Love Thieves #24:  Purity

 

 

Chapter 14—NC-17

 

“Adam! Where are we going?” Jazz finally stumbled in his effort to keep up with the older teenager, forcing Adam to stop. Adam bent over, his hands on his thighs, breathing hard. They had run almost three blocks in an effort to put some distance between themselves and what would surely be a search party.

 

“We…have…to keep going,” he choked out.

 

“But where? For how long? Adam, this is crazy!”

 

“No, it’s not, Jazz. I have money.”

 

“Sssh, don’t say that too loud. The streets are full of thieves. *I* should know.”

 

“You were never a thief, Jazz.”

 

“Close enough. You don’t know what it’s like to live hand to mouth, Adam. You probably think this is all some romantic adventure.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Adam smiled. “I love you. I want to be with you.”

 

“I love you, too, Adam, and I don’t want them to send you away. But we’re not fucking Romeo and Juliet here.”

 

“I can take care of us, Nicky,” Adam said, his voice unconsciously softening as he used Jazz’ real name. He leaned forward, his body swaying towards the younger teenager, his hand reaching out to stroke Jazz’ face. But Jazz stepped back before he could touch him.

 

“You can’t do that out here, Adam. Do you want to get us killed?”

 

“For what? This is Paris, isn’t it? The City of Love.”

 

Adam’s uncharacteristic openness concerned Jazz. Adam was right. Paris, in general, was more tolerant of alternative lifestyles than countless other places. But he was also wrong. There were people everywhere, even in Paris, who targeted gays. Just for being different.

 

“The City of Straight Love,” Jazz hissed. “Now tell me the plan.”

 

“What plan?”

 

“You don’t have a plan?”

 

“I—I got us out of there.”

 

“But where are we going?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

Jazz looked like he was ready to cry. “You took me away from my fucking family, man. How can you not have a fucking plan?”

 

“Nicky, don’t. I can do this. Just give me some time.”

 

“We don’t have time, Adam. How much time do you think Declan’s going to waste before he tells your Dad?”

 

“Oh. Shit.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

***

 

How long? Not long. Declan bit his lip as he called the Chateau. Sey reluctantly took the rest of the children to the Louvre, as planned, but no one’s heart was in it. Sey didn’t want to leave Declan alone to deal with the aftermath of Jazz and Adam’s disappearance, but he had no choice. An Irishman in an uncertain mood convinced him that it was better to go.

 

“Nikita? I need to speak to Michael.”

 

“What do you mean, he’s not there?”

 

“He’s on his way? *Here*?”

 

“But—“

 

“Aye, I can pick him up at the airport.”

 

After Declan hung up the phone, he cursed under his breath. That man had an unerring sense for trouble. Sometimes it was fucking annoying.

 

***

 

“What are we doing at the airport, Adam? We can’t afford a plane ticket! We need to save whatever we have to live! “

 

“Nicky, I told you I’ll take care of you.” After checking to see if anyone was watching, Adam kissed Jazz lightly on the cheek. “It’ll be okay,” he mouthed. “Trust me.”

 

When they approached the ticket counter, the gentleman behind the counter looked askance at the two teenagers. “Traveling alone?”

 

Adam nodded. Jazz was miserable, consumed by thoughts of never seeing James or Smoke or Sasha again.

 

The ticket agent glanced at Jazz sympathetically. “Is he all right? Is he sick?”

 

“No, no. Death in the family. That’s why we’re going…um…to—“

 

“Rome. That’s where you wanted to go, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Well, there’s been some bad weather. Everything’s grounded till tomorrow morning. I’m afraid you’re going to have a long wait.”

 

Adam’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Nicky,” he whispered. “I wanted things to work out better than this. I swear.” Jazz rubbed his lover’s arm. “That’s okay. I’ve slept in the airport before.”

 

The ticket agent shook his head. He should know better than to get involved with passengers and their problems, but he couldn’t help it. They seemed like nice kids.

 

“Hey,” he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level. “We’re not supposed to give these out to just anyone, but—here.” He handed Adam a slip of paper. “We keep rooms at the hotel for emergencies. When people miss flights and such. Give this to the clerk. He’ll give you a room for tonight.”

 

Jazz had never been the beneficiary of such generosity before. It touched his heart that there were still kind souls like this in the world.

 

“Thank you.”

 

***

 

By the time they reached their room, they were both tired and hungry. Adam closed the door behind them and flipped the lock into place. Jazz looked at the lock long and hard, as if he were memorizing it.

 

“We should get something to eat,” he said to Adam, never taking his bright green eyes off the lock.

 

“Yeah, we should,” answered Adam, his mind on nothing but Jazz.

 

Suddenly Jazz’ eyes met Adam’s. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

 

“Cause I just realized something.”

 

“What?”

 

“There’s absolutely nothing to stop me from kissing you.”

 

Jazz couldn’t smile. He felt overwhelmed by the depth and breadth of feeling that surged through him all at once. “I love you.”

 

Adam didn’t respond right away. He simply drifted closer, a little at a time, until his lips touched Jazz’ cheek. Jazz shut his eyes, awaiting Adam’s kiss, but for the longest time, all he could feel was the restless flutter of Adam’s eyelashes against his cheek.

 

The kiss, when it finally came, was so tender, it surprised both of them. Adam’s fingers caressed Jazz’ skin almost reverently, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “I should feel guilty,” Adam whispered.

 

“For what?”

 

“For stealing you away so you could be with me.”

 

“No…” Jazz breathed. “You saved me.”

 

“We saved each other.”

 

The hush that followed was suddenly broken by Jazz’ stomach growling.

 

Adam chuckled softly. “Maybe we really should eat something.”

 

***

 

Stripped down to their T-shirts and shorts, they sat cross-legged on the floor like the children they no longer were. They fed each other chicken nuggets, taking turns licking the dipping sauce off each other’s fingers. There was nothing holding them back. Still they hesitated, their movements awkward and shy.

 

Until Adam took a chicken nugget, dripping with sweet and sour sauce, and smooshed it into Jazz’ mouth. And Jazz giggled.

 

“What the hell did you do that for?”

 

“Just felt like it,” Adam said with a grin.

 

Jazz licked his lips, his pink tongue slipping through his straight white teeth to capture the sauce deposited there. Adam was mesmerized. When Jazz was finished, he leaned forward on his hands and brushed his mouth against Adam’s.

 

“What the hell did you do that for?” Adam echoed.

 

“Just felt like it,” Jazz retorted.

 

Adam crept forward on his hands and knees to meet Jazz, stopping only when they were face to face. Fairly breathless with anticipation, he kissed him, struggling to keep his eyes open, but failing because the feeling was too overpowering. Jazz opened his mouth and Adam’s tongue slid inside, turning it into a far more intimate kiss than the one they shared earlier.

 

They kissed like that for several moments, drawing back only when the need for oxygen grew too great. Speech deserted them and inarticulate noise took its place.

 

Adam pressed forward until Jazz had to give way and fall back. He lay on his back, gasping for breath, his pupils dilated, his verdant eyes a darker shade of green now. Whether it was instinct or loss of control, it led to the same thing. Passion. Fueled by love.

 

Adam settled atop Jazz, his knee pushing his lover’s legs apart. His hands moved restlessly through Jazz’ long golden brown hair as he suckled a spot on the side of Jazz’ neck. But Jazz was not one to lie there, passively accepting. He returned each and every kiss he received, his arms wrapped tightly around Adam’s neck.

 

Incoherent moans turned to groans of pleasure as their bodies thrust together in an erratic rhythmic dance. Carried away by the sheer joy of having Jazz in his arms, to touch, to taste, Adam came, sighing his release into Jazz’ open mouth. Jazz shuddered, his own climax upon him before he realized what was happening.

 

Adam rolled over onto his back, taking Jazz with him. Still shivering in the aftermath of their near-explosive lovemaking, Jazz clung to his lover, rubbing his cheek against Adam’s flat male nipple. “I love you.”

 

Adam couldn’t speak. He could only kiss the silken hair beneath his lips and pray that they would not be torn asunder.

 

 

Chapter 15—NC-17

 

“We’d better take a shower.”

 

“Do we *have* to move, Adam?” Just to make things more difficult, Jazz snuggled even more tightly against the older teenager’s body.

 

Adam lightly brushed his lips against Jazz’ mouth, one arm still wrapped around his lover’s waist. Breaking away with a loud sigh, he said, “Well, unless you want to wear those shorts for the rest of your natural life…yeah.”

 

“Yuck.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

***

 

Peeling off what remained of their clothing, they quickly bolted for the bathroom. “I go first.”

 

“Not if I can help it.”

 

They continued to vie for rights to the shower, Jazz laughing at Adam’s curious stubbornness. “Hey, I like to be clean. Is there something wrong with that?”

 

“Not if you’re a cat. They’re always licking—“

 

At the word “licking”, Jazz stopped abruptly, his attention captured by the heated look Adam was giving him. “Why don’t we shower together?” he asked huskily.

 

Adam nodded mutely.

 

***

 

The water grew cold, their shower long forgotten, as the two lovers kissed. This time it was Jazz’ turn to be the aggressor. He made the most of this rare opportunity to take advantage of the older adolescent. “Stay there,” he commanded, indicating that Adam should not move from where he stood, his back against the wall, his muscular legs spread wide for balance.

 

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

 

Lowering his head to Adam’s chest, Jazz licked, then suckled the tiny buds that sprouted there. Eventually he looked up, admiration mixed with love in the heartfelt glance he gave his lover. “You are so perfect.”

 

“Nah, that’s my line. About you.” Adam bent his head and quickly kissed the younger teenager.

 

As the more slender of the two, Jazz felt the cold penetrate his body long before Adam did. A visible shiver passed through him, alerting Adam that it was way past time to get out of the shower. “Nicky, you’ll catch cold for sure, if we don’t get out right now,” he said, reaching behind his lover to turn off the water.

 

His lips noticeably blue, Jazz trembled within Adam’s embrace. Only this time it wasn’t from passion. “Warm me up,” he begged.

 

“Nicky, if you get sick, I’ll never forgive myself,” Adam whispered, his dark brown eyes glistening.

 

“Neither will I. You promised me a honeymoon somewhere romantic,” Jazz said with a chuckle.

 

“Rome is romantic.”

 

“Too far away.”

 

“We haven’t tried the bed.”

 

“All this and we get to sleep together, too? I take it back, Adam, you *are* romantic.”

 

Suddenly the lightness of the mood was broken by the resurgence of the powerful love that bonded them together. Adam hugged Jazz, his arms holding him a little too tight for comfort. Before Jazz could protest, the desperate embrace ended as Adam buried his face in Jazz’ wet hair, murmuring, “I love you, Nicky. Don’t you ever forget that.”

 

“Adam? What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” Adam said with a shrug. He helped Jazz out of the shower, his manner gentle but impersonal.

 

Something was terribly wrong. Jazz could feel it.

 

***

 

Their shorts wrung out and hung over the shower rods to dry, they padded barefoot back to the bedroom. As they approached the double bed that was the center of the room, Adam stared at it, clearly transfixed by this obvious symbol of their commitment to each other.

 

“If we do this, there’s no going back, Nicky,” Adam whispered.

 

“I know.” Jazz followed Adam’s gaze to the bed. “Are you having second thoughts, Adam?”

 

“What would you do if I said yes?”

 

“Jesus, you don’t pull your punches. I—I don’t know what you want me to say, Adam. I love you, but if you don’t want to go all the way—“

 

“I do. More than anything. I want to make you mine.”

 

“I already am, man. Sex doesn’t have to be part of the equation.”

 

“But you want it to be.”

 

“Shit, don’t you? Adam, what happened between the shower and the bedroom?”

 

“Ssh,” Adam whispered, his hands smoothing and soothing the frown lines from Jazz’ face. “I want to make love to you.”

 

***

 

They lay down on the bed, side by side, facing one another, memorizing the expression in each other’s eyes. Adam’s fingertips grazed his lover’s shoulders, working their way down his body slowly, inexorably.

 

He kissed Jazz’ eyelids, one at a time, his lips warm and moist against their cool exteriors. “You are more precious to me than you will ever know,” he murmured.

 

Jazz’ eyes flew open, their bright green depths filled with pain and accusation. “You’re leaving!”

 

“I have to go back, Nicky.”

 

“Then I’ll come with you.”

 

“No, I have to face my father alone.”

 

“What if he sends you away?”

 

“Then I’ll have to deal with it. I was wrong to take you away from the only family you really care about, Nicky. I had no right to make that decision for you.”

 

“But it’s my decision, too.”

 

“I know. That’s why you were so miserable at the thought of never seeing James or Smoke or Sasha—“

 

“Stop…” Jazz whispered hoarsely, his eyes shiny with unshed tears.

 

“I had no right to make you choose between them and me.”

 

“I want to be with you.”

 

“I want to be with you, too. But we can’t start the rest of our lives with an act of cowardice. That’s what running away is.”

 

“They don’t want us to be together.”

 

“No, they don’t,” Adam agreed. “But we’ll find a way. I’ll make it happen.”

 

***

 

They held each other all night long. In the morning, they dressed silently, each of them too preoccupied with what was going to happen to voice their fears aloud.

 

Finally Adam said, “Here’s your plane ticket. You can cash it in, if you want, or you can…I don’t know…keep it as a souvenir.”

 

Jazz put the ticket in his jeans pocket and looked intently into Adam’s dark eyes. “I think I’m going to regret that we didn’t make love.”

 

“In our hearts we did,” Adam said, emotion clogging his throat.

 

“Will you be okay?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I wish there was another way.”

 

“I—I don’t expect you to wait for me, Nicky. If you find someone else, that’s—“

 

“I’ll never give myself to anyone but you, Adam. I swear.”

 

“Don’t swear. You don’t know what might—“

 

“I know plenty. I know I love you more than life itself.”

 

“Goodbye, Nicky,” Adam said softly.

 

“Goodbye, Adam.”

 

Their outstretched palms touched briefly, then their hands entwined, pulling them close enough to kiss. Their lips ached to come together, but still, they hovered, a fraction of an inch too far away. Their eyes filled with tears that they refused to let fall.

 

Jazz knew if he looked away, Adam would be gone.

 

But he did.

 

And he was.

 

 

Chapter 16

 

“Tell me what happened,” Michael commanded tersely.

