Shadows and Light (2 page)

He needed a distraction, something or someone to take his mind off tonight’s events. Perhaps a gambling house. Fine liquor, luxurious surroundings and the chance to fill his pockets. Or maybe a brothel. It had been some time since he’d visited that district and nothing diverted Rafael from his own dark thoughts better than the warmth of a willing companion. He’d have to wait for his hands to heal before doing either, however. Blood and blackened skin were hardly conducive to romance or holding cards. Conscious of interested eyes watching him from the buildings, Rafael walked quickly down a darker alley, windowless and deep. Most people avoided the truly dark places in the Bright City but Rafael reveled in them. No one who valued their life would follow him into the dark.

He found a low stone stoop and sat down, letting his hands dangle between his knees. The left one still dripped slightly, a mixture of his blood and the High One’s forming a small, gleaming puddle on the ground, but the flow was already almost staunched. Flakes of crusty skin drifted down from his right hand as new tissue replaced it. The restorative powers of the magic that the High Ones consumed truly was amazing.

He was lucky to be alive. Rafael sighed and leaned his head back against the cool, damp wall. The High One had been trained by a master assassin, and not just any master. By his own master. The best there was, and that much wasn’t wishful thinking, it was an acknowledged fact throughout the whole of Clare. It was the reason Rafael had the skills he had, and not a little of the respect either. His master―

No, he couldn’t think about that right now. Not when the blood of another of Xian’s apprentices still glistened on his hands. It didn’t matter that the man would surely have killed him if Rafael hadn’t finished the job. He deserved Rafael’s respect.

Settling his body and mind, Rafael dropped into the meditative state he’d first learned as a child, nearly twenty years ago now. Gradually the tension eased from his body. His breathing slowed to a crawl, his heart thudded gently, but he didn’t move a muscle. He stayed that way for five hours, long enough for the night to drift toward dawn and his hands to mostly recover. At least, he thought as he looked at them, they’d recovered enough so that he wouldn’t frighten whoever he found to get warm with. Better a brothel than a gambling house tonight—well, today now. He was too tired to play games. Coming to his feet, Rafael stretched for a moment, working the kinks of stillness out of his back and legs before setting off into the light.

Morbid curiosity pulled him back to the scene of his kill. The way was crowded, more High Ones there now. This time they had brought guards, men and women of the Lower Half who gladly served for the chance that they might, someday, be deemed worthy of entrance into the ranks of the High Ones. Rafael stifled a snort. Those who did menial work for the High Ones almost never got changed. There were thousands more like them, just waiting for an opening in the ranks and their own slim chance at immortality. He craned his neck slightly to look at the body. Near immortality. No, the best way to become a High One was to be taken as a child and made an apprentice, indoctrinated into the system from an early age so you never questioned, never faltered, never disobeyed. If you pleased your master, he or she would change you. It took years for the process to be complete, but the wait was worth it. Or so he’d thought.

Chapter Two

A familiarly sick feeling settled into Rafael’s gut again. Swallowing hard, Rafael turned from his fallen target and made his way down back alleys toward the pleasure district. Pleasure, and all types of it. There wasn’t anything that man had dreamed of that couldn’t be fulfilled in Little Heaven, as the locals called it, as long as you had money and a strong stomach. Carnal appetites of all sorts were sated, involving everything from role play to blood play to death itself. Little Heaven was a place filled with its own sort of magic, lesser than the pure life the High Ones drank but still potent.

Rafael didn’t need to experience Little Heaven’s darker side. He’d survived worse than most of what they could throw at him and he had no desire to relive any of it, not for his pleasure or to satisfy the voyeurism of others. He entered the district, no less busy at dawn than at any other hour. The city of Clare never slept, and this place in particular drew a robust trade. Visitors flocked here and locals flocked to them, to fleece them and entertain themselves. Rafael skipped past once-comely whores now reduced to beggars and made his way to Feysal’s.

