, his gaze now fixed in horror on Ken's arm. The rock‐like hardness had spread from his forearm to engulf his biceps. Ken could no longer feel the tight curl of his fingers into a fist or the pressure of Mikko's body against his arm. He watched in fascination as the spread continued into his shoulder. "Ken stop it!" Mikko's frantic shout pulled him out of the trance, and he blinked, seeing the fear and loathing on Mikko's face. He let go of the power. It whipped back through him, undoing the
transformation as it went. Every muscle knotted, contracted, and Ken screamed in pain, buckling to the floor. "Oh God...Oh fuck." He cradled the arm against his chest and dropped his head, curling around the agony. Two sets of strong hands forced him back to sitting. He couldn't stop the tears of pain streaming down his face. "Come on," Dean said, is voice gentle. "Work it out. Straighten the arm." "Can't." "No choice." Dean gripped Ken's fist and pulled the arm out straight. He screamed again and passed out. He couldn't have been out long because he woke still on the floor to Mikko shouting and a kaleidoscope of colour flaring about the room above him. A deafening roar filled his ears and the thud of a body hitting the wall finally convinced him to roll over. Just in time to see Mikko slump, unconscious, into Darian's arms. "What did you do to him?" Ken struggled to sit. "I knocked him on the head." Darian hefted Mikko's body over his shoulder, wincing at the exertion. "He's going to hurt someone if he doesn't calm down." He moved off toward the stairs, carrying the limp form out of sight. Ken groaned and wrapped himself once more around his aching arm. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were his own sniffling whimpers. "Ken." The sound of command in Dean's voice was unmistakable. Ken resisted lifting his head, fought the urge to fold himself into the easy compliance of obeying Dean because he was a Dom. "I have to go to him." Ken rolled to his knees and staggered upright. Myra met him at the foot of the stairs, her shaggy form blocking his way. He reached a hand to grip her scruff. She snarled at him, teeth clamping, lips vibrating. Her eyes fixed on his, not the eyes of a feral wolf, though physically, they looked just like any other lupine. Sympathy and determination shone out at him. "Move, Myra. Please." She smoothed her hackles down, but stood her ground. "You'd be well advised to listen to her," Dean suggested. "She knows him better than you. When he loses control, he can be very dangerous. Let him sleep it off." "He's my..." Ken clenched his fists despite the pains that shot up his arm, and whirled on Dean. "Mine. I know him. He needs me." "He needs you to remain calm. Your emotional state is going to affect him as much as his own. His abilities are tied to his emotions, fuelled by the vibrations on the air around him. If you're upset, angry, afraid, that will resonate in him. As his lover and his submissive, what he needs most from you is calm." "And you think keeping me away from him is going to keep me calm?" "I think taking some time to settle down is going to be the best thing you can do for him right now. He's asleep." "He's out cold."
"Darian is perfectly capable of looking after his needs." Ken bristled. "If that animal touches him—" A sharp growl at his back reminded Ken that Darian's own mate was still in the room. Just because she looked like a wolf didn't diminish the fact she understood every word they said. "Darian has been caring for Mikko for a very long time. The shifter knows better than you do what your lover needs right now." "No! He's mine...my responsibility. I'm supposed to..." "Ken." This time, the power behind Dean's voice forced Ken's attention and he lifted his head. "If you truly want to do what's best for your Dom, let Darian and Myra care for him now. They kept him stable enough to survive Morgan's manipulations for years before he came back to you. Whatever troubles you had while you two were apart, his were just as trying. Morgan twisted everything he knew about himself around. Made him doubt who he was, what he wanted." He touched Ken's face. "Who he wanted. Darian is the one who kept him sane, reminded him who was on the other end of the line when you called, needing to hear his voice. They know what they're doing. They do care for him." "How..." Ken swallowed. "How do you know?" "Darian and I have had a lot of time to chat over the past two weeks, Ken. He's a good man. And he wants what is good for Mikko. They might not be mates, but that doesn't mean they don't care for one another a great deal." "This isn't...right," Ken insisted. "Right and wrong, like many other things in life, have a disturbing way of being relative, as opposed to absolute. Right now, this is best." Ken remained where he was, trembling, lost. "Look at you." Dean lifted Ken's good arm and turned it, palm up to reveal the criss‐cross of fresh burns blistering his skin. "How many more marks like this are there where we can't see?" "It's not..." Ken twisted his arm free. "He doesn't do it on purpose." "No. But he can't stop it, either. Do you think he doesn't know he's hurting you? Of course he knows. And it's killing him that you say nothing. That you keep coming back for more. He vowed to protect you from this, and here he is doing it." "Not on purpose. Not like all the others. I know that!" "Deliberate or not, he feels your pain as keenly as you do, and it feeds his power. The power he can't control. It's a self perpetuating cycle that he can't stop. And the more out of control he gets, the easier it is for Morgan to get back into his head. You tell me how that's good for either of you?" "So what am I supposed to do? Leave him?" Just the thought turned Ken's stomach over, shriveled his will. "I can't," he whispered. "You do just what you said you would do. You fight Morgan. But you can't do it from here." "Then we'll go after him. Mikko and I. We can beat him." But Dean was already shaking his head. "Mikko can't fight him any more than I can. Morgan treated him like a son. Beloved. Wormed into his heart and soul by giving him the
family he barely remembers. Mikko did everything in his power to please my brother. If Darian hadn't kept him fighting back like he did, as long as he did, he would never have been able to break away and find you. You might think Darian was cruel to Mikko, but it was his cruelty that kept Mikko's spirit alive, kept him aware enough to eventually realize that Morgan was brainwashing him. Darian saved him. The toughest love of all, because believe me when I say, he takes no pleasure in hurting anyone, especially Mikko." "If he cares so damn much, why did he come here? Why threaten him? Why try and take me? It doesn't make sense." "Because." Darian's deep voice sounded from the stairs behind them. A soft, feminine gasp accompanied Myra shifting to two feet, then to human and running into his arms. Darian kissed the top of her bowed head and held her close. His other hand remained gripping the hand rail in tight fingers. His face showed gray around the edges. Just the amount of effort expended to subdue Mikko and deliver him to his bed had cost the big man. "I wanted to warn him. I couldn't know what you were to him until I got here. I had to find out and I had to make it look like I was doing Morgan's bidding. He still has my little girl, and even though Mikko made it out of the compound, he still has Mikko." "Take what you feel about Morgan threatening Mikko, Ken, and magnify it tenfold," Myra whispered. "You'll begin to understand how it feels not being able to protect your own child." "Then we get her back," Ken insisted, shaking a fist in front of him. They both turned sad expressions on him. "Maybe we can rescue her from his hands." Darian's eyes flickered, sending a glance back up the way he had come. "But she's so young. So vulnerable. What will he have done to her mind? To her soul by that time?" "So you're not even going to try?" Ken's fury boiled over. "I am! He can't have Mikko. He can't do this to him, make him live like this. He's mine, and I mean to get him back, body, mind and soul. You can help me, or you can stay the fuck out of my way!" "We will help," Myra assured him. "We'll care for Mikko, and in return, you bring Jillian back to us," Darian agreed. Ken stared at him. "You expect me to go by myself? And leave him behind? No!" "Ken." Dean placed a hand on his elbow, ignoring the fact he yanked free and turned his glare to him. "There is no other choice. Darian is healing too slowly. Mikko is in no condition to even be close to you. Hurting you, purposely or not, hurts him and that, in turn, loosens his control more and makes it more likely he'll do it again." "I know, all right? I get it." Ken slumped against the balustrade at the foot of the stairs and rubbed at his still‐aching arm. "I can do the math. I don't have to like the answer." "I'm going back up." Darian planted another kiss on Myra's head. Ken shot a glare at the big man. "What? You're going to sit vigil now? This is your fault for coming here in the first place and opening him up to Morgan again." "It would have happened eventually anyway. Would you rather it was when you were alone and had no idea what was going on?" Darian's nostrils flared. "I don't like to see him going through this any more than you do." "So I'll sit with him. I'll take care of him."
Myra pressed a hand to Ken's chest as he mounted the stairs. "You know that isn't a good idea." She still sounded like the wolf she was, her voice low, throaty, her gaze steady on his. "So what?" Ken slapped her hand away. "You're going to guard him? From me?" Fury and frustration screamed through Ken. He felt the transformation race through his blood and out his hands. Claws of obsidian burst forth. Mayra calmly stepped up a step, out of reach as Dean clamped a huge hand down on Ken's slim shoulder, holding him in place. "This is not helping," Dean snarled. "Calm down." "Fuck you!" Dean shook him, yanked, and he stumbled back to the ground floor. "This is exactly why you must be kept away from him. You will only make his situation worse. Until you can learn to control your emotions, you cannot be with him. Period." "This is bullshit!" Ken tried to shake him off but Dean shifted his hold, pinning both Ken's arms to his sides. Rage heated Ken's blood and he struggled, twisting and turning until he'd squirmed out of Dean's grip and bounded half way up the stairs. Myra pelted in front of him, transforming herself as she moved. Her hairy bulk knocked him against the wall. He stumbled, and she slashed his feet out from under him, pouncing, big paws on his shoulders and fangs barred in his face. Sheet lightening careened down the stairs. Darian shouted and went over the rail head first. Myra yelped. Her furry form flew off Ken, tumbled down the stairs and she spun on her side across the tiled entrance. Dean swore, but his words got lost in the flare of light and sound that raked over Ken's prone form. "Get up here! Now!" Ken bounded to his feet and up the stairs, drawn like a moth to Mikko's crackling flame of fury. Something feral and terrifying...terrified, stared back at him from Mikko's eyes even as Mikko pointed toward their bedroom and Ken hustled inside. He'd barely dropped to his knees when the door slammed behind him. The walls shook. He didn't dare look up into Mikko's anger. "What the fuck were you doing?" Ken shook, retracted his claws, swallowing the groan of pain as he did. "I‐" Mikko pulled him to his feet by a handful of hair and he staggered under his Master's powerful hold until the wall stopped his backward progress. "I was trying to—" "You will not leave this house without me!" "No!" Mikko's other hand came up and fastened around Ken's throat. The brightness in his eyes grew, pushing away the fear, kindling the power as it took over. "You understand?" Ken tried to nod.
"What the hell was that all about?" The snarl in Mikko's voice thinned, and for a moment, he sounded confused, uncertain. "I tried...to come up. They wouldn't let..." Ken fought for air and coherency. Mikko's fingers tightened. His jaw clenched. There was a war of emotions in his eyes as he stared at Ken. "I tried to come to you...Darian...stopped...Mikko..." Ken scrabbled at his fingers, feet kicking feebly. "Please..." Blackness filtered in around the edges of his vision. "Mik—" Abruptly, Mikko released him and he collapsed to the floor on hands a knees. The room filled with the sounds of his ragged fight for breath. "Get up." Mikko toed him in the ribs. "Undress." "Mikko—" "Now!" Ken flinched. "Yes, Sir." He tried to tell himself it was the out‐of‐control power talking, not the Mikko who loved him. Still, his fingers shook as he tried to unbuckle his belt. He had it open and his jeans undone when Mikko once again gripped him by the hair and hauled him up. "Off," Mikko snarled. No more uncertainty. Ken pushed at the offending garment until it fell around his ankles. Mikko dragged him and threw him on his stomach across the bed. He toppled, his feet still trapped in his jeans. Searing heat lanced over his back and he smelt the charring of his cotton t‐shirt. "Mikko," he kept his voice soft, tried to shove away his fear. "I'll give you whatever you want." He pushed to his hands and knees. His entire body shook but he looked over his shoulder at his lover. "Anything—" He looked his Dom in the eye, something he never did, and saw only a too bright sheen, manic power, sharp and blue and all consuming. The face was Mikko's. The expression was not. "Shut up." The flash of heat and pain came again, across his buttocks, and he cried out. It lashed across the backs of his thighs, once, twice, the third time, he fell forward, trying to escape the pain. Tendrils of Mikko's power snaked out, sizzling and licking at his wrists and forearms, holding him down on the bed, his ass still in the air. The bedclothes smoked, the faint smell of burn searing Ken's nostrils. This wasn't an unfamiliar position for Ken. But the abject dread in his gut made him feel the vulnerability more keenly. "Mikko." "You will give me everything I want, Ken. Absolute obedience." "Please—" A flash of light and heat snapped across his shoulder blades. "Silence." He clamped his mouth shut. It didn't stop the punishment raining down on him. Every burning lash struck into his soul. This wasn't the Mikko he knew. This was something else. Faintly, as through a haze, he heard thumping and shouting. More immediately, he heard the rasp of Mikko's zip and he squirmed. "It'll only hurt more if you fight it."
"Stop it." Ken struggled. The lashes holding his arms tightened and the smell of burnt flesh cut through his brain even more than the pain. "Mikko, let me up!" A hard slap landed on his ass. Not Magic. Palm to flesh. Mikko never struck him. Ever. The effect brought him to utter stillness, fear taking over, dictating his self preservation. There was no gentleness in what came next, just spit and force. Physically, the pain was nowhere near as great as the magical lashing had been, or even the hard slap. Ken squeezed his eyes shut and endured the deeper hurt. Mikko pounded into him without restraint or remorse. The bruises piled up under the assault. No matter how many times Ken told himself this was not his Mikko, his heart wouldn't believe him. The ache of betrayal wended into his soul. He barely noticed when Mikko finished and pulled out. Silence thickened the air. The tendril of power holding him in place slowly slipped away and Ken curled onto his side. He didn't open his eyes. He couldn't look at his lover. Everything hurt, but nothing so much as his heart. "K‐Kenny..." He didn't move. "Please..." A hand touched his hair and he flinched away. Distantly, he heard Mikko moving around the room. Drawers opened and closed. Hangers in the closet skittered across the metal rod. The sound grated across Ken's nerves. He didn't open his eyes to see what Mikko was doing, or whose clothing he was gathering. He didn't care. Soon enough, the movement stopped. The side of the bed near his feet dipped slightly. A hand touched his ankle. He kicked it off. It came back. He kicked again but this time, it held on. "Don't touch me." His voice came as a gravelly whisper. "Please look at me." "No." Freeing himself from Mikko's touch, he clawed at the sheets, wrapping them around himself as he twisted and faced the foot of the bed. His knees pressed up against the wooden spindles and he tucked his chin close to his chest. "Kenny, please." "Why—" His voice broke over the question and he drew back a sob, angry at showing this much weakness. His back and arms stung at the touch of the sheets against raw wounds. He imagined the soft white fabric would stick to them, pull at them when he tried to get up. He moaned and curled tighter. He just wouldn't get up. Ever. He stopped the mental cataloguing of his physical aches and pains. He'd been forced before. He knew how long such hurts took to heal. The sheets covered the visual evidence, but they were flimsy. And still more protection than Mikko could ever give him again. "Kenny..." "Leave me alone." "Never," Mikko whispered. "I promised." "You think this is how I wanted you to keep that promise?" Ken shifted to sitting, forcing his way through the pain and using it to fuel his anger. He remained curled, even sitting,
hugging his knees close to his chest and keeping his face lowered and turned away. "You think I would ever have said no to you?" Tears and snot dribbled over his face. He whipped it on the sheets. His hands trembled and he clasped them tighter. "I never would have said no." "I know. Please. Look at me." Ken squeezed his eyes closed. "Tell me why." "I don't know. I was so..." He swallowed hard. Ken heard it, even if he didn't dare lift his face to look. "I couldn't stop it. I wanted to. I tried. God...the things that went through my head. The things...I understand what Dean was talking about, Kenny. About his family. About how Morgan made him do it." The bed shook and Ken realized it was Mikko's shaking that caused the tremors. "I could see it happening. I know what he wanted to do to you. What he wanted to make me do to you." Silence engulfed them. Ken's heart felt like a sledge hammer, slow, steady thumps that shook his entire body. "I couldn't." "He took over your body?" Ken asked. The idea seemed so fantastical, so outlandish. And yet, the Mikko he knew would never...he would die before hurting Ken. He would. Wouldn't he? "You could have just taken it back," Ken muttered. "How could you just let him." He blinked, staring at the thin thread of light under the door and the passage of someone's footsteps on the other side, pacing shadows against the fragile light. Why didn't they come in? Why had they let it happen? "I didn't. The more I fought him, the worse he got. I...he wanted you to fight, wanted you to hurt. He would have choked the life out you slowly and fucked your corpse. Unless you stopped him by..." Bile splashed up into Ken's mouth. A flashing image of his own claws skewering Mikko's body blinded him and he choked back a shocked cry. Mikko sniffled. "All I could do was watch. Keep you still, keep you from fighting him." Cracking open one eye, he focused on Mikko, sitting on the floor beside the bed, his deep, blue eyes teary and sad. "You slapped me," Ken whispered. Mikko's eyes went wide. "I'm sorry. It was all I could think of. He was burning you..." Distress leached the color from Mikko's face. "I remembered what you said about your brother punching you. I knew it would get your attention." Ken hadn't thought about his abusive older brother in what felt like a hundred years. And really, it had almost been that long. Throughout his adult life, all the sexual torture, all the whipping...he'd asked for all of that, however much some of his Doms had taken advantage of his willingness to be hurt. But that, Ray's beating him, he'd never asked for that. And Ray, the one person he'd counted on to protect him when he was a kid, had used corporal punishment to get his way. Ken hadn't ever dwelt on it. Hadn't ever even told anyone about it, except Mikko. When they had first started down this Dominant/submissive path so many years ago, he'd thought it pertinent to explain that part of his life. "Morgan," Ken swallowed. "Morgan can make you do anything..."
Mikko stared, wide‐eyed at him, looking nothing like the powerful, confident man he knew. "He's inside your head," Ken persisted. "Always has been." Mikko's voice was so small. He looked away, gaze drifting to the carpet. "Never like this, though. All I could do was watch while you thought I was doing that to you." His face twisted. "He liked letting me watch, knowing I couldn't stop it. He wanted me to know he could do it, any time he wanted." He looked up and Ken saw such deep worry, even fear, in his eyes it made his head spin. "He can, Kenny. And he can make it so you don't know who's doing what to you. You won't fight me. You'll let him...because you'll think it's me. Or you won't be willing to hurt me." There was a long pause while they stared at one another. "I'll know." "The only thing I did of my own volition in the last half hour in this room, Ken, was hit you." He shook his head. "You won't know. And you won't fight back. I know you won't." Ken knew he was probably right. He hated that. And what he now understood Darian's role in all this to be. "Darian fights back." Mikko nodded mutely. "Not gently." "He does what I need him to do." "This is fucked up." Ken suddenly felt every pulled muscle, every burn, every bruise. "You have to go." It wasn't a whisper. It was just said very, very quietly. Before he could think about it, before he could re‐register all the injuries and the pain, Ken shook his head. "Yes, Kenny. I can't fight this. I can't. He's too strong. He can make me do things..." Mikko sniffed loudly. "You have to go. I can't hurt you like this again." "I belong here," Ken whispered, knowing he believed that with every fibre of his being. Knowing he couldn't stay. "I'll be here. I'll stay. Darian will look after me. He can. He's strong enough—" A shudder rocked Mikko in place. When he looked up again, someone else was looking at Ken through his eyes. An ugly grin split Mikko's gentle features. "Just imagine what it will be like, Kenny." Ugly gloating infused the words, taking Mikko's voice, changing his inflection. Ken scrambled back, yanking the covers further up over his chest. "To have you in the flesh..." Mikko reached after him, crawling up on the bed, his movements unnatural and jerky. "You come to me, if you dare. See how easily I break you." The grin on Mikko's face split wider, showing teeth like fangs. "See how easily it snaps his mind to watch you beg another man to fuck you. Come if you dare." The lascivious sneer left no doubt as to the double meaning. Mikko lunged. Ken scrambled out of his reach, jerking his jeans up as he stumbled across the floor and Mikko pursued him, still with that crazed light in his eyes, his movements hitched and jagged.
"Stay away!" Ken thumped into the door, fumbled for the handle and yanked it open. He rushed out into the hallway, shouldering past Dean and toward the stairs. Vertigo rolled up and spun his head. He tripped. "No!" Mikko's voice careened through his head, through the house, panic and despair lifting it on wings to cut across Ken's awareness. For an instant, there was nothing but searing pain in tight bands around his chest, the stairs floating below him, then blackness.
Chapter Three Morgan loosened his hold on Mikko's consciousness just long enough for him to see Ken topple, headlong, over the lip of the top step. He flung out a hand, wrapped his power around his lover, knowing the burns would scorch through clothing and sear skin in seconds. Yanking back his arm, he released the power as Morgan tried once again to take control of his body. He fought the invasion, trying desperately to block the strange conduit that seemed an ever‐ widening pathway for his former mentor access straight into his head. Ken slumped bonelessly to the floor. Morgan was gone, vanished with the immediate cessation of Ken's emotional stress. Mikko, too fell, his knees crunching into the hardwood. He crawled forward, rolling Ken onto his back. "Kenny..." Pretty brown eyes remained closed, dark lashes brushing pale cheeks. A light dusting of freckles stood out and Mikko brushed a finger over Ken's face. "Kenny." "Come on." Dean reached a hand down, touching Mikko's shoulder. Sparks flew but Dean didn't flinch away. "I have a lot of damage to repair. Before he comes to, you need to be secured." Mikko hung his head, but only for a moment before he nodded. "What did I do to him?" He bent and touched his lips to Ken's slack cheek. Dean didn't need to answer that question. Morgan was just cruel enough to let him remain aware, to give him just enough control over the situation, force him to participate enough to keep Ken from even more physical harm than he'd been subjected to. Far more cruel to make him part of the assault, but powerless to stop it, than to just take over completely. "Why didn't he fight back?" "Because he's devoted to you. Fighting back would have meant hurting you. You know he can't do that. It makes him horribly vulnerable to Morgan's manipulations." Mikko continued to study Ken's face, made himself look at the burns and angry red skin covering his chest and arms. He knew what damage hid beneath the rough denim of his sub missive’s jeans. "Be careful when you undress him,” Mikko advised. “Make him rest and heal before—" "I know how to care for his wounds." Forcing his gaze from Ken's face, Mikko glared up at the other Dom. "You know how to take care of all his needs, I presume," he said, bitterness dripping like acid. "I do." Dean crouched to better look Mikko in the eye. "But that isn't why I'm here. You're his Dom, and I have no intention of usurping that position." Anger flared through Mikko. He had to believe the other man or go insane. And yet, he also had to give up his claim on Ken. The situation was too precarious and the need for Ken to be protected from Morgan too vital. "He can't fight Morgan alone, and I can't help him. He's submissive to his soul. Morgan will claim him in an instant. He doesn't know how to resist."
"I think you give him too little credit, Mikko." Dean laid a hand on Mikko's shoulder and it was all Mikko could do not to shrug him off. "Trust him. Trust his love for you, his faith in you." "His faith in me just got him—" Raped. He couldn't say it out loud. Bile flooded his mouth and he had to choke it back down. "I'm trusting you," Mikko spat. "I'm giving him to you to guard because I can't, and I won't see him harmed again. This is the only thing I can give him that has any assurance of keeping him safe and whole. So go with him. Fight your brother, do what you need to do, and when you come back—" Mikko sucked in a deep breath and let it out with an explosive burst of energy that rocked the floor and walls. "We'll see. If anything happens to me..." "Do you think I want that?" "If anything does," Mikko said, pushing strength he didn't feel into his voice, "promise me you'll look after him as best you can. As much as he'll let you. I'll stay here with Darian. I'll nurse him and Myra and let him do what he's always been good at." "You can turn the switch that easily? Submit to him, just like that?" Mikko raised his gaze to meet Dean's surprisingly soft brown eyes. "I have to, don't I? He can keep Morgan out. He's always been able to. That's why Myra is safe, and that's what will keep me sane. I don't like it. I don't want to..." He leaned over and ran tender fingers through Ken's hair. Sparks snapped gently around the connection and Ken rolled slightly toward the caress with a moan. Mikko snatched his hand back. "Please don't make me ask you again," he whispered, gaze now fixed on the hardwood. "Mikko." Try as he might, Mikko could not ignore the gentle persuasion in Dean's voice. He lifted his head and met the other man's eyes. "I know what it's like to be the author of destruction on everything you love. I would not wish that on anyone, least of all, you. You've suffered enough under Morgan's thumb, and I will do everything in my power to end this. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you are doing the right thing." "He'll hate me," Mikko whispered, once again fixing his gaze on Ken. "His last lover brought him to submission and deserted him there, too. He couldn't forgive that, and he won't forgive it of me, either." "You aren't deserting him. You're protecting him the only way you can. Give him more credit. He'll understand." "I hope—" Mikko's voice cracked and he dropped his head. There didn't seem anything left to say. Rising, he returned to the room he'd shared with his lover, kicked a travel bag out into the hallway and closed and locked the door behind him. Dean would tend to the wounds he'd inflicted on all three of his friends. When Darian was well enough for the medic to leave him in Mikko's care, Dean would take Ken and together, they would fight Morgan. Either they would defeat the war monger, or they wouldn't. Mikko could do nothing to help them.
Chapter Four Ken lay still on his side. He'd been awake for some time. The house around him was dark and silent, though he could feel the presence of the other inhabitants. Perhaps this was part of his newly‐discovered abilities, but he could sense various auras of heat throughout the house. He was quite certain the warmest—and furthest away—was Mikko. That sparkling shroud of heat and light was restless, agitated, and almost pained Ken to feel. The other three ghostly shadows hovered near one another and he had to assume those were Dean, Darian and Myra, though he couldn't discern which was which. He let out a careful sigh. His entire body ached. Shifting carefully, he noted the tight stretch of burns across his torso and arms and the backs of his legs and the deeper ache in his back from Mikko's hard pounding. He shied away from the more intimate pain that transgression had left behind on his body. More than the physical, he dared not explore. Not yet. Instead, he lifted one hand and flexed his fingers. They still ached from his spontaneous transformation. In fact, his entire arm burned with a deep agony that burrowed into his bones. A small, timid sound escaped his lips and he squeezed his eyes shut. How many times had he lay curled and nursing this kind of hurt? He'd thought to be safe from it at last. Not so. Something about him just screamed "abuse me". A soft sob escaped before he could stop it. "Ready to join the world again?" Ken started violently, jerking upright with a pained gasp. "Who's there?" He thought he'd accounted for everyone in the house. This new voice was strange, a soft, purring sound that slinked through the darkness. "Shh." Cool, soothing hands pressed against his shoulders. Unable to stand the touch on his skin, Ken sank away, back onto the mattress. "Who are you?" "Most people call me Myst." A dim light came on and Ken could see a slim form moving in the soft illumination. "My Master calls me Beloved." Ken detected a sweet note to that statement and it hollowed him out. "A long time ago, people called me Aaron, but most of those people are dead now." Just as the sweetness had come through the previous words, sadness came through now. Ken couldn't identify gender from the voice or the outline of the shadowy form moving about the room. The name without spelling didn't offer any clue. "Who is your Master?" he asked. The shadow shrugged. "Master." Ken closed his eyes. This, then, must be Dean's elusive sub. "Go away." A gentle chuckle drifted through the room. "You're angry." Ken ignored the pain and rolled over, putting his back to his unwanted visitor. "Master has asked me to keep you company. To clean your wounds and change your bandages."
"Don't need your help," Ken mumbled. He didn't care that he sounded petulant or that he obviously couldn't change the bandages swathing on his back on his own. He didn't care about much of anything. "You do." Those cool hands returned, delicate touches telling Ken the other sub was removing the bandages covering his back. "I don't mind if you don't like me. Master explained what happened." Ken hauled himself across the mattress, out of the other's reach. "It's painful to suffer that at the hands of one you love and trust." "Get the fuck out." The bed sank at his back and Ken rolled slightly, only to stop against firm, human warmth. A hand rested on his shoulder where unmarred skin was chilled by the cool night air. "I am one of the Ageless Mikko warned, when he realized what Morgan intended. He'd tracked me, marked me. He didn't know then what I was, but I would have been lost in Morgan's grasp forever if he hadn't risked his life to help. I don't believe he would hurt you on purpose." "He did." "I'm going to put cream on your burns." "He did that to me," Ken whispered. "Mikko did that." "Mikko cannot keep his old mentor out, Ken. It doesn't make him weak. I couldn't keep him out, either. It took Master's strength and love to free me. Your Mikko cannot fight that battle alone. You must fight it for him. Darian will fight for him, as well." "He's the strong one," Ken protested. He flinched as Myst's slim fingers rubbed ointment on his back. Even the gentle touch hurt. He tried to talk through the pain, both physical and emotional. "I know...logically...he wouldn't. But it was his hands. His...body." "It's okay to hurt." Unable to bear the agony any longer, Ken let it all gush out, messily, shameless sobs he couldn't quiet. Myst continued his ministrations in silence, but his touch was soothing. His presence calming. Ken eventually slept again, aware he was not alone. The dreams he feared never came and he woke feeling less like the world was caving in on him. He drifted after that, between sleep and wakefulness. It cost too much strain to come to full awareness. He let himself feel all the pain and hurt and anger and ignored Myst's overtures at friendship. He just wanted to be alone. It was an empty, aching place, but better than being brutalized by reality. Finally, though, after an indeterminate amount of time had passed, he could no longer avoid the admission he was physically, at least, mostly healed. Even still, he lay quietly for a long time listening to the sounds of people moving about the house. Unlike the first time he'd awakened, he could no longer feel them. He wondered who he could hear clanking pots in the kitchen and who was running the dryer in the pantry. He wondered where Mikko was. Eventually, he opened his eyes. Dean was sitting by his bed this time. Ken longed to roll his back to the other man, but the submissive instinct was too strong and he didn't move. "Good morning."
Indeed, golden light streamed through gauzy curtains at the window and Ken could now see he was in the main floor spare room. Construction materials piled against the wall cast log shadows in the morning light. Dean reached over, pushed hair out of his eyes and he looked up at the big man. "How do you feel?" Ken thought about it a moment. He felt better than he thought he should. He touched his fingers carefully to his chest. There was only a thin layer of cotton between his fingers and the tender skin beneath. "Hurt," he admitted, unsure if he was indicating his physical state or the rest. "That's understandable." More damning tears leaked from Ken's eyes. "He's been doing that every time he wakes up." Myst's voice drifted up from the floor at Dean's feet and Ken craned to see the face of his nurse. It didn't give him any clearer an idea of gender. "Shush. Sometimes, you shouldn't say everything you think, Beloved." "I'm sorry." The slender creature kneeling at Dean's side rose up and touched Ken's cheek, peering into him. Ken got lost in the silver light emanating outward from those peaceful grey eyes. "I'm sorry you hurt, Ken‐ken. It's hard. But Master will help as he helped me." Ken slapped Myst's hand away. "I don't need another Master." He pushed himself up to his elbow. "I only need and want Mikko." Dean laid a hand on Myst's shoulder and pierced Ken with a sharp glare. Myst ignored the brush off and touched Ken again. "Mikko isn't wanting to hurt you. But it will hurt him if you don't do what he has asked and stay away until he's well again." "Beloved, darling, go to the kitchen and fetch Ken something to eat, please. Before Myra burns something else." Myst glided to upright and bowed slightly, in deference. "Yes Master." Skimpy, tight shorts of what looked like silver lame hugging slim hips and cupping a compact bulge between slender thighs finally provided some clue to physical gender identity. Ken watched the way he slipped from the room, a dancer's grace in every movement, and wondered if the astonishing creature was as male inside as out. "Beautiful, isn't he?" Dean asked, drawing Ken's focused attention back. "Uh..." Dean smiled. "It's all right to admire. I do. Every chance I get, and my Beloved loves to be watched. You direct that hungry look where he can see it, and you'll see how much he loves the attention. He's shameless, really." Dean returned his own gaze from the empty doorway. "He wasn't always so. He endured great pain in his long life, Ken." To Ken's surprise, Dean reached over and cupped his face tenderly. "He wants to help you. I can never deny him anything. Please. He has a golden heart under that porcelain skin of his. Let him help." "It wasn't a hungry look," Ken muttered, flopping onto his back with a wince. "I don't want anyone but Mikko."
"Understand something, Ken." Dean shifted as Ken fell so he was looking down on him. "You have much healing to do. Much hurt to recover from and I'm not even talking about what happened between you and Mikko. That's something the two of you will have to work out. I'm talking about the years and years of neglect and torture you put yourself through at the hands of other men. My Beloved understands that pain. He's lived it. He can create a safe space for you to explore again." "Mikko—" "It isn't a betrayal. No one wants you to give your heart away to anyone but your love. I'm concerned that you understand your physical cravings, that you can handle yourself when next you give yourself to Mikko." Dean shifted again, and laid a hand across Ken's chest. "You will need to be fiercely strong. Morgan's hold on him is complete and there is no telling what he'll be left with when that hold is broken. He's taught you much about respecting yourself, about trusting yourself and believing in your own strength. Now you have to put everything he's taught you over these months together to the test." Ken struggled to a sitting position. "Why did he seem so much like himself before Darian came? Why was there no sign of this contamination then?" "Your Mikko is not a weak man. He managed to shut out his own powers for a while, when you needed him. But Darian forced him to open up again, forced him to see how devastatingly tight Morgan's hold had become while he wasn't concentrating on keeping the man out. Now he can't dislodge him alone. But Darian is more than just a shifter. He can meet Morgan on his own territory." Ken frowned. "Inside Mikko's head." "You understand why you have to learn to survive without him." "Even defeating Morgan might kill him." "There is no way to know. Morgan has honed his abilities to an extent no one ever thought possible. We have no way to know what the effect his invasion will have on Mikko." Settling back against the headboard, Ken drew his knees up to his chest. He could still feel the tightness of healing skin. His ageless blood had let him heal faster and more thoroughly than a normal human, but certain memories would not dissipate just because his body had mostly recovered. He rested his chin on his knees. "If he can't be my Dom..." "Then the parameters of your relationship will have to change. There are ways to get what you need outside of this love you have for Mikko." "But—" "And if he loves you, he will understand that. Do you trust his love?" Ken nodded. "Then let that be your guide." Ken didn't get a chance to say any more as Myst re‐entered the room and Dean rose to greet him. Lifting the towel covering the tray Myst carried, Dean offered his sub an indulgent smile. "Very good, Beloved." He cupped the smaller man's chin and Myst lifted his face, shining that inner light of his fully on his Master. "You will take excellent care of Ken, won't you?" Myst nodded. "Yes, Master."
"Very good." Dean bestowed a deep, possessive kiss on his lover. The dishes on the tray rattled and Dean pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Very, very good, my beautiful pet." Myst beamed at him. "Now remember, he's healing. Do nothing but what he wants." "Yes, Master." Dean looked back over his shoulder at Ken. "My Beloved offers what he does freely." He caressed Myst's face and left them alone, closing the door softly. "I don't want any offers," Ken snapped. Myst grinned at him as he sauntered to the bed. "I'm here to feed you, Ken‐ken." He set the tray on the bed beside Ken and crawled up next to him. "I don't need you to feed me." "Keep you company, then." Myst pulled away the towel to reveal perfectly toasted bread and butter and a bowl of steaming soup. Ken ran a finger around the rim of the bowl. "And who's feeding Mikko?" Myst reached past the tray to cup Ken's cheek. The gesture was so tender, Ken didn't think to pull away immediately. "He is being very well cared for, Ken‐ken." "Darian?" Ken heaved his gaze away from the drifting steam to meet Myst's lovely gray eyes. "We all must look after one another now, right?" "Don't touch me," Ken mumbled, turning his head away from the gentle touch. He fumbled for the spoon and bowl and concentrated on not allowing more tears past his defenses. Good as his word, Myst simply sat with Ken. He didn't talk. He didn't make any of the advances Ken half expected. He simply removed the tray when Ken had finished eating and came back to find Ken curled under the blanket, his face to the wall. Myst took up his cross‐ legged spot on the bed near Ken's knees where he sat in comfortable silence while Ken drifted back into the safety of sleep.
Chapter Five Mikko passed the days and nights in a kind of stasis. He felt the dark invasion of his old mentor in the back of his head. He knew the man was there, watching, waiting for another opportunity to hurt him. Morgan would do that by forcing him to hurt Ken again. And yet, he ached down into his soul to just hold his lover, to feel him secure in his arms. When the ache got so deep he could barely breathe, so heavy he couldn't hold it, the black stain of Morgan's consciousness crept forward, goading him to go to Ken. The prodding was so hard to ignore. He feared giving in to his desire, unsure if the feelings were even his, or a construct of Morgan's control. When the need pressured him to the point of snapping, Darian would appear. The big man never knocked. He simply let himself into Mikko's room and stood over him, waiting until Mikko acknowledged him. Currently, Mikko's mind drifted to Ken more and more. The need to hold him grew, though for once, his sexual desire remained dampened. Darian had made sure he was too spent to care about sex. Mikko just wanted Ken in his arms, wanted to see he was healed. This morning was the first time in days Darian hadn't left him cuffed to his bed. It was the first time in days Mikko felt that the restraints weren't necessary. He hated to admit that Darian's constant attention had actually driven Morgan deep enough into a mental corner to give Mikko a sense of control. But admit it he did when Darian unlocked the door and came in. "You're sure?" The big man asked, concern lacing his words and staining the deep brown of his eyes. Mikko nodded as he paced. He shoved his hands into his back pockets. "I'm sure. I can feel him, but he can't touch me." He paced to the window, stuck a thumb nail between his teeth and gnawed as he paced back again. Meeting Darian's eyes, Mikko stopped his pacing and thrust his hand back into his pocket. His desperate agitation stilled. Darian had always brought out his most submissive tendencies, and Mikko could never decide if he hated him for it, or if it was comforting. Darian skated fingers over Mikko's cheek and down his jaw. "So pale," he murmured. "No colour." Mikko closed his eyes, torn between pulling away and leaning into the light touch. "Can I see him?" He gave in to the impulse to seek a more definite connection. "Please?" "I'll bring him up, but I'm not leaving you alone with him." Mikko's eyes snapped open. "He's still my lover. You're just..." My Keeper. A frown finished Mikko's thought for him. "This is difficult for all of us, Mikko. You think Myra likes it any better that I spend my nights here with you rather than with her?" "I didn't ask for this," Mikko protested. "I didn't ask for you to come here, to let Morgan back in."
"It was only a matter of time before he broke through without my help." Darian stepped closer. "At least this way, I am here. Let me help." For the life of him, Mikko could not make himself move away. "Why did you help that monster?" Until now, Mikko hadn't had the nerve to ask. Much as he'd always defied Darian's dominance over him, he still knew this man was his superior, in a way, his rock, though often he felt the threat of being crushed by the weight as much as he was comforted by Darian's strength. "I wasn't helping him. I told you that. I had to come on his terms. It was the only way I could get to you. The only way I could find you. Mikko," one more step brought Darian deep within Mikko's personal space, "with you gone, it was so much harder to see the point. I realized Myra and I were there because of you. We already planned on leaving when his goons took Jillian. I knew then I had to find you. You are the lynch pin. Myra believes in your strength, and so do I. We both know Ken is not going to defeat Morgan on his own. The most we can hope for is that he'll tempt the man out of his shelter where we can get at him. As long as he stays underground, where he can reach out and we can't reach in, he's got the advantage." "You're sending Ken after him as bait. You prick!" Mikko flung himself at Darian, fists flying, energy snapping around them in bright arcs. Darian caught his wrists and held him easily. He'd weakened physically over the weeks since Darian had arrived, and now, with Dean's calm presence and Myra's stabilizing force, Darian was healing rapidly. For Mikko, food was difficult to keep down, sleep harder and harder to find. Darian towered over him, a mountain of muscle, far stronger even with his healing injuries than Mikko ever had been. The big man could not stop the flailing bolts of light and heat, though. They snapped about the room, licking off his skin and setting the rug and bed sheets smouldering. "You're going to burn the house down one of these times, Mikko," Darian warned in a maddeningly calm voice. "Think of all the work Ken has put into this home of yours. Do you really want to waste all his efforts?" "You are a fucking jackass." "That may be." Darian's fingers tightened around Mikko's wrists. "I am also your Keeper, so settle down. Do you want to see Ken or not?" Mikko stilled in Darian's grip, chest heaving under the struggle for breath. The snapping air cooled and the flashes of light snapped and sizzled out. Only the faint scent of charred cotton remained. "That's better." Darian released one wrist in favour of spreading that big hand over the small of Mikko's back and pulling him tight against his chest. "Deep breaths, Pet." "Don't call me that." Mikko strained against the restraining hand. Darian exerted no noticeable effort to hold him there. "There was a time I had to fuck you into submission, Mikko. You remember." Mikko stiffened. "I don't think either of us want to go there, do we?"
