Safir pushed open the door of the bedchamber and his boots scraped to a halt. Morien sprawled on the bed, naked again and stiff as a ship’s mast.
“I approve. Except you’ve started without me.”
“So shut the door and strip.”
He did, and he did. “That’s twice in one day you’ve ordered me to remove my clothes.”
“I didn’t order it the first time.” Morien gave his cock a long, lazy pull. “I suggested it.”
“Sure, you did. Scoot over.”
The man hardly did, but Safir didn’t mind. It only meant he had to snuggle up close. Morien wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him even closer. “How is Palahmed?”
“Coming around. Gawain wants to go under the charm. Palahmed is frightened for him. I was just trying to assure him that I’m still myself.” His brother hadn’t been completely reassured, but Safir had spent the past two hours doing what he could to soothe his fears. Imagine your hawk in flight, he’d said finally, and at that his brother seemed to turn a corner. When Safir left him, it felt as if Palahmed and Gawain would be able to discuss it reasonably.
“Do you still feel like yourself?”
He looked up to find Morien watching him with that curiosity he adored. “More myself than ever. My blood feels alive. And for a few moments after I shifted back, I could still smell things I can’t, normally. The fur was the strangest bit. Gave me a shudder like I’ve never felt.”
Morien smiled and rubbed a knuckle through Safir’s chest hair. “I like your fur, in both your forms.”
A low hum started up in Safir’s chest, and he pushed into the man’s touch.
“So you don’t regret doing it?”
“No, not even close.” He rose on an elbow and kissed Morien, slow and lingering. “And some rewards still await me.”
“Do they.” Morien gave him a flat look, even as his hand stroked his rampant cock. “Such as…”
“Such as making you feel very, very good.”
Morien’s cool demeanor slipped, and he bit his lip.
“Would you like that?”
“Maybe you should demonstrate.”
Cheeky. Safir kissed him again before meeting his sweet brown eyes. “If you’re unsure of anything, or you want me to stop, tell me. Promise?”
“Promise,” Morien whispered.
Safir took his time. It felt now as though he had as much of the stuff as he could ever want—as if at the moment his senses had expanded in the shift, so had time, stretching out in all directions. Now, if he lived a long life, he couldn’t dread the idea. Where he’d felt poor in coin he now felt rich in everything else, and this man under him—his man, if Morien wanted to be—comprised the greatest portion of his treasure. Moving over his body, Safir covered him with kisses, teased him with tiny licks, caught him in his teeth and then soothed him with his lips and hands.
And Morien was as wonderfully responsive as he’d known he would be. At first he betrayed only little gasps here or there, but as Safir worked him over, he let down his guard and came alive, stretching and curling under Safir’s ministrations. Whispering his name and then urgent words, and then moaning no coherent words at all. And that was all before Safir reached his cock.
He was, if he said so himself, rather good at this.
When he’d teased Morien down to his toes and back up, he paused to consider the man’s most desperate organ. It lay against his flat belly, veins pulsing softly in the light of the brazier. Lifting the shaft away from Morien’s body, Safir licked at the sticky smear it left on his skin. It tasted salty and bitter and sweet all at once, and then Morien groaned, and Safir couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He took Morien’s cock into his mouth and sucked on it hungrily.
Morien choked and clutched his hair.
He lifted himself off, drooling. “Should I stop?”
“No!”
Grateful, he set to work again, licking and sucking and nibbling until Morien’s legs were kicking at the bedding and his hands just as restless, as if they couldn’t decide where to grip Safir. Anywhere, he thought and stroked a thumb over the man’s tight sac. Morien hissed, but then sighed with obvious pleasure, and Safir followed his thumb with his tongue.
Two hands grabbed him under his arms and hauled him up Morien’s body. They held him there, suspended, as Morien stared at him. Hard. He wanted something.
“What, love?”
Those dark eyes widened. Morien swallowed. “I want to… Can I… May I…”
“May you what?”
