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The Slave Breakers
(Book 3)
Lees Story
By Maculategiraffe
The Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

By Maculategiraffe
Note: This book originally appeared as posts on LiveJournal and still contains
some editing notes. The text is sexually explicit (including m/m and polyamorous
situations) and is intended for adult readers.
All rights reserved by Maculategiraffe.
If you like the story and want to support the author, please make a donation at:
http://maculategiraffe.livejournal.com/profile
Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story
Maculategiraffe
CHAPTER 1
"Bran, dear," said Alix, "do me a favor and put your arms around your master's
neck."
Bran, raising his eyebrows slightly, wound his arms obediently around Holden's
neck and buried his face against his shoulder. The warm confiding weight of him
still made Holden's heart skip a beat after five years; he held his boy close against
him, wondering for the thousandth time how a man got this lucky.
His eyes flicked to Yves, who was still absorbed in some new incomprehensible
mathematical treatise, and then to Jer, who was watching him, and gave him a
small smile. Holden smiled back at him, and Jer leaned back, returning his
attention to the novel he was reading. Learning to keep three slaves all feeling
loved and safe was a little like learning to drive a car, Holden had decided: the
overwhelming number of things you had to pay attention to, in order to avoid
killing yourself or someone else, gradually, with sufficient practice, became a set
of reflexes. You still had to pay attention, and you could still get blindsided, but
your eyes learned good habits. Mirror, signal, blind spot. Bran, Yves, Jer.
"Yves, Jer, Bran," Yves had corrected him, when he shared this analogy in bed one
night.
"You know you come first, love," Holden had said, surprised; Yves had never
shown signs of competitiveness with Jer or Bran.
"No," said Yves, laughing. "I mean-- mirror, signal, blind spot. Bran's definitely
your blind spot."
"What?" Holden asked his wife now over Bran's shoulder, eyeing the letter she
held in her hand and had read with pursed lips just before making her odd request
of Bran.
"Just a precaution," said Alix. "You won't jump up and start breaking things with
Bran wrapped around you."
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Holden smiled a little, still cradling Bran close. "That sounds ominous. Go on, tell
me. I can take it. Did Valor get arrested again?"
"Probably," said Alix dryly, "but she hasn't written to tell us so."
"Ignorance is bliss," said Holden, winking at Greta, whose attempt at a
disapproving look was belied by her dimples. "Who's the letter from, then?"
"Dunaev," said Alix.
Holden felt every muscle in his body tense. He hadn't encountered Dunaev once
since the day of Bran's purchase, which was lucky, since Yves was dead right
about blind spot-- Holden's usually well-maintained pretense at professional
detachment went all to hell where Bran was concerned. He probably would have
ended up stabbing Dunaev in the gut with some poor host's good steak knife, which
would have been a considerably more embarrassing arrest than his daughter's civil
disobedience charges. The fact that he wouldn't be caught dead socializing in the
home of anyone who'd also socialize with Dunaev accounted for the safety of the
bastard's rotten entrails so far, and also meant that the letter probably didn't just
contain a polite inquiry into everybody's health.
"Business?" he asked, and Alix held out the letter. Bran hadn't moved at the name
of his former master, but as Holden took the letter, the young man sat up slightly,
and Holden held the letter so that they could both read.
The prose style alone-- a thin scum of oily flattery overlaying a series of crude
personal insinuations-- was enough to infuriate Holden, bringing back the man's
ugly, honeyed voice as he and Alix haggled over the lovely boy who lay trussed
and gagged on the floor, blinking slowly at nothing. But the content-"Master," said Bran softly, and Holden realized his arm had grown tight enough
around his youngest slave to be painful. He relaxed his grip immediately. "Sorry,
sweetheart. Fucking hell. Fucking hell, I--" He wanted to stand up, pace, shout,
knock things over, but Bran was still curled against him, and the tension in his
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frame reminded Holden that Bran would be just as disturbed by the letter as he
was. "You okay?"
"I've never heard 'irreparable' before," said Bran quietly.
"It could just mean scarred," Holden said, trying to keep his voice even. "It
doesn't matter, Bran. Whatever it is, we'll buy this--" he glanced back at the letter-"Lee, and he'll be fine."
"You don't know that, master," said Bran in the same quiet, matter-of-fact voice. "I
almost wasn't fine. You said yourself. If you hadn't" He trailed off, swallowing.
Holden's arm tightened around Bran again. The boy was right, of course, and there
was really no positive spin to be put on some aspects of his current condition may
be irreparable. "How soon can we?"
"I'll call him first thing in the morning," Alix said firmly.
Holden looked back at Bran, whose eyes, always so full of shifting light and
shadow, were oddly luminous now in a set face. He lifted them to his master's as
Holden studied him, trying to read his expression.
"When you go to get him, master," he said, "could I come with you?"
"Well," said Dunaev, his florid face twisting unpleasantly as he looked down at
Bran, who was curled appropriately on the floor at Holden's feet, his cheek resting
against Holden's knee. Narrowing his eyes back at the prick, Holden warred with
equal and conflicting desires to pull Bran up into his lap or grab him and hustle
him out of here altogether. He was still far from sure it had been a good idea to
bring the boy. Bran had been completely silent in the car on the way over, and
though he'd come with them before to pick up new delinquents, Holden couldn't
imagine how he had to be feeling at the sight of the man who'd reduced him to the
state of half-delirious terror he'd been in when Holden had first lifted his underfed,
convulsively shivering body up from this same floor nearly five years before. The
gods knew Holden was having enough trouble managing his own memories, even
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without any sign of the kid they'd actually come to collect. Where the hell did
Dunaev have him stashed? Surely he didn't want to prolong this any more than
Holden and Alix did. Maybe he actually had some shame, not wanting whatever
he'd done to the kid at front and center in his drawing room.
"It's been a long time since we saw each other, hasn't it, Bran?" Dunaev continued,
and Holden waited for Bran to tense against him. But he didn't.
"Yes, my lord, it has," said Bran, and though his words and pose were perfectly
decorous, his tone was so insolent-- no, better than insolent, contemptuous-- that he
could have been the young master sprawled lazily on the floor, raising an eyebrow
at a servant who'd dared address him without invitation. Holden wanted to burst
out laughing, grab Bran and pull him up and look at his face and kiss him for the
expression that had to be on it. He managed to restrain himself, but knew Dunaev,
who had looked up at him as if expecting him to reprimand Bran for his tone,
would see the gloating triumph in his eyes. How's that for sullen and unresponsive,
you twisted fuck? Anything else to say to my boy?
Obviously disconcerted, Dunaev swallowed and shifted gears, looking at Alix.
"The boy in question--"
"Lee, isn't it?" said Alix calmly; Alix was always calm when calm was called for,
which was partly why she always insisted on doing the talking to things that had
apparently crawled out from under rocks for the sole purpose of torturing innocent
kids. Holden had to admit it was probably for the best. "May we see him?"
"I don't allow him the freedom I allowed Bran," said Dunaev, "since Bran... took
advantage of my good nature. His gaze flicked to Brans face again, and whatever
he saw there unnerved him enough to send it skating back to Alixs, not that Alix
was exactly beaming. And his current condition requires that he be confined to his
room at all times. I'm sure you understand."
"I understand," said Alix coolly. "May we see his room, then?"
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"His room" was down unfinished, warped wooden stairs and through a door
covered with peeling paint. The tiny, windowless room reeked of urine. Holden
saw with a lurch of nausea that the boy on the concrete floor-- seventeen years old,
five foot seven, naked, dark-haired and starvation-thin-- lay in a pool of it,
seemingly without noticing. Nor, though his eyes were open, did he appear to
notice that his master and three strangers had just entered the room. His hands,
gratuitously, were manacled together over his head, the manacles attached to a
chain that hooked to a ring in the ceiling.
No. No shame.
Bran had already started to move forward; Holden caught at his arm and yanked
him back. He wasn't taking a chance on Bran getting bitten, as he himself had been
by a kid like this, immobile, blank-eyed, unresponsive.
"He won't eat," said Dunaev disdainfully, and for a moment, Holden seriously
weighed the relative costs and satisfactions of kicking the man in the kneecap and
then holding his face down in the boy's reeking piss until he drowned. But if
Holden got arrested and executed for murder-- which he would, since what Dunaev
had done to the kid, despite all Valor's friends' best efforts so far, was still perfectly
legal-- no, not worth it. Just. "He'll barely drink enough to stay alive. He won't
move, he won't speak. I've tried everything."
"Everything," Alix repeated, her tone so cold and even that Holden knew even she
was badly shaken.
Dunaev stepped forward, put a foot on the boy's shoulder and flipped him over
onto his stomach so that his back showed: a swollen mass of welts and lash marks,
some dark with crusted blood. Lee lay still and silent.
"Everything," said Dunaev.
"Catatonic, incontinent, malnourished, and probably scarred as well. Quite an asset
you've got there, Lord Dunaev." Alix's let's-talk-business tone, minus a few
thousand degrees. "I suppose he bites as well."
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"No, he's not dangerous at all. Never been violent. Not like Bran."
Bile burned Holden's throat, and he pressed his lips together tightly, swallowing. It
wasn't the state the kid was in. Holden had seen kids worse off than this-- not
much, and not many, but he had. It wasn't the closeness of the room, either, or the
smell, though those weren't helping. It was having Bran here, it was knowing that
Bran had belonged to this piece of shit, it was hearing Bran's name on his leering
lips, the memory of Bran on the floor in almost the same pose as this poor kid.
Holden had been arrogant enough to worry only about Bran's reaction, Bran's
flashbacks, but Bran was fine, pale but calm. It was Holden who was staving off a
panic attack, adrenaline pumping through him so hard that his grip on Bran's arm
was keeping him steady.
Thank the gods for Alix, who was writing a check before Holden could have
composed himself enough to ask another question, who was kneeling gingerly
beside the boy as Dunaev unlocked the manacles, her skirt gathered neatly out of
the way, saying in a firm but gentle voice, "Lee, can you hear me?"
No response.
"I'm your mistress now, Lee. You're coming with me. Can you sit up?"
Still no response.
"Then your new master is going to pick you up and carry you. Hell try not to hurt
you."
Taking his cue, Holden pried his fingers from Bran's arm-- there'd probably be
bruises-- and knelt down beside the boy as he had knelt beside Bran five years
before, but where Bran had searched his face with instantly visible if terrified
interest above his gag, this boy didn't even seem to see him. As he touched the dark
head, looking for some spark of lucidity, he felt Bran himself kneel down beside
him and look down at Lee.
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"May I carry him?" Bran asked.

Taken aback, Holden blinked at Bran, then looked at Alix, who looked just as
surprised.
"I don't see why not," she said finally. "You'll be careful."
Bran leaned down and touched Lee's hollow-cheeked face with infinite care, a
feather-light caress. Lee turned his head to look at Bran, which was more
awareness and animation than he'd shown so far, though Holden wasn't sure what,
if anything, he was seeing, or what thoughts were whirling behind the immobile
face.
"Lee," said Bran. "I belong to your new master and mistress. And I'm going to
carry you out of here, and to their car."
Once again, the words were simple and unimpeachable; it was the tone, bright,
ferocious, defiant, half military commander outlining a plan of attack, half child
describing a particularly outrageous prank, that made Holden's heart beat faster as
Bran reached down and gathered the other boy into his arms, one arm carefully
under the hurt back, one under the piss-damp legs, and stood up, lifting Lee like a
comrade fallen in battle, looking up at Holden with a hot light in his eyes.
"Let's get out of here, master," he said calmly. "This place stinks."
In the car, Bran didn't try to put Lee down; he sat down on the back seat with Lee
still in his arms, adjusting the other boy smaller and considerably skinnier than
himself in his lap, and carefully supporting the head that lolled on the slack neck.
Lee lay unresisting against him, his face still blank.
"So," said Alix. "Straight to the hospital?"
Holden nodded. Carey couldn't deal with chronic dehydration and malnutrition on
a house call. The injuries could probably stand to be dealt with in a sterile
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environment, too. And who knew what else was wrong with the kid that they
couldn't see, and wouldn't know about if he wouldn't talk.
"Master," said Bran, "did you bring water?"
Holden nodded again, not particularly trusting his voice yet, and reached around
back for the case with the bottles of water. He handed one to Bran without
speaking.
"Careful, Bran," said Alix, as Bran opened it and held the neck to Lee's cracked
lips. "Don't choke him." Bran nodded without taking his eyes off Lee, whose lips
had parted. As Bran poured the water slowly into the boy's mouth, Lee swallowed.
And swallowed again, before he turned his head aside, coughed, and spoke, in a
voice rusty and thick from disuse.
"Bran?"
"Yes, Lee," said Bran gently. "My name's Bran."
"Gods." Lee swallowed again, hard. "You're... beautiful."
Bran smiled, surprised. "Thank you."
Lee moved, clutched suddenly and hungrily at Bran's arms. "Don't let go of me."
"I won't," said Bran firmly. "It's okay, Lee. Everything's okay. I've got you."
"I'm cold," said Lee, his voice shaking, and Bran held him closer. "You're really
Bran?"
"Yes, I'm Bran. Why?"
"He told me-- about you," said Lee, and his head moved, nestling closer against
Bran's chest.
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Bran looked puzzled. "Lord Dunaev, you mean? What did he say about me?"
"Said you were-- incorrigible. Fought him. Tried to run. Scratched and kicked. Did
you-- really?"
Bran smiled again. "I tried to run, yeah. And I got in a few good gouges when they
caught me. How about you?"
The expression that flickered across Lee's pale, exhausted face could almost have
been an answering smile. "I-- no. I'm not-- brave. Not like you."
Bran shook his head, as Holden watched both of them, fascinated. So Dunaev had
held Bran up as a warning-- and Lee had taken him as a hero: the kid who fought.
And now the hero had walked out of legend and into flesh, lifted Lee up and was
holding him close. Was it poetic justice, or just a fantastic stroke of luck, that
thanks to Dunaev's horror stories, the catatonic, "irreparable" kid was talking
already, awareness steady in his dark eyes as he gazed up at Bran and listened to
his soothing voice?
"You're safe now," Bran was saying. "Don't worry. There's nothing to be scared of.
We'll take good care of you."
"Bran." Lee's grip on Bran's arms tightened. "I'm not-- much good-- right now."
"Yes you are," said Bran, so fiercely that Lee blinked, staring.
"I'm hurt," he managed finally, weakly. "And I think I'm-- sick."
"I know, Lee," said Bran.
He looked up at Holden then, and though watching Bran was one of Holden's
favorite pastimes, though he tended to gaze at the kid (twenty-three now, hardly a
kid any more, though Holden didn't expect ever to stop thinking of him as the kid)
till he could have modeled his face in clay blindfolded, something about his look in
that moment made Holden stop breathing, stunned. Maybe it was the contrast with
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the memories that were crowding back in on him, images of the eighteen-year-old
Bran's white, scared face peering up at him, tear-bright gray eyes searching his
face. He'd wished even then that he knew what the hell the kid saw, and now-"I know," Bran repeated, his eyes steady on Holden's. "But everything's going to be
all right."
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CHAPTER 2
Dehydration, malnutrition, multiple lacerations and severe bruising, anal tearing,
chafing and bleeding, mild infection in the injuries and the lungs, urinary
incontinence, shock, selectively nonresponsive, said the doctor at the hospital. Lee
lay propped up, shivering under blankets, on his back on the sterile bed, one hand
cuffed to the bed rail as per hospital policy for slaves. Bran, perched beside him on
the bed, held a cup of some hot, sweet drink to his lips, and Lee sipped obediently,
glancing up occasionally at Bran, not looking at anyone else in the room, including
the nurses who were engaged in hooking him up to a number of presumably
medically necessary things. When he stiffened at their touch, Bran murmured
soothingly to him and he let them do what was necessary, his large, dark eyes
glued to Bran's face.
"At least this time Dunaev didn't claim he was in perfect health," said Holden to
Alix.
"You just bought him this afternoon, sir?" the doctor asked, making a note on a
clipboard.
"That's right," said Holden. "He got lippy in the car on the way home."
The doctor's lips tightened as Alix squinted at Holden.
"My husband is joking," she said to the doctor. "Lee's former master didn't treat
him very well."
"It's not a joking matter, sir," said the doctor acidly to Holden. "The damage is
extensive. We'd like to keep your slave here for a few days, to manage the
dehydration and nutritional deficiencies, and the infections. Proper care will also
minimize scarring-- I assume that's a priority."
"He can stay here for as long as you think he needs it, doctor," said Alix sweetly.
"The damage was inflicted over time; of course it will take time to undo it. Just let
us know when you think he's ready to come home."
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The doctor rewarded her with an approving smile. "I'm glad you see it that way,
ma'am. Who will be staying with him?"
"I will," said Holden, who'd been expecting the question; it was illegal to leave a
slave unattended by an owner, or someone officially designated as responsible by
the owner, in a hospital. The doctor gave him a dubious look before glancing at
Bran, who was still curled on the bed close to Lee, saying something in an
undertone. Lee was no longer shivering.
"And the other slave?" she asked.
"He's staying, too," said Holden firmly, and Alix nodded. "Bran's the only one
Lee's responding to right now."
"Technically only the owner or owner's proxy is supposed to stay with a patient in
the ICU, and slaves are of course not eligible to be named as a proxy," the doctor
said, and added before Holden could lose his temper, "But the patient is obviously
in emotional distress, and he's got quite a grip on the other boy. I think an
exception could be arranged. However, the hospital waives all liability for the nonpatient slave in the event of any incident."
"Fine," Holden said shortly, still irritated by her officious tone.
"Thank you so much, doctor," said Alix, with a don't-make-me-smack-you-infront-of-the-doctor glare at Holden. "You're very kind to make an exception. I
know it will make Lee feel better to have Bran here with him."
"Are you sure you don't wish to stay with the patient?" the doctor asked Alix, with
another nasty look at Holden. Holden curled his lip back at her. He knew he was
being obnoxious, but he didnt enjoy this part of the retraining process-- intake,
evaluation, pretransition-- under the best of circumstances, and triage with a prissfaced doctor glaring at him wasnt the best of circumstances. Plus, the pressing
need to beat somebody up hadnt gone away just because theyd left Dunaevs
house. He wasnt going to beat up the doctor, of course, but maybe there was a
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wall around here somewhere that nobody would mind if he punched a hole
through. They were always doing demolition and construction in hospitals.
Alix kicked him hard in the ankle, and the pain she was wearing pointy shoes, for
Lokis sake; that wasnt sporting defused him enough that he managed a
winsomely apologetic smile at the doctor.
My wife and I run a business, he explained, and Alix produced a card before he
could dig in his bag for one. The doctor examined it, lips pursed. I usually deal
with cases of damage. Ill be handling this boy.
Hes very good at it, Alix added reassuringly to the doctor. Of course, you and
the hospital will be handling most of Lees immediate needs, and my husband
wouldnt want to interfere with that, but hell want to be monitoring Lees
progress, and he can answer any questions you might have.
The doctor nodded dubiously, her eyes back on the bed. You realize there will be
scars. We cant prevent that altogether.
We understand, said Alix calmly. Its not ideal, but we know youll do
everything you can, and well just have to take it from there.
The doctor nodded again, relieved shed probably been picturing them refusing to
pay the hospital bill, or suing the hospital for negligence or whatnot, which was
half the reason for the no unattended slaves law. The other, of course, being the
remote but disturbing possibility of "incident"-- escape or suicide attempts, theft,
well-intentioned abduction by guerrilla abolitionists. It was easy to forget how
nervous people could get around slaves and slave owners when they werent
used to them, especially since in the circles where Holden and Alix usually
traveled, it was considered almost antisocial not to keep a couple of pleasure
slaves. After all, owning them meant doing your bit towards your countrys
economy, keeping the riffraff off the streets. And though he and Alix didn't exactly
belong in those circles, they belonged there more than anywhere else at this point,
except at home, with their own, peculiarly intimate circle.
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Home. Holden wanted to be there. Badly.

Well, the doctor said, I don't mean to hurry you, but we dont like to have more
visitors in intensive care than absolutely necessary, so if you wouldnt mind,
maam
"Behave," said Alix to Holden. "I'll check in tomorrow."
He reached for her with sudden urgency, and gods bless her, she saw it
immediately and stepped in, putting her arms around him and holding him hard. He
closed his eyes, steadying himself against her slender, tensile frame.
Dearest, she said softly, are you all right?
Im fine. He kissed her cool cheek, pressed his own up against it, inhaling her
clean scent. But come back soon.
I will, she said, and kissed his lips tenderly. First thing in the morning. Ill bring
you coffee and carbohydrates. She didnt say do you want me to stay here instead,
tonight; he knew she would have if hed asked, and she knew he wouldnt sleep
anyway if he wasnt here with his new charge. Thank goodness we dont have any
other kids to worry about right now.
Give Yves and Jer my love, he said.
Alix smiled at him. What about me? Don't I get love?
He tucked a wisp of ash-blond hair behind her ear, smiling back. We've got a joint
account, remember? It's all yours.
When she was gone, Holden went to stand beside Lees bedside. Bran had been
banished from the bed by an impatient nurse and now sat with the room's only
chair dragged as close to the bedside as he could get it, as the two boys talked in
low voices.
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"...can't be in this bed. Please."

"Why not, Lee?"
"I." Lee's face was anguished, his eyes firmly on Bran, ignoring both Holden and
the doctor. "I keep pissing myself. Every time I... sleep. And I drank-- and Im so-tired. I can't take another whipping, Bran, I'll--"
"No one's going to whip you," said Bran firmly.
"But if I-- "
"You aren't going to wet the bed, young man," said the doctor briskly. "We're
about to catheterize your penis so we can monitor your urine."
Lee froze, and Bran reached out and stroked the dark hair back from his forehead
in a reassuring gesture.
"It's okay, Lee," he said. "Everybody here just wants to take care of you. Nobody's
going to hurt you. I promise. And I'll be right here next to you. Im not going
anywhere. Okay?"
Lee's eyes closed, relief spreading onto his face as palpably as a smile, though he
didn't smile. "Don't let go of my hand."
"I won't," said Bran. Its okay, Lee. Just rest.
Holden watched Lee's face. "Remind me to give you a raise, kid."
Bran grinned without looking up. "You don't pay me, master."
"Maybe I should start. Youre doing my job for me. Better than I could."
"I know what it's like," said Bran, still gazing intently at Lee's face. "I mean, it
didn't ever get this bad for me, but Lord Dunaev-- I know how he can make you
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feel. Like you said once about me, master, that I'd done my best and thought I'd be
punished for it. What can you do? You know? I tried to run, but Lee just... left."
"I'm here," Lee whispered without opening his eyes.
"I know, Lee," Bran said softly. "I'm here with you. It's okay."
Holden came around Bran and leaned over the bed, looking into Lee's face, and
without opening his eyes, Lee stiffened.
"Bran?" he said pleadingly.
"Bran's still here," said Holden gently. "I'm your master, kid, yours and Bran's. I'm
not going to hurt you. I just wanted to say hi."
Lee was trembling again, the steel cuff rattling against the rail of the hospital bed.
Hey," said Bran firmly. "It's okay, Lee. Lord Dunaev told you to be afraid of your
new master, right? Said he was selling you to the slave breakers?"
Lee swallowed and nodded without opening his eyes, and Bran smiled.
Hes had me for five years," he said. "Do I look broken?
Lee opened his eyes then, and the cracked lips curved in his first real, if small,
smile since Holden had seen him, as he looked at Holden.
"You can talk to him, Lee. It's okay. He won't hurt you."
Bran gasped slightly as Lee's nails dug into his hand. "I-- master."
"Yes, Lee," said Holden, with a quick, impressed glance at Bran.
"I'm sorry I'm hurt."
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Fucking hell. They were the words Bran had never spoken, but that had been
implicit in every stammer, every cringe, every lowering of his eyes, every carefully
obsequious phrase: I hope my mouth will satisfy you until you can make use of me
otherwise. Sorry I'm hurt, sorry I'm scared, sorry my master's friends raped me till I
bled. Forgive me.
"It's okay, Lee," said Bran firmly, and to Holden, "Tell him it's okay, master."
"It's okay," Holden echoed obediently, and then, gathering his wits, "Lee, it's okay,
it's not your fault. It's-- Youre fine. Were going to take care of you. Like Bran
said."
Lee sighed and closed his eyes again, and Holden backed deferentially out of the
way as Bran reached again to stroke Lees forehead. Holden had seen a little of this
nurturing side of Bran before, with fifteen-year-olds who cried at night for their
parents and sweethearts. Plenty of them developed crushes on Bran, as the person
in the house closest to them in age and rank, and Bran indulged them, petting them,
comforting them, enjoying them. But this was more than a crush that Lee had
formed, and more than comfort Bran was trying to offer, and Holden leaned back
against the wall and watched the two boys intently, marveling, as the doctor and
nurses closed in, and Lee clung desperately to Bran's hand.
The nighttime sleeping shot the doctor administered to Lee had just kicked in, and
the kid, now doped up on painkillers as well as whatever else they were dripping
and pumping into him-- and out of him-- had sunk into unconsciousness, when
another nurse, a gangly redhead no older than Bran, brought in a folding cot and a
blanket. Holden hadn't realized until he saw them how tired he was. Bone tired.
Grainy-eyeball tired. Really-long-day tired.
"There's only room for one to sleep," the nurse said apologetically, glancing
curiously from Holden to Bran.
"I'm not tired," said Bran quickly. "You oh, fuck, master, have you been standing
up all this time? I didnt realize you should have taken the chair, you must be
exhausted"
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Im fine, sweetheart, said Holden as the nurse spread the blanket over the cot.
Youre doing all the work. You get to be the one to sit down.
The redheaded nurse looked even more curious as he took in Brans honorific and
Holdens endearment, Bran's clothing, and the cuff on Lee's wrist.
"You-- own-- both of them, sir?" he asked tentatively, and Holden nodded.
"I didn't do that," he said rather defensively, jerking his head at Lee. "Just bought
him from the prick who did."
The nurse blushed. "Yes, sir. I didn't mean to-- um-- yeah. I'm on night duty, so-- if
you need anything--" He hurried out as Holden raised an eyebrow, amused by the
boy's confusion, then went to stand next to Bran at Lee's bedside.
"If youre really not tired, I'm going to get some sleep," he said. "Wake me
whenever you want me to take a shift, okay?"
Bran nodded without looking at him. "Okay, master."
Holden put a hand on Brans shoulder, and Bran shook it off.
It was a tiny gesture, but so uncharacteristic for Bran, who normally couldn't get
enough of Holden's touch any more than Holden could get enough of touching
him, that it startled Holden as much as if the boy had turned and slapped him. He
blinked, shocked, until Bran's sharp intake of breath made him hastily drag a calm,
reassuring expression onto his face- one of a repertoire that, gods knew, he needed
around Bran. The kid was so attuned to Holden's moods and tones and expressions- it was part of what made him so damn irresistible, but it also meant Holden had to
be considerably more careful around him than around Jer, whose insecurities were
usually unrelated to Holden's actual behavior, or Yves, who was confident enough
in Holden's adoration by now that Holden could actually whip him without
upsetting him at all.
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"I'm sorry," Bran whispered-- of course. Bran would have apologized to Holden
for having gray eyes if he'd thought Holden preferred green.
"It's okay," said Holden, also of course. Such a silly thing to apologize for, that
shake. A moment's twitch, automatic, unintentional. He'd teased Bran, during those
first months of training, when Bran apologized for glaring at him: That's all right.
It didn't hurt. But the quick, impatient shrug of the shoulders at Holden's touch had
hurt, and it had been a draining day, and Holden was in a fairly terrible mood, and
at that exact moment he had absolutely no idea what to say.
He had to say something, though; Bran's eyes were lowered, his whole demeanor
miserable and guilty, and luck like being loved by Bran came with responsibility,
meant that tired or not, you didn't get to just go to bed and leave him looking like
that. After all, Bran had had a long day, too.
"Bran, look at me," he said, and when Brans troubled eyes met his, Sweetheart,
you were right, last night, when you said I didnt know for sure Lee would be
okay. I didnt. But I do now. Youve got him talking to you-- and to me-- and
trusting you. You know thats the most important step, and you got it done in under
five minutes. And you're being so-- I don't even know what. I already knew you
were pretty much the gutsiest kid ever, but walking back into Dunaev's house at
all, let alone picking this kid up and taking him on the way you have"
Bran shook his head, but he already looked less troubled. "Didn't take guts, master.
I've got no reason to be afraid of Dunaev any more."
"No, you don't," said Holden. "And neither does Lee. But he only knows it because
of you. I could have carried him out of there, but hed probably still be catatonic,
and who knows if hed have ever snapped out of it. Youve saved his life, kid.
Thats some days work. Im so fucking proud of you, Bran."
And there came the shy, pleased smile up at him, the easing of tension in Brans
shoulders, light returning to his eyes. Good enough. He'd talk the actual shruggingoff through with Bran later it was weird enough to warrant figuring out what had
happened there, because it wasnt like Bran, not even tired-and-wired Bran. So he'd
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figure it out, and if there was something wrong, he'd fix it. But first hed get some
sleep-- and if he was really lucky, hed have dreams about dismembering Dunaev
with his bare hands, and wake up in a better mood than this.
Then he hesitated. If Bran didnt want to touch him, Holden didnt want to make
him, but not offering a kiss before lying down would be uncharacteristic on his
part, and he didnt want Bran thinking he was angry, either. He settled for dropping
to one knee beside Brans chair and lifting his face to look up at Bran, an
ambiguous offer that Bran could easily and without rudeness pretend not to
understand, but Bran leaned down immediately to kiss him, hard and almost
anxiously, hands grasping his masters shoulders, pulling him closer. Holden
kissed back bemusedly, only pulling away when Brans tongue pushed insistently
into his mouth and the kiss threatened to develop into more. What had gotten into
the kid?
Good night, darling, he said firmly as he rose, and ran a hand through Brans
hair before retreating to lie down on the impressively uncomfortable cot and,
mercifully, despite everything, fall asleep almost at once.
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CHAPTER 3
"Sir!" said an urgent voice, and someone was shaking Holden by the shoulder.
Peeling his eyes open entirely against his will, he saw that it was the red-haired
nurse from earlier, the young mans face so full of alarm that Holden automatically
pushed away his annoyance and went into soothing mode.
"What's wrong?" he asked groggily, just stopping himself from adding kid.
"Your slave, sir-- I came in and he wasn't here!"
Holden shook off sleep further, glancing around. Lee was still asleep. Bran was
nowhere in sight.
"Fuck's sake," he muttered, and looked back at the frightened nurse. "Look don't
panic. The hospital whats it waives all responsibility. Pass me my bag."
The nurse, surprised, looked around and handed it to him. Holden reached inside,
pulled out his wallet, and did a quick count of the money it contained.
Kid just went to get something to eat, he said, relieved. Check the cafeteria. Or
don't bother. He'll be back soon."
"He took your money and left, without your permission?" the nurse asked,
shocked.
"Yeah, but if he was running away he would have filched at least enough for cab
fare." Holden patted the confused young man on the arm. "Thanks for waking me.
Let me know if you have other concerns." He lay back down on the cot and shifted
position irritably, trying to get comfortable, then gave up and closed his eyes.
"Sir," said the nurse softly.
Holden opened one eye. "What."
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"Will you punish the slave for this?"

Holden opened the other eye and examined the young nurse quizzically. "Why?
You want to watch?"
The boy blushed furiously. "No! I-- I only meant-- if he's back soon, well, if I
hadn't wakened you, you wouldn't have ever known he'd gone-- and-- I wouldn't
want to have-- I mean I wouldn't want to--"
"Feel responsible?" Holden sat back up resignedly and fished another "look,
everything's completely okay" facial expression up from his inventory. "No, I'm
not going to punish him. He knew I was tired, and he figured this was covered
under my standing order to keep himself fed and hydrated so he doesn't end up like
that poor kid." He nodded towards the unconscious Lee.
The nurse nodded slowly, staring at Holden, who smiled mildly back at him.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. "I just-- I haven't met many slave owners, and the ones
I have met aren't-- like you."
Holden yawned. "No? Well, it's like anything else. You mostly see the really sick
ones here."
The nurse nodded again, smiling a little. "I guess that's true-- Sir?"
"Hmm?" said Holden, willing the nice young man to shut up and go away so he
could lie back down on his nice spine-wrecking pallet and try to get a couple more
hours of sleep before the nice doctor came back to give him more death looks.
"Why would you buy a slave in such terrible condition?"
Wearily, Holden reached back into his bag and flicked a business card at the boy.
"Retraining. We'll fix him up for resale. It's a good investment."
The nurse studied the card curiously, then looked up. "Holden Larssen?"
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Holden stuck out his hand. "At your service."

"Denys Harper," the nurse said as he took Holden's hand and clasped it rather shyly
in his.
"Nice to meet you, Denys," said Holden. "Can I go back to sleep now?"
As Denys blushed yet again and started to apologize, Bran came back in and
stopped short in the doorway, staring at Holden and Denys.
"There you are, sweetheart," said Holden, pulling his hand from Denys' and
reaching to Bran, and the boy came automatically to kneel at his master's feet as
Denys backed up a few steps. "You gave the nurse here quite a scare. He thought
you'd made a break for it."
Bran shot the nurse a look that, if it had been directed at a free person under
ordinary circumstances, would have prompted Holden to speak to him sharply. But
then, ordinary circumstances didn't involve Bran returning to the hospital room
where hed carried a new friend from his former masters torture basement to find
his current master clasping hands with a strange young man who'd been accusing
Bran of trying to run away. Holden was inclined to cut the kid some slack.
"I told him you must have had the good sense to go get something to eat without
bothering me," he added, and Bran relaxed slightly as Denys retreated to Lee's
bedside. "That right?"
"Yes, master," said Bran without making eye contact.
"Good," said Holden. "And-- look, you get some rest, Bran. I'll sit with Lee."
"I'd rather not, master," said Bran worriedly, glancing over his shoulder at Lee. "He
doesn't... I'm the only one he trusts."
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"I know, love, but that's why you should sleep while he's unconscious. I'll wake
you the minute he opens his eyes."
"I'm not tired, master," said Bran, his head still turned away. "Really. And-- there
were a few things I wanted to ask Mr.--" He looked at the nurse.
"Harper," said Holden, curious. "All right. Ask him."
Returning to his chair by Lee's bedside, where Denys was fiddling with some of
the machines and pumps that surrounded the unconscious slave, Bran said politely,
"Sir? Could I ask you some questions?
Uh, sure, said Denys, trying rather obviously not to stare at Bran.
Bran pointed at the empty bag that Denys had just unhooked from the tube that led
into Lee's arm. What's this?"
"That's a TPN solution," said Denys.
"What does that mean?"
"Total parenteral nutrition." Denys' tone was affable and a little condescending, as
if he were humoring a child. Bran glanced quickly at Holden, and Holden nodded
easily: Sic 'im.
"I'm not a doctor, sir," said Bran courteously, "but I'm not stupid. If you explain, I
think I can understand."
The nurse had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I-- Sorry. TPN is a
solution of proteins, vitamins, sugars, salts-- it's basically like dripping food
straight into his bloodstream, skipping the whole eating part. We use it when a
patient's malnourished and nonresponsive."
"He's not nonresponsive," Bran pointed out. "He responds to me."
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"Right, and we hope you'll be feeding him soon, but we're playing catch-up right
now. He needs nutrition fast to help his body repair itself, and he needs rest, too.
Digestion takes a lot of energy."
"The TPN goes into him through this needle here?"
Denys glanced over. "Through his IV line, yeah."
"IV?"
"Intravenous. It goes into the vein on his arm. This one that you can see here. It
carries it-- all through his blood."
"What are you doing now?"
"Getting ready to push in some antibiotics. Some of the cuts on his back are
infected. And his anus, from the, uh--"
Bran ignored Denys' sudden blush, nodding at the syringe in his rubber-gloved
hand. "Is that the antibiotic?"
"No, this is the antibiotic in this bag here. This is a saline flush to keep the line
from clotting off."
"Saline?"
"Salt," said Denys. "Salt solution. Cleans the line."
"Does it sting when it goes in? The salt?"
"I don't think so," said Denys, pushing the contents of another syringe into the line.
"What was that?" Bran asked.
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"Heparin. It's an anticoagulant. Keeps the blood from clotting in the line.
Coagulate is another word for clot."
"Now the antibiotic is going into his blood?"
"Should be."
"What's that dial for?"
Holden listened, fascinated, as Bran asked question after question, never seeming
embarrassed by his ignorance and why should he be? Holden didn't know the
answers to half the questions himself, and he'd had far more opportunity than Bran
to find out and Denys answered them, patiently and thoroughly. When the nurse
was finished checking over Lee, he smiled at Bran. "I'll be back in a couple of
hours to unhook the antibiotic and check his levels-- but you'll probably be asleep,
yeah?"
"Yes," said Holden firmly, and both boys glanced up at him.
"I'm not tired, master," Bran said again.
"But you will be tomorrow." Holden stood up. "Lie down, love."
Bran hesitated for a moment, then, with an uncomfortable glance at Denys, came
past Holden and lay down on the cot. Holden was fairly sure he would have pushed
the issue further if he hadn't been reluctant to risk being chastised in front of the
nurse. When Denys had gone, Holden knelt down on the floor next to Bran, who
was watching him, his expression wary.
"Is everything all right, sweetheart?" he asked.
"I'm worried about Lee, master," said Bran, his eyes darting away from Holden's.
"Yeah. I can see that." Holden reached to touch Bran's cheek gently. "But, Bran,
you can't wear yourself out-- for Lee's own sake. If you don't sleep tonight while he
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sleeps, you'll fall asleep tomorrow while he's awake and really needs you. Please
understand, sweetheart. I'm not trying to stop you from taking care of Lee. I want
you to take care of Lee. I just want you to take care of yourself, too. I can't afford
to have you breaking down. And neither can Lee."
"Yes, master," said Bran meekly, then added with a sudden wicked look up
through his eyelashes, "Sure its not so you can flirt some more with the pretty
nurse?"
Taken by surprise, Holden cackled.
"Flirt! I was half asleep and the kid wouldn't leave me alone... and so you think
he's pretty, do you?"
Bran lowered his eyelids demurely. "No need to get defensive, master. It's none of
my business whom you flirt with. I'm just your slave."
"You're a disrespectful little wiseass, is what you are," said Holden, cuffing Bran's
ear lightly. "And I've never seen a boy who could be pretty in the same room as
you."
Bran grinned. "But I wasn't in the room."
"No, you're right," said Holden, trying to look serious. "He dazzled hell out of me.
I'm just biding my time until you fall asleep. Do you think Lee will mind if we
move him to the floor so I can fuck Denys in his bed?"
"Denys?" Bran snickered.
"You want to be sleeping on your stomach, boy?"
Bran was still smiling as he finally closed his eyes. Holden stayed kneeling beside
the cot until the boys face had gone slack and relaxed, then got up and sat down in
the chair beside Lee.
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After a moment he reached to caress the dark hair it needed washing badly, would
probably be silky and light under better circumstances noting the fine skull, the
slender neck, the too-sharp curve of the cheekbone. A beautiful boy, once he'd
healed, gotten cleaned up and filled out a little. Right now his closed eyes had dark
circles under them, and he was much too thin, with a sickly pastiness to his skin.
The skin was otherwise flawless, would be lovely with proper nutrition. Pity about
the scarring. Who'd be interested? Lydia Brokova, maybe, with her bear-like,
kindhearted husband, who'd done so well for Kira; a pretty feline lad like this
might be right up her alley, and she wasnt a pearl-clutcher like some, would
probably accept the scars and their implications without bursting into tears and
making the kid feel like a freak. But Lydia and Sergei used corporal punishment,
and it would be a long time before Holden would feel comfortable reintroducing
Lee to that. Might be easier just to sell him to someone like Andrei Taganov, if
Andrei was finally ready to quit holding out for Bran.
Bran. Just when Holden thought the kid was done surprising him. He was
beginning to suspect Bran would never be done surprising him, proving to him that
he wasnt as damn smart as he was sometimes in danger of thinking he was. He
hadnt even thought to ask what the nurses were doing to Lee, but Bran had just
been waiting until there was someone he could feel less shy about asking, so he
could what? Make sure Lee was being properly cared for? Explain to Lee in the
morning, if he had questions?
And Lee would have questions, if not in the morning, then soon enough. Not only
What are they doing to me? but What happens now? and Am I safe? and What the
hell are we going to do about the fact that Lord Dunaev did this to me and nobody
can touch him for it or stop him from doing it to as many more kids as he can
afford to waste?
Or maybe that last one was Holdens question.
Holden pulled his hand from Lees hair with a sudden impatient gesture he would
never have allowed himself if the kid had been conscious, dug in his bag for the
notebook and pen hed started carrying around now that his memory no longer
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effortlessly retained addresses and phone numbers, and, after slight hesitation,
began to write.
Hello Trouble,
How's the saving the human race from itself coming along?
If the world is ready (though whether the world will ever be ready for a frontal
assault by my valorous daughter may be a matter for doubt), I've got a test case for
you. Seventeen years old and abused into catatonia by our dear friend Dunaev. You
remember Dunaev-- he sold us Bran-- who's currently the only person Lee will
respond to in any way. We're still hoping for a full recovery, but Val, we found the
kid chained to the wall in a pool of piss, starving and dehydrated, beaten and raped
bloody, and it's a miracle he'll even speak to Bran.
He looked at the page for a moment, then closed his notebook over his pen and
stared at Lee without really seeing him. What could Valor and her friends do?
Holden didn't even know what he hoped for, could no longer summon even a
simulacrum of the white-hot young faith in world change that came so naturally to
Valor. He could picture his daughter, the spark kindling in her eyes when she read
the letter, the way she'd throw it at whoever was in the room with her-- poor
innocent Lisa Kareyeva, being forcibly politically educated, or a lover, or a studymate-- and jump up to do something. Even if Holden, his own youthful energy
spent-- mostly misspent, at that-- couldn't imagine what, he could imagine Valor
imagining it. Maybe that was enough.
He opened the notebook again and wrote, firmly, There's got to be something
someone can do about this, then stared at the page thoughtfully for he didn't know
how long, until a slight rattling noise recalled his attention to the bed, and he saw
with a start that Lee's dark eyes were open and fixed on him, his hollow-cheeked
face rigid with fear, the cuff on his wrist chattering against the metal bedframe
again as he trembled.
"It's okay, Lee," he said soothingly, closing the notebook again and rising swiftly.
"Bran?"
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Bran opened his eyes, rolled off the cot as promptly as if he had been awake and
waiting to be called, and was at the bedside and bent over Lee, who stared up at
him, his eyes swimming with tears.
"You're still here," he whispered.
"Yes, Lee," said Bran tenderly as he sat down where Holden had been sitting. "I'm
here, and you're safe. How do you feel?"
"What are they doing to me?" Lee asked hoarsely, and Bran answered calmly,
thoroughly, comprehensibly, using phrases that Denys had used, explaining them
simply: food and water straight into your body, medicine to fight infection,
painkiller.
"How do you feel?" he repeated when he had finished.
"Better," said Lee wonderingly. Bran, how long can I stay here?
Youre never going back to Lord Dunaev, said Bran, but youll only be here in
the hospital until youre feeling better. Then well take you home.
"Home?" said Lee softly, and the shy, infinitely fragile hope in his face and voice
brought on the sick lurch of self-doubt Holden hadn't been able to shake since he'd
first realized Bran was missing, five years before, the guilt nested at the heart of his
rage and terror: The most precious trust I've ever had, and I fucked it up this
completely.
He'd managed to salvage that one, but the day he'd spent believing Bran was lost
had knocked something out of him, some essential confidence or arrogance he
hadn't realized he had until it was gone, and though he faked it now fairly
convincingly, the kids scared him as they never had before: their hope, their need,
their trust. He'd never even considered retirement before Bran, and now he'd gone
so far as to acquire an understudy, one with the brash young arrogance he'd lost,
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one he thought about every time a kid affected him like this: Maybe it's time to call
Jesse.
But it wasn't, yet, and Bran was looking at him expectantly, presumably waiting
for him to explain his life's work to Lee, so he mustered a fairly calm, simple
explanation of the retraining-and-reselling concept while Lee watched him without
speaking, winding up with, "Anyway, it'll be a long time before we need to think
about any of that. In the meantime, I don't want you to worry, Lee. Just rest and let
us take care of you."
Lee sighed, looking at Bran. Tell him Bran tell the master
You can tell him yourself, Lee, said Bran gently.
No, please, I just tell him I won't fight, I don't ever fight. But I-- might not be
able to help-- crying. When people use me. I'm sorry. I do. Sometimes. When it
hurts."
"Lee, no one will use you until you're better," said Bran quietly. "The master
doesn't mind waiting. And no one will be angry with you for crying. Ever."
Lee lifted his eyes to Holdens face, as if to check the truth of Bran's shocking
assertion, and kept them there, staring.
"Bran," he said, stunned. "He's crying."
"He's sorry for you, Lee," said Bran, looking curiously at Holden, who blinked
tears away impatiently, brushing away the ones that had already fallen as he smiled
at Lee.
"That's right," he said. "I'm sorry for you, kid. But Bran's right, it's going to be all
right. I--" He swallowed, took a breath. "I promise."
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CHAPTER 4
"Yves wanted me to give you this," said Alix when she arrived the next morning,
handing Holden a folded paper, which he opened and read quickly.
Esteemed master,
If I know you, you're getting a bad case of weltschmerz and general despondency
over the State of Things sitting by that poor kid in the dark (even though Bran's
probably trying to take the night and day watches both), so here's something to
occupy your mind, if not more productively, at least less depressingly. I have
carefully tempered it to your level of mathematical skill, so if you don't have it
solved by the time Lee comes home from the hospital, I'll... well, I'll probably get
spanked for my trouble, but at least in the meantime you'll have something to do
with your head besides brood on all the evils of the world as personified by Lord
Dunaev. I miss you. Yves.
Below the signature was a series of mathematical symbols, a graph, and a set of
directions beginning "Prove that..." Holden laughed and refolded the paper, tucking
it into his notebook and putting the notebook back in the bag.
"He knows me way too well," he said, accepting the paper cup of coffee that Alix
handed him next. "How is everything?"
"Fine. You know. We miss you. How are things here?"
"I wouldnt know," said Holden. "I havent done a thing. Brans been taking care
of Lee like an old pro."
"You're a good boy, Bran," said Alix appreciatively. "You take your master
downstairs now and get him to eat some breakfast. I'll sit with Lee for a bit."
"But-- please, mistress," said Bran uncomfortably, and lowered his eyes when she
looked up at him with mild surprise that Holden shared; Bran usually leaped to
obey Alix on the infrequent occasions when she gave him a direct order. Holden
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didn't think the kid had ever quite gotten over his gratitude to Alix for, as he'd said
once to Holden with rather undiplomatic candor, "letting you keep me." "I
promised Lee I'd stay with him."
"Well," said Alix thoughtfully, "let's ask him if he minds, shall we? Lee?"
Lee swallowed convulsively.
"This is the mistress," Bran said gently to Lee. "You remember hearing her talk
before, right? Buying you from the-- from Lord Dunaev? And she said the master
would carry you to the car if you couldn't walk?"
"But he didn't," said Lee emphatically, looking only at Bran. "You did."
"Because I asked if I could. Because I wanted to take care of you. And they let me
because they want to take care of you too, both of them. You already talked to the
master, and he told you he wants to make things okay for you. Can you talk to the
mistress now?"
"Yes," Lee whispered, and his eyes were on Alix. "Mistress--"
"Hello, Lee," said Alix very gently. "Bran's right, I just want to help take care of
you. Do you think you could let me sit with you for a bit, while Bran goes to get
something to eat? He and your master are rather hungry, and between you and me,
your master doesn't always eat as well as he should when I'm not there. But Bran
will take good care of him, just like he's been taking good care of you. And hell be
back before you know it."
Lee seemed to consider this, and Holden, not for the first time, admired Alix's skill
at making it sound like everything made perfect sense, really, and the kid could be
part of the sense-making if he just followed her few minor, helpful suggestions. It
worked perfectly with nine out of ten fifteen-year-olds, though most of the kids
Holden dealt with wouldn't have bought it-- usually not much had made sense to
them for a long time, and Holden started from there.
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Mistress? said Bran softly.

Yes, dear.
Do you think you could promise not to ask him any questions? Until I get back? I
think that might make him feel better. Safer.
Lee looked up at Bran with pure astonished adoration; Alix saw the look and
smiled a little. Yes, I can promise that. I wont ask you any questions until Bran
gets back, Lee. I wont even talk to you if youd rather I didnt.
Lee nodded and took a breath before he said very softly, Thank you, mistress. I
can yes, I can Youll come back soon?" he asked Bran.
"Very soon," said Bran, and bent down, unexpectedly, to kiss Lee on the forehead.
"Thank you, Lee. See, you said you werent brave, but you are, arent you?"
Lee smiled up at him trustingly. Alix looked from him to Bran, then looked up at
Holden.
"Should we be paying him?" she murmured.
"Master?" said Bran when the two of them had settled down at a table in the corner
of the crowded hospital cafeteria, with food that looked neither appetizing nor
healthy.
"Hmm?" said Holden absently, thinking about Lee.
"You're pleased with me?"
Holden focused, regarding Bran curiously. "You know I'm always pleased with
you, sweetheart."
"But I mean--" Bran squirmed. "Because of Lee."
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"Yes. You're-- I told you last night how impressed I am with you, Bran. You're
being absolutely amazing."
"Thank you, master." Bran hesitated, squirming a little. "You-- and the mistress,
too-- you were joking about paying me."
"Sure," said Holden, surprised. "Why? You mean-- is there something you want,
Bran? As-- payment?"
Bran flushed. "Not as payment. I belong to you. Anything I can do for you-- but if
you're pleased-- especially pleased with me-- could I ask a favor?"
"Of course," said Holden, rather intrigued. Bran hardly ever asked for anything, let
alone anything big enough to require Holden to be "especially pleased" before he'd
grant it.
"I--" Bran hesitated. "You won't be angry?"
"I'm not angry with you very often, love. Have you done something wrong?"
"No, but--" Bran lowered his gaze. "I last night, when you touched me, and I ppulled away--"
The sudden stutter betrayed how hard Bran found it to bring up the incident.
Holden spoke carefully.
"Yes. It's all right, Bran. You didn't do anything wrong. But I did want to ask you
about it. It surprised me."
"It's just--" said Bran, his eyes still down. "Master-- when I first came to you-- I
was afraid of Yves, in the beginning. Not just because-- I was afraid of everyone--"
He glanced up briefly and gave Holden a small, rueful smile before dropping his
gaze again. "But because he spoke so freely to you, and you touched each other
like-- friends-- and I knew he was-- your, I guess I would have said then, your pet.
A favorite."
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"Okay," said Holden, considering this. "And that was a bad thing for you because-"
"Because-- I guess because-- he might see me as competition? Or be threatened by
me, somehow? I didn't know then how things were, with you-- and Lord
Oreskovich had a girl-- Niss. She, she slept in his bed, and the rest of us were--"
He paused, obviously struggling with the memory. Bran almost never talked about
his past; the few questions Holden had ever asked him had been met with such
obvious discomfort that he'd never pursued it. "We had pretty good reason to be
afraid of pissing her off. Or even pleasing the master too well in case she got
jealous."
Holden nodded. "So you're saying-- what? Youre afraid Lee will see that I love
you? So
Id rather you didnt caress me, said Bran, still staring at his untouched plate.
Or, you know, kiss me, or call me love. In front of Lee.
Oh, said Holden.
Bran drew in his breath, and his voice shook when he spoke. "You are angry."
"No." Holden was silent for a moment, willing his own voice to come out with no
edge to it. "I understand. We need Lee to keep trusting you. And nobody trusts the
master's pet. Can't have it looking like you're consorting with the enemy."
"Master, please," said Bran miserably, hunching his shoulders. "Don't sound like
that."
So much for no edge.
"I'm sorry, kid," said Holden quietly. "It's just youve got to understand that it's a
little strange for me, to have you ask me not to touch you. As a-- special favor. But,
Bran, you've been a lot better at understanding Lee and, well, anticipating his
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needs-- Yes. I'll try to remember not to start cuddling you in front of him, at least
until hes a bit more understands a bit better, whats going on. No promises when
we're out of his line of sight, though, if that's all right with you."
Bran looked up at him sharply, and a quiver passed over his face as he gazed at
Holden, then said quietly, "Thank you, master."
"You really think Lee would feel that way?" Holden added thoughtfully, cutting up
his food and beginning to eat. "I mean, I believe you, but you just said Oreskovich,
and Lee never belonged to him. Dunaev didn't have-- pets, did he? Or favorites? I
thought he only owned one at a time."
"He-- well-- yes. Bran flushed a little. But Dunaev-- oh, master, this is kind of
messed up, but when he first bought me from Lord Oreskovich-- well, you know,
I'd run away, and they'd beaten me pretty badly when they caught me. Worse
because I was fighting back. And then Dunaev beat me all over again when he got
me home-- and afterwards, he threw me in a room-- actually, that same room Lee
was in-- that was my room, too, master, when I was with him. Isn't that--"
He didn't say what it was, though Holden had a few ideas. His hands were whiteknuckled in his lap, twitching with the desire to spatter Dunaev's brains all over his
own fucking basement cell, but he kept his eyes on Bran's face as the kid kept
talking.
"Anyway, there was this girl there, already in the room, when he pushed me in
there. A slave, you know, wearing Dunaev's color, and older than I was. Maybe
twenty or so. She looked fine, I mean she wasn't beaten up or sick or anything, but
she looked-- sad. And she just said, 'Hi.' Like she'd been expecting-- that. You
know. A beat-up bleeding kid shoved into the room with her, and sort of
collapsing, which is what I'd done-- and then she said, 'Please don't tell me your
name,' and I said 'why?' and she said, 'Because I don't want to get attached.'"
"Bran--"
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"Yeah, it kind of freaked me out. But she said, 'Oh, I don't mean you, I mean me.
I'm on my way out. He only likes one at a time, and my breasts are starting to sag. I
hope you'll be okay. You don't look all that strong. But don't tell me your name.'"
He repeated the words with such distant-eyed precision that it was obvious they'd
made a powerful impression on him, and no wonder; he'd probably had cause to
ponder them often enough in the year that followed.
"So did he sell her?" Holden managed.
"Yeah. You know. Normally. She was in okay condition. Thin and all, but he-- not
all his--" Bran took a deep breath, then exhaled, trying to calm himself. "Master?"
"I'm listening," said Holden quietly.
"You're going to want to interrupt me," said Bran with a hint of a smile. "But
please don't, until I'm finished."
Holden smiled back at him. "Okay."
"I know Lord Dunaev is-- a bad person," Bran began. "But he didn't mistreat all his
slaves-- like he did Lee. And me. That girl-- I never knew her name, she wouldn't
tell it to me, but we talked, some, for the next few days, until he got her sale
finalized. And she said he'd given her a pretty bad beating her first day-- just to,
sort of, I guess, show her who was master-- but after that he didn't-- She said she
was able to adjust. She had adjusted. He didn't hit her every day, she earned extra
food pretty often, she did everything he wanted and he didn't-- hate her. And the
boy who'd been there before her, he was sold normally too, after a couple of years,
not because the mast-- Lord Dunaev was angry with him or anything, just tired of
him. The same thing had happened to her, see, she'd been thrown into the room
with the boy she was about to replace-- anyway, the point is, master, that's why I
thought there was something wrong with me, because-- I couldn't please him. I
couldn't-- adjust. And obviously it was possible to adjust. I just couldn't do it.
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"And you've been so good to me, you've-- loved me-- so much." He smiled, a real
smile, the dazzling one that made Holden feel like he'd swallowed sunlight. "But
even before I knew you loved me, I knew-- you-- how do I say this? From the very
first, you've always been so-- pleased with me. Delighted with me. It made me
feel-- and especially when you'd worked with so many slaves-- it was like-- see,
master, I thought I was a bad slave. I told you you'd want to interrupt me. Please,
just-- I know now that I'm not a bad slave, not when-- my basic needs are met. Is
that what you were going to say? No, you were going to curse more. But that was
the gist, right?"
Holden grinned and said nothing.
Bran continued, sobering, "And it's not just you who thinks I'm-- good. Yves and
Jer and my mistress and Greta, they all really like me, and Fox, and the kids you
work with, and most of your friends and most of their slaves, so I know I'm not-But I never felt like I do now, with Lee."
Holden waited as Bran stared over his shoulder, considering.
"He looks at me," he said finally, "and he sees-- I don't know what he sees.
Someone-- not real. A hero. You know?"
"I know," said Holden quietly.
Bran smiled at him again. "That must be how you felt, with me, at first, yeah?"
Sometimes it's still how I feel, with you. Did he dare say that? No. "Yeah."
"But I look back at him," Bran continued, "and I see-- master, heres the thing, Lee
is-- just a kid. Like I was. Whatever Dunaev had against me, whatever it was I did
or didn't do, that I was a bad liar and couldnt control my facial expressions, or that
I just fucking hated him and couldnt pretend anything else but master, I thought I
was a coward for running away. I couldn't have imagined fighting back, getting
rebellious and kicking and biting, like some of the kids do, but I thought it was
wrong for me to run away. I thought I should have stayed and-- gotten better. I
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thought I was bad, I thought I deserved to get sold to-- you," he said, and laughed
before adding, "Maybe I did. Maybe Lee did too."
"You both deserved better," said Holden ruefully, "but given your options--"
"Please, master, let me finish. I'm just saying-- I was a kid. I never really realized
how-- young I was. And how nobody, no kid, deserves that shit. Just because the
others were better than me-- and Lee-- at not getting beaten up and starved half to
death, that doesn't mean it was our fault. Lee didn't deserve what happened to him- and neither did I. I know I should have known that already, I know you've told
me a million times, but-- now I know."
Holden reached across the table and took Bran's hand in his, trying to control his
grip so that he didn't crush the kid's fingers. Bran squeezed his hand back, hard.
"So anyway--" Bran paused for a moment, looking startled. "What was I saying? I
started to say--"
Holden had no idea, but he forced his memory back and finally said, "Uh, why Lee
might think, might be worried about a master's pet."
"Oh," said Bran. "Right. Because of the, um. Dunaev, how he-- only liked one at a
time. Lee might think-- he might worry that I'd see him as competition? As the
replacement. You know. If he thinks, if he sees that I, uh. You know. Love you."
There was something oddly fidgety about Bran's manner now, but Holden couldn't
decode it, and his head was already spinning with everything Bran had just said.
He never talked this much about himself. It was going to take a while for Holden to
digest it all, and-- "Bran?"
"Master?"
"I don't mean to rush you, but we did tell Lee you'd be back soon."
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"Oh, shit," said Bran, and glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Let's get back
now."
"But you haven't eaten anything," Holden pointed out.
"I'm not hungry, master."
"You've gotten yourself all worked up," said Holden, looking uneasily at the high
flush of color in Bran's cheeks and the brilliance of his eyes. "You don't think
you're getting sick again, do you?"
Bran laughed. "Again? You act like I get sick often, master."
"Well, you have before, and this place is crawling with sick people," said Holden.
"Try to eat something, Bran, if you can. Or I could always sit you in my lap and
hand-feed you. Give these nice people a show."
Bran grinned, obediently beginning to cut up his food. "Funny, isn't it, master,
being around-- people who aren't used to slaves."
"It is," Holden agreed. "I was thinking that too. Like last night, Denys-- You stop
smirking at me this instant, you little brat, before I turn you over my knee and give
the nice people a different kind of show."
Bran dropped his gaze, the corners of his mouth still twitching. "I'm sorry, master.
What were you about to say about Denys?"
"Never mind, said Holden, shaking his head and smiling back. Eat."
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CHAPTER 5
When they got back to the room, the doctor was back, and Alix was listening to her
talk with frequent references to a clipboard; Bran moved unobtrusively closer to
the two of them, and the doctor actually smiled at him.
"I understand you're very interested in the details of your friend's treatment, young
man," she said, and Bran looked down shyly. "I was just telling Ms.-- your
mistress-- that we'd like to start him on solid food today, and she says she thinks
he'll eat if you do the feeding."
Bran nodded, still looking down. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be happy to do anything I can."
Holden had crossed to Lee's bedside; he saw to his pleasure and slight surprise that
the boy looked at him with eyes that, though still extremely wary, were alert and
interested.
"Hello, Lee," he said, in the tone Pavel had taught him for talking to spooked
horses. "How are you feeling?"
And again with the rattling cuff, as the boy trembled. Holden realized, annoyed
with himself, that the simple question, when it came from him and not Bran, must
sound like a setup to the boy. He was probably afraid of punishment if he
complained, but an obvious lie, like claiming to be feeling fine when he was flat on
his back in a hospital bed, probably wouldn't strike him as a good move either. And
silence in the face of direct questioning was obviously not safe. Poor kid.
"It's okay, Lee," he said gently. "I'm not going to hurt you. You've been hurt pretty
badly already, and I don't think you deserved it, so right now all I want is for you
to rest and heal, okay? And if you feel like talking to me, that would be great, but I
won't punish you if you don't, or for anything you say. So try and relax for me."
Lee swallowed. "Yes... master."
"Good boy. Is there anything you need right now? Anything I can do for you?"
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"I" Lee looked faintly alarmed, his eyes darting past Holden to Bran, and Bran
caught the look from across the room and came quickly to stand between Holden
and Lee, almost protectively. Relief spread across Lee's face again, and Bran
smiled.
"It's okay, Lee," he said, without looking at Holden.
Lee nodded and gave Bran a tremulously grateful look, sending another shockwave
of memory through Holden: it was the same look Bran had given Holden on that
first day when he'd said, puzzled by the kid's tearful apology, I'm not angry with
you. Remembering the look, the tears, the kid huddled shivering at his feet, Holden
wanted to reach out and touch Bran, measure the healthy solidity of his flesh, the
warmth of his skin, the lack of shivering, to feel that he was safe. He laced his
fingers together on the bed rail instead, scolding himself for letting this get to him.
"Do you think you could eat something today," Bran was asking softly, "if I feed it
to you?"
Lee nodded, and Holden smiled at the unguarded eagerness on his face before he
realized Bran was giving him a look that said With all respect, you're in my way.
When Holden moved to step away from the bed, Bran moved too, dodging any
possibility of Holden's accidentally brushing against him, before he bent over Lee,
smoothing his hair gently back from his forehead and clasping his hand, with a
loving smile down at him.
"I'll be back," said Holden quietly to no one in particular, and without waiting for a
response, went out, down the antiseptic-smelling hall, then into the small, deserted
waiting room. He sat down on the bile-green couch and rubbed vaguely at the
bridge of his nose; he was getting a tension headache.
"Darling?" Alix asked softly from the doorway. He looked up at her with an effort
at a smile as she came and sat down beside him and put a hand on his back. "Are
you all right?"
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"Sure," said Holden automatically, then, "Oh, I don't know. I'm feeling wrongfooted, is all. I don't know what the hell to say to this Lee kid. Maybe I've lost my
touch."
"The boy's very attached to Bran," said Alix neutrally.
"Yeah, and that's a good thing, right? I mean, he's doing so well. He is doing well,
right? He looks better. What did the doctor say?"
"That he's doing wonderfully, that the young are very resilient, and that if she lets
us take him home day after tomorrow I must solemnly promise to give him his
medicine and plenty of food and rest, and not to let anyone enter him at least until
after a two-week checkup," Alix recited.
"Enter him?" Holden repeated.
"Strangers don't like to say fuck to me. It's my lady-like appearance."
"What does she think, that that's how I get off? I'm licking my lips over the
prospect of getting a raped and torn-up kid home so I can flip him over? I mean,
honestly, Alix, do I just look like a fucking rapist or something?"
"I don't think it's a commentary on how you look, dear," said Alix, examining him
thoughtfully.
"Well, clearly you look trustworthy enough to protect him from your evil
husband," said Holden, "and Bran--"
Yes?" Alix scored his back softly with her fingernails. "What about Bran?
Holden smiled mirthlessly. "Honestly? I think Im jealous. Of Bran-- and Lee. Isnt
that ridiculous?
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She continued gently scratching his back. A little. But it's not that strange. Youre
the jealous type, love, we both know that. And Brans very wrapped up in the boy.
I notice he seems a bit unwilling to touch you, too.
Holden sighed. Thats part of it. He just asked me not to touch him in front of
Lee. Hes afraid Lee will stop trusting him if he sees the two of us cuddling. Which
is reasonable, I guess, but-- and then when hes all over Lee. I know its stupid.
But hey, if Bran can get jealous of the night nurse, why cant I get jealous of Lee?
Just because Lee happens to be horribly traumatized and desperately need Bran's
care--
"Bran got jealous of the night nurse?" Alix interrupted.
Holden smiled a little. Not really jealous, I don't think, but he was ribbing me
about him. That's another thing. One minute hes laughing and confident and being
a brat, and the next hes acting all- nervous. When he asked me not to touch him,
he went through such a rigmarole about asking a special favor and please master
dont be angry-- and now we're back to what do I look like, some kind of
monster? Holden shook his head impatiently. I look, this is all ridiculous. Lets
get back. I think it's illegal for us not to be in there.
Only one of us needs to be in there, said Alix gently.
He looked up at her uneasily. "Are you leaving? I'd rather you didn't leave."
"I was thinking," she said carefully, maybe you should leave.
Holden scowled, startled. What? Why?
Well, you said yourself, theres not really much you can do for Lee at this point.
Brans doing it all. And with you obviously worried and upset, he's probably trying
to take care of you too. I think you'd be doing him a favor to go home and...
recharge for a bit. Let me stay here with Lee today and tonight, and come back in
the morning."
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Holden shook his head, fighting the intense temptation. "But this is my job. And
Bran got a lot less sleep than I did, anyway, there's no reason I should be--"
"He's also half your age, darling. And he needs less sleep, he always has. You
know how he stays up all night sometimes with my boys and girls and looks fresh
as a daisy in the morning. Go home. Unwind a little, catch up on your sleep, and
come back in the morning. I think youll find you feel much better about
everything. Also," and she flashed him one of the quick, impish grins that made
her look uncannily like the eighteen-year-old she'd been when they first met, "it'll
give me a chance to see what all the fuss is about the night nurse."
Holden finally, reluctantly, smiled back. "Yeah. Okay. Alix, what would I do
without you?"
"Do you really want me to answer that, my love?" Alix asked, and leaned to kiss
him sweetly on the lips. "Come on. Let's get you out from underfoot."
When they went back to the room and Holden announced his intention of leaving
until the next morning, Bran nodded absently without looking up, absorbed in
watching another nurse administer saline and heparin flushes into Lee's needle.
Trying not to sigh, Holden turned to kiss Alix again gratefully, gathered his things
and the keys, and went, his head hurting worse than ever, from the hospital.
Yves must have heard the car; when Holden came in the front door he was already
halfway down the stairs, and when he saw Holden his face lit up and he ran down
the rest of them so quickly his arms were around Holden before the front door
closed behind him.
"You're home! he said happily into Holdens neck. I was hoping she'd be able to
persuade you to master, he added as he pulled back slightly and looked into
Holdens face, are you okay?"
"I'm fine. You just forgot what I look like. Hi, Greta. Your mistress packed me off
home with instructions to come back when I can wipe the scowl off my face. Sorry
about that.
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Greta, who had hurried in and tried to hide her look of disappointment at the sight
of him, smiled anyway. She told us she was going to try to persuade you to let her
take a shift, master. Im glad she did. You look... tired.
Holden grimaced. I hate to think I've reached the age where I can't lose a few
hours of sleep without everyone I meet exclaiming over terrible I look."
"You don't look terrible," said Yves tactfully, kissing him as Greta eyed him
cautiously. "Just-- worried to death. Not that we blame you. She told us about the
kid and Dunaev and everything is it not going well? Lee, I mean, the recovery.
Its going fine. Bran's taking perfect care of him. So it was nicely pointed out to
me that I am old and grumpy and of no use to anyone and should come home to be
cosseted back into a good mood.
Thats your cue, Yves, said Greta, grinning. Let me know when you're done. I'll
be hiding in the kitchen.
I'm bound to think to look there eventually, Holden called after her as she
retreated, then turned back to Yves. Wheres Jer?
Yves took Holdens hand and tugged at it gently, drawing his master up the stairs;
Holden followed readily. Market. Hell be back soon. So I guess wed better
make it the big bed. Come on, master, dont be shy, I wont ravish you against
your will. Sit down and let me get these off. Whats got you so drawn-looking?"
Im tired," said Holden, sitting on the edge of his bed as Yves knelt at his feet to
pull off his boots, and the world is fucked, and nothing I do is any use.
"Two truths and a lie, is it? Laying his masters boots aside, Yves sat down on the
edge of the bed beside Holden and cupped his chin, tilting his face gently into a
sweet, lingering kiss. My turn. My name is Yves, I have beautiful blue eyes, and I
didnt miss you one... he punctuated the next words with kisses, his hands sliding
down Holdens body, ...single... solitary... bit.
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So whats your real name? Holden grinned, grasping Yves wrists gently. Not
now, love. I think I just need to lie down for a minute. Gods," he groaned as he
suited action to word, "my poor decrepit back. You know you're old when one
night on a cot wreaks this much"
"Turn over," Yves ordered, climbing onto the bed beside Holden, who rolled
obediently onto his stomach, and moaned as Yves' practiced hands began kneading
the cricks from his shoulders and back. "So Lee is doing well?"
"Relatively." Holden sighed. "Remember Mona?"
"Yeah," said Yves quietly, his thumbs describing circles at Holden's neck. "Is it
that bad?"
"Not quite. But bad enough. And he's-- little, and his skins practically translucent,
and oh, it's just really getting to me, Yves, and I don't even know why, it's just
Dunaev. That fucker. I want to fucking kill him."
"Let me just" Yves planted an elbow just under Holden's shoulder blade, and
Holden grunted as a knot of tension loosened. "There. Does this kid remind you of
Bran?"
"Uh... not to look at. Too soon to tell much about his personality beyond 'terrified.'
And he's much worse off than Bran was, when it comes to that. I mean Bran was
terrified, but he was never unresponsive."
"No," Yves agreed, putting weight on the heels of his hands on either side of
Holden's spine. Holden's head was already hurting less.
"But I keep getting flashbacks," he added. Yeah-- I guess he does. He looks the
way Bran looked when I brought him home- his expression. And he barely
speaks, and when he does its to apologize pre-emptively for crying when I rape
him. Its getting me down."
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"Imagine that," said Yves, and did something that made warmth flood Holden's
muscles; Holden gasped with relief. "Do you think Bran's having flashbacks, too?"
"Funny thing," said Holden, limp with pleasure as Yves worked over his back.
"Gods, you're good at this. Brans all of a sudden talking about his past. With
Dunaev and all."
That cant be fun for you, said Yves gently.
Holden smiled a little. Not especially. Im glad hes talking about it, but you
know me. I want to kick the furniture to pieces, and thats the last thing Bran
needs. And apparently Im the last thing Lee needs, too. Wow, that came out
whiny."
I did say tell me all your troubles. Yves was stroking more than rubbing now.
Bran and Lee have really bonded, huh?
Yeah. Lets not talk about it right now. Holden closed his eyes.
"Okay, master. Hey, did you get any math done?"
"Shut up," said Holden, his eyes still closed, as they both heard the front door slam
shut.
Yves climbed off of Holden. "Be right back."
"Yves--"
By the time Holden had peeled his eyes open, the younger man was already gone.
He waited, trying not to fall asleep, until he heard two sets of footsteps pounding
up the stairs in tandem, and smiled a little.
"Damn it," said Jer, hurrying into the bedroom and almost jumping onto the bed, as
Yves came in, smiling, behind him, "of course you pick the one time I'm gone to
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come home, and when Holden rolled over to be kissed, Hey, are you okay? You
look exhausted."
"I know, right?" said Yves, lying down beside Holden as Jer lay down on his other
side. Each flung an arm across Holden's chest, pinning him between them to the
mattress. "He looks like death warmed over."
"All right, you two wake me up whenever my appearance has improved enough
that you can stand to look at me," said Holden grumpily. "Or at least be polite
about it." He shut his eyes again, firmly, drowsy from the warm closeness of their
two bodies, and found himself suddenly too contented and comfortable to think
about sleeping. He lay very still instead, feeling the fatigue and tension drain from
his muscles, his breathing growing slowly deep and regular.
"Is he okay?" Jer whispered eventually.
"I don't think he slept much," said Yves in a low voice. "And you know him. He's
such a fixer. Goes nuts when there's something wrong he can't figure out how to
put right."
"Yeah," said Jer thoughtfully. "Is the kid doing okay, did he say?"
"Which kid? They're both doing fine."
"I meant Bran, but good. How much longer does Lee have to be in the hospital?"
"I didn't ask."
"What have you been talking about, infinite diagonals?"
"Diagonal infinities. I mean, no. Shut up. He was tired."
"Day after tomorrow," said Holden without opening his eyes, "if I promise not to
enter him."
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Yves laughed. "You're supposed to be asleep, master."

"Yeah," said Jer gruffly. "You still look like hell."
"Thanks," said Holden, trying not to smile, as each of his cheeks was kissed
simultaneously by a different pair of lips.
He slept finally, and came gently back to consciousness with a hot mouth around
his cock, gasping as another mouth whispered in his ear, "We decided you may
wake up now, master."
"Yeah?" he managed. "Do I look less-- oh, fuck-- kiss me, Yves--"
Yves' mouth claimed his greedily, his hands buried in Holden's hair, teeth nipping
at his lips. Holden moaned, his hips thrusting his cock deeper into Jer's throat.
"We got into a terrible fight over who was going to do what, here," Yves said half
into his mouth. Jer pulls hair.
"But you bite," Holden laughed. So who... won?
"I think that's pretty obvious, master," said Yves, and licked and sucked his way
down to Holden's ear before adding, clearly audibly under Holden's soft cry,
"You."
"No... argument..." Holden caught his breath. "I'm not going to-- so don't think it,
Jer, I don't care how--- fucking good you are Im not going to come"
"On Jer's behalf," said Yves, between nibbles to the tender skin of Holden's neck
just around his ear, "since he has his mouth full-- why the hell not?"
"Because I want to fuck you," Holden gritted.
"Me?" Yves whispered, his hands playing across Holden's chest, teasing his
nipples through the cloth of his tunic. "Or Jer? Because I was thinking it was just
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a thought that you might want me to fuck Jer now and make him moan while
you're gagging him with your cock, and then after you came down his throat Jer
could fuck you standing up while I got on my knees and licked you clean and hard
again so you could fuck me on the bed while I did whatever you wanted me to do
with Jer."
Jer made a humming noise of approval, and Holden cried out again helplessly as
Yves bit his earlobe and added, "But what am I saying? Youre probably much too
old and tired to enjoy all that, master. Should we let you go back to sleep?
"I," Holden panted, will beat you so hard"
"Oh, mercy, master, please," Yves sassed, already slicking his fingers, then his
cock, with lubricant, then climbing down the bed to straddle Jer, who grunted,
thrusting his hips up impatiently towards Yves as he deep-throated Holden. As
Yves fingers sank into Jer, eliciting a muffled groan that sent shockwaves of
pleasure through Holden's cock, Yves glanced up brightly into his master's flushed
face.
"Of course, if Bran was here, we could do even better," he said, fucking Jer
rhythmically with his fingers, and Jer laughed quietly around Holden's cock as he
continued, "Speaking of Bran, master, did I ever tell you about the time he asked
me if I wished I was still your only slave?"
Jer pulled his mouth off Holden's cock and growled, "Yves, you talk too much."
"Sorry, Jer." Yves pulled out his fingers and slid his cock slowly into Jer, who let
out one short, hoarse cry before bending down to swallow Holden's cock again.
"Anyway." He looked up at Holden again, grinning, as he fucked Jer in short, slow
strokes. "I said no."
Things have been a bit crazy around here, and now I'm heading out of town
(severely limited computer access) for Thanksgiving, but I wanted to go ahead and
get chapter six up before I left. I'll try to reply to comments and catch up on my
flist (and all those lovely NaNos in progress) after the weekend. Hope US denizens
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have a wonderful Thanksgiving and everyone else has a wonderful Thursday,

Friday, and subsequent weekend. :)
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CHAPTER 6
Afterwards, sticky with sweat and oil and semen, Holden allowed Yves to drag
him and Jer through the training room and into the bath, where they splashed and
shoved like children and Yves nearly drowned between Holden's legs before he
admitted defeat at another bet.
"If you're trying to give yourself brain damage," said Holden, hauling him back
above water by a handful of dripping curls, "you can quit. I got over the fact that
you're smarter than me twenty years ago."
"Yeah," said Yves, tickling Holden to make him let go, "but I've got to watch it
now that there's another pretty teenager in the offing, right, Jer?"
Jer grabbed Yves' hair and shoved him underwater, and Holden dragged him back
up again, spluttering and laughing, then had to dodge as Yves lunged at Jer and
tried to pin him under the water. Jer shoved Yves back against Holden, who
promptly pushed him back at Jer.
"Master!" Yves yelped indignantly, as Jer pinned him against his chest with one
arm and the other hand disappeared under the water. "So this is what happens
when-- fuck!-- when Bran's away--"
"Yeah, you're our substitute brat," said Jer as Yves arched and groaned. "Come on,
do the voice."
Yves laughed breathlessly, still struggling. "His voice? It's inimitable-- Master,
come on, if I was Bran you'd rescue me--"
Holden grinned, enjoying the friendly horseplay between Jer and Yves. He'd
worried at first; they didn't have much in common aside from him, after all. But
Bran had helped-- his undisguised adoration of all three of them, his obvious
delight over being their plaything in the bed and in the bath, laughing
uncontrollably as they tickled him and grabbed at him with soap-slippery hands,
retreating when he grew dizzy into Holden's embrace, arms around his neck, his
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slick wet body pressed hot and confiding against Holden's nakedness. It was almost
funny now to remember his first day, his terror at the sight of the water, and once
he was in it, the desperate naked lunge not so much towards any conceivable
freedom as away from Holden.
Almost funny. But not quite.
Yves leaned back and stage whispered in Jer's ear, "He's brooding again."
"No brooding in the bath," said Jer firmly, and the two of them attacked.
"I'm writing to Valor," said Holden to Greta over dinner. "About this Dunaev
thing. Don't you think she'll be able to think of something to do about it?"
"Has there ever been anything Valor couldn't think of something to do about,
master?" Greta asked, smiling. "Mind you, it may not always be the best thing, but
it'll be something."
"Well, something's more than I can think of. The worst part is that there are kids
almost as bad off as Lee easily as bad off as Bran was we never even know
about. And even if we did know about them we couldn't get them, not unless their
owners offered. It's not like we have legal grounds for search and seizure."
"Right. So what are you writing?"
"About Lee," said Holden. "If she and her friends want a test case, this kid is a
guaranteed heartstring-tugger. Horribly damaged, pretty and helpless as all get-out.
And Dunaev's even a repeat offender you know Val said that might be a good first
step."
"Do you think Bran would be up for testifying, if they called him?" Yves asked,
and Holden nodded.
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"Once he got used to the idea," he said. "He's really taken this whole thing on. You
should have heard him last night, interrogating the nurses about everything they
were doing. He's not shy when there's something that matters to him."
"The business would probably get a lot of publicity," Greta said thoughtfully,
"which could be a good thing or a bad thing."
"Yeah," said Holden, "but we've been pussyfooting around for twenty years,
staying shrouded in mystery and I won't say we haven't done some good work,
but the kids still keep coming. I'd like to see some real change at the level of the
system, you know?"
"Valor's your girl, then," said Greta, not without pride.
"Don't I know it. I'll finish the letter tonight and it can go out in the morning. Then
we'll wait for the hurricane to descend."
In the lounge after supper, he finished the letter fairly quickly-- there wasn't much
more to say, after all, and he doubted Valor would still be quietly reading after that
first paragraph-- and offered it to Greta before sealing it, but Greta, knitting
something leafy and complicated out of silk, shook her head placidly.
"Give her my love," she said, "and tell her not to kill anyone."
"I already did, but I'll add that you second the request." Holden scribbled a
postscript, addressed and sealed the letter, and set it on the edge of the desk. "Jer,
what are you reading?"
"This," said Jer laconically, holding up his novel.
"Can I read over your shoulder?"
When Jer nodded, Holden sat down next to him, and Jer draped an arm casually
around him. Holden put his head down on Jer's shoulder, and Yves closed his own
book on his pencil, set down his pad of graph paper and came to curl up with his
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head in Holden's lap. Holden stroked his hair absently, soothed by the story a
detective mystery of the kind Jer loved, so formulaic that despite starting in the
middle Holden had picked up on the plot after five pages and guessed the killer's
identity by ten.
He woke with a start when Jer shifted under him; the book was closed. Yves was
asleep in his lap.
"You ready for bed?" he asked Jer softly. "We might have to carry Yves."
Jer reached over and poked Yves in the ribs, and he startled awake, blinking with
vague amusement up at Jer and Holden. "No we don't."
"Guess not. Greta? Want to come? Sleep with us?"
"Thank you, master, but I wouldn't dare," said Greta, eyes still on her knitting.
"One of you at a time I can take, but all three, and without my mistress to protect
me or Bran to use as a human shield..."
Holden chuckled. "It'd just be sleeping."
"Don't bet on it," said Yves drowsily, as Greta shook her head.
But Yves was asleep again, flopped over on his stomach on Holden's bed, before
Holden had finished undressing, and Jer lay down a moment after Holden, put a
hand on his master's arm, closed his eyes and was still, leaving Holden perversely
wide awake.
It wasn't until Jer stirred in his sleep and turned over with his back to Holden that
Holden slipped carefully out from between the two of them, out of the bedroom,
and across the landing to the small room where they kept the filing cabinets. He
opened Andrei Taganov's file, then Lydia Brokova's, then thumbed idly through a
few other possibilities for Lee before opening the drawer labeled "current," and
pulling out the folder with Bran's name on it from its place beside Yves'.
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The list of extant offers to buy him was still there, along with Holden's notes from
those first few weeks. Formulaic as Jer's detective novels, these files, even Bran's:
likes, dislikes, needs, can't tolerate. Sexually responsive: Highly. Sexually
aggressive: Not at all (nb. occasional tendency to offer sex as appeasement tactic).
Does not respond well to threats (freezes, is obviously unable to think clearly when
frightened). Gets very nervous when asked to make decisions. Intensely craves
physical affection, calms immediately and visibly when caressed or held; responds
to any kind of affectionate physical contact, eg sex, oral sex, foreplay, kissing,
cuddling, co-sleeping, fingers in his hair.
Holden fumbled a little as he replaced the folder and then sank down on the floor
with his back against the cabinets, thinking of the first time his fingers had been in
Bran's hair, in the back seat of the car as they drove away from Dunaev's. Gods,
what a sweet boy, he'd said to Alix, and Bran was sweet, the sweet of wild honey,
sharp, stinging, overpowering. And addictive as hell.
The trouble was, Holden had worked with a lot of kids, and Bran was far from the
first to have claimed to love him, though he'd certainly hung on the longest.
Holden didn't have to read ahead to know how the "reflexive pulling away,
followed by desperate overcompensating attention" plot usually ended. Especially
in light of the other clues. The inadvertent past tense Bran had used in the cafeteria
that morning: You've loved me so much. The mumbling and stuttering: I, uh. You
know. Love you. Bran had never been able to lie worth a damn.
Of course, he couldn't be sure, and there was nothing to be done anyway, if Bran's
innocent pleasure at being owned and doted on by the object of his youthful
infatuation (I was a kid, he'd said wonderingly. I never really realized how-- young
I was) had finally slipped away, and he'd fallen out of love, or whatever he'd been
young and romantic enough to believe was love. Stupid to be this thrown by it. It
wasn't like Holden hadn't been expecting it since day one. Hadn't told the kid
himself. You'll realize someday, you know, that you don't need me any more.
Something will click, and you'll move on. Well, something had clicked. Bran didn't
need Holden's word for it any more that Dunaev wasn't fit to lick his feet, and
maybe that really was all he'd ever needed Holden for. Or was it Lee's adoration
for Bran working like a retroactive mirror, showing Bran how easy it was for a
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drowning boy to attach himself to any strong-looking person who offered hope and
comfort, and how easy it might be to believe the attachment was love?
Either way, it should have been easier for Holden, having seen it coming. But it
wasn't easy at all, felt damn near impossible to bear, and it hadn't even really
happened yet.
"Thought you were tired," said Jer from the doorway.
Holden looked up at him rather sheepishly. "Hey. Just-- planning ahead. Looking
at some potential buyers, for Lee."
"Never made up one of those for me, did you?" Jer said, nodding at the "current"
drawer, which Holden hadn't closed all the way, as he sat down on the floor beside
Holden.
Holden smiled. "Should I have?"
"Nah," said Jer, smiling back. "Not like I'm going anywhere."
"No," said Holden. "Sorry about that."
Jer punched him in the arm. "Don't be a fucking idiot. Master," he added, grinning,
as he deflected Holden's punch back.
"At least you pretend to respect me in front of the kids," said Holden dryly,
rubbing his arm.
Jer sobered then, meeting Holden's eyes. His own eyes were the cool, steady gray
of stone, utterly unlike Bran's shifting light-and-shadow luminescence, or-- for that
matter-- Yves' sunny blue, or Alix's clear, gentle hazel. Love was such an
inadequate word.
"Holden-- you know how I've always felt about you, yeah? I mean--" He grinned
again, the boyish grin that made his graying hair and the crow's feet around his
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eyes seem so utterly incongruous-- "ever since you first yelled at me to take my
filthy peasant hands off your royal person--"
"I didn't say that," said Holden, laughing a little. "I just said get your hands off
me."
"Well, that's what it sounded like. You didn't act like any damn nineteen-year-old
slave, you acted like-- a kidnapped nobleman, or something. Lucky for you I was
ranking high that week. Not that I got so much as a thank you for all the
interference I ran so you wouldn't get eaten alive during the transition."
"Thank you," said Holden sincerely. "I just didn't have a clue, Jer. Nobody'd ever-taken me against my will. And Pavel never raised a hand to me. It was like I was
fifteen, but nobody knew it, so nobody cut me any slack, or explained-- how to be
a slave."
"You would never have been any good at it anyway," said Jer bluntly. "You're too
damn arrogant. But I thought-- I always sort of thought you'd be a good master."
"Yeah?" Holden asked, amused.
Jer nodded seriously. "After you were free, when you actually came back and made
your offer for me, I--" His eyes were suddenly unnaturally bright. "I thought
maybe-- but, you know," he continued, and blinked so quickly that Holden couldn't
be sure he hadn't imagined the tears, "that didn't-- happen."
"No," said Holden, examining Jer curiously; they'd never discussed Argounov's
refusal to sell Jer to Holden. Holden couldn't exactly vent his fury and frustration
to Jer when most of their conversations took place under Argounov's eye, and Jer
had always been decorously impossible to read in Argounov's presence; Holden
hadn't caught more than a flicker of disappointment.
"And then you got Yves." Jer blinked quickly again. "That first time I met him, I
kind of-- didn't think I'd ever see you again. Don't look at me like that, it's just-- he
was so smart, like you, and those eyes, and he obviously worshipped you, and you
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- gods, I was so fucking jealous of him. I got myself whipped for being so spaced
out that week-- and I was too spaced out to feel it." He laughed, as if it were funny,
and said again, "Don't look at me like that. How long ago is that, twenty years?
Twenty-two?"
"I didn't know--" Holden swallowed. "When he did-- give you to me-- you seemed
so depressed. I didn't think you wanted to-- you know. Belong to me."
Jer shook his head almost pityingly. "Sometimes I think you're conceited as hell,
and then sometimes-- Holden, you saved my fucking life."
"Saved your life? Argounov wouldn't have"
"No," said Jer matter-of-factly. "I would have."
A chill ran through Holden as he stared at Jer. "You would have what?"
The smile that curved Jer's lips then wasn't boyish, and it didn't reach his eyes. "I
had it all planned out. For when I got too old. It would have been easy. It's not like
there wasn't plenty of rope around-- and a nice big hook in the ceiling of
Argounov's playroom. I used to look at it. Especially after I turned forty."
"Jer." Holden's stomach twisted violently.
"Well, I wasn't going to sit around waiting to die, or-- whatever Argounov-- You
know? I figured I'd just--" Jer made a quick impatient motion with his hands, like
snapping a stick in half. "And when Alix came to get me, that night-- she looked so
sorry for me. I was thinking, you'd been nice enough to keep visiting me all those
years, so you were probably nice enough to try to pretend-- you still wanted me.
And I didn't plan on putting either of us through that bullshit for long. I just
figured-- there was a hook in your training room ceiling, too."
"Stop it," said Holden, shaken. "Don't-- Jer, I--"
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Jer reached out and touched Holden's cheek for a moment. "Hey. I said that's what
I thought, that first night. But you were very-- convincing." His real smile was
back, his eyes crinkled with it. "And the morning after, I ran into Bran. Remember,
you were calling in buyers for him in a hurry so you could tend to me, and was he
ever pissed about it. If looks could kill, he'd have saved me the trouble. And I
thought, shit, he's eighteen years old and he looks like Baldr fell off the rainbow
and wound up as a sex slave, and he's jealous of me. It made me think-- how lucky
I was."
"Yeah," said Holden bitterly. "Lucky. Jer, if I'd known-- I guess it's better I didn't,
when I was letting Argounov help us with the business and with Valor. Seventeen
years the bastard held out on me, while you stared at the hooks in the ceiling."
"Well, in fairness to him," said Jer gravely, "I am a damn good lay. I might have
held on to me, myself."
Holden shook his head. "He should have--" Let go stuck in his throat as he
suddenly thought of Bran again, and he said, to cover the break, "Though I guess it
was nice of him not to make me pay full market price for you."
Jer snorted. "Market price for a slave with gray hair? I think you did pay that.
Nothing, right?"
"Idiot," said Holden affectionately. "I'd have paid anything. Everything I had. And
he knew it, even if you didn't. The gods know I've never been any good at
pretending not to love people."
Jer leaned forward suddenly and pressed his lips to Holden's, and they kissed,
lingeringly, sipping each other with the open-eyed, half-furtive thirst that was a
habit between them too long-standing to break.
"Come back to bed," Jer said softly, when the kiss ended.
"In a minute. You go on. I'm just going to"
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"Please, master," Jer deadpanned. "Don't make me drag you."

