Chains

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  Chains

  Rowan McBride

  Copyright 2013 by Rowan McBride

  Goodreads Edition

  Editor: ferro

  Published by: Jascian Press

  Cover Artist: Sin (http://xync.deviantart.com/)

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  All rights reserved. This story is free to read and free to share in its entirety for non-commercial purposes. This work may not be sold, altered, or manipulated in any format without written permission from the author.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real places, incidents, or persons--living, dead, or undead--is purely coincidental.

  This work contains graphic language and explicit sexual content between two men. Intended for adult audiences only, as defined in the country where purchased.

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  Chains

  Holding a lantern high in one hand, Saiven crept down the damp stone steps leading into the dungeon. It had been no trouble getting past the guards at the entrance. Being the king’s son gave him open access to the castle; being the king’s least favorite son allowed him to explore without the troublesome royal guard trailing after his every move.

  Water dripped from an unseen source and echoed through the cavern. The lonely sound sent a chill through his body, and he shook it off to press onward. There were many dungeons within the castle, and he had seen them all many times. But this one was special. This one had always stood empty.

  Until now.

  He cautiously approached the far wall. The single cell was marked by thick, age-roughened bars standing floor-to-ceiling as they cut across the final third of the room. Darkness cloaked the prisoner within, so dense that the flickering circle of light given off by the lantern couldn’t pierce it. Frustrated, he looked around. An iron stand bolted to the floor not far from the cell held a large torch. Without a second thought, he opened his lantern and carefully removed its candle. Fire scarcely touched pitch when the torch burst into flame, illuminating the prisoner in an explosion of orange light.

  The candle slid from his fingers as he stared in awe at the man shackled to the wall.

  Given the rumors skirring through the castle, Saiven thought certain he’d see a beast straight from the pits of hell. He had not expected to lay eyes on such radiance. It unsettled him, so he dipped his gaze and set the lantern on the floor beside his broken candle. He stole a few shallow breaths to regain his calm, straightened, and went right back to staring.

  He was a prince. He should have more dignity than this.

  Yet he could not keep himself from studying the man on the other side of those bars.

  The prisoner wore naught but a loincloth and had to be at least seven feet tall, with midnight hair that flowed past his chest and eyes like the amber stone Saiven wore around his neck. Every hard curve and etched line emanated power as the torch’s light danced over his body. Even the mark on his shoulder—sharp black lines that wove and sliced their way through an equally black ring—seemed somehow…bright.

  Saiven’s gaze drifted to his wrists, manacled and chained high above his head.

  The captain of the guard had been bragging about this one: a warrior captured three days ago. How could he endure the torment of being chained in the same position for so long? And how could he still wear that insolent smirk on his mouth?

  Saiven tilted his head to the side, and the prisoner mirrored the action.

  “Why’ve you come here, boy? Do you not know that monsters dwell in these deep, dark places?”

  That resonant voice filled the dungeon, gained power as it echoed off the walls and engulfed him in an ethereal embrace. It teased the fine hairs at his nape, sank into his very blood and bones. Already it seemed a part of him.

  Somehow, he managed to find his own voice, though it sounded tremulous in comparison. “I’m not a boy. I’ve seen twenty winters.”

  The smirk grew a touch more insolent. “Could have fooled me.”

  Saiven clenched his fists. It had been his curse to possess a woman’s beauty in his face and a wraith’s frame of body. He’d seen men and women alike eyeing him hungrily, and that was why his father hated him.

  The prisoner’s gaze dipped to the pendant resting against Saiven’s chest. “You belong to the king?”

  His fingers uncurled as he touched the cool stone. “He is my father.”

  “You wear no crown.”

  “I’m the youngest of seven sons. I am not allowed to wear a crown.”

  That amber gaze lifted once more, shimmered in the firelight.

  Saiven glanced at the solid iron chaining him to the wall and found the courage to step closer. “Are you really a demon?”

  The man looked at the pattern etched onto his shoulder. “I must be a demon, for I bear the mark. Do your clerics teach you nothing?”

  His clerics and tutors acknowledged his existence, but did little more. Saiven had spent many hours alone in the library, teaching himself from any book he could grasp. “If you are a demon, then how did you manage to get captured by mere mortals?”

  Laughter swept through the dungeon. Profound. Wondrous. “Even immortal monsters can get too cocky for their own good.”

  The sound drew Saiven another step forward. “Do you have a name?”

  He lifted his eyebrows, as if no one had ever asked him such a question before. “Faolan. What is yours?”

  Faolan. The word whispered over his skin like a secret dream, a forbidden desire. “S-Saiven.”

  “As in ‘savior’? Is that why you’ve come? To rescue me?”

  The teasing tone and the absurdity of his questions made Saiven blanch. “The name is a number. Nothing more. I do not have the power to save anyone.”

  Faolan’s assessing gaze didn’t waver. “I see.”

  As was his habit when he was nervous, Saiven pulled a sweet from the folds of his tunic and placed it on his tongue. He caught Faolan’s attention on his mouth and realized his thoughtlessness. “I apologize.” He pulled another piece and held it out. “Would you like one?”

