Chapter Four

Among the celestial fallen there would be no destruction one unto the other. Thus, conflict between them marked mankind the war prize and ultimate sacrifice—a war for souls, for salvation, for survival within earthly, mortal realm. Free-will offers fertile ground for chaos and order. But chaos would not reign unchallenged and mankind would be protected. This is the vow of order, the Viadine...

——Rahuael, First Chronicler, Viadine Secretorum

IT WAS A DREAM, BUT Carne couldn’t seem to pull himself out of the arms of the dream man who held him captive within this surreal world. A white demi-mask was affixed to his face, but this time Carne knew the identity of his lover. There was another man. Slightly taller, with a tangle of blue-black hair that brushed his shoulders. He was a solid mass of seductive man dressed all in blue, a man of noble carriage and dusky Italian heritage.

Carne stood between them naked, a mortal man without protection. He felt the fine cloth of the man in blue rub against him from behind. Cool fingers stroked across Carne’s neck. Annatoly’s hands—how well he knew them, the remembrance of their shape and taste branded into his memory. Unseen, someone was singing angelic arias with superb ornamentation of trills and slides and leaps using a powerful voice with an astonishing range of sopranic octaves. Carne lost himself in the beauty of the moment. Annatoly edged closer to Carne. Carne could feel the blue-masked man’s mouth against his neck, his tongue stroking along the curve.

Annatoly dipped down and captured Carne’s lips in a drugging kiss. Carne opened his eyes to discover the men had switched positions. It was the blue-masked man in front of Carne, and Annatoly behind. He felt the familiar sensation of penetration in his neck. Pain and rapture welded together. They spun round and round, fastened together, Carne their nucleus.

Annatoly growled as he fed on Carne’s blood. The man in front groaned as he supped from Carne’s lips. Carne gave himself up. Ecstasy enveloped him as he was totally possessed, his orgasm spewed. His blood pumped faster, Annatoly gulped greedily.

The taller lover lifted away, gazing down into Carne’s eyes. “Close your eyes, darling boy,” he whispered. Of their own volition, Carne’s eyelids lowered. Something was affixed to his face. Carne struggled against the claustrophobia of confinement and suffocation. He sharply awoke to a hard rapping of knuckles against his door, drawing him back from the surreal. The dream had been all too real. The artery in his neck throbbed as his blood rushed thickly through his body. He reached up and touched the protruding artery. Just the slightest brush brought a surge of pain. He gripped his neck, pressing hard against the artery, trying to push it back into his body, frightened by the tumultuous emotions storming through him. The knocking grew more insistent.

Finally, he rose and stumbled toward the door. A young messenger stood outside. He offered Carne a white envelope. “Delivery for you. You are Signore Carne Geraint?”

Carne shook his head, trying to clear it, still feeling the pulse of his blood, still sensing the echoes of exquisite pain. “Yes, yes, I am.”

Carne accepted the envelope, paid the messenger, then closed the door. He didn’t recognize the handwriting on the outside of the envelope.

He sat in an armchair and opened it. An invitation. Excitement mounted. It had been four weeks since Annatoly had left. Since then his relationship with Dandrae had deteriorated and Dandrae ended up disappearing for days on end without explanation, his attitude often drawn and frantic. But the music now filled Carne’s head once again. He let Dandrae think it was the music that filled his thoughts. It was easier, and he’d promised Annatoly not to speak of their time together.

Carne flipped open the envelope flap. The outline of a mask was etched inside. He knew immediately who had sent it. This was no invitation, it was a summons—the one he’d waited for. It commanded his presence at Castle Kószivóczi in northern Hungary on a certain date two weeks hence. He was to bring Dandrae as well. Transportation had been arranged. Train tickets were enclosed, the name of an inn was included where a carriage would be waiting. There was no response necessary. His compliance was assumed.

It was only when Dandrae walked into the room moments later, looking pale and drained, that Carne looked up. He set the note aside and stood. “What is it, Dandrae? You look...ill?”

