The Dragon Keeper

His fingers were biting into Sedric’s shoulder right though the formal Trader’s robe he’d donned for the occasion. He tried to squirm away. “Let go! What do you want?” Sedric demanded, but Hest had responded by seizing his other shoulder. He gave a sudden jerk that nearly pulled Sedric off his feet. They were suddenly chest to chest, with Hest staring down into his face.



“What do I want? Hmm. Not quite the same as asking me what I would like, but it will do. You should be asking what you want for yourself, Sedric. I wonder if you’ve ever dared to ask that question, let alone answer it. Because the answer is very plain to me. You want this.” One of his hands suddenly grabbed a fistful of Sedric’s robe right below his throat. The other shifted to a grip on the hair on the top of his head. Hest bent his head, and his mouth was hard on Sedric’s, his lips moving as if he would devour him, his hard hands pulling him closer. Sedric had been too astonished to struggle, even as Hest shifted his grip and pulled Sedric’s body tight against his own. A sudden heat rushed through him, a lust he could not conceal or deny. Hest’s mouth tasted of liquor, and his cheek, though shaven, rasped against Sedric’s when Sedric tried to pull away from him. Sedric gasped for breath, smothered between the kiss and the truth of how badly he wanted this. He put his hands against Hest’s chest and pushed but could put no strength into the rejection. Hest held him easily, and his deep, quiet chuckle at Sedric’s feeble struggle vibrated through them, chest to chest. Hest finally broke the kiss but continued to press himself tightly against Sedric. He spoke by his ear. “Don’t worry. Struggle as much as you think you should, or need to. I won’t let you win. It’s going to happen to you. Just as you always dreamed it would. Someone just needs to take a firm hand with you.”



“Let me go, man! Are you mad or drunk?” Sedric’s voice wavered uncertainly. The wind blew harder, but he scarcely felt it.



Hest effortlessly pinned his arms to his side. He was taller and stronger, and he lifted Sedric, not quite off his feet but in a way that let him know he could. He pressed his body against him and spoke through clenched teeth. “Neither mad nor drunk, Sedric. Just more honest than you are. I don’t have to ask ‘what do you want, please, sir?’ It was written all over your face as you stared at the happy couple. It wasn’t the bride you were lusting after. It was Prittus. Well, who wouldn’t? Such a handsome fellow. But you’ll never have him now and neither will I. So perhaps we should settle for what we can have.”



“I didn’t,” Sedric started to lie. “I don’t know . . .” Then Hest’s mouth descended again, kissing him deeply and roughly, bruising his lips until Sedric gave in and opened them to him. He’d made a small, involuntary noise, and Hest had laughed into his open mouth. Then suddenly, he’d broken the embrace and stepped back from Sedric. He’d nearly fallen then. He’d stumbled back from Hest, and the night grove of trees had seemed to swing around him in a wide circle dance. Sedric had lifted the back of his hand to his mouth, tasted the salt of blood from his stinging lips. “I don’t understand,” he said faintly.



“Don’t you?” Hest had smiled again. “I think you do. All of this will be easier when you admit you do.” He stepped closer to him, and Sedric hadn’t retreated. He reached for Sedric again, and Sedric hadn’t fled. Hest’s hands had been hard and strong and knowing as he seized him and pulled him close.



Sedric had shut his eyes tight then, and again as he recalled it. Every moment of that wild night under the cold and stormy sky was clear in his memory. It was etched into him, defining him. Hest had been right. It had been easier when he’d admitted what he wanted.



Hest had been merciless. He’d teased him, and hurt him, then soothed and smoothed him. He’d been rough and then gentle, harshly demanding and then sweetly urging. The storm swept around them, making the trees bow and dance, but the cold couldn’t reach them. The deep bed of needles in the darkness beneath the low-swooping evergreen branches had smelled sweet when they were crushed beneath their weight. Hest’s cloak had covered them both. Time and family and the expectations of the rest of the world were blown away by the storm’s breath.



Shortly before dawn, Hest had left him at the end of the carriageway to his family home. He’d limped home in muddied and torn garments, his hair wild, his mouth bruised. He’d slept as late as his father would allow him. Later that day, standing before his father in his study, he told a long lie about drunkenness and a tumble down a creek bank in the dark and a long walk home. He’d ached in every muscle, and his lips had been puffy and swollen. For three agonizing days, he’d moved quietly about his father’s house. Mostly he kept to his room, seething with shame whenever he wasn’t staring into the darkness and reliving every moment. Regret and lust warred in him.