“Torrin,” the prince gasped, “what the hell are you...”

Torrin backed up a step, trying to ignore his pain and the shock of hearing his name spoken on the prince's lips. “S-Stay back,” Torrin ordered.

Could he go through with this? Would he be able to kill himself? The idea of death terrified him. The idea of more pain nearly froze him. But...

But he didn't want to be a whore for his enemy!

“Torrin,” the prince called again. “Put the knife down.” He held out his hand as if to calm a wild beast. The action only managed to raise Torrin's hackles.

“I said stay back!”

Torrin took another step away. He wanted to escape. He wanted to be free! What the hell was wrong with that?!

“Torrin,” the prince said calmly, “I know you don't want to die.”

“You don't know anything about me!” Torrin screamed. “You don't know...” His hand shook a bit. “You have no idea what I want!”

The prince looked a little... shocked. “What...” he began, but Torrin didn't give him the chance to speak.

“You don't know me! You don't know – Morina, Mother, Father... Ava... they're all dead because of you and your damn army!”

Darian's eyes narrowed. “Wait a damn minute; they aren't my anyth-”

“Shut up!” Torrin managed another step back without collapsing in agony. He thought his anger might be helping to dull the pain. “You're the one who led the enemy into Fort Shiro – you're the one responsible for Morina's death!” The image of her face, blood spilling from her lips, was permanently etched on his soul. His hands shook a bit more – he felt a small pain on his neck. Felt liquid trickle down to his collarbone.

“Give me the knife,” the prince said again and turned his outstretched hand up as if Torrin would just place the hilt in his palm. Torrin was tempted to lash at him with it, but he knew, however, that he wouldn't make contact before the prince overpowered him again. His only chance was to use himself as a sort of hostage.

He took another step back.

Suddenly the prince was surging forward, reaching for Torrin and the blade. Torrin yelped and stumbled back before falling-

The prince managed to both wrench the knife from Torrin's hand and catch him before he hit the ground. His peripheral vision caught the knife as Darian threw it away.

Torrin began to struggle.

“Stop it – dammit, stop!” the prince snapped. Torrin rose a hand to ram against the prince's head and moaned in pain. Torrin's adrenaline rush faded almost abruptly, leaving him to collapse into the prince's arms. When he tried to ignore the pain and move again, he merely managed a twitch of his leg and arm before he almost screamed.

Damn this curse!

“Hold still, dammit,” the prince snarled, then cursed again when Torrin went limp. There was no doubt why Torrin refused to move, and it wasn't because he was told to.

Darian checked him over, careful with his ribs and the bruises that marred his body.

“I'm not...” Torrin wanted to fight off the prince's hands, hands that were disturbingly gentle as they searched his body for wounds. “I'm not a whore...”

The prince seemed to hesitate, but it was slight and Torrin wondered if he hadn't imagined it. “No, you're not,” the prince said finally, shocking Torrin. “You're mine. There's a difference.”

“I'm not a pet, either,” Torrin snapped, then groaned when the prince touched the middle of his chest – the area where he felt his magic. The area that was rebelling against him.

Darian's brows furrowed. He carefully took off Torrin's shirt. When Torrin tried to protest, his body wracked into a shiver of pain and he found himself lying still. Darian carefully probed the area between Torrin's breasts – the breastbone – sternum – as the prince tested the middle of his sternum. Torrin cried out pitifully at the contact. Darian's frown only seemed to deepen. “I don't see any wounds here.”

Torrin almost told him it wasn't on the outside. Almost slipped it out – the secret that would mean a painful death. Almost – but not quite.

“Torrin, what happened?”

There it was – his name on the prince's lips again. Why did his heart skip a beat when Darian said his name?

“I'm not...” He couldn't tell this man what he could do, no matter what. “I don't know.”

The prince didn't seem to buy it. “You don't know.”

Torrin thought of the one thing that he'd seen distract Darian before: his anger over the bullying Torrin had received. “I was too busy trying to defend myself.”

The prince's eyes darkened, just as Torrin had thought they would. The thing Torrin didn't expect was the odd... warmth?... he felt when he saw it.

Darian made no response this time, only double-checked the injured area. “It could be internal,” Darian said finally. Torrin thought he heard worry in the man's voice. He wanted to say something like, 'no shit?' but didn't think that'd be a brilliant move.

