Spoils of War

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Spoils of War ISBN 978-1-60592-173-0 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Spoils of War Copyright 2010 Kari Gregg Cover Art by Fiona Jayde This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Book Blurb Enslaved during the invasion of the rival King of Herra, Micah cut off his emotions and adapted to his new life in servitude. Xerxes, the Herran King, abuses his captive to keep the neighboring kingdom of Alekia under his yoke, but after Micah nearly dies when plague sweeps Herra, the Alekian King sends Eli to bring his beloved son home. Institutionalized by his slavery, unable to cope with his freedom, Micah seeks to please the new master he's found in Eli throughout their harrowing journey to a homeland he no longer remembers. Eli protects the young man and introduces Micah to the pleasures denied him as a prisoner. Will Micah accept his noble birthright when they reach Alekia, and more importantly, can he accept Eli as the devoted slave his father has given him rather than the master he's come to love?

Chapter One Herra invaded when I reached my seventh summer, though the machinery of war didn't find me until the sun had cycled through another year. My mother hid me inside a trunk in our rooms when the clash of metal and shouting drew near. She warned me to be brave. No matter what I saw or heard, I must be quiet. Bowing to the thread of fear in her voice as much as to her command, I obeyed. My lips pressed stubbornly shut, as silent as her dead blank eyes after the soldiers discovered her. Swords dripping crimson, the men dragged me from my hiding place. Numb with shock, I didn't fight them. They hit me anyway. They bound my wrists and ankles with heavy chains and pushed me from my rooms, through the stronghold and into the outer courtyards where I hadn't been permitted to play since the previous spring. The stench of smoke, sweat and death made my eyes sting. A narrow corridor opened among the gathered warriors, and a rough hand shoved between my shoulders, propelling me forward. The surrounding men, easily twice as tall as I and enormous with muscle earned in battle, laughed when I stumbled. They jeered and spit on me. A wooden staff emerged from the crowd and struck my head. I fell to the dirt, wetness trickling at my temple to smear the grime on my cheek into warm mud. I would've laid there, vision blurred and ears ringing, my grief cocooning me from the pain, if a hand hadn't bunched my tunic to yank me upright. The soldiers marched me through the gates and into the enemy encampment, to an enormous tent at its center. I didn't understand Herran then, the guttural sounds and abrupt syllables as foreign to me as the abuse I'd suffered during the long walk there. I didn't need to understand the words, though. The triumphant hate of my captors required no translation. I was conquered. Despised. I had not yet learned my place.

They stripped me, cutting my clothes from my body. They razed our stronghold until not one stone lay upon another. Soldiers soaked the rubble in pitch so it'd burn. Then, they salted the surrounding fields. They made me watch it all, naked, trembling and kneeling at the invading general's feet. I didn't cry. Indeed, I never voluntarily uttered another sound again. Their victory complete, the massive army turned back to Herra. I was separated from the other noblemen's sons. They were no less prisoners than I. Any fool could see that, but the other boys were given food, tutors to educate them in the manners and customs of the Herran people, carts to ride in. I was given work and the whip. I served the general. I fetched his meals, tended his clothing, and warmed his water for bathing. If I pleased him, he fed me. Mostly, he beat me and laughed when the others pointed to fresh bruises every morning. My bones and muscles shrieked during the endless marches. My soft feet throbbed with each torturous step, but my Master kept me close to his side, wrenching me up with him on his horse when my body failed me and I could no longer keep apace. By the time the towering ziggurat of their heathen god darkened the distant horizon, my mind had shut down. Reaching the city, my master presented me as a gift to his king. My heart seized in my chest, because the ruler of Herra did not appear many summers older than me, not full grown but not yet a man, either. If I hoped my new master's youth would offer mercy, I was soon disabused of that foolish notion. He sent me to work in the kitchens. As a slave. I was prodded awake before dawn to fetch wood for the fires and cook stoves. I was responsible for maintaining those fires throughout the day, as well as heating water for scrubbing soiled crockery. Had I been fed properly, my bulk would have rivaled the soldiers who'd captured me, but my Masters allowed me only a miserly chunk of bread each day. Though surrounded by food, I didn't try to steal more. My first night in the

kitchens, a fellow slave was caught pilfering meat from the slop buckets. They cut off his hand. I would've stolen something—anything—to end the misery if that boy had bled to death, but no . . . he survived. As did I. Whether I wanted it or nay. I spoke to no one and no one was permitted to speak to me except to issue orders I was to obey. The other slaves bedded down in quarters next to the kitchens where we worked, but not I. Shivering and naked, I slept shackled to the stone hearth of my kitchen prison until my eighteenth year, when the Herrans considered me a man. On the night of my eighteen birthday, the king raped me. I had no tears left in me by then, so when he'd finished plowing me, he returned me to the kitchens. From that point on, I was passed among the freemen who were my masters as both slave and whore. It was my life. I knew nothing else. Plague swept Herra that year, creeping into Xerxes' palace to fell men far stronger and mightier than I. Isolated in my kitchen prison, I listened to the sly murmurs of the other slaves. My masters beat me when I was caught, but I was at least unsurprised when I awoke one pre-dawn morn to violent chills that wracked my thin body. Sweat slicked my skin, though I'd lit no fires yet and the kitchen was bitter cold. My bones hurt. My throat scratched so raw I would've been unable to speak even had I been willing. I kept working as long as I could. I feared the whipping post should I fail at my duties more than illness and death, but the threat of scourging couldn't defeat the spinning in my head. I finally swooned and dropped to the kitchen floor. I awoke on clean sheets, a thick mat of blankets cushioning my aching body from the cold stone floor. Alarm shivered through me, forcing a weak groan from my throat. I'd be flogged for daring to rest on so fine a pallet. Flogged, beaten and raped as never

before. I tried to force my frightened eyes wide, but could barely manage to lift my lashes to narrow slits. My weakness paralyzed me. The king's hard face glared down at me, the cruel slash of his mouth twisted in angry disgust. "Your carelessness has nearly killed him," he snarled over the shoulder of his fine silk robes. "He is no use to me dead." The king had matured into adulthood, his shoulders broadening, taut muscle filling out his frame. Whereas I . . . . My starvation had stunted me. I stood several hands shorter than the other slaves and painfully thin—an easy target for the abuse of my masters and my fellow bondsman as well. If the king wanted, he could break me in half. Remembering my night with him, his prick splitting me wide, I found the plague had not crippled me after all. I whimpered my horror. My eyes rolled in wild terror. I shifted to roll off my stolen bed— Xerxes' big hand clamped down on my bony shoulder, holding me fast. "Be still, Micah." Micah? Was that my name? I didn't recognize it. Mute, helpless, I shivered under his steely grip. "You will not be punished." When he patted my shoulder, my heart froze. "You must rest and grow strong again." Strong? I had never been strong. My eyes narrowed. "Stronger then." The king's lips curved to a smile. "Sleep. Eat what is set before you. My personal physicians will attend you and keep me abreast of your progress. Do not think to escape me in death." He bent and kissed my mouth, chuckling at my frightened gasp. "If you die, I will follow you into the underworld to exact my displeasure on your sweet ass night and day."

Anxiety roiled in my belly. If anyone could pursue me past the gates of hell, I believed Xerxes would do it. And I feared him as I feared no other. His eyebrow arched. "You will grow well?" My head dipped to a sharp, scared nod. "Good." Xerxes ruffled my hair. He glared above me, to my left. "Bathe him. By the gods, he reeks." ***** I slept. A lot. I ate everything laid before me, as commanded. And promptly vomited it all back up. I grew sicker. Frailer. Weaker. "Micah? You must try harder." I shifted restlessly on my pallet, the scrape of the blankets agonizing against my skin. That voice. His voice. It chased me in my dreams and sometimes taunted me when I awoke, no matter that my gritty eyes proved the room I'd been locked in was empty. I shivered and moaned, my voice hoarse with disuse. His ripe curses echoed in my ears. "He's never made a sound before, even when I bedded him. Do something!" "His body is failing, my lord. Is there no one else? Another to take his place?" "Only the threat of punishment to the boy holds the Alekites in check." The king grunted. "They already stir against me." Fingers plucked at my eyelids, forcing them open. Pain dug into my eyeballs. Brutal light speared into my skull. My body arced to a bow. I screamed. Mercifully, the crude touch disappeared, shuttering me in blessed darkness once

more. "His fate is yours. If the slave dies, you die with him." ***** I didn't die. Nor did I return to the kitchens, not until the moon waxed and waned again. My illness had devastated me. When my fever finally broke, I was as weak as an infant. Nursemaids changed the sheets I couldn't avoid soiling. They bathed my emaciated body after each humiliating episode, their touch firm and impersonal, and raised my head to spoon broth past my lips as often as I could hold my eyes open to be fed. I was strengthened like a valuable piece of livestock. No more, no less. In time, I was permitted to walk on unsteady legs around the room I'd been shut up inside and leaned heavily against a nurse's arm when Xerxes strode through the door. I would've fallen if my nurse hadn't caught me, so great was my fear. I dropped to my gelatinous knees, anyway, stooping to the swift bow expected of me. The chilled stone of the floor bit into my forehead while I shivered, fighting the nausea that rolled my tender stomach. "Better. Much better." He patted the bare cheek of my ass, but did not bid me rise. "His strength is returning?" "Yes, my lord. He needs only exercise and fattening." The hand on my ass fondled me, one finger sliding up and down my crease. I shuddered, my terror locking the air in my lungs so I could not breathe. "Good." The king's low chuckle and the threat of his exploring fingers churned my belly. "A shame to cover an ass so fine and delicate, but the kitchens will be too cold for him now. See that he has a tunic before he returns below." The tip of his finger brushed my tightly clenched hole. I stiffened.

"Order the kitchen staff to leave him unplowed for a fortnight as well. He needs rest." ***** I was treated deferentially when I returned to my duties. I had clothes like the other slaves for the very first time, but rather than enjoying the rare luxury of modesty, I found the tunic coarse, too binding. As did my masters, who frowned at the veiling of my body to them. They rutted me as soon as my fortnight's reprieve ended, but none of them dared leave my new covering off me long. The king, after all, had commanded my body to be clothed, so clothed I must be. I hated my tunic, the loathsome scratch of the fabric a constant irritation to me. I'd rather deal with humiliating nakedness than this farce of humility. I knew what I was. The whip of my Masters in the kitchen reminded me daily, and their pricks schooled me in my capitulation to them every night. Lest I forget. As if I ever could. No one was more relieved than I when my clothes were taken from me with the arrival of spring, or as weary as I when they were returned to me the following winter. They still fit. I'd stopped growing. A ration of meat had been added to my daily hunk of bread while I was ill, but that vanished. I remembered, with shivering unease, the king's great pleasure at how small I was. He'd called me fine and delicate. I remembered that. Apparently, he intended me to stay that way. I stood two heads shorter than most men, and I had never truly recovered from the sickness that had wasted me away. I was as dainty as a woman. That made sense, since everyone in the kitchens used me like one. I was never left shackled to the hearth anymore. One of my masters chose me every night, led me to their quarters to rut with them. Sometimes, they argued amongst

themselves over who I was to whore for. They confounded me. Before, they'd spoken only to command me in my duties and beat me when the fires banked or the water I heated grew tepid. Once the plague halted my growth, my masters changed. Oh, none dared speak to me in the light of day, but they whispered soft praises when I huddled in their bedrolls in the dark, nigh apologetic when they used my mouth and my ass. And after . . . . They petted me. My masters enjoyed playing with my odd yellow hair, so different from theirs, and they toyed with the sparse sprinkle on my chest and belly—not thick like theirs. They kissed me. They cuddled me close, their much larger bodies heating mine through the night. I didn't understand it. In my nineteenth summer, after filling my ass with his seed, one of my masters fondled my shaft. I jerked away from his touch. A pained gasp emerged from my swollen lips when he refused to release me. He slammed his mouth over mine to quiet me, and fisting his hand over my flaccid prick, he began a slow and steady pump. Sheer terror spiked through me. I'd never fought my masters. Even that night with the king, I hadn't fought. They were far bigger than I, and I knew fighting would be useless. They'd simply beat me and take what they wanted from me, anyway. So I never fought them. I fought now. My heart hammered against my rib cage. I arched my spine, clawed at my master's blankets in my effort to scramble away from him. I didn't dare strike him. Lashing out at one of my masters was as unthinkable to me as what he was doing to my prick, but I struggled. God, how I struggled. It hurt. His busy hand at my groin hurt me, though my member obediently filled and thickened to my master's touch. His rough grip on my shaft shattered me. I'd never craved death more.