Smiling despite himself, Holden let Jer pull him to his feet and push him gently
towards the door.
"Jer?" he said, as they crossed the threshold.
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you ever tell me all this before? How you were-- thinking about rope
and hooks and--"
Jer shrugged. "You didn't need to know."
Holden considered arguing the point, but he was tired enough to settle for, "Then
why did you tell me tonight?"
Jer glanced up at him thoughtfully as they entered the bedroom, where Yves still
lay peacefully asleep.
"Thought maybe you did need to know," he said quietly. "Tonight."
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CHAPTER 7
Holden slept restlessly and woke for good when it was still dark out, easing
himself out of the circle of Yves' arms as gently as possible, dressing without
waking the other two. When he arrived at the hospital, even after stopping on the
way to mail his letter to Valor, it wasn't yet open to visitors, but when he identified
himself at the emergency entrance as Lee's owner, they let him go up.
He paused at the door to Lee's room, then went in quietly. Alix was asleep on the
cot, her face peaceful, her long fair hair loose and cascading across the pillow.
Bran was asleep in bed with Lee, curled around him as if to shield him while he
slept, Lee's frail young body nestled confidingly against Bran's more solid strength.
Holden stood looking down at the sweet sight for a few moments before he knelt
down by the cot to kiss Alix.
She stirred and smiled before opening her eyes, and he put a finger to her lips,
nodding towards the bed where the boys lay sleeping, before he whispered, "How's
Lee?"
"Hello, darling," she whispered back, sitting up; Holden stayed on his knees, and
she ran a hand through his hair as she spoke in a low voice. "He's eating on his
own now, and they're ready to move him to oral antibiotics and painkillers today.
The nurse-- and he is pretty, by the way--"
Holden smiled up at her. "You just like redheads."
She grinned back. "Guilty. He says we can probably take him home this afternoon.
Subject to the doctor's assessment, he said."
"Thank the gods. I hate this place." Alix stood up and offered him a hand, and he
let her help him to his feet and followed her to the bedside, where they looked
down at the boys. Holden said softly, "How is he-- emotionally?"
"Much better. He's been quite chatty with Bran, and he's getting more comfortable
with me. And Bran's been singing your praises."
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Holden smiled a little. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yes. Lee's still wary, but he'll come around if you're patient."
"I'm patient, I'm patient."
Alix smiled. "Yves and Jer did a good job. You seem in much better spirits this
morning."
"I am." And he was, his fears of the previous night seeming more remote in the
light-- still figurative, as yet-- of day. It felt good, too, to think that they'd soon be
able to leave the hospital behind; this place was making him morbid.
In the pause, they both heard the slight change in Lee's breathing that meant he was
awake and unsure whether moving or opening his eyes was a good idea. Bran must
have heard it, too, or felt Lee shift subtly in his arms; he pulled the other boy in
closer as he opened his eyes, and Lee opened his too.
"Morning," said Bran softly, and kissed Lee on the forehead.
"Bran." Lee sighed and looked around, smiling a little at Alix, then saw Holden
and tensed. Bran followed his gaze, and Holden's heart gave an unexpected painful
lurch as he saw that the wariness in Bran's eyes matched Lee's. Bran didn't smile at
him, just murmured "Master" and turned away to kiss Lee again and rearrange his
pillows to help him sit up.
Fuck. That guarded glance was trouble-- more trouble than Holden had thought
they were in, yet. He was immediately irritated with himself for not having
foreseen this. Easy for Holden to wallow in self-pity over the prospect of lost love.
Holden had a home of his own, a wife, a business, two other lovers, a life to go on
with. It had to be an altogether more alarming business to feel yourself
involuntarily pulling away from the man who owned you, provided for you,
protected you, disciplined you, adored you, and hungered for your affection. The
kid had had a day and a night to brood, and judging from that one careful look and
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the way he was avoiding Holden's glance now, he hadn't come up with much to
comfort him.
"Do you mind sitting with Lee while Bran and I go get some breakfast, darling?"
Alix asked Holden. "I'm famished."
Holden looked at Bran, who looked at Lee, who bit his lip and, after a moment,
nodded. Bran kissed him again-- Holden fought down his annoyance: so I can't kiss
you in front of him, but you can't keep your mouth off him in front of me?-- and
followed Alix from the room without a word to Holden.
Unsettled all over again, Holden nevertheless summoned a friendly smile as he sat
down at Lee's bedside. To his surprised pleasure, Lee managed a small smile back.
"Hi, Lee," he said cheerfully. "You look better today."
"Thank you, master," said Lee shyly. "I'm sorry for not talking to you before."
"It's all right. You were frightened. I'm glad you're not as frightened now. You
aren't, are you?"
"No, master. Bran--" He hesitated. "He's been telling me about-- things. About
home, and how you-- retrain. And your other slaves. Yves, and Jer, and Greta."
"You have a good memory," Holden praised, glad for the opportunity to dole out
some much-needed approval. And then, in case the boy took his remark to mean
that good memory was some kind of requirement, "With all you've been through
lately, I wouldn't blame you if you couldn't remember your own name."
That widened Lee's smile as Holden continued, "When I went home yesterday,
everyone asked after you. They're all hoping you'll feel well enough soon to come
home, so they can meet you."
"Yes, master. I'm sorry to put you to so much-- trouble, and expense."
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"It's no trouble," said Holden gently. "It's my job to take care of you. Your job for
now is just to rest and heal-- and start trusting us. And you're doing great."
"Thank you, master." Lee hesitated again before adding, "Bran says-- it's okay to
ask you questions."
"Certainly."
Lee's eyes suddenly flicked up past Holden's face, and Holden turned to see the
doctor standing in the doorway, her lips pursed at the sight of him.
"Mr. Larssen," she said coolly.
"Hello, doctor. My wife took Bran down to get some breakfast," he said with what
he hoped was a winning smile.
"Ah. I need to talk to both of you, so I'll come by later." Without further ceremony
she turned on her heel and disappeared. The woman clearly hadn't forgiven him for
his tense frivolity when they'd brought Lee in. Ah well, they'd be out of here soon
enough. He turned back to Lee. "You had a question?"
Lee nodded, gnawing on his lower lip. "Master-- am I going to have scars?"
He said it in the tone you'd use to say am I going to be eaten by piranhas, and
Holden didn't blame him. A scarred slave usually went to people who either
couldn't afford one normally-- which often meant the slave got used for gruelling
unpaid labor as well as sexual service-- or wanted a slave who was scarred already,
so that whatever they did to him wouldn't matter. Holden was tempted to
equivocate until Bran got back to hold Lee's hand, but he was trying to build trust.
"The doctor thinks so," he said honestly, "but we'll make sure you're taken good
care of, Lee, and that you don't go to anyone who'll abuse you. I promise you that."
Lee seemed more ready to believe this than Holden had expected; he looked
genuinely relieved. Maybe he was starting to believe, already, that his new owners
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had his best interests at heart. Or maybe he'd asked the same question and gotten
the same response from Bran or Alix earlier, and he'd just been testing Holden.
Holden smiled; there was something rather sweet, if so, about the artless little ploy.
This kid didn't seem like a particularly good manipulator; he'd have gotten along
better with Dunaev if he had been.
They both looked up as another nurse brought in a breakfast tray, and as she pulled
a table across the bed and set the tray down without quite looking at either master
or slave, Lee grew nervous again, glancing from the nurse to Holden to the door.
And Holden had thought Bran was transparent.
"Your mistress said you were eating very well now," he encouraged, as the nurse
hurried out without a word. He glanced at Lee's cuffed wrist. "Do you need help?"
"I don't think so, master," said Lee uncomfortably, not moving to touch the food.
"Then go ahead, and don't mind me. I'm just going to go over some numbers."
He pulled out his notebook with Yves' note and set up the first proof, listening as
he did; soon he heard the quiet but unmistakable sounds of a hungry kid eating.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lee hunched protectively over his food;
he hoped it was more from habit than from any real fear that Holden would snatch
the food away. Had Dunaev played games like that? No wonder the kid quit eating
when he, as Bran had put it, "left" a life that had become unbearable. And if he'd
been traumatized enough to start pissing himself, and gotten whipped for it, the
refusal to drink made perfect sense too. At least he seemed to be bouncing back.
The young were very resilient.
When he'd finished the first proof and looked up, there wasn't a crumb or a drop of
anything left on the tray; Holden smiled approvingly at Lee, who smiled back, a
little more color in his cheeks and lips. Holden pushed the tray aside and was about
to resume their conversation when Alix and Bran came back in. Lee, his eyes
avidly seeking Bran's, saw first what Holden saw next; Bran was unnaturally pale,
and Alix had a hand on his back as if to guide and steady him. Holden surged to his
feet, startled; Bran registered the movement without meeting his eye.
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"I'm fine," he said, and then, as he came to the opposite side of the bed from
Holden and leaned over Lee, to the other boy's worried face, "It's okay, I'm fine, it's
nothing."
Alix beckoned him aside as he heard Bran ask Lee, "Did you eat?" and then, in
response to Lee's inaudible question, sounding cheerfully amused, "No, of course
not. Don't be ridiculous."
"What happened?" Holden asked Alix quietly, watching Lee fail to be convinced.
Smart kid. "He's white as a sheet."
"A man came up to us in the cafeteria." Alix looked frazzled and faintly guilty. "He
asked if Bran was a slave, and then he-- touched him." She slid one hand over her
own chest, rubbing the other at the nape of her neck, mimicking the inappropriately
proprietary gesture.
"What man?"
"I didn't get a name," said Alix, as Lee looked up in alarm at the sound of Holden's
growl; Bran stroked Lee's cheek, turning the other boy's face back towards him. "I
snapped at him, and he moved off pretty quickly. I think you should talk to Bran;
he wouldn't discuss it with me."
Holden went to Bran's side at Lee's bedside and smiled down perfunctorily at Lee.
"Excuse me for a second, Lee," he said. "Bran and I need to talk for a minute.
Don't worry, he's not in trouble. He'll be right back."
He took a startled but unresisting Bran by the wrist and led him firmly from the
room.
When they were seated side by side in the tiny waiting room, still deserted but for
them, Bran still wouldn't look directly at Holden.
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"It was nothing, master. He didn't hurt me. He came over to the table and asked the
mistress if I was a slave, and he asked my name and how old I was-- just chatting-and then he said I was a beauty and-- put his hands--" He shook his head
impatiently. "And the mistress said, 'Please don't touch,'"
"--with an implied 'or I'll have your balls for earrings'?"
Bran grinned and met his eyes briefly. "Yeah." His gaze slid away again as Holden
asked, "And he backed off?"
"Right away, master, and apologized." To Alix, of course; he wouldn't think to
apologize to Bran. "It really wasn't a big deal."
"Then why are you so pale? And why won't you look me in the eye?"
Bran's eyes focused somewhere in the neighborhood of Holden's ear. "You know
I'm-- shy, master. But he didn't mean to scare me. I've got to get used to--" He
broke off in confusion. "I mean, I shouldn't be so sensitive."
"Get used to--?" Holden repeated sharply. "Used to what?"
Bran didn't answer, and Holden wondered, disturbed, whether the kid thought that
if he could no longer offer Holden his adoration, Holden would withdraw his
protection and Bran would be treated as he had been in the past. I've got to get used
to-- the casual manhandling, and worse, of anyone his master pushed him at? It cut
Holden more deeply than he could have imagined, more deeply than the thought
that maybe Bran didn't love him any more, to think that Bran believed him capable
of such petty vengefulness.
"Bran," he said, "we need to talk."
Bran still didn't look up at him. "About what, master?"
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That was a good question, and Holden found he didn't quite know how to begin-"How dare you think I'll ever stop caring for you, even if you've stopped loving
me?" seemed flawed, somehow, in its approach. He put his hand on Bran's
shoulder, and Bran moved his head to the side, pressing his cheek to the back of
his master's hand. The instinctively affectionate gesture sent a rush of warm
weakness through Holden.
"I really am okay," said Bran finally. "Like I was telling you yesterday, master.
You always said I'd realize eventually-- and now I have."
You'll realize eventually, you know, that you don't need me any more, and I'll-"I'm glad," Holden said gently.
Bran lifted his head, searching Holden's face. "Are you, master?"
He spoke with an odd emphasis, as if in code, and Holden was all too aware he
wasn't grasping whatever the question was meant to convey. Was the kid asking
permission to alter his feelings for his master? Holden wouldn't put it past him. Did
he need reassurance that he was still safe? Was he hoping this wouldn't hurt?
He slid his hand caressingly down from Bran's shoulder, along his arm, and
clasped the boy's hand, which was cold in his.
"Did I ever tell you," he asked, "how Alix proposed to me?"
Bran considered this without any apparent surprise at the non sequitur. "I think you
said once that she married you to shut you up."
Holden smiled a little. "That's the short version, yes. I'd just gone off at her-- I
don't even remember what it was about. Probably Greta. Screaming, cursing-- you
think we fight now, you should have seen us back then."
Bran smiled, too, at their interlocked hands. "I can imagine."
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"Yeah, well. I yelled myself out at her, and then I saw what she was looking like.
Just exhausted. And she said, 'You just can't do it, can you? You can't behave
yourself. Not to save your life.' I was terrified. I thought she'd finally-- had enough.
Of me, of my-- I hated myself so much right then."
He felt the gentle pressure of Bran's fingers, and he squeezed back, continuing, "I
was on my knees, begging, babbling-- yes I could, I'd be better, give me another
chance. Thinking all the time that she was right, I couldn't. And she cupped my
face in her hands and made me look at her. I was probably crying."
Bran lifted Holden's hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.
"She said," Holden went on steadily, the touch of the boy's warm lips tingling on
his knuckles, "'If I wanted you broken, dearest, I could have done it already.' And I
thought-- I knew-- that was true. She got me. She always has. She knew what I was
most afraid of, what I couldn't live without, she could fuck with my head like no
other. But she said-- something like, 'I don't want you that way. If you can't be a
good slave and still be who you are, the Holden I love, then I'd rather you be who
you are.' And that's when she asked me to marry her."
Bran's eyes were bright and intent on Holden's face.
"Bran--" Holden cleared his throat. "I love you. So much. And I'm so proud of the
way you've been-- changing, and healing, and, well, growing up. You never cease
to amaze me, kid. I'm so glad you're who you are. The Bran I love. No matter what,
even if it means things have to change for us, or even that-- I lose you. If that's the
price I pay for you being who you are-- yeah, Bran. I'm glad."
Bran studied him seriously for an eternal few moments before he moved to lean
lightly against Holden; Holden's arms came up to clasp him, and he felt the almost
feverish heat of Bran's cheek with his own as the pliant body molded itself to his.
"Mr. Larssen," said a sharp, furious voice from the doorway, and they broke apart,
startled; Holden turned to see Lee's doctor glaring at them from the doorway. "If
you could join your wife and me in the patient's room."
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"Can you give us a minute?" Holden asked. "We're in the middle of--"
"I can see what you're in the middle of," said the doctor coldly. "I think the matter
of Lee's prognosis is more important than the indulgence of your appetites, Mr.
Larssen."
"She's right, master," said Bran, and Holden, who'd been on the verge of losing his
temper entirely, looked back to see the gray eyes sparkling with wicked
amusement in a grave face. "Dragging me out here, at a time like this, to indulge
your--" his solemn expression broke up into an irrepressible grin, inviting Holden
to share the joke-- "your appetites, well, that's just selfish."
Holden's irritation with the doctor evaporated so suddenly it left him pleasantly
disoriented. Bran was laughing, and Holden couldn't resist leaning forward to steal
a quick kiss from those flushed, parted lips before he turned back to the outraged
doctor.
"All right," he said, rising. If Bran could laugh like that now, then the rest of this
conversation could wait until later. "Come on, kid. Let's hear the prognosis."
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CHAPTER 8
Back in Lee's room, Bran went straight to Lee's bedside, smiling reassuringly while
Lee examined him worriedly as if for bruises or blood. Alix was giving Holden and
the doctor a similar look; Holden smiled at her as he went to her side and looked at
the doctor expectantly.
"Lee is doing very well," said the doctor, in a dark no-thanks-to-you tone, "and
there's no urgent need that he stay in the hospital past this afternoon, so long as you
understand it's still imperative that he continue on the antibiotics for another ten
days, that the lacerations be kept clean, and that he needs regular, healthy food and
drink-- I'll ask you to adhere to a diet which we'll outline for you-- and plenty of
rest. Sexual intercourse is out of the question for at least two weeks. I'll ask you to
commit to a two-week checkup, at which time we'll evaluate his health and make
any necessary adjustment to the guidelines. I'll also ask that you refrain from any
form of discipline that would put further physical or emotional stress on the
patient."
Nodding, trying to smile, listening to Alix's reassuring murmurs-- of course, yes,
no problem, absolutely-- Holden suddenly felt sorry for the doctor. Her severe
manner and his own disorientation had kept him from looking too closely at her
before, but she was young, maybe in her thirties, and odds were she'd never seen a
kid this brutally, systematically traumatized. He doubted she was an abolitionist
per se, but just as a trip to a slaughterhouse could make the average carnivore turn
green around the gills, the sight of Lee was scaring her and pissing her off, and she
didn't know what to do about it. And she couldn't even make sure he'd be safe once
he left the hospital, or that she'd ever see him again for that checkup. All she could
do was ask.
He hoped she had someone to go home to tonight, to rant to about the abuses in the
slave system, about the slave dealer she'd caught fondling one barely-legal slave in
the waiting room while the other one, a child, a wounded, starving child, lay
chained to the bed like some kind of criminal... et cetera. Maybe kick over a chair
or two.
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"Do you have any questions?" the doctor asked, and Alix looked at Holden.
"Yeah," he said. "The-- uh, urinary incontinence. How's that looking?"
"We don't know," said the doctor tightly, as if she suspected what was likely to
happen to a slave who was prone to wet the bed. "We only took off the condom
cath this morning. But based on the tests we've gotten back so far, it's more likely
to be a psychological issue than a physiological one. He says it only happens when
he's asleep or--" She bit the next words off as if they had spikes. "Being beaten. So
if you don't subject him to further stress, the problem may resolve itself. If it
doesn't, we'll discuss options and further tests at the two-week checkup."
If you even bring him back for it, her look said, and at that moment Holden wanted
nothing more than to apologize-- for being Lee's only recourse, and a clumsy,
clowning, depressingly fallible recourse at that. But the doctor didn't need his
apology; she needed to live in a world where the fragile boy huddled on the bed
wouldn't be at risk of being put down like a dog for pissing himself when a man
twice his size laid his back open with a whip.
"Any other questions?" she asked.
Yeah, Holden thought. When is my daughter going to get my letter?
After the doctor was gone, he went and sat down on the edge of Lee's bed-- the
opposite side from Bran; he didn't want to watch the boy dodging and shying away
from him again-- and cupped Lee's face gently with one hand, stroking his cheek
with a thumb.
"You think you're ready to go home this afternoon, kid?" he asked gently. "It will
feel good to get that cuff off your wrist, huh?"
Lee looked at him, his dark eyes liquid with tears. Holden caught one of them with
his thumb and wiped it away, then reached out with the other hand to touch Lee's
hair. "I know it's scary. This must feel like the safest place you've been in a long
time, yeah?"
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Lee nodded mutely.

"It's okay to be scared, Lee. It's okay to cry. And if you wet the bed at home-- hey,
look at me. That's okay too. You won't be punished. Nobody's going to punish you
for what you can't help, not while you belong to me."
It was obvious Lee liked being gently touched almost as much as Bran had from
the beginning-- Holden guessed Dunaev hadn't been one for casual caresses, or
maybe it was just that you rarely got hit while you were being petted. He was still
crying a little, but his eyelids were heavy with the pleasure of Holden's touch.
Holden leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. "You're a good boy, Lee." And
he did seem like a good kid, under all the fear-- it was obvious from the way he
was with Bran that he had an affectionate and trusting nature, and Holden hoped it
wouldn't be too long before he could trust his new owners enough to perk up a
little and start demonstrating his intelligence. Unless he wasn't particularly
intelligent-- which was fine too, though it would make for a less interesting few
months of training. But that was life. Not everyone was as eternally intriguing and
surprising and enthralling as Bran. Scratch that: no one was.
The drive home was silent, Lee shivering against Bran in the back seat, but
everyone came running when they came in the door; even Fox came out of the
kitchen with a dishtowel still in one hand. Bran submitted to Yves' enthusiastic
bear hug, Jer's one-armed hug and thump on the back, Greta's affectionate kiss on
one cheek and the quick, embarrassed brush of Foxs knuckles against the other,
without protest but without enthusiasm either; the cavalcade of affection seemed to
unnerve Bran almost as much as it did Lee, who backed nervously into Holden,
then cringed as if expecting to be punished for his clumsiness. Holden put a
protective arm around the small body, which looked smaller and thinner than ever
in the tunic Alix had providently brought to the hospital the previous day.
"Take him upstairs and show him around," Holden told Bran, hoping he was doing
the right thing. Lee needed to learn to relate to his master, not just to his friend or
hero or whatever Bran was. But a friend was better than a tranquilizer, and Holden
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had outsourced this job to Bran before, and before Bran, Yves. Bran would know
what to show Lee, what unspoken questions to answer, and how to explain the
training room without scaring the kid back into catatonia. And Bran looked like he
could use some time to settle back in, himself.
"Give him a bath, too," he added, "and wash his hair. Here's the antibiotic cream-this one's for his back and this one's for-- you know, you were listening. Lee, if
you're too tired to come down for dinner, tell Bran and he can bring you your
supper in bed."
Lee looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Holden leaned down to
kiss his forehead again, and after a moment's hesitation, kissed Bran in the same
spot-- surely that was permissible. Bran accepted the kiss with the same blankness
with which he'd accepted the hugs and kisses of the rest of the household, and took
Lee's hand to lead him upstairs without another word.
He came back downstairs, his hair wet, to load up a tray with dinner for Lee and
himself and with the evening's dose of vitamin and antibiotic pills. After the rest of
them had finished eating and retired to the lounge, he came back down to take the
empty tray to the kitchen and put his head in the door to ask permission to retire for
the night. Holden granted it, and Bran barely nodded in acknowledgement before
turning away. Holden pressed his lips together and looked back down at the file he
was starting on Lee.
Alix and Greta retired early as well, holding hands and trading glances like
schoolgirls. Absorbed in transcribing what he knew so far about the medical details
of Lee's case and noting down his impressions, Holden was startled when hands
touched his shoulders and Yves leaned down to say in his ear, "Can we talk?"
Holden looked up. "Sure, love. What's up?"
Yves knelt on the floor and rested his arms on Holden's leg, looking up at him
seriously. "I know that look, master."
Holden glanced up at Jer, who had dozed off over his novel. "What look?"
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"The one you got when Bran went upstairs," said Yves. "Don't shake your head at
me, master. I know what happens when you let things like this simmer. Don't do
that to Bran. Please."
"It's not like that," Holden protested.
"Oh," said Yves dryly. "My mistake. So you're not jealous of Bran and Lee, or
worried that Bran doesn't love you any more because he's ignoring you."
"Um." Holden grimaced. "No?"
Blue eyes narrowed at him. "Really."
"It's not just me, is it?" Holden asked, looking down. "He's acting strange."
"He is," Yves agreed. "There's definitely something on his mind. Have you asked
him what?"
"I tried to talk to him earlier, but--" Holden shrugged helplessly. "You know how
he is."
"Try again," said Yves firmly.
Holden squinted at him. "Yes, master."
"Good boy," Yves grinned, then ducked his head against Holden's knee.
"No, but you're right," said Holden, running a hand over Yves' hair. "I do need to
talk to him. Too late tonight, though. He's probably already asleep."
"Will you promise to talk to him tomorrow, then?"
"Tomorrow," Holden agreed, his stomach twisting. "You can get off your knees. I
promise."
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"Thank you, master." Yves rose and leaned down again to kiss his cheek. "And if
you'll come to bed now, I'll see if I can't get the doomed look off your face."
Holden shook his head. "I'm going to stay up for a while longer. Need to get this
done. You go on. Take Jer with you."
"Okay, master," said Yves resignedly, as Jer stirred at the sound of his name.
"Brood all you want tonight. But remember you promised."
When Holden finally put his files away, his eyes burning with fatigue, and went
upstairs, the hall was silent. Greta's door was closed, Alix and Greta presumably
entwined behind it; Yves and Jer slept back to back, like soldiers in the open,
behind the half-open door of Jer's room. Lee's door was closed, Bran's open, his
bed empty.
Holden went to his own bed alone and fell asleep quickly-- he'd never had much
trouble sleeping when he was tired, unlike Bran, whose every emotion seemed to
disrupt his sleep cycle-- but woke long before it was light with a sick feeling of
unease whose source he couldn't pinpoint. He listened hard to see if a sound had
wakened him and finally heard, faintly, down the hall, the sound of sobbing.
He hurried to Lee's room and, opening the door, smelled it right away, though
since Lee was hydrated and the mess hadn't been fermenting for days, it smelled a
lot better than it had at Dunaev's. Lee was huddled, crying, in Bran's arms.
"It's okay," Bran was saying softly. He looked up at Holden. "No one's going to
hurt you."
Holden came and bent over Lee, touching his forehead gently; Lee shuddered
violently at the touch. "It's all right, Lee. You're fine. Let's get you up out of this
mess. Bran, do you think you can get him to the bathroom and clean up while I
change the sheets, here?"
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"Come on," said Bran to Lee, now shivering silently against him, as if afraid to cry
audibly while Holden was speaking. "Let's go."
Valor had gone through a bedwetting phase, and Holden had a retentive muscle
memory; the bed was fresh and dry before Bran brought Lee back, red-eyed and
subdued, but no longer crying, and helped him lie back down on his stomach,
adjusting the pillow carefully under his head. Holden pulled the covers up over the
shivering body.
"You're okay now," he said gently. "I told you there wouldn't be any punishment
for this."
"I didn't think--" Lee whispered. "I thought-- here-- I wouldn't."
"Ah, kid." Holden stroked the dark hair gently. "It doesn't work like that. The cuts
on your back didn't magically go away, and neither will this. Healing takes time.
Don't worry. You've got time now."
Lee closed his eyes and said, almost inaudibly, "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," said Holden, still caressing his hair. "Just rest, Lee."
When Lee's breathing grew regular and deep, Bran and Holden breathed a
simultaneous quiet sigh of relief, then looked up at each other, smiling a little.
Holden got up, expecting Bran to lie back down next to Lee, but Bran followed
him from the room.
"He'll sleep through the rest of the night now," he said softly when Holden had
closed Lee's door behind them. "Thank you, master. You were great."
Holden wasn't used to getting performance reviews on his interactions with
delinquents; it was surprisingly gratifying. "Thanks, kid. So were you." He
hesitated. "Come sleep with me?"
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"Sure," said Bran without much affect, and let Holden take his hand and lead him
to bed, where he lay down on his back and closed his eyes wearily. Holden moved
a little closer to him-- gods, but the young radiated heat-- and closed his own eyes.
He was almost asleep again when he heard Bran's breath catch in a stifled sob. He
rolled over immediately and had the boy in his arms; Bran didn't resist, and he
didn't try to pretend that he wasn't crying.
"Bran, darling," he whispered. "What is it?"
"Just--" Bran's arms came up around him and hugged him ferociously closer. "Just
hold me for a minute. Please."
Holden obliged, feeling Bran's shuddering breath against him, his lips close enough
to graze the velvety nap of the boy's earlobe. He twined a silky curl around his
finger.
"Tell me what's wrong, my love," he said softly.
"I'm sorry," Bran whispered. "It's just--" His face was burrowing into Holden's
neck, his voice muffled. "I love you."
Holden had to work to keep his voice steady for even two words. "Do you?"
There was a long pause before Bran said softly, "This comes as a surprise,
master?"
"People's feelings for each other change all the time," said Holden, still steadily. "If
you ever-- didn't feel the same way about me any more--" Wincing, Holden briefly
wondered why his ability to talk coherently always seemed to desert him when he
needed it most. "I wouldn't blame you. I'd understand."
Bran pulled almost violently out of Holden's arms and half sat up, staring at
Holden. "Is that what you're hoping?"
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"Hoping?" Holden blinked.

"Sure." Bran sat up the rest of the way, and Holden was unnerved to realize Bran
was glaring at him. "It would make things easier, wouldn't it? But I guess I thought
that after all this time you might not still think I'm just a stupid kid with a stupid
crush that you can talk me out of!"
"Bran--" Holden began, bewildered, and sitting up himself to meet Bran's eye.
"You know that's not what I-- I just--"
"Just what? You want to tell me some more about how people's feelings change all
the time? You think you can fix everything, don't you? The greatest retrainer of all
time! It took five years but you got it done and now I'm another success story and
it's on to the next fucking fascinating problem, is that it?"
"Bran, please," said Holden, shaken by Bran's fury, and Bran, still staring at him,
looked suddenly exhausted.
"I'm sorry, master," he said, looking down. "I meant to take this better. I won't get
like this with whoever you sell me to, I promise."
"Whoever I-- Bran, what are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about how I'm fine," said Bran calmly to his tautly clasped hands.
"And Lee's more damaged than I ever was, he needs you even more than I-- did,
back then. And he's going to have scars-- and you don't really have time or energy
for three of us, let alone four. So I've got to go, I get it, and that's fine, I'll be fine.
I've had five years, and that's more than I ever--" A spasm of pain crossed his face,
and he turned his head aside and swallowed hard. "And I guess it's nice of you to
want this to be easy for me. But just because you want it doesn't mean that's how
it's going to be."
Holden lay back down rather suddenly. "Just-- a second."
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Bran sank back down so that they lay face to face, staring into each other's eyes.
"Master-- ah, gods. It's okay. I understand. I don't blame you. He needs you.
Whatever I"
Holden reached out and touched a finger to Bran's lips, silencing him. "Bran-you- I" He laughed suddenly. "You're too sweet to live, kid. The way you've
been tending him and petting him, I was starting to think he was my replacement.
And all the time you thought you were grooming yours."
Bran stared at him without speaking.
"Do you have any fucking idea how much I love you, you lunatic? You might not
need me any more, but I need you. I'm way too selfish to give you up, even if Lee
did need me more-- and he doesn't."
"He needs--" Bran started to protest.
"Someone who can give him plenty of attention," said Holden. "Someone who
doesn't work for a living. Someone whose house isn't overcrowded already.
Someone who doesn't have a bad temper and a nasty habit of tying himself in knots
over-- I'm really not the ideal master, kid. You think I am because you-- gods-- you
really still-- I thought--"
He closed his eyes and missed the moment before Bran was in his arms again,
pressing up against him, hands in his hair, mouth hot and insistent on his. He
kissed back, tears spilling from his eyes, submitting passively to Bran's caresses
only because he felt too weak to move.
"You thought-- you actually thought--" Bran was running his hands from Holden's
hair to his neck, his back, his arms, licking Holden's tears from his cheeks- "I didn't
love you any more?"
"I'm sorry," Holden whispered.
Bran's hips were moving, his cock hard and throbbing against Holden's groin.
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"Bran--" Holden gasped as Bran rubbed sluttishly against him, the hot mouth now
fastened to his throat. "Bran, wait--"
"No." Lithe as an eel, Bran wriggled around till his back was pressed to Holden's
chest, arching back to say in his ear, "Need you inside me. Now."
The hunger in his voice shot straight to Holden's already aching cock, and he
grasped at Bran's, feeling it jump eagerly to his fingers.
"Love you so much," he whispered, and Bran purred, trying to thrust forward into
Holden's hand, tightening around his cock, and backwards against Holden
simultaneously. Holden started to reach over him towards the drawer where the
lubricant was kept, and Bran caught at his wrist. "Don't need that, come on, now--"
Holden pushed Bran down on his face, leaned down and plunged his tongue inside
the boy's hole, and Bran groaned in agonized frustration as he slicked the little
opening as thoroughly as he could before carefully easing his cock-"Fuck!"
"Are you--"
"I'm fine, fuck me, fuck me--"
--in.
He tried to go slowly and carefully, if only for the sake of his own lightheadedness,
but Bran was having none of it; he pushed back hard and rapidly, not satisfied until
Holden was driving into him with all his strength, and afterwards, when they lay
side by side, breathing hard, Holden saw that Bran was crying.
"My love--" He gathered him closer. "Did I hurt you?"
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"Mmmm. Yes." Bran looked up at Holden through wet eyelashes. "Going to feel
you all day tomorrow."
Holden felt almost shy in the face of Bran's radiant afterglow. "Yeah? You like
that?"
"Love it." Bran's tears were still trickling down; he licked one from the corner of
his mouth, and it was all Holden could do to resist jumping him again. "I'm sorry I
yelled at you, master."
"Ha," said Holden, still a little dizzy. "You realize you hold the record for the
longest anyone has managed to live with me without once physically attacking me?
Pavel's the runner-up."
Bran laughed quietly, reaching up to stroke Holden's hair. "But you didn't do
anything. You were just being sweet. Offering to give me up-- because that was
what you thought I wanted."
Holden would have shaken his head if he hadn't been afraid it would startle Bran's
fingers away. "I should have known better. You're right. I've never given you
enough credit, kid." He tried to look stern as he added, "Or you me, for that matter.
Idiot."
"We're both idiots," Bran agreed contentedly. "But we have some seriously great
sex, master. I think you should keep me."
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CHAPTER 9
There was something addictive-- Holden thought the next afternoon, as he knelt
beside Lee on the bed, smoothing antibiotic ointment onto the whip cuts on his
back while Bran curled at the head of the bed, watching-- about a body that was
just now learning to trust you. The slightest hesitation before every movement; the
moment-by-moment yielding of tension to relaxation. The bodies of boys and girls
interested him, and not just sexually, although he'd made peace with the fact that
he'd turned into a middle-aged lecher and wasn't likely to grow into anything but
an elderly one. It wasn't like Yves' scientific interest; he didn't want to learn about
the human body, or much care why beating hurt and fucking felt good. He was
interested in each individual body, how it demonstrated, wordlessly, what and who
it was; the sounds of pain and pleasure, the shifts in taste and temperature at the
moment of orgasm.
He should have been able to turn his fascination with the possibilities of the body
into real excellence as a sex slave, but it hadn't worked like that. He wasn't passive
enough, and he didn't have Yves' patience and restraint, the ability to be what his
owner wanted even when it wasn't what he wanted.
"Thor, Holden," Jer had said once as Holden sulked after a whipping, too proud to
cry. "Why can't you just fucking hold still when he tells you?"
"Because it's boring," Holden had answered irritably.
Jer had rolled his eyes. "Well, you got yourself whipped. Was that more
interesting?"
"Not really." Holden shifted, wincing. "It's always pretty much the same."
"Right, so you're bored either way. Would you rather have boring sex or a boring
beating?"
"I want to have interesting sex."
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"You're a slave, Holden. Nobody gives a shit what you want."

"Well, I don't give a shit what they want, either, so let's call it even."
"Yeah," said Jer, eyeing the lash marks that crisscrossed Holden's back. "Real
fucking even."
"Good boy," Holden said now, as he soothed the cuts and welts on Lee's buttocks
and upper thighs with the medicinal cream. He reached for the other tube of cream
and put some on his finger. "Try to relax, now. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just
going to put this on you where you're torn up."
Lee submitted, silent and motionless, to having his buttocks gently parted and his
reddened, chafed little hole anointed with the antibiotic, as Holden continued, "I
did this for Bran, too, when I first bought him. Remember, Bran?"
"I remember, master," said Bran, sounding like Valor: Yes, Dad, we've all heard
that story. Holden grinned at him as he touched Lee's shoulders, feeling the boy's
muscles twitch, tensing, relaxing. "There. All done."
"Thank you, master." Lee didn't move as he added, "May I use my mouth to please
my master?"
Holden considered the unexpected offer for a moment. You could tell a lot about a
kid's background and temperament from the way he-- or she-- sucked your cock,
and he was curious about Lee's technique, but it was fairly obvious from the kid's
tone and his anxious expression that he was hoping the answer would be "no."
Interesting that he'd asked anyway. Some masters gave extra points for
volunteering, or extra punishment for failing to; maybe Bran's passivity had been
part of what annoyed Dunaev about him.
Some passivity, he thought, letting a smile curve his lips briefly at the memory of
the previous night before he answered Lee.
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"Not now," he said gently. "I'm already pleased with you, kid. You're doing great.
Just rest."
The front door slammed, startling Holden. Jer was at the market and Alix was out
screening a potential client, but he wasn't expecting either of them back this soon.
"Dad?"
Bran and Holden looked at each other, then at Lee, who was looking startled.
Holden could hear voices downstairs, then footsteps coming up the stairs at a fast
clip, more footsteps than Valor accounted for.
"The cavalry is here," he said. "Bran, I don't suppose you told Lee about my
daughter."
"--maybe we should--" Valor's voice, sounding uncharacteristically tentative, just
outside the door.
"It's okay, Valor, let me just--" An unfamiliar girl's voice was followed by the
unfamiliar girl herself, a tall, brassy-haired young woman in what looked like a
painter's smock, bursting into the bedroom, a camera slung on a strap around her
neck. She scanned the room's occupants, located the injured boy on the bed, raised
the camera and pointed it at Lee as Valor came in behind her. Lee went rigid at the
flash.
"Hi, Dad," said Valor breathlessly. "Is this Lee?"
"My God, look at his back," said the other girl, and snapped another picture before
Holden moved to block her. Bran was stroking Lee's hair, murmuring soothingly to
him again.
"I'm Valor's father, by the way," said Holden coldly to the stranger. "And you
are...?"
"Dad, this is Robin," said Valor. "Darling, don't take any more pictures right now."
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"Really, Valor!" Robin was still looking through the lens of the camera. "This is
absolutely perfect. You can count his ribs from here."
"Come on, Robin," said Valor. "You're scaring him."
"Time is of the essence," said Robin sullenly, but she lowered the camera, staring
unabashedly at Bran. "Is that one a slave too? What's your name, boy?"
"That's Bran," said Valor, when Bran didn't respond.
"The other one who used to belong to Mikhail Dunaev? Good. I want some shots
of him too. Hold that," she said to Bran, who was staring at her with one protective
hand on Lee's neck, and snapped another picture. Holden had had enough. He took
the stranger by the shoulders, turned her around and pushed her, none too gently,
from the room and into the hallway.
"Nice camera," he said, kicking the door of the bedroom shut on Bran and Lee.
"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?"
Robin raised her chin. "Your daughter invited me, Mr. Larssen. She said you were
interested in doing something about the abuses in the slave system. But if you're
still invested in concealing the reality of what's done to innocent young men and
women with the full consent of the law--"
"I take it you got my letter," Holden said to Valor as he herded the two girls
towards the stairs. Greta was standing at the foot of them, looking a little
shellshocked.
"Just this morning!" said Valor breathlessly, walking down the stairs sideways.
"The timing was so perfect, Dad! I called Robin and she said we should leave right
away and I hope that's okay, I mean, you've always said I could come home any
time, and this is really important."
"I know," said Holden as they reached the foot of the stairs. "And Robin is...?"
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"Oh, sorry-- Mom, Dad, this is my friend Robin, she's a photographer. Robin, this
is my dad, Holden Larssen, and my mom, Greta."
"I gathered that she was a photographer," said Holden, taking Greta's hand and
leading the three women towards the sitting room. "I'm just wondering why she's
here, barging in on my slaves while they're naked and scaring them half to death."
"Oh, well, okay, I see," Valor babbled as Holden sank down on the couch, pulling
Greta with him, with the vague feeling that there was strength in the united front of
Valor's parents. The kids sat down as well, Robin firmly, as if she wanted no
nonsense from the chair, Valor with a dramatic near-collapse. "Well, we're already
working on the legal aspect-- I've got David and Natasha looking at precedents and
writing a few letters, seeing who we can get on our side-- and we need your help
with that, too, Dad, I want to look at your files on Mona, and Will, and all of the-and Bran, too, and anyone we can get to testify for us is great, but it comes down to
sympathies, and nothing's going to prepare the ground like--"
"Pictures," said Robin, her hands laced in her lap as primly as a dowager of
seventy. "To shock the cushioned sensibilities of the privileged, Mr. Larssen, a
picture is worth a thousand words."
"Although words help, too," said Valor brightly. "Like what the slaves have to say.
Not just court testimony-- interviews. Publicity."
"Awareness," said Robin crisply.
Valor nodded. "I'm sorry we scared Lee, Dad. Robin won't take any more pictures
until you say she can, will you, darling?"
Holden and Greta exchanged a glance, and he could tell she was thinking the same
thing he was. Valor usually didn't act this scatterbrained unless she was in love,
and the buxom blonde Valor was darling-ing right and left bore a certain physical
resemblance to Inga, who was now, as far as Holden could understand, functioning
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as a sort of mascot, informant, and conversation piece for Valor's various groups,
while Valor virtuously refused to sleep with her.
"Valor, dear," said Greta, reading his mind, "where's Inga?"
"At home with Lisa. She didn't want to come. Robin doesn't like her."
"Valor!" Robin looked annoyed. "Of course I like her. I just feel she could
demonstrate a bit more interest in the cause. Considering."
Poor Inga. He'd have to have a talk with Valor. At least she hadn't let this Robin
character talk her into doing anything stupid and dramatic, like freeing Inga against
her will and leaving the girl without any established position or legal protection.
But Holden suspected undue influence anyway. It wasn't like Valor to plunge into
the journalistic side of things instead of the legal.
"So," he said, "who's going to do these interviews? Is Robin a journalist, too? Or
are you switching careers, Valor?" He sent up a brief prayer that his daughter
wasn't so infatuated she was quitting law school to play girl detective with
"darling" Robin.
"No, no." Valor shook her head. "We've got a writer. Someone local. He's
supposed to meet us here this afternoon. I'm just here because-- you know. You're
my dad."
Thank goodness. "So you want to interview-- whom? Just Lee?"
"Bran, too," said Robin. "And you and your wife. About the business you run. The
cases you've seen."
"And Mom and Yves and Jer," said Valor, but Robin shook her head.
"I don't think so, Val. No offense," she said to Holden without looking at Greta,
"but the last thing we need is more stories about slaves who are well treated and
happy. There are too many stories like that out there already. People think that's
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what slavery is all about, and it makes it too easy to ignore the ones like Lee. We
need to-"Shock the cushioned sensibilities of the privileged," Holden finished neutrally.
Robin squinted suspiciously at him.
"I'm sorry to barge in on you guys like this," said Valor again, "but Robin said it
was really important to get pictures before Lee heals too much more."
"Which is still true," said Robin pointedly. "If you don't mind, Mr. Larssen, we'd
really like to get some more shots. Now. Or," she conceded grudgingly, "as soon as
possible."
"I understand your concern," said Holden carefully, "and I appreciate your
motivations. But I need to talk to Lee before you take any more pictures. I can go
up now and--" As he started to rise, Greta grabbed at his hand; he glanced over,
startled, and saw her eyes, wide with exaggerated horror, cut sideways at Robin.
The message was clear: Don't leave me! Holden swallowed a laugh and cleared his
throat.
"Valor," he said, "I'm sure you and your mother have a lot to catch up on. Why
don't you stay here and talk with her while I walk upstairs with Robin? Maybe she
can get a few shots of the training room while I talk to Lee and Bran."
Robin's eyes lit up with a predatory gleam at the mention of the training room, and
she jumped to her feet without so much as a nice-to-meet-you to Greta.
At the foot of the stairs, they met Yves, who paused at the sight of a stranger and
lowered his gaze respectfully.
"Hi. You must be Yves. I'm Robin," said Robin, her tone less appropriate for
delighted, I'm sure than for I claim this land and all its inhabitants in the name of
the sovereign nation of....
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"Miss," Yves acknowledged quietly.

"Robin." The invitation to use her first name should have sounded friendly, but it
sounded impatient instead, and she brushed on past Yves without further
conversation or acknowledgement.
"The abolitionists are attacking," said Holden to Yves, one eye on Robin as she
charged up the stairs. "Come on, I have to make sure she doesn't--" He hurried
after her, Yves following.
Fortunately, the training room had stopped Robin dead, and he left her
photographing every inch of it while he led Yves into Lee's room, closed the door
behind them and began to explain.
He'd expected more reaction from Bran, but though the young man nodded
periodically to show he was listening as Holden talked, his eyes stayed
thoughtfully on Lee, who didn't seem to be taking much in at all. Yves was still the
picture of well-trained neutrality.
"Should I try to put her off until Alix gets back?" Holden finished.
"You might as well let her take her photographs, master, if Lee's willing," said
Yves. "I would think she can't use them without your permission in any case. Then
you can discuss the whole idea further when the mistress gets home."
"Wipe that 'it's not my place to comment' look off your face, please," Holden told
him. "What do you think? Should we let them do the story?"
Yves smiled. "Since you ask, master, I think it's a good idea. Miss Robin seems a
bit abrasive, but-- well, I think people should see this, too." He nodded to Lee's
back. "And if they're actually going to interview us? I have to admit the prospect of
speaking my piece on slavery, somewhere free people might read it, is pretty
tempting."
"Yeah," said Bran quietly to the top of Lee's head. "Me too."
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"Yeah?" Holden asked him curiously, but Bran didn't say anything else. "How
about you, Lee? Are you okay with being photographed?"
"Yes, master," said Lee quickly. "I'm sorry I-- it just startled me. Of course, if my
master wants me to be photographed--"
"It's all right if you're not comfortable with it," said Holden, but Lee just gave him
the disoriented look of someone who had gone too long without defining
comfortable as anything but the relative absence of misery. "Well-- all right, then.
Let's get her in here."
Lee was the perfect photographic subject, turning without a word in obedience to
Robin's orders, assuming any pose she dictated ("Lift up your arm. My God, you're
skinny") with the same expression of blank resignation. Despite his annoyance
with her brusque manner, Holden was oddly fascinated by the shots Robin
composed, and found himself picturing the images of Lee's lamb-to-the-slaughter
stare, the mottled and bruised back, the sharp relief of the ribs, and the flaking
crust of the antibiotic ointment, as photographs leaping accusingly out from
between the pages of-- whatever. Something normal people read. For everyone to
see, not just him and Alix.
Between that disturbingly compelling notion and keeping an eye on Lee for signs
of fatigue or distress, he was so absorbed that the doorbell startled him. Robin
ignored it, but a minute later, there were more footsteps on the stairs, and Valor
burst, pink-cheeked, into the room. She was closely followed by a young man, who
hung back in the doorway as if, in stark contrast to Robin, waiting to be sure of his
welcome.
Holden blinked.
"Dad," said Valor happily, "this is the guy who's going to do the interviews and
write the piece. He's an investigative journalist."
"Just freelance," said Denys Harper sheepishly. "Hello again, Mr. Larssen."
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CHAPTER 10
"Hello, yourself," said Holden when he was over his first surprise, not sure whether
to be amused or annoyed. "Investigative reporter? Doing an expos on the slave
trade? I guess it's pure coincidence you showed up as a nurse on the night shift
when the slave breakers brought in their newest acquisition."
"Not exactly," said Denys, blushing and clutching a notebook and binder to his
chest as if for dear life. "Hi, Bran."
Bran, who seemed to have opted to be amused, lifted a hand. Yves, curled up
beside him on the bed, was studying Denys with a reserved expression.
"Robin and I have done some work together in the past," Denys began, "so--"
"So he called Robin this morning," interrupted Valor, looking pleased as punch,
"and said he'd met you and Alix. Right after I got your letter. Perfect timing, like I
said. Hi, Yves!"
"Hi, Miss Valor," said Yves, smiling.
"Yves, I'm Denys," said Denys politely, and then, to Robin, "Hey, hon. Getting
some good shots?"
"Was," said Robin without looking at him. "Lee, stop looking at Denys. I said look
at that corner."
Holden turned in time to see Lee cringe and jerk back into the prescribed position
as Robin took another picture.
"That's more than enough out of you, young woman," he said evenly. "Come here,
Lee. No, don't kneel."
"I'm not finished," said Robin furiously, as the boy stood, still naked, before his
master, head bowed, shivering a little. Holden cupped his chin and kissed him
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gently on the forehead. "That was very good, sweetheart. You did well. But now I
want you to get dressed. I can't have you getting tired out; you're still healing."
Lee nodded, wide eyes fixed on Holden's face, then stepped forward and pressed
his quivering body against Holden's in what would have been a hug if he'd lifted
his arms. Surprised and delighted at the spontaneous gesture, Holden lifted his own
arms and lightly encircled the boy with them, careful not to hurt his back.
"Good boy," he said softly. "That's my good boy."
He could almost feel Robin's hostile stare as he helped Lee into the tunic they'd
taken off to apply his topical medicines, then drew him back into his arms and sat
down on the bed with the impossibly light body in his lap. Lee laid his head down
on Holden's shoulder, and Holden cradled him, glancing over at Bran, who was
watching them intently. When Holden caught his eye, he smiled.
"Maybe you can photograph me for a while instead, Miss Robin," he suggested
quietly.
"Don't call me that," Robin snapped. "It's Robin."
"You may call her Robin if that's what she wants," said Holden when Bran looked
at him.
"Robin," said Bran, his voice betraying a faint echo of the contempt with which
he'd said my lord to Dunaev. "Didn't you say you wanted to get some shots of me?
We could do it in my bedroom, give Lee a chance to rest."
"Fine," said Robin ungraciously. "Come on, then."
"Would you mind supervising them, love?" Holden said to Yves. "Come get me if
there's trouble." He added, looking at Robin, "If Bran gets upset, I'm calling this
whole thing off. And you, Val, go back to your mother. You probably left her still
trying to get a word in edgewise."
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Bran smiled at Holden over his shoulder as the four left the room. Still cradling
Lee, Holden looked up at Denys and shook his head.
"'Why would you buy a slave in such terrible condition, sir?'" he mimicked. "You
disingenuous little punk. You knew damn well who I was."
"By reputation," said Denys, blushing again. "Yeah. Can I-- sit?"
"Sure." Holden nodded towards the head of the bed, where Bran had been sitting,
and Denys sat down gingerly, still clutching his notebooks.
"Yeah," he said again, looking up at Holden rather apologetically. "The hospital's a
great place, like you said yourself, to find the sick ones. The slaves who are in
really bad shape, and the kind of owners who threaten them with-- you. I'd done
some research. And I knew your daughter was an activist-- although I'd never met
her until we spoke on the phone this morning. So when your names showed up on
the board as the owners for the new slave patient--"
"How many strings did you have to pull to get that shift?" Holden asked.
"I just swapped with one of the other nurses. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to
meet the slave breakers. Of course," he added, blushing again, "you weren't exactly
what I was expecting."
"No?" Holden asked dryly.
"No. For one thing, I didn't expect you to stay all night."
"Someone had to," said Holden, puzzled.
"Owner or owner's legally appointed proxy," said Denys. "But you can appoint
anyone as your proxy-- anyone free, I mean. You can just grab any nurse coming
off duty and offer to pay him to sit with the slave all night, and you're covered.
That's what most owners do."
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Holden was appalled. "A stranger? But how could I trust a stranger with--?" He
looked down at the slope of Lee's back in his arms, the vertebrae standing out in
sharp relief under the cloth of the tunic.
"The proxy is liable for any loss or damage," Denys explained. "And I know that's
not what you mean, Mr. Larssen. That's partly what I mean when I say you weren't
what I was expecting. That and, well, Bran."
"What about Bran?" Holden asked.
Denys shook his head. "I've talked to slaves before. Working at the hospital, I try
to be the proxy when I can, and when I can't, whoever does get the job is usually
happy to give me half an hour alone with the slave. If worst comes to worst I slip
him a fifty."
"And do what? Try to help them escape?"
"They're in no condition to escape," said Denys sadly. "And trying would just get
them hurt worse-- and me thrown in jail. No. I just talk to them. And-- well-- tape
record. I have-- transcripts." He patted his binder. "But I've never been able to get a
word out of a slave with his owner in the room."
Holden smiled at the thought of Bran's behavior that first night, and Denys,
catching his smile, said, "Yeah. Except Bran. Asking me all those questions, and
talking back when I acted like a condescending ass. For someone who belonged to
the slave breakers, he didn't seem--"
"Broken," Holden finished as Lee shifted slightly against him, nestling closer.
"Right. And then, well, there was the way you looked at--" He nodded at Lee.
"How did I look?" Holden asked when Denys hesitated.
"Well-- like it made you-- angry, I guess." Denys considered. "Not just upset or sad
or whatever, but mad as hell, that this goes on, and is legal. You didn't seem okay
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with it. The way it seemed like a slave owner-- especially a slave trainer would
have to be. You know what I mean?"
"Yes," said Holden quietly. "And no, I'm not okay with it."
"I didn't think you were." The boy had a good smile. "And then I met your wife,
and-- well, I called Robin this morning. I hadn't talked to her since the last time we
worked together, but I knew through the grapevine that she was involved with your
daughter."
"I subscribe to the wrong grapevine," said Holden, and Denys laughed.
"Anyway, Valor had just gotten your letter," he went on, "so it seemed pretty
serendipitous, and Robin said today wouldn't be too soon to get started-- so here
we are."
"Here we are," Holden agreed. "So the news story was your idea?"
"Kind of," said Denys. "I do have a lot of material that I'd like to see published."
He tapped his notebook again. "But initially, I really just wanted to talk to Valor
and find out more about-- you." He blushed again. "I mean, what it is you really
do. The slave breakers. Because it occurred to me that if you really wanted to-You must know so many slave owners. And slave owners are mostly nobles, they
have power, they can call in favors at the legislature, and they can afford court
costs, it's-- you see what I mean? How many slave owners would you say you
know who'd be opposed to letting that--" He nodded at Lee again-- "happen
again?"
Holden examined the excited kid with growing interest.
"It isn't always that simple, Denys," he said gently. "I've got a filing cabinet full of
names of people who would never do-- this." He touched Lee's clothed back
gently. "But that doesn't mean they'd take kindly to laws regulating what they do
do with their slaves. You're right that these people have power, that they can
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influence the legislature-- and they do. We have the laws we have-- and we don't
have the laws we don't have-- because the people in power want it that way."
"But if they don't want kids getting hurt like this, then why--"
"Denys, the people I sell to will take good care of their slaves, and they'll click
their tongues over men like Mikhail Dunaev. They won't invite him to any good
parties. But laws saying he can't do that to a kid he bought and owns fair and
square? Next thing you know there'll be laws against-- insert whatever the nice
people do like to do with their slaves. Anyway, laws won't stop evil men like that
from abusing their slaves; they'll just break the law."
"That's no reason not to have laws!" Denys protested vehemently.
"I agree with you, kid. I'm just explaining how these people think."
"Then we've got to change how they think!"
Holden grinned. "Oh, we do?"
Denys blushed yet again. "I mean-- I just mean-- someone should. And you know
them."
"I'm not one of them, though," said Holden thoughtfully, stroking Lee's back; Lee
lay so still Holden wondered if he'd fallen asleep. "I know them, yes, but--"
"You could convince them if you tried, Mr. Larssen," said Denys earnestly. "You
have a lot of, uh-- presence."
Holden watched him thoughtfully. "Presence, huh?"
"You know." Denys gestured vaguely, blushing harder. "Charisma. And you're so-articulate. I bet you could talk anyone into anything."
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Holden was starting to wonder about all these blushes. Was the kid thinking of
something besides the cause? Nothing like a wife and a harem of sex slaves to
leave you befuddled as an adolescent by normal human flirtation. But it didn't
seem likely a young abolitionist was trying to proposition an aging slave trader.
That was what happened when one boy half your age demonstrated an
embarrassingly deep and beautiful passion for you: you started thinking all the lads
were gagging for it.
"So you think I should, what?" he asked. "Issue a press release? Or go around
knocking on all my clients' doors with leaflets on the urgent need for regulation of
slavery?"
"That last one would be better," said Denys gravely. "I think you'd be more
effective in person."
Okay, that had definitely been a flirtatious look. Damn. Holden didn't want to hurt
the boy's feelings, but he had a feeling it would be best to nip a doomed interest in
the bud.
"Got to watch talk like that, kid," he said, making his tone easy and light but not
overly friendly. "I'm enough of an arrogant cock as it is. Besides, I'm a married
man."
Denys grinned. "She doesn't seem like the jealous type. And you've got--" His eyes
flicked to Lee again.
"Slaves," said Holden. "Not lovers."
"But you treat them like-- I mean-- I heard you calling Bran 'love.'"
"Sure," said Holden. "But however I feel about them and however I treat them,
they're still my slaves. I own them. That means I don't take lovers."
Denys looked puzzled but game, as if the conversation were in a code he felt sure
he could eventually crack. "Why?"
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Holden thought for a moment. "Have you ever felt jealous?"

"Sure," said Denys readily.
"Sure. You worry-- even if you know it's dumb-- that the person you love might
like someone else better. Choose them over you. But imagine if the person being
chatted up by some pretty young piece weren't just your lover, but your owner.
Someone with absolute power over you. Someone who could take away everything
you know and care about on an instant's whim, and you wouldn't have a hope of
appeal. Your life would be over, and neither the law nor society would even
recognize that you'd been wronged."
"Okay," said Denys quietly. "You mean that's how it would feel-- for them. If you- Okay. I get it." He grinned again suddenly. "Hey, did you just call me a pretty
young piece?"
Holden laughed so loudly Lee lifted his head, startled, and Holden drew the head
gently back down onto his shoulder and stroked Lee's hair soothingly, still
chuckling.
"What's a nice kid like you doing working with Little Miss Shock the
Sensibilities?" he asked finally.
"Robin?" Denys looked pensive. "She's driving you up the wall already, isn't she? I
don't blame you. But it's not that she doesn't care, Mr. Larssen-- about the slaves, I
mean. It's more that she cares too much."
Holden raised an eyebrow.
"No, really," said Denys seriously. "She just-- she really, really hates slavery. It
makes her sick, the idea of anyone having that kind of power over anyone else.
And so the slaves make her sick, too. She can't help it. She wants to help them, she
really does, and she does her best, but she can barely stand to look at them,
knowing-- what they are, the position they're in. She has too much imagination,
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and if she let herself-- It's really hard on her as it is, doing what she does. It would
be a lot easier if she just avoided the whole subject of slavery and tried to forget it
existed. But she won't do that. She's got to do something about it." He smiled at
Holden. "She's good people, really. Most people are, once you get to know them."
"How old are you?" Holden asked after a moment.
"Twenty-two," said Denys. "Why? Am I wise beyond my years, or so young and
naive it breaks your heart?"
"Both," said Holden, as the door slammed again downstairs. "That must be Jer. Do
me a favor, Denys. I don't want to leave Lee-- will you run downstairs and bring
him up here, to me, before he runs into Saint Robin?"
"I'm guessing you won't take a fifty to let me be the one to stay with Lee," Denys
quipped, rising. "Back in a sec, Mr. Larssen."
"Holden," said Holden, smiling back. "Thanks."
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CHAPTER 11
As Denys disappeared, Holden bent his head to kiss Lee's hair, and Lee made a
noise halfway between a sigh and a whimper.
"Lee," he said softly, and Lee lifted his head. "I love holding you, but I need to put
you down now. Can you sit down next to me on the bed?"
"Yes, master," Lee whispered, and slid from Holden's arms to the bed beside him,
still looking up at him searchingly. Holden took one cold, slim-fingered hand in
his.
"Are you all right?" he asked Lee, who was sucking anxiously on his lower lip.
Holden normally tried to train away any unconscious manifestations of worry,
since they tended to result in ground-down teeth, ragged cuticles, snarled hair and
other suboptimal physical conditions, but this one was actually fairly enchanting.
Maybe he'd leave it alone. No one who bought a scarred slave would be expecting
a perfectly serene manner anyway. "I'm sorry Robin frightened you. But you don't
need to be afraid of her. She can't hurt you."
"Thank you, master," said Lee hoarsely, as the sound of Denys' bright voice drifted
up the stairs, the words undistinguishable. "I thought-- my master might be
displeased with me-- for displeasing his guest."
"No, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong. I don't even think you really
displeased Robin-- she was just in a bad mood. Do you understand why she was
taking pictures of you?"
Lee's smooth, pale forehead furrowed uncertainly. Holden could hear Jer's deeper,
reserved voice answering Denys.
"It's all right, Lee. There's no right or wrong answer. I just wondered how much
you've been taking in of everything we've been saying. But no one told you to
listen or not to listen, so you aren't in trouble either way."
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Lee appeared to be having some difficulty with the concept of not being in trouble
either way, but after a moment he said tentatively, "I wasn't listening, master.
When you were talking to Yves and Bran about-- me being photographed. I didn't
listen."
"Fine," said Holden. "And why didn't you listen?"
Lee hunched his shoulders slightly. "I-- I was just waiting, master. To be told-what to do."
"Right," said Holden. "It didn't seem to matter whether you understood, since you'd
just have to do as you were told anyway, right?"
Lee nodded, his wide, dark eyes intent on Holden's face. Holden squeezed Lee's
hand, wondering whether sweet little Tonia Raskolnikova, who already had a very
sensible and kindhearted dark-eyed girl, would faint dead away at the sight of whip
scars on a boy's back. He'd have to sound her out on the subject. Certainly her
husband would appreciate the bargain price they came with.
"I understand," he said gently. "But, Lee? Always keep your ears open, kid. The
more you hear, the better. You can learn things that way. What pleases or
displeases your owner, what kind of a mood he's in, whether you need to offer your
services or stay out of his way. And other things, too. Useful things." He reached
up with his free hand to touch Lee's cheek. "I think you're already picking things
up. How did you know I'd like it when you came and pressed up against me?"
Lee's pale cheeks acquired the faintest pink flush, but before he could answer, Jer
came in, his expression more or less what Holden had expected; he was just glad
the are you fucking kidding me? had stayed nonverbal.
He gave Lee's hand a gentle squeeze and let go before rising to cross to Jer and put
his hands on the other man's shoulders. "Go on, say it."
"Your guest told me to come up here, master," said Jer, his voice neutral.
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"And?"
Jer's face twitched. "Is he off his mama's tit yet?"
"I haven't asked." Holden touched his own cheek, and Jer leaned forward to kiss
the spot he'd touched, which was a relief; if he'd been really upset, he'd have
pretended not to catch the gesture. "Look, I didn't pick him up. He followed me
home."
"I know, master," said Jer resignedly. "I guess you give off some kind of scent or
something, like a bitch in heat."
"Stop," said Holden dryly. "I'm blushing."
"No you're not," said Jer, shifting slightly; Holden took his hands away
automatically. "But he was. It's not even that you're that attractive, it's just the one
type. The type that blushes when he talks about you, and offers to take the
groceries to the kitchen for a slave who's glaring at him."
"Is that where he is?" Holden had to laugh at the thought of Denys loaded down
with the results of Jer's shopping. "You shouldn't have let him do that."
"Hey, whatever pleases my master's guest," Jer smirked as Holden moved to sit
back down next to Lee, taking the boy's hand again. "So what's all this about a
news story?"
"We aren't making any definite decisions until I have a chance to talk it over with
Alix." Holden gestured to Jer, who came willingly to kneel at his feet. "I don't
know if it's a good idea."
"But master, why wouldn't it be a good idea?" Jer asked as he leaned his head
against Holden's leg. "A lovesick teenage abolitionist, running in and out of the
house clutching a notebook so he can do an expos on your livelihood? How could
you hesitate?"
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Holden grinned. "He's twenty-two."

"Oh, well then, by all means."
"It gets worse," said Holden frankly. "The photographer is a holy terror. She's been
snarling at everyone since she got here-- even Lee, which I'm pretty pissed off
about. Also, she's dating my daughter."
"Can't wait to meet her," said Jer.
"Be my guest. She's in Bran's room, taking pictures of him."
"You left Bran alone with her?" Jer demanded, swinging his head up, then added
somewhat belatedly, "--master?"
Holden smiled, enjoying Jer's swift protectiveness. "I like Bran too, you know.
Yves is there. Hes to come get me if Robin starts anything."
Relaxing, Jer put his chin back down pensively on Holden's knee. Robin, huh?
Robin, said Holden. Just Robin. Don't call her Miss Robin unless you want your
head bitten off."
"Oh," said Jer grimly. "One of those."
"Worse," said Holden, remembering. "Tatiana didn't bite off our heads for using
her title."
"Just shed a tiny aristocratic tear over our oppression," Jer agreed. "Great. I'll really
look forward to being a part of all this, master."
"And I don't know what I'd do without your support, love," said Holden as Denys
came back in. "Denys, you shouldn't let people take advantage of your good
nature."
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"I didn't mind," said Denys amiably. "I met Fox. She was nice."
"May I go, master?" Jer asked without looking at Denys. "I do so want to meet
Miss Robin."
"Of course," said Holden, then leaned down, still clasping Lee's hand, and said in
Jer's ear, "And give her hell, will you?"
Jer's eyes laughed up at him. "As it please my master."
When Jer was gone, Holden eyed Denys thoughtfully, wondering if Jer was right
about the type that took to him. He could usually recognize the type-- mostly
female-- that loathed him on sight; Pavel's wife Maria had been his first experience
with that phenomenon, the doctor at the hospital the latest, and there'd been one
delinquent slave girl he'd actually had to hand over to Alix when he started
suspecting her only remaining problem was that she hated everything about him.
But he'd never considered typing the opposite reaction. Maybe it really was a scent,
the way Yves had told him animals smelled sex or a fight on each other. A
pheromone.
Or maybe it was as simple as the effect on Denys of watching Holden caress and
speak gently to a beautiful young boy who burrowed against his shoulder as if he
were the only trustworthy thing in the world. For a warm-hearted kid with a
youthfully exuberant sex drive, who'd never seen a slave respond to a master with
anything but terror, that had to do something. Robin had hated it-- he could hear
her saying The last thing we need is more stories about slaves who are well treated
and happy-- but Denys hadn't. Maybe he was imagining being the one nestled in
Holden's arms like a sleepy kitten, his breathing even and peaceful against
Holden's neck.
And that had been the wrong avenue of thought to go down about a boy he was
never going to fuck.
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"Sit down, Denys," he said firmly, and Denys obediently came back to the bed and
sat down, crossing his legs and looking expectantly at Holden. "Tell me about
these interviews you want to do. Who do you want to talk to?"
"Everyone," said Denys promptly. "Especially Lee, of course, and Bran too-- he's
really smart, isn't he? I mean, you weren't there the night after he asked me all
those questions about Lee's treatment, but he remembered everything, and he really
understood it, he was asking all the right questions. I bet he has some interesting
stuff to say. But they all would, wouldn't they? All your slaves. And-- well-- you,
Mr. Larssen. Holden." He reddened again. "And your wife, I mean. Your story.
There are all kinds of rumors and stories about the slave breakers, and-- well-- I'm
a journalist. I mean, I'm trying to be. I want to know everything, you know?"
Holden couldn't help smiling at the naive enthusiasm of the statement.
"Robin said she didn't want any stories about slaves who were well cared for," he
observed.
"Robin's not writing this story," said Denys, still pleasantly, but with unexpected
firmness. "I am. And I know where she's coming from-- but she's wrong. If all we
do is focus on the atrocities, it's too easy to dismiss them as isolated incidents. I
mean, Jer's got to be in his forties, and what happens to aging slaves-systematically-- is one of the things I'm interested in looking at. And Valor's mom- that's got to be a great story, and we can bring in the compulsory sterilization
angle. Get people thinking. Not just about what kind of awful person would do this
to a slave and whatever. About what it's really like, for anyone-- even if they aren't
getting put in the hospital-- to be a slave."
The words hit Holden hard, and he sat without speaking for a moment, thinking
about his own sheltered, blissful four years as his master's beloved, and their abrupt
and brutal end. He remembered, with a vividness that had faded from his happy
memories of Pavel, the wordless black despair of the realization that he had no
recourse, no hope of justice, and no right-- not in anyone's eyes, even Jer's; not
until Alix's cool, sweet voice had murmured, It's okay, Holden, it's okay-- to rage,
to grieve, to remember.
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Then, sharply as if the thought had stabbed him, he remembered Bran's quiet voice
and pale, anguished face as he'd said to Holden just the previous night, I've had
five years, and that's more than I ever-Lee's cool hand tightened on his, and Holden, pulling himself together, squeezed
back reassuringly. Denys was looking at him with concern. "Are you all right, Mr.
Larssen?"
Holden forced a smile. "Sure, kid, I'm fine. I just--" He cleared his throat. "How
much longer do you think Robin's going to be photographing Bran? He must be
getting tired."
"She probably won't notice if he does," said Denys frankly. "You should go get
him if you're worried."
He really wasn't worried-- if Robin didn't notice, Jer and Yves certainly would-but he needed, with a physical pull that felt more like thirst than desire, to see and
touch Bran. He rose abruptly and drew Lee gently up as well.
"Come with me," he said softly, wanting to encourage the boy's new apparent
comfort with him. "Let's make sure Bran's all right."
"I'll just wait here, if that's okay," said Denys, reaching for his notebook, but
Holden didn't bother to do more than nod as he led Lee from the room.
He could hear low, tense voices overlapping from down the hallway, but they fell
silent as he approached. The tension was palpable when he paused in the open
doorway of Bran's bedroom, and no one inside immediately noticed his arrival. He
took in the scene, seeing that several of Bran's drawers stood open as if they'd been
ransacked, and some of their contents-- slave tunics, a pair of sandals-- lay on the
bed. Bran, clothed and curled against Yves on the bed, examined a charm of
polished rowan that Holden had given him two years back on the morning of the
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solstice, when, since Holden had discovered Bran's half-shamefaced affection for
the day and its rituals, he'd tried to make sure the kid always had a gift. Jer leaned
against the wall, his face impassive, his eyes cold, as Robin faced him, her camera
dangling forgotten from its strap, her cheeks flushed as if she'd been slapped, but
said nothing. Neither did Jer, though clearly something had just been said; the air
between them was fairly crackling.
"What's going on?" Holden asked mildly, and Robin whirled on him, still redfaced, but still said nothing. Bran closed his hand on the charm swiftly, as if to hide
it from Holden.
"Nothing," said Robin finally. "I was just finishing up in here. I'll go talk to Denys
about what I've got."
She came almost blindly at Holden, who put Lee hastily behind him and out of the
way of her progress, then, once she was gone, led him into the room, sat him
carefully down in Bran's chair, and sat down himself on the bed next to Bran,
whose fist was still closed around the little wooden bauble and who wouldn't meet
his eye. Holden looked at Yves.
"When Miss Robin had finished photographing Bran," said Yves quietly, "she
decided to photograph the rest of his room, and then she started opening drawers
and going through them. She took out some things, and then she took out-- this--"
He tapped Bran's closed fist, and Bran flushed, turning his head away-- "and asked
what it was. When Bran answered, he called her 'Miss Robin,' and she-reprimanded him. Then Jer started to say something beginning with 'Miss Robin,'
and she--"
"Did what?" Holden demanded when Yves hesitated.
"Fucking threw the thing at Bran!" Jer was flushed now, his fury pushing past the
stony mask he'd shown Robin. "And started growling at me about cleaving to my
own subjugation or some shit."
"She threw it at him?"
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"Master, please," said Bran with difficulty. "It's fine. I'm not upset."
The statement's patent absurdity arrested Holden's gathering fury. He looked
curiously at Bran, remembering he'd told Robin that if Bran got upset, he was
calling the story off.
"Why didn't you come get me?" he asked Yves.
"I didn't have time, master," said Yves, still quietly. "It just happened."
"Was still happening, you mean," said Jer, breathing hard. "Master, I'm sorry, but
when she threw that fucking toy at Bran, I lost my temper. I told her that if she was
going to treat us like equals she should leave our drawers alone, and if she was
going to treat us like slaves we'd be calling her by her fucking title. And that's
about when you walked in."
Holden got up, went to Jer, and kissed him, hard and for a long time, on the mouth.
After a moment of surprise, Jer kissed him back fiercely, his hands coming up to
grasp Holden's arms; Holden didn't doubt they were both remembering the same
thing.
"Good," he said briefly when they broke apart, then turned to sit back down on the
bed, took Bran's closed fist in his hand and kissed the inside of his wrist.
"You don't want me to call this thing off, do you, love?" he asked very softly.
Bran, white-faced, shook his head.
"Please," he whispered. "Not because of me. Please, master."
"Then I won't," said Holden. "I really want to, because I really don't like having
anyone in my house whom I want to hit quite as hard as I want to hit Robin. But if
you're asking me not to toss her out right now, then I won't."
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Bran's face crumpled into the undignified grimace of someone about to burst into
serious tears, and Holden reached out and pulled him close before they spilled
over.
He was still rocking the shaking boy when the front door slammed for the third
time that afternoon.
"Alix," he said to no one in particular.
"Alix," Jer agreed, and Holden met his eyes over Bran's head.
"Go explain," he said to Jer. "Tell her-- everything."
Jer nodded, once, briefly, and left the room without a backwards glance. There was
a short silence.
"Master?" said a soft voice, and Holden looked up, startled, at Lee's pale face.
"Who's Tatiana?"
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CHAPTER 12
"Master? Who's Tatiana?"
Holden was taken aback by the question, which fit in so well with his thoughts that
for a moment he wasn't sure he hadn't spoken them aloud. Was the kid reading his
mind? How would he know about-"Tatiana?" Yves repeated, puzzled. "You mean Lord Argounov's sister? What
about her, Lee?"
"The one who bought Jess?" Bran asked, unsteadily, against Holden's shoulder.
Holden had it; back in Lee's room, he'd said something to Jer about her. She didn't
bite our heads off when we used her title.
"Why do you ask, Lee?"
Lee was watching him intently. "You said to keep my ears open, master."
"Yes, I did," Holden agreed gently. "I'm glad you've been listening. But what
makes you ask about Tatiana now?"
Lee looked down, confused. "I don't-- I'm sorry, master."
"Nothing to be sorry about, kid. I was just wondering."
"You--" Lee hesitated, then plunged on, "You and Jer were-- earlier, you were
talking about her, and then, just now-- there was something, wasn't there? Should I
not have seen, master?"
"Should you not have seen what, Lee?"
Lee looked faintly worried. "You were touching each other like-- you were
somewhere else, master. Both of you. I thought maybe-- I'm sorry."
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Like you were both somewhere else. This was going to be an interesting training
process after all.
"You're right, Lee," he said quietly. "We were both remembering something. And
it did have to do with Tatiana. And I don't mind that you saw-- but it's not always
the best idea, you know, to blurt out everything you see. It can make people
nervous. Or angry, if you show you know something that they'd rather you didn't."
Lee flushed. "I didn't mean to. I just-- I'm sorry, master, please--"
"Shhh," said Holden. "I'm not angry." He was starting to get an inkling of why Lee
had shut down so completely with Dunaev. If the kid was that perceptive, and his
master didn't like it, maybe the only way he could come up with to stop observing
things his master didn't want observed was to stop looking or listening or moving
altogether.
He looked up at Yves. "We're going to have to watch ourselves with him around."
"I've got no secrets," said Yves, and there was the faintest hint of reproach in his
voice, inaudible to anyone who knew him less well than Holden. "Not from you."
"Not a secret," he answered, a little defensively. "You knew how we met Tatiana.
Alix and Jer and me. When she came to Nikol's wedding. And you knew she was
an abolitionist."
Yves just looked at him, until he felt himself flush.
"It's not much of a story or anything," he said. "Tatiana showed up all full of
righteous indignation, wanting to educate us about what a sorry state we were all
in. Nikol wasn't crazy about that idea, but he wanted to make his baby sister happy,
and she was going to be there for a week, getting ready for the wedding and
everything, so he lent her Alix as a personal attendant and lecture audience of one-Alix being, I guess, the one he considered the least likely to contract revolutionary
ideas, since she was in love with him and everything. When Alix could get away to
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talk to us, she said Tatiana was working on Nikol to free her, saying Alix was too
intelligent to waste her life as a slave-- even dragged Laura into it, asked Nikol
how he could consider himself faithful to Laura when he had Alix--"
"Gods," said Yves quietly.
"She was very young," said Holden. "Tatiana, I mean. She meant well. But--" He
looked down at Bran's curly head. "She was-- persistent. She ended up staying two
weeks instead of one. We barely saw Alix the whole time, and when we did get a
chance to talk to her now and then, she was more and more upset. I-- well, I started
having nightmares again." He twined a finger in Bran's hair. "Jer wasn't happy."
"What happened?" Yves asked.
"Nothing," said Holden, shrugging a little to emphasize the anticlimax. "She went
back west and started writing letters to Alix apologizing for being less effective
than she wished she could have been, and stuff like that. It wasn't until a year later
that Laura gave her ultimatum and Alix and I moved out. I don't think there was
any connection." He smiled a little. "But Tatiana did. That's funny, isn't it? After
Nikol freed her, Alix got another letter, taking credit. We didn't think it was
particularly funny at the time, of course." He bent to kiss the top of Bran's head.
"Sweetheart? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," said Bran, and sat up, clearing his throat. "It's stupid to get upset."
"It's not stupid," said Holden firmly. "And she's going to have to apologize to you."
"Master, I don't--"
"He's right, Bran," Yves interrupted. "Master, I think you and your guests should
all sit down and talk this over downstairs, with the mistress and Miss Valor there.
Lay down some ground rules."
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"Right." Holden reached for Yves' hand, and Yves clasped his in a firm, reassuring
grip, the momentary tension between them gone. "I don't think I can go tell them
that just yet, though. I'll lose my temper and push Robin down the stairs."
"I'll go." Yves stroked the back of his hand with a thumb before letting it go. "The
mistress and I will get everyone into the sitting room. You come down when you're
ready, master."
"Take Lee with you," said Holden. "Lee, I want you to lie down and rest in your
own room for a little while. There's been too much excitement around here. Try to
keep him out of the way of any projectiles," he added to Yves, "until we can
negotiate a ceasefire."
When Yves had led Lee from the room, Bran got up, pushing a stray tear from his
cheek with his fist, put the little wooden charm back in his top drawer, and started
folding the clothes that lay on the bed.
Holden watched him. "Okay, what's with the face?"
Bran didn't look at him. "I just wish you wouldn't make her apologize to me,
master. It's not-- important."
"That you feel safe in your own home? It's important to me."
"I do feel safe." Bran stacked the tunics and put them back in a drawer. "It's not
like she hurt me."
"That's not the point, Bran." Holden reached out and grasped Bran's wrist, pulling
him back down on the bed. "This is your room. These are your things. It's not too
much to ask that people not touch them without permission. Or throw them at
you."
"But it's not important, master," said Bran. "Not like-- doing this story." He looked
at the door. "Changing the way things are. That's the important thing. Not-- my
feelings."
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Holden took Bran's chin and turned his face back towards his own, studying his
expression. "Like how your feelings weren't as important as making sure Lee had a
good home with the person you very sweetly think is the best of all possible
masters?"
Bran smiled a little sheepishly, but said nothing. Holden cupped the finely sculpted
cheek in his palm. "You like being the strong one, don't you?"
Unable to move his head, Bran lowered his eyes instead to somewhere just below
Holden's chin. "For a change."
"For a what?" Holden shook his head. "Bran, look at me. You must know you're
the one who makes this crazy arrangement of ours work. If I'd brought home any
other eighteen-year-old and tried to make Yves and Jer get along with him-- can
you imagine the trainwreck? Jockeying for favor, backbiting, resentment, wearing
me out with carrying tales and begging for protection-- I can't imagine any other
kid your age being strong enough and brave enough to make it work the way you
have."
"Yves and Jer were always really nice to me," Bran protested. "They're the ones
who--"
"They were willing to put up with you for my sake," said Holden, "but nobody but
you could have made them love you-- and they do, you know. Almost as much as I
do. Speaking of which, who was the strong one for two years while I was so damn
scared to believe you really loved me that I was fending you off for all I was
worth? How much strength did it take to hang on for that long without starting to
hate me? To still be there to hear it when I was finally willing to admit you were
the apple of my ridiculous eye?"
Bran smiled a little, eyes back on Holden's. "That wasn't hard. To keep loving
you."
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"Not for you, maybe." Holden bent his head and kissed Bran's palm. "So-- yeah. If
you've finally noticed you're the strong one, all I can say is it's about damn time."
"Then why are you all worried about me?" Bran insisted. "Why make Miss Robin
apologize to me?"
"For heaven's sake, Bran, I'm not making her apologize because I think you need
her to kiss it all better. I'm making her apologize because if she's going to be in my
house, I need to know she's capable of observing basic courtesies. You might be
too tough to care, but what if she throws something at Lee next?"
Bran thought this over. "Oh."
"Yes, oh," said Holden, shaking his head. "Come on, kid. Let's go downstairs and
see if we can get Robin to say "oh."
It felt oddly formal to have assembled the entire household in the sitting room, as if
for a party or a tribunal. Yves and Jer stood quietly against the wall, while Bran
knelt at Holden's feet as he sat on the couch with a blessedly cool and collected
Alix beside him. Greta sat on Alix's other side, while Robin sat flanked by Valor
and Denys, stiffly as if she were facing a firing squad.
"We'd like to make you welcome," Alix said courteously, addressing both Robin
and Denys. "You're our daughter's friends, and we do admire what you're trying to
do. But this is our home, and as our guests, you are going to have to abide by our
rules. If your principles won't allow you to do that, then we can't offer you our
hospitality. It's really that simple."
"Yes, ma'am," said Denys apologetically, as if he'd been the one to misbehave.
Robin, meanwhile, looked like she'd bitten a lemon.
"What rules?" she asked tightly.
"You will ask, and wait to receive, permission before entering anyone's room or
touching their property," said Holden, as Alix slipped her hand into his. "You will
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respect our habits of speech even if you don't agree with them. You will defer to
Alix's and my judgment concerning the people under our care. And if you ever,
under any circumstances, lift a hand or make a move to frighten or upset one of my
slaves again, I will not be held responsible for what happens to you next. Is that
perfectly clear."
"Yes, sir," said Denys promptly.
Robin said nothing.
"I said," Holden emphasized between his teeth, "is that clear."
"Yes," said Robin finally. "It's clear."
"Good," Holden said. "Now I want you to apologize to Bran for throwing his
things around."
Robin's eyes narrowed.
"They're not his things," she said coldly. "They're yours. Slaves have no legal right
to own property. You can pretend they're his all you want-- and you can pretend
he's your lover, too, but what kind of love is it if he has no choice?"
"Robin," said Denys softly.
"I had a choice," said Bran unexpectedly, from the floor at Holden's feet.
"You've got them good and brainwashed, don't you?" Robin's voice was rising on a
note of ugly, hopeless frustration. "Slavery's really not so bad with such a good,
kind master, is it, Bran? Is it, Yves? Not when you love your master. Or your
mistress, right, Greta? When everything's all nice and safe, so it doesn't matter that
you don't get to make any of your own decisions, that nothing in your life is really
yours, it can all be taken away at somebody else's whim. Who needs to be free
when you can be a happy--"
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"Shut the fuck up," said Jer evenly.

There was a moment of dead silence before Robin managed a, "What?"
"You heard me." Jer shook off Yves' restraining hand almost violently as he
stepped away from the wall and faced Robin. "Who the fuck do you think you are?
Make our own decisions? What kind of decisions do you make, little girl? What
angle lens to use on your camera?"
"I decide who I--"
"Who you fuck?" Jer's eyes were bright, his color high. "That what you were going
to say? Good for you. How about whether you'd rather belong to someone who
likes to hurt you or someone who doesn't even care enough to do that? How about
whether it's better to live with someone who beats and starves and rapes you or to
die trying to get away? How about when to kill yourself so you don't miss too
many of the good days you might have left before somebody notices you fucked up
and tortures you to death? You ever have to decide any of that?"
"Jer--" Valor began, but no one looked at her.
"Because if you had," Jer continued to Robin, who was frozen, staring up at him,
"then maybe I could see you having the cast-iron balls to strut in here and start
shooting your mouth off. Or maybe, if you had, you might show a little fucking
respect for people who have to decide whether it's going to hurt more to keep their
mouths shut than to get punished for telling you a thing or two about yourself, you
priss-faced, holier-than-thou little shit. And one more thing," he added as Holden
started to speak and Alix, watching Jer, laid a hand on his arm to silence him. "If I
got the whim, I could rip that camera off your neck and smash it. But just because
you could lose it, that doesn't mean it's not really yours. Does it. Miss Robin."
In the next moments, Holden couldn't hear anyone breathing in the room except
Jer, who sounded as if he'd been running. Alix's eyes met Holden's a moment
before she rose and went to Jer, clasped his arm, and led him back to the couch,
placing him between herself and Holden; Holden put a hand on the taut back. Jer
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wouldn't look at either him or Alix, but after a moment, Bran climbed without
warning or invitation into Jer's lap, and Jer let out a short, choked laugh and put his
arms around the younger man's body, hugging him hard and laying his cheek
against Bran's hair.
"Thank you, Jer," said Alix calmly. "Robin, please leave. Now."
"Alix," Valor protested, but faintly. "She doesn't--"
"Valor, dear heart," said Alix, "I'm afraid this isn't open to discussion. You're
welcome at home any time, but Robin is not. Denys," she added, "I think it would
be best if you left now, too. Call us if you want to arrange another, more
convenient time to come over. You have our card. And of course you and Robin
are welcome to use the pictures she's already taken."
"Wait," said Robin.
Alix looked at her.
"I--" Robin stammered, suddenly looking and sounding much younger. "I'm sorry."
"Are you." Alix didn't sound particularly interested.
"Yes." She cleared her throat. "Bran, I'm sorry I-- threw your-- thing."
Bran made a small sound against Jer's shoulder that sounded suspiciously like a
laugh.
"I'm sorry," Robin said again, looking at Jer.
There was another pause, longer, while Alix examined Robin.
"Denys has our card," she said finally. "Call tomorrow. We'll talk."
Robin nodded meekly and rose a second before Denys. Valor got up, too.
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"You don't have to come," Robin told her quietly. "I'll crash with Denys. You stay
with your--"
Valor nodded. "I'll walk you out."
"I'm really sorry," Robin said again to the room in general before she left, followed
by Valor and then by Denys, who gave one lingering glance backwards but seemed
at a loss what he should say or do.
It was a few moments after they left before anyone said anything else.
"If you're going to punish me," Jer said finally to the top of Bran's head, "please get
it over with while I'm still all pumped up on righteous indignation."
"Don't be an idiot," said Holden, his hand running into Alix's on Jer's back. "That
was fantastic."
Jer laughed a little shakily as Alix added quietly, "I couldn't have said it better
myself."
"I knew there was some reason I put up with belonging to you two," said Jer, as
Greta reached over Alix to put a hand on his knee, and Yves came to lean over the
back of the couch and put hands on his shoulders. "All right, all right, I'm fine. No
need to gather around my sickbed."
Bran giggled, and Jer hugged him again, burying his face in the boy's curly hair.
"Bitch," he said, muffled. "Nobody talks that way to my family."
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CHAPTER 13
Valor came back in and paused just inside the door, looking at the group of people
clustered around Jer without quite letting her gaze come to rest on any one face.
"I'm sorry," she said finally. "Robin-- well, she never-- lived with-- I mean she
never--"
"Had your advantages?" Alix finished, when Valor seemed to flounder.
"Right." Valor looked up then, at Alix, avoiding everyone else's gaze. "She didn't
really know-- and I should have been the one to tell her--" She looked at Jer,
swallowing. "What you said."
"Yes, you should," said Holden coolly. "And if Robin started throwing things at a
virtual stranger's slave, in his own home, in the first hour she knew him, I hate to
imagine how she's been treating Inga."
"She never did anything like that to Inga," Valor protested. "Honestly, she didn't. I
mean, she's kind of rude to Inga, but she's kind of rude to everybody. She's rude to
me."
"That I believe," said Holden. "But there's a difference between being rude to your
lover and being rude to your lover's slave. Inga can't snap back. You can. And if
you don't speak up for Inga, who will?"
"I know, Dad." Valor was flushed, miserable. "I said I was sorry. But she's really
not-- I've never seen her act like that before. I can't believe she threw something at
Bran. She was-- I don't know-- upset. Today."
"Oh," said Alix mildly. "So she'd never act like that towards a helpless person-unless she was in a bad mood. Good to know."
"Don't." Valor was studying the tips of her fingernails, looking as if she wanted to
bite them. "Please. She knows she behaved badly. She feels really awful."
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"Good," said Greta in an uncharacteristically hard tone. "She should."

"She does," Valor insisted. "She asked if you guys were going to punish Jer. She
wanted to know if there was anything she could do to stop it if you were."
"How magnanimous," said Holden.
Valor hesitated. "You aren't, are you? Going to punish him?"
After a pause while she flushed redder, she said loudly, "Well, I didn't know. You
are trainers."
"Not of Jer," said Holden. "Can't teach an old dog new tricks, right, Jer?"
"The hell you can't," said Jer, and bent his head to kiss Bran's neck; Holden's cock
leaped to attention as Bran arched into the touch.
"Valor," said Alix, "I hate to pack you off to your room, dear, but we need to
discuss whether we want this story to happen. And since it will affect all of us if it
does, I want everyone to be able to speak freely on the subject."
The implication hung in the air as clearly as if it had been spoken aloud, and Valor
swallowed. Being excluded from the circle of "everyone" clearly hurt. Despite his
annoyance, Holden ached for his warm-hearted daughter, but it was Yves who
stepped forward unexpectedly from behind them all and went to her. Valor looked
up at him, her lip quivering the way it had when she was a small child and, having
smashed something or hit someone in the course of one of her violent temper
tantrums, began to emerge from her rage and realize what she had done.
"Do you hate me?" she asked him, sounding about four years old. Yves shook his
head, smoothing back a stray tendril of dark hair from her forehead.
"You know your family loves you, no matter what," he said gently.
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Valor's eyes shimmered with tears as she asked, in a huskier voice, "Are you
disappointed in me?"
Yves studied her for a moment before he answered.
"Only if you don't learn from this," he said finally. "You've always meant well,
Miss. But you're not a little girl any more. It's time to start being more careful."
Valor's tears spilled over, and Yves stepped forward and took her in his arms,
hugging her close. When he let her go, she turned and almost ran from the room.
Yves, his face calm and a little sad, came to sit down where Robin had been. Greta
moved from Alix's side to Yves', and put a hand over his; he smiled at her before
looking up attentively at his mistress.
"Let's discuss this news story," said Alix, with a nod at Yves. "I'll admit I'm
ambivalent about the idea. Obviously we'd like to make a difference in the world
beyond this putting-out-fires approach we've taken. But in the meantime, we have
to cope with things as they are now. Being the headliners for an anti-slavery piece-"
"Would it necessarily be anti-slavery?" Holden asked. "I thought we were just
looking at more regulation, not abolishing slavery altogether."
Jer snorted. "In theory, maybe. If a grown-up were in charge. The kids will be
calling for the abolition of the class system before they're done."
"Even if it doesn't openly call for abolition," Yves added, "that's how a lot of
people would read it. Nobles, I mean."
"Especially coming from us," Alix agreed. "Everyone knows Holden and I are exslaves ourselves. Most nobles are willing to forgive us for it-- it makes them feel
broadminded-- and the others usually snicker behind our backs instead of to our
faces. And Valor becoming an activist was an amusing footnote to the gossip. But
a lot of people are going to read a piece like this as if we're choosing sides. That
we're with the slaves, against the nobles."
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"And while that may be true--" Holden added wryly.

"The nobles don't know it," Alix finished. "And it's taken a lot of finesse to keep it
that way."
"It's not a question of taking sides," Greta protested. "Or if it is, it's not nobles
against slaves, it's common decency, against-- brutality."
"Even that could be a risk," said Holden. "I'm not sure it wouldn't be worth it to a
man like Dunaev to lose the money we'd pay for a kid, if he thought the alternative
was turning him over to some kind of slaves' rights advocates."
"I think you're wrong there, master," said Yves thoughtfully. "The people you buy
from know the kind of people you resell to-- and how they treat their slaves. They
must know you aren't really just out to torture the slaves to the breaking point.
Whatever they manage to convince the slaves of."
"That's true," said Bran pensively. "I think that's probably why Lord Dunaev tried
so hard to scare me, that last night before he sold me to you. He was hoping I'd be
panicked enough to do something stupid and get myself in trouble with you-- but
he wouldn't have bothered if he'd thought you were going to be cruel to me
anyway."
"I think you're both right," said Alix, as Holden glanced at Bran, fascinated. "But
knowing deep down that we aren't going to hurt the kids unnecessarily, and selling
to people who've publically declared their distaste for cruelty to slaves, are two
very different things. Can you imagine Lord Dunaev's reaction to this story? Do
you think his friends will think any differently? Do you think they'd sell to us
again?"
Holden shrugged. "Some would, some wouldn't. Some just want the money instead
of the body. Some who sell to the slave breakers aren't even bad people, just at
their wits' end. But yes, it's a risk. I think if we're going to do the story, it's going to
have to be one we're willing to take."
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"I'd worry more about your buyers," said Jer. "If the delinquent supply dries up
completely-- which I doubt-- that will suck for the delinquents, but you'll still have
a business in brand-new slaves. But what if the nice people you sell to decide they
really can't associate with known abolitionists, be they ever so well dressed and
articulate?"
"Not only that," Alix agreed, "but if this article makes enemies of the people who
should be our allies, it will accomplish the exact opposite of what we want."
"What if you--" Bran began slowly. "I mean, if what you need to know is how your
buyers would feel about something like this-- why don't you find out?"
"Of course," said Alix patiently, "but the problem is how we find out, without
risking the business."
"With finesse," said Bran with a small smile. Sitting up straight in Jer's lap, he
lifted and curled his hand if holding an imaginary cocktail glass. "'We had to take
him to the hospital, he was half dead, it was awful, but of course it's legal,' and-- if
nothing else, you'll get a facial expression. Which you're both used to reading
anyway, when you decide whether to add people to your list. And maybe you start
a conversation."
"That's not half a bad idea, mistress," said Greta, interested. "Because then you get
the nobles talking to each other, too. You know they gossip. How many people
asked you about Jesse, when he was here? If you talked to one noble about Lee,
others would be starting the conversation with you. 'I heard he had terrible scars,
was in the hospital, is that true--' and then, 'Sometimes I really think there should
be a law against--'"
"And we talk to each other, too," Yves added. "Slaves, I mean. Even if you don't
get much out of the nobles at the time, Kira's bound to hear Lord and Lady Brokov
afterwards-- 'Do you think Larssen was hinting that there should be a law? Well,
sometimes I have to admit I think--'"
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"But wouldn't that take ages?" Holden asked. "Getting gossip like that going,
talking to so many people, hearing back from slaves--"
Bran shrugged. "Better than not doing it at all because you aren't sure. Right?"
"Right," Greta agreed. "And that way, it doesn't come as such a shock to your
friends when the story does come out. People hate surprises."
"If it's worth doing," said Bran seriously, "it's worth preparing the ground so that it
works. Isn't it? And besides," he added, grinning suddenly, "did you see how guilty
Mr. Harper looked when he was leaving, about how Miss Robin acted? If you keep
him guessing about how mad you are and whether you still want to do the story at
all, I bet he'll agree to any timetable you want, master."
"Why, you scheming little brat," said Jer approvingly, locking his arms around
Bran's waist as Bran laughed. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"That's the other question," said Alix, smiling at Bran and Jer. "If we do allow
Denys to go ahead with the story, on our timetable, do we also allow Robin back
in? And if so, on what terms?"
"That's their call," said Holden, nodding to Jer and Bran and then Yves and Greta.
"Isn't it?"
"Of course," said Alix matter-of-factly, glancing at the two pairs of slaves. "As you
said to Valor-- we can snap back. And while I absolutely and unequivocally loved
what you said just now," she added to Jer, who was grinning at her the way he used
to when they'd been slaves together and Alix had expertly blandished some
privilege or concession out of their master, usually to spare Holden some welldeserved punishment, "I also felt you shaking afterwards. I don't want you-- any of
you-- in that position again."
"As long as we all know where we stand," said Jer, glancing from Alix to Holden,
still grinning a little, "and I think we do, now-- I don't mind if she comes back. But
she didn't do anything to me, anyway. It's Bran you should be asking."
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"I don't mind, either," said Bran quickly.

"How did I know you'd say that?" Holden asked, and Bran smiled a little
sheepishly. "Yves?"
"If it's okay with Bran and Jer, it's okay with me," said Yves peaceably.
They all looked at Greta, who was frowning, her pretty, usually serene face
furrowed with unhappiness. "She's dating my daughter."
"Oh, gods," said Holden. "Thank you. I didn't want to say anything, but-- Kicking
her out of the house felt so nicely final. Valor stays with us, Robin leaves."
"We yell at Valor for bringing home someone like Robin," Alix added with a hint
of a smile, "she apologizes and feels terrible, nobody ever sees Robin again."
"Until Miss Valor goes back home," said Yves quietly, "and you're the big bad
parents who refused to forgive Miss Robin even though she feels really, really
awful about the whole thing. Whereas if you let Miss Robin back in, she either
learns a thing or two about a thing or two and becomes a lot more tolerable, or
Miss Valor sees firsthand that she isn't really sorry and can't really change and is
upsetting the people her lover cares about most, and nobody including Miss Valor
ever sees her again."
"Well," said Holden after a brief pause. "There is that."
"Oh, Yves," Greta sighed, slumping against the back of the couch. "Do you always
have to be so damn smart?" She hesitated as Yves laughed, then sat back up. "All
right, fine. She can come back to do the story. But I don't want her sleeping here."
"That seems reasonable," said Alix briskly. "Are we all agreed, then? We wait for
them to call tomorrow, then lay out our terms?"
Everyone nodded.
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"In that case," said Alix, "Greta, darling, why don't you go talk to Val? I'll go
check on Lee, and Holden, I notice Bran and Jer are squirming like mad, over here-"
Holden laughed. "I'll see what I can do."
"Are you sure I don't need to check on Lee, master?" Bran asked in bed a few
minutes later, his eyes already half closed with pleasure as Jer's rough hands
kneaded his flesh.
"He'll be fine with Alix," said Holden. "I think it's better to start getting him used
to women. Even if he responded to men before, Dunaev's probably turned him off
them for life." His eye skated over Bran, then Bran's cock. "Though I suppose
some people are more resilient than others."
"That reminds me, master," said Yves seriously, propped up on one elbow and still
watching as Jer's mouth covered Bran's. "Have you thought about trying to sell Lee
after all this? Interviews, a profile, and didn't you say something about a court
case? Lee will be notorious. And so will anyone who buys him. It might make it a
lot harder to sell-- especially when he's already got those scars."
Holden saw his point. Some people craved notoriety, but not, he thought, the kind
he wanted owning Lee.
"So I'll just keep him," he said, and to three startled stares, "I'm joking."
"Or so you'd have us believe," said Jer, pushing Bran at Holden; Bran, laughing,
rolled on top of his master, and Holden automatically pulled him in closer, feeling
the boy's erection throbbing against his own. "Here's Bran. Remember Bran? You
like Bran."
"Bran's over the hill," Yves grinned. "What are you now, Bran, twenty-two?"
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"Twenty-three," said Bran absently, his hips grinding against Holden, teeth
worrying gently at his master's neck.
"Gods, it's worse than I thought," said Yves, reaching lazily over and opening the
drawer of the nightstand. "You're right, master. We need some fresh meat around
here."
Jer reached over Holden and Bran and held out a palm, and Yves sloshed lubricant
into it from the bottle; Jer's slicked hand slid between Holden's pelvis and Bran's,
closing around Holden's cock. Holden's gasp was echoed an instant later by Bran's
as Bran's hands tightened on Holden's arms; Yves smiled innocently at Holden, his
fingers sliding deeper into Bran.
"Is that going to fit?" he asked Jer, nodding at Holden's cock as Jer's fingers rippled
up and down it, Yves' own fingers sliding in and out of Bran.
Jer snorted. "Hey, if I fit--"
"No comments on relative sizes," Holden managed. Bran was rubbing himself
frantically up against Holden's thighs and Jer's knuckles, pushing back at the same
time to impale himself on Yves' fingers.
"Please," he whimpered. "Please, please--"
"Please what?" Yves asked softly in his ear. "Whose cock do you want pounding
your ass, beautiful? Where do you want your own pretty cock?"
"Please!" Bran cried, tears in his eyes, and the sight roused Holden, despite the
haze of his own pleasure at the warm young flesh wriggling against him and the
rhythmic pulling of Jer's strong fingers, to say hoarsely, "Don't torture him."
"You never let me have any fun," said Yves, sliding his fingers out of Bran and
pulling the panting boy over to face him, pressing Bran's back against Holden.
Holden's arms went around the boy from behind, pulling him closer as Jer's hand
guided Holden's cock to the hot, well-lubricated opening; Holden and Bran's gasps
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came at the same moment this time as Jer's hips, behind Holden's, pushed him
inexorably inside.
Yves made a soft purring sound of satisfaction and began to kiss his way down the
young body that trembled as his master slid deeper inside him; Yves' lips and
tongue played wantonly over Holden's clutching fingers and between them to tease
Bran's nipples and abdomen. Jer's mouth was hot on Holden's spine, and as Holden
pulled back to increase the intensity of his thrusts into Bran, he could feel Jer's
slick fingers pressing at the cleft of his own ass. Bran was sobbing incoherently;
Yves' mouth had reached his cock.
"I love you," Holden whispered, not knowing which of them he wanted to say it to
most. "I love you so much."
"Really, master?" said Jer from behind him, one hand tightening on Holden's arm.
"We never would have guessed."
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INTERLUDE: INTERVIEWS
Selected excerpts from the transcripts of tape-recorded interviews with four slaves
and one trainee slave. Owner was not present at any interview except that of the
trainee slave, but gave full consent to the interviews and the taping. Transcribed by
Denys Harper.
DH: And are you happy in your life now?
S1: Very.
DH: Is there anything in your life you wish were different?
S1: My daughter's taste in women.
DH: (Laughs) Okay, well, apart from that.
S1: No.
DH: Would you want to be free? If you could?
S1: I doubt it would make too much of a difference to my life. But I'm not exactly
a typical case, because of Valor. Not many slaves have families. Or if they do, their
family sold them. Tends to create hard feelings.
DH: I would think so, yes. So you would go live with your daughter?
S1: Oh, gods, no. (Laughs) No, I'd stay here. I'm just saying-- I have a child with
my master. My owners and I raised her together. When she comes home to her
parents-- They're my family. Not many slaves have-- bonds-- like that.
DH: Because of the, uh, the sterilization.
S1: Right. It makes it easier in a lot of ways, of course.
DH: Children not being born to-S1: Things.
DH: Things?
S1: That's what slaves are, legally. Things. Property. Makes it awkward to have
things producing actual human children. Doesn't it.
DH: I guess it does.
S1: Especially the master's children, if that happened. Having a child that's half
you and half-- object. Might make you think of your property a little differently.
DH: You think having Valor made your owners look at you differently?
S1: Of course. How could it not? I'm the mother of their child.
DH: Their child? You mean his child.
S1: Our child.
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DH: And you never felt your mistress resented that you bore her husband's child?
S1: No. My mistress already knew I was real.
DH: And are you happy now, in your life?

