These two have…have fucked. He wasn’t sure why, but that irritated him enough to think as loudly as he possibly could, Don’t even think about offering me to him.
Leonidas, he can—
“Oh, he’s quite spirited, isn’t he?” Thanos chuckled.
Fuck, Leo had forgotten that everyone could hear and only Alasdair could respond.
That’s right. And you’d best remember it if you want to leave here alive. I told you, down here, humans are the weakest link. You are the lowest denominator. Consider yourself my property. I pick and choose who touches you, fucks you, and feeds from you.
“Well, that’s fucked up. We aren’t living in the Middle Ages,” Leo said, not even realizing he’d spoken aloud.
“The Middle Ages?” Isadora laughed. “Whatever are you saying to him, Alasdair?”
Leo had the insane image of Alasdair rolling his eyes in exasperation. Not that he’d likely ever do something as undignified as that.
You are going to get yourself killed if you don’t pay more attention. To shed some light on your disgust and horror, however, most of us come from the Middle Ages. So that’s the way our society is structured, Mr. Archaeologist. Now, keep your eyes on your feet and your thoughts silent.
Leo reluctantly did as he had been told, thinking back to the images he’d once studied in Elias’s class of the feudal pyramids of the Middle Ages. He remembered that the weakest and lowest segment of the diagram was always the peasants or slaves, and then he shut his eyes.
Well, when put that way, it made sense. Because that was exactly what he was at the moment, wasn’t it? Alasdair’s slave. But then he had another thought—
If I’m your property, who are you in your community’s pyramid?
“Pyramids?” Thanos asked, rudely intruding on his thoughts again. “You have the wrong country, agóri. We hail from Greece, not Egypt. What is he babbling about, Alasdair?”
Leo kept silent and waited to hear what Alasdair would say. Instead of answering the male directly, he turned to face him and the crowd behind them. Then, in a tone that brooked no question or argument, he announced, “I would be Lord to all of them. And, going forth, master to you.”
ALASDAIR HAD NO idea what had provoked him to make such an announcement. But as the words had left his lips, and a flurry of whispers swept through the corridor, a satisfying sense of possession had overwhelmed him.
This was a first. He’d brought humans, although rarely, to the Walk. But never had he publicly claimed another. And even though Vasilios had encouraged the act, Alasdair wondered how he would feel when word of it reached him.
“Now, isn’t that fascinating…” Isadora purred behind him. “Only a couple of hours earlier, you were adamant he was not yours.”
Alasdair studied Leo’s face for a reaction, but instead of surprise or indignation, his eyes glazed over and he started to sway.
“I think he’s going to pass out.” Isadora laughed, and the sound grated on Alasdair’s nerves. “Looks like I’m not the only one who finds the idea of an orgasm from you horrifying.”
Alasdair tuned his cousin out and took a step towards Leo, well aware that everyone in the hall was watching them. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Leo muttered and pitched forward on his toes.
Alasdair put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. “Again, you lie to me. Tell me. What is wrong with you?”
Leo brought a hand up to his forehead, and then he stumbled.
“Can you walk?”
Leo’s head snapped up, and he aimed a fierce, annoyed look at him. Yes, I can walk. Don’t touch me…master.
Instead of heeding the request, Alasdair gripped Leo’s shoulders and pulled him up so he could place his lips by his ear. “I’m trying to prevent you from becoming a buffet to a ravenous horde of carnivores. But if that’s what you want…”
“No,” Leo rasped.
“Then what kind of game are you playing?”
Leo shifted and their lips were so close Alasdair had to restrain himself from sweeping his tongue across Leo’s lower one.
“No game. I’m so tired all of a sudden,” he whispered, and his eyelids fluttered shut. “I can’t…I can’t keep my eyes open.”
Magic, Alasdair thought. It has to be. And the only one of them who had ever dabbled in it…
Alasdair spun around to glare accusingly at Thanos, who had a self-satisfied smirk across his lips. “You did this,” he hissed out.
“I did,” his cousin replied as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Why?” Alasdair demanded as Leo went limp and he had to hold him upright.
Thanos strolled over without a care in the world, now that Alasdair’s hands were occupied, and stroked a finger down Leo’s temple, cheek, and jaw.
“Because, cousin, he’s had your full attention for the last month. So much so you’ve been slacking on your duties and endured one fucked-up punishment. Eton wanted me to see the human up close, and you were not about to allow it.”
When a deep growl emerged from him, Thanos had the good sense to pull his hand away.
“If you want to keep him,” Thanos suggested, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear, “you better do more than rub your scent over him and ‘say’ he’s yours. These cretins won’t believe it unless they can smell you on him and in him. You know better than that. I’m merely giving you a friendly reminder, cousin.”
“I don’t need a reminder,” Alasdair snapped.
“Don’t you?” Thanos asked. “You’re so wrapped up in this golden-haired agóri that you didn’t even notice Vasilios at the other end of the hall just now.”
Alasdair’s eyes flew to the far end of the corridor.
Thanos tsked him. “It’s too late. He’s long gone, and I’m assuming he hid himself from you, wanting to see this display as much as the rest of us. The Ancients are curious too, Alasdair. So, again, I ask you: Who is it that’s captured your attention, cousin?”
When Thanos made a move to touch Leo a second time, Alasdair bared his teeth like a cornered animal. Then, without answering, he closed his eyes and did something he’d told Leo he wouldn’t. He faded both of them from the lair.
LEO WOKE TO the muffled sound of voices chatting nearby. His eyelids were heavy as he forced them open and took in his surroundings, and then the familiarity of his own bedroom bombarded him.
The tallboy he’d stuffed several seasons’ worth of clothes in sat at a diagonal angle in the far left corner, and the rickety secondhand desk he’d bought at the old antique store off Parnell and Rotham was nestled in beside it. On the opposite wall, his four-level bookshelf was jam-packed with textbooks and history journals, which caused it to lean to one side even though he’d crammed it in next to the wall for extra support.
Everything was exactly how it should have been—except for the voices.
Once he’d sat up in his bed, he grabbed the white T-shirt on the end of it and pulled it over his head. Then he picked up his comfy, grey cardigan from the back of his desk chair.
God, what he wouldn’t do for a shower.
He’d taken advantage of the en suite when he’d been locked up, using the soap and water to keep as clean as he could. But he hadn’t trusted his surroundings long enough to fully strip and get under the warm spray of the shower.