Uly’s Comet (m/m romance/fantasy)
Unleash the Comet… Feel the power…
Markis Shaver, the Swithin Prince, controls the power of the Comet,
which may be the only thing that will act as a deterrent in a war
between two vast monarchies – a war that could devastate the natural
world and must therefore be avoided at any cost, even if that means
killing the many to save the few. As if things weren’t bad enough, he
may also have to rescue a princess and face a marriage of convenience
and it doesn’t help that Markis is still in training and struggles to
control the power when he calls it forth. At times, he also struggles
to control his temper, which is quick to react where his feelings are
concerned. The lessons, alas, do not seem to be working and he is
running out of time.
His personal guard and best friend, Ryanac, disagrees with the old
teachings and has always insisted that Markis should embrace love,
both emotionally and physically, to control the Comet … but then
again, he could be wrong.
When Markis leaves the palace one night to indulge in the luxury of a
little solitude, he captures a young man and would-be thief. Out of
boredom he decides to play a little game with the thief but little
does he know that in time Uly will teach him a whole new lesson in
desire … and love. But if he gives into love physically before he has
full control, what will it mean for the world?
If Uly, a street thief, can teach a prince to let go of control, maybe
love really can conquer all. Markis is afraid of the ride but maybe he
should just unleash the comet and feel the power…
Everything was dark. A jolt, a bolt of panic slammed through his chest
and threatened to stop his heart. He turned his head left and right
trying, fighting to see, and yet it didn’t really feel like movement.
He had no sense of his neck turning. It was more as though he gazed
wildly around in the darkness without actually moving. He tried to
lift up only to discover he couldn’t.
He felt bound, though nothing tugged at his wrists or ankles. He
arched his back, but could not feel the bed beneath him as he slammed
back down. Truly, he didn’t slam down. Something supported him, but he
had more a sense of floating, of being weightless.
He tried to shout out for help, but something stilled his tongue. What
was going on? This wasn’t like the rush of power. Then, he lost sense
of his body completely until they brought him back by the use of pain,
but here… here he had arms and legs, a head, and yes, a mouth and
tongue. He just couldn’t feel them.
“Awake at last.” The voice murmured over his skin, first comforting
him and then making him shiver as it rode the breath that carried it.
He tugged at whatever bound him, metaphysical or real, but all it did
was make the warm voice give a soft laugh. The laugh both chilled and
pleased him. Fingers brushed over his skin, and he gasped.
“Why are you fighting?”
He didn’t know and still couldn’t answer. He tried to recognise the
voice, for he knew the speaker, but right now it was hard to identify
reality, let alone if the speaker was male or female. Without that
small knowledge, there was no way he could tell who.
“You know I won’t hurt you.”
How did he know if he couldn’t identify the person behind the voice?
Yet, he felt it. Though he tried to pull away, he had no sense of
danger, no malice.
“You know I don’t claim you for myself, though I’d be happy to do so.
You know I just want you to be loved the way you should be loved.”
Those words spoken so softly on a whisper struck some cord within him.
The voice sounded definitely masculine, though it remained gentle. Ryanac?
He swallowed and this time received a genuine sense of movement. It
felt as though he was in two places at once, but how could that be?
Fighting never did any good, no matter what the seers had to say. You
fought the power; it fought back. The person who he now believed to be
Ryanac touched him, his hand caressing his shoulders. Ryanac’s hands
had touched him before in many situations. He grimaced. How many of
those occasions had been when he was injured? He didn’t want to think
about it. These hands were Ryanac’s, and yet… they weren’t.
The hands moved down over his chest and rather than draw in his
stomach, he tried to lie still, to feel them. The touch shimmered, and
the wave of heat behind the fingers was also familiar, but it did not
belong to Ryanac. Why would the power ride him like this?
Fingers pinched a nipple, and he jerked. That voice made a ssshhhing
sound. He tried to locate the speaker, but the sound came from all
around, as it did when he rode the wave. There was no light here,
though, and he was unused to that. There was no light, no scent, and
no true sound, not even from his body. The touch of hands returned.
They stroked his sides, his hips, brushing up to run thumbs over his
nipples. Markis twisted, trying to escape the touch. A vague awareness
came to him of lying entangled, wrapped in silk, and then he floated
once more in this black abyss. The touch changed to the lick of a
tongue, and Markis cried out, partly in consternation, partly in
delight. He pulled his hips away from the exploration as the hands
returned, but the movement only made the fingers brush against other
Particles opened, separated. He drifted. The sensation of being
opened, explored, caressed, and invaded violated him by turns. The
sweet opening of his mouth searched for promise. He wanted to kiss; he
longed to suck. When nothing answered his silent plea, he cried out
and heard his voice echo into distance, only to have it swallowed down
by the darkness, by eternity.
Markis groaned. He had a vision of his skin splitting, separating. The
cold of the grave was the only thing that could cool this heat. Maybe
it would all be better if he just accepted that.
“Markis. It’s me. Markis!”
Yes, Ryanac. I knew it had to be you. You son of a bitch…
The power expanded through him, opening him up, stretching him further
than human skin could go.
Son of a wh… What?
Markis opened his eyes and stared into the face leaning over him. He
became aware suddenly of his room, his bed, and the silk sheets
entangled around him. He opened his lips and breathed in welcome air,
even as his heart eased off pounding, and his pulse slowed. The sight
of Ryanac only in a tunic and breeches puzzled him at first, it being
so strange to see the man out of full armour. Even when they shared a
companionable evening, he seldom took more than his shoulder pads off.
The man knelt beside him on the bed, his hands on his shoulders
holding him down. As if reading his mind, Ryanac loosened his grip.
Markis swallowed. He didn’t remember going to bed. The last thing he
“How did I get here? What happened?”
“You were exhausted after the session. I put you to bed and thought I
would stick around to see if you were okay. Good thing I did.” Ryanac
sounded rueful. “You were struggling in your sleep. You cried out my
name.” A soft smile played at the corners of Ryanac’s mouth. “What
were you doing? Dreaming of me?”
He watched Ryanac’s eyes first search his face and then the look
changed from one of teasing amusement to questioning. “I was only jok…”
With a small cry, Markis sat up, gathering the other man’s face in his
hands, his fingers sliding under the hair. He pressed their lips
together in a firm pressure. Ryanac’s resistance lasted only a moment,
and it was probably caused by surprise more than anything else. Markis
slipped his tongue into the warm cavern and drank in the sweetness of
Sharon Maria Bidwell
aonia – where the muses live
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