Dandrae shoved him aside and limped to the other side of the room. His face was white, his eyes dilated, his hand trembled when he lifted it to his face. He poured out a measure of wine, drank it down, then poured another. “I-I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“An accident, nothing more. Ruffians accosted me and I-I almost fell into the canal. I twisted my leg.” He reached down to rub at the inside of his thigh. Carne saw him wince. Then something dropped down over his expression like a mask. “It’s nothing,” he said again, then slowly eased down onto the daybed. His hand encountered the white envelope. He picked it up. “What’s this?”

Carne walked over to the mask and then picked it up. He turned to look at Dandrae. “By him.”

“I’m certain.” He smoothed a hand over the mask, traced the edges, the mouth, the eye holes. He looked at Dandrae.

Dandrae glanced up at Carne. “Do you want me to go with you? I won’t go where I’m not wanted. Lately, it seems as if...”

“Of course I want you to go with me. And he pays for everything. You won’t be out-of-pocket over this. But only if you wish to accompany me.” Carne felt bad. As Annatoly wished, he’d told Dandrae nothing of the time he’s spent at the Danieli. At one point he’d sent along a note with an excuse that he’d been called away for collaboration on an opera score and that he’d gone to Naples for a few days. Dandrae had never questioned him upon his return.

He didn’t know why Annatoly wanted Dandrae to come to Hungary as well, but after all these months, he couldn’t just turn his back on Dandrae. Especially when he’d been looking so peaked of late. He did have a fondness for Dandrae, even if it wasn’t the all-consuming devotion he felt for Annatoly.

Dandrae stood and then walked to Carne. “Of course, I want to come with you. When do we leave?”

“I have some...business to attend to that must be concluded. Is that a problem?’

“No, of course not. It will give us time to wind up our affairs.” He didn’t know why he’d chosen that particular way of saying it. There was a dreadful finality to the phrase. He shuddered as if he sensed someone walking across his soul. “I don’t know what awaits us in Hungary, but I must go.”

“I know you’ve wanted this. To meet this...man again. If you want me, I shall go as well.”

Carne leaned forward and kissed him. “I can’t promise anything. You know how long I’ve waited for this.”

“I’m your...friend, as you said. I’ll come along. If nothing else, it should prove an interesting diversion.” Dandrae’s words held a certain tone of stubbornness to them.

Suddenly, as though his arms moved of their own volition, Carne lifted the mask and affixed it to Dandrae’s face. He lifted a finger to the lips, then pushed Dandrae back toward the bed. He unfastened Dandrae’s pants and shoved them down his legs. Dandrae dropped down onto the bed. Carne knelt in front of him. He looked up at the white-masked face, not seeing Dandrae, his current lover. He saw the past, Maître in Paris, he saw Annatoly. Suddenly it seemed as though Dandrae changed, grew taller, bigger, his scent even more exotic. Carne leaned forward and took Dandrae’s stiff cock into his mouth and sucked him deep. But it felt as though it was two men that Carne serviced, both encased within one body. He licked and sucked with enthusiasm. His tongue delved into the slit, circled around the plumed head, then engulfed it into his mouth, bobbing up and down, his lips suctioning, his saliva wetting Dandrae thoroughly. Dandrae came without warning, his lover’s cum spurting down Carne’s throat.

He allowed Dandrae’s softening penis to slip from his mouth. That was when he noticed the angry red marks on the inside of Dandrae’s thigh. He leaned forward and licked them, his tongue exploring what appeared to be freshly made punctures. The reddened flesh tasted...different. Alien and almost rancid in some fashion.

“I’m sorry,” Dandrae said, a look of sheer terror on his face. The white mask lay in pieces on the floor next to the settee. “It slipped off. I couldn’t catch it quickly enough.”

Carne tried to analyze his feelings. For ten years he’d protected that mask, protected the memories. For six days he’d given every bit of himself to Annatoly and to the music. But when he looked at the shattered pieces he felt...nothing. He reached over and picked up the invitation. He glanced again at the mask, then climbed up beside Dandrae.

He cupped the side of his lover’s face. “It’s all right. It wasn’t your fault.” He laid his head on Dandrae’s chest and the beating of his heart lulled Carne to sleep. The mask had served its purpose. It was no longer needed.