So I fought him. My master easily pinned me down with his massive weight. He caught both of my slender wrists in one hand and stretched them over my head. He grunted, urgently stroked my manhood, and growled crude threats. Hopeless, helpless, I thrashed against him. I bucked and writhed. I tried to twist away. He released my prick and slapped me. The crack of his palm slamming into my cheek split my frightened, panting silence like a lightning bolt. I—who hadn't voluntarily uttered a sound since I last saw my mother—cried out. No. I screamed. My eyes widened. They burned, humiliating and betraying wetness pooling in them. My face throbbed then stung as my tears flooded over. My mouth rounded to a stunned O and my master took advantage of my shock to mash his lips to mine, spearing his tongue inside. His fingers returned to my manhood. I lay there, weeping in my defeat, when the others burst in. My master leapt off me then, eyes wild with panic. He insistently shook his head, denying he had touched me, though the evidence of his furtive stroking still jutted from my groin. I never hardened when my masters plowed me, but he swore the others were mistaken. Their eyes had tricked them. He hadn't caressed my shaft, he vowed. My length and girth only proved me a defiant slut. I curled onto my side and sobbed. Soldiers were summoned. My molester repeated his denial that he'd ever placed a hand on me. He'd used me. His seed seeped from my nether cheeks, but he swore he never touched me otherwise. The Captain of the Guard jerked me upright, yanked my stare to his with punishing fingers that pinched my chin. His cold eyes frightened me. The questions he peppered at me made me weep all

the harder. "He's mute, Gunther. He can't answer you." The Captain frowned. "You said you were drawn here because you heard him scream. He can damn well talk if he wants to." Silent tears slid down my face. I wanted so badly to cast my gaze down, away from the captain's implacable determination, but his hard grasp of my jaw refused me. Instead, his finger rose to trace my stinging cheek. "You slapped him. Why?" My master, restrained by two soldiers, gulped and desperately bobbed his head. "He fought me, so I hit him. That's when he screamed." The captain's lips curled to a sneer that provoked my instinctive cower. "When the entire palace—all of Herra—knows he meekly whores for all of you? You lie." When he released my chin, I collapsed to the floor, arms wrapped around my stomach. I don't know why it hurt me to learn I was widely known to surrender my body to the greedy lusts of my masters, why this—above every other degradation—sliced into me so sharply, but it did. The whole world must recognize me as the docile slut of my masters. Indeed, my molester was arrested and carted away because my whorish timidity was so widely renowned. Despair overwhelmed me. Naked and broken, I stood among the kitchen staff in the courtyard at sunrise the next day. Shoulders hunched, gaze downcast, I felt hundreds of eyes upon me while the transgressing master was flogged to death. Nobody touched my prick again. My masters never ceased plowing me, of course, and the Captain of the Guard was right—I meekly whored for all of them. But a piece of me died that day. Chapter Two

I slept easy in the arms of my master, warming Nero's bed a scant month later when my world fundamentally shifted. Again. Over ten years in slavery. Almost two years of whoring. It wasn't much of a life, but it was the life to which I'd become accustomed. I worked hard every day, and if I fulfilled my duties, I would not be beaten. One of my masters selected me for his use. If I pleased him, I might hope for stroking fingers in my hair after or a gentle kiss pressed to my lips. I'd doze off and the endless routine would begin anew at dawn. There were rules, an order to my world. I depended on that. It was all I had. I awoke in the dark to something hot and wet slicking over my forehead, my temple and cheek. It dampened my hair to sodden strings and streamed into my eyes. I lifted from my master's chest, blinked— A hard, punishing hand clapped over my mouth. The point of a dagger dug into my throat. My eyes sprang wide, focusing on a jagged slit circling Master Nero's throat. His helpless gurgle as he drowned in his own blood whispered in my ears. The man's seed still leaked from my ass. Sour bile worked up my throat. The intruder loped a thick arm around my waist, hauling me off my dying master and against the stony wall of his stomach. "Not a sound, little prince." Not a sound? I couldn't breathe! His arm tightened around my belly like a steel band. "Heed me and obey," the voice hissed in my ear. He did not remove the hand smothering my mouth nor his imprisoning arm until, fear coiling like vipers in my stomach, I jerked my head to a stiff, terrified nod. "Put these on."

I fumbled with the pile of fabric he thrust into my shaking hands. I unfolded it with numb fingers, the bundle separating into two items . . . . Yes, I knew what this was. A tunic. My fingers traced the collar of material far softer and richer than the scratchy wool forced upon me in the coldest months of winter. My assailant prodded my spine, so I yanked the tunic over my head, shoving rubbery arms into the sleeves. I reached to the floor where the second item had fallen and blindly pulled on breeches that engulfed my slim hips with much room to spare. The laces defeated me so the intruder fastened me into them. "Sit," he murmured. I sat. He shoved my feet into boots. I gaped at them. Boots! They were too large, made for a normal-sized man, which I was not, as were the clothes. The tunic draped to my calves and the man had wrapped the laces of my breeches around me twice before tying them. I felt swallowed by the fabric. And lost. My master was dead, there was no one to command me except his killer, and nothing made sense anymore. He pulled me to my feet. "Follow me, my lord." My head whirled as the shadowy stranger grasped my arm and guided me from my master's quarters, down the hall and back through the kitchens that imprisoned me. He speared through the night, his footsteps silent, graceful and quick. I shuffled behind. Clumsy and trembling. When he slid open the door to the kitchen gardens, I balked. Heart thumping, I pulled back on his grip and dug my heels in, sliding in the too-large boots. I wasn't allowed in the gardens! I'd never been permitted there, not even to fetch the water I'd tended every day for the past many years. Another slave brought great heavy buckets into the kitchens—

the heat of the sun had been forbidden me. The stranger flung a scowl over his shoulder. I wildly shook my head no. I must not leave the kitchen. Not ever. My assailant bobbed his head in an exaggerated nod. My pulse raced as he pulled me forward, pushing me through the door. He bent his big body down to whisper into the shell of my ear. "Courage, little prince." He closed the door behind us with a muted click. "Just a few more steps." A few more steps to what? Panic clawed at my throat, but what was I to do except follow? I'd been trained to obey. I knew nothing else. He led me down the line of shadows that marked the garden's inner walls and the quiet lap of water against a shoreline met my ears within moments. Water. The river. I'd heard the other slaves speak of laundering clothes and bathing in it, but never had I dreamed— My legs gave out at only the thought of being so far removed from my prison home, and the stranger must have anticipated my shuddering collapse, for I did not hit the ground. He scooped me up instead, tossing my head and chest over his shoulder to trap my thighs against his front. He gave my upended ass a gentle rub and broke into a smooth run. I snatched at the material of his tunic, glad for something to hang onto, though he did not jostle me much. I could breathe. My head faintly buzzed as, hanging upside down, my blood rushed to it, but I did not wriggle in his grip, no matter my discomfort. "A little farther, my lord." My lips pursed to a frown as I stared at the dark shadow of his back. He'd sounded hardly winded, which perplexed me. Yes, I was small, more boy than man physically, but surely my added weight would tax him? My head spun as I realized his strength was so great that I did not burden him.

The certainty that my abductor was capable of such power steadied me, at least. My bunched muscles relaxed. My anxious mind scrambled less and less at my increasing distance from the kitchen. I could not escape him. I'd been taken—captured—again. This, I understood. This, I could accept. When the rush of water grew louder, he lowered me to the cool grass of the riverbank. Grass. Awe-struck, I threaded my fingers through crisp green spears of the lush carpet beneath me. The verdant scent drifted to my nostrils. I raised my hand to sniff its perfume. My eyes snapped shut at the decadence. My heart clutched. "Come." The man had loosened a tree, limbs heavy with leaves, from the riverbank and pushed it into the water. He planted one boot at the river's edge, arm out-stretched for me. I gulped. "We will float from Herra, hidden within its branches." The man shook his head at my hesitation. "I will hold you in the water, Micah. You will be safe." My eyes rounded. He knew my name? A smile tugged at the stranger's lips as he leaned forward to take my hand. "Yes, I know you. Far better than you know yourself." He pulled me to him. My feet splashed into the surprisingly cold water, and he chuckled at my nervous shiver. "You've been conditioned to obey, and obey me, you will. Come to me, little prince. Come." He guided me into the tree branches. My arms shot around his neck, holding fast to him as the water deepened. To my belly. To the hardening nub of my nipples. My breath quickened to shallow pants when it reached my neck. My fear bloomed whitehot inside me when he turned me in his arms so I faced outward, away from him. He tucked my ass into his lap, his groin forming my seat. Once more, his muscled arm

loped around my waist and under the frigid water, my fingers bit into his flesh. "Be still." He kicked off the shoreline, and using a branch as his pathway, glided us to the center of the tree. We drifted down river. When the cold made me shiver, he nestled me against his hard chest, his heat tempering the frigid waters. "You don't weigh anything at all, do you? The chill affects you much." He rested his chin atop the crown of my head. "When we are free of this cursed city, I'll warm you." Teeth chattering, I snuggled into his heat and blanked my mind to what was happening to me, a skill I'd perfected in my years of servitude. I did not want to wonder who this man was or why he spoke to me with such kindness. The bitterly cold water that leeched the warmth from my flesh, I could deal with. My captor, I could not. So I thought only of the numbness creeping into my fingers. My shivering and the swift current stripped me of both boots and my toes soon tingled with the cold as well. Would he beat me for my carelessness? I'd never had boots before and already, I mourned the loss. I shouldn't be trusted with such fine things. I didn't deserve them. Had I not failed to act as careful steward of his possessions? And so quickly, too. "Quiet, my lord. The outer gates," he whispered against my ear. I bit my lips to muffle the chatter of my teeth and tasted blood. No alarm was raised, though. No outcry met our escape. We simply drifted away. When the watch fires atop the city wall faded behind us, the stranger exhaled a long breath. "You did well, Micah. We can leave the river now if you like, but our camp is farther downstream. Can you stand the cold awhile longer? The current will carry us faster than I can run with you on my back." He paused and since he seemed to expect an answer, I nodded my assent. Why had he asked me? If he meant for us to drift, then we would drift. "You are free, my lord." His arm tightened around my waist. "Finally, we will all

be free." I cuddled close to his chest and let the river—and the stranger—carry me where they would. ***** Eventually, my abductor shifted me behind him, stringing my thin arms around his neck and clasping my thighs about his thickly muscled waist. My body felt frozen, like the blocks of muddy ice stored in the kitchen cellars, but I could not swim so I hung on as best I could. He pushed away from the protective cover of our tree, striking toward the dark riverbank with supple and efficient strokes. When we'd almost reached it, he rose up out of the water. I clung to his back as he strode onto dry land and into the veil of trees skirting the shoreline. "Can you walk?" I shook my head against the blade of his shoulder, shivering again as a night breeze skimmed over my wet skin, spiking into my bones through the wet layer of clothing he'd provided me. He marched through the trees, his steps sure. Certain. I both envied his selfassurance and feared it. Envy, because I'd never been confident of anything except my servitude. Fear, because . . . I knew not how to please my new master, and I desperately needed to please him. I could accept this change and my new lot with the hulking stranger. I could wrap my mind around it, but only if I satisfied what he required of me. He'd demanded so little, and the lack of instruction balled my stomach. He abruptly halted and stooped to a crouch, untangling my arms from his neck. My thighs sprang open. My backside settled to the hard ground. I lolled, the sparse reserves of my body depleted by the harrowing journey. "Xerxes will not expect his own people to hide you, so we travel with a band of merchants to the border." He pivoted and yanked at my sodden clothing. "But we dare not enter camp wet."