S2: Sure.
DH: You don't sound sure.
S2: I'm sure.
DH: Is there anything in your life you'd change if you could? (Pause) Like-- would
you-- if you could, would you want to be free? (Pause) If you could ask your
master to let you go and you knew he'd say yes, would you?
S2: (Laughs)
DH: What?
S2: What if you could ask someone to shoot you in the head and you knew he'd say
yes?
DH: I don't-S2: So, maybe. Maybe I would. On a bad day.
DH: A bad day?
S2: Yeah, Mr. Harper. A bad day. You ever have a bad day?
DH: I-- probably not. I mean. Not compared to-S2: To me. Yeah. I look like I've had a lot of bad days? I have. (Pause) But he
wouldn't. So.
DH: Well, um, okay. So you-- so what would you do, if you were free?
S2: If Holden ever frees me, he'll have his reasons. And I'll do anything he asks,
free or not. So you better ask him what I'd do.
DH: Well, but-- suppose it weren't his idea. What if slavery were abolished?
S2: The crime rate would skyrocket? That's what my old master always said. All
those poverty-stricken teens roving the streets in gangs, raping and plundering.
Instead of the other way around.
DH: I meant-- I meant for you. How would-- what would you do?
S2: (Pause) Always thought I'd like to know what getting drunk felt like. Maybe
he'd let me. Just to mark the occasion.
DH: But if you were free you wouldn't have to ask him.
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S2: I'd have to ask him for the liquor. Don't accumulate a lot of spending cash as a
slave. And it's his house. Think I've got anywhere else to go?
DH: I-- if that ever happened, hopefully there'd be programs in place, to help fundS2: Elderly slaves on their first drunk?
DH: (Laughs) Not as such. Should there be?
S2: Not unless you want a lot of bodies in the streets. (Pause) Of course, that might
make it easier. Start fresh. No relics of the bad old days wandering around trying to
figure out what the hell to do with themselves. (Pause) I'm sorry. You were saying.
DH: Yeah, uh... so if you were free, you'd like to get drunk.
S2: You don't have to publish that part. I think Yves wants to be a college
professor, if that helps.
DH. And are you happy now, with your life?

S3: Well, that came out of left field. (Laughs)
DH: (Laughs) Did it? I just meant-S3: No, no, I know what you meant. It's just-- it's a bit of a complex question, isn't
it?
DH: You mean for a slave?
S3: For anyone. Though it might take free citizens longer to realize it's not as
simple as they thought. Maybe slaves get it a few decades earlier. That there's no
point-- crying for the moon.
DH: Well, but what is the moon? I mean, what would you want, if you could have
anything?
S3: I'm luckier than most, Mr. Harper. My master and I love each other, and I
found him-- or I guess he found me-- when I was only nineteen. How idyllic is
that? Sure, I'm happy. I might be the happiest person I know.
DH: Happier than your-- than Mr. Larssen?
S3: (Laughs) I don't have his bad habits.
DH: What are his bad habits?
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S3: Oh... falling in love. Creating worlds to take on his shoulders. Yes, I'm
probably happier than he is. Does that answer your question, Mr. Harper? Are you
happy?
DH: Fair enough. Um. Would you like to be free?
S3: We've talked about it-- my master and I. We agree it's not practical right now.
DH: But you-- well, what would you do if you were free?
S3: Start negotiations for a salary.
DH: Salary--?
S3: For my services. (pause) You're blushing, Mr. Harper.
DH: I-S3: You think I mean sex. I don't. I keep the accounts for the business. I help with
the trainees, with their transitions, with their training. I advise my owners on
business decisions. I do a lot to keep this house running smoothly. I'd like to keep
doing all that, but if I were free I'd want to be paid.
DH: Why?
S3: So I could start saving. I hope eventually I'd have enough to buy a share of the
business. As it is, I couldn't do that even if I had money, and my master gives me
everything I need, so. If I were free, yes. A lot of things would change. (Pause) Not
everything. As I said. I'm luckier than most.
DH: And are you happy now? In your life?

S4: Yes.
DH: Is there anything in your life you wish were different?
S4: (pause) Well, I wish my parents hadn't died.
DH: I mean now. If things could change now. Given-- the past.
S4: (pause) No. Nothing.
DH: You wouldn't want to be free?
S4: (pause) It wouldn't matter. My master would still-- keep me.
DH: Keep you? Against your will? But-S4: (Laughs) No, no, not against my will. I mean-- keep me. Like-- upkeep. Food,
clothing, shelter?
DH: Oh, keep you.
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S4: Take care of me.

DH: Okay. So you'd just-- would you just-- go on like before? Living with your-with Mr. Larssen?
S4: Sure. Maybe he'd hire me to help with the business. Pay me in-- (Laughs)
Room and board.
DH: So your life wouldn't change much? But wouldn't you rather be choosing it
freely? Than have it forced on you?
S4: (Laughs)
DH: What?
S4: I'm sorry, I-- it's just, I don't feel forced. To stay here.
DH: But you are. Legally. If you ran away-S4: (Laughs)
DH: Okay, there's a story here, isn't there?
S4: Kind of.
DH: Tape's rolling.
S4: You want the story?
DH: I always want the story.
DH: And are you glad Mr. Larssen bought you? (Pause) Say it out loud, for the
tape.
TS: Yes, sir.
DH: And why are you glad?
TS: He doesn't-DH: Doesn't what?
TS: He's been very kind to me.
DH: He treats you better than Lord Dunaev did? (Pause; laughs) Good, okay, but
say it out loud, for the-TS: Yes, sir.
DH: What did Lord Dunaev do to you that Mr. Larssen doesn't do?
TS: (inaudible)
DH: A little louder, please. (pause)
HL: What do you think? You saw his back.
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DH: That was from Lord Dunaev whipping you?

TS: Yes, sir.
DH: What made him whip you so hard, so hard that you're going to have scars?
What did you do to make him so angry? (Pause) Lee?
HL: It's okay, Lee. You can speak freely. That's right. Good boy.
TS: (inaudible)
DH: I'm sorry, I know this is hard to talk about, but if you could-- just a little
louder and clearer.
TS: I never knew.
DH: You never knew what?
TS: What made him so angry. I mean-- I wasn't always-- good-- but when he
punished me, I didn't, I didn't fight, I didn't, I just-- I didn't fight-HL: Good boy. You're doing fine.
TS: I'm not even brave. I wasn't-- I didn't even try to get back up. When he had me
on the ground. And I tried-- crying and-- not crying and-- (inaudible)
DH: And what?
TS: He just. Got angrier. I-(long silence)
TS: I just wanted him to stop. I would have done anything. If I'd just known. I
didn't know what to do. Please-- master-- I-HL: Turn that thing off.
DH: But-HL: I said turn it off.
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CHAPTER 14
Holden sat at one end of the table they'd dragged into the room with all the
archived files, shuffling through the interview transcripts with one hand, the other
arm wrapped firmly around Lee's slender form. Holden's lap had become the boy's
favorite seat when Bran wasn't available, and Holden wasn't about to discourage
anything that brought Lee out of his shell.
He still didn't feel he knew the kid very well; his few attempts over the last two
weeks, amid the rest of the welter of planning and plotting and tape recording and
photographic flashing, to coax Lee to open up had met only with cautious silence.
But the cuddliness was good. A lot of people would like that. Holden was still
mentally making lists of possibilities, though Yves' casual remark about notoriety
had started to haunt him, and Lee's obvious devotion to himself and Bran were
becoming a bit of a worry as well. He really hoped Lee's affections could be more
easily transferred than Bran's, or at least that this one didn't have a flair for the
dramatically self-immolating. He didn't want his joke about keeping Lee to come
back to haunt him.
The odd thing was-- he thought, turning over a sheet to read Bran's account of his
homecoming for the fourth time-- how different he felt with Lee than he had with
Bran. Lee was lovely and, by all indications, sweet-natured, but the boy's weight
on his lap felt like Valor's when she was a little girl, and the protective tenderness
Holden felt for the trusting young creature leaning against him had as little
sensuality in it as his feeling for Valor. Certainly Lee inspired nothing of the
bewildering fascination Bran had aroused in him almost from the beginning.
Staring unseeingly at the transcript of Bran's words, he saw the wide gray eyes
locked on his, filled with equal parts fear and interest; the boy's sensual response to
Holden's caresses, though he hadn't even dared move his unbound hands; his
furious, almost betrayed glare above teeth chattering with terror when Holden went
to bathe him for the first time. The reverent and infinitely tender kisses he'd
pressed to Holden's thighs, his cock, his hands, his forehead and his lips; his eyes
again, wide above Yves' curly head and fixed on Holden's.
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Holden had lectured himself endlessly-- there will be other interesting kids, all the
kids are interesting, you'll find him a good owner and he'll be fine and you'll move
on-- and the thought of how close he'd come to convincing himself to lose Bran,
how far the kid had had to go to prevent him from making an unredeemable
mistake, could still chill him with momentary panic and the strong desire to seek
Bran out and do something that would leave a mark. For a second the weight in his
lap, which wasn't Bran's, was therefore profoundly irritating; the moment after, he
pressed a gentle kiss to Lee's temple in conciliation for his unspoken thought. Lee
snuggled a little closer in response.
"Did you know I was the dimmest person in this house?" he asked Alix, restacking
the interviews in order, one-handed. Alix sat across from him, making notes on a
growing stack of files.
"You didn't?" she asked without looking up. "Q.E.D."
"You're a laugh riot. But seriously, why have all the slaves thought this through
better than I have?"
"You're attracted to people who are smarter than you are, dear," Alix explained,
sifting through a particularly thick file. "Me, for example. My magnificent mind
managed to outweigh the more obvious disadvantages of my person. That, and the
fact that I didn't mind you getting some on the side."
"Mind, hell," said Holden, grinning. "You bought him for me."
"A good marriage is built on compromise." Alix closed the file and set it on a
growing stack. "Compromise and two or more sex slaves."
"I'd better find a good divorce lawyer, then," said Holden. "The abolitionists are
raring at the bit. You read these interviews?"
"The whole 'but don't you, in your heart of hearts, wish there were no more slavery'
bit? Yes. But I don't think our marriage is in any immediate danger." Alix picked
up a stack of files and got to her feet. "These are all the kids we had to get a doctor
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for right away. I thought we'd start with Mona. Andrei's been the most enthusiastic
so far about the idea of reforms to the system, and he'll be a good litmus test of
whether all the nobles will be horrified at the idea of the story. Even if he doesn't
want us to interview Mona, he won't turn on us altogether. He's got too much of a
crush on you."
Holden laughed, startled. "Andrei?"
"You really are the dimmest person in this house, aren't you, dearest?" Alix came
over to kiss him on the cheek, then dropped a quick kiss on the top of Lee's dark
head, just as she might have done with Valor. "Should we write Andrei or call
him?"
"Call him and ask to meet. Not tomorrow, though. That's Lee's two-week checkup,
and I want Andrei to actually see Lee. I can sound him out about buying then, too."
"Good. And while I'm phoning, you might look over this." She pulled a letter
across the table to Holden. "It's the letter I've written to Dr. Carey. I know she can
be trusted to keep the matter confidential, even if she doesn't want to be part of the
story."
"Sure," said Holden. "And if you see Jer, would you send him to me?"
As Holden read Alix's letter to the doctor, Lee shifted uneasily in his lap, then
shifted again. Holden turned away from the letter and pulled him back by the
shoulders, looking into the pretty, sharp-cornered face, where the effect of the
pointed chin and razor cheekbones was softened by large, limpid dark eyes.
"What's with the squirming, kid?"
Lee had learned to read Holden's face and tone well enough not to cringe at the
question, but he did lower his eyes humbly. "Nothing, master. I just wondered--"
He trailed off nervously, his lower lip disappearing again.
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"If you have a question you may ask it," Holden told him, smoothing the fine dark
hair back from the boy's face. "But if I choose not to answer it I don't want you
throwing a temper tantrum and screaming and cursing at me like you usually do."
Lee glanced back up at him, startled, then, seeing Holden's smile, managed a
tentative grin of his own.
"I'm teasing you," Holden confirmed. "You don't do anything like that. Do you?
You're very quiet."
Lee smiled a little wider. "Yes, master."
"So what did you want to ask?"
Lee's eyes were still troubled. "Master-- when may I serve you?"
"Serve me?" Holden smiled again. "What did you have in mind?"
"I-- whatever my master wishes. I'm not very-- I mean-- my-- my master should
judge whether I'm any good, but I'll try hard to learn, if my master will allow me
to-- to--" Lee was blushing deeply now, and Holden wasn't sure whether he wanted
to smile or tear up a little at the sight. "To try to please him."
"You already please me." Holden traced the line of Lee's cheekbone with his
thumb. "Eventually, yes, I'll want to see how skilled you are with your mouth, and
once the doctor says it's all right, I'll want to fuck you." Lee flinched involuntarily
and Holden noted it while he went on, "But just because we aren't doing those
things yet doesn't mean you aren't pleasing me or doing your duty as a slave. We're
just taking things slow, is all. Taking things on your master's time is exactly what a
good, obedient slave does."
Lee nodded, looking down. Holden took the sharp little chin in his fingers and
tilted it back up.
"You don't like the idea of me fucking you?" he asked. "It's okay if you don't."
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"It's just--" Lee swallowed. "It-- I'm sorry, master, I told you I wasn't brave. It-- it
hurts. To be--"
"It shouldn't hurt," said Holden very gently. "Have you talked to Bran about this?"
"Yes, master," Lee admitted. "He says-- he says it doesn't hurt."
"But you're just a little skeptical?" Holden asked, smiling. "I don't blame you. But,
sweetheart, I'm afraid I'm going to have to fuck you at least once. I'll wait until the
doctor says it's all right, and I'll be very gentle and very careful and do everything I
possibly can to make sure it feels good. And if you absolutely can't stand it, then I
won't fuck you again, and I'll look out for a buyer who won't either. Probably a
woman. So. Once more in your whole life. You can stand that, can't you? You've
stood a lot worse, before."
"Yes, master," said Lee after a moment. "I can stand it."
"Good boy." Holden considered. "Would it make you more comfortable if Bran
were there too? Touching you or holding you?"
Lee blinked at him, then laid his head back down on Holden's shoulder.
"Yes-- master," he whispered. "Thank you."
He was quiet for a moment, and Holden caressed him gently, fingertips tracing
over the scabs of his healing back, feeling the quick, light heartbeat against his
own. "Master? After you sell me-- will I ever see you again? Or-- or Bran?"
Holden cupped the nape of Lee's neck, caressing the still-prominent vertebrae
gently with his thumb. "Yes. We can arrange for visits. In fact, even if it weren't
important to you, I know Bran would want to make sure he could check on you
every so often. You'll see us again, don't worry."
"Did we find a buyer?" Jer asked, coming in at that moment.
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"Not yet," said Holden, glad Lee hadn't tensed at the words. "Just talking
hypotheticals. Do you know where Bran is?"
"That why you wanted to see me? Seems kind of roundabout." Jer grimaced at
Holden's raised eyebrow. "In the kitchen, master."
"Lee, sweetheart, run be with Bran for a bit," said Holden, and Lee got up
obediently. Holden took his hand and pulled him back down for a soft kiss on the
lips, and Lee smiled before he went.
"So," said Holden, motioning to Jer to sit down opposite him. Jer, looking wary,
took a seat. "You want to get drunk?"
"Fuck!" Jer said, coughing. "If you wanted to poison me you could have just said
so."
"Believe me," said Holden, sipping from his own glass before he pushed the cup of
cold water he'd set out between them on the table towards Jer, "this is about as
good as it gets. It's an acquired taste."
"This is liquor?" Jer examined his glass as if it were potentially explosive.
"This is vodka," said Holden. "Gin is much worse."
Jer grinned at that and lifted the glass again, taking a cautious sip. "Burns, doesn't
it?"
"Little bit," Holden said, sipping from his own glass, "but then you start to feel all
warm."
"Am I going to have a hangover?" Jer asked, sipping again. "Argounov got some
serious hangovers, mornings after parties. Headaches, shitty mood. Puking,
sometimes."
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"Drink it slow," said Holden, "and sip water in between. If you get a hangover you
can stay in bed tomorrow."
"Just like a nobleman," said Jer. "Who'd have thought I'd rise in the world so fast?
Getting shit-faced, planning on hangovers. This isn't so bad. Warm, yeah."
Holden watched him. "Drink it slow, I said."
"Yes, master. What does this do to people?"
"Makes them drunk," said Holden, and drank. "Scientifically? I have no idea. Ask
Yves. I bet he knows."
"I mean why aren't we allowed?" Jer asked, setting the glass down. "What does it
do that's bad, so slaves can't drink it? I know coffee stains your teeth and it's
addictive--"
"Alcohol's addictive too," said Holden. "I mean, you build up a tolerance to it. But
you don't get headaches if you don't get it, not unless you drink way too much. I
think it's--"
"We might enjoy it too much?" Jer drank.
"Something like that. Watch out!"
Jer had put the glass back down a little too hard; the liquid sloshed wildly, but
didn't spill.
"Sorry," he said. "Wait. Liver. That's it. Fucks up your liver. Someone told me that.
Argounov, I guess. Or maybe it was Laura."
Holden reached out and pulled the glass away. "Drink some water."
Jer nodded, then considered the water glass carefully before lifting it and sipping
from it. "Less stimulating."
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"Alcohol's not a stimulant," said Holden. "It's a depressant."

"Now he tells me." Jer looked up at Holden thoughtfully. "That's all I fucking need.
Don't let me kill myself, will you?"
"I won't," said Holden. "But I have social drinks all the time and it's never made
me want to kill myself."
"You don't have that much to be depressed about."
"Do you?"
"Get me drunk and then try to make me talk shit. Not sporting. No, kind master,
my life is a rose garden. Can I finish the glass?"
"Slowly."
When he'd set the empty glass with exaggerated care back on the table, Jer looked
around the room with scientific interest, then lifted and lowered his hand carefully.
"I like this," he said. "This is-- But you won't set me up?"
Holden drained his own glass, feeling pleasantly warm. "What do you mean, set
you up?"
"Ask me trick questions," Jer explained. "I might say something fucked up."
"I won't ask trick questions. And I won't get mad at anything you say under the
influence."
"I know," said Jer, suddenly irritable. "You never get mad at me. It's because you
feel sorry for me. Because I'm so old."
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"You always say that," said Holden, shaking his head. "We're the same age,
remember?"
"Yeah, well, look what it's done to you," said Jer moodily, and then, "Fuck. This
was a bad idea. Master--"
"It's okay," said Holden. "So we're both old and ugly."
"Not ugly. Didn't mean that." Jer shook his head. "Just-- oh, I don't know. Not my
type? But, I don't know. That's not-- important. I mean, I was never your type. Was
I?"
Holden considered this for a minute.
"Not exactly," he said finally. "Of course, Alix wasn't exactly my type either."
Jer grinned. "No?"
"No," said Holden, grinning back. "No cock, see."
"I've got a cock," said Jer pensively.
"That you do." Holden reached across the table and took Jer's unresisting hand in
his. "You two saved my life. Whether you were-- are-- my type-- seems kind of
irrelevant compared to that. But what do you mean, I'm not your type?"
"Fuck," said Jer again. "Nothing, didn't mean-- it's just-- like I was saying, that
scent you give off. Drives pretty pink-cheeked boys wild. All that grav-- gravi-fuckin'--"
"Gravitas?"
"Right. Big businessman, you know. Money in the bank, wife at home, kid at
school. Social drinker. Patient smile." Jer laughed a little. "Kids like Bran-- I mean,
you're his-- home. You know? Steady, strong, safe."
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"And what's your type?" Holden asked, examining Jer with considerable interest.
"Dunno," said Jer, looking at their hands as if surprised to see them clasped
together. "Like-- the first time I saw you. The way you jutted your chin out, like
you weren't so fucking scared you could barely-- Like, come and get it, you
bastards. Chained up and bruised and--surrounded-- and you weren't giving up a
fucking thing."
Holden squeezed Jer's hand silently as he added rather wistfully, "You were so...
Wanted to be the one to-- take you down. Make you cry. Let you-- rest."
"You took good care of me," Holden said again, watching Jer thoughtfully.
"Sure." Jer looked up suddenly. "Can I ask you? What was it-- why did you-- I
mean, why her and not me?"
Holden didn't have to ask what he meant.
"Don't know exactly," he said finally. "Maybe it was the guilt, from what I did to
her. Or because you were always-- I'm not saying you were wrong-- but you kept
telling me to shut up, calm down, deal with it. She told me-- it was okay. To-- to--"
"Throw a tantrum."
"Yeah."
"That why you keep telling me it's okay?" Jer asked after a moment. "To be pissed
off at you? To get-- how I get?"
"Yeah," Holden said quietly. "That's why."
"Thought it was just because you felt sorry for me," said Jer pensively. "That's-better, I guess, to think about it being-- because-- you know, it was you, what you-
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fuck, you know what I mean." He laughed again. "Fucking hell. Did you say
depressant? That can't be right. I want to put my hands all over you right now."
"It depresses your inhibitions. Come here."
"I don't have any inib-- inhibitions. I'm a fucking sex slave." Jer stood up carefully
and came closer to Holden. Holden reached out and drew him down into his lap.
"Sex slaves have the most inhibitions," he said, stroking Jer's back. "We have to.
Too dangerous not to. Too dangerous to get drunk. Could say too much."
"Am I?" Jer asked nervously. "I mean, have I been? Saying fucked-up shit?"
"No. You're not that drunk, anyway. Just... relaxed."
Jer put his head down suddenly on Holden's shoulder.
"Yeah," he said, muffled. "Relaxed. This is good. Thank you for this."
"You're welcome, baby." Holden ran fingernails gently up and down Jer's clothed
back. "Do you want to do it again?"
"Do what again?" Jer asked, puzzled. "Drink?"
"Yeah, do you think you want to?" Holden hesitated. "I mean-- fuck, like I said, I
have cocktails all the time, Alix and I do. And I don't know-- I never really thought
about it, but why shouldn't you? And Yves too-- I don't know about Bran, is he too
young? Maybe it would damage his health. I'll ask Yves."
"You'd let me-- us--" Jer started laughing. "Oh gods, I'm picturing Bran drunk. If
this is what it does to me--"
"What does it do to you?"
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"This," said Jer, and licked Holden's neck, quickly, as if checking the flavor. "Can
we go to bed?"
"Yeah," said Holden, smiling. "Let's."
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CHAPTER 15
"Feel good to get out of the house?" Holden asked Lee the next day on the way to
the hospital.
Lee glanced up at him uncertainly. "I like the house, master."
"It's a nice house," Holden agreed, amused. "But you've been cooped up there for a
while. I thought it might be a relief to see sky again."
"I can see sky at your house, master," said Lee, smiling a little. "From the
windows."
"Yeah, I guess you can," said Holden, glancing sideways at the boy's pretty face.
He was fairly happy to be getting out of the house himself, despite his halfembarrassed reluctance to face the hostile doctor again. Robin had been subdued
and quiet-- unless, as Yves had remarked, she was just lying in wait-- since her
dressing-down by Jer, but having a photographer and a reporter, however discreet,
popping in and out of the house for interviews, photo sessions, consultations, and
respectful requests for progress reports was still wearing as all hell. Holden hadn't
realized how much he valued the sanctity and privacy of his home and his odd
family circle until it was disrupted. Plus, he was troubled by the thought of Valor,
who'd gone back home alone at the end of the previous week, and of Inga, to
whom she'd claimed to be planning to apologize; Holden wasn't too pleased about
the fact that his daughter was still addressing Robin as darling when she left.
"You nervous about this checkup?" he asked Lee, focusing on the road and the
more immediate problem who sat beside him in the passenger's seat, looking
straight ahead at the road, his hands decorously folded in his lap.
"No, master," he said without looking at Holden again. "Thank you for taking me."
"Of course I'm taking you. We need to make sure you're healthy." Holden turned
into the hospital parking lot. "Can't say I'm looking forward to seeing the doctor
again, myself. I think I kind of got on her nerves, last time."
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Lee grinned a little, but said nothing. When Holden parked and got out of the car,
Lee sat still, waiting, until Holden came around to his side, unbuckled his seatbelt
and motioned him out of the car; when he was on his feet, he stepped as close to
Holden as he could without touching him. Holden reached out and clasped Lee's
hand in his, and Lee smiled up at him as they started walking.
The checkup proved painless. Bolstered by a good night's sleep and the hope that
he was actually doing something worthwhile with the news story, Holden poured
on the charm, and while the doctor didn't appear actually charmed, she did seem
grudgingly pleased by Lee's obviously improved health and spirits.
"He's in about as good condition as we could expect at this point," she admitted.
"You finished giving him all the antibiotics?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Holden as Lee, looking smaller than ever as he perched naked
on the exam table, smiled a little. Holden smiled back at him, then asked the
doctor, "May he get dressed now?"
"Oh. Yes, he may." The doctor watched as Lee hopped down from the table and
pulled his tunic back over his head, then, at a gesture from Holden, scrambled up
into his lap, smiling shyly at the doctor.
"And you've been following the diet we recommended?" she resumed after a
moment.
"Yes, ma'am. He didn't have much of an appetite at first, but he's getting there,
aren't you, Lee?"
Lee smiled again, and the doctor smiled back involuntarily. The boy was a
ladykiller, Holden thought with amusement. Maybe Tonia Raskolnikova after all.
"Yes, master."
"Well, at this point there's no need for more than ordinary caution," said the doctor
briskly. "Keep up the diet, don't let him pick at the scabs, don't do anything that
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will reopen them, and when you have intercourse, make sure you go carefully. Use
plenty of lubricant, insert a finger before you try anything larger, and take it
slowly."
"Yes, ma'am," said Holden gravely, amused despite himself at the matter-of-fact,
medical tone. "That's exactly what I always tell my wife."
The doctor blinked at him for a moment, then cracked a tiny smile that was gone
almost before Holden could register it as she added, "Do you have any other
questions?"
Holden considered. "I don't think so. Lee? Any questions for the doctor?"
Lee shook his head. "Thank you, master."
"Oh, wait," said Holden. "I did have one. Nothing important-- just curiosity." He
aimed his best smile at the doctor, praying it wouldn't backfire. "Is this the first
time you've treated a slave?"
"No," said the doctor, not with any particular hostility, but not volunteering
anything more, either.
"I didn't think so." Holden smiled at her again. "In our business-- buying slaves
from masters who've found them problematic-- well, this isn't the first time we've
had to bring someone in right after we bought him. And I just wanted to say how
much I appreciated your patience and professionalism. It isn't easy, is it? Seeing
what these kids go through."
"No," said the doctor again, examining Holden with a neutral expression. "It isn't
easy."
Holden ran a hand through Lee's hair, and the boy leaned automatically into the
touch as Holden added, "Sometimes I wish we had more-- I don't know. Recourse.
It isn't as if the law can touch these men."
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"No, it can't," said the doctor, still neutrally. "If you have no more questions about
Lee's treatment--"
"No, I don't. Sorry to ramble on. Come on, Lee." Lee stood, and Holden rose too;
Lee stepped close again, curling a hand around Holden's arm just above the elbow.
"That's all right," said the doctor, and, as Holden opened the door for her, "Mr.
Larssen?"
"Ma'am?"
"I wish more of them were like you," she said crisply, and passed through the door
and into some inner sanctum too quickly for Holden to react.
"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Holden said to Lee as they crossed the parking
lot.
Still clinging to Holden's arm, and walking as close as he could without tangling
their feet together, Lee shook his head. "No, master."
Holden reached up and put a hand over Lee's where it curled around his bicep.
"Tomorrow we'll go out again, to a friend's house."
"Lord Andrei Taganov," Lee volunteered as they reached the car. "And Mona."
"Exactly." Holden opened the passenger side door for Lee. "You don't say much,
but you take it all in, don't you?"
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Lee smiled a little as Holden buckled his seatbelt for him, then shut the door gently
and went around to the driver's side.
"You nervous about going to Lord Taganov's?" he asked.
Lee hesitated, glancing sideways at Holden, before he said softly, "No, master."
Holden started the car. "It's okay to be nervous, you know. New places and new
people can be scary even when a person hasn't been through all you have."
"I'll be okay, master," said Lee quietly. "But--"
"But what, kid?"
"But--" Lee swallowed. "I'm sorry, master, but-- now that-- now that the doctor
says it's okay-- will you--"
"Will I--" Holden glanced sideways at him again as they turned onto the road.
"Fuck you?"
Lee blushed painfully.
"Are you pretty anxious to get that over with?" Holden asked curiously.
Considering his repeated attempts to reassure Lee that his master didn't mind
waiting indefinitely for sexual service, he couldn't imagine why else the kid kept
bringing it up when he so obviously hated and feared the idea.
"I-- I just want to serve you, master," Lee stammered. "I could use my m-mouth-or-- anything-- any way I could please my master--"
Holden didn't know what to make of Lee's strained tone when he talked like this-half urgent, half terrified-- but he did know he wasn't about to stick his cock in the
boy until he'd figured it out.
"You already please me, kid," he said for at least the fourth time.
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Lee bowed his head, looking unhappy. "Yes, master."

That night, Holden woke slowly with his hands curled around two palm-sized
breasts and one leg thrown over a warm, curving hip, while someone kissed his ear
and whispered, "Master?"
He opened his eyes and saw blond hair, then turned his head to see Bran leaning
over him; stirring, he heard Alix murmur a faint and incoherent protest.
"What is it, love?" he asked Bran softly.
Bran grimaced apologetically. "I'm sorry to wake you, master, but-- could you just
tell Lee it's okay to jerk off?"
Holden blinked and eased his arms from around Alix to sit up; Alix made an
irritated noise, then settled back into sleep. "I'm sorry. Say that again?"
"He thinks he's not allowed," Bran explained in a low voice as Holden got up and
took the boy's hand, leading him from the room into the dimly lighted hallway, and
closing the bedroom door behind them. "I should have realized sooner. With Lord
Dunaev, we weren't allowed-- I wasn't allowed to get myself off, and neither was
Lee. I never asked you, because you started-- um-- playing with me-- right away,
so I didn't need-- and then later Yves told me it was okay. Not that I've needed to,
much," he added, grinning. "Since then."
Holden laughed softly. "No, I wouldn't think-- but Lee-- oh, gods, I'm such an
idiot. So that's why he keeps asking if he can serve me."
"Exactly," Bran agreed. "He's been hoping for the chance to earn an orgasm. But
I'm the idiot, master. I knew Dunaev didn't-- That was one of the things he got
angriest about. He'd--" Bran shook his head as if shaking something out of it. "I
don't really like to think about it, so I didn't-- but anyway, I finally figured it out.
What it was that was making Lee so tense. He won't even sleep touching me any
more."
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"No wonder," said Holden ruefully. "Sleeping naked and cuddled up with you for
two weeks without permission to come? If Denys gets his way I think that will be
prohibited by about three different statutes."
Bran giggled, then sobered. "Yeah, so I told him it was okay, but he doesn't believe
me. I mean, he doesn't think I'm lying, but I think he thinks I'm confused. He
believes I have permission, but then, I'm--"
"My pet?" Holden finished, grinning.
"Yeah," said Bran, grinning back. "I think our secret's out, master. Anyway, can
you please tell him it's okay? He needs his sleep."
"I'll go you one better," said Holden. "Where is he now?"
Lee, naked and seated on the very edge of Bran's bed as if poised for flight,
blushed crimson at the sight of Holden and bowed his head so deeply he looked as
if he were trying to bury his head in his own chest to hide from view.
"Lee, sweetheart." Holden sat down and put an arm around him, pulling the
trembling body gently into his lap. Lee gasped as Holden reached down to weigh
the boy's balls in his hand, feeling their heaviness, then wrapped his hand around
the half-erect penis. Lee stopped breathing.
"You're such a good boy, Lee," Holden said, gently stroking the silky flesh with his
fingertips. "You've been so good and so patient. You haven't touched yourself
without my permission once, have you?"
Lee shook his head frantically, his cheeks still crimson, his eyes filled with tears.
"No, master, please--"
"I know you haven't," said Holden firmly, and leaned in to kiss Lee's lips, probing
for the first time with his tongue. Lee opened his mouth automatically and
somewhat mechanically to his master's, and Holden deepened the kiss, carefully,
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lingering over the taste of the boy's lips and tongue, the small frightened flutterings
as Lee struggled to accommodate him, feeling the boy's cock softening in his hand.
Interesting. The kid either had major performance anxiety, or felt as little lust for
Holden as Holden did for him-- probably the latter, if he'd been avoiding cuddling
with Bran but not with Holden. Well, that certainly made things simpler.
"You don't have to earn permission to bring yourself off," he said softly after
breaking the kiss. "But waiting all this time-- I think you've earned something
exceptional."
Tears spilled down Lee's hot cheeks as Holden added, "Bran says you haven't
wanted to sleep close with him lately. I bet it's made it harder, touching him, being
so close to him. Hasn't it? He's very beautiful, isn't he?"
Lee's eyes darted involuntarily to Bran, who was still by the door, watching. He
smiled at Lee as Holden reached with his free hand to brush the boy's tears away.
"Bran, come here."
Bran came swiftly and knelt down on the floor at Holden's feet while Holden
shifted Lee gently forward till he sat on the edge of the bed between Holden's legs.
Bran waited for his master's nod before cupping his friend's balls in one hand,
wrapping the other hand around Lee's cock, and leaning down to take the slender
shaft into his mouth. As Lee cried out, Holden wrapped his arms around the
shaking body from behind and leaned forward to speak in his ear.
"Come when you're ready, Lee. I want you to, and Bran wants it, too, he wants to
taste you, wants to know how good he's made you feel. His mouth feels good,
doesn't it? Come on, sweetheart. Come for us."
Tears streaming down his face, Lee arched suddenly with a strangled cry, and
Holden watched Bran swallow and keep sucking as the warm young body
shuddered and shuddered and finally went slack in his arms. His own cock was
hard from the look on Bran's face, the sight of that practiced mouth milking the
orgasm from his friend. When Bran finally pulled back, Holden hugged Lee close.
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"Such a good boy," he said again.

"Thank you-- master--" Lee managed between sobs for breath, as Bran, sucking
traces of Lee's seed from his flushed lips, got up and sat down next to Holden on
the bed, leaning his head against his master's shoulder and putting a soothing hand
on Lee's arm.
"Thank you, master," he echoed as Holden rocked Lee gently, feeling his breathing
grow slowly steadier. He added after a moment, mischievously, "But now how am
I going to get to sleep?"
Holden laughed and laid Lee carefully down on the bed before slipping to his
knees between Bran's legs and taking the boy's hot flesh in his mouth; the soft,
astonished cry he heard then wasn't in Bran's voice, and the knowledge that Lee
was watching his mouth around his slave's cock, seeing Bran's back arch in ecstasy
as his master sucked him, made his already intense pleasure in satisfying Bran
electric. Bran lasted longer than usual, and Holden savored it, bringing all of the
boy's favorite tricks with his tongue and teeth to bear before Bran groaned and
spilled down his throat.
Holden pulled back, wiping his mouth, and smiled at Lee, whose eyes were like
saucers. Bran let himself fall backwards onto the bed, and Holden laughed again at
the expression on his face. He lay down himself between Bran and Lee, gathering
both boys in with an arm around each. Bran nuzzled sleepily closer, while Lee lay
very still in the crook of Holden's arm.
"You okay, kid?" Holden asked him quietly, and Lee nodded, his eyes pensive as
he looked into Holden's. "Taking it all in?"
Lee examined Holden carefully for a moment before he smiled.
"Yes, master," he said, and moved closer, pressing his cheek against Holden's
shoulder. "I'm taking it all in."
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CHAPTER 16
Holden woke the next morning with a gentle mouth on his; he opened his eyes and
looked into Bran's, their expressive gray depths luminous with affection.
Registering the weight against his right side, he looked down to see Lee curled in
the crook of his arm, apparently still asleep.
Bran leaned down and whispered in his ear, "You're taking him to Taganov's
today, master?"
Holden nodded carefully, one eye on the peaceful young face with its translucent
veined eyelids, and pitched his voice as low as Bran's. "You want to come?"
Bran frowned. "Do you think I-- should?"
"You don't want to, do you?" Holden ran a hand through Bran's curls.
"Lord Taganov makes me sort of nervous, master," said Bran apologetically. "The
way he looks at me--"
"He makes me nervous too, around you," Holden agreed softly. "I'm never sure he
isn't just going to grab you up and try to make off with you-- and then I'd have to
kill him, and imagine the paperwork on that."
Bran smiled a little. "It's not that I'm afraid of him, master, I just never-- quite
know where to look."
"You don't need to come," said Holden, as Lee's breathing against him changed
and he suspected the boy was now awake, though his eyes were still closed. "But
do you think Lee will do all right? It will be his first time in... mixed company."
Bran nodded seriously. "Just remind him what to do if he does something wrong."
"You think he'll misbehave?"
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"I think he'll be terrified that he might misbehave, master. Like you said-- his first
time in front of the nobility, someone you've mentioned selling him to. And
Dunaev-- when we misbehaved in front of company, it was always ten times worse
than in private. He hated-- being made a fool of."
Holden nodded. "Good to know... Bran, I don't know what I'd do without you here,
I really don't. Lee would probably still be waiting to get off, for one thing." He
added, as Bran smiled and squirmed at the praise, "Lee, sweetheart? You awake?"
Lee slowly opened his dark eyes, looking up at Holden tentatively.
"Good morning, beautiful. Sleep well?"
"Yes, master," Lee whispered. "Thank you."
"We're heading out for Lord Taganov's right after breakfast," Holden said gently.
"I'm not too worried about how you'll behave-- just speak when you're spoken to,
do as you're told, and what else?"
"Keep my eyes and ears open, master," said Lee with a small smile.
"Good. And if you do make a mistake?"
Lee sobered, looking a little scared. "Kneel down and touch your feet, master."
"Good." Holden touched Lee's cool cheek. "Good boy."
Mona answered the door to Lee and Holden herself when they arrived at
Taganov's, and smiled at them, her chipped front tooth lending piquancy to her
pretty round face with its thick, chestnut-colored fringe. "Hi, Mr. Larssen."
"Hi, sweetheart," said Holden, smiling back at her as she stood back to let them in.
"How are you? Taganov still spoiling you rotten?"
"Yes, sir," Mona giggled.
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"Good," said Holden. "Let me know if he doesn't. I'll rough him up a little for
you."
Mona shook her head at him as she led the way to Andrei's parlor, where the tall
young man rose to greet them. Mona knelt on the floor by the chair where her
master had been sitting as Andrei's blue eyes fixed, with a startled, almost hungry
look, on Lee.
"Holden," he said, "it's good to see you-- and this must be Lee. My goodness." He
stepped forward and cupped Lee's chin in slender, well-kept fingers, examining his
face.
"You've got to stop showing me these boys if you're not going to let me buy them,"
he said to Holden. "He's even lovelier than Bran."
"That's a matter of opinion," Holden smiled, as Lee lifted his eyes after a moment
to look into Andrei's, and Andrei seemed to shiver. With a sort of tender
abruptness, the young nobleman bent down and took the boy's mouth with his, and
Lee closed his eyes, his expression blissful, as he kissed back.
"Master--" said Mona, her tone faintly scandalized, and Andrei pulled away as
abruptly as he'd leaned in. Lee's eyes snapped open, and Holden saw naked terror
in them in the moment before the boy crashed clumsily to his knees at Holden's
feet, bending his head to press his forehead against the toe of his master's boot.
"It's okay," Holden said to Taganov, who was looking nearly as alarmed as Lee. He
knelt down on the floor facing Lee and cupped the white face in his hands, making
the terrified dark eyes meet his.
"That was very good," he said gently. "I'm very pleased with you, Lee. You didn't
panic-- you did exactly the right thing. We'll talk more about what just happened
when we get home." He leaned in to kiss the boy's cold forehead.
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"And this is why we don't kiss people without their owners' permission," he added,
half jokingly, to Taganov, as he hauled a shaking Lee to his feet. "May we sit?"
"Oh-- please," said Andrei, flustered, his eyes still on Lee, and Holden sat down,
motioning to Lee to kneel at his feet. Andrei sat, too, and Mona laid her head down
on his knee; he gave her an apologetic look before he turned back to Holden. "I'm
sorry, I didn't mean to be-- inappropriate."
"It's all right. This is just a bit of a tense time for Lee." Holden stroked Lee's hair.
"We've barely done any training-- it's all been recovery, so I'm sure his imagination
is running wild when it comes to punishment."
"You wouldn't punish him for getting kissed!" Andrei protested.
"Of course I wouldn't. But some people would, if it looked like he enjoyed it too
much." Holden watched Andrei's eyes on Lee's dark head. "Which is what I wanted
to talk to you about."
"Of course," said Andrei, his eyes moving back to Holden's face. "Alix said on the
phone--"
"That we had something to ask you and Mona? Yes."
At home, Bran came running to meet them at the door. "How did it go?"
"Success," said Holden, and put his arms around Bran, kissing him deeply; Bran
kissed back with equal fervor, sending a shiver down Holden's spine. "He's
bringing Mona over tomorrow to meet Denys and Robin."
"That's wonderful, master." Bran smiled at Lee. "Did you like Lord Taganov?"
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"Quite a lot, actually," said Holden, and Lee sucked in his lower lip. "Come
upstairs with us, Bran. There's something we need to talk over."
"Uh-oh," said Bran, taking in Lee's shiver at Holden's words. "What happened?"
"Come upstairs and I'll tell you."
By the time Holden had put Lee and Bran on the mattress in the training room and
closed the door behind them, Lee was pale and shaking again. Bran took his hand.
"Lee?"
"It's okay, Lee," said Holden, sitting down and taking Lee's other hand in his.
"You're not going to be punished. I just want to talk."
"Lee," said Bran softly, "what happened?"
"I--" Lee swallowed. "I let-- Lord Taganov-- kiss me."
Bran looked up at Holden, puzzled. "So did I. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing," said Holden. "Lee, there was nothing wrong with letting him kiss you.
If a free person touches you inappropriately, it's not your place to resist." His eyes
flicked up at Bran, then, thinking of the man in the cafeteria, and Bran lowered his
own eyes, obviously remembering the same thing. "It's your owner's job to make
sure that doesn't happen."
"If he's there," said Bran softly.
"Right. And it's also his job to make sure you don't get put in a position where you
have to make that call." Holden forced his mind back to Lee and general principles.
"Anyone I sell you to will understand that. You didn't do wrong to let him kiss you.
So what did you do wrong?"
Lee looked up suddenly, almost smiling. "I-- enjoyed it?"
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"You were listening." Holden stroked the slim hand. "No one can tell you what you
are and aren't allowed to enjoy. Your mind is your own, no matter who owns your
body. But it's not always a good idea to show what you're feeling so openly."
Holden lifted a hand to stroke Lee's hair. "The next time someone touches you
without your owner's permission-- and we hope that won't ever happen, but if it
does-- you should just be still and wait for your owner to deal with the situation."
"Yes, master," said Lee nervously. "I-- but what if I-- don't mean to-- I mean I
didn't--"
"Okay, so what if you're caught by surprise?" Holden looked at Bran. "Bran, you
be Lord Taganov."
"Aw," said Bran, trying not to crack up. "I wanted to be Lady Kareyeva."
"Wiseass. Grab Lee and kiss him."
"Yes, master." Bran took Lee gently by the shoulders and kissed his lips. Lee made
a soft small noise of pleasure as he kissed back, then stiffened and pulled away,
looking up at Holden miserably.
"That's okay," said Holden, smiling at him. "But just sit still. Surprise is okay, but
no other reaction. Don't pull away and don't kiss back. Let's try again."
Bran kissed Lee again, and Lee trembled visibly as he struggled to remain still.
"Good," said Holden. "Trembling is fine. Could be fear, could be lust, could be
revulsion; no one knows but you. Still a little too much lip movement, though.
Again."
"You're enjoying this way too much, master," said Bran, leaning in again, and Lee
laughed into his mouth, then dropped his head sheepishly.
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"Again," said Holden, grinning, and, finally, "Good, Lee. That was good. Now-- if
Lord Taganov had asked me if he could kiss you, and I had said yes, then how
would you respond? Show me. Kiss him again, Bran."
This time, as Bran slid his tongue between Lee's lips, Lee closed his eyes as he had
with Taganov, his whole body relaxing. Bran moved closer, one hand coming up to
grasp the back of Lee's neck, the other slipping into Lee's hand; Lee squeezed it
convulsively, leaning into Bran's touch and moaning so softly Holden wasn't sure
he hadn't imagined the sound. When Bran pulled back, both boys were flushed and
panting.
Bran looked up at Holden hopefully, making Holden laugh.
"What?" he asked. "Want more?"
Bran nodded enthusiastically, and Holden laughed again.
"Go on," he said. "I'll tell you when to stop."
Lee quivered as Bran pulled him into his arms, one hand splayed gently on his
back, tipping his head back in a deep kiss; he moaned a little more loudly, his
hands coming up to clasp Bran's forearms. Bran nipped gently at Lee's lips, then
trailed his tongue along the line of Lee's jaw, kissing softly to just below Lee's
earlobe. Lee was arching into Bran's touches, lifting his eyes occasionally to
Holden's, and for the first time, Holden's cock was taking notice of Lee.
He moved closer, pressing up against Lee with an arm around him, took the hand
Bran wasn't clasping in his and moved it to his groin. Lee gasped and froze.
"It's okay," Holden said softly, cupping the boy's hand against his growing cock as
Bran kept kissing Lee. "Hey. Lee. Look at me."
Lee looked.
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"I want your mouth," said Holden softly, and touched the boy's lips with one
finger. "Show me what you can do."
Lee pulled obediently away from Bran and waited while Holden stood up, then
knelt up and crawled forward, pushing the cloth of his master's tunic up and out of
the way. Holden watched, seeing the hesitation before he felt the warm, tentative
mouth close on the head of his cock, then another hesitation before Lee tried to
take the whole thing in his mouth. Holden felt the back of the boy's throat for a
split second before Lee choked and gagged, then sucked desperately harder,
slamming his head down too hard on Holden's cock and making himself choke
again.
"Easy, kid," said Holden, faintly alarmed.
Lee whimpered, a pathetic keening sound that half broke Holden's heart, and kept
sucking, desperately, hungrily, but with none of the good rhythm and confidence in
his own skill that had made Bran's similar hunger so delicious. Lee's broken,
terrified rhythm, the wild attempts to deep throat that always resulted in a gagging
cough, and the tears that were quickly streaming down the flushed young face,
made Holden feel faintly sick.
"Stop," he said, more sharply than he meant to, and Lee moaned pitifully as he
pulled his mouth from Holden's cock and dropped again to press his forehead to
Holden's feet. Holden sat back down on the mattress, reaching to Lee and pulling
him up gently into his lap. As he cradled the shaking boy against him, Bran
reached out and put a comforting hand on Lee's back.
"Shhh," said Holden softly. "Lee, it's okay. I'm not angry."
"I'm sorry," Lee sobbed. "Please, master, I can do better, please let me try again--"
"Lee, sweetheart, of course you can try again. But not right now. You tried hard
and I'm proud of you. You've had a pretty big day, already, haven't you?"
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Lee was still crying, with a despairing note to his sobs that Holden found
worrisome. Bran leaned closer, putting his chin on Holden's shoulder, and said
softly, "He's afraid you're going to have him put down if he can't please you."
"Lee," Holden said, appalled. "Is that really what you're afraid of?"
"I'll learn," Lee pleaded, and Holden hugged the boy so hard Lee squeaked in
surprise and probably pain.
"Of course you will," he said. "That's my job, to teach you. And even if you--" He
bit off what he'd been about to say: even if you're too damaged to sell-- "Even if
you can't do certain things, like deep throat someone's cock, that's all right. We'll
just find you an owner who doesn't require that. Okay? You're a good boy, Lee,
and I'm going to make sure you're taken care of."
When Alix telephoned Denys to tell him about Mona, there was no answer, but
about half an hour later, Holden answered the door to find Denys on the doorstep,
sans notebook or tape recorder, looking determined and serious, and rather
adorable.
"Sorry to show up unannounced," he said, as Holden squelched the adorable
thought firmly, "but I was hoping to talk to you alone. May I?"
"All right," said Holden cautiously, leading the way to the filing room where they'd
been spending most of their time lately. Denys sat down across from Holden at the
table.
"There were a few things I wanted to ask you," he began. "About the things you're
not telling me."
Holden eyed him. "What things?"
"I don't know," Denys explained with a faint smile, "because you're not telling me.
But my job is to tell the story-- and right now there are holes in it. Holes that you're
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all skirting the same way. You've got your cover stories pretty firmly in place, but
some things don't add up."
"Such as?"
"Who is Valor's father?" Denys asked.
Holden met his eyes. "I am."
"The odds are astronomically against it, Mr. Larssen."
"The odds are astronomically against everything in this story."
"I can spin it that way," Denys agreed mildly. "Take the 'and as if that weren't
crazy enough, then this other crazy thing happened' approach. But I'd like to be
sure you're lying for a good reason, and not just out of habit from when Valor was
a minor and you had to worry about custody."
Holden eyed him suspiciously. "Are you taping this?"
"No," said Denys, and then, with another faint smile, "Would you like to check me
for wires?"
"Maybe," said Holden, and Denys blushed on cue, but didn't drop his gaze.
"I'm not going to publish anything you don't authorize, Mr. Larssen," he said
earnestly. "But if nothing else... I have to admit I'm curious. Is Valor's father
someone you don't want to piss off?"
"Curiosity killed the cat," said Holden firmly. "I'm Valor's father. What else am I
not telling you?"
"When Bran ran away," Denys said promptly, "where did he run to?"
Holden felt a sudden chill. "He told you. The forest west of the city."
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"Why? And how did you know to look for him there?"
"West is the obvious direction for a runaway," said Holden.
"So you just wandered around in the forest at random until you found him?"
"Yes."
Denys looked at him skeptically.
"And as if that weren't crazy enough," said Holden, "then the intrepid boy detective
stopped asking awkward questions."
A grin quirked Denys' mouth. "Too far-fetched, Mr. Larssen."
"I thought it might be," said Holden. "Look, kid. I want to do this story as much as
you do. But yeah, we have secrets. Deal with it. Spin the story. Or there's no story.
Simple as that."
Denys sighed. "I guess there's not much more to say, then."
"Yes there is," said Holden. "Say you won't go poking around behind my back.
This isn't a game, Denys. These are people's lives we're talking about."
Denys looked faintly abashed. "Yes, Mr. Larssen. I'm sorry."
"Good," said Holden. "And now I have something you'll be happier to hear."
When Denys had left, Holden let the encouraging smile drop from his face and put
his head in his hands, thinking of Lee. The boy's pain and desperation had been so
raw, Holden felt as if he'd given a casual pat on the back to a creature that turned
out to be made of glass and shivered into fragments at the touch. The idea of
having any kind of sex with the sobbing child who had collapsed at his feet in a
wordless, hysterical plea for mercy while Holden's cock was still gleaming with his
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saliva wasn't just a neutral any more; Holden felt as if his balls were trying to
climb up inside him at the thought.
Please let me try again... Holden shook his head, still buried in his hands. I don't
have the stomach for this job any more. Maybe it's time to call Jesse.
But the thought brought no relief, not even momentary. Jesse wouldn't do any more
good for Lee than Holden could.
Struck by a sudden thought, Holden lifted his head abruptly, and saw with a slight
shock that Bran was standing in the doorway, watching him.
"How long have you been there?" he demanded, and Bran ducked his head
sheepishly. "Never mind. Where's Lee?"
"I got him to sleep, master. He was worn out." Bran obeyed Holden's quick gesture
and came closer; he started to kneel at Holden's feet, but Holden grabbed his arm
and pulled him almost roughly into his lap. He hugged Bran to him and buried his
face in the boy's warm neck, sudden and extremely unwelcome tears springing to
his eyes.
"Master?" said Bran softly, and when Holden lifted his head, the boy reached up to
touch the tears on his master's face. "Are you okay?"
"No," said Holden with a wan smile. "I'm having a nervous breakdown."
"Please don't do that, master," said Bran apprehensively. "Is there anything I can
do?"
"Yes." Holden leaned forward and pressed his cheek, briefly, against Bran's. "I
need you to make something clear to Lee for me. I'd tell him myself, but he seems
to take things better from you. I'm not going to be having any kind of sex with him
for a while."
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"He's not going to take that well, master," said Bran frankly. "Not from anyone.
He's really anxious to please you."
"Well, if we have to spend a month on the part of his training where he realizes it's
possible to please your master without sex, so be it. I'll hold him and hug him as
much as he wants-- the Ravens know he needs it-- but I won't put any part of me
inside any part of him. He might be well enough physically, but emotionally-- you
saw what happened."
Bran looked down. "Yeah, that was pretty awful."
"It just about put me off sex with teenage boys," said Holden, "and that's saying
something. I'm not doing it again. But listen, Bran, I wanted to ask you. Do you
think Lee would do better being reintroduced to sex by someone who isn't his
master?"
Bran frowned. "Like-- Lord Taganov, or somebody?"
"No, idiot," said Holden affectionately. "Like you."
"Me, master?" Bran stared at him.
"He trusts you," said Holden reasonably. "He loves kissing you, that's obvious-- he
relaxed into it right away. He won't feel like his life is on the line if he doesn't
perform well with you. It could just be-- play. Getting him used to gentle touches,
to his own body's responses, and someone else's. Do you think that's something
he'd respond well to?"
"Maybe," said Bran cautiously.
"And would you be comfortable with it?" Holden smiled at Bran's wary look. "It's
okay to say yes or no, kid."
"I--" Bran had to think for a minute, and Holden reached out from long habit to
take his hand while he thought, running a finger over the creases in Bran's palm,
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then pressing his lips to the boy's fingertips. "I think so, master. I mean, if you
were. If it were on your orders."
"Good," said Holden. "I'll talk to Lee then, give him permission. And I'm sure I
don't have to tell you not to rush him into anything he's not ready for yet."
Bran shook his head. "No, master. But-- do you mean I have permission to-- fuck
him?"
"If you think he's ready," said Holden. "I'd rather you talk to me about it first, but if
you've got a moment going, and you think stopping to consult me would disrupt it,
do what you feel is best."
Bran nodded. "You won't be-- jealous?"
"A little," Holden admitted, thinking of the way Bran and Lee had nearly melted
into each other in the training room. "But I can deal with it. Lee really needs this."
Tilting his head to one side, Bran reached out to touch Holden's face, examining
him with love mingled with something else Holden couldn't quite identify.
"What?" he asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You--" Bran hesitated.
"What about me?"
Bran smiled and shook his head. "Nothing, master."
"What?" Holden demanded.
Bran giggled. "Nothing!"
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"What? Tell me, you little punk!" Holden jabbed his fingers into Bran's ribcage,
and Bran writhed as he was tickled, laughing hysterically. "Tell me or I'll spank
you."
"You'll spank me if I tell you!" Bran gasped, helpless with mirth.
"Oh, it's like that, is it?" Holden was trying not to laugh back at Bran. "Then if
spanking is inevitable, we might as well--"
"Wait, wait," Bran managed, swallowing his laughter and trying to straighten his
face. "I was thinking-- how handsome you were, master."
"I'm going to cut you a break, boy, and call that backsass instead of a lie." Holden
pushed the squirming young man down over his lap and yanked his tunic up,
baring his ass and delivering three hard smacks with his open palm before pausing
to admire the red handprints forming on the firm young bottom. "Do it again and
the next thing you'll do with that smart mouth is unbuckle my belt for me."
Bran had gone limp, as he always did when being spanked, however playfully, but
when Holden pulled him back up he twisted himself cooperatively back into a
sitting position, pink-cheeked and searching Holden's face, then gave his master a
small, shy smile.
"You won't be mad if I tell you?" he asked meekly.
"Not as mad as I'll be if you don't."
Bran nodded and folded his hands in his lap as if resigning himself. "Yes, master. I
was thinking-- you know how you were saying how much I'd grown up since you
bought me?"
Holden nodded, and Bran broke into another irresistible smile.
"I was thinking," he said, "so have you."
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CHAPTER 17
Lee lay still, face down, the bed soft and firm under his body, which had stopped
its ridiculous trembling but still refused to relax altogether; he could feel the pain
of his muscles' tension in his back and shoulders, separate from the barely-there
pain of his healing lash marks. The sheets were smooth and cool. His face was half
buried in a deep, soft pillow, his eyes closed.
Lying with your eyes closed was safe here; they just thought you were asleep, and
here you didn't have to worry about whether the master would choose to wake you
with a kick or a blow or a cut from the whip, or just a snarled epithet. When they
woke you here it was with gentle hands in your hair or on your arm, or your name,
spoken softly as if they didn't want to startle you. Lee hadn't heard his name so
much since he was a child; his old master had rarely used it. Bitch was among the
pleasantest of his habitual substitutes.
The new master called him sweetheart. Lee hadn't much liked that at first-- one of
his old master's friends had called him honey, with a drawling false sweetness,
while he did some of the things that hurt worst-- but then, his new master never did
anything to him that hurt, or even seemed to get annoyed with him, no matter what
he did or failed to do. It wasn't that he didn't notice or care what Lee did, either; he
watched Lee a lot, and you could tell he was thinking about the things he saw. He
just didn't seem to get angry, and his hands on Lee were always as kind as his
voice, careful not to startle. Lee had never felt as stupidly safe and happy anywhere
as he felt in his master's lap, free to rest, to close his eyes if he wanted, to be still
and feel the strong, careful arm clasping him close as the solid chest rumbled with
his master's voice and his easy, friendly laughter.
That might happen again, Lee thought with somewhat uncharacteristic optimism.
He might get to be in his master's lap again, his head pressed against the warm
neck. He probably would, at least once or twice, before his master realized what a
worthless slave he would always be. Despite Lee's disastrous failure after more
than two weeks of uninterrupted and surely undeserved respite, his master still
seemed to think Lee might just need more time, or explanations, or practice, or
something. Nothing would work, of course-- nothing ever had-- but if his master
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thought it might, then surely he would remain gentle for at least a little while
longer. And then-- well, whatever would happen, would happen. Other things
would be tried; there would be pain, more and more of it, and his master's voice
would be angry sometimes, then always. Certainly his astonishing privileges would
disappear, one by one or all at once: the soft bed, the plentiful food, his master's
lap, Bran.
Bran. Even Bran's patience with him would wear thin, anyway, eventually. Bran
desired their master. Bran was a good slave. Watching Bran arch backwards as
their master wrapped his mouth around the slave's cock, seeing the ecstasy on his
face, Lee had even thought he might be able to muster the right response when the
time came. He'd never be as good or strong or beloved by any master as Bran, but
he'd thought maybe he'd at least be able to serve the kind man without choking.
His master would probably try for a long time to fix him, Lee thought, trying not to
shudder. He'd spent a lot of money, not buying Lee-- that had been an appropriate
pittance-- but hospitals were expensive, medicine was expensive, and his master
had paid for both. He wouldn't give up easily on making his investment worth
something. And Lee would try, just like he'd tried that afternoon, and the harder he
tried the worse it would be, and if he didn't die of shame and misery, his master
would eventually give up, and the thing would happen that happened to slaves who
couldn't perform a slave's basic responsibilities.
Lee had always had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't entirely his own fault he
was disgusted by his old master, who hit him and kicked him and snarled at him
and choked him with his prick on purpose. But now he knew that whatever was
wrong was definitely his own fault. There was no other explanation for why he
couldn't make himself want his new master's cock, feel as honored by its hardness
and as hungry for its pleasure as his old master had always told him he should. His
new master was the kind of master you might daydream about on a particularly bad
night, when you were hungry and hurt enough that your brain shut partway down
in self-defense and things got a little dark and you allowed yourself to imagine
impossible things like... like Lee's new master. If Lee couldn't want him, couldn't
even suck him without insulting his master's cock by gagging-- and he didn't doubt
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he'd fail just as miserably at actually getting fucked; he'd probably cry-- well,
whatever was wrong was definitely wrong with Lee.
What made matters even worse was the fact that while Lee couldn't feel the right
things for his master, he could feel them for people he had no business feeling
them for. He hadn't been able to hide how he felt about Bran, but his master hadn't
been angry about that-- Lee's treacherous flesh tried to harden under him even now
at the memory of Bran's mouth, the hot wetness of it, the tightness of Bran's lips
around his long-denied cock as their master whispered permission and praise into
his incredulous ear. So maybe, he'd thought, maybe it was all right, somehow, to
want someone who also belonged to your master. Lee wouldn't know; he'd never
had fellow slaves before.
But then he'd leaned into the beautiful young lord's kiss, his spine sparking with
the sweet hungry touch-- and his master still hadn't punished him. Had offered him
a chance for redemption, to show that he craved his master like a worthy slave.
And look what he'd done with that mercy.
Oh well, Lee thought, feeling oddly drowsy despite the shame and self-loathing
that still held his body taut. It wasn't as if he'd ever hoped to avoid fucking
everything up for as long as two weeks, let alone longer.
There were footsteps in the room. Someone come to wake him? Lee held still, his
eyes closed. It wouldn't be Bran; he was the one who'd sat by Lee, stroking his hair
and humming softly, until he'd thought Lee was asleep. It would be his master, or
someone sent to bring him to his master. Maybe his master would hold him for a
little, before he set about discovering the extent to which Lee would never be able
to earn that embrace.
A hand smoothed Lee's hair; he felt a warm exhalation of breath an instant before
lips pressed against his temple.
"I don't want to wake him," his master's voice said, pitched low. (Someone else
was in the room?) "He's tired out."
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"May I stay with him, then?" Bran's sweet tenor asked softly. "Be here when he
wakes up?"
"Honestly," said their master, and the bed tipped slightly as someone sat down, "I
could stand to lie down for a little myself. I'll stay with him, and I'll explain our
new plan when he wakes up. Might be more credible coming straight from the
master's mouth, anyway. You did have to get some other things confirmed."
New plan? Lee tried not to shiver at the words, though the prospect of having his
master lie down with him, maybe even pull him into his arms the way he had last
night, while he thought Lee was asleep, was wonderful.
"True," Bran agreed. "All right, master. Is there anything I can get you?"
"No, love." The bed tilted a little more as the master lay down next to Lee; Lee
stayed limp as he was pulled into his master's arms, held tenderly against the firm
chest. Lee wanted to murmur with happiness, snuggle gratefully closer, but he
didn't want his master to know he was awake. When he was awake, his master
would explain the "new plan" to him, and the sooner it was implemented the
sooner it would fail-- the sooner Lee would fail. It was safe to be asleep. Briefly,
Lee considered how long it would take them to stop being tolerant if he simply
never opened his eyes again.
Someone else's hand-- Bran's-- touched his hair, and then there were more
footsteps and the door closed. Lee breathed deeply.
"You're not asleep," his master said softly, and Lee froze. "It's okay. You can keep
your eyes closed. It's safer that way, isn't it? Oh, now, sweetheart," he added when
tremors started to rack Lee's painfully taut body. "It's all right. Pretending to be
asleep is very adaptive for a slave. You can find out a lot of things that way."
Lee didn't know what adaptive meant, but his trembling subsided when he realized
his master wasn't angry. It was so funny how his master kept explaining to him
what was and wasn't good behavior, as if any of it mattered next to the central fact
that Lee was a sex slave who didn't desire sex with his master. But if pretending to
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be asleep was really all right, he was going to keep pretending as long as he could.
He kept his eyes closed.
"Let's just lie here for a little," his master continued. "You just rest. You're tired
out. And I'll lie here and hold you and think about how much I wish I hadn't done
what I did earlier. Making you suck my cock."
Lee was too puzzled to answer, even if he hadn't been obediently "resting." His
master wished he hadn't found out so soon that Lee wasn't worth all the luxuries
and care and affection that had been lavished on him? Why? He should have tried
Lee's mouth out when Lee was still lying on the floor of his room in his old
master's basement; it would have saved him a lot of trouble and expense.
"See, sweetheart," his master went on, "when I kissed you last night-- well, it
wasn't much like when you kissed Bran, or Andrei, was it? You had a lot of trouble
relaxing."
Lee was trembling again; he couldn't help it. He'd thought he'd done okay with that
kiss-- and maybe it would have passed for okay if he hadn't had the unbelievable
stupidity to kiss the young lord back so enthusiastically. His master's regret could
only mean one thing: Lee wasn't getting any more chances, at least not before
everything changed under whatever "new plan" his master deemed necessary to try
to teach him how to be worth anything as a slave. This was the last time he'd lie
clasped in his master's arms, then; he breathed deeply again, scenting the master's
skin, glad his eyes were closed so he wouldn't have to see the man's pity for
whatever was going to happen next.
"I should have realized then," his master went on, as Lee tried hard not to sob out
loud with fear and remorse, "that it wasn't a good idea to push it, with you and me.
I just don't think there's much of a spark. You're a gorgeous kid-- well, you must
know that, you saw how Andrei responded-- but, I don't know." He was quiet for a
moment while Lee tried to puzzle this out. Spark? Push it? And what did being
gorgeous have to do with it? Gorgeous, but-- was his master saying he didn't even
want Lee? At that thought, Lee seemed to glimpse a new abyss where not only was
he useless, but his master didn't even think he was worth attempting to fix. A
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small, involuntary whimper escaped him, and his master's hand moved to his hair,
stroking him.
"It's not you," he said softly. "I mean, I realize I don't exactly get your blood
pumping either, but I'm sure it doesn't help that I've been thinking of you more as-" He laughed, suddenly, softly, and Lee moved his head closer to his master's
chest, liking the way it vibrated when he laughed. "Sorry, I was just remembering
something I told someone once, about how I felt about Bran. I said I loved him like
a son."
Lee couldn't help it; he laughed too, his eyes still closed, thinking of the nearly
electric chemistry that crackled between Bran and their master whenever they were
in a room together. His master was surprised for a moment, then he laughed again,
harder.
"Is it that obviously ridiculous?" he asked, and, without seeming to expect an

answer, "With Bran, yes-- but with you? I think that really is how I feel. I-- you're
very-- dear to me, Lee." His master hesitated. "I want to-- take care of you. I want
to rip that motherfucker who hurt you limb from limb-- more than I did when it
was just Bran he'd hurt. I want to fight this through the courts. I want to change the
world so this doesn't happen again, ever. Most of all, I want you to be okay. I want
you to heal. I want to do right by you."
Lee held his breath, his heart beating too fast, barely managing to take all this in.
The genuine tenderness in his master's voice was unfamiliar enough to be almost
terrifying. He couldn't remember anyone ever talking to him like this.
"But I don't want to have sex with you. I didn't particularly before this afternoon,
and I certainly don't now, not after seeing what it did to you." His master hugged
him suddenly closer. "Lee, can you understand that I'm not rejecting you? I'm not
denying you the chance to please me? You do please me. You're lovely and sweet
and affectionate and intelligent-- and-- interesting. Just because I don't have sex
with you doesn't mean I can't appreciate your good qualities."
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His master's voice had a tone Lee had never imagined he would hear in an owner's
voice, one he hesitated, even in his own mind, to be so impudent as to call-pleading.
"Bran and I talked this over," his master went on after a moment, "and we thought
maybe-- well, you do have the sex drive of a normal teenage boy, if your response
to Bran is any indication. And you do need to start learning. But we thought,
instead of me, you might respond better if you and Bran had permission to touch
one another-- intimately. To have sex with each other. You have permission, is
what I'm trying to say. You and Bran may do as you like together."
Lee was trying to breathe again, trying to understand, trying to grasp what was
being offered, and why his master sounded nervous, as if he were asking for Lee's
approval of his plan. After another short pause, Holden added, "And I won't be
touching you for a while longer."
"You're touching me now," said Lee, his voice coming out as a barely audible
croak that he nevertheless winced miserably to hear; he hadn't planned to speak out
loud, and he half expected to be shoved out of his master's arms, as if the man
hadn't noticed until now that he was still holding Lee close. He added quickly,
placatingly, "Master."
"That's right," said Holden softly, his arms tightening a little around Lee. "I didn't
say that right. I meant I wouldn't-- use you. Sexually. But of course I'll touch you. I
love touching you. I love holding you. And you like it too, don't you? You-- seem
to."
Again he sounded almost tentative, as if he wanted affirmation from Lee-- which
was insane. How could his master care whether he had Lee's consent or-- or-- his
desire, to do what he wanted--?
A thought suddenly formed in Lee's mind as if two shards of something broken had
fitted together without a visible crack. Ridiculous, unthinkable, that a master
should need his slave to affirm and accept him-- but wasn't that exactly what Lord
Dunaev had nearly killed Lee for failing to do? For failing to desire him, to want
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him, to mean it when he said, Yes, please, take me. Lee had said and done
everything Lord Dunaev had ever demanded, but he hadn't been able to mean it, or
to force his body to respond with genuine desire, and he'd accepted that that made
him worthless.
But what had his master said earlier that afternoon, before Lee had choked on him
and shame and terror had driven all other thoughts from his mind? One of the odd
things he was always saying, that Lee usually tried to think about later, when he
was alone. He had good recall for what was said to him; he could remember the
words now, and the tone, as simply straightforward as an objective remark on the
weather: No one can tell you what you are and aren't allowed to enjoy. Your mind
is your own, no matter who owns your body.
"Yes," he whispered.
His master's voice was very gentle when he said, "Good. Then that's our new plan,
Lee. You and Bran may be together in any way you like-- and you can keep sitting
on my lap without worrying about whether you should be doing anything else.
Does that sound all right?"
Lee opened his eyes and pulled back to look into his master's face, staring so hard
he almost couldn't see the individual features. But he could read the expression.
"Lee?"
"Yes," said Lee, and his own voice startled him; he'd never heard that tone in it
before. He sounded fierce, even though all he'd said was "Yes," and then, "Yes...
master."
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CHAPTER 18
Lee usually looked forward to dinnertime at the new master's house. It had been
disconcerting at first to sit at the same table as his owners and so many fellow
slaves-- so many adults, he found himself thinking, although of course legally they
were in the same category as himself; he'd been of age to sell. But Yves and Jer
and Greta were the age of his old master's friends, and chatted with their owners as
easily as if they were their friends. Like so many initially baffling and therefore
terrifying things about his new life, he'd slowly gotten used to it, and he liked
listening to their conversations now, enjoying the peace of being ignored while he
ate the wonderful food with the utensils he hadn't believed at first he was really
allowed to handle.
Bran had explained that his first night, that yes, here they let you use silverware
("They wouldn't like it if you didn't"), and had helped Lee's clumsy fingers
remember how.
"I had trouble too when I first got here," he'd said, smiling at Lee. "Everything's
different here, Lee. You'll see."
Bran was wrong, though, Lee thought on that first night when he woke in soft
sheets soaked with his own piss. Everything was different except the one crucial
thing that would eventually bring all the rest crashing down: Lee was still worse
than worthless.
Now he picked up a fork, but his hand shook so badly that he couldn't get food to
stay on it. He set it down and took a breath, knowing he had to eat-- he was
hungry, and also, he'd found that a healthy appetite pleased his owners-- and telling
himself there was no reason to shake like this. His master wasn't angry with him,
and there wasn't any immediate prospect of his being, either, not if he wasn't going
to try to use Lee again for a while. As for what he'd said about Bran, there was no
reason to worry about that either, or to think about it too much. Bran wouldn't...
well, hurt him, or get him in trouble with their master, or anything that warranted a
shaking hand. Lee took another deep breath, let it out slowly, and picked up the
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fork again; he managed to get it, loaded, to his mouth, but he didn't open his mouth
wide enough and knocked the food off the fork again.
Great. A slave who not only couldn't suck cock, but couldn't even feed himself.
Lee's mouth was really racking up the points today.
Before he could hope that no one had seen, he felt his master's hand on his back
and looked up miserably. Holden took hold of his arm-- gently; he was always so
gentle with Lee-- and pulled Lee from his chair. Lee sank readily, almost
gratefully, to his knees; eating off the floor was an entirely logical punishment for
being too clumsy to eat properly at the table, and considering that it was the way
Lee had eaten for the past two and a half years, it hardly even counted as
punishment. If the truth were told, Lee felt more comfortable immediately in the
familiar crouch, out of sight of most of the table, waiting for his master to put his
plate on the floor.
But he didn't; he hadn't let go of Lee's arm, and he tugged him back up, pulled him
into his lap.
Lee had seen slaves seated in their masters' laps at table, eating from their hands,
when his master took him out to dinner, chained by the neck and crawling. He
understood that it was a sign of great favor, one he'd long given up hope of
earning, and he couldn't begin to fathom what he'd done to earn this place with this
master, especially when Bran and Yves and Jer were all sitting at the same table
and none of them were getting hand-fed. He was afraid to look at any of them, and
so nervous that when his master buttered a morsel of bread and lifted it to Lee's
lips, Lee accidentally bit his fingers.
He would have dropped instantly to the floor, groveling in abject apology, if his
master's other arm hadn't been holding him firmly in place. Holden chuckled very
softly.
"Easy, kid," he said in Lee's ear. "Your plate's still full. No need to resort to
cannibalism."
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Easy, kid. Lee opened his mouth automatically as his master offered him another
bite, and then forgot to close it for a moment, thinking of the spine-contracting gag
reflex he'd fought in utter panic as his master's cock pressed against the back of his
throat, desperate not to choke, knowing that thinking so much about not choking
only made him choke all the more surely. And his master's voice: Easy, kid.
He shut his mouth abruptly and started chewing.
"He looks like a damn rabbit in headlights," said Jer as the master's hand stroked
gently at the back of Lee's neck: Easy, kid. Lee swallowed, and his master lifted
another bite of food to his lips.
"What did Mr. Harper want, master?" Bran asked. "I forgot to ask you earlier."
"Oh," said the master. "To poke his nose in where it doesn't belong, mainly. He
wanted to know who Valor's real father is."
Greta, who'd been drinking something, nearly choked. She set her glass down and
demanded, "You told him you weren't?"
"No, I didn't tell him," said the master, and fed Lee another piece of buttered bread.
"He figured it out. He's not as dumb as he looks."
"What did you say?" the mistress asked quietly.
"That I was so, too, her father, and to shut up and leave me alone," said the master.
"What could I say?"
"Well, there's always the 'random person who never knew he'd gotten Greta
pregnant' story," said the mistress dryly. "That might throw him off the scent. It
worked with Val for eighteen years."
"Val's a good girl," said Greta. "As far as she's concerned, you're her father,
master."
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The master nodded. "I wish Denys felt that way about it. He also started poking
holes in your thrilling escape story, Bran. How did I find you in the forest, and so
on."
Bran flushed, looking embarrassed. "Should I not have told him the story, master?"
"No, that's fine." The master loaded up a fork with rice and steered it carefully into
Lee's mouth. "You're not the only one who told him. Most of you referred to it.
Anyway, it makes great copy. Seemingly incorrigible runaway just needed love
and care. Catch more flies with honey. All that. May not be the best story for
abolitionists, but for reform in the slave laws--"
"You're not worried about this, master?" Yves interrupted. Lee didn't even flinch;
he'd already figured out that Yves got to interrupt their master without receiving so
much as a scowl.
"Not really," said the master. "The kid's on our side. Now if it were Robin poking
around, I might worry. Speaking of which, she's coming over with Denys
tomorrow, to photograph Mona. Andrei gave permission."
"Joy," said Jer grimly. The master grinned at him, then fed Lee another bite of
dinner. Lee kissed the retreating fingertips, then blushed when the master looked at
him in surprise. Lee wasn't sure what had prompted his bold act-- maybe the
mention of the scary young woman who'd prompted Lee's first frightened scuttle
into his master's shielding arms; maybe the slow sinking-in of the fact that his
master really wasn't pissed off at him for not being any good at sex; maybe just the
sudden desire to see his master smile at him, which he was now, with obvious
pleasure that made Lee feel warm all over. He dropped his head against his
master's shoulder, and the master leaned down and kissed Lee's temple.
Lee was discovering that he rather liked to be kissed by his master when he wasn't
required to kiss back. They were funny kisses, these kisses to the temple and
forehead and cheek and fingers and the back of his neck; he guessed what his
master had said earlier about not wanting to have sex with him explained part of it,
but not all of it. They didn't mean his master was about to fuck him, they did mean
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his master wasn't angry, and those were both very good things, but that wasn't all.
Lee thought his master kissed him as though, while he was happy to own Lee's
whole body, this particular part he was kissing right now was his absolute favorite.
He liked looking at Lee, too. That had made Lee feel sick with nervousness and
shame when it meant his master was going to be fairly eager to fuck him soon, but
if he wasn't... Lee looked up at Bran, who was watching the two of them, and
smiled at Lee when their eyes met. Lee dropped his gaze quickly, blushing harder.
When supper was over, Lee's master lifted him up in his arms and carried him from
the dining room. Lee was used to being carried-- he was small and slight enough
that men had liked to do it even before Lee stopped moving on his own-- but like
everything else since he'd been sold, this was different. His new master's arms
were strong but careful, as if he were holding something very precious and fragile.
Lee dared to disobey his master's standing order to keep his eyes and ears open,
though he made sure his eyes closed in full sight of his master so that his master
could correct him immediately if he chose, and his master said nothing.
He laid Lee down in someone else's lap-- Bran's lap; Lee's eyes opened, then
closed again as Bran's arms went around him, pulling him in. He wanted to cry
with the pleasure of being so close to Bran, without the edge of shame and fear that
came with being so much more attracted to another slave than to their master. His
master had said it, he'd said it and now he was acting exactly the same way as
before with Lee, he really wasn't angry, and Lee had permission to-He buried his face against Bran's shoulder, cutting off his own half-delirious train
of thought, and Bran hugged him closer, nuzzling his hair affectionately.
"Hey," he said in Lee's ear. "How are you?"
Lee opened his eyes again and smiled at Bran, who leaned in and kissed him,
softly, on the lips, then pulled back and looked up. Lee followed his gaze to their
master, but he wasn't even looking; he had gone to sit by Yves and was talking to
him in a low voice while Yves listened, looking thoughtful, then answered. Jer,
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Lee saw with a slight shock, was looking at him, watchfully, but he turned back to
his book when he saw Lee was looking back.
Bran bent his head to kiss Lee's neck, and Lee sighed voicelessly, squirming
closer. This was delight. Lee could have stayed like this, curled in Bran's lap, warm
and well fed and the closest to safe that he'd felt since he could remember, forever.
"Master," said Bran softly, after a lovely, timeless while of this, and the master
looked up. "May I take Lee upstairs?"
The master got up somewhat abruptly and came towards them, and for a moment,
despite everything, Lee cringed against Bran, but his master's hand was gentle in
his hair before he leaned down to kiss Bran's mouth.
"Take good care of him," he said to Bran, who smiled up at him.
"I will, master," he said. "Come on, Lee."
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CHAPTER 19
Bran carried Lee into his own bedroom and laid him down carefully on the bed
before he lay down next to him, gazing affectionately at his face and stroking his
cheek.
"Hey," he said again, softly.
Lee looked back at him, feeling timid and small next to Bran's healthy, strong
body, and painfully conscious of his scars, even though they were hidden right now
under his tunic. Bran's own skin was smooth and flawless, and he moved with a
confident grace that Lee was all too conscious of lacking himself. But Bran
touched him as if he were beautiful, looked at him as if it were a pleasure to see
him.
"Have I told you about the first time the master took me?" he asked, and Lee shook
his head, swallowing hard. "You know, when I first got here-- they didn't have to
take me to the hospital, I wasn't hurt as badly as you were, or-- well, sick. But I
was-- torn up, inside, just like you were. They had to call the doctor, and the
master couldn't have sex with me for weeks, same as you."
"I didn't know that," said Lee, thinking of what his old master might have done to
Bran, then, quickly, not thinking of it. He thought, instead, about the new master,
and-- "Bran? You told me-- you said-- it doesn't hurt, now, when he-- you know.
But--" He swallowed. "Did it? The first time?"
"No," said Bran, smiling, his eyes slightly out of focus as if lost in memory. "He-he was careful." He paused, and then said, "Sweet. He was sweet. And gentle. He
told me, if it hurt, to tell him and he'd stop."
Lee found he could imagine their master saying that to Bran. Could even, if he let
himself, imagine their master saying that to him. But after that his imagination
stalled, because he couldn't imagine his master doing anything as awful to Bran as
fucking him.
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"How--" He licked dry lips. "How did he-- take you?"

Bran moved closer to Lee, turning him gently over on his side with his back to
Bran, and then spooning up against him from behind.
"Like this," he said. "Only we were naked, of course."
"Can you do it like that?" Lee asked, puzzled, and could hear the smile in Bran's
voice when he said, "It surprised me too."
"Did you-- did you think about asking him-- not to?" Lee was afraid he sounded
like a child, but imagining a younger, shyer Bran, so recently torn by the same
brutal cock that had bloodied Lee, he had to know if even Bran's courage had
wavered at the prospect of being split open yet again.
Bran laughed, his breath ruffling Lee's hair from behind. "I'd asked him to do it."
"You what?"
Bran shifted and pulled Lee back over on his other side, facing Bran, so Lee could
see him smile. "Like I said. I wasn't as hurt as you were. I hadn't been with Dunaev
for as long. He was your first master, wasn't he?"
Lee nodded. "Was he not yours?"
"No. I'd only lived with him for about a year and a half when I tried to run. I'd tried
to run from my first master, too, but he didn't sell me to the slave breakers, just put
it on my record so the next time I screwed up-- you know. That's the only reason it
took me so long to try to run from Dunaev. I knew what would happen, if I-- And
Oreskovich wasn't so bad, really. I mean, not as bad as Dunaev."
Hearing Bran speak the names of his former owners so casually, with no title, was
as alarming and exhilarating as if Lee had been watching him dodge lightning
bolts. Lee watched the other boy's face, wondering how a person got to be that
brave.
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"So you weren't-- afraid?" he ventured. "Of the master-- of him-- t-taking you?"
"I was nervous," said Bran. "But I'd had sex before that didn't hurt. I figured if
anybody could-- not hurt me-- he wouldn't. And, well." He hesitated for a moment
before he said, "I wanted him to-- want me. I wanted him to keep me."
Lee nodded solemnly. "Were you already in love with him? Then?"
Bran looked at him oddly. "How do you know I'm in love with him now?"
Lee raised his eyebrows, and after a moment, Bran laughed again.
"Yeah," he said. "I guess I was. I think maybe he was, too. Already."
Lee put his head down on Bran's shoulder, and Bran pulled him closer.
"Bran?" he asked eventually. "What happens if-- I can't please him? I mean, ever?
Because I can't. I'm just-- no good. At any of that. I never have been."
"You already please him," said Bran, and touched Lee's face again. "He told you,
there are ways of working around anything you can't do. But you never know-well, what you might learn." He hesitated for a moment. "Lee--"
Lee waited expectantly.
"I know he told you we had permission," said Bran. "But you know you don't have
to do anything you don't want to do. Not with me."
Lee smiled, still waiting.
"But--" It was Bran's turn to swallow; he moved incrementally closer to Lee, close
enough that Lee felt the other boy's cock, a gentle but firm pressure, against his
own groin. "Gods, Lee, your mouth is so-- unbelievably gorgeous. I was afraid I
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was going to come just from kissing you earlier. I'd love to-- just feel your mouth.
On my cock. You don't have to-- suck or anything-- if you could just-- kiss--"
Half amused by the hesitation in Bran's voice, half overwhelmed by the idea that
anything about him was anyone's idea of unbelievably gorgeous, and wholly eager
to please, Lee squirmed readily down the bed, pulling up Bran's tunic and looking
at his long, slender, erect cock before leaning in to touch his lips to it. It was warm,
nearly hot. Lee loved heat; it settled the tremors that had been shaking him for so
long he hardly remembered why, now, or needed a reason to tremble. The warmth
of Bran's arms, as much as the mention of his name, had drawn him up from his
stupor. And then the hot things to drink at the hospital, the cold cuff, Bran's hand in
his.
He hesitated, hating that he knew he couldn't take it the way you were supposed to
take a cock; he would have liked to do that for Bran. Instead he licked the head,
cautiously, as if it might bite, then closed his lips around it, swirling his tongue
around the deep ridge, exploring it almost dreamily. He tasted something, a subtle
shift in flavor, a saltiness at the back of his tongue, and pulled back, examining the
little hole at the tip of Bran's cock where drops of liquid pearled amid his own
saliva. Delicately he lapped at them, interested by the taste-- what with the taste of
his own bile and mucus and, sometimes, blood, he didn't think he'd ever isolated
this particular flavor before-- and the texture, on his wet tongue. Then he closed his
lips, again, around the head of Bran's cock.
"Oh gods," he heard Bran whisper above him.
He pulled back and pressed his lips to the hard shaft again before he nibbled very
gently, with his lips only, not his teeth, at the tender skin that sheathed it. Bran
seemed to like that, too, judging from his breathing, and Lee nuzzled his cock,
almost amused that Bran was enjoying this so much; if Lee had tried playing
around and putting things off this way with his old master, he would have been
bleeding from a split lip by now.
He kissed down the underside of Bran's cock to his sac and licked that too, liking
the downy fuzziness of it; it was like licking a peach, something Lee hadn't done in
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so long he was surprised how vividly the isolated memory sprang to mind. He
laved the tender, yielding, heavy sac with his tongue and took the smoothly
shifting weights inside it one by one into his mouth, wondering whether he might
dare ask his master, sometime when things were quiet, if he could have a peach.
"Gods," Bran whispered again. "Lee-- please--"
Please? If Lee's mouth hadn't been full, he would have laughed; as it was, a bubble
of mirth broke in his chest. When was the last time anyone had said please to him?
He didn't have the faintest idea. And he wouldn't have thought it would start when
he was busy serving with his mouth, however little this was like the service he'd
grown accustomed to being terrible at. Please meant Lee didn't have to do anything
he didn't want to do, but Bran wanted-"Please what?" he asked when his mouth was free, stunned by how bold he
sounded, and Bran's voice was almost a whine when he answered, "Please-- need
more."
Need more-- of course. Just because Bran was nice enough to say Lee, please
instead of Quit fucking around and take it, bitch didn't mean Lee could actually
satisfy him like this. He hated the idea of choking himself on Bran's cock, and he
knew Bran wouldn't want him to, anyway. But maybe-- and Bran had said it didn't
hurt. Bran would be gentle. If anybody could-- not hurt me-He pulled back and looked up at Bran, who stared down at him, panting, flushed.
"Fuck me?" he said timidly.
Bran reached down to cup Lee's cheek in his palm.
"No," he said, sounding as if he were in pain. "Not tonight. You're not ready."
Lee nodded. "I think-- not for anyone else-- but for you--"
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Bran moaned very softly, and pulled Lee up into his arms, hugging him hard for a
moment.
"No," he said again, and reached to the drawer beside the bed, bringing out a small
bottle that Lee recognized as lubricant.
"Hold out your hand," he said, and Lee held out his palm obediently, puzzled. Bran
poured the oil into it, then rubbed it carefully into Lee's palm and fingers until they
were glistening. Then he placed Lee's hand, gently, on his own cock.
"Jerk me off," he said. "Please."
"I don't know how!" Lee protested, frozen.
Bran laughed breathlessly, and put his own oiled hand on Lee's cock; Lee gasped.
"Just-- here-- just do what I do--"
As Bran's fingers acquired a grip and started pulling at Lee's cock, Lee imitated the
movement on Bran, feeling the tender skin slide silkily under his hand. Bran
brought his other hand up to cup Lee's balls carefully, kneading them gently. Lee
gasped, thrusting into Bran's hand, his own grip tightening involuntarily, and Bran
groaned.
"Gods, Lee," he panted, "I-- you-- Lee, come for me, please, want to see you-- hear
you--"
Lee shook his head, concentrating on ignoring how his own cock was being
stimulated so he could stroke Bran more effectively. Bran seemed to accept this for
a while, his own grip slackening, his eyes closing in pleasure, before he pushed
Lee's hand firmly away from his own cock and tightened his grip on Lee's again.
"Don't move," he commanded as he stroked Lee, quickly and efficiently, to a point
where bright colors played at the edges of his vision. "Just feel. Just come for me.
Come on, Lee. Please. For me."
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Lee's eyes stayed open as he convulsed with a short, sharp cry and shot hard onto
Bran's stomach; Bran kept stroking him, as he'd kept sucking the night before, till
Lee was shaking so hard he had to push the other boy's hands away.
"Now... you...?" he managed, reaching for Bran's glistening erection, but Bran
shook his head and pulled Lee close, his semen warm and sticky between their
bellies, his cock poking between Lee's thighs.
"Leave it," he said. "If the master wants me later, he'll like it if I'm still-- and if he
doesn't, Yves or Jer will. Just rest, Lee. That was perfect."
"But I didn't--" Lee protested weakly. "I didn't-- do anything."
"You were perfect," Bran repeated, and kissed Lee tenderly. "If you want to do
more-- tomorrow night-- but gods, Lee, you're so--"
He didn't say what Lee was, although Lee waited for a long time before the
comfort of Bran's arms and the sleepiness from his orgasm overwhelmed him, and,
sated, he slept.
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CHAPTER 20
Lee woke frightened, the way he always woke-- would probably always wake, he
thought, no matter what the rest of his life looked like, or how long it was-- with
his heart pounding, frightened by the softness of the bed, the soundness of his
sleep, trying to figure out the trap. It didn't help that he was alone in the bed; most
mornings, now, he could turn and nestle into Bran's warm, reassuring body until
his heart slowed down a little.
At the thought of Bran's body, Lee felt his cheeks heat up, realizing he was still
wearing his crumpled tunic, stained with sweat and semen, and remembering how
it had gotten that way. How he had moaned and come, without even earning the
orgasm by bringing Bran off first. Not only was he the worst sex slave ever, but he
didn't particularly rate as a fellow slave, either, even if Bran was nice enough to...
well, to be nice to him.
He wondered where Bran was; probably he had been called into service by the
master or one of the senior slaves, as he'd predicted. Rubbing the sleep from his
eyes, Lee sat up and tried to decide whether to go looking for the older boy, or wait
until someone came to get him for breakfast. He didn't much want to go walking
through the halls in his soiled tunic-- not that he was ashamed of what had
happened the previous night, but everyone in this house seemed to fuck each other,
and while Lee had been informed that no one was supposed to fuck him or
manhandle him without the master's permission, he didn't exactly want to advertise
something that Yves or Jer might take to mean it was open season. After all, if
Holden had to decide whether to believe that one of his pets was lying or that Lee
was, Lee wouldn't have put much money on being believed. If he'd had any money.
But-- returning to the problem of his clothing-- he was sticky and sweaty enough
himself that putting on a fresh tunic wouldn't do much more than get that dirty.
What he really needed was a bath, but he didn't dare just walk into the bathroom by
himself and start the water running, as if he belonged here. Bran had been bathing
with him for the last two weeks; maybe if he could find Bran, he could get clean
before he put on a fresh tunic. Lee squirmed out of bed, still wearing the dirty
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tunic; the alternative was to go naked, which he didn't think would do wonders in
terms of not advertising that his ass was open for fucking.
The master's door was closed, as was Greta's; Yves' was open, the room empty, the
bed made. Lee passed Jer's open door last, hoping Bran might be in there. He
wasn't, but Yves was, curled naked and asleep in the bed with a pillow hugged to
him, his loose curls obscuring his eyes, looking no older than Bran; and so was Jer,
dressed and pulling on a pair of boots that made him look even more intimidating
than usual.
Jer wasn't really more than a couple of inches taller than the master, but he seemed
enormous to Lee as Lee wavered in the doorway of his bedroom, trying to decide
whether to flee before Jer could look up and see him. Lee had never seen a slave
wear boots before he came here, but though they were usually barefoot in the
house, the slaves here were allowed to wear boots when they left the house to go to
market. The thought of market reminded Lee of the peach he'd thought to ask for;
the temerity required to ask for such an unearned indulgence had seemed much
more plausible the previous night than it did in the harsh light of day.
"Hey, kid." Too late to get away now; Jer had seen him. "What happened to you?"
Lee went crimson, taking in Jer's curious, half-amused gaze on his stained and
crushed tunic. "I-- last night--"
"You and Bran have fun?" Jer asked when Lee trailed off.
Lee nodded mutely, trembling. After a moment, Jer came towards him, and Lee
backed up involuntarily till his back was against the doorframe, not daring to turn
and run. Jer reached out and brushed Lee's cheek with the back of his hand.
"Not going to hurt you," he said gruffly. "You need anything?"
Lee looked down at the toes of Jer's boots, then back up; Jer's face looked
genuinely kind, and Lee blurted, "Are you-- are you going to the market, sir?"
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"Yep," said Jer laconically.