“I CAN FEEL THEM CLOSE,” Fabienne said. He lightly stroked his fingers over the tawny feathers of the nightingale. Fabienne tilted his head, attuning himself to the energy of the men who would soon arrive. Yes, there it was. “Something is different. A disharmony.”

“Have you finished the libretto for the composition I brought you? Zabrael will want to review the complete work before he shares it with the gios,” Annatoly said.

“Almost. It is a remarkable piece of work, almost a blending of Handel’s opera sera technique forced to yield beneath Gluck’s reformation. I’m intrigued by the possibilities he presents, much against my inclinations regarding the man.”

“Zabrael was right about Carne, and you know it,” Annatoly said. “I think Paris was...well worth it. When I heard him play...”

“I’ve never let emotion cloud my judgment. You’re a fool if you don’t open your eyes, Fabienne. I never took you for a stupid man.”

Fabienne felt the simmering anger begin to mount. He didn’t want to engage in an argument with Annatoly. They obviously saw things differently when it came to the young composer. Best to drop the subject before it became too combustible. He and Zabrael seemed determined to make Fabienne see Carne Geraint in a different light than simply an instrument of his revenge.

“The lover that accompanies him. Some darker shadow entwines within his light. I am unable to define it. Do you sense it? That terrible clash of sound?”

Annatoly closed his eyes and Fabienne watched as he concentrated. “Yes, I sense it.” Slowly his eyelids lifted and he focused on Fabienne. “I sense...the Diadune. Stronger than before.”

“It is as I suspected. They couldn’t touch Carne, but they might attempt to create chaos in another way. We must be watchful. They will use this man—this lover of Carne’s—to create disharmony.”

“As they have always seen to our protection. I don’t know what the Diadune thinks they will achieve. They can’t possibly have thought we wouldn’t detect their mark upon the boy.”

“They’re running scared. A crazed animal must be handled with great caution. This Dandrae must be disposed of before he infects others.”

“No. He’s human, not yet stripped of his soul. He still has the chance to use his free will to be free of them. We will watch and wait.”

“It’s dangerous. He’s too close and could easily destroy everything we’ve worked for.” Fabienne could not lose everything now. He’d come too far.

Annatoly stepped to him and cupped his face. “I’ve protected you always. We will not fail and you’ll have what’s been promised.”

Fabienne released a long breath and he gripped Annatoly’s forearms. “Forgive me. In some ways I don’t want to see an end to things as they are, but in others...”

“But you and I...” Fabienne knew the transformation would change things between them. He would always love Annatoly. There would never be another to take his place. And yet the music must take precedence over even that.

“You are meant for greater things, Fabienne,” Annatoly said, almost as though he could read Fabienne’s thoughts.

Fabienne looked deeply into Annatoly’s eyes. “Each one of them—each nightingale—the castrati immortale—you have loved us all, and in the end we have each abandoned you in due course.” He leaned forward and kissed Annatoly. “Loved us all so unselfishly, given each of us exactly what we needed,” he whispered the words softly against Annatoly’s lips. “You should take something for yourself, dearest. You above all the rest of us deserve it.”

Annatoly stepped away. “I know duty. To hear the sweet voices of the nightingales, a choir of the most beautiful men on earth, just at the dawn between darkness and light. My darling boy, there is no more perfect beauty than this.” His expression hardened. “And we will not let the Diadune destroy all that is the most divine here on earth. Now, let us prepare for our important visitors.”

Fabienne shook his head. “That the descendant of my mortal enemy should be the one that is my salvation. It galls me. I would wish him dead along with the others, but he continues to defy me.”

“There is a greater destiny that awaits, Fabienne. It is not always as clear as what we would like. But that is for the divine to ascertain, and here on earth it is the Viadine who guide and protect us.”

Fabienne knew Annatoly was right. How many centuries had passed since that fateful night? His desire for final and lasting vengeance had never wavered. In this man—this Carne Geraint—there was something different than with the others. What would Fabienne do when he finally came face-to-face with the descendant of his nemesis?

