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Ready to read the prequel? Here it is!

The Lion and the Priest (The Lion Mistress: Book 0)

By R. A. Steffan

Copyright 2016 by R. A. Steffan

Author’s Note: This book contains graphic sex between men. It is intended for a mature audience. Additionally, it does not end with a “happy-ever-after” or even a “happy-for-now.” For that, you’ll need to read The Lion Mistress: Book 1, in which our two heroes finally get themselves sorted out thanks to some much-needed outside help.

Chapter 1: What the Cat Dragged In

“YOU DO REALIZE,” Favian told Limdya, “if you want this filly to pay more attention to you than to her herd mates, you’re going to have to be more interesting company than they are.”

Limdya wiped a hand across her forehead, leaving a smear of grime behind. She turned her attention from the gray filly she was holding to Favian, who was standing outside the fence, and glared at him. “Yes, thank you, Favian. That’s really ever so helpful. And how am I supposed to do that when I can barely get her to look at me?”

The horse craned her neck around against the pull of the long rope attached to her halter, and let out a shrill whinny to her fellows in the next corral. Favian shook his head and pushed away from the post he was leaning against. Once, he would have clambered between the rails of the fence separating them without a second thought. Now, though, his long acolyte’s robes made the gate a considerably more appealing option, not to mention a more dignified one.

He paused to pick up a sturdy wooden feed pan that was lying next to the fence, and let himself into the pen with the two frustrated females. Limdya eyed the wooden box skeptically as he dropped it on the ground near her feet.

“Are you suggesting I bribe her with food?” she asked. “I thought you said that was cheating.”

“I said it was a shortcut,” Favian clarified. “Shortcuts can be good, or they can be bad. It depends on the horse and the situation. Anyway, I’m not suggesting you bribe her with food. She’s not the type, for one thing. I doubt you’d get very far with that approach.”

“Then what?” Irritation was creeping into Limdya’s tone. “How is a wooden box going to help me teach this filly to yield to pressure from a distance?”

Favian tried to keep the affectionate smile from his face, knowing it would just make her testier. He could still feel it crinkling the corners of his eyes, however. “I told you. You have to be more interesting than the distractions. Here.”

He held out a hand for the rope, and Limdya gave it to him with a huff before retreating to watch from a distance. The filly shook her head and pawed, giving another jerk against the rope’s restraint.

Horses had been Favian’s entire existence, once. Now, they were only a small part of it. The life of a temple acolyte was a busy one, but the priests knew that without a bit of time to call their own, it would also be a miserable one for the boys and young men who would one day rise to replace them. Favian often chose to spend his spare hours helping his friend in her quest to become a more accomplished horsewoman.

Limdya had barely even touched a horse before her sixteenth birthday. A few years ago, after the upheaval surrounding the Alyrion massacre in Draebard and everything that followed it, she had become the first openly female apprentice at the horse pens.

Favian held deep admiration for what she’d accomplished since then. She’d had to contend with not only her own inexperience, but also the subtle—and not so subtle—prejudices of the townsfolk. Nonetheless, she’d quickly grown into a competent rider and a knowledgeable caretaker for Draebard’s valuable herd.

These days, she was finally venturing into the training of young animals. The filly currently dancing on the end of the rope Favian held was by far the most challenging horse Limdya had tried to work with. At two years of age, she was already taller than most of the native Draebardi animals—a beautiful, dappled silver gray with a black mane and tail.

More important than her size and quality, however, was the fact that the filly had inherited her sire’s hot temperament. The black stallion that fathered her was of Mereni breeding, and had a reputation for being both magnificent and terribly difficult to deal with. Carivel insisted that all of his problems came from poor handling, but there was no denying that the Mereni animals had a much different disposition than Draebard’s phlegmatic native ponies.

The gray filly was half and half—the daughter of the black stallion, Nietre, and a Draebardi mare. She showed every sign of becoming a beautiful animal as an adult—exactly the sort of horse Carivel had hoped for when she first started trading for Mereni horses and crossing them with the tribe’s small, sturdy broodmares. Now, though, she was an emotional wreck, so concerned about being away from her familiar surroundings that she could scarcely focus on the human trying to teach her the basic training she would need in order to pull a wagon or chariot and, later, to be ridden.

Favian put some slack in the rope and flicked his wrist back and forth, sending a rhythmic wave of motion up its length to where it attached at the bottom of the filly’s halter. She snorted at the sudden movement near her head and scrambled back a step in surprise. Favian followed, continuing to shake the rope from side to side in a snakelike movement until the startled animal’s attention focused on him entirely.

Before she could return to worrying about her herd mates, he swung the loose end of the rope in his other hand, directing it toward her shoulder. She spun smoothly and circled around him at a loose trot, still shaking her head.

“You need to stop working with her and star playing with her, Limdya.” He stepped around to block the filly’s progress and swung the end of the rope in front of her nose. The motion caused her to change direction and circle the other way. “She’s still just a youngster, you know, even if she is taller and stronger than most.”

“How am I supposed to play with her when she doesn’t want anything to do with me?” Limdya called, still sounding sour.

“Well, why should she want anything to do with you when you’re no fun to be with?” Favian countered.

Limdya snorted. “Ouch. Now I see how it is. Some friend you are, Favian,” she teased. “And here I thought all this time that you cared…”

He chuckled and turned back to the horse. “Oh, come now. You know I only help you because you have access to all the best food and wine from your sisters’ cookhouse.”

“Prat,” Limdya said, laughter coloring her tone now. “I’m going to run straight to the temple and tell Priest Feldes you said that. You’ll be eating gruel for a month.”

The filly was becoming restless again, so Favian returned his full attention to her. He backed her up a few steps and pointed her toward the feed pan resting on the ground. Her ears pricked as she noticed the object she associated with grain and apples and other good things. When Favian suggested with a flick of the rope toward her haunches that she move toward it, she did so obligingly.

He let her investigate it while Limdya watched the proceedings with interest, their earlier banter forgotten. When the filly had assured herself that the wooden box was empty of even the barest crumbs, she gave it a disdainful shove with her nose and tossed her head again.

“Yes, yes,” Favian told her. “Not what you were hoping for, I know. We can still have some fun with it, though. You’ll see.”

The gray horse shook her head and sneezed, as if displaying skepticism at the idea. Favian took up the end of the rope again and twirled it at her hindquarters as he had before. The horse’s ear flicked toward the movement and she skittered forward, half-hopping over the feed pan that lay in her path. With a shake of the rope attached to her halter, Favian brought her to a stop.

“A very good first try, beautiful, but not quite what I had in mind. Here, let’s try again,” he soothed.

He pointed her toward the feed pan once more, giving smaller, quieter cues this time. The filly tracked him with one eye and one ear, stepping gingerly toward the low box and veering around it at the last moment. Favian calmly backed her up a couple of steps and tipped her nose to look at it again. He focused very attentively on her left front hoof, and urged her a tiny bit forward for a third attempt.

After a few more false starts, the filly looked at Favian, then looked at the box, and lifted her left front foot to paw at the sturdy wood uncertainly.

“Smart girl,” Favian praised, relaxing his body language and stepping forward to rub the horse’s forehead. The animal nudged against him, her herd mates forgotten in favor of the interesting new game of figure-out-what-the-crazy-human-wants.

Within minutes, he was able to direct the filly to stand with first her left front foot in the pan, and then her right. She offered new tricks like standing in it with both front feet held daintily together, and tipping it up on end by stepping on the edge, looking at Favian each time—eager for his praise.

After giving her a particularly good scratch behind the ears, Favian smiled over at Limdya. “You take her back now… I imagine you’ve got the general idea.”

Limdya straightened away from the fence rail she’d been leaning against and crossed to take custody of the horse once more. “Every time I feel like I’m finally making progress, I see someone who really has a talent for this do something amazing, and I’m back to feeling like a hopeless simpleton,” she said.

Favian rolled his eyes at her. “Well, stop it right this instant, because that’s completely ridiculous. Now go play with the filly for a bit more, and then have some lunch with me.”

The shy smile Limdya flashed him warmed Favian’s heart, and he hoped she really did appreciate how far she’d come in the last few years. He took up his place outside the fence once more, calling out the occasional suggestion or bit of encouragement as Limdya took up where he’d left off. By the time the weak spring sunshine was shining directly overhead, Limdya had flipped the sturdy box over like a pedestal and convinced the filly to stand on it with her front feet and, rather impressively, her hind feet.

“I think that’s a good place to stop,” she said, stroking a hand down the filly’s neck and scratching under her mane.

Favian nodded his agreement. The horse had forgotten her earlier worries, and looked from one to the other of her new playmates with a bright and interested expression.

“Just remember, Limdya,” he said, “it’s not about the box. It’s about being provocative and interesting enough to engage her mind. If you need to walk her through a gate, do it backwards. If you come upon a tree branch lying on the ground, don’t just walk over it—walk halfway over and then side-pass along its length. Do the unexpected, but always in such a way that she learns a new method for communicating with you. You want her to learn how to learn. Then you can teach her anything.”

