He had never forgiven himself for the final gift he had brought back for his family from the Crusades. The sickness that had put him into the ground had taken his parents and sister first. Unlike him, they never rose to live as Darkyn.
Centuries had passed since he had held his futile vigil at their graves, waiting for them to join him. It had been Cyprien who had coaxed him away; Cyprien who had kept him from going mad with grief. Stronger than even the curse on their souls, Michael's kindness and understanding had sealed the bond between them. Phillipe pledged to spend the rest of his long life in his master's service.
So he had maintained that bond until five years ago, when after centuries of walking the night alone, Michael Cyprien had found Alexandra Keller, a mortal physician who had become his sygkenis, his life companion.
Once Phillipe realized how serious the bond between his master and the doctor had grown, he had tried not to resent Alexandra. She had not been very fond of him, either, but in time they had become reluctant allies, and then friends.
In truth, Alexandra reminded him a great deal of his older sister, Maeve, another petite, strong-headed woman. That Alexandra loved Cyprien as much as Phillipe did he had no doubt. The doctor had given up nearly everything from her human life to be with Michael.
She had not made peace with her choice, however, and at times he feared that she never would.
Phillipe spent most of his time at le conseil supérieur with the other seigneurs' seneschals, discussing household matters and trading tales of intrigue. As the newcomer, Phillipe was pressed for many details about Cyprien and life in America, as well as his opinions on some of the more controversial decisions his master had made.
"My lord Sevarus had a choking fit when I gave him the news about the woman seneschal Seigneur Cyprien made suzerain of the Realm," Connor, a cheeky Irishman, told Phillipe. "He proceeded to lecture for me for more than an hour on how I must not get ideas above my station."
Derek, a burly Norwegian who served Gilanden, grunted. "That did not sit well with my master, either. He has one use for females, human or Kyn, and it does not involve rule."
" 'Tis said she is a mannish woman, Navarre," Helmut, Solange's seneschal, added. "Does she swive females, or only dress the part?"
"Suzeraina Jayr took Lord Byrne as her seneschal and her sygkenis," Phillipe said, enjoying the stunned reactions on the faces around the table. "I wager she has no time to trifle with anyone else."
"At least your master's leech is content to nurse the sick, as women should," Poldar, who served Tristan, observed. "I shudder to think of a female at the tribunal, deciding our fate."
Garza, Cordoba's man, snorted. " 'Twas better when we owned them, like villeins and land. Then they could not wear our garments and take up sport and curse like the lowest of sailors. Why, some of our females have petitioned my lord, asking if they may take classes on these wretched computers and learn more of the mortal world."
"That is why my master had our humans ban access to the Internet in our homeland," Shalan, Zhang's seneschal, put in. "It put too many ideas in their heads." He glanced at Phillipe. "What about your female? Does she talk of such things?"
"I keep no woman of my own," Phillipe admitted, catching a trace of the other man's scent, like that of an ocean breeze.
"I thought not." Shalan drank from his goblet, but didn't explain his assumption.
After they had shared another half dozen bottles of bloodwine, the coming dawn sent Phillipe to retire for the day. His room, which adjoined Cyprien's chambers, was small but comfortable, and after he bathed he stretched out on the bed. That was when he smelled the blend of rose and lavender seeping into his room from the crack under the door, discovered how thin the walls between their rooms were.
At most I may last another minute.
A minute, huh? Then what are you going to do? Take it out? Come all over me?
You know what I want.
Phillipe pulled a pillow over his face to muffle his groan. He tried never to listen to the pillow talk between his master and his sygkenis, but they were active, passionate lovers, and in certain situations it could not be avoided.
You want a taste of me before I make you come.
Alexandra's voice always went low and smoky when she was pleasuring the master, and she often said such blatant, sexual things during the act that Phillipe's ears sometimes burned. But it was Cyprien's voice that he tried hardest not to hear, for when aroused his master's silky tenor changed to a hard, demanding rasp.
A rasp that made Phillipe go hard every time he heard it.
Closing his eyes, Phillipe listened to his master's voice and reached down. He should have felt shame when he wrapped his straining cock in his fist, but he didn't. Knowing Cyprien preferred women, he had never revealed his secret desires to his master, but instead endured them in silence. The solitary relief he occasionally sought kept his desires in check, and helped him accept what could never change.
Tonight, however, playing voyeur was not enough. He was weary of feeding off the desires of the two people he loved most in the world.
He rolled out of bed, pulled on his trousers, and left his room, making his way through the gardens until he found a small, white marble gazebo tucked away in a remote corner. Although the suzerain and his lady kept their grounds meticulously maintained, for some reason ivy and other trailing vines had been permitted to grow around the elegant structure, very nearly concealing it altogether.