Mikko bit his tongue hard, caught between agreeing with his keeper and suffering worse humiliations. Shaking his head sadly, Darian moved with such lightening quickness, Mikko only had time to shout in surprise before he was spun round and bent double over the foot board of the bed. The hard wood dug into his stomach. "Do we?" Darian snarled through clenched teeth. He gave Mikko a hard shake, pressing him ruthlessly into the unyielding wood. With one hand pinned behind his back and the other pushing against the bed frame so he could get air into his body, Mikko was helpless. Darian's hard body, pressed against him, scrambled his brain, left him unable to latch onto the power that writhed within him. "Mikko?" Darian's free hand moved to clutch at the waist band of his pants. "No!" Mikko squirmed. "Please don't." He stilled when Darian's fingers curled under the fabric and his nails scraped across skin. An instant of indecision ended when Darian leaned more weight against his thighs and ass. Dropping his head, letting all the tension run out of his body, Mikko conceded to Darian's will. "Thank you, Pet." Darian's voice was soft, genuinely relieved, and he pulled Mikko upright, held him, back to chest, and wrapped a gentle arm around him. "This doesn't have to be a fight," he whispered, lips close to Mikko's ear. "It doesn't have to be anything but you letting me take care of you. I promise you, Mikko, you're not alone. We all want Morgan gone. Ken is a strong man." He squeezed Mikko tight. "He's inexperienced, but already, he has more control over his transformation than any of us, and he will do anything to protect you." "Including walk into that maniac's lair because we told him it would be okay." "Have faith in him." Darian chuckled and Mikko rocked with the jostle of his dry mirth. "He kicked my ass pretty soundly." "And then insisted I haul it back here and get you help." "He's a good, strong man, Mikko. Give him the credit he deserves." Mikko sagged into Darian's chest and closed his eyes. He was tired of the struggle. Lonely. He wanted his life and his love back the way it had been those precious few months out from under Morgan's threat. "Do you remember when I told you how I can see the colours?" Darian asked. His cheek rested against Mikko's ear. Mikko nodded. "You said you could see how people feel. Like rainbows." "Every corner of this house, Mikko. It's a symphony of colour. He loves you so much. I can see it in everything he's touched. It's like he's painted your skin with his affection. I don't want to sully that. I want to preserve it. This world does not have enough colour in it anymore, and everything your lover touches turns from gray to technicolour." Mikko swallowed hard. "Please let me see him?" he begged. "Please. Before Dean takes him away." "You listen to me." Darian turned Mikko around to look into his face. "No one is taking him away from you. He is yours, and you're his. No one wants to sunder that except Morgan. His world is full of gray, ugly shadows. I don't know how he got the way he is, but he can't stand feeling any energy that isn't dissonant and painful. We have to stop him, and this is
how. I know it's dangerous for Ken, but you have to trust in the things you taught him. He's strong, and so is his love for you." "Even after...what I did?" "I will bring him up and you can talk to him." "But not leave me alone with him." Darian caressed Mikko's cheek tenderly. "For everyone's safety, Mikko, you know I can't." Mikko nodded. He knew. In his head, he could feel Morgan stirring restlessly, pushing against the boundaries Darian had helped Mikko to strengthen. In his heart, he felt only the heavy fear that Ken would not understand what had happened, would never forgive him. "You must trust his love." Again, Mikko nodded. "I'll go get him." Left alone in the still room, Mikko found he couldn't stop shaking. Nerves and reaction combined to undermine his control over his own body. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and pressed his shoulder blades against the wall near the window. From this vantage, he could look out at the stone arch that framed a rolling section of sea beyond their little sloping yard. It was a beautiful view, bearing Ken's stamp, not just in the impossible structure he'd created, but in the new shoots of green poking up in the small patches of grass and the colourful spikes of spring flowers. The tiny garden bore the essence of his lover in every hidden secret and display of natural wonder. Hard to believe only barely a year had passed since Mikko's first glimpse of the dilapidated old house. Mikko half wished he had Darian's sight and could see the colours of love Ken might have left behind along with his talents for coercing things to grow. But his talent resided in touch, in the vibrations on the air, and the transference of those vibrations on skin. His fingers twitched in their denim prisons. He longed to run them over Ken's skin, to read the love and acceptance there he'd come to rely on. He couldn't be assured that love or acceptance remained, though. He gulped back a startled cry at a knock on the door. "Hi." Ken shuffled forward, into the room when Mikko opened the door, his head half bowed, hands in his pockets. "Kenny..." Like he had so many times in the past, Ken blinked those huge brown eyes of his once, then launched himself into Mikko's arms. He buried his head against Mikko's shoulder and sighed. "Hi," he breathed, arms wrapping tight around Mikko's waist. "Don't let go." "Never." Mikko allowed himself to mould firmly to his lover, filling in this body's memory with the real thing. "I'm so sorry, Kenny. So sorry—" "Shh." Ken backed away enough to take Mikko's face in both hands and kiss him soundly. "You would never hurt me." "I did—" "Morgan," Ken whispered, as though saying the name too loud would somehow give the shadow substance and power. "I will drag him out from under whatever rock he's hiding and,"
he stepped back, dropped a hand and Mikko heard the soft, deadly snick of blades. "He will never hurt you again. I promise you that." Mikko stared at the long, shining claws of obsidian protruding from Ken's knuckles. He cast a glance at Darian who held up a hand and shook his head. Carefully, gently, Mikko picked up Ken's hand, heavy with weaponry and turned it over to kiss his palm. "I want you to promise me something, Kenny." "Anything." Mikko met his gaze. "You promise me you will listen to Dean." "But—" "This is important, Ken." Mikko searched his lover's eyes, looking for the doubt, the betrayal he expected to be there. "He'll help you do what I can't." "I want you to come with me. I don't want to go alone." "You aren't going alone. You're going with Dean. He's competent and strong. He can look after you." Ken pulled his hand free and grimaced as his claws retracted. "You're sending me away." His words were flat, dead. "You beat me, ra..." he shuddered, "And now you want to discard me?" "No!" Mikko gripped him by both arms. "No! I don’t. I didn't...shit!" He couldn't deny the truth. Not and ever be able to look his sweet lover in the eyes again. He let him go and backed off, his pacing taking over again. Agitation moved his feet across the floor, to the window and back again. "I am not discarding you, not giving you up, Ken. I need you to do this for me. I can't go near him. You've seen what he can do to me from afar. What he's doing to us! I want to kill him, believe me, I want him gone, but I can't. Please understand. In this battle, you, your love, that's the only weapon I have." Ken blinked at him. "Explain to me what happened," Ken said. His voice was still a low, deadened rasp, barely above a whisper. "Tell me what that was. I want to understand." Mikko shot Darian another look, but the big man only shrugged. "I—sometimes..." Mikko sighed. "I can feel him, Morgan, in my head. I think...the way I manipulate the energy in the air, the way he can feel the vibrations, he studied me long enough when I was close to him that he could ride the vibrations, see into me..." the thought made him shake uncontrollably. "He can manipulate my power from within. He can manipulate the energy, make it...angry. I lose focus, I get confused. He used that. Against you. I couldn't...stop." He sank onto the bed and hung his head. "I'm so sorry. I can't take it back. I wish I could..." Silence settled over the room. Mikko waited. After an eon of stillness, of torturous tension, Ken shuffled forward and knelt between Mikko's feet. He once again cupped Mikko's face and lifted it. Mikko found himself staring into the endless caverns of Ken's gorgeous brown eyes. "Please forgive me, Kenny." "He did that," Ken said firmly. "If you could have stopped it, you would have. He'll pay for it, not you." Ken gave his head a gentle shake. "Not us." Mikko nodded. "I don't deserve you."
"What you don't deserve is this creep in your head making you do crazy shit. We'll get through this." He twisted his head to look over his shoulder. "I'm going to make love to my boyfriend now, Brutus. You can stand there and watch or you can stand on the other side of the door and let us have this." Darian snorted. "One flash of red," he glared at Mikko, "I'll bust this door down, you hear?" Mikko nodded. Darian left them alone. "What did he mean, red?" "I'll explain later." Mikko caressed Ken's face, the tender touch conveying what he couldn't finds words for. "No scene today, Kenny, please. I just want you in my arms. Just you. Something to hang onto while you're gone." Ken answered with a kiss just as gentle and simple as Mikko's request.
Chapter Six Mikko's passivity worried Ken at first. He was used to the control, the firm command his lover exerted in bed. This time, his Dom spent a lot of time just touching, gazing, like he was trying to memorize every inch of Ken's body. "I'm coming back to you," Ken assured him. "This is only a short diversion. I'll end this battle of wills once and for all. Our lives will belong only to us." "I wish..." Mikko trailed off and his gaze shifted to follow the progress of his fingers, gliding down Ken's side to run along the juncture of skin and denim at the top of Ken's jeans. Ken knelt back, undid his button and zip and slipped the garment from his hips. Fully naked, he started to work on Mikko's clothing as well. Mikko closed strong fingers around his wrists when he touched the closure to his pants. "Aren't you scared? What if—" "It won't happen again." Ken found a smile that he didn't even have to force. "He needs anger, fear, anxiety to win through. There is none of that here." Ken settled back on his heels, comfortable in Mikko's hold, at home with the feeling his lover wanted to control the pace of their intimacy. "Can I show you something?" Mikko studied him a long time before releasing one hand. "What?" Ken crawled off him, tugging his still captured arm so Mikko would rise off the bed and follow him to the window. He pushed the sash up all the way and perched on the sill, leaning out to feel the cool sea breeze on his skin. Reaching, he held out one hand, closed his eyes and concentrated. He could feel the stability and strength of the bedrock beneath their house, feel it stand against the pounding of the waves, even the passage of millennia and the slow, torturous progress the sea made against its permanent strength, and it made him smile. This was the same feeling he had whenever Mikko touched him: stability, strength, utter safety. If Morgan thought he could rip that away with one assault, he hadn't counted on the fight Ken would bring to hold onto it. They were too strong to fall to his predations. Too strong together to let Morgan's manipulations come between them. Knowing the perpetrator of that frightening attack wanted only violence, fear and anger to grow where love had already taken such firm root gave Ken the strength to put it behind him. He held tight to the knowledge Mikko loved and needed him. Morgan couldn't use anger or revulsion against them that Ken didn't feel. Below, out in his garden sanctuary, Ken sensed the stirring of the stony ground, the softening of its impenetrable skin and he carefully kneaded at the yielding stone to get what he wanted. Two palm‐sized stones defied gravity, floating upwards to rest on his outstretched hand. He closed his fingers around their warmth and allowed them to mould to their pure essence. When they stilled and cooled, he turned back, setting both feet on the floor and holding out his prize. He half expected to see a couple of hearts resting in his palm. Instead, he found two bits of smooth stone neatly nestled together, one in the shape of an arching bolt of lightning, the other unmistakably a mountain. They fit like pieces of a puzzle, the bolt striking into the heart of the mountain, while the mountain seemed to embrace the light in welcoming
arms. It looked like a vein of the colourful quartz snaking through the hard granite of the cliff face, and yet, it was so much more. "How...how did you do that?" Mikko ran a gentle finger over the surface of the small sculptures. "All I did was allow what was already there to take shape." Ken slid his thumb over the smooth plane of the combined totems. "You see how perfectly they fit?" he asked, raising his gaze to meet Mikko's. "Like us. You take your totem. Whatever happens," he held them up, "these will always lead us back to one another." Mikko plucked his lightning bolt from the palm of Ken's hand. However right the two looked together, they lacked nothing for being parted, still beautifully shaped and polished in their own right. "Now make love to me," Ken pleaded, lifting his captured wrist and kissing Mikko's fingers. "I want to feel you inside me, want to remember that feeling for as long as I'm away." ~* * *~ Mikko nodded, hauling Ken forward until the smaller man's warmth soaked through his clothes and his small, hard body melted into Mikko's. "Just as it should be," Mikko whispered. "Lie down on the bed while I get undressed." He released Ken's wrist and his submissive obeyed instantly, unselfconscious in his nudity, seemingly completely at ease with the idea of Mikko taking him again. "You're sure about this?" Mikko asked, settling on his knees between Ken's legs once he, too was naked. The look in Ken's eyes as he gazed up at him set Mikko's heart racing. If there was any trepidation at what was to come, he couldn't see it. The hesitation was all in his own heart. In his head, he could feel the pulsing blight of Morgan's presence, but for once there was no pressure. Could Ken's calm acceptance of everything really be what held the malignancy at bay? If it was, could Mikko keep Morgan out with Ken gone? "What do I have to do," Ken asked, a teasing note in his voice, "to keep you here with me and out of your head?" he eyes turned serious. "Away from him?" Mikko touched Ken's face, slipped a finger over his parted lips, at a loss for words over this side of his lover; this sure, determined man. His heart swelled at the thought Ken had so much faith, in spite of everything, that they belonged together. Ken flicked his tongue out to lick Mikko's fingertips and a seductive light sparked in his eyes. "What would you like around your cock, first, Sir? My lips, or my body?" "Ken..." Mikko struggled to remain coherent, focused, but Ken seemed determined to go through with this, to prove to him nothing that had happened mattered. He leaned down, taking Ken's mouth with his. He kept the kiss gentle at first, still unsure, worried any show of force would trigger fear in his lover. But when he licked along Ken's lips, his need for more intimate contact growing, Ken opened without hesitation. Mikko probed inside the warmth, his tongue exploring the depth of Ken's acceptance. Ken moaned and arched, his hips pressing up, though there was nothing to contact with Mikko kneeling above him, keeping a cushion of space between them.
Mikko ran a hand down the centre of his chest, along his lower ribs. Ken wiggled, trying to move his body to get Mikko's travelling touch where he wanted. "You're so eager." Ken fixed Mikko with his open, needy stare. "I want you. Your touch. You." "So brave." Ken spread his hands over Mikko's chest, a sweet smile curved his lips. "I love you. Don't need to be brave to love you." "To let me touch you after—" Ken touched a finger to his lips. "That was not your touch. Kiss me and stop worrying so much." "I can't help it. Your face after," Mikko caressed Ken's cheek, his temple, touched a light thumb to his eyelid. "I made you cry. And before you say it wasn't me, I was there, Kenny. I know what I did. I know how it hurt you." Ken struggled up onto his elbows. "Why keep bringing it up? Do you want to know if I'm afraid you'll do it again? Do you want to know if I'm scared?" He cupped Mikko's face. "Yes, I'm scared. No, I don't think you'll do it again. Yes, I think Morgan can hurt me—and you—by trying to force you to hurt me. My entire life has been running in fear that the next guy, the next time, is going to hurt worse than the last. You are the only man who's ever cared what I was thinking or feeling. That means more to me than the risk. I know how you feel, what you want. If I think I'm in danger, I'll call Darian, I promise. Now, I just want you to touch me, kiss me. Make love to me. I'll have to go soon, and the thought that Darian is all that stands between you and what Morgan is capable of turning you into, it makes me want to leave you with a good, strong memory of what we are. Not the hurt or the fear. Just my love." "Do you know..." Mikko had to clear his throat of clogging emotion. "Do you have any idea how proud I am of you right now?" Mikko blinked down at Ken, the sting in his eyes refusing to dissipate. "Show me." Ken grinned up at him. "Don't make me wait any longer. Please." He squirmed and lifted his knees, digging his heels into the mattress to lift his hips and push his cock against Mikko. Mikko took his cue and finally gave in to his wishes, concentrating his full attention on his lover. If Morgan attempted to hammer his way through Mikko's defenses, he didn't succeed. All of Mikko's focus turned to his lover, to this most important joining, not just of bodies, but of minds and hearts, as well. Ken showed no hesitation in touching Mikko, spreading his hands flat over his back as Mikko lowered himself, and letting his touch flow over Mikko's back and ass. For long minutes, they kissed and touched, sliding their bodies together, reveling in the slick glide of cock on cock. Ken boldly reached between them and wrapped a calloused, work‐hardened hand around them both. His hand was smaller, rougher than Mikko's own, and drew a sweet swell of need up along Mikko's spine. He moaned and rocked into the touch, thrusting and rocking to Ken's expert pumping. "I'm going to come all over you if you keep that up," Mikko growled. Ken just grinned at him, tightened his grip and quickened his pace.
"No." Mikko laughed, but stopped Ken's motion, pinning his arm against the mattress. "Take those eager fingers of yours," he reached for the lube on the bed stand and flipped the lid open, "and make yourself ready." Pulling back to sit on his heels, he picked up Ken's hand and spread the lube over his fingers. Ken flushed. Mikko watched his face avidly as Ken slicked the lube evenly over his fingers. This was something that never failed to make his obedient, lovely sub blush until he was criminally adorable. It had taken months of persuasion and careful praise to get Ken to really do this right, to enjoy his own touch. So many men in his past had made Ken's submission about themselves, it had taken Mikko long, patient hours to convince him that this part should feel good, should be about his pleasure and what he wanted. "Go ahead." "You haven't asked me to do this in a long time..." Mikko smiled. "Watching you touch yourself is among the very best things in the world to me, Kenny." Mikko caressed his cheek. "Knowing you do this only for me..." Ken shifted, squirming around so that he could reach to ease his fingers inside his body. His eyelids fluttered, his lips fell open. "Uhhhn." Mikko hunkered closer and ran light fingers along the underside of Ken's cock. Ken gasped, his body jerking toward the feather‐light touch. "That's it, Kenny. Another, now." Obedient, Ken fit another finger in his entrance and sucked his lower lip up between his teeth. "Not enough," Ken muttered, his concentration slipping as Mikko slid a finger over the head of his cock and pressed against the slit. Mikko leaned in to free Ken's lip from his teeth and suck it into his own mouth. He let his fingers drift down his cock, over his balls and used the slippery cum on them to slip one in next to Ken's. "Better?" "More," Ken pleaded. "All of you—" He gasped again as Mikko added another finger, pressed him back with a demanding kiss. He used the full weight and command of his dominance to convey his ownership, his love, his faith in Ken, and when he felt the tremors of need start to ripple through Ken, he drew both their hands away from Ken's ass. "All of me," he promised, positioning himself between Ken's legs. "Always." Ken lifted both legs, holding them up and out, offering unfettered access and conveying plainly what he wanted with the gesture. Mikko invaded slowly, relentlessly, until he was seated fully inside Ken and his lover was staring up at him with rapt attention. "No matter what happens between now and the next time I have you like this again, know this. You are mine." He stroked gentle fingers down the side of Ken's face. "Understand?" Ken nodded. "I can be strong. Patient." Mikko rocked against him, driving deep into his body, covering him, and weighing him down, making it clear he was not to be denied. "You can also be needy and demanding and vulnerable."
Ken's Adam's apple bobbed. His nod of agreement was slightly slower in coming this time. Mikko pulled out and thrust back forcefully, making Ken blink and gulp down another gasp. "I know you. I know your needs. I won't be there to fulfill them." "We have to talk about this now?" Mikko took a few moments to remind Ken who was on top, who was in charge. Who owned whom. When he had Ken panting and thrusting back, he stopped, eliciting a soft whimper. "Now, Kenny. Make no mistake who you belong to. You've never failed to obey an order. I'm giving you one now. If it means letting Dean take care of you, I'd rather that than you getting desperate, trying to end this mission too quickly because you're not grounded, not thinking straight. You know I will be here when you get back. You will do whatever you have to in order to take care of yourself first. Understand?" Ken blinked, nodded. "Okay." "Promise me." Mikko leaned close, his cock drawing teasingly close to complete freedom. "You'll take what you need from him." "And you'll let Darian protect you from Morgan?" Ken countered. Mikko's heart skipped. "You're sure?" Ken nodded. "He cares about you. He can help you. Now leave this alone. I don't want to talk about fucking other people now. No more." Mikko raised an eyebrow, pursed his lips. Ken offered a sharply pointed grin. "You think I don't know why you chose now to make me give you this promise? Your claim on me was proclaimed a long time ago, Lover. Even if I do need Dean, I will always be yours, always come home to you. That gives me more than I've had since the day you first left." He laid a hand over Mikko's heart. "We'll always be together here. We always were." Ken gazed up at him, remembering. "Because you always picked up the phone." Reaching to the bedside table and the stones they'd left there, he handed Mikko his, clasped their hands together, the stones between their palms. "Now make love to me and forget about everything else for five minutes." Light and air whisked through Mikko's being. "Just five minutes?" He thrust hard and Ken's head flopped back, his breath leaving his body in a long, low moan. "Again," he whispered, fingers tightening around Mikko's. Reining his own need in, Mikko settled into a strong, thoroughly controlling rhythm that left Ken breathless and choking back needy sounds. "Let me hear you, Kenny." This always was the hardest thing for Ken, to let his voice loose, to let his partner hear the need, the desperation. As vulnerable as he'd always been, he didn't like others to know it. This old, old habit of silence still wrapped him in its grip when he was at his most vulnerable, when Mikko most needed to hear his voice, know what he needed. "Mikk—" Ken rocked his hips violently upwards. "Need more." "Bruises..." "Don't care. Do it. Plea‐ease."
"Kenny." Mikko gave up his fight to stay in control. Ken's broken plea, the stones, heating between their palms, the knowledge it could be a very long time before he got the chance to hold his lover like this again broke him down to the point of pure need. He lost himself in the rhythm, the satisfying push and pull of straining bodies and the single‐minded pursuit of mutual pleasure and release. Sweat and tears neither of them wanted to admit to mingled as Mikko felt the slow, steady build toward completion. The hard, fast, determined pounding only had Ken clinging more tightly with every thrust. Heat built. The tide of pressure built until it swept Mikko over a cliff and he plummeted into release. Ken contracted around him, liquid heat spilled between their bellies. The stones in their clasped hands sparked and sizzled, the pain of the heat melding with the pleasure of release. "Fuck!" Mikko shuddered, and though his brain screamed for him to release the scalding stones, his heart and soul convinced him to hang on. "Mikko." Soothing hands squashed the spikes of his hair down. He searched for the irritation and found gratefulness for the gentleness of the touch. "Mikko." Ken's soft voice gave him a safe place to focus other than the screaming pain in his palm and the inability to get enough air. "Let me up," Ken suggested. "I'll get Darian to fetch us some ice." Mikko shoved with his good hand and rolled off his lover. Their hands peeled apart and a new sort of pain scorched through him. "What happened?" Ken grinned and held up his hand. The skin of his palm was red and blistered, the area showing a perfect mirror image of the lightning bolt he'd made for Mikko. Scowling, Mikko glanced at his own palm, unsurprised to find a detailed imprint of Ken's mountain. "This makes you smile." Mikko peered at the burn. "I think that's going to leave a mark." Ken actually giggled. "My mark." He hooked a hand around the back of Mikko's neck. "Absolutely that makes me smile. And I'll carry yours with pride." Mikko shook his head and gave in to the pressure on the back of his neck as Ken pulled him into a kiss. It shouldn't have surprised him to feel the proprietary force behind Ken's touch. It was his turn to melt into the connection, the residual sting of burned skin forgotten. They spent long hours after that touching, kissing, petting, once more making love with a slow, lazy cadence that gave them final release and tipped them both into sleep curled around one another in sated comfort.
Chapter Seven Careful to make no sound, Ken slipped from under Mikko's arm and tiptoed out of the bedroom. Darian was seated on the floor in the hallway across from the door, cross‐legged, arms folded and eyes closed. Ken stood a moment, attention divided between the dancing dust motes cavorting in angled shafts of sunlight, and the way that light played across the hard, defined features of Darian's face. His wolf showed, in the sharp, narrow point of his features, but he lacked the feral air of unpredictability that never seemed to leave his mate's face, whether she was wolf or human. Perhaps a less biased observer would even say Darian had a handsome, almost reassuring face. Clearing his throat softly as he stepped out of the bedroom, Ken poked a toe against Darian's knee. The wolf man looked up. "Everything all right?" Ken nodded. "I have something I have to do. He's sleeping. Will you come with me?" "Why?" "You'll see. Please. Come. And bring Myra." "What is this about?" Darian didn't rise from his post. His gaze strayed to the door. "Is he okay?" "Yes." "So what's going on?" "I want to give you something." Ken tried a smile that didn't seem to have any effect on Darian. "Something that happened yesterday gave me an idea. I want to try something, but in order for it to work, I think I need you to come with me. I think you need to be there, and Myra, too." "For what?" "You'll see if you just come." Once again, Darian glanced at the door. "I'm not sure I want to leave him alone." Ken grinned. "Believe me, he's very, very tired. He'll sleep. And when he wakes, he'll be fine." "How do you know?" Ken stuffed down his growing ire. "Because I made sure to wear him out, all right? You want details? Because I can give you details." He narrowed his eyes and sneered meanly. "You sure you want to hear about your precious play thing fucking another guy?" Darian curled a lip. "I wouldn't expect you to understand what it was like." He didn't sound nearly as defensive or pissed as Ken expected. More, it seemed he was tired, weary of the entire mess. "I don't understand," Ken admitted, hoping to avoid the very fight he'd just tried to pick. Wearing Mikko out hadn't exactly left him spry and energized. He didn't have the power to argue, especially if he wanted to accomplish what he had planned. "You're right. I don't understand." He crouched in front of Darian. "What I do know is that I spent years and years searching for someone who did. Someone who could sort out what was wrong with me and make it make sense. Mikko did that, even before he met Morgan, before he knew anything
about what we are. He kept me sane, and maybe...that's what you do for him. Maybe it isn't enough to have a perfect love affair. Maybe perfect love between two people, two Ageless, doesn't even exist. So if he needs you and I need him, then...there's that ugly math problem again. However I manipulate it, the answer always seems to come out the same: he isn't enough for me and I'm not enough for him. Maybe it's just the weirdest family unit ever." "Maybe it something new," Darian suggested. "Maybe about that, at least, Morgan is right. He always said the Ageless weren't like other humans. We aren't separate from one another. We're connected in ways we don't understand." "But the connection is there." Ken nodded and pushed to his feet. He stood out of the way and motioned toward the door. "Look for yourself. He's sleeping, He's peaceful. We have a while we can let him rest, finally." Darian acquiesced and got up, quietly opening the door. Past his bulk, Ken could see Mikko still lying as he had left him, curled on his side, his face maybe a bit too pale, but otherwise, sleeping peacefully. "All right?" Ken asked. After a long moment studying his charge, Darian at last nodded and closed the door. "All right. Where are we going?" "Just outside. To the back yard." They collected Myra along the way, from where she lay against the kitchen door. If she had been asleep, she didn't show it, flowing smoothly to her paws and padding to her lover the moment he entered the room. Darian buried his fingers in her ruff and she rubbed herself against his thigh. "Ken has something he wants to show us, Love," Darian told her. Not familiar with wolf‐speak, Ken could only assume she agreed, because she followed them outside and sat placidly at Darian's side when Ken led them to the archway he'd erected in his fight to drive Darian off. At the base of the arch was a small, smooth surface of stone. I looked like the spot had been melted and had cooled, but it gave easily when Ken sank his fingers beneath the surface. "How?" Darian's brows drew together. He reached a hand forward but Ken stopped him, unsure how the stone would react to anyone else touching it. "How are you doing that?" Darian asked. "Shit." Myra had shifted, unnoticed by Ken, and now she sat in just her skin, her hands wrapped around Darian's thick arm. "An earth elemental?" She turned her huge round eyes on Ken. "Do you know how rare that is? And one powerful enough to manipulate stone? No wonder Morgan wants you." Ken let a sharp grin transform his features. "Oh. He'll get me. Though he might wish he hadn't." He turned back to the little pool. "But that's not why we're here." Once again, he dipped his hand into the pool. He could sense more than just stone flowing around his submerged fingers. "Put your hand on my shoulder," he advised Darian. "I think this will be easier if you're touching me." "What will be?"
"You'll see!" Ken could feel the tug of the earth, now. Like always, he felt the strength of the stone first, how it stood eternally, offering its protection for all that stood upon it. Stone endured, beyond anything else, withstood even the relentless pounding of the sea and the endless scouring of the winds. Glaciers might scrape away the surface, fire crack it, even melt it, but it always reformed, always returned to its stasis, to its eternal strength. Ken dropped forward to his knees with a sigh and closed his eyes. He sank his hand to the wrist into the cool pool of black liquid and held out the other, waiting. He could remain thus as long as the stone remained. Eventually, one of his companions would decide to trust him. It was Myra's small, chill fingers that brushed against his palm first. Ken smiled. She would, no doubt, retain her hold on her lover. It was the best way to do this, Ken felt certain. He'd been able to pull his and Mikko's stones from the earth to the window because Mikko was as much a part of this tiny piece of land as he was, and he had convinced the earth to ride the waves of Mikko's charged air, right into his palm. This direct contact was much easier. "Close your eyes," he whispered. "Feel the breeze, listen to the waves. Smell the salt. Let the earth see you, from the inside out." Darian let loose a soft snort, but he said nothing. In and around his fingers, the liquid stone flirted with Ken's contact. Myra's calm flowed through him, and slowly, Darian relaxed into the quiet morning. Both their presences changed the flow of air around the steep little yard, adding their smells, their shape to the atmosphere. It was as it should be. They would stay here, guarding Ken's home, guarding Mikko. The land had to accept them as a part of it. He knew when that happened. The gentle nudge of something more solid bumped against the tips of his fingers. He whispered Myra's name. Cold stone contacted his hand, grew heavier as more of the gently flowing liquid solidified. Soon, he could discern shape and texture, weight and substance. It took less time once he intoned Darian's name. Perhaps because the man's blood had already been spilt into the land, his essence was better known. Faintly, Ken heard the snick of stone on stone as Darian's talisman formed and cleaved to Myra's, as his own mountain had adhered to Mikko's lightning. As soon as both pieces were complete, the pool of churning rock stilled. Ken drew the stones out. His muscles ached from the strain of stillness and he sagged, caught in Darian's strong arms when he would have fallen over. "Thank you." He settled onto the ground, cross‐legged, and opened his hand to reveal the fruits of his labour. "What are they" Darian asked. "They're beautiful," Myra added. "Totems," Ken held out the little stone puzzle. "One for each of you." It wasn't hard to figure out which was which. One of the stones was a perfectly rendered, if tiny, black wolf curled to nestle in the lap of a finely built man of pure white quartz. A sword rested across the man's knees, behind which the wolf's form slipped, clicking securely into place.
Myra smiled. "Knight protector," she teased, running a finger along the straight edge of the sword. "Oh!" She left behind a drop of blood as she pulled her finger back and stuck it in her mouth. The stone absorbed the blood in a matter of seconds and returned to a polished, glimmering white. "Your turn," Ken said, glancing up at Darian. "My turn?" It was slightly comical, the way his brows drew down, overshadowing the bright blue of his eyes. "Here," Myra offered, holding up her wolf. "The tiny fangs, my dear." She picked up her mate's hand and held out her totem, baring her own tiny, pointed teeth. "You know you like it." "Myra!" Darian shot a glare at her, but the depth of love behind it muted all the sharpness. He let her guide his finger to the tiny wolf and the needle‐sharp stone fangs. She smeared the resultant drop of blood over the sculpted fur of the wolf's ruff. As before, within seconds, the blood sank into stone and left behind the glint of polish. For a long, quiet moment, all three of them stared at the perfect images before Ken drew in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "I was right," he murmured. "About what?" For once, Darian's deep voice lost the granite edge of threat. "I have no idea." Ken lifted his gaze. "But you should go back to Mikko in case he wakes. He'll be hungry. Will you send Dean and Myst out?" "Of course." Myra rose to her feet and held her hand out to her mate. "Come, Lover." Darian's face reflected myriad questions. Ken hoped he'd follow Myra inside rather than ask them. He had no real answers for the big guard. To his relief Darian took his lover's hand in his and they walked inside together. A few minutes later, Dean emerged, Myst following silently at his heels. Instead of the silver lame, today his skimpy shorts and an added cut‐off tank top were of deep, shimmering indigo. Ken's gaze was drawn inexorably to the ocean and the dark, matching blue of its waters. "Bet I know how this turns out," he muttered. "You wanted to see us?" Dean asked. Myst sank quietly to his knees at Dean's side and folded his hands into his lap. "Uh..." Ken studied the top of the small man's bent head. Waves of blue‐dyed hair swirled across his crown and dipped down over his forehead. A soft foam of bangs covered his eyebrows and partially hid his eyes when he looked up. His lashes were deeply black, the silver light of his eyes glinting through with a mischievous twinkle. He might appear physically demur and submissive, but there was no lack of sparkle in his spirit. The very tip of his pink tongue darted out to moisten his full lips. Ken looked away. "Yes. I‐" He swallowed hard as heat rose up his neck. He managed to meet Dean's eye only to find more amusement there. "Uh." "Beloved has that effect on most men." Dean grinned. "Even the straight ones. When they're not so absorbed in drama as to pay attention." "I'm sorry. I just—"
"Perhaps tone it down a few notches, Beloved, yes?" Dean arched an eyebrow at his slight companion, who grinned up at him, but nodded. "Now. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Myst turned his bright gaze on Ken again. If that was a few notches of toned down, Ken obviously hadn't managed to wear himself out enough with Mikko. He sank hastily to his knees beside the pool of fluid stone to hide his body's reaction to the sensual submissive. "I...have something to give you," he stammered, plunging his hand deep into the pool. Better to concentrate on that than the obvious attempt the pale little imp was making to fluster him. "Alright." Dean crouched next to Myst. "What is that?" Ken swirled his hand in the malleable stone. "I don't know that it has a name. Right now, it's an offering pool, of sorts. Here. Give me your hand." Once again, he closed his eyes and held out a hand. And once again, a diminutive palm brushed against his. He wondered if this was coincidence. Probably not. Closing his fingers around Myst's palm, he concentrated, connecting his will and his consciousness to that of the earth from which he requested the offerings. It didn't take long for the solid mass to abut his open palm. He felt the moment Dean completed the connection with a hand on his lover. The agitation in the stone increased, sloshing up and over the rim. For an instant, Ken feared he had let slip his own uncertainty about the Dom and his role in this, but nothing about the stones forming in his submerged hand seemed off. After a few moments, the roiling eased to stillness and he withdrew the talismans. "Oh!" Myst's exclamation was accompanied by a hand clapped over his mouth. "So beautiful!" His eyes shone as he leaned forward to peer more closely at the stones. "Look how they fit together." His other hand came up to cover the first and Ken marveled at how easily the imp could be moved to tears by something so simple as a couple of stones. One was a stylized wave. No surprise there. Myst ran a finger over the smooth, dark surface and the stone detached from its partner. He picked it up and turned it over in his palm. He blinked and a splash of a tear dripped onto the surface of Dean's stone still sitting Ken's palm. The water shimmered over the surface, sinking in to leave an iridescent sheen over the pearlescent surface. "Mine's so dull," Myst said, voice a tiny bit petulant. "I think..." Ken cocked his head. "Earth, Fire, Water." He glanced up at Dean. "That leaves air." He handed Dean his stone, clearly a stylized depiction of blowing wind. "You have to activate Myst's totem." "How?" Ken shrugged. "Mikko and I kind of..." he grinned a crooked little grin. "Well. If you're going to do it that way, you'll need more privacy than the back yard." "You can do me here. I don't mind," Myst quipped, directing his devilish grin up at his Master. Dean just shook his head, a bemused expression on his face. "The neighbours might." Ken shifted to sitting to ease the strain on his tired legs. "Myra and Darian used blood."
"And I used tears." Myst tilted his head, and then held up his stone in front of Dean's mouth. "Air. Blow, baby, blow." Dean cuffed him lightly across the back of the head, making him giggle. But after an inquiring glance at Ken, he did puff a warm breath over Myst's stone. "Can't hurt, right?" In fact, the stone in Myst's hand shimmered, emitting a dazzling glow under Dean's breath. The glare died down again as Myst brought the stone back down to look at it. "How fitting," Dean drawled, peering at the glittering surface. It looked for all the world like light on the water and Myst beamed. "Bling!" Ken could only shake his head. Dean took Myst's stone and touched the two together. They clicked neatly into one form, wind over water and Dean cast an admiring glance at Ken. "How did you know?" Ken shrugged. "I didn't. I just...Mikko and I were...talking. I wanted to give him something, to hang onto. A promise that I'd be back. I just—it came to me to use some of the earth the arch that protected me was made from. I ended up with two stones. Lightning and a mountain." "Fire and Earth." Ken nodded agreement, pulling his own stone from his pocket and holding up the brand on his palm. "His fire and the stones themselves combined to activate them. Myra discovered the blood accidentally." "Wait." Myst swung gracefully to his knees. "If we're the four elements, what are they?" "Man and Animal?" Ken ventured. "Their stones were a man with a sword and a wolf." "Guardians," Dean said. "One for the human and one for the animals." Ken looked around his tiny sanctuary, noting each bird's nest, each tiny animal burrow and letting his gaze drift out to sea and teaming life under the waves. "This is such a tiny island," he said. "A tiny patch of a tiny island. Not much to guard here." "There's Mikko," Myst pointed out. Ken let his gaze wander back to the two men. "Yes. But he is only one man." "One element," Dean pointed out. "Fire is a scourge," Myst said, as though talking to himself. In his hand, his stone glittered fiercely. "Fire cleanses what water cannot." Dean wrapped an arm around his mate. Ken frowned. "We can't do this without him. The three of us aren't strong enough. Why are we leaving him behind?" "Because." Dean rose to his feet and held out his hand, first to Myst, then to Ken. "If we're going to stop Morgan, we have to pray he hasn't figured out what you just did. All four elements together are strong, able to bring balance. Once achieved, that balance will need to be guarded, both from human interference and from natural upset." "Air, water and fire are easy to manipulate," Myst said, turning to head back into the house. "Guaranteed, he has plenty of Ageless trained to call lightning and windstorms and tidal waves." He turned his eerie silver eyes in Ken's direction. "Earth is another thing altogether."
"He sent Darian after me." Ken stepped into the kitchen ahead of the others. "I'm not willing to bet he hasn't figured it out." A crash sounded from above and they all started. Ken raced for the stairs only to be met with Myra's bulk and bared teeth. "What's going on?" The lights flickered even as Darian appeared at the top of the stairs. "So much for peace," he snarled. "Mikko's on a tear." "Myra. Move. Let me go to him," Ken pleaded. "No." Dean rested a hand on Ken's arm. "If you're right and Morgan knows what he needs to complete the circle, then the only chance we have left is to lure him out by making him believe we haven't solved the puzzle. Let him think we're weak without our fourth element. We have the Guardians. All we have to do is get Morgan to come to us, come to the scourge." "By using his missing link as bait," Ken said. "Lure him by letting him think he's strong enough to take me away from you." He dipped his hand into his pocket and ran his thumb over the stone there. "It might work." "Only if his one link to us, Mikko, doesn't know what we know. Morgan already knows the three of us are going after him. He might suspect you're an earth elemental, and if he does, he'll want you to complete his circle. He has to believe we know nothing about balancing the elements; that we think the three of us will be enough. As soon as Mikko knows the full plan, Morgan knows." Ken glanced between them all. "You can't go to him, Ken," Darian said. "You're too close. He can read you. He knows how to get you to talk." He drew in a tight breath. "I know how to shut him up." Ken's gut twisted in anger, recalling the overwhelming fear he'd seen on Mikko's face when Darian had had him in his grasp on their first meeting. Leaving now meant going in the knowledge that was all Mikko had to look forward to until he got back. Just because Darian didn't like the situation any more than the rest of them didn't change the fact Mikko would be left here, living in fear, caught between the nightmare in his head and the force of Darian's domination to keep the nightmare at bay. "Best you just go and get back as fast as you can," Darian suggested. "I'll be as gentle as possible, but I won't let Morgan have him, either. I'll do what I have to do."
