Page 56 of Storm Front
Poor Nyx. It would be hard for him to accept, the loss of this little one. This boy who said “Uncle” out loud to Nyx, but in his mind, in his heart, it wasPapa.
Ares embraced Azaiah and gave him a heated brand of a kiss on the cheek. “If your soldier is not yet ready to make the bond, find those who court Death like a lover. But remember that corruption starts subtly, like rust on a blade. I will see you on the battlefield, Brother. We will walk together once more, but take this night for yourself.”
When Ares left, disappearing between the tents and fading into the smoke of the campfires, Azaiah turned and started, seeing Andor staring at him. It was not yet time for the boy to cross.
“I think you’re here,” the little boy whispered, then jumped as it thundered. “Lord—Lord of Storms?”
Andor couldn’t see Azaiah. He could feel him, and that made sense. Azaiah suspected that this sickly little boy had been aware of him for some time. It happened that way, with the flames that never grew bright enough to flourish. “I am here, little one,” Azaiah said, though he doubted Andor heard him.
“I hope you take care of him,” the boy whispered, face turned up to the sky. For a terrified second, Azaiah thought it was raining. But no—Andor’s face was wet with tears. “I hope you know he’s the most wonderful father. Me and Kelta, we know he isn’t, really. But we used to pretend, sometimes. I still do. I think she does, too.”
Azaiah went to his knees before Andor. “I will take care of him, young one. And when I come for you, I will make sure you know how very much I love him.”
The sky rumbled, and the boy sniffled, rubbing at his face. “I wish I could see you. He says you’re nice, and you like games. Maybe when—maybe when you come for me, before I get on your big boat. Maybe we could play a game.”
This young boy, with a weak body and a soul that yearned to be brighter than it was… yes. He would come back. Perhaps that would be some comfort to Nyx, when it was time for Azaiah to take Andor across.
“What are you doing?”
They both turned at the sound of Nyx’s voice, harsh and full of dominance.
“Just talking to the storm, Uncle Nyx,” the boy said. “Saying hi to your Lord of Storms.”
Nyx’s eyes flickered to Azaiah.
“He can’t see me,” Azaiah said, and Nyx looked back at Andor.
“You need to go to bed,” Nyx said.
Andor, though, had followed Nyx’s gaze. He smiled and clapped his hands. “Is he really here?”
“Bed. Now,” was Nyx’s only response. The boy grumbled, but after one last glance in Azaiah’s general direction, he headed to his tent.
“I wasn’t hurting him,” Azaiah said, getting to his feet. “He spoke to me. I listened. I often do. There is no need to look at me like that.”
“It’s not because he saw you,” Nyx said softly, glancing around. He turned back to Azaiah, an expression of pure longing flaring briefly before he shuttered his gaze. “I want nothing more than to leave with you. Right now. Just leave all this and walk away… but I can’t. Ican’t.”
“I know,” Azaiah said. “Not yet. But I do have time tonight.”
Nyx ran a hand through his hair. “I guess if anyone does, it’s you. Come with me.” He turned and headed into his tent.
“Yes,” Azaiah said. “I suppose that’s true.” But as he followed Nyx, he could hear the light patter of rain against the canvas, and he wondered whether he really had as much time as Nyx would need. What might happen if he didn’t.
But there was Nyx, irresistible in the muted lantern light, and it was easier to sink to his knees and bow his head, and forget the rest of it for a while.
* * *
Death was beautiful on his knees.
Nyx stood back to appreciate the way Azaiah’s cloak spilled across the tent floor, his hair falling over his face like curtains of rain. Nyx itched to lay a flogger to his skin, but he knew the impact would leave no marks, and Azaiah wouldn’t have the pleasure of feeling it. But he didn’t need pain to make Azaiah beg and writhe, sinking into Nyx’s dominance.
Nyx pulled the leather laces out of the front of his shirt. They were soft and easily broken, but when he wound them together and tied Azaiah’s hair out of his face, they held. He tied the other end around the tent pole at Azaiah’s back. It didn’t give him much room to move, and Azaiah had to lift his head to keep from snapping the laces or pulling at his hair. His neck was bared, and Nyx trailed the backs of his knuckles over the scar at Azaiah’s throat, making him breathe in sharply.
“Don’t let the laces break,” Nyx said, dominance bleeding into his voice. He tipped Azaiah’s chin up a fraction higher and stood over him, parting Azaiah’s thighs with his boot. “Hands behind your back. You’ll come before I fuck you, but only like this. On your knees.”
“Yes, for you, beloved.” Azaiah couldn’t move far while tethered to the pole, and when Nyx didn’t step closer, Azaiah rutted shallowly against Nyx’s boot, gaze fixed on his. A proper submissive would have looked down, but Nyx liked seeing Azaiah’s eyes when he came, his face consumed with pleasure. It reminded him that Azaiah wasn’t mortal, submissive though he might be. He was something else, something more, yet he wanted Nyx enough to kneel for him.
Nyx couldn’t keep his hands off Azaiah. While Azaiah struggled to grind himself against Nyx’s boot, Nyx stroked Azaiah’s cheek, ran his fingers over the silky hair pulled taut by the laces, pressed his thumb to Azaiah’s mouth. He was so strange, and lovely in that strangeness.