I could not force my leaden arms and legs to cooperate, but he made short work of stripping me until I sprawled under him shivering and naked. Gooseflesh pebbled my fair skin, which glowed in the miserly light cast by the fingernail moon. He stretched to the side and unfolded a blanket, tucking it over my nudity before his hands rose to remove his own drenched clothes. Ah. He'd plow me. My curious eyes watched him peel his shirt over his head and kick off his boots. I admired the bunch of muscle, his broad shoulders, the sculpted expanse of his absurdly large chest. My glance darted from him, heat creeping into my cheeks, when his fingers plucked at the laces of his breeches. Even I, practiced whore that I was, would never be so bold as to examine his prick until bidden to do so. When his hands fell to the wool blanket covering my thin chest, I startled nonetheless, my stare returning to him. Rather than groping for me, those hands set to a brisk rub. He scoured the blanket over my chilled skin, throat to groin, then back again. The touch wasn't unpleasant. The impersonal caress was actually rather . . . enjoyable. My wicked heart skipped a beat at the forbidden delight of his big hands warming me, but I resisted the urge to squirm. Immobile. I must forebear. I must do as my new master willed of me. His attention focused to the left, his fingers yet working the blanket over my flesh. "Miriam comes. She will tend to you." I stiffened. Blood roared in my ears. A woman? I was to be given to a woman? Shrieking anguish lanced through me, locking the air in my chest. I had never been bedded by a woman, never been touched by one. I'd seen them in the kitchen, of

course, but I'd been commanded well away from them and they from me, which I'd been secretly glad of. Females perplexed me. I knew men shoved their pricks inside them, that they were plowed as I was, but I'd never wanted to do the plowing and the idea of placing my mouth to them made me shudder in revulsion. Surely, my new master didn't expect me to— The stranger's eyes softened at my quick sound of distress. He smiled and playfully tugged the fat, yellow braid that slid and dripped down my shoulder. "To tend to your hair, little prince. Only that." Fresh worry curled in my gut. My hair? What of my hair? I had no rights, no privileges. None knew that better than I, but I had never been able to squash vanity over my unique coloring. Everyone else's hair was as dark as their eyes, either brown or black, their skin tan and swarthy. Not me. I was a novelty, every hair on my body a rich yellow the same shade as honey, and my eyes shone with the sparkling luster of emeralds. I knew this to be so because my masters often told me. They unplaited my hair and fisted it in their hands as they rutted with me, fanned it over their chests and stroked it when they'd finished. They kissed my eyelids and praised my odd coloring. They enjoyed stroking my creamy skin, murmuring in wonder at the stark contrast of my small, pale body against theirs. I was a slave and the lowliest among them, but I was also prized by my masters, my physical weakness forgiven by virtue of my exceptional coloring and my compliance to the demands of their pricks. My stomach churned. The threatened woman eased from the surrounding trees, short like me but very round. She carried a crude basket. She stared at me, and this time, I did wriggle under my blanket, though the stranger's hand patted my bony arm, as though to soothe me. The woman's mouth thinned. She spoke to the man in a tongue I did not understand. My eyes narrowed as they conversed in low voices, the rolling cadence of

the words familiar yet at the same time foreign. It seemed I should know this language, and indeed, a niggle in the back of my mind suggested a translation for a word or two. But when the female looked at me, spoke, I could only stare at her, mystified. "She needs you to sit up, my lord," the stranger supplied. I sat up. She scurried to my rear, twitching my braid over my shoulder, and when my eyes focused with alarm on my abductor, he lifted a palm to cup my cheek. "Easy, little one. It will grow back." Terror squeezed my belly. My hair had never been cut. But if my new master bid it then cut it would be. He could shave me bald, advertising my whore's body to the world if he chose, and I concentrated on my gratitude that he didn't require that much. Tears burned my eyes, though, when I felt the gentle tug on my braid and I whimpered at the lightening pressure on my scalp as the woman cleaved the thick hank of my hair through. Wispy ends escaped the ravaged tail of my braid to brush my neck. A single tear slid from one eye. He threaded his fingers through the hair above my temple, helping the woman free what remained of my hair from the loosened plait. "It will grow back," he repeated when I opened my eyes. My gaze lowered. I nodded. The woman spoke again and the stranger translated once more. "Lean back." When I did, a horrible, rancid scent clogged my throat and a hoarse, pained moan worked from my chest because I knew that scent, too—dye. "Only temporary." My abductor stroked the line of my jaw and smiled at my cringe as the female worked the foul mixture into my newly shorn hair. "After we've crossed the border, we'll wash it away. I swear to you." "Keep him dry or the stain will run. Xerxes' soldiers will search for the yellowhaired boy-man first, but they'll arrest anyone small enough who's leeching dye onto

their clothes." I blinked in surprise, momentarily shocked from my misery. She could speak Herran. Oddly, that made me cry harder. "He'll be fine." The man switched to the other, almost-familiar language, and the two of them talked while her fingers kneaded the stain into my shorter hair, bunching it in her fists to evenly distribute the color. My abductor's fingers stroked my tears from my face as soon as they fell, silently comforting me, though his resolution as to what the woman did to me did not falter. I let the sounds of their conversation roll over me, a soft buzz in the back of my mind as I wept. I wanted to stop. Eventually, my new master's patience would wane, and he'd tolerate my sniveling far less now that I was ugly. But the horrible pressure in my chest didn't loosen. Every caress of the woman's hands in my hideous hair lashed another stripe into my heart. My exhaustion married with my grief and both overwhelmed me. The woman disappeared into the trees when she finished. The stranger retrieved dry clothes from a neat pile nearby, and he dressed me like a child's doll, cinching me into thick robes. I wept, though the material brushed sinfully indulgent against my skin, and the sleeves draped to my wrists and ankles instead of dwarfing me as my wet tunic and breeches had. I wept while my captor shrugged into his own robes, belting the sash around his waist, and I wept when he bent to scoop me into his arms, cradling me against him. He tucked my head into the crook of his shoulder and carried me through the trees into his camp. He dropped to one knee next to a crackling fire and laid me upon a pallet of blankets beside it. He stretched out behind me, pressing his front to my back. "Now you will be warm." I squirmed when his breath tickled the sensitive skin at my exposed nape, but the heat of the fire felt so good. His warmth to my back sandwiched me in a delicious cocoon of security.

I sniffled. His heavy arm settled over my hip. "Sleep." I slept. Chapter Three I jerked awake before dawn, as usual. Trapped in arms I did not recognize, which was not usual at all. I knew my masters, all of them, had learned them well. But not this one. Not yet. He grunted. My heart galloped. The campfire smoldered, banked after warming me through the long hours of the night, and my gaze focused on a black pot, handle laced through a spit hovering over it. The scent of beef teased my nostrils. My captor's rod stiffened, pressing the layers of his robe and mine into the crease of my ass. I was far more accustomed to the stab of my master's shaft in the morning. When I experimentally wriggled my hips to test the length and breadth of my new master's manhood, the hand at my waist tightened. "Be still." His voice was low and husky, drowsy. Sexy. My lips curved. In spite of the precariousness of my circumstances, this was the only part of rutting I truly enjoyed. The sapped strength of my lover's body draped over mine, his scent deep inside me, the rumble of his voice to my ear. My new master hadn't claimed me yet, but I liked to be petted and he did not fail me. The short journey of his hand in my hair disquieted me when I remembered my new ugliness, but the grasp of his other hand on my hip squeezed me in warning. "Go back to sleep."

He'd commanded me. So I did. ***** Muffled voices, clanging pots and a baby's hungry cry awoke me later. No heat of my master's body pressed to my spine. I opened my eyes, finding him beyond the campfire, arranging bags on a sorrel mare. The woman from the trees last night emerged from a nearby tent and drew back in surprise to find me awake. She chattered at me in that odd, not-quite-familiar language, a pair of dogs following her to our campfire, where she dipped a cup into the black pot. She pushed the steaming mug at me. I sat up on my pallet, shot a stare at my abductor. He nodded, so I accepted the cup. Broth. My belly rumbled at the sight of thin slivers of beef floating in hot liquid. I blew at the contents, but I hadn't tasted meat since I'd recovered from the plague. My hunger didn't allow me to wait for the drink to cool, and I burned my tongue and the roof of my mouth with the first taste. I jerked my head back, wiped my stinging lips. The female's eyes narrowed. She yammered at me. The stranger chuckled. "She's afraid your stomach will reject food. Drink slowly, or it will be days before Miriam offers heartier fare to you." I was hungry, not sick, but I did as I was told. I sat in my puddle of blankets, sipping the cup's contents with more care. My captor strode to the fire and poured the remaining broth into a flagon that he tied to the horse's pommel. He, the woman, and three other families in nearby tents broke camp. Since the man's glare forbid me to help them, I watched, only shifting off the pallet when my master bid me so he could roll the blankets and stow them at the rear of the horse's saddle. "Your belly's okay?" he said when he took my empty cup. I nodded and followed him to his horse, though I quaked at the size of the

animal towering high above me. He tied the cup and a small bag the female tossed him to the saddle, too. "We'll try you with something more substantial once we're on the road. Ready?" My full bladder ached so I shook my head. He frowned. I bit my lip. Yanked my gaze to the trees. Shifted on my feet. He grinned, and taking my hand, he guided me to the wooded riverbank. "Until your feet touch the soil of our homeland, you don't leave my sight, little prince. Maybe not even then." He stopped once the others were hidden by the undergrowth. "Go ahead." I fumbled with the cinch at my waist until my new master took pity on me and untied it. Blushing furiously, I drew out my rod. The man didn't watch my stream, but embarrassment colored my cheeks anyway. I tucked myself back into the clothing he'd provided and listened attentively as he taught me how to fasten them. "Should I show you again?" I studied the knot at my waist through narrowed eyes. It seemed simple enough. I shook my head. "Good. Let's go." He swung up and onto the horse first. I'd prepared for a long day of walking— he'd tugged new boots onto my feet—but he bent and stretched out his hand. "Come," he said when I hesitated, beckoning me forward with the tips of his fingers. I laid a cautious hand in his, and his fingers clenched around me, yanking me up. I flew through the air, a surprised squeak slipping past my lips, but he caught me about my hips. He tucked me in front of him on the horse, laughing. "You are a liar and a fake. With the sounds you make, you could talk well enough if you wanted." My blood chilled.

Yes, I could speak. If my mother hadn't forbidden me. "No frowns, young Micah. For now, your silence serves us." He shifted the reins of the horse to one hand and tugged up the cowl of my robes so my head was shrouded. "When we are stopped on the road, you will feign sleep so none of the soldiers spy your pretty eyes." Those eyes widened. "Very pretty." He stared at them. "Like your mother's." He'd known my mother? My brows beetled. Surely not. He was older than I, yes, but only by ten summers or so. If he'd known my mother, he must've been as much a colt of a man as I was now. "Micah? You remember her." I trembled. Yes, I remembered my mother. She'd been fair like me, with yellow hair, pale skin and the same green eyes. My mother had been small, too. My growth had been stunted by starvation and abuse, whereas hers had been natural, but the resemblance was striking, no less exotic to the hulking, towering world of men who had greatly desired us both for our delicacy. She'd loved me, though. That, I had never forgotten. Nor her command to be silent. I nodded then stared up and into his eyes. They were dark, like everyone else's, except . . . not. They shone with a warm concern that dizzied me and tightened my throat. "Micah?" It bothered me that I did not know who he was while he seemed to know so much about me. I placed my hand against my chest, dipped my head as though in

acknowledgment, and then taking a deep breath, I flattened my palm over his chest. "Eli." His lips curved. "I am Eli, son of Thaddeus the Greek." My heart skipped a happy beat. Eli. A good, strong name. "I come at the bidding of your father, Cyrus, King of Alekia, the land from which you were stolen as a boy." His hand covered mine. "I have come, little prince, to bring you home." ***** The sun beat down. The horse's gliding gate rocked me. I dozed in Eli's arms. When I roused, he spoke of my father and the war that had ripped me from a homeland I no longer remembered. He told me that Herra coveted Alekia as a staging ground for war against richer nations to the south. Xerxes, the Herran king, had seized me as the surest means to force my father to submit to his yoke. And terrorized other noble families to yield as well, for fear their captured sons would share my fate. I did not understand it. By Eli's admission, I was not firstborn. Curious that I should have so many brothers after believing myself alone, but I was no elder son. I wouldn't inherit my father's title. As a younger son, I had no importance whatsoever. I could not even marry to strengthen political ties for my father, since no ally would risk a daughter on one as weak and damaged as I, had I been able to stomach the touch of a woman for the sake of my people or nay. None would have me. I sighed. I was prized, though useless, and no matter Eli's patient explanations, I could not grasp it.

My master untied my cup and poured still-warm broth from the flagon. "Drink." After I'd drained it, he retied the cup and reached inside a pouch to pass a small loaf of bread to me. I tore away one end and passed the larger piece back to him. He arched an eyebrow, showing me a second identical loaf in his palm. "The bread is yours, Micah." I frowned at the larger share of the loaf I'd divided. How was I to eat it all? I'd burst! "Your flesh is too thin on your bones. Eat, little prince." I ate every last crumb, but I needed the entire afternoon and another nap before I could manage the feat. When I awoke, Eli warned me that soldiers had stopped them while I'd slept, and I stiffened, already frightened that another might take me from him. "I told them you were my apprentice and very ill. The others backed my story, so they let us pass. Don't be afraid." But I was. When the sun crept low on the horizon, we stopped to make camp. My master unrolled my pallet and plunked me down atop it, then hastily built a fire. The woman, Miriam, returned and chattered nonsensically to me as she threaded the black pot on a spit again, added water, and began tossing in ingredients: a chunk of beef, a couple potatoes she cut into fine pieces and bits of carrot. She tucked small clumps wrapped in heavy burlap next to the coals—the bread we would eat on the road tomorrow. While she cooked, Eli and the woman's husband pitched the tent I recognized from that morning and a second tent next to it. My master carried bags and twine— wrapped packages from the horse inside, so I assumed it was his. I wasn't permitted to help. The inactivity alarmed me. He pulled me from my pallet, where I had thought to sleep again that night, and into his tent. My master pushed me down, stretching me out on a thick bed of blankets. "You need rest." From what?