 

A quick glance at Declan showed that the younger man clearly dreaded this particular confrontation. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”

 

Michael frowned. “Did you have something to do with my son’s disappearance, Declan?”

 

“No! Of course not.”

 

“Then stop apologizing and tell me what happened.”

 

Declan left out no detail. As he concluded his description of the events leading up to Adam and Jazz running away, Declan said, “I’ve tried all the usual places, Michael, but if they’re traveling by bus, train or plane, they’re not using their real names.”

 

Michael sighed heavily. “That makes them harder to trace. But not impossible.”

 

“I’ve tried everything I can think of, Michael. What we need now is for Adam to walk through that door and give himself up,” he said, indicating the nearest entrance to the busy hotel.

 

The miracle of it all was that was exactly what happened.

 

***

 

Adam and Jazz traveled separately back to the hotel where Declan and Michael waited, but they arrived within moments of each other. True to his word, Adam did not speak to Jazz as he passed him. He took a deep breath when the younger teenager’s somber eyes flickered over his face, but Jazz tightened his mouth and forced himself to keep on going as if they didn’t know one another.

 

Somehow Jazz found his way into the elevator and pushed the button for the floor of the suite they were staying in. As luck would have it, it was empty. Then he slumped to the floor in a corner of the elevator and cried, reminding himself that he was doing what Adam wanted.

 

Jazz’ arrival hardly went unnoticed. Communicating non-verbally, Michael and Declan split up. With a barely perceptible nod to Michael, Declan noted the elevator that Jazz entered and took the stairs at a brisk clip. Michael, on the other hand, stayed behind to confront his son.

 

***

 

“Adam.”

 

“Dad.”

 

Michael gently inclined his head, letting Adam know that they would not talk in public but in private. “Come with me.”

 

Finding an open but empty conference room down the hallway, Michael indicated that Adam should sit down. “Sit.”

 

“Dad—“

 

“Listen.” There was no way not to obey  Michael’s admonition.

 

Michael no longer appeared impassive. Emotion swirled restlessly behind his dark grey eyes. “What you did was wrong, Adam. But more than that, it was a betrayal of the trust we placed in you.”

 

“I know.”

 

Michael’s head jerked up at that. *That* admission surprised him. “Then why?”

 

The bleakness in Adam’s eyes rivaled his father’s. “I have no excuse,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“I can’t believe that you didn’t have a reason.”

 

Adam couldn’t maintain eye contact with Michael. “I didn’t say I didn’t have a reason. I said I have no excuse.”

 

“Adam, talk to me. This is at least partly my fault.”

 

Adam snapped back angrily, tears giving his eyes a curious glimmer. “How is it your fault, Dad? You didn’t make me bi! You didn’t make me fall in love with a guy!”

 

“It’s my fault you grew up without a father, Adam. Maybe if I’d—“

 

Adam swiped at his face with nerveless fingers, smearing the wetness on his cheeks. “You can spare yourself the guilt trip, Dad. I don’t blame you anymore.”

 

“What changed your mind?”

 

“I don’t know. Meeting Nikita. Meeting your kids. You wouldn’t have given up on us unless you had no other choice, Dad. Mom wouldn’t have blamed you. How can I?”

 

As revelations went, this one virtually stunned Michael, both in its simplicity and its complexity. But before Michael could recover, Adam went on, his handsome features blurred by emotion he could no longer hide.

 

“But you need to know something. After we ran? We slept together.”

 

Michael’s startled look motivated him to continue. “We didn’t go all the way, Dad. But it doesn’t matter. I wanted to.” Adam splayed his hands across his thighs. “The only thing that stopped me was the thought of hurting Jazz. I couldn’t do that to him. I love him.”

 

Adam reminded Michael of someone he lost long ago. Himself. Was he really so different from his son? He remembered passion. He remembered throwing himself into something he believed in. How else could he explain falling in with L’Heure Sanguine and Rene Dian? At 19, he was building bombs and espousing revolutionary causes. At 19, he was in prison. Condemned to death. Sentenced to life in Section.

 

How could he not empathize? Their causes might be different. But they might have been the same person once.

 

“Adam—“

 

Adam raised his head again, this time making no effort to stem the tide of the tears that streaked his cheeks. “Do what you want to me, Dad. But please don’t blame Jazz. It wasn’t his fault. None of it was ever his fault.”

 

“What do you think I should do, Adam?”

 

“What?” Adam hiccupped.

 

“If it were up to you, what would *you* do?”

 

“Send me away. To school. Maybe a good, hard military school.” Adam laughed, but it was a bitter noise. “Though I don’t hold out much hope of them turning me into a raging heterosexual, Dad. Just thought I should mention that before you go spending any money.”

 

Adam sobered at the serious look on Michael’s face. “I’ll always love him, Dad. Nothing’s going to change that.”

 

“Don’t you think your punishment sounds a little harsh?”

 

“I broke my word, Dad. I lied. I ran away. I slept with him after I told you I wouldn’t. I can’t be trusted. Ever again.”

 

“I meant that you’re also punishing me.”

 

Adam’s dark eyes widened dramatically. “You? How am I punishing *you*?”

 

“I’ve already missed thirteen years of your life. I barely know the young man you’ve become. If you go away…well, let’s just say, that’s one sacrifice I refuse to let you make.”

 

Hope rose unbidden in Adam’s chest. “You don’t want me to go away?”

 

Michael shook his head. “I couldn’t stand to lose you again, Adam. The first time almost killed me,” he whispered, suddenly realizing that Nikita was the only other person he trusted with this confession.

 

“Jesus, Dad,” Adam said shakily.

 

“You have to stay.”

 

Adam nodded, unable to speak. All this time he never imagined that Michael cared that much. Or that hearing those words could heal wounds too old and too deep to see anymore.

 

“I’m not condoning your relationship with Jazz. But I know that there is nothing I could say or do to keep the two of you apart. Especially now that you’ve been together.”

 

“Dad—“

 

“That’s not the same as giving you permission to have sex, Adam.”

 

“I know.”

 

“What you do is ultimately up to you. All I can hope for is that you give yourself the time I never had to finish growing up.”

 

“Dad?” Adam took a deep breath and held it, his lower lip trembling. “Would it be too seriously weird if I gave you a hug?”

 

“No.”

 

Adam lay his head on his father’s chest and Michael wrapped his arms around his son. Holding on too tightly would have taken him away from him. He had to let him have the freedom to make his own choices, even if it meant living with the consequences.

 

Michael felt Adam’s fingers tugging at the hair on his nape and bent his head. “What is it, Adam?”

 

“I love you, Dad.”

 

Validation, when it came, was never so satisfying.

 

“I love you, too, Adam.”

 

 

Chapter 17

 

Jazz’ face was not immediately visible, hidden as it was behind trembling hands. But the moment the elevator doors flew open, his head jerked up to see a familiar figure standing in the open space.

 

“Jazz?” Declan inquired kindly.

 

“Declan!” Jazz leaped to his feet, only to sway precariously. Declan instinctively reached out to steady the fourteen-year old, but Jazz flinched and promptly crumpled into a heap on the floor in front of the elevator.

 

Declan knelt down on the carpet next to the teenager. “Are you all right?”

 

Jazz raked both hands through his long golden brown hair, his green eyes glittering suspiciously. Feeling more than a little lost, Jazz moaned, “I want to go home.”

 

“I know,” Declan agreed.

 

Jazz wrapped his arms tightly around himself and rocked back and forth. “I miss James and Pete.”

 

Declan nodded.

 

“I thought—oh, God, I thought I was never going to see them again.”

 

“Yet you went with Adam anyway.”

 

Jazz stared at Declan as if he’d lost his mind. “I love him!”

 

“Do you think it was fair for him to make you choose between your family and him?”

 

“No…” Jazz reluctantly admitted. “But it’s not fair that Adam had to choose either—“

 

Declan paused as if considering that. “You’re right. But—sometimes life’s not fair.”

 

“No, sometimes it *sucks*.”

 

“What made you change your mind about running?”

 

“Adam. He said he had to come back. To face his father. Without him…there was nothing out there for me.”

 

“You’d give up the rest of the world for him?”

 

Jazz shrugged. “Why not? He did. For me.”

 

“Maybe neither one of you is thinking all that straight right now.” Declan saw the sparks fly from Jazz’ eyes and smiled inwardly. It wasn’t often that he found himself playing devil’s advocate. He was thoroughly pleased with what he was learning about Jazz and, by extension, Adam.

 

“He’s a better person than you give him credit for,” Jazz spat angrily.

 

“Your judgment wouldn’t happen to be just a little suspect, would it? After all, you *are* in love with him.”

 

“I *know* him. Better than you ever will.”

 

“You may be right. You’re such a staunch defender of his honor now, Jazz. What exactly happened while you two were gone?”

 

All at once Jazz looked inexplicably guilty. His face flushed dark red as he stared at the carpet beneath his knees. “Adam…Adam and I slept together.”

 

If Jazz thought that Declan would be shocked, he was wrong. Declan merely blinked. “Was it worth it?”

 

“Yes,” Jazz answered without hesitation, the reverence in his voice making it obvious that it would be futile to try to convince Jazz otherwise.

 

“Jazz—“

 

“You can’t tell me it was wrong. Maybe it shouldn’t have happened now, but—it wasn’t like you think.”

 

“Why don’t you tell what I’m thinking then?” Declan asked softly.

 

“That it was all about sex.” Jazz lifted his chin defiantly, meeting Declan’s storm-grey gaze head-on. “Or hormones. Or-or because we’re fucking kids.”

 

“Sounds pretty serious to me,” Declan said, trying hard not to smile.

 

“It is,” Jazz asserted. Right before he sniffled, spoiling the entire effect. “So don’t go saying we’re too young to know how we feel. We do.”

 

“Damn right you do.”

 

“You better not be laughing at me or—“

 

“Or what, boyo?”

 

Jazz squeezed his eyes shut. “I never knew that loving someone could hurt so much,” he whispered.

 

All pretense at keeping his distance fell away and Declan pulled the adolescent against his chest. “Oh, Jazz, I’m sorry this happened to you, kiddo.”

 

Jazz smiled through his tears. “Hey, that’s Sasha’s nickname.”

 

“That’s okay. Sasha won’t mind you borrowing it. It’s all in a good cause.” Declan hugged the teenager as hard as he could, not for the first time glad that Jazz was part of their family.

 

“What’s going to happen to us?” Jazz whispered, finding a curious solace in the solidity of Declan’s chest beneath his cheek.

 

“Michael’s talking to Adam now.”

 

“Oh, God.”

 

“Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”

 

Galvanized by Declan’s offhand reassurance, Jazz cried, “What makes you say that? Do you know something?”

 

Declan smiled enigmatically. “No, but I know Michael.”

 

 

Chapter 18

 

Jazz couldn’t remember how he ended up back in the hotel suite. He had absolutely no recollection of moving from outside the elevator to his room. His *empty* room. Someone, probably Sey, gave a thought to the fact that he had no privacy whatsoever and banished his roommates for the duration. So Jazz could lick his wounds without confronting several pairs of curious eyes.

 

He knew that he must have slept. It was Declan’s voice that woke him. “There’s someone here to see you, Jazz.”

 

He buried his head in his pillow and groaned, “Tell whoever it is to go away.”

 

There was some muted whispering at the door, the words too low to be intelligible. “You sure? I think you’ll want to see him.”

 

Jazz raised his head sharply, wincing as a throbbing headache took up residence there. His voice still blurred by sleep and tears, he asked, “Who is it?”

 

“Me.”

 

Jazz’ voice broke. “Pete?”

 

Smoke crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Within moments, Jazz had his arms wrapped around the man he considered his savior. “How’d you get here?”

 

“Declan called me. I came as soon as I could.” His own voice husky, Smoke closed his eyes and concentrated on the boy he held. “James wanted to come, but it was such short notice, he couldn’t get anyone to take his class. He’ll be here as soon as he can.”

 

It was as if Jazz were holding his breath way past the point of reasonable expectations. With a huge sigh, he released his breath, a wave of fresh tears following close behind it. “Pete? Don’t hate me, okay? But I really screwed up.”

 

“Declan told me what happened,” Smoke replied softly, neither confirming nor denying that Jazz had made a mistake.

 

Swiping at his face with the back of his hand, Jazz asked anxiously, “Did Michael say what he was going to do to Adam?”

 

“You seem more worried about him than yourself.”

 

“I can’t help it, Pete. I love him.”

 

“We’re working out the details now, but we won’t keep the two of you apart, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“Y-you w-won’t?” Jazz’ lips trembled as he struggled to maintain his poise.

 

“We won’t,” Smoke responded as he stroked Jazz’ silky hair away from his face.

 

Suddenly he could hear Jazz chanting under his breath, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. Then it hit him with full clarity. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

 

“What’s stupid?” Smoke asked with a frown.

 

“Not what. Who. Me. I’m stupid. I want to be treated like an adult, but I messed up. And-and now I can’t stop cr-crying like a little k-kid.” Jazz finished speaking and buried his hot, wet face against the base of Smoke’s neck.

 

“Ssh,” Smoke whispered, wishing he could tell Jazz that there was a shortcut to growing up. But as far as he knew, there wasn’t one. “I know it feels like the pain is going to go on forever, but you’ll get through this. You’re not alone. We’ll help.”

 

“You will?” came Jazz’ tear-muffled voice.

 

“Yeah.” Smoke smiled faintly. “Now pull yourself together, Jazz. Adam wants to see you. He needs to know that you’re okay.”

 

Jazz blinked, his eyes brighter and wider than usual. “You’re going to let him come in here?” he asked incredulously.

 

“Why not? I trust you.”

 

“But you shouldn’t. I mean-I made a terrible mistake—“

 

“Don’t you think you can learn from your mistakes?” Smoke asked, continuing to stroke Jazz’ hair.

 

“Well, yeah,” Jazz replied, sounding surprised.

 

“So do I. So does James. So does Declan. And even Michael.”

 

“He does?” Jazz exclaimed, wondering what he’d done to deserve such consideration.

 

“Yeah. It’s called faith.”

 

“I thought I wiped all that out.”

 

“It’s called getting a second chance.”

 

“I promise we won’t sleep together again, Pete.”

 

Smoke’s face softened even more as he regarded the teenager who was his adoptive son. “Ever?’ he asked with a trace of amusement.

 

A strangled noise that might have been laughter escaped Jazz. “Well, no!”

