Blurb:
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Makara closed
his eyes and looked away. He heard the words Afron spoke, but he also heard the
words hidden between the lines. Afron had employed his driver for fifteen
years; what he meant to say was killed my
driver before I could react.
"I'm
sorry," Makara murmured. He wrung his hands and shook his head. He wanted
badly to comfort Afron, wrap his arms around his beloved and whisper words of
comfort.
Afron shrugged.
"I know not why they chose us. We carried nothing of value."
Nothing but you. "Perhaps they confused you with
someone else," Makara offered. "Ogres aren't always very picky about
their targets."
Another shrug
and Afron turned to face him. Makara let out a small gasp. Afron's face had
paled, his eyes had gone wide, and his hands -- Makara had to look again to be
sure, but it was true -- Afron's hands shook.
"We took
the wounded to a healer in Sessill. I had much time for thought and
reflection." Afron frowned. "Much time to consider my life." He
leaned back against the windowsill and folded his arms across his wide chest.
"And the people in it," he added, eyebrow raised.
"You mean
your family and your men?" Was it possible Afron had decided to give up
his role as Clan Chieftain? Makara highly doubted that.
"I mean
you."
"Me?"
Makara's turn to pale now; his cheeks cooled as the blood rushed away from
them. True, he'd sent Afron away time and time again, declaring each time to be
the final time. The last straw. But both of them knew he'd lied each time. In
the back of his mind, though, he had always known Afron would eventually truly
leave him -- grow tired of him or bend to his clan's will to find a woman and
settle down. He had just never expected the loss to come so soon.
"Yes,
you." Afron cocked his head to the side and smirked. "How long have I
tossed coin at you?"
Makara swallowed
hard. "Three years."
"Three
years is a long time for a man to pay for what he could easily get for free,
don't you think?"
"I-I
suppose." He looked away again and opened the drawer of the bedside table
to put back the bottle of oil. Wouldn't be needing it, after all.
"I tire of
wasting my coin on sex with you." Afron unfolded his arms and crossed to
the end of the bed, where his breeches lay in a heap. He bent and retrieved
them. "Besides, I have better things to spend my wages on."
Oh, no. No. No. No! Makara's heart cried out to him that
this wasn't right; didn't make sense, especially not after that lusty greeting
in the lobby, and how Afron had hinted at missing him. But clearly that had
only been for show -- Afron had given him just enough attention to throw him
off. To get back into his bed. Gods, he hadn't even had the chance to lay a
hand on Afron before Afron had spent himself. Afron had come to him to scratch
that one final itch, and now... Now it was all over.
Emotionally
gutted, Makara bit his lower lip and glanced around the room quickly, searching
for some clue as to what to say to change Afron's mind. Should he tell Afron
that in those three years, he'd had no other repeat clients; nearly risked his
position in the Nulphillium by refusing other men on more than one occasion?
Should he profess his love? Whisper that his dreams were of Afron, and Afron
alone? That no other could ever fill the void Afron would leave? Had left each time he'd gone away.
Should he tell Afron that the Nulphilium Masters had confessed the only reason
they kept him on at all was just to stave off the barbarian's wrath should he
return to a cold bed?
To be continued...
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