“May I fuck you?”
Pleasure rippled over Safir’s skin. That Morien wanted this. That he could give him this. “Yes.”
“All right.” But Morien held him still. Sweet, uncertain fellow.
“Kiss me.”
A simple, easy first step, one they’d already proven themselves quite adept at, and Morien relaxed under him as they kissed again. “I need your help,” Morien murmured against his lips.
“I’m right here.”
“I need you.”
Only three words, but they took hold of Safir’s heart and twisted it until he nearly gasped in pain. When they eased their grip, what flooded in felt like hope. Like true gratitude, not what he’d felt moments before when he couldn’t get enough of Morien’s body. This was bone-deep, and maybe even deeper than that. He took Morien’s face in trembling hands and kissed him again.
When he finally got around to situating himself astride the man, he realized he’d forgotten something. But then Morien reached over the edge of the bed and lifted a small jug into view. He uncorked it and poured a bit too much in Safir’s palm, so that the oil spilled onto his chest. Safir swiped it up without comment and slathered both their cocks. He worked the slickness in and out of his arse, calling on every bit of mastery he might have gained in his two decades of bed play.
Even so, he rushed it. But that was an experience in itself, that burn and his body’s struggle. Morien’s expression went a long way toward easing any discomfort. At first he bore the look of someone in the midst of a spiritual moment, and Safir was neither too proud nor too humble to admit it made him feel like a god.
But then Morien’s eyes focused again, on him and only him, and not as though he were in the presence of a deity.
Morien was seeing the mortal man Safir was, the flawed one, the silly one, the one with nothing to give but his experience and his heart. And he didn’t look away. Didn’t close his eyes, even when Safir began to ride him. His hands gripped Safir’s hips, learning the rhythm and angle, then nudging them, just slightly, and Safir took them up eagerly. Morien discovering his pleasure had quickly become one of Safir’s favorite things. Giving him this release before he came himself would be a miracle—the way Morien’s cock was stroking him inside was putting him in a race with his own pleasure.
But some things were worth the effort.
“Why are you grinning?” Morien panted.
“Why shouldn’t I grin? Can you think of a single good reason?”
Morien grinned himself. “No. I can’t. Oh. Oh, like that. Keep—oooh.”
His deep groan set Safir’s stones alight. With the last shreds of his self-control, he let his need feed his rhythm. The long, quick strokes had both him and Morien shaking and the bed posts were thumping on the flagstone floor and oh, the others were going to tease them mercilessly in the morning, but on he charged, puffing and striving, until at last Morien’s strong hands held him hard in place. He stared at Safir, mouth open and eyes on fire, as his cock pulsed inside Safir’s body. Unsteadily, he reached for his own shaft. The clumsy scrape of his fingers was enough to set him off, and he made a right mess of Morien’s belly and chest. And the bolster under his head. And the wall behind him.
When he couldn’t hold himself up any longer, Safir fell forward onto his hands. Morien lay under him, still watching, eyes wide.
“You were right. That felt very, very good.” Morien smiled. “And we are definitely doing it again.”
Safir groaned and collapsed on top of him, his own smile pressed into the curve of his lover’s neck.
They stood in a circle once more.
Arthur had tried to give Palahmed a comforting look, or at least one of understanding, but the man had eyes for no one but his hawk. Surrounded by their band, along with Philip and Rhys, Gawain knelt on the dirt of the yard. He seemed calm enough, but the sinews in his bare back were tight, at the ready, and his Saracen wasn’t the only one made restive by the sight. Gawain’s hound, Khalida, stood next to Palahmed, a compromise between the order to stay there and the order to sit, her intent gaze on her master.
Philip asked Gawain if he was ready. As soon as he nodded, Philip began.
According to the Myrddin, the words were ancient. Some language no one but a few knew any longer. The words had a cadence Arthur couldn’t reconcile with anything he’d heard before, yet they seemed to reverberate in his bones. If they were doing that to him, here in the circle of witnesses, he wondered how they felt to Gawain. How they’d felt to Safir or Bedwyr.