It was when Darian began to pick him up that he started protesting again. “No... no! I'm not going back!”

“Idiot,” Darian said softly, “Where else would you go?”

Torrin glared at him. He wanted to say, home! I'd go home! But he didn't have a home anymore and they both knew it.

They both also knew it was partly Darian's fault.

“I won't... I won't be some... some doll!” Torrin exclaimed, flushing hotly. “I'm not a sack to be tied down. I...”

The prince stood with Torrin in his arms, not seeming to notice to care or even hardly notice the blond's weight... or words. Torrin wanted to fight, wanted to struggle... but didn't have the strength to do much of either. That was another side-effect of using the wrong energy – his strength was sapped in return for fighting against his own damn body.

“Damn you,” Torrin growled suddenly, “I don't want to be your fucking catamite!”

Darian looked down at him with an expression so inscrutable Torrin couldn't even begin to describe it... but he could only breathe again when the prince looked away.

He was carried to Darian's warhorse, then placed carefully on top the steed. He bit hard on his lip to keep from crying out as he forced himself to stay on the horse (he did not want to fall near those hooves again).

Then the prince was seated behind him, wrapping a protective arm around his stomach, holding him against the prince's strong, broad chest, and they were walking slowly back towards the camp.

After all that pain, Torrin wasn't willing to just give up. “I won't... I'm not going back!” He struggled minutely, but that was all he could manage. He nearly screamed with frustration.

“What about your precious patient?” the prince asked, but there was something in his voice that went beyond the question. Torrin got the feeling that the prince was considering something else entirely and felt a twinge of unease stir in his gut.

“You have an aid,” Torrin said in a low voice, repeating what he'd told himself while trapped in the carriage. “He can take care of my patient.”

“What if I decided to dump him?” the prince asked, sounding both bored and curious – something Torrin hadn't thought was physically possible.

“You-” Torrin tried to turn, but he was held fast by Darian's strong arm. “You wouldn't dare!” The thought had fluttered inside him, but had never really been planted in his mind – somehow the idea just seemed too barbaric, even for a Coran.

Or maybe just for the Coran prince that was his lover.

Darian didn't answer, only tightened his grip slightly when the horse had to jump over a fallen log. Torrin bit his lip again in an effort not to cry out. His ribs screamed, even more now that he'd fallen – jumped – from the carriage. His magic made the rest of his body sensitive and painful, as well.

Torrin thought about his patient, then his unknown future. He would be his enemy prince's slut for... oh God... how long? There was that panic again. He didn't want to be held down on some bed every night and used...

If his life in servitude would be the price he paid to save that man... or, better put – to escape, the price of his freedom could be that one man's life. No one would suffer from his enslavement but him, but... he would be under the prince's absolute control until... when?

And he remembered what Darian had said just that morning: “I do not think I will tire of you soon. Isn't that good news?”

Just what would happen to him after the prince tired of him? Where would he be sent? Would he be killed, or would he... would the prince...

Would he be... sold off?

“No,” he murmured, then firmed his voice. “No!” He wanted to struggle, wanted to escape – run, run! – but he couldn't move without pain, and the prince's arm was strong around him, and the fear of falling off the horse and landing near those hooves was almost crippling in and of itself. He could only fight with his voice. “I'm not going to be just some... some-”

“Hush.”

It was a softly stated order, and Torrin bristled at the command. “I will no-”

The prince let go of his waist to clap a hand over his mouth. His moan of pain at the sudden jarring of the horse's movements on his ribs was covered.

“Hush,” the price repeated, then stared ahead at nothing, focusing his concentration on something else. His body was suddenly tense.

Something was wrong.

Torrin strained his ears to try to hear anything unusual. Nothing stood out. There was still sound from the birds in the trees. And every sound was natural. Just what was it that bothered the prince?

Whatever it was, it was enough for the prince to slide off his horse and throw its reins over its head. The prince glared at him intensely – a warning to stay put or to go get help?

But Torrin didn't want to take the time to get help and come back. By then Darian may be long gone.

It would occur to him later that he hadn't thought to try to escape again.

It took him far too long to get off the horse. The pain almost had him falling off on more than one occasion. The horse wasn't happy that he was trying to get off... Torrin wasn't happy that he was going near those hooves again. He successfully reached the ground despite all that, however. He managed to get away from the horse before he collapsed.