I hadn't done anything all day! "I'll bring your dinner when it's ready." My jaw dropped. By the gods, he couldn't expect me to eat again? Thrice in a day. I hadn't eaten so much since . . . . My brows furrowed. I'd never eaten so much. He tucked blankets around me, though, and I relaxed, staring down at my hard stomach after he left me. How I would fit anything else in my already-stuffed belly, I did not know, but if my master desired me to eat, I would eat. Even if it split my guts wide open. I lay in the blankets, knowing my master also required me to sleep. I closed my eyes and tried to doze off as I listened to the talking in the camp. A child laughed. A log popped in the fire. A dog growled. I could not obey my master. I could not sleep. The robes that had seemed so fine and luxurious this morning abraded my skin. Eli had removed my boots before cocooning me in his bed, so at least my feet were unencumbered, but I longed to rid myself of the noxious robe as well. Clothes were confining and uncomfortable. I couldn't comprehend how the rest of the world tolerated them. I much preferred my humiliation to the cursed, annoying scratch of fabric to my backside, my legs, around my throat— Scowling, I sat up. I pushed my blankets down and worked the knotted cinch at my waist as Eli had taught me. If he beat me, I'd suffer, but I'd enjoy a few moments of blessed freedom first. And perhaps, if I displayed my body to him, my master would forget the ugliness of my hair and plow me. The tent was hot so I left the blankets off. I sprawled over them instead. I clasped my arms high over my head and splayed my thighs to best offer myself to Eli when he returned.

I waited. His brows winged up when he pushed through the tent flap carrying my cup and another loaf of bread. I didn't flinch or quiver as he dropped to his knees by my side, nor shift position when he sat on his haunches. Laying my bread and cup aside, he reached for a lantern and once lit, hung it from a hook in the tent pole overhead. He stared at my small, pale body. I licked my lips. The corners of his mouth quirked. "Comfort, my prince, or seduction?" Heart pounding, I tipped my hips up. He chuckled. When he traced a delicate hip bone, I shivered. "You need food." He eased my head and shoulders into his lap so that he propped my upper body up. He retrieved my cup from the tent floor. "Open your mouth." Cheeks flushing, I obeyed. He fed me. Sips of thickened broth washed down morsels he tore off the loaf of bread. I ate until the concave of my belly hardened to rigid, unyielding stone. When he offered the cup again, I turned away for fear I'd anger him by throwing up. I rested my cheek against his robed thigh, so miserable I didn't care if he beat me for failing to finish the meal. His fingers petted my ugly hair. "You're going to be all right, Micah." My eyes drifted shut. Finally, I was able to obey him. I slept. ***** I awoke shivering. A silent scream stretched my lips. My hands clenched as I sucked in great gasps of air and tried to control the thunder of my heartbeat.

He rolled me over with his big hand at my shoulder, then urged me onto his chest. "Bad dream?" My fingers fisted his robe, holding on tightly. He was still there. He hadn't left me behind, hadn't abandoned me. Just a nightmare. Only a dream. Gulping, I nodded. His arms curled around me. His stomach tightened and his lips brushed the crown of my head. "I won't let anything happen to you." I exhaled a long, shuddering breath. "My little prince." I could not see him, but I heard the drowsy smile in his voice. I trembled at the rich, vibrant rumble pressed to my ear when he spoke. "You're cold." I shook my head, for once frustrated with my mute voice. Misunderstanding me, he fumbled a blanket over us and drifted back to sleep. What was wrong with me? What did I want? Him. I wanted him. And I want him to want me. I wanted him to fill me, to feel his rod scrape my innards and bathe me in his seed. Rutting never pleasured me. I'd gained contentment knowing the use of my body pleased my masters, though, and I very much wanted to please Eli. Of all my masters, none had ever been so kind. None had ever been built with such power, either. I had the body of a boy, small and compact, but I had the desires of a man. Just the idea of all that agility and strength focused on me, his shaft driving into me, made sweat bead on my brow and my hole flutter in anticipation. I wanted him to claim me. I needed it. My anxious nerves would not settle until he owned me, possessed

me in every way. My nightmare had proven that much. But I'd never before tempted a master. One of them had chosen me, and I'd simply followed them to their quarters. Eli had been amused by my poor attempt at seduction earlier, but that was all I knew. Naked, I stretched out for my masters, and they mounted me. That was it. I'd offered Eli my body and he had rejected me. My lips thinned. I would not be easy until he had taken me. I must persuade him. But how? Chapter Four The next day was nigh identical to the first, though I was awake and aware of my danger both of the times we were stopped by Herran soldiers. They gave me no more than a cursory glance, satisfied by my ugly dark hair and the bored stares of the others in the group we traveled with. Each time, Eli petted and soothed me long after. But his caresses and low words were only ever affectionate. As much as I craved that, I needed his heat and arousal more. When we made camp, I sat docilely by the fire until my master bid me to our tent. I rid myself of my wretched robes upon entering and curled into a fetal ball on the pallet, wrapping my arms around myself for comfort. Though I'd spent the day, mind scrambling for a way, what to do . . . for all my skills as a whore, I did not know how to make him want me. "Micah." He sat beside me and stroked a hand down my flank. Shaming heat coiled in my belly. When I quivered, he lay down next to me and tucked my ass to his groin, holding me close. "Did Xerxes' men scare you so badly?" His arm snaked around my side and over my chest. I clasped his hand tightly in mine. Lifting it, I kissed the strong knuckles and shook my head, not daring to meet his

eyes. The soldiers had frightened me. But nothing frightened me more than not belonging to Eli. "You're shaking." He tucked me close against his body, and my heart thrilled at the hard ridge of his shaft trapped within his robe. It pressed into my bare buttock, and I wiggled my hips, trying to wedge his rod in my crease. He cursed under his breath. When he tore his hand from my grasp and locked my squirming ass in place, I whimpered, a broken, needy sound that mortified me. What would I do if he never wanted me? Tears burned my eyes. "Are you going to behave?" he growled into my ear. Choking down my wild urge to cry, I nodded. He released my hip. I did not move again. His fingers rose to my chin, forcing my pained and humiliated glance to his. Where I expected his eyes to glitter with dark fury, or worse, pity, they glimmered with curiosity and arousal instead. "You really want me." It wasn't a question. I nodded anyway. "They say," he said, stroking my chin so that I trembled anew, "that Xerxes raped you, then passed you among the men in his palace. I took you from the bed of one of them. I saw that myself." I stared at him, desire and shame twisting my gut. My master frowned. "They also say you were forbidden any pleasure in it. Xerxes reserved that only for himself, a gift to be given at his hands alone in your twentieth year. A gift not to you, but to your father. If Alekia continued to submit to the Herran yoke, your virgin seed would spill."

I gulped, my eyes widening. His head bent, his lips brushing over my startled, gasping mouth. "Xerxes has not yet returned you to his bed." My heart hammered against my rib cage. I opened my lips for him, eager for his tongue, but he denied it to me, rubbing his mouth over mine in maddeningly light strokes. Hunger for his kiss flared inside me, swamping my senses. The tip of his tongue lapped at my panting mouth. "Be still, my prince, and I will rob the Herran usurper of his virgin. I, not he, have been selected by your father to teach you of love among men." His mouth finally slanted over mine the exact moment his massive hand wrapped over my stiffening rod. I jerked and moaned, horrified at the forbidden caress, but helpless to do no other than accept it as his tongue slid over mine. His fingers tightened over my rod and pumped, as my own hand had pulled at the shafts of my masters countless times. Oh, the pleasure. I had not dared dream how astonishingly good it felt to have my manhood handled so. Blood rushed from my spinning head to engorge and thicken my shaft as he ate at my mouth. I whimpered into his ravishing kiss, fighting to keep my ass frozen in place as he'd directed me, but the jerking and yanking on my member shot a fiery tingle into every part of my body. My fingers clenched the blankets to anchor me in place. He tore his mouth from mine, smiling when I groaned. "Sing for me, my sweet. Hold nothing back." His thumb worked moisture at the sensitive tip of my prick, and back bowing, I mewled like a newborn kitten. He did not punish me for my wantonness. Instead, while using one hand in that glorious grip on my rod and fondling me, he used his unencumbered hand to slide to the belt of his robes to un-cinch the knot. He pushed the material aside, freeing his own manhood to my naked, desperately writhing ass.

Rather than shoving it up inside me, he simply lifted my thigh over his hip and wedged his rod to my crease, pushing forward so the head of his shaft nudged my sack. How frightening to be so enraptured, so enslaved by the pleasure he wrought in me. It must be a wicked indulgence, a sinful thing, but my body belonged to him, to do with as he willed. I panted out my dizzy wonder. I cried out at the friction of his length brushing my hole as he thrust again and again, ramming insistently at my increasingly tight balls. His magical hand pumped my shaft, and I could not contain my joyous, sobbing howls. "By the gods, the noise you make," he gasped in husky approval in my ear. "Shout out your lust, little prince. Louder." I obeyed, nigh shrieking in my shaking, shuddering pleasure as his skilled hands stroked me. His wondrous shaft pummeled my aching sack, until I could stand the consuming pleasure no longer. I screamed. My shaft erupted, jetting gooey ropes of my seed over his fingers and into our blankets. His manhood jerked as well, spraying my sack with thick, sticky wetness. The scent of his seed bathing me wrung a keening wail from my throat, and I pushed my ass back and forth, rubbing that warmth over me, smearing it to my aching, empty hole. He gave me no rest, no ease. His grasp did not leave me, but he reared his hips back, piercing my greedy ass with his seed-spattered member in one, smooth thrust. His teeth bit into my nape to hold me still for the lazy pump of his rod. Ah, the glory of it. I grunted, struggling to adjust to the length and girth of the shaft cramming me full. I was too small. I could not fit all of it, even softening, within me, but he rocked back and forth, edging more and still more inside. He stretched me wide, the burn of my hole and my innards a pleasant ache. My thin chest rose and fell on ragged pants. His hand worked my shaft, demanding I harden for him again, and my rod could do naught but obey him. My blood raced to fill my manhood as his raced to fill my ass.

He thickened inside my channel, dragging across a sweet, tender spot within that tore a wild moan from my chest with his every thrust. I sheathed him deliciously, the insistent rub of his member over that secret spot driving me wild. He bit down harder on my neck, growling low in his throat. My cries matched the hard pounding of his prick into my trembling, tingling body. Tears leaked from my eyes as my shaft jerked, spurting my seed once more. I sobbed my mindless pleasure, throwing my ass back with each of my master's thrusts, desperate to feel his member spurt and shower my innards. When he did, his heat scorched my guts, my channel, seemingly my very soul. Stuffed full with his shaft, I could not contain it. His seed jetted inside me and sprayed from my tight hole, slicking my buttocks and thighs with his scent. My body collapsed. I fought for my breath. I felt not as though I'd been plowed, though I had been. Thoroughly. The evidence of his rutting streaked my still-quivering thighs. I'd been branded. Conquered. Claimed. His bite released me, his hand rising to my hip to deliver an approving pat. I sighed, happily shivering, his rod still firmly rooted in my ass when he beckoned the woman to come with my soup and another hunk of bread. He fed my stomach, alternating the hot soup with a morsel of bread pressed to my mouth. My belly filled while his softened shaft thickened in my channel, until I had not the sense to chew any more. My generous master kissed the tip of my nose and fed my still-hungry ass instead, cramming me with his rod until mine spurted thick and wet on my skin. Only then did he withdraw to spatter my plundered hole with his sticky seed. Sated, utterly spent, I slept.

