38 comments/ 50935 views/ 80 favorites Zasha's Capture By: RomancebyFaye If you are under 18 years of age, this is not for you. If you are offended by male/male relationships, then do not read this work. This story contains some slight nonconsensual elements. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All right reserved. Unlike my previous work, this is a fantasy/nonhuman based work. This is a new genre for me to tackle, hopefully you will enjoy it. I always look forward to feedback and comments. To Colandra, who edited this chapter, thank you for all you help. I really appreciate the time you take from your life to help me shape my hobby into something that is a little easier to read. * Terror filled Zasha, spurring him on. He clutched his open tunic to his chest and fought panic. He was desperately searching for the hiding place he and his twin sister, Cora, had used when they were children. It was a concealed underground chamber, used long ago as a storehouse, and they had discovered it by pure accident. They had often gone there to play when they were very young. He prayed to Areala that he could find it again, even though it had been more than ten cycles since he had been there. He could not return to the castle now, it was sure to be locked down because of the threat of an outsider in the area. Zasha was glad for that threat, it was what had spared him from being raped. Zasha knew he was never supposed to leave the castle without an escort. His reason for sneaking out was innocent enough. The soldiers were in the area, making some of their regular rounds. He had only wanted to see them up close. He had never intended to be seen by them, much less mistaken for one of the lovers for hire that often followed the army. He had accidentally stumbled upon a pair of soldiers who were bathing in the stream. Zasha did not know that was where those who sold their bodies would wait to ply their trade. It was very unfortunate for him that he had not known such a thing. Zasha had always admired the men who served as soldiers for his nation. Every time he had seen them in their uniforms, they had been tall, lithe, and handsome. They wore their hair pulled back high on the back of their heads, and their uniforms were always immaculate. He had wanted to see them in the field, going through their training exercises, outside of the confines of the royal court. He wanted to know what their everyday life was like, how they looked out in the field, not in their dress uniforms. He had gotten a much closer look than he had intended. Zasha had been searching for the troops he wanted to observe, when he had heard deep voices and followed them to find a pair of men bathing in the stream. He had hidden, wide eyed, behind foliage, as he watched the pair splash each other, as they played and frolicked. He had gasped aloud when their playful antics had turned heated as the pair began to embrace and kiss. The sound of his gasp did not go unnoticed. Two pairs of eyes had turned to Zasha's hiding place as he had stood frozen, unnerved by the site his voyeurism had captured. Their was no stigma in his culture for those who loved the same sex, but Zasha had been well guarded against almost all carnal knowledge. He only had basic sexual knowledge, and had certainly never seen anyone locked in a sensual embrace. He had been shocked to feel the heat that spread across his face mirrored in his groin. The pair had moved towards him, one of them easily lifting him from the branches that were no longer enough to hide him. "So pretty," one of the soldiers said, as he ran his fingers through Zasha's deep purple tresses. Zasha had shivered involuntarily, too frightened to speak, as the other man had stroked the quivering moth-like antennae atop Zasha's head. The intimate touch caused Zasha to cry out as he felt himself harden under his tunic. His body had grown warmer, answering the clever fingers. "Mmm. You are very sensitive," the one who had stroked had said. "Come and join us, we can pay you well." "No!" Zasha had not been able to put any force behind his refusal. His fear, coupled with his confusion at his body's reaction, seemed to effect his power of speech. He had not been able to convince them that he was truly unwilling. The pair had caressed him gently as they unclothed him, each taking turns holding his wrists captive, kissing his face as he cried and protested over and over. "What a lovely game. We have not been able to enjoy someone as sweet as you in decades," the taller soldier was saying as he nibbled across Zasha's soft lilac skin. He sucked on a violet nipple and said, "If your antennae were not fully formed, I would not believe you were of age to work as a lover." "I am not a lover, I am the Prince...Stop! Not there!" Zasha's body had betrayed him when an exploring tongue swept across that most private place. He had shuddered in shock as his essence filled the other man's hand while one of the pair had sucked that puckered hole as the other stroked his small member. He had felt something prod at his entrance right before an alarm was sounded. It pierced the air, warning of an intruder. Suddenly released from their grasp, Zasha lie trembling. The soldiers had kissed him and told him that they were sorry, but they must go. Zasha had lain unmoving while they dressed quickly and left him lying there, several heavy coins on the ground next to him. Once they were gone, he had dressed haphazardly and fled, his mind a mass of shame and confusion. Zasha caught his bare foot on an unearthed root. he fell headlong, wrenching his wrist and slicing his palm open on a hidden rock. The pain caused him to gasp as he felt his flesh rend. There was no time to stop and heal himself. He had to find that hiding place so that he could calm himself and wait until it was safe to return to the palace. He was sure to be scolded terribly when he returned. By now, his absence would be noted, his parents and sister were probably frantic with worry. Guilt could come later, right now he was traumatized with the memory of those caresses. He heard a sob escape his throat as he stumbled again. A fallen log was the culprit, causing him to land on his hands and knees in the rich soil of the forest. As he forced himself to his feet, he thought he recognized a marking in the bark on the tree in front of him. He sobbed in relief when he pushed aside underbrush and saw the door that looked almost identical to the forest floor. He grasped it in his trembling fingers and tugged, he was shocked at how easily it opened. He descended inside the passageway, allowing the door to shut behind him. Safely obscured from any chance of being seen, he finally allowed himself to fall apart. ***** Gowron was dying. He could not believe he had been so careless. He was only on this planet to observe and scout, but he had been distracted by a luscious smell in the air. Deep inside enemy territory, the place where he most needed to be free from mistakes, he had made a fatal error. He had stood to taste the air with his tongue, that moment of distraction was all it had taken to be spotted by an archer. A moment was all it had taken to be pierced by an arrow. A moment was all it had taken to be mortally wounded. Even so, in the first moments of his injury his training had allowed him to evade capture as the alarm went up. That sweet smell still taunting him as he lost more and more blood. He covered it best as he could as he fled, not wanting to leave a trail to be followed. He stumbled, noticing the sound of the ground he fell on was unusual. Brushing aside vines, he miraculously found a door hidden on the forest floor. He grasped it, pulling it open with the last of his strength. He tumbled inside, crawling as far as his weakening body would allow him, following the sloping passageway until it opened into a room. He moved to the farthest end from the entrance and leaned back against a stone wall. Finally free from that torturously sweet smell, he sank into unconsciousness. A scraping noise followed by loud, wracking sobs, disturbed him as he lie waiting to die. That damn smell was back, filling the air as he pried his eyes open to watch a small figure crawling on the floor. Its small arms were outstretched, trying to feel its way in the pitch black. Hmm, it seemed these creatures were at a disadvantage in the dark. Too bad Gowron would die with that knowledge. The creature was sobbing uncontrollably. It disturbed him for some reason. He had the urge to pet and comfort the small being. It was an alien feeling. Breathing became more difficult. That sweet smell from earlier had returned, filling the stone cavern, mingling with the smell of the earth. It was coming from the small creature. Gowron could see places on the creatures body that were warmer than normal. There were tracks down the creature's face, where tears were flowing. When the creature stood, its slender arms and delicate hands crawling over the wall, Gowron could tell that the creature was a male, despite its size. The heat patterns radiating from its groin announced that he had recently felt ecstasy. Gowron's eyes widened when the creature presented him with its back. There was a warmth radiating from an intimate place there, too. The creature was very small, yet Gowron sensed it was not a child. The way it moved was too mature, and Gowron could see tiny traces of heat in a feathery pattern extending from the creatures head. He knew enough about the creature's race to recognize the sign for adulthood. Gowron knitted his brows as the small male's fingers sank into a recess in the wall, accompanied by a sound of triumph. A light flashed, hurting Gowron's eyes and blinding him for a second, before allowing him to see outside of the infrared spectrum. It was truly a lovely image to behold before death took him. Long hair flowed, reaching the creatures slender hips. It was a deep rich purple, only a few shades off black. There were two braids at each temple. The braids connected as they reached the base of the creature's skull, forming into one, larger braid. Bits of leaves and grass were here and there in the mussed coif. Flawless skin in a shade of soft lilac, unique even for the creature's purple skinned race. A small heart shaped face, and full cupid's bow mouth that was a few shades darker than the lilac skin. Gowron could see that shade was mimicked on a nipple peeking out from the open front of the creature's soft green tunic. He wondered if that same shade graced more intimate areas. The small male appeared to have a slight softness to him, unlike the warriors that Gowron had seen. He was sure that skin would give way very pleasantly to slightly forceful caresses. As the creature turned to face him, Gowron was granted a full view of the male's face. Its eyes had lovely violet irises. Its eyes were enormous. And not just because they were wide with terror and shock, as they noticed Gowron's presence in the room. A strangled sound escaped its throat as the antennae on its head quivered and laid back in fright and apprehension. It shrank back against the wall, trembling and scooting away from him. Gowron felt suddenly bereft; he did not wish to be the cause for such distress to the tiny male. "Shhh. I wish you no harm." He addressed him in the common tongue. Gowron did not even have the strength to shrug deprecatingly, so he just nodded his head towards his wound. "Even if I did, I could not act on it in my condition." "You..." The creature's voice was shaking badly. "I...I am dying. I'll not harm you." "You're dying?" The male said, still trembling, but at least able to finish its sentence. Gowron chuckled. It hurt. He closed his eyes and allowed his tongue out to taste the air, the delicious, sweetly saturated air. "Yes. Very soon I believe." "I'm sorry." The creature was crying again. No wracking sobs this time, just gentle tears rolling down his cheeks. "How many cycles are you? You almost look like a child." Gowron's pain was fading. He was sure that his time was approaching. "I'm twenty eight cycles." The creature seemed to have stopped crying. Gowron was glad. He wanted to hear more of that voice, to let it usher him into death. "Is that an adult in your race?" Yes, just like this, engulfed in this wicked, teasing smell, speaking to this beautiful, exotic being. It would not be too bad to die this way. "Yes, though I still look like this." The voice was closer. "I'm...different." "Hmm." Gowron could not seem to form words. Small hands touched his wound as he slipped into death with a smile on his face. ***** The last thing Zasha had expected to see in his secret hiding place was the frightening, and enormous figure of another race slumped against a wall. He had been shocked senseless as he activated the endless flame orb. It was a product of his sister's earliest strides in sorcery, and they had hidden here long in the past. The sight of another being in the enclosed place with him almost frightened him enough to make him faint. The creature was huge and fearsome looking. When the man had shushed him and assured Zasha he meant him no harm, Zasha had noticed the wound the man had indicated with a nod of his head. Zasha could tell it was deadly. Unsure of what to do, but certain the creature could not harm him, Zasha studied the stranger carefully. He was unlike anything Zasha had ever seen. Even slumped against the wall, he could tell the creature was tall. Taller that any other person Zasha had encountered. Unlike Zasha's slender, willowy race, the creature's muscles were large and heavily defined. His hair was in varying sizes of dreadlocks, and it spilled all around him. The locks would probably hang to his knees, if he were standing. The eyes that were regarding him were completely golden, faceted with different shades of gold. The only break in the color was a vertical black iris, like a serpent. Those eyes made Zasha shiver for some reason. The alien's skin was completely smooth, and upon closer inspection it appeared to shimmer in the light. Zasha realized that it was varying shades of gold, brown, and black. Its face was a light golden brown and darkened towards its hairline, and down either side of its throat. The edges of the lighter color gave way to the mixture of other color that flowed together seamlessly, creating geometrical patterns. Like its body, there was no hair on its face, neither eyelashes nor eyebrows, instead there was darker skin on the area around its eyes, and where brows would be. Its lips were also a few shades darker than the surrounding skin. Geometrical patterns were visible on all the skin Zasha could see, and they appeared to continue down the creature's chest, exposed by the gap in its clothing. Zasha was brought back to the seriousness of the injured man's plight. The creature's jerkin was torn, and stained with blood. Its leather leggings had not escaped the blood and were also covered with earth. "You..." Zasha could not even speak. He had never heard of such a race as this frightening, yet beautiful thing before him. He could sense it was a dangerous creature, but that did not change the fact that it was more attractive to him than any other being he had ever seen. "I...I am dying. I'll not harm you." The man was saying. "You're dying?" No. Zasha did not want him to die. He inched closer. "Yes. Very soon I believe." Zasha could hear the slowing sound of the creature's voice. He was startled when a forked tongue darted out to taste the air. The creature was much nearer to a serpent than Zasha had guessed. Now that he was closer, Zasha could see the patterns he noticed earlier were on scaled skin, and they were almost exactly like one of the poisonous serpents Zasha had been warned of since childhood. Movement around the stranger's body drew Zasha's eyes, and he realized what he had thought were dreadlocks were actually a myriad of tentacles, each one looking like a serpent unto itself. Some were thick as his wrist and others thinner than his smallest finger. They were writhing around on the ground slowly, almost contentedly, Zasha thought. He had decided. He would not allow this being to die, even though it was supposed to be an enemy. Everything in Zasha told him he must save this creature. "I'm sorry." Zasha did not know why he was apologizing for the wound. For some reason, he felt certain he played a part in it. "How many cycles are you? You almost look like a child." "I'm twenty eight cycles." He kept talking to the dying man, trying to distract him, as he moved closer, needing to be close enough to touch the wound. "Is that an adult in your race?" The creature was close to death, so very close. "Yes, though I still look like this." Finally. Zasha was close enough to touch the cause of the creature's deterioration. "I'm...different." "Hmm." The creature said, as Zasha laid his hands on him, not a moment too soon. He threw back his head, and poured his power into that gaping tear. Praying to Areala that such a wound was not beyond his ability. This was different than any healing Zasha had done before. It was no mere triage, or even an intense outpouring for a serious trauma. He did not just feel like a vessel pouring out his power, he was a direct connection to the source. An unending wealth of power flowed through him, using him as a gateway to bind and knit the broken body beneath his hands. It was a blessing, a binding, a bridge between Goddess and mortal. It burned like fire and purged like a flood. The world flashed white and dissolved around him. Zasha felt himself become weightless. He was Nowhere and Everywhere. Gowron stood with him. Ah. It seemed he knew the creature's name now. Gowron turned to look at him with disbelief in his eyes before looking forward. An unspeakably beautiful woman was standing before them. She was nearly impossible to look at. Light radiated from her, seeping into Zasha's skin. He knew her immediately. This was his goddess, beloved Areala. Goodness and Love radiated from Her like rays of the sun. She was clothed in a robe that appeared to be living plants, constantly shifting and blooming, thousands of flowers opening to the warmth of Her smile. Golden skin that reminded Zasha of the fruits of the first harvest. Eyes the color of the first tender shoots of spring beheld them. All around her flowed her silver hair, shifting and shimmering, mimicking the way rain danced in the wind on a warm day. As they stood staring at her overwhelming beauty, She reached and took a single silver hair from her flowing locks. She pulled their right hands together, laying Gowron's on top of Zasha's before binding them together with the silver thread. She spoke, the sound of bubbling waters and growing things. "Bound. Now and forever. You share your wounds. You share your joys. You share you lives. This is My Touch. None may sever it." She turned her gaze to Zasha. She caressed his cheek, though there was a small smile on her lips, Zasha saw great sorrow in her eyes. Foreboding ran along his spine, even in this sacred place. "Go, my child. Take my gift to the darkest places. There will be much need of you before the end. Know you carry My Touch with you." She turned and looked at Gowron, but she did not touch him as she had Zasha. "I entrust him to you. You have the strength to tether him to this world. A time will come when he will not hear my call, you must be the binding for him then. Now go, and carve your path as best you can." A sudden pull was tugging Zasha back from that place. It was like being sucked through a whirlwind. Zasha watched as the silver thread pulled taut, as he was jerked back into his own world. Zasha's Capture Ch. 02 If you are under 18 years of age, this is not for you. If you are offended by male/male relationships, then do not read this work. All characters in this story are over 18 years of age. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All right reserved. I would like to thank my new editor, Anstice. I look forward to working with you on this series. I truly appreciate the time you sacrificed to fix my stray commas and run away pronouns. I hope you continue to help me reign them all in. I would also like to thank my beta reader SVBLIX for generously donating time to make sure nothing is missed. To my fans, thank you for being patient with me and continuing to support me. I always appreciate feedback and comments, they are like my paycheck for writing. I hope you enjoy this installment. Inside the Queen's private dressing room, Cora and her handmaidens scurried to and fro all around Zasha. He had been scrubbed clean of all the dirt and blood from yesterday and they were preparing him for the coming marriage ceremony. He watched them as if through a thick pane of glass, distorted and surreal. All around him the world was moving; it seemed he was the only one trapped inside a bubble of nothingness. The memory of yesterday rolled through his mind. The Garkian forces had somehow ported themselves past the warding stones and into the middle of the encampment. With surprise on their side, they had easily gained the upper hand over the ranks. The atrocious balls of flame had helped them quite a bit, too. It was still unknown how they had conjured such a massive force in such a short time. Zasha suspected it was one of their cursed goddess's gifts. Truly, how they did it was of no importance, the thing that mattered was what they had accomplished. Most of the more powerful healers were taken. Aside from Zasha, only five had escaped the assault. The enemy had left as soon as they arrived; only they departed with something very precious. Zasha did not wish to think of what the captives might be enduring. The loss of the healers was the loss of the lifeblood of the Faer army. The precarious balance no longer existed and without help, Faer would fall. Cora had revealed that they had a way of securing allies; allies she assured him would seal the victory for their people. Of course, there had been a price. Yesterday, it seemed that he had been faced with an impossible choice, when actually, there really had been no choice for him at all. It was a sacrifice of either his people for himself, or himself for his people. He chose the latter. Aside from the moment of pure anguish he felt as he thought of his beloved, once the decision was made he had felt nothing. It was opposite of his twin, Cora, who had cried for hours last night. For him, there was no overwhelming despair or anger, no weeping or cursing his fate. He was numb. Instead of the despair he should be swimming in, it was as if he were moving in a fog so thick it blocked out his senses. He was devoid of emotion. Empty. He felt as if he were merely observing the happenings around him, not a part of them. Today was his wedding day. It had been arranged in all haste as soon as Zasha had made the inevitable choice. Instructions had been given by his sister because he did not wish to deal with it. All the arrangements had been placed in her hands. Zasha sat silently as the finishing touches were put on him for the ceremony. He didn't recognize the person that was looking back at him from the surface of the polished silver. He hadn't been this clean in a very long time. He studied himself for a moment. While all the dirt and blood from the battlefield was gone, he still looked startlingly different from what he remembered. His eyes had a sunken appearance, and while his face retained its softness, he looked older, a result of the stress of being near the battlefield. His hair, the one item of vanity he had refused to rid himself of, was a bit longer. On Cora's instruction, his head was bare, if one could call it that. For the ceremony, his head would be unadorned. His sister had insisted his hair would be more beautiful than any crown or circlet. Sensing the need she had to prepare him, he had allowed her to do what she wished. His head was indeed lacking a crown of any sort, but his locks had been painstakingly arranged with a network of tiny braids. They started individually, evenly spaced on his forehead. From there, they connected and divided over and over, thanks to the nimble fingers of Cora's handmaidens. They formed a net that kept his hair away from his face, the braids weaving together and separating again to create a delicate tapestry. A single golden thread was wound into each braid, catching the light as he moved. These also wove in and out of the delicate coiffure. The tiny braids molded together at the base of his skull, forming a single complex braid made up of all the braids woven together. Zasha wondered how in the world he was going to get it down. As he sat, allowing himself to be readied, his mind wandered to that fateful day so long ago. The day he had met, and been torn from his heart's desire. He knew he had no choice if he wanted his people to survive, but he could not shake the weight in his heart at his betrayal. Long ago he had made a promise that he intended to keep, no matter what. But it seemed that fate was testing the limits of his endurance. For many cycles he had waited, slowly losing hope, wondering if he had been mistaken to love so blindly. Wondering if he had been used like a fool. After having to leave Gowron, he had returned to the castle with Cora. His hands were still covered in the blood from Gowron's wound. Luckily, he had been able to use his own injury from his fall as a reason for the blood's presence, as he had forgotten to heal it amid the strange events. He had spent the next several days dreading the news that Gowron might be discovered, captured, or worse, killed. When enough time had passed, he had finally calmed, sure that Gowron had managed to escape. Other than himself, only a handful of soldiers had seen Gowron, and that had been at a distance. Zasha had listened as each had given an account of what they had seen to the King and Queen. None were very accurate. His parents had ordered all to be ready, in case of another situation, but none ever came. Zasha had been filled with relief, but he had also been left ignorant to the reason for Gowron's being on Faer, or where he was from. He did research, but was unable to find any race that resembled Gowron. It didn't help that he was unable to ask the historians without sounding suspicious, since he had never before shown interest in the archives. He had thought countless time over these past fifty three cycles that his attachment to Gowron was inexplicable. He knew this in his head, but his heart called out to the one his Goddess had chosen to bind him to. He loved him heedless of any other pull. He fought the despair that was edging in as he remembered the past. He preferred to stay inside the fog that was protecting him. He could not afford to fall apart at this point. There was no other choice left to him; either he could bind allies by marriage, or he could watch his people slaughtered. His happiness was a small price to pay for the survival of his people. He knew Cora would have stepped into his place in a moment if she could, but she was bound to another already. It seemed even his niece and nephew had offered to take his place, but had been refused because neither was next in line for the throne. That place was Zasha's. That was the reason he was put in the position to marry a total stranger. When he had asked Cora why the past offers for alliance had never been discussed with him, she said she had refused the offers due to Zasha's own words in the past. The offers for alliance had been going on for ten cycles, each one refused by the Faerian Queen. Only at the direst moment had she told him of the offer. She had not wanted Zasha to sacrifice himself. Now, they were left with no choice. After he had realized that Faer would be taken unless they had outside help, Zasha had told Cora to contact the emissary to accept the offer. He had only spoken to him long enough to tell him that he did indeed accept. He hadn't even peered into the scrying bowl for more than the moment it took him to speak the words, "I accept." That had sealed the arrangement. An arranged marriage. His sister had told him the emissary had been adamant that the marriage be observed according to each of the spouses' traditions. There would be witnesses from both sides, and Cora would be the witness for him. With each adhering to the ceremony dictated by their race, there was no doubt that the marriage would be binding. It had also been made clear that Zasha would be expected to consummate it. He would be really and truly tied to this person. He wondered fleetingly just who he would be betraying more, himself, Gowron, the person he would marry, or his Goddess. It did not matter. He would do what he must to ensure the survival of his people. Cora came behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, drawing him from his grim reverie. He looked up at the mirror, locking eyes with her reflection. They were full of sadness. Without speaking, the attendants that had been readying Zasha left the room. "Come. I will help you get dressed myself." Zasha allowed Cora to draw him to his feet. He faced the wall of polished silver, watching his reflection as she removed his robe and brought out a sumptuous garment. He obediently allowed her to slide it on, moving his arms back to ease the process. It was the finest clothing he had ever worn in his life, and as the Prince of Faer, that was saying something. It was the barest hint of yellow, made to complement his lilac skin perfectly. All around the edges it was embroidered with golden thread. There were hundreds of tiny golden flowers skirting the hem, which fell to the middle of his calf. The garment was split up the sides to his hip bones. It closed over his chest with catches that were made of pure gold. When they were fastened, the buttons formed tiny delicate flowers that matched the ones embroidered on the edges. The bottoms of the sleeves were decorated with golden lace that fanned out over his hands, obscuring all but his fingertips from view. The matching yellow bottoms were the final touch. They fit loose, flowing fluidly down his legs, leaving only his toes peeking out from where the fabric touched the floor. His feet would remain bare, according to the traditions of marriage they had been informed of by the emissary. "You should not have put so much into this, Cora. This could feed an entire village for a cycle." "The cost of this is nothing compared to what it encases. If you must do this, then you will do it wearing something befitting the Prince you are." Zasha didn't respond. He looked at the reflection staring back at him. There was no doubt that person was royalty. He was dressed in wedding finery that was even more opulent than what Cora had worn for her own ceremony. He wondered how it had been accomplished so fast. He felt strangely detached from the person looking back at him from in the wall of polished silver. No doubt this person had value beyond compare. No doubt this person possessed assurance of their abilities. No doubt the person looking back at him was not himself. He took a deep breath. Today he would be the person he saw looking back at him. He would be the Prince he saw in the reflection. He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and ignored the numbness that washed over him. He took one last look at the stranger in the mirror. "I am ready." Cora followed him out of the room as they began the trek to the temple to begin the ceremony. Zasha had declined Cora's suggestion for an introduction before the wedding. It wouldn't matter either way, because Zasha was in no position to refuse and time was of the essence. He felt Cora's hand on his shoulder and he turned to look at her questioningly. She silently steered him to exit through the main entrance of the palace. He followed her as she motioned for the doors to be opened. Zasha was blinded briefly as the sun poured into the open foyer. He blinked as his eyes adjusted, watching the light glint off the golden thread woven through his clothes. He finally was able to raise his head to face the sun. When he did, he froze at the sight before him. The path that lead out of the castle gates was lined with people. As Zasha stood, Cora stepped out in front and to the side of him. She spoke with the authority of the Queen she was, "Zasha, Prince of Faerian, Blessed by Areala, Beloved Brother, I thank you for your sacrifice to your people. Please accept this as evidence of our gratitude." When she had finished speaking, Cora descended to the bottom of the stairs, where the polished stone met the earth. She knelt and removed the robe that announced her as the Ruler of Faer. It shimmered in the sunlight, its appearance never announcing the years it had been passed down in the royal family. For millennia it had graced the shoulders of Kings and Queens, adorning them with its flowing grace and beauty. She lay it on the ground, spreading it out to protect Zasha's feet from touching the path. Zasha watched as every person lining the path mimicked Cora, kneeling and laying a piece of clothing on the ground. Zasha felt a break in the fog that encased him as a tear rolled down his cheek. He understood the significance of Cora's actions, and though the garments of the commoners were nowhere near as fine as hers, they touched him just the same. He walked with his head held high, his feet never coming into contact with the bare ground all the way to the temple. He walked the path lined with the garments of his people. With each step that his feet were protected from the open ground, he felt the reason for his sacrifice all the more. Unending words of thanks followed him all the way to the steps of the temple. He turned and faced the crowd that gathered in his wake, many of them weeping. He placed his hands over his heart and dipped his head to his chest, the sign of utmost respect, before he turned to enter the doors of the temple. Cora was beside him, once more wearing her cloak. Calls of his name followed him until the doors to the temple closed behind them, their magical seal closing out the sounds. He took a deep breath and moved inwards, past the entrance of the temple to stand in front of the carved statue of Areala. In one hand she held a healing herb, the flower clasped gently between her thumb and forefinger. Her other hand had been enchanted and it had a swirling orb of light that radiated from her outturned palm. One signified the blessing of herb lore and the other the blessing of healing by divine touch. Zasha studied the statue for a long moment, thinking that while it was remarkably accurate, it did no justice to the true Areala. He reached out to touch the hand that held the enchanted orb, cold stone met his flesh, causing a small shiver to run up his spine. He knelt, bending his head as he prayed for forgiveness, hoping that his goddess would understand his actions of betrayal. He heard no voice in his head. He felt no weight off his shoulders. He had no divine intervention to save him from his impending fate. For a moment he allowed a sliver of despair to emerge. With it came a few silent tears. He steeled himself once more, wiping the tears from his eyes as he turned to move into the main part of the temple, where the ceremony would take place. "Does your future union dismay you so?" The masculine voice brought his head snapping up. He stood, staring wide eyed at the man who had spoken. He was enormous. Zasha's head barely reached the bottom of his exposed chest. The first thing Zasha took note of were his eyes, there was no discernible pupil or iris. Instead, the whites of his eyes housed a solid black pool that only left a small portion of the white visible. The impression that he was left with was immense depth, as if he were staring into an unending well. The skin was no less startling. It was the grayish blue of a storm clouded sky, and covered in whorl upon whorl of tattoos. They snaked up his neck, the stark black of the patterns flowing fluidly up the left side of his face, to curve gently around the edge of his eye and down his cheekbone. The markings were all connected, almost as if they were part of his skin instead of ink underneath it. His hair was pulled to one side, tied with a leather thong, and hung over the front of his shoulder. Both his hair and eyes held the same stark black hue as the swirling markings. His clothing appeared to be of fine material. The design was devoid of any unneeded embellishment. It would have been considered plain if the shirt hadn't been a vivid red. Zasha disliked the color; it was exactly the shade of fresh blood on white bandages. Baine's shirt was loose fitting and open to his navel, exposing more black swirls that disappeared into the band of deep mahogany leather breeches.