Lee swallowed. "When you-- when you go-- do they tell you-- exactly what to buy,
or can you-- sort of-- I mean-- decide?"
"Fox tells me what we need, but I can get other stuff if I want to," said Jer, looking
at Lee curiously. "You need me to get something for you?"
Lee hesitated, trying to nerve himself up, realizing that he should have asked Bran
to ask Jer for him, or just waited until it was Bran's turn to go to the market. He'd
gone this long without a peach; he could wait long enough to ask the person he
wasn't afraid of to waste their master's money on something Lee didn't need. He
wondered how expensive a peach was. Bran wouldn't get angry at him for asking,
but Jer-"You want to come with me?" Jer asked.
Lee stared at him.
"Pretty sure the master wouldn't mind if you asked him," said Jer. "You've been out
of the house already. Might be fun to see the market." There was a bit of a pause
before he added, rather gruffly, "I'd take care of you."
Lee was strangely tempted by the prospect of visiting the market for the first time
since he'd become a slave, but the idea of having only Jer for protection, when he
wasn't one hundred percent convinced he didn't need protection from Jer, was too
alarming. Besides, the handsome young lord was coming over today, and Lee
admitted to himself, with a slightly shamefaced shiver, that he didn't want to miss a
minute of that.
"Never mind," said Jer before Lee could think of a way to refuse his offer without
sounding disrespectful or ungrateful. "Just a thought. Maybe in a week or two. You
need a bath," he added, looking Lee up and down again with obvious amusement.
"Where's Bran? I thought he was in charge of cleaning you up."
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"I d-don't know," Lee stammered, wishing fervently that he did know.
"Master's room," said Yves from the bed, and uncurled himself from the pillow,
stretching luxuriously. "Hey, stud. Don't scare the kid. Bran will beat you up."
"Wasn't scaring him," said Jer, retreating to the bed and yanking Yves into his lap;
Yves yawned widely and draped himself against the older man like a cat, while
Lee smiled a little despite himself at the idea of Bran physically attacking Jer. "In
the master's room, you said?"
"Yeah, and probably looking like Freyja on the fourth night," said Yves, squirming
out of Jer's arms and swinging his feet onto the floor. "Jealousy does wonders for
the master's libido."
"As if it needed any help," said Jer, while Lee stood stock-still, frozen by the word
jealousy. "Think Bran will be able to walk anytime soon? Somebody needs to rinse
this one off."
Lee barely heard him; he was too horrified at the thought that what he and Bran
had done last night had somehow brought their master's anger down on Bran. He'd
thought Yves and Jer liked Bran; how could they let it fall so casually, almost
jokingly, that Bran had been punished too savagely for their play last night to walk
this morning?
"Poor kid," said Yves, his eyes on Lee. "Is it just me, or did he go two or three
shades paler just now?"
Jer glanced up. "Yeah, he did. What's up, Lee?"
Lee's mouth was too dry to answer.
"Oh, fuck," said Yves suddenly. "Lee, honey, I didn't mean the master was upset
with Bran. He was just-- when I said jealous, I meant-- I mean, Bran being with
someone else makes him--" He broke off with a grimace and said to Jer, "Help."
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"Bran's fine, kid," said Jer, with a quick, amused smile at Yves. "Go see for
yourself."
"Do you think they're--" Yves began.
"I think they'd both rather be interrupted than have Lee out here looking like he's
about to faint," said Jer. "Come on, kid."
Before Lee could move, his hand had been gripped in Jer's strong, warm one, and
he was being led down the hall towards the master's door, his heart pounding in his
throat. Jer paused, listening, at the door for a moment, then opened it and nudged
Lee gently inside.
Bran lay prostrate on the bed, his eyes closed, his face flushed, his curls in mad
disarray. The master lay half on top of him, one arm and one leg flung across him,
his cheek resting against the curve of Bran's neck, his thick dark hair spilling
across the nape. Both men were naked, both more relaxed than Lee had ever
thought it possible to be, even in sleep, and though Lee could see a few scattered
bruises on Bran's back, they were too irregularly shaped to be whip marks and too
small to be the marks of fists or boots.
"See," said Jer to Lee, and Bran stirred, making a soft, contented sound. As Lee
tried to imagine what it would feel like to make that sound on waking, Holden
grunted and rolled off Bran, only to yank the boy hard into his arms and strain him
close, his eyes still shut; Bran made another pleased, inarticulate noise and buried
his face in his master's neck.
"Now they're just showing off," said Jer, still addressing Lee, and then to the bed,
"Master? You awake?"
"Depends," said Holden, his eyes still shut. "What time is it?"
"Time to give Lee a bath," said Jer; at the mention of Lee's name, Bran's eyes
snapped open and he turned his head, blinking and smiling at Lee. Holden sighed
and opened his eyes, too.
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"Hey, kid," he said sleepily, as Bran held out a hand and Lee nearly ran towards
the bed, scrambling onto it and then perching uncertainly, looking down on Holden
and Bran. Both men laughed; Bran took hold of Lee's arm and tugged him gently
down on the bed between himself and his master.
"Look at you," said the master to Lee, amused. "You must have had a pretty good
time last night."
"Looks like Bran didn't make out so badly either," said Jer, leaning in the doorway,
and Bran giggled, happy, sated, safe. Lee stared at him for a moment, then turned
to his master, gazing at the older man's face so hard his eyes began to cross, then
put a hand up to touch it as if he were blind. Holden held still for his touch, looking
slightly puzzled but not at all displeased as Lee's cautious fingers traced the curve
of his jaw, his lips, his cheekbones, his creased forehead.
"Master," he said, intently, and then couldn't think what he'd wanted to say. Thank
you. This is real, isn't it? I'm not afraid.
"Master," he repeated, and laughed, suddenly, helplessly. "Master? Do you think-could I have-- a peach?"
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CHAPTER 21
Mona was nervous, Lee could tell. The pretty slave girl was clasping her master's
arm in a way that Lee recognized immediately: it was the way Lee had held onto
his own master's arm when he'd been taken to the hospital for his checkup. The
young lord hadn't let her kneel on the floor when they were invited to sit; he'd
drawn her down on the couch beside him instead, and Lee's master hadn't objected,
the way his old master had when the occasional guest tried to seat slaves on his
furniture instead of on the floor where they were supposed to be. Of course, with
Lee firmly ensconced in his own lap, maybe Holden had fewer grounds to object.
The reporter cleared his throat, drawing the room's attention to himself and the
photographer.
"It's an honor to meet you, my lord," he said, sounding as tentative as if he thought
the lord might hit him. Lee was familiar enough with the emotion that went with
that tone, but he thought it was a little funny that a free person would use it,
especially with this particular lord, who didn't seem particularly menacing. "I
really appreciate your willingness to help out with what we're trying to do. And
you, too, uh, Mona."
"It's my pleasure," said Lord Taganov, and Lee was pretty sure he meant it,
although maybe he didn't mean pleasure-- he wasn't exactly beaming-- so much as
he meant satisfaction. "Just tell us what you need us to do."
The reporter nodded and cleared his throat again. "Um, the way we've been doing
it-- here-- is, Mr. Larssen gave me permission to speak with each of his slaves
alone, and tape-record the conversation. That way the slave can speak freely,
without worrying about slipping up or getting himself-- or herself-- in trouble.
After that, I'd like to talk to the two of you together, and then we'll be pretty much
done. I'll transcribe the tape of the slave's interview later, leaving out anything the
slave asks me to leave out-- and you'll see the transcript and have a chance to vet
anything you don't want published, before this goes to print. Does that sound
okay?"
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"And the-- photography?" the lord asked, glancing at the photographer, who hadn't
said anything yet.
"I'll want to get pictures of that tooth, and of any scars she might have, including
under her clothing, if that's all right with you," she said. Lee thought she didn't like
the lord, or his slave, or the way they were sitting, or something, despite her
careful, mechanical politeness. "I can do that at the same time as the interview, or
with you in the room if you'd prefer that."
"During the interview is fine," said the lord, and then, to Lee's surprise, asked his
slave, "Are you comfortable with that?"
"Yes, master, thank you," said Mona, and the lord smiled at her, his mouth-- his
mouth-A flush of hot shame and fear moved through Lee, setting him trembling almost
before the conscious memory hit of what he'd done when that mouth had
unexpectedly claimed his, how good it had felt, and how wrong he'd been to---no, he hadn't been wrong to enjoy it. His master had said that. Lee tried hard to
remember his master's voice when he'd said that, tried hard to stop shaking. His
master must have felt the shaking; he hugged Lee closer, rubbing his hands up and
down Lee's arms as if to warm him.
"We'll be in-- what is it, the filing room?" the reporter asked, and Lee's master said,
"Right. You know where that is, Andrei, you've been there before."
"How long will it take?" Lord Taganov asked.
"Maybe an hour?" said the reporter. "Two at the outside."
Lord Taganov nodded, and the reporter smiled as he and the photographer rose.
Mona rose too, looking nervous, but determined.
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"You know where I am if you need me," the lord said to her, and she smiled at him
before she followed the two free citizens from the room. Now it was just Lee and
his master and Lord Taganov in the room, and suddenly, involuntarily, Lee
remembered his master's soft, encouraging voice as Bran held Lee's hands: If Lord
Taganov asked me if he could kiss you, and I said yes, how would you respond
then?
"What's giving you the shivers?" Holden asked him, quietly, but not too quietly for
the lord to hear, and Lee blushed and squirmed before he buried his face against
his master's neck, hoping desperately not to be questioned any further.
"I think Robin makes him nervous," his master said then, which was a perfectly
acceptable misapprehension as far as Lee was concerned. Anyway, it wasn't an
misapprehension; the photographer did make him nervous, even if she was a lot
quieter now than she had been that first day, when she'd yelled at Lee for looking
in the wrong direction, and then yelled at him again for following his master's
instructions-- or maybe she was yelling at his master, then, but she'd sounded really
angry, the kind of angry that turned into hitting and kicking. Lee hadn't even
realized how accustomed he'd grown to the gentleness with which everyone had
been treating him here, until the fury in her voice startled him so badly.
"I hope it's not me," said Lord Taganov, sounding a little sad. "He probably thinks
I'm not to be trusted, after what happened last time."
Lee lifted his head abruptly, not liking that misapprehension at all, and would have
spoken if he hadn't remembered in the nick of time what he was and what right he
had-- i.e. none-- to offer unsolicited correction to the nobility. His expression and
perhaps the suddenness of his movement must have conveyed something, though,
because both his master and the lord laughed.
"Actually," his master said, "he seemed pretty pleased at the prospect of seeing you
again."
"Really," said the lord, smiling again, his mouth-- shit, there Lee went staring at his
mouth again. He bowed his head and stared at his hands, wishing he were alone,
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wishing they would ignore him, wishing-- with a completely different part of
himself-- that he were in Lord Taganov's lap instead of Holden's.
Which was a terrible thing to think, and Lee was ashamed of himself. Lee's master
had taken him to the hospital to be cared for, had fed him and sheltered him and
held him and soothed him and allowed Lee sexual contact with his own favored
slave, and hadn't demanded a thing in return, unless you counted the catastrophic
blow job which Lee was fairly sure his master had subsequently apologized for
making him attempt. He was the master of any normal boy's dreams. It wasn't right
at all that Lee could still taste the lord's mouth on his, as vividly as he'd suddenly
tasted an imaginary peach earlier, that he could remember with hallucinatory
accuracy how the lord's lips had been soft and warm, how his tongue had just
touched the opening of Lee's lips, how he'd tasted warm and strong and bright,
like-- like tea, maybe? Like tea with lemon?
Ot was it just that it was hard to remember the taste through the shame and fear,
just as it was hard to remember the taste of that stolen tea he'd sipped once from his
master's unfinished cup, thinking no one saw, without remembering the taste of
blood when he was knocked into the wall and of stomach acid as he fell, reeling, to
his knees, as he was dragged up by his hair and...
...and you'd think that what had happened next would teach someone a lesson
about coveting what wasn't his. Which, Lee being a slave, covered pretty much
everything.
But Lee could hear his new master explaining firmly, as Lee cowered from the
punishment he hadn't been able to believe wasn't forthcoming: Your mind is your
own, whoever owns your body.
He felt ashamed again, though, as he realized he must have missed something his
master had said just now, despite his master's command to keep his eyes and ears
open.
"No," Lord Taganov was saying ruefully. "I'm not quite blind enough to think I
have any chance there. I just haven't found anyone who... intrigues me as much,
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until..." His eyes lingered on Lee. "You'll keep me in mind, won't you, for when
he's ready?"
"Andrei, you're smitten," said Lee's master, and the young lord blushed, which for
some reason delighted Lee so much he nearly laughed out loud. "But you realize it
might take a while. And we don't know much for sure yet, about what he'll be...
capable of."
Lord Taganov shrugged with a poor imitation of indifference. "As I said. Keep me
in mind."
"Sure," said Holden. "But you do realize that if you obviously can't take your eyes
off the merchandise, the merchant tends to think he can jack the price up."
"You didn't jack the price up on Mona," said Lord Taganov, smiling.
"That was before my daughter decided to go to law school," said Holden. "And
that reminds me, Andrei-- Mona was all right, wasn't she, just now? She looked a
little grim."
"She's all right," said the lord, as Lee couldn't help but feel disappointed at the
change of topic. "You know she still gets a little twitchy about-- new situations,
even if I'm going to be with her. It's not that she really thinks anything bad is going
to happen-- at least I don't think so. It's just that, well, she likes to know where all
the exits and entrances are."
That made sense, Lee thought, considering Mona's grip on her master's arm. Lee
hadn't really understood why his master would think he was relieved to leave the
house to go to the hospital, or to someone else's house; he had learned the rooms
here, knew what directions people might be coming from, and what people they
would be, and he even had his own room where he was allowed to go when
nobody wanted him for anything else, and Bran's room, where he was allowed to
go and wait for Bran if he couldn't find him. New places, with different-shaped
rooms and doors in unexpected locations, were not a relief.
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"It isn't so bad with your house," the lord added. "She used to live here, after all.
Just-- new people, and the idea of the interview. But she's fine. I wouldn't have
brought her if I didn't think she would be."
"And you'd know," Lee's master agreed. "Mona and Lee should really talk. I'd
imagine he's feeling a lot of the same things she was, when I first bought her."
"Does he play with matches?" the lord asked, which made no sense at all, and Lee's
master answered, "Maybe not all the same things. Anyway, I don't think anyone
ever burned Lee with cigarettes."
It had never actually occurred to Lee to be thankful that his former master hadn't
been a smoker, but it was certainly occurring to him now. He shuddered, trying to
fight off the image, as Lord Taganov asked, "He does have scars, though?"
"Whip scars," the master agreed. "On his back. Well, at this point we don't really
know how extensive the scarring is going to be-- he isn't all the way healed yet.
But the scabs are coming off, and there are-- marks."
The lord didn't like that, Lee could tell. He felt suddenly depressed. No one wanted
a scarred slave, however pretty his face-- especially one who was no good at sex.
Although-- with Bran last night-- but probably Bran had just been trying not to
discourage him.
"You're very squirmy all of a sudden," his master told him, and he froze. "What do
you need?"
He didn't need anything. He wanted to ask what they meant about Mona playing
with matches (had she set fires? After being sold to the slave breakers? If so, why
wasn't she dead?) and whether she had burn scars in places where her master had to
look at them, and how her master felt about that... and he wanted Lord Taganov to
lean down to him again, while Lee tilted his face up, one gentle hand resting on
Lee's upper arm as if for balance, or to keep Lee there, to take care of him, to hold
him... and possibly, at some point, he wanted a cup of tea with lemon. But he didn't
need anything. He sat still.
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"So-- Lee," said Lord Taganov, and Lee looked up, startled. "You wanted to see
me again?"
Lee swallowed.
"I won't touch you without your master's permission again," the lord said after a
moment. "I'm sorry I did it yesterday."
Lee looked down shyly, not sure whether he was supposed to say anything, but
after a moment his master's hand touched his chin, turning his face up to meet the
kind brown eyes, and he thought he recognized the look on the man's face; it was
the look he'd gotten just before he'd said, that morning: Of course you may have a
peach, sweetheart.
When his master spoke, he was still looking at Lee, but he must have been talking
to Lord Taganov, because he asked, "Would you like permission to touch him?"
After a moment, during which Lee's master scanned his face while Lee tried to
remember his normal breathing rhythm, Holden looked up at Lord Taganov, who
said, "May I--?"
Lee's master nodded.
"I need you to be careful, though," he said, his hand caressing Lee's shoulder
gently. "You can touch him, but don't go under his clothes, and don't-- grab."
"I wouldn't," said the lord, sounding slightly wounded.
Holden smiled. "I know, Andrei. Lee? I'm giving Lord Taganov permission to
touch you and caress you. If he does anything he doesn't have permission for, you
won't be in trouble-- and you won't be in trouble if you-- respond, either. You
understand?"
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Lee nodded, feeling abruptly and perversely panic-stricken, with a sensation in his
stomach that felt very much like the one he'd gotten when he was told he was
leaving the hospital for his new master's home. Why had he thought he wanted to
leave the shelter of his master's lap, where he got to just sit and be safe, and go be
touched by a virtual stranger? However enticing the virtual stranger's mouth?
"Go to him," his master ordered, and Lee, his heart in his throat, slid from his
master's lap and went to stand with his head humbly lowered before Lord Taganov.
The lord reached out, took both of Lee's hands in his-- his skin was soft and, if not
actually cool to Lee's touch, then certainly less hot than most people's hands felt to
him-- and drew him, very gently, so that it felt more like an invitation than
anything else, onto the couch next to him, encircling his shoulders lightly with one
arm. Lee looked up into the blue eyes, and the lord made a soft sound that Lee
didn't know how to interpret.
"You are very beautiful, Lee," he said, and Lee smiled at the pleasure in his voice.
The lord raised one hand to brush against Lee's cheek, then leaned forward-- for
one heart-stopping moment, Lee thought he was going to get kissed again, but
instead the lord pressed his cheek against Lee's and just held it there for a moment,
which was odd, but nice. When he pulled back, he ran a hand over Lee's hair, and
then he touched his cheek to that. Lee wondered if he were touching with his cheek
because he didn't know if he had permission to touch with his lips-- but that was a
silly thought. Lord Taganov was a nobleman, not someone who would be nervous
and uncertain of himself like Lee, especially not with a slave. If he wanted to kiss
Lee, he could just ask Lee's master.
Still, there was something distinctly-- for lack of a better word-- shy, about the way
the man kept touching him, and it was making him think some very odd thoughts.
Holden was gentle, but his touches were still unmistakably commands, not
invitations or even requests. Even Bran, friendly as he was and liberally as he'd
used the word please last night, tended to take charge of Lee, explaining and
guiding-- not that that was bad. And not that Lord Taganov wasn't in charge,
because he definitely was. Lee didn't even have permission to touch him back. So
he couldn't reach up and take the fair, faintly freckled face in his palms, or lean
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forward and rest his own cheek against Lord Taganov's auburn hair, or-- do
anything-- involving mouths.
Which was probably just as well. The fact that these thoughts were even occurring
to him was quite unnerving enough. And it had been such a good morning so far.
Surely Lee couldn't mess it up or get in trouble by simply sitting very still and
submitting to being touched in any way the lord wanted.
And-- Lee amended as Lord Taganov's fingers traced delicately over his back,
grazing over his scabs through the cloth of his tunic-- trembling. His master had
said trembling was fine. Hadn't he?
"Am I hurting you?" Lord Taganov asked softly.
Lee licked his lips as the gentle fingers both aroused and soothed the itching of the
healing welts. "No, my lord."
"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"N-no, my lord."
Taganov hesitated for a moment before he asked, "Are you enjoying this?"
"Yes, my lord," Lee whispered, and met the clear blue eyes. "Thank you."
"Holden," said the lord, still stroking Lee's back, "if your daughter decides she
needs an airplane or a racehorse or anything-- just keep me in mind."
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CHAPTER 22
Lee saw Mona before her master did, and he might have been worried about her
reaction-- he'd literally taken her place in her absence, after all-- if the look on her
face at the sight of him sitting there had been anything but what it was. She didn't
actually clap her hands or congratulate her master, but that was what her
expression as she looked at him managed to convey, before her eyes met Lee's,
beaming at him as if he'd done her a favor.
The reporter, coming in behind her, just looked amused at Lee's change of location,
but the photographer looked ready to spit nails, and at the stormcloud on her face,
Lee, despite his pleasure in the lord's caresses, suddenly wanted very, very badly to
be back in his own master's arms, preferably with his face buried against his
master's chest. But he didn't have permission to move, and while part of him
realized he could probably have asked for it without being punished for his
presumption, it wasn't the part that actually worked his vocal cords.
"Lee," said the lord almost apologetically, "maybe you should get up, now that
Mona--"
"Oh, that's fine, master," said Mona brightly, before Lee could move. "There's
room for everyone. Isn't there, Lee?"
She sat down on the other side of Lee from her master, still smiling at him, and put
her hand over his. Hers was cool, to his surprise; he wondered how scared she'd
been at the interview.
"I guess you don't have a problem with this," said the photographer to the reporter,
in a tone that made it very clear she had a problem with something, in addition to a
problem with the fact that her friend didn't.
"Robin," said the reporter quietly. "We're guests here."
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Robin was pale with anger, but at least she wasn't actually yelling when she
answered, "So we're supposed to sit here and smile while this kid gets passed
around like a bowl of peanuts?"
"Or you're free to leave," Lee's master said pleasantly, at the same time as the
reporter said, "I don't really need you for this part."
"Look at him," said the photographer to the reporter, jerking her head at Lee. "He's
not like that Jer one. He's not part of their happy little family. He's scared. You
could really just sit here and chat while they--"
"Lee," said the master, "come here."
Trembling again, but reassured by the gentleness in his master's voice, Lee obeyed,
then hesitated before his master, not sure whether he should drop to his knees or
climb back into his master's lap. Holden held out his arms, and Lee scrambled into
them, dropping his head against the warm, solid shoulder with an involuntary sigh
of relief as the strong arms closed around him.
"Denys," the master said pleasantly, "why don't you finish your interviews in the
filing room? Andrei, do you mind going with him? As you said, you don't really
need Robin for this part, do you?"
There was a pause before Denys said uncertainly, "Okay-- I mean-- my lord?"
"Of course," said Taganov, and there was a general creaking and rustling of
imminent departure before the room went quiet.
"What?" said the photographer's voice then. "What was that all about?"
"He's scared of you," said Holden. "He was fine before you walked in, and he'll be
fine after you leave."
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"Isn't that convenient," said Robin, but she sounded a little nonplussed. "Why
would he be scared of me? I don't own him. And you didn't toss him to me like
some kind of party favor, either."
"I would never send Lee to sit next to you," said the master calmly.
"Why would you?" the photographer agreed aggressively. "I couldn't afford to buy
him, so why would I get a free sample?"
"That isn't why," said the master, still calmly, "or I wouldn't let him sit in Bran's
lap either. I wouldn't send him to you because you can't control yourself. You saw
that Lee had changed his seat, and without knowing or asking why or what had
happened, you lost your temper, and Lee saw his master's guest looking furious at
the sight of him. So I saw a boy who had been perfectly happy and content two
seconds before suddenly hunch his shoulders and suck in his bottom lip, and I
knew exactly what had just happened, but Lee didn't see me looking furious at the
sight of him, because that would have frightened him more, and he doesn't hear
anger in my voice now, even though I'm talking to you, because he needs to feel
safe in my arms right now, and he does."
"He has no reason to be scared of me," said the young woman stubbornly. "I don't
have any power over him."
"No, and you don't respond well to feeling powerless, do you?" said Lee's master.
"And you've chosen an enemy that's big and strong and established enough that
you always feel powerless. I understand you better than you think, Robin. We're
not that different, you and I."
"Oh, we're not, huh?" Robin demanded. "You'll excuse me if I don't take that as a
compliment."
"It's not meant as one," said Holden. "Do you love my daughter, Robin?"
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"Do I what?" Robin gave a forced laugh. "Is this some kind of suitor screening
process? Valor's not a minor any more, you know. And we've already fucked.
Quite a bit, actually."
"Thanks for sharing." Lee's master shifted, then, and pulled Lee back slightly by
the shoulders, looking into his face. The master's own face was calm and
thoughtful, and after a moment, he leaned forward to kiss Lee's cheek before he
drew him back down against his chest.
"When I was a slave," he said, and Lee shivered a little with the strangeness of the
words, even though he'd believed Bran when Bran said the master and mistress had
been slaves when they were young, "my master couldn't control me. He could whip
me to ribbons and I'd still mouth off at him again the next day. But with a look in
his eyes, with his trust in me, Lee can make me sit here and chat with you as
pleasantly as if you weren't picking fights with me in my own house. Bran can
make me stand next to him, desperate to touch him, and not reach out for him,
because he asked me not to. Yves can make me control my naturally selfish and
greedy disposition to give him satisfaction. Is there anyone who has power like that
over you, Robin?"
"That's not power they have over you," said Robin, but she sounded a little less
angry and a little more interested. "That's power you have over yourself."
"But I wouldn't have it without them," said Lee's master quietly. "I couldn't control
myself for my master. It wasn't that I wouldn't-- I couldn't. But I can-- for them.
Can you? For my daughter? For anyone?"
Into the long silence that followed came, eventually, a`knock at the door.
"Come in," said Lee's master, and the door opened.
"My master said I could come ask permission to talk to Lee alone for a bit," said
Mona, rather quickly, and Holden pulled Lee back by the shoulders again.
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"Are you comfortable with that, sweetheart?" he asked, and when Lee nodded, his
master kissed his cheek again and said, "Where will you be, Mona?"
"In my-- I mean, his room, if that's okay," said Mona, and Holden nodded.
"Go on," he said to Lee. "I'll be here if you need me."
Mona seemed inordinately happy to see Lee. She led the way confidently towards
and up the stairs; it was obvious she knew her way around this house, and from the
slip she'd just made, the bedroom that was Lee's now had once been her own. Lee
smiled a little at the thought, though he didn't know exactly why, and Mona's lips
curved back at him, but she said nothing until they were in Lee's room, Lee settled
on the bed and Mona in the chair.
"Did my master make an offer for you?" she asked, matter-of-factly.
Rather startled, Lee cleared his throat. "He-- he just asked my master-- to keep him
in mind. For when I'm ready. But I might not-- I mean--"
"You don't have to be nervous on my account, sweetie," said Mona, smiling
broadly at him, and he saw that her front tooth was chipped. For as happy as she'd
managed to look before, she hadn't smiled widely enough to display it; he
wondered if that had been on purpose. Maybe her master didn't like to be reminded
of her damage. "I've been after him for years to find a nice boy to worship him and
keep him home at night, instead of gallivanting around with a string of noble jerkoffs who always end up breaking his heart. Or even in addition to the jerk-offs
thing. Baby steps, you know?"
"Why hasn't he?" Lee asked, puzzled. Obviously Lord Taganov didn't object to the
idea of owning pleasure slaves, so why wouldn't he want to own a boy? Didn't he
like them?
Mona shook her head. "He's such a romantic. He says the idea of sex with a body
you own seems so cold and heartless."
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Lee was even more puzzled. "But what about you?"

Mona smiled again. "We don't have sex. It's not that I'd mind if he wanted to, not
anymore-- I love him, he's the best master anyone could ever have-- but he doesn't
like women that way. And anyway, it would be too strange, after all this time."
"Oh," was all Lee could manage for the moment. Mona grinned.
"I know it's kind of odd," she said. "But that's why we need a boy around the
house. But-- romantic, like I said. If you ask me, the only reason he's been so mad
for Bran all this time is that Bran's so obviously in love. Like a picture in a
catalogue, you know, slippers on a hearth beside a roaring fire and a good book
and whatever-- my master would buy the slippers, even though he knows they
don't actually come with the fire and the book. You know? Not that he'd buy Bran
and take him away from Mr. Larssen, even if he could, I don't mean that-- he just
likes the idea."
Lee thought he did understand what Mona was saying. Bran loved his master so
much that it was almost a physical quality, a joy that shimmered from him in
Holden's presence, a magnetic attraction of his eyes to the older man's face. When
the two of them had been in Lee's hospital room at the same time, the attraction
between them had been just as obvious, but troubled, Bran seeming uneasy with
his master at the same time that his eyes reflexively sought him out, Holden's
hands straying towards Bran and then jerking back as if he'd been snapped at.
So much had been bewildering to Lee at the time-- like the fact that Bran, whom
Lord Dunaev had sold to the slave breakers five years before, still belonged to
them and looked healthier and happier than any slave Lee had ever seen, and the
fact that the slave breakers themselves were being so nice to him-- that Lee hadn't
had attention to spare for this particular strangeness. Now he found himself with
his master's voice echoing in his head again: Bran can make me stand next to him,
desperate to touch him, and not reach out for him, because he asked me not to.
Why would Bran ask his master not to touch him? That was too strange. Lee would
have to ask him.
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"He's a sucker," Mona was saying. "I'll go ahead and tell you that now-- but you
won't be taking advantage of him, if he does buy you. I won't let you. Not to be
mean-- just letting you know in advance."
Maybe Mona's frankness should have been alarming, but Lee found himself liking
it. It was nice to know where you stood.
"Plus," she added, smiling at Lee with genuine friendliness, "I mean, Bran's
adorable, but isn't it just too convenient that the only person my master could
possibly bring himself to buy to sleep with is completely unattainable? Until now,
of course. Oh, you should have heard him talking about you after you left
yesterday."
"What did he say?" Lee asked, too interested to remember to be nervous.
Mona grinned. "He was beating himself up for scaring you by kissing you, and
saying how you'd probably never want to see him again. I told him he was crazy,
and that the way you'd kissed back, he'd have to fight you off next time."
Lee went so red that blood hummed in his ears.
"Did he kiss you again?" Mona asked, and Lee managed to shake his head. "Oh,
well-- all in good time. Isn't he great? You think so too, don't you?"
Lee nodded shyly, smiling, and Mona reached out to take his hand and squeeze it
gently.
"Tell me about yourself," she said. "I want to get to know you. Not the bad stuff-- I
know you've been through a lot-- just tell me about you. What do you like?"
Lee hesitated.
"Peaches," he said finally. "I think."
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Mona blinked at him for a moment, then laughed, squeezing his hand again.
"You are too cute," she said. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Seventeen," said Lee, glad she'd moved on to more easily answerable questions.
"And a half."
"Gods, you're just a baby," said Mona, and reached out to stroke his cheek with the
back of her hand for a moment. Why did everyone keep doing that? "I hope I'm not
scaring you-- I kind of tend to talk a lot. That reporter guy loved me. The
photographer bitch, not so much."
"You aren't scaring me," said Lee truthfully. Whatever else he liked, he was pretty
sure he liked this girl. "Mona?"
"Yeah, sweetie?"
"Did he-- uh-- did he say--" Lee took a breath. "Did he like kissing me?"
Mona laughed again. "Oh, I could eat you up. Yes. Yes, he liked kissing you."
"Oh," said Lee, smiling. "Good."
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CHAPTER 23
Mona's chatter on the subject of Lord Taganov and their household was pleasant
and interesting enough that Lee was extremely startled when, after what hadn't
seemed like a particularly long time, their masters suddenly appeared in the
doorway of the bedroom. But the men were both smiling, and as Lee slid, a little
wobbly, to his knees on the floor, Mona jumped up and went to her master; he put
his arms around her and hugged her close.
"Did you have a nice talk with Lee?" he asked her, and she beamed at him.
"Yes, master," she said cheerfully, as Lee's master came and held out his hands to
Lee; Lee took them shyly, and his master raised him to his feet. "We aren't going
home already, are we? Where's Mr. Harper?"
"He and Miss Trask are gone already," the lord explained. "Mr. Harper wants to
get your interview transcribed and let me read it before we talk more. He'll come
over to our house next time, if you don't mind."
"No, I don't mind," said Mona, "but can't we come back here sometime soon, too,
master? I didn't even get to see Yves and Greta this time."
Taganov raised an eyebrow at her, and she grinned back at him, unabashed.
"We'll see," he said, his lips curving, and then turned to Holden and Lee. "But we
really should be going now. Holden, a pleasure as always. Lee, it was lovely to see
you again."
"My lord," Lee whispered; Mona winked broadly at him.
"I'll show you out," said Holden, and kissed Lee on the forehead before walking
out behind the other two, shutting the door of Lee's bedroom behind him.
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Left alone, Lee sat back down on the bed. He wasn't thinking so much as he was
replaying certain things to himself; he had good recall, and it had been a very
interesting morning.
After a little while, he pulled off his tunic, then looked down at his own skinny,
pale body, at the dark, fine cloud of hair around his cock and balls, and at the cock
itself, as if he'd never seen it before, which he hadn't, much. At least he hadn't
looked at it. His master had never been particularly interested in Lee's cock, though
he'd punished it sometimes, when he was very angry. Lee didn't want to think
about that.
It wasn't hurt now; it looked small and faintly silly, soft as it was. Lee touched it,
then twitched it back and forth, making it flop awkwardly. He kept watching it as
he remembered the morning, and then the night before, and it grew before his eyes,
still softish, but thicker now and more substantial; he cupped his hand around it
and started, cautiously, to rub. It hurt, a little; the skin was tender, and Lee's hand
chafed.
A thought struck him, and he looked up at the drawer of the little nightstand by his
bed. He'd never opened it-- of course; nothing in this house was his to poke
through, though Bran rummaged through dresser drawers casually enough to get
Lee clothes, and had opened the nightstand drawer just last night to bring out-Did Lee dare get out the lubricant for his own use? It didn't belong to him, but it
was in his room, and the tunics that were also in his room were for his use. But the
idea of taking lubricant for no reason but his own pleasure in himself was-- almost
as unnerving as the idea of taking his own pleasure without permission. He did
have permission, of course, but he hadn't done anything to earn it, and his master
hadn't given it to him after finishing with him, like he was used to. What if his
master walked in and found Lee stroking himself? What if the mistress walked in,
or Yves or Jer? Or Bran?
Well, Bran might not be so bad. Lee's cock twitched in his hand, and he looked
down at it with bemusement.
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Using lubricant when he wasn't supposed to wasn't such an awful thing, was it?
Even if it was against the rules-- Lee didn't know the rule. Would his master punish
him for doing something he'd never been told not to do? Or would he just correct
and warn him for next time? That seemed more like Holden.
A tiny part of Lee felt stupid for sitting here dithering like this. A much larger part
of him was convinced that if he stirred to reach for the knob of the drawer, he'd get
hurt. Badly. And it had been too long since he'd gotten hurt that badly. The thought
of the punishments he could incur, the things in the training room that could be
used on him, the black rising behind his eyes as his legs pulled against the chains
that held his groin exposed to the heavy boots that slammed into him-- he couldn't.
Not again. He couldn't reach for the drawer. He was scared.
Don't scare the kid. Bran will beat you up.
Bran wouldn't attack anyone, of course, but Bran-- took care of Lee. And if Bran
could make Holden not touch him, maybe he could make Holden not hurt Lee,
even if Holden did get angry. Maybe Holden would wait, and listen. Maybe he'd
give Lee another chance.
Probably, even.
Before he could talk himself out of it again, Lee reached for the drawer, got out the
little bottle, and let the oil pool softly in his palm. He looked at it for a second
before he put the bottle back away, carefully, and wrapped his hand around his
cock, starting to rub again.
It felt better this time. Lee tried to do what Bran had done; he closed his eyes,
thinking of Bran's touch, but opened them again quickly, startled by the darkness
behind them, and looked down at his own cock as he stroked steadily and it grew
rapidly in his hand. He thought of Bran, and then of Taganov, of the hand that had
traced down his back, teasing at his sensitive nerve endings and at his healing
wounds. He hadn't seemed disgusted at how Lee's back felt, even though he'd
known it would scar. Would he mind looking? Would he still touch if Lee were
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naked, his back with its flaking scabs exposed to the touch of those oh-so-careful
fingers?
Would he kiss Lee again sometime? If he had Holden's permission-- Mona would
like that. Lee would like that. He thought of the narrow lips on his, tasting of tea;
he thought of Mona's smile, her chipped tooth. His cock felt good.
He stroked himself harder, faster, just thinking of Bran now, though Bran's mouth
was a little confused with Taganov's. Bran had been so sure of himself last night,
so kind, and he hadn't even gotten irritated with Lee for his inability to please; he'd
seemed pleased anyway, by Lee's climax, even by Lee's useless mouth. He'd
brought Lee off while he was still hard and unsatisfied, and then he'd been dragged
off by their master, who had presumably satisfied him somehow-- maybe with his
mouth, the way he had that one night, after Bran had taken Lee in his own mouth
and sucked him-Lee moaned very softly, watching the pearls of liquid forming at the tip of his hard
cock before his tight grip smeared them away.
Holden sucked Bran. That meant masters sucked slaves. Highly favored slaves,
good slaves, not slaves like Lee, but still, that meant Lord Taganov's mouth-Lee pulled hard at himself and sobbed as he spouted hot white liquid over his own
thighs, whimpering while he kept stroking himself for a few moments, until his
sensitized flesh protested and he pulled his hand away as if he'd been caught at
something. He sat very still, staring at the semen that was cooling on his legs, until
a knock at the door scared him so badly his heart nearly stopped as Bran, not
waiting for a "Come in," came in.
"Oops," he said, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of Lee. "Sorry, didn't know
you were, uh, busy."
"I'm not," said Lee, and cleared his throat. "I-- I think I need another bath."
Bran grinned at that. "I can clean you up if you want."
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Lee nodded uncertainly, then drew back slightly, puzzled, when Bran knelt on the
floor before him and leaned down to his thighs, licking helpfully at the semen that
coated them.
"You don't have to--" he protested weakly. Licking up semen, whether his own or
that of his master and his master's friends, had always been one of Lee's least
favorite things-- at least, of things that didn't actually hurt. The fact that he gagged- and sometimes vomited-- even when he was only cleaning the semen from the
floor with his tongue, was what had convinced him once and for all that his mouth
would never be worth anything, even if he were allowed to go slower. A sex slave
might as well develop an antipathy to oxygen as semen.
Bran was a good slave, though, of course, and he actually appeared to be enjoying
what he was doing; he was lapping and sucking lasciviously, and Lee whimpered
involuntarily at the touch of the hot mouth on his sensitive inner thighs. He was
already getting hard again.
"There," said Bran finally, wiping his mouth and smiling at Lee without getting up.
He glanced at Lee's half-erect cock. "You want me to help out with that?"
Lee blushed and shook his head. "No, thank you. Um-- not right now. Bran?" he
asked suddenly, as Bran got up and handed Lee his tunic, then sat down. Lee
pulled the tunic over his head and smoothed it down before he went on, "Why did
you ask the master not to touch you? In the hospital?"
Bran blinked at him, looking bewildered. "What? I mean-- how-- wait, did he tell
you that?"
"No," said Lee, and then, "Sort of. It was something he said. I figured it out. Why
would you do that? You love when he touches you."
Bran smiled a little, then sobered. "Why do you ask?"
Lee considered.
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"I like the way you two are together," he said. "The way you-- touch each other."
He'd wanted to say the way you love each other, but it wouldn't come out for some
reason. "I just wondered if anything was wrong. I wouldn't-- I wouldn't want there
to be anything wrong between you and him. Especially not because of me."
"There isn't," said Bran, smiling again. "We're fine, Lee."
"But was there? Were--" He hesitated for a moment, but the thought was a barelyopen door through which Lee could almost glimpse the kind of relationship he'd
never had-- the kind he was just beginning to comprehend could exist between a
master and slave, the kind where even a slave had power-- and he had to give it a
little push to see if it would swing wider. "Were you-- angry at him?"
"No, no." Bran reached out and put his hand over Lee's. "It's nothing you need to
worry about."
Lee felt a flicker of indignation. It was one thing to be treated like a child by the
master-- it was actually rather nice to be treated like a child by the master-- but just
because Bran was older, and stronger, and braver, and their master's beloved, and
just because Lee had been clinging to him like a limpet to a rock, didn't mean Lee
was stupid.
"I'm not worried," he explained, a little stiffly. "I'm interested. But if you don't
want to tell me--"
Bran sighed. "It's just-- it wasn't your fault, Lee, but I don't want you to-- feel like
it was."
Lee waited. After a minute, Bran grimaced.
"Okay," he said. "I was just being stupid, is all. I thought that since he'd bought
you, and since you needed him so much, maybe he wouldn't have any room for me.
Any more. That maybe I'd have to be sold."
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A queer shock went through Lee at the words. He stared at Bran.

"Sold?" he managed. "You?"
Bran nodded. "But I wasn't! I mean, he wouldn't. It was just-- I just thought, maybe
he'd keep you instead. So. I couldn't stand to have him touch me, not in front of
you, not-- thinking I was going to lose him. I would have-- broken down. I almost
did, anyway."
"Keep me?" Lee repeated, bewildered. "Instead of you?"
Bran smiled at him. "It's not such a strange idea, is it? Masters get new slaves and
sell their old ones all the time."
"Not him," said Lee with conviction. "Not you." Not for me, he didn't add.
"Well, see," said Bran, his smile widening, "you're smarter than I am."
Five minutes before, Lee would have strongly disputed that statement.
"But," he protested helplessly, still trying to understand, "you were so nice to me!"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Bran asked gently. "It wasn't your fault. I mean, it wouldn't
have been. Would it? If he had decided to sell me because of you. It's not like it
would have been your decision."
It had only been a day since it occurred to Lee that your mind is your own meant
not only that Holden wasn't going to punish him for his desires or lack thereof, but
maybe-- possibly-- that Lord Dunaev hadn't been particularly intelligent to do so.
Now he was getting the same sensation, of something clicking, two pieces fitting
together to make a larger piece: there was a difference, there was a difference,
between a bad thing happening because of you and a bad thing being your fault.
His old master hadn't distinguished; he'd punished Lee because Lee's behavior
hadn't satisfied him, he'd punished Lee because of Lee, but maybe-- maybe it
hadn't all been entirely Lee's fault.
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Lee supposed he could have figured these things out at his old master's-- he'd had a
mind there, too. He supposed he could have brought himself to climax in "his
room" at Lord Dunaev's, too, where everything hurt, and the floor he'd have to
clean afterwards with his tongue was cold and dirty, and he'd get beaten too badly
to cry if he got caught.
"Anyway," said Bran. "All that doesn't matter now. I came up to tell you-- there are
peaches in the kitchen, if you want them."
Lee nodded, and after a moment, he smiled.
"I do," he said. "Thanks."
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CHAPTER 24
Holden laughed as Jer emptied the paper sack into the bowl on the table, which
overflowed, spilling apples, oranges, pears, peaches, and plums across the table.
He caught an orange as it rolled over the edge.
"The kid asked for a peach," he said, spinning the orange across the table at a
slightly sheepish-looking Jer, "not an entire fruit stand of his very own."
"Okay," said Jer, sitting down and slitting the orange's thick skin with a blunt
thumbnail, "so maybe I got a little carried away."
Holden sat down too, as the tangy scent of the orange cut the air. "You like Lee,
don't you?"
"What's not to like?" Jer was peeling the orange, carefully. "He's a sweet kid. And I
doubt he's used to getting much but a thrashing for the asking."
"I know," said Holden, watching Jer's hands as the peel came away in one
meticulous, unbroken spiral. "Bran told us when he first arrived that Dunaev gave
him one pound of food, twice a day. Who knows what kind of food. At least we ate
well at Argounov's."
"That we did," said Jer. "Though requests were not encouraged."
"Except for Alix," said Holden.
"Alix got anything she wanted," Jer agreed. "Even--" His voice and the long spiral
of peel broke off at the same moment.
Holden raised his eyebrows. "Even me, you mean?"
"Heh. Yeah. But I was going to say--" With rare reticence, Jer hesitated, then
lightly touched his own broad chest.
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"Oh." Holden nodded. "The scar. Yeah."

"That was fucked up," said Jer, picking up the peeling again. "Though I guess if he
hadn't cut his name on her like a kid on a park bench, he might have just sold her
instead of setting her free when Laura pitched her temper fit, and then where would
we all be?"
"I don't think he would have," said Holden thoughtfully. "He really loved her. In
his own sick way, but he really did. I can't see him selling her, not after everything
he'd promised. Anyway, I'm pretty sure he was hoping that after he freed her and
set her up with a house in town and everything, she'd keep fucking him, out of
gratitude and for old times' sake and all that."
Jer snorted as he split the denuded orange in half. "Oh, you think?"
"Why?" Holden asked, distracted. "What do you know?"
"I know Candys and I tended to get pretty bruised up when he came back from a
visit here," said Jer. "And I know what happened after she married you. Hey," he
added, smiling, as the two boys came into the room hand in hand, Lee half hidden
behind Bran. "Got you something, kid."
Lee smiled shyly back at Jer as Holden picked up a peach from the over-laden
bowl and held it out. Lee came closer and knelt on the floor before reaching up his
hand to take it, wonderingly, in his hand. He stared at it as if Holden had just
handed him the moon.
"It's yours," said Holden gently. "Eat it."
Lee looked at the peach for another moment, then touched it, oddly, to his cheek
before he raised it to his lips and carefully licked it. He smiled, then opened his
mouth and let his teeth sink in, his lips hard against the soft, yielding skin of the
fruit, his tongue sliding around the edges of the bite he'd just taken to lap up every
drop of the escaping juice. His eyes half closed as he chewed blissfully and
swallowed, then licked at the exposed flesh beneath the thin fuzz of skin,
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puckering up and then sucking on his own lips and running his tongue around his
mouth, swallowing and swallowing the juices.
"Dear gods," said Holden, while Lee continued to slurp. "I hope Mona knows what
she's getting herself into."
Lee's eyes flicked up, startled. Bran laughed and Jer snorted again as Holden said,
grinning, "Sorry. Carry on."
Lee looked self-conscious for only a few moments before abandoning himself to
the pleasure of finishing the peach. When he had nothing left but the pit, licked and
sucked to impossible cleanliness, he bowed his head low.
"Thank you, master," he said, his voice shaky.
"You're welcome, kid," said Holden. "And there's plenty more where that came
from. Just do me a favor and don't tell Jer you always wanted a pony."
Lee looked puzzled, and Jer rolled his eyes at Holden.
"You're a laugh a minute, master," he said, and peeled off another section of his
orange. "C'mere, kid."
Lee glanced up at Holden before he crawled around the table to kneel at Jer's feet,
looking up at him expectantly. Jer leaned down and offered him the section of
orange, and after another quick glance over at Holden, Lee leaned forward and
accepted it with his lips, taking it whole into his mouth. Holden saw the quick flex
of his jaw as he bit down; then his eyes half closed again as he chewed and
swallowed.
"What did Dunaev give you to eat, anyway?" Jer asked, addressing Bran, who had
been watching from the doorway.
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"Rice and a few vegetables, mostly," said Bran as Jer peeled off another section of
orange to offer to Lee, who opened his mouth like a baby bird to accept it. "If I was
good I might get scraps from his plate. But I wasn't that good very often."
Holden liked the faint tinge of irony in Bran's voice when he said "good." Lee
looked as though he liked it, too; his eyes had darted to Bran's face, his expression
alert and thoughtful, before Jer put a gentle hand on the dark hair, turning Lee's
attention back to himself and offering him another piece of orange.
"Do you want anything?" Holden asked Bran, nodding at the fruit-covered table,
and Bran shook his head.
"No, thank you, master," he said. "But may Lee take something back upstairs? I
wanted to ask him about the visit just now."
"Of course," said Holden, and Lee got hesitantly to his feet. Jer took his hand and
put the rest of the orange in it, then pressed another peach into the other hand.
"Thank you," Lee managed to whisper, and then, "Thank you, master," before he
nearly ran for the door and Bran. Bran flashed them both a quick smile over his
shoulder, and the boys were gone.
Jer was spinning an apple on the table in front of him like a top. Holden sighed, a
little restlessly, and glanced absently around the kitchen. He didn't sit in here often;
it brought back less-than-fond memories of the days after Alix had bought Greta
and Kai and before she'd set Holden free to marry him. Days when Argounov had
made it a habit to come sneaking around, without his wife, under the pretense of
discussing Alix's finances. Though Holden was sure Alix hadn't slept with him
since the day he'd freed her, the fact that she spent time with him alone galled her
ill-behaved slave boy only slightly less than the fact that she did so by packing all
the slaves off to the kitchen in a misguided attempt to force them to bond. Holden
certainly hadn't had the slightest bit of interest in seeing Argounov, but he'd hated
being separated from Alix, and he'd hated the twins even more. It made him cringe
slightly to remember how much he'd hated them for what, after all, wasn't even
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remotely their fault-- and they hadn't been much more than children. Holden had
been old enough to know better.
And the gods knew he'd been a miserable enough slave himself to know better than
to act the way he did, once Alix had married him and he became, officially, Greta's
master. He hadn't abused his power as badly as he could have, maybe, but he'd
done badly enough. In a way, he had fathered her baby; he'd been the one who'd
made her miserable enough to fall into the arms of the man who offered her only
kindness and sympathy, and endless talk about the mistress she adored.
And if Alix hadn't married Holden, more or less putting paid to all Argounov's
hopes that she'd ever become his mistress, Holden seriously doubted Argounov
would have been stupid enough with anger and jealousy to seduce Greta.
Valor had been a godsend, he thought now, despite all appearances at the time. Not
only for her own sake, infuriating and indispensable girl that she was-- but from
the moment Greta confessed who the father of her child was, Holden's former
master had shrunk from the dimensions of a temperamental giant with an
occasional habit of turning Holden's life upside down and shaking it hard, to the
confused and fucked-up mortal he was. Greta had undergone a similar
transformation, from an evil siren with Holden's goddess inexplicably under her
spell, to a terrified child fainting dead away in this same kitchen when Holden
confronted her about her delicate condition. He'd caught her as she fell, and he
hadn't been able to believe how light she was; there was almost nothing to her at
all. Even Alix, crying and wringing her hands and more at a loss than Holden had
ever seen her, had become a little less his shining savior and a little more his
deeply beloved, but deeply human, wife.
With Alix temporarily incapacitated with misery and remorse, Holden had taken
over-- and he'd discovered he was actually pretty good at taking over. At picking
up the pieces. Argounov had agreed to terms. Money enough to get Holden and
Alix out of the red financially, after Alix's punishingly expensive impulse purchase
of the twins, and an investment of money, time and social connections in their
business. An agreement to act as the child's godfather ("Won't that be easier to
explain to your wife than acting as the child's actual father?" Holden had pointed
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out calmly when Argounov protested) and pay for her education, and for the debut
that Valor had decided at the last minute was stupid and pointless. Sensible girl.
She'd taken the news of her real parentage, on attaining her majority, surprisingly
well, too.
"You were so young," had been the first thing she'd said to her mother, who'd
nodded, biting her lip and looking, momentarily, not much older. "That bastard.
What was he, forty?"
"Almost," said Alix.
Valor nodded and put her head down in her hands for a moment in an oddly adult
gesture, then lifted it and said gently, "Mom, don't look like that. It doesn't matter.
I just thought-- I dunno, I always thought it was-- your childhood sweetheart from
town, or something."
"Kai was my only childhood sweetheart," said Greta, trying to smile. "And when
he was gone--"
"Everyone made bad decisions," said Alix sadly.
"Some worse than others," said Valor, and got up to approach Holden, who
watched her slightly warily until she sat down, quite unselfconsciously, in his lap
and put her arms around his neck. "Dad?"
Holden's heart pounded. "Yes, love."
"Thanks," Valor said. "For-- you know. Well-- because I don't really care. Who got
Mom pregnant. Because I already know-- who my real dad is. Thank you for that."
"What are you looking so pleased about?" Jer asked now, and Holden looked up,
startled, still smiling.
"Nothing," he said. "Just woolgathering."
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Jer nodded, and spun the apple again. "Holden?"

"Yes."
"It's a good thing you're doing." Jer's eyes stayed on the apple. "With the
interviews and all. Trying to make things-- better."
"It's not just me doing it," Holden pointed out, watching the apple spin. "You're
doing it too. The interviews. And putting up with Robin."
"I know," said Jer, and looked up at Holden with a sudden grin, stopping the apple
short. "It's a good thing I'm doing, too."
Holden laughed. "As long as you know that."
"Sure I do." Jer rolled the apple from one hand to the other. "It's nice. Being able
to--"
"Do a good thing?" said Holden quietly. "Instead of just-- being good."
"Yes," said Jer, and put the apple back in the bowl, balancing it carefully atop the
pile of fruit. "I-- yes. That."
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CHAPTER 25
Holden should have known that things were going much too smoothly to last. It
started when Robin turned up at the door the next afternoon, sans Denys, which
was always bad news. She didn't have her camera either, but she was clutching a
thick binder. Holden blocked the doorway with his body, peering at her.
"I got the prints back for some of my photographs," she said without greeting or
preamble, "and I wanted to show you. Can I come in?"
Holden felt badly in need of moral support. What was the use of living with your
wife, three lovers, and the mother of your child if none of them were ever around
to protect you when you were cornered by wild-eyed young abolitionists who were
fucking your daughter?
"Sure," he said. "Let's go to the kitchen."
"The kitchen?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why not the filing room?"
Because nobody's going to be in the filing room, and Bran might be in the kitchen.
"Because the table's bigger."
"Why not the dining--"
"Please stop arguing," said Holden, and his tone was tense enough to his own ears
that he wasn't surprised when Robin, meekly for her, agreed.
And Bran and Lee were in the kitchen; Lee was sitting at the table with a teacup in
front of him, while Bran stirred something at the counter. Lee went to his knees at
the sight of Holden; Bran set down his bowl and fork, and when Holden held out a
hand to him, came eagerly to press up against him and nuzzle his neck as Holden's
arm went around him and hugged him close. He touched his lips to Bran's and said
in his ear, "I love you so much."
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"Why does he do that?" Robin asked Holden, jerking her head at Lee on his knees,
as Bran beamed gorgeously. "When the other ones don't."
"His previous master must have required it," said Holden, before he realized that
Robin had actually asked a question instead of issuing a condemnation, and that
therefore Ragnarok was clearly at hand. "And I haven't made an issue of it because
he's been in a very fragile state, and following the rules you already understand can
be a comfort when you're disoriented. If he needs a way to reinforce, to me or
himself, that I'm his master, I'm not going to scold him for that. Come here, Lee."
Lee rose a little unsteadily and came forward, eyes fixed on Holden's face. Bran
stepped away slightly and let Holden take the smaller boy in his arms and hug him
close, kissing him on the top of the head.
"It's like you're a psychologist or something," said Robin, in a tone he couldn't
read: contempt? Curiosity? Could it possibly be admiration? "Except you're not
supposed to fuck your patients."
"As a matter of fact," said Holden, guiding Lee gently back to the table and helping
him sit back down, "I'm not fucking Lee. I've delegated that responsibility. What
do you have here, sweetheart?"
"It's herbal tea," Bran answered for Lee. "He wanted some-- with lemon."
"That's fine," said Holden to Lee, who had put his hands in his lap as if eager to
repudiate the cup. "You're becoming quite the little epicure, aren't you? Anyway,
Robin, if my-- patients'-- lives and happiness didn't center around having
successful sex, maybe I wouldn't consider it my responsibility to have sex with
them."
"Mona said her master didn't have sex with her," said Robin.
"That's true. Masters and slaves negotiate their own sets of rules. My job is to
make sure the slave knows he can negotiate-- in bed and out. Of course," he added,
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"I did a little too well teaching Bran that; he turned back around and negotiated me
into keeping him."
Bran, who had returned to his stirring, blushed and said, shyly, smiling, "You
always said I'd be one of your great success stories, master."
Holden grinned back at him. "Well, I was right, wasn't I? What are you doing over
there?"
"Fixing the marinade for tonight's dinner, master."
"And what do we pay Fox for again?"
"To turn the knobs on the oven," said Bran, "since you won't let me touch it."
"Yes, which is completely unreasonable. It's not like you still have a scar on your
hand from the last time you tried."
Robin was fanning her prints out on the table. Even from here Holden could see
they were good. He leaned over the sheaf, paging through the black-and-white
photographs. The Lee of two weeks ago was a study in shadow and pallor: the fall
of his inky hair, the faint lines of darkness cast by his protuberant ribs, the dark
lacerations on his back, and eyes that looked like holes burned in the white
parchment of his face.
Bran's curls showed the same shade as his skin on the film, except where the light
caught them; his expression as he looked at the camera was thoughtful, appraising,
his clear eyes slightly narrowed. There were shots of him in his tunic, front and
back and profile, and naked, ditto; shots of his room, his meager possessions, the
stacks of identical tunics in his drawer.
There were also the first three pictures Robin had taken, before she'd had
permission to start clicking the camera: Lee lying face down, looking up over his
injured shoulder with startled terror in his large eyes; Lee in the same position, but
with his face turned towards Bran, who bent over him, stroking his hair, his own
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curls obscuring his face; Lee with his head lowered to the pillow, Bran looking up
at the camera, one hand resting lightly on Lee's neck, his lip slightly drawn back
from his teeth, his eyes alight with protective fury.
There was a clatter, and a rivulet of liquid ran over the prints; Holden looked up
bemusedly as Robin shouted, "Fuck! You clumsy little--!" and snatched them up,
shaking them hard. Lee had leaned too close and knocked over his cup of tea onto
the table. By the time Holden took this in, Lee was on the floor under the table.
Holden didn't bother to deck Robin before he shoved his chair back and went
down, almost without thinking, to the floor, under the table with Lee. The boy's
forehead was pressed to the floor, and Holden reached out and touched his hair.
"Look at me, Lee."
Lee didn't move. When Holden pulled him up gently, his face was as paper-white
as it had been in the photographs, with the same undertone of gray, his eyes blank
and unfocused. Holden wanted to kill someone.
"Those prints are expensive!" Robin yelled, right on cue, from above the table that
roofed their heads. No jury on earth would convict him.
He pulled Lee into his lap and cuddled the boy close, stroking him, pressing soft
kisses to his forehead, his hair, his cheeks, and the tip of his nose, and murmuring
random words of comfort-- shhh, it's okay, you're okay, everything's okay, nothing
to hurt you, safe-- and slowly, very slowly, Lee's rigid body began to relax against
his.
Robin decided now would be a really great time to join them under the table. She
sat on the floor, staring at Lee. Holden ignored her.
"Hey, kiddo," he said softly. "Remember me? Your handsome and reasonable
master? The one who likes to cuddle? The one who tends not to hit you? Does this
ring a bell at all?"
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After a moment he felt the tiny motion of Lee's head against him: a nod.
"Then you must know you're safe," Holden coaxed. "Regardless of what Miss
Robin might say. Right? You don't think she could get past me to hurt you, do
you? She looks scrappy, but I think I could take her in a fight."
Lee burrowed harder against Holden.
"Master," he whispered, almost inaudibly.
"That's right, sweetheart. I'm your master, and you're my boy. Just relax. I've got
you."
"How could I hurt him?" Robin asked irritably.
"Lee, sweetheart," said Holden, "I'm about to curse a little-- but not at you. I'm not
mad at you. Robin," he added, in the soft, cajoling tone he was afraid to roughen
for Lee's sake, "shut the fuck up before I knock you into the wall."
Coincidentally or not, Robin did shut up, and Holden cradled Lee and crooned
nonsense to him until the boy finally lifted his head, his face as white as ever, but
his eyes wide and fixed with terrifying intensity on Holden.
"Master--" he said again.
Holden smiled reassuringly at him and shifted from under the table to help him to
his feet. He steered the shivering body carefully towards Bran, who was standing,
pale and still, by the counter.
"Let me get rid of Robin," Holden said as Bran held out his arms to draw Lee in,
"and I'll be right back."
Bran nodded silently, clasping the smaller boy close.
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"You're not going to be around Lee again until I say so," said Holden to Robin on
the way to the front door, "which may well be never." He opened the front door
and pushed her out. "Call before you come over again, or you don't get inside. Nice
photographs."
"I can't afford to have more prints made," she said.
"We'll reimburse you. Not now. Go away."
"Okay," said Robin. "Um, I know who Val's father is."
Holden, on the point of closing the door, stopped. "I beg your pardon."
"She didn't tell me what you do with the kids you can't fix, but she did get really
pissed off and tell me I had no idea what I was talking about once, when I was on a
tear about how her parents were murderers-- um, no offense," she added vaguely,
"and I'm guessing that has something to do with the fact that you found Bran so
easily after he ran away, and the fact that Bran said he had a choice, whether to
belong to you."
"Your brilliant deductions leave me in awe," said Holden, in what he felt was an
admirably steady voice, considering. "And none of this is any of your goddamn
business, and if I hear one more word about it, not only will I call off the story, but
I'll make it as clear as I possibly can to Valor exactly how little her lover cares
about endangering the lives and livelihoods of the people she holds dear, and the
slaves for whom said lover claims to be so deeply concerned. Please go away
before I do something I regret."
"And have you beat Yves up instead?" Robin asked, and when Holden stared at her
in disbelief, "No, wait-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-- antagonize you again."
"It is a little late for that," said Holden evenly. "You are swiftly rising in the ranks
from antagonist to actual nemesis. I knew I should have made my daughter marry
David Kareyev while the marrying was good."
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"But that would have meant marrying the daughter of one ex-master to the son of
another," Robin pointed out, with-- was that a smile? "That would have been kind
of weird even for you."
"Are you trying to engage in light banter with me, young woman?" Holden
demanded incredulously. "Did Valor happen to mention, while she was running her
mouth, that her adoptive father has a violent temper?"
"You're not going to hit me," said Robin, whose stance on the doorstep was
starting to take on the proportions of permanence. "If you were going to hit me you
would have done it over Lee. I saw the way you looked at me. You wanted to kill
me."
"I still want to kill you."
"I know, but you won't. I'm guessing that has something to do with what we were
talking about yesterday, with them making you control yourself and all. And you
liked my photographs, I could tell. I am good at that. I'm just no good at-- treating
them--different. If Denys spilled something on my prints I'd give him holy hell,
and Lee's a kid just like Denys."
"No he isn't," said Holden. "That's like saying you'd slap anyone else on the back
to congratulate them so why shouldn't you do it to a kid whose back is a bloody
infected whip-scarred mess?"
"I know," said Robin again, almost plaintively. "I just-- I'm not-- good at this, like
you are. But I'm not going to say anything to anybody," she added, while Holden
tried to digest the fact that Robin had just given him what sounded like a
compliment. "About Lord Argounov, and whatever illegal stuff you're up to. I just
wanted to tell you-- Denys has been asking me to help him figure some of it out. I
told him I didn't think there was anything to it and we should stick with what you'd
authorized, we had enough to do."
"Why are you telling me this?" Holden asked suspiciously. "Are you blackmailing
me?"
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"No!" said Robin. "I just thought you should know. I'm on your side, Mr. Larssen."
Holden wanted to deny this vehemently, but he had to admit to himself that having
Robin on your side was probably better than having Robin around but not on your
side. Not that he would have jumped at either option, given the choice-- but he'd
made his choice. And the photographs had been pretty damn good.
"Go away," he said again.
"I am," said Robin, with that smile again, like a saber-toothed tiger trying to look
kittenish. "I'll call you. And-- um-- could you tell Lee I'm sorry?"
Lee was shivering in Bran's arms, and Bran looked up, his brow furrowed, when
Holden came back into the kitchen.
"Is he okay?" Holden asked, and Lee looked up wildly at the sound of his voice.
"Lee?"
Lee pulled away from Bran and went to his knees at Holden's feet again, his
forehead pressing against Holden's boots. Holden looked up helplessly at Bran.
"Master," said Bran quietly, "I think you should fuck him."
Holden stared. "Now?"
"He needs to please you," Bran said. "If you fuck him, he can just hold still and let
you, and he will have done well."
"Bran, I don't think--"
"Please, master," Lee cried out, almost hysterically. "Please use me. Please."
"Hell." Holden knelt down on the floor and gathered Lee up in his arms. "Bran,
will you--come--?"
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"Of course, master," said Bran without hesitation.
In his own bedroom, Holden set Lee down on the bed next to Bran, who helped
Lee undress-- the boy lifted his arms above his head like a child being readied for
bed-- and lie down on his face, while Holden undressed himself. Lee spread his
legs swiftly, and Holden looked down at the marked back, ass, and thighs, then
over at Bran. "Hand me the lube."
Bran, who had shucked off his own tunic as casually as if he joined his master in
the fucking of trainee slaves every day of the week, reached over and retrieved the
little bottle, sloshing the oil into his own hand before Holden took the bottle from
him and slicked his fingers with it. Bran's hand closed around Holden's soft cock as
his other arm went unexpectedly around his master's body, pressing close against
him and kissing his neck.
"Remember the first time you fucked me?" he said as he stroked, massaging the oil
over Holden's sensitive skin. "Remember how I was nervous, and you stroked me
and held me, and you called me beautiful-- and I came before you did, I'd never
come before while someone was fucking me-- and you said you loved the way I
felt--"
"Gods, sweetheart--" Holden gasped, his cock hardening obscenely at the touch
and at the memories stirred by Bran's words. "Don't--"
"Don't--?"
"Not if you want me to fuck Lee," Holden managed, and Bran pulled away; Holden
nearly grabbed him back, wanting to crush him close and then flip him over, but he
made himself reach out and touch Lee instead, resting one hand on the shivering
back, before the other well-oiled hand probed between Lee's cheeks. Bran lay
down beside Lee, clasping his hand and smiling into his eyes; Lee smiled back
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faintly as Holden slid a careful finger to Lee's tight pucker, then inside. Lee's lips
parted silently, and Bran reached out to stroke his hair.
"Does it hurt?" Holden heard him ask Lee softly, and Lee shook his head as
Holden probed deeper, feeling for signs of damage, and then for Lee's prostate.
Lee's mouth opened wider when he found it.
"Did he find the spot?" Bran asked, and Lee looked as if he wanted to laugh as he
nodded. "Does it feel good?"
Holden waited for Lee's "Yes," barely more than a breath, before he added another
finger. Lee breathed in, then out.
"Bran," he whispered, and Bran moved closer, pressing his lips to Lee's; Lee kissed
him back hungrily, almost desperately. Holden's cock ached at the sight as he slid
his fingers in and out of Lee. He was afraid to fuck Lee, afraid of hurting him, of
scaring him, but Bran was there, Bran would take care of Lee, while Holden---added a third finger, and Lee moaned into Bran's mouth, then pulled away;
Holden could feel him trembling.
"Shhh," said Bran. "Don't be scared, Lee. You know master wouldn't hurt you.
Master will take good care of his boy."
Master, like a name. Bran never talked like that. Master in direct address, of
course, but in third person always my master, or the master. Holden didn't talk like
that either-- talking about himself in third person wasn't really his style. What was
this? The words sounded intimate, like a boy's inner monologue, and the two boys
in the bed beneath him almost seemed to merge into one, a shivering body slowly
relaxing to pliability under him, a quiet, dreamy voice speaking words of
tenderness and trust.
Lee's asshole was gleaming and dribbling oil now, stretched wide and inviting, and
Holden's cock was rigid at attention. Lee was kissing Bran passionately, he needed
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this, hell, Holden needed this, and he touched the head of his cock against Lee,
slick flesh on flesh, easing in.
"Oh master," Lee whispered-- or had it been Bran? Holden hadn't been looking at
their faces, concentrating on sliding himself in slowly, opening up the tight little
channel, and their faces now, both solemnly intent, gave no clue. It took ages for
Holden to inch himself in, and in, and all the way in, and he paused when he was
completely buried inside Lee, seeing with a jolt that though there had been no
resistance, no tensing of the fragile frame beneath him, tears were pouring down
Lee's face, and Bran was kissing them away.
"It's okay," Bran whispered. "Master doesn't mind if you cry. Does it hurt,
sweetheart?"
His own word of endearment on Bran's lips, Bran who infused everyone's given
name or title with such respect or affection or-- in a couple of cases-- contempt that
he never seemed to need to call them anything else, filled Holden with such
confused desire that he had to pull back a little, bite back a moan as Lee
whimpered, "No, master, doesn't hurt" (or was it Master doesn't hurt?). "Feels-feels--"
"Good," Bran breathed as Holden slid himself deeper in again and Lee sobbed
softly, fresh tears spilling down. "Master's gentle with his boy." Bran turned his
head and met Holden's eyes. "Wants to fill you up, all the way in, stroke inside his
boy till he spills."
"Bran," Lee moaned as Holden fucked him, starting with nearly unbearable
slowness, the sweet hot lubricated friction of Lee yielding to him, and he wanted to
take-- his animal instincts roaring to the fore-- to slam in, staking his claim, pound
the tender little ass into the mattress and wrench harsher cries from the slender
throat. But there were Bran's eyes on his, and it wasn't an option. Master's gentle
with his boy-- of course he was.
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And it didn't take too much longer, as it was, before he gasped, feeling the
quivering of his cock, the tip melting like a lighted candle inside Lee and Bran's
eyes on him and he shouted out, hoarsely, wordlessly, as he came.
Lee was sobbing hard as Holden eased his soft cock out of the sweet little opening,
but Bran didn't seem concerned; he just stroked Lee's hair, smiling.
"Please-- master," Lee managed, "please, did I, did I please my master?"
"You were perfect," said Holden hoarsely, and cleared his throat as Lee rolled
against him, burying his face against Holden's chest and sobbing harder than ever,
but with an abandoned note of relief and release. He looked up at Bran, who was
smiling at him.
"Thank you, master," he said. "You were perfect."
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CHAPTER 26
"Three?" the ticket agent at the train station, a pleasant motherly type, said.
"Business or pleasure?"
"Visiting my daughter at the university," said Holden, and she nodded.
"You look just like your daddy," she said to Lee, who blinked at her, bewildered-how could this person know his father? "But you must look like your mama."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Bran with perfect equanimity.
"What for, hon?"
"If you knew how pretty my mom was, you'd know what for," said Bran, flashing
his sweetest grin.
"Oh, I wish his mama could have heard that!" said the ticket agent, looking up at
Holden. "You all have a good visit with your sister."
Sister? It took Lee a minute to figure out what she was talking about, and when it
finally dawned on him that the father she thought Lee looked just like was Holden,
he tripped on the second step up onto the train and would have fallen if Bran hadn't
steadied him.
It had been a startling enough proposition that he and Bran should dress like free
citizens for the trip, but the master had made it sound so reasonable.
"Traveling with one slave, even if you're noble, is bad enough," he'd told Bran as
he took Lee's measurements, which tickled. Lee tried not to squirm. "Andrei's
always a nervous wreck when he has to take Mona anywhere on a train, and he
rents his own statecar. I'm not noble, and there are two of you. If I take you on the
train leashed, in slave tunics and sandals, I might as well hang a sign out that says
'I'm a dealer, come molest the merchandise.' Look what happened to you at the
hospital."
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"What happened to you at the hospital?" Lee had asked Bran, when the master had
left with the measurements to buy Lee "something that won't swallow you."
Bran was examining his reflection in the mirror with an air of bemusement. Seeing
Bran dressed in their master's clothes-- long blue tunic, cinched at the waist with a
slender brown belt with a money pouch, and high brown boots-- made Lee feel
strangely shy and attracted at once. If Bran were a nobleman, Lee wouldn't mind
belonging to him.
"Hm?" said Bran vaguely, and then, "Oh, nothing. A man put his hands on me
without permission. The mistress was right there, and she yelled at him and he
moved off. I didn't get hurt or anything. It just startled me."
Lee nodded, and, after a moment's hesitation, asked, "Did-- when you belonged to
Lord Dunaev-- did he-- share you? A lot?"
Bran looked at him for a moment before he nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "At parties and stuff. I used to get-- pretty bad hurt, sometimes.
You, too?"
Lee nodded. "The master-- he doesn't-- he won't-- I mean, now that he's fucked me,
he won't--"
"No," said Bran firmly. "He won't share you around. I don't think he'll take you
again himself, either, unless you ask him. That was just-- that was-- for right then."
"I won't mind," said Lee truthfully. "If he takes me again. It didn't hurt."
Bran smiled at him. "I told you, didn't I?"
"Yes," said Lee, smiling back. "Bran, can we still-- I mean-- you and me, do we
still have permission to--"
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Bran grinned more widely. "I think so. I'll ask him and make sure. You want to?"
Blushing scarlet, Lee nodded.
Truthfully, Lee might not have remembered if getting fucked had hurt. His fuzzy
memories of being fucked had almost been supplanted by the feeling he'd gotten
afterwards, crying in his master's arms: the overwhelming longing for his master to
fuck him again. Which was rather startling, because that thought had definitely
never occurred to him before. Usually, when his former master had fucked him, the
only halfway bearable thought in his head afterwards was that at least his master
wouldn't be able to fuck him again immediately. Of course, when he'd taken Lee
out or had friends over, there wasn't even that amount of respite. But still, at least it
wouldn't be him again right away.
But when Holden's cock had finally withdrawn from him, Lee had wanted it again,
immediately; he'd wanted to be fucked again, harder, longer, because it would be
better this time. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't need Bran's voice and touch to keep
him still. He wouldn't be afraid of anything. His master could go as fast as he
wanted, he could tear Lee up and make him bleed if he wanted, Lee didn't care, if
this came at the end of it, this blurred and dizzy ecstasy of being wanted, being
pleasing, being right, his body no longer a clumsy and traitorous encumbrance that
constantly got Lee punished, but a thing his master wanted, touched so gently, was
pleased with. He'd never felt so safe as he did then, in his master's arms, safe and
fucked and praised, but he knew he could feel safer: his master's hard cock in him
again would make him truly safe.
Now, finally, he thought he understood: this was how a slave was supposed to feel
about his master's cock. Hungry. Desperate. He wanted any touch his master was
pleased to give him. He wanted all the touches at once. This was what he was for.
"Lee?" his master's wonderful, glorious voice had said then.
"Master," Lee whispered.
"Are you all right, sweetheart?"
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"Yes, master," said Lee, overcome with his master's kindness. "Thank you,
master."
Gentle hands laid Lee down on his back; dark eyes looked into his wide, blissfilled eyes.
"He's high as a kite," said the master to Bran. "He must have gone flying while I
was fucking him. I hope he doesn't crash too hard. Could you get me a damp cloth
for his face, sweetheart, and then maybe fix us some more of that tea, and stir some
honey into it?"
To Lee's momentary regret, Bran went off somewhere, but it didn't really matter;
his master was still here. Maybe he'd use Lee some more now.
"Such a good boy," his master said softly, stroking Lee's face, and Lee moaned
softly with the pleasure of the touch and the words. "My sweet, beautiful boy. You
were wonderful, sweetheart, you were so brave and good for me. I'm so pleased
with you, Lee."
Something cool and lovely was touching his face, wiping away the tear tracks.
He'd thought his tears were shameful, but they weren't, not if his master didn't
mind them. And that was good, because he was starting to cry again, for no
apparent reason. But his master didn't look surprised; he just kept gently sponging
away Lee's tears as they spilled, as if this was what he expected, so of course it was
all right. Lee was still his good boy.
"Can I suck your cock, master?" he'd asked suddenly, abruptly sure he could do it
well, and his master smiled, the most gorgeous smile Lee had ever seen.
"Not right now, honey," he said. "Maybe later."
Well, whatever his master wanted was bound to be right. Lee closed his eyes, then
opened them again quickly.
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"If you want to go to sleep, that's fine," his master said, and so of course it was
fine, and Lee closed his eyes again, then opened them, anxiously.
"Ask for anything, darling," said his master, smoothing the cool cloth over Lee's
forehead.
Lee swallowed hard, then managed, "Please don't leave me, master."
"I won't."
"When I wake up--"
"I'll be here."
Lee nuzzled up against his master's hand and, abruptly, fell asleep.
"--be the one to go," a woman's voice was saying as he woke up, and he didn't
know where he was. It was soft, and there were warm, heavy blankets on top of
him, and there was something warm behind his head. Possibly he was in trouble.
He kept his eyes closed.
"But Inga was one of mine," said his master's voice from quite close and above
Lee, and with a small shock of reorientation he realized it was probably his
master's warm thigh that his head was resting against. "It's not that I don't trust you,
Alix, you know that-- but you never got to know her as well as I did. I need to talk
to her. And I need to debrief Lisa, too. And yell at Valor for at least twelve hours
straight."
"Just like old times," said the woman's voice-- the mistress' voice-- dryly. "But,
Holden, what about Lee? You can't just leave him, especially not now. And I don't
know if he's up for a cross-country train trip."
His master's hand stroked over Lee's hair, feeling so good Lee was hard pressed
not to moan. "No. I guess you're right. You and Greta should go, then."
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"Well, you don't have to sound like you're agreeing to your own execution," said
the mistress, and the master sighed.
"Inga was mine," he said, as if that explained everything.
There was a silence.
"If you took Bran, too--" the mistress began.
"I still don't think Lee's up for it," said the master. "You didn't see him right after
Robin snapped at him. For a minute there-- Lee?"
A sudden shudder had gone through Lee, and his master's hand paused on his hair.
"You awake, sweetheart?" he asked softly, and Lee, not seeing any help for it,
opened his eyes. His master was smiling down at him. "How do you feel?"
Now that his master mentioned it, Lee was slightly stiff, and also-- he remembered,
abruptly, with a hot flush that shot over his entire body and shook him badly as he
registered the slight stinging soreness of his ass-- he'd been fucked, for the first
time in more than two weeks, the first time in his new home, by his new master.
Funny how these things slipped your mind.
"Just take it easy," his master said gently. "You want some hot tea? I think this cup
is cold, but we can get you another one."
Despite the blankets, despite his master's nearness, another cold shudder racked
Lee at the mention of tea. Something bad had happened. He'd done something
wrong. He didn't remember; he didn't want to remember. Maybe his master had
forgotten, too, whatever it was. He didn't want to think about tea.
Careful hands helped Lee sit up and lean against his master's warm, firm chest; his
master kissed him on the forehead-- not even on the lips-- as if nothing had
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happened, as if he was still-- whatever he had been that had made his master take
care of him and praise him without using him. Exempt.
"I'll go get Bran," said the mistress, and there was a rustle of skirt. "And some tea."
"Thanks," said the master, as if the idea of the mistress fetching and carrying for
Lee was completely normal and sane, and when she was gone, he tilted Lee's chin
up and looked into his eyes.
"You remember what happened?" he asked, sounding as if he thought Lee might
not.
"Yes, master," said Lee softly. "You-- you-- made use of me."
His master nodded. "Do you remember why?"
Lee thought back to before the crying in his master's arms, before the cock in his
ass and Bran's lips on his face, kissing away his tears, before the first finger had
slid into him. The kitchen. He'd been kneeling at his master's feet, he'd been on the
floor, everything had been swimming. Someone's angry voice. There was
something he'd done wrong.
"Miss Robin," he blurted, and realized from the quavering sound of his own voice
that he was trembling. "I-- I-- master, I'm sorry--"
"You've got nothing to be sorry for, precious," said his master, carding his fingers
gently through Lee's hair. "Miss Robin was completely out of line, yelling at you
like that. And she knew it, too. She asked me to tell you she was sorry, before she
left."
"But--" Lee tried to make sense of this, and with his master's arms around him like
this, he even dared name his transgression. "I-- spilled-- I ruined her-- things--"
"That doesn't excuse her scaring you halfway back to catatonia, honey. For a
minute I thought we'd lost you again."
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Lee remembered. He shivered against his master. Holden rubbed his arms
soothingly, in that way he had, as if trying to warm him.
"Lee," he said softly, "you belong to me, and it's my job to take care of you. And I
take that very seriously. You are always safe with me. Do you understand that?"
Before Lee could answer, the door opened, and Lee looked up to see Bran coming
in, carrying a steaming mug, and smiling at him. Lee smiled back.
"You were there," he said to Bran, without thinking, and Bran laughed.
"Yes, I was," he said, and handed Lee the mug. "Drink this."
Lee's first sip startled him with its sweetness, and he looked up at Bran worriedly.
"Oh, I put honey in it," said Bran, sitting down on the bed and putting a hand on
Lee's knee. "That's okay, right, master? You told me to, before."
"That's right," said the master. "You may drink it, Lee. These are special
circumstances."
Lee took another sip, reveling in the extraordinary flavor-- was this what honey
tasted like? Was this what people meant when they called you honey?-- and then a
gulp. The warmth spread through him; his shivering subsided.
"Where is the mistress going?" Bran asked the master as Lee took another greedy
gulp. "She said something about packing for a trip."
"Oh," said the master. "Yes. She and Greta. Someone needs to go knock some
sense into Valor. This Robin thing has gone beyond a joke. Inga's tougher than
most or I wouldn't have given her to Valor in the first place-- and if it were really
bad she'd probably have started biting Val, which I'm pretty sure Val would have
mentioned-- but still."
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"But Inga was never that close with the mistress or Greta, was she?" Bran asked.
"Would she-- I mean-- oh, but I guess you can't really go yourself, can you?
Sorry."
"You could take me with you, master," said Lee, surprising no one in the room so
much as himself.
Bran's head and his master's both swiveled to him.
"You said," Lee explained shyly, "I'm always safe with you, master. I am, aren't I?
I mean, I will be, won't I? Anywhere."
"You will," said the master, "but-- I want you to feel safe."
Lee nodded. "I do, master. I mean, I will. You didn't punish me for-- you won't--"
He cleared his throat, strangely unafraid; his master was still smiling at him. "I do
feel safe, master."
"Well..." said the master.
The master brought Lee back a pearl-gray tunic, belted with black, and black
leather boots that looked absurdly small next to his own. Everything fit. There was
a money pouch on his belt, too.
"I put some money in there," his master told him, "in case you want to buy yourself
something at the station or in the train."
Bran smiled at his master. Both of them clearly thought Lee didn't see the look
they exchanged, because they also thought Lee hadn't overheard them talking
earlier.
"I'm going to put some money in here for you," Holden had said, "and a letter with
my name and address, a description of you and one of Lee, and a signed statement
that if found, you are to be returned to me immediately. That's in case we get
separated. I can't think of any reason why anyone would realize you were a slave,
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not if you keep your head, and if they don't you can just buy a ticket home. But if
they do, the letter will keep you from getting taken into custody as a runaway."
"What about Lee?" Bran asked.
"Lee's not getting lost," said the master. "If for any reason I can't keep hold of both
of you, I'm going to keep hold of Lee. And I want you to do the same. If you've got
to lose me or him, lose me. I trust you to bring him home if you have to."
"I will," said Bran determinedly. He sounded nervous, but Lee thought he could
detect a thrilled note, too, at the prospect of such an adventure. Well, Lee had
known Bran was ridiculously brave. But the idea that if his master had to let go of
him or Bran-- Bran, the apple of his eye, the one he loved so much Lee was fairly
sure his eyes actually glowed with it sometimes-- he'd hang onto Lee... even if it
was just because Bran was smart and brave and resourceful enough to find his way
home, and Lee was too pathetic to do anything but lapse into catatonia again...
well, that...
"All of this is completely hypothetical," the master explained soothingly. "I have
no intention of losing either of you. I just want to prepare for the worst possible
contingency. But if I weren't one hundred percent sure that at least one of us could
stay with Lee, I wouldn't be taking him. And I don't want to worry him with any of
this."
Lee wasn't worried.
He looked at himself in the mirror, taking in the boots, the belt. He liked the way
he looked. Nobody would suspect what he really was. Nobody would look at him
and see a thing to be fucked and punished, made to scream and bleed. Nobody
would think they had any right to touch him, except Bran and his master-- and his
master didn't share him, so nobody did have any right to touch him except Bran
and his master. So it wasn't even a disguise; it was just-- protection.
And Lee felt safe.
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"You little scamp," the master scolded Bran in an undertone as they took their seats
on the train. "Turning those eyelashes of yours against poor defenseless ticket
agents, the idea."
"I was just being friendly, sir," said Bran, grinning. The master had told them both
to call him "sir" for the trip, to be more inconspicuous, but it hadn't really occurred
to Lee that sons called their fathers "sir."
"You're enjoying this way too much," the master told Bran, grinning back, and
Lee, who'd been thinking the same thing, smiled too. "How about you, Lee? How
are you holding up?"
"Fine, s-sir," Lee stuttered, and then, boldly, "Sir? Do I really-- look like you?"
"I don't know," said the master, tilting his head to the side to examine Lee. "Bran?
What do you think?"
"There's a resemblance, sir," said Bran cheerfully. "Dark hair, dark eyes. Youthful
good looks."
"You wait until I get you home, young man," the master told Bran threateningly,
and Bran giggled.
Lee smiled.
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CHAPTER 27
"Don't look now," said the master quietly to Bran, "but those two girls are checking
you out."
After a moment, Bran's eyes cut to the side, then widened. "Um, I think they're
checking Lee out."
"The brunette definitely has her eye on you," said the master.
Bran looked simultaneously alarmed and thrilled. "What if they come over and try
to talk to us?"
"Just don't make any dates you can't keep," said the master dryly.
"Is there a dining car?" Bran asked. "What if they ask us to come have something
to eat? Isn't that what free people do-- invite each other to go eat?"
"Tell them you're not hungry," said the master. "Unless you want to go eat with
them. Is that what you're asking? Whether you may go flirt with young women in
the dining car? I guess the ticket agent was just target practice, hmm?"
"Don't be like that, sir," said Bran cajolingly, his voice still pitched too low for
anyone beyond their little four-seat compartment to hear. "You know I only have
eyes for you. Well-- you and Yves and Jer. And the mistress, when she wants me-and Lady Lisa, sometimes. And Lee, of course. But mostly you, sir."
"You are in a mood, young man," said the master gruffly, though Lee could tell he
was amused. "Don't let those boots go to your head. There's no law against public
discipline of a slave-- regardless of how he's dressed."
Bran clasped his hands hastily in his lap and arranged his face into a perfectly
demure expression. "Yes, sir."
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"See how nicely Lee is sitting and observing the sights?" the master went on,
gesturing to Lee, who was sitting meekly between his master and one window seat,
with Bran across from him, facing him, in the other window seat. Lee ducked his
head, embarrassed. "Why can't you behave like your little brother?"
Bran cackled, and Lee smiled.
"But we are the sights, sir," said Bran, his hands still clasped decorously in his lap.
"At least those girls think so."
"I'd lay a bet you're the prettiest two things on this train," the master agreed. "The
girls have good taste. And they didn't even see what I saw yesterday in bed."
Bran grinned. "What do you think they would do if I started making out with Lee
right now?"
"Swoon dead away," said the master, as Lee blushed. "Which would be a shame
for them, because then they'd miss the part where I turned you over my knee and
pulled up that nice tunic and spanked your exhibitionist little ass until you cried.
Behave."
"Yes, m-- sir," said Bran, a little breathlessly, and shifted forward in his seat, as if
involuntarily, closer to the master. The master leaned forward and in one swift,
firm motion, mistakable for a casual pat or brushing-away of lint from anyone who
wasn't watching closely, put his hand at Bran's groin and stroked his slave's
erection, through the cloth. Bran let out a strangled moan.
"Shhh," said the master softly, smiling, as he sat back.
Despite the obvious intensity of the attraction between Bran and the master-- the
touches, the kisses, even the looks they shared-- Lee had mostly managed to
avoided thinking about the specifics of their physical relationship, for the first two
weeks at least. He'd known they must be having sex, of course, but he hadn't liked
to think about it. Sex was painful, ugly, frightening, not something he liked to
think about Bran undergoing, or their gentle master inflicting.
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So he'd tried not to imagine them together, until the night when, still dizzy and
weak in the aftermath his own long-delayed release, he'd watched in utter disbelief
as the master took Bran's cock in his mouth and gave him a thoroughly
professional blow job, down to the seamless swallowing when his slave came into
his mouth. The very strangeness of the scene had almost driven it from Lee's mind
since-- he hadn't had any idea how to process it, where it might fit into his
understanding of the world. It wasn't the same as the master's astonishing kindness- Lee had quite a mental file on that, to which the latest additions included not
punishing Lee for angering Miss Robin, his master's care during and after his
fucking of Lee, letting him drink tea with honey, dressing him like a free boy to
protect him from molestation on the trip, and not correcting people who assumed
Lee was his son.
But the way he'd gone after Bran's cock was something else entirely, and Lee only
found himself examining the memory because he thought he might have something
else to add to that particular file, now: Bran's obvious arousal at his master's stern
tone, and the master's quick, approving caress to the evidence of that arousal.
All of which was to say that Lee wasn't sure he wasn't going to swoon dead away
himself, as his gaze darted from the master's half-lidded eyes to Bran's heated
cheeks, and in the corner of his vision, the two girls they had been discussing rose
from their seats and began making their way carefully down the aisle, swaying
gently with the motion of the train.
"Want anything from the dining car?" the master asked clearly as the girls passed
their seats.
Bran swallowed. "No-- sir."
Bran's obvious desire to climb up in their master's lap and rub up against him until
he came kept him from babbling very much for a while; instead he looked out the
window, and so did Lee. He'd thought he'd feel nervous as the scenery spun past
and as the train sped him away from the safety of his home, but he didn't. He knew
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the real safety of his home was sitting next to him; he could feel the warmth
coming off his master's body, and he liked it.
"Master?" he whispered, and then, furious with himself for the misstep, "I mean-sir?"
"Yes, sweetheart," said the master, with no note of reproof.
Lee looked up at him shyly. "Thank you. For-- for bringing me."
His master smiled at him.
"Of course," he said. "I wouldn't have been able to go myself if you hadn't said you
would be okay to come along. So thank you."
Lee blushed again and looked down, speechless. There was so much else he should
have been able to say, so much he needed to thank his master for, that the sheer
magnitude of it all left him paralyzed, with no notion what to say. He hoped his
master would want to make use of him again, soon; it was the only thing he had to
give, and his master had seemed pleased with him, after. And maybe Bran could
teach him to be better with his mouth.
He let his thoughts drift to memories of the day before, trying to recapture the
feeling of ecstatic fulfillment and worthiness he had felt with his master above
him, in him, Bran beside him kissing him and soothing him and praising him. He
wondered if Bran would be with him next time. He wondered if his master would
be as gentle next time. He wondered if Bran was right and he'd have to ask his
master for there to be a next time; he tried to imagine daring to.
His master's eyes were fixed on Lee's lap; Lee looked down and realized what he
was looking at.
"Well, well," said the master, with a slow grin, as Lee blushed so hard he thought
his hair might singe. "I've got to take my boys on train trips more often."
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When the train stopped and people started to stand up, Lee grabbed hold of Bran's
hand with one of his and his master's with the other, not caring whether this was
how free people behaved or not; he had no intention of getting lost or of letting
Bran get lost, either one. But as it turned out, the crowd and confusion his master
had evoked with his words to Bran didn't materialize; they disembarked without
incident, found a cab, and settled into it while the master gave the driver Miss
Valor's address, which he said was just off the university campus. It seemed like a
very large house when they arrived, until Lee realized Miss Valor and her
roommate only had one apartment in it, not the entire building.
Miss Valor's flat was two flights up, and Miss Valor herself-- Lee recognized her
from before-- opened the door to them, in black slacks and a cowl-necked
sleeveless crimson top.
"Dad?" she said, blinking at him in bewilderment, and then at Bran, Lee, and
finally at the leather bag slung over the master's shoulder that contained what
luggage they'd brought.
"Hello, trouble," said the master, bending forward to kiss her cheek briskly. "We
just thought we'd drop by. How are you?"
"Uh, fine," said Miss Valor, still staring. "Why are they dressed like that?"
"Easier than slave tunics, for the trip over. Don't you ever have trouble traveling
with Inga?"
"Sometimes," said Valor vaguely. "Catcalls and stuff. Well... come in," she added,
backing away from the door and giving them a wider view of the room, which was
a smallish living area with a huge round table in the center of it, covered with
untidy stacks of books and papers. The far end of it merged, separated only by a
sort of demi-wall on which rested a fishtank with a few bored-looking fish in it,
into a kitchen, where a blonde in a black tunic was sitting at another, squarer table,
looking up curiously from a very large book. As Lee took her in-- she was
extremely lovely, slender, with dark eyes and strong features-- and the master let
his bag slide to the floor, she stood up from the table, slowly, staring at the master,
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and then suddenly tipped forward, with the delicate abruptness of a bird coming off
a branch, and flew into the master's arms.
He hugged her tightly for a few moments, then pulled away and stepped back,
examining her closely.
"You've lost weight," he said, and he sounded angry. "Val, haven't you been
feeding her?"
"She makes me eat her cooking," said the blonde, laughing. "What are you doing
here, Mr. Larssen? Mistress, you didn't tell me-- Bran, honey, how are you?" she
interrupted herself, putting her arms around Bran and hugging him enthusiastically,
and glanced curiously at Lee before she turned back to Holden. "Is something
wrong at the house, sir?"
"No, no, nothing's wrong," said the master, smiling at her. "I just wanted to
surprise my daughter with a visit. Turn the tables a bit, you might say."
"It's good to see you," said Valor uncertainly. "Um-- sit down. But actually, we
were just on our way out-- there's this meeting I really can't miss. You're welcome
to hang around here if you want--"
"Actually," said the master briskly, "that works out just fine. Since I've seen you so
much more recently than I've seen Inga, I was hoping to catch up with her. See
what's going on in her life. If the meeting can spare her."
Valor looked at him for a moment before she said, "Inga? You want to stay here
with my dad?"
"If it please my mistress," said Inga cheerfully. Valor winced a little, and Inga lost
some of her equanimity. "I mean, yes."
The master's eyes narrowed as Miss Valor turned away and took down a purse
from a hook by the door.
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"I'll see you in a few hours, then," she said. "Some of us might get something to eat
afterwards. You'll be okay, Inga?"
"Yes," said Inga awkwardly, not looking at either her mistress or Lee's master as
she spoke.
"Okay, see you later," said Valor, and was gone.
"Sir," Inga said softly to the master, "it's so good to see you."
"It's good to see you too, sweetheart," said the master, sitting down in the nearest
chair and motioning to Inga to sit in his lap, which she did, happily. Bran started to
sink to his knees at his master's feet, but the master said, "Not in those clothes,
Bran. You and Lee sit on the couch. Tell me, Inga, how are you getting along with
Miss Robin Trask?"
"Oh, gods," said Inga, and dropped gracefully forward against the master's chest,
letting her head sink down on his shoulder. "Have you come to save me?"
The master smiled a little. "More or less. Or at least to see if you need saving. Do
you?"
Inga sat back up, looking a little embarrassed. "Well. No, sir. Not really. Just--"
"How about a sympathetic ear?" suggested the master. "Or six sympathetic ears?"
He gestured at Bran and Lee. "We've all had our run-ins with Miss Robin over the
past couple of weeks-- nobody here is going to argue if you want to characterize
her as, say, an aggressive and criminally insensitive bitch."
"Oh, sir," said Inga, looking up at him through her eyelashes, "you really know the
words to win a girl's heart."
Lee laughed, and Inga gave him another curious look.
"I'm Inga," she said to him, "by the way."
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"Oh, I'm sorry," said the master. "This is Lee, our current delinquent."
"Oh, the one Robin's doing the story on? I mean--" Inga glanced up quickly at
Holden, and Lee thought her cheeks had gone slightly pink. "I don't mean any
disrespect, sir-- but my mistress' orders are to call her just Robin."
"I'm not your trainer any more," said the master, smiling. "Call her anything you
want-- and I do mean anything."
Inga nodded, still blushing a little. "So-- none of you-- like her, either? Bran, did
she tell you you weren't really in love with Mr. Larssen, it was just a coping
mechanism in the face of the otherwise unendurable reality of your servitude?"
Bran grinned. "Something like that, I think. I was kind of distracted by the fact that
she was throwing stuff at me."
"She threw stuff at you?" Inga demanded. "And the-- Mr. Larssen didn't kill her?"
"We all make mistakes," said Holden grimly. "Has she been throwing things at
you?"
"No, sir," said Inga, adjusting herself more comfortably against his supporting arm.
"I wish she would. If she did that, my mistress might actually get mad and break up
with her. No, she just lectures me. And lectures my mistress about me, which is
much worse, because my mistress actually listens."
"What has she been saying to Valor about you?" the master asked sharply. "She
hasn't been trying to convince her to do anything stupid, has she?"
"Like free me and turn me out on the street, you mean?" Inga sighed. "She did at
first, but I think she's given up on that. But she gets mad every time the mistress
touches me. I mean, it's not that I blame her for being jealous--"
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"Hard not to be, when her girlfriend has a goddess for a sex slave," Holden agreed,
and Inga giggled and lowered her head to butt him softly in the chest.
"But she can't just say she's jealous," she continued, "or give the mistress an
ultimatum about selling me, like any other jealous girlfriend. It's got to be all this
ideological crap, excuse me, sir, about how the mistress stroking my hair is sexual
abuse because I have no legal right to stop her. And you know me and needing to
be touched, sir."
"I do," said Holden, with emphasis. "And so does Valor-- or she damn well
should."
Inga nodded. "And she won't have sex with me-- which is okay, I mean, I can get
myself off just fine-- as you know, sir," she said, momentarily twinkling, and the
master smiled back at her. "And if she wants to be faithful to her girlfriend-- well,
okay, fine, that's her right. But she could pet me, sometimes."
"In front of Robin, you mean?" the master asked.
"No, sir," said Inga. "I could understand that. But it's even when we're alone. And I
thought things would be better now that Robin is out of town doing this story, but-oh, sir, she's just got my mistress all-- mixed up, about me, and sort of-- sad." Inga
looked, suddenly, very deeply unhappy. "It's like I make her sad now, just-- just
me. Being here. Being hers. And she keeps apologizing to me, and I don't
understand what for, and she says that's exactly why she should apologize, and-it's all just-- I mean--" She bit her lip. "I know it could be a lot worse, sir. It has
been a lot worse, for me. But..."
"It could be a lot better, too," said the master. "And has been, hasn't it? Inga-- my
daughter and I need to have a good long talk about the way she's been treating you.
But first, I need to know what you want to happen. You still want to belong to
Valor?"
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"Oh, yes, sir," said Inga anxiously. "I mean, I really-- we're really-- good together.
Or we were, until all this started. And she's doing her best, she thinks-- she's just-confused, is all--"
"Take it easy, Inga," said Holden gently. "I'm not arguing. Just asking. You would
still want to be hers, even if things stay the way they are?"
"Yes, sir," said Inga, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin slightly. "I can
outlast Robin."
Holden smiled at her and lifted a hand to lay it on her golden head.
"I know you can," he said, as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back into his
touch. "But it shouldn't be this hard on you, sweetheart. And I think I can make it
easier. Is it okay with you if I try?"
"You already have, sir," said Inga, opening her eyes to beam at him again. "It's
great just to have someone to talk to about all this, who understands-- how awful
Robin is. But if you can make her-- my mistress-- understand-- just how I feel, I
guess. I can't say all this to her, but if she just knew-- I know she cares about me.
She just-- she really thinks this is all-- for my own good."
Bran cleared his throat, for some reason, and smiled innocently when the master
turned. Holden regarded him narrowly.
"How long has it been since I spanked you properly?" he asked.
"Master," Bran protested, "I didn't say anything!"
"Then don't," said the master, and turned back to Inga. "I'll talk to her, then. See if I
can... unconfuse her a bit."
"Thank you, sir," said Inga contentedly as he continued to stroke her hair. "And if
that doesn't work, maybe I can start biting her."
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CHAPTER 28
Inga's eyes had half closed again as the master stroked her hair, and she was
squirming slightly against him. He watched her face closely for a moment.
"Does Valor allow you outside sexual contact?" he asked suddenly.
Inga opened her eyes again. "Sir?"
"Since she isn't sleeping with you, are you allowed to sleep with anyone else?"
"Oh. Yes, sir," she said. "Theoretically. She says I shouldn't feel-- restricted. But,
well, none of her friends-- I won't say they don't want me, but they won't touch me
either. And I wouldn't want to-- with a stranger."
"What about me?" the master asked.
Inga looked surprised, then a little regretful as she answered, "I don't think she'd
like that, sir. She's been trying to-- the things you taught me-- she doesn't--" She
trailed off rather unhappily.
"I don't want to retrain you, sweetheart," said Holden gently. "I'd just like to give
you a hand. I hate to see you wasting away like this."
Inga shook her head. "I'm not wasting away, sir-- I'm just..."
"Starving?" said the master, cupping the back of her neck with his hand. "Inga, I
know you care for Valor, and so do I-- but I'm really very angry with her about
this. There are owners who use touch deprivation as a punishment. And I consider
it a particularly cruel form of punishment. It depends on the person, of course, but I
know Bran would rather take a flogging that would leave him sore for a few days
than not be touched for the same amount of time."
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Inga and Lee both glanced at Bran, who looked a little shaken at the idea. Holden
leaned over, still clasping Inga with one arm, and took Bran's hand with the other
hand, squeezing it tightly.
"Yves will tell you humans are tactile creatures," he said to Inga. "We need
physical intimacy to thrive. It doesn't have to be sex, but it has to be something."
He paused for a moment, still looking at Bran, and then said, "If not me-- Bran,
you wouldn't mind helping out an old friend, would you?"
No, master," said Bran readily, "not if you want me to."
Inga smiled a little nervously as the master ran his fingernails gently up and down
her spine. "Don't let her hear you talk like that. Offering-- Bran."
"Considering the way her girlfriend has been talking to me and my household for
the past two weeks," said the master, with a note of cold steel in his voice that
made Lee shiver, "I don't feel particularly bound to tiptoe around Valor's delicate
sensibilities. But I don't want to get you in trouble."
"I don't get in trouble," said Inga ruefully. "I just get sad looks. And she did say--"
She pondered for a moment. "Sir-- if you really wouldn't mind-- and Bran
wouldn't-- although, come to think of it, Lady Lisa will probably want Bran, too,
when she gets home."
"She can wait her turn," said the master. Bran didnt seem phased by this, and Lee
remembered Bran mentioning Lady Lisa in the list of people he occasionally had
eyes for. "When will she be home?"
Oh, at the same time as my mistress, said Inga. "She'll be at the same meeting.
Thank you for sparing me that, by the way. It's the save-the-slaves group, and they
are much, much too friendly to me. Without looking me in the eye."
"You're welcome," said the master absently. "So Lisa's devoted to the cause, too?"
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"Not exactly," Inga smiled. "The mistress drags her along-- they love having a
noble there. Not that her ladyship doesn't want slaves rights, but she isnt very...
confrontational.
Takes after her father, then, said Holden with an odd small smile. But she and
Val are still getting along okay?
Yes, sir, said Inga vaguely, her eyes closing altogether as the master used both
hands to cup her shoulders and rub gently with his thumbs. Oh, gods, it feels good
to-- Sir, are you sure-- Bran and I--
Of course, said Holden.
Master? Bran said tentatively.
Lee sat very, very still. Interrupting while your master was offering you to
someone was bad, Lee knew that-- although maybe it was less bad when the
someone was another slave-- and any sign of hesitation or reluctance over your
intended use was very, very bad. Their master was very forbearing-- but Bran had
been skirting too close to punishment today as it was, for his impudence on the
train, and for whatever that throat-clearing had been about. Lee knew the master
wouldnt really hurt Bran, but hed already threatened to spank him till he cried,
and Lees stomach was churning with how much he didnt want to have to watch
that.
But Holden didnt look annoyed when he said, Yes, love.
Maybe Lee could give me a hand with Inga, said Bran.
Lee startled, suddenly a focus of attention instead of a spectator, and tried to pull
himself together: showing fear or reluctance (or indignation: why had Bran
dragged him into this?) was bad.
The master raised his eyebrows. Think shes too much woman for just one man?
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Bran smiled. If I'm taking on her ladyship later tonight-- and you did say
something about getting Lee used to women, master. And Inga might be a little
less intimidating than-- well, the mistress, or even Greta.
The masters eyes went to Lee and lingered, thoughtfully, on his face, as Lee tried
to breathe normally.
I dont think so, he said. Lees had a pretty big couple of days as it is. I dont
want to rush things.
Instead of being purely relieved, Lee found himself-- well, he wasnt sure what he
was feeling, except that it had to do with the same sense of overwhelming and
inexpressible gratitude hed felt on the train, and the desire to do something,
anything, for the master to repay his kindness. Knowing he didnt have to do
anything with Inga-- like knowing his master would stay at home with him rather
than leave him or take him on a train trip he wasnt comfortable with-- made him
think that maybe he could. After all, Inga didnt have a cock, so she wouldnt hurt
him that way-- and she was a fellow slave, and one who didnt technically outrank
him, so even if she got angry at him, she couldnt punish him. And if his master
hadnt punished him for infuriating Miss Robin, surely he wouldnt punish him for
disappointing Inga.
And Bran would be there. The way he'd been there yesterday. If Lee got scared-If it please my master, he blurted. I-- I dont-- I mean, I could.
The master examined him for a couple more moments before he said, Hop up,
Inga.
Inga rose gracefully, and the master motioned to Lee to approach. Lee obeyed, and
when his master pulled him closer, sank gratefully into the warm, sheltering lap.
He met his masters eyes, thinking of what the ticket agent and, later, Bran had
said about the physical resemblance between himself and his master. Usually Lee
was watching the masters facial expression for danger signs too intently to get
much of a sense of the face itself, but right now he was relaxed enough to just look
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at the master, and try to trace the resemblance to his own face. Hed have to find a
mirror, sometime, and see.
"You don't have to, Lee," the master said finally. "No one will be angry with you if
you say you'd rather not."
"I know, master," Lee said sincerely. "I don't mind. Really."
"You're a pretty amazing kid, you know," said the master, running a hand through
Lee's hair, and Lee shivered with pleasure at the praise. "All right, then. But Bran, I
need you to keep an eye on him. Inga, do you have your own room?"
"Yes, sir," said Inga, rolling her eyes a little. "Well, I have my mistress' room. She
sleeps out here on the couch, now. She says it's the least she can do," she
concluded, in a tone that made it clear what she thought of the logic of that last
statement.
"Well, then," said the master, leaning forward to kiss Lee on the cheek, and then
nudging him gently to stand up. "You three have fun. I'll see if I can find
something to read out here that isn't about how I'm a filthy flesh trader."
In the small bedroom-- just large enough to hold a narrow bed, a bookshelf, and a
number of unframed prints of impressionist paintings-- Inga undressed with a
certain controlled eagerness and lay down on the bed on her back. Bran undressed
too, folding his master's borrowed clothes meticulously and laying them down on
top of the bookshelf, and Lee followed his example nervously. Inga held out both
her arms to them, and Lee followed Bran onto the bed and knelt down on the
opposite side of her naked body; Inga reached up and ran a hand over Lee's hair, as
gently as Bran or the master could have done, and smiled at him. This close he
could see that her eyes were a deep violet blue, her lashes and brows dark for a
blonde, but tipped with gold in the dusty light from the one window.
"Hey," she said. "If you don't want to do this--"
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"No, I do," said Lee quickly, and he did, he wanted to please his master. To be of
use. "I just-- I might not be much good."
Bran grinned at him. "Just pretend shes a peach."
Lee couldn't help smiling back. Ingas golden-skinned body, all curves and softly
rounded bits, did remind him a little of a peach, or some other sweet, juiceplumped fruit. He reached out a hand and cupped her breast; it yielded to his touch,
and her nipple crinkled and stiffened, the little bead of it standing out temptingly
from the contracting areole. Before he could think, he had leaned forward and
taken it in his mouth.
Oh, said Inga, in extremely encouraging tones, as Lee investigated the nipples
texture and shape, its nublike suckability, probing its crinkles with the tip of his
tongue and then pulling the whole thing deeper into his mouth. Bran was doing
something else over his head, and Inga seemed distracted, so he just sucked,
contentedly, for a minute; the size and shape of this seemed much more suitable for
sucking than a hard cock, which was an awkward shape, even when it wasnt
trying to shove down your throat and asphyxiate you. The head of Brans cock had
been better, more manageable, nice even-- but this was even nicer: soft and small
and satisfying, and resting on a deep, soft swell that pillowed Lees cheek
pleasantly as he suckled. It felt good between his teeth, too, when he nibbled
gently, and Inga definitely liked that.
Bran, she gasped, do my other breast-- do what Lees doing-- oh, dear gods--
Lee lifted his head and saw that Bran was complying; he nuzzled at Ingas breast,
lapping at the wet nipple, and then kissed, softly, the smooth warm globe of her
breast. Eventually he nosed down the underside to the sharp crease where it met
her ribcage and licked at that, a long, lazy, audacious stroke of his tongue, and then
a series of shorter, more meticulous laps and kisses to the cool valley between her
breasts. His groping hand found Brans side, then slid up to his back; Bran was
warm, distracted, a comfort even though he didnt seem to be paying any attention
to Lee. Lees legs were tangled in Ingas, his groin at her hip.
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He wasnt sure where to go from here. Bran seemed to still be on Ingas left breast,
but there were areas lower down that Lee thought Inga might like someone to
concentrate on. From his current viewpoint, though, the expanse between here and
there seemed un-navigably vast and blank. He could see the gentle mound of her
belly and the dip of her navel in the center, which seemed like a good halfway
point, but without being shoved down by someones rough hand he wasnt sure
how he was supposed to proceed. Was he supposed to kiss his way down? Just
wriggle downwards until he was at a more convenient spot? Should he skip the
belly and go for the groin? And what, exactly, would he do once he got there?
He finally opted to squirm down the bed, down the length of Ingas body, and bury
his face against her abdomen. The rim of her navel was soft, rounded, and the tip
of his nose fitted into it with unexpected neatness, prompting a giggle that juddered
his head up and down. He pulled his face up slightly and replaced nose with
tongue, lapping and then nibbling softly; the muscles of her belly tautened against
his cheek and he tensed too, for a moment, but she was moaning, which had to be a
good thing.
He glanced back up and saw that Bran was licking Ingas neck and nibbling at her
earlobe, prompting a momentary pang of regret that he hadnt headed up instead of
down. He would have liked to tangle his hands in Ingas golden hair, the way Bran
was, and Bran would probably be better at this whole groin area thing than he was.
Still, there was hair down here, too, softly curled downy hair with glints of gold in
it, and Lee nosed his way curiously towards it.
Inga spread her legs, putting exactly what was down there on full display, already
wet and gleaming with her arousal. Lee could smell it, too, a complex, almost
aquatic scent-- different from the smell of a mans groin, certainly, but not
unpleasantly so. And there was nothing to choke him, nothing to shove itself down
his throat.
He climbed over her leg and paused for a moment, looking, before he licked, the
way he would have licked an unfamiliar food offered to him by his master or Bran- cautiously, but not fearfully, and with a reasonable hope of finding it good-- and
found it intriguingly akin in texture to a fruit that had already been bitten into,
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tender juice-slick skin that made Lee want to find something amid the convoluted
pink folds to suck on. He probed cautiously about with his tongue, which
unexpectedly slipped, the way his nose had slipped into Ingas navel, into an
orifice that yielded deliciously to his suddenly fully extended tongue, and his soft
sound of surprise mingled with Inga's "Oh--"
Just pretend she's a peach made a bit more sense now. Lee slurped and sucked
eagerly for a while, rolling his tongue around inside Inga, and she pushed her hips
back against him, bumping his nose, but not too hard. This was kind of fun,
actually.
"My clit," she said eventually. "Lee, suck my clit--"
That was a new one. Lee looked up inquiringly in time to see Bran detach himself
from Inga's throat and wiggle down the bed towards Lee, pausing at Inga's hip with
one hand curled around her breast as if he needed a hand-hold. With his other hand
he grabbed Lee's hand, which had been playing absent-mindedly with Inga's soft,
feathery pubic hair, and guided it to a bit of Inga equidistant between its previous
location and where Lee's mouth had just been. It seemed to be where the wet
curves met, and there was a swollen little nub of flesh there; Bran's finger pressed
Lee's finger down on it, and Inga gasped instructively.
Lee let Bran's hand pull his further down, back to where his mouth had been, and
poke the tips of two of his fingers gently inside. Getting the general idea, Lee slid
the fingers as far in as they would go and curved them slightly, finding they
reached further than his tongue had; the texture of the inside wall changed slightly
at a point he hadn't gotten to before, and Inga writhed when he massaged it with his
fingertips.
With a quick, sweet kiss to Lee's wrist, Bran went back to the top half of Inga
while Lee, still wiggling his fingers inside her, attached his mouth obediently to the
hooded nub that was presumably her clit. It was even smaller than her nipple, and
much more sensitive, judging from her gasps and moans and, as he continued
playing with it and sucking at it, actual shrieks, on an escalating scale. Lee found
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himself smiling a little as he licked diligently. From his admittedly limited sample
size, women seemed much easier to please than men.
The bridge of his nose did get a bit of a bump when Inga's hips bucked violently
and Lee's fingers were suddenly drenched with what he thought must be the female
equivalent of semen, accompanied as it was with a piercing cry of obvious
satisfaction. But when he kept fingering her and put his mouth back on her clit, he
realized he must have been mistaken, because it happened again in fairly short
order. Not sure when to stop, he kept doing what he was doing, wrenching three
more arches and yells from Inga before she clapped her thighs together, nearly
smothering him; Bran pulled him out, laughing, by the scruff of his neck.
"Skuld, Urd and Verdandi," Inga moaned, flopping bonelessly onto her side. "I
can't feel my feet."
When feeling had been massaged back to Inga's extremities, which was also fun,
Inga sat up abruptly, grabbed Lee, startling him, and kissed him passionately on
the mouth.
"Marry me," she said when she pulled away. "Bear my children."
"How long had it been?" Bran asked, laughing, before Inga grabbed him and kissed
him as well, then pulled both their heads down on her chest.
Lee liked having his head pillowed on her breast, and he was a little tired, and he
didn't wake until the room was much dimmer and the master's hand was on his
shoulder, when he startled so badly he woke the other two as well.
"I take it things went well," the master said, grinning down at them, "but you
should probably get dressed. It's getting around time for Valor and Lisa to be
getting home."
"Sir," said Inga, dressed again and with her golden hair combed back to neatness,
sitting primly between Bran and Lee on the couch, "I changed my mind. I want to
come back and live with you again-- at least until Lee gets sold."
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Holden was still laughing at that when the door opened suddenly and a girl came
in, one Lee had never seen before-- sweet-looking, with chestnut hair pulled back
in a braid from a heart-shaped face, and dressed in an oddly masculine knee-length
forest-green tunic, with a brown belt and heavy boots.
"Hello, my lady," said Holden, inclining his head slightly, as Bran rose, and Lee
followed suit.
"Hi, Mr. Larssen," said the girl, clearly unsurprised to see him. She looked serious,
though slightly less so when she glanced at Bran. Hi, Bran. My gosh-- look at
you, all dressed up."
She smiled at Bran and offered her hand; he took it and bent his head to kiss it,
smiling back at her.
"And you must be the famous Lee," she added, turning to Lee, who bowed his
head, a little more deeply than Bran had. It took him a moment to realize what the
young lady meant by famous. Being Miss Valors friend, she would know about
the news story Miss Robin and Mr. Denys were doing. Mostly so far that story had
involved sitting still and doing as he was told, and in one instance, totally failing to
answer a series of simple questions without breaking down, and being soothed and
cuddled and praised afterwards as if he'd done something impressively difficult and
taxing.
It hadn't involved anyone calling him famous. He wasn't sure how he felt about
that term; it gave him the same shivery but not entirely unpleasant feeling he'd
gotten when he looked at the pictures of himself on the table. Before he spilled his
tea and ruined them.
"Sit, sit," Lady Kareyeva was saying to him and Bran. Lee followed Bran's
example and obeyed, gratefully; his legs had gone a little shaky. The lady sat down
on the other side of Bran from Inga, keeping hold of his hand-- rather possessively,
for Lee's tastes, and right in front of the master, too.
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Any idea when Valor might be home? the master asked.