I awoke to him pulling me atop him in the inky dark of night. He lined my ass to his prick, lowering me onto it. "Ride me." He didn't need to touch my shaft, for I shot my seed on his chest long before his rod spurted and jerked inside me again. I collapsed on top of him and dozed until he awoke me, this time with his mouth over my manhood. He licked me clean, sucked on my rod until my bleary mind wiped as clean as my groin. I groaned and quivered, shattering under the wicked onslaught. He gulped every drop down, licking his lips as he smiled at me. By morning, I was too exhausted to offer more than a sleepy grunt as Eli dressed me then lifted me onto his horse. I slept against his chest, only marginally aware of the increased patrols and the mounting scrutiny of Xerxes' soldiers. "My apprentice." He jostled me, and my tired bones ached. I moaned drowsily. "He is unaccustomed to the rigors of travel." One of the soldiers sniffed at the heavy musk of Eli's seed on me, in me. "He is unaccustomed to riding, aye, and on a horse as well." The men laughed, and my fingers clutched at my master, my eyes shut and my nose buried in his neck. "The boy we seek is mute." The blunted tip of his spear prodded at my sorely used ass so that I groaned afresh. "And said to be a pretty piece." "I'll wake him." I grunted when Eli elbowed me. "He'll whine and bawl for you soon enough." "Yours is not near pretty enough." The soldier snorted. "Go on." I drifted to sleep with their jeering laughter ringing in my ears. Not pretty enough. Not pretty . . . . ***** He roused me when we made camp. My gritty eyes rounded when I noticed the

three families that had traveled with us had split away while I'd slept. Only the woman and her family pitched a tent with us now and even they, some distance from the fire my Master had built. "The last checkpoint shied the others away," he said at my unspoken question while he raised our tent. "They have no love for Xerxes, but they will not risk their lives for you." I ducked my head, frowning. For the first time, it occurred to me that others could die—my master could die— because of me. Eli laughed. "The racket you make when I bed you is worth any danger." I stared at the pot already bubbling over our campfire. The woman had dumped more meat and chunks of vegetables inside before scurrying to the distant site to tend her family. What would we do if she, too, departed? I'd slaved in the kitchen for more than ten summers, but I'd never cooked. My master dropped down beside me on my log, guiding my gaze to his with the tip of his finger under my chin. "Miriam is my sister and her husband a loyal general for your father. They will not abandon you." My stomach rumbled. He grinned and reached for my belt. "Let me entertain you while your dinner simmers." He untied my robe and peeled it from my body. Pale and delicate, I sat in the puddle of fabric, sighing at the freedom of the fire's heat licking at my bare skin. He spread my knees and crouched between them, fumbling with his own robes so his rod emerged from the thick folds. He shifted my ass forward. His beefy arm at the small of my back supported me. He wet the fingers of his other hand in his mouth, then slid them to my crease. I gasped as he pushed a finger into my hole, then another. I squirmed as he played with my tight channel, stretching me wider, my pleasure already balling my gut, squeezing the air from my lungs.

When a third finger joined the first two, my vision grayed. He stroked that secret spot inside me and within moments, I gasped and whimpered against his chest. My prick ached unbearably. His mouth dove to capture mine, swallowing my needy cries— and my astonished, protesting groan when he brought my own hand to my shaft. "Stroke it," he bid me, returning his fingers to plunder my hole. I obeyed. I wrapped my shaft in my own fist and pumped. My eyes narrowed to feral slits. Oh, the obscene joy that lit my heart. My hand had pleasured many rods countless times, but never my own. Forbidden. Touching my manhood, even to relieve myself, had been explicitly prohibited to me, but I pleasured myself with giddy abandon while my master's fingers ravished my ass. I grunted with each slap of my hand, squeezing harder, stroking faster. My Master kept pace with my madly rushing cadence, driving me up faster until, with a startled shout, my shaft spit seed, painting my belly with milky threads. Eli did not stop pumping my eager hole. I watched him trace patterns in the pearly white that spattered my stomach then lift the tip to his mouth to taste. I groaned, grinding my hips into his busy hand as I reached for his swollen prick. He smiled, allowed me to tug him forward. He removed his fingers from my ass, but would only tease my hole with the tip of his rod. "Do you want me, little prince?" He popped the head in and out, a taunting burn that made my fingers claw into his hips to urge him. "You may have me—as often, as much, as hard as you like," Eli promised, skating his soft, provoking lips over mine. "But you must speak, my lord. Xerxes' army searches for a beautiful mute boy, and I fear they will find him unless you discover your voice." I moaned, loud and low. He shook his head, his prick promising me the plowing I so desperately needed. "A word, young Micah. Give me one word and I will splash my seed so deep into your

body, you will taste me at the back of your throat." My longing shattered me, my senses spiraling out of control. Re-enervated, my shaft rubbed against his taut belly with each teasing stroke of his hips. Good. So good. "Say my name, sweet prince." He kissed me, tongue tracing the line of my teeth. "Eli. Say it." I'd do anything for him. Be anything. As long as the amazing sensations spiraling inside me did not cease. So I scrambled for my voice, tried to remember how to move my mouth, how to speak, how to form a word. "E'i." I tried on a panting groan, my voice hoarse and raspy with disuse. I fumbled the sound. I knew I didn't have it right, and frustration clawed at my gut because I was sure I'd die if he didn't shove his rod deep, like he'd vowed. Taking a deep breath, I tried again, but tears burned my eyes when I bungled it. "You need practice," he mumbled against my mouth. "Keep saying it." He plowed his prick into my ass so far I saw stars. He thrust into my narrow channel, and I wailed his name on a rusty, keening chant. The violence of our mating, the slap of our joining flesh, his sharp grunts, my increasingly voluminous cries, scraped my raw nerves, unleashing primitive instincts I hadn't known I possessed. My hands clawed into his hips like talons. His pounding shaft crammed into my ass with greater ferocity. I sobbed his name. I shouted it. And when my prick finally sprayed, spitting and spurting my seed over his chest and mine, I screamed his name until my master lunged forward, shooting his load deep into my well-used passage. Chest heaving, I stared with dazed eyes as he eased me back behind the log we'd perched upon, into the cool grass. He smiled, and wincing, eased his shaft from my ass. His palm cupped my cheek, thumb brushing the hair at my ear. "Beautiful." Lips curving to a shy smile, I shook my head. I wasn't beautiful. Not anymore. Even the soldiers had said so, but I was useful again. As much as he'd pleased me and allowed me to pleasure myself, my heart swelled because I knew I'd pleased him, too. My beloved master. He was the beauty, not I. I dragged a tired hand down his broad

chest. "E'i." His mouth quirked. He snatched at my fingers, bent and licked at the tips so that I wriggled and sighed. He grinned. "Practice, my prince. Keep trying while I rescue your dinner." He waggled his eyebrows. "If you haven't got my name right by morning, I'll change it." I snorted. "Stay there. I like feeding you." And he disappeared. I lay there, as he bid me, liquid and spent. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sluggish drip of his seed from my still-fluttering hole. Enjoyed the breeze chilling the sticky streaks on my thin chest, on my groin, on my soft and thoroughly used shaft. I loved the good, tired weight of my body after my master had taken me. Never had I felt so content, so well-used. My eyes flashed open when he slid a hand under my nape, lifting my head for my cup. "This is stew, heartier fare than you've had thus far. Be careful, little one. I don't want you to choke." He pressed the cup to my lips, and I obediently opened my mouth. I chewed the thick chunks of beef and potato, swallowed, then opened again. I liked him feeding me. He stroked my slender chest as I ate, petting me as though I were something he treasured. He murmured to me, praising my eyes, my bravery, encouraging me to eat. When I could consume no more, I turned away from the cup, sighing my satisfaction, but he groped my bulging stomach, testing to make sure no more food would fit. It couldn't. He lifted me to his lap and cradled me to his chest as he forced me to practice the L sound. "La, la, la," he repeated in his low baritone. "Push your tongue to your front teeth." I did and beamed when I made the proper noise. He chuckled. "Now, my name. Slowly. E. La. I."

I mimicked him as best I could, but my voice had been denied many years. Where his boomed, low and smooth, mine croaked. My nose wrinkled at the harsh, grating sound. His mouth curved, encouraging me. "Now, string it closer together. E-Li." "E-Li," I repeated in my rusty, cracking rasp. "Eli." I frowned, concentrating. I so wanted to please him, and learning to say his name was not so much. My mother had commanded me to silence, but I thought she would approve of him, my new master. "Eli," I said and broke into a wide, triumphant grin because I'd done it right. "Yes, I am Eli, and now that you can say it, don't think you can bat those pretty eyes at me to make me do as you wish again." He laughed and kissed my smiling lips. "I want to hear it, always, but especially when you are wrapped around me. Especially when you are caught in the pleasure I've given you." I flushed, my cheeks blazing, but he did not make me feel uncomfortable, not in a bad way. "Eli," I said again, because he seemed to like it so dearly. "My prince." His mouth settled over mine, gently sampling, and I opened immediately to him, welcoming the play of his lips, his tongue. His head lifted, his dark eyes glittering with arousal. "Come. You need rest and should already be abed." Chapter Five I did not sleep much that night, either. My master's desires were insatiable, and with very little prompting, so were mine. I would never get enough of him plowing me, never get enough of his hands on me, and what he could do to me with his mouth staggered me to my core. Sometime in the night, he allowed me to lick at his chest. I adored the pelt of hair there, so much thicker, darker and coarser than my own. I liked burying my nose in it, inhaling his earthy scent deep inside me. The bunch of his

muscles under the smooth skin enraptured me, and when I sucked at his nipples, biting and nipping them into hard buds, his low groans and the harsh rise and fall of his chest while he panted out his pleasure thrilled me. I shifted lower, tracing my tongue over his belly and would have gone lower still to take his rod into my mouth, but his grip halted me. "No," he said. "Eli," I whispered, for I had already learned my master was willing to allow me a great deal if only I spoke his name in that beseeching way. His brow furrowed. "No," he repeated, shaking his head. "That is not for you." I bit my lip, staring up at him. Why could I not suck him when he took such pleasure in sucking me? I wanted to lick him, nibble at the base of his prick, pull his rod deep into my mouth until the tip drummed against the back of my throat. If I swallowed then, my muscles would squeeze him so tightly. I was good at sucking, very good at it. My time in Xerxes' kitchens and submitting to the king himself had taught me well how to pleasure a man with my mouth. It seemed I had endured all the ugliness so I could bring that spine-melting pleasure to my new master, and at the moment, the price felt more than fair. And he wouldn't let me do it. I breathed his name. My Master pulled me up to his lips, kissing me soundly, thoroughly, his long fingers in my ugly, shortened hair. "You don't understand, I know, and I am sorry for it." He kissed both of my eyelids, my nose, my cheeks. "But you must not. I am for you and your pleasure alone." My eyes narrowed. My lips thinned. He spoke as though he were the slave and I his master, but the notion was absurd. If I were the master, I could have what I wanted, and what I wanted was to pleasure him with my mouth. Most ardently. "Already the tyrant." He chuckled at my fierce scowl. "You have the look and build of your mother, but you are your father's son." He captured my mouth with his,

toyed my annoyance from me, distracting me with his big hands kneading my ass. "I know what you will like far better." He scooted me up and over him so abruptly my arms jerked out to steady myself. He positioned me, my knees tucked at either side of his head, my thighs spread, my body perfectly in line with his mouth and tongue. I squirmed at his hot breath at my sack. I expected him to swallow me, and I whined in protest. How could I like him sucking my rod better when I would much rather suck his shaft instead? How could my master be so cruel? But he did not lick my manhood. He lapped at the tender skin behind my sack instead. I jerked in surprise. His hands vised on my hips, holding me still for his suckling attentions, and oh, my heart soared. He licked at the sensitive underside of my balls, darting his agile tongue up my cleft, and I purred in visceral joy at the exploration. I, not he, locked my hips in place when his fingers spread me wide. His tongue traced my puckered hole, slicking me with his spit as he circled my ring. I threw my head back, gritting my teeth at the incredible pleasure. Wanton and wicked, I moaned his name, my tone begging him now, again, but for far other, earthier reasons. He stabbed his tongue inside, licking my tight channel with a thoroughness that left me breathless, shaking and insensate to anything except the rapacious jab of his tongue. I whimpered as he ate me, reveled in the push of his insistent lips to my hole. His dark kiss shattered me, splintering my mind. All that remained of me was the greedy beast shoving my ass down to his mouth for more. He gave it to me. He slurped at my hole, and I shouted with the intensity of my release, my prick pulsing in wild, ecstatic bursts. He immediately rolled me over, crouched over me, lifted my quivering legs over