  Metal rattled against metal as Faolan shook the chains that bound him.

  Embarrassed again, Saiven closed his fingers around the sweet. He wondered if the demon prisoner had been given any food or water in the last three days. “If you... If you promise not to bite off my fingers, then I will put it in your mouth.”

  Those amber eyes brightened. “What is it, exactly?”

  “Our monks boil raw sugar down to a thick, syrupy concoction. Then they let it cool and harden before breaking it to pieces.”

  “Candy?”

  Saiven frowned at the unfamiliar word. “I’ve always called them sweets.”

  His mouth crooked. “Simple, but fitting.”

  “Do you want it?”

  Faolan went quiet a long moment. “Very well. If you’ll be kind enough to place the sweet into my mouth, then I promise not to bite off your fingers.”

  It was not wise to trust a demon. But Saiven knew not to trust his brothers, nor his cousins, and the man before him didn’t exhibit the same darkness that pervaded his family. So he pressed himself against the bars, ignoring the chill of iron as he extended his arm. His hand couldn’t quite reach the captive’s mouth, and the gap between them forced him to his toes.

  Even then, Faolan had to lower his head.

  Soft lips closed around his thumb and forefinger. Faolan’s mouth was hot—almost searing—as his tongue slid wet and rough against his skin. Saiven could only watch, held rapt as the breath died in his chest.

  Teeth scraped skin and he snatched his hand away. “You gave your word!”

  “And I kept it. You still possess your fingers, do you not?”

  His fingers, still sli
ck with the demon’s saliva, throbbed in the cool air. “You bit me!”

  “A nip, nothing more. If you take a moment to consider, you might discover you found it enjoyable.”

  Saiven’s heart raced, his entire body shaking as his fingers continued to throb.

  This he must not feel!

  Once, a man had looked at him and Saiven had looked back with an unexpected, curious sort of wanting. His father caught the exchange. The man was executed and Saiven was beaten so badly that he couldn’t stand for days. Afterward, he’d sworn an oath to his father that he would never feel such unnatural hungers again.

  “Saiven.”

  He closed his eyes against the sound of his own name. Never before had it felt so sultry on another’s lips. Like a summer night just after the rain.

  “Meet my gaze, young prince.”

  Slowly, Saiven lifted his head.

  “Too young to carry such a burden.” He leaned forward as much as the chains would allow. “How did you know to find me here?”

  An old ache gripped him tight. It was a struggle to speak through it. “I listen to people in the castle as they converse. No one cares enough to pay attention to my presence.”

  “What do these people say about me?”

  “They say you are a demon.”

  Faolan grinned, showing teeth that did not seem so very sharp. “I gathered that.”

  “They say you can grant wishes.”

  “I cannot simply grant wishes, Saiven. They have to be earned.”

  He wanted to ask how one would earn a wish, but couldn’t summon the courage.

  As if able to read his mind, Faolan spoke with a siren’s thrall. “What would you wish for?”

  How much could he share? “I do not know.”

  “Power?”

  He shook his head.

  “Women?”

  Saiven glanced away. “No.”

  “Riches beyond your imagining?”

  “I have no interest in gold.”

  Faolan’s voice softened, slipping under his tunic to caress his sensitive skin. “Vengeance?”

  “No,” he whispered. He turned, needing to leave this place, already moving toward the stairs. “There is nothing.”

  “Me?”

  Saiven spun, sending sweets from his tunic clattering to the stone floor. “What?”

  “Would you wish for me?”

  The demon’s body still glowed in the torchlight. He’d never seen the like, not even among his father’s personal guard. The breadth of his shoulders. The length of his arms and legs. Every muscle drew taut, ready to battle at the first opportunity. Saiven couldn’t keep from looking at the black loincloth hanging from Faolan’s hips, and the looking made him hug himself.

  He’d just broken his oath to his king.

  Tears welled in his eyes. “I cannot wish for that.”

  “You can wish for whatever you want. I’ll keep your secrets safe.”

  He dashed the moisture away and took in a steadying breath to keep the rest from rising. He would not show weakness. He was his father’s son.

  “Saiven.”

  Unwilling to experience any more of the demon’s terrible beauty, Saiven kept his gaze on his feet. “Yes?”

  “There’s a key on the wall over there. You may use it to open my cell.”

  His head shot up. “I cannot release you.”

  “That one only opens the door. The king possesses the sole key to the chains that hold me in place.”

  Confusion furrowed his brow. “Then why would you—”

  “So I may catch your scent. So you may run your hands over my body.”

  He fell back a step. “I cannot—”

  “No one will know. I promise you.”

  Saiven rubbed his fingers and recalled the demon’s last promise. No damage had been done. In fact, a rather pleasant warmth lingered over them. Still... “I’ve never touched a man before.”

  “I do not mind being your first.”

  That teasing tone again, although this time there was gentleness as well. Saiven had already broken his oath, and this might well be his one chance to experience his darkest, most hidden longing. He would take it.

  Even if it meant consorting with a demon.

  Before he could change his mind, he ran to the wall, snatched the iron key off its hook, and sprinted to Faolan’s cell. His hands shook as he slipped it into the lock, firmed as he turned it. He swung open the door, walked in, and simply stood there.

