Lyrion's Gift [Elven Conceptions 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) (3 page)

On and on he trudged, until his muscles ached and his pulse pounded. Yet the farther he walked, the easier his mind felt and the drier his eyes became. By the time he passed the ancient z
ufo
tree, its gnarly branches and stooped trunk seeming to gesture in warning, his cock began to throb with anticipation. Just beyond the tree lay that part of the forest unprotected by the Ancient Enchantment. No one from his village ever went there—in fact, all of them, down to the oldest citizen, had been repeatedly warned since childhood against crossing that particular barrier.

Lyrion had long ago lost any fears that the old legends were even remotely true, or that anything bad would happen. The way he saw it, the ancient taboo simply meant no one was likely to disturb him. Such a prospect suited him just fine.

A bit more walking and he reached the spot he had grown to love best after trying out several others. Another
zufo
tree, this one younger and far less ominous than the first, opened its knobby but welcoming arms toward him. As he had done many times before, Lyrion left his clothes and boots at the base of the tree, tucking the bundle between some exposed roots. Then he began an exhilarating—and utterly naked—climb.

As he hoisted himself from branch to branch, moving steadily higher, Lyrion felt his worries melt from his body like the sweat from his bare back. The warm summer air caressed his skin, and the bright light shining down through the tangled limbs offered the pleasant illusion that he was climbing toward the sun. With every branch he scaled, and every verdant leaf he brushed past, his cock became harder. The occasional, wispy touches of stray twigs and coarse bark against his jutting erection got his bollocks throbbing, too.

Luckily, he knew relief was only a few expert handstrokes away once he reached the special nesting spot he had discovered during an earlier expedition. Soon he could see it, the smooth crevice tucked between the upper branches into which his outstretched body fit perfectly. A few last maneuvers and he had settled into it, his legs spread and his fingers ready to please his neglected but insistent cock.

Despite the difficult situation at home—or maybe even because of it—he felt freer today than he had during his previous visits. This time, he went about pleasing himself much more slowly, and in a more systematic way. A long sigh escaped his open lips as Lyrion began to rub, tug, and massage the straining flesh between his thighs. He also tried something he had never done before—closing his eyes, he allowed himself to envision a lover up in the tree with him.

Though he couldn’t make out a face and had only the vaguest idea what sort of position they might assume together, he was able to conjure the image of another man’s body entwined with his. Each stroke of his hand became the slide of a warm, wet mouth around his cockhead. Each push of his thumb against the plump, throbbing vein on the underside of his shaft became the pressure of the stranger’s teeth and tongue. He even imagined soft murmurs vibrating against his cock as his mystery lover voiced his satisfaction.

To his surprise, the simple addition to his normal routine proved both life changing and soul charging. Never had Lyrion enjoyed so many ripples of excitement blazing through his body like dozens of tiny fires igniting in his veins. When his bollocks finally convulsed, they thrust such a copious spurt of seed upward that it overflowed Lyrion’s fist and spattered his chest.

For many heartbeats afterward, he lay back against the tree, nearly motionless except for his deep, shuddering breaths. For a short time, his life seemed perfect, with the threat of Alderman Igby and the prospect of a dull apprenticeship very far away and easily forgotten. Then, at last, he was forced to open his eyes again.

More reluctantly than usual, Lyrion pulled himself into a crouch and prepared to shimmy back down the tree. At least his cock was now back to its normal size, which would make the process a bit easier. He was about to swing over the first branch and begin his descent when he froze in place.

Once again, he heard the odd whisper of a voice—the same sound he had incorporated into his fantasy. This time, though, he knew it didn’t come from inside his head. It was drifting up to him from the ground. And now he heard more than one voice.

The sweat coating his bare body turned icy as he retreated and concealed himself among the branches again. His frantic eyes scanned the base of the tree. So someone had finally come looking for him. Considering his current state, he only hoped it wasn’t Da and Fa—or much worse, Alderman Igby.