Had someone spoken these words over Cai? Or had a wolf shifter turned him? That Cai had been among those wolves at the cave still made his chest ache. When Philip returned to the village, he would tell Uthyr, and Arthur’s parents. It seemed impossible that his brother could have crossed over to the enemy, but Cai had let the Saxons abduct him. Would he have to meet him on a battlefield one day?
Would he even know it was Cai?
He shook that thought from his mind. He had others to consider, including how they were going to tell Gwen and Elain. They needed to know and understand. Arthur suspected that showing them would do more toward those ends than words could.
He still could scarcely believe Bed had agreed to this on his own. That he’d demanded it of Philip and then knelt there under the charm without jumping out of his skin, or at least out of the circle.
But he hadn’t fled. He’d put himself through this uncertainty, with only Philip’s own experience as reassurance. He stood next to Arthur now, watching his cousin with a frown but only his normal one—not a full-blown scowl. He must have felt Arthur looking at him, for he glanced up. Arthur gave him a little hint of a smile and trusted Bedwyr would understand.
He was grateful—beyond words—for this man. For his strength that protected them both. And for his unwavering dedication.
Few men had ever enjoyed such loyalty and love.
Few men ever would.
Bedwyr flinched and looked away. Gawain had tipped forward onto one hand. His ribs rippled under his skin as he breathed in short, tight puffs. Palahmed was asking him if he was all right, and both man and hound looked as if they were straining at leashes. Then Gawain grunted again, and in a series of contractions and jerks and one final shudder, their fierce northerner shifted.
Into a small red fox.
Khalida leapt at him.
Chaos erupted as Gawain bolted, Khalida made chase, and Palahmed shouted for her to stand down. He took off at a sprint after them, followed by Safir and Morien.
“Oh dear.” Philip turned to Arthur. “I gather he wasn’t expecting that form.”
Bedwyr gave Arthur a wry glance. Hawk was part of the man’s name. It was also Palahmed’s pet name for him. They’d heard it so many times they’d all presumed the outcome of this charm. “No.”
Shouts sounded from the other side of the villa, and Rhys frowned. “You two don’t seem worried for him.”
Arthur smiled. “Khalida’s a beast, but she’d never harm him.”
Even as he said it, an orange streak blazed across the yard, pursued by Khalida at a gallop Arthur had never seen. Palahmed rounded the corner of the building at such a run his long hair flew behind him like a horse’s tail. But before he could cross the yard, the fox appeared again. Without warning, Gawain leapt at Palahmed and then proceeded to scramble up his tall frame until he perched on his shoulder, his tail wrapped around his protector’s throat. Khalida had reached them by then and stood on her hind legs, pawing at Palahmed’s chest. The hound was fully as tall as the man when she stood so, but he fended her off and after a few more sharp commands, she dropped to all fours. Her gaze remained on Gawain, though.
“Safir!”
Safir appeared from behind the villa, grinning. “Yes, brother?”
“Take the damned dog away, please.”
Safir crossed to Khalida and took hold of her collar. “She’s only reacting as a hound should.”
At Palahmed’s pleading glare, Safir bit back his grin and led the dog away. As soon as they’d rounded the building, Gawain unwrapped himself from Palahmed’s neck and half-climbed, half-fell to the ground. He shifted back to his human form, and then Palahmed was on his knees, hauling Gawain against him. “Are you all right, hawk? Are you injured? I should’ve tied her up, I’m such an idiot—”
Gawain shook his head. “I wanted her to see it happen. I thought she would realize I was still me.” He pulled back and looked at Palahmed. “I’m well, I promise.”
Palahmed stroked his hair. “Are you certain?”
Bedwyr looked away, and Arthur understood the impulse. It felt a very intimate moment, but he found he couldn’t tear his eyes from them.