 

Smoke bit his lip and plunged ahead. “Did you seduce Adam, Jazz? I mean, I understand getting carried away at your age, but—you have so much more experience than he does. It gives you an unfair advantage.”

 

Jazz looked blank. “What does?”

 

“Your being with other guys.”

 

Jazz shifted uncomfortably. “You hurt my feelings when you say that, Pete.”

 

“I didn’t mean to. Jazz, you’re the closest thing to a son I have. Believe it or not, I want you to be happy.”

 

“Then stop acting like I slept around.” Jazz blurted out loudly.

 

Smoke shook his head very slowly. “But your mother said—“

 

“My Mom’s an alcoholic, Pete.”

 

“You let us think that you were turning tricks on every street corner, Jazz,” Smoke protested, trying to wrap his mind around this latest revelation.

 

Jazz dropped his chin to his chest, his long straight hair covering his face, effectively preventing Smoke from reading his expression. “I thought you could see right through me, Pete. I-I’ve never been with anyone. Not like that.”

 

“Adam was the first?”

 

“The first and only.”

 

“You must love him a lot.”

 

Jazz nodded, his hair swinging back and forth, alternately hiding and revealing his face. “We didn’t go all the way,  Pete.”

 

“How come?”

 

“Wasn’t the right time, I guess.”

 

“But it will be. Someday.”

 

Jazz raised his head up, his green eyes suddenly afire with a very adult passion. “God, I hope so. I don’t care how long I have to wait. He’s the only one I want to belong to.”

 

“I’m glad,” called the voice from over Smoke’s shoulder.

 

“Adam!” Jazz whispered, the sight of his lover transforming him into a being of such ethereal beauty, it almost took Smoke’s breath away. These two belonged together. It would be criminal to separate them now.

 

Smoke stood up slowly, turning to face Adam. “You have five minutes to visit together.”

 

Adam’s dark eyes widened ever so slightly, as if he were surprised by the offer of time alone with his admitted lover. But he wisely kept his own counsel. “Thanks.”

 

After Smoke left, Adam moved away from the door to stand next to Jazz’ bed. “Are you okay, Nicky?”

 

“I-I guess so.”

 

“I never meant for you to get hurt.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

There was a silence of almost overwhelming proportions and yet…it was not completely uncomfortable.

 

The two teenagers stared at one another, afraid to approach each other, unable to move away. His eyes darting to the door and back, Jazz knew it was up to him to take the initiative. Adam was feeling far too guilt-stricken to even contemplate touching him.

 

“One minute,” a male voice called from outside the room, letting them know that they were not totally unobserved.

 

Jazz reached up and cupped Adam’s chin, his bright green eyes speaking far more eloquently than any words could do. When he did speak, however, it was not words of love he spoke, but words of hope. “I forgive you, Adam.”

 

Adam’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the corridor outside. “Nicky—“

 

Jazz pressed his lips lightly to Adam’s, offering his forgiveness in the same way that he gave his love. Unconditionally.

 

Adam’s hands carded through Jazz’ hair, eventually tugging him closer to deepen the kiss. They broke apart only when footsteps could be heard padding down the carpeted hall.

 

Declan popped his head through the door and inquired, “Adam, do you feel any better now that you’ve seen Jazz?”

 

“You have no idea,” he whispered, a bittersweet smile tracing his lips.

 

 

Chapter 19

 

Adam wiped his brow. It wasn’t yet noon and the teenager was sweating mightily. If anyone had asked him a week ago about planting flowers, he would have said, How hard can it be, man? It’s fucking *flowers*, for God’s sake. But he was fast learning exactly how hard that kind of work could be and he had a sneaking suspicion that his father meant it to be that way.

 

Huh. Michael. His father. Wielding the sword of divine retribution. That sword soundly separated the newfound lovers, Adam and Jazz, in such a way that no one could actually object to the punishment.

 

Hardly punishment in the traditional sense, it assigned each adolescent to a chore so labor-intensive that they were exhausted by the end of the day. There was no need to forbid them to be together. They did indeed fall into bed with wild abandon every night, but not with each other. So tired they saved all their intensity for hugging their pillows, they barely had the energy to acknowledge their earlier sexual awakening. It would be too much to hope that things would stay that way, but it bought all of them some very necessary breathing room.

 

***

 

Jazz threw another bale of hay into the stall, startling the horse stabled there. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s not your fault that I’m stuck doing this when I’d rather be—“

 

He sighed. Now he was reduced to talking to animals. It wasn’t that he was lonely in general. He was too busy to feel lonely. Besides, Sasha and the others stopped by frequently enough, sometimes to give him much-needed moral support, sometimes to tell him what Adam was doing.

 

He pulled his hair off his neck and into a loose ponytail, fixing it with a piece of string he had in his jeans pocket. He was developing muscles in his upper arms and in his legs, and the rest of his body was starting to follow suit.

 

Jazz would never be a big man, his frame was too slender, but he was beginning to fill out, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Adam. His skin looked glowingly healthy now, and if his face looked radiant at times, it might have been attributed to the workout he was getting.

 

Except that his bright green eyes, a startling burst of color against his lightly tanned flesh, were intently focused on a bare-chested Adam.

 

***

 

Nikita sighed heavily as she looked out the bedroom window overlooking the gardens. “Michael, you said you wouldn’t keep them apart.”

 

“I’m not,” Michael denied.

 

“But they’re working all the time. They never see each other, and when they do catch a break, they’re too tired to do anything but sleep.”

 

“That was the idea, Kita.”

 

“But what’s done is done, Michael. How will they make it through three more years?”

 

“Ki-ta.”

 

“Okay, okay, I’m backing off on this. I promised to abide by whatever you decided and I will.”

 

“You make it sound like you’re under duress.”

 

Nikita evaded her husband’s scrutiny. “He’s not my son, Michael.”

 

“He is, doucette. He’s *our* son.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

Michael’s grey-green eyes looked vaguely troubled. He believed that he had made the right decision. He *did*. But he hated being at odds with his wife. It hurt.

 

“Sometimes we have to make difficult decisions. Decisions that no one likes. But we still have to make them.”

 

Nikita cupped her hand under Michael’s chin. “I’m not blaming you, Michael. I *understand*. It’s just—“

 

“You want them to be together. I know, doucette.”

 

Michael broke away from his wife’s attempt to embrace him and stared out the window again, his face somber. “Do you think it makes me happy, knowing that I’m the reason Adam is in pain? He doesn’t talk to me anymore. In the past month, I don’t think we’ve said more than two words to each other.”

 

“He’s not angry with you, Michael. A little frustrated, maybe, but not angry.”

 

His head whipped around sharply. “How do you know that?”

 

“He told me,” she said in a low voice, unprepared for the defeated look Michael sent her.

 

He dropped his head, helpless against the wave of emotion that crested over him. “He talks to *you*,” he whispered.

 

“Michael—“

 

He shook his head slowly, as if to clear it of unwelcome thought. “He’ll get over it,” he said, unconsciously wincing at his choice of words.

 

She nodded in agreement. “Yes, but will you?”

 

“I’m fine, Kita. I don’t need you to hold my hand every time we have a family crisis,” Michael snapped, uncharacteristically irritable.

 

She actually took a half-step back before she caught herself. Searching his stony façade with anxious blue eyes, she looked stricken. As if he had suddenly come to his senses, Michael reached out to her, only to have her back away from his touch. “Kita, I didn’t mean—“

 

Michael caught a fleeting glimpse of tear-filled eyes before she turned, so sharply that the long, pale plait that was her hair swung out and hit him in the chest. “Doucette!” he called out, but his voice was no louder than a murmur.

 

He closed his eyes and slumped against the wall.

 

Sometimes all anyone could do was stand by and watch things fall apart.

 

 

Chapter 20

 

“You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“Try me.”

 

“No.”

 

“You can be such a pain in the ass, you know that?”

 

Sasha smiled brightly at Chris. “I never thought I’d hear you say something like that, man.”

 

The two teenagers were in Sasha’s room. Sasha was attempting to clean his room. Under duress. While he was certainly a reasonably organized boy for his age, he wasn’t all that interested in spending his free time doing what he considered to be housework.

 

Usually his sister Emmy helped him out. Well, the truth was, she traded off something that she would rather not do in return for cleaning his room. It was a unique arrangement for people their age, but they were nothing if not creative.

 

However, this weekend Emmy was going camping on the grounds of the chateau. Not alone. Declan would never allow his daughter to do something that dangerous. He and Sey were chaperoning a small group of the older children. Sasha thought that his parents should have learned their lesson the first time around, but the fiasco with Adam and Jazz in Paris, while still fresh in everyone’s minds, strangely did nothing to deter them from volunteering to head up just such an expedition.

 

“I wish you’d tell me,” repeated Chris.

 

“Now who’s the pain in the ass?” Sasha asked, grabbing a couple of CD’s off the floor scant seconds before he stepped on them.

 

“I want to know what she said about me, Sasha.”

 

“God, you never give up.”

 

Sasha sighed. Chris in this mood was like a pit bull. Determined, tenacious, single-minded. “What makes you think she said anything to me? She’s my sister.”

 

Chris’ light blue eyes flickered over Sasha’s exasperated face. “Please?”

 

Sasha blinked. That was a first. He couldn’t remember Chris *ever* asking him for anything. He was such a self-contained individual. It was logical for some to assume that because he showed nothing, he felt nothing. But Sasha knew differently. Chris had always been deeply emotional, but he was stoic to a fault.

 

In short, he was more like his father than any of Michael’s other children.

 

“She thinks you’re cool. Okay?”

 

“She said that? Or you’re making that part up?”

 

“I’m hurt, man. You think I would lie to you just to get you off my freaking back?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“You are seriously twisted.” Sasha shook his head and his long brown hair went flying. He started straightening up the books on the shelf directly over his bed. Suddenly there was a hand on his arm.

 

Sasha stared at the hand as if that might make it disappear. “Don’t make me hurt your feelings, Chris,” Sasha said in a low voice.

 

The pain in Chris’ eyes darkened them almost to black. He averted his gaze, but not before Sasha got a full second or two of how upset he was. “She likes *him*, doesn’t she?” he whispered.

 

“It doesn’t matter who she likes, man. She *loves* you.”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

Sasha had never seen Chris this dejected. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it. But as much as he wanted to help him, he didn’t like being in the middle like this. “I can’t do this, Chris. I have to finish up here. I promised Da I’d get it done before the camping trip.”

 

“When are you leaving?”

 

“Tomorrow morning.”

 

“Emmy can’t wait to go. She looks so pretty when she’s excited about something.” Chris’ tone was so wistful, it made Sasha feel uncomfortable.

 

“Man, don’t do this to yourself. It’s not like Adam’s coming with us, you know.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And how come you’re not coming?”

 

“She doesn’t want me to.”

 

“You don’t know that. Bet you never even asked her.”

 

“She doesn’t talk to me much anymore. But she still talks to *you*.”

 

“I’m her *brother*.”

 

“I wish he’d never come here.” There. Chris said it. Said what was in his heart. It would get him damned for all time, but it was how he felt. Emmy was *his* girl, dammit. Adam had no right to seize something so precious to him.

 

Sasha stopped what he was doing and examined the dismal picture Chris made. “Oh, shit. It’s not like you think.”

 

“Then tell me. Please.”

 

“Like I said, you wouldn’t understand.”

 

Chris closed his eyes and sat down on the end of Sasha’s bed. He didn’t want much and he asked for even less. His lower lip trembling, he knew he was in grave danger of disgracing himself by crying in front of his friend.

 

“You’re right. I don’t,” Chris said brokenly.

 

“It’s nothing you did. Or didn’t do. It’s not like that. It’s just—“

 

When Sasha paused, Chris opened his eyes, their dark depths filled with unshed tears now. “What?”

 

Sasha sat down next to the younger teenager. “Em’s got a crush on him, that’s all.”

 

“But why? It’s not fair. He already has Jazz. How can he want Emmy, too?”

 

“He doesn’t. That’s the part you don’t understand. Adam’s in love with Jazz.” When Chris opened his mouth to protest, Sasha cut him off abruptly. “Trust me, I know he is. He can’t see anyone else for dust.”

 

“But Emmy keeps hanging out with him. Every chance she gets, she’s somewhere near him. Why?”

 

“I dunno. He’s older. He’s good-looking. Girls are like that, Chris.”

 

Chris frowned, uncertain if that was an insult to Emmy. “Are you saying Emmy’s shallow?”

 

“Nooo…she’s just…being a girl.”

 

“She’s going to get hurt.”

 

“Just her feelings, Chris. Adam would never—“

 

“He’d better not.” Chris looked so impossibly fierce for a moment, all at once Sasha could see a glimpse of the man-to-be.

 

Sasha reached out to pat Chris on the shoulder. “Adam’s a good guy, man. Jazz wouldn’t fall for a creep.”

 

“Listen,” he continued conspiratorially, “She’s not gonna believe you or me. Adam’s the only one who can convince her that he doesn’t like her *that* way. She’s gonna be really upset, man.”

 

“Then you think I should go on this trip?”

 

“If you want to be there for her, yeah.”

 

For the first time in five minutes, Chris smiled, the transformation of his features remarkable. “She’ll come back to me.”

 

Sasha grinned. “And you won’t have to kill Adam, honest.”

 

Chris gave his friend an enigmatic look that reminded Sasha eerily of Michael. It was almost as if he were saying, That remains to be seen.

 

 

 

Chapter 21

 

Faith snorted impolitely. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

 

“No, I did. I told Sasha.”

 

“Knowing that he would tell Chris?”

 

Emmy had the grace to look slightly embarrassed at that. “Well….”

 

“Oh, come on. You can’t do something like that and then act like you didn’t have a clue!”

 

Faith grinned, the tip of her tongue peeking sassily between straight white teeth. “And all this time I thought you didn’t have it in you to be so-so-devious!”

 

“I’m not,” Emmy wailed, this close to wringing her hands. At Faith’s raised eyebrow, Emmy corrected herself, “Usually.”

 

“You got that right, Em. God, you’re like Snow White without the Seven Dwarfs!”

 

Faith sat down on Emmy’s bed and crossed her legs demurely. But there was no mistaking Faith for anything but a tomboy. Even at 13. Her above-average height set her apart, but her legs were more muscular than slender, her movements coltish and ungainly, as befit a young girl still in transition.