“Yes. I sense he still has not embraced the weaknesses of his ancestors. He still hasn’t sought procreation. His will is stronger—much stronger than the others.” Fabienne wanted to hate him, but he felt himself weakening.

“Perhaps you need seek no further for your vessel? Perhaps, he’s the one. Or maybe this Dandrae Edmund. Maybe that’s why it’s necessary for him to be here.”

Fabienne swung around to gape at Annatoly. “You’d have me use him? My God! You couldn’t ask it of me. They dare not. I would survive only to hate myself each and every day into eternity. Impossible! There’d never be peace or resolution. And Geraint’s lover is obviously flawed. I’ll not have him. There must be another.”

“Are you so certain, my wounded songbird? It seems to me you fight too hard. With any of the others in his line, they’d already be dust and it would be finished. His blood is different, stronger. He may be the one to give you everything you desire at last. You’ve already rejected every other option presented. Time is running out. You must choose.”

Fabienne strode across the room, away from the window, away from Annatoly and his all-seeing mind. “I will not use him. He’s not the vessel I require.” He swung around to face Annatoly, his gaze narrowed, head tilted in final dismissal of such a ludicrous suggestion. “I’ll—I’ll take one of the servants if it comes down to it, but I won’t have Geraint. I knew something was different when you returned. You saw him in Venice. Your infatuation blinds you. I won’t have it. Not this time, Annatoly. Not him.”

Annatoly presented Fabienne with a cool look that revealed nothing of his inner feelings. “As you wish, Fabienne.”

Fabienne stalked out of the room and strode down the ancient, dusty corridors. Carne was different. Somehow not marked with the same stamp as his predecessors and it had given Fabienne pause and a conflict of purpose. He would not allow it; he would not weaken.

Two centuries ago he’d sensed the darkness in Carlo Borggio. Unfortunately, he had not taken action soon enough. They had attended the conservatorio together, yet walked different paths. Fabienne was castrato, Borggio retained every speck of his cocky manhood. And yet Fabienne had sensed that Borggio desired Fabienne. Within his eyes was the knowledge of a black hatred for wanting Fabienne in the most carnal fashion. He’d blamed Fabienne. Thus he had taken measures to erase the object of his passion from the earth. What he could not—or would not—have for himself, he would destroy. But first he took out his rage, frustration, and denial upon Fabienne’s body.

For three days Carlo had tortured Fabienne, ranting at him for his blatant temptation, making Fabienne pray for God to take him and end this torture, for some relief of any kind. And at some point, when Fabienne had felt completely forsaken, he had turned to the darkness for relief, embraced the pain which eventually brought him to a place different than he had expected. How odd that acceptance of the agony had, in the end made him stronger. It had even brought him to a point of celestial rapture. Even as Carlo slit his throat, his blood dripping onto his chest, Fabienne had thought, At last, I am free. He had welcomed the agony, the gurgling sounds of his death, and tears, not of sadness, but of relief had poured down his face. And to the last, he had stared unflinchingly into the eyes of his murderer.

It wasn’t until much later he’d learned it was the Viadine who had orchestrated his rescue. They sent him Annatoly, like some guardian angel, come almost a breath too late, to rescue and protect him.

The Viadine would have accepted him into the gios without his voice—a gesture of pity or perhaps guilt in arriving too late to save him. But Fabienne had refused. It was a point of honor. He’d forced the issue—find a way to get him back his voice, so he was able to hold a respected place in the choir of the fallen, to once again sing with the clarity of the nightingale. Thus his own research into the alchemical possibilities of transmutation, which happened to have coincided with the steps taken by the Viadine. But nothing was ever simple. There was the matter of forgiveness. Until he could face the descendant of his torturer and truthfully forgive him, the potency of the transmutation would be diluted.

Annatoly had taken him under his wing, nursed him back to health, using his ancient blood to fortify Fabienne. That blood bond had forged something deep and everlasting. But what Annatoly suggested, was too much. Even for his voice, he could not accept Carne Geraint as vessel. Fabienne might eventually find the strength to forgive him, but he would never inhabit the body of his sworn enemy.