Chapter Eight Mikko glared out the window. Sleep had been so peaceful. Devoid of the dreams that had plagued him since Darian's arrival. Then he'd felt Ken's power ebbing and flowing through not just him, or the room, but up through the very foundations of the house. That feeling had pulled him gently, inexorably out of the restful sleep and drawn him to the window. In time to seen Dean reach for Ken. And to see Ken take the offered hand and let Dean draw him to his feet. Peace deserted Mikko. He slammed a hand into the wall next to the window. The pane rattled inside its frame. "Don't touch him." Spittle flew from between clenched teeth to spatter the clear glass and the wall. Fury engulfed him, and uncontrolled rage at letting Dean touch what was his. The part of him that knew he'd advocated this crumbled under the onslaught. Below, Ken gazed up at Dean with a shy smile and a nod. And they aren't even out of the house yet, a voice whispered in his head. He wanted to believe it was Morgan egging him on, trying to demoralize him. Hadn't Mikko told Ken to trust the other Dom, to do what he had to in order to keep his own stability? He had. And he still believed that. Ken could be volatile, nervous, so unsure of himself. Dean would offer a safe place for him to regroup, to feel secure. Knowing it had to be that way and liking it were two very different things. And then Dean stopped and offered the path back to the house to his Submissive and to Ken, and Mikko watched them, like a matched set, one pale, with his light blue hair and willowy build and Ken, dark hair and tanned skin, his muscular but slight frame a perfect complement to Myst. "Fuck!" Mikko struck the wall again. Sparks and flares of light crackled from the impact and bounced off the walls and ceiling. The window rattled, and shivered. Outside his bedroom door he heard voices, heard Myra growling, no doubt keeping Ken away from him. He slammed his fist through the plaster of the wall, struck at the window with his power. It buckled as Mikko took another swing. Shards of glass spattered into the room, peppering Mikko's bare torso and feet. Behind him, the door burst open. Big hands clasped on Mikko's upper arms. "Lemme go!" Darian pulled him backward, held him against his hard chest in an iron grip. "No point struggling, Mikko. We both know who's got the advantage here." Mikko sagged. "Lemme go." This time, the words held next to no conviction. Darian's shifted his hands from the painful grip on Mikko so he could wrap both arms around him. Mikko welcomed the stab of glass shards into his skin. "I don't want to fight you," Darian insisted. "No. You just want to fuck me." Darian nuzzled his face into Mikko's hair despite the sticky mess of gel. "I want to help you. I want to be free of Morgan. I want us all to be free. Let me help you." "Easy for you," Mikko whispered, struggling to keep his ire. "Myra's staying."
"And my child is directly in the line of fire should Ken and Dean fail." "If Dean really is Morgan's twin, how do I know he isn't just leading Ken to the slaughter? Who's going to protect him if Dean betrays us?" Darian pushed Mikko away to turn him and look into his eyes. "If anyone is qualified to know if that man is lying, if he's anything at all like Morgan, it's you. So you tell me. Whose side is he on?" Mikko squirmed but couldn't begin to loosen Darian's hold. "Try, Mikko. He's in your head. Ask Morgan what he wants you to do with Dean." Mikko shook his head violently. Shivers started in his hands and raged up until tremors rocked his body. "No." "Try." "No!" "Ken will be entirely in his grip, Mikko. Try!" "Fuck you." Mikko mumbled the curse, but he knew Darian was right. It was the most expedient way to find out if the brothers were in league. One thing about being so intimately connected, Morgan could not lie to him. Reluctance flavouring his thoughts, Mikko nevertheless formed an image of Dean and proceeded to prod at the dark wall at the back of his mind. An explosion of anger knocked him back. He flailed and would have fallen if Darian hadn't already gripped him so firmly. An overwhelming need to find Dean and skewer him took Mikko. It gave him the strength to shake free of Darian's grip. Perhaps surprised by the sudden ferocity, Darian fell back and Mikko was almost out the door before he recovered. He almost had his freedom when Darian tackled him, pinning both arms along his sides and settling most of his weight across Mikko's hips and ass. "Get off!" "No." The effort to hold him down showed in Darian's chopped response. "I'll kill him!" "No." Mikko got an arm free and threw a strong bolt of light out the door of the room. It bounced harmlessly off the high, arched window in the living room below and dissipated. "No!" Darian grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand back, pressing his knuckles against his spine. Pain jerked through his shoulder and down his arm and he grunted. "Get off!" "Settle down." The strain of holding him was easy to hear in Darian's voice. His injuries were still draining enough of his strength. Mikko was sure if he just fought hard enough, this time, he could get away. He braced his toes against the floor and heaved. "I don't think so," Darian whispered. He lowered himself so his breath wafted across the back of Mikko's neck, leaving behind goose bumps and making him shiver. He pulled Mikko's arm up, increasing the pain. "Don't drive us down this path again, Mikko. Please. It doesn't have to be like this. We're on the same side."
Mikko knew from experience, Darian wouldn't flinch from breaking his arm, dislocating his shoulder or a lot worse to get his way. And he'd be a lot more vulnerable with broken bones. He stilled. "Thank you." But Darian didn't ease up on the pressure or let him up. "Now do I have to knock you out? Will you be a good boy?" "I am not your boy." Mikko's jaw ached from clenching his teeth and shoving his words out through the constriction. "For the foreseeable future, Mikko, you are." Darkness clouded in on Mikko's mind, the black need to eliminate Dean overshadowing his good sense. A small part of him knew he was fighting a losing battle. One that would do more damage to his world than he could imagine if he gave in. He just could not get straight in his head if he should be fighting the blackness or the man crushing him into the floor. Confusion spiralled his thoughts into a maelstrom of chaos and sparks began to fly about the room. "Damnit!" Darian shifted and Mikko found himself being hauled up to his knees, his other hand yanked round to join the first in that painful grip behind his back. Fingers locked in his hair, yanking his head back and Darian's lips contacted his ear. "You listen to me, Mikko. We've been through this a thousand times." Darian gave his head a little shake, pulling a gasp of pain out of him. "You cannot fight me. You don't want me to force you into submission, but if that's what it takes..." Mikko focused on the one thing that made sense over everything else. Pain. His shoulders, the pull on his hair and the uncomfortable backward crick of his neck forced him back into the physical world. The heat of Darian's breath on his jaw and the raspy husk of his voice all pushed at the dark shadows, chasing them back until Mikko could see again. "Let me go," he whispered. "Please, Darian." He squeezed his eyes closed, the memories of a dozen times when Darian didn't let him go, when the blackness fought a lot harder to hang on through Darian's physical distractions. "That's it." Very slightly, Darian eased his hold. Not enough for Mikko to escape, but enough to ease some of the pain. "There you go." Darian's lips pressed to his ear. The warmth of his closeness did more than the painful restraints to help Mikko fight through the fog. Latching onto his awareness of the soft touch, Mikko relaxed, leaning back until he rested against Darian's broad chest, his cheek pressed against the stubble of Darian's jaw. Darian released his hair and brought that arm around his chest, spreading his huge hand across Mikko's breastbone. "Shhhh." Most of the glass shards must have dislodged because there wasn't the same sharp pain as before. Mikko let his eyes drift closed. This warmth, this closeness, was better than the struggle. "Don't let me go," he whispered. "I have no intention of letting you go, my friend. I made your man a promise, and I will keep it. I'll beat you to a bloody pulp if I have to." He drew his hand in a slow, light caress over Mikko's front. "This is better." Mikko nodded.
A slight shuffle in the doorway had Mikko opening his eyes just in time to see Ken turn away. "K—" "It's okay," Darian pressed him back when he tried to get up. "He understands." Darian nuzzled at his neck again. "Like you understand about Dean, yeah?" Mikko could only nod. "Yeah." He gave in completely, then, sliding over to nestle on the floor between Darian's thighs. "I hope they hurry." "Me too."
Chapter Nine "Are they all right?" Worry laced Myra's words. When the wild bolt of lightning had flown out of the upper bedroom, she'd shifted to her human form, frightened for her lover, but she still hadn't let Ken pass. Once all sounds of struggle had ceased, Dean had allowed Ken to accompany him to make sure neither combatant was seriously hurt, but he had not allowed Ken to linger. A quick glance of Mikko collapsed in Darian's lap was all Ken got before Dean was herding him back downstairs. Now Myra watched their descent with a different kind of empathy on her face. "Fine," Ken muttered. "They're fine." He clenched his fist around the still‐stinging brand on his palm, telling himself they had agreed to this, and plunked down at the kitchen table. Myst sat beside him, one leg pressed against his under the table. He frowned, thinking that was too bold, even for Myst, but Dean stepped up behind him and placed both hands on Ken's shoulders. "We will eat," Dean told them both, "then sleep. In the morning, we leave." "And where do we go?" Ken asked dully. He could not get the picture of Mikko with Darian's arm around him and Darian's big hand restraining him, out of his head. It distracted him until Myst's hand landed on his thigh. He shot an annoyed glance at the imp. Myst merely cocked his head to one side and blinked at him. His fingers tightened momentarily. "We follow Master." "My Master is here," Ken snapped. His gaze drifted to the staircase. There were no more stray bolts of energy. No more thumping or yelling. Just his memory of Mikko's blood‐ speckled chest heaving under Darian's touch. "Sometimes, we have to be the strong ones," Myst said quietly. "Sometimes, they rely on us. That's okay." "I'm not good at—" "Shh." Myst frowned, cast a glance at his Master and then raised his hand to rub it in circles over Ken's back. "Then you fake it. You do the best you can, and let us help you." "This is so fucked up." Ken lowered his head to his arm on the table. "I just want..." He wanted to curl back up in Mikko's embrace, spend more days like yesterday, making love, tiring one another out with pleasure. "Freedom," Myst offered. "The same thing we all want. This is how we get it." "Get up now," Dean cut in. "Myst, go tend to Mikko's cuts. Ken, make dinner" Such command laced his words, Ken automatically nodded. He pushed away the wish for those tasks to be reversed and acquiesced to Dean's will. It was just easier. Dinner required enough of his attention to keep him from dwelling on the fact that this was his last night in his own home and he would not be permitted to share it with his lover and Master. If he thought on that too hard, it didn't even make him angry. It just hurt. He stuck with a simple menu of scrambled eggs, toast and salad, knowing it was something Mikko loved and could easily stomach. Ken knew in his recent turmoil, Mikko hadn't had much luck keeping his food down. He wanted to make that as likely as possible.
The meal was apparently substantial enough for the others to keep them from complaining. Once it was over, Ken helped Myst clean the dishes, at Dean's command, without complaint. When ordered to bed, he only glanced once up the stairs before heading to the spare room and curling into the small bed alone. Long ago smells of stale mattress and old sheets permeated his consciousness, even though he knew that bed, and the couch, and all the furniture that had come with the house when he first rented it were long gone. It was like the scents of that lonely time resided in his memory and came back to him now when he was once more alone. Eventually, darkness crept in, surrounding the piles of renovation materials first and dragging its shadows deeper into the room as time passed. He lay still, listening to the other members of the household bed down. Heavy footsteps climbed the steps and he listened to the unique squeak of his bedroom door open and close. "Fucking asshole," he muttered, rolling to face the wall. A few minutes later, more footsteps to the guest room where Dean had been sleeping, and that door closed. He was willing to put money on finding Myra curled outside his own bedroom door, guarding Darian and Mikko's privacy and keeping Ken safely out. He understood the logic of their decision. He'd agreed to this. It still hurt. The ach inevitably pulled him from sleep. It took a moment to realize he was not alone in his room. Soft footsteps approached the bed and an even softer sob made him sit up. "Mikko?" He couldn't see through the dark. This room had no lamp and when he fumbled to the end of the bed for the light switch, he found the overhead bulb didn't respond when he flicked it. "Mikko, you should be upstairs." "Why?" His lover's voice was harsh, almost unrecognizable. "Because you're waiting for him? You figure you don't need me anymore?" "No." Ken scrambled to the edge of the bed. "No. That isn't it at all. You know tha—" A hand clamped around his throat. Just as he had before, Mikko hauled him up and slammed his back against the wall. Slowly, viciously, his fingers tightened, squeezing off Ken's air a little at a time. Scrabbling at Mikko's fingers, Ken squirmed and twitched. He couldn't speak to beg for mercy. He couldn't budge Mikko's hand. He couldn't breathe. This isn't happening. "You belong to me." Mikko no longer sounded remotely like himself. "Me!" Black spots swam in Ken's vision. He punched and scratched at Mikko's arm, his nails sliding off stone skin, impenetrable, uncaring. Not like this. Mikko! Ken snapped upright in bed, breath coming in a harsh gasp. Moonlight flooded into the room. Bulky piles of flooring and tiles lined the wall under the window. Cans of paint and tubes of calking stacked precariously on the empty dresser. The house was quiet. At the end of the bed the door, cracked slightly open, moved. It opened a little more on creaking hinges. "Who's there!" Ken swung his feet to the floor, ready to bolt. A small, furry form leapt onto the end of the bed and Ken stared.
"A cat?" He peered at the little shadowy form. "We don't have a cat." The animal padded over the messed blankets and sat pertly at Ken's side. He frowned at it. It moved a few steps closer, watching him through silver eyes and Ken noticed a stone glittering in the moonlight attached to a collar around the little creature's neck. He lifted it, recognized the sculptural waves and sighed. "Myst?" The cat purred. "Really? A shifter too?" The cat, Myst, seemed to shrug. Ken pulled his legs back up onto the bed and tucked them under the covers. "Come here." He patted his lap and Myst sauntered over to settle across his thighs. Ken scratched behind his ears. Myst purred and for the next few minutes, they communicated through touch and Myst's twisting, gyrating attempts to get Ken's hands where he wanted them. He ended sprawled on his back, his paws in the air while Ken rubbed his belly. "I think this is slightly obscene," Ken muttered, raking his fingers through the silky fur. Myst just purred extra loudly. "Did you know..." Ken settled back, one hand behind his head, the other stroking over Myst's body. "Did you know I had a nightmare? Is that why you're here? I dreamt Mikko tried to kill me. But he...didn't sound like himself. He had my abilities, not his own." He sank down to his pillow with a sigh and rolled to his side. Myst was dislodged with a tiny, cat squawk, but he simply curled up against Ken's chest and continued to purr. "It felt so real," Ken whispered. Myst licked a rough tongue over Ken's chin and snuggled closer. "Stay with me," Ken pleaded, in a voice certainly only a cat could hear. Myst settled under Ken's hand and with that bundle of soft, furry warmth close to his heart, Ken finally found sleep again.
Chapter Ten When he woke, it was in time to see Myst stretching, spine crackling as he raised his arms over his head. He had his back to Ken, but didn't for a moment seem to care he was buck naked. Ken could only admire the fine line of ribs through tapered waist and over round, sleek buttocks and down slim, lean thighs. As if sensing his scrutiny, Myst turned. "Oh!" Ken flopped onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Not that he'd turned in time to avoid the sight of Myst's full, slender cock jutting up and slightly to the right. "Morning," Myst said, his usual smile evident in his voice. "Uh." "It's okay, you know. Master doesn't mind if you and I play." "No." Myst's soft footsteps slapped lightly on the old linoleum as he crossed the room. The bed dipped. "Am I not pretty enough for you?" He sounded more teasing than pouty. "Men say I'm pretty all the time." "Does he share you a lot, then?" "Goodness, no!" Myst laughed softly. "Not that we don't get offers. Plenty. I mean look at me." Just like a cat, Ken thought. Completely full of himself. "But Master is particular. And protective. Once, I would have given myself to anyone who asked. Now, I know better." "So do I," Ken said. "You should go get dressed or something." "And do what with this?" Now Myst sounded petulant. Ken didn't look at him. He could only assume the imp was referring to his morning wood. "What does Master usually do with it?" He risked a glance and found Myst grinning at him devilishly. "He watches me. I love stroking myself off. Master likes to watch." Ken thought back to when Mikko had first returned to him and the many, many times Mikko had asked the same of him. It was different, though. He'd never been comfortable with self‐pleasure. Too many times it had brought punishment. He shuddered. "I've made you uncomfortable." Ken glared harder at the ceiling. "You think?" "I'll go." "Yeah." Myst reached over and ran a hand down the center of Ken's chest. "You're very loyal." Nodding, Ken blinked back an uncomfortable sting in his eye. "Yeah." "Shall I only keep you company through the nightmares in my furry form?" "That would be better." "You know," Myst took Ken's hand and lifted it to press his fingers against the wave stone hanging from his collar, "I'm still me in any form."
Ken blinked again, turned his head and gazed at the other man. "I know," he whispered. "And I appreciate your coming to watch over me." He caressed the stone, then lifted his hand to caress Myst's cheek. Something in the way the cool skin felt too rigid under his fingers made him shiver and he pulled back. "Now will you please put some clothes on?" A pure, tinkling laugh filled the room. Myst flung his head back and the sound of his mirth and happiness flowed around Ken, cocooning him. "Didn't realize I was so funny," Ken muttered, not really feeling any ire at the sound of Myst's simple emotion. "You are. Funny and sweet and kind." Myst stood and sauntered to the door, stopped just to blow a kiss at Ken before he left. "Funny, sweet and kind." Not words Ken could ever remember anyone using to describe him before. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it now. Either Myst was delusional, or Mikko had worked a transformation on him he wasn't aware of.
Chapter Eleven Dean brooked no argument once breakfast was finished and it was time to leave. Ken dragged his feet, glancing often to the head of the stairs and the closed door of his and Mikko's room. "He'll come out when it's time to go," Dean assured him. "It feels wrong. Leaving him like this." "You are leaving to find a way to free him. Just remember that. He's not completely yours like this. Can't be. You both need this thing done." Ken nodded, unconvinced leaving his lover behind was the right thing. "We cannot wait forever," Dean pointed out. "The longer we wait the more chance we lose our window. We need to catch Morgan off guard." "While letting him think he's caught us with our own pants down." Ken frowned. "Precisely." "Are we ready?" Myst's perennially cheerful voice made Ken wince. His smile, atop a lean, black‐clad sex‐on‐two‐legs look, made Ken stare. For once, the imp was fully covered. The lack of exposed skin did not disguise his sex appeal or his awareness of his power. He was dressed, head to toe, in black; knee‐high boots, painted‐on jeans, a thin, long‐sleeved t‐shirt and the sparkling stone of his totem dangling from his collar glinting against the dark material. His pale skin and blue hair shone in contrast. And he carried a huge pack as though it weighed nothing. "We're not going on a bloody hike," Ken muttered. "No, we're not." Dean ran his fingers through Myst's hair. "Sit down, Beloved. There are a few important things to take care of first. Ken." He motioned to one of the kitchen chairs. "Please." "Why?" "Please. Sit." He pulled a black case from his own pack and laid it on the table. Snapping it open, he took the seat opposite the one he'd asked Ken to take. Inside the case nestled a slew of implements, looking like medical paraphernalia. "What's all this?" Ken's mouth dried up. He'd had some experience with a Dom who had a thing for medical kink. It was far off Ken's list of pleasurable things. Very far. "We are going to have to be able to move freely, Ken," Dean explained. "No hold ups at customs, no delays at scanning stations. No attention because we don't fit in. I don't want any one of us to stand out." Ken shot a pointed glance at Myst. Dean merely shrugged one shoulder. "He has his own ways of going unnoticed." Myst turned up his pert little nose and toed at a small cat carrier. "Don't be snotty, Beloved." "You travel that way," Myst shot back. "Just once." Dean lifted one eyebrow at him. Myst gasped and a hand flew up to cover his mouth. His eyes went wide as saucers.
"You are lucky I need your particular skills for the first leg of this trip, my pet," Dean said, his voice remaining neutral and calm, even slightly amused. "Now sit quietly, please and behave." "Yes, Sir." Myst folded his hands into his lap and dropped his gaze. For all that the exchange had seemed amicable on the surface, Myst was now stiller and quieter than Ken had yet seen him. How far had he overstepped his bounds, Ken wondered, and what would be the consequences when he was alone with his Master? "Now." Dean drew Ken's wandering attention back to the table with just the firm ring in his voice. "I will need you to move some of that hair off your neck, please." He picked up something that looked vaguely like a hypodermic gun and looked at Ken. "Left side, I think. We can look into getting the hair cut when we reach our first destination." "Hair cut?" Soft and silky under his fingers, Ken's shining, straight black hair had become a source of pride for him. It kissed his shoulders and gave Mikko a firm hold when they played...Ken covered the length protectively. "I don't think Mikko would—" "Mikko can let you grow it back, if that is his pleasure. Mine is that you cut it." He nodded his head at Myst's boyish style, long on top and short at the back and sides. "Myst will help you chose a style that suits you, but I want it off your collar." A scowl cut across Ken's face. "I am not your pet," he snarled. "I like my hair the way it is." "And if this is going to work, Morgan has to believe you belong to me." For a mere second, Dean glared at him, dark eyes glinting with power that made Ken shudder. "He knows me well enough to know what I prefer in my playmates. You will cut it." Ken glanced between Dean and Myst, whose attention was still focused on his hands in his lap. No help there. "Why does he have to think that? It's not like he doesn't know about Mikko and I." "Because if he thinks you've left Mikko, my brother will see that as an opening. He'll want to convince your lover he can return you to him, or, failing that, that he can destroy you. In the end, he'll use you in whatever way he must to regain Mikko's trust and his own complete control over him." "But Mikko doesn't think I've left him. He told me to go do this..." As if on cue, the radio and the microwave clock flickered. Static blitzed through the air and a wail sounded from above. The door to their bedroom crashed open. "KEN!" Ken jumped to his feet, his chair tipping over. Myst reached for his hand, gripped it tight and stood beside him. His slim arm wound around Ken's waist. His lips tickled against Ken's ear. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, a low, purr of sound only Ken would hear. Frozen half way down the stairs, Mikko stared. His lip curled at the sight of Myst glued to Ken's side. His eyes narrowed. Swallowing hard, he wagged his head from side to side in disbelief. "I thought...you wouldn't, really. Even if I told you it was okay, I didn't think you really would..." "I—"
Myst's fingers dug into Ken's side, tiny, sharp claws digging into flesh, and he sucked in a breath. "Keep him away," he hissed in Ken's ear. "I'm sorry..." Ken's voice wavered. His knees buckled and Myst had to fling his other arm around Ken's waist to keep him upright. An inarticulate snarl of rage left Mikko. He whirled and stormed back into their room. The door closed with a thud that shook the whole house. There was thumping and crashing from above. Ken heard Darian's voice overriding the sounds of destruction. The tones lowered as the thudding stopped and ended in a soothing rumble Ken couldn't understand. He pried Myst off him and slapped him. Dean shot out of his chair, grabbing his arm, twisting it away from his diminutive lover before Ken could land another blow. Myst's eyes watered. He covered the reddening mark with his own hand, but he didn't look away from Ken. "I'm sorry." "That was cruel! He has enough problems! How could you—" "Enough!" "But—" This time, it was Dean's hand impacting Ken's own cheek that brought the protests up short. "I said, enough!" Ken backed up, wary now, but Dean still had a grip on his wrist. He began to shake. "Let me go." Damnably, his voice wavered more. He pursed his lips, refusing to show his broken equilibrium. "This is hard, Ken, I know. But as long as Mikko believed he had you, our plan could not work. Morgan thrives on pain and fear, and Mikko felt none of that knowing you were coming back to him. Now that he doubts that, he will let his insecurities out more. Morgan will feel his uncertainty, will be able to use it." "And he's is lodged in my lover's head like a parasite! You think giving him food for life is a good way to get him out?" "It's the best way to keep him complacent, sure of himself, and most of all, distracted. His focus on getting through Mikko's defenses, and Darian's, will give us the time we need to get close. The nearer we can get, the better chance we have of actually defeating him. The thing Mikko is going to want most now is you. First, your return to him, but soon enough, your destruction, because Morgan will convince him you're never coming back. Once he's convinced he can't have you, we give Morgan the means to give Mikko what he wants. Morgan will convince him he can take you, break you, and give you back to Mikko so completely obedient, that he never has to risk losing you again." "And in the process, Morgan is forced to expose himself," Myst added. "Yes." Dean laid a hand on his sub missive’s head and stroked over his fine hair. "He is going to see in an instant everything he needs to fulfill his dream. He'll gain you, Mikko, and my own destruction, all in one blow. But he knows now how thoroughly he must break Mikko in order to control him. Mikko has to believe he's alone, that he's lost you, in order for Morgan to feel he's weak enough to overtake, and therefore a prize worth concentrating all his effort and attention on."
"What do you mean, overtake?" Ken registered the fact he'd just become bait, and set it aside. It didn't matter as much as the very definite threat to Mikko. Ken was far from helpless. If Dean betrayed him, he could look after himself, no matter how big his opponent. "Morgan needs Mikko's powers, Ken. His mind." Myst shuddered convulsively and huddled close to Dean. Dean hugged him lovingly and soothed his trembling with soft caresses on his arm. "My brother is a quadriplegic. An accident when we were children left him paralysed from the neck down. He's had a long time trapped in that shell to perfect his manipulation over others. A long time to figure out how to get into another man's head. Mikko is a prime subject because his power is so intrinsically linked to his emotions and those of the people around him. Morgan managed to worm his way into Mikko's consciousness a little at a time when he first had Mikko with him. He convinced Mikko to trust him, and it made it easier to get in undetected. He was well in before your lover ever knew what was happening. Only Darian's feelings for Mikko, his determination not to lose the man he first fell for kept Morgan at bay, and he managed to do it right under Morgan's nose, by carrying out his boss's orders, even. While Morgan thought Darian's physical abuse was breaking Mikko down, his love was, in fact, keeping him whole and sane, keeping him clinging to himself and restricting Morgan's access. "Now, we have to trust Darian can do that again. That he can keep Morgan from winning over Mikko as long as it takes for us to get close enough to take him. Mikko's distance from Morgan is a factor slowing my brother down, but the more of a foothold he gets, the less that will matter. Our job is to get close to Morgan physically, and tear him down from outside while Mikko fights from within. If either one of us fails—" "That can't happen," Ken said. "It won't." "Very good." Dean motioned to the table and the kit of supplies and implements there. "Sit." "What is all this?" Ken's earlier trepidations returned. "Ageless immunity or not, the Young are terrified we're carriers of everything that can kill them. More and more, they're restricting movement of anyone not inoculated. You will need the requisite number of nano‐inhibitors in your blood stream to travel by air and cross even provincial boarders these days." He held up the hypodermic gun. "That's what these are. Not the state bread little beasts that multiply and require implant upon implant to satiate them, but a neutered variety I've concocted. Central's scanners are configured to pick up the DNA donor bots. The receptive bots are innate until they've been activated by the donors. They look just like red blood cells, so the scanners don't bother looking for them. Without the receptors, all that DNA gets shot into the bloodstream and pissed out, harmless to create more bots, but you can pass through the scanners without the red lights and suspicion. All it took was a flip of a switch to allow the donor bots to trigger the DNA release in one another." Myst snickered. "He made gay nano‐bots. Precious, isn't it?" He tilted his own head to one side and bared his neck for Dean to inject the bots into his system. "Only trouble is, they don't self perpetuate, so eventually, you need to inject new ones."
"Thank you for that assessment, Beloved." Dean tenderly scrubbed a cotton swab over Myst's neck and pressed the hypodermic to his skin. Myst flinched slightly, pressed his lips together and wavered in his chair. Dean pulled his lover close and held him against his chest. "Very good, Beloved. Breathe evenly, now. Just relax." Ken could see all of Myst's muscles had tightened and his chest rose and fell in quick, hard pants. Sweat broke out across his upper lip. Eventually, his breathing evened out and his body relaxed into the long strokes of Dean's hand down his arm. "I'm okay." He turned a limpid smile on his Dom and sat back in his own chair, letting out a long breath. "Oh hells, that sucks." Turning to Ken, he tossed him a slack grin. "Your turn." "I don't think—" "One thing you will learn, Ken," Dean said as he rose and moved to stand behind him. "You do not argue with me." He gripped Ken's chin in his hand and pulled it around and up, holding it at the awkward cant against his stomach. The touch of the cool alcohol‐laden swab against his skin was far from gentle. He had no time to protest before he felt to cold press of the hypodermic and heard the loud piston of the mechanism that shot the needle into his neck. "Ow!" He squirmed, twisting to get away, myriad emotions spiraling through him, memories of having needles plunged into his flesh and other, even less acceptable things happening, flashed through his mind. It made him fight harder than he might otherwise have, and when his muscles cramped into tight knots, he was unprepared. The agony of his contorted muscles freezing in mid motion was ten times worse what Myst must have felt, coming into the sensation from a relaxed state. Knifing slashes of pain in every limb, through his neck and shoulders, the sensation his blood was suddenly on fire made him grind his teeth and groan. "Fucking hell." Rather than the hard hands holding him down that he expected, Dean caressed his hair, stroked his back and whispered in his ear. "Breathe, Ken. Come on." Ken could not possibly pull air through his contracted throat into lungs squeezed flat by immovable muscles. Dean's gentle hands were like sandpaper on his skin despite his care and tenderness. His breath felt like the brush of superheated air over his cheek, but he couldn't flinch away. His lungs screamed for air and his heart crashed against the spikes of his ribs. "Come on," Dean's lips pressed to his temple. "Take a breath." His chair turned and Dean was kneeling between his knees, taking his face in both hands, pleading with him to breathe. Didn't he think if he could breathe, he would? Ken could only stare at him and watch the fuzzy edges of his universe creep in to suffocate him. "Is he allergic to the things?" "No." Dean frowned, and Ken fixed on his full lips, the way they turned down in concentration. "Just never been exposed. I forgot how hard the first time is." Dean's fingers
stroked rough paths over Ken's cheeks, the calluses feeling like glass shards. "It's okay, Ken. You aren't dying. It just feels that way. Just try and relax. Fucking easy for you to say... And then the spasm was over, as suddenly as it had begun. The release from the tight grip of cramped muscles was almost as painful as the contractions had been. Ken gasped, convulsed forward and his breakfast came spewing out before he even knew it was on the way up. Dean managed to avoid getting it in the face but the rest of him was covered. "All right." He grimaced, but didn't release his hold on Ken. Rather, he slipped a delicate touch through Ken's hair. "I should have been more careful, warned you. Are you all right?" Ken twisted out of his grip. "I need to brush my teeth." The foul stench of his vomit filled the little kitchen. "Before you torture me anymore." "That was the worst part," Myst assured him, a hand on his arm. "I promise." Ken yanked free of that touch. "I'll be back." He rose and all but ran to shut himself into the bathroom on the main floor. He locked the door and sank to the floor, his back pressed against the unyielding wood. None of the memories he had compared to that. The pain had been so unimaginable even the memory of it was vague and just a terror of vulnerable immobility. And now he was contaminated with tiny robots he didn't want. Against his will. None of this was what he'd thought his life with Mikko would be. All his long life, he'd avoided the nano‐bots and the body modifications that let Central find and monitor her citizens. He didn't want to be found or monitored. He cracked his head back lightly against the door. He didn't want any of this. He only wanted Mikko, and right now, Morgan had him. This was the only way to get him back. Wiping a hand over his face, Ken pushed himself to his feet and turned on the tap. He didn't have a toothbrush down here and had to settle for rinsing his mouth with cold water. He splashed more water over his face and glared at himself in the mirror. Long, straight black hair framed his thin face. It had been short when Mikko had first found him, but he'd let it grow out. The resultant drape of thick locks gave his delicate features substance, his pale complexion some colour. Scowling, he opened the vanity drawer, took out some scissors and began to chop. Hacking and slashing at the strands, he had it cut back to short, messy spikes in less than five minutes. If Dean wanted short, he could have short. Ken tossed the scissors into the sink and stormed out of the room. Dean sat at the kitchen table, already changed. The light in his eyes turned to a hard glint. Myst gasped. Ken ignored them both and plunked himself down in the chair between them. "Get up." Dean stood and ordered Ken to do likewise. Ken stared at the tabletop, tracing the grain of the wood with his gaze. He didn't move. To prove the long locks weren't needed for a good grip, Dean raked his fingers through Ken's spikes and yanked his head back. "I gave you an order." All the uncertainty coiled tight in Ken's gut and rolled into obedience. It was all he knew. He stood. Dean did not soften. He propelled him toward the bathroom again.
"Master!" Myst stood too, but Dean turned, pointed to his chair. "Sit." "Yes." Myst sank back with a pale little sigh. Once inside the bathroom, Ken sank to his knees under the pressure of Dean's grip in his hair. "This is a shame. I like a good grip, too." He searched the cabinet and moment later, retrieved the electric shaver. "Please don't." "It will grow back even." "Please." Ken tipped his head back to look up at Dean. The Dom's face was set in grim façade. "You like hands in your hair? Controlling you?" Ken nodded. Dean flicked on the shaver and drew it across Ken's scalp leaving behind a strip of stubble in its wake. "Control yourself," Dean snarled, and proceeded to shave the rest of his head. It took only moments. Ken watched the remnants of his hair fall like dark rain on the white porcelain and tiles. He was covered in the shavings and heartsick by the time it was over and Dean dropped the razor into the sink. "Clean up the mess and get out there. You'll need a grav implant and a few other embellishments that will make it look like you've got all the latest mods." He lifted Ken's chin and ran a thumb gently along his jaw and over his lips. "Without ruining any more of your beauty." Ken blinked. "It will grow back, Sir." "Yes." Dean planed the flat of his palm over Ken's stubble and pursed his lips. "Never question my orders, Ken. For the time being, I am your world. Your guide. Your protection. Whatever else you need, I am as well, but those will be your choices to make. The world will see a matched set of happy, obedient submissives at my side. Understood?" Ken nodded. "Yes, Sir." "Good." Dean's final caress was tender, caring, and Ken found himself leaning after it without thinking. "Hurry, now. We have much to do before we leave." Quickly, Ken swept up the loose hair and dumped it into the trash. Looking in the mirror, he almost didn't recognize the man looking back. He swept his fingers over the cool glass holding his reflection, unwilling to touch the stubble covering his head. He felt as distant from himself as that touch; there, but not there. It occurred to him the faster he got this over with, the faster he could get back to Mikko, get his life and himself back. It also occurred to him, Mikko might not want him back. The betrayal he'd seen in his lover's eyes made him furious all over again. How could he let Mikko believe the lie? How could he tell him the truth and sabotage everything they were all working for? And did he think saving the planet was worth losing the best thing that had ever happened to him? Worth Mikko? Or was it all the same thing? "Fuck." He leaned until his forehead touched the mirror, until the unnatural reflection blurred to indistinct anonymity. If he could not win Mikko back, he would be left with Dean. With Myst. He had no way of knowing if this arrangement was simple expediency. Myst seemed to want him, but the imp could easily be putting on a show. Ken didn't know him.
Maybe he was an indiscriminate slut. Maybe he was a tease. Maybe he was just doing what his Master told him to and masking disgust. As for Dean...Ken straightened and ran a hand over the crown of his head. He had an unbending streak in him Ken had never anticipated. He gazed back at his reflection. What did he see there? A man who could dissemble and pretend to accept his lot? Or someone who actually needed the firm guidance Dean offered? Dean wasn't Mikko. His way was different, unyielding, uncompromising. Ken appreciated that. There was a time he would have fallen under Dean's spell in a heartbeat. Before Mikko. Before he understood himself the way Mikko had helped him to do. "So can you make it up?" he asked his reflection. "Can you pretend to want this?" His eyes narrowed. "Or are you just kidding yourself? Be honest. You do want it." Because it was easy. What Dean offered was the submission he'd always sought. Submission Mikko had taught him he no longer needed. Unless that had been an illusion, too.
Chapter Twelve Once subdued, Mikko lay on the bed, curled into a ball with Myra at his back lending her warmth and her peculiar canine support. Her loyalty was as undemanding as Darian's was fiercely insistent. Oddly, Mikko had expected Darian to tell him he'd seen wrong, that he was overreacting and Ken wasn't, hadn't— He sighed. Myra's tail thumped him on the leg and she pressed closer to him. But Darian had let him rage it out, never once defending Ken or denying he'd seen what he thought he'd seen. The big man had taken the brunt of Mikko's assault and in the end, the threat of reciprocated violence got through and Mikko stopped. Even though Darian hadn't once carried through his threats since he'd been back, it didn't mean he wouldn't. Mikko had scars upon scars inside and out to prove Darian wasn't afraid to use force to get what he wanted. And Mikko was afraid. Right back where you belong, aren't you, Pet? Mikko sat up. He knew where the voice came from. Knew whose it was, and what it wanted. "Fuck you," he snarled. "Ken or no Ken, I do not belong to you, or—" He glanced at Darian, sitting in Ken's window seat watching him through deep, golden eyes, dark with unreadable emotions. Mikko lowered his gaze. "Better me than Morgan, yeah?" Darian asked. All Mikko could do was nod.
Chapter Thirteen With the bathroom clean and no answers to his questions forthcoming, Ken could only return to the table and proceed with the path he'd set out on. His love he would just have to carry close to the chest and protect it from whatever else he had to do. He'd once told Mikko the only gift he had for his Dom was his trust and his love. It was still all he had. Trust that Mikko would believe the truth and understand why he'd had to lie, and faith that their love would endure. In the mean time, he had to learn to rely on Dean. For now, he had to behave as though this was his life, because for all intents and purposes, it was. Whatever he could salvage of these past, precious few months with Mikko, it would have to wait until they'd accomplished their goals. Bracing himself, he opened the bathroom door and walked calmly to his seat between his new Dom and his new...whatever Myst was. Dean tilted his head, studied Ken for a few moments before speaking. "Acceptance?" Ken nodded. "Resignation, I think," Dean said. Ken darted his tongue out to lick his dry lips. He didn't know. "What's next?" Myst reached and took his hand. "Put your other arm on the table, palm up," he told Ken. "And try not to flinch. Ken did as he was asked, keeping his gaze downcast. He didn't want to see whatever implements were needed to implant the grav‐chip. He didn't want to think how he'd avoided all his life this type of state branding, and now all that was being taken away from him. "It's more important that you can travel quickly and inconspicuously, Ken," Dean informed him. "This chip will speak to the anti‐grav units on the vehicles and let them adjust to your weight." He clamped a hand down over Ken's wrist to hold his arm still. "Like the bots, I've modified it. It will talk to the vehicles. It won't report back to Central, but to Myst." "To Myst?" Ken shot a surprised glance at the diminutive man. Myst just shrugged as a soft whirring sound preceded the appearance of a transparent bit of skin on his forearm. It looked like a small video screen. "People don't notice me. I can go places and they turn up their collar, like when a chill drizzle creeps down their neck." A pointed expression crossed his face and Ken almost expected to see little, silver and diamond horns pop through his tousled hair. "If you get lost, I can get to you. Anywhere." He held up his arm to show off a glittering tattoo in the shape of a star just above the small vid screen modification. "So we're linked. Or will be, once Master installs your mods." "I don't want mods!" They both sat, stone still and watched him. He relaxed the arm he'd been straining under Dean's hold and slumped back in his chair. "Shouldn't there be a surgeon here to do this?" Myst smiled. "Master is many things, Ken‐ken. Trust." That'd be the day. Hadn't they already betrayed him once today, and undermined everything he'd built with Mikko?