¬ Even his naked feet did not escape the black swirling patterns. A wide leather belt was slung low on his hips, and there were several empty weapon sheaths hanging from it. Weapons were not allowed in the temple. The empty sheaths reminded Zasha that he was marrying into a warrior race. The man leaned down, placing his hands on his knees for support, as he put himself on the same level as Zasha, looking straight into his eyes. Those black eyes were very disconcerting. "Such beauty...I did not know. Please, weep not. You will be treasured." A warm hand reached to wipe the last tear from Zasha's cheek. Far from being comforted, the soft touch put Zasha ill at ease. The numbing fog began to retreat, leaving him feeling very close to losing his composure completely. He gulped in air as the huge man stroked his cheek again, using the back side of his large fingers. The man seemed to mistake Zasha's being overwhelmed for fear, and he removed his hand and stood to full height before stepping back. Zasha could sense Cora hovering at his shoulder, unsure of what to do. He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to breathe deeply. He was angry that he had shown such weakness. He would stop making a fool of himself and his people. He opened his eyes and looked up, locking eyes with the enormous man before him. "Forgive me. I was merely overwhelmed for a moment. Allow me to present myself. I am Zasha Oetra Aralane, Prince of Faerian, future King of Faerian. I hope to serve you in our alliance. Hopefully, you are not disappointed." "Impossible." Zasha watched as the man knelt, carefully taking Zasha's hands in his own. "I am Baine A'tera, and I am greatly pleased to know you will become my King." When he had finished speaking he stood, not releasing Zasha's hands. "Are you prepared?" "Yes," Zasha answered. "Let us begin the ceremony." Baine nodded and released Zasha's hands, dwarfed by his own. Zasha gasped when he was scooped up into Baine's arms without any warning. He felt a blush creep up his face as Baine smiled down at him. He felt like a child. Baine turned to the inner sanctum of the temple and his face became serious. Zasha felt awkward, unsure of what to do with his hands. He did not wish to put his arm around Baine's neck, so he folded them across his chest as he was carried to the front of the temple where the altar stood. He looked forward, spotting the High Priestess as she stood waiting for the advancing pair. There were flowers everywhere, obscuring the polished stone altar from view. He was shocked at the amount; he had never seen so many before. Zasha's Capture Ch. 02 Flowers were the offering made for a pair being married. Family and friends would often pay homage to the Goddess in the days before the wedding, leaving flowers on the altar as evidence of the good will towards the pair. Tears threatened to fall again as he thought of all the people who must have paid homage to Areala with thanks and prayers for the coming union. Baine's long strides brought them to the altar quickly, and Zasha was soon being lowered gently to the floor. Once he was standing on his own, the priestess stepped towards him and took his hand, bringing him close to the altar. It was custom for one of the pair to choose something from the altar to hold. This was done as a symbol of carrying the blessing of others and the Goddess with you. The flowers were preserved and kept by the mated pair, often divided in half and buried with each one at death. Zasha looked at the vast amount of flowers, not wanting to arbitrarily choose one. Though this marriage was not of his heart's desire, he would not shun the gift that others had offered in its wake. He walked around the altar slowly, trying to choose from the burgeoning mass before him. Faer was a fertile planet and flowers of all sorts were constantly in bloom, despite the season. Reds, blues, purples, yellows, oranges, iridescent and every other color imaginable spilled all around him. Loose petals released sweet fragrances as he bruised them with his bare feet as he moved as close as possible to the altar. None of the offering truly called to him. When he had almost decided to just grab one, he spotted something familiar from the corner of his eye, almost completely obscured by mountains of colorful blooms. He reached out, standing on his tiptoes as he pushed aside an enormous bouquet of deep purple orchids. A tiny clump of prickly leaves emerged as he withdrew his hand. It was a bundle of healing herbs. They gave off a crisp smell as he grasped them, carefully avoiding the thorny leaves. A single flower was perched delicately among the scratchy foliage, the same flower that the statue of Areala held. It was fitting. He turned to the priestess, taking her offered hand. He clutched the bundle in his other hand, thankful that someone had known his purpose here was to heal the blight on his land. Bundle in hand, he was lead to take his place before the altar once more. Cora took up her place behind him. Done with the traditional choosing of a bouquet, he awaited the next step in sealing him to the strange man before him. Zasha found himself unable to meet Baine's eyes as he thought of what was about to happen. The words that Cora had passed to him from the emissary began to echo in his mind. He was expected to consummate the marriage. Consummate, consummate, consummate. The word pounded in his head, over and over. He had never been with anyone. Aside from his first experience with the soldiers, and his brief moments with Gowron, he had never been touched by another. His heart had yearned only for his beloved, leaving no room or desire for intimacy with another. He would have to be intimate with this stranger. The large male had given him no evidence of cruelty to come, but he still had the sudden urge to flee the temple, his people be damned. The thought of those huge blue gray fingers touching and stroking him filled him with a cold fear. His heart reacted to the mental picture of his body being invaded by the tattooed behemoth, pounding in his chest so fast he began to feel a bit dizzy. A sense of wrongness filled him as he felt the panic he had been holding at bay roll over him. Baine, who stood opposite Cora, mirroring her placement on the other side of the High Priestess, spoke. His voice was strong as it filled the temple. "To the Ruler of the Tsa'tsay, I present your Tsar'sen. As the Second, I have found him lacking in nothing. Come and claim your Tsar'sen." Zasha did not understand. He heard Cora gasp and turned to follow her gaze. From the front of the temple a figure emerged. It was one that had haunted Zasha in his dreams for fifty three long, lonely cycles. And yet it was different. His form was larger, both in height and breadth. The sinewy tentacles he remembered undulated around the approaching form. Black leather breeches hugged the muscular legs, and a flowing golden shirt exposed a naked chest. The sleeves flowed loosely, stopping at powerful forearms, where they disappeared underneath the lacings of black leather gauntlets which covered the rest of the arm to the wrist. His panic dissipated, completely forgotten. Zasha knew nothing but the man approaching him. Shock coursed through him, freezing him in place. Gowron continued his trek towards him and he watched him motionless as he stared into gold-flecked eyes. The right one was marred with a scar from his forehead to his cheek. "Zasha." So many questions, and yet he could not find his tongue. He could only stare in disbelief as Gowron came to take the place opposite of him. Emotions rolled through him. He opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was, "Gowron." * * * * The other half of his heart was waiting on him, staring with those huge purple eyes. Gowron had longed for this moment for so long, and now that it was here he could only speak one word. "Zasha." Beautiful. That was all Gowron could think of as he walked towards his beloved. The one he had been fighting to get back to for these long cycles. The one he had forsaken all other desires for. Those enormous purple eyes opened wide as they watched him approach. So very beautiful, and yet he was different than he remembered. It had been a long time. "Gowron." Ah. That voice. Once he had been more than happy to let it sooth him as he lie dying. How he had yearned for it. It washed over him, pulling out his need to claim Zasha as his once and for all. He could see the questions rolling through Zasha's eyes. Questions he longed to answer as soon as they were alone. The fight to get back to his beloved had been a hard one. For fifty three cycles he had thought of nothing but returning for his mate. However, it felt as if the universe had conspired against him, preventing him from being reunited with the other half of his heart. No more. He was here now and nothing and no one would stand between him and Zasha. He had returned despite the odds stacked against him. It was time to solidify their union in the eyes of all others. Soon, none could deny the bond between them. He allowed himself a moment to take in Zasha, in all his glory. His clothing complemented his unique skin and hugged his small, soft form pleasingly. His hair was a beautiful weaving of sparkling braids. A testament to their coming union, toes peeked out from the silken leggings. According to Tsa'tsay tradition, the pair to be married always came to the place of joining with bare feet. Once they reached the place where they would become one, the dirt gathered on the journey was washed away by the other. They would each wash the others feet as a symbol that they no longer walked on separate paths. It served as a tangible reminder that from that moment on, the path they took was traveled together. Unlike the pair being joined, the feet of those standing as witnesses would be unwashed. This was to show that they would continue to walk beside the pair, supporting them on their new path as they had the old one, carrying past memories and being there to create new ones as well. Gowron knelt before Zasha, it was the signal the Priestess had been told to look for. She had been informed of the ritual that Gowron's people followed during their unions. He glanced at the Priestess as she bent, reaching beneath the altar to pull out a bowl filled with water, along with a soft cloth. As she turned back towards them, Gowron looked up at Zasha from his kneeling position on the temple floor. He nearly lost his balance as Zasha launched himself into his arms, catching him by surprise. The serene silence of the temple was broken as the tiny frame shook, sobbing in his arms. Zasha clung to him, burying his face in his neck as he wept. Gowron's heart constricted, aching in his chest with indefinable emotion. He cradled the small form in his arms, gently encasing him with his own body, using his tentacles to wrap around them and afford them some tiny measure of privacy. He held Zasha and rocked him gently back and forth as he stroked his braided hair, feeling the feathery antennae that were laid back and quivering. This being was so precious to him, he wished there was no one else here to witness this moment. He soothed Zasha with soft shushes and caresses, despairing the weight that his beloved must have carried all these cycles. Slowly, after a few minutes, Zasha seemed to become calmer. He tried to set him back on his feet, but the grip around his neck tightened and Zasha made a small noise of denial. For a moment he thought Zasha had scratched him, only to realize that it was from the bundle Zasha was holding. The Queen moved towards her twin, reaching out to try and pull Zasha from his arms. Gowron loosened his grip, prepared to allow her to try and coax Zasha from his arms. The moment her hands touched Zasha's shoulders, he frantically tightened his grip, shouting, "No!" into Gowron's neck. A look of pained shock crossed the female's face, but Gowron was more concerned with Zasha. If Zasha did not wish to be moved, then he would simply have to adjust to Zasha's needs. He shifted Zasha slightly, keeping their bodies close, but moving so that Zasha was sitting on his thigh. This way Zasha could still hold on to him as he washed his feet. He looked towards the Priestess, signaling her to bring the bowl and cloth that she was still holding. When she set it down, he noticed that there was a rainbow of petals floating in the water. Gowron steadied Zasha, holding him in place with one arm, as he lifted the flowing leg of Zasha's pants with the help of his tentacles. Baine knelt wordlessly beside Gowron, helping him to lift the bowl of water as he submerged the first of Zasha's feet. Gowron gently cleansed and dried it before moving to the next one. They were surprisingly clean. After he had finished drying them, Baine set the bowl down and took up his position opposite Cora once more. When Gowron had begun washing Zasha's feet, he felt the grip on his neck loosen a bit. Now, Zasha was peeking from underneath Gowron's shifting tentacles. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the gesture was so sweet that Gowron could not help but smile. He turned his head to kiss the lilac lips gently. "Zasha, do you think you can do that for me?" After a moment of waiting, he felt a tiny nod. Slowly, Zasha disengaged from his embrace and sank to the floor. Not wanting to stand over him, Gowron moved to where he was sitting directly on the floor, his legs bent at the knee with his feet in front of him. Zasha looked up at him for assurance before pulling the bowl of water closer. He lay down the small bouquet he was holding and pushed up Gowron's pant leg so that he could wash off his feet. He washed them both and then dried them, a small smile on his lips as he plucked off a few stray petals that clung stubbornly to scaled skin. Gowron watched as antennae twitched back and forth, glad to see they were no longer laid back against Zasha's head. Once the task was accomplished, they perked forward as Zasha looked up at him questioningly. Gowron stood, reaching to take Zasha's hand. Zasha picked up his small bundle and then reached for the outstretched hand. After helping him stand, he wound his fingers together with Zasha's much smaller ones and they turned to face the High Priestess. Gowron was sure there was a smile lurking on her lips, but it vanished in an instant as she straightened her shoulders and prepared to speak. "You have come today to become united as one being, seeking to join your lives together despite your differences. I have observed you today, and though there is much I do not understand, this I do: you are already bound together. When, how, and why I do not know, but I know that Areala smiles upon this union. Where there is love, Areala dwells, and it is obvious to any here who have borne your witness that you indeed have love. I sense that the path you must travel will be wrought with many hardships. She wishes it were not so, but it seems that tapestry is beyond Her ability to weave." She paused, and for a moment it seemed she was listening to something. She nodded to herself and returned her attention back to Gowron and Zasha. Gowron locked eyes with her, he was shocked when he felt a whisper along his consciousness, "Tonight. You have been granted peace for tonight." Only he had heard her voice. He understood what the message meant. Soon he would have to keep his end of the bargain, saving Zasha's people from the threat they faced, but tonight would be their own. The High Priestess spoke again, this time her words were for everyone to hear. "You stand before those you deemed worthy to serve as your witnesses. You stand in a holy place, observing traditions from each side that differ from your own. You stand together, now until the end of your lives." She paused for a moment looking between the pair before turning to Zasha. "Prince of Faer, do you choose to bind yourself to this man?" "From now until the end of my life." Zasha's voice was strong, no hint of uncertainty. "And you, First of the Tsa'tsay, do you choose to bind yourself to this man?" Gowron turned to Zasha, still holding his hand, he knelt before him. "As I have been bound since the moment I met him, so I will continue to be. For the rest of my days, I will love him as he deserves. Never again will I allow him to be separate from me." He stood and faced the High Priestess once more. There was a definite smile on her lips this time. She stretched out her arms, palms up, "Before the Goddess and your witnesses, you have made your oath. From this moment, you are joined together as one. Go. Go and walk the path before you, knowing you do not walk it alone." It was the moment he had been waiting for, since the moment they were separated so long ago. Fifty three cycles of struggling to secure his position as First, and fighting to bring his people together under a new way of life, all of his efforts had come down to this. The journey to be reunited with his Tsar'sen was over. Finally, Zasha was his to claim as his own. "Come," the feminine voice belonged to the Queen, "You will pass your first night at the palace." Gowron did not miss the pained glace that was directed at Zasha, however Zasha himself was unaware. Her eyes turned away from him and without another word, she began to move towards the entrance to the temple. Once there, a temple attendant brought out Gowron and Baine's boots that had been prepared for after the ceremony. They quickly donned them as the Queen paused, waiting for them to finish. Taking Zasha's hand in his own, Gowron turned to follow her, Baine close behind them. Once they reached the entrance, the doors opened, revealing a host of Faerian waiting for the ceremony to be over. A collective gasp was heard as the four stepped into full view. Those nearest to the entrance shrank back, fear apparent in their eyes at the sight of himself and his Second. The silence quickly was replaced by clamoring voices, slowly increasing in volume. Gowron could sense anger born of fear in the voices. His warrior instincts went on full alert as the voices became increasingly agitated. Cora moved to address the crowd, but Zasha stepped forward first, pulling Gowron with him, their fingers linked together. It felt strange being pulled behind the smaller man, but Gowron allowed himself to be propelled forward by the gentle tug. Zasha