 

Scratching her knee, Faith surveyed her companion carefully. Only a year younger, Emmy was everything that Faith was not. The bones in her face, hands and feet so finely cast as to be elegant, it was almost as if she *were* a real princess, as Declan was wont to call her. Emmy was easily the same height as Faith, but that was probably the only similarity. Where Faith was athletic, Emmy was delicate, though hardly frail. She would undoubtedly be a beautiful woman. Something Faith was convinced that *she* would never be.

 

“Y’know, it’s a good thing you and me are friends. Otherwise, I would have to hate you.”

 

Emmy blinked and gave the older girl what appeared to be a reasonable imitation of Declan. “Whatever for?”

 

“Never mind. Back to you doing your impression of Cruella De Vil. What made you think of doing something like that, Em? It’s not like you.”

 

“Was Chris very upset?” Emmy asked shyly.

 

“Yeah,” Faith declared, in much the same tone that she would say “Duh”. “He thinks you have a crush on Adam! How weird is that?”

 

“Well, he’s cute.”

 

“And gay.”

 

“He’s older.”

 

“And gay.”

 

Emmy frowned at Faith. “Stop that! He’s not gay! He likes girls, too!”

 

“In a whole other lifetime, Em. Not so’s you’d notice here anyway.”

 

“Well, I had to pick someone, Fee. I didn’t think anyone would believe I had a crush on Jazz!”

 

About to retort, Faith had to agree with that one. She shut her mouth and nodded.

 

“So what’s your plan?”

 

“I just wanted to make Chris a little jealous, that’s all.”

 

“Jealous? Chris worships the ground you walk on!”

 

“He does not, Fee. He hardly even talks to me anymore. He probably doesn’t notice I’m there.”

 

Faith fell back onto the bed with a muffled thump. “Oh, my God! You two deserve each other! I swear, you guys are like so married already—and you don’t even know it!”

 

“Married?!” Emmy huffed. “We don’t even see each other.”

 

Faith rolled over onto her stomach and stared at Emmy, cupping her chin in her hands. “Okay, let me get this straight. Adam is supposed to blow you off in front of everybody—“

 

“And Chris is supposed to come to his senses.”

 

“Which means what?”

 

“That he acts a little…um…romantic.”

 

“Romantic, huh? Chris?”

 

“You don’t think he can be?”

 

“I…uh…” Faith suddenly saw how deeply Emmy’s emotions were involved and reined in her impulse to make light of the situation. “That’s kinda hard to say, Em. He’s my brother.”

 

“Well, it’s not like I expect an undying declaration of love or something!” Emmy protested, her lower lip trembling, not unlike her other father, Sey, when he was overcome by feelings that threatened to get the best of him.

 

“Hey, hey, Em, I’m on *your* side.” Faith reached out and rubbed the younger girl’s arm. “But this isn’t exactly one of your romance novels, y’know,” she said, referring to Emmy’s affection for that type of book.

 

“I know.”

 

All at once Faith felt as sad as Emmy looked. Then she brightened. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a happy ending, just like your stories!”

 

Against her will, Emmy smiled, though it never reached her soft grey eyes. “Maybe.”

 

“No maybe about it, Em. I’m going to help you and we’re going to make sure that you and Adam end up together.”

 

“Chris!”

 

“What about him?”

 

“You said Adam. Me and Adam. You mean *Chris*.”

 

“Oh, yeah. That’s what I meant.”

 

What’s that they say about the best laid plans of mice and men? Did it hold true for tomboys and knights and princesses-in-training?

 

Oh, my.

 

 

Chapter 22

 

“Hey, squirt! What are you up to?” Adam asked his half-sister. Little did he realize that he was in grave danger. No one teased Faith and got away with it. Unless his name was Connor. No…not even Connor could escape Faith’s wrath, though he undoubtedly had a better shot at it than anyone else.

 

“Squirt?” Faith drew herself up to her full height. “I’m *thirteen*!” She said thirteen like it was *thirty*.

 

Adam nodded absently. He’d already made a big mistake by underestimating her. He was about to compound his error.

 

Adam put on his shirt without buttoning it, allowing it to gape open, exposing his lightly furred, muscular chest and abdomen. He wasn’t consciously trying to make himself look more desirable, but that was the result, nevertheless.

 

Faith’s mouth dropped open. “Chris is gonna kick your ass!”

 

“’Scuse me?”

 

“When he sees the way you look.”

 

“I look the way I always look,” Adam said with a puzzled frown.

 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Faith countered.

 

“And I don’t think Chris is going to kick *anyone’s* ass anytime soon, Fee.”

 

“A fat lot you know,” she muttered under her breath. Sure as shootin’ there were going to be fireworks. Of the most colorful kind.

 

“He’s an honorable guy,” Adam declared. “I bet he won’t even get jealous. He trusts Emmy *totally*.”

 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t trust *you*,” she continued to mutter.

 

“I heard that,” Adam said, trying to decide if he should feel hurt or not. Not, he concluded. Chris was still dealing with the fallout of finding out that he had a heretofore-undiscovered brother. But he was fair. Of all of them, Chris was the one who would go to untold lengths to see both sides.

 

“Anyway, I promised I’d help Em—“

 

“No way, Fee. I know your rep for getting into trouble. It’s worse than mine.”

 

Faith raised an eyebrow and regarded her older half-brother imperiously. What she might have said was lost, however, in the ensuing confusion.

 

It was going to be a hot summer day. Although it was relatively early, the temperature was already climbing. The small group of would-be campers milled a bit restlessly, awaiting the arrival of the group’s quasi-chaperones, Declan and Sey.

 

Into this scene bounded an enthusiastic Celtic maiden, her long red hair tied back in a ponytail that swung back and forth like its namesake. “Adam!”

 

Adam was so preoccupied with Faith and the inevitable consequences of her interference that he didn’t register Emmy’s presence until she was almost on top of him. Which turned out to be a bad choice of words.

 

“Princess!”

 

Whether Adam was already unbalanced or Faith actually had the audacity to trip him was unclear. But Emmy’s virtual leap forward propelled him backwards and he sat down hard, right on his buttocks, the slender redhead landing on his chest with enough force to empty his lungs of whatever air they had been holding.

 

“Oof!”

 

“Ow!”

 

Before either one of them could gather enough breath to speak, Chris appeared, an uncharacteristic fire in his light blue eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Who, me?”

 

“Me?” Adam and Emmy answered at the same time.

 

“I can’t believe you’re lying on top of him!” Chris shouted, all pretense at maintaining his cool gone.

 

“It was an accident—“

 

“I bet it was,” Chris spat coldly.

 

Adam tried to get a word in, but Emmy inadvertently dug her elbow into his stomach. “Hey! Cut that out!”

 

“Are you touching her? Cause I swear if you’re touching her, you’re dead, Adam! You’re freaking dead!”

 

Suddenly Emmy raised herself to a sitting position, her face as pale as parchment. “This is all my fault, Chris. I wanted to get your attention…but not this way. Never this way.”

 

The only visible sign of emotion was the way Chris’ nostrils flared. His face was so composed, he might have been carved from stone. As if the words were forced from his lips, he whispered, “I don’t want you to be with anyone but me, Soleil.”

 

“I know,” she mouthed contritely, a single tear starting to run down her cheek.

 

Faith gnashed her teeth in frustration. Only Emmy could cry and look good doing it.

 

“Okay, okay, you two are meant to be together. Everyone knows that. Now get up, Em. You’re crushing Adam’s…” Faith grinned insouciantly. “…will to live.”

 

She reached out a hand to help Emmy stand, but before Emmy regained her feet, Jazz barreled into the vicinity, sparks flying every which way. It was irrational, of course, but Jazz’ relationship with Adam was too new, too uncertain for complete confidence in his lover. He jumped to the only logical conclusion. For him.

 

“You-you-you….” Jazz gazed helplessly at the female faces surrounding him and automatically censored himself. “For two francs, I’d tell you exactly what I think!”

 

Adam couldn’t scramble to his feet fast enough. For all his winning charm and his undeniable sex appeal, he was at the mercy of the younger teenager who had won his heart. “I didn’t! I wouldn’t! It’s not what you think, Jazz!”

 

“And you know what makes it worse, Adam?” Jazz whispered hoarsely, unshed tears standing in his moss-green eyes. “She’s a girl. And not just any girl, but Sasha’s sister.”

 

Jazz’ face reflected his feelings of betrayal far more clearly than Chris’ had. “I thought you loved *me*. I thought you would wait for me.”

 

“I will, Jazz. As long as it takes.” Adam tried to pull Jazz into his arms, but the younger adolescent evaded his grasp and ran towards the front door of the chateau.

 

“Jazz!” Adam took off at a sprint after his lover, leaving the others to look anxiously at one another.

 

As the moments turned into minutes, Faith grew exasperated. “Oh, come on. Chris, you know Emmy wouldn’t cheat on you, and if she did, it wouldn’t be with *Adam!*”

 

Chris blinked slowly and Emmy leaned forward to give him a little kiss on the cheek. She knew she was getting somewhere when he didn’t pull away from her touch. “Would it help if I kept saying, I’m sorry?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe you should say it a couple of times, just to see.”

 

Gradually Emmy moved closer and closer…until she was all that Chris could see. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking directly into his eyes.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I only did it cause I couldn’t stand the thought of you not loving me anymore,” she confessed artlessly.

 

Chris’ thumb caressed her jawline, pushing back a strand of long red hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Neither could I,” he admitted with a shrug.

 

“How could you even think that?”

 

“How could *you*?”

 

Emmy nuzzled Chris’ cheek with her small, retrousse nose and he sank his hands into the silky red strands, completely dislodging the clip that held her hair.

 

Faith beamed happily at the couple, chirping quite loudly, “Now that’s more like it, Em. You’re getting good at this mushy stuff.”

 

“Bloody Hell!”

 

Faith did a half-turn, her hand over her mouth. Uh-oh, it looked like Declan didn’t understand what was going on. She would just have to enlighten him.

 

“I did this,” she declared proudly.

 

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

 

“But I’m good at it, Uncle Dec.”

 

“How come I don’t feel the least bit reassured by that bit of news, Fee?”

 

As Sey joined the group, he could see that he had his work cut out for him. Yet again. With a wry chuckle, he said, “Doesn’t *anyone* go camping just to go *camping*?”

 

“What is your daughter doing with my son?” Michael demanded.

 

“Being a teenager?” Sey asked a bit flippantly, forgetting for the moment Michael’s general lack of humor lately.

 

“Chris—“

 

Nikita tugged on Michael’s arm, pulling him back so sharply, he stared at her, his grey eyes the color of steel and twice as hard. “Leave him alone, Michael. He’s not the one you’re angry with.”

 

“How would you know? You haven’t spoken to me for days,” Michael said cuttingly.

 

Nikita motioned to Declan to proceed with the camping trip and he answered her with a barely perceptible nod.

 

As the small group reluctantly moved away from what promised to be an even more interesting matching of wits, Michael regarded his wife impassively. “I presume you want to talk.”

 

“Oh, no. The time for talking is past. We’re going to have it out. The only way we know how.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Karate. One match. Full body contact. No gloves, no padding.”

 

“I could hurt you,” he blurted out, life’s most recent wounds suddenly glaringly obvious in his eyes.

 

“You already have.”

 

 

Chapter 23—NC-17 (Explicit sex, kink, violence)

 

Michael’s heart wasn’t in it. She could tell. He was so desperately afraid of hurting her, he was holding back. He was pulling his punches and he was keeping his distance.

 

Too bad, Nikita thought meanly. He needed to open up, and she wasn’t just talking about his fighting stance.

 

“Michael!” she shouted, her vivid blue eyes turned almost glacial. “Come at me!”

 

Clearly preoccupied, he seemed startled by the sharpness in her voice. “Ki-ta,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“Too late.”

 

He winced.

 

She closed in on him, her body low to the ground, her right foot suddenly connecting with the back of his left knee, sweeping him to the floor expertly. Michael stared at her, bewildered, for a long moment before responding by tightening his mouth.

 

In moments, she was straddling his body, sitting atop him like a beautiful blonde Amazon princess taking a mortal male as consort. Smiling triumphantly, she lay claim to him in the most basic way.

 

As her hands touched his belt buckle, he grasped her wrists in an iron grip. “No.”

 

“Yes.”

 

It was more than a physical tug-of-war now. It was a struggle to the death of Michael’s emotional control.

 

She alone held the key that pierced the lock that held his heart captive. He would not go willingly. But he *would* go.

 

***

 

This was the perfect place for a sparring match. Last used as a ballroom during one of their Halloween celebrations, the expansive room was as wide as it was long. Little furniture to interfere with their movements. Rarely frequented by the children.

 

It was an even better place for a tryst.

 

 

Michael gritted his teeth and struggled to keep his feelings in check. He’d promised himself that he would never take unfair advantage of his wife. But he couldn’t say that she didn’t deserve it now. She was using her most intimate knowledge of him to drive him crazy.

 

Nikita pulled her snug black T-shirt over her head and tossed it to the side. If it was meant as a distraction, it succeeded. Michael couldn’t help but be riveted to the sight of her naked breasts. But while he was fighting his own rampant desire, once again Nikita blindsided him.

 

In an effort to regain control, Michael reached for her arms, intending to thrust her away, but Nikita deflected him to the side. Slowly, exquisitely slowly, she crossed his arms at the wrist and pushed them up and over his head. He was quite helpless now.

 

One might even say he was completely at her mercy.

 

Or was he?

 

Lightning-quick, he pounced, rolling over until he sat astride her. The fact that he did not press his advantage right away was not lost on Nikita. Nor did the fact that he was slightly breathless go unnoticed. “I said, don’t push me.”

 

Nikita’s eyes narrowed. “Or else what?”

 

Michael frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

“What’ll you do if I keep pushing you?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about this.” He started to get up, but his position was precarious at best and left him vulnerable to attack. Again.

 

Nikita reached out with one hand and grabbed his crotch. Though her grip was not yet painful, it had the potential to be. *Now* she had her husband’s full attention.

 

That wasn’t all she had. She could feel Michael’s manhood stir to life in her hand, harder than she would have believed minutes before. It throbbed restlessly between them like it had a will of its own.

 

He stared at her, his eyes dark grey and almost impenetrable. “You want to *fight* or *fuck*?”

 

“Michael!”