his shoulders and shoved his shaft into my spit-slick hole. My spine bowed. My ass—my entire body—burned at the marvelous ferocity of his possession. He grasped my legs, his prick in my ass bracing him. He slid mind-bendingly deeper, and I mewled my pleasure, crying out at the snug fit of his shaft hilted in my body. My master bucked his hips to work himself deeper, and I could've wept at the wondrous joy. He stared at me, his gaze stripping me to the bone. My legs trembled in his hands, my ass clenching his rod. Sweat beaded over my skin. He jerked his chin at my spent manhood, and I uncurled my fisted fingers from our blankets to clasp them to my prick. I smeared my seed over the head, rubbing it over the sensitive tip. My hole fluttered greedily, but he waited, watching me stroke my shaft with hungry eyes. My body tingled. My thin chest heaved, and I used every skill I'd ever learned servicing my masters to bring my member to stiff, aching, urgent attention. "Enough," he growled when I felt my balls tightening, ready to loose their load. My hands fell away. Finally, he eased from my ass, until the tip of his shaft teased the outer ring, and staring into my eyes, he thrust forward, piercing me through. I cried out. He rode me. Sizzling, dizzying exhilaration crashed over me in ever-increasing waves. I could not catch my breath. I could not find a finger-hold in the maelstrom. Every sense in me alerted to vibrant intensity. I hissed and groaned his name and giving myself completely over to him, I finally—explosively—shattered, spurting my seed over my chest and belly. He roared, the wet splash of his release saturating my innards and leaking from my hole with each driving thrust. He divided my legs, splitting me so he could bend between them to taste my

gasping lips. Though sated, he rocked his hips, his rod still lodged within me, and I moaned, tiny shocks zinging through my over-stimulated body to prolong the pleasure. My master stopped taunting me with his shaft just when the passionate burn of my stretched hole met the point of pain. He rolled to his side, tugging me with him. Face to face, he smoothed my ugly hair with his hand and kissed the tip of my nose. "Sleep, little one." Snuggling into his hard, sweaty chest, I obeyed. ***** Days later, tucked in his arms as we rode onward, I wondered if perhaps my master bedded me so vigorously to distract me from our danger. More soldiers crowded the road. They were easier to fool now. I could speak. One word. "Eli." And they let us pass. I'd displeased my master, exceedingly, because I'd only been able to force myself to utter the one word. When I wasn't eating, sleeping or he rutting with me, he went over the sounds slowly, one by one, urging me to try. Commanding me to try. Bread. Water. Rest. I accepted the icy lash of his disapproval at my failure as my rightful due. I should be punished. I deserved his cold contempt and worse. So much worse. Shoulders hunched, chin tucked to my chest, I endured his disappointment as long as I could. I tried to hold it in, but my turmoil would reveal me in a sniffle I couldn't smother or the tremble I couldn't hide. My master would guide my head up with his finger at my chin, or perhaps palming my jaw. He sighed at the tears blurring my eyes. I'd speak his name, all the hurt and pleading I felt in my appeal. He kissed me. Forgave me.

And renewed his stubborn plot to return my voice to me as soon as he'd soothed me from my distress. He focused most of my waking hours on feeding and plowing me, though. Miriam had upgraded my simple fare of soup and bread to roasted meats and crisp vegetables, as much as Eli could shove down my gullet. My belly was stuffed hard as a rock so often I wondered if I would ever feel empty again. He bedded me so thoroughly I wondered the same of my ass. He bathed his seed from my nether cheeks and thighs every morning, but at night, when he sprayed inside me, I imagined his pearly essence painting my innards. His scent was all over me, no matter how gently he washed my body, for it warmed me from the inside out. I liked being his. Only his. And he liked playing with me. Once, when the afternoon's ride had seemed forever long, he'd dropped back from Miriam's wagon and the watchful eyes of her husband and un-cinched the sash of my robes. I'd gasped as he'd loosened the fabric and slipped his hand inside. "Quiet or you'll spook the horse," he murmured in my ear and stroked me slowly and steadily. When I spilled my seed for him, my master had licked it from his fingers. I lost count of how many days we rode the horse down the dusty road, the number of nights Eli took me to his tent to bed me to sated exhaustion. My life had narrowed only to the journey. I didn't question it. I didn't want to question it. I dared not hope for more. This was already far better than I had any right to expect or had ever had before. I had no notion of our destination until we stopped while the sun was high overhead one day. There were no soldiers, no fellow travelers to navigate around or supplies to be bartered for, so I raised alarmed eyes to my master. He winked and lifted me to the ground. Tossing the reins to Miriam's oldest son, he twined his fingers in mine. "Come, little one." Miriam's husband joined us—further cause for anxiety, since he kept a wary eye on me but also a careful distance. Bracketing me between them, they led me up a

sloping rise, halting at the crest. Lush farmlands rolled out before us, green and fertile with crops. I spied a house of stone and earthen brick with livestock clustered around it, no different than the other fields and homes I'd seen during our endless journey, though the rural setting was new, only these few days past. I blinked in confusion at Eli. "We crossed the border at mid-morning. You are standing on Alekian soil, my prince. You are home now. Safe." He smiled at me. "Free." He dropped to a formal bow. Miriam's husband fell to one knee as well, head dipping. "Welcome home, my lord." My breath caught in my throat. Staring at them, at Eli—my master—bowing before me? No. No, he could not— Terror sliced into my gut. I staggered, my vision graying— ***** I awoke in a bed. No pallet of blankets. A bed. A soft blanket draped me. A straw-stuffed mattress pillowed my back. I stiffened, heart hammering against my rib cage. "Shh," Eli crooned, leaning over me. I squealed in fright, but he laid a massive hand to my shoulder, holding me still. "Don't move yet, little one. You will faint again, and I cannot stand to watch your pretty eyes roll back into your head a second time today." I gasped, sucking air into my lungs and fighting to make sense of this. He glided his palm to cover my chest and chuckled. "Feel your heart beating," he murmured, his voice low with wonder. "Frantic." His eyebrow quirked. "Like a

rabbit's." He bent to brush a kiss over my lips. "I would your heart scramble so only for me." My muscles loosed under the familiarity of my master's touch, the intimate affection he'd taught me to crave. I melted under him, a warm and mindless puddle. I didn't wonder that I was naked or he. I was only grateful to be so when he slid his strong, hairy thigh between my legs. I separated them, accepting his hips into the cradle of my body. He kissed my neck, sucking my skin into his mouth, and pushed my knees high to open me. His oil-slick fingers teased my hole, sliding inside, stretching me, and I sighed, angling my ass up for his attention. I felt his mouth curve against my throat when he slipped his fingers from me, leaving my hole painfully empty, though not for long. His rod pushed against my opening. I wrapped my slender arms around him. "You are so beautiful," he whispered, easing inside me. The magnificent burn of my muscles stretching to accept him thrilled me. His possession settled something deep and troubled in my heart, in my head. With his shaft piercing me, I could not think. I didn't want to think, anyway. My thoughts confounded me. Frightened me. Yes, infinitely better to feel. He lifted his head to smile down at me, the dark glitter of in his gaze a balm to my soul. "Yes, little one. Give yourself to me. Allow me to care for you." And he did. The gentle glide of his manhood slipping in and out of my body stoked my hunger, his rod massaging that most secret spot inside my channel. I tugged him down, and he blanketed me. His cheek pressed to mine, the bulk of my master blocking the light, the strange room—the very sun, if I wanted, or so it seemed. I felt protected, safe in Eli's arms, harbored by the awesome fullness of his prick in my ass and the cadence of his soft breath in my ear. My release stole through me, a slow and tender thing. I shuddered, moaning as

my seed spattered both our stomachs, sticky and wet. He hummed husky satisfaction in the back of his throat, kissed my parted lips. My mind whirled at the erotic taste of him, the lazy sweep of his tongue claiming my mouth. "Lock your legs around me, little one. There is more pleasure to be teased from you yet." I obeyed him. He changed the angle of his thrusts. I tossed my head back, arching. I groaned. The steady drive of his prick in and out of my hole courted me, sizzling my senses. Was there no grander feeling than this? My master's belly rubbed my sticky shaft, stimulating me while his shaft rubbed incessantly at the tender spot inside that never failed to enflame me. I moved against him, pushing my ass into every achingly slow thrust. I wanted him to plow me faster, harder, deeper. Make it go away. Make everything go away. All I wanted was Eli. Nothing else mattered. The thickening of my shaft didn't surprise me. My master knew well what would wind me up, make me want. I writhed under him, whimpering his name in the needy way he liked, and he smiled, nipping at my chin. He plowed me. Over and over and over, his rod breached me, reaching into my body to set me to flying. He stared into my eyes, watching as my manhood spurted once more, and silently bid me watch as his erupted as well, stuffing my passage full. I stroked my hands up his sweaty back, groaning at his pleasure. I marveled at his strength and the power of the body intimately joined with mine. He hung his head, blew out a few short breaths, and levered his weight onto his elbows. He kissed me, as easy and tender as the bedding he'd just given me. "Better?" I flushed, my tingling and swollen lips curving to a tired smile. I nodded.

He nipped at my mouth, his tongue sweeping my bottom lip. "Ready for your bath?" Not really. Though my master washed me with strips of soft cloth every morning, I hadn't truly bathed since our escape from Herra on the river. My hair hung in oily clumps that made me uglier than ever, but my nose wrinkled, anyway. I had no wish for bathing if it scrubbed Eli's scent from my body. I wanted nothing more than to doze in his arms, ride out this glorious contentment as long as I could, but he edged his rod from me. He stroked and petted me, murmuring his husky praises before lifting me to his chest. He carried me from the room, outside, and I cringed at the bright light, burying my face in his neck. Cradling me, he sat and feathered his fingers through my ugly, dirty hair. "You will be easier with your own color again." I sighed. "Shut your eyes, my lord." I squeezed them tight. He poured water in a mild stream over the crown of my head. I shivered my delight at the luxurious warmth and the fingers that worked my wretched hair, rubbing my scalp. The muscles of Eli's shoulder coiled beautifully when, bucket emptied, he reached for another. He spoke in the foreign tongue I did not understand, and more fingers joined those scrubbing me. Mouth closed against water now tainted with dye that trickled from my head, I hummed with pleasure at the delicious ministrations. Again and again, the stream bathed my hair, until finally my master paused to knead in the soap. Keeping my eyes shut, I laughed and twitched at the tickling drip of bubbles on my neck and shoulders. Eli chuckled, too, pressing his lips to mine. I smothered my disappointment at the water's return, holding myself still while my master and his helper sluiced the suds free. "You will like this as well," he promised when he'd finished and lifted me again. My thin arms clung to his neck when he lowered me into warm water. "No, my prince. There isn't room for us both." He eased me into the basin, my well-used ass

settling on the smooth stone bottom. Water leveled at my first jutting rib. He pried my grasping fingers free. I opened my eyes to glare balefully. He grinned. "Once you are home, you can bathe with me as often as you wish, but for now, you will enjoy being clean." Miriam handed him soap and strips of cloth. My master scrubbed me, rubbing the sudsy rag over each part of me. He lifted my arms and stretched out my legs to discover my every nook and crevice. My body melted under his thorough care, muscles loosing. My skin pinked. I blushed furiously when he bid me stand and washed my nether regions with the same gentle, meticulous attention. More buckets were raised. Fresh water rinsed the soapy suds, carrying away the dirt and grime. Eli's hand steadied me, guiding my faltering footsteps from the tub. I stood, dripping and shaking with ludicrous exhaustion as he accepted folded cloths from Miriam. He used them to buff me dry, posing me like a doll to mop up every bit of moisture. He snapped out another blanket, draping it over my shoulders to cover my nakedness, and my head lolled, so drowsy was I. I edged forward to lean on his sturdy frame for support, but he danced away. "I am still filthy, little one. I would not waste this effort, pleasure though it was, by dirtying you again so quickly. Miriam will lead you to your room. I will rejoin you once I've bathed in the river." My eyes widened when the woman lifted an arm to guide me. Leaving me? He could not leave me! Chapter Six Fright speared through me, shattering my drained lethargy and quickening my blood. I watched in helpless horror as he turned his back to me to march toward trees

flanking the river's edge. I could not bear his leaving me, could not bear— I fisted the edge of my blanket at my throat and skirted the woman's loathsome touch, sucking air deep into my chest. "Eli," I shouted, my fear a terrible, grasping beast inside me. His spine stiffened. He pivoted. My knees quaked at the curious arch of his eyebrow. His black eyes studied me, stripping my soul bare, but I did not care. Pride was for other men, other creatures, not I. I would do anything—everything—as long as he did not abandon me. "Eli." My voice cracked, not with disuse this time but desperate entreaty. His broad shoulders lifted as he pushed out a patient breath. "You are safe, my lord." He waved a hand at Miriam, her husband and children. "They would sacrifice their lives rather than allow harm to come to you. You'll be all right, Micah." My terror consumed me. Even the crippling urge to yield to my master could not stand against it. I swallowed thickly, searching through my head. Sifting my memories, I pieced the word apart in my mind as he had taught me. I concentrated on each sound and struggled to recall how to make them. When I was sure I would not mangle it too badly, I gulped air past numb lips. And I tried. "Puh-la-ee-ss," I said, throat tight, hissing on the last part though I knew that wasn't right. He frowned. "Puh-la ee-ss." I twisted the blanket in my hands, stupid tears gathering in my eyes again. He'd turn his back on me, and rightfully so, if I never stopped blubbering. I tossed my head back and moved a halting step forward. "Eli. Puh-la ease." Miriam gasped. Understanding lit my Master's dark eyes. He flinched. He swore under his breath, ripe curses that blistered my ears. He stalked toward me. I would've cowered if I'd had the strength left, but I held my breath instead, trembling in apprehension.

