1.24-1.25

-24-

Finding Lord Lucias brooding in his library, Sappharon approached him very cautiously.  “My Lord?”

            He flicked his dark brown eyes upward and gave Sappharon a frustrated frown.  “What is it brat?”

            “Are you alright?”  He asked. 

            Lord Lucias sighed and shook his head.  “No.”  He muttered.  “Corline’s pack appears to have moved on.  She must have opted to migrate with it.”

            Sappharon opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again.  He thought it best not to say what was truly on his mind.  Knowing that the bitch was gone made him happy.  Lord Lucias wouldn’t have wanted to know that.  He settled for, “I’m sorry for the pain that this has caused you.”

            “I knew when I started seeing her that it would eventually happen.”  He sighed.  “She’s mortal.  And she’s a werewolf.  The packs must migrate with their prey.  I only wish that she would have allowed me the courtesy of having told me that she was leaving me before she did so.”

            Sappharon nodded.  “Perhaps it broke her heart to be forced to choose between you and her family and so she was unable bear the goodbye.”

            Lord Lucias gave him a strange smile.  He was, Sappharon knew, surprised that Sappharon was being understanding of his feelings rather than flippant or rude. That was how Sappharon had normally responded to Lord Lucias’ short lived affairs with the mortals.  “Perhaps you’re right.”

            “Is there anything that I might do to ease your pain?” 

            His eyes danced over Sappharon’s face.  Sappharon felt a blush rise to his cheeks under his silent regard.  Finally, he said, “I beg that you promise me right here and now that you shall never leave me.”

            Sappharon started at that.  He couldn’t imagine a life that did not include his beloved, benevolent Lord.  His tone, when he spoke, was snappish with his offense at the mere thought that Lord Lucias might believe that he would.  “Never in life.”

            Lord Lucias nodded and held out his hand.  “Come here, brat.  Sit with me.”

            Eager for any attention that he might be granted, Sappharon stepped forward and grasped Lord Lucias’ hand.  When Lord Lucias guided Sappharon on to his lap, Sappharon was unable to hide his surprised smile. 

Such intimacy had never been afforded to the likes of him.

            “You have been so very good to me, brat.”  Lord Lucias said as he leaned into Sappharon and kissed his neck.  Sappharon shivered.  The warmth of his breath against Sappharon’s skin was more than the demon could bear.  His love for Lord Lucias thrummed throughout his body.  “The only one who has never left my side.  Even after all of these years.  And all of the reasons that I’ve given you to abandon me.”

            “I never would.”  Sappharon replied, his tone a low and respectful whisper.  “I love you, Luke.  Do you not know that?  Through and through.”

            “I love you too.”  Lord Lucias smiled sadly at him. It was the first time that Sappharon had spoken Lord Lucias’ name in the familiar and he was pleased that it hadn’t angered him.   “Through and through.”

            “I know.”  And he did.  Perhaps it wasn’t the burning regard that Lord Lucias felt for Lords Raziel or Noliminan.  But Lord Lucias did love Sappharon in his own way. 

            “You must know,” Lord Lucias’ tone was playful and deep with a strange hunger that Sappharon had never associated with himself, “Just lately, I’ve had a most wicked thought.”

            “Oh?”  Sappharon pulled away to meet his gaze.  Lord Lucias’ eyes were swimming with mischief. 

            “Noliminan has his Quorum.”  He said, leaning back into his chair.  “It’s high time that I have one of my own.”

            “My Lord . . .” Sappharon felt his brow furrow at that.  Now that they were exiled, Lord Lucias had no right to a Quorum. Not only that, Sappharon understood at the most fundamental of all levels that the only reason that he wanted one was because he missed his children.  He’d quipped on too many occasions that Noliminan’s requirement of twelve servants had been all for power and show. He wanted a Quorum of his own so that he would be surrounded by the family that he had lost.  And that, Sappharon knew, was Michael’s fault.  If he would never have shown his swinish face, Lord Lucias wouldn’t be contemplating this blasphemy.

Nothing good would come of Lord Noliminan learning that Lords Lucias and Raziel had bred another Quorum.  For whatever purpose.  Sappharon knew that all too well.  “Won’t that make him angry?”

            Lord Lucias’ expression grew cold.  “What exactly can he do to me that he hasn’t already done?”

            Sappharon shook his head.  “I guess nothing, but—“

            “I’ve supplicated to him my entire life.”  Lord Lucias snapped.  “And I’ve obeyed the rules of his ridiculous exile with good humor and without complaint.”  Sappharon shivered again. He didn’t like Lord Lucias’ brooding mood.  And he didn’t like what Lord Lucias was suggesting.  Nothing but damnation could be born on any children that Lord Lucias sired to be used in his own service rather than that of Lord Noliminan. “I thought that he would forgive me.  That he would eventually take me back.  But he hasn’t.”  He looked away then, not wanting to share the true depths of his pain with Sappharon by allowing Sappharon to look into his eyes. 