Limdya grinned at him. “Well, well. Look at you, Brother Favian. You can take the boy out of the horse pens, but I guess you can’t take the horse pens out of the boy.” She sobered a bit, though her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes, bright. “Seriously, though—thank you. Again. The others try to help when I ask—at least, if they have time. But no one else explains things as well as you do.”

Favian felt a faint blush rise up his neck despite himself, and smiled back at her through the brief wave of unexpected shyness. “It’s nothing. I like coming out to the pens in my spare time. It was never that I wanted to leave the horses, you know. Only that I wanted what the temple offered, more.”

“I understand, Favian,” Limdya said. “Truly. Now come on. Let me put this filly away and we can eat. I’m starving.”

* * *

As they were sharing the hearty meat pie that Limdya had brought for lunch, they chatted about this and that—Dalon’s plans to build a larger hut over the summer in preparation for asking Limdya to join him in a handfasting. Favian’s sister Frella’s excitement over the prospect of exploring some caves that her friends claimed to have found in the hills east of the village.

Limdya swallowed a mouthful of food and looked up, meeting his eyes. “Oh,” she said, “I can’t believe I almost forgot the juiciest gossip of all. Guess who’s back?”

Since his own mouth was full, Favian shrugged to indicate he had no idea and made a wordless noise of vague curiosity.

“Apparently, Ithric wandered into town last night. No hellos, no explanations—Charyal said she saw him letting himself into Carivel’s old hut just as dusk was falling. He didn’t even have a pack with him.”

The food he’d just swallowed lodged awkwardly in Favian’s throat. He made an undignified choking noise as he forced it the rest of the way down with a gulp.

Limdya raised an eyebrow at him. “You all right, there?”

“Fine,” he said, his voice coming out strangled. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Just swallowed wrong. Er… that’s interesting, I suppose.”

His companion regarded him skeptically. “You suppose? I figured you’d want to know.” She paused, as if debating her next words, then plunged onward. “Is it true you’re the one who broke his nose last year?”

“What?” Favian asked, genuinely shocked. “No! For the gods’ sake, Limdya, I’m an acolyte. Are people really saying that?”

“Yeah… they kind of are,” Limdya replied, as if surprised this was the first he’d heard of it.

Favian blew out a breath, and set the uneaten remains of his lunch back in the bowl Limdya had brought. “As far as I know, it happened when he was out wandering around as a lion,” he said, purposely neglecting to add that he had been the one to drag a dazed Ithric to the healer’s hut after the infuriating idiot had stumbled up to where Favian was working behind the temple and more or less collapsed at his feet, blood pouring from his nose.

He resolutely did not think about the irrational stab of fear that had struck him upon seeing Ithric’s bloody face, or how it had felt to have his warm and strangely trusting weight slung against him as he’d helped the injured shape-shifter to Sagdea’s residence.

With a little shrug, Limdya went back to her meal. “Well,” she said around a mouthful, “you can’t really blame the gossipmongers, can you? Everyone in the entire village knows you two hate each others’ guts.”

There was nothing to say to that. It was true that he and Ithric couldn’t seem to be in the same room for more than a handful of minutes without descending into vicious sniping.

“You could just avoid him, you know,” Limdya went on, still looking at him oddly. “Probably better all around that way, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Favian agreed in a dull tone, his lunch settling heavily in his stomach. “You’re probably right.”

* * *

This exceedingly rational and well thought out strategy lasted almost an entire hour—right up until Favian was heading back to the temple from the horse pens. A route, it must be said, which took him directly past Carivel’s old hut. It was hardly Favian’s fault that the Horse Mistress’s hut was placed on the side of the village nearest the pens. Nor was it his fault that she had given Ithric use of it years ago, since she mostly stayed either at the temple or at Andoc’s considerably larger and nicer hut.

And it most definitely wasn’t his fault that Ithric was perched bare-chested on the roof, tying bundles of thatch into place to repair an area that was sagging and damp after months of neglect.

Favian froze, staring at the play of lean muscle and sinew under golden skin, criss-crossed with old scars. Did Ithric not realize that it was scarcely above freezing outside? Apparently he didn’t—he was wearing only a pair of worn breeches that rode low on his narrow hips, and soft boots. Favian continued to gape like a fool until piercing light brown eyes flecked with green glanced up and pinned him without warning.

Ithric smiled his slow, too-sharp smile, and something jolted in Favian’s chest. “Favian!” he said, mock-genial. “As I live and breathe! Long time no see, my good friend.” He stretched back to rest an elbow on the rafter next to him, catlike; the movement putting those sleek muscles on oh-so-casual display. “So… how’re the balls doing these days?”

The topic of the priesthood and Favian’s interest in it was an old and tired one between them. Ithric’s tone was one of casual interest, such as someone might employ when asking about the weather. Favian immediately saw red. With difficulty, he tore his gaze away and stomped off toward his destination, leaving Ithric to his leaky roof.

“Fuck you,” he threw back, over his shoulder—not, admittedly, among his most brilliant ripostes in their ongoing argument regarding the merits of becoming a eunuch.

“Language,” Ithric called cheerfully from behind him, and Favian ground his teeth.

This had merely been a momentary setback in the avoiding Ithric plan, he assured himself as he marched along the main road toward the familiar haven of the temple. It was nothing to get worked up about. He was fine. Not flustered at all. Definitely not upset.

Because that would be ridiculous.

* * *

“You seem upset,” Senovo observed a short time later, as the two of them moved around the altar room replacing the candles that had burned down beyond usefulness. “Is there something about which you wish to speak, Little Brother?”

Favian realized that he was grinding his teeth again and forcibly relaxed his jaw muscles. “No, Elder Brother,” he said. “Not a thing.”

* * *

That evening, Frella practically bounced into their shared room, obviously bursting with news.

“Ithric’s back!” she exclaimed, clearly delighted.

There was a heavy beat of silence.

“Is he?” Favian asked, his voice absolutely flat.

“Yes,” Frella said, employing the tried and true my-brother-is-an-idiot tone beloved of ten-year-olds everywhere. “He says he might stay for a while, too.”

“Wow. That’s nice,” said Favian, still utterly without inflection.

Frella rolled her eyes and flopped onto her low bed, tucking her legs beneath her tailor-style. “Hey! You know I told you I’d planned to go with Keesa and Sabran to see the caves they found, right?” she asked, thankfully changing the subject. “Well, now their parents say they can’t go, because it’s too dangerous. Which is stupid, because they’ve already been there twice! So, I was wondering… would you go with me instead?”

“I suppose,” Favian said absently. “Though it’ll probably have to wait a couple of weeks. Things are pretty busy this time of year with the spring festival coming up.”

She frowned, but then a sly look slid over her pixie-like features. “I guess I could ask Ithric, instead…”

Favian’s jaw clenched. He noticed with a twinge of irritation that the muscles were starting to throb, and a headache was taking up residence behind his eyes. “Don’t bother Ithric, Frella,” he said. “You know how he feels about the temple, and those of us who call it home. I doubt we’ll see much of him while he’s here, to be honest.”

* * *

I doubt we’ll see much of him.

Favian was reminded of those rather fateful words a few days later, when he went out to fill buckets of water from the river shortly after dawn. It was beautiful outside—a promise of warmer times to come even though it was still early in the season. Steady rain the previous evening had given way to clear, early-morning sky, the deep indigo broken only by a few fluffy clouds in the east. Those clouds glowed orange and pink and purple as the sun breached the horizon and climbed over the trees, the colors so vivid as to seem almost unreal.

Dampness rose from the ground as mist in the humid morning air, bringing with it the smell of wet earth and growing things. The heady scent filled Favian’s lungs as he breathed in deeply. A sense of peace settled over him—a feeling of rightness and serenity regarding the world and his place in it. It was a feeling he had been sorely missing over the past several days.

Tiny pebbles pressed against the soles of his bare feet as he walked down the gentle slope behind the temple, buckets in hand. He shivered a bit as he waded into the shallows, gooseflesh prickling across his skin.

He had just leaned over to fill the first bucket when the sound of splashing from downstream caught his attention. A man straightened from the river where his form had been shrouded by mist—an early bather braving the cold water. The sun crested the trees to throw the figure into a ray of golden light, illuminating a tousled mane of brown hair with reddish highlights and a patchwork of old scars over hard muscle.

Favian caught his breath and stared, unable to move. Ithric squatted down again to sluice more water over his body, and Favian forced himself to rise from his awkward crouch. He could not, however, force his eyes away from Ithric’s naked form, tawny and glowing in the morning light.

Inevitably… inescapably… Ithric turned to look at him, alerted to Favian’s presence by the movement at the corner of his eye. His lips twitched in badly hidden amusement, one eyebrow arching.

“Favian! Hullo, there,” he said, again in that almost-but-not-quite-mocking tone. ”Well, now—fancy meeting you here.” He stood, facing Favian without a hint of self-consciousness. “You seem very distracted this morning, I must say. Cat got your tongue?”

