He couldn’t help the tormented snarl that roared from his gut as those same nails found the button of his pants. His eyes were still locked with the malevolent being controlling every fucked-up second of this power exchange, and a flash of raw, sexual desire entered Vasilios’s eyes.
Before Alasdair could begin to imagine what was in store for him, a memory hit with blinding force, and even through the pain, a frisson of lust shot through him…
Ancient Athens – 47 BC
HE WAS BEING followed as he wove his way between the columns of the deserted bathhouse. He slipped into the shadows cast by the moonlight, and as he waited there, Alasdair realized he enjoyed the feeling of being chased.
The baths were a favorite place of his. They were where he went if he wanted to be seen, be heard, or to participate in delights of the flesh. At this time of night, he was most certainly there to partake in the last of the three, and he suspected that the man who had been watching him for days on end was there for the same reason.
He pressed his back to the pillar he’d moved behind, and his cock swelled beneath the heavy wool of his toga. It had been a long time since he’d felt such excitement over a rendezvous. Usually, one was too busy watching their back for knives to enjoy any kind of lead up to a fuck at the bathhouse. But ever since the celebratory feast two days past, where he had beheld the most heavenly man he thought to exist, he had thought of little else.
It had only taken a glimpse, and still, Alasdair was not certain the vision he had seen was real. He’d appeared godlike. Ethereal. And as quickly as he had seen him, the man had vanished.
From that moment forward, Alasdair had felt him like his very own silhouette, could sense when he was near. And when the sun disappeared and the dark desires rushed to the surface, the hunger to be touched consumed him with the need to come face-to-face with he who was responsible for his state of sexual longing.
“Alasdair…”
As the bewitching voice floated through the air and entered his mind, Alasdair’s heart thumped. It was as if the word had been whispered right by his ear.
“You really should not walk alone in the night, omorfo mou agóri.”
Alasdair licked his lips as a breeze ruffled through his long hair and the material of his garment where it brushed his calves. In all of his thirty-one years, he could not remember feeling such anticipation, such build to a moment of meeting. And as this man, being, or night angel continued to taunt him, the thrill only intensified.
“A lot can happen when the sun dips down and the moon comes out to play…” The seductive voice trailed off, and as he mourned the absence of it, a delicious pressure surrounded his swollen shaft.
A strangled moan fell from his lips as he pressed his head to the column and looked from left to right. No one was there. No one was even near him. But he could feel—oh gods, yes—he could feel fingers stroking his turgid length, and then the voice… It was back.
“Things you cannot even begin to imagine. I can give them to you.”
Alasdair tried to take a hold of himself to ease the ache throbbing between his thighs, but he found his hands immobile by his sides, held prisoner by some kind of invisible force he could not fathom.
“Ti mou kanis?”
“Let go and enjoy. Give yourself to me,” the voice cajoled.
Alasdair wanted to do nothing more. For, whatever kind of magic was being weaved, it continued to bring him pleasure beyond his imagination.
“I have been waiting for you for some time, Alasdair Kyriako ú s, son of Lapidos. Ise poli omorfos. A man worthy of my attention, if ever I saw one.”
Alasdair’s breathing accelerated with every word and stroke of his flesh, and he wanted—no, needed—to see. “Show yourself,” he demanded on a ragged groan.
The sound that reverberated in his mind was unquestionably immoral. A laugh that he swore was as effective as a siren calling him to the jagged edges of a cliff.
“Are you so sure you wish to see me?”
“Yes,” he panted, positive he’d never been more certain of anything in his life. And as the stroking between his legs changed to slow, languid pulls, his eyelids fluttered shut. “I desire your presence.”
“Understand, Alasdair. Once you really see me, you can never unsee me again. You will be of my blood. Your life—tied to mine,” his angel explained.
At that stage, Alasdair was willing to give anything to get another glimpse of the wonderment he had so briefly witnessed. “I understand. And still wish for nothing more.”
With his hands still trapped and his shaft being deliciously manipulated, a warm tongue licked his ear as that melodic voice invited, “Then open your eyes.”
AS THE MEMORY was brutally expelled from his mind, Alasdair was brought back to his painful reality. His traitorous cock stiffened between his thighs as his sire’s lips twitched. His response had been wanted and noted.
This wasn’t anything new between the two of them. It’d been that way from the moment their paths had crossed and he’d been offered eternal life. He’d only had to promise one thing in exchange—eternal devotion.
What was new was the declaration about the intimate side of their bond. It’d been rumored over the centuries, but never confirmed, and it was due to the humiliation he’d brought upon Vasilios that he was making such a spectacle now.
I felt you return to the baths tonight, but then the feeling disappeared. So I thought I would remind you. Did you forget that I would sense when you entered them? You are my property, Alasdair. That is where I made it so. You belong to me, agóri.
The possessive words were shoved into his mind with a force belying the velvety tone, which served as a balm for the confused emotions pulsating through his body as he was forced to submit in a way he’d never done before.
“Please, Diomêdês,” Vasilios invited aloud, turning to the Ancient on his right—Isadora’s sire. Eton, Thanos’s sire, was sitting quietly to his left. “Tell my Alasdair what he is charged with. I’m too perturbed to deal with him any longer.”
When several witnesses snickered, Vasilios roared out, “Enough!”
Without so much as a glance in the direction of those who’d dared find enjoyment at his displeasure, Alasdair watched his sire’s fangs descend in a vile snarl that distorted his handsome face.
The air practically vibrated from the tension weighing it down—and then the coil snapped. A vacuum sound of…one, two, no—three hearts being suctioned from their chest cavities echoed off the walls, and then they hit the floor with the dull thump of dead weight.
“Does anyone else find my vexation amusing? If so, please make it be known so we can continue.”
The Chamber remained deathly silent.
“Sorry, Diomêdês. Please, begin.”
As Vasilios took his seat, his eyes returned to their usual color, and the desire that had been humming through Alasdair vanished so he was left only with the searing pain.