Lady Lisa looked uncomfortable. "Um. Yeah. Valor asked me to tell you. And
Inga. Shes not coming home tonight.
It was a moment before the master said, What?
Lisa gave him an apologetic look. She went home. I mean, to your house. On the
train. She said-- she said she wanted her mom.
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RELATED FLASHBACK
Holden watched from the couch as Valor slung a leg over Yves, mounting him
matter-of-factly; Yves stayed on his hands and knees, steadying himself under her
weight for a moment before he rose, with her arms tight clasped around his neck,
and took off at a gentle lope around the room.
"Faster, steed!" Valor yelled from his back. "The forces of evil do not sleep!"
Holden tried not to cackle out loud as Yves caught his eye; his daughter's round
little face was utterly serious. Where in the world had she picked that one up?
"Down," Valor ordered when Yves had reached the hearth that was doubling as the
villain's lair, where her doll was tied to the poker with kitchen twine. "Now you're
the bad guy."
Yves seated himself compliantly on the hearth and bared his teeth at Valor in an
exaggerated snarl.
"No," said Valor irritably. "That's silly."
Yves sobered and lowered his eyebrows at Valor.
"Release my child, evil giant," Valor commanded in a ringing, heroic tone, fairly
impressive for a five-year-old girl.
"No," said Yves darkly. "Soon my foul plan shall be complete, and all of humanity
shall writhe with its foot beneath my neck. I mean its-- uh, you know. The other
way around. And if you lift a finger to attempt to destroy me," he added, resuming
his menacing tones, "your innocent child's life shall be forfeit."
Valor reached for the doll, and Yves moved to block her.
"See how my minions await my merest gesture," he addded, gesturing vaguely to
the left, "to seize her and hurl her into the fiery depths of my-- volcano."
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Valor peered at him. "You don't have a volcano."

"I might," Yves said. "You don't know."
"You don't."
Yves sneered expressively at her. "Would you stake your only child's life on that?"
"She's not my only child," said Valor loftily. "I have two."
"Would you stake your only-- blond child's life on that?" Yves amended, which
seemed to impress Valor as a rhetorical direction. "Surrender, and rule with me!
Your strength, courage and resourcefulness shall serve you well as my consort!"
"Never!" Valor shouted.
"Oh, come on," Yves wheedled. "You could smite all our enemies, and throw them
into the volcano. And you would be the Evil Queen of the Planet. It would be fun."
"What about my mom?" Valor demanded.
"Your mom could be Evil Queen Dowager," Yves offered. "And you could wear a
sinister black crown, carved like a snake biting its own tail, with emeralds for
eyes."
Valor considered this. "Can I see the crown?"
"Then you consent?"
"No!" said Valor, startled. "Never!"
"Then you must be prepared to sacrifice your child to your stubborn heroics," said
Yves, and turned to the doll. Valor grabbed the poker, doll and all, and took a
swing at Yves, which he ducked nimbly.
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"Valor!" said Holden sharply, unnerved by the near miss; the poker was heavy
enough to hurt Yves, even in a child's hands, if she swung it carelessly enough.
"Put that down."
Valor raised the poker again.
"Right now, Valor!"
"Hey," said Yves, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Don't hit me, Miss.
You're the one who made me the bad guy."
Valor scowled at him, the poker still poised above her head. "You took my baby."
"Yeah, and I think she's getting dizzy up there," said Yves, jerking his chin at the
doll that was still tied to the poker.
Valor hesitated long enough for Holden to come up behind her and yank the poker,
a touch abruptly, out of her hand.
"You do not swing this around, young lady," he said firmly. "You could seriously
hurt someone."
Valor stared up at him for a second, then collapsed to the floor, red-faced,
quivering, and beginning to draw in an enormous breath.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Holden muttered; Yves was leaning solicitously over Valor,
who pulled violently away from his comforting hand. "Here it comes."
"MAMA!" Valor screamed in an earsplitting siren wail.
"So now I'm the bad guy," said Holden into the interval afforded by her next
breath. "Because I don't want you breaking Yves'--"
"MAAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAA!"
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"Your mama's not here right now, honey, you know that," said Yves. "She went
with Alix to--"
"I WANT HER!" Valor screamed, tears splattering down her crimson cheeks.
"She'll be home soon, Miss--"
"You can't reason with her when she's like this," said Holden, annoyed.
"I WANT HER NOW!" Valor shrieked, so loudly it seemed she might damage her
throat.
"And it's awful to want something so much and not get it," Yves said softly, as if to
himself, not looking at either Holden or his hysterical daughter. "It's like
somebody's being mean to you."
"THEY ARE BEING MEAN TO ME!" Valor roared. "DADDY HURT ME!"
"I most certainly did not hurt you!"
"Where are you hurt, honey?" Yves asked, ignoring Holden. "Show me."
Valor held out her right hand, apparently willing to suspend her screaming to better
air her wrongs. Yves leaned down and kissed the small pink palm.
"Mama will be home soon," he promised, "so you can show her--" he tapped her
palm-- "your gaping wound, here. But until then, do you just want to be mad at the
whole world for a little while, maybe just until Mama gets home?"
"Yes," said Valor emphatically, and Yves, nodding as if this made perfect sense-and really, who was Holden to say it didn't-- reached a hand to Holden to be helped
up from the floor. When Holden had pulled him to his feet, he led Holden back to
the couch; Holden sat back down, watching his small daughter as she continued to
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lie on the floor, though at least she wasn't screaming or kicking. Yves curled up
beside him, resting his head on his master's shoulder.
What didn't make much sense, Holden thought, was that Greta was the one Valor
screamed herself hoarse for. Yves was the one who played with her most,
participated in her silliness and answered her nonsense as if it were sense, or
matched it with nonsense of his own. And Alix was the one who worshipped and
petted and coddled the child within an inch of her life. Holden would never forget
the time, at Argounov's, when he'd found cool, sweet, self-possessed Alix hiding in
a corner and sobbing her eyes out because-- as he'd finally gotten out of her-- she'd
never be able to have children.
"Don't tell-- him," she'd begged quietly when she'd calmed down a little, with the
special emphasis on the pronoun that they all seemed to fall into when speaking of
their owner, the he who ruled their lives. "He'd feel so awful. He wants to give me
everything and he can't ever give me-- that."
He had, though. Given her a child-- as Holden wouldn't ever be able to-- and so
had Greta, who had replaced Argounov as Holden's bitterest rival for Alix's
affection, until Valor came along. But Alix didn't love Valor because she was half
Greta and half Nikol Argounov. She just loved her because Valor was her little
girl.
But despite Alix's unstinting devotion, there was never any doubt who the mother
was when Valor threw herself down on the floor like this. That was always Greta.
Greta, who didn't even seem to talk to her much, who pulled her up on her hip
when she was clingy and went about her business, like any mother. Any good
mother. Or so Holden would assume; he admitted to himself he hadn't actually
seen a lot of those in action.
"Thank you for rescuing me, by the way, master," Yves said in his ear. "It would
have put a real crimp in my plan for evil world domination if she'd brained me with
the poker. When I rule the world with an iron fist, you can be my evil consort. I'll
even have that cool crown made for you, if you want."
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Holden grinned reluctantly. "You're crazy."

"So you've told me before," said Yves, snuggling closer, "but I'm not convinced. I
think I'm just too much of a genius for you ordinary mortals to comprehend. Hence
the whole world domination thing."
"Stop talking," said Valor loudly, from the floor, and Holden rolled his eyes.
"But we're plotting against you, Miss Valor!" Yves called back to her, as if across a
great distance. "We have to talk to do that!"
"That's not funny!"
"I bet it would be, if you weren't mad at the whole world until your mom gets
home!"
There was a pause, and then Valor said, "Well, I am!"
"I know!" Yves called. Holden was grinning again.
"How come you're so good with kids?" he asked Yves curiously; it was something
he'd wondered before, watching Yves' ease with elaborating on Valor's fantasies,
his deft, playful defusing of her tantrums, the reluctant responses he could coax out
of her even at her most thunderous. "You told me once you never had any younger
siblings."
"Oh," said Yves absently, "I don't think it's that I'm particularly good with kids in
general, master. It's just that Miss Valor--" He stopped, and Holden, turning to look
at him, saw that he was blushing. "Uh--"
"What?" Holden asked, amused.
"Um," said Yves, grinning sheepishly, "don't hit me or anything, master, but I think
I'm good with her-- because she kind of takes after you."
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CHAPTER 29
Holden had been getting steadily more annoyed with his daughter over the past two
weeks, and at this fresh indignity, he felt his temper rising the same way it had
when Valor was a child and threw herself on the floor shrieking for her mother.
Except that back then, she'd had some excuse, because she'd been five.
Holden took a deep breath and looked at the four kids on the couch. Lee looked
frightened-- which probably meant Holden needed to control his expression better.
Bran looked worried, Lisa looked apologetic, and Inga looked-- Inga looked the
way a slave was bound to look when her mistress had skipped town without
warning. Though in all fairness-- and Holden pretty much had to be fair right now,
since there was nobody here he could comfortably punch-- Valor had never been a
slave, and maybe you couldn't really understand this unless you had-- the owner,
even an owner you weren't particularly fond of, as your anchor, your justification
for being in any particular place. The vertigo when the owner made any too-sudden
moves, or looked like leaving you behind.
Holden was on his feet, without having made a conscious decision to move; he
needed to sit down next to Inga, but there wasn't any more room on the couch, so
he drew Lee gently up, then sat back down, pulling Lee into his lap, and took
Inga's hand. She gripped him back, hard. Lee had relaxed immediately against him,
putting his head down on Holden's shoulder, so that was one less thing to worry
about.
"You want to go after her?" he asked gently. "We can catch a train back to Tenarus
tonight if you want."
"No, sir," said Inga without meeting his eyes. "Thank you."
That was probably for the best. Valor wouldn't respond well to feeling hunted
down, especially if she'd bolted specifically at the sight of Holden.
"She said she wanted her mother?" he repeated to Lisa.
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"Yes." Lisa shifted uncomfortably. "I think-- um-- well, she was really upset, Mr.
Larssen. We left the meeting early, and she was crying, I-- did you say something
to her? Something that might have upset her?"
"Not really," said Holden, trying to remember what he had said. Nothing
particularly harsh, he thought. Certainly nothing to what he'd intended to say, if
she'd come home tonight. "I didn't have the chance to say much. She ran out to the
meeting before I'd even sat down."
"Well, something had her upset pretty bad," said Lisa, fiddling absently with Bran's
fingers. "Anyway, I tried to get her to come back here and talk to you about it, but
she said she had to talk to her mom. And-- well, and Yves, she said."
Holden felt his eyebrows lift sharply. "Her mother and Yves?"
Lisa nodded. "She said-- um, she said she needed to talk to them, and then she said
she was messing everything up and she didn't know what to do and-- and she
wanted her mom. So. I'm sorry you came all this way-- of course you'd be
welcome to stay here tonight."
Holden wasn't sure how sincere the welcome was, but he wasn't going to look a
gift horse in the mouth. Inga shouldn't be alone tonight, and Lisa Kareyeva didn't
count. Not that she wasn't a very sweet girl. Holden was quite fond of her, despite-if not because of-- the fact that she took after Pavel to an extent that was
sometimes unnerving when he looked at her too fast, and the fact that she'd
apparently decided to assume boy's clothing wasn't exactly helping with that.
After David had faded out of the picture and Valor had taken up with women to a
degree that was starting to look permanent, Holden had even cherished hopes that
Val and Lisa might pair off. Of course, Robin was right that that would be weird
"even for him," but she was such a restful girl, quiet and thoughtful, and Valor
seemed to calm down a little when she was around.
But she wasn't what Inga needed right now. Inga needed her mistress; short of that,
and until Valor's head had gotten screwed back on right, she needed Holden.
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"If it's no trouble," he said. "Have you eaten?"

"Oh-- yes," said Lisa, with the worried expression of a nice girl with unexpected
guests. "And you haven't, right? I'm sorry, I don't know if we have anything in, and
I'm not much of a cook--"
"I can look around and see if there's anything I can fix, master," Bran offered.
"With your permission, my lady."
Lisa looked puzzled. Holden was surprised, himself; he knew Bran enjoyed
helping Fox in the kitchen, and he knew the kid spent time in the kitchen even
when Fox wasn't there, but aside from forbidding him to touch the stove after he'd
burned himself that one time, Holden's general aversion to the kitchen had kept
him from paying much attention to Bran's culinary activities. That and the fact that
if there was one thing Holden had proven consistently good at, it was
underestimating Bran.
Bran saw Holden's expression and, predictably, blushed and looked selfdeprecating. "I mean, it wouldn't be anything particularly-- maybe Inga can cook,
or--"
"I can make toast," said Inga, smiling faintly. "That's about it."
Lisa laughed. "I can dial the phone to order in."
"Bran, why don't you poke around and see what there is in the way of raw
materials," said Holden. "Let me know if you think you can come up with
something. Lisa," he added as Bran rose obediently and started towards the little
demi-kitchen, "what do you think Valor meant, about messing everything up?"
Lisa glanced involuntarily at Inga. Inga didn't move, but her hand tightened
convulsively on Holden's.
"That's what I thought," said Holden dryly. "Hey. Inga. Look at me."
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She lifted her bruised-violet eyes obediently to his face.

"Valor cares about you very much," he told her, "and that's why she needs to know
she's taking the best care of you she possibly can. And you know she wouldn't have
left if she hadn't known I was here to look after you."
"Yes, sir," said Inga softly. "Thank you. I'm okay."
"Anything I can do..." said Lisa rather vaguely.
Holden smiled at her. "Thanks for letting us stay. How is your family?"
Lisa smiled back, relieved. "Oh, they're fine. I think Dad's getting pretty serious
with this new girlfriend. And David's just studying hard-- and working with
Natasha on the legal aspects of Lee's case. You know he's part of our whole group,
the-- he'll want to meet Lee, I bet. If Lee's up for it. How long are you planning on
staying?"
"I don't know," said Holden, patting Lee, who had tensed slightly against him. "But
we'll try not to impose on you too much more. Which reminds me-- may I use your
phone? I should alert the family that Valor is on her way."
"In the hall," said Lisa, pointing at the little corridor that led to their bedrooms and
the bathroom. Holden excused himself, put Lee gently back down on the couch
next to Inga, and went to dial home.
By the time he'd finished explaining the situation as best he could to a longsuffering Alix, and exchanged "I love you"s with Yves-- Jer, not unexpectedly,
refused to come to the phone for any such mush-- Bran was standing next to him,
patiently waiting.
"I can make seasoned rice and spinach," he said when Holden had hung up, "and a
fruit salad, and there's cheese I can slice up. Not anything like what Fox would
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make, but not too bad. And if there's a market nearby, I can do better tomorrow.
May I please use the stove, master?"
Holden reached out and pulled Bran close, covering the boy's mouth with his own;
Bran, after a moment of surprise, melted readily against him, letting Holden take
the lead in the kiss until the parted lips grew swollen and warm under his and
Bran's arms came up to cling to his master for balance. They kissed for what
seemed like hours, Holden's greed for the taste and texture and warmth of Bran
insatiable; Bran showed no signs of wanting to pull away, either, and Holden
leaned heavily on the strong young body for a moment.
"Yes," he said when they finally broke apart. "You may use the stove."
Bran cocked his head quizzically to the side. "I'll be careful, master. This isn't an
eternal goodbye or anything."
Holden laughed and reached out to take Bran's hand. "No. I'm going to come watch
you work. And help, if you don't mind; I'll chop things for you."
"You don't have to do that, master," said Bran, but he was smiling shyly, obviously
pleased at the prospect of Holden's company.
You would think-- Holden thought, still feeling the phantom sensation of Bran's
arms around him-- that a man who'd been a half-grown, half-starved gutter rat
when a handsome young aristocrat had picked him out to love and cherish, who'd
been picked up and forcibly saved after that by Jer and Alix, and forgiven by Yves
for more failures and embarrassments than he could count, would get used to being
loved by people who ought to know better. But he never had.
"I know that," he said, as they walked back down the hall hand in hand. "I want to.
If I'd realized you were so interested in cooking, I would have paid more attention
before this. I'm too used to Yves-- he never shuts up about his hobbies, so I don't
exactly have to work at noticing."
Bran shrugged. "Yves' hobbies are interesting."
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"Whereas a skill that can feed your master and fellow slaves under adverse
circumstances is endlessly tedious," said Holden dryly as they reached the living
room, where Lisa was awkwardly patting Inga's shoulder. Inga looked vaguely
tolerant and preoccupied, like a young queen being affectionately mauled by the
child of a foreign dignitary during peace negotiations. Lee and Inga were holding
hands; they'd clearly hit it off during the sex, and Lee was looking positively
happy. Holden was beginning to wonder if it was time to retire and hand the
business over to Bran.
"Don't feel you have to entertain us," he said to Lisa. "Just do whatever you'd
normally be doing at this time-- homework, or debauched parties, or whatnot."
Lisa smiled, taking her hand off Inga's shoulder. "I should be studying. But-- where
are you all going to sleep?"
She was eyeing Bran, of course. Holden suppressed a sigh. He really would have
liked Bran in his own bed tonight, preferably somewhere with soundproofed walls,
but he didn't want Lee sleeping alone in a strange place, and two per narrow bed
plus one-- Inga, he supposed, if she didn't mind-- on the couch probably made
more sense than three in one bed with Lisa and Inga both sleeping alone. Anyway,
Lisa was doing them a favor, so it was probably only polite to do her one in return,
if Bran didn't mind.
He glanced at Bran, who smiled at him briefly, ruefully, his expression clearly
conveying the same reluctant ceding of desire to practical considerations, before he
said courteously to Lisa, "I would be honored to share your ladyship's bed, with my
master's permission."
Lisa looked pleased and slightly pink as she said, "I'd like that."
"It's all right with me," said Holden.
Lisa nodded. "But I should go study for a while first. I guess I'll go to my room, or
I'll keep wanting to talk and distract myself."
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"We'll try to keep it down out here, then," said Holden, "and I'll send Bran along
when it's bedtime."
"Are you sure you don't mind sleeping with Lisa tonight?" he asked Bran in an
undertone, once Lisa was in her room with the door closed and Bran was busying
himself with the dinner preparations. "What with servicing Inga and now cooking
dinner for us-- I feel like you're doing all the work, here."
Bran shook his head absently, measuring out water in a graduated pitcher. "I don't
mind, master. This is fun. And Lee did most of the work with Inga. You should
have seen him going after her clit-- once I showed him where it was."
Holden glanced into the living room, where Lee and Inga were conversing in
similarly lowered voices. "Andrei will be disappointed if it turns out he has more
of an affinity for women."
"Mona won't, though." Bran raised his eyebrows at Holden, who had picked up a
large knife and an apple. "Um, master? Do you know what you're doing?"
"No," said Holden. "Why, do I need to?"
"Well, it's just a personal preference," said Bran, eyeing the knife, "but I kind of
like you with ten fingers."
"Do you?" said Holden, putting the knife down and moving in; Bran tried to dodge
away, but Holden pinned him against the counter. "And how do you like your ass-regular or blistered?"
"As it please my master," said Bran, dropping his eyelids, but grinning
irrepressibly.
"I owe you a good spanking for all your sass on the train," said Holden, sliding his
hand through Bran's hair, "but I guess I should hold off until after you've rescued
us all from starvation and serviced our hostess."
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"Probably, master," Bran agreed demurely. "I'm sure her ladyship wouldn't want to
take sexual advantage of a helpless slave whose master had just beaten him."
"I have to stop letting you hang around with abolitionists," said Holden, and leaned
in to snatch another quick kiss from Bran's curved lips before he stepped back to
let him move back to his measuring. "So what can I do to help without the risk of
accidentally mutilating myself?"
"Um," said Bran, glancing around, and then smiling winningly at Holden, "you
could sit there at the table and talk to me."
"With my hands nicely folded in my lap?"
"If it please my master," said Bran, moving the knife further away from Holden.
After the four of them had eaten, without much conversation or comment besides a
series of extremely sincere compliments on the food, Bran, who was clearly
flustered by all the attention, asked Holden's permission to go to Lisa's bed, and
Holden, with a quick kiss and nibble to the nape of his neck, granted it. Holden
was yawning himself, and when he suggested to Inga that he and Lee should share
her bed while she took the couch, she agreed quickly, looking relieved, if anything.
Since Valor had been sleeping on the couch, it wasn't much of a labor to make it up
for sleeping, and Holden tucked Inga in and kissed her on the forehead before he
took Lee by the hand and led him to the bed that still smelled faintly of Inga's
satisfaction from earlier.
Lee curled up to his side, and Holden closed his eyes, trying not to think too hard
about Bran and Lisa's activities in the other bedroom. Bran enjoyed sleeping with
Lisa, but not enough to make it reasonable for Holden to be jealous; she was just a
nice, gentle girl who let him pleasure her and take his own pleasure at the same
time. So Bran was taken care of for the night, and there was no point wishing they
were all at home where he could spend the night doing everything he wanted to
Bran. Time enough for that later on.
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He was drifting vaguely away from these thoughts and in the direction of sleep,
when Lee put a hand on his cock.
Holden froze. So did Lee, or at least he stayed still, his hand cupping Holden
without moving.
Palming the master's cock out of nowhere would have been a bold move for Yves,
and Holden was pretty sure Lee hadn't thought it through. Now he was probably
thinking it through, which meant Holden had to be careful or the kid would get reparalyzed with terror. It wasn't helping that the cool, slim-fingered little paw on his
penis was doing things to his circulatory system, or that the idea of his cock in Lee
was all mixed up, in Holden's half-awake state, with Bran's eyes on him and Bran's
lips on Lee's, Bran unreasonably in the other room and not under Holden, the way
he should be.
"Lee?" he whispered.
"Master?" said Lee, almost voicelessly. Holden didn't know if that was excitement,
terror, or just Lee.
Holden brushed his fingertips against Lee's knuckles where they lay over his cock.
"You got plans for this, sweetheart?"
"Would it please my master to-- to--" Lee trailed off, burrowing desperately
against Holden's chest, his hand still on Holden's cock as if he were afraid to move
it.
"To fuck you?" Holden said, very quietly. "Is that what you want?"
Lee just pushed his face harder into Holden's chest.
"Take your hand off me, sweetheart," said Holden gently, and Lee obeyed
instantly, jerking away as if he'd been burned. "Now put your arm across my chest- good, just like that. Hold onto me-- and I'll hold you. Are you comfortable?"
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Lee whimpered softly, trembling.

"Shhh," Holden soothed him. "You want me to fuck you?"
Lee, still trembling, nodded against him.
"Why?"
Lee cleared his throat before he said, "I pleased you-- before, master, my-- my
body pleased you, you were-- you said-- you said I was-- your good boy--"
"You are," said Holden. "Good and sweet and beautiful-- and very brave, Lee,
because I know you thought being fucked would hurt, didn't you?"
"Yes, master," said Lee, relaxing incrementally. "But it-- it didn't. But I don't-- if it
pleases my master to hurt me-- then that would be-- I wouldn't mind--"
"Being hurt? As long as I was pleased with you?"
Lee nodded again, relaxing a bit more. Holden stroked his back gently.
"But when your old master hurt you," he said softly, "you wanted him to stop,
didn't you?"
Lee's arm tightened around Holden, but he didn't say anything.
"Even though it pleased him to hurt you," Holden went on. "You didn't want to
please him that way. But you want to please me any way you can-- to be my good
boy. Don't you?"
"Yes, master," Lee whispered.
"Were you a good boy with Lord Dunaev?"
Lee hesitated before he said miserably, "No, master."
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"Yes you were," said Holden firmly, and when Lee didn't answer right away, "You
were the same boy, Lee. You were the same good, sweet boy with him as you are
with me. But you feel very differently towards me and towards him, don't you?
Why is that, do you think?"
There was a silence before Lee said, tentatively, "You're-- good to me, master."
Holden stroked the silky hair. "Even if I hurt you?"
"Yes, master," said Lee more confidently.
"Then what's the difference between me and him?" Holden asked, and into another
silence, "Don't answer right away. Think about it. And let me go to sleep,
sweetheart. I'm tired."
A tiny puff of laughter stirred the hair on Holden's chest, and Holden smiled as Lee
said, "I'm sorry, master."
"That's okay, kid," said Holden, liking that Lee sounded more sheepish than abject.
"You're sweet to offer. But it's been a long day, and sometimes it's nice just to
cuddle like this. Don't you think?"
"Yes, master," said Lee, snuggling closer. "This is-- nice."
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CHAPTER 30
Holden woke the next morning just before daybreak, almost sure he had been
awakened by the sound of the front door slamming. His heart pounding-- was
Valor home? Was Inga all right?-- he managed to extricate himself from the bed
without waking Lee (unless the kid was just shamming sleep; Holden was
beginning to suspect he did that a lot), got his tunic on, and hurried into the front
room, which was still dark, Inga still apparently asleep on the couch.
Lisa's bedroom door was wide open, and Holden paused in front of it, looking in;
the bed was rumpled and empty, and Bran was perched in the deep windowsill of
the little room, dressed in Holden's blue tunic but no belt or boots, his knees drawn
up to his chest, his arms clasped around them, staring out the window and too deep
in thought to notice Holden standing there. Lisa was nowhere to be seen; the front
door must have been her, leaving for an early class or coffee date.
"Hey, beautiful," he said softly.
Bran looked up, pleased to see him, but not smiling outright, and moved over
slightly, as if inviting Holden to sit next to him, though he was taking up little
enough room as it was that the gesture was purely symbolic. Holden came in and
sat down on the windowsill beside Bran, his feet on the floor, studying the boy's
expression.
"Where's Lisa?"
"Early class, master," said Bran rather absently. Holden nodded.
"What's got you looking so serious?" he asked. Lisa was a nice girl, but less
attuned to the nuances of slaves' expressions than Holden might have wished,
especially with someone as sensitive as Bran. If she'd said or done anything to
upset Bran, Holden was going to be hard pressed not to speak to her in ways
unbecoming a guest. But Bran didn't look unhappy-- just thoughtful.
"I was thinking about my mom, master," he said.
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"Oh." Holden hadn't been expecting that, and he took it in for a moment before
asking, "Do you want to talk? Or not?"
Bran considered.
"I was just thinking," he said finally. "I used to-- when I belonged to Dunaev and
Oreskovich, I didn't cry much--" He looked up with a small, self-deprecating smile.
"Believe it or not."
"I believe it," said Holden, reaching out to touch Bran's face, briefly. "You cry
when people are nice to you. I don't think that happened a lot with them."
Bran nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "That's true. And I used to get hit around for crying, so I-- didn't,
much. But when I was alone, sometimes, I'd think about-- what my mom would
think, if she saw-- where I was. What had happened to me. And-- I'd cry."
Holden held out a hand, and Bran, smiling more broadly and sweetly, moved
forward onto his knees and climbed into his master's lap, relaxing with the small
sigh of contentment he only seemed to give when clasped in Holden's arms.
"Anyway," he said, adjusting his head on Holden's shoulder, "I was just thinking
about what she'd think, if she saw me now."
"What brought this on?" Holden asked, after a few moments' pause. It wasn't
exactly what he wanted to ask, but it was a question.
Bran nestled closer. "I-- well, I was thinking-- I always get thinking, when I'm with
Lady Lisa, about-- you and Pavel. Lord Kareyev."
Holden's brow furrowed in puzzlement, but he waited for Bran to go on.
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"She's so-- sweet," Bran semi-explained, lifting his head a little. "And-- gentle. I
think-- I wonder-- but anyway, I was thinking about how you wanted to-- how the
two of you sort of arranged to be together, when you were a kid. Because I knew
kids, too, when I was a kid, who-- if they had bad parents, or they were really poor,
or something-- they kind of looked forward to being sold, you know? Living in a
big house, with the nobility, and everything-- it didn't sound so bad."
Holden nodded again. "Yeah. It sounded like a pretty flawless plan to me. Moving
out of my dad's house, living with my rich lover--"
Bran nuzzled Holden's cheek gently.
"I know," he said. "I can-- understand that. But it was different, for me. I loved my
parents. And home. I never-- wanted to be a slave."
He paused, lost in thought again, before adding, "And my parents always said-they said those kids were wrong. They said there was nothing good about being a
slave. That it meant-- violation, and degradation--"
"So you were terrified before anything bad even happened to you," said Holden,
whose sadness amounted to physical pain; he was remembering Bran's delirium,
years before, his feverish pleading not to be sold.
Bran looked almost apologetic. "They wouldn't have said all that, if they'd known
what was going to happen to me. They wouldn't have wanted to scare me. But they
never meant for me to be sold. They always said they'd rather die."
He grimaced. Neither of them said what they were both thinking.
"And I don't know," Bran said at length, pensively. "What they'd think of-- how
things are, now. You know? That's the thing. I knew what my mom would think of
the way I was-- getting hurt, and scared, and-- I knew she'd hate it. She wouldn't
ever want me to feel-- that way. But it's like--" He hesitated, nuzzling Holden's
neck as if absently. "Well. I was a kid, when my mom was alive. When she-- knew
me. And I was still kind of a kid, with my first two masters." He shifted against
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Holden, squirming closer to kiss his neck just below the earlobe, not seductively,
just affectionately, as the closest part of Holden to his mouth. "And even at the
beginning, with you, master. At first I was just glad I wasn't getting hurt. You
know? And then-- things changed."
"You fell in love with me," said Holden quietly.
"Yes." Bran lifted his head and smiled at Holden, then reached up to cup Holden's
cheek with his palm, looking at him with such tenderness that Holden felt dazzled.
"I fell in love with you. And I-- sort of-- grew up. Not all at once, I don't mean-and I don't mean I'm all grown up now, or anything-- but--"
He paused again, and Holden ran his nails softly up and down the boy's clothed
back until he resumed, "I started-- wanting-- more. Than just-- not to be hurt. And- different things, from what I ever thought I'd want. I was just wondering. If my
mom could see me now. I just wonder what she'd think. Of-- you. And of how
much I love you. Of-- who I turned out to be."
Holden's heart was beating with a strange insistency. He traced the line of Bran's
cheekbone with a thumb, drinking in his oddly untroubled face, thinking about just
who Bran had turned out to be.
"I don't know what she'd think of me," he said finally. "I hope she'd--" He cleared
his throat. "I've tried to-- do my best for you. But I know-- from everything you've
told me about her, about how much she loved you, about what kind of a person she
was-- I know she'd be so proud of you, kid. Of everything you are."
"Thank you, master." Bran smiled into Holden's eyes, his own eyes nearly
luminous in their steady clarity. "I'm glad you're proud of me. I mean, I've always
known you-- approved of me. You always told me I was a good boy. Even before
you decided to keep me. But I'm glad I-- make you proud."
"You couldn't possibly make me prouder, Bran," said Holden. "I just wish I could
claim more of the credit for how amazing you are."
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Bran blushed and ducked his head, nuzzling at the base of Holden's throat.
"Whatever I am, master-- if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be-- anything. You're the
one who-- saved me."
Holden stroked him. "My privilege."
Looking up over Bran's curly head, he was startled to see Lee standing, silent as a
shadow, in the doorway. Lee flinched when Holden's curious gaze met his, but
didn't move.
"Hi, sweetheart," Holden said, and Bran looked up.
"Hi, Lee," he said, and wiggled gently but insistently out of Holden's arms; he got
up, went to Lee, and hugged him close, kissing him softly on the lips. With the
memory of that slight, shivering body curled so close to him in bed, and with
Bran's words and touch still warming him from a moment ago, Holden didn't feel
even a twinge of jealousy as Bran led Lee back to the windowsill and touched
Holden's thigh as if it were a chair he was inviting Lee to sit in.
Lee, after a searching look at Holden's face, climbed shyly into his lap, and Holden
put his arms around the boy, looking at Bran, thinking with amusement that he'd
just been offered up-- shared-- the way he'd shared Bran with Lisa last night, and
he didn't mind a bit. Because if Bran thought of Holden and Pavel when he was in
bed with Lisa, Holden certainly thought of Bran with the weight of Lee on his lap.
Bran, and Dunaev, and the kids Holden had "saved," and the others he'd never get
a chance to.
"I had a dream," said Lee quietly.
"Yeah?" said Holden curiously, pulling Lee back to look at him. "What was it
about?"
"Food," said Lee seriously. Holden and Bran both laughed, and Lee looked startled
at first, then smiled.
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"Now there's a thought, master," said Bran. "Her ladyship said there was a market
not far from here. I checked, and I can make us a decent breakfast without going
anywhere, but for after that-- and I don't know how long we're staying, but it might
be nice if I could fix something for her ladyship, just as a thank you for letting us
stay here."
Holden smiled at Bran's sudden cheerful animation, when he'd been so pensive a
moment before, wondering how much of it was for Lee's benefit. He liked being
the one Bran didn't feel the need to perk up for.
"I'm not sure I want you going out alone in a strange town," he said thoughtfully.
Bran looked disappointed. "Not even if I'm wearing your clothes, master? I don't
think anyone would harass me if they thought I was free."
Lee had tensed considerably in Holden's arms the moment Bran answered, and
Holden turned to him, running a hand over his shoulder.
"It's okay, Lee," he said. "Bran knows me pretty well-- the way you'll get to know
your owner, whenever I sell you-- and he can read my tone and my expression. He
knows when it's okay to question something I say, and when not to push. You
notice that I didn't say 'You're not going out alone in a strange town'-- which would
have implied that it wasn't open to discussion. I said I wasn't sure. And you might
also have noticed that even though Bran argued with me, he spoke respectfully,
and the way he phrased it made it clear that he'd accept my decision, whatever it
was. Does that make sense, sweetheart?"
Lee nodded, blinking and almost smiling. Holden kissed his cheek and turned back
to Bran, who was smiling; he always enjoyed being used as an example for the
trainees.
"You're probably right," he resumed, "but it still makes me uncomfortable. What if
someone decides to kidnap such a pretty young citizen and sell him into slavery?"
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Bran looked amused. "I don't think that happens very often in broad daylight,
master. And it could happen at the market at home, too."
"But at home, everyone knows who you are. They know you belong to me."
"I could still get kidnapped," Bran pointed out. "Someone could want you to pay a
ransom, or just want to sell such a well-trained slave on the black market."
"Okay, so no more going to the market at home, either," said Holden, and Bran
laughed.
"You could come too, master," he offered.
"I don't want to leave Lee," said Holden, shaking his head. "Or Inga. And four to a
market trip is a little more of an excursion than I'd like."
"What if just Inga and I go, then?" Bran suggested. "She probably knows her way
around here pretty well."
"Yes, and they all know she's a slave. The town would be buzzing in no time about
the handsome young stranger walking around with her. I don't want you to attract
that kind of attention."
Bran squinted at Holden, who shrugged a little sheepishly after a moment. "I guess
I'm just out of my comfort zone here, kid. Maybe it's making me a little
overprotective of you."
"But," Bran protested, "you let me use the stove yesterday."
"True. Just don't want you out of my sight, then," said Holden, and hesitated before
adding, "I guess I'm feeling-- clingy."
Bran blinked at him for a second before breaking into an ear-to-ear grin. Holden
tried to scowl back at him, then shifted slightly, unnecessarily, readjusting Lee on
his lap.
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"Master," Bran said, still grinning, "you're blushing."

"I am not," said Holden, and when Bran started to say something else, "Aren't you
overdue for a spanking, by the way?"
"Yes, master," said Bran meekly, though there was still a grin lurking around the
corners of his mouth.
Lee had tensed again, and Holden ran a hand over his sleek dark hair, looking into
his pale, apprehensive face, then glanced back up at Bran.
"Go get my bag," he said, "and meet me in Inga's room. If she's awake, tell her we
need a bit of time, and that I'll wash the sheets for her after."
"Yes, master," said Bran demurely, and went.
Holden turned back to Lee, whose bottom lip had disappeared again.
"Are you afraid for Bran?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, master," Lee whispered.
"Did Bran look afraid?"
"No, master," Lee admitted, but he didn't look reassured.
"I'm going to spank him," said Holden gently. "Not because I'm angry with him.
Just because I like spanking him sometimes. But do you mind coming to Inga's
room with us? Bran might like to have you there, to take care of him, and make
sure he's okay."
Lee made a sharp exhalation that might have been an abortive laugh before he said,
"As it please my master."
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Holden sat on the edge of the bed in Inga's room, Bran naked and face down across
Holden's lap, his soft penis nestled between Holden's thighs, his hands clasped over
his head. The lubricant Holden had brought from home had been thoughtfully
extricated from his bag by a prescient Bran and set on the night table.
Holden admired Bran's succulent young bottom for a moment, then looked up at
Lee, who was standing by the door, very pale.
"Come sit here with Bran," he said, gesturing to the floor by the bed.
Lee obeyed, coming to kneel on the floor, his face at eye level with Bran's, looking
at him searchingly.
"Hi, Lee," said Bran, and Holden could tell from his voice that he was smiling.
"Remember how I told you it wouldn't hurt when the master fucked you?"
Lee said nothing, but reached up and put his hand over Bran's clasped ones.
Holden cupped one of Bran's buttocks with his hand, feeling the supple curve of it,
then kneaded gently; Bran sighed and murmured with pleasure, squirming eagerly
into Holden's touch, his cock starting to push back against Holden's thighs. Holden
moved his other hand to the small of Bran's back and spread his fingers, pressing
down just firmly enough to make Bran feel secured, and felt the muscles of the
boy's back relax under his hand. He squeezed Bran's other cheek, then let his
fingers trail down to the tender flesh of the upper thighs just below the ass, teasing
it gently with his fingernails. Then he pulled back his hand and hit Bran's ass with
his open palm, with a resounding crack that almost drowned out Lee's tiny,
terrified whimper.
"Lee, look at me," Bran ordered firmly, and Lee obeyed, his eyes huge and
searching. Holden spanked Bran again, and saw Bran unclasp one of his hands
from the other to press Lee's hand between them, Lee's eyes still on Bran's face; he
struck again, and Lee moved closer to the bed without looking up at Holden.
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When the next smack didn't make Lee twitch, Holden let his reflexes take over,
relaxing into the sensations of the spanking-- Bran's skin heating up under his
palm, Bran's back firmly under his other hand, Bran's cock pulsing against
Holden's thigh, his body warm and pliant across his master's lap. The reddening
flesh of Bran's ass, in the shape of Holden's handprints overlapping and blurring
each other, the sensation of the punished skin swelling as it heated up with each
successive smack; the sound of Bran's heavy breathing, his gasps and tiny moans,
the quick, soft "Ah!" when Holden brought his hand down across the top of one
thigh, and then the throaty "Oh" when he struck the other.
All this was familiar, as was Holden's own mounting arousal; spanking Bran
quickly became a contest with himself as to how long he could hold out, how
thoroughly he could manage to heat that sweet ass before his cock took over
entirely and buried itself inside. Punishment required a serious conversation before
fucking was either kind or wise, but this kind of spanking wasn't punishment, it
was-- as Alix put it, and Holden suspected she did it to Greta with the very
meticulous timing the word suggested-- recalibration, for both of them. Bran hadn't
done anything wrong; he'd just been hyperactive and talkative and a little impudent
from being out in the world and away from his home, dancing giddily around
boundaries and trusting Holden not to let him go over. And Holden certainly wasn't
angry, but he was-- unsettled, and he needed his mark on Bran, needed his boy
aching and stinging and heated from Holden's hand, whimpering and gasping as
Holden pounded into him afterwards.
What wasn't so familiar was Lee, who was still staring into Bran's face, but no
longer pale. His cheeks were stained pink, his lips flushed and parted, his eyes
wide and his pupils dilated; he was leaning forward slightly, as if drawn in towards
Bran by some magnetic force, and altogether he looked about as fuckable as
Holden had ever seen him. Holden's arousal, already intense, was threatening to
spill over early as Bran rocked ever so slightly back into his hard slaps, sobbing
wordlessly and shifting his hip against his master's erection, and when Lee's dark
gaze flicked up unexpectedly to meet Holden's eyes, Holden had to swallow a
groan himself.
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He spanked Bran one more time, hard, for good measure, and reached down first to
pull up the sweating bundle of need and quiescence into his lap, then to roll the kid
over on his back, pulling up his legs and reaching for the lubricant. He prepared the
boy quickly, less meticulously than he might have if he hadn't known Bran was as
eager to get down to business as he was-- and leaned over Bran, propping himself
on his hands over the beautiful, gleaming body, Bran's face with its dear gray eyes
half shut and blissful on Holden's, tilting his mouth towards Holden's, begging
wordlessly to be taken.
And Holden took him, his mouth and his ass in one swift thrust of his hips and his
tongue, claiming his territory, his home, forgetting everything else as he buried
himself deep inside his lover.
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CHAPTER 31
Despite his arousal, Holden resisted orgasm, fucking Bran long and hard enough
that the boy came before he did, his eyes rolling back in his head, clenching tight
around Holden's cock so that Holden gasped and spasmed inside him as Bran's
warm semen spattered onto his stomach.
He leaned over Bran, watching the boy yank in breath as if he'd been drowning,
clutching at Holden's upper arms with a bruising grip, his beautiful mouth open so
sweetly Holden wanted to get hard again to fuck it before he'd even gotten around
to pulling out.
He brought his own mouth down on it instead as he slid himself out of Bran,
kissing so hard Bran gave a muffled whine and struggled a little, pushing his hips
up against Holden's pelvis, and then they were crushed together, clasping each
other, Bran's legs tangling in Holden's, kissing not only with their mouths but with
everything else they had. They were so close in height that, horizontal like this,
there was nothing that didn't match, nothing of Holden's that wasn't pressing up
against the same thing of Bran's. There was nothing in the world like holding
someone this close and being held back this hard, nothing like an embrace that told
every part of your body that the one person who mattered in the world right now
loved you this much. Holden wanted to lie like this for an undefined but potentially
limitless time, kissing Bran, resting from their fucking, holding him so close he
could feel the boy's soreness, the ache and the burn and the pure bright exhaustion,
in his own body, along with his own relief.
Of course, you couldn't figure for very long that there was only one person in the
world who mattered, especially not with one of the others kneeling by the bed.
"Lee," he managed, and cleared his throat, and he and Bran pulled a little apart,
opening back up. "Come lie with us, sweetheart."
Lee, pretty Lee, came obediently, his eyes wide and brilliant in a flushed face that
reminded Holden of Bran's in the grip of his fever, his lips parted in a sensual lust
that Holden was starting to realize never lay too far beneath the surface with this
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boy. He'd felt Lee melt in his arms with Bran's mouth around his slender cock, he'd
seen the boy lean into Andrei Taganov's kiss, and tremble as the young nobleman's
long fingers stroked his healing back; he'd slid himself inside as Lee wept silently,
kissing Bran, learning a world where his master's cock breached his body without
pain or anger, where there was kissing and tenderness and pleasure for him and
being taken meant being taken somewhere besides hell.
"We're all going to need a bath after this," said Bran as they drew Lee into the
space they'd both just moved enough to make, a warm place between them. Holden
stroked Lee and kissed him, and so did Bran, their hands meeting and hesitating
against one another's skin before they moved on. Bran looked at Holden
questioningly, his eyes darting to Lee's cock, which was hard, even though Lee
was shivering; Holden reached down and stroked Lee's cock, gently, with his
fingertips. Bran leaned down to kiss Lee's mouth, and Holden bent to kiss his neck,
stroking, and Lee's breath hitched hard enough that Holden knew he could come
from this.
"Come for me," he said, watching Bran's hand on Lee's nipple, and Lee moaned
and heated up, trembling harder, and after a minute he got there, spurting and
softening in Holden's hand. He was crying again.
"Master," he said, "please, I, I love--"
He broke off and fairly flung himself into Bran's arms, whimpering. Bran held him
hard; Holden moved closer, pressing his chest to the boy's heaving back, his soft
cock nestling against the warm little bottom, and kissed the back of Lee's neck, and
said nothing at all for a long time.
Holden had been nineteen when he decided that the word love either meant
nothing, in which case you shouldn't say it, or something, in which case you could
presumably convey it without resorting to the actual word, and still shouldn't say it.
He and Alix and Jer had had some interesting conversations on the subject; it was
funny how intensely the young could debate a semantic point, even under the
circumstances. Alix, eighteen, utterly in love with the master and manipulating him
anyway to protect Holden; Jer, twenty, already tired from working so hard to
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please, never taking risks except for Holden; and Holden, furious and pedantic and
arrogant and undeserving of either of them, mocking them for wanting to please
the master Holden hated and could have murdered cheerfully if he hadn't also
needed his love and approval so much it felt like dying. They'd all fucked like
rabbits, whenever they weren't on restriction or locked up in one of Argounov's
goddamn chastity devices, and they'd lie around afterwards and talk, earnestly,
about the meanings of words.
"That's silly. That's like saying... you shouldn't say 'apple' because you can just
give someone an apple and it means the same thing." Alix, flushed and gleaming,
still unscarred, perched on Jer's thigh with her hair sticking to her face and her legs
carelessly open, one knee drawn up and the other resting on Holden's lap. "That's
why words exist, because they mean something real. So you can tell somebody
about it."
"Bullshit," said Jer, but without cuffing Alix the way he would have Holden, to
punctuate his point; Jer had a healthy awe of Alix that had nothing to do with the
fact that he outweighed her by about eighty pounds. "There are plenty of words
that don't mean a damn thing. Or they only mean-- you know? Like 'perfect.' You
ever seen anything perfect?"
"He calls me perfect," said Alix, too softly, so softly Holden sort of wanted to
punch her in the face. No, scratch that: he wanted to punch Argounov in the face.
Easy to get confused.
"Of course he does," said Jer, rolling his eyes at Alix with more affection and
tolerance than Holden could possibly have mustered for her idiocy right then.
"Cause he's a fucking liar. You're great, kid, but you're not perfect any more than I
am. You think he'd call you perfect if he knew the way you play him to keep this
one alive?" He jerked his head at Holden, who gave a mock-courtly bow of
acknowledgement past the sudden speeded-up heartbeat that always came when Jer
said things like that, because Jer would know, better than Holden would, just how
close Holden was to the edge, how many chances he'd squandered, at what point
neither of them would be able to help him any more.
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"I know I'm not," said Alix, "but I've felt perfect. I've felt like everything was
perfect, right at that-- at a certain moment. Haven't you?"
"No," said Jer. "And that's not the point. Feeling like something's real isn't the
same as it being real. Word means nothing. Nothing ever has been, nothing ever
will be."
"Like love," said Holden to Alix, with enough of a snarl in his tone that she sighed
without even looking at him, kneading his thigh with her toes. He wanted to push
her foot away, but he didn't.
"I love you," she said.
"See," said Holden, "that doesn't mean a fucking thing to me. You love that
shithead who owns us, too, and I hate his guts and he's never going to quit trying to
break me, so eventually you either pick me or you pick him, which means either
you didn't love me or you didn't love him, so you're lying right now either way."
Alix shook her head. "I can love somebody without-- choosing him."
"Not me, you can't."
"Can if I want," said Alix with exaggerated petulance.
"So you would choose him."
"Will you two knock it the fuck off?" Jer shook his head. "Aesir deliver me from
lovebirds. I thought this whole conversation was about how there's no point saying
something if you can't prove it's real. If love is a meaningless word, can we all shut
up about about who loves who more than who?"
"I'm not asking who she loves more, that's the point-- I'm just saying if she--"
"Will you kick him in the balls, please?" said Jer to Alix, who moved her bare heel
promptly to Holden's groin; Holden gasped, his cock hardening as Alix met his
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eyes with her sweet soft smile and applied just a little too much pressure. "That's
better. Not perfect," he added, deadpan, "but better."
Bran was the first to stir, and he and Holden got a shaky-legged Lee between them
to the girls' little bathroom, where they bathed Lee and one another, without
speaking, just smiling a little as Holden ran his hands over Bran's crimsoned ass. In
the same half-dazed, half-easy silence they dressed, the three of them, in their
citizens' clothes, belts and boots and all, and Holden glanced at them in the spotty
mirror as they moved back towards the hall, thinking Lee really was mistakable for
his son. If he'd been capable of fathering children, and Alix of bearing them; if that
hadn't been taken away along with everything else.
When they came out into the living area, Inga was sitting at the kitchen table again,
reading, coffee percolating on the counter.
"Morning, sir," she said, smiling benignly at the three of them. "Hi, Bran. Hi, Lee."
"Morning, sweetheart. Is that for me?" Holden asked curiously, nodding at the
coffee.
"Well," said Inga, rather hesitantly, "and-- me. If-- I mean--"
"You don't have to ask my permission," said Holden neutrally, "if you have your
mistress'."
Inga nodded apologetically. "Yes, sir. It's-- She likes me to-- She told me I could
eat or drink anything I wanted. I didn't, at first-- I mean, I didn't want to stain my
teeth or anything-- but she got me drinking coffee, and I sort of got to liking it.
And anyway, watching me drink it is practically the only time she smiles at me."
It was only at that moment that Holden realized how thoroughly the events of the
morning had relieved the maddening sense of undirected irritation and wrongness,
of homesickness and frustration and worry, that had been building since they
arrived here, magnifying these small evidences of Inga's unhappiness into
unbearable offenses against all human decency. Not that he didn't now have a
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powerful urge to get on a train immediately for home, where he would chase Valor
down the street if necessary-- he just knew Greta, Alix, and Yves, all of whom had
always spoiled the girl within an inch of her life, were coddling her through her
emotional crisis instead of giving her the high-volume lecture on responsibility of
which she was desperately in need. But his muscles felt loose and relaxed, he was
pleasantly tired, and his sympathetic smile at Inga wasn't forced as he got two
mugs out of a cabinet above the percolator and poured out into both of them.
"Cream and sugar?" he asked, and she smiled back at him gratefully.
"Please," she said. "There's herbal tea, too, if--" She glanced at Bran and Lee. Lee
was clinging to Bran like a limpet, slouched and tucked half under the taller boy's
arm, his face bowed to Bran's chest; Bran's eyes were on Holden with blissed-out
magnetism, following him without tension or anxiety, just with pleasure, as if
Holden were where his sight felt most at rest. Holden filled the black enamel tea
kettle and put it on to boil.
"Are there any lemons?" he asked, and watched Bran's smile. "Bran, go sit down
on the couch, you and Lee. I'll handle breakfast."
Before Bran had recovered enough to resume the marketing debate, Lisa rendered
it moot by returning, cheerful and slightly pink-faced, laden down with packages.
She was wearing a boyish tunic again, light blue this time, and had her hair tied
back in a loose ponytail that made her hair fluff around her face; she looked more
like a young Pavel than ever.
"I hope Bran can work with this," she said, dumping everything on the kitchen
counter. "Hey, something already smells good."
"Mr. Larssen cooked breakfast," said Inga, not without a delicate note of
astonishment in her throaty voice.
Lisa looked up at him in surprise. "Really, Mr. Larssen? I didn't know you could
cook."
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"I can't, really. Bran gave me directions," said Holden, nodding at Bran, who
smiled at Lisa from where he still curled, loose-limbed in his stocking feet, on the
couch, with Lee half in his lap. "Well, I used to cook a little when I was a kid and
my mom was-- not feeling well. Eggs and stuff. Enough to keep us from getting
poisoned, anyway. But Bran told me what to put in them."
"Any left for me?" Lisa asked hopefully, as she began to unpack her purchases.
"There are a couple of eggs left," said Holden, getting up. "I'll fix them for you."
"Thanks," she said, moving out of his way. "Any word from Val?"
"No," said Holden; Inga took a long, slow sip from her coffee cup as Holden
cracked eggs into a bowl with only a little more force than necessary. "Not yet.
Want coffee?"
"Got some on the way to class," said Lisa. "Thanks. Bran, come look at what I got.
See if there's anything you can make here. Or teach me to make-- I'm a terrible
cook."
Bran stirred, rather reluctantly, lifting Lee with him, and Lee clung close to Bran's
side as they came into the kitchen. Holden, beating cream and pepper into the eggs
with a fork, moved over to make room for them in the tiny kitchen; Bran laid his
hand on the counter, his fingers spread seekingly, and Holden brushed his
fingertips over the boy's knuckles. Bran smiled.
"This looks great, my lady," he said as Lisa exhibited her purchases for him. "But
you got so much-- are you having guests?"
"Well," said Lisa, looking at Holden. "I haven't invited anyone yet-- but I know
David would love to meet Lee. He barely even counts as company-- I mean, he's
my brother. And Natasha's the one who's been working with him on the Lee
project, so--"
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She looked at Holden, who was already considering. Inga was emotionally fragile
right now, but these people wouldn't be strangers to her, and it might be that she
could do with some distraction. She certainly didn't look dismayed at the prospect
when he caught her eye, even if she also didn't look fully overjoyed. Bran would be
fine-- he was coming gently off his post-spanking high, but it ought to leave him
relaxed and centered, and anyway, he liked company. Lee-- well, Lee was the
question. He didn't seem distressed since the spanking and its aftermath, just clingy
with Bran, and he might be as centered by all the affection as Bran was, but he was
still awfully vulnerable in general, and to be the centerpiece of a gathering,
however small or informal-"Of course," said Lisa, who wasn't an idiot or anything, "it could just be us. And I
mean, we're waiting to hear from Val, so--"
Precisely on cue, the phone rang, and without even thinking, Holden hurried into
the hall to pick it up. "Hello?"
"Who is this?" demanded a boy's voice.
"Whom are you trying to reach?" Holden asked, wondering if Lisa had a boyfriend.
There was a short pause, and then the boy said, "Larssen?"
Holden blinked. The voice sounded familiar, but-- "May I ask who's calling?"
"Who the hell do you think?" the voice demanded. "And what the hell are you
doing there, Larssen? Finally decide to shack up with Kareyev's daughter, instead
of just having Bran proxy-fuck her? Hey," on a new note of interest, "how is Bran?
You keeping that stupid grin on his face from the last time I saw you two?"
Holden put a hand against the wall for support. "Jesse?"
"No shit," said Jesse. "Listen, is Robin there? I need to talk to her."
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MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE RANCH

[Takes place "last night" in Lee-time, i.e. during the events, roughly
CHAPTER 29]
"How can you be okay with this?" Valor demanded, no longer crying, but still with
swollen eyes and a choking thickness to her voice. "How can you claim to love
someone you own? How can you love someone who owns you? How can you love
someone who-- lends you out?"
Her gaze swung accusingly from Alix to Greta and came to rest on Yves, which
suited him just fine; he was probably the best one to talk to her about this. Alix and
Greta didn't have the perspective. He found himself thinking it was a good thing
Jer had made himself scarce as soon as Valor burst-- reminding him powerfully of
her adoptive father-- through the front door, and flung herself sobbing into her
mother's arms.
"May I speak freely, Miss Valor?" he asked.
At that, Valor managed a rather impressive simultaneous laugh, sob and eye-roll.
"I need your answer, Miss," said Yves patiently. "That's part of the point here.
There are slaves, and there's a code of behavior for slaves. Whether you like it or
not, whether there should be slaves or not, whether we should have to behave this
way or not-- those are good questions and I'm glad you're asking them and I don't
disagree with your answer, but just because you've decided I shouldn't have to ask
your permission doesn't mean that if you shut your eyes and put your fingers in
your ears and sing the national anthem, I won't still be sitting here waiting for your
permission to speak freely. Do I have your permission?"
"You already are," said Valor sulkily. "Speaking freely."
Yves regarded her steadily. "No, Miss. I'm not."
"Fine," said Valor after a moment. "Speak freely."
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Yves took a moment to collect his thoughts before he obeyed.

"Valor," he said softly, and her eyes and mouth both opened wider, looking as if
she were about to start crying again, but she didn't. "I love you very much. I love
that you care so much about what's right and wrong, and I love that you're trying so
hard to do the right thing by Inga. But you're right that you're messing everything
up with her, and you were right to come to me and give me permission to speak
freely about it, because you're doing the same things wrong with her that you've
always done with me, and it's making her as miserable as you would have made
me, if your father hadn't limited your power over me."
Valor's eyes filled with tears again, and Alix leaned forward and put her hand over
Valor's, but Valor pulled it away. Yves really hoped Alix wasn't going to be angry
at him for this; he would have felt more comfortable if his master had been here.
Although, come to think of it, if his master had been here Yves probably wouldn't
ever have gotten a word in edgewise, so maybe not.
"How would I make you miserable?" Valor asked, her voice getting dangerously
high with tears and indignation. "Yves, I love you!"
"I know you do, honey," said Yves gently. "I've never been in any doubt of that,
and I'm sure Inga hasn't either, that you love her and want what's best for her. But
doing what's really best for a person means paying attention to what that person
actually wants and needs. You love me, but you don't pay attention to me. You get
indignant when your father hurts me, but you don't bother to change the behavior
that you know is going to have me offering myself to him to get hurt. You pet me
and praise me in bed, but you don't notice when I'm tired or spaced out or would
rather just hold you and talk."
Valor's cheeks were reddening, her eyes narrowing, but Yves went on steadily, his
hands twisted tightly together in his lap.
"And you haven't been paying attention to Inga, either. You decided she should act
like a free girl, but she isn't a free girl, she's a slave, and that means she just has to
sit there and agree to everything you tell her about how she should act now.
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Making her act like your idea of a free girl is just giving her a new set of rules that
she doesn't like or feel comfortable with, plus depriving her of what she wants and
needs from you-- your touch, your guidance, your protection-- all because it's what
you want."
"But I wanted--" Valor burst out, and then went red, and shook her head violently.
"I mean, she shouldn't have to--"
"But she does have to," said Yves firmly. "You can't wave a magic wand and
change the world, Valor. However much you might hate slavery, you are a slave
owner, and right now, you're not being a responsible one. Do you realize the agony
Inga's probably in right now? Things have been strained between you, and now
you hop a train for home and can't even be bothered to tell her you're leaving?"
"Dad is there!" Valor said, in a tone bedecked with danger signals. Yves fought his
reflex to shut up, bow his head submissively, maybe even apologize; his surrender
would kick in her protective instincts, no doubt, bring her voice back to gentleness.
But he didn't want to back down now.
"And you didn't talk to him about the fact that you were leaving, either. Or about
taking care of Inga for you. Valor, you talk about the way your father hits me as if
it's so awful, but your father and I have an understanding, and you and Inga don't
have an understanding about anything right now. The two of you aren't
communicating, and it's your fault. You're being unbelievably irresponsible.
You're--"
Valor slapped him across the face.
"Better than this," he said, bowing his head over his white-knuckled hands. "Miss
Valor."
He wasn't really all that surprised at the slap, on one level-- her face and body
language as he continued speaking had been readable enough to any slave-- but
Valor had never hit him, not since she'd been old enough to stop hitting everyone
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who got in her way, slave and free. Had never slapped him the way you slapped an
insolent slave, to shut him up, to remind him what he was.
She wasn't moving, and he didn't dare look up at her. Why didn't Alix say
anything? Surely it was her job not to let people hit him with impunity when
Holden wasn't here? Couldn't Greta call off her daughter? Or were they both pissed
at him for what he'd said?
In which case, shit.
"Yves," said Valor, and her voice was faint and sickened. "Yves, I'm-- oh, fucking
hell, Yves, I'm so sorry-- please--"
Obviously he was supposed to look up now and tell her it was all right, but he still
couldn't meet her eyes; anger and fear and humiliation and pure searing loneliness- he wanted his master, needed his master, why the fuck wasn't his master here-warred within him.
"Valor," said Alix, "go to your room."
"No," said Valor. "I mean, I want to--"
"I don't give a shit what you want," said Alix matter-of-factly, and Yves did look
up then, at her face, which was cold and set, and at Greta, whose freckles were
standing out alarmingly against the whiteness of her face.
"Yves, please," said Valor desperately. "I'm sorry--"
He made himself look at her, at Valor, his playmate ever since she'd been born;
made himself see how truly sorry she was, and how frightened and confused, and
how young. How much she really did love him-- whatever that meant. He made
himself smile.
"I know you are, Miss," he said. "I'll be fine."
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Valor started to say something else, looked at Alix, looked at her mother, got up
and almost ran from the room.
"Are you okay?" Alix asked Yves in a softer voice.
He smiled again. "I'm fine. It wasn't much of a slap."
"You're not okay," said Greta. "I wouldn't be."
"Should we call Holden?" Alix asked.
Yves shook his head. "No point bothering him. It's late. We can call him tomorrow
when we have some news for Inga. A good night's sleep will do--" He swallowed,
suddenly near tears. What was wrong with him? It really hadn't been much of a
slap. "Do all of us good. We'll be thinking more clearly in the morning. May I go
to bed, mistress?"
"Of course," said Alix, but she watched him intently until he had gotten himself out
of the room.
Upstairs, in Yves' room, Jer was lying on the bed, drawing something on a pad of
graph paper with a pencil. He turned it over and put it on the floor when he saw
Yves, then sat up.
"What are you doing?" Yves asked, looking at the pad.
"Waiting for you," said Jer. "Shit. What did she do?"
"Nothing," said Yves, almost laughing, and then, "She slapped me, it's no big
deal."
"Well, something is," said Jer, examining Yves. "You look like you're about to
cry."
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Yves shook his head, breathing in deeply, then smoothly out. "I'm fine. Did you
want to fuck?"
"Hey," said Jer, his brows drawing together. "Don't do that. Come here."
Yves came, stopping a few steps from Jer only to be grabbed and yanked hard into
Jer's lap. Jer held him up with one strong arm, looking into his face.
"Why'd she hit you?" he demanded.
Yves shrugged, looking away. "I told her some things she didn't want to hear."
"Oh," said Jer neutrally. "You mean about being a whiny self-centered brat with no
clue how to take care of a slave even though it's what her parents do for a living?"
"Something like that," said Yves, grinning a little. "I don't think it's what she was
expecting me to say, anyway."
"Yeah, well." Jer sounded moody. "You're the dad who isn't supposed to yell at
her, you know? When the dad who's supposed to call her 'Miss' starts calling her
'young lady' instead--"
"I'm not her dad," said Yves, looking back at Jer, who was still examining him
with as much intent, affectionate scrutiny as Holden could have mustered.
Holden. Yves really was about to cry, and then he was crying, letting his head drop
onto Jer's shoulder, while Jer hugged him roughly closer.
"Hey," he said again, and kissed Yves' ear awkwardly. "Yves. What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," Yves choked. "I just-- oh, fucking hell, Jer, I'm so fucking pathetic, I
miss him so much!"
"Ah--" Jer patted Yves' back. "Hell. I know. I miss him too. He'd take her apart for
laying a hand on you, wouldn't he?"
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"Yes!" Yves caught his breath. "And it's not that I want her-- taken apart-- I just-oh, shit, Jer, what-- I mean, what am I going to do if he-- dies, or something? You
know?"
"Oh, fuck, Yves." Jer was rocking him, a little, gently, like a mother with a crying
baby, and just having said it made Yves feel better, made him feel like maybe he'd
live through it after all. "Yeah. I know."
"I'm an ass," said Yves, still being rocked, nuzzling closer against Jer. "You've
been through-- so much worse."
"Damn right I have," said Jer. "You don't know how good you've got it, with him. I
do. Believe me, I get it."
Yves kissed Jer's neck. Jer pulled back, but it was only to pull Yves' face towards
his and kiss him, thoroughly, on the mouth. They kissed for so long Yves felt a
little weak when Jer finally pulled back, looking into Yves' face with a serious
expression.
"Listen," he said. "If-- if he ever does. I mean, before us. We'll look out for each
other, you know? You and me. And we'll take care of the kid. It'll be okay."
Yves laughed, chokingly, though his sobs.
"The kid might be taking care of us, by then," he pointed out, and Jer grinned.
"That, too," he said, just as Yves leaned in and kissed him again; he kissed back,
then said, "In the mood?"
"For you?" said Yves, feeling a gleam of mischief pass over his tearstained face.
"When am I not?"
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"Never," Jer concurred, his hands exploring under the edges of Yves' tunic. "You
know I thought, when I first moved in here, you were going to be this prissy little
tight-ass? Master's pet, nobody else is good enough?"
Yves closed his eyes. "You-- oh-- you are so good enough--"
"Yeah, I am," said Jer, his hand closing around Yves' cock. "Slut."
Yves giggled, then caught his breath. "Jerk."
"Hopeless romantic," said Jer, stroking.
Yves smiled, his eyes half shut. "Curmudgeonly misanthropist."
Jer snorted. "Dictionary-eater."
"Shut up and fuck me," said Yves, both hands under Jer's tunic now.
"Mmmm," said Jer, grinning. "If you insist."
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CHAPTER 32
Crying, Lee thought with his face against Bran's shoulder, was very bad behavior-or so it had been repeatedly impressed upon him by his former master. Lord
Dunaev had been more enraged by Lee's crying than by almost anything else,
especially the crying Lee couldn't help when he was-- not raped, because you
couldn't rape your slave, no matter how badly what you did hurt or tore or bled, or
how hard you hit and what awful things you hissed during it. Anything your master
was pleased to do to you was his right, which was why crying, even if you couldn't
help it-- especially if you couldn't help it-- was a mark of defiance of your master's
will, unforgivable ingratitude for the favor of your master's touch, and rebellion
against the fact that this was what you were for. Crying when your master touched
you or fucked you, when he used you for your purpose, meant you were no good
for that purpose, which meant no good at all.
Crying wasn't the worst of Lee's incorrigibly rebellious behavior-- incorrigible no
matter how hard he tried, how long he held his breath to try to choke back the
tears. Sometimes he couldn't stop himself from screaming, and the more his master
punished him for screaming the more he screamed, until-- on more than one
occasion-- he'd lost consciousness. Those wakings had been the worst times, when
he couldn't understand why his body wouldn't just die.
So it was still puzzling that crying was okay here. But it was unmistakable-Holden might have missed Lee's crying when he'd fucked Lee from behind, but
this morning Lee had been on his back, tears spilling down his temples into his hair
as his master's warm dark eyes stayed fixed on his face, and there had been no
punishment, no reprimand, not even a frown, just the gentle stroking that brought
him to orgasm amid his tears.
Lee had always been ashamed of the fact that crying felt so good to him; Lord
Dunaev had been right that on some level he didn't even want to stop, no matter
how much punishment he got for it. It was such a relief to let the tears fall, such
release of pressure. But if Lee had thought crying felt good when you were being
beaten and fucked and yelled at for it, it turned out that crying while two beautiful
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men kissed and caressed you and whispered to you to come was about good
enough to make you lose consciousness in an entirely different way.
So good he'd lost his head. Lee didn't really want to think about what he'd started
to say after he'd come, though no one had been angry; they'd cuddled him close
between them, kissed him, bathed him tenderly, and Bran was petting him right
now while the master's voice rose suddenly from the hall, saying, "Jesse?"
The name meant nothing to Lee, but Bran startled, and so did Inga and Lisa, both
of whose heads swung up. Lisa said, "Oh--"
"No," said the master's voice, as Bran moved; Lee moved with him, clinging, his
grip tightening, following Bran's body across the room and into the hall, towards
the master. The master looked stunned as Bran approached.
"No," he said again. "Somehow she omitted to mention-- what?"
"Is it really Jess?" Bran whispered, and Holden nodded and put his finger to his
lips as he listened.
"Here where?" he demanded. "In this country, or-- Fucking Ash, and you weren't
afraid you'd be recognized?"
He looked-- not angry exactly, not frighteningly angry anyway, but definitely
upset. Who could this be on the phone? Surely no one free, when Bran had referred
to him so familiarly. But though Lee's master sometimes sounded very testy with
free people, like the doctor at the hospital and Miss Robin and Miss Valor and
even his wife, his voice had always been carefully controlled and gentle when he
spoke to slaves, whether his own or other people's. Of course, he must have to
punish sometimes, and his voice wouldn't be gentle then, but it would still be-- Lee
thought-- controlled, not sounding exasperated and fed up like this. At least Lee
hoped so. The idea of Holden losing his temper with a slave-- with Lee-He jumped a little against Bran when his master said sharply, "That's no reason to
take unnecessary risks, Jesse!" and then, after a few moments, "Oh, yes, the gods
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forbid you have a grown-up around to point out when you're doing something
stupid!"
He listened for what seemed like a long time then, without speaking, his expression
changing in a way that was hard for Lee to read. But he'd always been bad at
reading a master's face, anyway. Lord Dunaev seemed to get angry out of
absolutely nowhere sometimes, when Lee knew if he'd just been better at reading
the signs he would have been able to tell it was coming, and do something to
appease the rage before it broke over his head.
"I'm not saying--" Holden began at one point, and then, after a few more moments- so this couldn't be a slave on the other end, or he wouldn't have dared interrupt
Lee's master, would he?-- "Sure you have. Yes. I appreciate that. No," he added.
"She isn't."
He listened again and rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall and looking-Lee hoped-- a little more relaxed.
"Well, excuse me for being surprised," he said. "It never occurred to me that any
group Robin was involved with would actually be helping anything."
He listened again, and then he actually laughed; something in Lee's gut untwisted
and relaxed at the sound.
"That, I'd pay good money to see," he said. "Okay, kid. Just stay safe. Otherwise I
wasted a hell of a lot of time and trouble on you and your teeth. Yeah, I know who
knocked them out," he said, rolling his eyes for Bran's benefit, and Bran laughed.
"You want to say hi to Bran? Sure, he's right here."
He held out the phone to Bran, who took it and said, "Jess?"
The master went past Lee, still smiling a little, and back into the kitchen; Lee
hesitated, trying to decide who to stay with, and opted to remain where he was. He
could hear his master talking in the kitchen, and Lisa answering, but he couldn't
make out any more than the tones, which sounded respectively amused and slightly
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apologetic. Bran was saying, "Oh, only around twenty times a night, depending on
what we're doing."
He laughed, too. Lee was starting to think he liked this Jesse person, whoever he
was.
"You're awful," Bran said happily. "How's Quen?" His eyes widened for a second.
"Medical school? How did he-- Seriously? Even without high school? That's-- no,
that's beyond great-- does he like it? What about you?"
He listened for a long time, long enough that the master came back in eventually;
Bran glanced up at him and said, "Jess, this is fantastic, but we're sort of expecting
a phone call about-- Yeah, okay. You, too." He laughed again and went pink.
"Don't-- Okay. Yeah. Absolutely. I-- Hello?"
He broke off and hung up, grinning at Holden. "He hung up on me. He sounds
busy."
"It agrees with him," said Holden, grinning back. "Lisa says--"
The telephone rang again, interrupting him, and Bran stepped quickly away from it
and back to Lee's side as Holden nearly lunged for it and said, "Hello? There you
are. What's going on? Is Valor--"
Lee watched the changing expressions of his master's face again for a while as he
listened. It was easier to watch and observe when the shifts in expression weren't
directed at you, when whatever was coming wasn't coming at you. If the master
was getting angry, it wasn't at Lee-- and he wouldn't take it out on Lee either, Lee
was almost sure about that.
"She did what?"
The tone, and Holden's face, made Lee spin to press his own face, trembling,
against Bran's neck. Bran hugged him close and bent his mouth to Lee's ear.
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"It's okay, Lee," he whispered. "He won't hurt you."

"Put him on the phone," said the master. "I said--" Lee burrowed so hard against
Bran that he almost knocked Bran off-balance-- "put him on."
There was a longer pause. Bran was cradling Lee close, kissing his hair, and then
another hand on Lee's shoulder nearly made Lee jump out of his skin; his heart
squeezed so hard he thought it had stopped as he looked up at his master, who was
still holding the phone up to his ear with one hand while he rubbed gently at Lee's
shoulder with the other.
"I'm not angry at you, kid," he said, touching Lee's cheek, and to Bran, "Valor hit
Yves. Slapped his face."
The sudden jolt of tension that shot through Bran's body frightened Lee more than
his master's voice had, a moment ago; he pulled away from Bran, taking a step
back, and saw that Bran was nearly white. Holden reached out and cupped Bran's
shoulder in his palm, squeezing it reassuringly.
"Yves?" he said into the phone. "Hi, sweetheart." His palm cupped the back of
Bran's neck. "Don't be ridiculous, love. You know you would have had to tell me.
It's better that it wasn't while I was in the same house as Valor."
He fell silent and ran a hand, very gently, over Bran's hair before he said, "Of
course," and, after a longer silence during which he carded his fingers softly
through Bran's curls, "No, not really."
He took his hand away from Bran's head and put it to his own furrowed brow,
touching lightly, before he said, "In point of fact, she's not my daughter."
Lee looked up at Bran, who was wringing his hands together and biting his lip.
"Oh, sweetheart," said Holden, softly, into the phone. "Don't. She's not worth it."
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He sank down, slowly, still listening, onto the floor, and sat there with his back
against the wall, twisting the phone cord absent-mindedly around his finger.
"Of course I'm coming home," he said, finally. "But I think it's best if Valor's gone
before I get there. I'll be bringing Inga with me-- she can stay with us until we can
find her a good owner." He listened again, then said, "Then I'll see her in court."
"Master," Bran whispered, dropping to his knees beside Holden. Holden held up
one finger without looking at him.
"I'm listening," he said into the phone, and reached out in the silence that ensued to
grasp Bran's arm and pull him in against his side. "What makes you think I'm not
calm?"
Lee didn't like being the only one standing, so he sank to his knees behind Bran.
Nobody paid any attention to him.
"Just for that?" Holden said. "No. But if she allowed her lover to wreak havoc in
my household, neglected and abandoned Inga, jumped on a train the second I tried
to talk to her about any of it, waited until I wasn't around and invited you to speak
freely on the subject of her behavior, and then slapped your face? Yes. I'd divorce
her."
Bran grabbed at Holden's arm, and Holden looked at him and put his finger to his
lips.
"But she's not," he said to the phone. "She's Argounov's daughter. And apparently
blood will tell. Yves," in a softer tone, "sweetheart, don't. Not over the phone.
We'll talk when I get home. I'll be there as fast as I can, I promise. And I'll listen to
everything then. Okay?"
He looked sad as he listened before he said, "Yes, of course. Don't I always? I love
you, Yves. I'll be home in a few hours. I'll see you-- No, that's okay. When I get
there. Yes. I love you. Bye."
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He lowered the receiver to his lap and sat there staring at it with an air of
bemusement until it started making a beep-beep-beep noise, which seemed to rouse
him slightly; he looked up at Bran, and gave him a small, bewildered smile.
"Hell," he said. "I've got to make a new will."
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CHAPTER 33
"Master," Bran whispered, the phone still beeping softly in Holden's lap.
Holden took Bran's hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it gently before he
brought it to his own lap and squeezed it. "Yeah, sweetheart."
Bran swallowed. "What do you mean, a new will?"
"The one I've got now tells Yves to take care of Valor if anything happens to me,"
Holden said. "You know that, you read it. 'Loving and careful provision for my
daughter Valor,' isn't it?"
"So why are you changing it?" Bran asked, a little too boldly, but the master didn't
look annoyed.
"Because she's not my daughter," he said, "and at this point I don't have any further
interest in pretending she is."
"But she is," said Bran, and Lee wanted to crawl into some dark and tiny place
where no one would find him, because no matter how indulgent the master was and
how much he smiled when Bran teased him and how sweetly he kissed and held
and petted his boys, there was no way a flat contradiction didn't mean that Bran
was going to get hurt. And not hurt in that strange, sensuous, unfamiliar way in
which he'd gotten spanked a couple of hours earlier, the flat of the master's palm
smacking Bran's ass again and again, sharply and hard, as Bran's eyes widened and
softened and his lips parted and reddened and he moaned and gasped and
whimpered, like a boy being fucked with tenderness, like a boy being kissed till he
couldn't breathe. Not hurt so it felt good. Really hurt.
"No daughter of mine would act like that," the master said, sounding tired and sad,
but not angry, not really. Which didn't mean Bran wasn't going to be punished for
his presumption, of course, but it made Lee feel a little safer. "Her behavior just
isn't acceptable, Bran."
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"Everyone makes mistakes," Bran argued, argued, and Lee could feel more tears
spring to his eyes. "You told me from the very beginning that you wouldn't-- as a
punishment-- that you wouldn't ever-- give up on me. Even if I made you really
angry. Remember?"
"I told you I wouldn't sell you as a punishment," said Holden, regarding Bran
attentively, but Lee was back to not being able to read a face, of course, not when
it was actually important. "That's a little different from disowning a financially
independent adult, don't you think?"
"Is it?" Bran asked. "She screwed up, but that doesn't mean she's not your
daughter. It doesn't mean she doesn't need her father."
"She certainly isn't behaving as if she does," said Holden grimly.
"Yes she is," said Bran, and Lee bit down on his lips to keep from whimpering.
"She might not know it, but when have you ever let that stop you?"
Holden, examining Bran carefully, almost smiled, then sobered again when Bran
plunged on, "And Greta-- what is Greta going to have to say about this? She
belongs to you and the mistress. Is she supposed to just never see her daughter
again, because Miss Valor crossed the line with you? Master, you can't do this."
Lee closed his eyes and waited for the world to cave in. There was no sound of
impact, though, no cry of pain or plea for mercy, just a long quiet and then the
master's voice, quiet and gentle, as if part of an entirely different conversation.
"Of course Greta can see her," he said. "All I want to do is protect my own. She
attacked Yves, Bran."
"I know, master," said Bran miserably, as if aware he'd come up against some sort
of brick wall, "but-- you know how she is. Didn't she apologize?"
"Yves said she did," Holden acknowledged rather reluctantly, "but--"
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"Then forgive her," said Bran, and Lee's eyes snapped open, disbelieving. Had
Bran gone insane? "Master, if you don't, your family-- our family-- is going to get
ripped apart. If you disown Miss Valor it will kill Greta, and the mistress too-- and
Yves will feel like it's all his fault, and so will they, even if they know it's not
reasonable. And what about Inga? You can't just take her away from her--"
That was as far as he got before Lee, with the courage of desperation, lunged
forward from his position of relative obscurity and clapped his hand over Bran's
mouth.
"Stop it!" he shouted in Bran's face, wild with terror and frustration. "Stop arguing
with the master!"
Bran blinked at Lee, utterly taken aback, and Lee's tears spilled. He couldn't
believe what was happening. He wasn't even sure what was happening, except that
Bran for some reason felt like he got to tell the master what he should and
shouldn't do about Miss Valor, who might or might not actually be the master's
daughter, but who was definitely one of the many, many things about the master's
life that were none of a slave's business. And Bran, sweet Bran, good Bran, the
master's darling, was sitting here telling the master he was wrong about thing after
thing, being bad, unimaginably bad, worse than Lee himself had ever been even at
his most disobedient. Lee didn't know what a serious punishment from this master,
this gentle and tolerant master, would be like, and he knew Bran had probably
endured worse from Lord Dunaev, but all the same Lee couldn't bear the thought of
how angry Holden was about to be at Bran.
After a moment, the master reached out and put a hand on Lee's shaking shoulder,
and Lee looked up with his hand still on Bran's mouth, too scared to see. The hand
was a gentle hand, but all that meant was that Lee wasn't in trouble, and it was
Bran he was worried about.
"Lee," said the master softly, "do you remember what Lord Dunaev told you about
Bran, back when you belonged to him?"
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More tears spilled down Lee's cheeks. Was he being asked to cooperate in Bran's
condemnation? All Lord Dunaev had ever said about Bran was that he had talked
back, run away, scratched and kicked and fought. Lord Dunaev had thought Bran
was bad, incorrigible, rebellious-- all the things he was being right now.
The master's hand left Lee's shoulder and stroked his cheek, wiping away his tears.
"About how brave he was?"
Bran made an abrupt movement, the muscles of his mouth moving against Lee's
palm, and Lee pushed back so hard that he bumped the back of Bran's head against
the wall.
"Lord Dunaev wasn't right about much," the master continued, still stroking Lee's
face gently, "but he was right about that. You know, Bran ran away from me once,
just like he did from Lord Dunaev. It wasn't very smart, but it was very brave of
him."
Lee stared at his master, bewildered.
"He ran away because he couldn't think of any other way to stay true to himself
and to me," Holden continued. "He was willing to risk death for that. And when I
found him, he sat there in chains while I yelled at him, and he talked back to me,
he argued, he fought me for all he was worth, until--"
The master cleared his throat. Something wet and warm hit Lee's hand, and he
looked up to see that Bran was crying, too, his tears trickling onto Lee's hand
where it was still clamped over his mouth.
"See, Lee, I'm not a very brave person," the master resumed after a moment. "I
don't take many risks. Bran does-- for things that matter. It's one of the things I've
always loved about him. Take your hand off his mouth."
Lee obeyed, slowly and reluctantly. Bran licked his lips, started to speak, and then
fell forward against his master's chest. The master reached up and stroked his hair
lovingly.
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"Please," Bran whispered, and nothing else.