The blood which had been rushing south to Favian’s stupid, idiotic, unhelpful prick did an abrupt about-face and rose without warning to turn his face bright red. He tried to tell himself that the noise which forced itself up past his throat was a manly, irritated growl of disdain… even if it did sound more like a high-pitched, strangled “Gah.”

With his dignity already a distant and fading memory after mere moments in Ithric’s presence, Favian whirled, splashing back up to the beach and marching toward the temple beyond. When he darted inside and turned to slam the door closed behind him, he realized that he’d come back with one bucket still empty, and the other one only half full.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall forward against the sturdy wood with a soft thump.

* * *

That night was the new moon, and the darkness in the room he shared with Frella was nearly complete. Favian stared up at the unseen rafters above his bed, silently berating himself. He was not going to sneak out of his bedroom like a thief to have a private wank over thoughts of Ithric, wet and glistening in the morning sun. He just… wasn’t.

He tried to ignore the ache of his untouched cock and focus on Ithric’s infuriating, knowing smirk instead.

It didn’t help.

Suddenly, he could understand the appeal of wiping that smirk away with his fist. Irrational jealousy surged up, directed toward whatever unknown four-legged assailant had broken Ithric’s nose last year. He snatched the lumpy pillow from behind his head and covered his face with it to muffle the groan of dismay that threatened to slip past his control. Maybe if he held it there long enough, he could suffocate himself into unconsciousness and get some sleep that way.

* * *

Unfortunately, when it came to matters concerning Favian, Senovo had always seen too much. For this reason, it wasn’t really a surprise when he noticed the growing bags under Favian’s eyes and the snappishness he couldn’t seem to quite control as the nights of frustration and poor sleep dragged on.

“Favian. If you won’t speak to me about whatever is troubling you, then speak to Brother Eiridan,” said the High Priest, after overhearing Favian berate poor little Mithral for dropping a jar of lamp oil onto the stone floor and breaking it. Senovo lifted one dark eyebrow into an expressive arch when Favian did not immediately respond, and continued, “That was not, I hasten to add, a request.”

Favian deflated with a sheepish nod and went to find Eiridan, stopping along the way to apologize to the young acolyte he’d chastened unfairly.

The mild-mannered Mereni priest was holed up in the tiny room he’d claimed as a study, examining a Rhytheeri scroll and marking cryptic symbols on a scraped hide next to it with a tiny brush dipped in dark pigment. Favian took a deep breath and knocked quietly on the open door.

“I need to talk to you for a few minutes, Elder Brother,” he said, “if you have the time.”

Eiridan looked up, his dark eyes taking in Favian’s rather wan appearance. He set the little pig-bristle brush he’d been holding in a clay cup of water to rinse, and leaned back in his chair. “Of course, Favian. Come in and close the door behind you. What can I do for you today?”

Favian did as he was instructed and dropped into the room’s only other chair, fiddling with the sleeve of his robe as he tried to order his thoughts.

“I want—” He paused to swallow. “I want to ask you some questions… about a subject people don’t usually discuss openly, even within the temple.”

Eiridan laced his fingers together and rested his joined hands on his stomach. “Very well. What subject is it that you wish to discuss, exactly?”

Favian girded himself and plunged on, realizing all at once just how desperate he was for some answers. For some help. “I need to know more about being a eunuch. About whether it will help with my… unnatural urges. For men.”

Eiridan made a silent “ah” shape with his mouth, and regarded Favian thoughtfully.

“You realize,” he said after a short pause, “that many in the temple were originally drawn here because of such urges.”

“Yes, of course,” Favian said. “It’s why I was drawn here as well. One of the reasons, anyway.”

Eiridan nodded. “Indeed. I should perhaps say at the outset, though, that I am not necessarily the most logical choice to counsel you. My own urges were directed almost exclusively toward women as a youth. I joined the temple because it was the best place to pursue learning, and to help people. In my case, becoming a eunuch was, shall we say, merely the price of admission.”

Favian thought about this for a bit, and considered what he knew about the kind, sharp-eyed priest who kept everybody’s secrets. “Even so,” he said slowly, “I would like to hear your thoughts if you’re willing to give them. Will becoming a priest—becoming a eunuch—give me back control over my body?”

Eiridan tilted his head, studying Favian for a long moment before speaking. “You have control of your body now, Little Brother,” he said eventually. “I’m sure I’d have heard about it if you’d been raping and ravishing unsuspecting young men in the dead of night.”

Favian was torn between irritation at Eiridan’s willful obtuseness and a shameful flash of heat at the idea of ravishing Ithric, pinning him down and scraping fingernails along his chest. Sucking marks into the tender skin of his neck as they rutted together. He quashed the image ruthlessly and hoped it wasn’t somehow visible on his face.

“In fact,” Eiridan continued, “from what I gather, you demonstrate more self-control than most. Acolytes of a certain age do have… a bit of a reputation, as I’m sure you know. And not, I fear, one that is completely undeserved.”

It was true, though again it was one of those things that mostly went un-discussed—at least in polite conversation. Temple acolytes… dallied. The idea that those dalliances took place strictly with members of the opposite sex was one of those polite fictions that people told themselves to avoid examining their own beliefs too closely. It was also something that infuriated Favian no end, whenever he thought about it too much.

When Favian did not reply, Eiridan went on. “And yet, as far as I am aware, you have not personally pursued the pleasures of the flesh to any noticeable degree. I had previously assumed that you were one of those who was not much interested in such things—another type that is often drawn to the priesthood.”

Favian couldn’t help the disbelieving bark of laughter that escaped his lips. It was not a nice sound. “I should be so lucky,” he said.

The older priest only shrugged. “Well, then. If that is the case, I think I can safely answer that, yes, becoming a eunuch will help with your perceived problem. There is a fairly wide variation between individuals—some retain the ability and desire to engage in sexual relations, and some do not. Some are still able to achieve erections and physical release; some are not. I have, however, never spoken to any eunuchs who still find themselves preoccupied with spontaneous sexual thoughts on a regular basis.”

Favian felt himself go a little bit limp with relief.

“Additionally,” Eiridan continued, “there is the fact that those eunuchs who do wish to engage in sexual acts with men no longer fall afoul of societal taboo by doing so.”

Favian nodded, frowning. “Yes. I’m well aware, believe me. It’s never made sense to me, though. Why should that matter? If it’s wrong, it’s wrong. Why does it make a difference if one of the men is castrated?”

To his credit, Eiridan gave the question careful consideration before answering.

“Years ago,” he began, “I would have told you that the gods wished for men and women to couple because that is how children and families are made. One might wonder, however—if that were the case, why would the gods make men who only desire other men? To that, I suppose I would have said it was so those men would be drawn to the priesthood, when they might not have been otherwise.”

“But that still doesn’t answer why people turn a blind eye to men sleeping with eunuchs,” Favian pointed out.

“No, you are quite right. And again… at the time I would have responded that after becoming a priest, the focus of such liaisons shifts from a selfish desire for carnal pleasure to education, and the desire to prepare young men to be good bondmates to their future wives.” Eiridan paused, meeting Favian’s eyes frankly. “Today, I am not so sure of that answer.”

Favian leaned forward in interest. “Because of High Priest Senovo, you mean.”

This was the first time anyone had seemed willing to openly discuss the subject in detail with him. Even years after Senovo’s controversial three-way handfasting to Andoc and Carivel, the townsfolk mostly dealt with the scandal by ignoring it. When pressed, those in the temple usually deferred with some vague deflection like it is the gods’ will or it was an extraordinary circumstance.

Eiridan nodded, a measured movement. “As you say. High Priest Jyrrel was my mentor, and I have the greatest trust in his judgment. As you share a similar gift to his, you will perhaps appreciate his dilemma at the time, more than most. When he chose to reveal his dream of a three-way handfasting between a warrior, a eunuch, and a man with a woman’s body, he must have been very confident that it was a true vision. Because it was certainly a revolutionary idea. Arguably a dangerous one.”

These days, Favian’s own visions tended more toward the ridiculous when they came at all— a fact for which he was actually rather grateful. It was much less worrisome knowing that the turnip harvest would be significantly above average during the coming year, as opposed to knowing that a battle was coming or that someone was going to die unexpectedly.

And yet…

“The High Priest’s handfasting isn’t a danger to anyone,” Favian said, a bit of defensive heat rising behind the words.

“Perhaps threatening is a better word, then. Threatening to people’s closely held beliefs.” Eiridan’s brows drew together. “If a handfasting is not necessarily the basis for a man and a woman starting a family together, then what is its value? If a priest can become romantically entangled, then what guarantee is there that a priest will be an objective outsider during matters of intimate counseling or fertility ceremonies?”

Favian’s ire rose. “That’s ridiculous! There was never any guarantee! You can’t tell me that Senovo was somehow the first priest ever to love someone, and be loved in return. Also, Senovo’s handfasting was the basis for a family. Mine and Frella’s!”

It was strangely liberating to have this conversation out loud after so many years of careful sidestepping. Though that didn’t stop Favian’s blood from rushing through his veins, or his heart pounding with righteous outrage, even though he knew that Eiridan had done nothing to deserve his ire.