As if I haven’t seen it there before.

 “And he never will.”

            “My Lord—“

            “I’m asking you to bear my children.”  Sappharon started at that.  Never in a million years would he have expected such a request be made of him. He’d thought that Lord Lucias would summon Lord Raziel to see to his demand.   “I’d have to change your form, obviously.  But in exchange, I’ll elevate your status.  There’s no reason on any moon in any world why—if Noliminan can promote Raguel from angel to Goddess—I can’t do the same for you.”

            “My Lord . . .” Sappharon could only blink at him.  This was an honor that he had coveted for more years than he could say.  “Any child that I bear would be . . . unwanted.”  As the one that he had sired most certainly was.  “By everyone.  Are you certain you wish for me to propagate my soul?”

            “Yes.”  He sighed.  “I am his equal.  It’s time that I am treated as such.”  And then with an apologetic smile.  “And, yes.  I’m certain that it is you who must mother my children.”

            “He won’t like that.”  Sappharon prophesized.

            “No.”  He chuckled slightly as he ran his hand down the curve of Sappharon’s neck.  “Would you be offended living as a woman?”

            “No.”  Sappharon shook his head.  “Not if I don’t have to when I am not pregnant.”

            “You do not.”  He agreed.  “And when the twelfth child is born, you can return to your true form.”

            “As a demon?”  He heard the bite and fear in his own tone and he instantly regretted it. 

            A strange light danced in Lord Lucias’ eyes.  He was silent for a long moment.  Just when Sappharon had decided that he didn’t intend to respond, Lord Lucias shook his head.  “No.  I think that you have more than earned the right to your freedom.”

            Sappharon rolled his eyes closed and smiled.  Even free, he never intended to leave Lord Lucias’ side. 

But to have that choice . . . To be able to come and go as he wanted rather than as he was demanded . . . To be with Lord Lucias because it was what they both wanted, rather than that they had been forced together by their binding . . .

It was far too much to contemplate.  And his desire that it should be so was too overwhelming to explain with words.

            “Thank you.”  He opened his eyes and met Lord Lucias’ gaze.  “When, my Lord?”

            Granting Sappharon a cocky grin Lord Lucias reached forward and touched Sappharon’s forehead.  The change was immediate and intense.   As was the covetous desire that suddenly danced with in the depths of Lord Lucias’ warm brown eyes.

            Lord Lucias stood, lifting Sappharon as if he weighed no more than a small child, and carried him to the bedroom so that might, for the first time in their millions upon millions of years together, consummate their long standing marriage.

-25-

           

            Paul opened the door to the apartment that he and Jamiason shared and frowned.  Marchand stood beside a tall, handsome angel with long brown hair and soft brown eyes. 

            It was an angel that Paul recognized all too well.  “General Balean.”

            “Prince Paul.” Balean bowed to him, though if fealty needed to be given Paul was aware of the truth of things enough that it should be he bowing to Balean.  “I must see Lord Jamiason if he is available.”

            “Your timing is somewhat apt.” Paul admitted.  “Will you come in and wait?  I’ll see if he’s in the mood for receiving.”

            Balean bowed to him again and smiled.  He extended a hand to Paul.  Paul took it, was helpless not to, and stepped toward him to kiss his cheek.  It wasn’t something that he would normally do with another man.  Yet, he knew, from reading Jamiason’s thoughts when he fed from him, that the customs between the angels and demons were different than those among the humans.  They coveted adoration from any source that it would come from. 

And who was Paul, a man who had never earned his wings, to deny them? 

            Especially when the fool of an angel called him a Prince.

            Chuckling, he turned away and walked down the hall to Jamiason’s closed off end of the apartment.  He knocked on the main door, still smiling, and waited until Jamiason bid the door open.  Then he stepped in, bowed, and smiled as his gaze fell upon the man that he thought of as his father, whose gaze was still turned downward to a book that he was reading. “Moira being the God that he is, General Balean has come to visit before you can send your own letter.”

            Jamiason looked up from the book that he was reading as he sat on his favorite chair beside the fire.  He smiled wanly at Paul.  “You jest.”

            Paul chuckled.  “Not today.  He’s in your receiving rooms.”

            Jamiason suddenly looked bewildered.  “Really?”

            “Yes.” Paul nodded.  “What should I do with him?”

            Jamiason shook his head.  He didn’t know and Paul knew that.  Finally he said.  “I guess tell him to sit.  I’ve got to bathe and dress, and then I’ll be there.”