He struggled to get back up. The agony was intense; more than once he felt his body lax. He promised himself he could pass out after he found Darian.

<*>

He was fully trained to catch any sign of enemy attack. When he was six, he had been stranded in the small forest near the castle and attacked by his instructor. He could find an enemy blindfolded and take him down with his hands trapped behind his back.

He had no doubt there was an enemy nearby.

The forest gave away nothing. Birds still sang. Leaves, even the dead ones littering the ground, moved only with the wind. There was nothing tangible to prove an enemy was here.

But he was sure.

He felt the enemy's presence. It was a feeling that went deeper than the bone, a feeling he'd had to learn when he was six, trying to survive and constantly tense, waiting for an attack. It had become an innate part of him. It was one of the many reasons he was such a great warrior.

The enemy was to his left.

His eyes scanned the trees until he saw movement in their branches – movement made by a large creature. The same instant had an arrow shooting for his heart.

He rolled to the side and stood again, drawing his sword. If the enemy was attacking with the long-ranged bow, it would take longer to defeat him.

He took a short moment to hope Torrin was out of danger.

Another arrow shot towards him. Instead of dodging this one, he rose his sword and deflected it. He knew where his enemy was, hiding in the trees. Going after him would be difficult. If he had someone else with him, he could take down the enemy while Darian acted as the decoy.

But hell if he needed someone else's help. And why the hell had Torrin entered his mind just then?

He ran behind a tree, barely outrunning another arrow. He judged the distance from his unknown foe and ran once again.

He made it to the next tree without an attack. The enemy was watching him, studying him. Darian was doing the same.

He moved further away from the enemy, avoiding the leaves that would give him away. He was as soundless as his enemy, slipping around a different tree. Now when he moved closer to the enemy, the enemy would have to move closer to him or risk losing him to the forest.

But then he heard loud movement. Unsteady movement. And his heart momentarily stopped.

Then he was moving, heart pounding in his throat, feet hardly touching the ground. He saw the enemy quickly then, close in front of him. His clothes were caked in mud to camouflage him. The man had his bowstring pulled back, arrow pointed – then the string of the bow was released.

“No!” Darian shouted. The enemy turned to him, surprised, then dodged him as he came close enough to stab. A hand went to the quiver on his back. Darian stabbed his sword into the earth and used it as a launchpad to get to the enemy. He shoved the enemy to the ground before the arrow could be drawn.

The enemy was lean, but he was toned beyond Torrin's lithe body. He was also a better fighter – with a well-placed fist and quick leg movement, he managed to get out from under Darian. When Darian turned to attack again, the enemy was already moving through the forest.

Without thought, Darian turned from the retreating figure, grabbed his sword, and raced to where he'd heard those unsteady steps.

“Torrin!” Panic, because no one else was so weak as to make those footsteps. He had no room to fear his own startling reaction. “Torrin!”

“Darian...” He focused in on the sound and quickly found the blond-haired body lying on the ground. His eye immediately caught on the arrow embedded in a nearby tree.

He sheathed his sword and dropped before his medic and checked him over for injuries. When he was finally satisfied that there were none, he snapped. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

His medic made no movements; he seemed glued to the ground in his position. “Are you okay? Did you get him?”

“He got away,” Darian ground out shortly, then carefully turned Torrin onto his back. Though there were no new or serious injuries, Torrin was not moving. Darian feaered it was a relapse of whatever had occurred before. What was it that stole his medic's ability to move – that made him cry out in pain with every twitch of his muscles?

“What about you?” Torrin continued, then stopped. Darian knew why he'd quit speaking – his little medic wasn't happy about his concern for his enemy prince. Darian, on the other hand, found himself warmed by Torrin's fear for him.

“I'm fine, little medic,” he answered. Then, teasingly, “were you concerned for me?”

Torrin averted his eyes and refused to answer.

Darian laughed, a sound he found himself making frequently lately, and gently lifted his medic from the ground. There was a catch of breath, a soft groan, and then labored breathing.

This was a concern for Darian, as much if not more so than the enemy (and most likely small band of them) that pursued him. Torrin seemed unwell, but Darian could not find the reason for it. It was certainly based around Torrin's sternum, but there were no serious bruises or cuts along that area – his broken ribs were further down. Torrin said he didn't know how he got the wound, but Darian knew better. The boy was like an open book. Darian could tell the boy was hiding something. To protect someone else or to protect himself? If he knew who had harmed him, he could be protecting himself from pain – but the person who hurt him should not still be with them.