Though his body vibrated with tension, he enfolded me in his arms. His large hand cradled my skull to his chest. I sagged in relief, pressing into his embrace. "Eli, Eli, Eli," I chanted, releasing my blanket to cling to him. He hugged me close, his hold anchoring my blanket to me. "Never beg of me. Never. Do not abase yourself—to me or any man." He squeezed so tightly I could not breathe, but my heart skipped with happy joy because he'd come back. He'd returned to me. I'd done it. For all his scowling, and in spite of my bungling, I'd added another word to what I could speak. My master's reprimand did not alarm me, for I knew this word worked every bit as well as—maybe better than—speaking his name for delivering what I needed. Eli hadn't left me. He cupped my cheek, angling my head back, and stared into my thrilled eyes. "You are so uneasy without me then?" I nodded, my smile belying my insistent tug on his clothing. He kissed the tip of my nose and lifted me in his arms. He strode across the farmlands and settled me on the grass of the riverbank to watch while he bathed, Miriam clucking in disapproval at my side. I ignored the towel she scrubbed at my damp hair and her chatter. I even ignored the grass, though my abduction from the kitchens had not been so long past that the scent didn't still enthrall me. My attention focused solely on Eli. He truly was a splendidly built man. Not as tall as Miriam's husband, but anyone who towered so high as that frightened me. Not Eli, though. The sun glistened on water sluicing over his tan skin, stretched taut over firm muscle. His shoulders spanned twice mine, the flat plane of his stomach a constant delight to my fingers. His prick hung heavy and half-hard from the nest of black curls at the peak of his long legs. His eyes laughed at me when, cheeks flaming, I looked my fill.

I loved him. I'd served my masters before because it was my lot, my place. But I wanted to please Eli. My Eli. My heart was so full of him I wondered that I didn't burst. He stepped from the river and patted his body dry on cloths Miriam handed to him, talking to her in that strange, musical language. The tongue of my homeland, so Eli had said. He'd promised I would remember when I was ready. I didn't think so, but I liked the husky rumble of his voice when he spoke it. Since he reverted to Herran only for me, this was a regular treat for my ears. Naked, he scooped me from the ground and against his chest. Miriam scrambled behind us as my master carried me back to the simple homestead. I laid my head to his shoulder, closing my eyes as they talked, not wishing for a moment that I understood what they said. Didn't matter. If I needed to know, Eli would've insisted Miriam switch to Herran. When we reached the house, Miriam followed us inside. Eli plunked me onto our bed, and accepting the bundle of clothing she thrust at him, he dressed me. While their conversation rolled over me, Eli pulled a silky under-tunic of palest ivory over my head. He threaded my arms into the sleeves of purple robes finer than my old masters' and buckled a heavy gold belt around my waist. Laughing at his sister, he strapped each of my feet into fine leather sandals. When he finished, he climbed behind me on the bed. Miriam handed him a brush, and oh, I breathed a blissful sigh at the gentle tug on my scalp as he worked the knots in my hair free. Wonderful. I'd always ever worn it in a fat braid unless one of my masters loosed my plait to play in it, so the slack drape of it on the tips of my shoulders felt decadent. Good. Miriam gave my master delicate chains with ingot beads that he tied into my hair, the slight weight odd, the metal cool when it brushed the shell of my ear. I smiled, though, because Eli hummed in satisfaction.

More jewelry followed. He fastened a series of necklaces around my throat, each longer and heavier than the last. I feared my neck must snap under the weight of them, but he dipped low, brushed the hammered gold aside to skate a kiss over my nape. Oh my. My breath caught. I could bear any awkwardness, any discomfort for that. He slid bracelets over my hands to my wrists, locked more of them to both ankles. Last, he slid a ring with a single clear stone in the shape of a teardrop that sparkled like a thousand stars on the longest finger of my right hand. Eli shifted around me, leaned forward, and buried his nose in the fabric puddling at my groin. His hot breath permeated the fine material, warmed my rod. He said only one word and in that other language, the one I would not remember. But I knew that word. Beautiful. My master thought me beautiful. I curled into him, threading my fingers in his still-damp hair. "Eli," I said, hoping he'd understand, that he'd know. For him. I wanted to be beautiful for him. He kissed my shaft through the bunched fabric. I giggled. Miriam frowned. She swatted my master's bared backside, earning a scowl from me. Chuckling, Eli left my perch on our bed to see to his own clothes. Another robe, navy blue and not nearly as elegant as mine with its gold threads scattered through it. The belt he cinched at his waist was a length of the same fabric, not gold as mine was, his sandals simple and sturdy. No jewelry or adornments . . . . I glowered. Unacceptable. My Eli deserved much greater finery than this, yet none lay to his side, as mine had, ready to decorate my master.

My fingers lifted to my nape while he talked to Miriam, but unfamiliar with the fastenings, I fumbled. Fortunately, the weightiest of them slipped over my head. I crawled forward on my knees on the mattress. Miriam barked a warning. Eli stiffened. I pushed the necklace to his chest. "It is yours." He clasped my hand tightly. "All of it is yours, a gift from your family." His lips bowed. "Let them spoil you, little one. We grieved for you too long." Grieved? For me? I couldn't fathom it, any of it, but I bowed my head so my master could return the necklace to my throat. "Come. Your brother is eager to see you." Holding my hand, he helped me from the bed, and I followed his lead on wooden legs as he guided me from our room. Around the corner of the house, outside, low tables and pillows in the back yard had been arranged under a tented pavilion with platters of food piled high. Men gathered underneath. All save one jumped to their feet at our approach. I shrank back in sudden terror, pulling at Eli's hand. Men. Too many men. Too many people. Where had they come from? A distressed cry worked from my throat. My master squeezed my fingers. "No one will hurt you." Maybe. Maybe not. I didn't want to be anywhere near them, but Eli hauled me close, tucked me to his side. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek to his chest, though I did not resist when he led me onward. I refused to look at any of the gathered people, ignoring them made easy by the foreign tongue they spoke. My

master said my name to each of them and gave me a gentle nudge, introducing me, I suppose. I closed my eyes and pretended I was back in our tent. A few of them snickered. One touched my hair, a slight glancing brush. I jumped, nearly leaping out of my skin. I whimpered and bunched Eli's robes in my fists. He could not expect this of me. They mustn't be permitted to handle me. I could not bear— The man who had not risen at my approach growled sharp words to the assembled group. None of them touched me again. I didn't stop trembling, though. I couldn't. Eventually, Eli untangled my arms from his stomach to bid me sit on a cushion next to the harsh man who had reprimanded the others. Eli settled next to me on the ground, which I didn't like. I scooted over to him, leaning so near I may as well have crawled into his lap. The man laughed. "He's very attached to you, Eli." My heart pounded at the switch to Herran. "He is nervous of your soldiers, my lord." My master kissed the crown of my head. "And very shy." "Like his mother then," he said, his low voice rich with approval. "Isanna was never comfortable at court, though she was surely the greatest treasure in it. Will he speak to me?" Eli's long fingers stroked my spine. "He still refuses. Only my name, so far. But he manages to communicate very well if my lord would care to try." "Do you know me, Micah?" I thought about ignoring him, too, but my master's soothing fingers urged me. So I shook my head against Eli's chest. "I am Barak, the second of three sons from our father's primary wife, Maleia. I

carried you with me, always on my shoulders, until our households were separated after Xerxes invaded." He blew out a slow breath. "You were so young when you were taken." I didn't want to think of that, so I shut my eyes, tucked my head to Eli's neck and breathed in his soapy scent. "He enjoys your gifts." I felt my master tug the chains in my hair. "The robes as well. He usually fidgets in clothes within minutes of dressing him, but so far, he's been comfortable in the robes you gave him." When I dared a glance, Barak's lips curved. "You like how the silk feels on your skin?" Eli beamed an indulgent smile. "He likes feeling pretty." I grinned in return. He knew me so well. My brother reached for me and cupped my cheek in his palm. I was so stunned, I didn't cower. "You are pretty, Micah. The prettiest sight these eyes have seen." His gaze shifted to my master. "Whatever he wants. Whatever makes him happy." "He'll have it." My chest swelled in fierce gratitude, not just for my master, but for the stranger who was my brother as well. I didn't have the words, and even if I did, I wouldn't have been able to speak them, so I leaned into his hand. Made myself meet his stare. "Your heart is in your eyes," Barak said, voice rough. "You are right, Eli. He communicates very well." He winked at me. "But he must be hungry. Let's eat." The others collected around the tables, Barak to one side of me and Miriam's husband at the other. Eli maneuvered me between his legs and his arms loped around me so my anxiety didn't skewer me much. Since I didn't know how to use the knife or a fork, Eli fed me. Succulent meats, vegetables and sweets as I had only ever imagined tasting when I spied them in my kitchen prison: cakes, pies, pastries and sugared candies. I moaned my appreciation

around a choice mouthful. Barak snorted and spoke to Eli. "He won't get sick, my lord." My master's hand smoothed over my belly. "No, he can stand more," he continued in Herran before offering me a morsel of beef. "He grows stronger and lovelier by the moment, does he not?" I obediently opened my mouth for the meat, though my stomach felt stuffed full. "Aye." My brother snickered something in that strange tongue that set my master to laughing as well. "Micah is a rare beauty. You have him well in hand." When I couldn't consume another bite no matter how Eli tempted me, I lay back in the cradle of his legs, my head lax to his shoulder. He tested my stomach to ensure it was as solid as stone. After I passed his inspection, he kissed my temple. I smiled. Eli ate, finishing the mounds of beef and lamb on my plate. He talked to the other men—my brother, Miriam's husband, the soldiers. I watched them beneath my eyelashes. The men leaned toward Barak to attend him when he spoke. Even my Eli stopped talking and listened when Barak opened his mouth. They laughed when he did, their voices low and deferential when they addressed him and their gazes sought his approval often. Seated at the head of the makeshift table, I could hardly mistake him as anyone other than a nobleman and a ranking member of the aristocracy. My brother was a respected and beloved lord. Of course, I knew. I'd known all along. Slavery had made me obedient, not stupid. Eli had called me his little prince from the beginning. The jewelry adorning me, my cushion at Barak's side . . . . I was to be treated as a noble, as well. When all I'd ever done was slave and whore. I studied my brother, noting the graceful turn of his hands as he talked, the mantle of authority that clung to him as comfortably as his own skin when he met the eyes of the other men. I didn't understand what he said, but the husky rhythm of his

voice when he spoke in that strange tongue infused me with a certainty I was far from feeling on my own. I believed in him. And I could not believe in myself. Who was I? A kitchen slave and a slut. A pretty slut, with my odd, yellow hair restored to me and the gold jewelry and silk that had been given me, but I was no less a slut. Eli whispered translations in my ear, but I had no notion of the cities and trade routes the soldiers discussed or how they'd be impacted by the coming war. I knew nothing of the world outside Xerxes' kitchens. I couldn't read. I couldn't even talk. In spite of Eli's arms around me, I shivered. I had never felt so inferior and small. How could my master ever love an ignorant whore like me? I shifted, curling my body into Eli's for comfort. His hand settled warm and firm on my hip. "A little longer," he murmured. "He's to present you with another gift from your father." I cuddled in his lap, my nose in his neck. I didn't care for presents. I only wanted to be alone with him, far from the curious stares and the expectations I could never hope to fulfill. He fingered my hair. I breathed his name. "He tires quickly." "He isn't tired." My master's arms held me close. "He's overwhelmed." Barak nodded. "The king has granted Micah a house in the country far from the politics of court, away from the war. He'll have privacy to heal." He stared at Eli. "You'll care for him, make him happy. Keep him safe." My master's head dipped. "Yes, my lord." I clung to Eli. My rock. My protector.