“My entire life, I’ve been fighting to keep this part of myself hidden. Under control,” he continued, his voice intense. “When my father caught me kissing another boy, I was just a child. He sat me down and explained why it was wrong… why the gods didn’t want me to do such things. I know he still loved me anyway—he never gave me cause to think otherwise until the day he died. Not once. But… he was so disappointed in me.”

Favian paused to scrub a hand over his face, the memory of his childish shame still indelible after almost a decade. “I haven’t so much as touched another boy since then. I don’t even touch myself anymore, because whenever I do, I’m beset by thoughts of men, not women. I hoped for a long time that if I tried hard enough, I could somehow stop those thoughts. Those feelings. But I couldn’t, of course. When I learned about the temple, it seemed like the only way forward. I just want to finally be at peace.”

Eiridan had sat, silent and non-judgmental, through Favian’s rant. He leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table between them.

“Everyone deserves inner peace, Little Brother,” he said with utter sincerity. “And you did not let me finish. Today, I would say that a family does not necessarily mean a man, a woman, and children. Often, those most in need of a family are those least able to avail themselves of one. I believe—truly believe—that the gods joined your guardians together because they needed each other, and because you and your sister needed them.”

Favian subsided, still feeling a bit shaky after his outburst. “After the battle at Llanmeer, Senovo told us that he only had the strength to do what he did because of his family. His pack. He had to save us, no matter what, and he had to return to us afterward… no matter what.”

Eiridan nodded, his expression soft. “Our esteemed Elder Brother knows very well that even the strongest man is only as strong as the people around him. That is as true of those inside the temple as outside, Favian.”

Favian thought of his family. His friends. His brothers in the temple. What would his life have been like without their support? He couldn’t even imagine… and honestly, he doubted he would have survived to find out. “Yes. I know that, Elder Brother. I do.”

With a gentle smile, Eiridan crossed his arms and continued. “Then know this, as well,” he said, a tiny trace of humor entering his tone. “If you will accept some personal advice from me, you’re doing yourself no favors by aspiring to such an ascetic existence. I admire your insistence on adhering to the tenets we profess regarding sexual relations between men. But the gods don’t judge us for our thoughts, Favian; they judge us for our actions.”

Favian frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

The older priest raised an eyebrow, still looking fond and mildly amused. “Then I will speak plainly. You harm no one by pleasuring yourself in private to the accompaniment of whatever thoughts you choose. Indeed, I suspect that doing so on a regular basis would go a long way toward relieving the problem you described at the outset of our discussion.”

Understanding dawned, and Favian couldn’t stop the blush that rose to color the pale skin of his face. “Oh,” he said, not sure how else to respond.

“It’s merely a suggestion, Brother,” said Eiridan. “You’re a young, healthy man. Not a eunuch. Not yet. No priest would counsel a young man outside of the temple to refrain from all sexual release, if he came to us seeking help to control his urges. It makes no more sense to counsel such a thing for a young man inside the temple.”

Favian’s face heated further. He knew he was quite unusual among the older apprentices in that regard. His distaste at the idea of even fantasizing about men stemmed, he knew, from his childhood shame at disappointing his father. He had never really discussed it with anyone before—it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to talk about, or even think about. Certainly, no one had put in the terms that Eiridan had just used.

“I’ll consider what you’ve said, Elder Brother,” he said, meaning it. “And… thank you for speaking with me.”

Eiridan tilted his head. “I am pleased to speak with you at any time, on any subject, Favian. I suspect the same can be said of any of the priests here. You are our brother, and we wish only peace and happiness for you.”

He rose, and Favian mirrored him, feeling the absurd sting of tears pricking at the back of his eyes. “I know,” Favian said. “I knew immediately after joining the temple that I had made the right choice. You and the others gave my spirit its true home.”

The older priest smiled, and stepped around the table where he’d been working to draw Favian into a brief embrace.

“We are all here to serve each other,” Eiridan said upon releasing him. “I will leave you with this final thought tonight, Favian. Tolerance toward ourselves is as important as tolerance toward each other. None of us is perfect. The gods formed our rough edges every bit as much as they formed our shining facets.”

Favian’s nod was sheepish. “You’re right, as usual, Elder Brother. Thank you again. I’ll leave you to your studies now.”

“You’re welcome, Favian.”

* * *

Speaking with Eiridan went a long way toward restoring Favian’s equilibrium. He slept like the dead that night, and rose feeling more refreshed than he had in days. After helping with the ongoing preparations for the upcoming festival, Favian took an hour at lunchtime to join Limdya at the horse pens.

“You’re looking chipper today,” she said.

Favian took in her pale face and bloodshot eyes. “You’re not,” he observed with a frown.

She threw him a sour look. “Thanks so much. Carivel’s got me overhauling the supply sheets for the inventory again. Apparently the last ones were ‘too complicated for some of the younger boys to understand.’” Favian had to stifle his laugh at Limdya’s impression of Carivel’s lilting eastern accent. “Personally,” Limdya continued, “I think it would make more sense to school the boys until they do understand, rather than making yours truly stay up late, working on new sheets by candlelight.”

“Poor Limdya,” he commiserated. “So I guess this isn’t a good time to ask if you brought enough lunch for two?”

She threw a horse brush at his head and he ducked, grinning. They were both laughing as he apologized profusely and left her to her work.

He still had some free time to pass before he was expected back at the temple, so he took advantage of the pleasant spring day to wander through the woods at the edge of the village. Of course, his decision to skirt around the town and return to the temple via the back way had nothing whatsoever to do with avoiding Carivel’s old hut, and the hut’s current occupant.

It was just a nice day, that was all.

Trails wound through the forested hillside, as familiar to Favian as the halls of the temple. He had grown up playing in these woods. Had hidden away with friends as an adolescent, talking and laughing over a pilfered skin of ale. There were any number of little glades and clearings tucked away back here, making it a popular place for trysts.

Indeed, during festivals, the priests and acolytes set torches all through the area, turning the woods into a magical, otherworldly landscape of shifting shadow and flickering light. Lovers filled the private spaces hidden at the end of narrow, winding paths, the sounds of pleasure ringing out through the rustling branches. It was said that the abundance of life in the forest made it more likely that a woman would conceive there, but Favian suspected the area’s popularity had more to do with the novelty of outdoor sex, and of having sex with other people around.

Aaaand now he was thinking about sex again.

A little voice in his head was whispering helpfully that he had some time to himself… he was in the perfect place to disappear for a few minutes and relieve some tension as Eiridan had suggested he do. Perhaps his preoccupation with that little voice was the reason he did not immediately recognize the noises filtering out from behind the trees to his left for what they were.

A feminine giggle. A gasp. A low hum of pleasure.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one contemplating sex in the woods on this pleasant spring day. He let out a quiet snort of amusement—at himself, and at people in general—before moving further along the trail, intent on leaving the couple to their privacy.

Until, that is, the female voice moaned, “Oh, Ithric… you beast! Gods, yes. Don’t stop! Keep doing that…”

Favian froze mid-step, nearly stumbling over his own feet as they dragged his body to a halt without consulting his wits first.

No. Not fair. In no world was it fair that Ithric would be having sex with someone in the exact place that Favian had come in order to avoid accidentally seeing him.

He could leave. He could walk away right now and forget that he’d ever heard someone begging Ithric not to stop… whatever he was doing.

And… what was he doing? As soon as the thought entered his head, Favian knew he was doomed.

This is so wrong, he thought, even as he looked around to make sure no one else was in the vicinity, and crept into the dense stand of trees, toward the voices. Gods help me… what am I even thinking, doing this?

If they were worried about privacy, they’d be in Ithric’s hut, pointed out the little voice from earlier. Maybe they want to be seen.

Silently debating with one’s self was, it turned out, a very effective distraction from the outside world. Before he even realized he’d lost the internal argument, Favian was pressed up behind a twisted old shagbark tree, peeking out at the couple sprawled together in the dappled clearing.

The voice he’d heard belonged to Helda, the tanner’s daughter—a free-spirited and attractive girl with a reputation for taking pleasure with whoever she wanted, no strings attached. She was reclining against a tree trunk, her chemise unlaced and hanging off one shoulder, baring her breast on that side.

Favian’s gaze was drawn inexorably from the nubile body that should have excited him, to the lean, hard-muscled form above it. Ithric braced himself over Helda with one hand against the tree, while his other hand cradled her breast. They kissed lazily, without urgency. Ithric’s thumb slid back and forth over Helda’s nipple, the movement strangely hypnotic. Meanwhile, Helda’s hand cupped Ithric’s prick through the loose material of his trousers, palm rubbing up and down his length.

Favian’s heart thudded as if trying to hurl itself free of the cage of his ribs. He stared at the bulge of Ithric’s cock like a man dying of thirst stares at water; only able to drag his eyes away after Helda released him, arching up with a breathy cry.

Ithric had moved his attention from her lips to her neck, and was now kissing his way down her throat and over the top of her breast. He took her pebbled nipple in his mouth and suckled, drawing another moan of pleasure.