Annatoly was right about one thing, Fabienne should have come to terms long ago. Was there something inside Fabienne that made him afraid to release the rage? Some terrible addiction to the thirst for revenge that he feared being without? Or was it something else? Perhaps that sense of something between Annatoly and Geraint after the night at the masquerade. Some hesitation to see the deed finished with the Borggio line. Annatoly had seen to it that Fabienne had what he needed to complete the sequence of ritual. But still Fabienne watched and waited for Geraint to fail, to follow in the footsteps of his forbears. He wanted Carne Geraint to show himself unworthy. Yet, he had not. If Fabienne didn’t forgive Carne and complete the ritual his chance at rebirth was at an end here.

Fabienne slowly made his way back to the tower room. Annatoly was gone. Drawn across the room, Fabienne studied the package sitting at the corner of his desk—the one that Annatoly had brought back with him from the Venetian alchemist. Fabienne could almost taste his triumph.

He sensed Carne within the castle walls. Fabienne left his rooms and descended to the second floor. He stood at the top of the staircase and gazed down upon the new arrivals who had just stepped into the entrance hall. To admit Carne was not exactly as Fabienne had envisioned was an understatement.

Fabienne had always retained an image of Carlo in his mind. That black-eyed swarthy figure with angry raven curls, and a brutal sneer upon his voluptuous lips. The man standing in the entrance hall was a complete antithesis of his ancestor. Carne Geraint was a fair-haired angel, with bright blue eyes and a golden complexion. A man of slender build, with refined aristocratic features. A full sensuous mouth that spoke of licentious, secret pleasures.

Fabienne’s cock thickened in an unseemly manner, considering who he was watching. He understood Annatoly’s change after his encounter with Carne in Paris. There was a clean perfection to the man. Not a speck of dissolution in his demeanor. There was a surety to his stance, but not the vanity of a man who thinks himself better than another. Fabienne stepped down to get a closer look, unbelieving of his first assessment. He listened to the timbre of Carne’s voice as he spoke with the servants. Authoritative, yet at the time respectful. Ahh, Fabienne could listen to that smooth intonation forever. Too beautiful, a natural perfection to the music of his voice. Carne glanced up, and Fabienne quickly stepped back into the shadows. He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and listened to the conversation below. Sliding to the floor, a small smile of anticipation curled his lips.

Not yet. Not yet, my tasty morsel. But soon. Very soon you and I shall become acquainted.

Later, he restlessly paced his room. All he could think about was Carne Geraint. His mind was filled with lusty thoughts about the man he should hate. Silently he left his apartments and made his way to the room next to the one that Carne and Dandrae inhabited. He removed the allegorical painting from the wall and through the peephole saw two naked bodies highlighted in firelight. Ah, yes. He rubbed his cock.

Dandrae rested on his stomach and Carne straddled him. His hands were slick, the aroma that assailed Fabienne was scented olive oil. Carne rode Dandrae, his cock sliding easily in and out of Dandrae’s passage. A thick, manly tool that screwed deep, then deeper. Carne dribbled some of the oil onto Dandrae’s back and then kneaded the twisted muscles with long fingers that dug into Dandrae’s resilient flesh. Hands slid downward over the slope of Dandrae’s back, down to his spine, curling into his hips.

Dandrae’s groan was deep and lusty. He pushed upward, burying Carne’s cock deeper into his passage. Carne stiffened, releasing a long drawn out breath as he climaxed. Eventually he pulled free and Dandrae rolled onto his back, his hard, reddened cock bobbing upward from a thatch of dark curly hair.

Dark to Carne’s light, he grinned up at Carne as he fisted the base of his prick. Carne smiled slowly. He shimmied downward, licked his lips, and then sucked Dandrae’s prick between his lips.

But something odd occurred as Carne’s gaze shifted to the wall behind which Fabienne watched. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked Dandrae’s prick into his mouth. Yet his attention seemed to indicate he knew someone was watching. He slid his mouth up and down Dandrae’s cock, making it wetter and wetter. It wasn’t long before Dandrae climaxed and the men drop into each other’s arms and sleep claimed them.

It wasn’t enough for Fabienne. He left the room and stepped to their door. With his mind he pushed the door open. His focus was on Dandrae. Let’s see where his loyalties really lie.