I could not lose him. "The King allowed us three days to escort Micah to his new home before Alekia moves against Herra to win our independence and avenge my brother. Take him to bed, Eli." My brother's hand patted my shoulder. "We leave at dawn." Chapter Seven Eli stripped my silk robe away and made love to me with only my jewelry to adorn me. The necklaces around my throat slithered like threads of ice against my chest, my wrists and ankles cuffed in gold. "You are too beautiful." His hand fisted in my hair, the glitter of the chains he'd tied into it flashing near my ear. "Beautiful and fine." I arched into him, mindlessly begging for the pleasure I knew he could give. "Eli." His lips crushed mine. My pulse pounded in my head. His tongue swept inside my mouth, tasting me. Exploring me. Oh God. His heat, the musky scent of his skin, the husky murmur of his voice—I craved my master more than my next breath. There was nothing I wouldn't give him. My fingers clawed into the meat of his biceps. His knees bracketed my hips, his weight pushing me down into our bed, and I groaned into his mouth, kissing him with the hunger he'd stirred in me simply by breathing. "I'm yours," he panted against my gasping lips. He brought his hand to my mouth, and I sucked his fingers inside, slicking them with my tongue. "I want no other. Only you." I didn't know there could be such urgency. My body screamed for him. My prick rubbed his, hard and insistent, every time I moved, whenever I thrust in wanton invitation against him, but it wasn't enough. I needed him.

He pulled his fingers from my mouth with a loud pop and slid one into my tight channel, stretching me. His eyes snapped shut. I smiled at the grooves his lust etched into his face, the proof that he wanted as dearly as I did. That's what I'd needed: his desire. With my brother's arrival, the appearance of his foot soldiers—so many men for my master to choose from—I'd craved this, yearned for his longing. For me. Just for me. Feral delight lit my heart with his every groan and shiver. Eli pumped his fingers into me, a slow cadence that set my hips to rocking, greedy for his caress. I reared up to sample the skin of his neck, tasting salt and the awesome flavor of my master. He palmed my scalp, urging me on. I moaned when he pushed another finger into my passage. Eli trembled. "Yes, my prince. Take me." I trailed kisses from his neck to his chest. Urged by his fingers piercing my body and his wild groans, I sucked his flesh into my mouth until his blood welled just below the surface. Violent satisfaction flooded me at the bruising mark I left on him. He slid a third finger into my hole. I shuddered and flicked my tongue over his nipple, already hardened to a nub. My mind whirled at the hoarse growl my attention wrung from him. He desired me. I vowed I'd make him desire me to the point of madness and beyond—exactly as I desired him. I fastened my mouth over his sensitive nipple, lips and tongue loving him as Eli's fingers slid in and out of me. My stomach clenched. I knew he wanted me to spray hot and thick on my belly. He loved to slide into my ass after he'd exhausted me, my body soft and yielding to him. So when my pleasure coiled in my balls, teased at the base of my shaft, I didn't hold back. I gave it to him, gave him everything. I whimpered and let the blinding heat take me. My prick spurted, hot gooey wet slicking my groin. "Kiss me, little one." Of course, I obeyed. Why would I not when every command he gave me reaped more pleasure, greater bliss? Head spinning, I lifted my lips from his chest and his

mouth slanted over mine, tongue stabbing past my parted lips to plunder. Eating at my mouth, he withdrew his fingers. Eli shoved my knees high and shifted into place. He thrust into my ass. My back bowed to take his prick in faster, deeper. I swallowed my master's husky moan as he glided into the welcoming clutch of my body. Impaled, I worked my hips to ride his rod from beneath him, squeezing and releasing my channel to provoke him to the rutting frenzy I wanted. He jerked his mouth away to stare at me, eyes black with passion. "I am for you, my lord. You alone. I swear it." Eyes narrowing, chest heaving, I reached for his sack to fondle his balls in my hand. My master gritted his teeth. Sweat beaded the column of his throat. "None of them dare touch me. They know who I belong to and from whom I was given." Eli eased out, and when he pushed back into me, he pegged the sweet spot inside that made my entire body tingle. "Let me love you, Micah. I just want to love you. Please." Oh no. That would never do. My Eli must never beg. Emotions roiling, I swallowed hard and tried to slow the panicked beat of my heart. I released his balls. I lay back in our bed, hoping my turmoil did not glimmer in my eyes. I settled my wrists at either side of my head, leaving my body vulnerable to him. My master's property. His play land. Breath catching in his chest, Eli bent over me. His mouth found mine. He plowed me. My prick lengthened and grew hard, so skilled was my master. He made my body sing. He filled so many empty places inside me. His shaft, his scent, the needy glitter in his stare when he spiked into me, over and over and over again. His jaw clenched with his effort to hold his pleasure back. His determination to sate me, wholly and completely, touched me as even the pounding of his prick could not. I whimpered when my seed spilled from me.

His voice joined mine. His rod jerked in my ass. Scalding heat sprayed my guts, dribbled from my well-stuffed hole to wet my crease. Heart thundering, weak and wasted by the responses he wrought in me, I sighed. Eli gathered me in his arms and rolled, tucking my smaller body to his. I nestled against him, tired, afraid. Tired of being afraid. I hadn't allowed myself to consider my anxiety until we'd reached this foreign homeland. Now that he'd fulfilled his mission and could justifiably turn me over to my brother, I could not deny my terror, though. He must not leave me. Not to bathe in the river. Not for anything. Ever. I'd waited until my master had said his goodnights and mine to Barak. Then I'd pounced on him as soon as he shut the door of our borrowed bedchamber. If I loved him well enough, my master would not reject me. It was the only hope I had. Practiced whore that I was, I knew bedding me wouldn't hold him to me, mine and mine alone, but I could give him more than a warm body if I tried. I could give him my heart. I wrapped myself around his sweat-dampened body. "Eli," I whispered, hiding my face in the crook of his shoulder. "Puh-lease." "Shh, pretty Micah," he murmured into the crown of my head. "I'm right here." I fought for the sounds in my head, shying from the memory of my mother's stern warning to silence. This was important. He was important, the most important person in my world. My brother did not matter, nor my father or all his kingdom. Only this. Only Eli. I must not lose him. In Herra, my silence was an impenetrable wall even my masters could not breach, a haven that preserved a small slice of myself from the pain and despair of my

servitude, but whether I recognized it or not, I had come home. My fear would not cripple me or rob me of my master. I beat back my terror at another forbidden word, forced myself to speak. "M-my Eli," I finally rasped into the skin of his throat. He tipped my chin up with an insistent finger and skimmed kisses over my cheeks, my nose, my eyes. Soft kisses. Adoring kisses that set my heart to skipping a giddy beat. "Of course, I am yours. Your Eli." His husky chuckle vibrated up my spine so delectably my toes curled. "If you'd open your eyes to what you stubbornly refuse to see . . . . I belong to you, Micah. For the past year. A birthday gift from your father." My forehead furrowed. Gift? How could my master be a gift? I— Oh my God. I gasped. I stiffened in his arms. "I am a slave." His stare, wary yet hopeful, focused on me. "I am your slave." My jaw dropped. Eli? A . . . slave? I shook my head violently. No! Eli was strong, too wonderful for— "Micah." The fingers at my chin squeezed, forcing my horrified gaze to his. His arms loped around me, halting me when I would've scrambled away. His lips, swollen and bruised from my kisses, thinned to a frown. "Xerxes taught you only pain and degradation as his slave, but have I not eagerly served you? Protected you? Have I fed, bathed and bedded you with the slightest reluctance? I ache to please you. I waited years for you, for this. I longed for you, little one. Longed for my master." A keening wail built in my throat.

Master. My master. Eli was my master. Mine! He must rule over me. He must. In my damaged boy's body, I could never rule him. Me? His master? Impossible. I could not hurt my Eli, could never force him. I could not— "Listen to me." He shook me, his fingers digging into my arms. My teeth snapped together, sharp incisors catching the tip of my tongue. I tasted the copper of my blood. I blinked stunned eyes at him. "As a freeman, I could do nothing to free you. Xerxes swore an oath to kill you if Alekia moved to secure your release. You were the youngest of his sons, but your father's favorite. He wouldn't endanger you; he forbid Alekia to fight. But when I became your slave, my citizenship was forfeit. I am no longer an Alekite. I am simply yours, and as your property, I'm entitled under our law and theirs to protect my owner. To defend and die for him, if need be." I choked at the sob trapped in my throat, clutching him to me. The risks he'd taken, all he'd sacrificed—because of me—speared my heart. "I fought for you when Alekia and her king didn't dare. If I failed, only I would die, and who cares for the life of a slave?" I did. I cared. I nestled into his neck, wetting his skin with my tears. "Eli, my Eli." "I begged your father to enslave me as soon as you came of age, when you could legally own me, but your father refused until the plague almost ended you. He relented for fear you might die in Herra. Hurting. Alone." He threaded his fingers in my hair, playing with an ingot on one of the gold chains he'd fastened into it. "I gave up my freedom to win yours, my lord, and have never counted it a loss. I'm yours until I die. I cannot regret it." Eli truly was a slave then. My slave.

Terror iced my veins, but with it, a wicked satisfaction I hated. Because now I knew he could not leave me. If he did, I'd be within my rights as his owner to drag him back, chain him to me if necessary. My stomach rolled and pitched at the evil thought, my lashes lowering in self-disgust. Who better than I knew the weight of iron chains and the brutal cut of manacles into soft flesh? I would not become the men who'd abused and abased me. I would be the man, the master, my Eli deserved. I pursed my lips, practicing the sounds in my head. Such a simple word. One I wasn't sure I could yet speak. A word that signified everything between us. "F-f—" I paused. Frowned. "You. Eli. F-f—" "I can't ever be free, my lord. I arranged your ownership too neatly. Reject a gift from the king? Even your father couldn't ignore that insult, especially after I've served you so well in returning you to your homeland." He pulled on an ingot, the chain tugging my scalp. He grinned. "You're stuck with me." I glowered at him. "I don't want to be free of you, Micah." His mouth lowered. "I love you." When my eyes widened, he laughed and brushed his lips over mine. I jerked my head back when Eli would've deepened his kiss, my narrow stare demanding explanation. "You don't believe me." He licked at my mouth. He knew so well what seduced me, but I would have none of his pretty hands on my skin, nor the skill of his lips. "Eli." He chuckled at my sharp tone. "You fell in love with me during our journey home. Why can I not love you in return?" Because I'd been a slave and a whore. Because I was ignorant, damaged and small. Because . . . . My brow furrowed. He knew that I loved him? "All the years I pestered the court for news of you, the spies we sent, none of the

reports prepared me for how sweetly you'd give yourself to me or the generosity of your heart. I love you, my master, my prince. You are my everything," he murmured, swooping to take my mouth whether I wanted his kiss or nay. I wanted. With a soft moan, I gave into him, opening to the urgent thrust of his tongue and the play of his lips. Who was the master, Eli or I? I couldn't say, for his devotion had bound me as securely to him as the price my father had paid to make him mine. My head spun dizzily. His palm on my scalp angled my jaw to open my mouth wider and allowed Eli to feast. My ignorance didn't matter, nor the men I'd whored for in Herra, nor the dainty build of my body. He wanted me. Loved me. The slave I'd been and the man I'd become were just parts of the whole that enthralled him. For him, I was more than a slut. To me, he was more than a slave. Together, we were simply more—and everything the other needed. It was enough. Eli dipped lower to suckle my neck, and my fingers clawed the firm muscle of his shoulders. "L-love," I whispered, determined to grant him this. I climbed atop him, knees bracing his lean hips. His prick lined up to my passage to take me again. I stared into his dark eyes, heated with his need for me, and I slowly slid down, taking him deep into my body. "Love my Eli." "Yes, Micah." His hands found mine, our fingers tangling. "Love me." Yes. ~The End~ About the Author

Kari Gregg lives in the mountains of Wild and Wonderful West Virginia with her Wonderful husband and three very Wild children. Once Kari discovered the fabulous play land of erotic romances at RWA's National Conference in 2009, the die was cast. Finally! A market for the smoking hot stories she loves! When Kari's not writing, she enjoys reading, coffee, zombie flicks, coffee, naked mudwrestling (not really), and . . . coffee! If you'd like to keep up with Kari, caffeinate yourself then head on over to her website at: http://www.KariGregg.com ***** If you enjoyed Spoils of War, you might also like the following book from Kari Gregg and Noble Romance Publishing: Lovely Wicked