Finally, he spotted movement. With a mixture of horror and relief, he saw that it wasn’t his parents, the Alderman, or anyone else he knew. It was a pair of armored soldiers. One of them was poking at his bundle of clothes with the point of a sword. Another was looking up at the tree—toward his hiding place. Moments later, the inevitable happened. Lyrion’s heart turned to stone and lodged in the center of his throat when a gloved hand lifted and pointed directly at him. The other soldier dropped the clothes and looked up as well.

“We mustn’t cut the tree down,” the second man told the one with the sword. Lyrion could understand the words, though their accent sounded most peculiar. Clearly they had come from far away. “Remember what Lord Rogin said about the spirits inside them. They will take revenge on us.”

“All right, then. We’ll have to try something else.” His companion threw his sword to the ground and began removing his armor as well. Desperately Lyrion sought some path of escape. Perhaps he could manage to leap from this tree to another, then another, and so on until he could finally drop to the ground and run away unseen. He knew not how far he could get without either shoes or clothing, but what alternative did he have?

Shaking with terror, Lyrion eased his way along the nearest limb thick enough to support his weight. He forced himself not to look down at the warrior climbing up after him and extended his right hand toward the next closest tree. Too late, he realized that the distance was far greater than he had estimated, and the intervening branches too weak to swing himself on. Meanwhile, every droplet of sweat oozing from his fingers made it more difficult to hold on to the one he currently straddled.

“Hidden One! Come down on your own,” the warrior who was still on the ground called up to him. “Do not risk injuring yourself! We promise not to harm you!”

“Mulciber is right. Give yourself up and we will treat you gently! You cannot escape,” another voice assured him, the words punctuated with grunts of physical exertion. “Do you understand my speech? What language do you speak here, Hidden One?”

Lyrion turned to see the soldier who had shed his armor, climbing toward him in his bare hands and shirtsleeves. One of those hands reached for his ankle, which Lyrion flexed in a kick. The movement threw him off balance, and he felt his fingers slipping on a wad of leaves. Grumbling what could only have been a curse in his native dialect, the soldier braced himself and grabbed for him again. Lyrion gasped and tried to shimmy forward.

Suddenly, the fear in his stomach gave way to an entirely different sensation. He sailed through the air, his path broken only by a few stray branches that snapped against his naked skin. For the briefest moment, Lyrion believed a miracle had occurred, and he had actually taken flight. His captors dropped far behind him, shouting.

Then the ground loomed up in front of him, and he landed in a painful heap.

The next thing Lyrion heard was the gruff voice of someone kneeling over him. He feigned unconsciousness, desperate to figure out who these brutes were and what they wanted with him.

“Don’t tell me the fool’s gone and killed himself,” the voice said. “It could take us another twelve moons to get a new one—assuming there even are any more.”

“Of course there are more,” another man answered. Lyrion assumed these were the same two men he had seen at the base of the tree. “He’s young, and look how clean his hair and fingernails are. He’s lived indoors for most of his life, with someone taking care of him.”

“Then you’d better hope he has some toothsome brothers,” the first man retorted. “Prince Talek will have our heads if he finds out we accidentally let this one die.”

“He won’t die. The branches broke his fall. He’s merely stunned—or pretending. Here, give me some water.”

Lyrion sputtered and writhed as a quantity of cool liquid cascaded over his face. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself looking up at the two warriors. Up close, they seemed even stranger, with their weathered skin, beard-stubbled faces, and scruffy, sweat-stained clothing. Both of them were encased in their armor again, giving them an extra air of menace. Lyrion struggled to maintain his ruse and not panic.

“There, you see, Arowan? I told you he was fine. We’ll have our reward from the prince after all.”

Arowan—an unusual name he had never heard before. In the tree, his pursuer had referred to the other as Mulciber. Surely these two were from some faraway land.

Then, to his horror, the pair rolled him onto his stomach and began to fasten his wrists behind him with a length of rope that bit into his tender skin. Tears started to his eyes as the pain flashed up his arms, but he forgot about that a moment later as one of the men pulled his thighs open. His entire body blushed as an intrusive hand moved between his legs and squeezed his cock and bollocks as if testing fruit for ripeness.