 

That was when she realized that she was no longer in control. There was more than a little danger involved in pushing a man like Michael too far. But it wasn’t fear that raced through her body now, giving her goosebumps everywhere that her skin lay open, exposed, and vulnerable.

 

He seized one of her nipples, suckling so hard that she nearly bent in two trying to arch her back. She pushed her hands roughly through his hair and he bit down on the tiny nub he held between his teeth. Her blue eyes wild, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the cheek. Hard. Hard enough to snap his head back.

 

He caught her wrist in a grip that would undoubtedly leave bruises and panted, his hot breath intermittently fanning her face. With no more than a fervent glance, he turned her over onto her stomach, so suddenly that she was powerless to resist. His palm burned where it touched her skin, his fingers seeking purchase on the waistband of her skin-tight black leggings.

 

Ripping her leggings down the back, he then shoved the offending cloth down both legs and threw it to the side. She lay on her stomach, feverishly waiting, anticipating…and he did not disappoint.

 

His slightly roughened fingertips grazed the end of her spine, gentling as they rolled over the curves of her buttocks.

 

“Oh, yes,” she sighed almost inaudibly.

 

Michael’s eyes grew even darker. He took in the sight of her naked flesh, so pale, so pristine, as though it had never been touched. All at once he knew what he must do. His hand flew through the air and connected with her left cheek, leaving a slightly reddened handprint in its wake.

 

“Oh!” she cried out in surprise. That was definitely not what she expected.

 

He didn’t speak. His mouth tightened as though something deep inside were taking over, something unknown, something dangerous.

 

Again and again he struck her, hard enough to make her skin grow flushed and rosy. Heat rose off her in a wave, but she did not react other than to close her eyes. Initially discomfited by the stinging slaps, Nikita gradually became aware of something else.

 

A growing heat between her legs. She was naked, her breasts crushed beneath her, her buttocks fiery red and throbbing, but there was more…. She was wet, unbelievably slick, and virtually on the verge of climax. “Michael,” she groaned softly, attempting to roll over to face him for the first time.

 

He reached out and pushed her back down, his fingers deftly spreading her cheeks, exposing her other opening. Rubbing his face against her skin, he inhaled her scent, so musky, so feminine. Flicking his tongue out, he lapped delicately at her cleft, feeling her squirm restlessly under him.

 

His ears filled with her throaty growls and hoarse exhortations to possess her completely. His tongue sought the sweetness deep within, first circling, then massaging the tiny pucker in earnest. “Ohhh…my…Godddd…” Nikita whispered, shuddering violently as she came.

 

The smell of her was in his nostrils, and like the untamed animal that he’d almost become, he lost control of his senses. Sinking his teeth into one tempting cheek, he marked her as his mate. She was his. Only his. She would never belong to anyone else. Ever.

 

Crying out, Nikita tensed. Suddenly Michael knew only one thing. He must claim her. In the most basic way possible. Tearing at his own clothing, he struggled to loose his rigid erection as quickly as he could. He was dangerously close…dangerously…close…to com…ing….

 

Fuck.

 

Before he could get inside her warm, wet center, he came, his throbbing length sliding between her still-pink cheeks, spilling itself across her back, spattering her long pale hair.

 

To Nikita, it was the most erotic thing that he had ever dared do to her.

 

To Michael, it was symbolic of a loss of control that he could not bear.

 

Pushing himself away from her, he fell onto his back with a soft gasp, his arm drawn up high to hide his face.

 

“Michael?”

 

“Don’t…look at me.”

 

Her hand touched his arm and he flinched. “Mi-chael…I love you. I *love* what you did to me. I love how you make me feel. Please don’t be sorry it happened. I’m not.”

 

“Are you…sure?” Michael sounded tentative and uncertain.

 

“Oh, yesss,” she murmured, climbing atop his body. She snuggled under his chin and wrapped an arm around his neck. “I love you.” With a light kiss to his chest, she settled comfortably, feeling his arms come around her at last.

 

“I love you, too, doucette,” he said huskily, closing his eyes. “You can’t imagine how much.”

 

“Oh, yes, I can,” she whispered, her lips vibrating against the shallow indentation at the base of his throat.

 

He tried to resist. But he couldn’t. It took a will and an effort that even he could not summon. “Does this mean that we’re okay?”

 

“Mi-chael,” she said, peeking at him under her lashes. “We were never *not* okay.”

 

“But you were so—“

 

“Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?” She chuckled. “But you know what? So were you.”

 

“I promise I won’t—“

 

“Michael,” she said with a brilliant smile that gave back the balance to his whole world. “Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”

 

“But shouldn’t we at least try to—“

 

“We are who we are, Michael. And you know what? I’m damn glad. Cause I love you just the way you are.”

 

“Oh, God, doucette, you know how I feel about you,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair.

 

Where there is love, all things are possible. Even healing.

 

 

 

Chapter 24—NC-17 (b & d, kink)

 

A pale blonde head popped up and surveyed her surroundings with a vaguely worried look. “Did you hear something?”

 

Michael shook his head and attempted to pull his wife back into his arms. When she resisted, he focused his trained senses on the immediate environs. “There! There it is again! Now do you hear it, Michael?”

 

This time Michael sat up abruptly. It wouldn’t do to be found like this: both of them naked, the entire area redolent of sex, their clothing tossed haphazardly here and there, like the aftermath of a night of debauchery.

 

Nikita grabbed their clothing and held out a hand to help Michael stand up. With the sound of distant voices approaching, there was no time to stop and get dressed. Clutching their clothes like shields, they ran quickly and stealthily out into the hallway. A rapid glance both ways told them that they were safe to make their way upstairs where the majority of the rooms were located in the chateau.

 

Giggling like children, they made it as far as the room that Declan shared with Sey before they were forced to search for cover. “Kita, someone’s coming!”

 

“Michael! In here!”

 

Thankful that Declan and Sey had left their bedroom door unlocked, they darted inside, shutting the door softly behind them. Nikita leaned forward attentively, her palms flat against the door, listening as the voices grew louder before they finally began to fade away.

 

“Michael, they’ve gone.”

 

“What if they come back?”

 

“Well, we can’t stay in here forever,” Nikita said crossly. This was hardly the way she had envisioned their time together ending. It wasn’t that she was frustrated. Just that she wanted…more.

 

Michael turned and saw the bed that dominated Declan and Sey’s room. A moment later, he raised his eyes to meet his wife’s. As if reading her mind, he blurted out, “We can’t.”

 

“Why not? Declan took the kids on a camping trip, remember? He and Sey won’t be back for hours.”

 

“But that’s so—“

 

“Decadent?” Nikita grinned. “I find the idea of making love in someone else’s bed incredibly erotic, Michael.”

 

He dropped the clothes he was holding in front of his body. Nikita would have laughed had it not been for the obvious erection Michael had. “You, too?” she whispered.

 

He nodded. Sometimes it was as if he had no will of his own. Nikita was the only person who affected him this way. He supposed he should be grateful for that.

 

Nikita locked the door and smiled.

 

Michael swallowed hard. Oh, God, they were going straight to Hell.

 

***

 

He wasn’t sure how he ended up in this position. Oh, he knew *how*, all right, for Nikita could never have managed to tie him up, quite literally, without his consent. But one minute they were lying on the bed, facing each other, trading rapacious kisses, and the next….

 

Well, he considered the situation. Michael was sitting up, his back against the headboard of Declan and Sey’s bed, enjoying the feel of the amply-endowed mattress beneath his buttocks. Or perhaps enjoying was not *quite* the right word. His wrists and ankles were tied. Had he been lying down, he would have been spread eagle. In any case, his movements were every bit as restricted.

 

It was all Nikita’s idea. Casually exploring Declan and Sey’s bedroom, she found a number of interesting things. It wasn’t as if she were prying. Oh, no, she knew the difference between examining something in plain sight and pawing through someone’s things like a common thief.

 

“What’s this?” she asked, holding up a tube of Astroglide. “What do you suppose Dec uses this for?”

 

Michael colored furiously. “Ki-ta!”

 

“Hm? Oh! Ohhhhh….” Nikita chuckled.

 

“You never would have made it as a Valentine operative,” Michael muttered under his breath, but Nikita clearly heard him.

 

She snorted as she replaced the tube where she’d found it. “Would, too. Just never ran into anyone I wanted to…well, you know.”

 

Michael stared at her, a mixture of puzzlement and disappointment on his face. “Thanks, Kita.”

 

“*Besides* you, Michael. Oh, for Heaven’s sake, you know you were the only man I wanted to be with.”

 

“What about Gray?” Michael fairly growled. “Or—“

 

“Poor substitutes. You pushed me into their arms, Michael. Every time you turned me away—“

 

Michael grimaced at the reminder and would have averted his face, but Nikita grasped his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. “But there was never *anyone* who could replace you in my heart, Michael. You know it’s true. Hear it in my voice. See it in my eyes.”

 

“I love you.”

 

With a rough sound deep in his throat, Michael pulled her into his arms and fell back onto the bed, taking her with him. “Doucette,” he whispered in her ear. “Je t’aime.”

 

***

 

Which brought them back to where they were now. Nikita tied his wrists and ankles using the buttery-soft leather restraints she found, and Michael, quite simply, let her.

 

It was proof of how much he trusted her. Trust was a quantity that was scarce where they came from. It was something he valued almost as much as love. For true love could not exist without trust.

 

His inability to move didn’t concern him. At first. Then he realized that he could not touch her or himself. He would have shrugged it off, but that was when Nikita upped the stakes.

 

Kneeling on the bed before him, she was the picture of sensuality. Her pale hair mussed, her lips blurred by countless stinging kisses, Nikita swayed gently forward, allowing Michael to feast his eyes upon her naked beauty.

 

“Touch me,” he begged, hating the fact that he was pleading, but unable to do anything else.

 

She smiled. Turning to the side, she reached for the vest she had been wearing before they sparred. Finding what she wanted inside a zippered pocket, she brandished it before Michael’s hungry eyes.

 

He shook his head slowly. “I can last without that, doucette.”

 

“No, you can’t.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Cause you haven’t seen what I’m about to do to you.”

 

His eyes grew wide and round, and for a moment, he looked very much like Luc. “Are you going to—“

 

“Yessss…” she hissed.

 

He shivered. “Do it.”

 

***

 

Once the cock ring was in place, Michael’s erection was no longer his to control, but Nikita’s. She stroked him a couple of times, as if she were testing its capacity to keep him firmly in check, and he sighed at her touch, feeling his arousal fill expectantly.

 

“Look what I found.”

 

“What?” he barely managed to croak.

 

She produced a brand-new dildo, apparently admiring its seven inches of latex. “Untouched by human hands. Still wrapped. Birkoff had it hidden in one of the drawers in the night table. There was a card. It’s a present from him to Declan.”

 

“Kita, you can’t just—“

 

“I’ll replace it, Michael.”

 

“But how will you explain—“

 

“With a great deal of embarrassment, no doubt.”

 

“It’s not like it’s something we *need*, Kita,” Michael protested weakly, the sight of the rubber device traversing his wife’s naked body from sternum to navel almost too much for him.

 

“Oh, yes, Michael. I *need* this. And I’m going to make *you* need it, too,” she said huskily.

 

With a faint smile, she lay back, spread eagle, her fingers eagerly separating the folds of her femininity. The only sound that could be heard was the harsh rasp of Michael’s breathing and the wet noise of her lubed fingertips contacting her already slick skin.

 

“Watch me….”

 

Her index finger sought out the tiny nub hidden beneath the folds and stroked it. “Ohh,” she groaned, arching her back and her feet.

 

Michael strained against the bonds that held him, only now regretting that he could not go to her and bury himself root-deep within her warm, moist confines.

 

“Dammit, I want to—“

 

“Oh, yes, I know,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. If Michael’s expression as he watched was avid, hers was rapt. Her fingers prepared the way for the dildo’s entrance.

 

With a soft cry, she worked the device inside, slowly, inch by inch, growing more and more excited as Michael’s hot eyes devoured her. After a moment, her body adjusted to its width and length, and her hips began to thrust upwards to meet it as it plunged deeper and deeper.

 

“Please…” Michael whispered.

 

After withdrawing the dildo, Nikita crawled forward on her hands and knees to where Michael sat. She released the cock ring, much to Michael’s relief, but when he would have grabbed her, she eluded him. Wagging a finger at him, she said, “Ah-ah-ah.”

 

“Don’t play games, doucette. I’m too close.”

 

She smiled knowingly, licking her lips salaciously. “Mm-hm.”

 

She knelt between his legs, and the sight of her pale blonde head down there was enough to put him over the edge. Taking her breasts into her hands, she slid his leaking erection between them. As soon as her skin touched his, he was lost. He came hard, his essence spilling into the waiting crevice she made for him and beyond, some of it landing upon her chin. With a decidedly feline glance, she swiped her hand across her face, then licked her palm clean.

 

Dipping a finger delicately into the warm fluid, she painted her breasts with it in ever-increasing circles. Finally, she slid a wet hand between her legs. Looking intently into Michael’s eyes, which had gone an unfathomably dark gray now, she plucked his half-hardened length from where it lay and guided it inside her.

 

Still able to feel the pulsations throbbing through him, she rubbed against his groin, the sticky wetness there only serving to inflame her more. With a soft mew, she came.

 

Her head fell forward onto his shoulder, and she nuzzled his neck absently, murmuring, “I love you.” He closed his eyes and wished he could hold her.

 

“Untie me, doucette.”

 

“In a minute,” she said sleepily, and Michael sighed. Oh, well, there were worse things than losing the feeling in one’s arms and legs.

 

Yes, there were.

 

Voices out in the hall startled both of them. “Gee, Dec, how come our door’s locked?”

 

“That’s funny. I thought I left it open.”

 

“Go ahead and use your key,” said Sey with a shrug. It was the last thing he said until…

 

“Oh, my God!”

 

Sey immediately burst into a fit of helpless laughter. “Damn!”

 

Michael, as cool and unperturbed as ever, eyed the two men serenely. “We weren’t expecting you back this soon, Declan.”

 

Declan felt his lips twitch and snorted, “No shit, Sherlock.”

 

 

Chapter 25—NC-17

 

Declan came out of the bathroom, his long red hair hanging in damp ringlets about his shoulders. Wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel fastened around his narrow hips, he slowly began to work the other towel he was holding through his wet hair. “I still can’t get over the shock of finding Michael and Nikita in our bed.”