"I know," said the master quietly. "It's okay. I won't do anything stupid. We're
going home now, and we'll talk to Yves and Alix and Greta-- and I'll listen. I'll
think carefully. I promise. Don't cry, love. Our family will be fine."
He reached past Bran to Lee and took Lee's hand in his; the master's own hand was
warm and reassuring.
"Your hand's like a block of ice," he said. "You okay? I didn't even know your
voice went that loud."
"I'm s-s-sorry, m-master," Lee stuttered; now that everything seemed to be okay,
he was suddenly, perversely, shaking like a leaf.
"Nothing to be sorry for, kiddo," said Holden, squeezing Lee's hand. "You were
just trying to protect Bran. I can understand the urge. Still with me, love?"
"Yes, master," Bran said unsteadily against Holden's shoulder. "I'm sorry I
mouthed off."
"And that's okay, too," said Holden. "You've got a standing order to be honest with
me about what you need, and you don't need me kicking the family to pieces
because Valor decided to find out whether her old dad really meant all that stuff
about not being allowed to beat up the love of his life."
"See, you said 'her dad,'" said Bran hopefully, and Holden smiled as Bran lifted his
head and looked at Lee.
"Thank you for trying to save me," he said, smiling faintly. Lee suspected Bran
might be making fun of him, a little, but he didn't mind; he was too relieved. "I'm
sorry I scared you."
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"It's o-ok-k-kay," said Lee, his voice managing to quaver out the word to about
five syllables.
"Sir?"
Inga had come into the hall without anyone's noticing; she stood nervously toeing
the carpet and eyeing the three of them, and Holden nudged Bran, who pulled back
so his master could get to his feet and go to Inga. He took the tall girl's hand with
one of his and reached out with the other to stroke her burnished-gold hair back
from her lovely, worried face.
"Sweetheart," he said, "we need to talk."
Inga, dressed in a pair of slacks and a black sweater from Valor's closet, was still
crying silently as they took their seats on the train back to Tenarus. She sat down
next to Bran, who reached up and touched her hair as Holden took his seat next to
Lee; Inga closed her red, puffy eyes, tears still spilling down her impassive cheeks,
and Bran threaded his fingers through her hair, combing and carding it carefully.
Inga turned her head to give him easier access, then slowly, without opening her
eyes, slid from the seat of the train to the floor between Bran's feet and leaned her
head back. Bran looked up at Holden, who nodded briefly, and Bran kept playing
with Inga's hair.
Two girls-- a different two girls from the ones on the train ride over; maybe young
free women tended to ride trains in pairs-- watched from across the aisle as Inga's
face relaxed slowly, tears still glistening on her cheeks. Bran didn't seem to notice
his audience, intent as he was on the golden mane where his fingers twined; he
combed out long sections with his fingers, gently scratching her scalp with his
nails, undoing tangles, not neglecting her temples and the nape of her neck. After a
while he began rubbing her neck softly, then her shoulders; Inga murmured with
pleasure and put her head down on Bran's knee with a small sigh, and Bran smiled,
touching her cheek, smoothing away her drying tears before he returned to her hair.
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The two girls were whispering and grinning; it made Lee nervous, and when one of
them leaned forward into the aisle, her eyes bright with mischief, her friend
blushing madly and pressing her hands to her mouth to stifle her giggles, Lee
stiffened and pressed closer against Holden before the girl even spoke.
"Will you do mine next?" she asked Bran, who looked up, startled, and stared at
her for a long moment, then at her friend, before he suddenly, beautifully, smiled at
them. Lee thought for a moment that he was going to say yes.
"Sorry," he said instead, firmly as a free citizen with every right to refuse, but also
as if he really were sorry, as if he would have loved to put his hands in the girl's
thick, ringletted hair if only he hadn't had a previous engagement. "Not today."
"Ride this train often?" the girl rejoined, and her friend punched her in the arm.
"Stop it!" she said, breathless with laughter and embarrassment, and to Bran, "Your
girlfriend's lucky, that's all."
Bran looked back down at Inga, who had opened her eyes and was blinking in
puzzlement at the two girls.
"She's not my girlfriend," he said finally, laying his head lightly on Inga's head,
and glancing at Holden again before he continued, "She's my-- sister-in-law."
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CHAPTER 34
"You okay?" Bran asked Inga eventually, quietly, and Inga said, "Yes," without
opening her eyes.
"It's going to be okay," Bran told her firmly. "Miss Valor might just need a little
time."
"Thank you," said Inga, eyes still closed. "Don't stop playing with my hair, please."
The warm weight of Lee resting against his side, Holden wanted to pull the boy
into his arms and cuddle him for mutual comfort, but a middle-aged man pulling a
seventeen-year-old boy who was currently passing for his son onto his lap would
probably draw a lot more bemused attention than Bran playing with his "sister-inlaw"'s hair, however lovely a sight that might be.
They're so young. Fresh-faced and silky-skinned, both, Bran's face tenderly intent
on Inga's golden hair, Inga's long dark lashes lying curled on her wet cheeks, the
two of them could have posed for a painting of Ask and Embla: the brand-new man
comforting the first sorrow of his equally newborn mate.
"I can't believe you girls didn't tell me Jesse was in touch with your group," Holden
said after a while, in the same quiet tone, and Bran and Inga both glanced up
automatically at the two girls across the aisle. Holden didn't think they could hear,
but he fell silent anyway, smiling a little despite himself at the thought of that
conversation with Jesse. He guessed that once he'd put Jesse in touch with one
group charged with getting runaway slaves out of the country, he should have
expected that Jesse, never one to sit still or shut up when any alternative was
offered, would start networking.
The news that Jesse had been in this country, on the business of runaway rescue,
had come as a shock, but he supposed it really wasn't much more dangerous than
what Karl and Tara did-- and after all, they could easily expose Holden and Alix's
involvement in the slave-smuggling business, too, if they wanted to. And Karl and
Tara hadn't been that much older than Jesse when they got started; Jesse was Bran's
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age, a young man, young enough to be quick on his feet but man enough to think
first, too. Holden supposed he was just getting old-- but it wasn't as restful as it
should have been, passing the world's care on to the next generation. Not when
Valor-He pushed down a surge of sheer bloody-minded rage at the mere thought of
Valor; he'd deal with that when the train got to their stop. He wondered if she'd still
be there when they arrived. Probably Yves wouldn't have wanted to discuss with
the rest of the family the particular form Holden's fury had taken, since he'd be
hoping to assuage or divert it before Holden put anything in action. But he'd have
told them, at least, that Holden was on the way home, and Valor would know how
angry he must be. Would she flee again, or stay put to face him at last? How would
she react to seeing Inga under Holden's care? How would Inga react to seeing her
mistress?
Whatever else, Holden knew he was in no state to talk sense to Valor now; he'd be
talking with the flat of his hand if he couldn't calm himself down first, and while it
might do her some good to know what it felt like to get hit around for once in her
spoiled, self-centered life, it probably wasn't the best policy in the long run.
So they'd get a cab from the station-- Holden felt a lot calmer when he had
logistical details to work out in his head-- and when they got to the house, maybe
he'd just send Bran in first, to secure the perimeter, send Valor to her room or
something, until he could have that heart-to-heart with Yves and calm himself
down a little. Bran could deal with that; Bran was apparently the reigning
champion of hearth and home at the moment, with a better grasp on how Valor's
troublemaking would impact everyone in the family than Holden himself was
capable of. Another case of passing things on to the next generation, and the
thought of leaving them in Bran's hands was somehow a lot less disturbing than the
thought of Valor, Robin, Denys, or even Jesse.
At the train's next stop, which wasn't Holden's, the two girls across the aisle rose
and started gathering bags and purses together. As they passed Bran, one of them-the one who'd spoken to Bran earlier-- dropped a folded piece of paper onto the
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seat next to him. Before he could react, the two had vanished with unaccountable
swiftness down the aisle.
His head still full of conspiracies, networks and slave smuggling, Holden blinked
at the paper. Bran lifted it, unfolded it, read it, and then lifted wide eyes to
Holden's, smiling and bewildered.
"It's her phone number," he said, and from beside Holden, Lee let out a tiny chirp
of a laugh, making Holden grin, too.
When they finally reached their stop, Holden held Lee's hand as they threaded their
way off the train and through the crowded station; Bran, unselfconsciously, held
Inga's, keeping his eyes on Holden. They had no trouble getting a cab, and Inga sat
up front, her tears dried by now and her eyes only a little puffy, looking every inch
the young collegienne in her mistress' clothes.
In the back seat, Holden spoke quietly to Bran about going in first, and Bran
nodded. But once the cab pulled up outside the house, they had barely gotten out-Holden was still paying the driver-- when Yves came outside, shutting the front
door behind him, and walked slowly towards them.
It tore at Holden's heart to see Yves so pale and scared-looking; as the driver shut
the door of his cab and drove off, Yves sped up, and the way he fell into Holden's
arms and clung to him reminded Holden unnervingly of Lee. Holden held him
tightly for a minute, then pulled back to look at Yves' face, where there was a faint
reddish mark on the cheek that curled Holden's hands into fists behind Yves' back
before he realized it.
"Hi, gorgeous," he said, uncurling his fists and flattening his palms against Yves'
back reassuringly. "Is Valor still here?"
Yves cleared his throat. "In her room, master. But--"
"I don't want to see her yet," said Holden. "I just didn't want to run into her before
you and I got a chance to talk."
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Yves seemed to breathe easier immediately. "Yes, master. Alone?"

"Alone," Holden agreed, releasing him. "Is Val likely to come out unexpectedly? I
don't want her running into Inga, either."
"She won't come out," said Yves, rather ambiguously, but Holden didn't need
clarification yet.
"Good," he said. "Bran, you're in charge of Lee and Inga. Come on, Yves."
Lee unexpectedly grabbed Holden's hand, and blushed hotly when Holden turned
to look at him in surprise.
"Master?" he said, barely above a whisper.
Holden squeezed his hand. "Yes, sweetheart."
"Thank you," said Lee. "For-- for-- keeping me safe."
Holden put his arm around Lee and hugged him close for a moment.
"You're welcome, kid," he said, and let Lee go; Lee hurried back to Bran's side,
still blushing, and let Bran put a hand on his back and escort him and Inga into the
house. Holden took Yves' hand and led him up the front stairs after the youngsters.
No one else seemed to be around, at least not in the route between front door and
Yves' bedroom upstairs, which was most likely deliberate, since Yves at least had
seen him coming. It suited Holden fine, anyway; he couldn't help a sigh of relief as
he closed the door of Yves' room behind them and moved to curl up on the bed.
Yves let himself be pulled firmly in against his master, curling close against him
and lifting his mouth up to be kissed. Holden obliged, kissing him softly and
deeply, for a long time, feeling Yves relax incrementally inside the circle of his
arms. When he had broken the kiss, Holden reached up and ran a hand through
Yves' curls, examining his face, which was still a little pale.
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"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

Yves met his eyes and swallowed. "I don't know, master."
Holden stroked his hair. "Would it help if you could assume I wasn't going to do
anything stupid?"
"It might," said Yves, with a tentative smile. "Why? Can I assume that?"
"I think so," said Holden, smiling back. "Bran talked some good sense to me after
we hung up."
"I knew there was some reason I liked Bran," said Yves, putting his head down on
Holden's shoulder. "I'll have to see if I can't find some way to thank him properly
for that." His voice caught on the last syllable in an odd sort of hiccup, as if he'd
only just managed to swallow a sob.
"Assuming I'm not going to do anything stupid, then," Holden went on wryly, "are
you okay?"
Yves started to shiver. Holden rubbed his back.
"I missed you," Yves said, barely audibly.
"Oh, love." Holden breathed deeply as Yves settled in more heavily against him.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here, Yves."
"I'm not," said Yves, a little more steadily, sounding as if he might be smiling.
"Not really. I think you might have killed her."
"She wouldn't have dared touch you in the first place if I'd been here," said Holden
grimly. "And you shouldn't have been the one telling her about herself-- not that
you shouldn't have done it," he added swiftly, feeling Yves tense slightly against
him, "and I'm sure you were much nicer to her than she actually deserved--"
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"I said--" Yves took a breath, pressing his forehead against Holden's neck. "I was-pretty blunt, master. I'm not sure-- I'm not sure I should have-- gone so far."
"How far did you go?" Holden asked curiously. "What made her snap, exactly?"
"I said--" Yves swallowed hard. "I said she was being-- irresponsible.
Unbelievably irresponsible, I said."
Holden tilted Yves' face up and looked at him seriously. "See, that's the mildest
thing I would have said."
Yves smiled again, weakly. "But you're her father. I'm-- I shouldn't have--"
"Shouldn't have had to be the one to say it," Holden agreed, "which is why I'm
sorry I wasn't here. But someone had to say it, and she gave you permission to
speak freely. You didn't do anything wrong, Yves. You were--" He leaned forward
and kissed each of Yves' eyelids, softly, in turn. "You-- I-- Yves?"
Yves' eyes, which had closed at the touch of Holden's lips, opened again quickly,
the same startlingly clear, bright blue they had been when he first lifted them to
Holden's the day they had met. "Master?"
Holden reached a hand up to slide through Yves' curls, whose color, like Alix's,
was only a little faded by time, the silver threads mixing brightly with the gold.
"It's just--" He hesitated and cleared his throat. "You know how I said she wasn't
mine."
Yves looked worried. "But you've calmed down now, right?"
"It wasn't--" Holden cleared his throat again. "Oh, hell, Yves. Of course she's mine.
You've always said it-- how much she's-- like me. I just-- sometimes I can't fucking
handle that. You know? Her mood swings, and the temper, and the way she
charges around. The way she gets these ideas about what's best for somebody, and
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they just fucking better agree or get run over. She-- sometimes-- like now--" He
drew in a breath. "It's like she's everything I hate about myself. And when-- when
she-- hurts you."
Yves reached up to touch Holden's face, and Holden forced a smile at him,
blinking back sudden tears.
"And it would just be easier--" He pressed his teeth together for a moment, looking
away from Yves' steady, searching gaze. "Easier if I could say-- that's nothing to
do with me. She's not mine. But you." His hand tightened on Yves', hard. "You
see-- all that. You can even say it to her-- and get hit for your trouble. And you
love her. Still."
"Yes." Yves' answer was quick, sure. "I love Valor. Even at her worst. And I love
you, master." He hesitated, then added, quietly but clearly, "Holden. I love you-Holden."
"Yves--" Holden let his head drop down on Yves' chest, burying his face against
the solid warmth of his lover as more tears, irresistible as they were infuriating and
humiliating, spilled from his eyes.
"Fuck," he said, muffled, clutching an involuntary fistful of Yves' tunic as a gentle
hand came up to stroke his hair.
"It's okay," said Yves softly. "You can cry."
"I--" Holden gritted his teeth again. "I'm not--"
"You're not?" Yves asked, his voice filled with innocent puzzlement. "Then I'll
have to come up with another theory as to why the front of my tunic is getting
wet."
Holden refused to laugh, since he knew if he did, he would start sobbing, and that
would be-
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"I know," Yves continued thoughtfully. "Maybe someone stabbed me just now,
very stealthily, in the chest, and you noticed and are trying to stop the bleeding
with your forehead without alarming me and making matters worse?"
Holden laughed, and choked, and wept. Yves stroked him as he cried himself out,
his eyes feeling too small for egress of the tidal wave of sorrow and shame and
relief that was washing through him. He'd forgotten just how fucking good it could
feel, to cry.
"Are you okay, master?" Yves whispered at last, as Holden lay quiet against him.
Holden drew in a long, deep, shuddering breath, then breathed slowly out, testing
his ability to do it without sobbing.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm okay." He breathed again, then sat up, swiping at his wet
cheeks with the back of his hand.
"Sure?" said Yves, looking up at him, with his bruised cheek, with such love, and
Holden almost wasn't.
"Sure," he said, looking away for a second, then back, and smiling. "Yeah. I'm
okay. And now--" He brushed at his cheeks more carefully, sweeping away the
residue of his tears. "I need to talk to my daughter."
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CHAPTER 35
Yves leaned in to kiss Holden; Holden kissed him back tenderly, but when Yves
tried to deepen the kiss, Holden pulled away. Yves looked worried.
"It's okay, Yves," said Holden, giving Yves a quizzical look. "I'm calm."
"I don't know," said Yves, cupping Holden's face in his palms and looking at his
expression analytically. "I might be able to get you a little calmer. Give me about
forty minutes."
"I am not going to let you seduce me just so I am in a better mood to talk to the
person who hit you in the face last night," Holden informed him. "Honestly, Yves,
your niceness sometimes verges on the pathological."
"It's not just that," Yves protested. "I missed you. You were gone for weeks."
Holden laughed. "I was gone for one night."
"Are you sure?" Yves whispered, leaning closer. Holden pulled him in the rest of
the way, into a rough hug.
"I'm sure," he said. "I remember because it was the night I had Lee in my bed, and
just as I was drifting off to sleep he grabbed my cock. I'll have to tell you about
that sometime. But not right now. Valor's in her room?"
Yves sighed and pulled back. "Yes, master. She locked herself in when she heard
you were on your way home and-- didn't want to see her. She hasn't come out
since."
Holden knocked on the door of Valor's room, then tried the knob, which wouldn't
turn.
"Valor?" he called, and when there was no answer, "Val, you have exactly fifteen
seconds to open this door before I kick it in and send you the repair bill."
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In the breath between twelve seconds later and thirteen, the doorknob turned, and
Valor stood framed in the doorway, pale and tired-looking. She was wearing a
green slave tunic. Holden blinked at her, and it.
"It's one of Mom's," she said after a moment, without much expression in her
voice. "I just wanted to see what it felt like."
"What does it feel like?" Holden asked, keeping his voice equally uninflected.
"I don't know," said Valor. "Not that different. I guess it would be different if I had
to wear it."
"Now you're getting it," said Holden quietly.
Valor looked down. "No I'm not."
She sounded so defeated-- his indomitable daughter-- that Holden suddenly wasn't
having to work so hard to control his temper. He came past her into the room and
sat down on the bed. She shut the door, but stayed standing by it, watching him.
"If you think you're not," he said, trying to be precise, "then maybe that really
means you are. I mean, thinking you understand something-- thinking you've got it
all figured out-- that usually means you don't. Like Robin."
"Well, I don't," said Valor flatly.
Holden sighed.
"It's not all your fault, Valor," he said. "I wasn't exactly a great role model for you.
Maybe I shouldn't ever have tried to be a father. I'm too fucked up."
Valor squinted at him, faintly and momentarily amused, and said, "Way to make it
all about you, Dad."
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Holden laughed.
"Sorry," he said. "Would you sit down? You're making me nervous."
"You're nervous?" said Valor, sobering, but she went to the large trunk in the
corner of the room and sat down on it, crossing her ankles restlessly. "I hit Yves
last night, you know."
"I know," said Holden.
Valor swallowed, not quite meeting his eyes. "And then-- after he talked to you on
the phone, he looked at me like-- I don't know. Like he was trying to figure out
how to tell me I had three hours to live. I thought maybe you were going to kill
me."
"I was going to disown you," said Holden.
Valor nodded, unsurprised. "How come you changed your mind?"
"Bran talked me out of it," said Holden. "You should thank him."
"I will," said Valor seriously. "And Yves, too. Whatever he said to you-- I know he
was trying-- he was arguing for me. Wasn't he."
"Of course," said Holden.
Valor's eyes were a little glassy as she nodded. "I don't know what I ever did to
deserve-- the way he--"
"Nothing," said Holden. "You don't deserve it. Neither do I, come to that."
"I know," said Valor, lacing her fingers together in front of her. "Robin said, when
I first tried to tell her how I felt about Yves, that I just loved him like you'd love a
pet dog, something loyal and helpless and-- don't look at me like that. I know. That
was our first big fight. Me and Robin." She shifted restlessly, the too-large slave
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tunic falling in awkward folds around her lean body. "Yves is-- goddamnit, Dad.
It's not like I don't realize that he's-- probably the best person I'll ever know. I'd
have to be an idiot, not to know that."
"And you're not an idiot," said Holden gently.
"I don't know," said Valor. "I think I kind of am. I don't know why Yves-- puts up
with me. It's not like you'd make him fuck me if he didn't want to."
Holden shook his head, and Valor added, "And he doesn't just fuck me, he-- If
anything, I'm his pet. And I just--"
"Bit the hand that feeds you," said Holden.
"Yeah." Valor looked down at her own hands. "I really do love him, though."
"I know you do," said Holden.
"You do?" Valor asked, looking up hopefully, and Holden nodded.
"It doesn't mean what you did is excusable," he said, and Valor dropped her gaze
again, but there was a little more color in her cheeks.
"Dad?" she asked after a moment, in a small voice. "Where's Inga? Did you bring
her?"
"Do you think I'd leave her behind?" Holden asked, not accusingly, but Valor
winced.
"Can I see her?" she asked, after another moment.
"I don't think it's a good idea right now," said Holden carefully, and to his surprise,
Valor nodded.
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"You're probably right," she said. "I wrote her a letter, last night. Will you give it
to her?"
Holden hesitated. "May I read it first?"
"I guess," said Valor, but rather grudgingly. "What, are you her master now?"
Holden sighed. "I'm just trying to make sure she's taken care of."
"Yeah, I know," said Valor, her voice softening. "That's fine. You're better at it
than I am."
"Well, I have more practice," Holden pointed out mildly.
"That's not all," said Valor, and grabbed a loose fold of the green tunic, flapping it
at him.
Holden was silent, taking in the gesture and its implications, before he said,
neutrally, "I really hated wearing that color. You know Alix picked it because it
looked good on your mother."
"I know," said Valor pensively. "I bet you hated white, too. What did you wear
before that?"
"With Pasha? I mean--" Holden found himself blushing unaccountably, not sure
why the old nickname had slipped out, or why it should make him feel like a child
to have said it. "Blue. It-- I mean-- blue."
"Did he let you pick?" Valor asked.
"Yes," said Holden. "He-- we-- yes."
"You don't want to talk about it?" Valor asked, sounding almost hurt.
"I just--" Holden hesitated. "I don't, much. You know."
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"I know you don't to me," said Valor, "but I didn't know if--"
"No," said Holden. "Not to anybody."
"Not even Yves?" Valor asked curiously, and Holden shook his head.
"There's no point," he said. "I mean-- you know? It's not-- relevant. To my life
now."
"I think you don't like to talk about it because you're embarrassed by how much
you liked being a slave," said Valor.
Holden's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"You did, didn't you?" Valor asked, undeterred by his tone. "For those first four
years. You didn't just like living with Lord Kareyev. You liked belonging to him.
Didn't you?"
Holden didn't answer, and after a minute Valor said, "It's okay. I mean, it doesn't
mean you-- "
"It doesn't mean anything," said Holden, "except that I was young and naive and
stupid."
Valor's brows drew together. "Yves likes belonging to you. He's not naive or
stupid."
"That's different," said Holden.
"No it's not," said Valor. "Lord Kareyev loved you just as much as you love Yves."
"I seriously doubt that," said Holden. "If anybody ever tried to sell Yves out from
under me--"
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"They'd be a red mist, and wherever they'd taken him would be a smoking ruin
strewn with stray body parts," Valor interrupted, startling Holden into a slight
smile. "I know. But that's you. People are different. You know he loved you, Dad.
He pined away the next twenty years."
"Lisa looks so much like him," Holden said, after a moment.
Valor put her head on one side, watching him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
There was a long pause before Valor said, "Anyway-- Dad? What do you really
think of slavery? I mean, do you think it's-- wrong?"
Holden sighed and looked at his feet.
"A lot of things are wrong, kid," he said. "It was wrong for Argounov to seduce
your mom, but we got you out of the deal, didn't we?"
"Yeah," said Valor bitterly. "Some deal."
Holden looked at her, then got up and went to sit down next to her on the trunk,
putting an arm around her. She looked up at him, leaning into him with unexpected
quiescence, as Holden took in the familiar green eyes in her unhappy face, so close
he could see the whitish tracks of dried tears down her pale cheeks.
"I love you, Val," he said softly. "I'm sorry I get so-- impatient, sometimes. I
wouldn't get so mad at you if-- well, if I didn't expect great things from you. If I
didn't-- depend on you, to take over the world when I'm gone."
Valor put her head down on his shoulder.
"I don't want you to be gone," she said, rather unsteadily. "I don't think I'm ready.
To take over."
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Holden smiled a little. "So you're not lining the old guard up against the wall and
making an example of us just yet?"
"No," said Valor, with a tiny smile in her voice. "Not just yet."
"I'll take what reprieve I can get," said Holden dryly. "You might want to keep an
eye on Robin, though. Make sure she doesn't jump the gun."
"Oh, Robin," said Valor, not rancorously, but not sounding as if the word darling
was anywhere near her thoughts, either. "She's okay. You've got to admit she's a
good photographer."
"I will admit that," Holden agreed. "As a girlfriend for you, though--"
"She's a bad influence," said Valor. "I know." She added absently, after a moment,
"I think we broke up."
"You think what?" Holden pulled back slightly to peer at her. "When do you think
this might have happened?"
"Yesterday, over the phone," said Valor. "Right before you showed up at my place,
actually. At least, we had a huge fight. She called me up to say that she'd showed
you the prints and Lee had spilled stuff on them, and that she yelled at him, and-she just got--" Valor gestured vaguely. "And then, last night, I wrote her a really
mean letter."
"Excellent," said Holden.
Valor squinted at him. "But I didn't send it. Because I'm trying to think before I act.
Like you always say I should, remember?"
"Oh, right," said Holden. "Although I might make an exception in favor of lashing
out unthinkingly, just for Robin."
Valor shook her head reprovingly. "That's not fair, Dad. She's not a bad person--"
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"Mmm hmm," said Holden.

"She's not," Valor insisted. "She really-- but she just doesn't understand-- things
that-- I need people to understand. Like about Inga." She hesitated. "I mean, maybe
you don't think I should own Inga any more anyway-- and maybe you're right-although I think you should ask her. I think she does still actually like me, though
God only knows why."
Holden laughed.
"What?" Valor asked, distracted.
"Just-- you really are my daughter," said Holden, and Valor looked startled for a
moment before she laughed, too.
"Thanks," she said. "I think."
"I think you're welcome," said Holden. "And I also think you and Inga need to
talk."
Valor's eyes widened, making her look much younger. "You mean-- now?"
Holden nodded, and Valor put her arms around him and hugged him, hard. He
hugged back.
"I'll do better," she said, muffled. "I promise. Dad-- I'm really sorry."
"Don't tell me," said Holden, pulling away. "Tell Inga. And Yves."
"I told Yves a billion times already," she protested, and then, "Okay, I'll tell him a
billion more. Oh, and Dad? Will you give him permission to hit me back? I asked
him to this morning, but he wouldn't."
Holden burst out laughing. "You asked Yves to hit you?"
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"What's so funny?" Valor demanded. "It's only fair, right?"

"Sure," said Holden, still grinning. "Sure, it's fair. But he'd never do it, even if I did
give him permission, you know that."
"I guess you're right," said Valor pensively. "Oh well. Hey, but you could hit me."
"I could," said Holden, leaning forward to kiss his daughter briefly on the forehead,
"but at the moment, oddly enough, I actually don't want to."
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CHAPTER 36
"I wonder if I'm allowed to use the oven at home now?" Bran asked no one in
particular, eyeing the oven in question hopefully. "I mean, he gave me permission
at Miss Valor's..."
Inga laughed. "That was because you were the only one who knew how to cook,
Bran."
"But he said he hadn't realized how interested I was in cooking." Bran, perched on
a kitchen chair, looked happy at the memory, and nervous, and positively squirrely
with desire as he canted his body unconsciously towards the stove. "I bet he'll let
me. You don't think?"
"Maybe," said Inga dubiously. "I'd wait until he comes back down and ask him,
Bran. You don't want to get in trouble."
"I could start putting something together, though," said Bran, leaping off his chair
and going to the sink, where he washed his hands and then began to get things
down from various cupboards and arrange them on the counter. Lee had seen him
do such things before, when Fox was there, or shortly before she arrived, to
prepare for her coming, but Bran seemed far more animated than usual, as if this
particular assemblage of utensils and ingredients were something he'd been looking
forward to for a long time.
"Won't Fox be annoyed that you're messing around in the kitchen without her?"
Inga wondered, watching Bran carry a cutting board, two mixing bowls and a
paring knife from the counter back to the table.
"She won't mind," said Bran, as he took an apple from the bowl in the center of the
table. "I've made stuff on my own before. I just have to wait for her to get here so
she can turn on the oven."
"You're allowed to use knives, but not the stove?" Inga asked, amused.
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"I've never cut myself." Bran pared and cored the apple with swift precision as he
spoke. "Burning myself was just stupid. I was getting something out of the oven
for Fox, and I had potholders and everything, but it was lighter than I thought it
was going to be and I lifted it too hard and hit the backs of my hands against the
top of the oven. It really wasn't that bad, and I mean, I'd be really careful now-- I
am really careful, I mean, with everything I'm still allowed to do." He grimaced,
dropping a peeled apple's worth of slices into one mixing bowl and the peelings
and core into the other, and taking another apple from the bowl. "I didn't want him
to ban me from the kitchen altogether."
"I love how excited you are," said Inga. Lee privately agreed; the glow on Bran's
face was pleasant to see. "What are you making?"
Bran was chopping up the second apple. "It's something-- my mom used to make. I
used to help. I wanted to see if I could-- I mean, I'm probably not remembering it
right, but I just thought I'd mess around a little. If I'm allowed to use the oven, I
can-- practice. Without bothering Fox."
"They won't mind you using their food to practice with?" Inga asked.
Bran seemed to consider this for a moment, his brow furrowed even as his hands
continued their careful chopping.
"I don't think so," he said. "I-- well. Jer got so much fruit for Lee that it will
probably just rot if I don't use it up. It won't take too much of anything else." He
shook a nice-smelling brown powder from a small canister over the mixture. "And
he didn't mind Jer buying all that--maybe he won't mind if I get some extra stuff
sometimes, too."
Lee thought Bran was right. One thing that didn't seem to be in short supply around
here was good food; Lee was actually getting used to the feeling of a full belly, not
to mention the novelty of eating most of the same food as his master and mistress.
Lee was getting so used to eating well, in fact, that just before waking at Miss
Valor and Lady Lisa's apartment this very morning, he'd had the first dream he
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remembered clearly, that wasn't a nightmare, for years. He'd dreamed that he was
sitting at his former master's dining table-- the table he'd never sat at in real life,
had only grovelled under when his master was in the mood to feed him table
scraps-- eating a meal that he had never eaten, only seen on his master's plate.
Sometimes his master had put the plate on the floor when he was finished with that
particular meal and let Lee lick it clean, but Lee didn't remember how it had tasted
very clearly; he had been too preoccupied, at the time, with the position he had to
assume to do this-- head down, ass invitingly in the air-- and with dread of what
invariably resulted. But part of him must have remembered, because in the dream,
he'd tasted it vividly, and it had been good.
"Bran?" he said suddenly, into the silence that had stretched without his noticing it;
Bran looked up immediately from the white powder he was sifting into a third
mixing bowl. "May I tell you about the dream I had last night?"
"Sure," said Bran, smiling at Lee. "You said it was about food, right?"
"Yes," said Lee, smiling back. "It was-- I was eating-- something that my master
used to eat. It was-- there was a red sauce, over this-- it looked like a bird's nest?
Made out of these long, skinny yellow things? And cheese, over the top."
"Spaghetti!" said Bran and Inga at the same time, and then laughed. Lee didn't
mind that; it was a friendly laugh, and they definitely knew what he was talking
about.
"It was good," he said shyly. "In the dream."
"Fox can make that," said Bran. "I'll ask her when she gets here."
Lee smiled wider. Everyone seemed to want to get him the food he wanted; that
would probably stop once he gained enough weight for his master's satisfaction,
but in the meantime, he was enjoying it.
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There was another, longer silence, during which Inga started to cry again. Bran
was so absorbed it took him a minute to notice, but when he did he stopped what
he was doing immediately, got up and went to her, stroking her back and her hair.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice high and strained. "I just-- oh, hell."
"I know," Bran said softly. "It's okay. Do you want to talk about it?"
"I just-- I can't believe-- If she hadn't told Yves to speak freely," said Inga, her
hands lifting and making small, unconscious fluttering motions as she spoke. "All
the time she was making me drink coffee, and call free people by their first names- it was weird and all, but I at least thought I was safe, you know? I can follow
protocol, or I can obey my mistress-- but if she's going around ordering people to
break protocol, and then punishing them for it? That's--" Inga's hands settled back
down on the table, one inside the other, and her gaze dropped to them, tears
pouring down as she sat motionless. "I don't know."
Bran nodded.
"I think--" he began, and then hesitated. "I mean, I hope-- my master can--"
"Talk some sense into her?" said Inga, pushing her tears away, her voice going
lower again, under control. "Yeah, maybe so."
Bran looked uncomfortable. "Well. That, or--"
"Oh-- hang onto me until she straightens up?" Inga put her chin in her hands as
Bran nodded. "Yeah. That might be best. At least I know where I stand, here." She
glanced at Lee, smiling slightly. "And there could be other perks."
Lee grinned at her. He wouldn't mind servicing Inga again.
Actually-- he corrected himself-- he'd like to service Inga again.
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Ever since Mona had asked him what he liked, Lee has been thinking about it at
odd moments. It had never seemed particularly important before; in fact, it had
seemed of far more pressing importance not to like anything in particular, since
liking things tended to lead to wanting things, and wanting things led to...
problems, for a slave. The things he was supposed to like-- his master's cock, for
example-- persisted in activating his gag reflex, so the least he could do was see
that he didn't like or want anything. Like food, or water, or moving.
But lately Lee was noticing a pattern where wanting things led with some
regularity to people smiling and giving them to you. It was a pattern of which Lee
approved.
Other things he liked so far included sitting in his master's lap, and in Bran's lap.
He wasn't one hundred percent sure about anybody else's lap-- he'd been in a lot of
laps that he hadn't liked at all, before he came here-- but he was starting to have
brief, tentative fantasies about sitting in the lap of Lord Taganov, and even,
periodically, of Mona. He thought Mona would be soft and cushiony, the way
Greta looked, and the way Inga had been when she drew Lee's head down on her
breast and let him fall asleep. And maybe, if he was allowed to go down on Mona,
she would hug him and kiss him and ask him to marry her the way Inga had,
afterwards. He was pretty sure he'd like that.
"What are you grinning about?" Inga asked Lee, and he blushed.
"I was thinking about-- servicing you, yesterday," he said, with partial truth, and
Inga and Bran both laughed.
"I'm glad it makes you smile," she said, and then sucked in her breath as Lee and
Bran's master came into the room.
Holden glanced at Bran, who had paused in the act of beating something sweetsmelling into some eggs and oil, and then at Lee, who couldn't help but quail
slightly under the silently appraising look. Then Holden went to the chair next to
Inga, and sat down, taking her hand in his; she looked up at him with worried
violet eyes.
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"Your mistress wants to talk to you," he said gently. "She has some apologies to
make."
Inga swallowed. "Yes, sir."
Holden examined her for a moment, then asked, "Would you rather I were there,
too?"
"Yes, sir, if it please you," said Inga, immediately and with obvious relief. The
master smiled at her, a little sadly, and raised her hand to his lips.
"Of course," he said. "I can understand why you'd be... nervous. She's very
penitent, though. Was before I ever talked to her."
Inga nodded. "I just-- thank you, sir."
"Master-- before you go?" said Bran tentatively, and Holden turned to him, tender
attention written in every line of his face. Lee wondered with a momentary pang
whether anyone would ever look at him like that. "When you gave your permission
for me to use the stove-- did you mean-- may I use it at home, too?"
Holden looked surprised, then pensive, as he regarded the bowls, knife, cutting
board, spoons and canisters in front of Bran, and Bran's eager, nervous demeanor;
Bran was fidgeting unconsciously with the paring knife, spinning it between his
fingers, and he stopped instantly, biting his lip, when Holden's eyes lingered there.
"That means a lot to you, being able to use the stove," Holden said, not in the tone
of a question; Bran waited, the knife still under his fingers. "Why didn't you tell me
that when I forbade it?"
Bran looked surprised. "You made your decision, master. It wasn't my place to
argue."
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Holden raised an eyebrow, and Bran went red and dropped his gaze under his
master's quizzical stare.
"Yes," Holden said. "I've certainly never known you to question any of my
decisions."
He wasn't angry-- Lee, forcing himself to breathe deeply, was sure of it-- and Bran
wasn't afraid, although he was blushing furiously. He was even smiling,
apologetically, at his master.
"I mean--" he began, and laughed a little. "It wasn't important."
"And you really mean that," said Holden, regarding Bran, who nodded meekly, the
color still high in his cheeks. "Bran, kid, sometimes I just don't know about you.
You'll be careful, with the stove."
"Yes, master," said Bran eagerly.
"You won't burn yourself again."
"No, master."
"And if you do burn yourself," Holden continued, "you'll tell me about it."
"Yes, master," said Bran, less eagerly.
Holden gave him a sharp look. "I won't automatically ban you from using the oven
again if you burn yourself by accident. But I will if you try to hide it from me."
Bran looked hopeful again. "Yes, master."
"You have permission," said Holden, and Bran broke into a brilliant grin. "And tell
Fox you have permission to use anything else in the kitchen you need. Let me
know if you need extra money to get ingredients for anything at the market."
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Bran jumped up, the paring knife still in his hand, and half ran to Holden, who
caught the hand with the knife in it, laughing, before Bran could fling himself on
his master.
"Attacking your master with a lethal weapon?" he said, taking the knife from Bran
and putting it down on the table before he pulled Bran down into his lap. "It's a
good thing I'm not going to try to sell you after this."
Bran said something inaudible in Holden's ear, and Holden laughed again.
"That's because you have very low standards, sweetheart," he said, and kissed Bran
quickly. "Anything else before I go?"
"Yes, master," said Bran unexpectedly, still beaming happily with his arms around
Holden's neck. "I was going to ask if Lee and I are still allowed to-- be together."
"Oh," said Holden, surprised again, and glancing at Lee, whose turn it was to blush
furiously. "Yes, you are."
"Thank you, master," said Bran again, and got up from Holden's lap. Holden rose,
too, and took Inga's hand again; the two of them left the room, Inga squaring her
shoulders, and Bran went straight for the oven and turned two knobs on the front of
it, adjusting one very carefully, then turned to grin at Lee so happily that Lee
laughed.
"I hope you didn't mind me asking that, about us being together," Bran said, as he
got out some more canisters and a rolling pin from a different cabinet, and Lee
shook his head.
"You still want to?" he asked tentatively.
"Of course," said Bran. "Don't you?"
"Yes," said Lee shyly. "But-- Bran, do you think the master is ever going to use me
again?"
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"I don't know," said Bran, surprised. "Do you want him to?"
"Want who to what?" Jer asked, coming into the kitchen, which he crossed in three
strides, wrapping muscular arms around Bran, and hugging him so hard his feet left
the ground. "Hey, brat. How was the trip?"
Bran put up his mouth, and Jer kissed him quickly before setting him down.
"It was good," said Bran happily. "Missed you."
"Oh, you lie," said Jer, sitting down at the table, and Bran did the same, resuming
his work. "You were busy cavorting with the master and Lady Lisa and this sweet
little piece here."
Lee swallowed with some difficulty. He still wasn't all that comfortable around Jer,
who reminded Lee a little of his old master, Lord Dunaev. It wasn't that they
looked alike, exactly, but both had a powerful physical presence that went beyond
just how heavily they were muscled, and Jer's gruff, abrupt manner bore a certain
resemblance to the way Lord Dunaev had talked to Lee in the beginning, before he
started getting louder and angrier and higher-pitched, and Lee stopped being able
to understand him very well.
There was one big difference, though: Jer liked Lee. Lee had no idea why, but the
amount of fruit he'd brought home from the market had made that pretty obvious.
Lee hadn't been required to sleep with Jer yet, but he was pretty sure he would be
eventually-- the way Jer looked at him was also fairly unmistakable-- and he didn't
think he'd mind too much, if only he didn't manage to make Jer angry, during.
Maybe Bran would be allowed to be there too, the first time, the way he had with
the master.
"Relax, kid," Jer said. "I'm not going to eat you."
Lee tried to smile. "Yes, sir."
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"You're still shy as hell," said Jer, "but you're doing a lot better, aren't you? Crosscountry train trip and everything. And I hear you finally got fucked, too. No time at
all, you'll be ready for sale."
Lee blinked up at him, an unexpected knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
"You don't look like you like that idea," Jer observed.
Lee's bowed his head, shivering. Slaves had no right to feel one way or the other
about their sale.
"I h-hope my master-- my value-- I mean, my price-- I hope--" he floundered,
wanting to say something graceful and fluent and respectful, the way Bran would
have, about hoping his master was at least marginally repaid for all the trouble he'd
taken for Lee. Which would have been true, even; it was amazing how many things
that Lee had always been supposed to think and never succeeded in making
himself mean were coming to be true, like wanting his master's cock inside him.
But he'd never been able to make the words come out right, which was one reason
he'd never been able to stay out of trouble. Holden was patient and gentle with
Lee's stumblings, and Bran seemed able to read Lee's mind, but Jer-"Shit," Jer sighed. "Lee? Look at me."
Lee looked up into the older man's face. It was serious, but not angry. Jer's gray
eyes were steady, a little worried, on Lee's. Jer reached a large hand-- bigger than
Lord Dunaev's; Lee couldn't help flinching a little at the thought of how much it
would hurt if Jer hit him with it-- and brushed it, with astonishing gentleness,
across Lee's cheek.
"You don't have to be scared of me, kid," he said, and his voice was gentle, too.
"You know the master wouldn't let me near you if there was any chance I'd hurt
you."
Lee thought about that, and realized, after a few moments, and with a loosening in
the pit of his stomach, that it was actually true.
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"Lee?" Jer sounded worried. "Are you-- kid, are you crying?"
Lee wasn't, not exactly-- there was just-- pressure, building behind his eyelids, and
Bran was at his side, leaning down to him and pulling him close; Lee buried his
face against Bran's stomach and put his arms around the older boy.
"It's okay," said Bran softly. "It's okay to cry, Lee."
Lee shook his head, not because it wasn't okay to cry-- it was, his master had made
that clear-- but because it wasn't the time, now, when nothing was wrong, or at
least less was wrong than had ever been wrong in Lee's life before. Bran stroked
his hair.
"You used to get in trouble for crying, yeah?" Jer asked. "Both of you." After a
moment, he said, "Us, too. I mean, me and-- the master. Sometimes."
That startled Lee enough that he looked up at Jer, who wasn't looking at him any
more; he was looking at the assemblage of things on the table.
"What are you making, kid?" he asked Bran.
"Apple bread," said Bran, and leaned down to kiss Lee on the top of the head
before he moved back in front of his mixing bowls, smiling at Jer. "I'm allowed to
use the stove now."
"The hell you are," said Jer incredulously.
"I am! He just said."
"Then I'd better supervise," said Jer, "because if you burn yourself again he's going
to wrap you up in cotton wool and store you in a safe deposit box for the rest of
your natural life."
Bran giggled. "Would you miss me?"
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"Miss the best little fuck in town?" Jer reached out and grabbed a rough handful of
Bran's ass, and Bran yelped and laughed. "Go ahead, cook your apple bread. And
tell me about your trip."
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CHAPTER 37
Bran did tell Jer about their trip, in detail, while he mixed a bunch of things
together in various bowls, rubbed some greasy stuff in some pans, and filled them
with a gooey brown mixture. Jer listened and commented, though he didn't make as
many ribald remarks about Lee's part in everything as might have been expected.
When Bran put on a pair of large, shapeless padded gloves from a rack near the
stove, he and Jer both stopped talking; Bran opened the oven, from which a rush of
heat emerged, put the pans carefully inside, then closed it, pulled off the gloves and
came to sit back down, smiling, and started talking again. Jer grinned at him, but
said nothing.
Lee tuned in and out, hearing bits and pieces; he was suddenly feeling very tired,
though he felt less in danger of falling asleep then simply happy to be sitting still
with no one paying much attention to him. He did prick his ears briefly at the
mention of the phone call from the person named Jesse, but Jer and Bran both sent
quick glances at Lee and didn't discuss that any further. Lee didn't really mind that;
the idea that there were things that were healthier for him not to know wasn't
exactly a new one to him. It was considerate of Jer and Bran to refrain from
discussing sensitive matters in front of him, instead of taking his former master's
approach and punishing him afterwards for having heard what he hadn't been able
to help hearing.
He was startled from a half-daze by Jer's guffaw when Bran got to the part about
the girl on the train who had given him her phone number.
"Are you going to call her?" Jer asked, still laughing. "Seems rude to just leave her
hanging."
"Very funny," said Bran. "Is that something free people do a lot, do you think? Just
hand people their phone numbers? I mean, for all she knows, I'm married with a
kid."
"Or your owner is." Jer winked at Lee, but looked away before Lee could decide
what facial expression to have. "She probably wouldn't care if you were. Married
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people sleep around all the time. If they can't afford sex slaves, they do it with each
other."
Bran, who was watching the clock intently and had gotten up a few times to check
the pans in the oven, did so again, but he and Jer chattered for a while longer
before Bran finally put the gloves on again to take the pans out and put them on a
wire rack. He carefully turned the oven off, took off the gloves, picked up the
paring knife, and slid it into one of the loaves; after he'd inspected the knife and put
it back down, Bran turned around and focused, suddenly, on Lee.
"Oh, Lee, you're exhausted!" he said, and Lee smiled vaguely, wondering why
Bran sounded so guilty. "Jer, I'm going to take him upstairs, okay? Let him have a
nap before dinner."
"Okay," said Jer, looking amused. "Just leave these here?"
"Yeah, they need to cool anyway," said Bran, and helped Lee to his feet, more than
he really needed to be helped. "If the master asks, tell him we're in Lee's room?"
"Sure thing, kid," said Jer, and Bran led Lee from the room.
Lee had been a little worried they would run into Miss Valor on the way up the
stairs, but they didn't run into anybody. Bran was solicitous in helping Lee lie
down on the bed and settling a pillow under his head before he lay down next to
him and kissed him softly. Lee wondered if Bran wanted to have sex now, but he
didn't seem to, or at least he didn't say anything or touch Lee suggestively.
"I wasn't thinking how tired out you'd be by all this traveling," said Bran
remorsefully, and Lee smiled at him.
"It's okay," he said. "I guess I didn't get much sleep last night, either."
"You didn't?" Bran looked surprised, but not displeased, as he added, "Wait-- why
not? Did you and he-- do anything, last night? While I was with her ladyship?"
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"I--" Lee found himself trembling again, not sure how Bran would react to this. He
didn't know what had possessed him, himself. "No-- but-- I--" His throat
constricted, but he managed to croak, "--put my hand. On his--"
"On his--?" Bran stared. "His cock?"
Lee hid his face against the pillow, and felt Bran stroke his back reassuringly.
"It's okay," Bran said, and pressed a kiss to Lee's hair, and it sounded as if he were
trying not to laugh when he added, "I was just-- surprised. What did he do?"
"Nothing," said Lee, relieved and a little embarrassed. "I mean, he didn't get angry,
but he didn't use me, either. He just-- I don't know-- he held me, and he said some
things. About-- he said I was good, and sweet, and-- but he just-- he said he was
tired. I don't-- and he said something-- before, about a-- about there not being a-spark..." Lee took a deep breath. "Bran, I don't think he-- w-wants me."
"Maybe not," said Bran thoughtfully. "That could be for the best, though, Lee. I
mean, I know you said you didn't mind if he wanted to take you again, but--"
"I don't mind anything," said Lee, tears springing to his eyes. "I thought-- I thought
he liked it, when he took me. Why doesn't he want me?"
"Oh, Lee." Bran reached out and pulled him close. "It's okay. It's okay for him not
to want you. He's still going to take care of you, and find you a good home. It's like
how he still lets us have orgasms, even if we haven't-- even if he hasn't taken us."
"I don't understand," Lee almost wailed. "We're slaves. We have to-- earn--"
"No, sweetheart," said Bran softly. "We can't earn anything, because we're slaves.
Free people earn things, and own the things they earn, but we only get what our
masters decide we get. Whether we deserve it or not. I mean, do you really think
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you deserved everything bad Lord Dunaev did to you? Do you think I deserved
what he did to me?"
"No," Lee whispered, "not-- not you--"
"Not you, either," said Bran. "You and I had bad luck for a while, and now we've
got good luck. But neither of us deserved to get sold into slavery in the first place.
Nobody deserves--"
Lee squeaked in pain as Bran's tightening arms crushed him. Bran loosened his
grip immediately, whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, are you okay?"
Lee couldn't do any more than nod and look up at Bran, who had moved away
slightly to overcompensate. After a moment, he whispered, "Bran, do you think-then do you think-- you deserve what you get-- here?"
Bran was quiet for a while, and then he laughed a little.
"I don't know," he said. "I'm only still here because I was bad-- because I ran away.
I don't think he would have kept me if I'd just kept on being good. And this
morning, when I argued with him about Miss Valor, that wasn't-- being good. But
it-- it was good, you know? That I did it. Sometimes being a good slave isn't being
a good-- a good person-- Lee, we're still people, you know? You and me."
After another long silence, during which Lee's mind was racing, Bran added
pensively, "Lee, you know how you call sex-- being used?"
"Is that wrong?" Lee asked, alarmed. "To call it that?"
Bran smiled. "It's okay. But notice he doesn't call it that?"
"He calls it fucking," Lee agreed. "Should I say that too?"
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"It doesn't matter," said Bran, rubbing his palm along Lee's back. "I'm just saying,
he doesn't think of it as just-- making use of us. Of me, or you, either. Remember
how careful he was, when he took you? Not to make it hurt?"
Lee nodded. "I-- thought it must please him, to-- to be-- gentle."
"Because he wanted it to be good for you," said Bran. "Not just for him. And not
just because... Lee, you know how Lord Dunaev got so angry when we cried? And
hit us for it? Did you ever think about why that was?"
"I thought it was because it was wrong, not to want what the master did to us," said
Lee, and then remembered, and blurted, "But that's not right-- your mind, your
mind is your own, nobody can tell you what to want--"
"Right," said Bran, smiling his beautiful smile. "But he didn't like that we even-existed, outside of what he wanted us to be. He wanted us to enjoy being used
because he thought that was what we were for, so if he fucked us and we cried, that
meant there was something wrong with us, you know? Like we were
malfunctioning. Except," he added, struck, "he was the kind of person who kicks a
thing when it malfunctions, instead of actually trying to fix it, you know? And then
trades it in."
Now that his own bruises from the kickings in question had healed, Lee couldn't
help smiling a little at the analogy, since he had witnessed his former master
kicking and swearing at things other than Lee before, never to very good effect.
"But we weren't malfunctioning, anyway," Bran continued. "We were just-- being
us. I mean, when you cried when the master fucked you, it wasn't because anything
was wrong. So it was okay. He understands that we-- feel things. Besides just what
he does to us. Lee? Are you okay?"
"Bran," said Lee, and realized he was trembling. "I-- when we were all in the bed-when you were both touching me-- he touched me, he made me come-- and I said-"
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"You said 'I love,'" Bran supplied gently. "And then you stopped. What were you
going to say? That you love him? Or me?"
Now that Bran had said it, and was still touching him tenderly, Lee could say,
though it cost him another shiver, "I-- was going to say-- him."
Bran nodded, his expression grave and sweet, and Lee took a breath. "But-- and-you."
Bran smiled.
"I love you too, sweetheart," he said simply. "And so does he."
Lee stared. "You-- he-- what?"
"Don't tell him that, though," said Bran, smiling at Lee as if inviting him to share a
joke. "He's a little squirrely about the word. But you can tell, can't you?"
"I don't know," said Lee honestly. "I never-- nobody ever--" He took a breath.
"What-- what does it mean?"
"Well," said Bran thoughtfully, "what does it mean when you say you love him?
Not the same thing it did when I realized I loved him-- I don't think. You don't hate
the idea of being sold, do you?"
"I-- don't think I'm ready," said Lee tentatively, and Bran nodded agreement.
"I don't either," he said, "but you really like Lord Taganov and Mona, don't you? I
mean, eventually, you wouldn't mind the idea of belonging to his lordship, as long
as you could still visit with the master and me sometimes. Would you?"
Lee shook his head, and Bran continued, "So when you say you love him-- what do
you mean?"
That was a good question.
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"I just--" Lee began. "He's so-- you're both so-- good."
"And so are you," said Bran, smiling at Lee, "so we love you too."
Lee gave Bran a skeptical look. "What am I good for?"
"For me," said Bran, and kissed Lee's forehead, clasping him close; Lee snuggled
closer, pleased, even if he didn't entirely understand in what sense he was actually
good for Bran. "And for him. And for the whole country and all slaves, if this
article goes through and does what Miss Valor and Mr. Harper want it to do."
Lee didn't know what to say to that. He had a lot of thoughts about it, though, and
thinking must have been more tiring than even a second train trip disguised as a
free citizen, because before either of them broke the long silence that followed, Lee
had drifted off to sleep in Bran's arms.
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CHAPTER 38
Lee had decided he really liked red hair.
It was bright, and attractive, and it looked warm, with little glimmering bits of gold
and light in it. It probably, logically, wasn't actually any warmer to the touch than
Lee's own hair, or Bran's or the master's when they brushed up against his skin,
although Lee would like to test that hypothesis sometime, by touching someone's
red hair. Running his fingers through it, for example, and touching his cheek to it,
and his lips, and burying his face in it and pressing his lips to the scalp beneath.
He'd seen a lot of attractive red hair over the last three weeks, since Miss Valor had
gone back to her apartment, taking-- to Lee's slight regret-- Inga with her. Not only
had Denys Harper continued to check in, but Lord Taganov's interest didn't seem to
have flagged; Jer and Yves had taken to referring to him as "Lee's gentleman
caller." In addition, he usually brought Mona, whose hair wasn't so much red as
chestnut, but whom Lee had decided was the prettiest as well as the nicest girl he'd
ever known-- even prettier and nicer than Inga, whom Miss Valor had finally taken
back to her apartment with her after a lot of tense negotiation, but who had seemed
happy enough to go, in the end. Lee had been disappointed, though. He was still
too much in awe of the mistress, and by extension Greta, to broach the subject of
practicing some more girl-servicing on either of them, though he was thinking of
asking Bran if it would be allowable to ask the master. Greta had beautiful red hair,
too, and she looked soft, and sweet.
"What are you smiling about, Lee?" Mr. Harper suddenly asked, and the master
looked down at Lee, who ducked his head against his master's leg, blushing so hard
it hurt. The reporter had sounded friendly enough, but it was still disconcerting for
Lee to realize he'd had an expression on his face that he hadn't been aware of. If
he'd known anyone was watching him, he would have been more controlled. But
his master had seemed absorbed in the thick sheaf of typewritten pages that Mr.
Harper had handed him, and the reporter had seemed absorbed in watching his
master read them.
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Lee tried to formulate an answer to his master's guest's question before his silence
assumed the proportions of defiance, but his master's hand stroked his hair, and the
gentle voice said, "It's okay, kiddo. You're allowed to daydream. It's nice to see a
smile on your face."
Lee kissed his master's knee in gratitude as the silence fell again, broken only by
the rustling of paper.
"So this is it," his master said finally, setting the stack down on the couch beside
him and looking up at the reporter.
Mr. Harper nodded, strands of hair-- a brighter, more orangey red than Lord
Taganov's-- flopping over his furrowed forehead. He looked nervous.
"What do you think?" he asked the master. "I mean, obviously it's just a rough
draft, and any changes you might want to make-- I'll leave it with you, and you can
get it back to me whenever. But... just initially?"
"I'm not a literary critic," said the master. "But it looks pretty damn good to me."
The reporter blushed. Lee had noticed that red-haired people were cute when they
blushed. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," said the master, smiling. The master obviously thought the reporter was
cute, too, which Lee guessed was okay, though it was sort of odd, too, seeing the
master smile so affectionately at somebody other than Bran or Yves or Jer or the
mistress. Or Lee. Not that the master didn't have the right to smile at anyone he
wanted in any way he wanted, of course. "As a slave owner, I'd say that you turn
what could have been an antagonistic, mud-slinging expos into a surprisingly
even-handed piece that covers a lot of ground. You come across as quite
sympathetic to slave owners who do try to treat their slaves humanely, which
strengthens your case against the abusers and appeals to potentially powerful allies,
instead of alienating them by tarring all slave owners with the same brush. And as
an ex-slave, I'd say..."
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He paused, while Mr. Harper looked nervous again, then said, "I guess I'd say it's
about fucking time somebody did this."
The reporter grinned happily. "Thanks, Mr. Larssen. I mean, Holden. That means a
lot. Is Ms. Jamesen going to look at it too?"
"Of course," said the master. "And I want the slaves to take a look, too, though I
don't think any of them will object to the way you've quoted them. Do you have a
publisher already?"
"I have a few organs interested in seeing the finished product," Mr. Harper said.
"Robin's photos should help with that, too. We can look at the ones you think
would be best to include, when she gets here. But you've seen the first set of prints.
Lots of human interest, there."
"Does 'human interest' translate as 'pretty naked boys'?" the master asked, and the
reporter cackled.
"More or less," he said. "And high-society scandal. For both those reasons, this is
going to be a big seller. Which brings us back to the question, Mr. Larssen-Holden-- are you prepared to deal with the visibility from this?"
"Yes," said the master. "We've been doing a lot of... chatter, with our friends and
acquaintances. There's going to be some fallout, no doubt, but we're pretty sure the
benefits will outweigh the costs in the long run. We're starting a fight. Not fun, but
sometimes you have to."
"Sometimes it's fun," said the reporter, with a small grin.
The master smiled back, but he sobered quickly.
"Listen, Denys," he said. "I need to ask you something."
The reporter assumed the same look of eager attention that Lee had seen on Bran's
face when the master said his name. "Sir?"
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"I need to know what you and Robin know," said the master, and the reporter
frowned slightly, not as if he didn't like the question, but as if he were a little
worried he wouldn't be able to answer it correctly. Lee could sympathize.
"Know about what, exactly?" the reporter asked.
"About the things I haven't told you," said the master, and the reporter nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "Um, well, here's the thing. I don't know what you know. So I
can't tell you everything we know, because I don't want to tell you something you
don't already know, and don't necessarily need or even want to know, considering.
You know?"
The master chuckled.
"Yeah," he said. "I know. Lee, kid, come here."
He drew Lee up into his lap, kissing him softly on the forehead. Lee let himself
shiver a little, again, with pleasure.
"Good boy," said the master, and Lee smiled. "Do me a favor? Run find Bran, and
tell him to come in here. He and I and Mr. Harper have some things to talk about."
Lee nearly giggled at the master preceding an order with Do me a favor, but he
managed to contain himself as he rose obediently, murmuring, "Yes, master." He
was rather pleased than not that the master hadn't instructed him to return with
Bran; he liked sitting with his master and Mr. Harper, but Miss Robin was coming
over sometime soon with some new prints, and he didn't really want to be sitting in
on that part of the meeting. He hadn't seen Miss Robin since she yelled at him
about ruining the first set of prints, and he was perfectly content with that state of
affairs.
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"Okay," the master said, as Lee started for the door, "let's start with some basics. A
little over three years back, Alix and I bought and sold a kid named Jesse. You
know anything about that?"
"Um," said Denys. "It might be generally known that you and Ms. Jamesen once
had the bad judgment to sell to a known abolitionist, yes."
"People do talk," said the master, as Lee closed the door behind him.
Bran was in the kitchen, the way he always was lately, stirring something on the
stove; Jer was sitting at the kitchen table, doing something with a pencil on a pad
of paper. He turned it face down and smiled up at Lee as Lee came in; Lee smiled
back.
"Hi, sweetheart," said Bran from the stove. "Need something?"
"The master wants you," said Lee. "In the filing room."
"Oh," said Bran, and hesitated, clearly and deeply torn between his master's will
and whatever was on the stove, for about three seconds. Then he turned the stove
down, covered the saucepan with a lid, and said to Jer, "Would you mind watching
this for me?"
"I don't cook, kid," said Jer. "I can throw some water over it if it bursts into flame,
but that's about it."
"That's all I need," said Bran, grinning. "It should be fine to just simmer for a
while, but I think he might be annoyed if I left the stove unattended and ended up
burning the house down."
"Only if you scorched your own dear little fingers in the process," said Jer. "Yeah,
I'm on flame control. Go on."
Bran flashed Jer a brilliant smile and was gone, leaving Lee to hesitate shyly just
inside the kitchen doorway.
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"C'mere," said Jer, dragging a kitchen chair closer to himself with his foot, and Lee
came to sit down in the chair, smiling up at Jer. "How's the boy detective?"
"The master liked what he wrote," Lee offered.
"Yeah? Good." Jer looked thoughtful. "Miss Robin's coming over pretty soon,
huh? You sure you don't want to head up there and be with the master and Bran?"
"That's where she's going," Lee pointed out. "And if she tries to come in here first,
you're here."
Jer smiled, a bigger smile than Lee had ever seen him give; he'd never seen Jer's
teeth in a smile before. Usually it was just a curve of his lips. The teeth were
surprisingly unalarming.
"Yeah, I'm here," he said, and reached out to take Lee's hand. "So you figure I can
take Miss Robin out before she gets to you, huh?"
"Yes," said Lee, smiling shyly back at Jer. "I think so."
Jer squeezed Lee's hand, and Lee tentatively squeezed back, watching the older
slave, who was looking at him in a way he couldn't quite parse, though it didn't
frighten him at all. After a minute, Jer said, "Hey. Lee. Can I ask you something?"
"Yes," said Lee promptly, having learned that people in this house generally waited
for answers to apparently rhetorical questions.
"Always wondered this," said Jer. "About Dunaev."
He paused, and Lee nodded encouragingly. He didn't mind answering questions
about Lord Dunaev. Bran sometimes liked to talk about him, and Lee had found it
was sort of nice to be able to say things about his former master while knowing
Lord Dunaev was never going to be able to touch Lee again. Bran and the master
had both promised that. They'd said he might see Lord Dunaev again, if what they
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called "the case" went "to trial"-- which seemed to have something to do with the
law punishing Lord Dunaev for what he'd done to Lee, which Lee still couldn't
quite wrap his head around-- but only if Lee was "up for it," so it wasn't any kind
of immediate problem. And Lee knew that his master and Bran would both fight
Lord Dunaev with their fists rather than than let him touch Lee again.
He thought Jer might, too.
Jer was still holding Lee's hand, and examining his face. Whatever he saw must
have
satisfied him enough to go ahead.
"I know he-- punished you-- a lot," he said. "But was he ever happy with you? Did
you ever-- please him? Or were you just his punching bag?"
Lee hesitated.
"I could obey him," he said finally. "I did-- mostly. But I displeased him-- other
ways."
"Like what?" Jer asked, and Lee thought back, not realizing he was shivering until
Jer squeezed his hand again and said, "You don't have to talk about this if you don't
want to, kid."
"I don't mind," said Lee softly.
Jer tugged on Lee's hand, gently, and Lee moved obediently from his seat, not sure
what was wanted, but willing to oblige. When Jer held out his arms, Lee couldn't
help grinning broadly as he moved into Jer's lap, shifting his weight onto the
muscular thighs as one of Jer's arms went around him, steadying him.
"You're still light as a damn feather," he said, and Lee giggled. "Lean on me.
Yeah." He touched Lee's head as Lee nestled himself against the solid, muscular
chest, so warm it was almost hot, and felt his shivering subside. "Good boy."
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Somehow the words didn't startle Lee, coming from Jer. Jer was friends with the
master, even though he was a slave. One of Lord Dunaev's friends used to like to
hold him, away from the others, without using him for anything, until they started
to yell at him about shitting or getting off the pot, and he'd called Lee a good boy,
sometimes. He'd even asked about buying Lee, once, but Lord Dunaev had said no.
Lee had been severely punished, later, for looking hopeful at the time.
"He never liked the look on my face," said Lee quietly, now. "That was the biggest
thing. He-- he didn't like me to be scared. Or not to-- not to like him."
"Yeah," said Jer. "I know what you mean. They can't make you like them, though."
"No," Lee agreed. "Your mind is your own."
Jer chuckled. "Yeah, it is. So he didn't like you because you didn't like him. I kind
of figured it was something like that. You and Bran are both crap at pretending to
like people."
"I'm sorry," said Lee, slightly alarmed, but Jer said, "It's okay. I mean, it's okay
now."
Lee relaxed. On reflection, if it was true of Bran too, then it probably was okay.
"Holden used to get in trouble for the same thing," said Jer, and Lee looked up at
him, startled. "When we both belonged to my old master. Although that was
different, because I think he could pretend. He was a decent actor, when he wanted
to be. Just stubborn. Maybe somebody like Dunaev could have beaten him into it,
but not Argounov. Argounov just fucked around with him. Holden sort of-amused him. Like a cat with a mouse, you know."
Lee put his head back down on Jer's shoulder, thinking about this, and Jer squeezed
him a little, affectionately.
"Bran and I aren't allowed to lie, any more," said Lee finally. "To-- the master, I
mean."
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"None of us are," said Jer. "That's his one big rule. Don't lie. Don't even-- pretend.
Hell of a transition, for me. Not too bad of one for you, though, since you're no
good at it anyway. Maybe that's why he likes you so much."
Lee smiled.
"That's funny," he said. "Pleasing your master by not being good at something."
"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" said Jer, and Lee could tell he was smiling, too. "Or making
him mad because you're too good at something. Like me."
"He got mad at you?" Lee asked, looking up into Jer's face. "What happened?"
Jer cupped Lee's chin, but before he could answer, a woman's voice from the
doorway said, "Hey."
Lee looked up, and saw that it was Miss Robin, carrying a yellow binder. He hadn't
recognized her voice, and she looked different, too; her hair was pulled back from
her face, and she looked thinner, and not angry. He was so surprised that he kept
looking at her until her eyes met his, when he dropped his gaze quickly.
"Miss," said Jer flatly. "My master is upstairs in the filing room."
"Okay," said Miss Robin, without moving. "Can I, uh, can I talk to you for a
second?"
"As it please you, Miss," said Jer, and although his voice didn't sound the slightest
bit welcoming, Miss Robin came further into the room and sat down on one of the
kitchen chairs, putting her binder down on the table. Lee pressed himself up
against Jer's chest and buried his face in the hollow between Jer's shoulder and his
neck, shivering a little, but not badly. Jer was warm and solid and strong, and he
held Lee close, and Miss Robin didn't have the right to punish either of them. And
anyway, she didn't seem to be in a punishing mood, just yet.
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"I've been wanting to talk to you," said Miss Robin's voice from behind him.
"Miss?" said Jer coolly.
"You know," said Miss Robin. "For-- well-- what you yelled at me about, before. I
haven't really gotten a chance to say-- I mean, I said I was sorry, but we haven't
really... talked."
"As it please you, Miss," said Jer again.
"What I mean," said Miss Robin, sounding frustrated, "is, you're a slave, and you
got really pissed off at me. And then Lee got really scared of me. I'm sorry I yelled
at you that time, Lee," she added, and Lee looked up, surprised. "I didn't mean to
scare you, honestly I didn't. I just-- and Mona didn't like me either. She sort of-froze up-- every time I said anything. Same with Will, and Kit, and Kai and
Sophie, and--" She looked, quite suddenly, close to tears. "Jer? I'm not-- I'm trying
to do the right thing. I swear I am. I'm just-- I guess I'm not very good at it."
There was a pause, while Lee, still perched on Jer's lap, looked between Jer's
deliberately blank face and Miss Robin's unhappy one.
"All that stuff you said," said Miss Robin eventually. "I read Denys' article. You
were talking about-- all that stuff really happened, didn't it? To Greta, and Yves,
and Bran, and you."
"Yes, Miss," said Jer. "All that stuff happened."
"And you all got through it," said Miss Robin. "And you got to-- a good place, for
you. I get that. I mean, I do. But you're still slaves. Just because things worked out
okay for you guys doesn't mean-- I mean, they didn't have to work out, you know?
Things could have still gone to shit, for all of you. And even now, it's not like
you've got any guarantee, that they won't still go to shit. I mean, you're slaves."
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"If I might venture an opinion, Miss Robin," said Jer, "I'd suggest that it's not
usually necessary to tell slaves that they're slaves. Odds are we know that. Maybe
even better than you do."
Miss Robin went brick red and opened her mouth, then closed it.
"Okay," she said. "See, what I don't get is, you're a normal person. And you talk to
me like a normal person, when you're not doing all that 'venture an opinion' and
'Miss Robin' crap. I don't know why you can't just call me Robin like I told you."
"Because I'm a slave, and you're a free citizen," Jer answered, "and all that 'venture
an opinion' crap is part of being a slave, Miss Robin."
"See, and now you're mad at me," said Miss Robin. "And it's not that you get mad
at people who ask questions and make you think about stuff, because everybody
likes stupid Denys. You just-- and you yell at me, and Yves says complicated shit
that sounds polite until I figure it out two days later, and Bran looks like he's about
to fucking bite me if I get near Lee, and Greta doesn't think I'm good enough to
date her daughter, and you're all-- you slaves-- you like people, and hate people,
and get mad like normal people, it's not like you're-- brain-dead!"
"Did you notice that," said Jer.
"Yes," said Miss Robin, "and it makes it even more fucking crazy that you can-live like this! How? How do you-- stay sane?"
"You deal with it," said Jer quietly, meeting her eyes. "You learn coping strategies.
Like with anything."
"But it's not like with anything!" The photographer was leaning forward, her hands
clenched in midair. "You belong to someone else! You've got no rights, no options,
no future! And talking the way you do! 'If it please my master' and 'may I have
permission to speak' and all that-- how do you-- live? Like that? I'd rather die!"
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"Maybe," Jer answered calmly. "Some people would. Some people do. But you
might be surprised, what you can get used to."
"That's even worse," said Miss Robin, in a small voice, and Jer's face seemed to
soften slightly as he looked at her.
"Maybe," he said again. "But most people like living. Even as slaves. Even for
just-- one more day."
Miss Robin looked at him, and then she said, "Is that what it's like for you?"
"It was, for a while," said Jer. "But--" His big palm ran down Lee's back, from the
nape of his neck to his bottom, and then back up, before he said, "See, and that's
why most people wouldn't rather die. Because sometimes, if you stick it out, things
get-- better."
Before either of them broke the pause that followed, the kitchen door slammed
open; Lee flinched instinctively back against Jer's chest, then saw his master in the
doorway, staring from Robin to Lee and Jer and then back, the hands that had
never touched Lee without gentleness knotted into fists that twitched as if hungry
to strike.
"What the ever-living fuck are you doing, you maniac?" the master yelled as Miss
Robin stood up quickly, and if Lee had ever idly wondered what his master looked
and sounded like in anger, he now fervently regretted it. Even though the anger
wasn't directed at him and he knew it, the rage in his master's face and voice
activated every instinct Lee had to flatten himself belly down on the floor and beg
for mercy. He curled harder against Jer, instead, hiding his face; Jer's arms
tightened slightly around him. "Did I not specifically state that if I allowed you to
come over to this house again, you were not to interact with Lee in any way, shape,
or form? What's it going to take to get it through your impenetrable fucking skull
that I mean what I say?"
"I'm sorry!" said Miss Robin, and she was scared too. Lee didn't blame her; the
anger in Holden's voice sounded like a precursor to hitting, and so did that last
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question, and when Lee peeked up from Jer's shoulder, the master was more than
one stride closer to Miss Robin, who had backed up a lot closer to the wall. Lee sat
up further, watching. "I just-- I was just--"
"I don't give a shit what you were just!" the master roared, and took another step
forward as Miss Robin took another step backward, her eyes widening.
Before he could think too much about what he was about to do, Lee was out of
Jer's lap and on the floor, scrambling on his hands and knees to his master's feet,
where he crouched down and pressed his forehead, hard, to his master's boot.
It was only a moment or two-- not long enough to get really scared-- before his
master was on his knees, too, his hands gentle again on Lee's head and his back,
and then his shoulders, pulling Lee up carefully to face him.
"What is it, Lee?" he asked, all the anger gone from his voice, and Lee, breathing
deeply, smiled up into his master's face, which smiled back at him, surprised.
"Lee?"
"I'm okay, master," Lee whispered, and cleared his throat. "Miss Robin wasn't
scaring me. She was apologizing. She told Jer and me she was sorry."
"She's not even supposed to be around you, Lee," the master began, and then he
got a very odd look on his face, and touched Lee's cheek with the backs of his
fingers.
"Are you trying to protect Robin from me?" he asked, and when Lee nodded
nervously, his master laughed and pulled him close. Lee nuzzled his master's
shoulder, dizzy with relief.
"Not bad, kid," said Jer's voice. "Of course, since slaves don't have options, I guess
you just did it on auto-pilot."
"Oh, shut up," said Miss Robin's, sounding exhausted.
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"Don't you fucking dare tell him to shut up, you little shit," said the master, still
holding Lee very gently. "I agreed to let you come over here again on one
condition, and it couldn't have taken you more than about twenty seconds after
walking in the door before you were blithely ignoring it. Get out of this house.
Leave the pictures. We'll do business through Denys for the rest of this process. I
don't want to see you again. Ever."
"Please, master," said Lee softly, looking up into his master's face; Holden looked
back at him, listening. "She was just-- asking questions. Trying to understand-- us.
She wants to help."
"Lee, sweetheart, that might be true, but I still can't trust her to be here," said the
master, cupping Lee's cheek with one hand. "I was-- too careless, letting her come
over again, not making sure to keep you out of her way. That was stupid of me. If
anyone in this house gets hurt or scared or traumatized, it's on my watch-- and I
don't like it when shit happens on my watch. And shit tends to happen around Miss
Robin. You understand? It's easier for me, if she just... isn't here."
"Yes, master," said Lee, and gathered up his courage to add, "but, master, what's
easier-- well, wouldn't it be easier-- not to do anything? Not to-- fight." He was
thinking of the moment at which he'd decided, himself, that it wasn't worth fighting
any more, or noticing what was done to him, and then of the name that had brought
him back to himself in strong, careful arms, with lovely gray eyes fixed with
compassion on his face: Bran. "Or try. Or do a news story. Or--" He took a breath.
"Buy people-- like me."
His master stared at Lee for a very long time, while Lee, somehow still unafraid,
studied his face, the lines in his forehead and cheeks, his dark eyes and darker
eyelashes, the swept-back line of his dark, silvering hair. Then the master said,
calmly, "What are you saying, kiddo? You want me to let her stay? Give her one
more chance to behave?"
"If it please my master," said Lee.
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"If I catch you bothering Lee again," said the master after another, shorter pause,
looking up over Lee's head at Miss Robin, "I will eject you from the premises
forcibly and headfirst, pausing only to secure any soft-hearted slave boys in the
vicinity well out of the way."
"Got it," said Miss Robin, fairly meekly.
"Or bothering any other slave without me or Alix there, for that matter," Holden
added. "Except Jer. You can talk to him. It'll do you good."
Jer snorted. "Oh, thanks, master!"
"I know you love to brawl, baby," said Holden, and started to get to his feet,
drawing Lee up with him. "Anyway, Robin and I are heading upstairs right now for
our scheduled discussion with Denys, to which she was supposed to come up in the
first place instead of wandering around in search of slaves to terrorize. Did Bran
mean to leave the stove turned on?"
"I'm on it," said Jer, holding out his arms to Lee, who, nudged gently in his
direction by the master, hurried towards him and dropped back into his lap,
suddenly feeling rather limp. Holden took Miss Robin by the upper arm as Jer,
running a hand through Lee's hair, added, "Don't forget your binder-- Robin."
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CHAPTER 39
"So," said Robin to Bran, "you really did have a choice."
Bran grinned at her. "Yes, Miss. About as clear a choice as you can get."
Five years hadn't taught Holden to listen to the story of Bran's escape with
equanimity, and sitting here with Robin wasn't helping, either; if she said anything
to so much as irritate Bran, he was throwing her out, Lee or no Lee. Bran seemed
fine, though; poised but expressive, describing his own shock as he realized the
people in the forest weren't just a rumor, the second shock as he realized they were
in communication with his current owners, and the even bigger shock at their
explanation.
When he got to Holden's arrival and the offer of freedom, Holden had reached out
involuntarily and put his hand on Bran's back through the chair Bran sat in. Bran
glanced at him, then dragged his chair so close to Holden's that the two chairs were
touching, and took Holden's hand in his, squeezing it affectionately as he narrated
the rest of the story.
"Of course," Robin added, "it was a choice between leaving the country and
everything you'd ever known, versus staying with someone you felt you could
trust. So you picked relative security and familiarity over freedom-- I guess I can
understand that."
She didn't sound too convinced, but Holden would take what he could get with
Robin. Bran didn't look bothered, anyway.
"You must have been so relieved, too," Denys added, watching Bran and Holden,
whose hands were still intertwined. "With three strikes on your record, running
away again, and getting caught, and then having your owner turn out to be an
abolitionist--"
"I'm not really an abolitionist," said Holden. "I'm pretty sure there would be some
conflict of interest between that and my chosen profession."
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"Not necessarily," said Denys, perking up. "Even if we do get slavery abolished
within your lifetime-- if there's one thing I've learned, interviewing all these slaves,
it's that most free people don't have a clue how to relate to slaves as human beings.
And that if a lot of newly freed slaves are suddenly turned loose on society, we're
going to need people like you, to help them make the transition. After all, you and
Ms. Jamesen both did it."
"By trial and error," said Holden. The idea of training delinquents for freedom
instead of slavery was a little startling; Holden filed it away for future thought and
discussion with Alix.
"But, okay, not an abolitionist," Denys continued. "A philanthropist. A
humanitarian."
"A non-murderer," Holden suggested dryly.
"Yeah, I'm not sure why we're giving special credit for that," said Robin, and
Holden glanced up at her, amused despite himself; their eyes met, and he thought
he could see a gleam of humor in hers before Denys answered seriously, "Because
the way things are set up, you have to make special illegal arrangements not to be a
murderer. I mean, we can't even disclose the alternative in the article, you know?"
"About that," said Robin. "I think you're hinting too much in the article as it is,
Denys. We don't want this thing to backfire on us. Crackdowns on groups like
ours-- I mean, we're okay, we're clean-cut and middle-class and we're not the ones
doing the really important work anyway. But we don't want to risk official
attention towards people like Jesse. Or these 'people in the forest.'"
"I just wanted to-- I don't know," said Denys. "Give a sense of hope."
"That's not our goal with this article," said Robin. "Our goal is to give a sense of
unbearable crushing horribleness, so the nobility will get their thumbs out of their
butts and do something about it all."
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"I hate to admit it, but she's got a point," said Holden to Denys, who smiled and
said, "Check. I'll take out the hope when I rewrite. Any other editorial
suggestions?"
"If you're done with me for now, master," said Bran, "may I go?"
"Of course," said Holden, "unless you want to read the article now, and give us
your suggestions?"
"I've got something on the stove, right now," said Bran apologetically. "May I read
it later?"
Holden caught up with Bran on the third stair down. "How long has it been since
we spent the night together?"
"Two weeks and five days, master," said Bran immediately.
Holden laughed. "Well, that won't do, will it?"
"No, master," Bran agreed with a beaming smile that soothed and warmed the part
of Holden he'd been mercilessly repressing while Bran spent most of his nights
with Lee, giving Holden dutiful progress reports on Lee's sexual development. It
seemed to be coming along nicely. Holden was going to have to observe it all
firsthand at some point, too, but that could wait, especially since Lee hadn't
demonstrated any discontent with the current state of affairs.
Not that Lee avoided physical contact with Holden. On the contrary, whenever
Holden sat down anywhere lately, it was a safe bet Lee would be kneeling at his
feet before long, pressing his head shyly up against Holden's leg and whimpering
very softly with pleasure when Holden caressed him, or shivering blissfully if
Holden had the leisure to pull him up into his lap. But now that he and Bran were
having sex, Lee had completely stopped asking Holden if he might serve him
sexually, and he didn't offer his mouth to be kissed, or touch Holden in any way
that wouldn't have been appropriate for Valor. Holden was sure that wasn't because
he was afraid-- the sex had gone well the only time they'd tried it, and Lee had no
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reason now to believe Holden would be less gentle than Bran was-- so he
considered it a victory; Lee now seemed to be convinced that he was pleasing his
master with his behavior without sex. And as long as he was all right with that, and
his sexual development was coming along well, Holden didn't consider himself to
be shirking by treating the boy the way he wanted to-- as a cherished, and entirely
sexually uninteresting, responsibility.
Sexually uninteresting to Holden, rather. Andrei Taganov couldn't stop
rhapsodizing over the boy's beauty, and Holden had to agree that Lee was
uncommonly lovely, even for a seventeen-year-old pleasure slave. His face had
filled out in the last month, and his skin, though still pale, looked alive and healthy,
with a pearly luster and a quick, translucent flush along his high cheekbones when
he was pleased or embarrassed. His mouth, mobile and sensitive, was susceptible
to the flush, too, and to a slight quiver that seemed to have replaced the habit of
sucking in the lower lip when he was uncertain; when he smiled, it was always
sweet and sudden, and the weight gain had revealed an elusive but adorable dimple
in his left cheek. It was just that none of those things seemed to coax any reaction
whatsoever from Holden's cock.
Well, except when Holden was watching Lee with Bran, but that hardly counted.
Holden was probably going to develop a desire to fuck the oven into submission if
Bran kept up his current romance with it.
He'd managed to keep his better nature uppermost when it came to jealousy over
Bran's attentiveness to Lee, though. It didn't hurt that Bran wasn't looking at all
displeased, now, at the prospect of abandoning his charge for a night.
"I've missed you, kiddo," he said, squeezing Bran's shoulder. "And I've still got to
figure out how to pay you for doing my job for me, here."
"It's not hard work, master," said Bran, with a twinkle in his eye. "But I've missed
you too. I'll tell Lee he's on his own for tonight-- I don't think he'll mind. Don't you
think he's doing well?"
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"Thanks to you," said Holden. "All right, sweetheart. I don't dare leave Robin
unattended for too long. Get Lee to tell you what happened when I came
downstairs to get her, by the way."
That night, in Bran's bed, they made up for lost time so thoroughly that Holden was
convinced he'd only just dropped off to sleep when Bran whispered, "Master, wake
up," and Holden's eyes snapped open to a room that was still dark.
"What?" he managed, blinking up at Bran, who was suddenly dressed again and
sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I'm sorry to wake you," said Bran softly, "but may I go downstairs and cook some
things for breakfast before Fox gets here?"
Holden squinted. "What time is it?"
"I'm not sure," said Bran. "Early. May I, please?"
"I'm not sure I approve of this hobby if it's going to have you leaping out of bed the
second you open your eyes," said Holden, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. "You
used to like to do other things when you woke up in bed with me."
"Oh, master, I'm sorry," said Bran, twining his arms repentantly around Holden,
and kissed the side of his face. "It's just that I've been wanting to experiment with
breakfast, and I haven't had a chance-- but if you want me, of course--"
"I always want you," said Holden, disengaging one arm to switch on the light. "But
let's compromise. I'll come downstairs and get in your way while you work."
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"You don't have to do that, master," said Bran, clearly thrilled, as Holden swung
his legs out of bed and stood up, fumbling for his discarded clothes from last night.
"Are you sure? You're not too tired? Because it can wait until tomorrow morning,
if you're too tired. But if you really want to--"
"Oh, gods," said Holden, halfway into his tunic. "I can't believe it's taken me five
years to realize your one tragic flaw. You're a morning person. Stop being so
chipper right now. At least until I've had my coffee."
"I'll make you some, master," said Bran happily. "I can make pretty good coffee, I
think."
Holden sipped blearily at a cup of excellent coffee at the kitchen table while Bran
zipped around the kitchen, doing things to oranges with knives, raising clouds of
white powder that clung to his tunic and to his cheek, and finally putting a paperlined pan covered with some sort of dough circles into the oven and closing it.
"There," he said, setting the timer on the oven and turning to smile at Holden.
"Want any more coffee, master?"
"Sure," said Holden, smiling at Bran as he poured it until Bran laughed and said,
"What?"
"You're the cutest thing I've ever seen, is what," said Holden, and sipped again.
"And this is really good."
"Good!" Bran sat down, suddenly, and put his chin in his hand. "Thank you for
letting me-- do this, master."
"What, get up early and make me coffee and cranberry orange--"
"Scones," Bran supplied. "Yes. And cook. And-- everything."
"I don't let you do everything," said Holden. "I'm not letting you have any coffee,
for example. You're way too wired as it is."
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Bran laughed. "I don't want any coffee, master. It smells good, but I don't like the
taste."
"When have you even tried it?" Holden asked, amused, and Bran's smile
disappeared as suddenly as if someone had slapped it off his face. "Sweetheart?
That wasn't an accusation."
"No, you gave me permission once," said Bran, trying to summon back his smile,
without notable success. "Remember-- it was just a couple of weeks after you
bought me-- you and the mistress and Greta went out to dinner, and you told Yves
he and I could have coffee while you were gone."
"That's right," said Holden, remembering certain other things about that night as
well-- like the nightmare Bran had had, after Valor's unexpected arrival, and the
night he'd spent curled around Bran's warm quiescent weight, the first one since
he'd bought the boy, and the way he'd awakened with Bran's shy, sweet mouth on
his. "I'd forgotten about that."
Bran managed an approximation of a smile as he added, "I still didn't like it, but it's
better hot and freshly poured."
"Better than what?" Holden asked curiously.
"The first time I tried it was before I belonged to you," Bran answered, as if that
closed the subject.
Holden hesitated before he gave it a delicate push with, "To whom did you
belong?"
"Lord Dunaev," said Bran.
And even though he'd stopped asking questions like this in the second year he'd
lived with Bran, after learning that Bran always answered with an unhappy,
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"Please, master, I'd rather not talk about it," and admitting to himself that he really
didn't want to hear the graphic details, Holden asked, "What happened?"
Bran's eyes flicked up to meet his. After a slight hesitation of his own, he said,
"The first time I tasted coffee?"
"Yes," said Holden.
Bran turned to look at the oven, then turned back to look at his fingernails, before
he said, "Well, I used to make his coffee sometimes, if he didn't feel like getting
up, and bring it to him in bed. And it always smelled really good. He liked his with
cream and sugar, which sounded pretty good to me. I always kind of hoped he
might not finish it all, because I figured I could just pour the last of it down my
throat instead of the sink before I washed out the cup. But he always did finish it,
so one day, I just made a little bit more than I normally did-- more than it took to
fill the cup. And after I'd brought it to him, and he'd drunk it, and I'd, um,
performed my other morning duties--"
"Nicely euphemized," said Holden, rather grimly, and Bran gave him a quick grin
before he looked back down.
"I took the cup back to the kitchen," he continued. "and I swallowed down the
dregs of the coffee pot. It wasn't very warm, and it tasted horrible. Definitely not
worth it."
"Worth what?" said Holden.
Bran shrugged. "I got caught."
"And?"
There was another pause before Bran said, still looking down at his fingers, "You
read my interview with Mr. Harper, didn't you, master?"
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"Yes," said Holden quietly. "It was very informative. Why haven't you ever talked
to me about any of that, Bran?"
"I don't know why, really," said Bran, frowning. "I just-- well, I guess at first I was
a little scared to. I still thought it was my fault, the way he'd treated me, and I
didn't want to be the one to point out to you that I actually didn't deserve how good
you were being to me."
"But you know better than that now," said Holden.
"Of course," said Bran, and then grinned. "Maybe I've been afraid you'd go out and
kill Lord Dunaev, and then you'd go to prison and I'd be left all alone."
"It's a risk," said Holden, only half joking. "You willing to take it?"
"Not that much of a risk right now, master," said Bran, still grinning. "You're
channelling your evil-killing energy into this whole news story thing, right now.
And fighting with Miss Robin."
"This is true," said Holden. "So why else wouldn't you talk about it?"
"It's just--" Bran's smile had disappeared again. "It's not-- pleasant. To talk about."
"No," said Holden carefully, "but you don't always have to be pleasant. With me."
Bran glanced up, and there was a longish silence before he said, "No, I don't, do
I?"
"No," said Holden again.
"He tasted the coffee on my mouth," said Bran, his eyes on Holden's. "In my
mouth. When I came back to the bedroom, he was up and walking around-- not
dressed yet-- and he pulled me in to kiss me. I should have expected it, because he
used to do that a lot, when he was in a good mood. He'd wrap his arm around me
and stick his tongue in my mouth-- and he used to do this-- flickering thing with it,
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I guess he thought it was sexy. But I'd kiss back-- it was nice when he was in a
good mood, and he liked me to-- respond. Kissing was something I could do. I'd
suck his lips, and his tongue, you know, hold onto him. It made me sick, I hated it
so much, but it wasn't as bad as-- other things. I tried to remember that."
Holden was feeling a little queasy himself, but he made himself sit still and listen,
his eyes on Bran's steady gray eyes.
"He tasted the coffee in my mouth," Bran repeated, slowly, "and I knew what had
happened, because he pulled away and pulled his hand back to hit me, but I
dropped down on my knees so fast he missed. I was begging, right away. Kissing
his feet-- crying, probably. He kicked me in the face-- not hard, he didn't want to
break any bones or anything, just hard enough to push me back a little-- and then
he reached down and grabbed my hair and pulled me up by it and hit me across the
face, and then he dropped me back down onto my knees and took his cock in his
hand and told me to open my mouth. And I did-- and he pissed into my mouth."
"Bran," Holden whispered, and Bran reached out and laid his hand over Holden's,
on the table.
"We don't have to talk about this, master," he said. "It's not important, any more."
"I'm listening," said Holden, and Bran studied him for a few moments before he
resumed.
"I spat out the piss, and tried to get out of the way," he said, "and he kicked me
again, and yelled at me to get my whore mouth open. He said if I thought I got to
drink any fucking thing I wanted I'd drink his piss and I'd lick it up off the floor if
it missed my mouth. He pissed all over my face-- it got in my eyes. He made me
put my mouth to the floor and lick it up, and I threw up, and he made me lick that
up, too."
Holden turned his face away, and felt his hand lifted between warm hands, pressed
to soft, vulnerable lips.
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"Go on," he said with difficulty.