Dean peered up from where he'd bent to examine Ken's arm. "Do you have that little trust? In us? In what you have here?" "I thought you couldn't read minds." Ken let his gaze drift off to the side, knowing it was sign of disrespect. Not caring. "I can read your body language. I can feel the anger on the air. The unevenness of the emotional energy surrounding you. You're scared." "I am not!" "And hurt and wondering if this is all going to be worth it. Ask yourself how long you and Mikko can run. How many times can you set up house and pretend everything isn't falling apart around you? How long before Morgan catches up with you and takes it all? Mikko taught you to stand up for yourself. Take it one step further and fight. Stand up for him." "And risk everything." "Sometimes. But what reward is there if you don't? What do you stand to lose if you do nothing? Not just Mikko, but your freedom and yourself as well. This way, if you lose, you at least don't give your enemy what he wants." Ken nodded. There might be some truth to what Dean said. There probably was. He just couldn't feel past the great abyss in his heart. Not now. "Just do what you have to do." Before long, he had a matching star‐shaped tattoo to Myst's gracing his forearm. The grav‐chip was a complicated network of circuitry disguised as nothing more than glitter ink and a flashy tattoo. It spoke of high end technology and gave the extra security that simple, overworked, overstressed and frightened boarder soldiers would not hassle travelers wealthy enough to be able to afford the expense of such elaborately devised modifications. It was almost pretty. And it hurt like hell. It felt like a million tiny needles burning deep into Ken's muscle and bone, becoming a permanent part of his body, deeper than any scar he already carried. "What else?" he asked, staring and letting the shine blind him to the faces of his companions. "Other arm, please." Woodenly, Ken obeyed Dean's order and placed his other hand on the table. "One small mod that will be useful to you, Ken. He held up an elaborately carved metal wrist band. "Watch, weather, news, compass, internet, and that's just the short list." "All available through Central," Ken pointed out, glaring at the plain silver adornment. "All carefully routed and bounced around the world in nano seconds before they connect to you. Or me, or even this town. I do not want Central, or Morgan, finding me any more than you do." Ken frowned. "Whose side are you on?" "Fact is, Central is as much a myth as any god ever was. Where is it? Who is it?" Dean met Ken's astonished look with steadfast surety. "How do we know there is anyone there? That it isn't just a dusty network of old computers whirring away in the dark. Or maybe there is someone monitoring it all. I have no way of knowing that my brother, after all this time unchecked, isn't, himself, at the very heart of Central Core. How easy would it be for him to gain access to everything he wants if he was? I'm not taking any chances."
Myst touched the totem at his throat. "The earth. Central wants to control her, or at least harness her power, and Morgan wants to rule her. She should be freed to grow and change as necessary." "And what if that wipes us all into the ocean, into space, into dust?" Ken asked. "We are Ageless. We go with grace where our Mother leads." "Do you really think it's that simple?" Ken watched the delicate touch of Myst's fingers tracing over the ridges and valleys of his little totem. It sounded too much like Fundamentalism. Just another way to say apathy and admit the fight to survive was too hard. "Yes. I do." An angelic smile curved his lips. "Don't you?" Ken swallowed hard as Myst leaned close and brushed a sweet kiss over his lips. "I have no idea what to think any more." "Beloved, stop confusing the boy." "Just distracting him." "From wha—Oh! Fuck!" Biting pain cut into Ken's wrist and he had to look and check his hand hadn't been severed. "It will pass." "Or I will." Ken's head spun and he lowered it to the table. How there was no blood pouring from his wrist, he had no idea. "The implants aren't really big enough to make you bleed. Once they break the skin, they exude an enzyme to heal it. The pain comes from the bio‐feeds growing through your muscle to enter the bloodstream. Like any other part of your body, the mod needs sustenance to survive and do its job. They get that the same way your heart and lungs and brain do." That only made Ken's nausea worse. "Really," Dean went on, "mods don't require much in the way of medical know how any more, and that's their biggest drawback. Too many people use them like accessories. Party favours without thought to the consequences or what kind of compromises they are making by using them. And they don't come out with the same ease that they went in." Ken dragged his head up and stared at his new bracelet. A delicate tracery of carvings covered its surface. He frowned, unsure if they were changing as he watched, or if that was his imagination. "But you will take them out." The malleable silver changed and moulded as he watched, forming itself to his wrist in a cuff that covered a third of his forearm, the palm of his hand and snuck up the back toward his knuckles. It moved with him, like a tight second skin. As it flowed over his skin, he could feel it taking root, deep in his muscles. On the surface, the silver settled into a carved, stylized depictions of the Battery itself, of the island on which it stood, whips, chains, remnant of the abuse he'd left behind. A set of slanted eyes formed, and Ken knew they would be green if they had colour, and finally, over the pulse point in his wrist, a male form he knew as well as he knew his own body. His whole life, carved in silver, the good, the bad the ugly, and Mikko, in all his naked glory, guarding the very beat of his heart. "We'll see," Dean said, watching the silver pick out the highlights of Ken's past. "Not something you have to worry about right now."
"I felt the same, at first." Myst touched his hand, drawing Ken's attention. He peeled back the long sleeve of his t‐shirt. Revealed was a similar cuff, though his was embedded with tiny gems that made it glitter. "I never noticed that before." Ken peered at the embellished mod as Myst held it up for him to see. It surprised him to see much the same sort of history depicted over most of Myst's cuff as had appeared on his own. Apparently, the little imp had suffered under some horrific men in his life. "You'll see." Myst gazed at his mod, ran a finger over its surface. "As you learn to use it, it becomes so much a part of you. Eventually, you'll understand how to hide it." He looked up and met Ken's gaze, his eyes luminous and wide. "It tells everything about me, doesn't it? Some shit I don't want just anyone to know. Lots of people wear them like trophies, right up their arm, a map to every intimate detail." He hugged his wrist to his chest. "This is mine. Only people I trust get to know." Ken wasn't sure how to respond to that. "We can sit here all day and talk about mods," Dean said, reaching into his pack and bringing out a small velvet bag. "The important thing to remember is that the more elaborate and integrated a mod seems to be on a person, the older that Ageless is. And probably, you can count on them being strong and well versed in the use of their abilities. If you don't see any mods at all, don't assume they aren't there. And if they look like borg, they're probably Young. That doesn't mean they aren't dangerous. I've learned that the more the Young modify themselves, the further they get from their humanity. If we represent the ultimate humanity is capable of, they are the balance of that. Some believe machines and technology will save them. They don't see what they are losing in the process." "Borg?" Ken frowned. "More machine than human," Myst explained. "Dean forgets not everyone is as into old sci‐fi or television, the way he is." "Oh." Dean snorted. "Just because he was an idealist doesn't mean ol' Gene didn't know what he was talking about." "Who?" Ken glanced from one to the other of them. "Gene Rodenberry?" Dean's brows crowded down over his eyes, but Ken could only shake his head in confusion. "You sure you're almost 100 years old?" Myst asked. Dean just shook his head sadly. "Never mind." He pushed the velvet bag he had retrieved across the table "One more important item to take care of." Myst seemed to shrink back and Dean's eyes flicked in his direction. "What?" The little man's reaction made Ken nervous, considering the pain of the nano‐ bot injection and the implanting of the wrist mod. Dean pulled something out of the bag and held it up. "This." If Ken had been dizzy before, now he was sure he was going to spew again. "A collar?" "The illusion must be complete, mustn't it?"
"No." Ken pushed his chair back from the table. "No. That's...Mikko hasn't even given me that. No." "Don't argue," Myst whispered. "Don't argue?" Ken rose. "Don't argue? Fuck you both! This is not negotiable. I won't wear another man's collar any more than I'd wear his wedding ring! Certain things have to happen between a Dom and his sub before..." he waved his hand in Dean's direction. "That! No!" "Those things can happen, Ken, if that's your requirement, but you will wear the collar." Dean had risen and advanced until Ken was backed into the refrigerator. "If it's the act you need to understand this is real, then that can be arranged." "You wouldn't." Ken could not stop the shaking that overtook him. "You don't know what I would or wouldn't do. I did warn you not to argue." "How can you require this of me?" Damning tears pricked at Ken's eyes. "How can you expect me to agree to this when I don't know you?" "I'll protect you, Ken‐ken." Ken turned his attention to Myst. The imp's big, silver eyes were was watery as his own. He didn't seem to want this any more than Ken did. "Put it on, and I'll make sure nothing ever happens you don't want," he whispered, despite his own quavering lower lip. "I promise." "You don't want this," Ken said, hoping for support from the other sub. Myst had prior claim. He could veto this. He could stop it. If Dean was any kind of loving, caring Dom, he wouldn't do something so hurtful to his own sub as to force him to share his Master's attentions. Myst glanced from him to his Master and back again. "I accept what my Master deems necessary." "That isn't the same thing as wanting it." "I trust him." "This is more than just fucked up," Ken muttered, realizing it didn't matter what anyone wanted. He was outnumbered, and circumstances were not changing any time soon. Dean smiled grimly. "At least we agree on something. Please. I understand how hard this is for you. I have no wish to hurt you or force you. I simply want to give this the best chance for success and get you home to Mikko as quickly as possible. Trust me." Ken ran a shaking hand over his shaved head and sighed. "I don't want Mikko to see it," he said at last. "It will break him." "Maybe that's—" "He is not strong enough. Not now." Ken couldn't help but glance at Myst. "I'll uncover it when we're away from the house. I'll wear it, but never where Mikko can see. That's my decision." After a long, tense minute, Dean nodded. "Very well." "Thank you." Ken bowed his head, closed his eyes and tried not to feel the hole in his heart as the collar closed about his neck. It felt like betrayal. Strangely comforting was Myst's small hand curling into his as Dean stepped back. They stood there like that, side by side, hand in hand, under Dean's appraising gaze.
"Under any other circumstances, Ken, if there was no Mikko, this sight, the idea of the two of you both...it isn't at all unappealing." Dean's voice sounded thick, heavy. It was difficult to doubt his sincerity. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Ken asked, oddly hopeful the Dom meant what he'd said. "It wasn't calculated to do anything but express my own thoughts. You are a lovely man, and in a world where I could have had you, I'd welcome the idea with an open heart. That's all." Ken frowned. How could he stay mad at the man when he was at least trying to be decent? Ken bent his neck to the inevitable. The fastening of that collar around his neck was possibly the most painful event of the past week. He didn't look up as Dean pulled the hood of Ken's sweater over his head and lead them from the house.
Chapter Fourteen Myst held his hand down the drive and opened the back door of the car for him. So this was his place; not just a sub, but decidedly low man on this totem pole. He supposed that only made sense. Dean's vehicle was a grav‐lift and Ken crawled in uncertainly. He'd never felt comfortable in the small, personal grav‐lifts. A man was meant to keep his feet on the ground. He settled his ass on the thin cushion of the seat, longing for the hungry growl of his bike, the hard metal and the wheels spinning over the earth. His earth. His element, and here he was at the mercy of Dean's. He pulled his feet back until his calves pressed against the seat edge, and leaned forward to wrap his arms around his knees. Gently, he ran his thumb over the healed brand on his palm, and felt the hard lump of stone in his jean's pocket. He fished out his totem and studied it. He remembered Myst's had formed with a curl of waves bent around and offering a perfect place to attach it to his collar. Ken's mountain was one solid mass. He wrapped his fingers around it, felt it warm to his touch, closed his eyes and told the tiny sliver of earth in his hand what he needed. When it cooled, and he looked again, it had a small hole positioned to allow him to hang it from the collar he now wore. If he had to sport Dean's collar, the man could not argue if he fixed the totem to it. He would have to wait until he found a length of chain to loop through the hole, though, so for now, he slipped it back into his pocket. "Please, Master," he heard Myst whisper and glanced out the door to see the delicate man gripping Dean's forearm with both small hands. "You are so kind‐hearted, Beloved. You know why I have to be strict about this." Dean cupped Myst's chin and bent to kiss him, deep, reassuring and masterful. Myst went up on tip‐toe, straining for more, every muscle reaching, stretching, tense. And at the same time he seemed to melt completely into the contact, turning liquid and soft to Dean's touch. Such a beautiful sight that made Ken's body react in an inexplicably carnal way. He quickly looked away, but it was too late to calm the rage of blood through his veins. Too late to stop his prick rising, and much too late to keep from the realization this was not his. He touched the collar at his neck. None of it was his. His own beloved was left behind at the tender mercies of Darian and the terrible threat of Morgan. He could only swallow the remainder of his objections and do what needed done. So he held his tongue when Myst climbed into the front seat next to Dean, leaving him alone in the back. He did manage a faint smile for Myst when the little man twisted in his seat to look at him and mouth the words I'm sorry. Ken just shook his head. There was no reason for the other man to be sorry. This was as it should be. Had the dynamic been real and not pretence, this would be his place. Above all, they had to make it seem real. All his life, Ken had played his role of submissive falsely, to gain protection, power, or oblivion. He could do it now. For Mikko. Because he was submissive didn't mean he always gave more than his body. Not all Doms earned that kind of generosity, and in Ken's experience, only very few, very special, men actually deserved the title, or his obedience.
Dean didn't spare him a glance. The vehicle started with a rumble and moment later lurched into the air. Ken couldn't help gripping the arm rests in tight fingers. It was ridiculous. The enclosing sheets of steel and plastic should feel protective. The lack of sensation as the little car glided over the ground felt wrong and left Ken disconnected, adrift. Wheels on the ground. Hadn't that always been his way? Even when he pulled a runner, he'd done it on his own two feet, under his own power. Twisting around to peer out the back window, Ken caught a last glimpse of the cheerful blue paint covering his house, the flower pots along the walk and next to the porch swing, the picket fence he'd painted pink just for fun. Already, he wanted to go home, and home was barely out of sight. They rounded the corner. The Outer Battery Road curved away ahead of them, its steep incline falling away from the safety of sanctuary. Along the side of the road, grasses and trees whipped in the wind buffeting off the ocean. The grav‐unit in the car adjusted seamlessly while the storm of change inside Ken's body left him tossed and unsettled. By the time they'd reached the St. John's airport, his stomach was rebelling and his entire body had broken out in a cold sweat. He doubted the security sweep would let him through. Automatically, his feet slowed at the entrance, he glanced up nervously, expecting the familiar sweep of red lights, the bubble of resistance as he was scanned again and again. Nothing happened. Dean, Myst, then him, they all strolled through the front door of the airport and not a single alarm sounded. Ken almost stopped cold in surprise, but Myst fell back and took his arm. "Gay nano‐bots unite!" he whispered in his usual playful voice. "I don't feel so good," Ken muttered, adjusting the weight of his bag on his shoulder. "I know." Myst rubbed a small hand over his back. "It'll pass. Just try not to puke on anyone." His nose twitched delicately. "Master still stinks." Ken couldn't help a small smile. "Don't you dare tell him I said that." Ken glanced around, searching for a rest room, just in case. Stationed along the walls at regular intervals were men standing still as statues but for the mods over their eyes that swivelled this way and that. They stood within their own bubbles of isolation as people swerved around them, giving them space without actually giving them any conscious notice. Ken wanted to hunch his shoulders in and slink past, sure they would focus in on him, stop him, fire questions at him too fast, too confusing to answer. There was hardly a public building these days without these monitors; Young dressed in something resembling the military garb Ken remembered from old movies. If they had weapons, they were never in evidence, but people avoided the guards anyway, deferred to them when avoidance was impossible. Ken watched as a small, frightened looking child approached one of the monitors. Maybe she was lost. There didn't seem to be anyone around looking for her. The monitor nodded to whatever she said to her and led her off through a heavy steel door that clanged shut behind
them. It left Ken with the unsettled feeling that if anyone was looking for that girl, they'd never find her. "Who do they answer to?" he asked, when he noticed Myst had watched the brief scene as well. Myst shrugged. "Central, maybe?" At the door they'd just come through, an alarm sounded. Red lights flashed and a swarm of monitors descended on the hapless old man who had set the security scanners off. Such a change, even in the short months since Ken himself had made those same red lights flash. No one had arrested him then, though he'd felt the scrutiny of everyone in the vicinity at the time. The man captured in the red hot glare now was obviously not Ageless, though it seemed the height of irony to call him Young. Still, it was more than a little disconcerting to see him hauled off in the grip of two monitors, through another clanging steel door, like his own people had turned on him. The others resumed their posts, backing into their little alcoves and Ken blinked and looked closer as something shining and very snake‐like slid across the floor behind the nearest monitor. The man glanced down shifted his foot and the glimmer disappeared, leaving Ken wondering if it had been his imagination. "Relax." Dean's firm hand landed on his shoulder. He glanced back to find the big man walking close behind them, one hand on each of their shoulders in a highly proprietary gesture. Myst's hand tightened around his. He felt small. Vulnerable. Queasy. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his back. He focused on placing his feet one in front of the other, walking forward steadily and without hesitation. Another hundred yards later, Dean drew them to a halt. "Beloved, take him inside. See to his needs and I will get our tickets." "Yes, Sir." Myst once again squeezed his hand and veered to the left, dragging Ken after him. They hurried into a colourful, echoing bathroom and Myst lead him to a stall. He would have gone inside and locked the door, but his companion followed close on his heels. "Uh..." It wasn't much of a protest. His stomach roiled and squirmed and he moaned. "Just get it over with," Myst said quietly, standing close enough Ken could feel his hips tight against his own bottom. His long fingers smoothed down the side of Ken's head and neck, slicking through the sheen of sweat. "Get it out, Ken‐ken. Just get it over with. The bots are still integrating with your system. It takes a while." "So why aren't you puking up your breakfast?" "Because I already had the old ones in my system. You didn't." His hand slowed and stopped, palm flattening on the back of his neck. "I threw up for a week and a half. Master was very worried." Ken's stomach clenched. "Oh shit." His stomach's rebellion won over his dignity and he fell to his knees in order to hit the bowl. When he was done, he sagged over to lean against the wall. "I hate being sick." Myst grinned down at him, but not unkindly. "Does anyone actually like it?"
Ken sighed, but a small smile fought to find his lips and he let it. "Why are you so nice to me?" Myst crouched in front of him and held out his arm. His shimmering wristband came into view. "Look at this, Ken‐ken." He waited, silver eyes serious and focused. Ken leaned away from the wall, working muscles weary from tension and throwing up, to pull himself forward. He took Myst's hand gently in his and examined the scenes on his band, turning the arm this way and that, studying the images. There was much there to tell Ken that Myst had not had a happy life. Enough of the same sorts of themes he sported on his own band. In the same place his band showed Mikko, Myst's showed Dean. Ken ran his fingertip over the perfect image. "Why are you so nice? All this...all this pain and now you have him, and you're forced to share him. Why?" "Because I trust him. I trust his love. Because you need us. He can love me and help you, even love you, and that will not diminish what he and I have, or what you have with Mikko." "I don't understand." Myst just smiled and flowed to his feet. "You will. One day, Ken‐ken, you will. Come on. Let's get you to the boarding gate." "I hate airplanes." "You can hold my hand." For once, Ken didn't balk. Once he was cleaned up, when Myst held out his hand, Ken took it. It was a connection. It was something. It grounded him, and he needed that.
Chapter Fifteen Mikko huddled on the couch and stared out at the rolling sea. Now Ken was gone, he was no longer confined to his room, but having the run of the house didn't give him much comfort. It felt empty and lifeless without his lover. It remained half‐finished, waiting, and the garden grew wild. Like him. Waiting and growing wild. "Again, Mikko?" "It's a better view." "You'll scratch this nice new floor if you keep dragging the sofa across it." Darian settled his weight on the arm of the sofa and gazed out the window. His smell permeated the space and Mikko's nose tickled. "Then leave it here. It's my sofa, and this is where I want it." Form where he sat, he could watch the sea, its ever‐changing colours and moods, through the arch of stone Ken had created. Grass and bindweed poked up at its base. At least, he thought it was bind weed. Ken wouldn't want the strangling crop in his garden. Would he? Darian shifted and the damp of the beach, sand and fur met Mikko's nose. "Why do you smell like wet dog?" To his surprise, Darian actually blushed slightly. "I was with Myra." "Oh." Mikko hunkered down, pressed the heel of his hand hard against his chest. "That's good." Somewhere in the depths he meant it. The two wolves didn't get to spend nearly enough time together, in either shape. Because of him. He was still jealous. And he didn't know of whom. Of them both just because they were still together? Or of Myra, because after what he'd seen in his own kitchen, his lover wrapped up with another man, he thought maybe Darian was all he had left. Fingers raked through his hair. "You haven't showered today." Mikko made a noise in his throat. Darian's fingers continued to caress his scalp, a gentle, soothing touch that he eventually leaned toward. "I like your hair like this, Mikko. So soft. And I can run my fingers through it." Mikko resisted the urge to pull away. Part of him wanted to rage and rail and throw lightning bolts around the room until it caught fire and the whole place burned to the ground. What was the point of this damn house at all if it—if he—wasn't enough to keep Ken here? Part of him wanted to curl over and lay his head on Darian's thick thigh and let the big man have him. It was better than nothing. Better than letting the shadows in his head take every spark of light from him. He gazed out at the light on the water, at the gentle sway of the grasses growing at the foot of Ken's arch. When he came back, Mikko would stand under that arch, with Ken and give his lover everything he'd ever wanted. The collar, the ring, his pledge, everything. "He's coming back," he whispered. Though he did give in and laid his head against Darian's leg. "Tell me he's coming back." Darian continued to stroke his hair and support him as the silence folded around them.
Chapter Sixteen "How much longer?" Ken snuggled deeper into his dark hoodie and watched the milling crowd at the gate. Myst sat beside him on the hard plastic chairs and held his hand. Dean stood on his other side, one heavy hand on his shoulder. "Not long," Myst promised, squeezing his fingers. "I hate flying." Ken's queasiness had not abated much, even after throwing up the remainder of his morning meal. He wasn't sure if he was worried about the flight, a thing he had never taken well to, or if it was still the body mods wending their way through his flesh that had his system rebelling. "There is actually no place safer these days, than an airport." Myst smiled at him. "The security might be tight, but flying is safer than even the grav‐lifts." "If you don't peg Central's radar," Ken pointed out. "And we didn't." Dean's hand on his shoulder gripped almost painfully tight. "Now shush." Ken clamped his lips shut. Around him, people milled, waiting for the boarding call. He had thought the three of them traipsing through the airport, clearly more than a group of friends by the way Myst clung to him and Dean loomed protectively over them, that they would raise eyebrows. That didn't seem to be the case. In fact, he was beginning to realize that much of society had changed from what he remembered. He'd spent the last sixty years lost to the world, ignoring it, fearing it. And it had left him behind. Around him, families waited for their flights and he was surprised how many of them defied the two parent one child model he'd known. For one thing, there were a lot more men than women. It wasn't a thing he'd normally be inclined to notice. His world had revolved around men for so long, the lack of female presence hadn't even registered. "Where are the women?" he asked, leaning close to Myst to keep his question quiet. Myst gave him a surprised look. "You really have been living under a rock, haven't you?" Ken could only shrug. "Birth rates, Ken‐ken. Only one in about seven births is female." "Why?" Myst shrugged. "Overpopulation? The earth is taking her survival into her own hands, it seems. Too many people on the earth almost wiped out all life. Maybe she's just slowing us down. If we're going to live forever, we don't need as many babies." "I suppose." Ken looked around. "But what about the Young? They don't live any longer." "No." Myst's mouth flattened into a grim line. "They don't. And it won't be long before they notice the negative birth rate, if they haven't already. They won't like not outnumbering us ten to one, but at the rate things are going, our populations will even out sooner, rather than later." "Faster if Morgan has anything to say about it," Ken muttered, suddenly seeing a far more sinister motive behind his abduction of Darian's and Myra's little girl. She might be an infant
now, but she would grow. How many others had he taken? What had Myra endured to make her prefer her wolf form so very much? "Enough speculation," Dean said firmly, pushing himself off the wall. "Come." He strode forwards, never looking back so sure was he that he would be obeyed. Not for the first time, Ken was tempted to defy him, keep his seat, refuse to just obey. Myst ran a light hand over the crown of Ken's head. "Come on, Ken‐ken." "He just expects," Ken grumbled. Myst nodded as he stood and held out his hand to Ken. "How long have you just been doing without questioning?" "Since he proved to me that I never have to worry for my safety or my well being or be afraid he won't be there for me." Myst levelled a sympathetic look on Ken. "It took a long time, Ken‐ken. Much longer than one year. Trust is hard. It slips sometimes. That's natural." "I trust Mikko," Ken spat. "What happened wasn't his fault. It wasn't. I wouldn't have fought him if I knew what was going on." "But he didn't tell you," Dean pointed out, having come back and picked up Ken's bag. He thrust the luggage at him with a scowl. "He lied to you. Kept secrets." "He did what he thought was best..." "He did what was easiest. He didn't trust you." Ken snatched his bag from the big man's hand and shouldered between them both just as the call for their flight came over the address system. "You don't know fuck all about me," he snapped. Myst gasped. Hard steel closed about his upper arm, dragging him to a halt, bruising and making him wince. "Let go!" Panic rose with bile into his throat. He twisted, but Dean's grip only got harder. "Stop it." He clenched his teeth, grated out the demand in a rough whispery voice. "Calm. Down." Dean's rumble shook his entire being. Ken flared, yanking, pitting his much smaller frame against Dean's strength. "That hurts!" Dean's lips pursed and he hauled Ken back, thrusting him against the wall beside the chair he'd just been sitting in. "Settle down before you make a spectacle of yourself." "And prove to the world you don't control every little thing? I'm a person, not your property." He heard another gasp from Myst before Dean stepped in, so close Ken could feel his rage in the fine tremors running the length of his body, see the light of his power kindling in his eyes. "I am doing this for you. To help you. A little gratitude would be in order, maybe even some co‐operation." He shook Ken, bouncing him against the painted cinderblock wall. "You put that collar on, I do own you. Act like it." He gave one last, hard shove and turned, stalking away, shoulders tight, back rigid. Ken remained where he was, shaking. Myst stood, uncertain, glancing between them, his face pale and pleading. "Beloved?" From his place in line, Dean peered at his submissive and Myst trembled with indecision.
His wide eyes went wider, his pale face whiter. "Ken‐ken, please..." Ken clawed at the offending collar. Myst shook his head a tiny, almost invisible movement. "Myst!" Dean's voice cracked through the quiet terminal. Heads turned. Myst jolted, whirled and hurried to Dean's side. Dean's hand clamped around the back of his slim neck. He bent his head and followed docilely, without another glance for Ken. They would leave him behind. Myst would be nice to him only as far as Dean would allow. He was so soul‐bound to the big Dom, he would never defy him. Ken swallowed hard. He could turn around now, go back to Mikko. They could figure it out together. With no idea where Morgan was or how soon he would strike again, no idea what he really wanted or what he would do to get it. And the certainty he would manipulate Mikko with every ounce of strength he had. Ken could not bear to see the pain on Mikko's face he had seen there after the attack. "Fuck!" Ken grabbed up his bag and jogged to the line, falling in behind Myst. The line plodded ahead, oblivious to his turmoil. ~* * *~ The plane ride was comfortable. Three hours and no layovers later, they were deplaning, and Myst was right about one thing. It was cold. They hurried through customs with not even a blink or beep from the scanners or the people guarding them. Dean whisked them past the shops without slowing, until they stood in the airport lobby. "Here." He handed Ken the cat carrier. "There is a washroom there." He pointed down a nearby hallway. "You can both go in there and change. I want you out of those sloppy clothes and into the clothes we've provided." Ken glanced between Dean and Myst. The diminutive man looked so miserable, and so pleading, he didn't have the heart to argue. He took the carrier and followed Myst placidly into the restroom. "Mikko went to all the trouble of packing my things," Ken said sadly, setting his bag down on the wide counter. "You can wear your own clothes at home. Master demands a certain...flair when he takes his property out." "Is that what you are to him? Property?" "You're the one who used that word, Ken‐ken," Myst replied, his voice subdued, as he had been since they'd got on the plane. "I'm sorry, Myst—" The imp shook his head. "You don't have to be sorry. I forgot." "Forgot? Forgot what?" "What it was like. I've been with Master a long time. I've had years to learn him, to understand him. To trust him. I know he loves me. I know he has a big heart and he cares about you, too. And Darian and Myra and Mikko." He lifted his gaze to meet Ken's and his eyes were that luminous, shining gray again. "I know he cares especially for you because you remind him of me. Of all the others he couldn't save. He gets possessive and commanding.
Most people don't understand he does it because he cares. Because he's very good at seeing what you need, even if you don't see it." "I don't need him bossing me about like I'm a little kid. Like what I want and care about don't matter." He ran a hand over his shaved head. "Things matter." "And hair grows back." Myst reached up and touched his stubble, too. "We have one chance to get this right. If we fail, Morgan will know we know everything, and Mikko will be lost to you forever. Dean sees that happening. He has a skill to see so many outcomes we can't. He sees what path he needs to take to prevent the outcomes that will hurt the people he cares about most. He will sacrifice so much to keep you from experiencing what he did. He lost everything. He had to rebuild his life knowing what he did, what he lost he lost because he destroyed it. He had to start, not just from scratch, but from the depths of a black hole we can only ever try to imagine. He clawed his way up, and he did it. And he helped me to do the same. He will sacrifice himself, me, anything he has to just to not feel as though he failed again." For the first time since he'd met the imp, Ken saw a fierceness, a determination in Myst's gaze that he couldn't look away. "I won't let him. Not for Mikko, or the wolves, or you. Not for anyone." Ken found himself nodding. He could understand what Myst was saying. At the same time, it was a disappointment, knowing the little man was only being nice to him because it was expedient. Myst let out a little sigh that lifted his slim shoulders and dropped them down again. "Really, Ken‐ken, you should have more faith in people. In yourself." "What?" Myst smiled. "I can see it in your eyes. It's not a magic trick, or mind reading. It's all over you. You don't think anyone could possibly love you for you." He shook his head and turned back to business. Unbuttoning his jeans and slipping his boots off, he sounded completely exasperated as he continued to speak. "While all that uncertainty can be adorable, it can also be very limiting. You've been isolated for so long. And then you had only Mikko. Let people love you. It doesn't hurt, you know." Ken snorted. "Says you." Myst stopped, hands gripping the hem of his t‐shirt, to look at him. "Real love, Ken‐ken. Not desperate clinging to something you don't understand but the real deal. Like with Mikko. Do you really think you can only have that with one person?" Ken frowned at him. So used was he to men who would not share, for whom possession was more important than love, the concept that he could find peace any other way was alien. And Mikko obviously felt the same way, otherwise, why would he be so hurt at the sight of Ken with Myst's arm around his waist? Why jump to the conclusion Ken could so easily cast him aside? "You didn't see his face." Ken dropped his head, glaring at the blurring surface of the marble countertop. "You didn't...he thinks I betrayed him. Maybe you..." he swallowed the lump forming and turned his glare to Myst. "Maybe you can spread yourself over whoever your Master deems useful or expedient. It doesn't work that way for everyone."
"I'm sorry. I know this is hard." Myst touched his arm, fingers light and tentative. "I wish there had been another way to do that. But he has to think you've moved on. He has to be vulnerable enough to let Morgan in, to be a distraction so we can get close enough. I know you never wanted to hurt him, and I'm sorry we had to do that." There was a momentary pause. "And I did see his face. I can't imagine what he's going through, but the best way to fix it is to get this done, right? To listen to Master, do as he says, and let him lead us. Morgan is his twin. No one knows him better." Ken nodded and let out a tiny sigh. It took a few hard blinks to get the sting out of his eyes. "Right." Pulling himself up straight, Ken gazed at himself in the mirror. "So. What am I supposed to do now?" "Here." Myst hauled his back pack up and plopped it on the counter. I've brought some clothes for you. Stuff Master would have his submissives wear. You are his, now. For the time being, it has to appear in every way that you have left Mikko and belong to Master." "You don't wear enough clothes," Ken pointed out. "Well." Myst grinned. "I am flashy, it's true. Master wouldn't have you show off so much. You're new. He will have you wear much more modest attire. But not sloppy." Myst tilted his head and appraised Ken's current look of baggy jeans, a loose t‐shirt and the soft, fleecy hoody Mikko had gifted him with, for working in the garden. "This is a good look for bumming around the house, I suppose." He shrugged. "If you like covering up every inch of everything..." "And what if I do?" Ken shot back. He'd had plenty of men who liked to show him off. He knew he wasn't unattractive. He'd even had men who liked to show off his scars, liked to give him more and show those off too. And he'd let them. It had seemed...reasonable at the time. It made him shudder in revulsion, now. "Master likes us to put our best face forward. He is not interested in putting you on display, simply in making sure all your potential shines through, and it isn't for anyone's benefit but your own. If you walk around hiding yourself under," he waved his hands up and down in front of Ken, "this, even you begin to lose sight of your own possibilities." "Mikko never once dictated what I should wear." "But did he ever comment? Ever ask that you come to the table in clothes not stained from the garden or make approving sounds when you appeared in something he thought flattered you?" "Of course." "Every Master has his own method, Ken‐ken. This is just our Master's way of cutting through the bullshit and getting you to look the part he wants you to feel." Ken turned back to his reflection. Myst didn't seem to be making the distinction any more between Ken's temporary status in his and Dean's life, and his permanent place at Mikko's side. "Perhaps letting this realization flow more organically worked when Mikko thought you had all the time in the world, but you don't any more. The longer you're away from him, the harder it's going to be for him to fight. The more he'll be forced to rely on Darian. Don't lose everything because you hesitated."
That was logic Ken could understand. He nodded. "Okay. But I'm keeping this." He laid a hand on the bag Mikko had given him and closed his fingers tight around it. "Even if I never need what's inside it, I'm keeping it." "Fair enough." Myst flashed him a tight, sharp smile. "I'll make sure that happens." He nodded to his own bag. "Pick something nice." Then he resumed his own undressing and before Ken could turn away, he had dropped his pants and hauled off his shirt. "Come on. We're in a hurry." "Yes." Ken tore his gaze away from the imp's shining pale skin and lithely formed limbs. There was no denying he was perfectly proportioned and the scars he carried didn't detract from his beauty. He knew exactly what he had, and how to use it. He wasn't ashamed of his body or the story it told. Quickly, Ken stripped to his boxers. "Before you dress, I need you to do something for me." Myst reached past him and pulled out a spray bottle which he held up. "Spray dye. When I change, can you dye my fur, please?" Ken frowned. "Why? Your fur is gorgeous." "And distinctive." Myst's lips pulled into a tight line and his eyes hardened. "Too many people in this city would try to...I just need to not look like myself. So dye and..." the sharpness left his face as he reached for his collar. "I need you to look after this for me." "You can't take that off." "He knows. It was His idea. I'm to be your cat, for the time being. I won't be wearing His collar." Ken's gut twisted. He wondered if the look on Myst's face was anything like the one he'd worn when Dean had insisted he done a collar that was not Mikko's. "Yes, you will." He pursed his lips, but the decision was already made. Taking Myst's collar, he set it down, removed his own and pulled his stone from his jeans pocket. A moment was all it required to fasten the stone to a ring on the collar. He fastened it around Myst's neck. "There." "Master will—" "I'll deal with that." Ken cupped the smaller man's pale cheek. "Master is not the only one who would give up too much to help a friend." This time, when Myst's eyes welled, the tears spilled over. Ken couldn't help the urge to lean close and kiss them away, both hands cradling Myst's damp face. When Myst's lips found his, he didn't pull away. It was soft, chaste, almost, and yet still full of promise and comfort for both of them. Ken felt his companion relax, felt that peace steal into his own soul. For the first time since Darian had appeared at their door, he felt the warmth of true calm spread through him. His eyes fluttered closed as the kiss ended and they stood very still, foreheads touching, breath mingling. "It's going to be okay," he whispered. Myst nodded, not moving out of his grasp. "Master is waiting." Ken licked his lips, tasting the sweetness of Myst's trust and hope. "Master is waiting." The words, once spoken, didn't grind his soul to dust. The title, once given, shored up a foundation that he hadn't noticed had started to crumble.
After that, Myst's transformation and the time it took to spray his silky, beautiful fur a dingy brown and matt it together slightly with a bit of hair gel was negligible. Ken dressed quickly in a pair of snug, fashionable jeans he found in Myst's pack, exchanged his sneakers for warm, lined boots of brown leather, and donned a chocolate‐coloured button down shirt in a shimmering material that clung close and felt like sin on his skin. Myst sat on the counter and purred at him as he examined the effect in the mirror. "You think?" Ken asked, studying the way the shirt flowed with his movement and seemed to bring out the deep brown of his eyes. He sighed. "I suppose Master will be pleased." "Very." Dean's deep voice resonated through the empty room. His big hands rested on Ken's shoulders, fingers warm as he squeezed slightly. "You're a beautiful man." "Thank you." Ken shifted his weight, aware of Dean's nearness, the heat of his body, and the way his touch poured silky calmness through Ken's body. "It's a shame I can't really have you." He lent and kissed the top of Ken's head. "Not yet." Ken's eyes went wide. The fleeting thought that he should rip himself free of this man's grip wheeled through his head. Then Myst bumped against his slack hand and he looked down. The ugly little cat was purring, rubbing his head against Ken's knuckles and gazing up at him. It was like he was begging, in a very non‐feline‐like fashion, for him not to panic, not to run. Dean's hands distracted Ken from Myst's insistent rubbing. One of the big Don's fingers smoothed over Ken's bare throat. One of his dark eyebrows rose and his face hardened. Ken swallowed hard. "I—" Myst rose up, planting small paws on Ken's chest, meowing at their Master over Ken's shoulder. The collar Ken had fastened on him hung at an odd angle over his furry shoulder, far too big to fit around the tiny feline neck. Dean reached his other hand and lifted the mountain‐shaped stone with one finger. "I see." "Do you?" Ken asked, wary, nervous. "I do." Once again, Dean pressed lips to Ken's shaved head. "I'm trusting you to protect him. I won't be able to be with you every minute, but you must be with him. Some in this city will go to great lengths to take him from me. I would hope they think he's not even here, that I've replaced him." His sharp gaze turned to the cat and he leaned, pressing his chest to Ken's back so he could reach to give the tiny creature a kiss on his mussed, furry head. He cupped a hand under Myst's pointed little chin. "Share, perhaps, Beloved," he addressed the cat, "Never replace." Myst rubbed himself over Dean's hand, purring all the louder and gyrating in a frenzy for contact. After a few moments of this, Dean pulled reluctantly away and picked up Myst's collar. He ran the worn leather through his fingers before dropping it against Ken's clavicle and fastening it into place. "It's a perfect disguise, really." His hand remained on the collar, resting on the back of Ken's neck. His eyes remained troubled.
"I'll take care of him," Ken promised. "I'll do whatever you need me to do to keep him safe." He met Dean's eyes in the mirror. "To end this. I want to go home. I want us all to go home." Dean nodded, planted a final, soft kiss and picked up Myst's bag from the counter. "Come."