Unless one of the men who was traveling with them now was responsible.

But Darian wouldn't jump on any conclusion. He would get Torrin to admit where he'd gotten that pain, that unseeable wound. He had to know, he reasoned, since he would have to protect his little medic from the pursuing enemies.

“Why did you come after me?” Darian after a short time, returning to Charger, who would take them to their small entourage.

He received no answer to his question.

“Well?” He looked down to the boy in his arms, a sardonic grin safely in place.

The boy was unconscious.

His heart skittered in panic. His grin disappeared. “Torrin?” What the hell was going on?!

<*>

He woke up with a splitting headache. He wanted to grab it, but the attempts to move his arms brought too much pain for him to follow up on that desire. He groaned and opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was Darian, sitting by the bed. His hand was held within Darian's, an action that confused and warmed Torrin all at once.

Then he saw that he was back in the carriage and wanted to scream. His feeble attempt to gain freedom had been for nothing.

“You are awake.” Torrin turned his head back to Darian, who was looking at him with intense chocolate eyes. Since his statement wasn't a question, Torrin didn't answer it. “How do you feel?”

What was with the kindness and concern? “I...” Should he answer honestly or should he lie? I'm tired of lying, he thought to himself. “Weak,” he answered then, truthfully. Then he shut up, because he wasn't going to whine despite the agony of his ribs and the pounding pressure of his magic.

“Kin is caring for your patient,” Darian told him. Torrin relaxed, even as he wondered if Darian would send him to this Kin. “He's recovering very well. Kin says that the man should be long dead.”

Torrin remembered Darian saying something along those same lines. “Don't let that happen,” Torrin gasped. “Please-”

Darian chuckled. “It won't occur, my little medic. The man is making a steady recovery.”

Torrin let out a long sigh of relief, feeling something loosen off of his shoulders. “Thank the gods,” he murmured.

“The gods?” Darian seemed to be laughing at him; there was a light of humor in his eyes. “Kin and I agreed that even the gods would have been unable to save that man. Kin is looking forward to meeting you.”

Trepidation stole over Torrin – it wouldn't be safe for Kin to meet him and watch him... work. There would be no hiding the magic... the magic he couldn't use, anyway. He had energy... but he had no body to draw from. He couldn't do anything to help his patient, anyway. It was a good thing this Kin person was brought along.

“Thank you,” he managed to spit out. He owed this man, after all, though it galled him a bit to admit it. As he spoke, he also found himself checking for wounds. In case the prince was hurt. “For allowing my patient to come with us,” he expanded, seeing the prince's eyebrow quirk up. How did the man put so much emotion into such a simple gesture?

The prince snorted and waved his hand – the first time Torrin had seen him act like a man of higher class. “The man should receive care.” The prince stared at him hard. “How do you feel?”

Torrin became wary at that stare. There was a sort of suspicion in the prince's eyes that didn't match the words he said. Torrin feared that he knew – but that was impossible. There was no way Darian could know – was there? “Better,” he answered, cautious. Hadn't he just answered this question?

The prince snorted, an action Torrin recognized as common with this man. “Of course – better. You are conscious now, after all.”

The man was irritatingly attractive, even when talking down to someone.

“Can you sit up?” Darian continued. There seemed to be true concern in his voice. Torrin attempted to sit up with all of his strength. He ended up weaker than before without moving more than an inch. When he managed to look at the prince again, there was a deep frown on Darian's face. “I'll take that as a 'no'.”

Torrin almost said it would pass, but that would be a fatal mistake. He wasn't supposed to know about his illness. So instead he sat, willing the weakness to leave him.

“You cost us too much time. I had to stop before my desired destination.” Darian sounded irritated. Like Torrin gave a damn.

“My heart bleeds,” Torrin muttered dryly.

“It should – it could,” the prince told him. “The rebel I fought will have friends. They may attack tonight.” The prince grinned almost wickedly when Torrin gave him a look that plainly asked why he should care – that hid his fear for Darian's life. “I never go into battle without having sex first.”

A shiver ran through Torrin, chasing itself up and down along Torrin's spine. “I can't even move,” Torrin argued feebly.