“Looks as though he’s got all the necessary parts. I can’t imagine how—well, you know.”

Next, Lyrion felt the cheeks of his arse being spread apart. His blush deepened when a rough, gloved finger poked at the tender bud inside.

“’Twill be a snug fit for the prince,” the man said and then barked out a crude laugh. “I suppose he’ll manage, though.”

“Should make a nice change, after Kevris,” the other suggested. Still chortling, the two of them rolled Lyrion back over and examined the front of his body this time. The one he assumed was Mulciber pointed at the circular birthmark in the middle of his abdomen. “There. You see that? It’s the Mark of the Bearer. It was mentioned in the scrolls. We have found the right man, without question. The prince will be most pleased with us, I daresay.”

“On your feet, Bearer.” Arowan pulled Lyrion into a standing position and glanced at Mulciber. “Do you think he understands us? Maybe they are mute.”

“The prince might prefer it if he is,” Mulciber said. “But no—I think he’s pretending. After all, we could make out the language of the scrolls after a fashion. The scribe thinks our people were joined at one time, until our ancestors left the forest to found our own civilization. I suspect our tongues remain similar, though perhaps not identical.”

With a skeptical grunt, Arowan reached up and seized a handful of Lyrion’s long gold hair. “Tell us, Bearer. Do you hear and speak? If you are indeed pretending, bear in mind I have no time for games. I have ways of ending them that you may not like.”

His fingers tightened on Lyrion’s hair, making him gasp. To his surprise, he felt his exposed cock stir between his legs. The two soldiers noticed, too, and glanced at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Well?” Arowan prompted. A bit more pressure, and Lyrion’s cock rose higher.

“My–my name is Lyrion,” he blurted. The blush now extended all the way from his face to the midpoint of his thighs. As humiliating as his current predicament seemed, he could not deny that having two men stare at him with curiosity, and perhaps something more, stirred his emotions in a way he had never experienced before. Obviously, it affected his body as well.

Mulciber nodded, pleased. “You see? His accent is peculiar, to be sure, but we can get used to it.”

“All right, enough of this. Let’s get moving before some of these friends you say he has come looking for him.”

Arowan released his hair and prodded him to start walking. As he stumbled forward, the rough ground scuffing his bare feet, Lyrion suppressed a sob. Though he would never admit it to these men, he knew no one would search. The villagers would never dare to cross the enchanted barrier. Their fear of the unknown would outweigh their concern for him.

Lyrion wasn’t sure how long they walked, though his two escorts seemed to know where they were going. Now and then, he noticed bits of cloth tied to the trunks of trees, all of which Mulciber stopped to collect. So the strangers had taken the time to mark their route, another sign that they traveled unfamiliar territory. Wherever they had come from, he was going back with them. Most likely, he would never see Da and Fa, or Gregar and Sehru, again.

“Where are you taking me?” he demanded at last, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer. “And why?”

“Even if we told you the name of our land, it would mean nothing to you,” Mulciber said. His tone was kinder this time, almost pitying. “Our people split off from the Hidden Ones so long ago, I doubt any of you even remember us. We had forgotten about you until one of our miners uncovered one of your ancient scrolls in a cave. We could hardly believe the things in it—but at least some of the stories were true, it would seem.”

Lyrion decided his best bet was to build upon the guilt Mulciber was obviously experiencing. “But what right have you to separate me from my home and my family?”

“That is unfortunate, I suppose, but it cannot be helped. Would you have come with us willingly, had we simply approached and asked? I think not. But don’t worry—once we reach our destination, you will no doubt find it worth the hardship to become the consort of a great and wealthy prince.”

“Your life will be a lot easier than ours, I’ll wager,” Arowan said with a touch of bitterness. “Deep feather beds, warm baths, freshly cooked dinners served on silver plates—I hope you’ll spare a thought for Mulciber and me, heating stale bread over a campfire while we keep watch for brigands.”

Lyrion scowled. He had no idea what Arowan was talking about, nor what a brigand was, but in any event he couldn’t conjure a pinch of sympathy for a man who was dragging him through the forest, naked and bound.