Chapter Seventeen "I've been looking everywhere for you." Darian's voice barely registered. Mikko remained where he was, curled with his knees up, back firmly pressed to Ken's stone arch. "Come inside and eat." Darian touched his hair, sliding his fingers through the soft strands. "Lunch is ready." "More sandwiches?" Mikko glanced up at him. The big man was looking out to sea, his eyes focused on something far off on the horizon. Or maybe, focused on something inside his own head. "I could cook, if you prefer," Darian replied, not looking down at him. Mikko turned up his nose. "Please don't." "Or you could. I'm a wolf, remember? I don't need to do anything but hunt." Mikko shivered. "Please don't," he said more quietly. Darian crouched next to him, turned him, peeling his attention away from the horizon to look into Mikko's eyes. "It's who I am." "I know." "Do I disgust you that much?" Mikko lifted a hand, dragging his limbs through the lethargy that overwhelmed him most days, and touched Darian's face. "You don't disgust me." He ran his fingers down one craggy cheek. "So different, though. So rough." Darian was a big man. While Mikko was tall, he was slender. Even more so since his ordeal began and eating had become so problematic. When Darian wrapped his fingers around Mikko's wrist, they engulfed it, and held firm. Darian turned his head, touched his lips to Mikko's palm. It wasn't a kiss. Quite. But it was connection. Unexpectedly, darkness flared. Mikko winced, his head throbbing with the sudden swell of anger and revulsion that wasn't his. "Don't!" The tiny squeak of sound got lost in the front of Darian's shirt as Mikko tumbled forward, seeking escape from the rage. It didn't even sound like his own voice. The dark only flared stronger, edged in red flames and heat that burned through him. He gripped with his free hand, fingers turning claw‐like, scraping skin and drawing forth the scent of Darian's blood. "It's okay," Darian wrapped his other arm around Mikko. He could feel the contact, wanted it to mean something, but all he knew were the flames and the heat and the blackness overtaking his mind. "I'm here." Darian lifted his chin, fingers painfully tight in their grip. The pain registered through the boiling shadows. Darian's face, grim and determined, came into focus for an instant, and Mikko reached, lunging up, searching out contact of any kind with something outside the terror in his head. He was drowning in Morgan's flaming emotions, and Darian was his life raft. He hung on. Lips contacted lips. Heat rose in Mikko's body to combat the unnatural surge in his head. He scrabbled at Darian's clothes, seeking warm flesh and contact with living, breathing passion. He lost himself in the touching, in the straining, coming back only when Darian
forced his attention to the pain he caused. He focused on it, on his partner's rough touch. It was a grim, almost silent battle that had little to do with pleasure and everything to do with hanging onto himself. That didn't stop his body reacting to what Darian was doing. They had long ago discovered nothing cut through the thick blanket Morgan tried to smoother Mikko with than the visceral sensations of rough sex. Mikko couldn't ignore his body's craving for release and Darian knew every trick that would haul him up to that pinnacle of need in a hurry. The physical sensations of Darian's hands and tongue, his teeth digging into sensitive flesh, became the only sensations that mattered. The darkness became less scary, less important. Mikko wanted touch, wanted the crazy, wild climb Darian knew how to give him. Gradually, they pushed the blackness back. Forced behind the barriers in the corner of Mikko's mind, it continued to roil and turn over on itself. But it couldn't touch him. Not with his mind fully engaged in what Darian was doing. His strong hands eased their painful grip, one on Mikko's wrist and the other clamping his hip down on the rocky ground. He was a mountainous weight on top of Mikko, hips grinding, mouth working, breath fanning hot over his face every time he paused to look at him. Finally, on one such pause, Mikko found he could look back, see into Darian's eyes, the lust and fear and worry, and know they'd won. It didn't stop him straining against the bigger man, knowing he was close, they both were, and he barely remembered the journey to this apex. "Hurts," he panted, squirming to find a position that the rock didn't gouge into his back. Darian eased his weight off and Mikko whimpered at the loss of friction and warmth. "Don't worry, Baby." Darian trailed a pattern of rough kisses over the side of Mikko's face and neck as his hand moved from Mikko's hip to the opening of his jeans. "I'll get you there. Don't I always?" Mikko sighed, hips jerking into the touch of skin on aching, ready cock and he nodded, head bumping against stone. "Do it...need..." "I know what you need." And he did. Mere seconds and a few hard pulls passed between his first warm, gentle touch and Mikko coming all over both of them. A guttural, almost animal groan escaped as release undid all the tension and tightness in his body. He fell back, limp, to find Darian's arm supporting him, keeping his head from impacting the hard ground. He closed his eyes, dreading what came next. When he opened them after a long few moments of silence, it was to see Darian gazing down at him, licking cum off his fingers, a thoughtful expression in his deep eyes. "I know." Mikko struggled to a half‐sitting position and licked his lips. "Payback." "No." Darian touched his face, feathering softness down his cheek and over his lips. "No. Things are different now. There's Ken. And Myra." He studied Mikko, looking into him. "Is he gone?" Mikko hesitated, loath to even think about the haunting, ugly presence in his head, lest that give Morgan power enough to push forward again. "I think so." "He's strong."
Mikko nodded. "Always there." He flopped back, once again resting his head on Darian's arm. "Whispering. Until it gets so black..." He turned his gaze from the sea to Darian. "What do you see?" Darian's Adam's apple worked hard for a few heartbeats. "Ken's colours on you fading," He said at last, slowly, his voice sad. "Hang onto him." "He...and Myst" But he could hardly complain about that now, could he? "We don't know. You have to try and have faith." Mikko nodded. But it was hard. The image of Ken in their kitchen, his arm around that little devil of— "Shhh." Darian rolled slightly, touching his lips to Mikko's. "Don't listen to your head." He rested his huge hand on Mikko's chest. "Listen to your heart. Morgan cannot touch what you know in here. You have to let this rule you now." "You'll do my thinking for me?" Amusement tweaked Darian's eyes and turned up his full lips. "If that's what it takes. It's why I'm here. To protect you." "And who protects you?" A soft shuffling sound interrupted them and a warm body settled close to Mikko's other side. "I do." Myra's lithe fingers stroked through Mikko's hair. "Believe it or not, we do want you to come through this whole, Mikko. We care about you." "After everything I did to you both?" he looked up at her. Her delicate face was framed by the clear blue of the early summer sun and her eyes, still yellow, like those of her wolf, shone down, twin suns lighting his grey world. "You brought us together," she reminded him. "Hardly under favourable circumstances." "You saved Darian's life and you are helping us get our child back. We will defeat Morgan. All of us together." "He doesn't like that you are no longer his creatures." Mikko knew that was part of the struggle in his head. Morgan was angry at his loss. Darian had been one of his greatest agents and would be a bitter enemy. If he could win out over Mikko's mind, both Darian and Myra would be in very real danger. She smiled, a feral, dangerous expression that set fire to her golden eyes. "Good." "Myra." Darian's voice, when he said his mate's name, was gruff, dark with lust and need Mikko hadn't sated. "Go eat," Myra told Mikko, her gaze captivated by her mate's hungry look. Mikko didn't even bother to respond. Neither of them would hear him anyway. He slipped from between them and hurried into the house, using his stripped off t‐shirt to mop up the mess of his orgasm. He grabbed half the sandwich sitting on the kitchen table and shut himself in the shower where the wolves howling outside could only be heard dimly. He pushed thoughts of what Darian didn't want from him anymore out of his head. He pushed thoughts of Ken out of his head. There was no room in him for doubts, but he didn't have a lot else to call on.
"Unless you just stop feeling sorry for yourself and get off your ass." He didn't need everyone else to fight this battle for him. Hadn't Myra said they were in it together? Well, so far everyone except him had been doing all the work. He knew how to find people. That was his specialty. There was no rule that said he could only find the people Morgan wanted. He could find Jillian. A daughter of two such powerful Ageless as Myra and Darian had to be on his radar somewhere. He was just out of practice. Renewed, clean and in control once more, Mikko dried off, dressed and headed for his office. He had work to do.
Chapter Eighteen Ken realized as soon as he stepped outside the airport where they were. Reykjavík. It was arguably the hub of a world gone mad, situated as it was in the arctic no‐man's‐land where people couldn't get at it, and the world's disasters didn't seem to touch it. Why the melting icecaps hadn't swamped it was anyone's guess, but here it still stood, 100 years later, a monument to what man could build and preserve, when they did it right. It was an odd mixture of box‐like geometry in crayola colours set against the natural beauty of cold and ice. Ken had been here before, but it never failed to amaze him how so much warmth and life could radiate from such linear, plain buildings. Only the church, still standing after nearly 150 years, had any architectural interest. Its imposing height towered over the rest of the city, the first thing to come into view on the ride from the airport. It alone, with its fantastic architecture, made up for the rest of the city's lack of imagination. Since there was no church to speak of any more, this imposing building no longer functioned as a place of worship. In fact, no one knew quite what the building housed now. Once, the elevator and its operators had charged exorbitant prices to bring tourists to the top of that tower to look out over the city and snap pictures of the quaint rows of houses below. These days, there was no such thing as tourism. People lived. Survived. The ones that were lucky enough not to have to eke their living out of the ground tended to remain safely close to home. Just exactly what Ken would have rather done. Hefting the cat carrier with its precious cargo and plodding docile and outwardly calm under the heavy weight of Dean's hand on the back of his neck, Ken pushed thoughts of home out of his head. This was where he was, and he a job to do. He'd promised Darian he would bring his little girl home. He'd agreed to keep Myst safe. He was best to concentrate on that and not pine after what he couldn't have. Dean's fingers twitched on the back of his neck, a soft caress over new stubble that sent goose bumps down Ken's spine. "We will check in, and then I have work to do. I've not been home in some time. There will already be those who demand my explanations and attention." "And what will I do?" "You'll keep your head about you. Keep my Beloved safe." Dean's fingers moved again on his neck. "I am not going to let this take long, Ken. I truly feel my brother has not strayed far from the nest after all." "How do you know?" "There is a vibration on the air. He's here." Fingers tightened almost to bruising force. "I can feel him." "Then why are we waiting? If he's here why not just—" "Because if he is where I think he is, doing what I think he is doing, taking him out will not stop the war he is trying to start. It will only speed it up and many innocent people will suffer. I won't let that happen." "So..." Ken's shock stopped him in his tracks. "What do we do?"
Dean soothed him with a few strokes of his calloused fingers travelling further down his neck and along his jaw. "We plan. We make sure when we do find him, we get to the very root of his power and destroy that, too. And we have a back‐up plan and contingencies." "How?" The pressure of Dean's had finally encouraged Ken to move again and Dean led him to a grav‐lift, shooed him inside and slipped in next to him. "Carefully." "That isn't an answer," Ken mumbled. Inside his crate, Myst mewled and poked his wet nose against Ken's fingers. The hotel Dean programmed into the grav‐lift's computer was a posh one. Far better accommodations than Ken had ever enjoyed. Perhaps people treated them like royalty because Dean was. Ken eyed him across the space of inches that separated them and realized he really didn't know anything about this man. Scanning back in his memory, he couldn't recall any scandals surrounding important families that had happened in his lifetime. Because he didn't recall didn't mean it hadn't happened. Maybe it hadn't been splashed over the news. Maybe it had got lost in the tragedy that was the world ending. Maybe it had remained a private affair. Or perhaps Dean's elevated status and accumulated wealth had only happened after his personal devastation. Or that personal crisis had never happened in the first place. The hotel was as grand as Ken expected. Reykjavík had maintained its wealth were many cities had not. It was a hub, a safe haven and a place for those with the means to reach it to keep themselves apart from the masses. Ken had only been there once, on the arm of a man who hadn't managed to avoid his enemies, and he'd been unable to afford staying after his meal ticket's demise. He hadn't missed the city. It was as cruel in its own way as any mean street in any ghetto in which he'd ever found himself. "There are two rooms," Dean informed him as he pressed his hand against the door scanner. The door swung silently inward. Ken followed on Dean's heals. "How will Myst get in and out? He didn't have his hand scanned." "He doesn't leave this suite. There," Dean pointed to a door off the main room, "your room." He dropped Ken's luggage near the bedroom door but didn't slow as he made his way to the other closed door across the living room. Ken was left standing alone in the main room, cat crate in hand and Myst's pack on his back, watching the door to Dean's room close with a soft but definitive click. "Now what?" The box in his hands clunked against his shins. Soft mewling reached through his stunned silence and pulled him back to awareness. Myst scratched at his bars and yowled at him. "All right, all right." Ken set the crate down, flipped open the door and Myst pranced out. He stretched, front then back, tail up and little cat butt in Ken's direction. Pointed jaws stretched in a toothy yawn, he shuddered and a moment later, he stood on two feet in all his pale‐skinned glory in front of Ken. "Took you long enough," he grumbled.
"Your hair." Ken couldn't stop himself reaching and running his fingers through dull brown strands. "You dyed it, remember?" Myst twitched his head away. "I thought..." "I'm a cat, sometimes, but I'm still me." "Myst?" "Where's my bag?" "Oh!" Ken hurriedly shucked the pack from his back and handed it to Myst who took it and retreated into Ken's bedroom, closing the door behind him. Once again, Ken was left standing in the living room wondering what to do with himself. It wasn't the last time he wondered. The following weeks passed with agonizing slowness. Ken was tasked with shopping for food he could prepare in the small kitchen of their suite and thereafter making their meals. Myst lounged, more often in his feline form that not. Dean kept himself locked in his room or intent on his holo‐screen, eating when prodded and speaking little. ~* * *~ Every evening, Ken watched Myst transform himself and kneel beside Dean's chair. He'd sit, occasionally leaning his cheek against his master's thigh. Dean might stroke his hair or trail a hand over his shoulder, but it was distracted contact rarely accompanied by even so much as a glance in the imp's direction. Myst would stay until he couldn't keep his eyes open, then he would shift back to fur and join Ken in his bed, curled tightly against his chest, a tiny ball of quiet misery. As much as Ken stroked the mud‐coloured fur, he never coaxed forth even a half‐hearted purr. Half a life of abuse had hardened Ken. His pain threshold was higher than most. But seeing his small friend hurting fuelled old anger. Neglect was one thing he could not abide. Behind closed doors, he didn't care that Dean was not really acting like his Dom. But the man was Myst's Dom. He was Myst's whole reason for being, and his distraction was a snub to the loyalty Myst had shown him every moment of this drawn out wait. It was a harsh reminder of how Ken had lost Mikko that first time. "I wish I could make it better," he told the cat one night. They both lay awake, Myst snuggled up right under his chin. "It isn't right, the way he treats you," Ken continued. He plied his fingers through Myst's soft fur, dragged his cheek along the tiny cat's back. "However important what he's doing is, his first priority should be you." For the first time in weeks, Myst responded, flicking his rough tongue out and passing it over the very tip of Ken's chin. "I don't like seeing you look so sad," Ken admitted. Myst purred. "I know how that feels. When Mikko first fell under Morgan's spell, I felt it. He wasn't my Dom then. Just my boyfriend. But he slipped away. A little at a time. All I could do was watch. He didn't want to share what he was doing. He'd said it was too dangerous. I think it was Morgan, even then, getting into his head and making him want to keep things to himself."
Myst rubbed the hard pan of his head against Ken's chin, encouraging him to keep speaking. Strange how it helped, finally telling someone of the loss. "I got clingy, I guess. Frightened. I'd already spent a lot of time hiding. I'd never heard of Ageless or anything until Mikko explained it all. I knew there were others like me, others who didn't age. None of them understood it, either. I kept to myself, or to guys who would have me. I grew up in the street, and I pretty much stayed there my whole life. Until Mikko. Then Yanny." Myst's constant purring stopped. "Guess you don't know about him. I was in love with him. So hard in love. It was insane, how we were. Crazy and bright and...he was the sun. Everything grew inside that bubble. My whole life. I thought it was heaven, what we had, where we were. I thought—we thought— we'd last forever." Ken shook his head. Even now, after everything, knowing his place was by Mikko's side, knowing he would never go back, it hurt to think about. "But every bubble bursts. That's when I called Mikko again and he came, Myst. He came back to me." Myst's tail switched, slapping against Ken's bare chest with a fluffy thump. "Maybe you know how that is." Ken resumed stroking along Myst's back. "That peace, knowing you found your place. That's how it is with Mikko now. I know he didn't mean to leave, and he tried to make up for it, tried to find me. I was angry. I didn't want to be found. Well. Until I did. Until I needed him so bad I couldn't hide it even from myself." Ken buried his face in Myst's fur. "Don't let that happen, Lovely. It's too much hurt and pain. No matter what else you've been through, being alone like that is pure hell." There was nothing else he could say, really. He'd made the clearest offer he could. Even if this relationship really was everything on the inside it was supposed to seem on the outside— which it wasn't—he didn't have the right to offer more. Myst belonged to Dean, heart and soul, whether the Dom deserved such loyalty or not. And Ken belonged to Mikko. Sometimes, as Myst had told him weeks and weeks ago, though, they were the ones who had to be strong and carry the weight. He hadn't thought he could, at the time. Now he knew, for Myst's sake, he didn't have a choice. Eventually, they slept, curled around each other just to have some contact. The next day looked much like all the others before it. Ken made breakfast, Myst sat at the table with him, though he wore something more like the outfits he'd first appeared in, and not the head‐to‐toe black he'd been wearing since their arrival in Reykjavík. This one was icy white and shimmering, like sun on snow, and scarcely concealed his shapely bottom. It left his mid‐riff bare and left nothing that it did cover to the imagination. "You look nice." And despite the unflattering brown wash of bangs across his forehead, he did. More like himself. Ken felt a flush of heat rise up his neck and he turned back to the bacon sizzling in the pan. One thing he'd learned about their little imp, he liked his share of meat, the little carnivore. "Thank you." Ken nodded, plying his tongs and flipping bacon, concentrating on what he was doing and not on the enticing picture of need standing in the doorway.
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," Myst said. His voice was low, tentative, like a breeze playing across the snow outside. "You're not." "And you're a lousy liar." "Always have been," Ken admitted. He looked up. "But this is your home, not mine." "It's a hotel room." Ken lifted a shoulder. "Isn't home where your heart is?" Myst made a small sound in his throat, which brought Ken's attention away from the sizzling meal. There was an agony of indecision and worry on the small man's face, replacing his usual confidence. "What I said last night," Ken began, fearing he may have undermined everything the couple had built between them with his words, "it was about me. My situation, not yours." "I know what it was about. I'm not stupid." "He loves you." Ken's brows crunched down, narrowing his eyes and focusing his gaze on Myst. "I know he's doing all this for his own reasons. Not just to help us, and I know he brought me here as much for you as for any reason I might have had for needing to be a part of this. I suppose it's his way of looking after you when he can't do it himself." "And you want no part of that." "Not true." Ken pulled his pan off the burner and turned to face Myst. "What's true is that none of this is turning out like I thought it would. Even if we find Morgan and defeat him, I might have nothing to go back to. Do you think I don't realize that? And what does it get me to play this part with you now knowing when this is all over, I end back where I was in that miserable little house alone if Mikko doesn't—" he cut himself off, unwilling to say it out loud. Unwilling to make that possibility that real. "You have Dean. You'll always have him, and he'll have you. I'm never going to be more than the guy who cooks your meals and pets you when you feel bad." "Fuck you." Myst stalked over, grabbed up the pan and tossed it into the sink of sudsy water. Having nowhere else to go, he stomped off into Ken's room and slammed the door. The walls shook. Seconds later, Dean appeared in the kitchen, dark eyes glaring. "What happened?" "Nothing." Ken sullenly planted himself, back to the angry Dom and began fishing bacon strips out of the water. "Then it shouldn't be hard to fix," Dean said, voice deadly quiet. Ken said nothing. Dean's hand rested, a heated weight, on the back of Ken's neck. "Fix it." Ken swallowed, nodded. "Yes, Sir." Why he didn't say any of the things in his head about how Dean was screwing up, he didn't know. But the further the Dom got from the situation, the angrier it made Ken. And he could feel Dean pulling away, bit by bit, even if Myst didn't want to acknowledge it. He was mulling how to voice his concerns when Dean moved off. The big man was already shuffling through his bedroom door when Ken stopped him, an inarticulate sound of frustration barking from his throat. The Dom didn't turn or look back, but he did stop.
"You're the one he wants." Ken hated the quiver in his voice. But it had to be said. If Dean really didn't see what the constant work and the silence was doing to Myst, someone had to point it out and Myst never would. "He misses you. It's hell for him, being in the same room with you and getting nothing." Dean's back tightened. His hand on the door frame gripped harder, turning his fingertips white. "He understands." "You really think so?" "Don't question what you don't understand." "Explain it to me." "Trust." Dean moved again, shutting himself in the bedroom, the door closing and locking behind him. He never once looked back at Ken. Ken snarled. Trust in a situation that was clearly painful for all of them. Why the fuck should he? He fished the pan out of the sink and watched as the water slid off the greasy bottom, carrying the suds away with it. Pursing his lips, he cleaned up the aborted breakfast mess and instead heated some of the left over stew from the night before. Myst had seemed to enjoy the meaty broth and relished the thick chunks of beef. Maybe it would tempt him to eat now. Carrying the bowl into the bedroom, he found Myst's white outfit spread across his half‐ made bed and Myst curled into a tight brown ball on his pillow. "Myst?" The cat's ears twitched, but he didn't lift his head or open his tightly closed eyes. "I brought some stew." Nothing. He set the bowl down on the night stand and sat on the edge of the bed. When he raised a hand to pet, Myst hissed at him. "I know. I'm sorry." Myst got up, hissed again and primly turned his back, tail up. He hopped to the floor and left the room. "Fuck." Fix it. How? If Myst not only wouldn't talk to him, but wouldn't even stay in the same room with him how was he to fix anything? And how could he take back the truth? He didn't want things to be the way they were, but what point was there in pretending they were something else? Neither Dean nor Myst were in love with him. Whatever he might think he wanted from either of them, it would fade away once he had Mikko in his arms again. And wasn`t that all he wanted anyway? But Myst was hurting, and that could not be allowed to stand. He just didn't know what to do about it. And the little man wouldn't give him the chance to do anything. He left the room any time Ken attempted anything like communication. He didn't want to hear the truth, maybe. He just didn't want to be near Ken, knowing that he was a temporary substitute for what Myst couldn't have from the man who should be giving it to him. "At least let me try," he begged at last, as he sucked on a welling scratch from Myst's sharp claws. The cat stopped in the doorway to the bedroom he was again fleeing on Ken's
entering. He'd permitted Ken to almost touch him this time, only to lash out at him at the last second, raking sharp claws across the back of his hand. "I know I'm not Him, but..." Myst yowled softly and left. Frustrated, Ken didn't chase him this time. He just undressed and crawled into bed. It was late. He'd spent the entire day trying to make up. He'd done everything he could think of to apologize and Myst had turned his furry butt to him on every attempt. So be it. Ken was done trying. In the end, it didn't change the fact that sooner or later, both these men would be out of his life anyway. He didn't have the heart to watch Myst kneel at his Dom's feet and be ignored yet again. Not tonight. Yet he remained awake, acutely aware of his furry companion's absence. He almost sighed with relief when his door swung open, and he closed his eyes, not wanting to scare Myst off by seeming to be waiting up. He waited for the soft thump and the slight shift of mattress springs that would tell him the cat had joined him on the bed. After what seemed like an eternity, the bed dipped. Ken rolled forward slightly, caught himself, and the next thing he knew, a very human, very naked Myst was curling into his usual spot against Ken's chest. "Hey..." "Please." Myst's voice was soft. "Do you know what it's like? When you haven't been touched in so long..." Goose bumps crawled over Ken's flesh. That need had prompted more than one very bad scene for him. Scenes that never satisfied the way he'd hoped; just left memories that were cold, dark places in his mind. He would not be a cold dark place for Myst. He wrapped an arm around the slight form shivering against him. "I know," he whispered. "I suppose you think it makes me weak." Ken pressed his cheek against the top of Myst's head. "No. It's who you are. There's nothing wrong with that." It had, in fact, been a similar plea to Mikko, months after their reunion that had finally convinced his own lover to end their drought. What a shock to realize, once he'd said it, that Mikko had only been waiting for him to acknowledge that part of himself. "It's going to be okay," he whispered, not really sure if it was, but knowing Myst needed to hear something. Truth told, that lack of physical touch was beginning to eat at his own resolve. He wasn't made to go without. Neither of them were. "You don't really want me," Myst acknowledged. Ken sniffed. "And if you were honest, you would have to say you don't want me either. Physical attraction is one thing. We both want what we can't have right now." "So what do we do?" Ken hugged him closer, wishing he had an easier answer than nothing or everything. "Maybe just be here, together, and see." "Would it be so bad?" Myst asked. The tone of his voice said what he didn't. Master said I could. Admitting Dean had told him to find solace elsewhere was the same as admitting his Dom didn't want to or couldn't make time for him. Ken knew. For a submissive, that was the ultimate shattering of trust.
"I knew this would happen," Myst said, as though reading his mind. "He prepared for it as best he could." Myst's body pressed more firmly against Ken. "He gave me you." Ken snorted. "I wasn't his to give." "Please." "I know." Ken held him, face half buried in his hair, and captured Myst's wrist in his hand. The liquid surrender came immediately with his touch and Ken couldn't help but hear the need in Myst's soft, relieved sigh. How did he do this? All the proper permission had already been given. In his head, he knew that. His heart and soul belonged to Mikko and always would, no matter the outcome. But what if the reunion he wanted never happened and this was all he had from now on? Would he wander off again, go back to his life before Mikko? He shuddered at the memory of how very desperate he'd been when he'd finally broken and called his old lover. He couldn't survive that again. Lying there with a warm and willing Myst in his arms, it was hard to imagine he could not make this work if he had to. Even being the extra in this little family, he was better off than he had been. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he asked, his stomach turning over at the thought. Ruthless, he shoved back memories that refused to die. No matter how much happiness he piled between himself and the dark places, the dark always seemed to be there, waiting. He didn't want those old and useless memories of hard times and unhappiness to clog up what was growing here. This was not abuse of trust or anything else, but two people taking care of each other the only way they knew how. He rocked slightly, pressing his half‐hard cock against Myst's buttocks. "Do you?" His whisper was soft, just a breath of words across Myst's cheek. The smaller man shivered, his warmth melting closer, the liquid sound of his desire a trickle of sliver sweetness in the dark. "Just..." he wiggled his captured wrist and Ken let him pull their hands down toward his groin. Myst closed his fingers around his own cock and Ken covered his fist with his bigger hand. "Go ahead," Ken breathed. "You're not alone. I won't let you be alone. Ever." A promise in the dark could be anything. They both had learned that lesson early and hard. And that's when Ken realized he could never break it. Because they both knew about broken promises and Ken would not be the one to undo Myst's hard‐won trust. Squeezing his fingers tight around Myst's fist, he encouraged a harder rhythm. "Want to see you feel good," Ken said, lips playing about the side of Myst's face. "Want to see your pretty flush. Feel your body heat up. Don't hold back." It was easier with every stroke, every soft pant and deep, full‐body moan Myst released to admit this was not a bad thing. Admit, even, he had a desire for the man, to see him pink with pleasure and watch him reach that pinnacle and flow down the other side into a pool of bliss. There was something about his diminutive form and the quiet strength contained inside that turned Ken on, made him want to sooth away all the sadness. It made him hope he could be, with practice, as strong and trusting as Myst was.
Myst groaned and writhed in his arms, rocking his hips in time with their hands. "Ken‐ ken..." his breath came in short pants. The fingers of his other hand clawed at Ken's forearm, latching on and clinging like it was his one anchor to reality. "I've got you." "Always..." "Always." "No matter what?" Ken buried his face in Myst's hair, breathed in the fresh scent of him mixed with the salty tang of sweat and desire. "No matter what," he whispered. Mikko would understand. Somehow. They were connected by more than just this idiocy of a quest. There was something deeper. Ken had to believe that. It couldn't be coincidence that they represented the four elements, that Darian and Myra were around to offer their strength and protection just when they needed it. It couldn't be. "Ken." Myst sucked in a deep breath, held it. A moment later it came out in a long, low groan, and his body tensed. Fingers under Ken's spasmed, tightened their hold and Myst's release flowed out, warm and wet over Ken's fingers. "Finally," he whispered. "So good." Ken nuzzled at the hair along Myst's neck and wrapped both arms around the slight man. "Better?" he asked. Myst nodded and curled into a tighter ball. "Better." Sweat stuck them together. Ken's own cock, pinned between them and half hard in his shorts only showed vague interest in anything more. He didn't care as much about getting off as he did about holding onto this precious thing he'd found. Myst might not be his, but for the moment, maybe just tonight, they belong together like this. It wasn't bad. It was right. He couldn't feel bad about the way the small body finally relaxed into his, or the eventual evening out of Myst's breath into the long, content breaths of sleep. He would not begrudge the other man the comfort of having someone pay exclusive attention to what he needed. Ken had been in that spot often enough to know it never got better if you ignored it. He had no intention of letting Myst slide into that desperate black hole he'd only narrowly escaped himself. Mikko would understand that. Mikko had taught him to be strong for himself, and he could do that. Dean had asked him to be strong for Myst, and he could do that, too. As Myst himself had pointed out, sometimes, they had to be the strong ones. Sometimes they had to support one another.
Chapter Nineteen A snarl of frustration forced its way past the tightness in Mikko's throat. As he'd figured, he was out of practice. He tried starting with finding the Ageless he'd steered away from Morgan's clutches. The most powerful of those, he could find only faint, old trails; almost dissipated residue of the energy they left behind. The heat and light every Ageless gave off was something he could tap into with his awareness, and with luck and his not inconsiderable skills on his old‐fashioned computer and the holo‐screen, he could trace that to airports, train stations. Even Google Maps, which, despite the odd name, were incredibly accurate and frighteningly up to date, proved useful in finding the people he wanted to locate. Once Central had begun broadcasting its own brand of 'internet', very few places on earth were invisible to someone who knew how to convince the fibre pathways to open up and lead to the right piece of information. Mikko knew how. He suspected burning through firewalls and melting circuits to get where he wanted to go was maybe not the easiest or most elegant way to do what he did, but it was his forte and it was effective. Perhaps someone who could flow across the connections with more ease would be faster and leave less for the nano‐bots and cyber‐bots to repair in their wake. It would be an interesting game to find out. He had yet to meet the hacker or tracker who could outmanoeuvre him once he was deep in the system. The trouble he was having now was actually finding the people he had once managed to save. He should be able to track them on the air, even without the Net. He should be able to sense them through his own innate abilities and his connection to the earth's energies. Distance had never been an issue for him. The air spoke to him, made it easy. Now, it spoke of dead ends, lost trails, fizzled vibrations diminishing with each passing day. People, Ageless, were disappearing. Mikko had pointed them all toward the enclaves, hoping they could get to safety before Morgan found them. Had he only delayed Morgan? "This is fucking ridiculous," he snarled, ripping off the monocle that he used to enhance his implant, and tossing it onto the desk. "What is?" Darian leaned in the doorway to his office, a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in his hand. "Oh." Mikko sat up a little straighter. "Hey." "What's ridiculous?" Darian asked again, taking Mikko's acknowledgement as invitation and coming into the room to settle on the edge of the desk. "I can't find any of them. Well." Mikko pushed aside a pile of cables and made room for the plate Darian was holding. "I found some. A few who made it to Vancouver. One in Montreal. Some trails that went cold in central Europe. Maybe they made it to Amsterdam. I always have trouble seeing inside that city. They set up defenses early and strong. It's the safest, but the hardest to get into." He shook his head and picked up the fork on the plate to push the food around with. "I don't understand. Where did they all go? Did Morgan get them after all? Have them killed when they wouldn't join him?" Darian pulled in a deep breath and let it out again. "What do you know?" Mikko asked, the fork stilling in his fingers.
"Nothing." But the big man's gaze shifted right past Mikko's face and out the window behind him. "Tell me. If I'm going to do this, I can't go in blind." "What, exactly, is it you're trying to do?" "Find Morgan. If I can figure out his exact physical location—" "You don't think Dean already knows that? They're twins. Anything Morgan can do, Dean can do. I would be very surprised if they don't practically live inside each other's heads." "Then how are there any secrets? If Morgan can read his mind—" "He can't. Dean told you, it isn't mind reading, what they do. Well. Not for the most part. You're different. You let him in." "I didn't let him do anything," Mikko snarled. Didn't you? A soft voice inside his head whispered and Mikko winced, unsure if it was his own conscious or Morgan instilling doubt. He pushed the thought aside. It didn't matter now how Morgan had got in. He was there, and Mikko had to deal with it until they could get him out. You could just ask, the voice whispered, once again making him wonder. If you want to come home, Pet, just ask. "Fuck!" Mikko surged to his feet, his chair flying back and hitting the wall. "Stop it!" "Not again," Darian stood too, reaching for him. "Not so soon." "No." Mikko held off his touch with a raised hand. "No, it's fine. I can handle it." He took his seat again and picked up the monocle. "I don't give a flying fuck about Morgan. It's Ken I want to find. Ken who has some questions to answer. The rest of them, and whatever it is you're not telling me about them can wait." "I'm not so sure—" "If it's a good idea? Screw that. I don't care. The only thing that's been right since Morgan first came into my life has been Ken. It's always been Ken, and I won't give him up without a fight. I'm not in this to save the world. I never was. I wanted a father. A teacher, maybe. Something Morgan wasn't and never could be. I was a fool to think he was. Now, I just want my life back, and I'll get it. With Ken." "And lead Morgan right to him?" Mikko shook his head. "No. Lead Ken to Morgan and help him take the bastard out. It's what I should have been doing from the start, not giving him to Dean. Not letting him go alone. Never should have let him go alone." "He isn't alone," Darian reminded Mikko. "And neither are you." He reached over and took the monocle from Mikko's shaking fingers. "Now eat. You need to keep yourself strong. If you're really going to do this, you cannot do it on an empty stomach." "You're not going to try and stop me?" Darian made a face. "You and I go back a ways, Mikko." Darian set the monocle on the desk and handed Mikko his fork. "You've never been one to take a challenge lying down. Not mine or anyone else's. Frankly, I was beginning to worry Morgan had already won, if you weren't even going to fight. Even Myra was starting to fret. We were both beginning to wonder what we would have to do to snap you out of the funk."
"I'm out." Snatching the fork from Darian's fingers, Mikko ploughed into his food, shoveling it down the quicker to get back to his task. To hell with the other Ageless he couldn't find. Plenty of time to worry about them later, once he had Ken back at his side. "Well hell." Darian picked up the empty plate and grinned. "If I'd known all it would take to get you back was jacking you off, I'd have done it weeks ago." Mikko snorted without looking up, already busy tapping away at his laptop. He wasn't naive enough to think any of the small party would have travelled under their real names, but that didn't matter. He'd find them. "You need anything, Mikko, we're here. You know what Morgan is like. Don't let him sneak up on you, peek over your shoulder." "I know. Don't worry. I'll keep my homework hidden, Teach." "I'm counting on it. Last thing we want is him getting wind of things before Dean and Myst are ready for him." "Last thing," Mikko muttered. He didn't even notice Darian leave the room. When he looked up, the big man was gone and the house was quiet, though no longer lonely and empty. Just quiet. Mikko let himself smile at that. Everything that Morgan had brought into his life wasn't bad.
Chapter Twenty Ken was unsurprised to wake and find himself alone. The spot Myst had occupied was still faintly warm and his scent filled the room. Ken smiled to himself as he got up and peeled the sheets loose. He could pile them out in the hall, since the maid never came in their room. Smelling Myst around him was one thing. The odd whiff of his stale spunk was something else. Carrying the great ball of sheets out into the main room, Ken was stopped cold at the sight of Myst and Dean in the kitchen, a cup of steaming coffee forgotten on the counter. Myst had his arms and legs wrapped around his lover, and Dean supported him with his hands on his ass. So deep into lip lock, neither of them noticed Ken. For a split second, Ken expected to feel jealousy. Instead, he realised this was the first time he'd seen anything like this sort of contact between the two and it was so very plain how much they belonged to one another. Together. It made him think of Mikko and how that same feeling of rightness settled in his heart whenever Mikko touched him, looked at him, smiled at him. Quietly, he slipped out the door and deposited the sheets in the chute in the hallway. When he went back inside, Dean was carrying Myst off to his own room, and the door closed quietly but firmly behind them. Ken rescued the abandoned cup of coffee, made some toast and settled on the couch in front of the NetLink hoping he could find something to watch that wasn't news. He didn't think either of his companions would even notice, let alone mind, if he skipped the morning breakfast routine. He just hoped Dean would take his sweet time reminding Myst how very important he was. The little man needed it. It was hours later before Myst finally emerged again, but in cat form, to Ken's disappointment. He supposed it was only fair, that his own curiosity would get the better of him, and why on earth would Myst want to answer Ken's insipid questions about how things had gone behind closed doors? Even as a cat, though, Myst simply jumped up on the couch beside him, curled into a ball and went to sleep. Which made Ken hope that things had gone well. Dean did poke his head out of his room a while later and remind Ken they would need to eat dinner, as if he'd forgotten his duties. Ken let out a sigh. "Yes, Sir." The door closed. "I'll get right on that, Sir," he muttered under his breath. Myst's claws, sharp and vicious, sank into his thigh. "Ow!" The cat gave him a look and he huffed out a breath. "Fine. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. He didn't hear me anyway." But Dean had ways of knowing, and by the look Myst gave him, even in cat form, he knew they both understood the Dom wasn't fooled for even an instant. A moment later, the bedroom door opened again and Dean emerged. "Ken." Ken blinked at Myst, but looked up.
"Come here." “Yes, Sir." "As a general rule, Ken, I do not believe in corporeal punishment. It usually serves no purpose. Either it creates a barrier of distrust for those who don't like it, or it is a reward, rather than a punishment, for those who do like it. I suspect you are one for whom a beating would permanently destroy everything I am trying to build here, so instead, I have something else to share with you." Ken licked his lips and stood a little straighter. "Yes, Sir." "Close your eyes, Ken." Before he did, Ken glanced to the couch to find Myst's pointed cat face turned in his direction, and those silvery eyes trained on him with intelligence and sympathy that looked surreal on a cat. "Here, Ken." Dean took him by the chin and turned his head back to face front. "You know Beloved is not going to interfere. This is between you and I." "Are you angry because of last night?" "No." Dean's hard features softened. "No. That was as it should be. But disrespect, Ken, will not be tolerated. You understand?" Ken tried to nod, but Dean's grip prevented much movement. He tried to express his concerns, instead. "I understand he's been left alone—" Dean gave him a sharp shake. "And whose fault is that, when you were given clear instruction to care for him? I am glad you finally took my meaning to heart and did for him what he needed. But it took far too long. Perhaps it is best you fully understand what we are up against, and to that end, I am going to show you what you need to see in hopes it will renew your resolve to make this work." He paused, sharp gaze focused tight on Ken, waiting for an answer. Finally, Ken lowered his own gaze. "I'm ready, Sir." He took a deep breath, let it out and shuffled to a more balanced stance. "Teach me," he said quietly, aware in his heart he had never said those words to anyone but Mikko. Even if Dean had no idea of the significance, Ken did. It was capitulation; acceptance. Mikko would understand. "Very good, Ken." Dean's grip loosened and fell away, to be replaced by a big hand covering his shoulder. "Look at me, please." Always so polite. Ken blinked and looked up. That had not been his thought. It had been laced with sarcasm and bitterness far deeper than any he might have ever felt toward the man standing before him. A wave of nausea and a cloud of dark shadows rolled in on its heels, a storm front, pushing debris of rage before it. It shrouded everything behind a veil of greyness and pummelled his thoughts with confusing images of destruction and anger. The world distorted around him, took on a washed‐out appearance. Images wavered at the edges, filling him with vertigo and the sense he was precariously balanced on the edge of some great fall. He could not blink his vision clear or make the world stop the sickening roiling just in his periphery.
"What's going on?" He clung with both hands to Dean's forearms, panic gouging into his mind. Do you see? This was a much stronger voice, calmer, devoid of anger, and built on determination. It blew through Ken like a gale, clearing away some of the confusion. It couldn't dislodge the feeling of sick in his gut or sweep away all the shadows. This is what it is like to have a twin who can hone his abilities so well as to be able to get inside. "Inside what?" Ken asked, fearing he already knew the answer. Inside what. He's a precious one, isn't he, brother? And you keep him why? Ken felt his body move of its own volition, and though he saw and moved under his own power, it still was not his own doing. He had sudden and sickening insight into how Mikko must have felt, and panic clawed at him once more even as his head turned toward the couch. An overwhelming feeling that he must protect something, but couldn't clearly form the thought as to what something was. His gaze met Myst's feline one and the cat blinked at him, suddenly looking just like a cat. A scruffy, brown stray enjoying the safety of a stranger's benevolence and Ken wondered why he'd expected to see anything else. And where is the other one, I wonder? The first voice clawed through his thoughts again. He was there at the airport, the pretty little thing. And then gone. Have you finally seen his disloyalty for what it is, Brother? Cut him loose to fend for himself. Have you? And taken in strays instead. A soft, unpleasant laugh filled Ken's head. About time. That one was nothing but trouble. A demanding little prick, and he was never going to give you the satisfaction—the ownership—you wanted. Not him. He thinks he can rule the world. He's a fool and you're well rid. Now. I have a request of you— Whatever the voice was, the shadowy swirling of cloud and storm that accompanied it, was gone. A blast of clear thinking, of light, filled him, as though someone had swept open the curtains of his mind and opened a window to the frigid northern winds. The presence was gone. "What the hell?" Ken wavered and Dean's hand shifted to his arm, pulling him close. "What was that?" "That is my brother. That taint is everywhere, if you know what to look for. It masks everything. The clean air is getting harder and harder to find. The Ageless touched by it are being lost. Not even dead. That would be too easy. Too clean. Just lost. Alone in their own minds, listening to whatever Morgan can find in them to corrupt, to fear, to hate. He turns them, and the more he takes, the easier it is. The more power he amasses. That is what we have to stop." He peeled Ken away from him and looked him in the eye again. "That is what Mikko lives with all the time. And he was the first. Morgan is most deeply rooted in him. He thinks and Morgan hears. He acts, and Morgan knows. As long as he was home, safe in Darian's care, he couldn't do anything to endanger our own mission. Now, I fear he has decided to join our fight. He wants to get you back, and he won't stop until he has you." "Just like you said he would."