A moment later, he pulled free with a faint pop, lifting his head and sniffing the air through flared nostrils. Favian’s treacherous heart stuttered as Ithric raised one eyebrow. His eyes searched the shadows around Favian’s hiding place for a bare instant before settling unerringly on him.

Favian stared back, trapped in place as effectively as if he’d been turned to stone.

“Ithric?” Helda asked. “What’s wrong? Why did you stop?”

Without missing a beat, Ithric returned his attention to her and smiled. “Sorry—I thought I heard something. Nothing to worry about, though. It was just a little bird. I think it flew away.”

With that, he bent once more to his task—only this time, his eyes met Favian’s with a devilish gleam as he sucked and nipped at Helda’s pebbled flesh. His lips curled into a smirk at the corners. Favian stared, lips parted, body aching with desire. Ithric’s eyes grew heavy-lidded as Helda took him in hand again, but even then, his gaze never wavered from Favian’s.

Favian’s skin went hot and cold by turns. His cock throbbed, painfully hard inside his clothing. He realized with a flash of horror that his hand was creeping up to touch himself, and jerked it away.

That final, humiliating loss of control was enough to break Favian free of his paralysis. He shoved his body away from the tree he’d been using for cover, stumbling deeper into the woods—far from Ithric and his burning eyes and his scars just begging to be licked and his infuriating cat-with-the-cream smirk.

When his aching lungs finally stopped him, Favian was quite a distance from the trails. He’d fetched up against the fallen corpses of two ancient, dead trees. One had taken out the other when it fell, leaving the two massive trunks balanced awkwardly and improbably, roots torn out and grasping at air.

Favian half-fell into the gap underneath, leaning his back against one huge bole and staring up at the other one poised above his head. His breath was still coming in strangled gasps. With a noise like a sob, he scrabbled at the ties of his robes and smallclothes until he could wrap a hand around his prick, still hard and leaking even after his clumsy flight through the forest.

Even though his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, Favian could still see Ithric’s lazy, laughing face as he tugged at his aching flesh once… twice… three times, and came with a choked shout. Seed spurted over his hand and thighs in hot, sticky ropes, and he slumped back against the dead tree at his back, shaking.

He lay there for long minutes, his humiliation complete. Favian of Draebard, temple acolyte, was hiding under a tree in the forest with brambles in his hair, covered with his own spend.

I can’t do this, he thought. I can’t do this any more.

But of course there was nothing for it. He was expected to return to the temple before long. In fact, he would likely be late; depending on how much time it took him to get back to the main trails. He looked down, and wiped his soiled hand in the mulch of old leaf litter he was sitting on. When he lifted it, it was still sticky, but now it was also covered with bits of leaf.

With an unhappy sigh, he rubbed it on the hem of his robes instead. A rather terrible thought came to him—would Senovo be able to smell the evidence of what he’d been doing? He would, surely, just as Ithric had been able to scent him across the width of the clearing earlier. The memory drew a faint shudder from Favian’s spent body, and he bit the inside of his cheek, hard.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and rose to unsteady feet, judging the position of the sun through the branches overhead and using it to orient himself so he could head back to the village.

* * *

Returning to the temple—late, as he had feared—and excusing himself to get fresh robes and put himself to rights was just about as awful as he had expected it to be. The only bright spot was finding that Senovo was in a meeting with the village elders, and would not be in a position to see the state he was in.

Later, Favian would realize that if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with his own humiliation, he might have asked why Frella was not at dinner that evening. He might have gone looking for her, or spoken to her friends to see if they knew where she was.

As it happened, though, it was only when she failed to appear in their room at her usual bedtime that a sudden wave of foreboding washed over him. He was at Senovo’s door moments later, but it was Carivel who answered.

“Favian?” she asked, apparently seeing something in his expression. “What is it?”

“Please tell me Frella is staying with a friend tonight and just forgot to tell me,” he said.

Her face went stiff and worried. “Not that I’m aware of, no. She’s not here in the temple?”

“I haven’t seen her since this morning,” Favian said tightly, already fighting a sick feeling of guilt. “Where are Senovo and Andoc?”

“Still at the meeting hall,” Carivel said. “Come on.”

They hurried across the green to the meeting house, where Zolis, one of the younger warriors, was standing guard in the circle of torchlight by the entrance.

“Horse Mistress?” he asked, taking in their hurried approach. “Something wrong?”

“Hopefully not,” Carivel said. “But we do need to speak to Andoc immediately. We appear to have mislaid a ten-year-old.”

Zolis’s eyes widened. “You mean Frella? She’s missing? Do you want me to send for people to join a search party?”

“Let us check with Andoc and Senovo first, to make sure they don’t know where she is,” Carivel told him, her voice grim. “But if they don’t, then, yeah, we’ll need a search party, along with plenty of torches.”

* * *

The way Senovo’s face went pale as soon as they asked if he knew where Frella was gave its own answer.

Andoc turned to Balzoc, his Second Warrior. “Send people to ask at the houses with children her age. Get a search party outfitted for travel at night in case they don’t find her. Meet back here on the village green as quickly as you can.” Balzoc nodded and hurried off.

“Favian,” Senovo said, “Can you think of where she might have gone? It would be unlike her to worry us in such a way deliberately.”

Favian thought back, playing his last few conversations with Frella over in his mind. “I’m sure she wouldn’t have run away deliberately,” he said. “She didn’t seem upset at all this morning. Though… I guess she didn’t really say anything to me about her plans for the day, which is a bit unusual in itself.”

“She mentioned a few days ago that Ithric had agreed to teach her knife-throwing,” Carivel said, and Favian’s stomach dipped. “But you know him—he practically dotes on her. He wouldn’t let her do anything dangerous, and if there was an accident or something he’d have gone for help right away.”

“Agreed,” Andoc said. “Still, I’ll send someone to your hut to talk to him, caradi. Maybe Frella said something to him that would give us a clue about where to start.”

“I’ll go,” Favian said, unaware that he’d even opened his mouth… much less that those particular words were going to come out of it.

“Fine. Hurry back when you’re done,” Andoc agreed, and just like that, Favian was stuck, unable to back out of what was probably the worst idea in the entire history of ideas.

He rushed out of the meeting hall in a daze, running down the familiar dirt roads toward the northern edge of town, and the ramshackle hut containing his own personal nemesis.

No candles or hearth fire illuminated the interior, but he knocked on the door anyway. A few moments later, a sleep-roughened voice called, “I’ll be right there!”

Ithric opened the door, half-dressed in an unlaced shirt and linen smalls. Surprise flickered across his face in the uncertain light of the crescent moon, but he immediately covered it with his usual brand of lazy insolence.

“Favian. Now this is a surprise,” he drawled. “To what do I owe the… pleasure?”

Favian was relieved to discover that worry for Frella apparently acted as an antidote to his twisted obsession with the shape-shifter. “My sister’s missing,” he said simply. “Have you seen her?”

Ithric’s expression transformed in the space of a heartbeat from amused to dead serious. “I haven’t, no. Not since yesterday afternoon. Is there a search party? I’ll join it.”

Favian nodded. “They’re assembling on the green. Other people are asking around at her friends’ houses first, just in case.”

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can,” Ithric said. “Can you get me something of hers? An article of clothing, or her pillow, or something?”

Favian’s confusion must have shown, because Ithric said, “For the lion. So it can scent her.”

Abruptly, Favian understood. The lion could see better at night than a human could. It could follow a trail; move fast over uneven ground. Doubtless if they had to cover a large area, Senovo would shift into animal form to search, as well.

“Yes,” he said. “Right. I’ll bring something.”

“Good. I’ll meet you at the green. Don’t worry, Favian—we’ll find her.” Ithric lifted a hand to clasp Favian’s upper arm briefly before letting go and disappearing into the hut, presumably to dress. Favian’s skin tingled under the rough linen weave of his robes where Ithric’s fingers had rested—a small patch of warmth against the cold dread that filled him. He took a deep breath and hared off toward the temple, to retrieve one of Frella’s shirts.

Chapter 2: Lost and Found… and Lost

ITHRIC RUMMAGED THROUGH the old chest where he kept a rather sad collection of clothing for those times when he stayed in Draebard. It was all very well teasing Favian over the blatant attraction Favian had toward him, and his equally blatant discomfort with it. Ithric had been taken aback, though, by the depth of protective worry he felt for the poor sod upon learning that Favian’s sister was missing.

It didn’t help that Ithric had adored Frella pretty much since he’d met her. In many ways, she was her brother’s opposite—reckless where he was careful, fearless where he was timid, happy-go-lucky where he was unfailingly serious.

In short, she reminded Ithric very much of himself.

And now, she was in trouble. He grabbed up a tattered sleeping robe and a cloak to throw over it. The air was turning chilly; one more thing to worry about with a child lost somewhere in the night. Shucking out of his shirt and smallclothes, he shrugged on the old robe and settled the cloak over his shoulders. He didn’t bother with footwear—anything he put on would only be one more thing he had to take off before he shifted.