descended the few polished steps, Gowron in tow, until he halted on the very last one. The crowd had grown silent once more. He suspected it was due to the sight of him being pulled along by Zasha. Their size difference was startling, and his appearance was alien to them. He suspected these vast differences accentuated his willingness to let Zasha lead him. He watched as Zasha looked out over the crowd before turning to look up at him. Zasha held his eyes as he spoke, his voice carrying over the crowd. "This is the path I choose by my own will." The purple orbs turned to take in the gathered multitude once more. "Will any speak against the choice I have made of my own accord?" Whispers once again moved through the crowd, only this time they fell silent after only a few moments. All eyes turned back to the temple entrance, this time resting fully on the newly bound pair. Gowron felt a small squeeze from Zasha's fingers before his mate moved to step down onto the earth with his bare feet. Gowron moved, scooping Zasha into his arms before he had a chance to step onto the uncovered path. He felt the small arms go around his neck as Zasha snuggled into him, resting his head comfortably on Gowron's shoulder. The familiarity of the gesture soothed the crawling nerves the reaction from the crowd had frayed. This was right. He stepped down, waiting for the Queen to lead the way back to the palace. Soon, Zasha would be fully his. * * * * Zasha had abandoned all hope. He had been standing before the altar of his beloved Goddess, fighting panic as it sank in that he would be married to a stranger. The rising panic had been broken by the appearance of the man he had been waiting for, for fifty three cycles. In the time they had been separate, Zasha had watched his sister find her mate and start a family. He had lost his parents and watched his nation be pulled into war with a merciless enemy. Amidst war, he had defied his own sister and Queen to stand in the place he was most needed and do what he had been blessed to do: heal. He had stood on the battlefield as enemy forces bypassed the strongest enchantments and rained mayhem into the heart of the encampment that housed the most powerful healers. He had watched as men died and those blessed by Areala were taken captive. But all of those things had failed to shock him as badly as seeing Gowron come to stand before him. How many times had restless dreams caused him to toss and turn in his sleep, only to wake alone and watch the suns rise from his window? How many times had he wept alone in his room, hiding his sorrow from anyone else? Watched Cora, Dafa, Mora, and Naban frolic together while his heart constricted with jealousy? Endless questions filled his mind, but all of them were pushed aside by the realization that he was finally reunited with Gowron. All the pain, the loneliness, the crushing realization that yet another cycle had passed without his return, were gone. As Gowron knelt before him, it was if his body moved of its own accord, launching him towards his heart's desire. All tight control he had held over his emotions dissolved in an instant, the thick fog dissipating in the light of his love's golden eyes. He gave no heed to any other that was present, all of his being focused on the man before him, finally being able to touch and be touched. When he felt hands trying to pull him from Gowron's embrace, he reacted, refusing to be moved from the arms he had longed for since the moment he had been forced to abandon them. This time, no one would separate him from this treasured embrace. It felt as if he had floated through the rest of the ceremony. He had listened to the words of the High Priestess, but even more so to Gowron's declaration. The trek back to the palace had started off badly; the crowd did not react well to the strangers in their midst. Zasha knew that many of them felt he was being sacrificed, which in truth he was, but not to whom he thought. He would have gone willingly at any moment if he had known who was seeking him. Zasha's Capture Ch. 02 He wanted this union, and his words as he addressed his people were heartfelt and genuine. They had parted to let the group pass. This time no garments were cast down to shield them from the earth, Dafa had been waiting outside the temple and had brought Cora shoes to wear. Zasha had no need of them from the safety of his perch. It took very little time for them to reach the palace. Once they were inside, Gowron had lowered Zasha to the floor as attendants came forward. Cora and Dafa left the room. As soon as Zasha's feet touched the polished stone, he was nearly mauled as his niece and nephew launched themselves at him. Running into the room, they seemed to be oblivious to the two new additions that were presently watching the trio. It never ceased to amaze him how much Mora and Naban favored each other, despite being opposite sex. He loved them very much, and he had watched them grow and blossom, always inseparable. They were very different from him, their skin several shades deeper and their frames built more along the tall, willowy forms common among their people. Zasha was a full head shorter than the two of them. They jostled him back and forth between them as they crushed him in an embrace from each side, catching him in the middle. "Are you married now?" "What was the High Priestess like?" "Were there many flowers?" Before he had a chance to answer any of the whispered questions, Naban let out a loud, "Aha! Look Mora!" That was the one thing that truly announced their differences. Naban's voice was rich, full of a beautiful luster and cadence that was all his own. The pair was renowned for their knowledge of herb lore past their years, but those closest to them knew of another talent they shared. The pair could sing as if the Goddess herself had shaped their voices. The rich baritone bounced off the walls, drawing both Gowron's and Baine's heads up. In his hand Naban was clutching the small bundle of herbs that Zasha had chosen from the heaps of flowers on the altar. Mora and Naban joined hands, Zasha still between them, and began to dance around in a circle, laughing and smiling. "He chose ours!" "Did Mother or Father tell you?" "They wouldn't have. It's a secret who the flowers are from." "I knew you would find ours!" "I bet it was buried in a mountain of others." "We knew that this would be more loved than any other fair Faer blooms!" "It is the fairest of the fair Faer blooms!" "Yes! Far more fair than any fair Faer flower!" "The fairest of fair Faer's fair flowers!" They spun around him, chittering about the small bundle. They latched onto the silly words, trying to outdo each other with the next ridiculous wording. Zasha did something he had not truly done in a very long time: he laughed. It wasn't an amused chuckle, or an expression of some small happiness, it was a moment born of pure joy. He was home, surrounded by those he loved, and he was finally reunited with the one he loved most. "Yes, yes. You are both very clever." Zasha put his hands on them, stopping their dancing as he smiled at them. "I did not know who left it, only that it was someone who must have understood me very well. I should have guessed." The pair beamed down at him, the traces of mirth were still there, but a bit of seriousness had taken over the place of silliness. "We should know you best Uncle Zasha," Mora said. "After all, we seek to bind what has been broken, too." They all looked down at the bundle in Naban's hands. Zasha reached out to take it from him, holding it gently. "Yes, and I hope that soon our need for such herbs are greatly diminished." All traces of levity were gone as Mora and Naban exchanged a glance. It was Naban who spoke now, reminding Zasha of the war that they still faced. He turned his eyes to the foreign presence in the room. "We should make arrangements for our new allies to be treated so that they cannot be drained." Zasha turned to Gowron, the reality of the situation intruding. He had no desire to speak of war tonight, but it was necessary. Without the special barrier, they would not be safe from the life draining touch of the cursed Death Walkers. Zasha moved towards Gowron, "It is true what Naban says. Plans need to be made to protect your fighters, especially now that our healers are separated from us." "That is so, but that is why my Second is here," Gowron looked at Baine. "Do what must be done, I take my leave. And my Tsar'sen." Zasha found himself being swept into Gowron's arms once more. He looked up into those molten eyes. A low voice whispered right next to his antennae, making him shiver. "Now, where are your rooms?" He felt himself grow warmer as he pointed wordlessly the direction Gowron should go. * * * * The door closed behind them as they entered Zasha's quarters. It was a strange moment for Gowron, stepping into the area that his mate called his own. Everywhere were little pieces that mirrored Zasha's interests and everyday life. The main room appeared to be a study area and was strewn with books, dried plants, and other odds and ends that he did not recognize. It was warm and inviting, the walls a shade of burnt orange and the room a mixture of warm reds, and browns. A small table and set of three mismatched chairs was placed near doors that opened to a small balcony. The doors to it were closed, but generous glimpses of foliage were visible from the outside garden. There were several different chairs in a group in one corner of the room. Though they were of obvious quality, they were also mismatched and appeared well used. The left wall was covered from floor to ceiling with shelves full of books. The right wall mirrored the left, only the bookshelves were interrupted by a door in the center. A platter of cheeses, meats, and fruits was placed on a small table in the main room, along with a pitcher that was dripping with accumulated moisture. The room was lit with numerous small orbs hanging from tiny silver chains. He remembered that he had seen such a thing before, during his first encounter with Zasha. The orbs hung quite low to the floor, low enough that he would have to navigate around them. He supposed they must be that low so that Zasha would be able to reach them in order to activate them. Dodging the hanging lights, he walked towards the small table that contained the food. He carefully placed Zasha in one of the chairs before choosing the largest for himself. Zasha looked at him quizzically. In answer, he reached out and selected a slice of meat for himself, watching as Zasha did the same with a piece of fruit. Gowron watched as Zasha lifted the pitcher, carefully pouring the liquid into two glasses. He had a strong suspicion that this was why the Queen had disappeared so quickly. He also suspected that Zasha had taken no nourishment that day. He watched as Zasha ate, his desire on hold for the moment. They continued to eat in silence, Gowron watching his mate all the while. Zasha would look at him and then glance away nervously, his antennae twitching erratically. When Gowron had drained his glass, Zasha reached out to refill it. Once he had set the pitcher back down, Gowron reached for the small hand, catching it by the wrist and bringing it to his mouth. He slowly kissed each fingertip, the sweetness of fruit and the tartness of the cheese mingling on his tongue as he licked at the small digits. When he sucked on the soft flesh between the thumb and forefinger, he could hear Zasha's breath quicken. When he nipped it, there was an audible gasp. A familiar sweet scent, remembered from long ago, filled the room. He stood, taking the small hand in his own before pulling Zasha to his feet. He looked at Zasha, the question in his eyes clear. Zasha nodded towards the door on the left wall. The room was dimly lit by the same low hanging orbs, but even so the difference from the other room caused him to pause for a moment. The main room was obviously meant to be shared with others; this room was arranged for solitude. The color of the room was quite different from the warmth of the other room also. All the fabrics were deep blues, with splashes of silver and black. The scheme gave Gowron the impression of coolness, and perhaps a touch of sadness, too. Everything seemed to have its place in this room, no books or odds and ends strewn about here. A large desk sat in a corner with a set of ink, paper, and writing instruments, and a tidy stack of books. Under it was the only chair in the room. There was a huge window on the same side as the garden. It arched out, offering a panoramic view and allowing room for a cushioned seat along the edge. He could easily picture Zasha sitting there and staring out on the view it offered. Black curtains, currently tied back with silver ribbon, fell from the ceiling to the floor, offering a way to shut out the light. A few pillows were placed on the seat in a perfect arrangement. On the opposite wall was another door, he suspected it lead to a private bath, but at the moment he was more interested in another area of Zasha's quarters. Across the room was the bed. It was enormous, considering Zasha's size. It also had the same black curtains hanging from the ceiling on each corner. A single orb hung down near the center of it, currently it was inactive, the light from the window lighting the room. The bed was turned down, offering a glimpse of sumptuous deep blue linens. However, the item that drew the most attention was the heavily embroidered cover. It was deep black velvet, and on it was a mass of silver lines swirling and branching in impossibly intricate patterns. As he looked at it, it seemed to shift and shimmer, morphing into visions of plants and animals depending upon where he rested his eyes. Another marvel of Faer embroidery. He was anxious to see Zasha spread across the sheets underneath it. He turned to pull Zasha into his arms once more, before moving towards his goal. * * * * It was strange, sitting and eating in his rooms with Gowron as if it were a normal part of his everyday life. He hardly had time to consider this as he ate, constantly aware of his mate's presence. He was nervous, waiting for the moment he knew was coming soon. When Gowron captured his hand, he realized the moment had come. He was barely able to stop himself from squirming in his seat as Gowron licked and nibbled. He had never thought of hands as being able to receive such a sensual touch, but he was discovering this now. With every lick and bite, new nerves were being awakened. His palm, the webbing of his fingers, even the soft meat below his thumb was not immune. How many times had he felt the power within him flow through those very same hands that were now receiving an intimate caress? His hand was abandoned suddenly, only to be wrapped in Gowron's own as he pulled them towards the bedroom. Zasha followed behind him, his heart fluttering in his chest. He stood behind him for a moment as Gowron paused in the doorway, before he was swept into his arms and taken towards the bed. How long had he prayed for this moment? Dreaming and wishing for it? But now that it was upon him, he was filled not only with desire, but also nervousness verging on fear. He was no longer as naïve as he had been when they had first met. He knew the manner in which men made love, and he would have to be blind not to notice the difference in size between himself and his mate. He had no doubt in Gowron, but he also had no experience other than their first encounter, and what he had been brave enough to try himself. He realized he was trembling as he was lowered to the bed. Gowron carefully removed his boots, setting them near the edge of the bed. His leather bracers and empty weapon belt following them. Golden eyes turned to regard Zasha with burning intensity. "Gowron," he failed to hide the tremor in his voice. "Shh. Trust me, I promise to be gentle. I will not do anything you do not wish. You are my Tsar'sen, I would never harm you." Zasha found his smaller body being framed between Gowron's arms as he climbed onto the bed. A gentle kiss silenced anymore fears he had. Ah Goddess, it had been so long. So many tears. So many cycles of loneliness. They melted away as Gowron lips caressed his own. The serpentine tongue he remembered sought out his own, invading his mouth to tease and tempt his tongue out to play. It flickered just past his open lips, tickling and licking at him. He wrapped his arms around Gowron's neck, sliding them underneath wriggling tentacles. His embrace was answered, not only by muscular arms, but also by all those extra limbs, curling and stroking him. With each passing moment the kiss became more intense. His tongue was captured by the suction of Gowron's mouth, and he felt the gentle bite of teeth. The feeling of his tongue being nipped and squeezed sent pulses of sensation through him. He moaned and pressed his body upwards, needing something more than just this passionate kiss. In answer, strong fingers tangled in his intricate braids, pulling his head back to bare his neck. He shifted his legs, opening them so that Gowron could lie between them. He failed to stop his shocked moan as a hand and several tentacles wound their way up his tunic, pressing warm scaled flesh along his skin. The curve of his neck was being thoroughly lathed with a flickering tongue. The shivers of fear from before were now replaced with quivering moans. Embarrassed by the sounds he was making, he covered his mouth with his hand, biting his fingers to quiet the unbidden noise. A tentacle wrapped around his wrist, pulling the hand away. Gowron hissed against his antennae. The true snake-like sound was accompanied by a vibrating tongue. It drew the loudest moan yet from him. "Do you dare to deny me the sounds of pleasure I pull from you?" The voice was deep and right against his sensitive antennae. When the agile tongue encircled the base of one and slowly slid up it, temporarily capturing the tiny featherlike receptors along the spine, he was unable to suppress the deep shudder that ran through him. Deep in his groin, he felt a liquid heat begin to spread. "Nooo!" It came out as a breathy moan. The sensitized appendage was released, only to be caressed by a single word. "Good." He was suddenly pulled up as Gowron sat back on his heels, the arm and tentacles on Zasha's back supporting his weight. His legs were still spread over Gowron's own, the hard thighs pressing against him. The silken fabric of the ensemble he wore slid over the leather of Gowron's breeches, making sensual sounds as they shifted on the bed. The hand not supporting his back was free to pluck at the golden catches on the front, opening them slowly and deliberately to reveal the pale violet flesh beneath. Thick tentacles coiled around his abdomen, looping him in ropes of muscle. When one grazed a newly bared nipple, he felt his body jerk with the sensation. Before Zasha could react further, he was dipped backwards, his back forced into an arch as his nipple was caught between teeth. He gripped desperately at thick forearms as his nipple was nipped and sucked aggressively, sending steady jolts to his cock. All thought of modesty left him as he bucked his hips, seeking to relieve some pressure as he rubbed against his larger mate. He was barely conscious of the cries he made. One nipple was abandoned so the other could receive its own deserved attention. Seeking better leverage, Zasha wrapped his legs around the thick torso, barely able to lock his ankles together as he thrust his hips against Gowron. Jolt after electric jolt bolted from his chest to his groin, but still it was not enough. "Gowron! Ahh...Please!" He didn't know what he was begging for, but he knew he needed it just the same. With a hiss, he was released from Gowron's grasp. A mewl of frustration left his lips. Hands and tentacles, he wasn't sure which, moved quickly to divest him of his clothes, removing them carefully but quickly. The sight of his own naked body, including his weeping erection, brought him a bit out of his wanton pleas. He snapped his legs closed, seeking to hide the evidence of his arousal as he turned his body away. Creeping tendrils embraced him once more, pulling his naked body to the edge of the bed. "You cannot hide from me." The voice was rough, spoken as Gowron knelt on the floor next to the bed. "Wha-!" His thighs were encased in those living ropes and steadily wrenched apart. All his strength was no match for those cords of muscle. His arms shot out, trying to cover himself, but they were also bound. He felt his face flush with embarrassment as his most intimate secrets were opened to Gowron's hot gaze. Silence filled the room as Zasha struggled fruitlessly. "TSSssssssss." The sound of Gowron's long hiss drew Zasha's eyes to his face, but Gowron was too entranced to notice. Zasha only had time to gulp in air before he watched his entire shaft be engulfed. "Nngh!" It was a shock. Zasha felt his body arch of its own accord, drawing his head off the bed. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the unspeakably erotic sight of Gowron's lips wrapped around him. One of Gowron's large hands was wrapped around Zasha's thigh, his fingers sunk into the soft flesh. The other was sliding around the base of his shaft, sometimes squeezing, and sometimes stroking the small, soft tuft of hair that grew just above it. The grip on his legs and arms had loosened, now that the goal had been achieved. Zasha found himself with his hands sliding onto his lover's head, his fingers slipping between writhing tentacles. The head in his hands rose and fell in a steady rhythm, a wicked tongue flickering and then twirling. His head fell back onto the bed, as endless moans escaped his lips. A lone tentacle crept up his body, sliding past his navel, up the center of his chest, slithering along the edge of his jaw and wrapping around the base of one of his antennae. It began a slow ascent, sending waves of intense sensation through his body. By the time it had finished its upward stroke, the pressure in his groin reached its bursting point. With a shout of Gowron's name, his cock emptied itself into the hot mouth that encased it, his body jerking in time with each pulse of his cum. Only after the waves of pleasure ceased was his sated member released. He lie on the bed, his thighs trembling as he gasped for air. Never had he felt or imagined such pleasure. Not giving him any time to think on this, his mate began to lick and nip his way up Zasha's prone body. Along the angle of his hip, up the soft curve of his belly, up to his pert nipple, tickling along his collarbone, tracing along his jaw, only to stop once it reached his open lips. Zasha opened his mouth willingly, allowing Gowron to thrust deeply and sensuously. He could taste himself in the kiss, and it made him flush slightly with embarrassment, embarrassment and desire. He was once again wrapped in tentacles; they secured his body to Gowron's own as he turned over. Now Zasha was lying on top of his much larger husband, wrapped in him completely and flush against his body, his legs caught between Gowron's own. His mouth was still being slowly devoured. Lying like this, he could feel the length of Gowron's own need pressed against him. Still encased in the leather breeches, it rubbed along Zasha's captive thighs. Tentacles slithered, and he felt the breeches slipping lower. The press of leather was replaced by the press of skin. More tentacles wrapped around his thighs, winding into the soft junction, they squeezed firmly to allow space for the thick shaft to slide between them. Gowron continued his invading kiss as his cock invaded the soft apex of Zasha's thighs, sliding wetly between them. The tentacles slid away, now wrapping around the outside of his thighs to prevent Zasha from releasing the pressure on the cock between his legs. Hands slid to his hips, and he found himself being slid along the expanse of muscled abs and chest, the silken shirt helping him to glide. With each slide, Gowron's cock rubbed along the sensitive sac and seam between Zasha's legs. The open shirt allowed him to be caressed by scaled skin. Zasha's Capture Ch. 02 The feel of that skin was like nothing he had ever experienced. It felt smooth and soft to the touch, but with hardened muscle underneath. He longed to lick and taste it, to run his hands over it and test its sensitivity. Remembering the pleasure when his own nipples had been toyed with, he slid his hands down, slipping them inside the shirt Gowron still wore. It was difficult, fighting the weight of his own body, but he finally slid his hand across the expanse of hardened muscle. Zasha moved his hand around, squeezing and massaging in his quest to find the sensitive nubs, but to no avail. After a few moments, Gowron released Zasha's mouth and lifted him up, momentarily halting the movement between his legs. Finally free from his own weight, Zasha opened Gowron's shirt, only to realize that the chest hidden beneath it was completely smooth. Completely smooth... "I'm reptilian. You won't find what you are looking for." He could hear the amusement in Gowron's voice. He supposed he should have realized, but he had never even considered such a thing. He could not deny that he had imagined all sorts of things over their long separation, but that had never occurred to him. He was suddenly filled with a desire to explore the man beneath him, to find out what other secrets he had only been able to dream about. "I want to look at you." A pause, and then he was released. Tentacles slowly unwound, gently caressing him now instead of binding him. His legs were released and the thick cock between them slipped out. Gowron laid his arms at his sides, allowing Zasha to take control. Zasha sat back, not sure what to make of this compliance. He had a strong feeling that this was not something that would be granted to anyone else. This willingness to relinquish control was precious and granted to him alone. Reaching for the already open shirt, he pushed it up over Gowron's shoulders. Gowron raised himself a little, making it easier for Zasha to pull it off. Once it was removed, the large male lay back down, resuming the passive position. Aware of his own nakedness, Zasha ignored the naked chest for the moment, wanting them to be in equal states of undress. Blushing, he hooked his fingers in the top of Gowron's leather breeches, ignoring the pulsing mast that had recently been freed from them. With a bit of effort, he managed to pull the tight leather off Gowron's legs. Still near the edge of the bed, Gowron placed one foot flat on the mattress, his leg crooked at the knee, while he left the other to dangle. He moved his arms behind his head, looking down the length of his body at Zasha standing between his legs. One corner of his mouth was turned up, but it was not a look of amusement, rather it made Zasha feel like a mouse in the gaze of a playful hawk...Or in this case a serpent. Golden slashed eyes regarded him from under an arched scaled brow. A long forked tongue darted out flickering as if savoring something in the air. "Well?" His mate may be passive, but that voice held more than a touch of heat. Looking at the full spectacle of the huge body lying back in the bed, fully erect cock on display, and his body surrounded by a sea of roiling and shifting tentacles, Zasha wondered if he had invited some evil god into his bed to feast on him. He had the image of himself as the innocent virgin, offered to a wicked god of wild places to pacify him. He decided if it were this particular evil god, he would go willingly. The bed dipped with the slight shift of weight as Zasha climbed up, crawling to lay his hands on the tempting chest that now lay bare. Throwing his leg over the thick torso, he straddled rippling abs. He stared at the patterns of gold, black, and tan that graced the skin underneath him. His hands reached for it, tentatively stroking it, testing the texture. It had a slight give to it, but hardness underneath, like sculpted marble that was covered with soft leather. It was smooth, the scales connecting seamlessly, except for various scars where they had failed to heal back to their perfect shape. He traced the ones he could find. One there across the right breast, one along the left ribcage, another crossing the stomach to disappear under Zasha's thigh. They were each nearly indiscernible; he only noticed them from his close perspective. Gently, he ran his fingers across each one, his experience as a healer told him which were older and which were more recent. He wished he could erase them, but they had already healed naturally. His power could do nothing to them now. He laid his palms flat, letting his hands explore each dip and swell of muscle. Slowly, he moved them upward, allowing himself time to take in the body of his long awaited beloved, committing him to memory. By the time he had reached the dip of Gowron's collarbone, the golden eyes were barely open and the slash of black pupils were much wider than they had been. The sea of tentacles around them were doing a tranquil, hypnotic dance. Zasha laid his body along Gowron's. Still astride, he traced the scar over Gowron's eye, a perfect mirror of his own phantom scar he had received the day he became an uncle. This one was the most recent scar. "When?" Golden eyes opened languidly, taking him in. A few blinks answered him as Gowron came out of his trance. "Hmm? The scar?" Zasha nodded. He waited a few more moments as Gowron thought. "Near to twenty two cycles. Why?" His suspicion was confirmed. That was the age of Mora and Naban, the day they were born he had been assaulted with a phantom injury that had baffled even the most skilled healers. The fact that it matched their age meant that he had felt that injury across his and Gowron's bond. He wondered why he had felt none of the other scars. "I felt it." "I know." That was not the answer he had expected. Gowron's eyes looked past him, lost in a distant memory. "I had a glimpse of you when I received it. You were happy. I felt it. When the blow was struck, it was if I could feel the pain traveling over that link." Gowron regarded him with an unwavering gaze, "I am sorry to have harmed you, but each time it ached, I could feel you through the silver thread that ties us." What a strange thing, pain connecting them. He wondered why he had not caught a glimpse of Gowron as he had of him. Only the pain had been shared with Zasha. Such things did not matter now. To feel one another, they only needed to extend a hand. He leaned down, planting kisses along the length of the scar. He moved his mouth to Gowron's lips which opened to allow him inside to explore. He licked inside, feeling the hot velvet past the lips. Startled, he pulled back. There was a sharp point there that he was sure had not been there before. He got close, peering past the slightly parted lips. Unmistakably, there were two fangs that had not been there before. "Don't worry, they only descended because I became so relaxed. I can control them." True to his words, Zasha watched as the fangs disappeared, folding back inside Gowron's mouth. He looked at Gowron askance, "Are they dangerous?" "They can be, if I wish. I am able to release venom. Depending on the amount, the effect can cause slight muscle relaxation or full paralysis. Do they bother you?" He thought for a moment, even though he suspected others would find them terrifying, they did not bother him at all. He answered honestly. "No. I trust you." His answer was the slide of tentacles along his legs. Gowron moved his hands from behind his head, tracing Zasha's back gently. He was lifted, as Gowron moved them further onto the bed. Though he was being caressed, Zasha realized that his partner was still remaining passive. With a last gentle kiss to the marred scales over the golden eye, Zasha moved off of Gowron's chest, tentacles scurrying out of his way as he shuffled further down the bed. Kneeling beside Gowron, he ran his hand over the firmness of Gowron's thigh. The erection that had relaxed began to pulse and lengthen again as Zasha resumed his slow exploration. He trailed his fingers over the thick thigh nearest him, letting his hands dip inwards to stroke the inside. He turned his body slightly, so that he could lean over Gowron's body. With his weight half on Gowron's stomach and half on the bed, his hands were free to explore more intimate areas. He traced the head of the awakening shaft, surprised to find the texture was much different than the rest of his skin. The patterns that covered the other parts of his body faded to a deeper shade here, disappearing at the base of his cock and sac. The head was a deep golden color, darkening down the length until the base, where it blended back into the patterns of Gowron's skin. At first, he thought it was un-scaled, but upon closer inspection, he saw that at the base the scales shifted into miniscule versions of what covered the rest of his body. They were so tiny at the head, that he had trouble discerning them. Wrapping both hands around the base, he gave an experimental upward stroke. The cock in his hands twitched and Gowron gave a low moan. It was incredible, the way the thick organ felt in his hands. It was smooth, more slick and slippery than he would have guessed. The fluid leaking from the tip helped him slide his hands up and down the length as it pulsed hotly in his grasp. He wanted to taste it, to feel it on his tongue, to grant a little of the pleasure he had been given. Grasping firmly, he pulled the hard organ closer to his mouth, lightly licking the head. The taste surprised him, salty and some hint of a foreign spice he could not place. Still slightly unsure, Zasha went on instinct, allowing his own desire to drive his actions. He was rewarded with a soft hiss. He licked again, firmer this time as he began to slide the head into his mouth. Smooth and firm, with a bit of yielding softness. It felt good on his tongue. He rose to his knees, still resting some of his weight across Gowron. He lowered his mouth, pulling the full head into it. The member was large enough to cause him some difficulty as he accustomed himself to its size. Even so, soon he was able to fit more and more in his mouth. It was slick, smooth on his tongue as he swirled it over the fat tip. Underneath him muscles rippled and jumped in time with his caresses. Soft hisses and groans filled the room. Encouraged, Zasha gripped the shaft more firmly, having to use both hands to encircle it. He began to pump his hands up and down, as he slowly worked more of the length into his mouth. Soon, he was able to feel the tip brushing the back of his throat. Saliva ran down the shaft, streaming over his fingers and slicking his grip further. His mouth was filled with a slight spiciness as fluid leaked from the head of Gowron's cock. He pulled away, licking the drops from the head before sliding it back in his mouth. He continued to stroke and suck in time, listening to Gowron's sounds of pleasure and feeling the effects he had on Gowron's body. Zasha's own member had fully recovered and it throbbed, aroused by the feel of the cock in his mouth and hands. Hisses and moans grew in intensity when he became more aggressive in his ministrations. Coils wound in Zasha's hair, tangling in his braids as he was forcibly pulled from the thick cock. It seemed Gowron reached the end of his passivity. Zasha returned to his kneeling position. He was only there for a moment before strong arms turned him, facing him away from Gowron, who now kneeled behind him. He was pushed forward onto his hands and knees, his braided hair falling to one side as he looked back at his mate. A shiver ran through him as he saw Gowron behind him, towering over his small and vulnerable body. He watched as tentacles slid along the sheets, crawling and circling his wrists. His eyes locked onto one thick tentacle that moved towards him, watching it as it traced up his forearm, a living bracelet that teased and caressed as it wound its way up his flesh. More were doing the same to his calves, along with others slipping around his chest and belly. A large, hot palm lay on the center of his back, slowly sliding down the curve of his spine to trace the swell of his ass. His arms, still wrapped in tentacles, gave way. He lay there, open and trembling, his ass in the air, his hands gripping sheets and stray tentacles. A finger slid down the cleft of his cheeks, slowly descending to trace the tight circle of his entrance. Beneath his fevered haze, a thought occurred to him, "Look beneath the mattress..." A pause. A particularly thick tentacle unwound from his middle, slipping off the side of