  Faolan stared down at him. “Is something wrong?”

  He seemed so much bigger now. “I-I do not know what to do.”

  A wicked smile curved his lips. “Lay your hand upon my chest.”

  Safe enough proposition. Although Saiven knew nothing about this was safe.

  But he wanted it so.

  Forcing himself to lift his hand, he pressed his palm against warm, tight skin. Saiven glanced up in surprise. “You have a heart.”

  “We are not so different, you and I.”

  The idea was…exhilarating. He caressed the hard muscle, keeping his eyes on Faolan’s to be sure he retained approval.

  “That is pleasurable, Saiven.” Faolan pressed himself into the touch. “Feel free to use your other hand.”

  Saiven ran both palms over his torso, testing the resilient flesh as the flame he’d denied for so long flared into life. He paid special attention to the pebble-hard nipples, fascinated by their scrape against the pads of his fingers. “What is it to kiss a man?”

  Faolan lowered his head, only to be halted by his chains.

  Shame made him step back. “I’m smaller than I should be. It’s no wonder you thought I was a boy.”

  “I was only playing with you,” barked Faolan. “Any fool can see you are a man fully grown.” He twisted his wrists within their cuffs and gripped the chains above him. The muscles in his arms swelled as he lifted his legs, wrapped them around Saiven’s waist, and picked him up off the floor.

  Saiven had a bare moment to comprehend what was happening before Faolan’s mouth crushed against his.

  Savage, as a demon should be. Saiven accepted all of the passion, and unleashed his own wildness for the first time in his life. He found that he was the one biting now—sharp nips to lips and tongue. Faolan still tasted of sweet, and the flavor was irresistible as he sipped and sucked and devoured.

  Faolan groaned, and his thighs tightened as they held Saiven’s body aloft. That sin-drenched tongue plunged deep, lashing the whole of his mouth. The onslaught only fueled the need for more forbidden pleasure.

  When Faolan broke the kiss, both of them were left panting in the still air.

  “Do you know now what it is to kiss a man?”

  Saiven clutched at him, nuzzled his neck and inhaled the lush scent of him. “Yes.”

  “Would you like more?”

  He nodded against the expanse of Faolan’s broad shoulder.

  The legs wrapped around him loosened, and he slid to the floor. Instinctively, Saiven hugged him about the waist, hopping back when he felt the hard push against his stomach. The outline of the demon’s powerful shaft was unmistakable beneath the loincloth.

  “You may touch that as well, if you like.”

  With trembling fingers, he reached out, pulled loose the cloth’s knot. It fell away, revealing the evidence of Faolan’s arousal. Saiven trailed his fingers over the rigid flesh, startled as much by its silken texture as its heat. Thick veins pulsed at his touch, and more appeared as he traced their paths. The organ hardened, growing larger with every passing moment.

  “Saiven, your hands are bliss, but your mouth would be rapture.”

  No one had ever uttered such brazen words to him. They scalded his senses, forced his cock to leap painfully within his breeches. Unable to fight the draw of the demon, he lowered his head and tentatively licked the shaft.

  The engorged flesh twitched against his tongue. Saiven tamed the beast with long, wet strokes and devoted kisses. An addictive cade
nce of heat and want throbbed against his lips.

  “Stars above,” whispered Faolan. “Your mouth holds magic.”

  Growing bold, he slipped his hands around Faolan’s hips, cupping his hard buttocks with his palms. With no small amount of difficulty, he took the swollen cockhead into his mouth.

  The muscles he held clenched at the contact, became as stone beneath his fingers.

  In his haste to please, Saiven ventured too far and gagged. He yanked his head back, coughing uncontrollably.

  “So eager, young prince. You should take your time and enjoy the experience.”

  No doubt this would be his only chance to know another man. Saiven wanted to do more than enjoy it—he wanted, needed, to treasure it. And he wanted to lavish Faolan with pleasure in return for gifting him with these few moments.

  Leaning forward, fighting the urge to rush, Saiven tried again. He swirled his tongue around the flared head of the shaft, took it into his mouth. A hint of salt and spice teased him into easing downward. Careful breaths rewarded him with the musky scent rising from Faolan’s skin, from the dark curls of hair at the base of his cock.

  Faolan groaned.

  Mindful of what had happened last time, Saiven moved in gradual strokes, taking the shaft in deeper with each pass. Faolan’s cock filled his mouth and pushed into his throat, but—to his dismay—he could not get at all close to the base.

  Though he didn’t thrust his hips forward, the demon’s muscles rippled and flexed with this test of his patience.

  Saiven lifted his head away, releasing him with a slurp and a pop. He buried his nose into the thatch at Faolan’s crotch, nuzzled the coarse hair.

  Faolan shook and spread his legs.

  Sinking lower still, Saiven laved the plum-sized balls with his tongue. There was hair here, too, but it was finer and more sparse. Gently, he sucked one of the orbs into his mouth to taste it fully. This was the source of the fire that lit the demon’s body, he knew. He suckled a few moments more, then delivered the same treatment to the other as he fisted a hand over the shaft.

  Faolan roared.