"As I knew he eventually must. You brought light back into that man's life Ken. He can't live without it. He can't be Morgan's creature and remain sane. He can't rid himself of that demon until Morgan is truly gone from the world. My greatest fear is that once he's dead, his presence will continue on in the Ageless he's corrupted." "Like Mikko." "You felt him. A shadow of him, really. I did not want to risk him getting too close a look at you. You are our trump card." "How...?" "How did I show you?" Dean stepped back and lifted Ken's face. "He is my twin. We are, essentially, one. From womb to grave. One egg, split in two by whatever power in the universe decides it must be so that one should become two. I don't know how or why. I just know what is. We are—he and I—literally two sides of the same being. He is in my head and I in his. We have had long lives to practice and perfect masking our truth from one another for sheer self preservation. I have had enough time to mask my feelings for my Beloved. When I look at him, Morgan sees only a stray cat, a strange boy. I will not ever share with him what I truly see or feel. He will never have the chance to corrupt that." Ken frowned and squirmed free of Dean's grip. "So you're...inside one another's heads, but not." "Inside my head, he watches a movie of my life. One I produced to hide what I must and protect the people I love. Outside, he tracks us through the false trails Myst is able to lay along the circuits and wavelengths of the cyber net my brother has become so dependent on. Years ago, Myst caught glimpses of Mikko doing something similar, albeit more crudely, following the trails of Ageless men and women, tracking them down, at first for my brother, but later, to try and hide them from him. We kept close track of him, watched you both, really. Guided you as best we could to the safest place we knew." "St. John's." "Yes. It isn't an enclave. We don't want it to become that, but it is a gathering spot, like Reykjavík. A place the earth herself has chosen to guard, for whatever reason." "How long...?" "I had faith in you, Ken." Dean caressed his face. "I knew, eventually, you would bring Mikko there. That you would see how perfectly he is the other half of you, and I was right." "I remember. You said...that night when I came to you and you said no. You already knew he was on his way." "Yes." "I was a lure?" "You are the loadstone. Darian came, too, didn't he? And Myra." Dean smiled. "Earth is always the strongest. The most stable. The bedrock we all stand on, isn't it?" "I'm not...I don't know." Dean let out a small huff. "Earth is also the most rare of gifts. We had no way of knowing when we first sensed you, what element you would gravitate to." He touched Ken's face, as though that repeated contact was keeping him present in the conversation. "You are so young." A smile flitted over his lips, showing more in his eyes than on his face. "But Myst
adored you so, even then, before he ever met you. A kindred soul, perhaps. Everything he's been through, and he saw that same struggle in you. Maybe on some level, he knew without knowing that you were the last piece to our puzzle. I don't know. But we have a chance now. We can end this. We can preserve what is left of our race and..." "And?" "And I don't know. I don't know what will happen to those Morgan has tainted." "Like Mikko." "The first step is to eliminate Morgan, Ken." "And what if...you said he's my other half. Then...my life. What if...?" "You are not alone, Ken. No matter what." Again, Dean touched his face lightly. "No matter what. Just like you promised Beloved last night. I promise you. You will not be alone." "You promise," Ken said, but his voice was dull, and he wasn't sure if he believed it. Or if he even wanted to. "What happens to you when Morgan is gone?" "Why look for trouble?" "What happens?" Dean sighed. "I only know one way to find out." "And yet you make me promises you don't even know if you'll be around to keep." "Promises are not so bad." "When they're kept." "One way or another, I will keep this promise. You won't be alone again. You won't ever go through that again." Ken nodded, gaze dropping to the vicinity of Dean's broad chest. He remembered when He'd first set eyes—and his sights—on the big man. That had been before Mikko came back. Before he'd found his 'other half.' The sheer physical size of the Dom had turned him on. He raised his hands now and placed them on Dean's chest. The thick chords of muscle he expected seemed shrunken, somehow. Less. Dean covered his hands with his own and leaned forward. "It's not your cooking, Ken, rest assured. You felt my brother. He takes no care to ease his passage through the minds of those he touches. His presence wreaks havoc on mind and body alike. For a while, I could hold him off. With Beloved's help. But there is too much to do, and too little time. I have too much else to concentrate on and Morgan cares nothing for the bodies of those he invades. He cannot feel his own. Perhaps the pain he causes in others is a thrill for him." He kissed Ken's hair, lingering with the contact. One big hand closed about the back of his head and Ken canted forward, as eager for the closeness of contact now as he had been the night before with Myst. He let Dean press his head close against his chest and breathed in scents of man and sweat and sex. He believed he could still smell Myst on Dean's skin and he breathed that in, too. "Never alone?" he whispered. "No matter what, Ken. Not ever." "What do I have to do?"
Dean chuckled. "Right now? Stop breathing this need all over me. Myst has exhausted me already." Dean pulled back, lifted Ken's face once more and bestowed a heavy, commanding yet still protective kiss on his lips. Ken melted into him, taking every drop of promise offered. Some part of him felt it should have been harder, felt different to kiss another man like this, or to mean it this much. But he kept remembering their stones. The way Darian held Mikko that last time, in the bedroom; fiercely, protectively, but most of all, carefully despite the fear on both their faces. The way Myra protected the Tracker from every harm, even the harm Ken unwittingly brought his lover just from his volatile emotions. Rather than feeling as though he was betraying something, it felt like completion. A closing circle. Then Dean was pulling away. The kiss ended and Ken found the world had not. He looked up into tired brown eyes and knew he could smile again. "Thank you." Dean scrubbed a gentle thumb over Ken's cheek. "Thank you. For understanding. Accepting. The world is changing and we need to change with it if we are going to survive. Too long, people have tried to walk their paths alone. That is not the way it should be." Ken nodded. "Now, World ending or no, we all must eat. Will you do the honours?" "Of course, Sir." Ken smiled, found he meant it, and let it draw him up taller. "I'll have to go to the market first." "Certainly. Be quick. I'm hungry." "Yes, Sir." Dean retreated back into his room after that. Ken still had no idea what he was doing in there, but at least he could relax in the knowledge that Myst was satisfied for the moment, and they each had a part to play. He left the kitchen, dressed quickly and headed for the door. He didn't expect the streak of brown that shot out between his legs and dashed off down the hallway. "No!" Ken tossed a glance over his shoulder, but Dean's door remained closed and the silence continued. "Shit!" Hurrying out the door after the cat, Ken jogged down the hall just in time to see a brown fuzzy tail disappear between the elevator doors.
Chapter Twenty‐One Pushing back fatigue and irritation let Mikko ignore the headache building just long enough for it to take root. He'd found the likely plane manifests that told him his query had travelled to Hawaii, Iceland, St. Petersburg, and South Africa. Hawaii was mostly under water. All that was left was a small indigenous population of farmers who were very selective about whose planes they let land on their island and who they let off those planes. St. Petersburg was a failed experiment in communal living that had left the population mistrustful and bitter. South Africa had gone native; most of her cities razed and the one airport still open only admitting a very select few back into the country. They'd been overrun once, said the propaganda, and they would not let it happen again. Reykjavík was another closed community that counted on its isolated place on the planet to keep it safe. It was inhospitable and expensive. Only the very rich ever travelled there, and only the very dedicated made it their home. Those mostly closed societies were all likely candidates for someone like Morgan to hide out. Hard to get into, and protective of their own people, it would be difficult for anyone to get in and find out if he was there. Dean struck Mikko as a man who could do difficult things. The only stand out was Reykjavík, where people still came and went on the tourist bill, expensive though it was. It was a place Morgan could import his Ageless without anyone wondering about it. "Gotcha," Mikko crowed quietly. It had grown dark and the house remained quiet. He'd heard the door to the bedroom creak some time ago and assumed his house mates had gone to bed. "Now to figure out what you've been up to." You know, Pet. Why you don't want to admit it, I don't understand. After all, I could never have gotten as far as I have without you. You are an excellent protégé. Now you know where I am, come home. "I have a home," Mikko reminded that darkly cajoling voice in his head doing his best to keep his voice and his mind calm. Hard experience told him resistance lead to pain and pain lead to him losing ground faster. A home your lover left. Do you want to know what he's been up to since he's been gone? I can show you. "Don't need you to." Mikko gritted his teeth, refusing to acknowledge that the offer was a tempting one. Morgan could lie so easily. Right there in his head, he could dredge up images of Ken from Mikko's own memory, create a fiction and make it seem real. "I trust he's doing what he set out to do. It's only a matter of time now." You have so much confidence in your new friends. How do you know they haven't already betrayed you? "I know Ken. I know he'll come back to me." What will he have to come back to, really?
The grind of darkness over his faculties was so unexpected, Mikko didn't even have a chance to call out. All he could do was hold onto the one bright spot in his mind that he reserved for the very best memories; the one place Morgan had not yet tainted. "You can't," he grated, through clenched teeth, "have him. Can't have us. Any of us." He clung to Ken's memories, focused all his attention and strength on keeping them whole. Even the last afternoon with Darian, and Myra's assurances he was not alone he clung to. If Morgan enshrouded every other part of his mind, he would still have those memories. He would live in them. At least Morgan could not use him if he refused to acknowledge the takeover. Curled in on himself, surrounded by Morgan's darkness, he played the memories over and over in his head. All he had to do was hold out long enough for the others to do their part.
Chapter Twenty‐Two "Myst! Fuck!" What idiot let a cat onto an elevator without an accompanying human, anyway? Wheeling about, Ken crashed through the steel door to the stairs and bounded down two and three at a time. He reached the lobby out of breath and panting. All he saw at first was a lot of milling people, bellhops and business men lunching or reading holo‐reports in the lounge. He only caught a glimpse of Myst when the cat stood from his crouch behind a potted plant and streaked out the front entrance behind the doorman who exited to hail a cab. Ken dashed after him. The chase through the streets was just more of the same, Ken catching fleeting glimpses of his query as Myst rounded a corner or high‐tailed it across a street, leaving Ken's heart in his throat as he watch the lithe form dash back and forth through traffic. Perhaps he'd been wrong about the circle closing. Maybe, seeing Dean kiss him had snapped Myst and he wanted nothing more to do with either of them. Ken could not let the little man out of his sight; couldn't let him leave thinking he'd been betrayed. Ken would go back to his life before Mikko if he had to, rather than hurt the other submissive. He'd almost caught up to the cat near the base of the fantastic church in the center of the city when the doors to that grandiose building opened and Myst slipped inside. "Damn it!" He hurried forward only to be blocked by a crowd of camera‐wielding children. "Where's our guide?" one of the shouted, looking around at the passing adults. "There's supposed to be a guide. Teach said to meet the guide." "Relax," another scoffed. "Who needs a guide? We just go in and snap some pictures. How hard can it be?" "They don't let just anyone in here anymore, you know. I hear it's haunted." "Yea, right." The scoffer waved a hand in disgust. "And my Aunt May found me in a corn field. Come on!" He grabbed hold of the door handle and yanked. Nothing happened. "You have to scan your hand," someone informed him. "And you know there's practically no historical buildings left in this city that let kids in without an adult. It's waste of time. This whole field trip was a waste of time, if you ask me." "Here, wait," Ken said, stepping up to the door. "I'll check inside to see if your guide is around. Wait here." He held his own hand to the scanner and hoped. There was a faint click, a whirring sound, and the door opened a crack on its own. "Cool!" one of the kids exclaimed. "Dude, you could just let us in." "No," Ken stepped into the opening, blocking them from going in. "Wait here. I really think you need to wait for your guide. I'll go find him." He pulled the door closed after him, leaving the kids grumbling in protest on the other side. Inside, the building was dark, the only light that of the overcast day streaming in the high, narrow windows. Dust danced in the streamers of brightness, and Ken smiled, reaching
out a hand. The particles of earth gravitated toward him and created a silvery layer over his fingers. It was fascinating, but not why he was here. "Myst!" he called quietly, somehow unwilling to disturb the peaceful aura of the huge room. He imagined this was where the actual mass would have been held, however now, it was simply a cavernous, empty room with a raised dais at one end and a few doors leading off to other places. To his left was a huge staircase of crumbling stone leading up to a door that seemed to be the entrance to the tower above. The stairs looked newer than the walls of the building and he supposed they had been built to replace the wooden ones that would not have lasted in this damp and cold sea‐side air. Whatever guide the kids outside were waiting for, he was not in here. The place was deserted. Or...the dust gathered around his hand shimmered and tingled. Shafts of light wavered as more dust rose and created a tunnel‐like configuration in the air. "No way," Ken breathed, watching in fascination as the tunnel undulated, starting from where he was standing and leading off toward the far end of the room. He followed the indication given him by floating bits of earth. It was his element, after all. If he could not trust it, what was there left to trust? Sure enough, at the far end of the transparent hallway, he found a shadowed lumpy mass that turned out to be a man, lying almost face down, but chest up. Ken made a face. It wasn't that he hadn't seen dead bodies in his time. But this was recent. There still seemed to be life and emotion in those staring eyes, though it was clear the man was dead. "Did Myst do this to you?" Ken wondered aloud. Dust settled over the man's face, shrouding it somewhat, from too much scrutiny. Ken sighed. "What now?" "He would have guided those kids to Morgan." Myst's voice, coming from the shadows, startled Ken. He jumped, heart stuttering and hands shaking. "Myst, what's going on? Why are we here?" "I don't know why you're here. I'm here because it's time." "Time?" "I can't stand it anymore, Ken‐ken. It's never going to be perfect. Nothing is, and I don't want to wait and hide any more. I know you were there to keep me safe. This isn't your fault okay? No one will blame you." "Blame me?" Ken approached the shadowy corner from where Myst's voice emanated. "Blame me for what?" "Master always knew this was the only way. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew. Promise me you won't blame him, either. He did his best, and I appreciate that." "Did his best at what? I don't understand." Ken found himself face to face with the wall, the dark corner, but no Myst. It was a moment before his eyes adjusted and he realized the voice was coming from a speaker embedded in the stone wall. "Where are you?" "It would be better if you went back, Ken‐ken. He'll need you now." "He has you." Ken's gut tightened. "Myst, he has you. Where are you?" "Please go back. When he realizes I'm gone, he'll be so upset." "I'm upset! Myst!"
Ken backed from the speaker to get a clearer look around. He remembered his wrist implant and lifted his arm, shaking it slightly. "How the hell does this thing work? I need light." Even as he tought it, the entire thing began to glow and Ken held it up. It showed him a door next to the speaker. Not the same heavy, carved wood of the rest of the doors around the room. This one was grey, steel and hidden in the darker shadows of this far corner. Ken studied it, but there was no handle, no obvious way to get it open. "You're back there, aren't you?" There was no answer. "Myst! Let me in!" "You'll try to stop me." "How do you know? I don't even know what you're doing. Just let me in. Maybe I can help you." "This is just something I have to do on my own, Ken‐ken. I'm sorry." "Don't be sorry!" Ken banged a fist on the door. "Let me in! Myst!" he banged again, slamming his palm flat on the cold metal. It warmed instantly. "Metal. Stupid, Ken! Get with the program!" He backed off again, examined the door and the surrounding wall. He imagined metal, with the impurities already removed and its make‐up already altered in men's furnaces, would be easier to manipulate, and he laid his palm gently in the center of the panel. It took only moments for it to warm to his touch. He allowed the skin of his hand to harden, covering himself in protective, black scales of obsidian. The door gave way to his determination quickly after that, melting into a messy puddle at his feet, and he was inside a dark hallway. He glanced down at his hand in wonder. The ache, deep in his bones seemed distant, but the transformation remained as it was, no spreading, no oozing out of control. He let it remain, unwilling to deal with the pain and distraction changing back would cause. The space was narrow and the glow from his implant showed it didn't go far before an equally narrow stairwell led down to a lower floor. Ken followed this and found another door at the bottom. He made the same quick work of this door and emerged into a long, wide hallway flanked on both sides by silvery, pod‐like structures. Ken wasn't sure he wanted to know what was inside those pods. He had a sickening suspicion he already knew. A small, transparent section allowed him to peer inside. What he saw confirmed his suspicions. A young, oval face stared blankly back at him. Tubes of light clung to the figure, snaking out from beneath long blond hair and worming under the skin of chest, arms, legs and anchoring the child's feet to the floor. "What is this?" Ken whispered, touching the clear glass with his fingertips. "It's what we're trying to stop." Myst's voice whispered back, inside his head, much like Morgan's had been, but lacking the shadows and clouds of fear and anger. "Please," Ken continued in his whispering, "tell me where you are?" "You can't stop me Ken‐ken. It's too late, anyway." Picking his way through the shadows, Ken made his way down the gruesome hallway to a crossing, only to find more hallways and more pods. "How many?" "Too many." There was a short, obvious silence in his head, something like the sigh of waves on the shore and Myst's voice came again. "Left."
Ken turned right. "You think I lie?" "I think you want to spare me something. Now. Where are you?" "You have good instincts. End of the hall." There was a creaking sound, and a shaft of light splashed across the concrete to Ken's right. "Myst!" he ran, nearly tripping over another body in the doorway. Myst was sitting in a padded chair centered on the far wall. A third body sprawled off to one side. Hands and arms spread along the wide arms of his chair, head resting back, and feet planted firmly on a cushioned rubber pad, Myst's silver eyes glowed at Ken as he entered the room. "You see?" Myst wriggled slightly in his seat. He couldn't lift his hands or move his feet or head. The same tubes of light Ken had seen in the pods in the hallways were twining around the little man and stealing their way up the back of his neck. "Too late." "What..." Ken jerked forward a few paces and stopped again. "What do I do? How do I get them off you? Tell me what t do, and—" "There's nothing to do." Ken whirled at this new voice. Dean stepped into the room, an anguished look on his face. "Beloved. Why didn't you wait?" Myst smiled calmly. "I was waiting only until I knew you would not have to go through this alone. We both know this is the only way, Master." "What is he talking about?" Ken turned on Dean. "You knew? How did you get here?" "I followed you." Dean's sad gaze went back to Myst. A tiny, niggling thought poked at Ken's mind and he turned his attention to it. "You let me in, Ken." Ken whirled to face Dean. "Like Mikko let Morgan in. Get out of my head!" Soothing breaths of calm flowed through him. "Do you really want that?" the thoughts were there, though Dean's lips didn't move and his gaze never strayed from Myst's soft features. Confused, Ken turned from the presence in his mind, focusing on the physical. "You knew he was going to do this." He found himself waving his hands in the air and clenched his fists. "Whatever this is? I don't even care! How do we get him out? What do we do?" "We can't." "But—" Dean's lips tightened. The pain in his eyes hardened to determination as he turned his full attention to Myst. "Does he know you're in, Beloved?" "Not yet. He's still focused on Mikko." Myst's gaze flicked to Ken and back again. "But we don't have much time. That situation will not hold his attention much longer." "What?" Ken glared at Myst, then Dean, then Myst again. "Why? Is he okay? What the hell is going on?" "Give me your hand," Dean commanded, holding his out to Ken. "What?" Ken reared back, away.
"Your hand. The implant." "Why?" Dean sighed heavily. "Because this is where we are and if there is any hope at all of saving either of our hearts, we have to work together. You have to do everything I say and without hesitation. And maybe we can save them both. Now let me see your mod." He dropped to his knees in front of Myst's chair and opened the case he'd been carrying. Ken didn't recognize any of the implements he pulled out, but it was clear they were designed to interact with the mods Dean had implanted. "What are you going to do?" Ken asked, unable to disguise the trembling in his voice or the way his hands shook. "I'm going to augment this so you can open the pods and remove the children. You'll start with the ones with the fewest network connections. They're the most likely to survive, and we don't have the time or facilities to tend them all the way they need or deserve. For the most part, they'll have to fight the nano‐bots themselves." "Will they...?" Dean's lips tightened once more. "Most of them, yes. Probably. But better that than living out eternity stuck in the network, powering Morgan's machinations." "So..." Ken glanced at Myst who sat watching them, a far‐away look in his eyes. "What happens when I cut them loose? What happens to Myst?" "Don't worry about Myst. He's far more powerful than Morgan ever could have hoped to be, even with all his captured energy and stolen synapses." Dean's glanced flicked to his lover and back to Ken's implant. "He was born to this. He can do it. Our job is to free as many of the children as we can before Morgan realizes what's going on. Then we find him and take him out, too." Ken watched what Dean was doing in silence. He didn't really understand any of it, but he’d seen the kids Dean spoke of. Their grey faces and empty eyes, some of them looking more like cadavers than living beings. Some, though, looked just like the kids on the street had, young, eager, completely unaware of what was happening to them. Perhaps he could save those who still looked like they had life in them. He glanced to Myst to find the other man watching him. Perhaps... Don't, Ken‐ken. I knew this was my destiny a long time ago. It's the only way, despite what my Master has tried to do since he found me. His way is a way that has very little chance of actually working. "Little chance is not no chance," Ken retorted, yanking his hand free of Dean's grip as the man finished his adjustments. He lunged for Myst, already working out in his head how to control the modified appendage and reaching for the lighted network cables snaking along Myst's neck toward his spine. "No!" Dean came after him. Ken could feel the weight and bulk hurtling through the air at his back. He could also feel the terror in Myst's mind, equal in force to the little man's sadness. Then Dean's arms were circling Ken's waist, hauling him back when his fingers with their modifications were just inches from disconnecting the other submissive from the mass of
tubes and wires. Their Dom brought Ken down with a bone‐jarring crash to the tiled floor and they skidded across the slippery surface, coming to rest with Ken trapped in Dean's embrace and Dean's back against the wall. "Let me up!" Ken fought dirty, scratching, kicking, catching horrifying glimpses of the cables as they moved inexorably to connect with Myst's implants and worm under his skin. "Let go!" Ken screamed ineffectually. Dean hung on in silence. The sharp scent of blood and the musk of sweat filled Ken's nostrils and he glanced down to see he'd shredded Dean's forearm with half‐evolved claws. "Lemme go," Ken pleaded, pressing his palm to the cuts in a pointless attempt to stop the blood flow. "Let me help before it's too late." "It is too late," Dean grated. He gave Ken a heavy shake. "It's too late for him, and will be too late for Mikko if we don't weaken Morgan enough for Myst to be able to pinpoint his whereabouts. Even as he said it, Myst's gaze turned on them, he mouthed the words I love you both just before his body stiffened, his back going painfully straight, fingers clawing at the arms of his chair. His eyes went wide, vacant, and his face slack. Beneath Ken, Dean groaned softly. "Get. Up." Unable to fight the Dom's commanding tone, pain‐filled as it was, or maybe because it was so full of pain, Ken rose to his feet and slowly approached Myst. "Don't you touch him," Dean snarled, grabbing at his wrist as Ken's claws retracted. "You came here with a promise to save Darian and Myra's child. What happened to that promise?" "I don't know where she is," Ken whispered, his gaze held by Myst's lovely, empty features. The pain of the transformation back laced through him, a physical echo of the pain his heart. "Then find her." Dean spun him around with that tight grip on his wrist, breaking his dreadful fascination "Find her. Keep your word in something." "He said..." Ken blinked. "You said he was born to this. That this was his destiny." Dean hauled Ken after him as he went back to his open case on the floor and dug out bandages. "He was Morgan's long before he was mine," Dean said, his voice quiet and fierce. "Freeing myself from Morgan cost me everything I loved. It almost cost me my sanity. I fled. When I couldn't live with myself for leaving him to his machinations, I came back. I couldn't fight him. All I could do was sneak around in the dark freeing his slaves. They all died in my arms, including my own sister and her children. Myst...he caught me at it one night. He was connected to Morgan without the machine even back then." Dean met Ken's gaze with sympathy Ken could feel as a caress on his soul. "Like your Mikko. And like Mikko, he wanted to be free. I could see it in his eyes." Dean held out bandages and ointment to Ken when his own efforts failed to cover his ripped up arm. "I told myself I could save him. Prising him away from his Master then didn't hurt him physically as it did the others. Mentally...I suppose I thought I would take this precious thing from my brother as he'd taken everything from me, but Myst just ran. It took me years to find him again. More years to help him heal."
Ken swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the roll of bandages, distorting it to a crushed, tangled bundle. "Like me. A runner." "Only Mikko hasn't had years to help you heal or explain things to you. You haven't had time to grow into your abilities or understand what we're really up against. Myst has, and that's why he ran. And why he let me find him." "And why you brought him back here?" "He was always going to come back, with or without me. He knew what Morgan was. What he was doing. By the time I came back, Morgan had Central under his influence. He had the Young in his sights and he took them with implants and mods. They depend on Central's processing power to keep the mods running. They've advanced too far for anything else." Ken wrapped the last of the bandages and clipped the gauze in place with a small tenser clip. He lifted his own hand and examined the glimmering mod. "You said this wasn't connected to central." Dean stole a glance at Myst. "It isn't. I've been working on an alternative. I wanted it perfected before Myst took this step. I wanted a way to take over the system that didn't involve him." "Who cares about the system?" Ken muttered getting to his feet and gravitating toward Myst. "Just kill Morgan, cut Myst out of here and bring him back to us." "Us?" "If Morgan's gone, they're both free." Ken turned to look at the Dom. "We're a family. Isn't that what this is all about? So let's just get rid of him and get them back." "Just like that? You felt my brother in your own thoughts, and that was through me. How much more deeply do you think he has a hold on Mikko?" Dean quickly gathered up his tools. "Killing Morgan kills your lover." "And yours." "Myst knew the risks. He also knew killing Morgan outright kills Central. And everyone whose mod keeps their heart beating, their lungs pumping, the synapses firing to their brains. Those mods represent hundreds of medical breakthroughs. Hundreds of thousands of people who depend on them for life. Whatever cosmetic or technological enhancements they might bring, the bottom line is hundreds of thousands of citizen would die without Central's processing power to keep them alive." He sighed as he shouldered his bag. "And the truth is, nothing I could create artificially could possible make up for what one human brain integrated into this system can achieve." Ken lifted his hand and touched Myst's face. Despite the emptiness of his expression, Ken could feel the warmth, the life flowing just under his skin. "He knew all that." "Of course he did." "He would never let people die like that." "No. He wouldn't. And I won't let him make this sacrifice in vain. Help me." "Can you ever get him out?" Dean sighed. "Only if I can convince him my artificial solution will be enough to keep the mods working." "Will they be?"
Dean turned away from the sight of his lover and headed for the door. "I'll be back for you," Ken whispered. "I promise." Was that a tiny flicker of response in Myst's eyes? Ken hoped. Hope was all he had left. ~* * *~ Dean showed him quickly what to look for in the pods to assess whether it was worth freeing the children inside. When they found one, he showed Ken how to open the pod and which cords to cut. "Staunch what bleeding you can. Don't expect much in the way of responsiveness. That will take time, if it happens at all. The more you can free the better, but don't waste your time of those who can't be saved. Once we're in control of the facility completely, we'll take them out." "And?" "Most likely, return them to their families to be buried." Dean laid a hand on Ken's shoulder. "This is not an easy thing I'm asking you to do, Ken. Don't think I don't know that. We can't save them all. We can only hope we get to enough before Morgan begins his assault on Myst." "Myst is in now," Ken muttered, his voice catching. "Can't we just—" "Take Morgan out?" Dean snorted. "This is a huge facility, Ken. If I knew where he was, I would have. If I knew how to get to him, he'd have been dead a long time ago. Myst will lead me to him. You will take away his power by freeing these kids." "So they can die." "In peace." Ken had no response for that. "Morgan is the monster here, Ken. Whether he started out thinking he could save the world or not, what he's become is nothing more than a tyrant who must be stopped." "He could disable the mods," Ken realized. "Crash planes, destroy grav‐lift navigation..." The possibilities for Morgan to hurt people were endless and terrifying. "Myst will not let him. Do not underestimate our Beloved. He's strong and determined. But he can't win as long as Morgan has all of this stolen strength. Now do this for us. Please." Ken nodded. There was nothing else he could do, now. Myst's presence in his mind had dimmed to little more than the light of a dying firefly. He focused on that as Dean left him to his task. Better to cling to what little light was left than dwell on the darkness of dying children and lost lovers.
Chapter Twenty‐Three Lost as he was in the foggy memories of Ken's touch, his voice, the look on his face when he reached his bliss, Mikko didn't, at first, notice the change. The darkness morphed and undulated in his mind, grinding him down, closing him into that corner, erecting walls he knew he would never be able to breach. He'd resigned himself to the fact he was lost in his own mind. Morgan had herded him into this box, and Mikko curled around his precious memories. Each one had a colour, a flavour he savoured. Each unique. Each his. Until one wasn't. Something glowed silver and iridescent in his mind. He shied away from the bright light. Morgan could do anything to him in here. Make him believe anything. And that's just what he was doing now; trying to make him believe in the impossible. He saw such visions of Ken, hair shaved short, face reflecting moments of tenderness Mikko had no memory of, expressions of hope, fear, desperation and determination that Mikko had never seen. Morgan wanted to taint what he knew of his lover. Not Morgan, Mikko. And not taint. Just see. See that he's still trying, still hoping for you. Mikko cowered. Curled in on himself already, he hid within the memories he knew. "Who? Who are you? What do you want?" Laughter tinkled like water falling on leaves and trickling through stones. The sound bubbled over river‐washed pebbles and reminded him how parched he was. "Leave me alone!" You aren't alone. You never have been. "What's going on?" The laughter stilled and a sigh like water over sand washed over him and gurgled away, a soft sweep of tide on which he wished he could ride out of this dark place. You can. "No." Mikko turned away from the glowing, misty light. "No. You're just trying to draw me out, to crush what's left. I know you, Morgan. You can't have me. My body, maybe. But not me." A dark shadow of anger reared up and blew the mist away. Mikko sighed back into his corner and focused back on his lost life. Don't give up. Same voice, driving at him, a cold rain out of the dark. Stay with us. We need you. I need you. I cannot fight his strength alone, Mikko. Help me. Guide me. You know his ways better. If he can walk your mind, you can walk his. Find me. Walk with me. "Who...?" More tinkling laughter and light once more shining through the driving rain creating a rainbow of bright promise. "Ken?" If you want him, I can bring you to him. In spirit, at least, but we must walk together. Mikko had a sudden and fierce impression of a thunderstorm blowing across the plain
Light the darkness, Mikko. You have the fire. Use it. Burn him away. Don't let him drive you into a corner. You can do this. "He's too strong." He is one. We are two. Three. Mikko waited, peering past his blanket of memories at a darkness that might be less dark. What are thunderstorms made of, Mikko? Wind. Rain. Lightning. "Fire," Mikko whispered. "And water." He uncurled, pushed aside his cover, thinking past the safety of the last few months with Ken. "Myst?" Come out and guide me through this maze, Mikko. Light my way. "How are you here?" He imagined the sharp smile Myst was so good at. The one that turned his innocent facade to deadly cunning and sharp wit. I am more things than just a submissive lover, or a cat. Figuratively, Mikko rose from his hiding spot, thrust out a hand and burst from the prison Morgan had enclosed him in. The darkness rushed in around him, but not before he caught a glimpse of the world outside his head. Darian's face, and Myra's, hovered over him. He thought about smiling, wondered if it translated into the world beyond the shadowy dream of his own mind. He hoped so.
Chapter Twenty‐Four Choosing which children to free and which to leave tore a tiny piece of Ken's soul away every time he passed by a pod, leaving the occupant untouched. It agonized him to leave their limp bodies lying on the cool tile, even knowing they would come back to care for them as soon as they could. Such small creatures, innocent of what they were being led to when all they expected was a tour to the top of the tower. How was it possible so many had been taken and their absence never noticed? Orphans, he supposed. Children who came here under the same auspice he had so long ago; on the arm of some man or woman who didn't care about the child, just the use they could put it to. How many of these poor creatures had Morgan purchased—or taken—for this purpose? And what would they do with those who survived? "A waste," Ken muttered as he stripped yet another tiny body of the cables holing it fast. The light died in the machine's strands as Ken cut them free, and this time, much to his surprise, the child's eyes opened her gaze fixing on Ken. "You came," she whispered. Ken's hand shook and he drew it away from the cord sneaking up under her hairline. "Sorry?" She smiled. "Don't be. I dreamed of you, and you came." "What do you mean, you dreamed of me?" "He told us you would come." She smiled the dreamy smile again. "Said you would try to take us away from Him, but we hid. "Hid?" Nothing the slight girl said made any sense to Ken. "From Him, silly. Not that he didn't know where we were, but he couldn't get to us, or use what we have, if he couldn't find us." "Who is He?" Ken glanced down the hall at the seemingly endless row of pods. "And who are 'us'?" She smiled an angelic little smile at him. "He keeps us here. Wants our strength. He has none of His own left. We are His children, but every child leaves the nest eventually. As we must." The smile again. "We decided. He showed us how He would capture you, tie you to Him." Her tiny face screwed up in a grimace. "It looked painful. We didn't want Him to hurt anyone like that, but He ignored us. So we decided we would leave Him until He changed His mind." "How?" Ken knelt, lowering her carefully to sit with her back against the dome of her empty pod. "How did you decide together? How would you leave this place?" She tilted her head slightly. The light in the cord still attached to her undulated and she stilled. "We are all connected. Do you think we don't talk?" "Inside the Network." "Of course." How could he not have seen that? It only made sense. "Most of us will never be free," she admitted, her voice soft, floating wistfully over his thoughts. "Not physically. It's too late. But we have each other." Her eyes snapped up and met
his gaze. "You must stop taking us out. We are no good to you dead and dying on the floor. Let us help." "How?" Her smile teased him, lifting her lips and lighting her eyes. "Help me up. Put me back." "Will it be okay?" "Of course. I live here now. We all do." "Show me?" Ken impulsively took her small hand in his. "Show me how you talk to one another. Show me how it works." Maybe he could find Myst inside the network, convince him to set himself free and trust in Dean's artificial solution. "You don't want to get trapped in here, too," she warned. "I won't. I'll use my mod." He lifted his hand, picked up the end of a still‐glowing cord and turned his wrist up. The cord snaked over his mod, searching out a connection. "There is someone I need to find." "Who?" Her bright eyes dropped to watch the cord slither over Ken's glimmering mod. "Her name is Jillian." Start there. If she hadn't detected Myst's presence yet, it was best he not say anything lest her knowledge alert Morgan before they were ready. A bright grin creased the child's face. "The puppy." Ken stared at her. "Puppy?" She giggled. "Wolf, I suppose. But right now, she's still a puppy." "Not a child?" She regarded him placidly for a moment. "Puppy," she stated firmly after a silent moment. "Animals, no matter how smart they are, can't connect to the network." "I see." Myra and Darian hadn't mentioned they'd birthed a wolf pup. He's just assumed he was looking for a human child. "You will." The girl nodded to the network cable still slithering over his mod like a blind worm. "You have to help it. It isn't sentient." "Oh. Right." Ken watched the thing move, slightly nauseated by the way it acted like a live creature seeking out some kind of sustenance it would find once attached to his body, his mind. "How?" His young guide shrugged. "Just...think it. Don't you know how to use your mod?" "Haven't had it that long," Ken admitted. And he'd avoided thinking about it, certainly avoided using it. He wanted it to be as easy as possible to rid himself of the thing once this insane quest was over. The less he interacted with it, the less integrated with his body it would be and the easier it would be to remove. He hoped. Now he stared at it, like it, too, was alive, and tried to imagine what he was meant to think at it. "Open up to the possibilities," the girl suggested. "Introduce them." "You just said they aren't sentient." "They aren't. But that's how it works with living things. It's an analogy. You do know what an analogy is?" "And you know what precocious means?" he grumbled at her. She grinned.
Ken shook his head. "Fine. Worm thing, meet mod. Mod...Shit..." the 'worm thing' stopped its random snaking over his arm and prodded at a juncture where skin met living metal. In the next instant, he felt a searing cold slice of sensation just under his skin and gasped. "That would be the nano's," his young friend informed him. "They've found the vein and the cable. Just give it a minute. You'll feel a rush—" Ken sucked in a breath as his mind flooded with images and thoughts not his own. It was a black wave of jumbled thoughts and ideas that panned into a flowing rainbow of vague ideas and the ebbing and surging sensation that he was not alone inside his head. "How cool is that?" Her voice whispered inside his skull. Her features, where she leaned against the wall next to him, did not change, but he felt her enthusiasm from within. "Some of them get addicted to that, you know. You can tell those kind. They're so connected it's hard to even tell they're human any more. He owns them. Always will. But not everyone is so lost." Ken nodded, 'watching' as the rush of other people's thoughts receded into the background. "Show me." Now he was in, he wanted to find what he was after and get out. He had no wish for Morgan to sense him, to try to keep him here. It was unsettling to have so many others inside his head. The constant murmur was distracting, like wind whistling through the tree tops and birds crying overhead. Thoughts dropped like rain pattering on a tin rooftop, images shone through, bright as sun rays through leaves, blinding him, distracting him; a constant barrage of noise and light he couldn't escape and couldn't quite understand. And every sound and flash someone's thought. He just wanted back out as quickly as possible, before the surge overwhelmed him. "This way," she encouraged, even as her image coalesced in the light at his side. He 'felt' her small hand in his and together, they seemed to move forward. She led him through an impossible labyrinth of twisting corridors, all lined with pods that seemed to age the further they went. Some were so filled with cables there was no sign of the occupant inside. Perhaps these were the ones she had mentioned who loved the rush too much to resist any new chance at connecting. The path they followed didn't fit with what he knew of the structure above or the possible layout of tunnels beneath. "You are so literal," she said, a laughing note in the thought she projected in his head. "Just relax and don't think so much. Perhaps if you let things be what they are, you will catch a glimpse of the Lovely Boy. He's come back to us, you know. He doesn't know it, yet, but our Lovely Boy is back, and we'll help him do whatever he needs to do." Their journey slowed and they seemed to float to a halt. "We're here." Ahead of them, the space of light and constant humming opened up. Images merged from pixels of light into faces, all turned toward Ken as he entered the space. So many small faces, all looking to him in complete, serene trust. "What do they want?" His guide laughed softly. "Nothing. Don't you see? We don't need anything here. This is where we're safe. The nano‐bots see to it our bodies get what they need, and we are safe from His uses in here. We have each other. And now we have our Lovely Boy back, as well." The sea of faces watched him, waiting. He had no idea what for.