 

“Think I should take a quick inventory?” Sey quipped, insinuating that the ardent couple might have latched onto more of their “toys”.

 

Declan shook his head, sending a brief shower of water droplets Sey’s way. “Anything they’ve got, they can keep, baby.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t suggesting that we should share,” Sey said dryly.

 

“Mmm, good. I’m far too possessive by half, I know, acushla, but I have *no* intention of sharing.”

 

Sey lay back on the bed, a languorous look filling his dark brown eyes. With a slight waggle of his eyebrows, he said, “Not even with me?”

 

“Hmm….” Declan leaned on the bed with his hands and one knee. “I’ll take it under consideration.”

 

“Then while you’re at it, consider this.” With a soft chuckle, Sey proceeded to pull on the edge of Declan’s towel where it covered his lower body. When the towel fell off, revealing how aroused Declan was, Sey covered his mouth with a sloppy wet kiss, more out of mischief than anything else.

 

But Declan opened his mouth and responded with such urgency that Sey abandoned all attempts at game-playing to tangle both hands in Declan’s moist curls. After a few breathless moments, Sey fell back onto their bed, panting. “Who’s on top?”

 

“You are, baby. You always are. Even when you’re not.”

 

His dark eyes snapping with fire Declan had kindled there, Sey smiled faintly. “I can’t believe you bottom for me, Dec,” he whispered.

 

“You’re the only one, mo leannan.” Declan bent his head and kissed his lover so tenderly that it made Sey’s breath catch in his throat.

 

“Someday you’re going to have to teach me the good stuff in Gaelic, love.”

 

“You already know everything you need to know, mo cridhe.”

 

“But I want to know what great things you’re saying about me,” Sey pouted, his fingers tugging on Declan’s hair.

 

“The greatest thing I could ever say to you…I say in English,” Declan whispered against his mouth. “I love you, Sey.”

 

“I love you, too,” Sey murmured, his heart filled to the brim . “I love you so much.”

 

The dim light in the room cast shadows of their bodies, moving impatiently towards each other, then twining restlessly together as one. Afterwards, the majestic Celtic warrior sheltered his love within his arms. There was safety here.

 

Or so he thought.

 

***

 

FLASHBACK

 

Section One

At the time of Declan’s recruitment

The White Room

 

“I told you I wouldn’t tell you a bloody thing,” Declan snarled. His features almost feral, he was nevertheless a thing of beauty. Long red hair curling over his shoulders and down his back. Eyes the color of molten silver. For a boy of 16, he showed remarkable poise in the face of adversity. There were two possible explanations:

 

He was exactly who he appeared to be. An Irish terrorist-in-training. A would-be assassin learning at his older brother’s side. A manchild with no appreciable conscience.

 

Or…

 

He was caught in the middle of some terrible game. Left to dangle here until he met his fate. And Section One boasted some of the more esoteric ways to die. But he didn’t fear death. Because his own life was too terrifying to contemplate.

 

“Your brother Justin—“

 

Declan spat on the floor, narrowly missing the toe of Madeline’s shoe. “I have no brother,” he said coldly.

 

“If you hate him that much, why not make it easier on yourself and give him up?”

 

“You think I don’t understand how this works,” he growled. “You’ll kill me whether I cooperate or not.”

 

Madeline admitted as much with a slight inclination of her head. “That’s true. But I have the ability to make your death as painless as possible.”

 

“No one can do that,” Declan said bleakly. “Not even you.”

 

“There must be something or someone you care about—“

 

“No.”

 

“Think about it. Perhaps something will come to you.”

 

***

 

He suffered long and hard in the White Room. But he never gave up his brother. Or the gang he ran with.

 

He expected death to follow shortly.

 

It didn’t.

 

They valued what he had. That crystalline hardness deep inside that made him an unknown quantity. In fact, he was dangerous and unpredictable.

 

That was what they liked.

 

***

 

It wasn’t as if he changed in some intrinsic way. Despite Madeline’s (and yes, Operations’)  best efforts, Declan never gave away that part of him that lay closest to his heart. Threats of death had no effect on him. He didn’t care. There was nothing and no one who could touch him.

 

He rose through the ranks easily, swiftly, even astonishingly for someone his age. An assassin was not what he once aspired to be. But that confession was best left for his deathbed. If that time ever came.

 

That first year was the hardest. Cut adrift from his home, his family, such as it was, Declan had nothing. He thought himself satisfied. It was a passably interesting way to pass the days until it was his turn to die. But he was empty.

 

He had forgotten how to feel.

 

Until he encountered *him*.

 

The one he could never have. The one who could never know.

 

***

 

“Birkoff.”

 

The young head of Comm turned to face the speaker. He was one of the new recruits. Barely through the first year of training. But acclaimed as so brilliant that he could easily bypass the rest of the mandatory two-year training period.

 

Birkoff outranked him. By several levels. But that didn’t matter. He was wasting his time talking to someone like him anyway. Rumor had it that the young Irishman had a death wish. And yet he never truly came close to surrendering to his supposed fate.

 

“Is there something I can do for you, McLaren?”

 

For a brief moment out of time, there was a flash of something very like wistfulness on Declan’s face. Then it was gone. “Maybe.”

 

“And? Does this something have a name?” Birkoff cast an exasperated glance at the young field operative. “Christ, you people don’t even know what to ask half the time.”

 

He was playing with fire. And he didn’t even know it.

 

Declan reached out with one hand and began to choke Birkoff. Birkoff turned bright red before starting to sputter wildly. Grabbing at Declan’s hands was an exercise in futility. Though they were virtually the same age, Declan was far taller as well as far more muscular.

 

All at once Declan released him. His handprints clearly visible on Birkoff’s neck, Declan snapped, “And that’s just a preview of what I could do to you!”

 

Birkoff coughed and coughed, struggling to keep an eye on Declan at the same time. His dark eyes the color of melted bittersweet chocolate, Birkoff finally managed to resume breathing in a more or less normal manner. “What was that for?” he rasped.

 

Declan’s nostrils flared at the scent of the prey he caught. “You’ll see.”

 

 

Chapter 26—NC-17 (Underage sex)

 

FLASHBACK

At the time of Declan’s recruitment

Section One

 

Birkoff gave the young field operative an assessing look. Just as clearly, he found him wanting. “I’ve been here a lot longer than you have. You’re just the new kid on the block.”

 

“Like Hell. You’ve never seen *anyone* like me, boyo, and you never will again.”

 

“Why don’t we just cut to the chase and you can tell me what you want?”

 

“What makes you think I want something from the likes of you, Birkoff?” Declan trailed his fingertips over Birkoff’s shoulder and the younger man visibly shivered.

 

“I c-can t-tell,” Birkoff stammered, hating the way his voice quavered.

 

“Had much experience then, boyo?” Declan purred silkily in his ear, his tongue achingly close to touching Birkoff’s skin.

 

Figuring that when push came to shove, Declan was likely to find out anyway, Birkoff shook his head in the negative.

 

“You’re a virgin,” Declan crowed. To be a virgin at 16 was not that unusual, especially given the circumstances he found himself in, but Birkoff wasn’t about to say that.

 

Declan’s hand caressed Birkoff’s cheek, almost lovingly, as he added, “I’d be your first.”

 

His fingers traced their way across Birkoff’s suddenly sensitive lips. For some reason, the gesture was far more intimate than a kiss. Not that even Declan could get away with kissing someone in the middle of Comm. Birkoff gasped as he realized that the field operative’s seemingly artless fondling was having the desired result.

 

Birkoff was hard. Right out in the middle of Section. Where anyone, read Madeline, or even worse, Operations, could see. What *was* the penalty for having a hard-on during working hours? Was there one? And had anyone lived to tell about it?

 

Thinking of Madeline did the trick. As quickly as it arose, Birkoff’s erection faded. With its departure came renewed confidence. “In your dreams, McLaren.” He knew he sounded snarky. It was one of his most carefully-honed defense mechanisms, and it had served him well for years.

 

Until now.

 

Wrapping an arm around Birkoff’s shoulders, Declan guided him away from his workstation and away from Comm. “I’m going to have your ass, boyo. Don’t think I won’t.”

 

“You wouldn’t d-dare.”

 

Declan smiled, a genuine smile that reached his beautiful eyes, and Birkoff wondered how it was possible that someone who looked that good could be so wicked. For there was now no doubt in his mind at all that Declan was *bad*.

 

“I love a challenge.”

 

“Pick on someone else. Please.”

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Birkoff whispered, very real terror shining out of his dark eyes now.

 

“Some night, when you least expect it…there’ll come a knock on the door.”

 

“Y-you?” Birkoff hissed, his breath coming hard and fast in his throat. But it was fear. Right? It couldn’t be excitement. No, no, it had to be fear.

 

“Me.”

 

“What do you want me to do?” Birkoff asked helplessly, not realizing that his eyes were pleading with the desire to be taken.

 

“Pog mo thoin.”

 

Birkoff’s eyes widened, wondering. “Kiss my ass.” Then Declan slipped him a cheeky grin before disappearing down the hall.

 

Birkoff let out the breath that he’d inadvertently been holding all at once. “Shit. I had no…idea,” he said to himself.

 

If Declan was so evil, why was he looking forward to seeing him again?

 

***

 

He didn’t have long to wait. Declan himself was too impatient to taste the young head of Comm’s tender skin in all his most private places. Life had been his teacher. Taken away his innocence when he was too young to realize the importance of the loss. That was how he was able to justify taking Birkoff to his bed.

 

He had no use for love. Love was wasted on the weak. It gave solace to those who could no longer hold on. If you cared about someone, they used you, then they left you. That was how it was in Declan’s world. Kicked in the teeth by life too many times to count. Hanging on to that life by a slender thread.

 

Eyes aglitter, he let himself into Birkoff’s quarters. There was no knock to alert Birkoff that someone was inside his bedroom. That was Declan’s first lie. But it wouldn’t be his last.

 

Kicking off his boots as he approached Birkoff’s bed, he studied the sleeping boy beneath the covers. Though they were nearly the same age, Declan felt light-years removed from Birkoff. Birkoff was sheltered, shy…vulnerable. Everything he was not. Fuck.

 

Knowing that Birkoff could not hear him, Declan whispered, “You *are* so fucking beautiful, boyo.” Christ, he could hear the tears that lurked beneath the surface. They were always there, of course, but he was so good at keeping the pain at bay.

 

Kneeling on the bed, he quietly undressed, discarding his clothing as he stripped. When he was completely naked, he slid under the covers with Birkoff, anxiously waiting for him to realize that he was no longer alone.

 

His hands smoothed the flesh beneath them. So cool, so pale. Birkoff’s skin was so clearly untouched by anyone else. That made Declan feel positively possessive of the younger teen.

 

Pressing a kiss to Birkoff’s shoulder, he sighed. He felt so right. Therefore, there could be no question of him ever being his. Not the way he wanted. Not the way he dreamed about.

 

Declan’s arms slipped around Birkoff’s waist, staking his claim to him. He was already hard, the tip of his erection nudging the crack between Birkoff’s buttocks. Birkoff woke with a startled cry. But Declan clamped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t scream, boyo. Tis only me.”

 

He could feel the younger boy’s heart pounding furiously in his chest, but eventually it subsided to it normal rate. Declan rolled Birkoff over onto his stomach, sshing him when he would have protested. He prepared the Comm operative with his fingers, taking his time to make sure that Birkoff was relaxed enough to accept him.

 

The boneless way that Birkoff sprawled across his bed told Declan that he was, contrary to what he expected, completely relaxed. Making sure that both of them were properly lubricated, he pressed against the entrance to Birkoff’s virgin channel. Immediately tense, Birkoff said, “Please don’t hurt me.”

 

“I won’t, acushla.” With that, Declan kissed the nape of his neck, making sure to graze his softness with his teeth, just enough to distract Birkoff from the pain at his moment of entry. Once inside, however, Declan couldn’t help himself. His young lover felt so good, so snug around his erection.

 

He began to move, and once he started, he simply could not go slow. It was fast and hard, and Declan pounded his way through Birkoff’s virgin territory like a man on a mission. Just as Birkoff began to whimper in growing excitement at the possibility of coming, Declan climaxed inside him.

 

Withdrawing quickly, he tied off the condom and tossed it away. Dimly aware that Birkoff was breathing hard, he eased his weight off his lover and fell onto his back, his arm across his face.

 

Murmuring apologetically, Declan said, “Sorry I couldn’t wait for you to catch up, boyo.”

 

Birkoff sniffled and Declan belatedly registered that he was crying. “Hey, I said I was sorry. I wasn’t *that* rough, was I?”

 

Declan touched the other boy’s shoulder and Birkoff flinched. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

 

“You didn’t,” came Birkoff’s voice, muffled by tears and pillow.

 

“But—“ Declan protested. “Then why are you crying?”

 

“Cause you treated me like someone you really cared about…and then…and then…you forgot all about me.”

 

“I didn’t forget you! I won’t! I swear it!”

 

Birkoff whirled around to face him, his eyes glistening with tears that he refused to let fall. “Do you know who I am? Do you?”

 

***

 

“Do you? Do you?”

 

Declan shifted restlessly in his lover’s arms, the dream already fading, but its tentacles reached deep into his soul and were loath to let go. Suddenly his eyes flew open, their grey depths dark and flooded with pain.

 

“Sey! You’re Sey! Oh, God, Sey! What did I do?”

 

Sey could do little but hold him as he sobbed over and over, “What did I do?”

 

Declan’s shaggy head cradled against his chest, Sey spoke to him in a vaguely singsong manner, assuring him that he was all right, that he was safe, and that he was never going to leave him. Ever.

 

Sey closed his eyes on his own tears. It might be a long time before he slept. His body ached from the unaccustomed roughness with which Declan took him. At the time, he had known that it was Declan inside his body, and he had enjoyed the rugged way Declan was making love to him.

 

But now his beloved was lost. It was the pain of that loss that pierced Sey’s heart to the core. He bent his head and kissed his lover’s hair. “I love you, Dec. Do you hear me?”

 

For a long moment, there was no sound but that of Declan’s sobs. Then, like a miraculous light at the end of the tunnel, Declan’s voice broke through. “You love me? Oh, God, Sey, I thought—I love you, too.”