Aware that time was of the essence, he stepped into the night and jogged toward the village green to join Favian and the others.

* * *

The crowd assembling on the green was already impressive by the time he arrived. It took him a couple of minutes to locate Andoc, Carivel, and Senovo—they were off to one side, speaking with a knot of acolytes and novices from the temple. Ithric set aside his discomfort at dealing with so many religious fanatics in one place, and hurried up to them.

“Ithric,” Andoc said. “Good, you’re here. Did Favian—”

“He told me,” Ithric said. “I saw Frella yesterday afternoon, but didn’t speak with her. The last time we talked was the morning before that, when she asked if I would teach her knife throwing. I told her I would, but I needed a few days first to finish repairs to Carivel’s hut. That was pretty much the extent of our conversation since I’ve been back.”

Andoc gave a tight nod. “All right. Thank you, Ithric.”

At that moment, Favian ran up, puffing and out of breath, a bundle of cloth clutched in one hand.

“Here,” he said between panting breaths, “I brought one of her shirts.”

“Her shirts?” Carivel echoed with a frown.

Senovo replied before Ithric could. “For scent tracking. An excellent idea, Ithric.”

Ithric shrugged. “It seemed like the obvious thing to do. I’m not sure it will help us much if we don’t have some idea of where to start, though. Not even with two of us searching.”

“He’s right,” Carivel said. “Can anyone here think of anything she might have said or done that could provide a clue about where she went?”

Ithric watched as the people around them shook their heads and muttered to each other. It was mere chance that he was looking at Favian when the acolyte’s face froze and went even paler than it usually was.

“Favian?” he asked. “Have you got something?”

“Oh, gods,” Favian said, sounding ill. “She’s been after me to take her to see the caves that some of the other children found in the woods east of town. I kept putting her off.”

“You think she would sneak away and go on her own, rather than wait?” Priest Feldes asked.

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Carivel said in a serious voice. “Where are these caves, Favian?”

Favian looked like he was in danger of being swallowed whole by his own guilt, but he crossed his arms tightly over his chest and said, “I don’t know. I didn’t even bother to ask. But… it was Sabran and Keesa who originally found them. They’ll know.”

“I’ll go and get them,” Senovo said, and disappeared into the night.

Ithric was helping Carivel hand out the torches that the acolytes had been preparing for use in the upcoming festival when Senovo reappeared. The timing of the festival was fortuitous, certainly, though festival-goers might end up stumbling around in the dark at this rate.

Two frightened children trailed behind Senovo, accompanied by their father, who looked apoplectic. By contrast, Keesa and Sabran looked like they wished the ground would swallow them whole—in fact, Keesa was already near tears.

“We’re sorry!” Sabran said. “We didn’t know she’d go by herself!”

Ithric came over and crouched in front of them. “Hey… hey. It’s all right, you two. No one is angry with you, and you’re not in trouble,” he said—though, judging by their father’s thunderous expression, those words might have been a slight departure from the truth. “We just need to know where these caves are, so we can go find Frella and bring her home. That’s all.”

Keesa looked at him with wet eyes, and wiped a sleeve across her runny nose. “They’re out beyond the eastern hunting grounds,” she said in a tiny voice. “There’s a big hillside, with lots of rocks jutting out from it on one side. It’s too steep to climb, but if you go around to the back you can get up it. There are caves near the top.”

Senovo looked startled. “I know that place, I think,” he said. “Or, more precisely, the wolf does. Is there a stream near the base of the steep side, with pine trees growing thick on the far bank?”

“That’s right,” said Sabran, sounding miserable.

The High Priest nodded, his expression sharpening now that they had a place to start looking. “You know it, too, Andoc, from not long after you and I first met.”

Now it was Andoc’s turn to look startled. “The blizzard?”

“Indeed,” Senovo said. “It is perhaps an hour away.” His eyes met Ithric’s. “Less for a wolf and a lion.”

“Should we ready some horses for the rest of us?” Carivel asked.

Favian was still pale and frantic, but he was also thinking, and Ithric had to give him credit for keeping a clear head despite his worry.

“By the time we caught and saddled enough horses for the search party, we wouldn’t get there any sooner than if we just started walking,” he said. “Maybe some people should stay behind and follow with horses, so we can get her back to the village more quickly once we find her.”

“I’ll stay to coordinate that part,” Andoc said, “and follow with the mounted group. Otherwise I’d just slow you down, with my bad leg. Senovo… Ithric… go now. As fast as you can. Carivel, you lead the party on foot. The children can guide you to the caves. I can act as guide for the riders, though we won’t be able to get up the final parts of the trail on horseback, I don’t think. There’s a clearing just south of the base of the hill. We’ll wait for you there.”

“Come, Ithric,” Senovo said, urgency coloring his tone. He unfastened his priest’s robes and shifted in a ripple of fur and flesh, leaving the white cloth to puddle on the ground as the wolf shrugged out of it.

“Favian,” Ithric said. “Shirt.”

He let his cloak fall as Favian approached. The cool air nipped at Ithric’s skin as his sleeping robe followed, and he opened his mind to the lion, letting it come to the fore. His bones and muscles twisted, sending him to the ground on all fours. The lion stretched and shook his massive head.

Favian immediately fell into a crouch in front of him, unafraid. He lifted one hand to tangle in Ithric’s mane, while the other proffered the small linen chemise. Ithric rumbled in pleasure at the unselfconscious contact and leaned forward to sniff at the smell of young human female with a deep whuff… whuff… whuff.

The scent settled in his awareness, clear and singular as a beacon fire. He butted Favian’s hand away gently, and Favian rose.

“Find her, please,” he said, the words barely more than a whisper.

In lieu of an answer, Ithric turned to stare at the rangy wolf standing a few paces away. Senovo whirled and loped off; Ithric followed.

The village fell away. Trees surrounded them, though they followed a different trail than the one that led to the paths and clearings where Ithric had spent a pleasant afternoon pleasuring Helda and flustering poor Favian earlier.

It took a bit of experimentation for the two animals to agree on a pace that Ithric could maintain. While he could almost certainly have outrun Senovo in a dead sprint, the wolf was much better able to maintain a fast pace over long distances, whereas Ithric quickly ran out of breath and began to overheat. He could tell that Senovo was itching to get to their destination as fast as his longs legs could carry him, but as Ithric did not know precisely where they were going, they were forced to slow for breaks while he caught his breath.

Ithric made a point of scenting the air periodically, and Senovo did the same with the ground, but there was no clear scent trail. The lion’s mind was clear of everything but a single purpose—find the human who’d worn the cloth Favian had given him to smell. In the background, however, the human part of Ithric was painfully aware of everything that might befall a young girl on her own in the woods. He could only imagine the various nightmarish scenarios playing out in Senovo’s mind, or Favian’s, or Andoc’s and Carivel’s.

The crescent moon was setting, and in this, too, the wolf had an advantage. He was a nocturnal hunter; the lion hunted by daylight. Nevertheless, Ithric gamely followed in Senovo’s tracks, avoiding most of the jutting roots and washed out places on the trail by instinct.

Around them, Ithric could sense the forest animals taking flight from the passage of two such dangerous predators. The trail grew more difficult and winding, before eventually opening out into the clearing Andoc had described. Senovo barely paused, though the lion took a moment to appreciate the break from the claustrophobic surroundings of the woods before lumbering after the ghostly gray form of the wolf once more.

The path they were following became even steeper and narrower; Andoc had been correct that riders on horseback would not be able to follow it. After another difficult few minutes of travel, Senovo came to a stop on a flat, jutting ledge in front of a small cave entrance. A moment later, he shifted, and Ithric followed suit, staying crouched on all fours for balance.

“This is the side of the hill that is more easily scaled,” he said, his voice hoarse after the long run. “The steeper side is to our left. She has been this way, but the scent is very faint.”

“I couldn’t smell her at all,” Ithric said into the darkness. The chilly air began to penetrate his awareness, and he shivered. “How do you want to do this? It’s still a large area to search.”

“The others will be here before too long, with torches.” Senovo paused for a moment, as if thinking. “The wolf will have difficulty navigating the steep side, but I can move fairly quickly on this side. Can the lion move among the rocks and ledges to search the steeper face?”

“I think so,” Ithric said. “The lack of a moon isn’t helping, but I’m still pretty sure-footed. I’ll make noise if I find her. You do the same.”

Senovo must have nodded, though Ithric couldn’t see it. A moment later, he felt Senovo change next to him, and followed suit. His surroundings resolved from blackness back to flat shades of gray, and he took a moment to get his bearings again before heading up to the top of the slope.

He passed a handful of other caves on the way up, taking care to sniff deeply at the air as he passed each one. Now he, too, could sense the faint traces of Frella’s presence, hours before. He tried to follow the scent’s direction, but it came and went maddeningly, strong one moment and barely there the next.

Finally, he reached the top of the hill. Up here, it was really more of a plateau, with only a few scraggly trees clinging to crevices in the rock. The whole thing tilted disconcertingly toward the steep drop-off where he was heading, and Ithric decided in short order that he really wouldn’t enjoy trying to navigate it on two legs.