"Who is this Lovely Boy?" The girl gave off an exasperated air. "He is the one who will save us. He told us you were coming. He thought we would protect the Boy from you, stop you taking him out of the Network. He doesn't understand, but he will." Ken shook his head. He didn't understand, either. The only 'lovely boy' he knew was Myst, and he didn't see that longed for face in this milling crowd of watchers. Instead, he focused back on what he could do something about. "How do I find Jillian in here?" "Silly. You don't. This is just to show you we are here, we aren't helpless. You'll find Jillian when you go back." "How?" "Easy. She is a child of the earth. Just use your instincts." "A child of the earth? Then Morgan never needed me in the first place?" "You think Master would lie to you, Ken‐ken" Ken started. That voice in his head touched his heart. The warmth and familiar bluish‐ misty light that surrounded him and pushed back the too‐bright glare soothed the chirping and pinging thoughts. He spun in place, searching out one face. "Myst?" Laughter, like the bubbling of water over stones filled his awareness. It was everywhere and he felt himself floating away on it. "No you don't." The light brightened, heated, till it sizzled across Ken's skin and sent goose bumps racing over him. The shock of the touch jerked him back to his body, to the very real sensation of his cock filling and his heart racing. That sparking touch was one he knew intimately and could never forget. "Mikko!" "No flying off on me, Kenny." The sensation of touch, of a hand on his back, Mikko's fire dancing and igniting over his skin galvanized him. "No. Where are you?" "Not very good at this, yet. Can't show you, but I'm here. Sort of." "In the Network?" "Sort of." "I want to see you." The fiery caress came again, exciting the nerves of Ken's body and igniting his imagination, touching him physically through the dancing of those warm, heated thoughts against his mind. "Then get this thing that has taken you so far away done, and come home. I'll be here." With Darian. Ken couldn't help the thought. Mikko's fire scorched and he yelped. Virtually, maybe in reality. It hurt and excited all at once and he wanted more. "With Darian. As you are with Myst. Hurry and come home, Kenny." "Yes, Sir." Mikko's virtual touch drifted away, slowly, until it was a thin wisp of heat and light drifting on the breeze of the Network's constant, shifting circuitry. "Soon, Ken‐ken." "Soon..." Ken shook himself. "We have to find Morgan. We have to end this."
"We can't kill the network." Myst's presence grew agitated, a storm brewing on the horizon. "We won't." He peered into the indistinct, muzzy light. "Let me see you?" "To what end?" "Show me you are well. I need to see you." "You won't like what you see." Myst's thoughts drifted, a tide receding away from him and Ken chased after. As though he were running on a beach, the shifting terrain gave way under his feet, like sand washed away by a tenacious tide. Ken concentrated on the gritty surface and pulled it together, giving himself support. "Stop it, Myst. Don't run from me now." "The mods. What He did to me. You'll be disgusted." "It doesn't matter." Ken stopped his pursuit. "Trust, remember? Let me see." He stood still in the gloom of the silent children at his back and the fog Myst had hidden himself in. "Nothing you could show me can change how I feel." "Even if I'm only half human, now? If He made me so ugly no one would want me?" "Your Master wants you. He wanted you badly enough to keep you safe from all this, to try and find a way to keep the Network running without you. He loves you. You've taught me so much. There will never be a day I don't want you in my life. Not now. Not after everything." Ken waited. The mist before him roiled and churned, but there was no sign of the imp. "He made me a part of the network before I ever entered it, you know. Made me ugly. Made it so no other man would want me. So I would be His only. You hate mods so much. You could never love what Morgan has made me into." "You don't get to decide what I love and what I don't." "My place is here, Ken‐ken. It's the only place I don't have to hide what I am or pretend to be something I'm not." "Don't hide from me. I know what you are already." Ken took a tentative step into the mist. "You are the imp who kept me safe and let me be strong again. I am not going to walk away from you. Not ever. I made a promise you would never be alone. Not in here or anywhere else." "I'm ugly." But the mists parted and Ken was afforded a view his fellow submissive he'd never had before. From the top of his blue‐dyed head to his toes, there was not an inch of Myst's lovely skin that was not marred by implants, scars or brightly tattooed images save for his sad, crumpled features. It was about as opposite from his porcelain perfect skin he'd shown Ken up to now as it was possible to get. And in the midst of the markings, put there by another man, his beautiful face was cast down, hidden behind a fringe of hair so Ken could not clearly see his eyes. "Look at me, Lovely." "The children call me that..." "Because you are." Ken moved closer, finally getting the hang of making his virtual body act like a proper reflection of his thoughts. Maybe it was literal, but he was a literal person, and this particular event called for a literal, practical intervention. He floated close to Myst and tucked his fingers under the imp's trembling chin. "Look at me."
Reluctantly, Myst lifted his face. Nothing in his deep, silvery eyes had changed, save perhaps Ken could better see and understand the sadness he'd always sensed just under the surface. "Nothing has changed," Ken assured him. "Nothing." He leaned close and touched his lips to Myst's feeling the kiss, the connection, whether these were their physical selves or not. "Everything is so much more real in here," Myst whispered, lips moving against Ken's, body sagging slightly toward him. Ken wrapped an arm around him and tucked the slighter man's head under his chin. He could 'feel' the cool touch of metal against his own skin, the warmth where mods gave way to Myst's skin, and the trembling that ran through the smaller man's core. "Only you and my Master have ever seen me like this." Ken backed off just enough to cup Myst's face in both hands and look into his eyes. On one hand, his fingers encountered smooth, cool metal at the back of Myst's neck. The other contacted warm, soft skin. "And no one else ever has to, if you don't want. But know I will walk proudly by your side, perfect skin or not. What you are on the inside matters so much more to me than what you look like." "Kiss me again?" Myst pleaded with him, his eyes still shining, his lips drawn down. Ken did, and in the back of his mind, he had to wonder if Mikko was still hovering, watching. A low‐grade tingling of warmth sizzled down his spine and he squirmed, the sensation only making him yearn for more, urging him to deepen the kiss in which he indulged. "Always watching, Kenny." Mikko's thoughts purred in his ear, electricity lifting the hairs at the nape of his neck. It occurred to Ken this was not accomplishing their mission any faster. "You're right, of course," Myst said, freeing himself gently from Ken's grasp. But there was a soft smile on his face, now, and that familiar ring of confidence in his voice. "We must finish this." "And go home," Ken said firmly, reaching again for Myst and capturing the cold, hard fingers of his modified hand. "All of us." "You know I can't let people suffer." Ken watched his friend, watched how Myst's form changed as he spoke of saving strangers. The tattoos seemed to fade, the mods vanish. He had to wonder if any of it was physical or if it was all Myst's mental image of himself. It was hard to know, when nano‐bots could fool the eye and make a mod look like smoothest skin. "You know you don't have to let anyone suffer. There are those here who can keep the Network running smoothly and ways we can guide them from anywhere on the planet." Ken lifted Myst's face once more and smiled. "Who must trust his Master now?" Myst's eyes grew wide, round, shining silver points of light in the otherwise shrouded world of his mind. "I do trust him," he whispered. "I do." "Then let him do this for you. Let him free you once and for all." "Seems like all my life I knew I was bound to come back here." "And you have. Maybe only to prove Morgan no longer controls you. No one controls you. Not even your Master. He is simply the eternally lucky recipient of your trust and obedience.
Prove to him you belong to him alone, that Morgan no longer owns any part of you." Ken trailed a hand down Myst's arm and the tattoos faded completely in the wake of his touch. "And here I thought I was the one supposed to show you all this," Myst muttered. "And so you have. This is just a reflection of everything you've taught me over this trip. Now." Ken stepped back and let Myst's hand fall. "I have a wolf whelp to rescue, and you must corral these children and work out a way to protect them, and yourself, from Morgan. There will be no way to hide our presence from him once Dean starts plugging his A.I. into the Network, and then, he'll do anything he must to keep his hold on Central." "Mikko will be in the most danger." Ken drew in breath, mentally fortifying himself for that inevitable battle. "I know. And there is nothing I can do for him." he glanced around the void, realized it was growing darker and shook his head. "Time is running out. Mikko?" He didn't really expect and answer, but was still disappointed when he didn't get one. "Just remember, Lover, you're the one with the light. Use it." He waited another moment, hoping for even a bite of heat on his skin, but there was no response. Ultimately, he knew, the battle for the Central Network could only be fought by those inside it, and that meant Myst and Mikko. All Ken and Dean could do was wait and hope. No longer needing his guide to navigate the Network, Ken found his own way out and quickly disengaged himself from the lighted cable under his skin. It seemed like the world had shrunk while he was inside. The walls of the physical space closed in and he grimaced. It was dark under the old church, the finicky electric lighting flickering and casting shadows he hadn't noticed before. "Because He knows, now." The young girl's voice startled him and he glanced over to where she was still sitting against the wall. "He's trying to shut down this building, leave you in the dark and cold, freeze us all to death so we cannot fight him." "I'll find him," Ken promised. Carefully, he lifted her and helped her back into the seat in her pod. She smiled at him as the door lowered with a quiet hiss and closed her off from the rest of the hallway, which Ken was beginning to realize was entirely too cold. He really was running out of time.
Chapter Twenty‐Five Mikko wanted to answer Ken, but doing so would give away his lover's presence in the Network. Morgan hadn't quite figured it out yet. He knew something was wrong, knew someone had infiltrated his stronghold, but he didn't know who, or where, or how. If Mikko drew his attention to Ken, he would give away the children and Myst as well. He selfishly didn't want to jeopardize any of his allies. Too long he'd been alone inside his head, alone fighting this battle against his former mentor. Darian could not help him in this. Not yet. Nothing in the physical world could draw him out of this fight now. If he lost focus even for a moment, he would lose forever, and he wanted so much to win. He wanted Ken back, wanted their life back. He didn't care if he had to share. He just wanted to hold his lover again. Failing that, he now knew Ken no longer needed him. His lover had others he could count on to keep him whole and sane. He could be happy and wasn't that what Mikko had broken from Morgan in the first place to accomplish? So he drew Morgan away from the others, pulling the stronger man's focus onto himself. If Morgan crushed him so be it. Ken would have time to do what he'd promised Myra and Darian he would do, and with any luck, Dean and Myst could free the Network from Morgan's crushing grip. It might not save Mikko or solve the world's problems, but it would go a long way to making it a safer place for the Young and Ageless alike. Perhaps the enclaves could open up again and with them, communication between the populations. Mikko knew the truth about Myra's child. However smart a wolf pup Jillian was, she was still a wolf. The Young had fewer and fewer children every year. Segregating the populations was never going to be an option. The human race was changing, and attitudes had to change with it. The Young and the Ageless needed one another, or neither would survive. Looking at his own ad‐hoc family, Mikko knew they would have to make changes as well, if they hoped to bring their own children into the world. Or whelp an entire population of very smart wolves. In fact, that idea didn't actually seem all that bad. "You'd have to survive that long, Pet." Mikko snorted. "Took you long enough to show yourself, Morgan." "What was the hurry? I knew you'd come home eventually. Don't think I need your body here, Pet." There was no body language in this odd, mental reality, but that didn't stop Mikko from understanding the mockery behind Morgan's every word. Let the asshole think he had the upper hand. It was fine with Mikko. "I can take you here and now, Mikko." An outrageously heavy heat and darkness came crashing down on Mikko. "Body or mind, makes no difference to me. Unleash your fear, and I have your power, and that's all I need to defeat those little pests, and your lover's plaything. Imagine what it will feel like, to watch their minds disintegrate, and all they'll ever know is that it was your power. You did that to them." "Like you did to Dean, and made me do to Ken," Mikko spat. "You won't get the better of me again." "So you think."
"I have something you don't," Mikko retorted, gripping onto his emotions and forcing himself to stay calm. "You think your friends can help you? Don't count on it." The weight of Morgan's hatred bore down on Mikko until he could barely breathe. He didn't know if the sensation was physical or just in his head. It didn't really matter. Breath was breath. Lack of it was death. He could do that math well enough. The darkness was absolute. Mikko fancied he could see images against it. Probably only his own fantasies drawn against the blackness of Morgan's oppression, but they were still his. He concentrated on them, on what they represented. Ken, first and foremost, always, just watching him, waiting. He wasn't sure what for. Then Darian and Myra appeared, hands joined, walking toward him, smiling, circling around to protect his back. He felt them there, one on either side, their hands touching the small of his back, supporting him, and he leaned back into that touch, trusting them to hold him steady. So what if it was his imagination? What was to stop him imagining whatever he wanted? He could imagine Morgan was stronger, smarter, greater than he was, that the bastard could take everything he loved and crush it, or he could float in this much more pleasant world where people cared and wanted to help. He'd been fighting alone too long. As his mind wandered and he thought he must be dying, he thought he saw more figures. One large, one small, and it amused him that after everything, even Dean and Myst would deign to enter his dreams, after all his mistrust and animosity. The thought made him smile. The smile made their images more real, and he felt a breath of fresh air waft across his face, felt a cool rain ease the heat from his skin. He could breathe again, could imagine a world where he wasn't alone and didn't have to be afraid of Morgan hovering over the next rise. He could even imagine a scenario in which he gathered his own power, under his own control, and used it to do something good, without the threat of his old Master taking it from him and twisting his intent. "That day will never come!" Heat and darkness crashed back in. Mikko cowered, but the feel of Darian's support never wavered. The battle out of the darkness started again.
Chapter Twenty‐Six Ken's child guide had been right. As soon as he was free of the Network, as soon as he'd reconciled the weight of the church overhead to his abilities and realized it wasn't trying to crush him, but was just there, waiting, he knew he could navigate the tunnels and hallways without difficulty. The stone and earth themselves gave up their secrets; where life touched and warmed them, where machinery gouged under the skin of the rock and the dome‐like voids that had been cruelly carved out to house Morgan's captives. Because stone wasn't a living, breathing thing did not mean it didn't reflect and remember the destruction wrought upon it by uncaring hands. There was no time now to sooth those hurts. That would take years and years of hard work. At least Ken could follow the uncomfortable resonating vibrations of intrusions and find what he needed to find. First, Jillian, because she would need to be reconnected with her parents. They would all be stronger if they could feel the reassurance of reunion, however virtual, and Ken could only believe Mikko needed Myra and Darian as strong as they could be right now. The pup, when he found her, was far larger than he'd imagined. Wolves, after all, grew much faster than humans, and Morgan had needed to keep her healthy if she was to be any use as a bargaining chip. She was huge, and the size of her head and paws spoke volumes as to how big she was going to get when she was full grown. Before she was done, she would be at least twice the size of the largest timber wolf walking the forests above. Ken approached with caution. Black lips peeled back from long fangs, no less deadly for belonging to a juvenile. "I'm not going to hurt you," he told the animal. "I'm here because your mother and father asked me to find you and bring you home to them." He stopped a few feet from the animal and tilted his head. "Obviously, I can't make you come with me, but I'm asking. Please. They miss you." It was a little late to wish he'd brought something from the wolf's parents to let her know he had, indeed been sent by them. All he had was his word and his hope her instincts were good enough to know friend from foe. "Did you really think that's all it would take?" The voice, scratchy and raw, startled Ken and he looked up. His focus had been solely on the huge 'pup'. He hadn't noticed the rest of the room was filled with the eerily glowing light from the cables used to connect living tissue with the Network. And at the center of that glow was Morgan. Ken didn't know what he had expected. This man was certainly no carbon‐copy of his twin brother. He was small, thin, his body decimated from lack of use, and his eyes bright with the light of some other vision no one else would ever see or understand. The Network surrounded him like a halo, its light glowing and brightening the room. He hardly looked the threat Ken knew he was. "I must say, you are even more delicious in person than Mikko's vision of you. I should remember to thank him for sending you to me. Once you've been integrated, we can enjoy much time together. My body may be useless, but yours is not, and I have many ways of
enjoying it, even as I am." Morgan gave a curt nod and out of the glow surrounding him, three burly men stepped. Each of them had been modified to some degree, their faces distorted by monocles and hearing enhancers. Tattoos covered what skin was left, depicting scenes Ken did not want to look at too closely. Ken stepped back from this new threat. They were all huge. Any one of them could overpower him on their own. His only chance was not to be caught in the first place. He didn't like the leer on their faces, or the hungry look in Morgan's eye. He had no doubt Morgan's first act would be a torturous display, with him at the center and shown to Mikko in every explicit detail. Morgan was just the kind of man to use their love against them. He could not let that happen. "It's a shame you can't do your own dirty work, Morgan." "You'll call me Master before this is over, Ken." "I doubt that very much." "You're braver than you have any right to be, I'll give you that much." Morgan nodded again and the three men advanced. Much to Ken's surprise, his rescue came from the wolf he'd all but forgotten. She stepped between him and the thugs, baring her teeth at them. They hesitated. Morgan made an annoyed sound and his eyes closed briefly. The wolf whined and crouched, as though trying the escape something Ken couldn't see. Ken reached for her, buried his fingers in her ruff, knowing he was taking a chance she would turn on him in her fear, but aware he had very few choices under the circumstances. The men in Morgan's employ seemed less fearful of the wolf tearing their throats out than they were of their employer. Wishing he was still connected to the Network, that he had some way to connect to Myra or Darian, Ken could only project his own thoughts at the wolf, his gratitude to the creature’s parents for their protection of his lover, and their place in all this. They were, after all, protectors, and every one of them needed that protection right now. It seemed, however, his efforts were either enough, or unnecessary. The wolf rose majestically from her crouch, bared her teeth and let loose a deep, menacing growl. Ken's grip was torn free as she sprang. Her form seemed to shrink against the bulk of the men she attacked. They were so much bigger, and Ken could not guarantee even her claws and fangs were enough proof against all three. He could only hope. Using the distraction, he sprang himself, reaching for the Network connections that kept Morgan alive and in control of most of the world's infrastructure. He'd only gotten a third of the connections ripped away when hands hauled him off and pinned his arms behind his back. As he'd predicted, it only took one of the behemoths to overpower him, but he struggled anyway. As hard as he fought, the man who held him was stronger, and fast. Inhumanly fast. Every time Ken squirmed free, he had only a bare second to escape and it was never long
enough. He ended up sprawled on the stone floor, his face pressed to the stone, his bare arms crushed at the elbows under the man's knees, rocks and grit scouring his flesh. "You think you can do enough damage to really stop me?" Morgan's head tilted. An amused look entered his eyes and he smiled. It was a sickening expression and Ken closed his eyes. If he was going to die here, like this, that was not the last thing he wanted to see before he went. "I don't need you to look at me, Ken. I can do this with or without your cooperation." Ken had no chance to stop what came next. He felt the searing bite of a Network connection penetrate his skin at the base of his neck. This time, instead of the rush of light and sound of a million other thoughts entering his head, there was only darkness, crushing, fiery darkness; a prison inside his own head where nothing and no one would ever find him. He'd though Morgan would use him, play with him, use sexual torment to break Mikko and command them both. This was worse. There was nothing here. No light. Nothing but the withering oppression of black heat, as if the mountain of building had crumbled in on top of him and left him to die in its hollow, empty belly. He was utterly alone. Far from using Ken as bait to claim Mikko, Morgan was separating them, keeping them as far from one another as possible. Ken cursed their physical distance. If he hadn't left home, if he was at least close to Mikko, if he could touch him, feel him...anything. Each element alone was useless. Morgan knew that. No one of them could hope to win alone. He'd been a fool to try. But hadn't Dean told him he was the loadstone? "You've got such a magnetic personality, Kenny," he told himself, snickering at his own insanity. But he was the rarest. The most stable. Dean had told him as much. All he had to do was invite the others; find them and bring them to him, Network be damned. If he could bend the earth physically, and he had ample proof that he could, then he could use its properties inside the Network. Earth couldn't fight darkness. It couldn't fight heat. He needed light and water for that. It couldn't give him relief from the stifling atmosphere. That required air. Light needed a window. Earth could be nothing but opaque. Air needed an opening. Earth could only be solid. Water, though—water could make its own path, even through the most solid of rock. All it needed was a tiny crack and that most malleable of elements had more strength than the harshest wind, the brightest sun, or even the solid bulk of stone. All it needed was an opening. An invitation. Ken ceased his struggles, concentrated, instead on remembering his own body. How had it felt, the gravel biting into his cheek? The crush of muscle between bone and solid rock? It was easy, reaching for what he knew. First the pain, something his harsh life had made him fast acquaintance with, then the unyielding caress of his element. Except it would yield to him. It would give when he asked, stand solid and protective when he needed. Now, he asked, and beneath him, the earth gave, sinking away just enough for him to slither free. With freedom of physical movement came the awareness of the Network, of his connection to it, of Morgan, hovering, looking to stifle him yet again.
"No." Ken threw out an arm, and with the motion, the very wall of the chamber opened up. Great pillars of stone rose to hold up the building above, but the close space of Morgan's chamber ceased to be. Instead, they were left in a wide open space where nothing could hide. "You really think that will be enough?" "I know it." Ken glanced toward the opened wall, not surprised to find his winding path through the hallways below the church had lead him almost right back to Myst. He sat, serenely in the next room, Network cables glimmering with information, his eyes closed, and Ken smiled to see his skin unblemished except for the cables and the mods to which they connected. He hurried over and took both the small man's hands in his. "Now, Myst. Do it now." He laced his fingers with Myst's, their mods connecting, Network cables snaking eagerly up Ken's arm and sliding effortlessly under his skin. It was easier every time. The world opened up before him. Mikko was no longer a million miles away, but right there in his head, next to him, his light engulfing them both. A breeze blew up and Ken didn't have to look up to know it was Dean's hand on his shoulder, Dean's cleansing wind blowing over them, tumbling the darkness away before it. They unleashed a maelstrom on the world Morgan had created. His virtual playground ripped to shreds under their combined onslaught. Mikko's slashing, jagged flashes of light ripped at the darkness Morgan had been shrouded in for so long, and Dean's cleansing bots blew the shreds away. Myst cooled the burning circuits in the wake of their destruction. Ken went ahead, erecting protection for those Networks that could not be destroyed without serious loss of life and left behind the support the new Networks would need to repair themselves. He held no illusions. What they did would tear apart much of the fabric of the world's infrastructure, but Ken was able to protect the medical circuits, the most important of the navigation and environmental stabilizers from their onslaught. Cleaning up and rebuilding would take time and effort. They would all have to sacrifice the lives they'd hoped to regain in order to fix what they did now, but the world would be out from under the threat of Morgan's war. Ageless children might remain young, locked inside the Network forever, but they would learn and grow and become caretakers of what was to come. None of it would be easy. There would be people who would hate them for what they did. Darian and Myra would surely earn their titles many times over, but the world would still be a safer, brighter place and the Network could do humanity some good, rather than leaching the life and trust from the world, as it had done since its inception. It all could have happened in an instant or over years. It was impossible to tell. Ken blinked back to the physical world, his mod and his connection to the Network still intact. He found himself gazing into Myst's tired, satisfied face and they both smiled. Mods glimmered next to delicate, porcelain skin in the light of the cables. His beauty shone from inside, where nothing Morgan or anyone else could do would taint it.
"I knew it would be enough," he whispered. For a moment, he closed his eyes, remembering how to breathe, how to move in the physical world, and when he lifted his head again, he felt Dean behind him, tugging to get him to his feet. He rose under the Dom's persuading hands and let the bigger man support him as he made his way back to stand in front of Morgan's chair. For a long time, he just gazed at the small, withered man, trying to find the right thing to say. "You think you've defeated me." Morgan's voice was a desperate wisp of defiance. "It was never about you, Morgan," Ken told him. "You wanted us to believe it was, but it was never about you. The world will go on, no matter what you or I or anyone else does. We can't control it. We can only try and do the right thing by it." "You think anyone will ever thank you for what you've done?" Ken shrugged. "I don't expect anyone will ever really know or understand what we've done. I don't care." "But you'll keep doing it. You'll keep saving ungrateful people who don't even know they need saving." "I expect so." Ken knelt to better see into Morgan's lined face. "The thing is, I've learned I'm very good at fixing things. An old house, an old Network, or an old, worn chunk of rock spinning through space. But I didn't do any of it alone. And that's the difference between you and me. I've always had Mikko to light my way, even when I thought I was alone. He was always just a phone call away." "Well. Find yourself a new light." Morgan's face twisted into a nasty sneer. "He's a lot weaker than you think." There was a sharp snap inside Ken's head. The lights everywhere flickered. Even the Network blinked out for a fraction of a second. Ken's knees buckled. Vomit rose up his throat and spewed out before he could control it. Dean caught him before he hit the ground, but not before he felt the connection to Mikko severed. "No!" his protest was barely a whisper, barely a sound penetrated his own, personal darkness. He should have been more careful. He should have kept his lover safe behind his strong barriers where Morgan couldn't get at him. But he'd been careless, gloating, unprepared for this last act of vengeance snatching victory away.
Chapter Twenty‐Seven He came to in Dean's arms. The big man was carrying him from the church itself into diminishing daylight. It seemed strange that so much light still filled the world. He shifted slightly, but Dean only held on tighter. "Take it easy. I will have you back to the hotel in no time." He thought he should tell the other man he could walk, that he wasn't hurt. But he was. He was in agony, and far from wanting to walk anywhere, he just wanted to remain where he was, safe from having to think, forever. Morgan might as well have killed him, too. He huddled against Dean's chest, and listed to the steady clomp of the man's footsteps. All around them, people milled in confusion as the grav‐lifts bumped and grounded and only slowly came back on line after their decimation of the system that ran them. Ken ignored it all. Dean's presence was commanding enough that doors opened ahead of them, and before Ken was ready, they were alone inside their hotel room. Dean carried him directly into the master bathroom and set him on a plush chair in the corner. Gently, the Dom removed Ken's soiled clothes and swabbed his cuts and scrapes, talking a low voice all the while. "Beloved explained what happened. I'm sorry, Ken. I wish..." He frowned, dipped his cloth in the sink full of already pink, grimy water and dabbed at the blood dripping down Ken's shin. "I promised you, did I not?" He lifted Ken's chin with gentle fingers. "I promised you would never be alone. I meant it. You will never be alone again." Ken met his gaze, knowing his own was watery and limp with unshed tears and hopelessness. He nodded anyway. Dean and Myst both had made the promise. He believed they meant it. He didn't believe not being alone on the outside would be much consolation for the loneliness already building in his heart. He let Dean clean him up, stepped into the bath when instructed, and welcomed the sting of the hot water on his scrapes. He didn't protest when Dean climbed in with him. There was nothing sexual about the way the Dom held him. It was comforting to have him there. Part of him wanted to know where Myst was. Part of him didn't care. He thought he should inquire about Jillian, and for a moment, the ludicrous nature of that name for a vicious wolf struck him. But all those thoughts drifted away every time he realized he had no home to go back to. Would Darian and Myra find their own place to go now since Mikko no longer needed protection? Would they come after their own child, seek answers Ken couldn't give them? He'd have to tell them he'd failed. He'd failed to bring home their daughter, instead he'd allowed her to be killed trying to protect him. He'd have to tell them he'd let his own guard down long enough to let Morgan get at Mikko. He was their lover, too. Ken knew that, and the knowledge didn't hurt near as much as knowing he they would all have to live without him. It didn't matter much what he would have to tell them. He was used to failure. Sometime after the bath, Dean plied a little soup down his throat and tucked him into bed. He lay there, listening to the other man's movements in the dark, and didn't complain when the Dom's hard, warm body curled tight against his back. His heart‐rate skyrocketed
when a heavy arm draped over him. Goose bumps rose, tightening his skin, puckering his nipples up into tight buds. Dean's palm grazed over the hard nubs and Ken flinched. The heat and strength was comforting against his own naked skin. Ken pushed back, unconscious of the movement until he felt Dean's hard cock against his ass. "Are you going to fuck me?" Ken's voice barely parted the expectant hush of the room. "Would you like me to?" Dean rocked his hips and let his hand rove once more over Ken's chest. His lips pressed softly to the side of Ken's neck and Ken could actually feel the feather brush of the other man's eyelashes on his jaw. "I don't...know. I don't...I want him not to be gone." "I know." Dean's arm tightened, drawing him closer. "I want to kill Morgan." "He's already dead, Ken. Whatever he did to Mikko, it ended his own life, as well." "It's too good an end for him." "Shush, now." Dean's caresses continued, more comforting than sexual, but not exactly innocent. "Let me make you feel good." Ken sighed into his touch, into the offer. What harm was there in it now? So many wrong choices and mistakes had led him here. But some had been right, hadn't they? Freeing the Network from Morgan's grasp, giving the children whose lives he'd stolen a purpose in their imprisonment was a good thing. Learning who he was, what he was capable of, that was good, too. As if from outside himself, he watched his body melt into Dean's touch. He felt the soft commands the Dom gave on a soul‐deep level he couldn't ignore. He wanted it. Wanted the comfort of being filled, connected to another living being, of being taken and protected from his own heartache, if it was just for this short time. When the pressure of Dean's cock at his entrance came, he was ready for it. He accepted the intrusion with a soft sigh, receiving the gift Dean was offering despite his pain. If no one ever filled Mikko's place in his heart, he knew in his soul he would not survive without a Dom. Better the kind hand he knew than risk annihilation at the hand of someone who didn't care. If an orgasm could be gentle and mind‐blowing at once, this one was. With Dean's cock buried deep and the Dom's hand tight around Ken's shaft, there was no escaping the inevitable, and Ken had no wish to. Dean's own release came with a low grunt and full‐body squeeze Ken couldn't breathe through. After that, Dean calmly cleaned them both with warm cloths and snuggled back into bed with him. "What about Myst?" Ken asked, fighting back tears his new lover didn't deserve after being so tender with him. "There is a lot of work to do. Beloved will not rest until it is done." "He will if you tell him to." Ken reached over his shoulder and pulled Dean's arm over him like a blanket. "He'll do anything you tell him, and so will I. A matched pair." Dean leaned his weight against Ken's back and kissed his temple. "Then I tell you now, do not be afraid to grieve in front of me. Your loss is great and I have no intention of trying to replace Mikko. You may stay as long as you choose, and I will care for you as my own. You deserve that much."
"Your own," Ken whispered. Once, when there had been no Mikko, he had wanted that very badly. "It is too soon to know what you want, Ken. No need to rush into any decisions tonight. Sleep. " "And things will look better in the morning?" "Perhaps." Sleep was a long time coming, and was fitful when it did. If he could have stayed there, in the darkness of sleep forever, he might have been happy. Morning came, though, and when it did, Ken found he was alone in the bed. He was not alone in the room, however. Lying on the floor beside the bed was a huge black wolf. "Jillian?" The animal lifter her head and regarded him. "You're not hurt." Jillian lowered her head, rolled slightly to her side to reveal a pad of bandages over her ribs. They were held in place by strips of cloth he hadn't at first noticed. "Oh." Ken crawled out of bed, sliding to the floor next to her. "I'm sorry." She watched him, wary, but not defensive as she'd been on their first meeting. After a few moments, Ken lifted a hand, ran it over the fur of her head and smiled, keeping his teeth behind his lips. "You're a pretty thing. Big. But pretty. You'll have to get home to your folks, somehow." He had the insane wish to bury his face in her fur and hug her. He'd thought she'd been killed. "Maybe...they'll come here. Or Dean will let me take you to them..." Ken stretched out his legs, and his feet hit something soft and heavy. He glanced over to find his ruck sack next to the wolf. A note rested on top. Gone to check on Beloved. Your own clothes back. Wear what you please. We will be home for dinner." "Home for dinner." Ken glanced around the room. "This is a hotel room..." He hauled the sack closer and unzipped it, glaring at the jumble of clothing. Mikko had packed this for him. Ken pulled out a shirt, pressing it close to his face in the faint hope there might be some tiny scent of his lover left in the fabric. It smelled of fabric softener and the stale inside of the sack. "I want to go home, Jillian. But where's my home now, eh? Without him?" Ken rummaged through the rest of the sack, pulling out socks and t‐shirts, the jeans Mikko had always chosen for him to wear when they went out. Jeans he loved to peel off Ken when they got home again. Pulling the pain back inside, Ken stood and hauled the jeans on. The bulge of something in the front pocket drew his attention and he pulled it out. Red. Plastic. His lifeline. His antiquated cell phone. He pressed the cool surface to his lips. What he wouldn't give to press speed dial on the thing and have the ring answered. There was only one number in the phone's memory. Only one he'd ever needed. He couldn't stop the tears spilling down his cheeks. Knowing there would be no answer, he opened the thing and pressed the button anyway. He tortured himself with three rings, would have hung up then, but the fourth ring never came. "Kenny?"
Impossible. Ken hung up the phone, stared at it, his throat working and eyes watering with more tears. Less than thirty seconds passed before it rang, the soft chirping making Jillian's ears twitch and Ken's heart thud to a stop. Only one person had this number. He opened it, put it to his ear. "I'm an idiot. Kenny, I'm so sorry. I should have thought—" "Wheels to the ground," Ken said quietly. "You always said, wheels to the ground." "I always said." Ken hung up the phone again, sinking to the floor beside the wolf, waiting for his heart to start beating again. Almost a minute passed before the phone rang. "Don't hang up, Kenny." "I thought you were dead. I thought..." "I know. I know, and I'm so sorry. I tried a hundred different ways to get back on the Net, to contact you. I don't know what he did to me, but I couldn't reconnect. I was so frantic to get back to you and I couldn't—" there was a sharp pause, Mikko's breath caught, pricked Ken's heart with the sound of anguish. "I thought he killed you. You were there, in my head. Then gone. I don't know what he did. I thought...I didn't think." Ken leaned against the bed. "He forgot not everyone lives in the Net. He's never known life outside. He thought he did kill us." "And if I hadn't been so stupid, so one track minded, I would have called you right away. I'm so sorry." "Doesn't matter now." Ken got up. "Doesn't matter. I'm coming home." "Hurry, Kenny."
Epilogue "You're doing it again." Ken approached the back of the couch from the kitchen. Mikko listened to the soft pad of his bare feet on the hardwood, the shuffle of his jeans, and tilted his head to one side. He knew Ken was talking about his sleeplessness, his distraction; his complete inability to find his equilibrium. It made him restless and distant, preoccupied by everything else but his lover, who he couldn't satisfy because he couldn't figure out what parts of himself Morgan had left intact. In a bid to quiet his roiling thoughts and calm the fear he might never be normal again, Mikko had dragged the couch across the floor and placed it in front of the big picture window where he could look out over the sea and void his mind of the broken bits left behind by his mentor's passing. "You're going to scratch my floor," Ken admonished gently. "You know we could just rearrange the furniture. However you like—" "You're placating me." "I'm trying to talk to you." The tone of Ken's voice fell just short of exasperation. "They've all gone, you know" he continued, leaning carefully on the back of the couch, not too close, nor too far away. Mikko shifted slightly, until he felt Ken's warm breath on the back of his neck. "We're alone," Ken whispered. His lips brushed the fringes of Mikko's lengthening hair, a bare feather of a touch. Despite Mikko's best efforts to remain impassive, Ken's nearness, this deliberate attempt to entice, sent a shiver through Mikko. He pulled away again, feeling the immediate rise of his power as it wormed along, just under his skin. ”Just you and me," Ken whispered again, somehow making the words sound like a promise. Mikko couldn't help twisting slightly to land a too‐hopeful gaze on his lover's lips. Nor could he help the words that slipped out; the almost‐accusation. "But not really." Ken rose and Mikko was sure he would storm from the room, and he cursed himself for not being able to let it go. Instead, his lover slipped over the back of the couch to nestle beside him. "Not really, no." Mikko growled. If there was one thing this whole situation had done that he had never fully managed, it was to open Ken up and cure him of his reticence. Now he so often covered every situation, every conversation with nothing but the unvarnished truth. And at the moment, he had Mikko's near arm tangled up in his, making it impossible for Mikko to get up and walk away. "He's changed you," Mikko snapped. "He opened my eyes to the possibilities." Mikko snarled. "Gotten inside you." Fire crackled through the air. The skin of Ken's arm cooled where it touched Mikko, the mod and his own flesh melding to form a smooth barrier of protection. Mikko forced himself to concentrate, to control the rush of anger. The air snapped and zinged for a few minutes more before he got his emotions, and his powers, under control.
"You're getting better at that," Ken observed mildly, completely ignoring Mikko's not‐so‐ subtle jibe. Ken held up his own hand and the limb shimmered back to normal. "You used to like the way my power felt." Mikko heard the pout in his own voice, and the low‐grade hum on the air around them. "Who says that's changed?" "He's gotten so far inside you. You fucking like that fucking mod." Ken shifted, perching on the edge of the couch where he could get a good look at Mikko. "Are we talking mental mind‐fucking here, Mikko, or physical?" At last, exasperation tinged his voice and Mikko felt the tingle of static electricity coast over his skin. Ken got up, but only to drop to his knees, inserting himself between Mikko's feet, obstructing his view of the sea. "Because that is what this is about, isn't it?" Ken waited. Mikko stubbornly glared at his lover's bare midriff, acutely aware that even Myst's fashion tastes were beginning to wear off on Ken. He ruthlessly stifled the acknowledgement that the low‐slung jeans and bare mid‐section weren't that much of a hardship to endure. Ken relented after a moment and leaned forward, resting his forearms on Mikko's thighs. "What do you want me to say? Should I defend myself? Talk about that edge? The black hole where you didn't exist anymore? I thought you were dead. And I'm not using that as an excuse. Merely stating a fact. Morgan couldn't destroy us. He tried, didn't he? But he couldn't do it unless we let him. All he could do was separate us and hope we destroyed ourselves. I was not about to give him that satisfaction. The only reason I made it through thinking you were gone was because of Dean, and you can resent him—resent us—for that, or you can see it for what it is." "And what's that?" Mikko brought his gaze up from where he'd been watching the heaving of Ken's chest as he spoke, to look into his eyes. So deep. So perfect. He longed to breach the distance. To touch. Even he didn't understand the barrier that held him back. "A glimpse of the truth. Don't you see? They've all gone home, sure, but they never leave us. Like you said. Not Dean and Myst, and not Darian. Do you think I didn't see how much you wanted him to stay?" "It isn't like that." "Sure it is." Ken shuffled forward more, until his thighs fetched against the couch and his arms could wrap around Mikko's waist. He continued to gaze up into Mikko's eyes. "I'll never fill that place in you that he does. I can't. I'm not him, and I wasn't there for you when you needed someone. He was. I'll always be grateful to him for keeping you sane. And you know what? He'll be back, because he can't let you go. Not really. Morgan tried to drive wedges between us, break us all. Don't let him win. He can't keep you in that corner any more. You don't have to live on what was." Mikko watched Ken's face, looking for the uncertainty, the fear, but he couldn't find it. Maybe because Ken knew, no matter what happened, he wouldn't have to be alone again. "Did Dean ask you to go with them?" Ken reached up and caressed Mikko's face. "Not in so many words, but the offer was there. From both of them." A crooked smile graced Ken's face. "But I'm where I want to be."
He paused for a moment, and Mikko once again found his gaze wandering, unable to keep his attention on his lover completely. Something pulled him away, kept him apart from what Ken was trying so hard to give him. "Look at me. Please," Ken urged. "I'm right where I want to be." "At my feet?" Mikko tried to smile. "You already proved you're strong enough to take care of us all. You don't need this." Ken shook his head. "I want this. Need has not a thing to do with it." Mikko touched Ken's cheek. A quick, sharp snap of power arched from his fingertips, even before he made contact and tripped along Ken's jaw. Mikko watched the tension in the muscles there tighten and release, saw the flare of desire brighten Ken's eyes and then darken to lust. "Why?" "Because." Ken held up his branded palm where Mikko could see. "I belong to you. My absolute joy is seeing that power in your eyes, seeing you look down on me and knowing I've found my place in the world." "And you don't feel you're settling for someone who couldn't protect you? Couldn't even protect myself, Kenny. What kind of Dom am I?" "I don't need you to be perfect. I'm not. Some days, I'm not going to feel strong. Someday, you're not going to feel this vulnerable." Mikko sighed and sank back into the couch, his gaze once again drifting back out to sea. How could he explain how lost he was? Not having Morgan in his head, a dark shadow threatening everything he loved, should be a good thing. He should be relieved. But not having him there was terrifying. How could he explain that? The only way he stayed sane was by knowing Darian would come back and fill the void. How did he tell Ken that what they had, what Ken was, couldn't be enough anymore? This was the exact situation that had driven him from his last lover. "Look." Ken pulled Mikko's face around again. "Everything happened." Mikko snorted. Trust Ken to pile the last month of turmoil into such a bald statement and make it make sense. "Things are different now. Darian will come back, and you'll want him to do whatever it is that he does to make things right again. Whatever it is that I can't do. I get that." Mikko glared at him. "You say that like it doesn't matter. Like it isn't any big deal to you. To us. Don't you care?" "Of course I care!" This was the first indication there was anything going on inside Ken other calm acceptance. "The bigger deal to me is seeing you so lost and frightened. I know what I'm seeing in your eyes. I've felt it. Yanny felt it, and it tore us apart because we didn't know how to fix it. Or," he lowered his head, "I knew how. I didn't want to admit I wasn't enough for him or he for me. I was stubborn and needy, and we didn't survive. I almost didn't survive." He cupped Mikko's face gently between his palms, giving Mikko nowhere to hide. "Now we know the cure, and I know, for you, it isn't something I have. Don't think I haven't given this a lot of thought, because I have. It comes down to something pretty basic." "It does?" Mikko blinked at him. That was more than he'd heard about Ken's former lover in all the time they'd been back together. The first time he'd even heard the man's name.
