1.26

-26-

            Though he had wanted his privacy tonight, Jamiason wasn’t surprised when Paul slipped through his library door and cleared his throat.  He sighed and looked up from the letter that he was writing to Wisterian.  “What is it, Paul?”

            “General Balean is sleeping in my bedroom.”  Paul said, his gaze lowered.  “I know you want to be alone, but would you mind if I bide the night in the sitting room?  I really would rather not spend the night with the others today.”

            Frowning, Jamiason nodded.  He did mind but he wasn’t going to chastise Paul for being hospitable to their guest.  “Just stay out of my hair.”

            “Yes, my Lord.”  Paul bowed to him and slipped out of the room. 

            Still frowning at the spot where Paul had stood, Jamiason sighed.  Why was he taking out all of his frustrations on Paul lately?  It wasn’t his fault that everything was falling apart.  He didn’t want the war with the angels any more than Jamiason, himself, did. 

            He looked down at the letter that he was writing and smiled wanly.  His love for Wisterian was written on every line, but he wished that he could tell Wisterian that it had been him that had protected Wisterian’s son.  Though, after reading Wisterian’s letter, he wondered if he’d done the right thing.  The child had apparently thought himself weak for being frightened of James and not fighting back.

            But what did the boy expect?  He was a child and Jamiason was a God.  After Lord Evenbourough had allowed him to feed off of him, Jamiason had been bestowed with powers that only he would ever possess.  He had become even more powerful than he had been when he was merely a demon.  He thought, maybe, he might even be able to survive the sun.             

He signed the letter, stuck it into his satchel and stood.  He owed Paul an apology for his behavior.  He was always hard on the boy, but just lately Paul’s easy jokes and constant smile had done more to irritate him then lift his spirits. 

But that wasn’t Paul’s fault either.

            He found his constant companion standing in front of a book shelf, his fingers dancing over the books, looking for something that would interest him.  He smiled at Paul’s back—he did love the man—and stepped toward him.  When he reached him, he laid his chin on Paul’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist.

            Paul’s entire body sighed beneath his touch.  His love for Jamiason was sometimes overwhelming.

            “Sorry for being such a pain in your ass lately.”  Jamiason said as he kissed the bearded flesh just beneath Paul’s ear.

            Paul chuckled.  “I think I’m the one who’s a pain in the ass.  I know you wanted your privacy tonight.”

            “You did the right thing by offering Balean your room.”  Jamiason replied as he pressed himself against Paul.  He knew that Paul didn’t covet him in the way that he coveted Paul, but the boy had never pushed him away when he had taken his liberties.  Now, Paul stiffened as he reached for Jamiason’s hands and squeezed them before setting them on his hips.  It was his way of telling Jamiason that he would bide his advances as long as James would let him distract himself by feeding whilst he did so.  “I have a letter for him to take back to Wisterian.”

            “I thought that you might.”  Paul’s voice was tight.  Jamiason, sighing, knew tonight was not the night for one of their rare couplings.  Paul had probably already fed and would be unable to bury his distaste for Jamiason in his hunger.  “I’ll give it to him before he leaves in the morning.”

            James asked him.  “I assume you have already fed tonight?”

            “Earlier.”  Paul replied, arching his neck back and shivering under the breath of Jamiason’s words on his skin.  “You?”

            “Not yet.”  Jamiason whispered.  “May I take my liberties?”

            “Of course.”  Paul nodded.

            He turned Paul in his arms, sought the pulse of his vein and sank his teeth within Paul’s flesh.  The blood came warm and fast, the copper taste of it flooding into Jamiason’s mouth, begging him to swallow, begging him to draw more.  He allowed Paul’s thoughts and memories to overwhelm him as he fed, smiling as the faces of Paul’s long dead children danced through his mind and frowning as he watched Paul, newly made, slaughter his wife in his hunger.

            Paul’s thoughts were always simple.  They were always easy to read and easy to follow.  It wasn’t always so when he fed.  Sometimes, the thoughts of his prey were so convoluted that he felt as though he were entering into a snake pit.  With Paul, it was always peaceful.  Though on the rare occasion he had seen things that he knew Paul would have hidden from him if he could.

            James never shared with Paul what he saw or what he knew.  It was better that way for both of them. 

            When he had had his fill he pulled his teeth from Paul’s neck and licked the wounds that he had made there.  They healed swiftly, the blood stopping its flow under his will.  He realized, as he came to his own senses, that Paul had buried his fingers within his hair.  That he was grasping desperately at him, not wanting him to stop. 

            Smiling at Paul’s unwanted desire for him—which had been brought about entirely by the feeding and nothing more—Jamiason sought his lips and gently kissed him.  He wanted Paul to feed his other hungers tonight, but he wasn’t in the mood to force Paul’s supplication to him.  So he settled with, “I love you.”

            “I love you too.”  Paul returned simply.  His hands were still buried in James’ hair and his body was arching toward him.

            Knowing that Paul did not truly desire him, he pulled away.    

            When Paul spoke, his voice was still husky.  “You saved that elf.”

            “I did.”  James nodded as he backed away.  He was grateful for Paul.  He always knew what to say and when to say it.

            “Why?”  Paul’s emerald eyes danced over Jamiason’s face.  There was no jealousy or anger in them.  He knew the truth.  And James knew that. 

            “Because I love him.”  Jamiason replied, simply.  “But I think that you already know that.”

            Paul nodded and looked away.  “Louis told me that.”

            “Louis is jealous.”  Jamiason sighed.  “As much of you and I as of me and the elf.”

            “I didn’t want to believe him, I guess.”  Paul shrugged.  “Because the elf is so young.”

            “He won’t always be young.”  Jamiason frowned.  He loved the elf for what he would become.  Not for what he was.  “I can’t explain it to you, Paul.  I loved him the moment I saw him.  And he was just a baby then.”

            “Moira’s business.”  Paul shrugged.  “Not mine.”

            Jamiason smiled at that.  His love for the elf was, indeed, Moira’s business.  “Do you think Aiken will agree to vacating the grove?”

            “For you?”  Paul’s eyes danced over James’ face.  “Yes.  He loves you.  He’ll do anything for you.”

            Jamiason nodded.  He knew that Aiken loved him. 

            “Do you want me to go with you?”

            “Yes.”  Jamiason nodded.  “And you’d best bring Iykva.  He’ll want to be assured that the thing has been done.”

            “What do you make of him?”

            “What am I supposed to make of him?”  Jamiason shrugged.  “He was my friend once.  I loved him then.”

            “And now?”

            “Now?”  Jamiason reached forward and ran his fingers along Paul’s handsome jaw.  “I still love him.  But I also fear his designs.”

            “Did he send the demon to kill the elf?”

            “I don’t think to kill him.”  Jamiason shook his head.  “I think just to steal him. ”

            “They won’t find what they are looking for in the elves.”  Paul said in a very knowing tone.  “Will they?”

            “No.”  Jamiason shook his head again.  “If they think that they are damned now . . .”

            “The Gods love the elves.”

            “They do.”  Jamiason found himself smiling at Paul.  He was so trig; he always understood the truth of things.

            “Shall we play at cards?”  Paul, the Gods love him, sensed Jamiason’s desire to change the subject.

            “Yes, Paul.”  Jamiason smiled at him. “Yes we shall.”