the bed to rummage for a moment. It returned with its prize, a small bottle of a special ointment that Zasha had been gifted by his sister yesterday. She had handed it to him wordlessly, and Gowron retrieved it the same way. The vial was now in Gowron's hand and the thick tentacle slipped back to its place around Zasha's chest. Zasha could not see what was happening behind him, so the slick touch of a finger caused him to jump. The finger circled his entrance once more, this time coated with the slippery substance from the vial. He felt his nerves firing with each brush of that thick digit as it pushed more firmly against him. It slid in, pushing past the tight circle, and Zasha cried out at the sensation. The sheets and tentacles in his hands were suddenly clenched in a death grip. The pain he had been expecting lasted only for a moment, the contents of the vial taking effect. He was shocked, feeling his body open easily to the invading presence. Gowron's finger slid and out, shallowly stroking the very edge of his entrance as he moaned, burying his face in the mattress. The finger slid in deeply, igniting every nerve along the way, only to reverse its path and tease him further. Another thrust and retreat. The third time, the finger grazed something inside him, sending his back into an arch and forcing a loud, "AHhhh!" from his lungs. The finger was removed completely, only to be joined by a second. They pushed in, slipping past the relaxed guardian ring to stroke and tease the spot they had found. Exquisite pleasure flooded Zasha as they rubbed and stroked that spot. He could feel his cock pulsing and he peered beneath him to see it leaking steadily on the bed. A third finger pushed in, stretching him and giving him a feeling of fullness. They pumped inside him on a steady rhythm, driving his need higher. He no longer cared about the sounds that filled the room as he gasped and moaned. Needing more, he thrust his hips back, begging wordlessly for fulfillment. A hiss filled the room as the fingers disappeared. The world shifted. The coils around him tightened, lifting him from the bed and pulling his back flush with Gowron's chest. Gowron was sitting back on his heels, and Zasha found his own thighs sliding beside the thick thighs of his lover. The tops of his feet touched the bed, but all his weight was supported by his husband. Slowly, he was lowered, his back sliding on the scaled chest as he was impaled by Gowron. His body shook and his head was forced to turn with a large hand, his cry swallowed by a fervent kiss as the tip breached him. Hot and slippery, he felt himself being opened even more as his own weight was used to push the thick shaft into him. There had to be something in the tincture they had used, the waves of pleasure were near overwhelming. He screamed over and over from the intensity of sensation as he was invaded, each cry muffled by Gowron's mouth. On and on the intense slide went, his body held in a seemingly endless penetration. Finally, he felt his thighs connect with much larger ones as he took the entire length into his body. The kiss was broken off and Zasha threw his right arm back to catch behind his lover's neck, helping him to balance. He panted heavily, trying to catch his breath as Gowron rained soft kisses all over his face. The coils around him readjusted, temporarily void of the weight they had helped to support. When one began to caress his nipple, Zasha found himself squeezing the thick corded neck beneath his hands. Large fingers trailed over an antenna, only to trace down his arm and find the ignored nipple. It was soon being rolled and pinched along with the caresses of the other. The other hand slid over his hip, grazing soft skin and slipping into the soft fur above his erection. It slid down further, the large hand fully encasing his cock in its grip. Gowron's finger and thumb pinched Zasha's leaking tip, sending out shocks of pleasure. Tentacles tightened, sinking into his flesh again as they took on his weight once more. He felt the ripples of muscle along his back as he was lifted, the fullness inside him retreating. The caresses on his nipples and cock continued as he was held in place, nerves reawakened before he was again lowered and breached with that same excruciating slowness. "MMMmnnn." A low moan left him as his head fell back, resting on a muscled shoulder. Gowron's labored breath skirted across the skin on his neck. Again he was lifted and lowered. Again he moaned. Each time, there was a pause as he was fully filled, his weight rested fully along Gowron's thighs. Each time, he could feel the muscles at his back rippling and the rise and fall of breath on his neck. The hand on his cock squeezed and stroked in a maddeningly slow pace. Gripping Gowron's neck, he arched his back, seeking to give himself more of the sensations from before. Under him muscles jerked and a hiss filled the air. The grip on his shaft tightened, and so did the tentacles around him, sinking into his softness. A hand tweaked his nipple harshly. All these caused him to squirm even more, pushing his hips back in hunger. The tentacles around him constricted even more, forcing some of the air from his lungs. "Tssssss. Stop that! I barely have control as it issssss!" The last syllable had disappeared into a heavy hiss. The warning was accentuated with a scrape of teeth along his shoulder. Zasha felt fangs. Heady with desire, Zasha reached the end of his patience. He was finally in the embrace of the man he had yearned for, wept for, prayed for. He wanted to be taken, and he wanted to take. He grasped an errant tentacle in his free hand, bringing it to his mouth. He kissed the tapered end of it before sucking it into his mouth. "Do it," his voice rasped out, rough with unfulfilled need. "Do it. You told me to wait, and I have waited. So long I have waited and despaired. How much longer do you intend to deny me?" He caressed the twitching tentacle, bringing it to his mouth and brushing it with his lips as he whispered it again. "Do it..." He bit down, nipping hard enough to hurt. He was jerked upwards, his nerves exploding as Gowron rose to his knees, taking on Zasha's weight completely. Over and over he was pistoned up and down, helpless to the frenzy of lust he had released. Each slide set off waves of ecstasy as it grazed that spot inside of him. The hand on his cock had slipped lower, finger splaying alongside the cock pumping into him. They caressed his sensitive rim, pushing him closer to the edge. "Ah, goddess! Gowron, I can't...NO!" A tendril wrapped around the base of his cock circling it before sliding to do the same around his sac. It tightened, pulling him back from the brink. "TSsss! Not yet!" Impossible, it was impossible to feel this much and not be able to come. And yet here he was, trapped in a place of agony and pleasure, pushed to teeter on the edge of climax but unable to topple over. Higher and higher he was driven, his screams ravaging his throat as he himself was ravaged. Finally, Gowron began to make his own hoarse cries, speaking in a language Zasha could not understand. The grip on his cock and sac was released. Zasha's Capture Ch. 02 "Zasha, NOW!" He came. Ropes of hot cum splattered on his stomach, Gowron's hand and tentacles, and dribbled down his thighs. Euphoric pleasure he had never known washed over him. A rushing heat enveloped his body as the coils around him constricted dramatically, squeezing the air from his lungs as he screamed Gowron's name. They held him there, breathless and helpless as he felt the cock inside him swell and pulse its own dance of ecstasy. The intensity of Zasha's orgasm coupled with the constriction of tentacles proved too much. His body ceased to obey him and he went limp in the grip of his mate. He could still feel waves of pleasure coursing through him as his mind swam in a warm haze. He felt himself floating down to the bed, the squeeze of tentacles loosening enough for him to breathe once they had safely lowered his limp form to the bed. He felt Gowron disengage from him, the feeling of fullness leaving his body in a wet slide as cum leaked from his relaxed channel. He turned to look at Gowron, who still knelt over him looking down on him. He lie there, his body open and covered with sweat and cum, the evidence of Gowron's own orgasm seeping from him slowly. As he watched, scaled fingers were licked clean of Zasha's cum by a forked tongue. Zasha's body was framed by strong arms as he was licked clean, soft moans escaping him with each sweep of that agile tongue. Lower and lower it went, reaching his sensitized head to gently lick it clean, too. Little shocks reverberated through him as he was softly lathed. A glimmer in the air caught his eye. Still in the grip of the post orgasmic haze, he reached out his hand, watching the glimmer swirl around as he waved it in the air. The shimmer danced in the light, caught in the disturbance he created with his waving hand. His mind began to start working again and he blinked, realizing the shimmer was still there. Gowron came to rest beside him, stoking his hair gently. His fingers grazed an antenna. The hand stroking his hair pulled away suddenly as Gowron became strangely still. "What's wrong?" "What is this?" The large fingers were covered with what looked like a shimmering lilac powder. Zasha ran his own hand over one antenna, pulling it away to find the same substance on his own hand. He stared at. "I don't know..." He watched as Gowron's tongue slithered out, vibrating in the air. His eyes widened in what appeared to be recognition. "Your scent. Hmm. So that is what causes it." "What do you mean, my scent?" Zasha sniffed the air, searching for any distinct odor that his mate might be referring to. The only smell that greeted him was a slight aroma of their lovemaking. He looked at Gowron with a quizzical expression. "I can smell you when you become aroused." Golden eyes squinted, recalling something, "Now that I think about it, it was much stronger when you came." Zasha felt himself flush. What in the five moons was that supposed to mean!? Gowron continued speaking as if he were talking to himself, his voice was low. "It smells sweet. It makes me..." he trailed off, turning back to face Zasha as if he just remembered he was there. The expression in his eyes chased away Zasha's humiliation, but it made him embarrassed for other reasons. "I have never heard of such a thing before." It was true. If such a thing existed in his race, he had no knowledge of it. The thought that Gowron would be able to tell when he was aroused seemed somehow unfair. "It's common among my race, attracting a mate with scent. Even so, I have never heard of someone being affected as much as you do me. I assumed it was something unique to your people, but perhaps it is unique to me and you." Zasha thought for a moment, remembering when they had been pulled into the realm of the Goddess. They were destined for each other; that was undeniable. Tied together by a silver thread from the tresses of Areala, they were certainly unique. Joy and pain had already been shared across that thread. How many more surprises did this bond hold for them? They lie in silence, fulfilled and content to be tangled together. Zasha felt at peace as he lay in a knot of tentacles and limbs, watching the curious glimmer in the air which he now knew was from himself. His eyes grew heavy, and soon he was lost in a dreamless sleep, the first time he had slept so deeply in many cycles. * * * * Gowron continued to softly caress Zasha even after he had fallen asleep. Filled with the scent of his mate, the room became darker as the waning sun slipped lower. The warning he had received from the Priestess filled his mind as he watched the shimmer settle around them. Next to him Zasha shifted in his sleep, turning to lay his hand across his chest and throwing a small thigh over his stomach. He looked over the small figure, etching the precious moment into his memory. Zasha brought out a side of gentleness that he had never known existed inside him. Known for his fierceness and prowess in battle, he had never been so relaxed with another being. As First, he could show no weakness, no vulnerability to the people he led. Looking down at his mate, he knew that he would do anything to protect him, sacrifice anything to keep him safe, and strike down any who sought to harm him. Soon, he would be doing just that. He had desired to set in as soon as word had reached him of the war for Faer, but as a race of mercenaries, his people had needed a reason to support the attack. He had proposed a daring and different path than what they had been following for as long as the Tsa'tsay had been freed: joining themselves to another nation and ending their days of selling themselves for other's wars. This time, they would be tied to the race they would be fighting alongside. It had allowed him a way to bind Zasha to himself and turn his people from the path they had walked since ancient history. He had been unable to approach Zasha during all that time, afraid of the repercussions it might have on him if he revealed himself. Forced to offer a bond through marriage and refused by the ruling Queen, he wondered if Zasha had even known. His suspicions had been confirmed the moment he had revealed himself and Zasha had faced him with complete shock. The room fell completely dark as the last sun finally finished its cycle for the day. He moved on the bed, stirring Zasha from his sleep as he lifted him to take him through the door that led to a bathing chamber. Dark blue stone greeted him as he stepped into the opulent room. A huge bath was sunk into the stone floor. It was a deep cream color and also made of solid stone, marbling swirling in the natural stone. One end was continually filling with steaming water that bubbled from the floor while the other end continually emptied, the water disappearing to presumable run somewhere under the floor. Steps led down into the water and various vials of oil and soaps and large fluffy towels lay within reaching distance from the raised lip of the stone tub. In his arms, Zasha stirred, waking up from his cradled position as Gowron began his careful decent into the steaming water. One end of the tub had a rounded bench submerged into the water. He moved to sit on it, still holding his precious cargo. Large violet eyes watched him, half lidded as they sank into the water. Gowron shifted in the water, holding his small lover on his lap as he sank his tentacles into the relaxing warmth. They sat there, relaxing in the soothing heat in silence. He watched as Zasha began to work on the complex arrangement of his hair, slowly taking it down one braid at a time. He helped, working on the complicated braids with the help of his deft tentacles and fingers. One by one, the braids slowly were unwound, the single golden thread in each one put to the side as it was free. Soon, the water was filled with flowing purple tresses tangling with his tentacles. He watched them winding together, loving the way the long hair shifted and rippled as the shimmering dust rinsed out of it, making patterns in the water. Gowron regarded his small husband, allowing himself to study Zasha and noting the differences from his memory. The length of Zasha's hair was much longer than he remembered; it was more noticeable now that it was unrestrained. His flesh still had the delicate softness that he found so delicious to sink his fingers and coils into. The antennae he had found to be so sensitive were larger and more full. Zasha's face also had changed. It wasn't that he had aged, but it was more mature, the large eyes full of the things they had borne witness to over the passing cycles. He reached for one of the vials, pouring it into his open palm before beginning to massage it into Zasha's scalp. Taking his time, he slowly and thoroughly washed him as they lounged in the water. He gently stroked each antenna, fascinated by the delicate feel of them between his fingers. Even as he rinsed the shimmering suds from them, more of the powder seemed to take its place. Zasha's scent filled the air, alerting Gowron to his arousal. He smiled to himself, thinking that it was quite a convenient thing. He continued to wash Zasha, slipping his hands and tentacles below the water to stroke along the soft lilac skin. He was glad that Zasha was so accepting of his extra appendages, they often shocked those who were unfamiliar with his kind. Zasha seemed to have no reservations about touching and being touched by them. He felt his fangs descend as he remembered how Zasha had gone so far as to suck and bite one of them earlier that evening. He had been unable to control himself after that, and he had even allowed himself to constrict around Zasha with abandon as he had reached climax. Even in such a strong and unforgiving grip, Zasha had given his body over with full trust. Gowron had been driven by instinct in that moment, only realizing the strength he had used when Zasha had gone limp in his arms. He wanted to feel that again, to wind around that tiny, trusting body and squeeze him while they came together. Laying his hands flat against Zasha, he stroked him from collarbone to belly. He moved his hands slowly, wanting to take his time and make love to Zasha leisurely, savoring him. The water splashed gently as his lover turned to face him. Gowron continued to stroke him with the flat of his hands, only this time he moved from the delicate shoulders to the curve of his buttocks. The scent became stronger and he felt his own erection rubbing Zasha's much smaller one. He watched Zasha's face flush as he rubbed their cocks together gently. Small arms wound around his neck as Zasha's head fell back, baring the soft curve of his throat. Gowron accepted the offering, licking and nibbling along it. He let his fingers slip into the cleft of Zasha's ass to rub the tight ring concealed there. He slipped in easily, the muscle relaxing to allow his invading finger. He began a slow rhythm, pumping in and out as he tasted any skin he could reach with his mouth and tongue. Winding around Zasha's thighs, he was able to use the buoyancy granted by the water to bend him back further, putting the darker lilac nipples in his reach. Under the water, their shafts rubbed together in time to his thrusting finger as he sucked