Ken nodded and Mikko thought he saw something like amusement in those deep brown eyes. "It does. At the end of the day, I love you. I want your happiness." Ken shrugged. "And you need to be medicated. If Darian is the medication, well," a smile flitted across Ken's face, even sparked at the corners of his eyes, "there are a lot of things I can think of worse than sharing you with a man who cares about you as much as he does." "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Ken snickered. "Tell me about it. Sometimes I even surprise myself." He sat back on his heels and gazed up at Mikko. "It makes sense, though. If the balance of elements was what was needed to solve the big stuff, why wouldn't it fix the small stuff, too? The world changed when the waves struck. Everything changed. Even us. Now the Net is here, and it needs to be maintained or we end up back in the dark ages, and that's no good for anyone. So if all the big, important stuff needs that balance, then it stands to reason—" "We little guys would benefit from it, too." "Exactly." Mikko nodded. It was a thought that had occurred to him, but he hadn't been sure if it was just his selfishness in wanting to keep Darian and Ken, or if was really a viable truth. "I'll tell you what, though," Ken said. "I don't intend on wasting one minute of our alone time pining." "Oh?" Ken grinned, rose to his feet and took Mikko's hand. "Don't tell me I have to spell it out for you." "Hmmm." Mikko gazed at him, at his decidedly well‐attired frame, and the clothes that showed him off to perfection, and pushed thoughts of Darian and everything else out of his head. Ken was here, wanting him, and what else did he need to worry about right this minute? "Bed then?" Ken asked, giving Mikko's hand a tug. "I have a better idea." Mikko rose and took Ken in his arms, bestowing a short, hard kiss before letting him go and enjoying the way it left his lover panting, lips parted and eyes slightly glazed. "Go get those lovely, fancy clothes off and meet me in the back yard." "What should I put on? What are we going to do?" Mikko lifted one eyebrow at him and Ken flushed to a delicious pink. "Oh. Right. Duh." Mikko took the time to retrieve a small wooden box from a drawer in the console table, to find lube and blankets, and took the lot out to the back yard. Outside, he readied the area under the stone archway with the mattresses from the lounge chairs covered in a blanket. He then closed his eyes, felt outward for the thready pulses of the other Ageless. He'd never taken the time to notice how many of them made St. John's their home, but he was only interested in four. He found them all easily, connected with a simple brush of his thoughts across their minds, and wove those threads with the light of his power until he'd erected a shimmering wall of privacy around the yard. He could feel a sense of benign amusement on the air, and it pushed back the shadows Morgan had left behind in his mind, even filled the void a little bit. As much as she was more wolf than human, he felt Jillian's presence, as well, and it made him happy to know they had at least managed to make
one thing right that he had screwed up. The missing Ageless and the damaged infrastructure could be dealt with over time. This, the reunion of a child with her family, was at least something. "So?" Ken's soft voice brought Mikko's thoughts back to the yard and the immediate issue. "You did that?" he asked, gazing at the wavering wall of light and energy. Mikko nodded, held out a hand and the moment Ken's fingers touched his, he knew his lover could feel the subtle breath of their family around them. "Not like they're...watching, or anything?" Ken asked. "Of course not. That would be..." "Yeah." "Yeah." Mikko pulled him close. "They're just close, Kenny. That's all." "Feels good." Ken's hands roved up over Mikko's back and Mikko wasn't sure if he meant the ethereal connections or the physical sensation. Ken pressed closer, held tighter, and Mikko stopped caring and started enjoying. He allowed Ken to slowly peel the clothes off him and toss them aside, revelling in the eagerness of his touch to the point he had to physically hold Ken off or risk their first encounter after so long apart be over far too soon. "I want to touch," Ken pouted. "And you will. But first," he lifted Ken's chin gently and smiled, "we have all afternoon and I have something for you." He kissed Ken with just enough promise to leave him wanting more, and wanting it badly. Scooping the small box up from the ground, he held it out. Ken took it, opened it, and grinned. "I forgot about this." He ran a finger over the small leather ring in the box. "Goes with this," Mikko told him, holding out his hand and a larger circle of leather. Ken's hand stilled. He stared at the collar, an expression of careful hope on his face. "Really?" "Really, Kenny. I love you. If you haven't earned this by now..." "You still want me? Like this?" He touched the collar with one finger. "Even after you let Dean put his collar on you?" Mikko asked. "You knew?" "He told me." "I should have..." "It doesn't matter. I know why you didn't. I wasn't ready to hear it." Ken looked up at him. "And now you are?" "Dean reminded me that while you belonged to me, I don't own you, or your choices, and trying to take that away from you would only lead to disaster. I was pissed. I guess I let that rule me for a long time. But in the end, he kept you safe, didn't he? He brought you back to me, and I have to be grateful to him for that." The air around them shimmered, as though with laughter, and Mikko rolled his eyes. "If I didn't need them to keep our privacy..." "Let them stay." Ken smiled softly, lifted his chin met Mikko's eyes. "I don't mind." "You are a bit of an exhibitionist, aren't you?"
Ken shrugged. "I might be, I'd also be proud to wear your collar, and I don't really care who knows or what they think of it." "Not that any of our family would have an issue." Mikko turned Ken around, placed the collar around his throat and fastened it into place. "But you aren't to take it off, even when you're with him. Is that clear?" Ken's head bowed. "Of course." "Now." Mikko turned him back around. "Put that ring on, because I have plans for you." He trailed a hand down Ken's arm, leaving behind a long trail of sparks that left Ken panting and gasping. "And you'll need to be very patient."
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Spinning by Jaime Samms Chapter One Ken gazed out the back window of the house to the waves; dark, rolling mounds lifted the horizon and dropped it again into the abyss on a rhythmic schedule. Gulls wheeled and cried over the water, white dots between the grey overcast and the darker ocean. "Newfoundland?" The incredulous accusation jerked Ken's attention back to the phone call, "Seriously?" "What about it?" Ken tossed his soccer ball up and caught it one‐handed. Held in his other hand, the cool plastic of his ancient cell warmed against his ear. "Um...it's a rock, for starters." Mikko's indignation echoed thinly across the poor Atlantic connection. "Nothing grows there."
Ken's breath caught and his grip on the phone tightened. "So?" Belligerence, he noticed, had no echo. "You can't re‐grow a broken heart, anyway." Gardening is for idiots who fall in love. He fixed his gaze on the barren rocks outside the window, taking comfort in their never‐ changing strength. The waves rose and fell on the same cadence as his breathing. Or maybe it was the other way round. Silence didn't echo either, strung out along the line. He hung up. Sea waves splashed up over the rocks. He gulped in great breaths around the jagged edges. After a moment, the chirping ring tone soothed over his uneven breathing, and he flipped the phone open. "I know it's tough, Kenny." "You don't know fuck all." He snapped the phone closed again. A minute passed. Another. His knuckles ached. If he loosened his grip, he'd throw the damn thing. It wasn't Mikko's fault. Or the phone's. Still, he turned it to vibrate and tossed it onto the coffee table as another minute ticked past. The ring's vibration carried it almost to the floor before he lunged after the phone. His momentum carried him to the window and he leaned his forehead against the glass. The waves rolled in steadily as he opened the phone and held it to his ear. "So where are you staying?" Mikko's voice drifted, soft over the connection. He never stayed properly hung‐up on. "Why does it matter?" Ken turned away from the ocean view and tossed the ball. This time it thumped off the wall, onto a bare table behind the couch, and obediently back into his hand, just like a soccer ball should. Gravity was predictable that way. Not like men. "Because if I know you," came Mikko's reply, "and I do, you searched out some pre‐ furnished dump of an apartment and are sitting on someone else's lice‐ridden mattress bouncing that ball of yours against paper‐thin walls. Any moment now, an irate neighbor's going to come screaming down on you, and I should know where to send the cops after your bruised and bloodied self." "It's a room, actually." Ken caught the ball on its second trip and hugged it against his chest. "I'm not sitting." He glanced at the grungy couch and grimaced, turning back to the comfort of the watery view. "No one wants to live this close to the ocean since the Wave hit. It was cheap." "Even better." "Shut it." "So. Where?" "What difference does it make?" You let me go. He smothered the logical, unwelcome follow‐up that'd been impossible to stop, and Mikko had never been far, oceans notwithstanding. He always, always, answered his phone. Maybe he was a bit more like gravity than he was like other men. "Kenny" Mikko's voice caressed his soul, even over the crappy connection. "Talk to me. Tell me what happened." He could be so gentle. Ken's fingers shook as he closed the phone on that sweetness—that gentle caring. Not even a minute passed before the phone amplified his trembling with its vibration. He opened it, brought it to his ear. This time, Mikko did not speak.
"Everyone leaves," Ken whispered at last, into the waiting silence. Bits and pieces. Memories more recent that Mikko, more painful, loomed up again. A back turned, a broken admission. "I'm not strong enough. I can't keep you in check." Those words had been the end. If Ken left physically, it was only because there was nothing to stay for. Those memories were the rocks he smashed himself on again and again. "You're the one half a world away from him." Mikko's voice tugged him carefully back. "I don't want to talk about this." "You don't want to tell me where you are. You don't want to tell me how you got there. Why did you call in the first place?" Ken choked a countering question past the tight constriction in his throat. "Why do you keep calling back?" Because you're you. He knew that answer already, and behind Mikko's sigh came the tap of computer keys. Trust Mikko to still be using a physical keyboard when holo‐ keys and virtual screens worked so much faster. Trust him to know Ken would use a phone just as old as that computer; a phone only its ancient contemporary could trace. Ken smiled to himself. Trust Mikko to keep that old shit around, on the off chance Ken gave him the opportunity to need it. Swallowing hard, Ken pulled the phone from his ear, and held it where he could stare at it, where he could watch his own hand not closing it. His fingers tightened around the instrument, his arm around the ball, crushing it to his chest. It was time to hang up again. The distant drone of a motor, tires rattling on the gravel road outside the house, caught his attention. He had a bike. Ken gravitated toward the front of the house, but his little room in the back didn't have even a window that showed the street. The sound rumbled by without slowing. Ken's attention drifted back to the phone. Time... His own name, crowed down the line, compelled him to draw it back to his ear in time to hear Mikko let out a little huff. "Gotcha." He closed the phone and set it on the coffee table again. If he was going to run, it had to be now. He glanced over his shoulder, to the arch in the wall and the alcove beyond. His backpack sat on the bed, packed before he'd first dialed Mikko's number. He'd managed to stay at least one step ahead of his former lover for years, spurred by Mikko's disinterest in him to keep his distance and search for the connection he craved in the arms of anyone who'd treat him with a firm hand. He'd never done well without that guidance. He needed someone to submit to when things inside him got loose. He had never found a way to get the chaos settled, get the pieces back in place without help. By the time Mikko had noticed he was in trouble, he'd already fled. Funny how his lover had no time to worry about him until he was gone, and then he'd spent every waking hour for months trying to track him down. And Mikko was a good Tracker. The best. Ken knew this. He'd learned how to be very elusive prey. Hard experience taught him not to trust in the safety of promises, so he never gave Mikko the chance to make them. He couldn't be hurt by broken ones if Mikko couldn't make them in the first place. Most of all, over the years of avoiding going back to the one place he'd almost felt safe, Ken had learned not to fall in love. Until now. Until him. The last guy had slipped under his guard, needing just as much as Ken had, and for a while, they'd leaned on each other. It would have worked, too, if Ken
hadn't lost control and scared them both. In the end, his lover hadn't been able to help, and all Ken had left was the jagged edges of more broken promises. He'd come so close to feeling safe. Secure. He'd built a home for them, planted a garden, done all the things a man happy and in love does. Then just as he began to let go, to trust, to share what he truly was, he was told no, his truest heart turned away. And Ken did what Ken had always done. He ran. To the most barren place he could find, where there were no pretty houses, just the run down, worn out remnants of the old order. Nothing grew here. Mikko was right about that. It would take a supreme effort to create anything resembling a garden on the rocks outside this house, and Ken liked it that way. No reminders of what he'd almost had. At first, he might have hoped the sea would swallow him up, but it only rocked the horizon, washed the rocks and lulled him into stopping, staying, letting the loneliness drive him almost beyond hope. Now, he wrapped himself up in the knowledge Mikko was coming. He couldn't run another step, except into oblivion. But even Mikko was at the mercy of commercial airlines. Since the crackdown on private jets and giant air busses with their environmentally hideous fuel consumption, crossing the ocean had become prohibitive and time consuming. That gave Ken time to fade back into the world, away from his former lover. All that bound them could remain loose. He'd be alone. But he'd stayed on the line just long enough for Mikko to find him, and that simple act meant something. Besides, here, he'd found something he'd never encountered in the rest of his travels. He couldn't explain what it was. The Waves that had devastated so many coastlines at the beginning of the century had nearly wiped out this city, and recovery had been slow. Now, he knew, on a bone‐deep level, such devastation was not going to happen here again. He didn't understand how he knew. He just knew. That knowledge of safety from nature's wrath slowed his flight impulse, but didn't quite stop it. Without realizing he'd done it, he'd risen, moved toward the bed and his belongings. His fingers closed over the collar of his coat on its hook, but he didn't lift it free. On the couch, the red patches of leather on his soccer ball bounced the light from the bare bulb dully back at him. His phone remained quiet on the black plastic table. Why had he called? Why had he stayed on the line? Simple questions. And an even simpler answer. Everyone left. Even he had run when he'd gotten scared. But not Mikko. Never Mikko. Ken let go of the claw‐hold on his coat and slumped back to the couch. Elbows on knees, he leaned forward and touched one finger to the red plastic of the phone. They could be safe here, if he stayed. If he waited. "Hurry, Mikko."
Grounded by Jaime Samms Chapter One
Outside his front window, Mikko watched the street with the dim outlines of houses at the far end, and the dark bulk of the cliff face toward the ocean. All down the road, trees whipped in the growing wind. He still had moments when the close proximity to so much water made him more than a little uneasy, but Ken had such confidence in their safety. He trusted that confidence. It smacked of Ken's few, calm moments in the garden, or the kitchen, when he knew exactly what he was doing, what he was capable of, and he let his guard down. A soft sigh filled the quiet with Mikko's unsettled vibration. The house was so still. So hushed. Not that Ken made much noise at the best of times. Under a paddle, he was stoic and silent, accepting of whatever punishment Mikko dealt, and he never made the same mistake twice. In the bedroom, he never begged with more than the look in his eyes, no matter how much Mikko held back, waiting to hear the words. He couldn't imagine what experiences Ken had endured that made him so afraid to sound his own voice. He didn't want to imagine. There would be too many men he'd have to hunt down and hurt, he was sure. Outside, the houses faded into the darkness. The mass of rock looming over the neighbourhood became an invisible weight in the night. Few street lights shone along the deserted Outer Battery Road, and none reached to illuminate this far. He rose and peered up into the dark. How long ago had it been since he'd stood in the center of a neighbourhood just like this one and looked up only to see the orange, sodium vapour glow? Too many years had passed for him to count. Too many disasters, lonely nights, regrets. Now, even from inside the house, he could once again see the stars. That alone had made him believe he could right his mistakes. He hadn't wanted to make any more. When Ken said he had to go back, had to set things right with his ex, Mikko had to let him go. The glass, cold against his forehead, sent a chill through Mikko. It was too much to hope he'd ever hear Ken give up those coveted, pleading words now. He'd been gone weeks. At some point, Mikko was going to have to accept he might not be coming back. The possibility of Ken reuniting with his ex suddenly seemed more real than Mikko had been willing to admit when he'd permitted Ken to go in the first place. It had seemed like a foregone outcome at the time. Ken would go, get closure, and be back at Mikko's side where he belonged. Now, he wasn't so sure. He touched the implant at his ear and it snapped out. All he had to do was think the number. A grim smile crossed his face. That had been the only promise Ken had ever demanded of him, and Mikko would not go back on it. If Ken came back or he didn't, Mikko had vowed he would not call. The little implant zipped back into hiding, and Mikko wrapped his arms around his waist. He would not call. Why had he agreed to let Ken leave? In this moment, alone in the still house, with the cliff looming and the ocean thundering against the rocks outside, wind whistling down the narrow, steep streets, Mikko couldn't quite get his mind around why it had seemed like such a good idea before. Closure, he'd thought. Ken would never accept the relationship was dead unless he recognized and accepted his own contribution to its demise. Except now Mikko was the one being forced to admit maybe it wasn't so dead after all. He didn't want to believe Ken had deliberately lied about that. Alone, in their silent, empty house, he didn't know what to believe. Didn't know if he could keep hoping. "You are important to me is not I love you. How much does that hurt?" Ken's words, when he'd talked about it, had been bitter, sharp and brittle. "I wanted this great, maybe epic love
affair. I wanted to be that image that inspired love in the first place. Instead I got love that turned to 'You're important to me.'" That had been Ken's explanation. Love had abandoned him, and that was the one thing he could not survive. Foolish of Mikko to think he could sail in and save the day when he'd been the first one to teach Ken what abandonment felt like. Mikko sighed and looked at the clock. Almost midnight. Ken wouldn't be back tonight. He didn't travel at night. He didn't like the dark. Mikko glared out the window. It shouldn't be a surprise. He told himself that about every five minutes. There was every chance Ken going back to make peace would end up as Ken returning to his ex. Mikko had known this when he'd let him go. So why did it hurt so much? He hadn't meant to get this involved. A short, sharp laugh escaped. "Idiot." There was never any question about getting involved. There had never been anyone for him except Ken. Seeing him so broken, so desperate, had shattered Mikko's resolve in the first five minutes of meeting him at the airport all those months ago. Watching Ken slowly recover some of his equilibrium, remember his own strength, had only reinforced Mikko's own feelings. Resigned, Mikko settled back into the recliner in the living room. The chair gave a slightly wheezing sigh as he tipped it back. The irony of trying to find enough comfort in the padded chair to sleep was hardly lost on him. It had been his first command to Ken, when he'd arrived, to ban his sleeping on the couch. He'd made the bed, their bedroom, a haven, where Ken could be safe. Even their sexual scenes never happened there. On the off chance he made a mistake and pushed too far, caused Ken to flash back, or freak out, he meant to keep that space a sanctuary for him. Now, it was anything but for Mikko. The curse of being Ageless meant senses sharp enough to detect Ken in everything he touched. His lover's scent was ingrained in every fiber of their bed, and he couldn't sleep there alone. He scrunched down, pulled a fluffy quilt up to his chin and fixed his gaze on the dark square of the picture window. The prospect of going up to their bed tightened his chest until it ached. The prospect that he might have to learn to live with that tightness only made it infinitely worse. Hours later, he was drifting in the empty space between waking and sleeping when the sound of soft footsteps yanked him back to full awareness with a dizzying jerk. "Ken." The fact of his lover's return knifed through the spin of reorientation, and he pushed the foot of his chair down. "You're back." Behind him, the sound of Ken's bag hitting the floor and his shuffling footsteps released the pain in Mikko's chest. "Home," Ken whispered. A long breath, held in limbo as Mikko waited, pressed against his patience. When he wanted to gather Ken up and protect him, he had to stand back, give him space, let him defend his own life and heart. Mikko ground his teeth, tightened his fingers on the arms of his chair. "Isn't it? Home?" Ken asked, voice still small and somehow very far away. "Of course." Mikko turned to look at his prodigal lover. "You built it. This is your home."
"Why aren't you in bed?" Ken's tentative demeanour set off all Mikko's base, protective instincts. He forced a calm smile onto his face. "I understand now why you slept on the couch," he conceded. Ken nodded. "The old bed...it smelled like strangers. Stale sex." "And ours smells like you." Mikko mentally pried at his fingers until their grip released and he held out a hand to Ken. "I missed you." From across the room, he could smell Ken's nerves, see the sheen of sweat they inspired over his skin, and the sharp tang of recent, consuming fear. "What happened?" "It's always good for a little while." Ken's dark gaze drifted to the floor. He struggled to lift it, and managed to fix his attention on Mikko's outstretched fingers. "Then I need...and he can't..." he blinked rapidly, and Mikko's heart shuddered. "Come here?" He couldn't bring himself to make it an order. Not yet. Not if Ken didn't want his comfort of his own volition. Finally, Ken looked him directly in the eyes—a rare enough occurrence; Mikko couldn't stop his audible reaction to so much pain. Such deep hurt was like a physical blow to him, making him gasp and struggle for another breath. What must it be doing to Ken? He leaned forward in his chair, about to rise, but then Ken was in his lap, collapsed and sobbing, and Mikko could only catch him, hold him, and take on as much of the pain as he could. "I love him so much." Ken sobbed between the words, confessing what Mikko had been so afraid to hear. It should have hurt a lot more to know he wasn't first, that maybe he never would be. But love wasn't enough to keep Ken in that other man's arms. Maybe Mikko had what he needed. Maybe it would be enough. Ken's misery washed over him, wave after wave, plunging his oversensitive empathy into roiling chaos. He focused on the physical reality of Ken's weight and heat in his arms. Every sob and hiccupped breath ripped at Mikko's heart, but the almost physical agony of it grounded Mikko in each moment and allowed Ken to purge a little more of the desperate pain. He prayed Ken would be lighter for releasing it. Dawn found them still in the chair, Ken slumbering on Mikko's shoulder, his breath even and deep at last. Mikko rested his cheek against the top of Ken's head and watched the street outside slowly brighten and the cliff transform to gilt‐edged, craggy glory. This morning the sea was calm, the wind gone, and Mikko imagined they would be okay. He was glad Ken slept and couldn't see the way he sweat, the shaking of his hands, or his utter exhaustion. The genetic predisposition that made him Ageless also gave him an extraordinary sensitivity to the vibrations of other people's moods, and so much deep emotion as Ken battled had a very real physical effect on Mikko. Now, much as he wanted to stay and hold Ken, keep him within reach and sight, he just couldn't keep awake. As the day began outside their sanctuary, he finally fell into real, resting sleep. Mikko woke with the essence of Ken infusing his senses and after a minute, realized he was in their bed with no memory of how he got there. Peace suffused the air, and he sat, scrubbing a hand through the sticky, flattened spikes of his hair. Ken was not in the room. His heart fluttered and almost stalled, until he detected the scent of coffee under the overwhelming musk of his lover. Relief flopped him onto his back, and he laughed.
"Okay. Get up, fool." A grin eased the sleep from him and he rolled off the bed and headed toward the shower. He didn't spend long. Just enough time to wash out the gel and rinse the sticky, lingering residue of worry from his skin. The transformation back to human was quick and reassuring. He pulled on a loose pair of ratty jeans and a clean white t‐shirt before heading toward the enticing aroma of coffee and contentment. In their half‐renovated kitchen, Ken had bacon sizzling, orange juice and bread sitting on the counter, and was bent to look in the fridge. His tight white tank hiked up to reveal the bumps of his spine and the denim shorts rode just low enough to reveal a peek of the tattoo across the tops of his ass cheeks. The white strings of the cut offs dangled down the backs of his thighs, and Mikko's mouth watered. "Morning." The greeting came out husky and gruff, and the air vibrated with Ken's instant attention. He straightened, turned, and the view of those short shorts from the front did nothing to lesson's Mikko's attraction. He was suddenly glad of the loose fit of his jeans, the extra room they provided. Ken's nostrils flared, and through the tight shirt, the peeks of hardened nipples showed. "Hey." One arm came across his front, fingers gripping the opposite elbow, wrinkling up his shirt and obscuring Mikko's view. "Sleep well?" "Yeah." Mikko strode to him, pried his fingers loose and gently lowered Ken's hand back to his side. "Hiding something?" "No." Ken straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest a bit. Teeth worried at his lower lip, and it was more than Mikko could stand. He moved into Ken's space and lowered his lips to track kisses along the exposed section collarbone. Beneath his touch, Ken softened, moaned, leaned in, and Mikko spread a hand over his back, slid it up over the thin shirt and let his fingers play in the thick brown strands at the back of Ken's neck. "Breakfast—" Ken gasped as Mikko's other hand found an erect nipple. "Not going anywhere." Mikko moved his kisses up the side of Ken's neck, careful to avoid his throat, and any potential of triggering bad memories, and continued along Ken's jaw until he found lips. There was no hesitation in Ken's surrender. He opened his lips willingly and groaned, sweet and needy, into Mikko's mouth. Mikko gripped his hair a little tighter, slid his other hand around and into the back of Ken's shorts, and his tongue into his mouth, drawing his body close and tight so their erections came under pressure and friction, sliding against rough denim and each other. Ken's throat worked, emitting tiny, mewling sounds, and Mikko backed out of their kiss, unwilling to miss a single word Ken might want to say. "Bacon's burning." Mikko laughed. Yanked Ken hard against him and brought his mouth close to Ken's ear. "So am I. Me first." "Turn off the—ah!" Ken jerked under the stimulus of Mikko's teeth along his collar bone, and again when Mikko's fingers found his entrance and prodded. His own arms had risen to
wrap around Mikko's neck, and one hand dropped to rove distractedly over Mikko's back. "What do...you want? What should I do?" Mikko stepped back, slipping his hands free of Ken's clothing to watch him. The flush of his cheeks, his parted lips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, tantalized. Mikko reached and tweaked one firm nipple, causing Ken to gasp and his flush to deepen. He wiggled his hips slightly, as if finding the tight shorts constricting, and Mikko grinned "More of that, Kenny. You should do more of that. I like seeing your pleasure all over your face." He tweaked the other nipple and Ken moaned and leaned a little toward him. "Feel good?" Mikko smoothed a palm over the stimulated spot. Ken nodded. "Tell me," Mikko encouraged. "Say it." "F‐feels good." "Do it again?" Again, Ken nodded. Mikko's fingers brushed lightly over Ken's nipple, drawing Ken infinitesimally closer. "Say it, Kenny." "Do it." Ken's brow furrowed. His shoulders stiffened, and Mikko moved a little bit closer to offer a safe cocoon of warmth. "It's okay to want." He lifted onto his toes and kissed the lines crossing Ken's brow. "It's okay. You're safe to say anything you want." "Is it?" "What?" Mikko grinned. "You think I'm going to change my mind half way through?" When Ken's expression didn't change, Mikko muted his teasing. "I won't ever leave you hanging, Kenny. Your happiness is my happiness. It goes both ways." Ken nodded, though he didn't relax much, and Mikko drifted his fingers over those tense features as he added this new piece to the puzzle of Ken's past. "Don't ever be ashamed of wanting. This is who you are. It's who I love." His fingers came to rest lightly on Ken's lips. "You'll learn to trust me. I'll show you. You'll see." He didn't dare promise. Ken didn't trust promises, but he would learn to trust Mikko, however long it took. Ken's eyes drifted closed, depriving Mikko of their soft, vulnerable light, but it was something Ken often did when he felt on the edge of panic. Somehow, maybe, he felt safer in his own darkness. "I want you." Mikko smiled, knowing it would translate in his voice, even if Ken couldn't see it. "And you have me." He kissed one closed eyelid. "As long as you want me." He pressed his lips gently to Ken's other eye. "Whenever you want me." "Don't." Ken opened his eyes, searched Mikko's expression as he rested his fingers over Mikko's lips. "No promises." Mikko ruthlessly stifled his disappointment. It was natural for Ken not to be ready. Even without the abuse of strangers, he'd suffered a terrible blow in losing the man he loved. Mikko
had to have patience. One day, Ken would believe in promises again. Mikko kissed his fingertips, held the promise in his own heart. It would be safe enough there. "I want..." Ken's weight settled, whisper by whisper, into Mikko. "Touch." Ken's breath brushed against Mikko's neck. "Love...." His fingers dusted over every inch of Mikko's back and ass. His erection was much less tentative than his touch. Mikko reached between them and popped open the buttons along the front of Ken's shorts. Loosed from his waist, the shorts dropped to the floor around his feet, buttons clanking on the plywood subflooring. Tiny moans rose and passed from Ken's mouth to vibrate against Mikko's skin where Ken kissed him. Shivers flitted through Mikko with every tiny, tentative peck, headed straight for his groin. He caught up Ken's teasing lips with his and delivered a scalding kiss that had the desired effect of making Ken shudder and clutch at Mikko's shoulders for support. Easing along with the pressure of Ken's fingers, Mikko sank to the floor at his feet where he paused and gazed up. The surprise on Ken's face drove into Mikko's gut, made him smile, made him want to share all the pleasure Ken had missed out on over the years. "You'll like this, Kenny." Ken nodded, his fingers tightening further, his eyes bright in his pale face. "I do like it." "Then you should ask for what you like." Not giving him a chance to respond, Mikko made a quick, aggressive swipe with his tongue at Ken's cock, tasting the salty, musky flavour of him before sinking his mouth around his fullness. Ken moaned, rocked, pushing himself deep into Mikko's mouth. His fingers were painful, bruising, but the sounds he was finally making, little gasps and moans of pleasure, were more than worth it. Mikko worked Ken carefully, thoroughly, listening for every hitch in his breath that said what was good, what made him shudder in that delightfully out‐of‐control way. Mikko drew out Ken's pleasure until he feared Ken's knees might buckle under his spasmodic hip jerks, then he wrapped both hands around the backs of Ken's thighs, held him tight while he brought him off. Ken came with a garbled shout that might or might not have been his name. It didn't matter. The hitched sob as he drew a breath, the way he loosened a hand and petted it through Mikko's hair a few times, and the tiny tremors that wracked him were enough. The thick cum coating his mouth, sliding down his throat before he could even swallow, made Mikko all the more eager to take Ken in every way. The taste was more than just an aphrodisiac. Mikko wanted to own the man who could tempt him so easily, turn him on so thoroughly, compel him to offer up every bit of himself. He wanted dominance over him, wanted to find every way he could bring pleasure to so precious a treasure. He pulled back enough to look up at his lover, and Ken blinked back. A slow smile spread over Ken's face. "I want you inside me." He said it simply, clear, sure. Mikko grinned and hustled to his feet, cock aching inside his jeans. "As you wish." He hefted Ken and plopped him on the counter, opened his own jeans to ease his discomfort, and reached into the junk drawer for lube. He kept it handy where they played out their scenes away from the bedroom, but this was no scene. This was just them.
Ken leaned back, opened his legs and offered himself, as always, the enthusiastic sub Mikko loved so much. "You're so willing to please." Ken nodded, shifted his hips, lips parted in a sigh as Mikko's fingers slipped into him. His cheeks flushed as he seized the tube, spread some on his palm and took Mikko's cock in his hand. "You're good to me," he whispered. "You deserve to be happy. I want to make you happy." Mikko gently moved Ken's hand away, slid him forward and lifted him from the counter. "You came back to me, Kenny. I'm happy." Arms and legs wrapped tight around Mikko, Ken wiggled until Mikko's cock slipped against his entrance. "Won't work like this." He grunted and swiped messy kisses over Mikko's cheek. "Put me down. Turn me around." "I want to see you." Ken flushed deeply. "Why?" "You're beautiful. I want to watch your face, see your eyes when I come inside you." Ken shivered. His features slackened, need evident in every hitched breath, the soft, turned‐down frustrated purse of his lips, the glow of impatience in his eyes. "Chair." He pointed over Mikko's shoulder, hugged himself tight against Mikko's body again, and urged him toward the kitchen table and chairs. "Sit?" "Good idea." Still with Ken in his arms, completely wrapped around him, he backed up until his legs bumped against the chair and he sat. Ken stood immediately, took Mikko in hand and lowered himself until his hole was poised against Mikko's shaft. The look of concentration as he lowered himself, pressing over and around Mikko, was fascinating. Mikko traced the lines of his intense expression with gentle fingers, touched Ken's lips as he gasped through penetration and his mouth watered as Ken bit down on his lower lip, sinking down until he was once again seated on Mikko's lap, this time with Mikko inside him. His eyes drifted closed and his head dropped forward toward Mikko's shoulder. "Take your time." Mikko stroked his back, kissed the side of his neck, the top of his shoulder. To his surprise, Ken reached, grabbed his hand and pulled it down behind him, pressing it to his ass. His voice came in a quiet, hot whisper. "Own me." A heady shiver raced down Mikko's spine and he dug his fingers into Ken's ass cheeks. He rocked his hips up, pulled Ken tight against him. He wished he could respond with all the possessive feelings in his heart, but any possession, any desire for ownership had to come under Ken's initiative for now. "Ken." He buried his face in the crook of Ken's neck, pulled him back hard when Ken rose up almost completely free of him, and breathed in the deep, musky smell of him. He let Ken set the pace, fast and firm, and held on tight. "Mikko...don't let me go."
In answer, Mikko pulled him close again, reached up and tugged gently on Ken's hair as he rocked. "Look at me." Ken lifted his head, dark eyes wide and bright with lust and faith Mikko hadn't expected to see there. "Please say it?" Mikko stroked his hair, kissed him. "Say what?" "I'm yours. I need to belong." "Ken..." Mikko fought the urge to hide himself, to withhold what Ken wanted to hear, in case one day he'd have to take it back, let him go. If Ken wasn't ready, if he left again.... "Mikko? Please." "You do belong, Kenny." A flood of relief washed through Mikko. Tight tension unwound, releasing his heart, his reticence. "You belong here. I want you with me. I want to take care of you." "Ungh." Ken hugged him fiercely, rocked hard against Mikko, doing the work, and breathing in hitched, sweet little sobs. His intensity infected Mikko, and the chair scraped along the floor under them as they moved. In just a few frantic strokes, Mikko's body tensed, his balls tightened, and his cum exploded. Ken's arms wrapped firmly around him, his ass tightened, and he shivered in Mikko's arms. "Thank you." He punctuated the thanks with kisses to Mikko's neck. "Thank you so much." For a long minute, Mikko could only hold him and try not to fall off the chair or drop his lover onto the floor. His orgasm took its time letting him go, and he floated on the bliss of Ken's pleading words for the space of many long breaths. "You're welcome," he whispered at last. "You're mine now, Kenny. As long as you want to be. I'll take care of you." He longed to hear Ken say forever, but he knew that kind of absolute was beyond his lover right now. It was too close to the promises in which he didn't believe. Instead, he just sat there and held him, breathing in the scent of him, listening to the way his breath echoed the distant shushing of waves on rocks, and feeling Ken's heart beating against his own. Whatever Ken decided he wanted, Mikko was sure. This was right where he belonged. "Mikko?" "Mmm?" Mikko buried has face a little more firmly in Ken's shoulder, strengthened the grip of his arms around his waist, breathing in more of him to shut out the rest of the world. "Bacon's burning. Umm…Smoke, Mikko, let me up!" As soon as he said it, the blackened aroma that filled the room took over Mikko's awareness and he grimaced. "Ugh." "Lemme up." He tapped repeatedly on Mikko's shoulder and squirmed. Mikko grunted, but firmed up his hold as he lifted his head to look Ken in the eye. "Pardon me?"
"Please let me go, Mikko? I have to get rid of the smell." Mikko nodded. "Yes. Get rid of that, then shower." "Yes, sir." Ken wiggled off Mikko's lap, cheeks flushing again as Mikko slid out of him. The flush didn't stop him padding, bare foot, bare assed, over to the stove and removing the pan from the burner. The slick of cum dribbling out of him and through the hairs on the back of his leg didn't seem to faze him, either. The scent of sex, the lingering taste of Ken's pleasure overrode that of burnt bacon as Ken walked it to the back door and set the pan out on the stones. He came back, walking unselfconsciously past, and Mikko admired the fine muscles of his legs and his flat abs peeking from under the hem of his rumpled shirt. His cock swayed lazily between his legs, his hands loose and relaxed at his sides. Mikko couldn't help himself. He grabbed him as he walked by, plopped him back, sideways in his lap and planted a deep, possessive kiss on Ken's mouth, just to hear that sweet, needy moan from him one more time. His hand drifted along Ken's leg to his cock, surprisingly not exactly limp, if not fully erect. All sorts of images flashed through his mind of how he could take advantage of that, tease and tempt Ken to hardness again, admire his eagerness for release, cajole a few begging words out of him, and watch him come. His own spent cock twitched at the picture of Ken completely submitting to such exquisite torture. He smiled into the kiss, gave Ken's dick a little squeeze. Ken groaned, his hips shifted up, his fingers clutched at Mikko's side. "God, Kenny." Mikko took Ken's hand and wrapped his pliable fingers around Ken's own slowly stiffening shaft. "Can't get enough?" "Sorry—" "Don't be." Mikko moved Ken's hand in a few slow, lazy strokes. "It's flattering how much you want me." Ken bit his lip, glanced away from Mikko to the floor. "I'm greedy." "In a most becoming way, yes." Mikko stood, careful to support Ken until he had his feet under him. He kissed Ken's hair. "This is not greed, Ken. Knowing what you want is a beautiful thing." Ken stood, his gaze forward, his nearly full erection standing out from his body. His eyes darted to Mikko's hands more than once as Mikko buttoned himself back up. "You'll get more. Don't worry. Right now, I'm hungry, but I want you to wait here a minute. I've got something for you." He stopped at the kitchen door and looked back. "Don't let that cock get out of hand now. You get too hard, I won't be able to give you your reward." He left the kitchen at a quick walk, Ken's shocked gaze following him until he reached the corner and turned out of sight. The feeling was incredibly heady, and he hurried up the stairs, unwilling to be gone from his lover for too long. He returned from the bedroom with a bit of soft, finely tooled leather shaped into a ring. True to his superb will power, Ken was only half erect when Mikko returned, though his shoulders were a little tense, and his breath short and sharp. Mikko smiled indulgently. "What are you thinking about?" Ken's face flushed deep red. His cock bobbed and he set his jaw. "Gonna make me hard just thinking about..." Mikko's eyebrows lifted and he laughed softly. "About?"
"Fuck." A soft pout converted Ken's face, moving his expression from belligerent, through stubborn, to needy, and in Mikko's estimation, making him look completely fuckable in every way. "Can't wait forever," he muttered. "Gonna get hard again. You gonna do me, or what?" Even the way he slipped into lazy street talk was delicious. Mikko moved around him, brushing a hand territorially over Ken's ass as he circled him, and watching the shiver that traveled up Ken's spine, shifted his shoulders slightly, and fluttered his eyelashes. "You can't help it, can you?" "Help what?" "Being so sexy. So desirable." He held up the gift. "What do you think? Lovely, isn't it? Exactly like you." Ken focused on the cock ring lying on Mikko's palm. He even reached out and flipped it up to examine the detailed leatherwork. He nodded, swallowed hard, and a timid smile lifted his serious mouth into the beginnings of a gorgeous smile. "It is. It's for me?" For the second time since he'd returned, Ken lifted his gaze to meet Mikko's. It was all Mikko could do not to grab at Ken's shirt and yank him off his feet into a kiss that would curl his toes. His hand shook slightly with the effort at restraint. "Yes, Ken." "Will you?" Ken reached down and lifted his own cock and balls, indicating he wanted Mikko to put it on him. The simple trust in that little gesture closed up Mikko's throat for a moment, and he could only nod. He was ready to drop to his knees again, when Ken's head jerked up, his nostrils flared, and a split second later, Mikko smelled it, too. Something more than just human, more than mere animal, prowled just outside, between house and sea, and from the panicked fear in Ken's eyes, they both smelt the stench of threat and cunning wafting in the open back door. "Get away from the door." Mikko gripped Ken's wrist and hauled him from the kitchen, part way down the dimmer hallway. "Wait here." Dank and sweaty, an animal musk filtered into the room through the screen door, and every alarm in Mikko's brain screamed danger. He prayed Ken would stay put, out of sight, out of danger. He turned, headed back toward the kitchen when a completely human knock sounded at the back door.