 

Declan grasped Sey’s hand and brought it to his mouth. Kissing the back of Sey’s wrist with something very like formality, Declan sighed happily. “You smell like my Sey.”

 

Quirking his mouth in an effort not to laugh, Sey said, “I am.”

 

“Mine.”

 

“Yours.”

 

“Always and forever?”

 

“Always and forever.”

 

 

Chapter 27

 

Nikita avoided Sey’s eyes when he ambled into the kitchen. “Morning.”

 

“Morning,” Sey said absently, searching for the canister of coffee, which seemed to have gone missing about the same time as his temper. “Where the hell is the coffee?”

 

Nikita sipped delicately at her tea before gently replacing the cup on the table in front of her. “Is this because of…um…me and Michael—“

 

Sey whirled around, anger and pain warring for dominance in his expressive face. “Not *everything* is about you, Nikita!”

 

She  stared down at her hands for a moment before replying, her voice much calmer than she really felt. “Sorry, Birkoff. I just thought that something was wrong, that’s all.”

 

“It is! It’s just—oh, fuck!” Sey collapsed into the chair next to her, his hands raking over his face, then into his hair, so roughly that Nikita was afraid he would hurt himself.

 

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in tight against her body. He resisted at first, but he was so desperately in need of someone to lean on that he gave in. She held him against her chest. His face felt hot, almost feverish and his dark silky hair lay matted on his nape. Tentatively, she reached out to stroke his forehead.  “If you want to talk, Birkoff, I’m here.”

 

He shook his head wordlessly, making a little sound in his throat that reminded Nikita of how vulnerable her “little brother” could still be.

 

She didn’t know how long she held him, murmuring nonsense syllables to soothe him, as if he were one of her children. But suddenly she was aware of someone watching her and she looked up to find Declan standing in the doorway.

 

“Oh, God. What truck ran over you?” Now that she saw Declan, she could guess at part of what was bothering Birkoff.

 

Declan couldn’t smile. His lips felt numb. He would never dream of appearing in public looking the way he did, if it hadn’t been for the fact that when he woke, Sey was gone from their bed. He registered on some level that he looked terrible, judging from Nikita’s horrified look, but he couldn’t find the energy to care. All that mattered was finding Sey.

 

“Sey…” he whispered between cracked lips.

 

Sey stirred in Nikita’s arms, his body attuned to his lover’s voice, no matter how faint. “Dec?” he said, opening his eyes for the first time in minutes. “Oh, God, Dec. You look like I feel.”

 

“Can I get a hug, too?”

 

Nikita beckoned with one arm outstretched, careful to keep her other arm snugly wrapped around Sey’s shoulders. Declan sat down on the other side of her and brushed his lips lightly against Nikita’s cheek. “Thank you.”

 

Initially surprised by Declan’s unexpected display of affection towards Nikita, and just a tiny bit jealous, if he were capable of admitting it to himself, Sey realized that it was actually a sign of growth. It still took conscious effort for Declan to be so open with other people, but he was trying.

 

After a few moments passed in silence, Nikita said with a grin, “I’d ask if anyone wanted some coffee, but I seem to be somewhat immobilized.”

 

Declan lay his head on Nikita’s shoulder, but he was looking directly into Sey’s dark eyes now. “I love you,” he mouthed, content only when Sey responded by tracing his lips with his fingertips.

 

“Would you boys like to be alone?” Nikita asked. She wasn’t trying to intrude on the couple, but they *were* practically sitting in her lap.

 

“Sorry,” Sey quickly apologized.

 

Declan reached out and took Sey’s hand. He turned it over and kissed the back of it. “I think we need to be with other people for a bit.”

 

Nikita looked amused. “O-kayyy…but if you keep doing that sort of thing, it kinda limits your options, Declan.”

 

Declan laughed, but it was at best a feeble, short-lived sound. “I should get cleaned up.”

 

“Yes, you should. With a face like that, you’ll scare everyone away.”

 

“Come help me, Sey,” Declan said softly.

 

Sey smiled. “After I get a cup of coffee.”

 

“You’d pass up a chance at this body for a lousy cup of coffee, acushla?” Declan asked.

 

“In a heartbeat, Dec.” Sey leaned over and kissed his lover on the mouth. “No one gets between me and my caffeine.”

 

“Hmm, you cheeky little bugger,” Declan murmured. That was Declan’s way of telling Sey that he was starting to feel better.

 

Glancing quickly at Nikita, Sey directed, “You go upstairs and get undressed, Dec. I’ll be up in a minute.”

 

Nikita chuckled. “I swear, everything you two say to each other sounds like an invitation to bed.”

 

“Can I help where your mind goes?”

 

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Declan confessed at the same time.

 

Shooing the two of them away, Nikita said, “Then go make each other happy. I won’t expect to see you before dinner at the earliest.”

 

Sey’s eyes grew impossibly round. “Aren’t you the optimist?”

 

Nikita smiled knowingly. “I’ve heard rumors.”

 

“Really?” Sey grinned mischievously.

 

“They’re not rumors,” said Declan with a trace of his usual spirit.

 

Sey raised an eyebrow and fixed his gaze on his lover. “Prove it.”

 

Nikita crept away, sure that her absence wouldn’t be noticed for oh, quite some time yet.

 

 

 

Chapter 28

 

 “Mmm…” sighed Sey. He was lying on top of Declan, his fingers restlessly plucking at the former field operative’s already sparse chest hair.

 

“Hey, I don’t have much of that to begin with, y’know.”

 

“Mmm, I know,” Sey murmured sleepily, his lips tickling the base of his lover’s throat.

 

“Aren’t you the talkative lad, then?”

 

Despite his drowsiness, Sey grinned, a slow smile spreading across his smooth, as yet-unlined features. “Yep.”

 

“So…” Declan asked, helpless to resist Sey in this kind of a mood, “did I prove my point?”

 

Sey looked up at him, his dark brown eyes coming out of their hiding place beneath improbably long eyelashes. “Oh, yeahhh,” Sey drawled the last word, simultaneously sliding a hand between their bodies. Wet and sticky and in desperate need of a shave, Sey wouldn’t trade a single second of the time he spent in Declan’s arms for *anything* else.

 

“But why don’t you show me again?” he asked coyly.

 

“Again?” Declan snorted. “What kind of vitamins have *you* been taking? Why don’t you roll over like a good boy and have a nap?”

 

“Mmm, well, as good a pillow as you make, I think I’ll pass. I’m all rested up, Gran’pa.”

 

Declan pulled the younger man into a rough embrace, his hands seeking and stroking the silken hair that fell to Sey’s shoulders. Moments later, he rolled both  of them over, pinning Sey under him. “You’re a cheeky little bastard, but damned if I don’t love you all the more for it.”

 

He moved experimentally, his hips grazing his lover’s arousal with expected results. Sey’s mouth fastened onto the underside of Declan’s jaw. “Easy, baby. You don’t have to make love to me like your very life depended on it.”

 

“Oh, but I do,” Sey groaned. “And it does. Don’t you know that?”

 

“I know there is no one else I would rather come home to or wake up with every day, acushla.” Declan ground his mouth against his partner’s in a tantalizing kiss that denied nothing and promised everything.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

They didn’t do too much talking after that.

 

***

 

“I dunno. Maybe I’ll wear my hair long in a braid…like Emmy.” Faith pulled her hair off her neck and waited for Connor’s reaction.

 

“It’s too hot,” he said wryly. “Besides, that’s Emmy, not you.”

 

Faith hunkered down on the floor of the living room next to Connor. They were watching TV, or pretending to. Connor was watching her. She primped exaggeratedly. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

 

Connor chuckled. “What kind of a stupid question is that?”

 

“Well, do you?”

 

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever.” Connor cupped his chin in his hands and studiously ignored her.

 

“Whatever? You are *so* rude, Connor Hunter! I hate you!”

 

He stared at the TV without blinking. “Uh huh.”

 

“I do! I mean it!”

 

“You always mean it when you say it, Fee. But it’s like everything else with you. Something more dramatic comes along and you forget all about it.” He rolled his eyes for emphasis.

 

“You’d better not take me for granted.”

 

Connor sighed heavily. “Right. Like you pay *so* much more attention to *me*.”

 

Faith threw herself onto her back on the emerald green carpet, all arms and legs flailing. If there was an art to flouncing, Faith perfected it. “Stupid…boy,” she finally settled on for lack of a suitable epithet.

 

“I’m bored.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m not your personal entertainment committee, Fee. Get over it.”

 

She huffed and bounced onto her stomach. “Yeah, well, you’re the freaking reason I’m bored.”

 

His dark blue eyes met her bright green ones with a burst of ferocity so intense, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see sparks. “You take that back.”

 

“Nope,” she smirked.

 

“I said…take…it…back,” Connor ground out between clenched teeth. He hovered over her, his breath fanning her face, and she squirmed uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny.

 

“You are such an *asshole*,” she said defiantly.

 

“Shut up,” he said quietly.

 

“Make me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Before she could move, Connor trapped her, his hands framing her face. For the briefest moment, she thought about retaliation. Then his lips touched hers. With a soft whimper, she submitted, her body abruptly relaxing within his embrace.

 

It was her first real kiss. His lips felt dry, even papery. It shouldn’t have been the most pleasant sensation she had ever experienced.

 

She smiled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and waited impatiently for it to happen again. This claiming thing was all new to her. This side of Connor was, too.

 

But it was wonderful. She traced her lips with her finger, feeling as though everything had changed in the span of an instant.

 

She expected words of love. She expected heartfelt sentiment. Well, she got…something like that.

 

“You are such a pain in the ass,” he said softly..

 

Faith pouted and chewed on her lower lip. “I guess I deserved that.”

 

“Yeah, you do. But you know what?”

 

“What?”

 

“I still love you,” he whispered against her mouth.

 

“Oh,” she breathed, unable to utter a coherent sentence if she tried.

 

“And Fee? There’s something else I ought to tell you.”

 

“What?” she asked eagerly.

 

“Your dad is standing right behind you.”

 

“Oh, shit,” she gasped.

 

With a daring that Faith never would have dreamed he possessed, Connor pressed his mouth to her ear. Right there in front of her father.

 

“Connor! My dad is just archaic enough to force me to marry you or something,” she groaned.

 

Connor nodded. God, he loved it when a plan came together.

 

 

Chapter 29

 

“Connor, you’re not old enough for what I’d like to do to you. So I suggest that you go to your room and stay there.”

 

“Till when?” Connor said with an altogether too-bright smile.

 

“Till your mother comes up to discuss the facts of life with you,” Michael gritted out.

 

“When do you think that might be?” Connor asked innocently.

 

“Maybe when Hell freezes over,” Michael muttered to himself.

 

Faith tried to look apologetic, but failed miserably. The gleam in her eyes and the glow in her face made it very clear that she was *not* sorry that Connor kissed her. Not one bit.

 

“Sorry, Dad.”

 

Michael merely gave her The Look. She stopped trying to smile and ran upstairs.

 

Glancing at Connor, Michael asked, “Are you still here? I must be losing my touch.”

 

“Oh, no, Uncle Michael. You’re every bit as scary as you ever were,” the teenager reassured him.

 

Michael shook his head. “Go home, Connor.”

 

“I live here,” the adolescent protested.

 

“Are you trying to test my patience?”

 

A voice, deep and husky, commanded their attention. “Shit, Michael, you’ve obviously never been a kid.”

 

“What are you, the Voice of Reason?”

 

“Hey, don’t laugh. I’ve got more experience than both of you put together.”

 

Walter re-adjusted his bright red bandanna so that it fell across his gray hair at an even jauntier angle. “Cut him a break.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You like to win, Michael. But guess what? You can’t win this one. No one can. You can’t fight nature. Sooner or later, your sons and daughters are going to grow up.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“Do you? Sometimes I wonder.”

 

Michael’s face flushed a dark red. “Connor, you can go.”

 

“Thanks, Uncle Michael. Bye, Gran’pa.”

 

“See ya round, kid.” Walter smiled and waved a weathered hand at Connor.

 

“You’ve got to learn to chill, Michael, or you’re going to be in serious trouble by the time Faith goes on her first date.”

 

“Faith is the one who’s going to be in serious trouble,” Michael muttered under his breath.

 

“Now, now, Michael. Be fair. What did she do that was so wrong? Don’t tell me you’ve never succumbed to temptation before. I’ve seen the way Nikita looks at you. She whistles and you beg like a well-trained dog.”

 

“I expect my children to act more like—“

 

“Like what, Michael? Aren’t they every bit as human as you are?”

 

“But they’re just kids, Walter,” Michael said, feeling himself weakening.

 

“Exactly my point. Thank you for seeing it my way.”

 

“But—“

 

“Now why don’t you go find Nikita and go for a walk? It’s a beautiful day.”

 

“This isn’t the end of it, Walter. They’ve already started something that they’re going to want to finish.”

 

“At 13? Come on, Michael. You’re looking at things from an adult perspective.”

 

“Do I have any other choice? I might be unpopular right now, but I stopped them. For now.”

 

“I have an idea that might appeal to Faith and Connor’s imaginations. Want to hear it?”

 

“Can I stop you?”

 

“Nope.” Walter’s blue eyes twinkled mischievously. “Here’s my proposition.”

 

***

 

Faith sat dutifully on the edge of her chair, Connor beside her. Michael not only embraced Walter’s plan, he took it to Madeline for her approval, knowing that she was the parent they would need to win over. Now the two teenagers were sitting in the chateau’s kitchen, waiting somewhat anxiously to hear what Michael had to say.

 

As a preface, Michael said, “I can’t very well forbid you two to see each other.”

 

Faith let out the breath she’d obviously been holding. “Thank God,” she sighed.

 

“I heard that,” Michael declared.

 

Faith clasped her hands together and bowed her head, as if she were in church. It was all Michael could do not to laugh.

 

Connor’s new attitude, apparently, did *not* extend to family members. He took one good look at Michael and shrunk back in his chair.

 

“But now that you’re getting older, you’re going to need to take on more responsibility.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For your own actions.”

 

“Is this a roundabout way of saying you don’t want Connor to kiss me, Dad?” Faith asked innocently.

 

Michael leveled a dismayed look at his daughter and she quickly subsided. “Okay, I’m shutting up now.”

 

Connor quirked an eyebrow at her, sending her a mental message that clearly said, What are you doing? *Trying* to piss him off?