Below him, he could see distant points of light—the torches of the approaching search party on foot. They would be here before long, though it would still take time for them to make their way up the rocky hillside. He paced the edge of the drop-off, looking for the best way down.

There was a place near the middle where a rock fall had softened the slope—though it was also treacherous with loose stones. Up here, no tree branches blocked the starlight, and the lion could see well enough to make out a reasonably clear path down. He leapt nimbly over the edge, and began to pick his way along the ledges and outcroppings.

He searched the steep slope for some time before a spike of frightened girl-scent teased his nostrils. He froze, scenting the air with his mouth slightly open to catch every last hint of the smell. It was coming from further down slope. He scanned the rocks below, wishing again for even a sliver of moon.

Without warning, a banshee shriek filled the air, and he couldn’t stop his flinch of surprise.

“Yaah! I’m bigger and scarier than I look, whatever you are, and I’ve got rocks!”

An instant later, a fist-sized stone careened into the lion’s shoulder, and his claws scrabbled as he nearly lost his balance on his current precarious perch. Ithric shifted into human form and clung to the freezing outcrop as another rock sailed past, an inch from his ear.

“Frella!” he called. “For Deresta’s sake, it’s me!”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Ithric?” Frella asked, her voice instantly going very young and scared.

“Yes, it’s me,” he repeated, already beginning to shiver from the cold against his naked skin. “I’m here, but I’ll need to shift back into the lion to get down to you. No more rocks, yeah?”

“S-sorry,” she called, all of her earlier desperate bravado drained away.

“It’s all right, Frella,” he replied. “I’ll be right there. Is there room for me where you are?”

“I… think so,” she said. “It’s really narrow, though.”

“I’m coming down. Don’t be scared.”

Ithric pressed himself close against the rock face and shifted again, searching the hillside below him until he saw movement—a waving arm. He let out a loud roar into the night air, hoping it would alert Senovo—and by extension, the others—to their location. It took a bit of doing to get to where she was, and the human part of him shuddered at the thought that she must have come down a lot faster, and in a lot straighter line. Gods. The kid was lucky she hadn’t broken her neck.

As it was, she clutched at the lion’s neck as soon as he hopped over the last gap to join her on the narrow ledge where she’d fetched up. Her skin was icy cold. He changed back to human form and pressed her to his chest, jamming his hip hard against the rock face to keep them stable.

“It’s all right, kitten,” he soothed as she sobbed into his shoulder. “You’re all right now, I’ve got you. Senovo and the others will be here in a bit to help. Do you think you can climb up if they can get a rope down to us?”

He felt her shake her head. “M-my ankle. I can’t. I think it’s broken. I’m going to need a c-cane to walk, like Andoc.”

“Nonsense,” he told her. “You’re young—if it’s broken, it will heal. And it might not be, anyway.”

She shook against him, whether from tears or cold he couldn’t tell.

Above them, there was a howl and a yip. Ithric peered up, but couldn’t make out much in the darkness. “Senovo!” he called. “We’re down here!”

A few moments later, Senovo called back from closer by.

“Is she hurt?”

Frella pressed closer against him, obviously aware of how much trouble she’d caused.

“Her ankle is injured!” Ithric replied. “She seems all right otherwise, but she’s cold!”

Other voices joined Senovo, unclear as they spoke in low tones.

“Frella!” Favian called. “Hang on, all right? We’ll get you up as quick as we can.”

Carivel’s distinctive voice came next. “Ithric—there’s barely enough rope to reach you. Is there room for another person where you are?”

“Not… really,” he yelled back.

“If we lower it down,” Carivel called, “do you think you could climb up with her on your back?”

Ithric was naked and barefoot, and he suspected the answer was probably no. It did give him another idea, however.

“Probably not. Well… maybe, if you also lowered me down some clothes and boots,” he replied. “I think there’s an easier way, though, if you’ll trust me.”

There was a beat of silence, which Ithric tried not to take personally.

“What are you thinking, Ithric?” Favian called. “Are you planning on bringing her up as the lion?”

“On my back, yes,” Ithric said. “Unless anyone has any better ideas?”

Nobody did.

“You want me to… sit on the lion’s back?” Frella asked. “Like on a horse?”

Ithric tried to stifle his own shivering as the cold worked its way down to his bones. “I think that’s the best way, kitten. You can hold onto my mane, and I’ll get us back up to the top. The only thing is, I may jar your ankle accidentally while I’m climbing. It might hurt pretty bad, but you have to hold on tight, no matter what. Do you think you can?”

“I’ll—” She paused and swallowed hard. “I’ll hold on.”

“Good girl,” he said. “I’m going to change now, and I’ll lie down so you can climb on.”

She nodded against his shoulder, and he eased her back to sit against the rock face so she wouldn’t lose her balance. When the lion flopped down on the narrow ledge, she gamely crawled over and clambered onto his back. A small whimper escaped her throat as her ankle twisted, but she buried her hands in his scruffy mane, tangling her fingers among the strands and grabbing tight.

Ithric ignored the uncomfortable pull on his fur and rose to his feet as smoothly as he could. Frella’s knees gripped his ribs hard, and she hissed in pain as her ankle was jostled again. With slow, deliberate movements, Ithric stepped over the gap separating the ledge from a nearby outcropping and started up the rock face.

* * *

As far as Ithric was concerned, the less said about that tortuous, nerve-wracking ascent, the better—but after endless, tense minutes of gaining ground, only to have to backtrack and find an alternate path, the lion finally scrambled over the edge of the rock fall at the top of the slope.

His precious burden still clung doggedly to his back, and strong hands immediately lifted her away, into waiting arms.

“Oh, gods, Frella,” Favian said into her tangled hair, holding her tight and rocking her back and forth.

“I’m sorry, Favian—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to fall,” she sobbed.

Someone had given Senovo robes to wear, and he knelt next to the siblings, wrapping his arms around both of them. “Shh, Frella, it’s all right. Let Apprentice Medea look at your ankle, and then we’ll get you down the hill to where Andoc and the others are waiting.”

Ithric shook himself, and settled into human form again. He looked up in surprise as a warm cloak settled over his shoulders. Carivel knelt next to him and gave him a quick hug.

“Thank you, Ithric,” she whispered, and kissed him on the cheek before heading back to check on her family.

A few minutes later, the healer’s apprentice declared Frella’s ankle sprained rather than broken. She wrapped the joint up in splints to keep it immobile, and directed Zolis and one of the other burly warriors to carry her in a blanket slung between them for the trip down to the base of the hill.

When she was safely ensconced between the pair, Favian gave her a final kiss on the forehead and looked around until his eyes settled on Ithric in the torchlight. He crossed the distance between them, regarding Ithric with a face still drawn and pale despite the relief softening his expression.

“You saved my sister,” he said.

Ithric couldn’t help getting lost a little in those blue eyes, stormy as the ocean. He smiled, and gave in to the impulse to lift a hand and brush the backs of his fingers over Favian’s cheek—the briefest of caresses.

“Glad I could help,” he said, gratified when Favian’s eyes went dark and deep. “Tell her that based on her aim with rocks, she’s going to be a natural when it comes to knife throwing. We’ll start practicing as soon as her ankle’s well enough, if she still wants to.”

Favian only nodded, apparently lost for words. He ducked his head a moment later and turned away, heading back to join Frella for the trek down the hillside. Ithric sighed to himself, wondering when Favian had stopped being someone who was enjoyable to fluster, and started being someone he actually cared about.

In addition to the cloak, Carivel had left him boots and clothing—probably as a subtle warning for him not to approach the horses while still in the form of the lion. He finished dressing and joined the slow trek down the hill, already feeling the multitude of sore muscles and bruises that would only get worse as the night wore on.

Happily, they made it down to the clearing without mishap. Andoc and his party had lit fires and brought food and drink. At Medea’s suggestion, they camped there for a couple of hours so Frella could warm up and drink some hot broth. The little girl lay curled half in Favian’s lap, wrapped in a blanket with the wolf pressed up against her on one side. Andoc sat on her other side, shoulder to shoulder with Favian, with Carivel bracketed between his legs, her upper body resting against his chest.

Ithric snuck glances at the five of them as he talked and joked with other members of the search party. He accepted the occasional praise and hearty back slap with good humor, even as part of him ached desperately for the warmth and belonging of Senovo’s little pack.

* * *

The night of the festival came two days later. It was raining and blustery, and Ithric wondered with a flash of dry humor if the gods were punishing them for misappropriating the torches from the temple the other night. Whatever the case, he was not much in the mood for carousing, damp or otherwise. It was a good night to be in a warm hut with the hearth fire burning, even while a few die-hard revelers braved the poor conditions to stumble from hut to hut, sharing out food, drink, and ceremonial herbs.

Even though the festival was pretty much a washout, the elders were still spending the night in the temple with the village’s children, apparently. If nothing else, it gave their parents a break from caring for them and a chance for a good, uninterrupted fuck.