::Dandrae. Awaken and come to me.:: Fabienne sent the command to his mind. Dandrae’s eyes opened and he turned toward the doorway. Silently he slipped from Carne’s arms and, still naked, walked to Fabienne. He followed Fabienne down the corridor toward Annatoly’s apartments. It was time to give Dandrae a chance to change his faulty alliances.

THE ROOM WAS PITCH black when Carne awoke to the song of a nightingale. As was his habit, he reached up to finger the medallion necklace. The song seemed to grow louder, but he wasn’t quite certain where it was coming from. He realized the spot next to him in the huge bed was cold and empty. Where was Dandrae? Had he gone in search of the source of the music?

Carne slipped from the bed and donned a dressing gown. He tied the belt and then headed out into the hallway.

The castle was old and ill kept. Cobwebs draped from the ceiling, chipped gilding on the banisters, old portraits covered in dust. Even though the hour was late when they arrived, Carne realized the grounds were not well maintained as overgrown limbs scratched against the sides of the coach. Dried branches and old leaves crunched beneath his boots when he stepped from the coach. The old, worn carpet of the passage felt ice cold beneath his feet, but he couldn’t turn back, something drew him onward. It was the song. It steadily pulled him along the corridor.

He became aware he wasn’t alone. There were others in the hallway, tall men, handsome and commanding with large barreled chests and narrow hips. Pale and ethereal and the song of the nightingale subtly shifting to metamorphose into a choir of achingly beautiful soprano voices just like in his dream back in Venice. The ghostly men accompanied him down the hallway, several of them drawing ahead of Carne, leading the way. Others seemed to float around him, circling him, playful and intriguing. Some of them wore elaborate dresses, others fine velvet suits. Carne couldn’t understand his lack of fear or hesitancy as the presence of these men felt more like ghosts, and he could form no feeling as to whether they meant him harm. They could be leading him to his death.

He lost his way and no longer knew where he was as he mounted a set of stairs, walked along passages, circled around, taken more stairs, until he was dizzy. And then they halted at a doorway. Suddenly they disappeared and the music died to just a whisper of sound. The source of the music changed—now it seemed to be emanating from inside him. With one hand he clutched at his breast, and with the other he turned the knob and opened the door. He was rooted to the spot as he stared at the tableau writhing on the carpeted floor.

This room was not decayed, but richly appointed. Gold and silver tapestries hung on the walls. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Carne stood in silence, unable to utter a sound, the music inside his head growing louder and louder, blotting out everything else. And the men undulating in light and shadow. He saw Dandrae spread out on the floor. The other two men with indistinguishable features supped voraciously at Dandrae’s body. Dandrae writhed between them, his hips pumped time and again. A jeweled hand encircled his cock, holding him steady. Then the taller of the other two men positioned himself between Dandrae’s legs and slowly lowered himself onto Dandrae’s prick. Dandrae groaned as he was consumed by the man. Deeper and deeper.

The tall man with long legs and a long slender prick rode Dandrae in slow, easy stride. Carne tried to peer closer to see what the other man, who was still dressed, was doing near Dandrae’s neck. And then his eyes widened as he recognized him. Annatoly! A surge of jealousy washed through him. Not Annatoly with Dandrae. It couldn’t be. But as he watched, Annatoly’s long tongue flicked out and licked Dandrae’s vulnerable flesh. Carne gasped when he saw the long fangs, tried to cry out when Annatoly punctured Dandrae’s neck. Carne, remembering his own responses when Annatoly had drunk his blood, was not surprised to see Dandrae stiffen as he came inside the man riding his cock.

The other man turned toward Carne. Carne was still unable to decipher his features. The man pointed to a corner of the room where a piano sat.

“Play for us, Carne. Compose something beautiful.” As the dark-haired man lifted away from Dandrae, Carne turned to the instrument. Unseen hands loosened the belt of his robe and the robe slipped from his shoulders. Naked, he walked to the piano and sat. He closed his eyes and played, his head filled with music, nothing but music...and fucking. He smelled them. He remembered the days and nights in Annatoly’s suite at the Danieli. His hands crashed down upon the keys. And then he played and he played and he played. Eyes closed, his body wound tight, his cock throbbing, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe. He must make this the most beautiful composition he’d ever created. Just as he’d done at the Danieli. Just as he would always do for Annatoly.