"There wasn't much more," he heard Bran say. "He beat me for a while, and I
screamed a lot. I didn't really-- I mean, it wasn't any worse than I was used to, but
he liked me to scream. That was when he liked to fuck me-- when my voice was
gone. He said I was nice and slack then. He always said I was too tense, normally."
Holden put his free hand over his own mouth just as the timer on the oven gave a
bright little ding! Bran stood up, then paused and leaned down to put a hand on
Holden's back and kiss the top of his head before he went over to the stove and put
on a pair of padded oven mitts. Holden watched him, trying to get himself under
control. It wasn't as if he hadn't known what sorts of cruelties men like Dunaev
visited on their slaves; he'd even read the transcript of what Bran had told Denys
Harper about his treatment at Dunaev's hands. But actually hearing Bran describe,
in his own quiet, matter-of-fact voice, what must have been only one of hundreds
of such scenes, was still almost more than he could endure.
When Bran had taken his pan from the oven, filling the kitchen with a
mouthwateringly sweet and tangy fragrance, piled the golden circles into a basket
and covered them with a clean cloth, he came and sat down again, picking up
Holden's hand.
"Go on," said Holden again.
"That was mostly it," Bran answered. "He fucked me, and he came pretty quickly.
He was never as angry after he'd come. I just wasn't allowed anything to drink for-a while, and then he-- well. That was pretty much it."
Holden considered pursuing that "and then he," and decided discretion was the
better part of valor. Bran was looking at him as if Holden were a kitten whose tail
he had carelessly stepped on.
"I'm sorry, master," he said gently. "I shouldn't have told you all that."
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"Why?" Holden asked, meeting the compassionate gray eyes again. "Think I'm too
delicate to hear about a few minutes of the two years of hell you went through?"
"More like one and a half years," said Bran, with a small but genuine smile. "But
no, I don't think you're delicate, master. It's just-- well. I never wanted you to-- be
thinking about all that. You know, when you kiss me, and hold me, and everything.
Because I'm not thinking about it. Not with you." He was leaning forward, his eyes
clear and bright, hands stretched as if unconsciously towards Holden, reaching for
him or offering something invisible. "I don't even like saying he kissed me. What
he did, and what you do-- it shouldn't even be the same word."
Holden held out his arms, and Bran climbed readily into them, settling down on
Holden's lap and putting his head down on his shoulder, as Holden's eyes prickled
with the tears he was struggling not to let fall.
"You know," he said, his fingers in Bran's hair, "I knew, when I started out in this
line of work, that I was going to have to be careful not to fall in love. Not just
because of Yves and Alix, but-- I was going to care about the kids I worked with,
and I was going to do my damndest to make their lives better, but I knew I couldn't
afford to feel-- this way."
"I'm sorry, master," said Bran again, softly.
"Don't be," said Holden, as the kitchen door opened and Fox came in, her
eyebrows shooting up to her hairline when she saw them.
"Hi, Fox," said Bran from Holden's lap. "I made scones."
"That's nice," said Fox, with a tone and look that managed to convey both that she
was appalled and scandalized by such goings-on in her kitchen of all places, and
that no more was to be expected of Holden. Come to think of it, her expression
bore a certain family resemblance to the one Lee's doctor had gotten in the hospital
waiting room. Holden was going to have to be more careful not to have emotional
catharses in women's professional spaces; they didn't seem to take to it. "They
smell good. Cranberry orange?"
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"Yes," said Bran enthusiastically, squirming out of Holden's arms and jumping up
to bring Fox the basket. "I put in some cinnamon, too. Do you think that will be
good?"
Fox smiled at him as she took it and lifted the cloth. "It sounds good to me."
"I was just leaving," said Holden, getting up, and Bran turned and put his arms
around Holden, hugging him hard.
"Are you okay?" he murmured in Holden's ear.
Holden leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, heedless of Fox's sudden clattering
busyness behind them.
"Yes," he said. "Thank you, love. I'll see you at breakfast."
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CHAPTER 40
"Come on, master," said Bran, laughing. "You know his lordship is going to guard
Lee with his life."
"I'd rather he didn't have to," said Holden, slowing the car to take a sharp curve on
the bumpy dirt road. "And I'd rather Lee weren't adjusting to a new owner and
sudden notoriety at the same time. Andrei's waited this long; he can wait until we
see just what the fallout from the article is going to be."
"What's the worst that could happen?" Bran asked, his glance darting out the
window again.
"Never ask me that, kiddo," said Holden. "I've got an overactive imagination. And
if Dunaev's nasty little mind snaps under the strain of national humiliation, I'd
rather he came and battered down my door than Andrei's."
Bran laughed so loudly he startled Holden, and he kept laughing.
"Oh, gods, I almost hope he does," he said finally, wiping at his eyes. "I mean, not
really, but if you and Jer were there--"
"The legal repercussions would be considerable," said Holden, with an amused
sideways glance at Bran. "Getting bloodthirsty on me, Bran?"
"Maybe a little," said Bran, grinning back.
They had already been driving for several hours, first to the small town, and then
on a series of long, rambling, unreliable dirt roads outside it, and Bran was still in a
giddy mood, as if it were a holiday. Holden supposed it was, in a way; he'd taken
the day off all work obligations, including Lee (who barely seemed alarmed at the
prospect of being left alone with only Yves and Jer and Alix for protection; he'd
really made fantastic strides) and they weren't expected back at the house until
evening. Bran was wonderful company, and Holden was in a good mood himself,
though he couldn't help an edge of nervousness about their destination.
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"Anyway, I definitely like the idea of 'national humiliation' for Lord Dunaev,"
Bran continued, still staring out the window. "Do you really think it will be that?"
"You read the final drafts," said Holden. "And that wasn't even the illustrated
version. Unless there's serious backlash against the article and us, Dunaev is not
going to be a happy man tomorrow."
Bran shivered. "I wonder if he's bought a new slave yet."
"I don't know," said Holden quietly. "If he has, I guess we can hope he'll be
shamed into not doing anything too dire."
"Yeah," said Bran. "I don't know if-- oh!"
"What?" Holden asked.
"We're getting close," said Bran, and then he didn't say anything else for a while,
as Holden kept driving.
Eventually, his hand shot out and closed around Holden's wrist; Holden looked up
and saw that he was staring at a tiny house-- more of a cottage, or a cabin-- painted
gray, and set well back from the road, in the middle of a field.
Holden pulled over and parked. Bran was very pale, and his hand was at the steel
collar around his neck, tugging restlessly at the chain leash clipped to it.
"This is weird, master," he said, forcing a smile.
"I can take it off," said Holden, reaching for the ring of keys at his belt.
"No, no, not that," said Bran, clapping his hand protectively over the collar. "I
meant being here at all."
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"We can leave if you want, kiddo," said Holden gently. "You know where it is
now. We can come back another day."
"No, master," said Bran resolutely. "I want to see if anyone's living there now. And
I want to see--"
Without finishing his sentence, he opened the car door; Holden opened his, too,
and got out. They met in front of the hood, and without speaking, Bran offered the
end of the leash to Holden, and Holden took it. When Bran took a step forward,
Holden moved with him.
"I should have made you wear proper shoes," he said, looking at the harsh thistles
and stones on the dirt path as they walked, slowly, through the field and towards
the house.
"I'm fine, master," said Bran, looking up at the house. "I used to play along here,
barefoot."
It had been three days ago-- Holden had taken a little time to make sure no
pressing matters would come up today-- when he'd poked his head into Bran's
bedroom, looking for Lee, and found it empty but for something lying on the
neatly made bed. Three things, actually, once Holden looked more closely: a
simple metal collar, the kind that locked at the back, with a lead ring at the front of
the neck; the key to the collar, on a key ring; and a light chain leash.
Holden looked at them for a few long moments. The collar was unlocked, the key
ring strung on it like a pendant. Holden picked them both up, and then the leash,
pouring the cold metal of the chain links into one hand, before he went downstairs
to the kitchen.
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Bran was in there, sitting at the kitchen table with nothing in front of him; he
looked up quickly when Holden came in, but without his usual smile of greeting.
"Hey," said Holden. "You okay?"
"Yes, master," said Bran, his eyes staying fixed on Holden as he crossed the room
and sat down at the table. He didn't seem to notice what Holden had in his hands.
"Just thinking."
"Don't let me stop you," said Holden.
Bran shook his head. "It's okay."
There was a pause before Holden added, placing the collar, leash, and key on the
table, "Found these on your bed."
"Oh--" Bran looked up quickly. "I got them out of the training room. I-- I should
have asked permission."
"It's okay," said Holden. "But what did you want them for?"
Bran looked at the items for a few moments, and then he slid from his chair to his
knees at Holden's feet and dropped his forehead, as if wearily, onto Holden's knees.
"Bran, sweetheart," Holden said softly, and put one hand on Bran's back and the
other on his curls. "My love, what's wrong?"
Bran was trembling under his hand, and he shook his head. Holden waited, keeping
still by an effort of will that had him trembling a little himself, until the boy finally
lifted a pale face to his and said, "Master--"
"Yes," said Holden, one hand now cupping Bran's cheek, the other rubbing gently
at his shoulder.
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"You know how you've been saying you wanted to pay me, for all the work I've
been doing with Lee?"
"Yes, of course."
"I thought of something," said Bran.
"Good," said Holden, even though he wasn't sure it was, what with all the kneeling
and trembling. "What is it?"
Bran was quiet for so long that Holden started counting, silently, in his head, to
keep himself still. He'd reached four hundred and twelve by the time Bran spoke
again.
"Did you know I actually have five runaway attempts, not four?" he asked.
"There's one I don't know about?" Holden asked lightly. "Should I update your
record?"
"No," said Bran, smiling faintly. "That record doesn't start till I'm fifteen. Before
that-- I ran away from my grandfather's house. I was trying to get home, to my
parents' farm. Of course it wasn't theirs any more-- my grandfather had sold it, and
he'd gotten rid of all their things, and all my things, too. My toys from when I was
little, and most of my clothes. He said there wasn't room to keep them at his place.
Well, there wasn't. There was barely room for me. He had to put a cot in his
bedroom."
"What did he do with the money from the farm?" Holden demanded. "He couldn't
have gotten a bigger place, once he had you to look after?"
"I guess not," said Bran, furrowing his brow. "I didn't really think about that.
Maybe he didn't think it would be worth it, since he was going to sell me as soon as
he could. Anyway." He smiled up at Holden. "I was just a kid. I guess I thought if I
could just get back home, everything would somehow be okay again. So I tried, but
I didn't make it. I got ridiculously lost, and then a policeman took me home, and
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my grandfather punished me for being gone so long. He didn't even ask where I'd
been."
"Someday I'm going to find your grandfather," said Holden, "and take great
pleasure in punching him in the face."
Bran smiled. "Don't do that, master. He wasn't so bad, not compared to my other
owners-- I mean--" He laughed. "I mean, compared to Lords Oreskovich and
Dunaev. I guess my grandfather wasn't technically my owner."
"He might as well have been," said Holden grimly.
"Yeah, well, that's true for all kids, isn't it?" said Bran pensively. "Your parents
own you, until they sell you or you grow up. But my parents were good owners. I
was so happy, when I was a kid, when they were alive. They loved me, and I loved
them. And all those times I tried to run away-- I knew they were dead, I knew it
was all gone-- I just--" He looked away. "I guess I couldn't make myself believe
there was no way-- home."
Another silence fell, but this one didn't last too long before Bran added, "I never
thought to ask before, because-- well, I'm afraid it might be a lot of trouble. We
can't take the train. It's way out in the country, so it would have to be the car. I
don't even know exactly where the farm is. I only know what it's near. And there
are probably new people living there-- or not, I don't know. But I thought, since
you wanted to-- reward me-- I just thought I'd ask."
Holden kept his voice steady when he answered, "Of course I'll take you there,
Bran."
Bran looked up at him, his eyes bright. "You will?"
"If that's what you want, absolutely," said Holden. "I'll take a day off, and we'll
find it for you."
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"Thank you, master," said Bran, rising from his knees, and sat back down at the
table. "It doesn't have to be right away. Whenever's convenient for you. I didn't
mean to rush you, getting out the leash and collar and everything."
"What do the leash and collar have to do with it?" Holden asked, puzzled.
"I thought I'd wear them, when we go," said Bran, reaching out to pull the links of
the chain slightly towards himself, then spread them in a circle with his fingers.
Holden blinked at him. "What? Why?"
"Because I'm a slave," said Bran.
Holden let go of the leash when he knocked on the door; he wasn't going to have it
look, to whatever strangers lived here, as though he thought Bran might bolt at any
moment. A mousy-haired young woman answered the door, a dishcloth still in her
hand, wearing a flour-dusted, soapsud-spattered apron over a visibly pregnant
belly. Her eyes nearly started out of her head at the sight of Holden, dressed like a
nobleman in blue, black and gold, and Bran in his slave tunic, flimsy sandals, and
steel collar, with the chain leash hanging down in front.
"My lord...?" she said in confusion.
"I'm sorry to intrude, ma'am," Holden said courteously. "My name is Holden
Larssen, and this is my slave, Bran."
"Bran?" said the woman, her eyes going even wider as she stared at Bran. "Bran
the little boy who used to live here?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Bran, watching her.
"Bran, it's me," she said. "Hilda."
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Bran was much too pale, and his forehead was glimmering with perspiration.
Holden wanted desperately to pull him away and take him home-- this had
obviously been a huge mistake-- but he stayed still.
"Hilda," Bran said slowly, with the ghost of a smile. "Of course. Evan's big sister."
"Even bigger now," said the woman, who seemed to want to smile back, but was
eyeing Holden warily. "And so are you, Bran. I haven't seen you since you were--"
"Nine," said Bran, swallowing. "Ma'am."
"Won't you come in?" she asked, backing up awkwardly to let them into a sunny,
yellow-curtained, slightly cluttered area that seemed to serve as both living room
and kitchen. There were toys on the floor: a brightly painted wooden horse on
wheels, with a doll astride it, its skirts hitched up. Holden stepped on a wooden
building block. "I'm sorry, the place is a mess-- and the baby's asleep, so don't
mind me if I speak softly. Please sit down, sit--"
She gestured at the kitchen table, which had a milk bottle filled with wildflowers in
the center of it. Holden and Bran sat down. Hilda seemed to hesitate.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" she asked. "Coffee?"
Holden looked at Bran, who looked back at him, still too pale, his eyes
suspiciously glassy.
"If it's no trouble," he said to Hilda. "Black for me, cream and sugar for him."
Hilda busied herself making coffee, and Bran raised his eyebrows at Holden.
"You need something hot and sweet right now," Holden said, under the sound of
the coffee grinder.
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"I'm glad you came by," said Hilda, when it had stopped, "but I-- I don't
understand. Didn't you have family in the city? Weren't they going to take care of
you? How--"
"My granddad," said Bran. "He sold me."
Hilda started to say something, and then she darted a look at Holden and shut her
mouth.
"Why don't I leave you two alone to catch up?" suggested Holden, who could take
a hint. He started to rise; Bran grabbed his arm, digging his fingers in hard. "I'll be
right outside, Bran. Take your time. Have anything you like to eat or drink."
"Master," Bran whispered, and Holden reached out to caress the collar with one
hand as he kissed Bran's cheek.
"Let me know when you want me to come back in," he said gently.
The house had a small porch, with two rocking chairs, their red paint weatherblistered and peeling. Holden sank down in one of them, trying not to think about
anything in particular. Like Bran as a child, playing around his parents' feet as they
sat here in the evenings. Bran's toys scattered across that floor. Bran grown up,
coming home from the fields for lunch, kissing his pregnant wife, the toddler
jumping up from her play to scramble into her father's waiting arms.
Bran sitting at the table where his mother had taught him good table manners,
collared and leashed with steel.
"Why on earth should you wear a collar and chain? The last time I took you out,
you wore my clothes."
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"I know, master," said Bran. "But that was for you and Lee, so you wouldn't have
to deal with all the attention on the train. This is for me. If I'm going back to-- to
where I used to live, I don't want to do it dressed up as a citizen. Pretending I'm
something I'm not."
"Okay, but not wearing a leash and collar isn't pretending anything," said Holden,
frowning. "I've never needed to use anything like that with you, not since..."
He trailed off, and after a moment Bran said, "Since you brought me home. I know,
master."
He lifted the collar from the table and put it around his own neck; there was a sharp
click as the lock snapped into place. Both of them looked at the key for a moment
before Bran picked it up, placed it in the palm of Holden's hand, and curled
Holden's fingers closed around it.
"I never ran away from home," he said. "Not once. I was always just trying to get
home."
Holden's fist clenched so tightly around the key that the ring dug painfully into his
palm. "I know."
"But there's only one other place I've ever thought of as home," said Bran. "And if
we're going there, I want your collar around my neck."
"You want your coffee, Mr. Larssen?"
Holden jumped and looked up; Hilda was standing next to him, holding out a thick
crockery mug by the handle.
"Thank you," he said, smiling up at her as he took it and cupped it between his
hands, which were oddly cold, despite the mildness of the day.
"You're welcome," she said, not smiling back, and then hesitated. "Bran looks-well. I guess he eats all right."
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"I try," Holden answered.

"It's decent of you to bring him here," she said. "Since he asked."
Holden nodded. "I'd do a lot to make Bran happy."
"That's good," said Hilda, and hesitated again. "Well-- sure you're all right out
here?"
"Fine, thanks," said Holden, and Hilda went back inside.
He was just thinking of going back in and asking for something to read when Hilda
and Bran came out onto the porch.
"I'm ready to go now," said Bran, who looked exhausted; there were dark circles
under his eyes.
"Sure you won't stay for lunch?" Hilda asked, taking Holden's empty coffee cup
from him as he rose.
"No, thank you," said Bran, managing a smile at Hilda. "Thank you for everything,
though. It's been-- thank you."
"You're welcome, honey," she said. "Come back and visit any time, you hear?"
Bran jammed the end of the leash so hard into Holden's hand that it hurt; Holden
laced his fingers through it. It was a bit of a comfort, especially since he didn't
want to touch Bran himself just now; the boy looked strung out and fragile enough
to shatter at a caress.
"Thank you," Holden said to Hilda.
"You're welcome," she said again. "You take good care of him, now."
"I'll do my best," said Holden.
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As they walked down the path towards the car again, Holden looked back and saw
her still standing on the porch, watching them go.
"Worse than going back to Dunaev's?" he asked Bran in a low voice.
Bran nodded. "Way worse."
"Sorry we came?"
Bran shook his head.
It wasn't until they had gotten into the car and were pulling away, leaving the little
house behind, that Bran said, "There's somewhere else I want to go."
"Where?"
"Hilda asked if Id been to see where my parents are buried," said Bran. I havent.
Not since the funeral.
Holden flinched. "Bran-- are you sure you're up for that right now?"
"Yes," said Bran, his jaw set.
He looked too tired to be up for anything but a nap, but he also looked determined,
and making the boy beg to be allowed to visit his parents' graves was out of the
question. Holden said, "Do you know how to get there from here?"
"Hilda told me," said Bran. "Stay on this road for a while. Back into town."
Holden obeyed.
They drove in silence until they reached the town, and then in near silence as Bran
gave him terse directions ("Turn left here." Keep going.), until they reached a
small cemetery, and Holden pulled over and parked again. Bran sat looking out the
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window at the headstones. Holden did math in his head and stayed still, until Bran
turned to him, touched the collar, and said, Will you take this off?
Holden took the keys from the ignition, reached up and brushed the ends of Brans
hair aside, and turned the little key in the lock. Bran pulled the collar off and set it
between them, then opened the car door.
Do you want me to come with you? Holden asked, and Bran shook his head
without looking back.
Holden watched as he wound his way among the graves, looking at the names on
the stones; he went quite slowly and it took a long time before he stopped, near the
far end of the cemetary from where Holden had parked, and then knelt down on the
ground, beside two stones set close together. He was too far away for Holden to
make out the expression on his face, or tell whether he was speaking, or crying, but
he knelt there for a count of eight hundred and sixteen before he curled in on
himself and seemed to collapse onto his side on the ground.
Holden was out of the car and walking towards him, fast, not bothering to close the
door; he didnt quite run, and he slowed a little, not wanting to startle Bran, as he
approached him and knelt down on the ground.
Bran, he whispered, and Bran turned his head to look at him, his eyes wide and
unseeing in a face drawn with tearless agony.
You cant make this okay, he said, white-lipped. Its never going to be okay.
I know, said Holden, feeling as though something with needle-sharp teeth were
tearing, messily, at his stomach.
They didnt deserve this.
I know.
I didnt deserve this.
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I know.
This is so fucking unfair! Bran screamed, and slammed his fist into the ground.
Tears spilled from Holdens eyes, and Bran blinked, and sighed, and sat up,
pushing himself clumsily into Holdens arms. Holden pulled him closer and
adjusted him more comfortably against his chest; Brans head fell onto his
shoulder, his body limp as a tired childs.
I want to go home, he said in Holdens ear. Take me home. Please. Master.
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CHAPTER 41
When the master and Bran had told Lee they were going somewhere alone
together, Lee had been a little taken aback, but he'd been able to honestly answer
"no" to their queries about whether he'd mind staying alone. He knew, by now, that
no one in this house would hurt him, or molest him against his will, and he could
certainly manage without the luxury of Bran's presence, or the master's closeness,
for a day. As his sale approached, in fact, he was aware he was going to have to get
used to doing without both. He knew his master had more or less accepted Lord
Taganov's offer, and was only waiting for-- Lee wasn't entirely clear on what,
actually, but something to do with the magazine article that was coming out
tomorrow illustrated with photographs of Lee.
He'd been a little at a loose end today, without either his master or Bran, but Lee
was good at waiting. He'd exercised a little, stayed close to Jer and Yves when he
could, and spent the rest of the time on the wide sill of the window that looked out
on the front of the house, watching the street for the master's car. He'd known they
were planning to be gone all day-- Fox had even packed food for them to take
along, so they wouldn't have to come home for lunch-- but he didn't mind just
sitting and looking out the window. Looking out of the window of a house he
wanted to be in was still a novel enough experience that he could savor it for a long
time.
He was pleased when the car did pull up, but startled when Bran got out, swaying
slightly, and the master hurried around to his side of the car and offered his arm.
Bran took it and leaned on it heavily, and Lee could see that his face was pale and
drawn, with dark circles under his eyes.
When they came in the front door, Lee stood up, not knowing what to say or do.
Bran smiled wanly when he saw him.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said, holding out his hand, and Lee went to him; Bran
hugged him with one arm and kissed him softly on the mouth. "Sorry-- I know I
look like hell."
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"No," said Lee, distressed, and Bran said, "Well, good. I just feel like hell, then."
"What happened?" Lee asked.
Bran cupped his face in both hands and looked at him for a long time before he
said, "I'll tell you all about it. But not right now. Master, may I please go upstairs
and lie down?"
"I was just about to say," said the master. "I'm coming with you, though."
"You don't have to do that, master," said Bran, frowning. "I'm fine. Just tired. I'll
probably just sleep."
"Then I'll sit with you while you sleep," said the master. "Not open to argument,
Bran."
Lee held his breath, but Bran just nodded, and kissed Lee again, quickly, this time
on the forehead, before he let him go. "I'm fine, Lee. I'm just really tired. I'll see
you at dinner, okay?"
The master put an arm around Lee, in turn, and Lee leaned into him, resting.
"How was your day?" the master asked.
"Fine, master," Lee murmured. "Thank you."
"Anything you need?"
"No, thank you, master."
"All right." The master kissed his cheek, and let him go, and went up the stairs
with Bran.
Rather absent-mindedly, Lee wandered to the kitchen, and found Fox chopping
things for dinner; he hadn't realized it was so late in the afternoon.
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"Was that Bran at the door?" she demanded, and Lee shrank back a little at her
abrupt tone. He wasn't sure what Fox's exact feelings on him were, but they
seemed to be mainly of the "extraneous person cluttering up my kitchen" type.
"Where is he?"
"Upstairs," said Lee softly.
"Is he going to eat dinner?"
"I don't know," said Lee, and then, remembering that Bran had said he'd see Lee at
dinner, added, "Yes."
"Wait a minute," she said, and went to the stove, poured steaming water from the
simmering teakettle into a waiting teapot, looked at the clock, pulled out a tray and
arranged a teacup with saucer and napkin on it, looked at the clock again, stirred
the tea, put the pot on the tray, and pushed it at Lee. "Take this up to him."
"But--"
"Just take it up and leave it if he wants to be alone," said Fox. "He'll be glad of
something hot."
Lee didn't want to bother Bran and the master, but he didn't know any good way to
say no when a free person had given him a direct order that didn't contradict any
order of his master's. He took the tray, trying not to imagine dropping it, and went
very slowly out of the kitchen, down the hall, and up the stairs.
Bran's door was closed; Lee meant to knock, but he couldn't quite balance the tray
properly to do it. He knocked his elbow against the door instead, whereupon it
came open, not having been properly latched closed, and he saw the master sitting
on the bed with Bran in his lap, Bran's face pressed up against his master's neck.
Lee had never seen Bran cry, had never imagined Bran crying-- Bran who was so
brave, so strong, always smiling and tender and confident-- but he was sobbing his
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heart out, now, crying so hard he was gasping for breath. Lee trembled in the
doorway as the master looked up.
"Hey, Lee," he said softly, and Bran seemed to freeze. "What have you got there?"
"Tea, master," Lee mumbled. "Fox said--"
"Bring it in," said the master. "Good boy. Put it down on the nightstand."
Miraculously, Lee managed to obey without dropping the tray and smashing
everything on it.
"Good boy," said the master again, one firm palm rubbing between Bran's shoulder
blades as Bran shook against him. "Thank you. Shut the door behind you when you
go, please."
In the hall outside, moving fast and half blind, Lee cannoned straight into
someone's chest and dropped reflexively to his knees, bowing his head to the floor
before he even realized consciously what he was doing.
"Oh, Lee," said Yves' voice above him, surprised and compassionate and a little
amused. "Don't do that. Come on, get up."
Cheeks burning, still shaky, Lee took the proffered hand and let Yves help him up,
then hold him at arm's length and scrutinize him with kind concern.
"What's wrong, honey?" he asked gently. "Where's Bran?"
Lee nodded towards Bran's bedroom door, knowing he should speak aloud, but
temporarily unable.
"Is he okay?" Yves asked, frowning, and when Lee shook his head, "Is the master
with him?"
Lee nodded, and Yves said, "Okay, good."
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"What's wrong with Bran?" Jer asked, suddenly emerging from his bedroom.
"I don't know," said Yves. "I heard them come in but I haven't seen either of them,
and Lee says they're in there--" jerking his head towards Bran's door, "--and that
something's wrong."
Jer scowled at the door. Yves sighed, then smiled at Lee.
"You look worried," he said. "Us too, but there's nothing we can do right now.
Come worry with us."
Lee followed Yves obediently into Jer's room. Jer had left a pad of paper marked
with little squares on the bed; he picked it up and started to put it aside, but Yves
grabbed it.
"You've got to start doing these on real paper," he said, examining the pad, which
had some complex, shaded geometrical shapes drawn on it. "It could look really
good. Maybe do some sketches in color."
Jer rolled his eyes. "And what, make a portfolio? Apply to school?"
"Just to see what you could do," said Yves. "For fun. Why else do you do it?"
Jer pulled the pad out of Yves' hands, a little roughly, and flipped it towards the
window sill, where it landed face down. "I don't know. To kill time."
"So kill time," said Yves, sitting down on the bed and motioning to Lee to come sit
next to him. Lee obeyed, and Yves put a casual hand on his back and rubbed
gently. "You could get creative. If you asked him, he'd get you some real supplies-like a compass. You could even do models, in clay."
"I don't want to bother him with it," said Jer, lying down on his back on the other
side of the bed, with his hands behind his head.
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Yves shifted to face him. "Why not?"

"Because I don't," said Jer, narrowing his eyes.
"Okay," said Yves. "I just think he'd like to see what you've done."
"Yeah, sure," said Jer. "Very useful skill for a sex slave. He can rent me out to the
architects' guild."
Yves shrugged. "He doesn't rent me out to universities, but I still like to talk to him
about what I'm learning."
"Yeah, well, I'm not you," said Jer.
"I know that," said Yves.
"Then quit acting like I should be."
"I didn't say that. I was just--"
"You act so gods-damned superior sometimes," said Jer tightly. "Like everybody
else should learn from your wisdom. I'm not new around here any more, okay?"
"Okay," said Yves, shortly. "Sorry."
"And anyway, I knew him before you did."
"I said sorry, for Sif's sake," said Yves irritably, and then for some reason they
both looked at Lee-- who shrank back, trying to make himself as small as possible;
the last thing he wanted was to get in the middle of their quarrel-- and then back at
each other, and smiled, ruefully.
"Hey," Yves said, patting Lee's leg. "You're not Bran."
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"I'll be Bran," said Jer, and in an incongruously soft, sweet tone, "He did say sorry,
Jer."
Yves laughed, and then lowered his voice and growled, "Oh yeah, right, and that
makes it all okay."
"What else am I supposed to say?" Jer minced, raising his eyebrows and pursing
his lips.
"I hate it when you two fight," said Yves in a passable imitation of Bran's voice,
and then, growling again, "Call that a fight? It's not fighting until somebody's got
scratches to show for it."
"Now you're talking," cooed Jer, leering and winking exaggeratedly at Yves, who
laughed. Jer hesitated, then added, in his normal voice, "Sorry-- didn't mean to
snap at you. I guess I'm kind of worried."
"I know," said Yves, and looked at Lee. "Do you have any idea what they're doing
in there?"
Lee nodded, and cleared his throat. "Bran's-- crying."
"Poor kid," said Jer quietly. "That'll fuck up anyone's day, going back like that."
Yves looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I don't know if it would bother me. But
then, my childhood wasn't particularly happy."
"I didn't know anybody's was, until I heard about Bran," said Jer.
"I know," said Yves. "A slave whose parents loved him. Hard to believe."
"Explains a lot about the kid, though." Jer reached out to run his hand over Lee's
hair, which Lee didn't mind at all after the first surprise. "You ask me, once
somebody loves you like that, you never really get used to-- being used-- again."
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Yves put an arm around Lee, the way the master had earlier, and gave him a quick
squeeze. "I wouldn't know."
"Yeah, I guess not," said Jer. "Since he had the decency to keep you around after
he ruined you for normal slavery."
"There you are," said the mistress, suddenly appearing in the doorway, before Yves
could respond. "Are they back? Where are they?"
"Holed up in Bran's room, mistress," said Yves. "Lee says Bran is crying."
The mistress sighed and nodded. "I suppose I'm not surprised."
"We were just saying," said Jer.
"But Holden's with him?"
Yves looked at Lee, who managed a hoarse, "Yes, mistress."
"Good," said the mistress, and then, smiling ruefully, "Poor Lee. You've had to
deal with more of our family dramas and breakdowns than most trainees, I think."
Lee didn't exactly know how to answer that, but fortunately she didn't seem to
expect an answer.
The rest of them were all seated at the dinner table, but hadn't been served yet,
when Bran and the master came in, hand in hand. Bran looked even worse than
before, his eyes swollen and watery, his lips puffy and cracked. The master's eyes
seemed a little red, too.
"Sorry we're late," he said.
"You aren't," the mistress answered, as the master sat down. Bran didn't
immediately follow suit; he went to Yves, instead, and leaned down to kiss his
mouth briefly before he moved on to Jer and did the same thing, and then to Lee,
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who was too surprised to kiss back before Bran pulled away and moved towards
his own chair.
"I don't get a kiss?" the mistress asked lightly, and Bran changed direction
promptly, bending over her and kissing her mouth softly, and then turned to Greta.
When she smiled and beckoned, he went and kissed her too, and then sat down,
still not smiling, but with considerably more color in his cheeks than he'd had when
he came in.
Fox came in to serve, and her hand rested on Bran's shoulder for a moment as she
passed him. Bran did smile at her, and she smiled back.
"And how was your day?" Yves asked finally, breaking the silence. Bran let out a
small puff of laughter and wiped at his eyes.
"I've had better," he said, his voice thick and hoarse, and coughed. "But I've had
worse, too. I just-- I didn't realize how-- intense it would be."
"Was anyone living there?" Yves asked.
Bran nodded. "Someone I knew, actually. A friend. From before."
"Fucking hell," said Jer, and Bran managed another tiny breath of a laugh.
"Right," he said. "And then we went to see my parents' graves."
"Oh, now, really, Holden!" said the mistress crossly, and the master put his hand
over his eyes and nodded.
"Please don't blame him, mistress," Bran said quietly. "And anyway, I'm glad we
went. It was--" He sent Yves a quick, odd glance, with a quirk of the lips that was
almost a smile. "Cathartic."
"It can't be that bad if you're quoting the unabridged dictionary," said Jer,
brusquely; Lee could tell he was relieved. "Eat something, will you?"
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Bran coughed again, took a long draught of water, and started eating. He didn't say
much else during the meal, but everyone else, except the master, seemed relieved
enough to chat about other matters. The master ate and mostly kept his gaze on
Bran, who looked up once or twice to meet it; they didn't quite smile at each other,
but when their eyes met, their faces relaxed.
After dinner, when Fox was clearing away the dishes, Bran said, "Master, may Lee
and I go upstairs?"
The master hesitated for a moment, looking back and forth between them, before
he said, "Yes, you may."
"I'm sorry I fell apart as soon as I walked in the door," said Bran, curled up on the
bed with Lee half in his lap, stroking his back. "Do you want to hear about it?
What happened today?"
Lee didn't answer. He was thinking about something else.
"Lee?" Bran was still caressing him. "Sweetheart? Are you okay?"
"I don't belong here," Lee said softly.
Bran pulled him back and looked at him, worried. "What do you mean?"
"Just--" Lee hesitated. "You belong here. This is your home."
"Yes," said Bran, tears spilling from his raw, swollen eyes and down his cheeks
with a suddenness that scared Lee. "No, I'm fine, I just-- yes, this is where I belong
now."
Lee nodded, watching Bran cry. Bran didn't seem to mind being watched; he
looked back at Lee, even smiling a little, and swiped at his tears with the back of
his hand.
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"You mean you don't belong here the same way I do?" he resumed, thickly, after a
moment. "Well-- no. But you're going to have a home with Lord Taganov and
Mona."
Lee nodded. "I know. It's just--"
Bran waited patiently while Lee breathed, trying to think how to explain what he
meant, the sense of loneliness and loss that had come over him as he watched
Bran's family miss him, close ranks around him, open their arms to welcome him
home.
"It's like this was the first place that was ever--home for me," he said finally. "Like
with you and-- your mom and dad."
Bran sucked in his breath as if Lee had hit him, but before Lee could apologize-- or
bite his own tongue out-- he said, "Yeah. I understand. This is the first place you--"
"The first time anyone loved me," said Lee, almost pleadingly.
Bran wrapped his arms around Lee and pulled him close again. "I do love you,
Lee. We love you."
"I know," said Lee again, and nestled against Bran's shoulder, smiling a little as
Bran's palms moved over the scars on his back. "But it's okay. I was already-ruined."
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CHAPTER 42
Not too much later, Bran fell asleep with his arms around Lee, his breath catching
heavily in his throat, thick with tears. Lee wasn't at all sleepy, but he guessed he'd
fall asleep eventually, if Bran didn't wake up and have other ideas. In the
meantime, he didn't mind lying still, watching Bran sleep, and thinking.
Bran's face, swollen and pink with tears and sleep, looked so-- well-- not young,
exactly, or childlike. Lee wasn't sure what the word was for what Bran looked like,
but he thought it was making him feel protective, which was a strange feeling. He'd
attempted to protect Bran once before, of course, when Bran was talking back to
the master, but it was different when you were trying to protect someone brave and
strong from their own insane excesses of bravery; Bran didn't look at all brave or
strong right now, he just looked very, very tired, and Lee wanted to stand guard
over him and keep anyone from waking him up.
He'd always known, of course, that Bran had belonged to Lord Dunaev, that Lord
Dunaev had done the same kinds of things to Bran that he'd done to Lee, even if
he'd managed not to leave any actual scars on Bran. Bran hadn't had to be taken to
the hospital. But neither had Lee until the very end, and there had been a lot of
time before then, and it was bad enough remembering that for yourself, without
thinking about strong sweet gentle beautiful Bran-- crying. Bran cried. He would
have cried when Lord Dunaev did things to him. He would have fallen asleep,
afterwards, in the basement room, bruised and looking like this, and not safe.
And Lord Dunaev might have another slave by now. Another kid like Lee-- like
Bran. That was what Miss Robin meant when she said the cause-- she meant that
shouldn't keep happening, not to kids like Bran and Lee and whoever was sleeping
in the basement room tonight.
Lee was half still thinking thoughts like these, half asleep and uneasily dreaming,
when a soft knock came at the door. Lee startled and hesitated, not prepared to call
out, as he'd heard free people do when a knock came at a closed door, "Come in"
or "Who is it?" The first amounted to giving orders, which Lee didn't have the right
to do to anyone in this household, and which would be unimaginably impertinent if
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it turned out to be the master or mistress; the second was even worse, suggesting
that Lee might deny entrance to anyone. Before he could figure out how to
acknowledge the knock with appropriate deference to whoever was knocking-- he
was considering just "Yes?" but that still sounded too haughty, as if he were
expecting the knocker to justify himself to Lee-- the knob turned, and Lee's eyes
flicked shut reflexively. It was still safer to pretend to be asleep.
The door opened, and closed again, and footsteps approached the bed; a man's
hand brushed over Lee's forehead, and Lee opened his eyes and looked up into his
master's face.
"Hi, sweetheart," the master whispered. "Is there room for me?"
Lee nodded, pulling himself carefully out of Bran's arms; Bran was sleeping too
soundly to wake as the master climbed into the bed between the two of them and
slid an arm around each, pulling them close against his body. He was still wearing
his tunic, but had taken off his belt and boots; he turned and kissed Lee's forehead.
"It's not that I don't think you'd take good care of him," he said softly, smiling at
Lee, who smiled back. "But I don't think I'd sleep much tonight if I weren't with
him. And with you. Are you nervous about tomorrow? The article coming out?"
"No, master," Lee whispered.
"Good," said the master, and yawned. "When did he fall asleep?"
"No," said Bran, waking suddenly, and then, blinking, "Oh."
"Hey, you," said the master.
"Hey, you," said Bran, and put his head down on his master's chest, and went back
to sleep.
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Lee woke up to the sound of the telephone ringing, and went back to sleep. Then
he woke up to the sound of it ringing again, and went back to sleep again, and
woke up again, and looked at the master, who looked back, apparently wondering
the same thing Lee was.
"Why?" Bran asked with his eyes closed.
"That's an excellent question," said the master. "Let's go downstairs and find out."
"Ragnarok," said the mistress, slumped against the wall in the passageway as the
telephone rang again. She picked it up. "Jamesen and-- yes. Hello, Lady Anna."
"Why are the curtains drawn?" the master asked Yves, who was in the foyer,
peering through a sunlit chink in the curtains at the front lawn. Greta was craning
her neck behind him; Jer was leaning with his back against the door and a longsuffering expression.
"Because the place is under attack," said Yves. "Look for yourself, master.
Reporters, photographers, looks like the whole press corps out on the front lawn.
The phone's ringing off the hook already, and most nobles probably haven't even
had breakfast yet. Word's spreading quickly."
"I appreciate that, my lady," the mistress was saying to the phone. "Your support
will be invaluable. Yes, I'm aware not everyone will feel the same way. We'll just
have to deal with that as best we can. Thank you so much."
The phone rang again.
"Jamesen and Larssen," the mistress said. "Oh. Hello, Nikol."
Greta and Jer both stiffened. The master went back into the passageway to stand
next to his wife.
"I'm aware of that," she was saying into the phone, leaning against the wall. "Yes, I
know what he said about you. Why, is it not true?"
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She rolled her eyes at the master, who shook his head as the angry voice came
unintelligibly from the telephone.
"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked. "We're not talking about
how you treated me, we're talking about how you treated-- Of course I'm taking his
side, whose side did you expect me to take? --No, you never understood that, did
you?"
She straightened up suddenly, her cheeks flushing, and said in a low, cold voice,
"You leave her out of this."
The master stepped forward and took the phone from her unresisting hand.
"Fuck off and die," he said into the receiver, and hung up the phone, turning to his
wife. "There, see how easy?"
She sighed and slumped back against the wall. "Thank you. Gods. He's really
furious."
"You expected him to be pleased, maybe?" The master put his hand on her
shoulder, and she moved to lean against him. "Jer had a few choice things to say in
that interview."
"So did you," said the mistress.
"I thought I was very decorous."
"A decorous version of the ugly truth is still too much truth for Nikol Argounov,"
said the mistress. "I ought to know."
"Breakfast is ready," Fox snapped, putting her head out of the door to the dining
room. "And if that mob out there keeps me from getting home after I clear up, I
expect overtime. I got grabbed at on my way in here-- and there weren't half as
many of them then."
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"Of course," said the mistress distractedly. "Come eat, everyone. I'll take the phone
off the hook."
No one ate particularly heartily, but everyone managed to eat something, except
Lee, who couldn't shake the sickening feeling that all this hubbub and disruption
was somehow his fault. The master noticed him poking at his food with a shaky
fork and held out a hand to him; Lee dropped his fork and came obediently, and the
master pulled Lee into his lap, holding him tightly against his chest.
"It's okay, Lee," he said. "Nothing bad is going to happen."
Yves and Jer groaned in tandem.
"Don't say that," said Jer.
Yves agreed, "Because now it will."
"Don't be superstitious," said the master. "Even if we go out of business or
accidentally say something horrendous to the press, nothing bad will happen to
Lee, that's my point."
Lee buried his face in his master's shoulder, and his master stroked his back as Jer
said, "I'm just hoping all we get is angry phone calls. Some people aren't going to
be content with yelling down a wire, and if the press could figure out where we
lived--"
"I hope no one's harassing Val," said Greta, worrying her lower lip. "Shouldn't we
put the phone back on, in case she tries to call?"
The mistress got up immediately, and Greta followed her out into the passage. Fox
came in, glowering, to clear away their plates.
"Miss Valor can take care of herself," said Jer irritably, and then, more
thoughtfully, "Wonder what's up with Harper and Robin."
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"Look," said the master, "I think it's best if we all just go about our business and do
what we'd normally be doing-- except Alix, who I guess is in charge of answering
the phone non-stop for the next week, and Fox, I'm sorry, but if you don't want to
be hassled, you should probably stick around until those people get bored and
leave. And of course we'll pay you overtime. Do you need to use the phone to call
anyone?"
"No," said Fox, "not yet," and went back to the kitchen, looking slightly mollified.
"Bran," said the master, "why don't you go help her out in the kitchen?"
Bran nodded peaceably and got up to follow Fox. "Yes, master."
"And Yves, if you think you can concentrate," the master added, "there are some
accounts that need doing."
Yves smiled a little, and went without saying anything.
"I'm not going anywhere," said Jer before the master could speak, "so don't think
you're going to send me along to play out of mischief-- master."
"I wouldn't dream of trying to take your mind off anything," said the master,
raising his eyebrows at Jer. "What are you going to do?"
"Sit on the steps and watch the front door," said Jer.
"And hold off the invaders by sheer force of will?"
Jer got up, his face grim. "Just in case."
The phone was ringing again, and the master was saying something in a low voice
to Jer, when Lee heard a car outside; he went to the window, knelt on the sill and
peeped out through the tiny crack in the curtains. A cab had drawn up amid the
waiting press phalanx; as Lee watched, Miss Robin and Mr. Harper got out of it
and came running up the path to the house, looking more alike than Lee had ever
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seen them-- both flushed, with identical expressions of nervous, thrilled

excitement. Miss Robin hammered at the door.
"Lee!" Jer snapped from behind him. "Get away from that window!"
Lee, clumsy with shock at Jer's harsh tone-- he'd never yelled like that at Lee
before; nobody had yelled like that at Lee since he'd lived here, except Miss Robin- moved too fast and fell off the sill and to the floor, where he knelt, staring up
wide-eyed at Jer. The older slave came up to him so fast that Lee cringed away
when Jer dropped to his knees, too, and reached for him.
"I'm sorry," said Jer, his voice gentle again. "I'm sorry I yelled. I'm not mad at you.
I just got scared when I saw you at the window. I was worried somebody would
see you and want to hurt you. Who's at the door?"
Lee couldn't answer right away. Miss Robin, or somebody, banged on the door
again.
"Who is it?" the mistress asked, hurrying in.
"I don't know," said Jer.
"Miss Robin and Mr. Harper," said Lee softly, and the mistress went swiftly to the
door and bundled them in, quickly, slamming the door shut again behind them and
shooting the deadbolt home.
"Did you see that?" Miss Robin shouted. "This is big, this is really, really big, hi,
Jer!"
Her enthusiasm was infectious; the house still felt besieged, and the telephone was
ringing again, but it seemed a little exciting now, as well as frightening, as she
went on, "I bet your phone's been ringing off the hook, tell us, tell us!"
"Everyone's been calling," the mistress confirmed, while Jer carefully guided Lee
to sit down next to him on the steps, keeping a protective arm around him. "A few
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angry, some thrilled, most just... interested. We've been answering questions as
best we can. Excuse me."
She went to answer the telephone again, and the master said, "What she means is
she's been answering questions. For some reason she doesn't trust me with
potentially sensitive telephone conversations. I can't imagine why."
Mr. Harper laughed and Miss Robin smirked as the master added, "I don't know
what to do about that press phalanx out there, though."
"Eventually you'll want to make a statement," said Mr. Harper, his fair face pink
with excitement. "We can bide our time on that, though-- think through what you
want to say. Keep them on their toes for a while. This is-- really exciting, though,
isn't it? I didn't know-- I mean, I hoped, of course, but this is-- big."
"Yeah," said the master. "I guess it is."
"As long as you people are paying for my time," said Fox, coming out into the
foyer with her apron on, "can I get anyone anything? Something to drink?"
"Anything's fine," said Miss Robin affirmatively.
"Tea, maybe," said the master, as Miss Robin sat down unselfconsciously on the
floor of the foyer, planting herself almost at Jer's feet. Jer looked down at her with
a sort of long-suffering amusement, as if she were an unruly puppy. The master sat
down a step below Jer and Lee while Mr. Harper, considerably more awkwardly
than Miss Robin, maneuvered himself to sit down on the floor. Lee looked up at
Jer, who leaned forward as if to kiss him, then just brushed a cheek against his
instead.
"Don't worry, kid," he said, not looking at Lee. "It'll be okay."
The master was trying to persuade Lee to sip some tea when something crashed
against the door, beat at it furiously, a sound that scared Lee half to death and
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made everyone else look up, startled. Bran, Yves, Greta, and the mistress all came
hurrying into the foyer.
"Trouble," said Jer succinctly, as the mistress went to the window and peeped out
the crack between the curtains.
"Dunaev," she said, just as shortly.
Everyone except Jer suddenly looked at Lee, who was trying to blink away a
sudden dizzying blurriness of vision. Jer, still with his arm around Lee, glowered at
the door.
"I fucking knew this would happen," he muttered. "Didn't I tell you, master?"
"Alix, call the police," said the master, and the mistress vanished into the hallway
as the pounding continued. "Jer, listen-- all of you, Yves, Bran, you too. If the door
gives way, let me do the hitting, okay? I don't want any of you jumping in to fight,
except in self-defense, and even then I'd rather you ran and hid."
"What?" Jer was furious. "Why the hell?"
The master spread his hands apologetically. "I'm on safe ground legally if he does
actually break into my house, but I don't want any of you to be test cases on
whether a slave can legally beat up an invader to his master's home. Don't get me
wrong-- if you do jump in I'll swear in court that I threatened you with painful
death if you didn't hit him as hard as you could. But unofficially, please make it
easier on me and don't, because I don't want to be in court with any of you."
Yves was scowling, too. "So we're just supposed to stand around while he
hammers on you?"
"No, while I hammer on him," said Holden. "He's big, but he's out of shape, and I
doubt he's fought anyone who hit back for a while-- unlike me." He grinned at Jer,
who cracked a small, reluctant answering smile. "Anyway, let's just hope the door
holds until the police get here or he gets tired and goes home."
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To hurt his new slave, Lee thought.

The mistress came back in and said, "They say they're on their way."
"I guess we just wait it out, then." The master leaned over and put a gentle hand on
Lee's knee. "You okay, kiddo?"
Lee nodded, and there was a silence, broken by another bout of furious pounding
on the door, followed by a round of screamed obscenities and threats in Lord
Dunaev's voice, in which the master's name figured slightly more prominently than
Bran's and slightly less prominently than Lee's. Lee couldn't stop himself from
shaking; Jer pulled him closer. There was more pounding, then quieter yells, as if
Lord Dunaev had turned away from the door; maybe he was yelling at the
reporters.
The master had Bran's hand in his, squeezing it convulsively. Lee leaned his head
on Jer's shoulder. The mistress and Greta were at the window, the mistress' arm
around Greta's waist. There was a silence, except for the noise at the door.
"Oh," said Miss Robin suddenly, after a while, and looked at the master. "You
know what-- you should go out there!"
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Jer asked her, and Lee stole a quick look at
the master, who didn't look at all inclined to reprimand Jer for talking to a free
citizen like that.
"No," said Miss Robin, who didn't look inclined to reprimand him either-- just to
argue. "Don't you get it? The press is outside. They've got cameras. I got as many
shots as I could of what that bastard did to Lee, but a shot of him actually swinging
his fist-- that would be solid fucking gold."
"You are out of your mind," said the master. "I'll fight him if he breaks into my
house, but at my age, I'm not getting in any fights I don't absolutely have to."
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"You don't fight back," Miss Robin explained, as if to an idiot. "We don't need
shots of you hitting people. Just him."
The master stared at her. "So why don't you go out there and get yourself beaten
up? Actually, I'd kind of like to see that."
"I would, if I thought he'd hit me for the cameras," said Miss Robin, "but he doesn't
even know who I am. He'd just push me out of the way and come beat you up
inside the house, where it wouldn't do us any good. Or beat Lee up, or Bran. Don't
you get it-- we need someone who's going to make him mad enough to haul off
right there in the yard."
The master rolled his eyes. "Look, Robin, the article was one thing, and I'm not
sorry we did it, but I am not quite deeply enough invested in your cause to let some
sadistic psychopath punch me around for a photo op, okay? No matter how deeply
it might move the hearts of the voting public."
"So you aren't willing to take a few bruises for the welfare of thousands of kids?"
Miss Robin demanded.
Lee wasn't trembling any more, and he wasn't thinking of thousands of kids, but of
Bran, and of the kid back at Lord Dunaev's-- the boy, or girl, waiting in the
basement room. He was thinking about how Bran had been smart and brave,
everything Lee wasn't, and it hadn't saved him. Luck had saved him-- luck and the
master, who was only one man and could only do so much, after all. Couldn't do as
much as pictures could. Miss Robin was right.
But the master shouldn't be the one to stand there and be hit; it wasn't his place, he
wasn't used to it, and for all the times Lee had been beaten for no better reason than
his own clumsiness and worthlessness, for no reason at all, this was-"Lee?" said the master, as Lee got up, and then as he started moving, fast, "Lee,
no--"
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Lee was already at the door-- the master couldn't move fast enough to stop him-and unbolting the deadbolt, and opening the door. He was several steps out the
door when his former master, looking bigger than ever and crimson with rage,
who'd stepped a little away from the door and was standing in the yard yelling at
the crowd, turned on Lee with an instant's disbelief, an instant before his hand
pulled back to hit, and in that instant something else was between Lee and the fist
as it swung.
Some other body took the hit, and then someone was dragging Lee down, covering
him, all around him-- he couldn't see, could only feel the muffled blows and kicks
through the other body as he huddled beneath it, hear a deep voice ordering in his
ear, punctuated with gasps as the hits landed, "Stay still-- don't move--" and around
the same time it filtered through to Lee's shock-numbed brain that it was Jer's
voice, that Jer was shielding him, passively taking the pummeling intended for
Lee, the pummeling stopped.
A woman screamed-- Lee was lying still, his body sluggish, miles behind or ahead
of his mind-- and there was the sound of a blow landing, but not to Jer's body.
Dunaev's voice yelled out as if in rage or pain, and then Jer yelped and fought for
breath as something slammed into his side with a sickening cracking sound, and
wheezed again to Lee, who had finally started to struggle, "Stay still, damn you!"
Lee froze, paralyzed into obedience by Jer's angry voice, however breathless with
pain.
"I'll fucking kill you!" someone yelled at someone else, and something heavy hit
the door behind them, and Lee's arm was crushed against the ground as something
hit Jer again and for an unbearable moment the sound of his painful, ragged
breathing stopped altogether. Then dragged in again.
"Freeze!" shouted an amplified voice. "Hands in the air, all of you!"
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CHAPTER 43
"I'm fine," said Jer. "Quit fussing."
Holden, gingerly touching his own cheek where Dunaev's fist had connected,
looked at Jer's bruised, bloodied face, purple and red on chalky pallor, eyes
narrowed against the pain. "You are so very far from fine."
Jer shrugged impatiently, then sucked in his breath. "I mean, I will be fine.
Especially once Mr. Harper here quits poking at me. You're going to have some
shiner yourself, you know. Master."
"He's got a couple of broken ribs, at least," said Denys to Holden, having finished
his gingerly prodding at Jer's body. "No other broken bones as far as I can tell, just
some nasty bruising and swelling. I don't think his nose is broken, but there could
be a fracture to the cheekbone, or it could just be swollen and sore-- it's hard to tell.
And with the hits he took to the head-- well, I'm just a nurse, and I don't have any
equipment with me to really assess the damage. We should get him to the
hospital."
Jer, still supine on the grass-- only Jer could make that pose, under these
circumstances, look lazy-- grunted irritably. "I don't want to go to any godsdamned hospital. Argounov took me in once, and it was a nightmare, they chained
me to the fucking bed. Can't you just get Carey to tape up my ribs?"
"Sorry, baby, but you need X-rays," said Holden. "You won't have to stay long, I
hope. As soon as the police are done swooning over the number of cameras that
got the whole thing, we can get going."
"I'm fine," said Jer again, yanking himself up abruptly into a sitting position, with
an involuntary groan of pain. Holden and Denys winced simultanously.
"Take it easy, Jer," Holden said sharply. "Maybe chaining you to the bed is a good
idea."
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Jer scowled as Holden added, "You just took a kicking that I'm pretty sure was
supposed to kill you. It probably would have killed Lee."
"Yeah, well, Lee is four feet tall and made out of toothpicks," said Jer. "Speaking
of Lee--" he turned his head, wincing-- "come here, kid, and tell your good buddy
Jer all about the time your mama dropped you on your head and turned you into a
complete and utter fucking idiot."
Lee, kneeling on the ground where he'd been ever since Denys pulled him up to
look for injuries and found none, looked up at Jer with huge eyes in a milk-white
face; Holden wasn't sure he'd even understood what Jer said.
"He's not an idiot," said Robin, who was sitting on the ground with blood trickling
down the swollen, bruised side of her face, and looked happier than Holden had
ever seen her. He also found himself feeling something not dissimilar to liking
towards her, which might have to do with having seen her fling herself, without the
slightest hesitation, between an enraged Dunaev and his target, before Holden
himself could even make it all the way out the door. "He's a hero. Denys, quit that,
leave me alone."
"Hold still," said Denys, pulling aside a bloody mat of hair to reveal an ugly gash
in her scalp, presumably from where Dunaev had thrown her so hard against the
door that the frame had splintered slightly. "You need to go to the hospital too.
You need stitches, and you probably have a concussion."
"You should see the other guy," said Robin, pulling away and jerking her head
towards the back of the police car where Dunaev sat slumped, his face hidden from
the cameras that were still enthusiastically clicking away. "Lee, you're a hero. You
and Jer are both heroes."
"Like I said," said Jer, "he's an idiot. Lee, next time violent psychos come visit, try
and remember one thing for me: when it comes to not getting killed, inside the
house is better than outside. Think you can remember that?"
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Without a perceptible change in expression, Lee's big dark eyes brimmed with
tears, then spilled over. Before Holden could speak or move to comfort him, Jer
had lifted the boy's hand carefully to his pale lips and kissed the palm, softly as a
lover, or a mother.
"You were brave," he said. "Don't mind me. I'm just grumpy because somebody
forbade me to hit that fucker back."
"Mr. Larssen," said a woman's voice, and Holden looked up to see the same tiny
little police officer who had ducked Dunaev's maddened swing, handcuffed him
and inserted him into the back of the police car with lightning efficiency. Holden
was fairly sure he was now hopelessly in love with her, and from the equally tiny
smile she got on her face when he looked up at her, it showed. "I'm just checking-will you be pressing charges for trespassing, assault, and wilful and malicious
destruction of property?"
"I want to press charges for attempted murder," said Holden.
The officer didn't look as surprised as she might have; she looked at Jer, who still
had Lee's hand in his and was saying something to him in a low voice, and then
looked back at Holden and said, "All right, that too. I'll need you to come with us
and make a statement."
"Do I have to?" Holden asked. "I mean, does it have to be right now? I need to get
him to a hospital."
"You aren't under arrest, so no, you don't have to," said the officer, "but I'd
strongly recommend you be there, if you can get anyone else to take your slave to
the hospital. Your wife, maybe? Is she inside the house?"
"Yes," said Holden, looking up at the window, where Alix and Yves were peering
out side by side; he lifted a hand at their worried faces, hoping the sight of Jer
sitting up would be enough reassurance until he-- or somebody could get back
inside, away from the scene of the crime, and debrief everyone else more
thoroughly. "But Jer is mine."
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"I understand," said the police officer, which Holden really doubted, "but it will
make things easier for everyone if you're there when we book the suspect."
"How long will that hold him?" Holden asked.
The woman turned and looked at the back seat of the police car, then back at
Holden.
"It's hard to keep a nobleman in custody for long, pre-trial," she said, "but luckily
he's drunk and stupid enough to have attempted to hit a police officer in front of a
crowd of witnesses-- not to mention everything else he did in front of those
witnesses-- so we can set some fairly stringent conditions for his release. Which is
to say, we can probably hold him long enough so that anyone who's currently
under his care will need to be taken into custody by some responsible person. I'd
strongly recommend you come with us, Mr. Larssen."
It took Holden a second to realize what she was implying, but once he understood
that he was being offered custody-- or at least a chance at custody-- of that
hypothetical anyone who might be under Dunaev's laughably so-called care, he
didn't really have much choice.
"Will you be--" he started apologetically, turning back to Jer.
"I'll be a hell of a lot better once you stop hovering," Jer snapped, then added with
a guilty glance at the police officer, "Uh-- master."
Holden grinned.
"Slaves," he said to the police officer. "They get beaten half to death and they start
thinking they can just walk all over you."
She gave him a vague, puzzled smile that probably meant she was giving him the
benefit of the doubt. Holden appreciated that.
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"Is it okay if I go in the house for a few minutes?" he asked. "I need to get my bag,
and tell everyone what's going on, and ask Alix to drive Jer and Robin to the
hospital..."
She nodded. "Go right ahead."
"Thanks," said Holden. "Lee--" He hesitated, seeing the way Lee was clutching
Jer's hand as if for dear life.
"Lee, you go in the house too, and stay there," said Jer firmly. "No call to have you
in the hospital again-- you've spent enough time there to last you for awhile. And
didn't Bran say they didn't like non-patient slaves hanging around? I'll be fine, kid.
Don't worry about me."
Lee was crying again. Jer examined him thoughtfully for a moment.
"Hey," he said. "Lee. It's okay. It was worth it."
Lee shook his head mutely, tears still slipping down. Jer reached up and took Lee's
chin between his fingers, stopping the back-and-forth motion of the head, and
tipped Lee's face up, and then down, twice, making him nod.
"You get back inside," he said. "Start thinking of ways to thank me, for when I get
back."
Lee managed a pale small smile at that, and Jer smiled back at him, the rare, sweet,
young smile that always took Holden's breath away.
"Hey, I've always had a thing for dangerously stupid kids," he said, and looked up
at Holden, one eyebrow raised. "Fucking irresistible."
After about three unbearably long and bureaucratic hours at the police station, the
same police officer, the top of whose sleek helmet of hair came up to Holden's chin
when he was standing up-- he was really going to have to ask her to show him
what moves she'd used on Dunaev, more slowly-- unlocked the door of Dunaev's
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house with the keys she'd confiscated from him, and walked in ahead of Holden,
peering cautiously around.
"Anyone in here?" she called.
There was no answer.
Holden followed her through all the normal rooms of the house, even though he
was pretty sure he knew where the slave, if any, would be. He waited until she'd
checked everywhere else, though, before he suggested the basement.
She insisted on walking ahead of him down those steps, too, which Holden didn't
mind, but when the door to the little cell swung open, letting light fall over the
skinny tunic-clad girl crouched on the floor, he stepped forward, and the officer let
him. She stood in the doorway, watching as Holden knelt down next to the girl,
who stared at him with enormous suspicion on the lighted half of her face.
"Hi there," he said. "My name is Holden Larssen."
The girl's eyes widened, and he added, on a hunch, "Your master might have yelled
that name really really angrily at some point this morning."
She peered at him, assessing.
"Well, after that," Holden continued, "he came to my house and gave me this black
eye, and then this nice lady here arrested him and took him to jail. I hope that
doesn't break your heart or anything."
The girl didn't smile, and her eyes were still wary, but they were firmly fixed on
his face, not darting away in fear or avoidance, which he took as a good sign.
"That's why we're here," he said, shifting to sit more comfortably on the floor next
to her. "We didn't know you were here, but we thought maybe somebody might be,
so we came to check. And since you're here, and your master might not be coming
home for a while, we need to get you out of here, to somewhere we can make sure
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you're well looked after. Part of my job is to take care of slaves whose owners
haven't been taking good care of them, so the police agreed that it would be a good
idea for you to come stay with me for a while."
The girl watched him, thinking about that.
"Right now, I actually own two slaves who used to belong to your master," said
Holden. "The one who came right before you, Lee, and one from a lot further back,
Bran."
She knew both those names, he could tell; he could also tell her mind was racing,
so he let the pause lengthen a little, giving her time to gather her thoughts and
decide how far to trust Holden, if at all. Yet.
"I'm not your master," he said eventually, "but if you come stay with me, I'll be in
charge of you as if I were, and I'll look after you, at least until-- unless-- somebody
legally forces me to give you back to Lord Dunaev. I won't do that willingly,
because from what Bran and Lee have told me, and from what he did to me and a
couple of other people today, he's a crazy fucking asshole who shouldn't be
allowed to own a goldfish, let alone a person."
Her eyelids flickered slightly, with something like interest or-- was it?-amusement.
"But I can't promise I'll never give you back to him," he continued. "I'd like to, but
I can't. Because it's possible I'll be legally required to, and I can't get on the wrong
side of the law right now. I'm pressing charges against your master for what
happened today, and I'm hoping to get him put in jail for a long time, so I need to
stay out of trouble myself. Do you understand?"
It was the first question he'd asked-- questions were tricky, and he didn't want her
to feel interrogated, especially in the face of the news that her master was under
arrest and the person who'd come to fetch her was the person he'd assaulted-- and it
made her nervous, but after a moment she answered, in a low, husky voice, "Yes,
sir."
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"Good," said Holden. "What's your name?"

"Gwen, sir."
"Come with me, Gwen," said Holden, putting out his hand. After a moment, Gwen
took it.
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LEE INTERLUDE: ENTER GWEN