“Aye, I’m certain.” Gawain tipped his head to one side. “I don’t think I can wear that fox collar anymore”—he grinned—“but I’m fine. More than fine. Palahmed…”
“Yes?”
Gawain shook his head again. “I only wish you could experience it. It’s like nothing I’ve felt. My senses were… It’s hard to explain, but they were…more.”
Arthur felt a grip on his hand and looked at Bed, who nodded.
“I know you aren’t convinced,” Gawain said.
“No,” Palahmed said. “I am now.”
Gawain’s brow pinched. “Was it that horrible?”
Palahmed gripped the man’s head in his hands. “It wasn’t horrible, hawk. It was extraordinary. I’m convinced. You convinced me.”
Gawain’s eyes grew large. “You’re willing to do it?”
“I am.”
Gawain threw his arms around his man. “You won’t regret it, Palahmed. Whatever the stars have in store for you—”
“You’ll turn me, Gwalchmai.” When Gawain drew back to look at him, Palahmed nodded. “I want you to do it. I want us to share this.”
Gawain kissed him, and Arthur finally turned from them. He found Bedwyr watching him.
“It’ll happen, Arthur.”
When? The gods were taking their time, and Bedwyr could only prepare him so much. At some point, a man had to face the unknown by himself. He’d done so a thousand times when it came to fighting. Didn’t make this wait any easier. “I wish—”
A strange sensation coursed through him, cutting off his breath. His focus narrowed, sharpened, as it always did just before a battle or just after a good fuck. Then everything in him was tightening, coming to an utter stillness for a fraction of a heartbeat…
…and then expanding. Before he could catch his breath again, he felt heavy, and clumsy enough to topple over. His skin shuddered and then was suddenly warm, all over his body. He grunted and, startled by the sound of it, opened his eyes. Everything looked blurry.
Everything but the paw in the dirt under his chin.
It was happening. It had happened.
Excitement pushed him to his feet, and he swung his head, searching. Bedwyr—
Here, cub.
He froze at the sound of the words. Only…he wasn’t certain that sound was accurate. They’d come from Bed—of that he’d have sworn—but they’d come almost as thoughts. Directly into his mind.
Straight into his heart, like so many spears.
He followed what had seemed their direction, but got it wrong and saw only more blurs. Philip, maybe, and Rhys. Bed?
Something nudged his right shoulder and he turned toward it.
And there Bed was. Broad and powerful. His own great bear.
Bed nosed his cheek. How are you faring?
Am I imagining it?
No. You shifted.
Arthur drew in a breath, and then another, longer, deeper, and all of Bed’s scents filled him until he felt he’d burst with love and pride and the rightness of it. You smell good.
Bed’s breath huffed into his ear, tickling it, and then the sensation of the man’s chuckle filled his mind.
This was going to take some getting used to.
And to think: Bed hadn’t had that opportunity to grow accustomed to it. Bedwyr had shifted and begun searching for him immediately, forced to learn his new form while he tried to follow the uncertain trail of Arthur’s scent.
But here Bed was, nuzzling him, standing against him and broadside to the world, protecting him as he got his bearings. Giving him a safe space to become who he was.
Love you, Bed.
Bed leaned against him. Love you, Arthur.
His weight was a steady, grounding thing, and Arthur closed his eyes to feel it more fully.
Ready to discover what you’re capable of?
Could a bear smile? If so, he did then. He’d always wanted to discover his limits, as far back as he could remember. Often—usually, if he were honest—to impress Bedwyr.
He no longer had to do that, but this still took him back. Made him feel as though he were stepping into manhood all over again. Crossing a threshold beyond which everything seemed possible.
And as he had almost every step so far, he would take those steps with Bed.
Arthur nudged him back. Question is: is everyone else ready?
Bedwyr laughed, though to everyone else it probably sounded like the low, rumbling growl that was reverberating into Arthur’s body. We both know the answer to that, cub.