Hands stroked across his shoulders. Another pair of hands feathered down his back and still the music came, flooding his mind. So fast he couldn’t keep up.

Lips at his neck, stroking across that very place where Annatoly had supped from him.

“You’re home at last,” a voice whispered. Fangs pierced his neck. He smiled as a pure and exquisite joy consumed him. His prick was consumed by a mouth eager to please him.

“Yes!” he screamed as he came. He trembled beneath the onslaught of sensations.

Gray light filtered in through the window as Carne slowly came back to reality. He recognized the room. A dream. It had to have been a dream. He reached up to touch his neck. And then he looked at his fingertips painted with his blood. He turned and saw Dandrae curled up beside him.

“It wasn’t a dream.” His voice was scratchy and hoarse as though he hadn’t uttered a sound in weeks. He clenched his fist, a knot tightened in his stomach and suddenly a wave of lust swelled through him, tightening his balls and engorging his cock. He glanced into the ornate mirror on the other side of the bed. Yes, there they were. Fresh marks newly made upon his neck, a thin line of blood leaking down. He was assured by the slow rise and fall of Dandrae’s chest. He was unable to tamp down the lust, and it barreled through him, no warning, no way to fight it, and it carried him away on a wave of desire.

He shoved Dandrae onto his back and straddled him. Dandrae’s eyes flew open, his gaze connecting with Carne. His lips drew back in a snarl, his eyes dilated until there was almost no white left. Carne spied the telltale marks on his neck. He could smell Annatoly on him.

The fucking was not slow and easy, it was swift and brutal. They wrestled for supremacy, each one demanding the upper hand. Rolling, they tumbled from the bed onto the floor, rolled across the carpet. It was Dandrae who triumphed, rising above Carne. He shoved his legs up, clamping them against Carne’s chest.

“I can’t stop myself,” he said almost as an apology to the man pinned beneath him.

Dandrae spit in his hand and used the wetness to prepare Carne, doing it quickly without preamble. It wasn’t enough and the burn of penetration flooded though Carne when Dandrae jabbed his hard prick into him. Carne’s eyes smarted at the pain. He shoved up, embracing it, his body answering with an instinctive will of its own. It was as though someone else directed him, someone else guided their thrusts, their minds, their driving need.

“Yes!” Carne screamed. “More!” He welcomed every last inch of Dandrae’s prick inside him. The pain roared through him. There was a deep-seated desire to be taken brutally, not sweetly. And now to take from Dandrae.

Surging up, he shoved Dandrae back onto the carpet and came over him, forcing himself down onto Dandrae’s prick, grinding down until his balls were crushed painfully against Dandrae’s body.

“Yes,” Carne whispered. “Yes.” His anus burned as he lifted off of Dandrae, he slid back across the carpet to lean against the dusty desk.

“What’s happening to me?” he whispered as the fingers of lust finally evaporated.

Carne looked up at Dandrae, something tugging at him. Something undeniable. Some memory. “You were with them.” That snake of jealousy twined round him again.

Dandrae stared down at him as if from a great height. “Yes. But there’s more to it than what you think.” He reached up to rub at the marks on his neck. “Nothing is what it appears. Watch out for yourself.”

Dandrae turned his back, donned a robe, quickly tying the belt. “I’m not their tool, if that’s what you think. But there’s more to it. I’m sure you’ll learn everything you need to know very soon.” Dandrae spun away and strode from the room.

Subterfuge. All of it. He’d been lured here. But for what purpose? He’d been a fool. A lovestruck fool. Those days in Annatoly’s suite had addicted Carne to the man. He’d stopped questioning, only obeying everything that Annatoly demanded. Even down to coming here. And Carne had made it far too easy. He’d thought at least Dandrae would stand with him, but now it appeared there was every likelihood that he would stand against him. What was Carne’s fate? What awaited him in this remote castle so far from anything he knew?