A private trysting spot, Phillipe thought as he parted the vines and stepped inside. Here the air was thick with the smell of greenery and the ever-present, lingering perfume coming from the flowering trees in the orchard. He noted the wide benches lined with soft cushions, and a heavy silk shawl that had been left where it had fallen on the inlaid marble floor. He bent to pick it up and brought it to his nose.
"It belongs to Lady Braxtyn, I believe."
Phillipe turned, the scent of warm apricots fading as he smelled the wind from the sea and spotted the smaller Kyn male sitting in a shadowed corner. "Forgive me, Shalan. I did not see you here. I do not mean to intrude."
"You assume your presence is an intrusion, when it is quite the reverse. I followed you here." The Asian man tilted his head, allowing his long black hair to fall over one bare, broad shoulder. Like Phillipe, he wore only a pair of trousers. "Do you have to listen to them every night?"
"It is late." Phillipe moved to leave, and looked down as Shalan appeared before him and put a hand to his chest, his smooth, narrow palm oddly warm against Phillipe's cool flesh. He must have just fed. "I do not discuss my master's habits with others."
"Then will you confirm two rumors I have heard about you, Navarre?" Slowly Shalan let his hand drift down until it traveled over the front of Phillipe's trousers. Calmly he turned his palm, adjusting his touch to allow for the bulge now growing beneath the fasteners. "They said that you wield an impressive sword. It seems they do not exaggerate."
Phillipe regarded the other seneschal's dark eyes carefully. "You inquired after my… weapon?"
"Not directly. Like you, I understand the need for discretion." Shalan curled his fingers, cupping Phillipe easily as he lightly rubbed. "But even Kyn who are not like us talk openly of men they admire. You, Navarre, are greatly envied."
Kyn who are not like us. Phillipe slid his hand under the dark fall of Shalan's long hair, caressing the strong neck beneath it before tugging him closer. "What else do they say about me?"
Shalan moved his hand aside, pressing his hips forward until his own confined erection nestled against the length of Phillipe's shaft. He licked the pad of his thumb, caressing it with the curl of his tongue before using it to dampen Phillipe's lower lip. "That you do not cross swords with just anyone who comes along."
"Also true." When Shalan tried to put his mouth where his thumb was, Phillipe held him away. He guided him over to one of the benches and sat on it, still holding Shalan before him. "It has been a long time. I cannot promise that I will be especially gentle. Are you certain you wish to match your blade against mine?"
"God in heaven, yes." Shalan's voice dropped to a low, shaking whisper. "I have been thinking about you, about this, since I first saw you."
Without another word he knelt down between Phillipe's thighs, his fingers swiftly releasing the front of his trousers. He flipped his hair back with his hands, but it fell forward again as he bent his head to envelop the straining penis head with his mouth.
Wet heat and erotic suction made Phillipe stiffen and curse softly as he caught Shalan's hair with his hand and held it back. His eyes burned at the sight of his shaft stretching and disappearing between the other man's lips, while his ears drank in the soft sounds of suckling and muffled groans. Shalan worked him with the greed of a hungry youth and the skill of an old lover, sucking Phillipe's cock steadily with deep, slow pulls of his mouth.
Blood roared in Phillipe's head, and distantly he heard Alexandra's voice. You're a big, strong, immortal guy. You can hold on another minute, can't you?
He could not. He seized Shalan's hair, dragging his mouth from his cock and bringing it up to his. He pulled him onto his lap as he kissed him, thrusting his tongue into his mouth as deeply as he had his penis, taking what he needed and giving as much as the other seneschal would take.
Shalan broke the kiss first. "Now I begin to understand." He curled up and rubbed himself against Phillipe like a lonely cat, eager and purring. "It is too bad that there is an entire planet between our territories."
Phillipe cupped his hand between the smaller man's legs, cradling the weight there. "There will be nothing between us tonight."
He rose, putting Shalan on his back on the bench so he could strip him out of his trousers, regaining some of his self-control as he leisurely put his mouth to what he uncovered. Shalan tasted as piquant as his sea-wind scent, and his hard, smooth skin proved unusually sensitive for a Kyn male. His cock, a thick, fist-long spike that begged to be stroked and kissed, was covered with an intact, velvety foreskin that slowly reddened and peeled back from the slick head as Phillipe toyed with it. When Shalan cursed he took him into his mouth and soothed his weeping cock head with his tongue, but as soon as Shalan groaned with pleasure Phillipe drew away and returned to his love play.