Now there was an idea with some merit… not that Ithric could be bothered to venture forth in search of someone else’s bed to warm. Ever since Favian had stumbled upon his tryst with Helda in the forest the other day, Ithric’s thoughts in that regard had been focused very much in one direction. A decidedly unlikely direction, given what he knew of Favian.

That said, if his blond-haired, blue-eyed muse were to unexpectedly show up on Ithric’s doorstep, Ithric wouldn’t exactly turn him away. In fact, he was enjoying a very pleasant daydream about what he would do to him, when a knock came at the door.

He frowned in annoyance, and rose from his place sprawled on Carivel’s ratty old fur rug in front of the fire. It was almost certainly a group of the stubborn festival-goers, come to recruit him into their rain-soaked debauchery. Ithric opened the door, ready to tell them where they could stick their merrymaking, only to have the words die in his throat.

Favian was standing on his doorstep, bedraggled and dripping. When the door opened unexpectedly away from his raised hand, he wavered on unsteady feet before catching himself and peering at Ithric’s face through faintly bloodshot eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore, Ithric,” he said without preamble, his tone oddly conversational.

Ithric stared at him. “Favian? Are you… drunk?” he asked, something about the idea putting him decidedly off kilter.

Favian seemed to give the question careful consideration. “Yes,” he said after a long beat. “Very.”

Still off balance, Ithric cast around for some context. “Why?”

Suddenly, Ithric found himself being pushed backward by eleven stone of sleek, well-muscled apprentice, stumbling across the length of the small hut until his back impacted one of the wooden support beams with a painful thud.

“Because it makes it easier to do this,” Favian said, and fell on Ithric’s mouth like a dying man.

Ithric made a surprised noise into the kiss, his prick surging to life as Favian attacked him in a clash of teeth and tongues. Rational thought fled, and he grabbed a handful of pale, wet hair, jerking hard to tear Favian’s mouth away from his and bare the vulnerable column of his throat. The sound Favian made as Ithric’s teeth sank into the tender flesh was one that he knew would play out in his dreams from now on.

Favian’s hands tore at his clothing, frantic, greedy, and too rough. A growl rose in Ithric’s chest and he bit down, needing to leave a mark… needing proof that this wasn’t all some sort of bizarre hallucination.

“Gods!” Favian choked. “Ithric, please! I need you… just this one time—please!”

The words were a heartfelt plea, and Ithric responded by sweeping Favian’s legs out from under him so they both went crashing down onto the fur rug in a tangle, the breath driven from their lungs.

“Favian,” Ithric rasped, overcome with the need to take, mark, possess. “Fuck.”

Favian made another noise like a stifled sob, and rutted against him where their hips locked together. Heat slid against heat through two layers of clothing, and Ithric reared up to tear at the fastenings of Favian’s wet robes. Favian’s hands were tearing just as frantically at Ithric’s shirt and trousers until sheer tenacity managed to remove the final barriers between them.

Somehow—he wasn’t sure how—Ithric ended up on his back again, his cock pressed against Favian’s as Favian fisted them both together. Ithric’s eyes rolled back, and he succumbed to the rough, deliciously painful friction until his release threatened to rise up and overtake him, long before he was ready for it. He ripped Favian’s hand away and flipped them over, biting a trail down the pale chest and stomach beneath him until he could swallow Favian’s perfect, beautiful cock whole.

Favian cried out and arched; Ithric pinned his hips hard to the floor and sucked. A heavy hand landed on the back of his head and pressed down. Ithric choked as Favian’s prick hit the back of his throat, and forced his way down even further, eyes watering, fingernails digging into Favian’s hips even as his nose brushed the wiry tangle of hair at the base of his cock.

Favian went rigid and came in great spurts down Ithric’s throat, shuddering as Ithric swallowed and swallowed around him. When he finally pulled off, it was to find Favian lying limp beneath him, mouth open as he panted.

“Oh, no,” Ithric said, hoarse from the rough throat-fucking. “I am not done with you yet.”

Favian shivered and moaned. “Please,” he begged, his eyes still tightly closed. “Please take me… do it… do it, please, Ithric…”

The breath left Ithric’s lungs in a rush, and he cast around, his eyes finally settling on the lamp on the table. His cock was aching with need as he scooped out tallow and roughly shoved Favian’s legs apart. He wasn’t gentle, screwing first one finger and then two into the tight passage as Favian cried out and grabbed fistfuls of fur. When he greased himself up and pushed inside, Favian threw his head back and grunted, his spent prick twitching as it tried valiantly to rise again.

Ithric grasped Favian behind the knees and bent him almost double, fucking into him without mercy. Favian’s passage clutched at him like a fist, too tight and too hot and far, far too much. In a remarkably short time, Favian’s cock filled and hardened, bobbing between them until Ithric released one of his legs in favor of fisting it with firm strokes in time with his thrusts.

Favian thrashed at first, his movements growing weaker and his passage easing as the desperate, violent fuck became something slower. Sweeter. Beneath Ithric, his breath came in shuddering gasps.

“Ithric,” he whispered, as if it were the only word remaining to him. “Ithric. Ithric.”

Ithric’s pleasure crested and grew, crested and grew, until nothing else existed but the two of them, joined at that one perfect point.

“Oh, gods,” Favian breathed, and quivered through a wracking, full-body release that painted both their stomachs with hot splashes of seed.

Ithric stared down at him like a starving man, balanced on the knife edge of ecstasy for a perfect, incomprehensible moment before he tumbled down, spilling into Favian’s body, pouring into him until he had nothing left to give.

“Favian,” Ithric said in wonder, lying half-collapsed in the cradle of his thighs. “What in the gods’ names have you done to me?”

* * *

They lay together afterwards, Favian dozing trustingly in Ithric’s arms. Ithric didn’t sleep, some inner drive pushing him to protect, defend, keep watch. When a log in the fire popped and flared hours later, Ithric rolled up on an elbow, watching Favian’s smooth, finely chiseled features in the flickering light as he slept.

As if sensing the regard, Favian groaned and stretched, blinking awake. Ithric couldn’t help the hopelessly fond smile that tugged at his lips.

“You are going to have such a hangover in a few hours…” he observed.

Favian’s ridiculous smile probably mirrored his own. “Worth it,” he said simply.

Ithric cupped his cheek with one hand, something tugging deep in his belly when Favian pressed into the contact, his blue eyes sliding closed in contentment.

“Do you see now?” Ithric asked. “Us being together isn’t wrong. You’ll never convince me that this feeling isn’t every bit as right and true as a man and a woman being together. Please, Favian. Tell me that you understand now. Tell me that you won’t fight against being together any more.”

It was all Ithric could do not to hold his breath as he awaited Favian’s answer, hope and mate and pride trembling in his chest like shining water droplets poised to fall on dry earth.

Favian’s eyes blinked open again, deep and liquid in the firelight. “I do understand, Ithric,” he said. “And I do want a future with you—even if you drive me mad on a regular basis. We’ve both been jabbing and poking at each other just to keep the other away, I think. Trying to protect our hearts.”

Ithric nodded, knowing he’d borne more guilt in that particular regard than Favian, who had mostly been parrying in self-defense during their battles of will and words.

“But,” Favian continued, “that said, we probably shouldn’t do this again. I’ve… decided to insist that Senovo carry out my novitiate this summer. Things will be different after I’m a priest, you know.”

Ithric stilled, his heart growing colder with each word. The sudden, unexpected rejection was made even worse by Favian’s calm, matter-of-fact tone—he might as well have been discussing the weather, or next year’s crops. He almost seemed to expect Ithric to be pleased about the prospect of seeing him getting his balls cut off so he wouldn’t have to feel inconvenient things like love and desire any more.

Ithric was still frozen as Favian yawned, adding, “It won’t be that long, really. A few months, if that. Then everything will be so much easier…” His drowsy voice trailed off as he slipped back into slumber.

The anger which had served Ithric so well over the years as protective armor come flooding in as he stared down at that sleeping face in shock. It burned through the places that Favian’s carelessly cruel words had left cold and empty, filling them with ashes.

Ithric was shaking when he eased slowly away from the cold-hearted son of a bitch who’d just used him and thrown him aside like garbage in the space of a single evening. Had this been… a queer virgin’s sexual experiment? Some kind of twisted idea of repayment for his rescue of Frella? Pride prevented him from shaking Favian awake and demanding an explanation for the inexplicable. Rage prevented him from waiting until morning to leave.

He’d had a plan—a vague one, at least—before Favian had wandered in and made Ithric feel things he had no desire—no need—to feel. He needed… he needed to talk to Andoc. It was the middle of the night, but it was also a festival. The Draebardi Chief might still be awake. And if he wasn’t, he’d wake soon enough to Ithric’s knocking. He looked around the tiny, ramshackle hut that he’d occasionally called home over the past few years.

He’d walked in here two weeks ago with only the clothes on his back. He would damn well walk out the same way.

Ithric dressed quietly in the dark and slipped outside into the cold drizzle on silent feet, heading toward Andoc’s hut.

finis

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