a hardening nipple into his mouth. He wound one of his thinner, more dexterous tentacles to the other nipple, mimicking the caresses of his mouth. Soft, so soft. He loved the way the skin felt, such a contrast to his own. He fought the desire to sink his fingers, teeth, and tentacles into it. How he craved to test it, pushing the limits of its giving malleability. He supposed it came from his serpentine instinct, the desire to wrap and constrict the body of his beloved. He worked in another finger, feeling the muscle contract with each pull of his mouth. Switching to slurp the other nipple, he added yet another finger, pushing in far enough to brush the special spot inside of Zasha. The reaction was immediate. Behind his head, fingers gripped harder as he felt his fingers gripped spasmodically. Continuing the pace he had already set, he made sure to brush along the gland that granted Zasha so much pleasure. Soon, Zasha was moving on his own, complementing the pumping fingers. Releasing Zasha's nipples, Gowron lowered him back down, replacing his fingers with the head of his cock. He pushed inside of him in one long, unhurried slide. Zasha sighed in his arms, his head rolling forward to rest on Gowron's shoulder. The arms around him relaxed, holding him loosely as they sat immobile for several long moments. The water around them rippled as he placed his hands on small hips, lifting them slowly before lowering them at the same pace. Water sloshed softly as Zasha made soft cries with each deliberate movement. Gowron caressed Zasha's entire body, using hands, tentacles, lips and tongue. Setting a leisurely pace, he pulled back to watch Zasha's face as he made love to him. Against his stomach, he could feel the cock that rubbed against him. He kept his pace slow, wanting to creep to the edge. When Zasha began to chant his name breathlessly, his eyes almost closed, he had to fight for control. On and on he went, pushing them in that measured rhythm as he struggled to be gentle. Closer and closer the waves crept, lapping but not quite cresting as they neared the edge. After what seemed like hours of this agonizing build, he felt the unmistakable heat in his groin, and the air became heavily saturated with Zasha's scent. He let himself go, his caressing tentacles instantly transforming into a crushing embrace as he constricted. Zasha had thrown his head back, and Gowron was assaulted with that crushing scent even as he crushed the body with his own coiling grip. A long hiss escaped Gowron as he felt and watched Zasha reach completion even as the air was pushed from his lungs on a strangled cry. He could feel the cock trapped between them twitch as it emptied into the water. Simultaneously, he emptied his own essence into the channel that rippled around him. They rode out their orgasms together, long moments passing until he felt the body in his grip relax. He lowered him, carefully rinsing them both before carrying him back out of the water. He could see imprints of his tentacles where he had pressed into Zasha's skin. Guilt filled him; he had wanted to be gentle. Using one of the offending limbs, he lifted a towel, bringing it into reach of his hands so he could dry off his mate. He traced over the indentations. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to handle you so roughly." In his arms, Zasha slowly opened his eyes regarding him with a questioning look. His antennae twitched forward as he roused. "Hmm? How do you mean?" "I put marks on your skin." Looking down along his body, Zasha blinked. He traced a finger across his marked belly. Gowron was a bit surprised at the tiny smile that lifted one corner of the soft lips. "You should not be sorry. I..." Zasha looked away, a flush creeping up his face. "What? Tell me." Using the towel, Gowron began to dry the flowing hair that had been freed from the confining braids. "I want to know." "I don't dislike it. When you...squeeze me." Heat ran through him as he watched Zasha's blushing face. Well, he would remember that from now on. He dried them off, careful to blot as much water from Zasha's hair as possible. He set Zasha down onto the floor and very gently dried the sensitive antennae. Once he had finished, Zasha moved into the other room, taking a brush from a drawer on the desk. He sat on the edge of the bed as he began to run it through his damp hair. The brush glowed faintly and soon the hair was dried by some bit of sorcery woven into the brush. Gowron lie behind him on the bed observing him, fascinated by the tiny details being shared with him. Gowron watched as Zasha replaced the brush and came to join him on the bed. He reached to tap the orb that hung over the bed and the room shifted into darkness. Gowron let his eyes shift to infrared, watching as Zasha moved to lie next to him. He cradled him against his own body, allowing himself to relax completely. Almost immediately he could hear the even breathing as his mate fell asleep. He followed him almost as quickly. * * * * A loud banging jolted him awake, and he sprung up on the bed, immediately shifting into a defensive position. The barest hint of light seeped through the window facing the garden. Behind him, Zasha sat up in the bed, awoken by the loud knocking on the door. The voice shouting was his Second. "First! Our scouts reported movement! The enemy is advancing even as we speak!" Already his time was up. He turned to look into Zasha's eyes, knowing the promised time had reached its end. Gowron pulled him close, "It's time." He disengaged from his most precious one, quickly stepping to open the door. Baine was already in full battle dress. He stepped inside the chamber, holding out Gowron's armor and weapons. He dressed in mere seconds as Baine waited. Prepared and in his battle dress, he looked up to see Baine staring over his shoulder. He turned, following Baine's eyes to see Zasha standing on the floor with nothing but a deep blue sheet wrapped loosely around him. Even in this situation, he was filled with a quick anger that Baine was seeing such an intimate image. Completely ignoring the other man in the room, Zasha moved to stand before him. The arm that wasn't holding the sheet reached out. Gowron leaned down without a thought, crushing his tiny husband in his arms for a passionate kiss. He felt Baine leave the room. The kiss ended and he pulled away. The delicate arm released him and he was left looking into somber purple eyes. "I love you." That was all Zasha said. "I love you, my Tsar'sen." A small hand squeezed his own. Gowron turned and left the room, having something he truly wished to fight to protect for the first time in his life. * * * * Zasha watched as Gowron left the room. He waited for only moments before dressing himself in a rush, putting his hair up in a quick braid. If the war was coming to its head, then he would be there doing what he could. Knowing that he had to move quickly, he slipped from the castle quietly, carefully avoiding anyone he knew would try to stop him. If there was going to be battle, then he would be needed. Somehow, he sensed that he was absolutely necessary to turn the tide of this war. Today would be the last battle for Faer, he knew this with every fiber of his being. Praying to Areala, he made his way to where the army was gathering. It was time to put his healing skills to use once more. The words that the Priestess had spoken only to him ran in his mind. "Take your happiness this night, for tomorrow a new war begins." Zasha's Capture He was still pressing into the flesh over Gowron wound. Only the wound under his hands was gone, along with any mark on the flesh that showed it had been there. He drew a breath to speak the creature's name, but was interrupted by the squeeze of tentacles wrapping around his throat. They coiled around his wrists, pulling them behind his back. More encircled his soft belly and chest, sinking into his giving abdomen, as they tightened and lifted his body off the ground. Zasha stared into wild, golden eyes, as he felt even his thighs and ankles being bound by living ropes. He hung helplessly before Gowron, struggling uselessly against his bonds. He was pulled close to those endless, golden eyes. The bonds around his throat mercifully loosened enough for Zasha to breathe. "What did you do to me?!" Gowron hissed. Zasha was so shocked at the feeling of those appendages wrapped all around him, he could not speak. They were smooth, a silken touch encasing supple muscle, and so strong his struggles had no effect on their grip. Zasha recognized confusion, anger, and something unknown, in Gowron's eyes, right before that wicked tongue of his flicked across Zasha's lips. In spite of the dire situation he was in, a jolt of pleasure shot through him. "What did you do to me..." Gowron's voice was very soft. The tone still sent a frisson of fear running up Zasha's spine. Fear, and something else. ***** Impossible. He was dead. He should be dead! Gowron had been slipping into the last world, when fire had erupted through his body, and he was snatched into a vision. He could still feel the tightness of the silver thread that bound his and Zasha's hands. He knew Zasha's name! A magician, the beauty had to be a wicked sorcerer. A spellbinding was the only thing that could be affecting Gowron this way. There was no reason he should feel such an unbearable attachment to this tiny male. No reason Gowron's heart should ache at the expression the bound Zasha was showing him. No reason he should wish to release him and caress all such trepidation from him. The Tsa'tsay felt such feelings only for their mates. Gowron remembered that voice... Bound. Now and forever. Gowron pulled Zasha close to his face, loosening his grip on the tiny throat. "What did you do to me?!" The only answer was small gasps of air, and struggling limbs. Those abnormally large, violet eyes, were opened impossibly wide. Gowron allowed his own eyes to roam over Zasha's face, pausing to look at the parted, quivering lips. He pulled Zasha even closer, close enough to flick them with his tongue. He could feel the jolt that went through Zasha's body. "What did you do to me..." Gowron gave up the fight. He surrendered to his feelings, wrapping his arms around the tiny form and thrusting his tongue past those open lips. He allowed his hands to roam through those silky tresses, finding those feathery antennae, and brushing them softly with his fingertips. Gowron loved the shudders that answered his caresses. He slowly began to lower Zasha, loosening, but not unwinding, his tentacles, as he brought him closer into his embrace. He was fully prepared for Zasha to recoil once his grip on him loosened. Gowron had not been prepared to feel tiny hands on his chest, tracing over his scaled skin. He had not been prepared for the moans, or the fervent response to his invading kiss. He had not been prepared for the press of Zasha's firm erection on his thigh. ***** As Gowron brought Zasha close into his embrace, Zasha found himself assaulted with a pleasure he had never known. This was nothing like the experience he had earlier today with the soldiers. That serpentine tongue assaulted his mouth, wrapping around and squeezing his own tongue. Rational thought fled him as Zasha surrendered to Gowron's will. He splayed his fingers across that silky, scaled flesh. The feeling of being caressed with all those squeezing, stroking tentacles, fanning the flames of his arousal. When he felt some tug at the waist of his leggings, he could not stop the moan that escaped him. Zasha was suddenly lifted in the air, the tentacles at his waist replaced by Gowron's seeking hands. Once the leggings were pushed out of the way, Gowron lowered him again. He had broken off the kiss and was seeking out Zasha's nipple, left vulnerable by the open tunic. When his hands found Zasha's hardness, Gowron made a hissing sound. It was exactly like a snake, and his tongue vibrated delicately, on the very tip of one of Zasha exposed nipples. Zasha threw back his head and cried out, overwhelmed by the combined sensations. He gripped Gowron's shoulders, clutching them for support, and felt more tentacles wrap around his forearms. Gowron's hands were inside of Zasha's leggings, one working him slowly, teasing back and forth over the length of his shaft, while the other cupped his sac and massaged it gently. "No one else may touch you again." Gowron was saying. Zasha felt his cock being gripped tighter as Gowron spoke. "I claim you as mine, my Tsar'sen. My mate. All of this is for me alone." With that last statement, Gowron rubbed Zasha's twitching hole. At the same time he increased the pressure and speed of his other hand. Zasha shivered, knowing he wanted no one else to touch him like this. He felt his imminent orgasm. His head was forced down, allowing Gowron access to his mouth. The feeling of all those rubbing, massaging tentacles, along with the sucking and stroking of Gowron's tongue and fingers, pushed Zasha over the edge. "Gowron!" Zasha cried against his mouth, as he spurted into Gowron's waiting hand. His body arched, taut as an archer's bowstring, for what seemed like eternity, as he rode out his orgasm. He collapsed into the expanse of Gowron's chest, trying to catch his breath. He watched as Gowron raised his hand to his lips and licked it clean, all the while keeping his eyes locked with Zasha's. Zasha gulped, suddenly wondering what Gowron would taste like. He slid his hands down Gowron's chest, over the ridges of muscle, down to the waist of his leggings. Where he encountered dried and crusted blood. He snatched his hands away. Horror filled him as he realized they were also covered with Gowron's blood. Gowron looked down in confusion, and then back to Zasha's face. Zasha was surprised at the expression of understanding. Gowron opened his mouth to speak. A creaking sound rumbled in the air. The door, someone was opening the door! Zasha dove for the endless light's orb, extinguishing it. At the same moment his sister's voice rang from the entrance to the stone cavern. "Zasha! Are you here?" Cora's voice was frantic. He turned to Gowron, even though he could not see him. A tentacle once again wrapped around his throat. ***** Gowron had pleasured his Tsar'sen for the first time. Watching Zasha had given Gowron almost as much pleasure as touching him and enwrapping him. He had never imagined taking such a creature as his mate, but now he would never touch another. The way Zasha had reacted to the Words of Claiming, without even knowing of the ritual, proved Zasha was indeed his destined Tsar'sen. Zasha had come in his hand, offering himself in the most intimate way. When Gowron had tasted the offering, he had been surprised at the sweetness that filled his mouth. It was almost the exact same as the sweetness that Zasha released into the air. The cry of his name as Zasha came still echoed in his ears. Zasha had gazed at him with those large eyes, as Gowron felt those tiny hands slide down his chest, tracing over his chest and down his stomach. When they reached the top of his leggings, a look of shock crossed Zasha's face as he removed his hands. Gowron did not understand until he looked down and saw the remnants of his injury. The blood that had seeped into his jerkin and leggings was dried. He had somehow forgotten that he had just been snatched back from the verge of death. Only then did he notice that his blood soiled Zasha's hands as well. He understood the expression on Zasha's face. He opened his mouth to reassure him, and was interrupted by another intrusion into their hiding place. "Zasha! Are you here?" It was a female's voice. Zasha abandoned his lap to scramble for the small orb that was lighting the chamber, in a second they were thrust into darkness once more. When Zasha turned back to Gowron, the only thing that crossed his mind was that he would not allow anyone to take Zasha away. He grasped Zasha's throat with a tentacle to keep him silent. Gowron watched Zasha's eyes widen, as he shook his head, and tugged at the limb encasing his throat. "They cannot find you here!" Zasha whispered vehemently. Gowron did not understand. "They will kill you!" Gowron understood. If Zasha did not answer, they would likely search the cavern. He released him. It crossed his mind suddenly that Zasha could very well betray him. How could he not have thought of that sooner? Panic filled him as he heard Zasha say, "I'm here. Stay there, I have a light here with me." "Thank Areala," the female voice was saying, "I remembered where this place was by Her grace. The intruder still has not been found. I had to bring our own personal guards, Mother and Father will be angry when they find out." The voice faded a bit as she moved towards the opening. "Hurry Zasha, we must get back to the palace." Personal guard. Palace. The words echoed in Gowron's mind. Zasha was royalty. How had he not guessed? It seemed his capture of Zasha was not going to be so easy. Zasha turned towards him, obviously unable to see, reaching out with his hands. The seeking gesture touched Gowron in a way he had never experienced. He reached out and pulled Zasha close. The enormity of the embrace dawned on Gowron. He and Zasha were about to be separated. He had no way of knowing when they would be reunited. "I have to leave you," Zasha whispered. Gowron could once again see the tracks of tears roll down Zasha's face. "I will come back for you, wait for me. You belong to me, I will come back to claim you." Gowron kissed Zasha passionately. Wanting to make sure he was understood. "I'll wait for you," Zasha was sobbing. "I will wait, as long as it takes. You have to come back for me." One last kiss, and Zasha was gone, lighting his way with the orb. Gowron watched as Zasha turned back to look at him one last time, before disappearing into the corridor that led to the hidden door. The sound of the door closing left Gowron alone with only his and Zasha's promise. And that damned sweet smell in the air. ***** Fifty Three Cycles Later Zasha knelt and packed a poultice into the soldier's wound. When the soldier grunted in pain, Zasha wished for the countless time that he could use his healing on every injury. Even after seventeen cycles of war, he still was not used to sounds of pain from the injured soldiers surrounding him. Unfortunately, healing took a great deal of energy. He