“I can take care of that. And you'll be in too much pleasure to feel the pain.” Torrin feared both the possible truth and the possible falsity of the prince's words. The prince leaned in until his mouth was a mere inch from Torrin's. “Remember what I told you?” The prince ghosted his lips over Torrin's. The blond hated how he wished he could lean up and capture those lips to demand a stronger kiss. “I'll make you scream my name, my little medic.”

“I have a name, as well,” Torrin murmured, then shut his mouth. That would certainly be taken the wrong way, he had no doubt.

The prince's grin only grew wider. Torrin wanted to slap it off his face. “Do you wish for me to make you scream your name, as well?”

Torrin hated the flush that stained his cheeks. Hated the prince's laugh, which seemed to bounce around the tent and make Torrin's chest hurt in a way completely different than what he'd been feeling there recently. “But... we don't know when they'll attack,” he said quickly. “What if they...”

Darian got up into his face, his smirking lips an inch from Torrin's. “Then we'd better hurry.”

“Wait-” The prince ever-so-carefully lifted Torrin's head and delved into his mouth.

The sensation was the same overpowering force as before, irresistible and intimidating. The inability to move sent a skittering of panic down his back.

“Darian, don't-” Darian covered his lips with his fingers. The prince's smirk had changed a bit. Torrin found it to be almost... real.

“Now, now,”Darian murmured, “don't ruin my fun. You're going to try to fight it. Fine. But you won't say my name until the end.”

Torrin narrowed his eyes and vowed to not say Darian's... the prince's name at all. Let him stew.

Then the prince's hands were on him, gently lifting his clothes off, careful with Torrin's hurts. Bruises were softly soothed, cuts lightly kissed. The prince took things slowly carefully, as if handling a precious gem. Torrin felt something lift in him and found an unknown part of him lost.

Darian licked his nipples. Torrin felt himself flinch up, then gasped in pain. He bit his lip to keep himself from crying out and tasted blood.

Darian lifted himself up and touched Torrin's lip. Then the prince licked off the blood. Torrin's eyes, wide as moons, stared in shock. There was a steel in Darian's dark chocolate eyes. Determination. That loose, unknown something tightened in Torrin's chest. “Shh, little medic. You'll be fine. Relax.”

Torrin opened his mouth to apologize, then changed his mind and shut it again.

Darian returned to his chest, gently flicking Torrin's nipples. He gasped, but didn't move. Darian placed a gentle hand on his stomach and grabbed his member with his free hand. Torrin's buck was firmly stopped. Only a tiny twinge of pain distracted him from the prince's hand.

Fingers trailed the underside of his dick, danced around the tip. The strain to endure without moving made everything sharper, more intense. Fingernails lightly scraped at a vein. Torrin let out a small cry. How he wished he could move then – wriggle his hips, lift his arms. He felt helpless and vulnerable.

“You aren't speaking at all now,”Darian noted with a small laugh. “Are you trying to slight me?”

Torrin's retort slashed into a cry when Darian took Torrin into his mouth. “Ah...”

Darian's laugh resounded around Torrin's member. Torrin, heedless of his pain, tried to move his hips. Darian's hands still held him down. The need to move his hips was painful. “Dar...” He stopped himself short with willpower he didn't know he possessed and cried out instead.

Darian licked his tip and breathed another laugh over him. “I see.” Another laugh, a small kiss right there where he'd licked. Torrin groaned. “You're going to make this interesting.”

“I...” He cried out again and thrashed his head.

“Scream for me. Only then will I give you what you need.”

“I...” A part of him was still saying no. A small, still rational part of him didn't want to give that last inch. The rest of him didn't care... because that part already knew what that lost something was.

Darian flicked a nipple and licked his tip at the same time. Torrin arched beneath Darian's hand, straining to gain more. To gain what he desperately, desperately needed. And he just didn't care anymore. “Darian! Darian, please...”

Darian jerked a bit, enabling Torrin to feel how hard he was. Darian's heat nestled itself against Torrin's calf. Then the heat left. Torrin struggled beneath Darian's hand, trying to grab his prince. Darian laughed at Torrin's desperate grab and gently placed Torrin's arm back on the bed. “Stay still,” Darian ordered. Then he moved his hands away and removed his clothes.

Torrin closed his eyes for only a moment, then opened them and feasted on the expanse of dark skin revealed to him. The prince's muscles rippled as he bent beneath the bed and pulled out lubricant. He set it on a nearby pile of crates. Then he leaned back over Torrin and pressed their erections together.