            Paul, smiling, bowed.  “I’ll offer him a meal.”

            “Do we have food here?”  Jamiason’s eyes were wide.  He honestly didn’t know.

            Paul laughed at that.  “I always keep your kitchen well stocked, my Lord.  In the event of visitors.”  Jamiason frowned and shook his head.  He had known only that Paul kept a harem of men and women at the ready in the event that they had vampire visitors from other times or worlds and needed fresh blood.  “In the event of any visitor.”  Paul explained.

            “Oh.”  Jamiason rolled his eyes closed, relieved.  And when he opened his eyes, he smiled.  He was pleased with Paul.  And that pleased Paul.  “Then, yes, see to my guest.”

            Paul bowed and turned away.  He made his way back to the general receiving room and bowed to Balean.  Marchand, it would seem, had left them.  “He will receive you.  May I pour you a glass?”

            “Do you have vodka?”  Balean asked.  He sounded curious.

            “Aye.”  Paul smiled at him.  “Do you like it mixed?”

            “Straight.” Balean admitted.

            Paul smiled and indicated one of Jamiason’s high back chairs; though not his Lord’s favorite. Then he poured and handed Balean a glass of vodka.  “Please sit.  He wasn’t in a state for receiving so he’ll be just a bit.  You must be hungry?”

            “Well, yes.”  Balean’s brow lifted over his finely made eye.  “But I can bide.”

            “No reason for that.”  Paul smiled at him.  “I’m actually a rather good cook.  Do you like chicken, pork or beef?”

            Surprise danced over every line of Balean’s face.  “Chicken would be lovely.”

            “Any preference on veg?”

            Balean, smiling, shook his head.  “That you even have veg tells me I’ve no right to be picky.”

            Paul chuckled.  “Well I have what you like.  I used to love spinach, but—“

            “Spinach sounds divine.”  He smiled grandly.  “And I suppose you have mashed potatoes too.”

            “That I do.”  Paul smiled at him.  “Give me an hour.”  He pointed his chin to a small collection of books.  “Help yourself to a read, if you like.  And, of course, to the bar.”

            “Thanks.”  Balean smiled at him.  “You’re a very hospitable host.”

            “I try.”  He smiled and left him to see to his meal. 

            It had been a long time since Paul had cooked for anyone and he was pleased by the opportunity to do so now.  Especially for someone of such high esteem as Wisterian’s General at Arms.  Paul, very intuit to Jamiason’s emotions, was well aware of the great love that his Master felt for the angel King.  And he was pleased that the General could return to Wisterian and report that he had been hospitable.

            About twenty minutes after he had started cooking, the door to the kitchen opened and Balean stepped through.  “Would it trouble you if I joined your company?”

            Paul looked over his shoulder, met Balean’s gaze and smiled.  “Not at all.  I’d enjoy your company, General Balean.”

            “Thanks.”  He smiled, looked around, saw the kitchen table and pulled out a chair.  He lowered himself in it and met Paul’s gaze.  “It really does smell good in here.  I can’t wait to taste it.”

            “I hope you like it.”  Paul smiled.  “I used to taste as I cooked.  Obviously . . .” He shrugged and laughed.  “Let’s just say I can’t eat real food anymore.  So you’re stuck with my memories.”

            “Well my mouth is watering.”  Balean assured him.  And then with a curious smile.  “Why do you keep food here if you can’t eat it?”

            Paul shrugged and turned away from the fire.  He met Balean’s gaze and he smiled.  He was a handsome angel, Paul thought.  “I have to feed Jamiason’s harem.  But when I go to market I buy enough to keep in my own kitchen for occasions such as today.”

            “You must throw a lot away.”

            “No.”  Paul shook his head.  “There’s a leper colony about fourteen miles from here.”  He forced himself to smile when Balean’s expression became confused.  “It’s a disease that the mortals can contract.  It doesn’t matter.  But I give whatever food we have left over to them every Friday lest it spoils.”

            “That’s very kind of you.”  Balean smiled at him.

            Paul shrugged again.  “Nothing that you wouldn’t do, I shouldn’t think.”

            Balean shook his head and Paul returned to the fire.  When the chicken was cooked he plated Balean’s meal and then set it before him.  Balean looked upon it for a moment and the smiled appreciatively up at Paul.  “I am starving.”

            “Then dig in.” Paul laughed.  “No need for manners.  I’ve already eaten tonight.”

            A strange look crossed the angel’s brow, but he nodded and then began eating.  “Mmm.  It’s good, my Prince.”

            Paul smiled at that.  “I’m glad you like it.”

