Megan Derr The Lost Gods 04 Poison

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"I think he can, Highlander," Luka said from where he reclined by the fireplace, boots propped on an ottoman that looked
like it cost more than their yearly expenses. "The Boss is the only other one I know with a glare like that. No wonder you're
never intimidated."
"Luka," Ivan said levelly.
"Yes, Boss."
Ailill glared at his valet. "I'm fine. Go back to your den."
"You look appalling, my lord," Andre replied with a sniff.
"Good."
Andre merely lifted one thin, pale brow. Around the room Ivan's men started howling. He shot a desperate look at Ivan, who
leaned against the wall by the study window. Ailill never got tired of looking at his lover. Dark from head to foot, skin still
tanned dark from all their time in Kundou, goatee lending much to the hard edge that made everyone describe him as 'evil.'
He wished rather badly that everyone else would take themselves elsewhere. Ivan smiled at him in sympathy, then shot his
men a warning look.
"My lord& "
"Fine!" Ailill said, throwing his hands up, conceding defeat. "By all means let us strip me of my dignity." He stalked from the
room, painfully aware of the sudden silence, not daring to look at Ivan.
Queen grant him mercy, he hated being nobility. He just wanted to be Ailill. Why had he come back?
Ailill sighed as he reached his bedroom, and wondered morosely how hard Ivan would laugh. He'd tried a thousand times to
get his blasted servants - servants! - to tone everything down, but that's what he got for hiring the upstarts no one else
wanted.
Though he'd had plenty of fun firing all the snots that had kept the house until a new White Panther appeared. He grinned
briefly at the memory.
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AmaSour Fiction
Movement caught his eyes and he glared balefully at his valet. "It's no wonder you were fired so often. What's that word
they always use for people like you?"
"Depends, my Lord," Andre flashed a grin, "on whom you talk to. Insubordinate, maybe?"
"Mouthy," Ailill said dryly as he began to strip, tempted to toss his clothes everywhere but knowing that would just make him
seem even more like a petulant child.
The valet made a face as he picked up the discarded clothes. "Honestly, my lord, it's undignified to go about like this.
You're a peer of the realm."
"I'm a man who can shift into a white cat," Ailill said shortly. "What did you put in this bath water?"
"If you'd taken much longer to cooperate, I was going to toss in rose petals," Andre taunted.
Ailill grumbled and slid into the bath, beginning to scrub himself clean, determined to get everything over with now that he'd
finally given in to the inevitable. "I don't suppose the rest are being tortured?" He asked quietly as his valet began to lay out
his clothes, humming softly - smug little ferret. "You're awfully chipper."
"We're glad you're back, my lord," the valet answered, turning serious. "Even if you're not."
"I am," Ailill said, wringing out his hair and climbing out of the tub. "Did you put lavender in this? I hate when you use flower-
scented oils."
The valet sniffed. "It's all the rage, this season."
Ailill made a face. "At least it isn't primroses again."
A soft chuckle was the only reply, and then Ailill was being attacked with superfine, lawn, silk and-"Put that lace down or I'll
skin you alive, ferret. With my teeth."
"It's the fashion," his valet replied, and continued the assault. He stepped away when he was finished, bowing low - but not
quite hiding his smirk.
"Impertinent," Ailill said, "that's the word I was looking for."
"Ah, yes. Shall I send for your man?"
"May as well get it over with," Ailill said glumly, starring miserably at his reflection.
As a Beast of Verde, he was expected to wear white. Lots of it. A dumb idea, but most of the ideas in Verde were in his
opinion.
His staff had outdone themselves in his absence. His pants were white superfine, and fit well enough he wondered how
hard they'd worked to fit everything to his measurements so soon after his arrival. His jacket fell to mid-thigh, this particular
style meant to be left open. It was white embroidered with palest silver, buttons to match. The lace at his throat and the
ends of his sleeves were also threaded with silver, drawing out the color in his pale hair and eyes. The white was almost
livid against his skin, darkened by his travels. Silver and white were not the best choices for him, but he managed. Ailill
stared at his reflection, the glum face of the White Panther staring back at him.
The opening of the door dragged his attention away, and he watched anxiously as Ivan approached. It looked like the
servants had indeed gotten a hold of Ivan and his men. Though Ivan was always clean, refusing to look completely like a
reprobate, he had obviously been forced into his own bath. Hopefully without the lavender. Ailill smiled at the thought even
as he devoured the sight of his lover. Still dressed all in black, but the clothes were of better quality, lawn and superfine. His
hair and goatee had been trimmed, and it looked as though they'd somehow manage to temporarily relieve Ivan of his
weapons. A stunning feat - but Ailill knew he had a knife or two secreted away. His Vanya looked like a rogue, straight from
one of the theatre performances.
A rogue who was looking at him but not saying anything. Steel blue eyes looked him up and down. Ailill tried not to show his
nervousness as Ivan continued simply to stare. "Vanya?" He finally asked, hating the uncertainty he heard in his own voice.
"You look good," Ivan said huskily. "Real good. Like I probably shouldn't touch you good."
"Oh," Ailill said.
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AmaSour Fiction
Ivan flashed a grin. "Doesn't mean I won't touch you, just that I probably shouldn't."
"Oh," Ailill repeated, returning the grin this time as he closed the space between them and bent to kiss his lover hard,
possessively. "So you don't mind me like this?"
Ivan stepped back and slowly looked him up and down, blue eyes growing heated. "Like I said, you look good. I can see
where you wouldn't like all this, lover," he motioned to the room, "but you wear it well."
"I'd prefer I wasn't wearing anything," Ailill replied, closing the space between them. "I'd prefer you that way as well." He
dipped his head to bite at Ivan's throat, which thankfully hadn't been hidden by a neck cloth - his servants hadn't been
foolish enough to try and dress Ivan up.
Murmuring in agreement, Ivan tipped his head to the side to give Ailill better access. "Your valet might have my neck for far
less pleasant reasons if I ruin all his hard work so soon."
"He's paid to suffer," Ailill said, fingers going to his own neck cloth, his other hand moving to the laces of Ivan's shirt. "Let
me show you my bed."
"Please do."
A few hours later, Ailill smiled pleasantly as Andre grumbled and groused about the mess they had made of their clothes, of
the room. "It is not my fault, Andre, that you help make me look so good."
Andre rolled his eyes and did not rise to the bait. "A message has arrived for you, my Lord, from the Palace."
"When?" Ailill asked sharply, stirred from his thoughts on the man fast asleep in his massive canopy bed.
"While you were occupied."
"Have it fetched at once," Ailill said, snatching his arm away and fastening his cufflinks himself.
Andre sniffed. "At once, my Lord." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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