“Please, what?”

Torrin's brow furrowed. Then he groaned. “No.”

Darian merely laughed and ground against Torrin's groin. “Can you afford to keep saying that... Torrin?”

Torrin's head fell back. “Oh, gods.”

Another grind brought about another groan. Torrin's breath panted out in tiny whispers. “I...”

Darian laid on Torrin's stomach and pinched his nipples. Torrin's back sprung up. “Ah! Darian... Darian...” He gasped at the teasing feel of Darian's cock on his ass. “I... please... I need...”

Darian grabbed the lubricant and rubbed some on Torrin. “Need what?”

Torrin groaned again, long and low and loud. “Darian... in me... in me...” He whimpered and pleaded, his hands gripping Darian's shoulders. “Please.”

“Yes.” Darian kissed his nose, his hands busy preparing himself. A coated finger slipped inside him. Torrin cried out, lifting his legs up in a jerk. “What do you need in you?” A second slick finger entered him. He let out a choked cry. “Well?”

“I... you. I need you in me.” He was in agony. Agony. He felt tears in his eyes. “Darian, please.”

“Yes.” And Darian slipped inside him.

“Ah! Yes!” He jerked his hips up to meet Darian's thrust. Darian's hand slid to grasp Torrin's dick and fingers played on him. Their lips clashed together for a searing kiss. Their hips broke apart, then slammed together again. Torrin let out a needy moan, his neck exposed. Darian licked the pale flesh at his pulse and returned to his lips.

Darian's fist pumped his cock in time with his thrusts. “Say you need me.”

Torrin missed the thrust in shock and stared wide-eyed at Darian. “What-”

“Say it.” Darian's eyes were sharp on his. His thrusts slowed to a burning crawl. “And mean it.”

Thought was absolutely impossible at this point, the need too great to ignore. Still, he meant it when he whispered, “I need you.” He blamed the need on staying alive and free from torture.

“And you'll do as I say.”

Torrin balked at that, but screamed his agreement when Darian started retreating from inside him.

“You'll answer my questions truthfully and completely.”

Alarm bells rang. Torrin's voice trembled when he agreed.

“Swear it.”

Tears of frustration slipped down his cheeks. “Ah! I swear. I swear it.”

A small, solid thrust. A long, painful retreat. “You swear to what?”

Torrin groaned. “I swear I'll do as you say.” He fruitlessly tried to thrust his hips up and grab Darian. His effort had Darian pulling back even more.

“And what else?”

He screamed. “I'll answer your questions! I swear it!”

“Darian pulled out a bit more. “Truthfully and completely.”

More tears streamed down. “Yes! Truthfully and completely – I'll answer your questions truthfully and completely, I swear. I swear.” He thrashed and whimpered and found himself willing to beg.

“Good.” And Darian thrust in hard and fast. Torrin keened in pleasure. The pumping resumed, again fast and hard. The niggling worry in the back of Torrin's mind vanished.

And when they climaxed, Darian licked off his tears.

<*>

Torrin's sated mind only vaguely warned him of everything that had occurred. First, they'd had sex again.

And then he stopped. Sated as he was, he still had to stop right there. They'd had sex... and in the end, Torrin had begged for it. He'd not only screamed out Darian's name, he'd begged for the man's cock.

And during the sex, he'd felt something within him that had nothing to do with the physical feelings that had rampaged him. He didn't know what it was... except that it had risen, like a rampaging bull, when he'd been told to say that he needed his lover... the Corathian prince. And worse... he'd spoken the truth.

Because he needed the prince to stay alive, Torrin reasoned. He'd be dead by now... or worse, still alive... if the prince hadn't come and saved him. He owed everything to the man.

Yes, he told himself. That was the only reason he'd said that.

As for what the prince had made him swear... let alone how the prince somehow knew that swearing something meant the same to him as an oath of blood-

Darian turned on the bed to lay on top of Torrin. Fingers played through blond hair while dark eyes, though turned up in a smile, were hard as a rock as they stared into Torrin's.

Torrin's brow furrowed. “What-”

“Now,” the prince interrupted him. Torrin froze at the icy cold sound of his lover's voice. “You're going to tell me what's really going on. Because I know you know.”

Return to Original Fiction

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Enter supporting content here

Every story unless otherwise claimed is Kayura's, and is copyrighted 2006 under her name.