            “Excuse me.”  Paul looked up, still smiling, and met Jamiason’s gaze.  He looked extremely handsome; his hair and wings had been groomed until they shined and he wore noble robes with a blue sash that matched his disconcerting blue eyes. 

Balean dropped his fork and stood. “No, General Balean.  Please.  Finish your supper.”

            Balean bowed to Jamiason and then lowered himself into his chair.  But only after Jamiason had pulled the chair on the opposite end of the table out and lowered himself. 

            Jamiason fell silent then, but Paul was used to that.  Paul didn’t know why, but Jamiason didn’t like to speak unless speaking was necessary.  Paul had become comfortable in his silence, but he knew that others were generally offended.  He hoped that General Balean would not be.

            “If you’d like to let Lord Jamiason know why you’re here while you eat—“

            “Oh.”  Balean reached into the satchel that he had rested at his side.  He pulled out a letter and passed it across the table to Jamiason.  Jamiason nodded at him and took it deftly out of his fingers.  “Sorry.  That was rude.”

            “Not at all.”  Paul assured him with a smile.  “He won’t be offended if you eat while he reads it.”

            Jamiason looked up from the envelope, smiled at Balean and the returned his attention to the letter in his hand.  Balean smiled in response and went back to his dinner, while Jamiason took a long finger and unsealed the envelope.  When it was open he brought it to his face, breathed in the scent of it and smiled wistfully.  Paul was momentarily disturbed by this show of affection; but, truly, only momentarily so.  Jamiason had never lied to Paul about his depraved sexuality.

            He watched as Jamiason took the paper out of the envelope and began to read it. His expression, at first stony and impossible to read, slowly transformed to one of concern, and even horror.  “You were attacked by a demon?”

            “Not necessarily attacked.”  Balean replied as he ate.  “We awoke to him screaming and when we came out he was bursting into flames.  We had thought that he was attacking at first, but then we realized that someone had cut his wings off and propped them against Prince Iladrul’s door.”

            “So you think someone attacked the demon?”  Paul asked, easily picking the question from Jamiason’s mind.

            “We believe that someone stopped the demon from wreaking his havoc.”  Balean corrected.  “The message was clear to us.  The demon was after Prince Iladrul.  Someone more powerful than him must have known that and so prevented it.”  He shrugged.  “Maybe Lady Theosis.  But if so, the Lady hasn’t made herself known to Lord Wisterian.”

            “The demons are restless.”  Jamiason advised Balean.  “They have elected a representative and he has asked me to give them permission to attack your people.  They want to harvest your children.”

            “We told him that Lord Jamiason needs to meet with Lord Wisterian so that he can give him their demands directly.”  Paul explained when Balean flinched at Jamiason’s words.  “I was going to leave to visit your lands tomorrow, in fact, to see if we could set up a time that would suit your Lord.”

            Balean nodded.  “Do you wish him to come here or—“

            “No.”  Paul shook his head.  “That wouldn’t be wise at all.”  He smiled at Balean.  “Some place neutral.”

            “Speak to Lord Aiken and see if he will leave the grove where the mischief fairies reside.”  Jamiason muttered.   This surprised Paul.  He wasn’t allowed to see Aiken and Aiken wasn’t allowed to see him.  “I’ll meet Wisterian there so long as Aiken promises to vacate.  I would hate to be the cause of any more trouble than I have already caused for him.”

            “Of course, my Lord.”  Balean nodded, understanding.  “I’ll pay him visit on my way home.”

            Jamiason nodded, pushed his chair out and stood.  He bowed to Balean and then left them, the letter that Wisterian had written to him fanning under his nose so that he could smell it.

            “When do you think Lord Wisterian can meet us?”  Paul asked Balean.

            “Next week?”  Balean replied.  “That will give Aiken time to take care of whatever he needs to take care of to accommodate you.”

            “Fine.”  Paul nodded his agreement.  “A week from tonight, then.”  He smiled warmly at him.  “You’re welcome to stay until morning so that you can rest.  You can use my room, if you like.”

            “That’s very kind.”  Balean smiled at him in response. 

            “It will give James the opportunity to reply to Wisterian.”  Paul nodded. 

            “Um . . .” Balean smiled nervously at him.  “I don’t mean to be rude but—you do sleep in a bed right?”

            Paul burst out into laughter.  “Where else would I sleep?”

            Balean was visibly relieved.  “I’d heard that vampires sleep in coffins.”

            Paul shrugged, still laughing.  “It’s a common misconception.”

            Balean chuckled.  “I’m sorry.”

            “Nothing to worry about.”  Paul smiled at him.  “Come on.”  He said, “I’ll show you my room and my bath.  Then you can go to bed whenever it suits you.”