 

“I want you to think of yourself as a knight, Connor.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Like in Knights of the Round Table?”

 

“Oh, I know what a knight is, Uncle Michael. I just don’t get why you want *me* to pretend to be one.”

 

“Do you know who Sir Galahad was?”

 

“Yep. The purest of heart. He was the only one who found the Holy Grail.”

 

“Think of yourself as Galahad, Connor. And Faith,” Michael waved a hand absently in his daughter’s direction, “is the Grail.”

 

Connor’s dark blue eyes grew wider. “You’re giving me permission to pursue her like Galahad went after the Grail?”

 

Michael smiled faintly. This seemed like such a good idea. “Something like that. But you can’t have the Grail, er, Faith, until she’s older. *Much* older.”

 

“Oh.” Connor pondered, but like the bright boy that he was, he grasped the idea immediately. “You want me to be noble.”

 

Michael nodded.

 

“And chaste.”

 

Faith frowned. “What’s chaste?”

 

“No kissing.”

 

“Oh.” Faith waited a beat before saying, “That kinda sucks, Dad.”

 

“Don’t you want to be a princess like Emmy?”

 

“Well, sure. Like duh.”

 

“Well, princesses stayed chaste until they were married.”

 

Faith gasped. “I knew it! You *are* going to make me marry Connor!”

 

“Holy shit,” Connor exclaimed, belatedly clapping his hands over his face. “But we’re too young to get married. Or even engaged.”

 

“True,” Michael agreed. “But in many countries, kids even younger than you become betrothed.”

 

“Betrothed?” Faith made yet another face.

 

“It’s an arranged marriage,” Connor whispered.

 

“Arranged by who?”

 

“Ssh, you’ll get in even more trouble, Fee.”

 

“Think of it as becoming engaged to be engaged.”

 

Faith piped up, “Do I get a ring?”

 

Connor looked daggers at her. “Way to go, Fee.”

 

“Well, I deserve one. Don’t I, Dad?”

 

Michael glanced at Connor. Or rather he stared at him with such intensity, the young teenager visibly flinched. “I’ll—I’ll ask my Mom,” he stammered, wondering what she would say if he dared voice such a request.

 

“So…when does this happen, Dad?”

 

“It already has, Fee. I spoke to Connor’s mother and she agreed.”

 

Connor’s mouth dropped open. “To what?”

 

“To your eventual marriage to my daughter,” Michael said smoothly.

 

“Oh.”

 

Connor didn’t want to say anything, but what if he met someone else by the time he was old enough for this agreement to be enforceable? What if he didn’t want to marry Fee? What if—what was he saying? Of course, he wanted to marry Fee. He was in love with her. He always had been. Age had no bearing on that.

 

Maybe what he really meant was—what if *she* didn’t want to marry *him*? He gulped. It would kill him. It really would.

 

He didn’t want to trap her. He wanted her to love him back. Maybe this arrangement was a good thing. If she was betrothed to *him*, she couldn’t find someone else. Could she?

 

“So what do you think, Connor? Do I have your word of honor that you will treat my daughter with the utmost respect from this day forward?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Connor vowed. He already felt bound to her in an emotional way that he could never adequately describe. No one else could understand the depth of his commitment to her. Not even his uncle.

 

“And you, Fee? Will you honor this agreement?”

 

Faith had made up her mind. But she pretended to consider the question. “I get to be Connor’s lady fair?”

 

Michael nodded, suddenly realizing that his daughter *was* growing up. Right before his eyes. His eyes stung. Were those tears? Impossible. He wouldn’t lose Fee for years yet. Right?

 

Faith turned to Connor, an incandescent smile lighting her face. “I accept.”

 

Michael closed his eyes and tried to swallow over the lump in his throat.

 

 

 

Chapter 30

 

“And here we were feeling sorry for you, thinking how bad you’d be punished and all,” Sasha snorted.

 

Connor grinned. “Nah, it’s pretty cool. Uncle Michael’s not such a bad guy.”

 

Faith giggled. “For a grown-up.”

 

Sasha maintained a careful neutrality. He trusted everyone here implicitly, but sometimes, when push came to shove….

 

He flopped on Connor’s bed. “Where’s your mom?”

 

“She and Dad went to Paris for a couple of days.”

 

“Really? What brought that on?”

 

Connor stuck his tongue out at the slightly older teenager. He liked Sasha’s sense of humor: dry, biting, sometimes sarcastic. It reminded him of Declan. “Mom was bitching about nothing to do out here or something. You know, the usual.”

 

Sasha flung himself onto his back dramatically, sweeping a sturdy arm across his face with characteristic abandon. “God, I don’t know how Uncle Neil stands her.”

 

Even Faith sat up and stared at him. “Sasha!”

 

Sasha opened his dark eyes to find Connor blinking at him, his face unreadable for once. “I’m really sorry, Con.”

 

“Me, too.” Connor bit his lip. “I know how she is. But she’s still my mother.”

 

“Are we still friends?”

 

Connor shrugged. “I guess so.”

 

“Good.”

 

There were some things that he just couldn’t bring himself to tell his friends. Things that no one knew. Except him and Kady. He would protect her if it was the last thing he ever did.

 

***

 

“You’re making this up.”

 

“Am not.”

 

“Are, too.”

 

“Am *not*, I said.”

 

“Quit it.”

 

“You first.”

 

Sasha shoved Jazz away from him. The older teenager landed on his backside, unhurt, but the look on his face said otherwise. “What’s your problem, man?”

 

“Why won’t you believe me?” Sasha wailed.

 

“Cause there’s no fucking way that girl is interested in you,” Jazz snapped, brushing himself off.

 

“Like you would know, Jazz. What you know about girls is—“

 

“A helluva lot more than *you* know, Sash.”

 

Several tense moments passed. Sasha threw hostile looks in Jazz’ direction from time to time, but he had no real ammunition and he knew it.

 

“What’s with this girl anyway? What about Skye?” Jazz asked.

 

The way Sasha’s nostrils flared, Jazz could tell that he didn’t care for being reminded of the younger Samuelle daughter. “She’s still a kid.”

 

“Some people would say that about *you*.”

 

“Look, I love Skye, okay? But she’s not—I mean, I can’t—shit, you know what I mean, don’t you?” Sasha raked a hand through his long brown hair, completely mussing it.

 

Jazz gave him an enigmatic look. “Adam and I can’t…and we’re still together. Maybe what you have with Skye isn’t love—“

 

Sasha jumped onto the bed, arms and legs flailing, ready to punch the life out of his best friend. “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare say that!”

 

Jazz lay on his back in a submissive posture, hoping that would defuse Sasha’s anger more quickly than wrestling with him. “Sasha, what’s wrong? You’ve been  all keyed up lately. You’re like a firecracker waiting to go off, man.”

 

Sasha looked down at his hands, hands that even now encircled his best friend’s neck. “Oh, my God. Jazz, I’m sorry. I—“ With a convulsive shudder, he closed his eyes. Willing himself under control, he pushed himself away from Jazz, burying his face in his hands.

 

When Jazz heard Sasha start to cry, he couldn’t help but be moved. “Sasha, it’s going to be okay. We’ll work this out. Just remember that I love you.”

 

Sasha peeked tearfully through his fingers at the older adolescent. “Yeah?” He sniffled loudly. “I love you, too, man.”

 

Jazz wrapped his arms around Sasha’s neck and planted a big sloppy kiss behind his ear. Sasha chuckled and batted playfully at Jazz’ hair. What with Jazz sprawled halfway across Sasha’s body in a curiously intimate position, it was easy to see how someone could mistake the two friends for lovers.

 

“What a charming scene this is,” drawled Adam. “Please, don’t get up on *my* account,” he added as Jazz started to scramble off the bed.

 

“It’s not what you think, Adam.”

 

“It never is.” Adam’s eyes blurred with tears. He trusted Jazz implicitly. Or so he thought. But at the first sign of trouble, he was sure that he was cheating on him. How could he not? He probably didn’t understand what being faithful meant.

 

“Adam—“ Jazz reached out to touch the older teenager, but he eluded his grasp.

 

“Don’t. Please. I don’t think I can take any more of this.” With a choked sob, Adam turned on his heel and left.

 

Jazz crumpled into a boneless heap on the end of the bed. “No…”

 

Sasha stared after Adam, his dark brown eyes filled with sorrow. “It’s my fault. It’s *all* my fault.”

 

If only he knew how to make things right again.

 

 

 

Chapter 31/End—NC-17 (underage m/f sex)

 

“Get out of my fucking way, Jazz!”

 

Sasha swiped a hand across his already tear-stained face and glared angrily at the older adolescent. Jazz wiped his nose on his sleeve, his eyes the color of wet leaves. He stood in the doorway, arms outstretched, the sole barrier to Sasha leaving.

 

“Not till I know you’re not going to do something stupid, man.”

 

“Like what?” he choked out.

 

“Like go after Adam. I know you, man. You’re blaming yourself for this whole thing, but it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

 

“But I could explain—“

 

“He wouldn’t listen to you now, Sasha. He’s too hot.”

 

“How come you’re not upset with me?”

 

“Cause you’re my best friend, man. How many of those do you think I’ve got? You didn’t do it on purpose. I know that. Even if Adam doesn’t.”

 

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up between you guys, Jazz. I swear.” Sasha tried to hold back the tears that threatened, but the look on Jazz’ face was too much for him. Not pity. Never that. But forbearance. Borne out of love for him. Shit, no one but his folks had ever cared this much about what happened to him. Well, except for Skye. The thought of Skye made him ache. He had betrayed her, if not in deed, certainly in every lustful fantasy his mind had spun about Lisette.

 

“I know,” Jazz whispered before pulling Sasha into a hug that must have hurt the younger teenager’s ribs.

 

“Now promise me you’re going to take a nap and forget all about this stuff.”

 

“Which stuff?” Sasha asked, a weak grin brightening his face.

 

“Atta boy. Now take off, man.”

 

“What if I run into Adam?”

 

“You won’t. He’s probably gone to ground. No one’s going to see him till he’s cooled down. Not even me.”

 

“How do you deal with that?” Sasha wasn’t sure how he would feel about a lover that intense.

 

“I just do.”

 

“Is it worth it?” Sasha just had to ask. He didn’t like to think that anyone, even Adam, might not treat Jazz with the love and respect he deserved.

 

Jazz smiled. “Oh, yeah.” He dropped his eyes, hiding the blaze of heat that surfaced in them from his best friend. “I know how he comes off. All possessive and all. But I know how much he loves me.”

 

“Good.” Pause. “I want you to be happy, Jazz.”

 

“I am.”

 

Sasha leaned forward and kissed Jazz on the cheek. “You tell him he’d better take good care of you or he’ll have to answer to me, okay?”

 

Jazz nodded.

 

He thought that would be the end of it. But he was wrong. Things were way too complicated to be that straightforward.

 

***

 

Lisette, if that was her real name, moved with a predator’s stealth and grace. If she appeared to be stalking her next victim, it could only be because she was.

 

At 18, Lisette found herself in domestic service, an honorable, if not exactly well-paying, profession. Tempted by the wrong people, not to mention their promises of wealth, she obtained a position at the Samuelle chateau. Her references were impeccable. She passed Birkoff’s security checks as well as Michael’s personal interview. She tripped off no hidden alarms in either man.

 

She seemed to be what she was. A maid.

 

But that was undoubtedly because Birkoff and Michael were looking for links to Section or one of the many terrorist groups that they combated. It never occurred to either of them that Michael’s increasing popularity as a writer might have untold consequences. He guarded his identity well; he took no unnecessary chances.

 

But it wasn’t enough. There was a tiny chink in the Samuelle armor…

 

…and it was walking downstairs right now.

 

***

 

Lisette lounged against the door of the kitchen, stopping the fourteen-year old who approached with a breathy, “Allo.”

 

Sasha’s dark brown eyes gleamed with interest, despite countless vows to keep his thoughts from straying. “Hi.”

 

“I missed you at lunch,” she pouted.

 

Sasha’s response was an irrepressible grin. “I was…um….busy.”

 

“Too busy to eat?” She drifted closer, her hands dangerously close to touching him. “You should never underestimate a good meal.”

 

Sasha blinked. She said that like she wanted to eat *him*. Shit, that was the wrong thought to have in her presence. He could feel himself getting hard. It wasn’t like he had all that much control over it. It happened at the damnedest times, too.

 

She was pretty. Luckily for him, she didn’t resemble Skye in any way. Not that it should matter, he mused as he forced his libido to pay attention. She was definitely off-limits. From the top of her brunette head to the bottom of her deliciously-shaped feet. How weird was that? He could feel arousal throbbing between his legs with deliberate defiance. Now he was getting off on her toes. Sheesh.

 

“Would you like me to…fix you something?” she drawled in a way that emphasized her full-cut sensual mouth.

 

Get a grip, Sasha, he told himself. She doesn’t mean anything. She’s just flirting. Messing with your head. It makes her feel good. Fuck, it makes *me* feel good, he thought.

 

“Umm…” He surreptitiously adjusted himself in his jeans, praying that she didn’t notice. But her sensuous giggle ended that line of thought.

 

She wore a short black skirt, a lacy pink apron relieving the darkness of her basic uniform. She reached for his hand, placing it on her thigh. Her very *naked* thigh. Sasha swallowed hard when his fingers came in contact with bare skin. Bare *female* skin.

 

“You’re not wearing stockings,” he said absently, his entire body tense with anticipation.

 

“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “Guess what else I’m not wearing?” she whispered saucily, winking at him.

 

Sasha seemed to have lost all motor control over his hand. She laughed and dragged his palm up and under the hem of her skirt. His dark eyes black, he could do nothing more than stare helplessly at the place where his hand had disappeared. Was she going to let him touch her…there?

 

What happened to kissing? What happened to touching her tits? What if…oh, God…she was wet?

 

She *was* wet. Lisette parted her legs, just a little bit, to give Sasha a better appreciation for what he was about to touch. His fingers sank into the damp tendrils guarding the entrance to her femininity and froze.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to—“

 

Wouldn’t I like to what? What? He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He couldn’t think. Hell, he couldn’t *breathe*.

 

“—do me?” she whispered huskily.

 

Oh, God. With a groan that he could barely conceal, he squeezed his eyes shut and came hard in his jeans.

 

Lisette’s lips curved in a feline smile. And so it began.

 

End