"Mr. Larssen," said the uniformed figure in the doorway, as the slave breaker
helped Gwen to her feet. "You realize that if anything untoward should happen to
this girl-- if she should become ill and die, or escape, while under your care-- it
would seriously weaken your case against Lord Dunaev. Even if you couldn't have
prevented it. And if there were any hint ofnegligencewell, Lord Dunaev can
afford the best legal assistance. Youll be watched, closely. Not just by the press
corps."
Mr. Larssen looked at the officer for a moment before he said, "Yes, I realize all
that."
Just making sure, the woman said.
Gwen guessed that meant Mr. Larssen couldnt kill her without really
inconveniencing himself.
Well, that was nice for her.
In the back seat of the police car, Gwen watched the slave breaker's profile in the
front as trees scurried by the car windows on their purposeful way to somewhere.
The man looked exhausted, she thought; his face was pale, and the furrows in his
brow looked permanent. The eye she could see wasn't the swollen, distorted one in
the middle of the bruise on his face; it was just distant and worried. There was gray
in his hair; he was probably older than her master, but he looked gentler, and Gwen
had liked his voice, quiet and helpful and reasonable. Of course, he might have a
temper that wouldn't show until later-- or he might just be trying to get her off her
guard. You couldn't rule that out, certainly not this soon.
On the way to the car, he'd asked her whether she had any injuries that needed
tending (she'd told him no; she had a few bruises and welts, but nothing worth
mentioning) and how long she'd belonged to Lord Dunaev (she'd estimated a
month, though she really wasn't sure; it wasn't as though keeping track of the days
was particularly high on her list of priorities) and how old she was (definitely
seventeen).
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"Do you have anything you want to ask me?" he'd asked then, as he motioned her
into the back seat of the police car.
Gwen had a lot of things she wanted to ask him, but most of them weren't matters
of survival or safety, just considerable curiosity. She'd tried, while he closed the
door and got in the front seat himself, to think of important questions that were
both likely to get truthful answers and unlikely to get her in trouble.
"How should I address you, sir?" she asked when he looked back expectantly at
her.
"'Sir' is fine," said Mr. Larssen. "You should call my wife 'ma'am,' and my slaves
by their names. The other person you're likely to run into at my house is Fox, the
free woman who cooks for us and prefers slaves to call her by her name rather than
a title."
Gwen liked that answer, which gave her more information than she'd actually
requested but not more than it would be helpful for her to know. She considered
for a moment.
"How long, for sure, before my master's out of jail?" she asked.
"Until tomorrow morning," Mr. Larssen answered. "It isn't at all likely he'll be out
that soon, but that's the longest we can be absolutely sure he'll be in there. More
realistically, I'd guess a few days before he's out, a week or so before he starts
agitating for you back-- if he does. He may decide it's better to lay low and not
start any more trouble than he's already in. Because your master is noted for his
prudence and good sense in the face of adversity."
Gwen didn't consider it politic for a slave to smile at sarcastic remarks about her
master, although she rather liked that Mr. Larssen made them. He'd been right that
her heart wasn't broken at the news of her master's arrest; the first thing he'd done
after buying her was beat her fairly badly for no particular reason, and though he
hadn't done it again and she'd found she could generally avoid punishment by
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trying hard enough, it hadn't exactly endeared him to her. She hadn't been fond of
the mistress who'd sold her to him either, but she'd done okay with them both, all
things considered. She wasn't too worried about this Mr. Larssen.
Gwen, he said eventually, and she snapped to attention, lowering her eyes
deferentially and murmuring, Sir.
Im going to tell you something about where were going, said Mr. Larssen. My
wife and I own several slaves at the moment. Greta belongs to my wife, Lee has
the status of traineewhich means Ill be reselling him for a profitand my own
boys are Bran, Yves, and Jer. Jers in the hospital right now, but Im hoping hell
be home soon. Youll notice our slaves taking certain liberties with us that you
wouldnt be allowed with your master. That does not mean you are allowed the
same liberties. You dont belong to me, not even as a traineeyou still belong to
Lord Dunaev. That means you should continue to behave in the way that Lord
Dunaev would consider appropriate. Ordinarily Im a retrainer, but thats because
ordinarily I resell. I wont be retraining youyou should keep to your current
training, so that ifif you have to come back here, the transition wont be too
difficult. Understood?
Yes, sir, said Gwen, as the car finally pulled up outside a house that seemed to
be partially surrounded by a small crowd of people with cameras. Some of the
people were sitting down on the ground, but they jumped up when they saw the car
and started taking pictures of Gwen. Gwen looked back nervously at Mr. Larssen,
who had his fingers at his forehead as if to massage away a headache.
"We'll keep a couple of officers here, just in case," said the police officer from the
driver's seat. "Just until this all dies down. We'll take it in shifts. Shouldn't be any
trouble for you-- just a little extra protection."
"Thank you," said Mr. Larssen, sounding extremely sincere, and the policewoman
smiled at him.
"Do you need a ride to the hospital?" she asked. "To check on your slave? Your
wife took your car, didn't she?"
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"I don't want to impose on your good nature-- and the police department's," said
Mr. Larssen, smiling back; he had a nice-looking smile. "I'll call a cab. Thank you
so much, Officer--"
"Vinland," said the policewoman. "You're welcome. Thank you for your
cooperation."
Mr. Larssen opened the door for Gwen, who was trying not to wonder too much
why Mr. Larssen's slave was in the hospital, and put an unexpected arm around
her, walking her through the gap in the crowd that was being held open by two
police officers. Gwen kept her eyes down as he led her in the front door, removed
his arm from around her, and locked the door securely behind them.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, making her feel immediately faint with the hunger
she'd managed to keep at the back of her mind until he mentioned it.
"Only if it please you, sir," she said carefully.
"Yes, well, it doesn't, particularly," he said, "but I'm guessing that means we
should get you some food. Hello, lYves," he added, as someone came hurrying
down the stairs; stealing a glance upwards, Gwen caught a glimpse of a tall, fair
man in a green slave tunic. "Heard anything from the hospital?"
"Not yet, master," said the man's voice. "Is this--?"
"This is Gwen," said Mr. Larssen again. "Gwen, this is my slave Yves. You may
look up. Gwen is one of Lord Dunaev's personal effects and has been confiscated
by the law by the time being."
Gwen looked up into Yves' handsome, blue-eyed face, which was smiling at her in
a way that seemed friendly, although you never knew.
"Hi, Gwen," he said. "Welcome. Master, Lee is really upset-- he's blaming himself
for Jer getting hurt. And Bran's-- I think they're both in shock, really, from what
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happened earlier. Lee worse than Bran, and Bran's been trying to hold it together to
comfort Lee. I've been doing what I can, but-- they need you."
Mr. Larssen nodded.
"Can you get Gwen something to eat, while I go up there?" he asked. "Or-- where's
Greta?"
"On the phone with Valor," Yves answered, nodding towards a passageway into
the rest of the house, from which Gwen could hear, faintly and intermittently, a
woman's voice. "Who's a bit of a celebrity on campus at the moment, apparently.
She called a little while ago-- Greta is catching her up on what's been going on
around here. Are you going to the hospital?"
"Yes," said Mr. Larssen. "I need to stay with Jer-- Alix can come home and take
charge of Gwen. But first let me check on the boys, and you get Gwen something
to eat."
He stepped closer to Yves and said something in his ear that Gwen couldnt hear.
Yves frowned, glanced at Gwen, and said, not very happily, Yes, master.
In the kitchen, Yves gestured to Gwen to sit down at the table while he poured her
a glass of water, then started slicing a loaf of bread and spreading it thickly with
some kind of paste. He put the sandwich on a plate when it was finished and put it
in front of Gwen.
"Eat up," he said. "If you're as hungry as Bran was when he first got here, you need
it."
"Thank you," she said, and hesitated. "May I use my hands?"
"Yes," said Yves, with an odd look. "You may."
Gwen lost no time devouring the sandwich, which tasted much better than she'd
expected; when her plate was empty, Yves came to take it from her. That made her
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a little nervous; surely anyone as obviously favored by their master as Yves must
feel some resentment at being ordered to serve someone like Gwen, who didn't
even really belong here. Best to make a placating move early on, she thought, since
even if he wasn't interested, establishing that she was willing would also establish
that she knew her place relative to him, and that was never a bad thing.
"Thank you, Yves," she said, softly and huskily and very gratefully, and
deliberately let her hand press lingeringly against his arm as he leaned over her.
He noticed, and smiled at her, but it wasn't a gratified or lecherous smile; it looked,
if anything, rather sad.
"Word to the wise," he said over his shoulder, on his way to the sink with her plate.
"If you were a trainee youd be welcome to try that stuff on the masterif you
didnt mind getting an earful of constructive feedback on your technique. But as
things stand now, just don't try it, especially not with with us slaves. It won't work,
and the master wont like it. He wouldn't punish you for making a pass at one of
us, not the first time, but he'd be irritated. And it's in everybody's best interest to
keep the master from getting irritated, isn't it?"
Gwen nodded, genuinely grateful for his friendly, matter-of-fact tone-- she'd never
been rejected so kindly before-- and for the advice, which should definitely come
in handy. Yves came back over and patted her shoulder in an avuncular sort of
way.
"Besides," he said, "you don't need to seduce me. Nobody here has any reason to
resent you. Are you still hungry?"
Gwen hesitated. "When will I get the chance to eat again?"
"We usually eat dinner around seven, Yves answered. Youll eat then, too. And
our master doesnt take away food as a punishment.
"I think I've had enough for now, then," Gwen said. "Thank you."
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"You're welcome," said Yves. "Do you have any other questions I can answer?"
Gwen considered. She didn't entirely trust Yves-- it didn't pay to trust people too
quickly-- but he'd been really decent about the pass she'd made, and if he'd wanted
to get nasty, that would have been a perfect opportunity. He didn't have to offer to
answer her questions, so he must not mind answering them, and she really was
anxious to know-"Why is Jer in the hospital?" she asked.
"That's such a good question," said Yves, "and the answer is such a long story.
Lets see. Two months ago or so, my master bought Lee from your master. Lee
was in such bad shape that my master's daughter Valor, who's an abolitionist--"
"The slave breakers' daughter is an abolitionist?" Gwen interrupted, too surprised
to be cautious.
"Yes," said Yves. "That's another long story. Anyway, she called in a couple of
friends to write an expos on how badly some slaves are treated, using your master
as an example of the worst abuses. The article came out this morning, and your
master must have seen it--"
(Gwen was fairly sure shed seen him see it.)
"And apparently it made him so angry that he decided to come over to my master's
house and kill somebody," Yves continued. "In front of the entire nation's worth of
press correspondents. So Lee, who is basically the sweetest and least sensible kid
ever, decided to be a hero and get himself killed for the cameras. As I understand
it, he was mostly interested in saving the hypothetical kid Dunaev might go home
and kill instead. Which would be you, by the way."
"Lee got killed?" Gwen asked, bewildered.
"No, no, no," said Yves. "Lee ran out there to get himself killed, but Jer jumped in
to save him and took the kicking your master meant for Lee. Except Jer is tougher
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than boot leather, so he didn't get killed either, just hurt badly enough to put him in
the hospital."
"Oh," said Gwen, not really understanding why Jer had "jumped in," but
registering that Jer did have reason to resent her, since she was obliquely
responsible for his injuries. She'd have to watch out for him, if she was still here
when he got out of the hospital.
Yves was about to say something else when there was a noise in the doorway and
Mr. Larssen came back in, his arm around a small, slender, dark-haired young man
in the household's green tunic; standing just behind him was another green-clad
young man, this one tall and long-limbed, with curly light-brown hair and striking
gray eyes.
The dark-haired one stepped out of the crook of his master's arm and towards
Gwen, who sat still, not sure what she should do. He stared at her for what seemed
like a long time, and then reached out and touched her hair, making her wonder if
one of the liberties Mr. Larssen allowed his slaves, like one of the benefits that
accrued to Lord Dunaevs friends, would be free access to Gwen.
But the boy pulled back quickly and looked up at Mr. Larssen, who said, "Gwen,
this is Lee, and this is Bran. Yves, would you call me a cab? Don't kick Greta off
the phone, but if she wants to talk much longer, tell her she can call Val back in a
couple of minutes. Gwen," he said, as Yves disappeared past him and Bran into the
hall, "I'm sorry to leave you so soon, but once I get to the hospital, my wife can
come home, and she can take charge of you. In the meantime, do as Yves tells you,
and you'll be fine. No one will hurt you."
"Thank you, sir," Gwen answered, her eyes lowered to the floor again.
"Master," said the dark-haired boy softly, from beside Gwen, "when you go-please--"
"Please what, sweetheart?" Mr. Larssen asked, his cool, matter-of-fact voice
shifting into something warmer and sweeter.
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"May I go with you?" Lee asked, and when Mr. Larssen hesitated, "Please, master- I need--"
"You need to see him?" Mr. Larssen finished, looking thoughtful. "Okay, Lee. The
hospital may not like it, but if they get really belligerent, I can always send you
back home with Alix after you've visited with Jer a little."
Lee darted back to his master and flung his arms around him without invitation;
some of the lines of worry and fatigue seemed to smooth themselves out of Mr.
Larssens face as his arms went around the boy in return. Something happened in
Gwen's chest at that, some dangerous quivering and loosening; she sucked in her
breath, trying to make it stop.
"Master?" said a red-haired woman in a green tunic, coming in, and then, with a
smile, "Hello, you must be Gwen. I'm Greta. Master, Valor wants to come home."
"I don't think that's a good idea," said Mr. Larssen, "do you?"
"No," said Greta. "I told her not to."
Did she listen? Mr. Larssen asked, still holding Lee close.
Valor, according to what Yves had said, was the master's daughter. That a slave
should have told her what to do, and then blithely announced the fact to the master
without even granting the young lady any title, was inexplicable enough; that the
master didnt strike or even reprimand her was utterly bizarre. But maybe it was
because, as hed said, she belonged to his wife; maybe there were different rules
about that. Gwen's own master wasn't married, so she didn't really know.
"You never can tell with Val," said Greta.
Mr. Larssen didn't even blink at the nickname.
"No, you can't, can you?" he agreed.
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Gwen was so puzzled about the way everyone here seemed to act around each
other that she didn't notice Bran's approach until he was almost on her; when she
did, her heart nearly stopped.
"Gwen, are you okay?" Bran asked her, reaching out to touch her arm. "You're
really pale."
She didn't answer; she wished she dared shake off his touch, but she certainly
couldn't afford any such disrespect towards Mr. Larssens slaves. Now Lee was
peeling himself off of Mr. Larssen, coming towards her; he knelt down-confusingly, and rather upsettingly-- at her feet, and peered up into her face with
an anxious, affectionate expression. Gwen looked away.
Boys, said Mr. Larssen, rather sharply, and the hand left her arm immediately as
Lee, still kneeling, looked up worriedly at his master. Gwen, I realize your master
only keeps one slave at a time, so what I told you about keeping to your training
doesnt exactly apply, but youre doing fine. Bran and Lee both feel a certain
kinship with you because they both once belonged to your master, so theyre trying
to be friendly. Bran, Lee, remember what I told you-- until we know more about
whats going to happen, its best if you dont get too close.
Master, said Bran, in a soft, pleading voice, and Mr. Larssen closed his eyes for
a moment, the black and purple bruise on his face standing out in ugly relief
against the paleness of his face, before he said, Lets not discuss it right now,
kid.
"Master?" said Yves, coming back in. "The cab's on its way. I'm going to draw up
a file for Gwen, if that's okay-- just basic information, height and weight and
provenance and alland I thought maybe I should phone Dr. Carey and ask her to
come check Gwen over, just in case. I thought it would be a good idea to have the
doctor able to testify in court, if nothing else. May I?"
"Yes, good idea, said Mr. Larssen. Lee, go put on your shoes. We need to make
sure Jer is all right.
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CHAPTER 44
The cab driver was either mercifully incurious or extremely discreet; he didnt say
a word about the crowd of cameras and notepads around his cab, half screaming
questions at Holden and the other half mostly just screaming Lees name. He also
didnt blink when Lee, once they were safely inside the cab, climbed into Holdens
lap, shivering and clinging in a way that made Holden regret letting him leave the
house so soon.
Demian hospital, please, he said to the driver, who answered impassively, I
know. You said on the phone.
Holden didnt bother correcting him. He ran a hand over Lees sleek dark hair,
feeling the boys trembling slowly subside against him as the cab inched through
the gap in the crowd made by the helpful police officers, and pulled away from the
house.
How does it feel to be a celebrity? he asked Lee, who just clung harder and
shook his head against Holdens shoulder. Itll die down soon enough, kiddo.
Lee didnt say another word, and he didnt budge for the rest of the drive to the
hospital.
At the hospital, Holden paid the driver, adding a three hundred percent tip that
made the mans stoic mouth twitch at the corners, and slipped his arm around
Lees waist, hustling him inside. He inquired at the information desk as to Jers
whereabouts.
Is that a slave? asked the woman at the desk. Non-patient slaves are not allowed
in the hospital.
Oh, come on! said Holden, and then, with an effort, softened his tone to add,
Please. He just wants to make sure his friend is okay.
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Its policy, said the woman. Theres nothing I can She broke off, peering
closely at Lee, and then at Holden, and then at something on the desk in front of
her. Looking down, Holden saw the magazine with Denys articleand Robins
photographs.
Thats us, he said. The patient is Jerhe was just admitted a few hours ago.
The owner whos with him right now is Jamesen.
Oh my god, said the woman, her eyes widening. Is Jer okay?
Thats what were trying to find out, said Holden, so
"Hey," said Jer drowsily from the hospital bed. "Look what the cat dragged in. You
look like shit."
Thanks. Holden crossed the room, while Lee hesitated in the doorway, and
leaned down to kiss Jers bruised, swollen face; Jer kissed back with
uncharacteristic tenderness. It was several moments before Holden broke away to
ask, "How are you?"
"Oh, I'm great," said Jer, pulling absently at the cuff that attached one wrist to the
bedrail. Theyve got me on something, for painthey needed my owner's
permission, but they said Alix counted, and she said give it to me. I always liked
Alix; she told them to unchain me too, but they wouldnt. I might run away, see.
Or get stolen. Not very fucking likely, right, but thats what they said. I want to go
home. I know we cant yet, though; Im just saying.
"Hes a little bit fuzzy, from the narcotic, said Alix apologetically. They said
setting his ribs would be agony without it. Also, they said he probably has a mild
concussion, but he hasnt been confused or anything, justchatty."
As she spoke, Lee came and leaned timidly over the bed, into Jers line of sight. Jer
looked surprised, but by no means displeased.
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Well, arent you a sight for sore eyes, he said, reaching up to brush the knuckles
of his free hand against Lees cheek. Gods, you are one good-looking kid, you
know that? Holdens got no taste; he always goes for blonds. And no sense,
either, he added severely to Holden, as Lee blushed and smiled. Whyd you
bring him? He shouldnt be here.
He begged me to let him come along, and see how you were, said Holden. I
didnt have the heart to say no. So how are you? Concussion and what else?
We dont really know yet, said Alix, as Jer appeared distracted by Lee. They
did set his ribs, as I said, and taped themand they said those and the concussion
should heal fine on their own, as long as hes careful and avoids exertion. But the
doctor left after that, and we havent seen him for hours. I guess he must not be too
worried.
Holden nodded. Where are Robin and Denys?
Long gone, said Jer, his eyes still on Lees face. They couldnt chain her to the
bed. Stitched up her head, gave her a handful of paracetemol, and she was out.
Places to go, people to see. Tyrannical empires to overthrow. You go over to
Dunaevs?
Yes, said Holden. And yes. A girl named Gwen. I dropped her off at home
before we came here. No visible injuries, no catatoniashe should be fine for
now. I told her youd take charge of her when you got home, Alix.
Good, said Alix. Youve got enough on your plate. Am I taking Lee home with
me, too, when I go?
Yes, said Jer firmly. Kid shouldnt be here when he doesnt have to be.
I want to be here, Lee protested. Please dont send me home, master.
I dont really have a choice, sweetheart, said Holden. Theres a rule here about
non-patient slaves, remember? We got lucky with that lady who let you come up,
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but the next doctor or nurse to come in here will probably kick you out, and if Alix
leaves without you, that would mean Id have to leave, too, to take you home. And
Im not leaving Jer.
Jer had opened his eyes and was smiling up at Lee; he tugged the boys hand to get
his attention.
Dont you worry about me, gorgeous, he said. Did me good to see you, you
know? Nice to know you care. Hey, want to do me a little more good, before you
go?
Yes, said Lee earnestly. Please. What can I do?
Jer grinned at him. Give us a kiss.
Lee blushed again, and laughed, and looked up at Holden, who readily nodded his
permission, then back down at the head on the pillow; he leaned down, timidly,
hesitating.
Come on, said Jer. All the way down. Cant meet you halfway, on account of
somebody kicked my fucking ribs in.
Lee dipped down, one hand still clasped in Jers, the other braced on the bed next
to his head; his lips brushed Jers swiftly, once, and then hovered uncertainly, a
couple of inches away.
Call that a kiss? Jer whispered, and Lees mouth was on his, his eyes sliding
shut, his lips hungry. One hand cuffed to the bed, one pinned by Lees to the bed,
Jer kissed back. And kissed, and kissed.
Holden looked at Alix, whose eyebrows had shot up to her hairline, but neither of
them made a sound. Finally Lee, crimson-cheeked and almost laughing again,
broke the kiss and pulled back. Jers lips stayed parted, his eyes wide.
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Fucking hell, he said huskily. Alix, get him out of here before I do something
the doctor wont approve of.
When they were gone, Lee pink-cheeked and bright-eyed and looking much
happier than when hed come in, Holden sat down in the chair where Alix had
been.
You really do look like shit, said Jer, and Holden opened his eyes; he hadnt
even realized they had closed until that moment, which was a little worrying.
More than usual, I mean. And aside from the purple eye. You okay?
Fine, said Holden automatically. Just, you know. Its been a long day.
Yeah, and its not over yet, said Jer grimly. You said the girl at Dunaevs was
okay, though? What was her name?
Gwen, said Holden. Yes, she seemed fine, considering. A little jumpy. And
very closed off, but thats probably for the best. I dont want her getting too
comfortable with us, until I know whether I have to give her back.
You wont, said Jer, his eyes half closed.
Holden raised his eyebrows. What, you got kicked in the head and now you know
the future?
No, just you, said Jer, with an oddly satisfied smile. You wont give her back.
Shes yours now.
No shes not, said Holden. I have temporary custody, thats all. The law cant
Not talking about the law, said Jer, his eyes closing all the way. Talking about
you, kid. Holden. Holden Larssen. Youll hand little Gwen back to Dunaev like
youll wake up tomorrow with blue eyes and blond hair. Or like youll pay some
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nurse to sit in here with me, instead of staying in this hellhole until you can take
me home.
Its not a hellhole, said Holden, after a moment. Its a very good hospital.
Said the man whos not lying flat on his back with his wrist cuffed to the bed,
said Jer, rattling the wrist in question without opening his eyes.
You want to trade places? Holden asked, only half jokingly. I could stand to lie
down for a littlecuffed or not.
Bet you could, said Jer, opening his eyes and looking up at Holden thoughtfully.
HeyHolden relax now, okay?
Oh, sure, said Holden. Youre a bloody drugged-up pulp, were all infamous,
the house is surrounded, Im charging a nobleman who wants to kill me and
everybody I care about with attempted murder of somebody who isnt legally a
person, Bran and Lee are already in love with Gwen whom as you so kindly point
out Im probably not going to be able to hand back to her master even if it means
sabotaging any case I could possibly make and putting the rest of us in danger, and
Valors probably on her way home right now. Ill just sit back and put my feet up,
shall I?
My heart bleeds, said Jer. Settle down, Holden. Its quiet here.
Its a hospital, said Holden. Hospitals arent really relaxing. You just called it a
hellhole.
Jer smiled. But its where you need to be right now, right? Protecting your
your-- He laughed. Your me. Standing guard. Or sitting guard. And here you are.
So relax. Rest.
At the word, Holden suddenly felt so tired that his eyes closed without his volition
for the second time in as many minutes. This time he let them stay closed.
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Loki, Jer, he said, and leaned his head down onto the railing of the hospital bed,
hating the whine that crept into his voice. Doesnt it ever fucking stop?
Nope, said Jer. Not for you. You wont let it.
Let it, Holden repeated vaguely.
You never let well enough alone, said Jer. Youve always got to make it better.
Of course it never fucking stops, Holden.
Im tired, said Holden, and felt a big, gentle hand brush lightly over his hair. It
felt so good he could have cried. He didnt, though.
I know, said Jer. Its okay. Just rest.
"Mr. Larssen," said a woman's voice, and a hand touched Holden's sleeve, and he
jerked so violently to ward her off that he fell off his chair and lay sprawled on the
floor, staring up at the bemused face of the doctor who'd treated Lee.
"You seem a little nervous," she said, as Holden scrambled clumsily to his feet,
trying to think of a way to salvage the merest sliver of dignity from this situation. It
might have been easier to think if Jer hadn't been alternately howling with laughter
and cursing with pain.
"Fuck you!" he gasped at Holden. "Why'd you have to start doing pratfalls when
my fucking ribs are broken?"
"I thought you left," said Holden to Alix and Lee, who were standing,
bewilderingly, behind the doctor; Alix was valiantly not laughing, and Lee, bless
him, didn't look amused at all, just deeply concerned. Holden was sure there was
plenty in his own appearance to be concerned about; he was so tired that he hurt
even in places he hadn't recently been punched in or landed hard on. His head hurt
when he thought about the crowd around his house, and his stomach hurt when he
thought about Gwen, and his teeth hurt from all the clenching, and his ears hurt
from all the screaming. His unbruised eye was gritty and painful from his brief,
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unsatisfying sleep, his forehead was dented from pressing against the hospital
bedrail, his knuckles and shoulder ached from punching Dunaev, his legs and feet
hurt from standing still for three solid hours at the police station. His heart was
beating too hard.
"We tried," said Alix, "but we ran into Dr. Grieg here, and by the time we'd
finished explaining what was going on to her, things had gotten a little--" She
gestured helplessly.
"Word spreads quickly," said the doctor. "Somehow it got out that you were here,
and we're being mobbed by celebrity-chasers. We've called for increased security,
but with all those photographs of Lee in the magazine, I don't think it's a good idea
for him to try to leave just yet."
"Oh," said Holden, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry at this news. It was
nice to have Alix here, he guessed, though there was Gwen to worry about, and
really, he couldn't really wish anyone anywhere but home right now.
The doctor suddenly put a hand on his neck and leaned forward slightly, as if she
were planning to kiss him; he froze, wondering if he'd finally gone insane, but she
was only taking his pulse. She scowled at him in a reassuringly hostile way.
"Sit down," she ordered. "Right now. I'll have the nurse bring in a cot so you can
lie down, and I'm prescribing a sedative, too-- you need a good long sleep."
"A s--?" Holden protested. "But I'm his-- he's my-- to take care of-- with the-- you
know--"
"You have anomia," said the doctor. Holden knew he'd heard the word before,
probably from Yves; he couldn't remember exactly what it meant, but going by her
tone it was probably something like "three seconds to live unless you do exactly as
I tell you." "You are exhausted, and possibly verging on delirium. Sit. Down."
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"Okay," said Holden, sitting down meekly; obedience to that particular tone in a
woman's voice had become an ingrained survival instinct when he was twenty.
"But I have to, uh-- you know. Look after him. Them."
"Ms. Jamesen can supervise your slaves," said the doctor, while Lee, as if in
response to the vague gesture Holden had made in first Jer's and then his direction,
came and knelt down at Holden's feet, wrapping his arms around Holden's calves
and laying his cheek against his knee. Holden put a hand on the sleek head, and felt
somehow steadied, as Lee made a soft, pleased little sound.
"But," he said. "Then. I have to go home."
"No you don't," said the doctor. "Ms. Jamesen says there is already a police detail
at your home, so the rest of your slaves will be safe enough until we can provide
you with an escort out of the hospital."
Holden blinked. "An escort?"
"The ability to mimic is a positive sign, in cases of possible brain damage," said
the doctor. "An escort, yes, because at the risk of contributing to your obvious
delusions of universal responsibility, Mr. Larssen, you have recently made some
powerful enemies."
"Alix," said Holden, his hand still resting on Lee's head, reminding him not to start
yelling, "I think Dr. Grieg is being nasty to me."
"I'm proud of you for telling a grown-up, darling," Alix answered gravely, adding
over Jer's shout of painful laughter, "Doctor, could you excuse us for a moment?"
"Why does she hate me?" Holden asked plaintively when the doctor had gone out,
closing the door firmly behind her. "I haven't killed Lee yet, have I? And I have
witnesses to what happened to Jer."
"Like you could do this to me if you tried," Jer scoffed drowsily. "I c'n give as
good as I get... when 'm allowed."
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"She doesn't hate you," said Alix to Holden. "She's just a little stressed right now.
And worried-- which I am too, frankly. I think she's right that you could use a
sedative and some sleep. Holden, stop that."
Holden had started to stand back up, before he realized that would be rendered a
little more difficult by Lee's firm grip on his legs.
"Yeah, don't fall down again," said Jer, closing his eyes and settling deeper into his
pillow. "Fuckin' hurts to laugh that hard."
"But Bran and Yves are at home," Holden said, glancing down at Lee, who was
looking up at him with large, trusting eyes. "And Greta, and Gwen."
"And the police are watching the house," said Alix. "And-- Holden, listen to me.
Are you listening to me?"
Holden nodded, looking up from Lee's face to his wife's. Alix didn't even have to
touch Holden to make him feel steadier; if Yves, Jer, and Bran were mirror, signal,
blind spot, Alix was the road, guiding and carrying him forward, satin-smooth and
solid as a rock, sine qua non.
"Darling," she said, "we've been in this for a long time-- just us. Our family. We've
done what we can, and we've done pretty well. But things are different now.
Bigger. You knew they would be, Holden-- that's why you set all this in motion.
Writing to Valor, agreeing to do the article. We opened it up-- we let the rest of the
country see what we see, and now it isn't just us any more. We're going to need
everyone who's on our side now-- the police, and the doctor, and the media, and
the nobles, and all the ordinary people who know our names and faces now."
Holden kept his eyes on her calm hazel ones as he answered, bleakly, "I liked it
better before. Just us."
"I know, love," said Alix softly. "But you made a choice. We all did. For--"
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Her eyes darted to Lee's dark head, now bowed again onto Holden's knee, and
Holden looked down, too, as she went on, "For everyone else."
"I don't care about everyone," said Holden, his hand slipping down from Lee's hair
to cup the back of his neck.
"For every one, then," said Alix, after a moment, with a delicate shift in emphasis.
"For Bran, and for Lee, and for Gwen-- and for the next one, and the next."
Holden closed his eyes, feeling the fragile, sharp vertebrae where Lee's neck bent,
the delicacy of the skin that stretched over them, the slight movement under his
hand as the boy breathed. Then he opened them and said, a little more harshly than
he meant to, "Yeah. Okay. So--"
"So rest," said Alix quietly. "Sleep. Let me watch over Jer and Lee, and let the
police watch over Bran and Yves and Greta and Gwen. Because we-- all of us-still need you. And you need your rest."
Holden thought about that for a while. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Okay," he said again. "But I think I'm going to need that sedative."
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CHAPTER 45
Lee held onto his master's legs while a plump young nurse administered the
sedative. The legs were tense, clenched; Lee bent his head and kissed his master's
knee, hoping the familiar gesture of submission and trust would offer some
comfort, and the master smiled down at him, though not particularly happily.
"I'll send the tech in with a cot and blanket in a minute," the nurse said, as Lee
watched the plunger of the syringe depress and the liquid inside push into his
master. "I guess you need another chair, too, don't you?"
"Hey, while you're here, can I have more pain stuff?" Jer asked. "I think it's starting
to wear off."
The nurse smiled at him, sliding the needle efficiently out of the master's arm. "I'll
check your orders."
"I bet that means no," said Jer when she was gone. "Orders, huh? Ain't it the
fucking way."
"Well, as far as my orders are concerned, you can have all the drugs you want,"
said the master, and then, "Oh. Whoa. It's, um, is it supposed to work this fast? I'm- I think I need to lie down."
"Lazy bastard," said Jer, as the master slid unselfconsciously from his chair to the
floor beside Lee, and then slumped down with his head on Lee's shoulder.
"Hey, kiddo," he slurred, and Lee giggled nervously. "If I fall asleep on you, just
make the tech person drag me onto the-- thing. Cot. Oh, God, that stuff is strong."
"You still swear by God when you're out of it," said Jer. "Just like Pasha, huh?"
The master lifted his head and blinked at Jer, and then he put it back down on Lee's
shoulder as he said, "Yeah. God. Like Pasha."
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He didn't say anything else for awhile, and his head was heavy on Lee's shoulder,
until another youngish woman came in, carrying a folding cot, a pillow, and a thin
white blanket under one arm and a folding chair under the other; she set the chair
down-- the mistress sank down in it rather gratefully-- unfolded the cot, and then
pulled the master up, arranged him on it, and covered him with the blanket, with
the efficiency of long experience. The master turned on his side, closed his eyes,
sighed, and slept.
"He said I could have more pain stuff," Jer told the tech, who turned and looked at
the mistress. She nodded.
"I'll check your orders," said the tech, and went out.
"Damn it," said Jer, while Lee got slowly to his feet, wondering where he should
be now. He wasn't nearly as comfortable at the mistress' feet as he was at the
master's, and sitting on the floor without anyone's legs to lean against felt lonely
and unnerving, but he didn't quite dare sit down in the chair his master had just
vacated.
"C'mere, kid," said Jer, and moved his head towards the chair. "Sit down next to
me."
Lee looked at the mistress, who nodded again, and then perched himself
uncertainly in the chair, not quite looking at anyone in the room.
He startled when the doctor came in, feeling horribly self-conscious, especially
since the doctor started looking at him immediately, the way she'd looked at him
when she ran into him and the mistress on their way down the hall, when they were
going to go home and leave the master and Jer here. It was a strange and
disconcerting look, though certainly not a hostile one; she looked at him as if he
made her want to cry, and her hands opened and closed restlessly, though she
didn't seem to notice.
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She hadn't said anything to him out in the hall-- the mistress had stopped to greet
her and explain, and all the doctor's questions had been for the mistress-- but now
she said, "Lee--"
"Ma'am?" Lee asked nervously.
"You look well," she said, only half to him, her eyes bright behind her glasses.
Lee blushed and ducked his head. "Thank you, ma'am."
"When can I go home?" Jer asked the doctor. "I can lie in bed at home, without a
fucking cuff on my wrist."
"Jer," the mistress said, a little sharply, and Jer blinked for a second before he said,
"Sorry, mistress. Beg pardon for speaking out of turn, ma'am."
"It's quite all right," said the doctor crisply. "To answer your question-- you may
go home as soon as your scans come back. I've asked to take over your case, since
I know your-- your master and mistress, already. We have to make sure there are
no further complications from your injuries, such as brain damage."
"Yes, ma'am," said Jer, who Lee thought would probably have loved to make a
comment about who around here had brain damage, but was behaving himself
now.
"In any case," the doctor continued, "the longer you stay, the longer we can let
your master sleep."
Jer smiled a little. "Fair enough, ma'am."
The doctor looked at Lee again, and then said to the mistress, "Ms. Jamesen, may I
speak to you for a moment, alone? Just outside the door?"
"Certainly," said the mistress, after a moment of surprise, and rose to her feet to
follow the doctor from the room.
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Jer's hair was thick and straight and a little coarse, streaked with more gray than
the master's; the gray blended with the brown to make the color of tree bark, or dry
dirt. Lee wouldn't have voiced either of those comparisons out loud, since they
didn't exactly sound complimentary, but he liked the color of Jer's hair, as well as
the way it felt between his fingers. He was glad Jer had closed his eyes, so he could
just look without any self-consciousness, even if he also wished they were open, so
he could see them for what he was pretty sure would be the first time.
He'd spent so much time with his eyes down, never daring to look up at anyone's
face, or scanning for danger signals if he did dare look, that he had almost no idea
what anyone-- except Bran, and more recently, the master-- looked like. He'd been
living with the slave breakers for months now and he still couldn't have told you
whether the mistress' eyebrows were dark or fair, or whether she was taller or
shorter than Greta, and he couldn't have described the shade of Yves' hair or
summoned up an image of his smile. Jer had jumped between Lee and an
oncoming fist, had taken a brutal beating solely to shield Lee, and Lee had no idea
what color his eyes were.
Then they opened, and they were gray, dark gray, iron gray, and steady on Lee's
face. Jer smiled, and Lee smiled back.
"Feels good," said Jer. "Thanks."
"You're-- you're welcome," said Lee, blushing, and Jer closed his eyes again.
Touching someone else uninvited was even more unfamiliar than looking at them.
But when someone was lying in a hospital bed as a direct result of having saved
you from severe injury or death, and he called you to sit next to him, and it was
just you and him for the moment, and he looked tired and as if his head hurt-- well,
it seemed... natural... to touch his head, softly. And when he made a little purring
sound of satisfaction, it didn't seem so strange to keep touching.
Even when the someone was a man.
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Men had never meant anything but danger to Lee, before he'd been carried out of
his basement room and into Mr. Larssen's car all those weeks ago, and driven to
this same hospital, and given a new world to try to make sense of. Before then,
men meant danger, and women-- the few he'd encountered-- meant a relative
absence of danger, since they weren't usually in charge. Men were in charge; men
were the ones it was necessary to please, and even if they liked Lee at first because
he was little and pretty and had slender limbs and a little doll mouth and a high
tight ass, they changed their minds soon enough when they realized he was a dead
fish, a rag doll, a worthless snot-faced crybaby waste of cum. Men meant pain.
Women didn't; they didn't have cocks, so they didn't fuck you, so they didn't
punish you for your worthlessness as a fuck-- but that didn't mean you were safe,
or okay, or good. It just meant a brief respite from having to think about any of
those things. Men ruled the world, and they hurt you when you failed to please
them, and Lee never pleased them, so Lee's lot in life was pain, and pain, and more
pain, until the day he managed to make some man angry enough to kill him
outright-- which would hurt worse than anything ever had, until it was over.
But Bran-- well, he wasn't a woman, but he wasn't exactly a man, either, not the
way Lord Dunaev and his friends had been, or the way Lee's father and his friends
had been. Men meant fear, and it was impossible to be afraid of Bran, so it was
impossible to think of him as a man, either. Bran was a boy, like Lee. Or-- at least- a boy like Lee could have been, if he were brave and strong and wonderful. Bran
was a good boy, who had earned the love and protection of his master, and so
when he decided to love Lee, it meant Lee had some protection, too.
Which meant he wasn't so afraid of Mr. Larssen, even though Mr. Larssen was a
man, no doubt about that, with a man's hard-palmed hands, heavy boots, leatherbelted tunic, and gray-streaked hair-- and a cock, one that grew thick and stiff and
heavy, and required skilled worship. And even though Lee had known, for as long
as he could remember, in the same way he'd known that two and two made four
and that objects fell down instead of up, that failure to properly worship the cock
of the man who owned you meant rage, pain from those hands and those boots and
that belt, and from all the other vehicles of pain that a man had at his disposal.
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But Mr. Larssen's hands had stayed gentle, running over Lee's hair and his back,
pulling him close against his strong chest, enveloping him in warmth. His master
held him, stroked him, kissed him, praised him; Lee, he said, was his good boy, his
sweet boy, who hadn't done anything wrong; he wasn't angry, he said, he was
proud of Lee, and Lee was always safe with him. Even when Lee was weak or
incompetent or careless or a crybaby.
Even when he'd offered Lee a chance to please him with his mouth, and Lee had
promptly started gagging and choking. Even when he'd used Leefucked him
taken him, or whatever it was that Bran called it; the memory of that whole time
was fuzzy, but Lee knew he'd engaged in several unworthy and punishable
behaviors then, too. He'd cried practically the whole time, for one thing, and he'd
tensed up several times and needed to be soothed back to relaxation, and he was
pretty sure he'd failed to move eagerly into the rhythm of his master's thrusts, to
show how grateful and hungry he was to be taken, or to thank his master verbally,
either. And if nothing else, he knew he'd failed to please his master because his
master hadn't taken him again, since then-- even when Lee, in a moment of
boldness he still flushed hotly to remember, had put a hand on him, to offer.
The master didn't want him. He'd kept Bran in charge of having sex with Lee
instead, which was fine, it was-- great, with Bran, but it wasn't the same as being
fucked by the master, any master, any man. Bran's cock was just like Lee's, just
something you could touch and pleasure and enjoy; it wasn't the object of dread
and worship that was the erect penis of a man who owned you and every hole in
your body. And not pleasing Bran didn't mean failure; it just meant you should try
something else next time. And Bran shuddered and came at Lee's touch, into his
hand and into his mouth and into his ass, and whimpered praise and endearments in
Lee's ear, and that was wonderful and amazing, but it wasn't the same as the master
being pleased, it didn't mean you'd proved you were worthy of existing at all.
But the master still held Lee, and stroked him, and told him he was making
wonderful progress, that he, the master, was proud of Lee, and that Lee's training
was going very well.
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Lee had considered at length, as his master had instructed, the bewildering fact that
the same boy, with all the same failings, could be doomed to endless punishment
and pain from one master for his worthlessness, and yet be cherished and protected
and called precious and good by another. It had taken him a long time to figure out
how to deal with the inescapable conclusion: that either all the men Lee had ever
known had been wrong about Lee, or Mr. Larssen was wrong now. Because the
trouble with that was that if Mr. Larssen was wrong, then as soon as he sold Lee,
Lee would be back to being worthless, which was already unbearable to
contemplatewhereas if Lord Dunaev, and Lee's father, had been wrong, then the
extent of the injustice that had been done to Lee was too huge to contemplate, and
stirred emotions that bore a worrying resemblance to rage.
Lee had compromised with the conclusion that different owners had different
requirements, and that it was enough to know-- and he did know it, he believed it-that now that he belonged to Mr. Larssen, he wouldn't be belonging, ever again, to
someone who hated him. When his master sold him, he'd sell him to-- well, to Lord
Taganov, who was gentle and beautiful like Bran, even if he was a nobleman, and
who would surely be pleased by the same things that pleased Bran. Or if Lord
Taganov was too rattled by all this media attention to want Lee any more, Lee's
master would sell him to someone else who wanted him and would take care of
him, and if he couldn't find someone like that, he'd keep him until he did find
someone. Lee's lot in life was different now; he hadn't changed, but Mr. Larssen
had made sure his world had. He was safe now; he wouldn't end his life as the
outlet for anyone's killing rage.
Unless, of course, he decided to run out of his master's house and straight into his
previous master's fists.
Lying under Jer while people yelled and fought and got handcuffed above them,
Lee had had what seemed like hours to reflect on what he'd just done. Running out
to get himself hurt, deliberately, against his master's specific and extremely sharp
order, had been bad enough, but he'd been brave enough to do it because he hadn't
really expected to survive this final encounter with Lord Dunaev. When he found
himself physically unscathed, beneath the broken and raggedly breathing body of
his master's beloved oldest friend, he should have been frightened again of what
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punishment he might receive, but there hadn't been any room left in him for fear;
there'd been too many other feelings flooding him at the sensation of a man-- and
Jer was a man, every inch, even if he was a slave-- lying on top of him, and not to
take him, not to pin him down and shove inside him, but to intercept the pain and
injury that Lee should have been receiving.
Lee had never earned anything from Jer. Had never served or satisfied him in any
way. Hadn't even thanked him properly for his various small, gratuitous
kindnesses-- for taking Lee by the hand and showing him that Bran was fine, not
hurt; for bringing him an enormous sack full of fruit from the market when Lee
asked for a peach; for summoning Lee to perch in his lap and holding him close
when Lee got nervous around Miss Robin. But Jer had taken a beating that broke
his ribs and almost stopped his breathing, in order to spare Lee the same fate.
That wasn't just a kindness. That was something else.
"Jer," he whispered, and Jer opened his eyes again, looking up at Lee. His face was
bruised, his eyes were gray; Lee wanted to cry or kiss him again or...
"Why," he asked, "why did you-- why? You said it was worth it-- but why?"
Jer looked at him for a moment, thoughtfully.
"Why did you run out the door?" he asked.
"Because," Lee stammered, "Miss Robin said-- for public opinion-- for the cause-for all those kids--"
"So you cared more about imaginary kids than your own skin," said Jer. "Skin,
hell-- your own life. You know he would have killed you, kid."
Lee nodded; he did know that. Then he shook his head.
"I was just thinking-- about one kid," he said. "The one in the basement, right then- the one he'd go home to, if he went home. The next--"
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"The next generation," said Jer, and yawned, a little. "I know. And you were used
to it. He already fucked you up, so let him finish the job. End it with you. Right?"
Lee nodded, staring at Jer's face so hard his eyes started to cross.
"I know," said Jer again, gently. "Trust me, kid-- I know. They use you up, and
fuck you over, and kick you to the curb. Tell you, if you're not what they want,
you're nothing. Trash. Right?"
Lee nodded again, and Jer's eyes cut sideways towards the cot where the master
still slept, on his side, covered to the neck with the sterile-looking hospital blanket,
his lips slightly parted like a peaceful child's.
"And then he picks you up," he said, "and tries to kiss it all better. But kissing
doesn't make it better. Doesn't hurt or anything--" he smiled, suddenly and so
beautifully Lee stopped breathing for a moment-- "but doesn't make you know
you're human again. Know what does?"
Lee shook his head.
"Acting a damn fool," said Jer. "Because you care more about something-- or
someone-- than about being a good, smart, safe slave."
"But," Lee whispered, his hand lying still on Jer's head, "why-- why me?"
Jer lifted an eyebrow instead of a shoulder. "Why the kid in Dunaev's basement?
You never even saw her. Didn't even know for sure she was there."
"So-- it could have been anyone?" Lee asked, strangely comforted by the thought,
which meant he didn't have to try to understand how someone like him could
possibly have been worthy of such ferocious, selfless protection from any man.
"You just did it-- for the next generation?"
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"Hell, no," said Jer. "I don't give a shit about the next generation unless it's a hot
little brunet. You think of a way to thank me yet, sweetheart?"
Lee was still blushing furiously when the mistress and the doctor came back in, but
they didn't seem to notice. The mistress looked extremely flustered. Her eyebrows,
as it turned out, were darker than the hair on her head, but not what you'd call dark.
"What is it?" Jer asked. "Mistress."
"Nothing," said the mistress quickly, and then, "Just-- there are a lot of people out
there. Dr. Grieg's right-- we definitely shouldn't leave without a police escort. And
I'm sure the police have higher priorities. Dr. Grieg has offered to telephone from
the administrative office here to the house, to let them know there's going to be-some delay. Isn't that kind?"
"Yes, mistress," said Jer, watching her narrowly. "Very kind."
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CHAPTER 46
Lee hadn't realized until now just how dependent he'd gotten on the sensation of
being watched over by a gentle, merciful master: everything in him was attuned to
the man who was now sound asleep. Lee knew it was silly and selfish of him,
knew his master badly needed the rest, but he did not like his master being asleep,
especially when Bran wasn't there. And the mistress was acting odd, too. It wasn't
that he thought she'd hurt him, but the master was the one who had said, holding
Lee close, "You are always safe with me." Lee wished he dared just crawl onto the
cot, under the blanket, between his master's arms, and burrow against his chest-- he
didn't want to wake him, just to join him. To be with him, and safe.
But whereas a waking master could have reached out and pulled Lee closer, kissed
him and murmured endearments and thus made Lee feel safe and good no matter
what foolishness he'd attempted, asleep he could do nothing of the sort. And it was
probably best not to make it clear to the mistress, at whose mercy Lee currently
was, how much he'd prefer to be at someone else's.
The real problem was that, having been too nervous to eat breakfast, and too
stunned to eat before being allowed to come to the hospital, Lee was now
beginning to feel absolutely ravenous. He looked up at the clock by the door and
was startled to realize it was dinnertime; the master had been asleep for more than
four hours.
He wasn't particularly surprised that so much time had passed without his noticing
it or becoming restless; Lee didn't often become restless, maybe because he hadn't
often had much chance to rest. He didn't mind having nothing to do, since when
you weren't doing anything, you couldn't do it wrong. He'd never minded being put
in that basement room and left there in the dark, either, even in chains. It was
preferable to the alternative.
But now he was really hungry; there was a dull, fuzzed ringing in his head, a
blurriness around the edges of his vision, a tingling all over, that brought with them
a rush of familiar but nearly-forgotten shame, fear, and misery. He only felt like
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this when he'd been badly behaved enough to forfeit the privilege of eating for
several consecutive mealtimes.
It wasn't the hunger that was disturbing, so much as it was the feelings that went
along with it-- this hunger wasn't a punishment, of course, but the physical
sensation still brought along the same fear and the same desire to beg for mercy
and forgiveness that Lee always felt when he was in disgrace. He wished Bran
were here; he wished his master were awake. If Bran were here, Lee could move
closer to him, press up against him, and he'd have Bran's full attention at once, and
Bran would speak to the mistress for him and make her understand; if the master
were awake and Lee were kneeling at his feet, he could put a hand on the master's
knee, and the master would look down at him and put a hand over his and say, You
okay there, sweetheart? You look a little pale. And whether Lee got anything to eat
or not, he wouldn't have to be frightened, or ashamed.
"What time is it?" the master asked suddenly, from his cot.
"Seven," said the mistress.
The master sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Fuck. Let's go home."
"Not yet," said the mistress. "They don't want us to, yet. Jer's tests still aren't
finished, and--"
"What's the fucking holdup?" the master demanded. "Do we have to spend all night
here?"
"Be patient, darling," said the mistress. "These things take time."
"Yesterday Bran had a horrific emotional ordeal," said the master, "and this
morning he watched one of his best friends get pounded into the ground by the guy
who used to beat and rape him and another one of his best friends. Call me crazy,
but I'd like to get home and check on him."
The mistress frowned. "I understand that. But until you get home, Yves can--"
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"Yves is in charge of a confused and disoriented total stranger," said the master,
"plus the press corps outside, plus the telephone, and the gods know what else.
And-- fuck!"
"What?" the mistress asked, alarmed.
"Valor was saying she might come home," said the master. "I do not want her
alone with Yves."
The mistress shook her head. "She won't be alone with him. Greta will be--"
"You know what I mean," said the master. "I don't want Val to be the only free
person in the house. I don't want him in that--"
He broke off, with a peculiar expression on his face, and his eyes swung around to
Jer, who'd opened his eyes and was watching him cautiously, and then to Lee, who
jumped a little.
"Have they eaten?" he asked the mistress.
"Oh---" said the mistress guiltily, and Lee hunched his shoulders under their
combined worried looks.
"I'll take him to the cafeteria," said the master. "They'll bring Jer a tray, right?"
"Chain a guy to a bed, they better at least bring him food," said Jer. "Go feed the
kid."
"I--" The mistress' brow was furrowed. "I'm sure they'll bring Lee something, too,
if we ask."
"Be quicker just to take him downstairs," said the master, looking at her curiously.
"Holden," she said, "darling, we need to be-- cautious, here."
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The master looked surprised. "I thought they were calling for enhanced security.
Aren't they here yet? Don't tell me the cafeteria isn't secure. I just want to grab Lee
a sandwich and maybe something hot to drink-- we can bring it right back up here,
if you don't think we should linger."
"I don't think you should go at all," said the mistress.
"I can go by myself," said the master after a moment. "Bring something back for
Lee."
She shook her head. "Holden, I really think it's better if you stay here for the
moment."
"What's up?" he asked her, but she shook her head.
He stared at her for a minute, and then said, "Okay. Jer, push the call button thing."
"I can't," said Jer, opening his eyes. "Can't get to it, cuffed like this. You have to."
"This country is so fucked up," said the master, and walked over to press the button
for the nurse. "Lee, are you just hungry, or is something else wrong?"
"I'm okay, master," said Lee, mostly truthfully, but he flinched when the master
gave him a searching look. The master came towards him, and Lee went to his
knees; the master reached him and knelt down beside him, putting his arms around
Lee. Lee put up his arms too, to pull his master closer, trembling with the warmth
and strength of the embrace, which his body understood even more instinctively
than it understood hunger as punishment.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," said the master, and his voice was another warmth,
slipping inside Lee like a hot sweet draught, driving out the fear. "I should have
thought to make sure you got fed, before I let them knock me out."
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"No, I'm sorry," said the mistress worriedly. "I'm the one who was awake, I should
have-- and the poor boy hardly ate at breakfast, either; he must be famished. I'm
sorry, Lee-- I just wasn't thinking."
"It isn't like you not to be thinking," said the master, sounding curious rather than
angry, but Lee tightened his grip anyway, praying they weren't about to start
arguing, especially not over him. "Alix, what's going on?"
Before the mistress answered, the door opened, and the master said, "Hey, can we-uh, you're not a nurse."
"You seem somewhat recovered," said the doctor's voice. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah," said the master, stroking Lee's hair. "Something to eat. I was just going to
take Lee down to the cafeteria--"
"I don't think that's a good idea," the doctor interrupted.
"Neither did Alix," said the master after a moment. "So we were hoping someone
could bring us up something. Something for Jer, too."
"Of course," said the doctor. "I'll see you get something as quickly as possible. Lee
shouldn't be-- I'll send a nurse to get you something. Is there anything else I can do
for you?"
"Yeah," said the master again. "Tell me what's going on. Is there a riot going on
downstairs? Did Dunaev escape from jail and go on a rampage? Is the floor littered
with bodies? Halls running with the blood of the innocent?"
Lee sat up, startled, and the doctor said sharply, "Please, Mr. Larssen!"
"What?" said the master. "You think Lee can't handle knowing it, whatever it is?
This kid has been through seven hells and lived to tell about it-- and he knows
nothing bad's going to happen to him while we're here."
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"I could be more help with that if you'd fucking unchain me," said Jer, and added,
"Ma'am. Sorry, ma'am. Sorry, master."
"Don't apologize," said the doctor, but the master didn't say anything. Lee looked
at him worriedly, hoping he wasn't angry at Jer; the master had looked up at Jer,
who was looking back at him, and Lee couldn't quite read the expression on either
face. They stared at each other for a minute while the doctor was saying, "Believe
me, I wish we could take off the cuff, but it's administrative policy. But in any
case, you don't need to worry about protecting Lee, or being attacked, as long as
you stay up here until security has given us the all-clear. I'll make sure you get
fed."
"Thank you," said the mistress firmly, before the master could say anything, and
the doctor turned and left.
"I don't like this, Alix," said the master, sitting back on the floor and pulling Lee
into his lap, back to chest; Lee leaned his head back against his master's shoulder.
"Why won't anyone tell me what's going on?"
"You were supposed to stay asleep longer," said the mistress, about half jokingly.
The master spread his palm out on Lee's chest as he answered in the same tone,
"Then you shouldn't have let Lee get so hungry. You know I have internal alarms
for that sort of thing."
"I do know that," said the mistress, smiling a little. "Holden-- love-- I need you to
trust me on this. Can you do that?"
It was a few moments before Lee felt his master nod.
A nurse brought four trays, with the same thing on all of them: a glass of milk,
pink fish with white sauce, faded broccoli, and a pale, soft roll of bread, with a pat
of butter next to it. Lee and the master sat side by side on the cot to eat. It wasn't
particularly good food compared to what Lee had been eating lately, but it was a
lot better than what he'd tended to get before Mr. Larssen bought him, and he knew
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from experience that hunger made the inedible edible and the acceptable delicious.
He tried not to eat too quickly; his master's hand on his back soothed him and
made it easier to chew a reasonable number of times before swallowing.
When Lee's plate was empty, he felt a little better; he also felt more at leisure to
worry about Bran, and to wonder what secret his mistress was keeping from his
master, and to want to go home.
The nurse came back to take the trays away. The master got up and started pacing.
Jer pulled on the cuff.
The doctor finally came back in.
"He's fine," she said, walking across the room, producing a small key, and
unlocking the cuff on Jer's wrist. Jer yanked his wrist into his other hand, rubbing
furiously, as she added, "I've got some discharge papers for you to sign, and we'd
like a follow-up in a couple of weeks, but for now, you're free to go."
"Finally!" said the master. "Do we need an escort or anything?"
The doctor shook her head. "I don't think that will be necessary."
It wasn't necessary. The hospital wasn't crowded, although there were an awful lot
of security officers hanging around, and a few stalwart members of the press
remaining; it was the same once they walked outside to the parking lot. Lee had
curled into the crook of his master's arm, pressing up against his side, while Jer,
moving stiffly but strongly, walked on Lee's other side, arm in arm with the
mistress, ignoring the eager flashing of the cameras and yelling of questions from
reporters whom the security officers kept out of their path. When they got to the
car, the master went straight for the driver's seat, garnering a surprised look from
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the mistress before she opened the back door to help Jer in, and then helped Lee in
the other side before getting into the front passenger's seat herself. Jer reached
across to take Lee's hand in his; Lee looked up at him, startled, and Jer smiled at
him.
The master drove too fast on the way home, and Lee clung involuntarily to Jer's
hand. Jer squeezed back and said, "Where's the fire, master?"
"At our house, for all I know," said the master darkly, not slowing down.
For a moment, when they pulled up in front of the house, Lee thought maybe there
had been a fire; in addition to the mob of press, there were police cars, a lot more
than they had left, their lights flashing. The master cursed as he pulled in, tires
squealing, practically falling out of the car the moment it had come to a stop, and
charging towards the house without bothering to close the door behind him. Two
police officers stopped him, one grabbing each arm, as a lightning storm of camera
flashes played around them.
"Take your fucking hands off me!" the master yelled, twisting against their grip.
The mistress opened the car door for Jer; Lee sat in the car, waiting, watching.
"Who are you?" one of the officers asked, still holding the master firmly.
"I'm the fucking owner of the house!" the master yelled, and as the small police
officer who'd arrested Lord Dunaev earlier hurried over, "Vinland, what the fuck is
going on here?"
"It's okay," said Vinland to the other officers. "This is Larssen-- and Jamesen, and
the other slaves. Mr. Larssen, please try to calm down. There's been... an incident."
"Where are my--" The master shoved at the officers' restraining hands.
"Sir," said one of the officers. "I'm afraid we have bad news."
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The master broke away from them at that and towards the house, while Lee sat
frozen in the car, and Vinland ran after him. Jer stood still, and said to the police
officers who had elected not to chase the master, "What happened?"
The officer looked at him, and then at the mistress, who was holding the car door
open for Lee now, but Lee still couldn't quite move.
"We think the article must have drawn the attention of-- certain radical groups,"
said one of the officers to the mistress. "If we had realized, we could have left a
stronger detail here, but once most of the press had followed you and your husband
to the hospital, and with Lord Dunaev in prison, we didn't really think it necessary.
The extremists overpowered our officers and-- well--"
Jer made a sudden move towards the house, too, but when one officer stepped in
front of him, he stopped. The master and Vinland had already disappeared into the
house.
"And what?" the mistress asked quietly.
"We have no reason to think anyone has been harmed," said the officer. "The
thieves appear to be affiliated with the abolitionist movement. Naturally they
wouldn't wish to--"
Jer did start running then, his face twisted with pain from the effort, and when the
officer went to grab his arm, the mistress shoved the officer in the chest and went
running after Jer. The officer stumbled back, taken by surprise, and then shook his
head and looked at Lee.
"Don't take it so hard, boy," he said, not unkindly. "Maybe they'll come back later
and steal you, too."
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CHAPTER 47
Holden stumbled into the house, blind with terror; he felt something or someone
brush past him in the doorway, but he didn't have time to wonder what, because
Yves was in his arms, kissing his neck, saying in his ear, "It's okay, master, it's
okay, we're okay."
Holden couldn't speak, and then he saw Bran over Yves' shoulder, and nearly
buckled at the knees. Yves supported him, and Bran hurried in to wrap arms
around them both; Holden clung to them for a dizzying few moments, trying to
kiss both their faces at once, and they laughed. Holden had never heard a sweeter
sound.
"Greta?" he managed finally.
"I think she was the redheaded lightning bolt that just hit the mistress halfway
across the lawn," said Jer from behind Holden. "So everyone's fine, right? My
fucking heart can start again, right?"
"We're fine," said Yves, still kissing and stroking Holden. "Master, you have to be
calm, okay? Everything's okay. I mean--"
"Lee," said Bran, and Holden turned his head to see a tall policeman standing in
the doorway, holding Lee's arm with unnecessary firmness, as if the boy might
bolt. Jer stood a little further inside, glaring daggers at the officer, but not making
a move.
"Let him go," said Holden to the officer, his voice coming out in a sort of rasping
growl. When the officer obeyed, hastily, Lee scooted further inside, his eyes huge,
and ducked mostly behind Jer.
"Hi, Dad," said Valor, and Holden looked up again, distractedly, to see her
standing there with her back against the wall, looking pale and scared and
uncertain. But then he had something else to think about, because he'd finally
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remembered who had to be hurt, or missing, if Yves and Bran and Greta were all
okay. "Gwen--"
"Gwen," Officer Vinland agreed from behind him. "She's the only one who was
taken."
"Taken?" Holden managed.
"I think you should sit down," said Vinland.
"No," Holden began, but Yves was already steering him, gently but firmly, towards
the stairs. Holden submitted, looking up and seeing, through the open doorway,
his wife, who was sitting on the grass, tangled up with Greta and kissing her
deeply, tears streaming down her face.
"Don't let go," he said to Yves and Bran, clinging to their hands, and they sat down
on either side of him, pressing up hard against him; Bran put his head down on
Holden's shoulder and Yves put an arm across his back. "What happened? Who
"
"According to the statements by your slaves," said Officer Vinland, standing over
him so that his eyes met her knees, which he was fine with, "a gang of either five
or six masked suspects, male and female, arrived at about six o'clock, overpowered
the police officers, took their weapons, shot out the lock of your front door, and
kidnapped Gwen while holding the rest of your slaves at gunpoint."
Holden thought there was probably an appropriate profanity for the situation, but
he had never had the opportunity to learn it, even if he could have gotten his voice
to obey him at that moment.
"We're all fine, master," said Yves softly, and kissed Holden's cheek. "They didn't
hurt us. They didn't even threaten us-- well, aside from pointing the guns at us."
Holden made a sound that might have been a laugh if his throat had been less dry,
but came out more like a death rattle.
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"They said they didn't want to hurt anyone," Yves went on. "They said they were
just here to take Gwen to safety, and that the rest of us could come too, if we
wanted. But when we said we didn't, they didn't try to make us, and they didn't
seem all that surprised."
"I guess they read the article," said Officer Vinland, and Holden looked up at her,
but her face didn't have any particular expression on it. "About forty-five minutes
later, Miss Larssen arrived home, accompanied by a young woman she identified
as Inga, her own slave. She stated that she had decided to come home on hearing
of all the media attention, to give her support to her parents, and was unaware of
the events that had transpired since the morning. She was distressed by the news
of the robbery, but relieved to find that the slaves she knew were all safe." She
looked down at Holden and added, "She said she could take over, but we didn't
want to leave until you were home."
"Good decision," said Alix from the doorway, her arm around Greta's waist,
looking pale and faintly tearstained, but composed as ever. "Where is Inga?"
"Upstairs," said Valor. "The police were making her nervous, so I told her she
could go wait in my room."
Vinland nodded to Alix. "We'll leave a stronger detail outside tonight, and they'll
be more on their guard this time, but are there any other precautions you'd like us
to take?"
"No," said Alix. "I think we'll be okay. Thank you."
There was more conversation over Holden's head, but he didn't listen; he was too
busy holding Yves and Bran close, shaking uncontrollably with a combination of
rage at the violation of his home, worry over Gwen, and a relief so overwhelming
that it threatened tears or hysterics if he tried to speak. Yves and Bran stroked and
kissed him from either side; the door closed, which was a small but noticeable
relief, and Alix was answering some questions from the police, and then the door
opened again and the police were gone, and Valor was standing in front of Alix
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and her mother, biting her lip, and it was Greta who asked, calmly, "What do you
know about this, young lady?"
Valor smiled weakly.
"I can explain," she said.
Jer didn't want to hear the explanation ("I don't care about Gwen," he said
reasonably. "I never even met her"), so he let an unbelievably calm Alix steady
him up the stairs, while Lee knelt down at Holden's feet, clinging to one of
Holden's legs and one of Bran's, with his head resting on both at once. Greta stood
with her back to the door, examining her daughter.
"Please don't kill me," said Valor. "None of you were ever in any danger."
"I gathered that," said Greta, "when I recognized the young man in charge, under
that ridiculous domino. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to kill you."
"Who," said Holden, his voice having improved from a rasp to a croak, but no one
answered him, at least not in words; Yves kissed him again, and Bran nuzzled
closer.
"We didn't have a choice," said Valor pleadingly. "Not if Dad and Alix were going
to-- hi, Alix."
"You'd better not be defending your life without me here," said Alix behind
Holden, and sat down on the stairs next to Yves. "All right, go ahead."
"We knew we had to move fast," said Valor, very quickly, with her eyes on the
floor. "You can't hold a nobleman in jail for any length of time, so it had to be
today or tonight. Mom told me on the phone that Dad had brought the kid-- Gwen- home from Dunaev's, and Alix was at the hospital, and Dad was leaving again for
the hospital-- so I called Robin, but she wasn't home, so I called Denys' place, and
she was there, and I told them we had to get things going right away."
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She looked up, a little more color in her face, and speaking with a bit more
confidence as she continued. "See, there couldn't be any question of collaboration.
We want this court case against Lord Dunaev to have a fighting chance. So you
two couldn't be linked with any terrorist groups, in the eyes of the law or the
public. We had to get her out of the country before Dunaev got out of jail and
claimed her again. And you couldn't know. You couldn't even be home, because
there would have been the question of how hard you'd resisted, and it would have
planted doubt in the public's mind."
"Right," said Alix, still superhumanly calm, and Valor actually smiled at her.
"Besides," she said, "I think Dad would have ripped the head off anybody who
tried pointing a gun at Yves or Bran, and that would have been really awkward for
everybody. The law and us."
Bran laughed softly at that, just a tiny puff in Holden's ear, and Holden pulled in
air as if Bran had breathed it into his lungs.
"But you're never both gone at the same time, and Mom had said Alix was coming
right home, as soon as Dad got to the hospital," Valor went on. "We needed to
keep you both there, somehow, for long enough to pull it off. And Dr. Grieg-well, Denys said he was pretty damn sure she at least sympathized with the cause.
So he decided to call the hospital-- he had a legitimate excuse for calling there, if
anyone asked he'd just say he was asking for some time off or something-- and ask
for her help."
"Wasn't that an awfully big risk?" asked Alix.
Valor nodded. "Robin didn't like it, but Denys said it was only a risk to himself-he wasn't giving up any other names, or anything. And we needed someone who
could use her official position to stall you until the others had finished the job."
She hesitated and looked up at Holden. "Dad-- did she really sedate you?"
"Yes," said Alix, when Holden didn't answer.
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Valor had an expression of pure, sweet adoration on her face. "That woman is my
hero."
Holden cleared his throat and said, in a slightly more recognizable voice, "Don't
start getting any ideas."
Valor flashed him a quick grin before turning back to Alix. "She had to tell you,
though. I mean, not everything, but we knew you were too smart not to realize that
it was taking too long just to run a few tests. And that you'd insist on checking
downstairs to see if the crowds were really that bad. What did she tell you?"
"Just that she was going to stall, and that there was a good reason for it," said Alix.
"And I have to admit, when we got home and saw all the police cars, I was
seriously considering heading back to the hospital and beating the shit out of her."
Bran laughed again, a sharp, startled peal, and Alix grinned, too, a little sheepishly.
"Well, I was," she said. "And then I saw Greta--"
She swallowed hard, and Greta moved from where she was standing to crowd onto
the stair below her mistress and lean against her.
"I'm really sorry, Alix," said Valor. "But you couldn't know beforehand what we
were going to do. I know you and Dad are pretty good at acting, but with that
many witnesses-- and cameras-- it needed to be real."
"I know," said Alix, pursing her lips and blinking rapidly as she clung to Greta's
hand with both her own. "So Gwen is all right?"
"She'll be okay," said Valor. "We've got counselors set up at the other end, and-well, the less you know about that, the better, probably."
"Right," said Holden and Alix simultaneously.
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"So you just focus on the court case," Valor concluded, "and let us take care of
Gwen. Well, not me as such. I'm still officially a law-abiding citizen. So are
Denys and Robin, unless Grieg decides to rat out Denys." She hesitated. "May I-may Inga and I spend the night?"
"Are you going to stage any more kidnappings before I have my coffee tomorrow
morning?" Holden asked, his voice almost back to normal now.
"Technically it was an armed robbery," said Valor. "But I mean, Robin said you're
pressing charges for attempted murder of Jer, instead of destruction of property,
so-- yay, precedent."
"Yay," said Holden, and Yves and Bran both laughed this time. "I-- all right, I
admit I didn't have a fucking clue what I was going to do if Dunaev demanded
Gwen back with the law behind him. Go to your room, young lady. I'll yell at you
in the morning, when I've got my strength back."
Valor smiled, her eyes bright with relief. "Thanks, Dad."
"Besides," Holden added, moving his hand to confirm that it had mostly stopped
shaking, "you can't take Inga away before she and Lee have had a joyful reunion."
"Speaking of Lee," said Yves. "Lord Taganov called about fifteen more times to
see if he was home from the hospital yet. I told him you weren't hurt," he added to
Lee, who had looked up at the sound of his name, "but I'm pretty sure if it weren't
for Mona he would have been over at the hospital stalking you. Maybe you should
call him back. Let him hear your voice."
Lee blushed, smiled, and buried his head against Holden and Bran's knees again.
"That can be arranged," said Alix, smiling too. "Come on, Lee. I'll dial the phone
for you."
After Lee had come back from the phone, looking pink and pleased with himself, it
was still too early for bed by any reasonable standard, but today hadn't been a day
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for reasonable standards. Holden sent Yves and Bran to the master bedroom to
wait for him while he checked on Jer, who seemed to have fallen asleep in his bed,
and tucked Lee into his bed with a tender kiss on the forehead.
"Are you okay?" he asked Lee softly, and Lee nodded seriously, watching him.
"Are you?" he asked.
Holden laughed, taken by surprise, and then sobered under Lee's grave regard, and
considered the question.
"I will be," he said finally. "Thank you for asking."
Lee did smile then, and Holden kissed him again before he got up and went to his
own bed, where Bran and Yves sat waiting, already naked.
When Holden approached and sat down on the edge of the bed, Bran knelt down
on the floor to pull off his boots, while Yves moved for his belt buckle. Holden sat
still under their ministrations, but when they gently eased his tunic off, he started
trembling like a virgin slave.
"Shhhh," Yves whispered, moving closer. "It's okay, master. Everything's okay."
Holden said, with a quaver in his voice that he didn't even bother to fight, "I-- I
thought-- when I saw-- when they said--"
"Don't think about it," said Yves, easing Holden onto his back. "Whatever you
thought, it doesn't matter now."
"Yes it does," Holden whispered, as Bran leaned over him, brushing careful fingers
over Holden's forehead and cheeks and lips and eyelids, then touching his lips
softly to all the same places. Holden couldn't stop shaking. "It does matter."
"What is it, then?" Yves asked, caressing his chest, while Bran stroked his hair and
kissed his ear. "Tell us, master."
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"When Valor hit you," said Holden, and they both looked up, alert, "when we
talked, afterwards, you called me Holden."
"I-- yes, master," said Yves, surprised.
"You called me by name once, too," said Holden to Bran, and when Bran furrowed
his brow, obviously skeptical, but unwilling to directly contradict his master, "You
thought you were asleep, at the time. Dreaming."
"Oh," said Bran, and smiled a little. "I-- well, yes."
"When you think about me," said Holden, looking from one to the other, "what do
you call me? In your thoughts? Do you think of me as master, or Holden?"
Bran and Yves were silent, watching him, considering the question.
"Some of both," said Yves finally, and Bran nodded agreement. "But-- mostly-Holden."
Holden took a breath. "What if I asked you to call me that?"
Bran opened his mouth, then closed it. Yves said, "You mean-- right now?"
"I mean-- regularly," said Holden. "When we're at home."
Yves looked worried. "That seems like a dangerous habit to get into, master."
"I was thinking," said Holden, and stopped in confusion. He knew the shape of the
thought that had come to him so often in the last few hours-- when Jer had
apologized for speaking to the doctor without due deference, when Holden had
pressed the nurse call button because Jer was cuffed so that he couldn't reach it,
when he thought of Valor's sole authority in a house that also held her mother and
Yves and Bran. Whatever it was, it was the same thought he'd had when Bran sat
at Hilda's kitchen table yesterday with a collar and leash on.
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Wrong. All those things were wrong. Simply and completely wrong. And should
be fixed.
"Don't worry about it right now, master," said Yves softly. "You need to relax."
Holden couldn't protest, not when their hands were on him, their bodies warm and
silky and furred against his, and their mouths, hot and insistent; he needed them as
close as possible, and that was where they were now, and Holden forgot everything
for a while except the number of sweet ways three loving bodies could interlace.
"Yves?" Holden whispered, awhile later, his chest pressed to Yves' back, arm slung
over Yves' body, mouth close to his ear. Bran slept peacefully on his stomach
behind them. Holden was trembling again, a little.
Yves yawned. "Yes, master."
"It's just," said Holden, and paused for a very long time, still not knowing what it
was he had been thinking about, or how to say it.
"'M really tired, master," Yves mumbled. "Can it wait till morning?"
"Yes," said Holden after a moment. "I guess it can."
"Thank you," said Yves, nestling back against him, and soon he was asleep, and
then Holden must have fallen asleep too, because he was awakened by a ringing
phone.
He stumbled for the stairs; Alix put her head out the door of Greta's room for a
moment, and then, when she saw Holden, retreated quickly. Holden got downstairs
and to the phone in the hall, and then had a bit of trouble remembering what to do
about the shrill, insistent noise. Finally, he picked the phone up and said, "What?"
"Larssen?" said a man's voice at the other end.
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"Yes," said Holden, without much conviction.

"Hey," said the voice. "Remember that time you punched me in the face and
knocked my teeth out and scared me so bad I actually begged my cockbite of an
owner to save me from you? Remember how your wife called me a worthless little
brat while I was lying on the floor bleeding?"
"Jesse," said Holden blankly.
"Do you?" the voice insisted.
Holden licked his lips. "Yes."
"Remember how it was all for my own good?"
"Yes," Holden repeated.
"Now we're even," said Jesse, and hung up.
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CHAPTER 48
He woke up again before it was light out, with something heavy and warm on top
of him that turned out to be Bran.
"Hey," he said softly, and Bran sighed and murmured into his neck, "Master."
The word made Holden's stomach flip over. He put his arms around Bran and
hugged him close, and Bran lifted his face to be kissed. Holden obliged, with a
soft, brief brush of his lips against Bran's.
"Bran," he whispered, "my--"
Bran looked down at him, his beautiful gray eyes filled with such naked love and
trust that even lying flat on his back, Holden felt as if he were falling from a
height.
"Your what, master?" he asked.
"My love," Holden answered.
Bran smiled, gorgeously, and put his head back down on Holden's shoulder,
nuzzling gently at the hollow of his throat. Beside them, Yves stirred; Holden
turned his head just as the blue eyes opened.
"Hey," said Yves sleepily. "Starting without me?"
"Just getting him warmed up for you," Bran said, his mouth against the skin of
Holden's neck, and Yves laughed out loud.
"Thoughtful!" he said, rolling over against them both.
Bent over on his knees with his bottom in the air, legs spread wide, Bran
whimpered softly around Holden's cock as Yves' slid inside him. Holden put his
hand on Bran's head, stroking his hair and slowing down the warm mouth's sliding
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motion along his achingly hard shaft. He didn't want to come yet; he was watching
Bran's flushed face, the lowered eyelids, feeling Bran's hands grip his hips.
"Fuck him harder, Yves," he said, and Yves obeyed immediately, slamming into
Bran; Bran gasped, his hands tightening on Holden's hips as his eyes flicked up to
meet his master's. Holden smiled at him. "Perfect."
Bran moaned as Yves hammered into him, his mouth tightening around Holden's
cock as his body shook with the force of Yves' thrusts. Holden watched in perfect
bliss for a while; he wasn't sure he'd ever get enough of this part, and Yves
certainly didn't seem to be getting tired, but he didn't want Bran to be too sore later,
so he finally said, "Yves, when you can, come."
Yves grabbed a double handful of the skin of Bran's shoulders, wrenching a
muffled cry from the boy, fucked him hard for another thirty seconds or so, gasped
and grunted and shuddered and stopped, looking to Holden. Bran hadn't stopped
his sucking, himself.
"Pull out," said Holden, and Yves did. "Fuck him with your fingers."
"Ooh, yes master," said Yves, reaching for the lube and coating one hand liberally
before he grabbed Bran's hip with the other hand. "I think we can start with three-oh, too easy. Let's do four."
Bran gasped, his fingers digging so hard into Holden's hips that there would be
marks later, and Holden felt the momentary graze of a tooth against his cock,
which meant Bran was severely distracted from his task. Yves looked up and
added avidly, "Master, I think I can-- may I--?"
"Just a second," said Holden with a little difficulty, as Bran moaned, vibrating
Holden's cock with the sound. "Bran, stop. Take your mouth off me."
Bran obeyed, looking up with tears in his eyes, his legs still spread wide to Yves'
thrusting hand. Holden reached down and touched his flushed cheek. He'd had his
fist inside Bran before, but only once; on that occasion, Bran had ended up sobbing
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in Holden's arms afterwards, though once he'd cried himself out he insisted he was
fine and there was nothing to talk about. Holden hadn't proposed it again since.
"What do you think?" Holden asked Bran now. "You're free to say no."
"Yes, master," Bran whispered hoarsely. "I can take it."
"Bran, you are officially the love of my life," said Yves. "Sorry, master. Nothing
personal."
Holden smiled; so did Bran, though not very broadly.
"Slide your fingers out for a minute," Holden directed. "Bran, I want you up here
with me."
Bran crawled, his movements wobbly, from his position with his face at Holden's
groin, until they were eye to eye. Holden reached out and enfolded Bran in his
arms, feeling the slight trembling of his body, and the hardness of his cock as it
pressed against Holden's.
"You want this?" he asked, and Bran answered faintly, "Yes, master."
"Go ahead, Yves," said Holden. "Be careful."
Bran's arms came up to clutch at Holden as Holden watched, over Bran's shoulder,
Yves' fingers sink deeper inside the stretched, gleaming, reddened circle of muscle
that was Bran's well-used hole. He could hear the boy's labored breathing as the
knuckles slipped in. Yves went slowly, easing his thumb in to the first joint, and
then pushing his hand further inside, until it was almost to the widest point,
pausing at the barrier of the thumb's second joint.
"Oh, fuck, Sif, please," Bran whispered. "Master, say you love me--"
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"I love you, Bran," said Holden instantly and wholeheartedly. Bran's body jerked,
his arms crushing Holden closer, as Yves' hand disappeared to the wrist inside him;
Bran cried out, and came.
Afterwards, Bran huddled in Holden's lap, shuddering and with tears pouring down
and wetting Holden's neck, though he didn't cry out loud. Holden held him as
tightly as he could without damaging any major organs, while Yves sat watching
with affectionate concern, but not touching Bran.
"Tell me you're okay," Holden said in Bran's ear, and Bran answered shakily, "I'm
okay, master. That was-- oh, fuck, that was intense--"
"You aren't hurt, are you?" Holden asked, and Bran shook his head.
"It's just," he said. "It used to-- they used to-- " He drew a deep, ragged breath.
"Dunaev and his friends, they used to like to do that, and I'd get-- torn up, I'd
bleed-- and I'd cry, and they'd laugh--" He gasped and squirmed against Holden's
arms. "Ow-- master, I can't breathe--"
"I'm sorry." Holden loosened his grip, a little. "Bran, you should have told me--"
"I just did," said Bran, lifting his head to smile at Holden, his face still wet with
tears. "I'm fine, master, I'm glad-- I wanted to do it, here, now, with you and Yves.
It was good." He looked at Yves and repeated, "It was good-- it kind of hurt, but
not in a bad way. We can do it again sometime, if you want. You liked it?"
"Loved it," said Yves gently. "Thanks, Bran."
"But last time," said Holden, as Bran put his head back down on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry I cried so hard," he said, close to Holden's ear. "It was okay, you didn't
hurt me, I knew you wouldn't hurt me. It was just-- remembering-- but I didn't
want to talk about it, not then. It's okay now."
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Yves put a hand on Bran's back, stroking gently, and Bran made a contented little
sound. Holden kissed his hair, thinking about now, and why it should be so
different from then; he didn't ask why.
"You're all sticky," said Yves after a minute. "And, uh, so's my other hand. We
should get cleaned up. I mean, if we're done here."
Bran said, "Master, you didn't come yet-- let me--"
"No," said Holden, smiling. "Don't worry about it."
"I'll take care of it," said Yves cheerfully. "Move over, Bran. You just relax. Sit
this one out. So to speak."
In the bath, Yves washed Bran with efficient tenderness, caressing the boy's back
and arms with a lathered washcloth, and chatting to Holden at the same time.
"I was thinking," he said, "and the idea of charging Dunaev for what he did to Jer
instead of what he did to Lee is perfect, because Lee won't have to be the focal
point." He ran the washcloth up along Bran's ribs and under one arm, then the
other. "Not that we won't need Lee's testimony-- he's an eyewitness, to say the
least-- but it takes some of the pressure off, that he's not actually the victim of the
crime on trial. Jer can cope better with media attention-- and you can cope better
than Lord Taganov, I bet, master. And on the stand, Jer will be more-- selfpossessed."
"Slaves can testify?" Bran asked vaguely, his eyes closed and his muscles relaxed,
as Yves rubbed the freshly sudsed washcloth along his chest and belly.
"Weirdly, yes," said Yves. "Except they can't legally testify for their owners-- or
against, although that's kind of a moot point, since they can't testify without their
owners' permission anyway. There's a certain tendency to discount slaves'
testimony as unreliable, but that's a subjective thing, not a legal thing, and on a
subjective level, Jer should be plenty convincing."
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"Are you going to put together the case for us?" Holden asked.
Yves didn't answer for a minute, which could have been because of the especial
care he was taking with Bran's bottom and the backs of his thighs. Bran had gone
completely limp in Yves' arms, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted; Yves
lifted him and moved him, with a swirling of water, to place him in Holden's lap,
his back against Holden's chest. Holden put his arms around Bran, whose head had
lolled back on his shoulder, while Yves lifted one of Bran's legs, lathered the
washcloth again, started scrubbing Bran's calf, and said without looking up, "Valor
and her friends are probably already putting it together. I might be able to help. If
they'll let me."
"You should be in charge," said Holden.
Yves shrugged, Bran's foot in his hand, scrubbing diligently at the sole. "I don't
have any formal education. And-- I'm a slave."
"So?" said Holden. "You're smarter and better informed than any of them. And
they're abolitionists-- it shouldn't matter to them that you're a slave."
"Right," said Yves, looking up over Bran's toes. "Like how it doesn't matter to
Valor."
Holden winced. "Yves--"
"Don't get all upset again, master," said Yves quickly, letting Bran's foot slip back
below the water and picking up his other leg. "I shouldn't have brought that up.
It's just-- they might think it doesn't matter to them, but that can make it even more
awkward, you know? I know it did for Inga."
"Then you shouldn't offer yourself as their assistant," said Holden. "Especially
considering that I obviously can't trust Val to stick up for you."
"Hey," said Yves, smiling a little. "I'm tough." He leaned forward, picked up one
of Bran's hands and put it on his bicep. "Bran, tell him what a tough guy I am."
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Bran, still slack in Holden's arms, said something polysyllabic but

incomprehensible. Holden kissed his wet, exposed throat, and Bran hummed with
pleasure as Holden said to Yves, "So I'm being overprotective?"
"Regular protective," said Yves, still smiling slightly. "But this is important,
master. I can deal with some-- unpleasantness-- if I have to. For the greater good."
The words sparked a memory in Holden's mind-- they were so nearly what Bran
had said after Robin had ransacked his room in search of photographable objects
and then thrown one of his few tiny possessions at his face: Changing the way
things are. That's the important thing. Not my feelings.
"But it's your decision, master," Yves added meekly, lowering his eyes. "If you
don't want me helping them out."
Holden sighed. "Yves, don't. You know I hate being expertly manipulated."
Yves' eyes flicked back up as he purred, "I did not know that about you, master."
"I also hate double entendres," said Holden, squinting at Yves. "They confuse and
irritate me."
Yves shifted to his knees, then bowed down till his head was below the surface of
the water. He held it there for so long that Holden reached out and pulled him up
by the scruff of the neck; he came up gasping and laughing, pushing water from his
eyes, and then deliberately wiped the laughter off his face, put on a look of extreme
penitence, lowered his eyes again, and asked, "Am I forgiven, master?"
"You're just lucky I have a thing for smartasses," said Holden.
Yves grinned up at him. "Yes, I am."
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By the time they were all clean, toweled off, and dressed, it was almost time for
breakfast. A more-or-less revived Bran hurried, only a little unsteadily, to Lee's
room to make sure he was awake, while Holden and Yves went to Jer's.
"Well, don't you two look perky," said Jer darkly when they came in. "Don't hold
off having fun on my account, or anything."
"Listen," said Yves, sitting down carefully on the bed beside Jer. "I am-- our
master permitting-- completely at your disposal until you're healed up. I mean it.
You just yell my name, and I'll come running and pleasure you six ways from
Wednesday, without straining your ribs. It's my special 'fallen hero' service. I've
never had a chance to break it out before, because nobody around here has ever
actually volunteered to lay down his life for somebody else."
"I didn't lay down my life," said Jer, trying not to smile. "I've got a few bruises,
okay. But, uh, that's not a no."
"Good," said Yves, and leaned down to kiss Jer deeply, till Jer's body relaxed and
one hand came up to touch Yves'. When they finally broke apart, Jer asked, "You
come to get me for breakfast?"
"To ask if you wanted to come down," said Holden, and Jer looked up at him. "If
you don't, someone can bring you a tray. Yves can bring you a tray," he amended,
when Yves' hand flew into the air like an overeager schoolchild's.
"What about Lee?" Jer asked, grinning at Yves, who pretended to look stricken.
"He's young and nimble-- and very, very grateful."
"I'll fight him for the privilege," Yves offered. "No, wait, that won't work, because
I'll end up fighting you, and that's counterproductive."
"I'll come downstairs," said Jer, shifting himself from the bed; he was still dressed
in his tunic from the previous night. "No sense starting another brawl. Give me
your arm, Yves."
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"Yes, sir!"
Alix and Greta looked pink and satisfied at breakfast; so did Valor and Inga, and
talk of the court case ("Of course we want Yves to help us, please, Yves, we can't
possibly do it without you") took up most of the meal. Bran and Lee were both
quiet, but that wasn't unusual. Holden was preoccupied, himself, and he caught
Alix looking at him curiously a couple of times, which he didn't mind; he needed
to talk to her, and if she knew it without him saying anything, so much the better.
She did. After breakfast, as the family scattered, she slipped her hand into his.
"Come to the bedroom," she said.
The door closed behind them, she sat down at her dressing table, and Holden sat
down on the floor at her feet, resting his head on her knee, and giving an
involuntary small sigh. She didn't say anything; she just waited for him to speak.
"Remember the first night we spent here?" he asked.
"Of course," said Alix quietly.
"You were so tired," he said. "You fell asleep right away. And I couldn't sleep. I
was thinking about... everything. About belonging to you. About leaving Jer
behind. And Argounov. And-- what in the world was going to happen now."
She looked down at him, listening.
"And I finally fell asleep," he said, "and when I woke up, you were already awake.
You were leaning over me. You were looking at me."
She nodded. "I remember."
"What were you thinking?" he asked.
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She took a long time to answer. Finally she said, slowly, "I wasn't really thinking
anything. I was just-- I felt as if-- as if I'd swallowed the sun. The hottest,
brightest--"
"But you loved him," said Holden, after a moment, when she didn't seem likely to
finish her sentence. "Argounov."
"Of course I did," said Alix matter-of-factly.
"And you'd just lost him," said Holden. "You should have been grieving."
"I was," said Alix. "But I was so happy, too. Owning you-- knowing you were
mine--""
"I was already yours," said Holden, looking up into her lovely, aging face, its high
cheekbones and hazel eyes and delicate wrinkles. "I'm still yours."
"Of course," she said again. "You love me, and you need me, and you'd never
leave me. But it isn't the same. Knowing that you'd be looking to me, always, for
comfort and discipline and guidance and release and food and water-- that you
were utterly in my hands--" She held up a hand, looking at it, and then down at
Holden. "That I was your world. I felt-- I knew how good it felt to belong to
Nikol. But I'd never imagined how it would feel to own someone else. How
fucking good it would feel."
Holden was startled by her language; she didn't usually speak with such violence.
"But you set me free," he said.
"I had to," said Alix. "You were dying. I loved owning you more than almost
anything-- but not more than I loved you."
He caught her hand in his. "Alix--"
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"I had to," she repeated, looking down at him. "But you don't have to. Your boys
are happy with you. Why fix what's not broken?"
"But that's just it," said Holden. "It is broken." He leaned his forehead against
Alix's thigh; a series of images-- Jer's wrist cuffed to the hospital bedrail, Yves
with Valor's handprint on his cheek, Bran in a collar and leash, Dunaev's basement
room-- flashed through his head. "It's all fucked up. It's wrong."
"What is?" Alix asked.
"Slavery." He looked up at her again. "Isn't it? I always just thought it was one of
those things that can be great or horrible or just okay, depending on how you do it.
Like sex."
"Or coffee," said Alix. "No, I'm sorry. Go ahead, I'm listening."
"I just thought-- if somebody decent owned you, and if you weren't fucked up
yourself, then it was-- kind of-- great, to be a slave," said Holden. "I was happy,
when I was a kid, because-- it was like the other side of what you just said, about
being someone's world. He was my world. And I loved him so much. So I loved
the world. I loved my life."
"I wish I could have known you then," said Alix softly.
"You wouldn't have recognized me," said Holden, trying to smile. "By the time
you got hold of me, I was just... well, I was basically the worst slave ever. And
Pavel-- well, I guessed he hadn't cared enough about me to protect me, which made
him a terrible owner. So I figured, make sure the owner's good people, make sure
the slave isn't fucked in the head, and you don't have a problem."
Alix was watching him, her eyes dark with concentration.
"And then, once I realized he didn't mean to let me go-- that he really did love me-" Holden ran a finger down the silk of Alix's stockinged instep. "And not just a
little. It fucking wrecked him to lose me, Alix. I could see it, that night they came
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to dinner. But I figured-- I don't know what. That he was weak, or cowardly, or
just-- just different from me, somehow. That nothing like that could ever happen
to me. To anyone who belonged to me."
"Oh," said Alix softly. "And then--"
"And then a lot of things," said Holden. "Especially lately. I'm not their world-however much I'd like to be. The rest of the world is still there, and I can't protect
them from it. And if I can't do that, how can I think I have the right to own them?"
The silence stretched out again, and Holden added, his voice huskier than he'd
expected, "But I know what you mean-- about swallowing the sun."
Alix's hand rested on the back of his neck.
"I think-- it's not about having the right," she said slowly. "It's about living in the
world. Or at least this country. There are slaves. You own some. What are you
going to do about it?"
He nodded. "That's what I was-- that's what I wonder."
"Slaves are our business," Alix pointed out. "Slave dealing. Buying and selling.
Is that going to need to change, if slavery is wrong?"
"I don't know," said Holden. "I mean, I still think-- we're doing a good thing, aren't
we? If I could afford to buy every abused slave in the country and free them-well, even if I could, unless I could also afford to feed and clothe and job-hunt for
them, they'd probably starve to death after I freed them. We already send some of
them on to Karl and Tara. Isn't it better to buy them and try to make their lives that
bit better before we throw them back, than to just-- not?"
"I think so," said Alix. "But do you? Are you suddenly going to discover that you
can't bring yourself to sell Lee?"
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"See, no," said Holden. "I've got no problem selling Lee to Andrei. They're a
perfect match, and Andrei will treat Lee like a prince. What else am I going to do?
I can't keep Lee, and setting him free would be like setting a day-old chick free in a
troop of foxes. Slavery might be fucked up, but slavery to Andrei is the least
fucked up of Lee's options right now."
"Right," Alix agreed. "That's what I mean, about living in the world. So our
livelihood isn't in immediate danger, in other words."
"No," said Holden, though he felt a momentary twinge of doubt about how you
managed to train somebody to be a good slave when you'd come to believe that the
concept of slave was bad in the first place. He guessed he could still train
successful slaves, though. "I don't think so."
"Then it's a question of your boys, isn't it?"
Holden nodded. Alix considered for a moment.
"Well-- Bran loves belonging to you," she said. "I think it's all he's ever wanted-to belong to someone he could love as much as he loves you."
"Maybe so," said Holden. "But I've always wanted to give him-- more than he
knew how to want."
"That's been a mistake, sometimes," said Alix, and Holden, who was very well
aware of that, nodded.
"But he could still be mine," he said. "The same way I'm yours. It's not like I'm
going to throw him out. I'd just like to give him-- more."
"He's done a lot of growing up lately," said Alix thoughtfully. "If you'd asked him
two years ago, or even two months ago, well-- but today, he might actually be
interested. But if he isn't, Holden, I don't think you should press him. He's finally
happy, now, and the idea of such a cataclysmic change-- well, he might feel you
were trying to take something precious from him. I don't think you want that."
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"No," said Holden. "I've already hurt him enough for one lifetime."
"You've done a lot of growing up, too." Alix ran her hand over Holden's hair.
"What about Yves?"
"Sometimes I wonder if he'd leave me, if he could," said Holden pensively. "It's
not like he couldn't do better."
"It's not like anyone's actually good enough for him, either," said Alix, smiling. "I
think he's happy. But you'd know better than I would."
"He's happy," said Holden. "But... well. He always makes the best of things."
"He's certainly made the best of you," Alix agreed. "You should talk to him.
About what you're thinking. He's better at thinking things out than you are. And he
won't panic at the idea."
"True," said Holden. "Yeah, I will. I'll ask him."
There was another long silence, and during this one, Holden was fairly sure he and
Alix were both thinking about the same thing.
"Sometimes I can't believe we just left him behind like that," Alix said finally,
confirming his guess. "I don't suppose we could really have helped it, but when I
think of him spending almost twenty years with Argounov, after we were gone,
and free, and married, and owning slaves of our own-- well, I try not to think about
it."
"Should I have set him free right away?" Holden asked, but Alix answered
immediately, "No. Gods, no. In the state he was in? No. He couldn't have
handled it."
"But now..." Holden began.
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Alix nodded. "Now."

"Jer," said Holden, stopping in the doorway of the lounge, where Jer sat on the
couch with Lee curled up beside him; they both looked up expectantly. "I need to
talk to you. Alone."
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CHAPTER 49
(SIX MONTHS LATER)
At seven minutes after four on the second day of jury deliberation, the phone rang.
Everyone was in the lounge; ever since the trial had begun, nobody wanted to be
alone, not even Jer, so they stayed close, piling on the furniture and the floor,
insomniac at night but dozing off at odd hours on each other's shoulders. Lee
curled on the couch, his head in his master's lap and his feet in Mona's; Jer, sitting
on the floor at Andrei's feet, was stroking Lee's hair, and Lee's eyes had been
closed, but popped open at the sound of the ringing phone. Inga leaned on Mona,
and Greta had been leaning on Inga, but was now sitting bolt upright as if she'd
been shocked. Valor, standing up behind her mother and nervously braiding and
unbraiding her hair, exchanged a look with Alix, who was sitting on the floor next
to Jer, leaning her head on Greta's knee; Yves, pacing restlessly along the
bookshelves, scanning them as if he'd find something there that he'd somehow
never detected before, stopped stock-still. Bran, who'd been asleep in Holden's lap,
woke up and instantly flung his arms around Holden's neck, in an act as reflexive
as if he'd woken to find the house rocking wildly under him and grabbed at the
nearest solid thing for balance. Holden pulled him close.
For a moment nobody moved; then Alix got slowly to her feet and, pale but steady,
went into the hall without speaking. Nobody moved or spoke; they could hear the
phone stop ringing, Alix's quiet voice, and then she came back in.
"They say to come back to the courthouse right away," she said. "They're ready to
deliver a verdict."
Yves whirled around and looked at Holden, his blue eyes sparkling, a hectic flush
brightening his cheekbones. Jer, his eyes locked with Lee's, didn't look up. Bran's
arms tightened around Holden's neck.
"Are we ready for this?" Holden asked, looking from Jer to Yves and back.
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Yves nodded. "Yes, master."

"Yes, master," Bran whispered.
"Yes," said Jer, still without looking away from Lee. "Master."
"Not guilty," said the head juror, and the courtroom rumbled, and Robin yelled,
"Oh, fucking bullshit!" and the judge hit his desk angrily with the wooden hammer.
Dunaev, not guilty of attempted murder, let a slow, oily smile spread across his
face and turned around to look straight into Holden's eyes. Holden sat very still;
Bran's hand slipped into his, and he squeezed it hard.
"You okay, kiddo?" he whispered, and Bran nodded.
Holden smiled reassuringly at the twelve-year-old lawyer Valor's group had dug up
wherever-- he probably wasn't actually that young, but Holden was starting to think
of anyone younger than thirty as dangerously immature, which he accepted as one
more sign of his own advancing decrepitude-- who looked as if he'd just been
punched in the face.
"It's okay," Holden said to him, and then turned around to check on Lee, but Lee
had his face hidden against Andrei's shoulder; Andrei, stroking Lee's back, looked
very serious, and rather adorable.
Or possibly Holden was overexcited right now.
He turned to Alix, on the other side of Bran; she smiled, her hand on Greta's knee,
and said, "Val and I will get a cab, and leave you the car. Just give us a running
start."
"Okay," said Holden, and looked up at Yves, who was clutching the clipboard he'd
brought from home, with the papers on it, as if for dear life. "Let's do this."
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There were swarms of reporters swirling around him the moment he was out of the
courtroom, and around Alix and Greta, Valor and Inga, Robin and Denys, Andrei
and Mona and Lee, Dunaev and whatever horrible people Dunaev had with him.
Holden forced himself not to watch anyone else as he said the same thing over and
over again, "I have a statement to make-- outside."
The reporters found that much more intriguing than the doggedly repeated "No
comment"s from Alix, Val, and Andrei; Dunaev had a comment that Holden didn't
catch, and Robin caused some sort of brief stir in one corner before Denys dragged
her away, but by the time Holden was standing on the courthouse steps, with his
three slaves around him, most of the reporters had attached themselves to his party.
He held up his hand for quiet, without much success, and yelled, "I have a
statement to make!"
"Wait, wait, wait," said someone, and handed him a black, phallic object that
Holden identified after a confused moment as a wireless microphone. He lifted it to
his mouth and repeated, "I have a statement to make"; his voice echoed,
frighteningly loud, across the crowd, which hushed, except for the rustling,
clattering, and hissing as dozens of tape recorders suddenly appeared and started
rolling.
"Thank you," he said to the reporter who'd given him the microphone, and cleared
his throat. He had the paper, in Yves' careful copperplate handwriting, in his
money pouch, but he didn't need it; he had it committed to memory.
"The decision of this court," he said, in the deep, resonant, well-modulated voice in
which Yves had carefully drilled him, "is that when a child's parents care less for
him than they care for the money for which they could sell him, it is the child who
becomes something less than human. The decision of this court is that of the four
men who stand here, only I am human. That these three others, as my property,
have no rights, and no protection except by my whim."
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He took Bran by the shoulder, turned him to face the crowd, gripped his chin and
jaw hard in the hand that wasn't holding the microphone, and added, "By the
decision of this court, if I snap Bran's neck at this moment, no blame attaches to
me, any more than if I smash a wineglass belonging to me. I could kill him where
he stands, here in this crowd of witnesses, and walk away, and not one among you
would have any grounds to protest my actions."
The crowd was disturbed; this wasn't what they'd expected from him. Holden
wished he could see Bran's eyes.
"Or I could kill him more slowly," he said as his grip tightened brutally on the
boy's face, yanking his head back. "I could slice his jugular vein and let him bleed
to death in front of your eyes, while he begged for his life, for someone, anyone, to
stop the bleeding-- and if any of you acted to help him against my will, the law
would find you in the wrong, not me. He is my property. You have no legal right to
interfere."
The muttering of the crowd grew louder, and Holden, who didn't want to get killed
by an angry mob before he finished making his point, released Bran; Bran turned
and dropped to his knees before Holden in one graceful motion, bowing his head
low. Holden leaned down and touched Bran's head, running a soothing hand
through his hair, before he straightened back up and looked out at the crowd.
"That makes you angry," he said into the microphone. "Well, it makes me angry,
too. And yes, I do intend to appeal this decision. All the way to the highest courts
in the land, if necessary. But the intention to appeal is not enough for me at this
moment. By the decision of this court, Bran is not human-- has no right, as humans
do, to life, to the protection of the law and of his fellow men."
He let that sink in before he added, "Not unless I give it to him."
He handed Yves the microphone and reached his hands to Bran, who took them,
his own hands cold and trembling, and let Holden raise him to his feet. Holden let
go so he could take the clipboard from Yves-- who also had a pen, of course, since
it was Yves-- and sign his name to the writ of manumission that began, "This is to
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certify that I, Holden Larssen, being heretofore in possession of the slave known as
Bran..." Then he unclipped it and handed it to Bran.
"You're free," he said, loud enough for the closer spectators to hear, even without
the microphone, and heard the excited murmur that meant it was spreading
backwards, to the rest of the crowd, as Bran lunged into his arms and clutched at
him desperately. Holden kissed the boy's hair and whispered in his ear, "I love you
so much, my Bran, my precious boy, my darling--"
"I love you, master," Bran answered, and then caught his breath and said, "Holden- Holden, I love you so much--"
"I love hearing you say my name," Holden whispered. "I want you to keep saying
it for the rest of our lives. Say it again, sweetheart."
"Holden," said Bran fiercely.
Holden hugged him hard, and then loosened his arms, and Bran stepped back,
looking dazed. Holden lifted the clipboard again and signed the second writ, which
he handed to Yves.
"Thank you," said Yves, clearly, and then did something to the microphone before
he stepped forward into Holden's arms.
"You're doing a fantastic job," he whispered in Holden's ear. "You've got them
eating out of your hand. Have I ever told you I love you more than life itself?"
"Not since you were free to say otherwise," Holden whispered back. "So you aren't
going to leave me now?"
"Oh, yes, I am," Yves whispered. "Right after this, for that cute boy who's ogling
me from behind you. Don't turn around! And don't be an idiot... Holden."
He loosened his grip, and Holden let him step back. Then he looked up at Jer.
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Someone in the crowd gasped when Jer took a step forward, and Holden didn't
entirely blame them; though he didn't make any overtly aggressive move, he
looked intimidating as hell. Holden nodded to him, and signed the last paper, and
handed it to him.
He stood still for a moment, reading the paper, and then he stepped forward again
and yanked Holden against him, and said in his ear, "It's about motherfucking time,
you prick."
"I know," said Holden. "I'm sorry."
"No," said Jer, and Holden could feel him trembling. "It's okay. It's-- oh, fuck,
Holden, it's okay."
They gripped each other so hard it hurt, and then Jer disengaged abruptly and
stepped back, turning slightly away from the crowd. Yves did whatever he'd done
to the microphone before-- or undid it-- and handed it back to Holden, who turned
back to the crowd and asked, amplified, "Does anyone have any questions?"
An affirmative cacaphony went up from the crowd; Bran flinched, and Holden
stepped closer to him, in front of Yves, who whispered, "Lady in the blue jacket,
front right."
"Yes," said Holden into the microphone, pointing at the woman in question.
"Mr. Larssen," she said loudly, "where will your former slaves go now, and what
will they do?"
"That's up to them," said Holden into the microphone. "They're certainly welcome
to stay with me."
"What's your wife going to think of that?" yelled a man.
Holden had memorized the answer to that, too, but he went blank for a moment,
until Yves muttered from behind him, "If you consider me depraved..."
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"If any of you consider me depraved for my willingness to shelter these three men
under the same roof as my wife, I would ask you to consider why an acceptable
domestic arrangement should become unacceptable, simply because some of the
parties involved now have the right to consent to it," he said, and heard Yves say,
under the crowd's murmur, "There you go." "The six of us have shared a home for
five years. The only difference is that now, any and all of us are free to leave at any
time."
"Any and all?" called another woman. "What about your wife's slaves?"
"One slave," said Holden, "although by now-- probably none. She didn't want to do
this as public spectacle, but she didn't find the decision of this court any more
acceptable than I did."
The crowd took a moment to digest that, and then a young woman near the front
called, "Bran, what are you going to do now?"
Bran blushed scarlet as Holden handed him the microphone.
"I," he said, and stopped, his eyes widening in shock at the sound of his own
amplified voice; the crowd laughed a little, and someone said, "Awww." Bran
looked nervously in that person's direction, and said, in a tiny, wobbly voice, "I-my-- I mean--"
"Take your time," said Holden gently, without even thinking about it, and Bran
looked up and smiled, suddenly, the rising-sun smile.
"I was about to say 'my master,'" he said into the microphone, to the crowd, in a
steadier voice. "I'm, uh, not sure what to call him now."
"Holden," said Holden, and Bran turned to him and said, still into the microphone,
"I mean, to them."
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"What did he say?" yelled someone from the crowd, and Bran turned back to them
and said, "He said to call him-- his name. But I, uh-- well, he's offered me a job, a
paying job, with the business. He said I help-- with the trainees-- enough that if I
were free, I should be getting paid. And I-- well, I'm free now, so--" He turned
back to Holden and said, with a shy smile, "I'd-- I'd like to accept that offer,
please."
Holden smiled at him. "It's yours, kid."
"He said okay," said Bran, looking up at the crowd with the smile still on his face.
"So I guess that makes him my boss. So, um, next time I give a speech, that's what
I'll call him, okay?"
"Oh my sweet golden Sif," said Yves softly, as the crowd laughed, "you are a
natural, kid."
"So you'll keep living with your 'boss'?" the same young woman asked, and Bran
answered, "He gave me the only real home I've had-- since my parents died. I'll
stay as long as he'll have me."
Holden leaned forward and said into the microphone in Bran's hand, "Forever, for
the record."
There was more laughter and a few isolated cheers, and then someone yelled, "Will
you still suck his dick?"
The crowd went silent, shocked. Bran blinked uncertainly in the direction of the
voice, looking more puzzled than hurt or insulted, and Yves stepped forward and
took the microphone gently from Bran's hand.
"Actually, that's a question that's somewhat applicable for all of us," he said
pleasantly, to the crowd in general, raising some nervous laughter. "I can't answer
for Bran, of course, but I hope no one minds if I answer for myself. When-- I'll
follow Bran's example and call him my boss, since I've also received a job offer-
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when my boss was my master, he never used his power over me to coerce my
consent-- to anything. I see no reason why that should change."
He smiled at the crowd, sweetly and with just a touch of conspiratorial mischief,
and then stopped smiling; his friendly tone grew discreet, genteel fangs as he
added, "I admit, I'm a little puzzled at the way the question was put. It almost
sounded as if you thought Bran should be embarrassed about something. But if any
shame attaches to the state of sexual slavery, surely everyone here would agree that
it should not attach to someone who did not choose what he would become."
The crowd was silent again as Yves handed the microphone back to Holden, who
said, "Any other questions? Yes, the gentleman in green."
"Jer, did he offer you a job too?" the man said, but when Holden turned to him,
offering the microphone, Jer kept his arms crossed, the writ of manumission
clutched tightly in one hand. Holden said, "Jer's not taking questions. Yes, the
young man in gray?"
There were other questions, some of them from people who had obviously read the
article ("Yves, are you really planning to become a college professor?" "Mr.
Larssen, will you buy Jer some alcohol?") and some of them from people who
either hadn't or were playing dumb ("Yves, what's the nature of the job offer you
mentioned?"). Holden, Yves, and Bran answered-- Jer standing silent behind them,
his arms still crossed-- until Holden glanced over at Bran, realized the moisture on
his cheeks wasn't just sweat, and said into the microphone, "Okay, we're done here.
Whose is this?"
The crowd didn't want them to leave, but Holden shoved the microphone at a
random person and they made it down the steps, to the parking lot, and into the car,
Bran and Yves diving into the back seat while Jer took the front passenger seat. It
took longer to maneuver the car out of the crowd without running anyone over, but
they managed it in the end.
"I'm going to wake up any second," said Yves, who had collapsed across the seat,
his head in Bran's lap, so that Holden couldn't actually see him; Bran bent over
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him, his curls obscuring his face in the reflection in the rearview mirror. "There's
no chance it all actually went that perfectly. They ate that shit up, it's going to be a
billion times more legendary than the article, and we're going to win the appeal so
fucking hard-- once we get a lawyer who's actually worth a damn. Was it mean to
hire that poor infant in the first place? Will it give him a complex, to have his
failure be the jumping-off point for the case of the century?"
Holden grinned. "Adversity builds character."
"We're going to win so hard," Yves repeated, his voice beatific. "We're going to set
such a damn precedent-- the next asshole who so much as dreams about fucking up
a helpless kid is going to wake up screaming Jer's name."
Holden smiled again as Yves sat up abruptly and added, "And you're probably not
even going to have to pay my way to university like you offered, because the
public is going to be in such hopeless drooling love with all of us now that I'm
going to get pity scholarships to every university in the country because they all
want the tearjerker story about the doddering old ex-slave clutching a diploma in
his age-withered hand."
"You're not that old," said Bran, in the wobbly little voice again, but smiling, too.
"Shut up, twenty-three-year-old," said Yves. "Oh, gods-- I think you were right,
Jer, I think we should all get fucking plastered when we get home, and pass out
without having to deal with what sex is actually going to be like when nobody
owns anybody else, because wow was that thing I said to them an
oversimplification, what did I say, that nothing needed to change? Everything's
changed, kids, everything--"
"We knew it would," said Holden, not quite as steadily as he might have liked.
"We've been talking about this for six months."
"In theory, sure," said Yves. "Master-- oh, see?-- Holden, is there any liquor in the
house? How did we not plan for that? Because I really, really think we all need to
get absolutely shit-faced tonight, so tomorrow can be all about nursing Bran
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through baby's first hangover and we don't have to think too much too soon
because fucking wow, Jer, Bran, Holden, what the fuck just happened? What
now?"
There was a pause.
"Seconded," said Jer, his voice tight, and Holden glanced over, and saw that he was
crying. "Let's get drunk."
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CHAPTER 50 (EPILOGUE)
[This is the epilogue. It takes place a little more than one year after the events
of chapter 49. Yes, it skips a lot of things, and leaves others unresolved;
however, the story of Lee, in se, is complete with this conclusion.]
The silky waves of Andrei's dark red hair slid pleasantly under Lee's fingers as he
gathered them into a ponytail, which he secured with a black satin ribbon, and then
lifted up to press a kiss to the warm nape of Andrei's neck. When he straightened
up, Andrei was smiling at him in the mirror.
"What was that for?" he asked.
Lee smiled back. "I like your neck."
"It likes you, too," Andrei answered, and Lee giggled. "How do I look?"
"Beautiful," said Lee sincerely, and added, "What about me? How do I look?"
"The same way you always look," said Andrei. "Absolutely breathtaking. You're
wearing makeup, aren't you?"
"Just a little," said Lee, blushing. "You don't mind, do you?"
"No, it looks nice," said Andrei. "Does he like it? I've never seen him wear it."
"He told me he used to wear it, when he was my age," said Lee, and stepped
forward to put his hands on Andrei's shoulders and kiss the top of his head. "When
he was a slave."
Andrei nodded. "Did you? When you were a slave?"
"No," said Lee. "Lord Dunaev didn't require it, and neither did Mr. Larssen, and
then-- well, you know."
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Andrei tugged on Lee's arm, pulling him into his lap. Lee perched contentedly on
his knees as Andrei said, "Yes, I know... You're excited about seeing him, aren't
you?"
Yes, said Lee, and Andrei leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips.
"I like to see you happy, Lee," he said.
Lee bent his head to kiss Andrei back, a deeper, more lingering kiss, slipping his
tongue softly between Andrei's soft lips. Andrei's hand stroked his back, running
over the fine silky cloth that covered Lees scars, which still felt sensitive, even a
little raw, after all this time. But Andreis hand was cool and soothing, his touch
infinitely gentle; Lee loved that caress as much as he loved every other way Andrei
touched him.
Well, maybe a little less than some ways.
I know, he answered, when hed broken the kiss and pulled back, smiling into
Andreis cool, sweet blue eyes. Andrei.
Hey, skinnybones," said Jer, grabbing Lee and hugging him so hard his feet left
the floor. "Andrei, haven't you been feeding him?"
"I try," said Andrei from behind Lee.
"Well, he knows who to call if you don't treat him right," said Jer, putting Lee back
down and cupping a hand behind his neck for a long, lingering kiss that made Lee
hang onto his arms for balance. He added, after he broke away, "Right, Lee?"
"Andrei treats me right," said Lee, once he'd caught his breath.
"He better," said Jer, moving towards Andrei, who stood still, smiling, "or I'll kick
his ass up and down that fancy staircase of his."
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He yanked Andrei into a two-armed hug, thumping his back a couple of times in a
comradely way, while Lee tried not to giggle at the expression on Andrei's pink
face, half alarm and half delight, as if he'd been accosted by an inexplicably
affectionate grizzly bear.
"What are you grinning so big at?" Jer asked Lee, reaching out and pulling Lee
close again with one arm. "And speaking of feeding people, when do we eat?"
"How long can you stay with us, Jer?" Andrei asked, over dinner.
"Oh, don't worry," said Jer. "I won't wear out my welcome. You know what they
say-- fish and houseguests both stink after three days."
"Three days?" Lee echoed, dismayed, and Andrei said, "Jer, that's hardly enough
time to say hello."
"Well, it's plenty of time to say hello," said Jer with a smirk. "But-- well, we'll see.
I'm not on a tight schedule, these days."
"You have to at least stay and see Mona," said Andrei firmly.
"I've probably seen her more recently than you have," said Jer. "When's she
coming home, anyway? Hasn't her summer break started yet? Yves has been home
a couple of weeks already."
"Mona decided to stay for a while after her exams," said Andrei. "She said she's
been so busy with studying that she hasn't had much time to focus on
extracurriculars."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" said Jer. I thought Lee was her main
extracurricular.
Andrei smiled, shaking his head. You know what I mean. Shes very involved
with helping put the case together. And with the next appeal coming up, theyre
working especially hard. When she does make it home, she'll probably crash and
sleep for twenty-four hours."
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"Yves did, Jer agreed. Of course, he was taking twice the normal course load this
semester-- since apparently he was bored out of his mind last semester. Plus his,
uh, extracurriculars.
Holden must be glad to have him home, said Andrei.
"Yep," said Jer. "Going to be trouble in paradise this fall, though. Bran wants to go
with Yves when school starts up again, for a visit, and to take a look at the
university. And Holden's telling him yes, yes, of course he should go, he should
have fun, he should see if it's something he might want to do-- but if the kid
actually up and leaves home, Alix's shoulder is going to soak up some serious
tears."
"You could move back home," Lee suggested quietly. "To keep him company."
"Well," said Jer. "Odds are Bran's going to come running home in under a week,
anyway. The only books he cracks on a regular basis are cookbooks. And he's too
happy with his job-- and his boss."
How long did you stay with them? Lee asked, hoping he didn't sound petulant.
Week or so, said Jer. Sorry I didnt call before-- you know how it is, I hadnt
seen them in awhile. Lot to catch up on.
Lee asked, Where were you before that?
Jer grinned. "Oh-- well. Here and there." He turned to Andrei. "You ever see the
ocean?"
"Once, when I was very small," said Andrei. "My parents took me-- we were
visiting relatives in Arkhanos. I remember my cousin-- she was in her teens-- she
put me up on her shoulders and took me out into the water. And I think I can
remember how it smelled. A strange smell-- dirty. And fishy."
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"You never went back?" Jer asked.

Andrei shook his head. "It didn't really-- I didn't like the waves."
"Well, I went, to see," said Jer. "But I never learned to swim, because why the fuck
would I, right-- so I'm just sitting there looking-- and I don't know, I guess it's
supposed to look so big, but it just looked kind of-- flat, to me. Shiny, and all, but
kind of one-note. I'm thinking, fucking ripoff, I come all this way and it's just
some-- scenery. But then there was this girl--"
He smiled, a soft inward reminiscent smile, and Lee experienced a horrible pang of
jealousy, no less ferocious because he knew perfectly well how unreasonable it
was.
"She just waltzed right up to me," Jer was saying. "She asked why I wasn't out in
the water-- she said something, something like I didn't look like the type who just
wanted to admire the view. Looking back on it I guess she was flirting, but I was
just-- tired, and let down, and I told her to fuck off. But she didn't. Fucking crazy
woman-- not pretty, but kind of interesting-looking. She kept bugging me, and I
told her I didn't know how to swim, and she said she'd teach me."
"Oh, my," said Andrei, smiling. "And did she?"
"Well," said Jer. "I told her I didn't have one of those little things all the other guys
were wearing over their junk-- so she went off somewhere. I figured she wasn't
coming back, but she did, with some guy's swim suit, I don't know whose. Her
husband's, or some guy's she jacked in the middle of the boardwalk, I didn't ask. It
was still damp."
Andrei laughed. "You didn't wear it, did you?"
"Like that's the closest I've ever been to a stranger's cock," Jer answered, without
self-consciousness, but Andrei went scarlet with embarrassment and started
stammering apologies. "No, forget it, I just figured, who gives a shit? And I did
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want to get in the water. So I did. And she taught me. I turned out to be pretty good
at it, actually."
Lee smiled, picturing Jer's body, wet and gleaming, his grizzled hair plastered
against his head, grinning with the pride of his new accomplishment.
"I practiced a while," Jer went on, "and then she left. I guess she could tell I was
way less interested in her than I was in the actual swimming. And then I just-- I
thought, I wonder how far I can get, out there? I wonder if it feels-- really big-when you're really out in it..."
"Did it?" Lee asked when Jer trailed off, and Jer turned to him and said, just to
him, "Yeah. It did."
Lee held his gaze until Jer turned back to Andrei and added, "You've got to take
the kid sometime, okay? He should get to see it."
"Would you like that, Lee?" Andrei asked, and Lee said, "Yes, I think I would."
"Listen to you," said Jer, smiling at Lee. "Didn't even stutter. And no 'not if it's any
trouble' or 'only if it please my lord' in sight. You're good for him, Andrei."
"I try," Andrei said again, while Lee blushed and squirmed.
Lee took one last lingering look at himself in the mirror over his dressing table-his eyes subtly outlined and his lids tinted with a touch of dark silver, his black hair
artfully disheveled, the top two buttons of his dove-gray silk pajamas unbuttoned-and went out his bedroom door, and down the hall to the guest room.
Jer was sitting at the desk, still fully dressed, and wearing his reading glasses; a
bright lamp was trained on his hands as he drew something with one of the sharp,
complicated-looking instruments out of the velvet-lined case that sat open on the
desk. He looked up when the door closed behind Lee, and took off his glasses, and
laid them down on the desk, still looking at Lee.
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"Stop right there," he said, and Lee paused just inside the door, waiting. "Unbutton
two more buttons."
Lee did.
"Push that top off your shoulder," said Jer.
Lee hesitated.
"Doesn't matter which," said Jer. "Pick your favorite."
Lee moved to let the pajama top slip, with a barely-audible rustle of silk, from his
right shoulder.
"One more button," said Jer.
Lee undid it.
Jer looked at him for a minute, impassively, before a slow, sweet smile spread
across his face.
"C'mere," he said, and Lee almost ran, his feet weightless with joy, across the
room, and jumped into Jer's arms.
"I missed you," he said, slipping most of the way out of the pajama top before Jer
had even finished unbuttoning it, kissing Jer's hands when they moved up his
naked shoulders; Jer moved one hand to untie the drawstring at the waist of his
pajamas. "I missed you so much--"
"I missed you too, kid," said Jer, and gasped as Lee's mouth fastened onto his neck,
then kissed its way up to his ear, its fleshy lobe, and nibbled.
"No you didn't," he whispered into the warm, lovely ear, kicking vaguely at the
pajama pants, which had gotten lodged somewhere just above his knees. "You said
you don't miss people."
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"Right, that's right, I don't," said Jer, his grip on Lee yielding as Lee wiggled out of
his arms, his naked thighs and cock dragging along the soft cloth of Jer's tunic, and
then the gorgeous furred warmth of his bare legs; he knelt between the heavy boots
and pulled up Jer's tunic. Jer gave a kind of shuddering sigh as Lee hesitated, with
a thrill of almost-fear in his stomach, and then bent his head low to press a row of
timid, worshipping kisses along the thick, hard shaft between Jer's thighs, before
opening his lips to its already leaking tip.
The head fitted sweetly in his mouth, and he suckled it softly with lips and tongue
and the gentlest possible edges of his teeth for a bit, reached with the fingers of one
hand to the tight, heavy sac of Jer's testicles, probing among the coarse hairs and
tender, contracted skin, listening for changes in Jer's breathing, the salty musk of
Jer's pleasure bathing Lee's tongue. When the weight of Jer's hand came down
softly on Lee's head, Lee quivered; when it caressed his hair, he moaned very
softly around the hardness in his mouth and let his own hand stroke Jer's thigh in
gratitude.
"Stop," said Jer finally, and although Lee was reluctant, the note of command in
Jer's voice didn't brook any disobedience; he knelt back on his heels, waiting.
"Stand up."
Lee stood, and Jer looked up at him, stood up, scooped Lee up in his armsthe
silk of his pajama bottoms still tangled around his calvesand carried him towards
the bed.
"Not that I wouldn't be more than happy to come all over your face," he explained
as he laid Lee carefully down on the bed and lifted his legs to pull the pajama
bottoms off altogether, "and ruin that pretty makeup job, but I don't want to miss
the main event, either. It's been too long since I got in here." He squeezed the soft
round of Lee's bottom, and Lee squeaked and laughed. "Hasn't it?"
"Yes," Lee agreed, and caught his breath when Jer dragged a pillow down from the
head of the bed to push it under Lee's hips, lifting them into position. "Jer, how
how long will you stay?"
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"How long do you want me?" Jer asked, his hand wrapping around Lee's own hot,
lifting erection, and Lee answered, confusedly, "Now--"
Jer smiled and straddled Lee, leaning down over him, his mouth hot and greedy on
Lee's throat, his hands pinning Lee's arms down on the bed. Lee whined and
strained a little against their iron grip, loving both the futility of the struggle and
Jer's grunt of answering satisfaction, Jer's mouth kissing down his chest, lips and
tongue closing around the tender bud of his nipple.
"Jer, please," he begged, and Jer bit down hard, making tears spring to Lee's eyes;
Jer's mouth lapped and suckled at Lee's sore nipple. Lee moaned until the big hand
came down over his mouth, and he kissed the palm in surrender, trembling.
"Good boy," Jer whispered, lifting his head from Lee's nipple, his hand still over
Lee's mouth. "Shhhh."
Lee nodded, and Jer took his hand off Lee's mouth, replacing it with his own
mouth. Lee opened his lips to Jer's kiss, his hips lifting against Jer's groin as Jer's
tongue ran greedily along his teeth, as Jer's teeth nipped at his lower lip till it
smarted, as Jer ground his hard cock against Lee's. Then pulled away to ask in a
low, gravelly growl, "When's the last time you got fucked, baby?"
"Th-- this morning," Lee gasped.
"Good," said Jer. "Cause I'm going to fucking nail you, but if it had been a while,
I'd have to stick in some fingers first, make sure you were ready. You ready?"
Lee nodded.
"That's my boy," said Jer, and Lee blushed scarlet, while Jer unbuckled his belt,
pulled it off and tossed it to the floor with a clatter, then pulled his tunic over his
head and tossed that aside, too, with a softer thump of cloth on wood. He leaned
over, across Lee, so close that the fur of his chest brushed Lee's cheek, to retrieve
the bottle of lubricant Andrei always placed in the guest room for his use, and then
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his body was too far away again as he sat back to slather his cock liberally with the
herbal-smelling oil. Lee spread his legs and lifted them up without being told, and
Jer's thick cock was nudging its blunt head inside him, opening him up, and Lee
had a flash of terror, of knowing he was too weak and flimsy for this, that when the
man over him stopped being gentle (any moment now, any moment), Lee would
tear like tissue, would bleed and cry and be beaten and cursed for crying.
But in the nightmare image where he lay on the floor begging for mercy, there was
a body that covered his, that flung itself down over him and shielded him, and the
vision shifted back to the warm, heavy reality of the body that lay over his at this
moment.
"Jer," Lee choked, and his tears spilled over. Jer, touching his wet cheek,
murmured, "You okay, baby?" and Lee rested his heels on Jer's back and
whispered, "More, pleaseallinside me--"
"Fuck," Jer gasped, and obliged, burying the last inch of his cock inside Lee,
grinding his hips hard against Lee's ass; it burned, the heat and thickness of it
inside Lee, stretching him wider than he thought he could take, and still he wanted
more. Jer pulled back a little, and pushed back in, stroking against the pleasurespot in Lee, whispering, "So tightso fucking sweet my baby boy--"
He pulled back and pushed in again a few times, his long deliberate strokes
burning inside Lee like a brand, and then he picked up speed, his eyes dropping
closed from moment to moment as Lee looked up at Jer's beautiful, fierce, loving
face through the wavering flow of his tears.
Lee came first, the pressure building as Jer stroked the sweet spot inside him again
and again, and Jer stopped, smiling, his belly coated with Lee's pearly semen,
while Lee shuddered wildly, impaled on Jer's cock, which seemed bigger than ever.
When he'd settled down a little, Jer started up again, and it hurt, the kind of hurt
Lee never wanted to stop, although it did, too soon; Jer yelled out in mingled
triumph and frustration, pulled out quickly-- Lee felt a gush of oil and semen spill
out of him--slid the pillow gently from under Lee's hips, and lay down beside Lee,
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his strong arms reaching out to pull Lee close against his damp, furry chest. Lee
clung to him, a little sore, and dizzy with happiness.
"I meant to last longer," said Jer hoarsely, and cleared his throat. "Oh, well." He
kissed Lee's temple, holding him, both of them clammy with sweat and sticky with
each other's semen. "That's what I get-- I shouldn't have stayed away so long."
"I missed you so much," Lee whispered again, and Jer kissed his cheek and
answered, "I won't stay gone so long, next time. Promise, okay?"
"Don't be gone." Lee cleared his throat, tried to sound stronger. "Don't go. Stay."
"For how long?" Jer asked again, and Lee said, "Forever."
Jer laughed. Lee didn't.
"You could," he pleaded. "Andrei likes you-- and he knows how I feel about you.
And this house is so big. You could get a job, you could see Mr. Larssen and Bran
and Yves all the time-- they visit-- and so do we--"
"Shhh," said Jer, stroking Lee's hair.
"Jer," said Lee, "I love you."
Jer smoothed his hair back again, and looked at him as if he'd never hoped to see
anything half as beautiful, and didn't answer.
"You don't believe me," said Lee.
"You're nineteen," Jer answered. "I don't take anybody's 'I love you' seriously until
they're out of their teens."
Lee considered that.
"You could just stay until I'm twenty," he offered. "To see."
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Jer gave a painful-sounding bark of laughter, and then kept laughing and couldn't
stop. Lee held onto him, feeling him shake.
When he stopped, he was quiet for awhile, and then he said, "I can't, Lee."
"Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaase," Lee whined, barely managing to exaggerate his yearning,
and Jer hugged him and roughly kissed his head.
"I can't," he said again. "I just-- Lee, I was sold into slavery when I was fifteen, and
freed when I was forty-six. That's thirty-one years-- that's longer than your
Andrei's been alive--"
"Andrei is thirty-three," said Lee.
Jer paused. "Really?"
Lee nodded.
"Huh," said Jer. "I guess clean living pays off. Anyway-- Lee, try to understand.
For so long, I just-- sat still. Belonging to other people. Trying not to even-- think,
or imagine, or wonder, or want-- anything else. Anything-- outside."
"But you want me," said Lee. "I'm here."
"Yeah," said Jer, and kissed Lee's forehead. "I want you. And I love you, Lee-- and
I am old enough to know what that means. But I know what it doesn't mean, too. It
doesn't mean-- it's not enough. I can't-- stay. Not anywhere. Not yet."
Lee put his head down on Jer's shoulder, and said, "Then let me come with you."
"No," said Jer softly. "You'd shrivel up and die, baby. You spent enough time
feeling lost. You know where you are before you even open your eyes, now, every
morning, and that you're safe. I couldn't take you away from that. Besides, you
couldn't leave Andrei behind. Could you?"
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"No," Lee admitted miserably. "Jer, please-- how long will you stay, this time?"
Jer hugged him close, and didn't answer for a while, and then he said, "Lee, I don't
know. As long as I can, okay? I'll stay until-- until I have to leave. Okay? Can you
work with that?"
Lee lay still, pressed up against Jer, in bliss marred only by the awareness of how
soon it would end. Jer would leave again, and Lee wouldnt know where he was, or
when he was coming back, or if he was coming back. Though he did know that if
he could, Jer would always come back to Lee, even if only for brief, snatched
visits, between his long stretches of absence. Jer had to leave-- but Jer loved Lee,
now and always.
And maybe Jer was right-- not about Lee being a nave teenager who didnt know
his own mind when it came to love, but about Lee needing security and stability,
the gentle, silken hush and sweetness of Andreis house, Andreis love for Lee, and
Lees love for Andrei. And that a life of homelessness and endless change with Jer
would hurt him, in the end, more than the quiet ache of Jers absence that underlay
his happiness with Andrei.
And maybe Jer would see enough, in his wanderings, and be tired, in time for him
to come home to Lee for good.
Maybe. Maybe not.
But now-"Lee?"
"Yes," said Lee, and took a deep breath, tasting Jer's scent at the back of his throat.
"Yes, I can work with that.
THE END
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542
Other Stories in The Slave Breakers series by Maculategiraffe

The Slave Breakers (Book 1): Brans Story
The Slave Breakers (Book 2): Jesses Story
Even more shorts and mini-series set in The Slave Breakers universe can be found
at onMaculategiraffes LiveJournal.
http://maculategiraffe.livejournal.com/10338.html

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The Slave Breakers

The Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

"May I carry him?" Bran asked.

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Home. Holden wanted to be there. Badly.

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

"...can't be in this bed. Please."

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

"Will you punish the slave for this?"

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Holden stuck out his hand. "At your service."

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Mistress? said Bran softly.

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Yves laughed. "You're supposed to be asleep, master."

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story

have a wonderful Thanksgiving and everyone else has a wonderful Thursday,

Slave Breakers (Book 3): Lees Story