The doorman recognized him and let him in at once, ushering him into the sumptuous anteroom and closing the door silently behind him. A pair of courtesans waited inside, but upon seeing him one stood gracefully and went to get his master. Rafael waited for Feysal, eyes flicking casually over the room and the beautiful young man who had remained. A vision of dark skin and darker hair that flowed like a black waterfall over slender shoulders and hips, he wore a short silk sarong and nothing else. Points of gold glittered in his ears, brows and lips, and he smiled charmingly at Rafael.

Rafael inclined his head briefly, interested but not willing to commit himself until he knew whether Feysal was available. Half a minute later, the man himself appeared, vivid against the muted gold tones of his waiting room. He was a few inches shorter than Rafael and quite broad, dusky but not as dark as the reclining man, and wore a bright blue silk kaftan heavily embroidered with gold threads. His feet were bare, his long hair held back with jeweled clips. He smiled and reached a hand out to Rafael. “My friend.”

Rafael took his hand a bit gingerly. “Not too tight,” he warned.

“Ah.” Feysal looked him over. “You were working this past night, then?”

“Yes.” He and Feysal had a history together that went back nearly his whole stay in the Lower City, and Rafael hoped he could make the time for him. He needed someone who would understand, someone he could talk to. Feysal seemed to realize that. He nodded slightly and drew Rafael toward him, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“You earn your keep, my friend. So shall I.” He turned toward the young man still lounging, staring at them with interested eyes. “I’m not to be disturbed for the rest of the morning, Salim.” The courtesan bowed his understanding, and Feysal looked back to Rafael. “Let’s go to my rooms.”

“Thank you.” Rafael let himself be led into the back, past well-furnished halls and rooms, some with closed doors, some open. He glanced into a few. One was empty but one was definitely full, and the groans of contentment that emerged from it echoed into the hall. Feysal smiled again.

“Some men enjoy an audience.”

“We all have our little ways,” Rafael replied.

“True. You smell of blood.” He stated it as fact, without any judgment. “Shall we start with a bath? My daughter can take and clean your clothes.”

“That sounds good.”

“I thought it might.” Feysal unlocked the door at the end of the hall and led Rafael inside his private rooms. After the door had shut behind them, he leaned in close, pulled Rafael into his arms and kissed him deeply. Tension and buried distress fled as Rafael relaxed into his friend’s commanding embrace. It was a luxury he didn’t often allow himself, this loss of control, giving his strength over to vulnerability. Rafael had learned to love obedience at the hand of his master, but in the Lower Half obedience too often was simply slavery. Feysal he could trust, though. Feysal had learned the truth. Even knowing that, Rafael still found it hard to speak of what he had done that past night. He didn’t want this session to be an easy one. He needed to be punished.

“What do you want, Rafael?” Feysal murmured against his lips, his tone coaxing but stern. “What do you need from me?”

“Before the bath…” he began hesitantly, but continued when he saw Feysal frown. “Before the bath, will you whip me?”

“You’ve not asked for that for years,” Feysal said neutrally, but Rafael could see the concern in his eyes. “Who did you kill last night that brought you to this point?”

Rafael gave a small, choked laugh. “Myself, perhaps.”

“Ah. You shall get what you need.” Feysal kissed him again, then let him go and backed away a bit, removing his kaftan. His bare chest was broad and heavy with muscle, and shining golden rings hung from his nipples. “I will draw an explanation out of you, Rafael,” he said confidently. “You will feel better once you’ve spoken about your troubles. Now remove your clothes and lay against the cross.”

Rafael peeled off his leather jerkin and dark tunic, wincing a little at the stickiness of the material. His breeches and boots followed and in moments he was naked, his eyes cast down toward the ground submissively. He walked over to the far wall and leaned against the cross, relaxing his body into the wooden frame and splaying his hands and feet wide. He relaxed even further as Feysal wound supple strips of suede around his wrists and ankles and bound him tightly to the device. He stroked his hand tenderly down Rafael’s back then stepped away. Rafael closed his eyes and absorbed the noises of bare feet padding across the carpeted floor, the ring of a small bell and the brief opening of the door. He heard fingertips against leather handles, tapping one tool then the other as if debating their relative merits. Finally a decision was reached, the steps came close again and there was a moment of delicious stillness before the first crack of the whip resounded against his flesh.