needed to save that for those soldiers who would die without immediate healing. He found it a bit ironic that he worked in such close proximity to the soldiers, considering the experience he had in the past. He had long ago forgiven the two men, understanding they were mistaken. He had come to realize that they had meant him no harm. Besides, he was a healer and his gift was needed. Many of their race were granted the powers of healing, some directly from the Goddess herself, and others with the knowledge of herbs. Out of all those blessed by Areala with the healing touch, Zasha was easily the most powerful. He knew why. Once, long ago he had been Touched by the Goddess herself. He pushed that memory back inside him, refusing to dredge up those painful thoughts. There was enough pain and misery around him without adding his own personal demons. He prayed that today his healing would not be required. He moved down the line, cleansing and treating the various wounds. No matter their pain, the soldiers always thanked him. Zasha smiled at each of them, sometimes he recognized those he had healed before. "You look stunning again today, Zasha." The speaker was one of the soldiers Zasha had healed more times than he cared to remember. A few of them barely in time. Zasha laughed. He was covered in blood, sweat, and dirt. He had not been able to really cleanse himself in weeks, and his hair was a filthy, tangled atrocity. "Strange, Taran, your eyes seem to be uninjured. Did you take a blow to the head?" "Perhaps." Taran grinned. "I hear that a kiss from a Princess can heal almost anything." Zasha smiled. Taran did not know how close to the truth he was with that bit of flirting. It was a well kept secret that he was royalty. It would be a dangerous thing if it were to fall into the hands of the enemy. Zasha remembered how hard it had been to convince his sister that he should be involved in the war. She had argued that he was next in line for the throne, but Zasha had told her that her children could take his place if something happened to him. He had been blessed by Areala, and though no one knew he had been Touched, he knew his place was where he could help those who needed it most. As the eldest twin, Cora had become ruler after his parents had been killed in the first wave of attacks. By some tragic coincidence, they had been out touring the region where the enemy's portals had opened unexpectedly. Their peaceful nation had been dragged into war. It had been a disastrous time. Cora had to take the throne, and command of the army, at the young age of sixty four cycles. She, like Zasha, had been nearly helpless with grief and shock in the beginning. Thankfully, there were trusted advisors there to help her. Even so, she had proved to be an amazing queen, holding the Faerian together, as they fought against the invaders. The attacking race were from a planet near the end of the same galaxy as Zasha's people. There had been no warning of any impending war. The Faerian and the Garkian had never had any contact at all, due to the conflict of their basic beliefs. The Garkian worshipped the dark Goddess, Vrasam, who was Areala's sister. Areala was the goddess of peace and healing. Vrasam was the goddess of strife and death. It seemed that both goddesses blessed their followers with power. Where Areala granted the gift of healing, Vrasam granted the opposite. Her gift was the ability to withdraw the life force of others. Thankfully, it seemed Vrasam granted very few her gift, and those blessed with it had to be able to physically lay hands on their victims, skin to skin. In the first few months of fighting, this had not been known. The results had been catastrophic. Entire troops had been wiped out. Zasha shuddered in revulsion at the memory of what had been left of those killed by the cursed touch. It was an atrocious way to die, the life force being drained until nothing was left but a shell. After the discovery, Cora had ordered every warriors to be coated with a substance that clung to their skin, preventing direct contact. It was easy enough to remove with water mixed with certain herbs, but that formula was a cherished secret, even Zasha did not know the compound. His niece and nephew had actually invented it. Mora and Naban were also twins. Naban was the eldest, but they looked almost identical. The two of them were gifted with herbs. At only twenty two cycles, they were already more skilled than the elders. Long ago, when Zasha had first realized that he was blessed with the gift of healing, he had gone to the temple to seek guidance and answers. A priestess had told him that Areala watched over the needs of her people, granting her blessings to the benefit of her followers. He believed it. He wondered how many soldiers lives had been spared due to his own gift. That was a fraction of the numbers spared by the medicine of his niece and nephew. Mora and Naban had been born five cycles before the war had started. His sister had married a common soldier, the Faerian did not believe in arranged marriages, and they had been blessed soon after their union. Dafa and Cora had been ecstatic at the birth of the twins, and Zasha remembered the boundless joy he had felt as he had touched the tiny pairs of hands. It had been a rare moment of happiness amidst his feelings of loneliness and abandonment, but even that had been disturbed. He remembered the stabbing pain he had felt a mere second after the bursting joy. It had felt as if his right eye were splitting open, it had been so intense he had actually lost consciousness. He still had a phantom ache there now and again. "Thank you Princess." The voice pulled him from his musings. Taran was smiling at him. Zasha was finally done dressing his wound. "You are welcome, Taran. I hope I don't have to see you for a while." "Ah! How sad! If you would accept my advances, I wouldn't have to resort to being wounded just to see you." Zasha just grinned and moved to the next soldier. It was true, Taran would probably offer for Zasha seriously if he gave the man any indication that he would accept. But he would not. Zasha might have been abandoned, but he would not accept another in place of the one he loved. Even now he remembered in detail what had transpired fifty three cycles ago. It had been a long time. He had come to accept that he would never be united to another. So many cycles, watching and waiting, visiting the secret chamber over and over, looking for any sign. After twenty cycles had passed, he had slowly begun to despair. After thirty, he had resigned himself to his fate. When Mora and Naban had been born, he had felt himself beginning to live again. They were the light of his world, along with his sister. For many cycles after the initial separation, Cora had urged Zasha to find a mate. She had introduced him to many suitors, both male and female. Some he would have been seriously interested in, if not for the one already in his heart. He had finally told his sister that he was only interested in one person, and if that person returned to him, then and only then would he bind himself to another. Cora had told him that she knew he meant it, and that she also knew he had been different since the day she had found him in the woods. Zasha had only looked at her; he had refused to answer the unspoken question. After that, she had never mentioned it again, and she no longer pushed him to get married. It still pained Zasha sometimes to see how happy Cora was with Dafa and their children, but he pushed those thoughts away when they came to him. He did not begrudge his sister's happiness. One must take what little bit was granted in these times. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and set to treating all the soldiers who had been left to his care. Hours later he had finally attended all the wounded that had been left to his charge. He walked to healers tent and fell asleep as soon as his body hit the cot, surrounded by the sound of soft breathing from the other healers. A deafening explosion woke him. Shrieks, screams, and an awful acrid smell assaulted his senses. His ears were ringing and he felt dizzy, as if he had taken a blow to the head. The healers were panicking, running here and there. Zasha dashed outside of the useless protection of the tent. And stepped into total chaos. An enormous ball of fire was burning right in the middle of the healers encampment. Zasha saw the bodies of soldiers lying everywhere. "Wounded! Heal the wounded!" Zasha was trying to get the attention of other healers as he ran towards the body nearest him. It was too late for that soldier. He ran to the next, searching for those who were not beyond his help. The number was too few. He lay his hands on every soldier he could find with even a tiny bit of life, pouring his power and energy into them. Zasha's Capture Zasha could hear the sounds of battle ringing out around him. He ignored it, focused on the task at hand. Around him, other healers began scrambling toward the wounded. He knew tonight the limits of their powers would be tested, as more burning orbs rained from the sky. They were enormous, standing a head over Zasha. They bounced and rolled before stopping, leaving trails of a burning substance in their wake. The stench of burning flesh assaulted Zasha as he searched for survivors, each one he healed moving towards the battle as soon as they were able. Looking up, Zasha called out to a healer, pointing her to the direction of a prone soldier. She ran to him, kneeling beside the body to heal him. Zasha knelt at another soldier, not ten yards away, before looking up to see the healer crushed along with the soldier she was healing. The ball of fire that crushed them left nothing but smoldering remains as it rolled a bit farther. Heavy drops rained down Zasha's front, he dared not inspect them too closely. It felt as if he had just walked into a nightmare. Even though it was his feet and his hands that were feeling everything, his antennae that were hearing everything, it seemed as if he were moving in a dream. As he fell to his knees beside what turned out to be another lifeless body, he wondered how long he could keep this up. How long his energy would last as he kept searching among this horror for those who could be saved. He had a responsibility. He was a healer before all else. He had been Touched by Areala Herself. He could not fail Her now. He would heal until he could not. It was all he could do. He moved to another body, burnt almost past recognition, barely alive. Zasha touched deep into that pool of innate power inside him, pouring out that energy like water from a pitcher. The face being brought back from the ruins of savage burns was one he knew. "Zasha." He recognized Taran's voice. "You have to go back to the castle! If you are captured-" Taran stopped speaking abruptly and shoved Zasha to the ground. Only just healed, he stood, grabbing the sword from his side and moving between Zasha and an attacking Garkian. The presence of the enemy here meant the front line had been broken. Zasha sat on the ground frozen, watching Taran and the Garkian battle. It was awful. Zasha had never witnessed the front lines of the war first hand. He had seen the results, but never the actual sight of someone being run through with a sword. He saw it now, as the Garkian thrust its own through Taran, blood dripping from the end of the blade that exited Taran's back. The blade was jagged, made to destroy the flesh when it thrust in. The Garkian laughed, turning to smile at Zasha, where he watched in horror from the ground. Zasha did the only thing he could, he lay hands on Taran's leg and healed him where he stood, pouring more of his power into the injured man. Taran kept his feet as the confused Garkian pulled its blade from his body, horrid ripping noises and a new river of blood accompanying the exit. He felt the spray of blood as Taran used his own sword to sever the creatures head. It ran down his face, mingling with the blood that was there from countless others, before dripping off his nose and chin. The head plopped down, followed by the crumpling of the Garkian's lifeless body. It was the first Garkian he had ever seen up close. It was hideous. The creature would have been huge, if the length of its body weren't stooped over. It looked remarkably like an overgrown, deformed frog, even down to its hands. Its skin looked as if it would be slimy to the touch, not that he had any intention of touching it. It had a huge head with a round, bulbous eye set on each side, and a long wide mouth with thin lips. It was shades of green, but not like the plants and forests that Zasha loved. Instead, the colors reminded him of putrid wounds and decaying vegetation. Zasha was dragged from the ground, glad to leave his macabre observation behind. "We have to get you out of here." Taran was trying to pull him from the encampment. "No! Put me down! There are others who need healing!" Zasha struggled in Taran's grasp. He could not abandon men to die that could still be saved! "I cannot do that. You cannot be captured!" Zasha did not understand. Until he looked across the burning field and saw Garkian's grabbing healers. He felt his blood run cold as he watched swirling portals open before each of the Garkian's with a healer in their possession. Once they stepped through, the portals snapped closed before anyone could follow. It seemed this attack had a specific purpose. The army would be at a terrible disadvantage without Areala's blessed. Zasha stopped struggling as Taran lifted him over his shoulder before running to the edge of the encampment. It was a miracle that they encountered no more enemies. When they reached the woods, Taran set Zasha down and began to drag him along. Zasha just followed behind him, feeling an impending sense of dread settle over his heart, as he thought of the healers who were now in the hands of their enemies. Taran pulled a white pebble from somewhere inside of his armor and chanted a word before throwing it on the ground. A silver portal opened before him, and he once more lifted Zasha and stepped through. They were in a room Zasha did not recognize. It was completely covered with runes that swirled and connected. They were all silver and converged in the center of the room, where he and Taran were now standing. There was a door set into the wall in front of them, the runes ran across it, too. This was the result of an accomplished sorcerer, and would have taken many cycles to create. He turned to question Taran as the door burst open and Cora burst inside the room. "Cora?" Zasha stared at her in disbelief as she ran to him and embraced him, sobbing his name. "Zasha, Zasha. I thought you were dead! I had a vision of you being tortured..." Cora fell to her knees, taking him with her as she sobbed. "Taran has been watching over you all this time. I warned him not to be far from you when I had my vision." So, it seemed Taran had known who he was all this time. It also seemed his twin was skilled with sorcery as he was with healing. He had never heard her speak of visions before. He turned to regard Taran, who was apparently his appointed guardian. "I am sorry," the voice was Taran's, "I could not tell you, by order of the Queen." Zasha thought it was a bit ridiculous of him to be hurt, but he was. He had thought Taran had liked him, not knowing he was the Prince. It seemed insignificant when he began to realize the magnitude of tonight's events. Being liked for who he was, was really nothing when he considered the slaughter and devastation he had witnessed only moments ago. "Cora," he remembered there were things his sister should know. "They were taking healers as captives." She looked at him and her face paled as the enormity of what he was saying sank in. "Oh, Goddess. No..." The war had already been hard. The only reason that they had been able to hold off the enemy was because of those blessed by Areala. All of the most skilled healers had been at that camp because they were the closest to those in the direst need of healing. From what Zasha had seen, their numbers would be decimated. Without healers, the casualties would jump exponentially. Not to mention the ruin to the morale of the army. "What can we do?" Zasha's voice sounded hollow, even to himself. They had no allies. The Faerian kept to themselves, to their own planet. They had an army only because one was essential. Now that they were under attack, they had no ties with any other race. No one on who they could call for help. "We need allies," Zasha spoke what he knew they were all thinking. "But who would want to come to our aid now? There would be no benefit to helping us when we are at our weakest point." Cora grew silent. She looked into Zasha's eyes and said, "There is one who has offered to help us. They have sought audience with me more than once." "What?! Why did you not accept before!" Zasha was filled with disbelief. How could she have turned away an ally? She looked away from him. "Their price is too steep." There was a strange quality to Cora's voice. "It cannot be too steep now. Even if they demand half the planet, it is impossible to refuse. Unless you intend to watch as our world is destroyed before our eyes?!" "It is too steep!" She sounded frantic. Before he realized it, Zasha was screaming at Cora, digging his fingers into her arms and shaking her. "What could you possible refuse to give up! Are you so selfish?! What could be so precious to you that you would refuse to save our people for it!" "You," Cora whispered. Zasha stared at her, sure he had misheard. "They will only accept an alliance by marriage...to the one in direct line of the throne." She looked at him fully, reaching her hands to stoke his face. When she pulled them away, they were stained with the blood of both Garkian and Faerian that Zasha had encountered that day. It was an ill omen. "It is too steep." Her voice was barely audible. Zasha thought of Gowron. Somewhere out in the expanse of the universe was the one his heart was bound to. It seemed they were truly never to be. He felt the tiny spark of hope he had not realized was still burning in his chest, die. His fingers lost their grip on Cora's shoulders as he slumped to the floor. Gone. Gone was the last tiny ember of hope. The room was silent until Zasha spoke. "Then they shall have me."