The pain was concentrated, snapping and forceful. No delicate introduction with nine tender tails today. The bullwhip flickered across his right buttock, leaving it throbbing. Rafael moaned.

“You don’t have permission to speak yet, Rafael,” Feysal said firmly. “Save your breath for when the will is there.” He lashed him twice, lightning fast, across his shoulders. Rafael nodded, then gave himself over to the feeling.

Feysal was skilled with the whip. The pain was consistent, burning and biting but not going so deep as to truly wound. It touched him everywhere, from the small of his back to the nape of his neck and even once across each ankle. Not a murmur escaped his lips, although the desire to emote was building fast inside him. His cock was painfully hard against the wooden cross and he pressed it harder still, wanting to surround himself with physical pain and block out the mental anguish, block out the memory of what he’d done that night and the other memories that threatened to resurface and drown him in sorrow again.

“You killed last night.”
Crack
. “A High One.”
Crack
. “Someone you knew.” There was a pause, then Feysal said, “You may speak.”

“I had never met him before.”

“But you knew him nonetheless.”
Crack
.

“I knew him because we were the same. Molded by the same man.”

“Ah. Your former master, Xian.”

“My… Yes.”

“Another assassin, then? You’re lucky to be alive.”
Crack
.

“I wished at first that I wasn’t,” Rafael confessed, glad that Feysal had forced the words out of him. He didn’t want to think about the creature he had killed, but if he was going to recover from it, he would have to. “We could have been like brothers. I could have been him, if I had…”

“If you had what?” Soft hands caressed his shoulders now, drawing long, slow burns out of the heated lines crisscrossing his frame. “If you had what, Rafael?” The hands gripped tight for a moment, turning the burn into a searing flame.

“If I had not been judged unworthy,” Rafael gasped. The pain eased minutely as he went on. “If I had been a better child, a better apprentice, a better student. If I could have made him want me more…”

“Ah.” The hands moved up into his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp. “I understand now. Do you?”

“Yes.” The pain had eased, lessening and moving away from him.

“Do you want release?”

“I want you to take me in a way that pleases you.”

Feysal chuckled. “Oh, you please me greatly just like this, Rafael. Spread for me like a feast, glowing with the marks of my care and attention… Feel how you please me?” He ground his cloth-covered erection against Rafael’s ass. Feysal was very well endowed, and Rafael had had him enough times to crave him when the mood struck. The mood was hard upon him now, passion flowing into the wake left by his subservience and emotional release. He pressed back as best he could in that position, wanting deeper contact.

Slick fingers slipped inside his passage, rubbing in soothing circles and opening him up. The first entry was painfully sharp, but, like with the whip, the pain mellowed into a smooth stream and pleasure followed fast. There was a rustle of cloth, the sound of skin on skin, then Feysal’s bulging crown was pressing past his protective ring and inside him. The rest followed quickly in three progressive thrusts, and Rafael gasped harshly at the invasion. He was stretched, taken and dominated, and he reveled in the rare and delightful sensation.

Feysal wrapped his hands in Rafael’s hair and jerked his head back sharply, using his locks like reins as he rode his ass. Pain harmonized with pleasure inside him, and Rafael groaned with the need to come. “Please…”

“Only when I say.”

Rafael nodded and swallowed against the urge to scream. He tried to focus more on the pain, but it was so synonymous with comfort in his mind that rather than relieving his desires, it increased them. He bit his lip savagely and managed to hold out until he felt Feysal swell even further inside him, until his smooth thrusts became jerky with impending orgasm and that deep, throaty voice growled, “Now,” in his ear. He came ecstatically, riding the wave of his release and finding more than physical peace with it. His cum ran in rivulets down the cross as he let go and Rafael felt, for a moment, a nearly divine sense of rightness. It was almost like being with him again. His master, his personal god. Xian.

He shied away from that memory. It was too confusing, too hurtful. Rafael buried his memories in the physical sensation and let Feysal care for him. He was taken down and gently carried into the next room, where a steaming, scented bath had been prepared for both of them. He hissed briefly as the water stung his fresh cuts, then slowly began coming back into himself. His back rested against Feysal’s chest and his relaxation verged on languor. “Thank you.”