Soulless, p.19
Soulless, page 19
Ban struggled to find the words. "Are you... protecting Nicholas from me? Making it impossible for me to sense his qi?"
Mrs. Robinson made an amused sound. "Such a word is hardly English. Say what you mean."
"When I died and was reborn as a servant, my master told me, to be soulless is unnatural for former mortals. He said I would be dependent on the life breath of others, the vitality of their souls, to fill myself from time to time. And it's true, I must take in qi even more than blood. I would never steal Nicholas's, never use that affinity to weaken him. But I think, if I could sense that part of his nature, I could give him some of my energy. Help heal him."
"Give him stolen vitality, as you poisoned him with stolen blood?"
Ban said nothing.
"Speak on."
"I have no desire to poison him. I don't believe I would. I can comprehend qi far better than blood. But something has blocked me. Made it difficult for me to connect with Nicholas. I believe you're shielding him, as you shield yourself."
Slowly, with a groan of agony that made Ban wince, Mrs. Robinson rose from her crouch. Turning, she gave him a smile, too bright and wide to be sincere.
"What is it like, to exist without a soul?"
He was taken aback. "I—don't know. What to say, I mean."
"What is qi? If the soul gives off vitality, how do you, the soulless, sense it?"
"I'm not sure. Sebastian said—"
"Do you believe in a god, Mr. Ulwin?"
"Y-yes."
"Which god?"
"God. I mean, the Christian God."
"Why did he forsake you? Is he so terribly unfair? Are you beneath his notice?"
"I suppose I must be. God is fair. What he chooses to do can never be unfair, because he's, well. God."
"How remarkable. Even in your soulless state, you sing his praises. That speaks well of your god, I suppose. Or of you." She pointed a twisted finger in his face, its swollen knuckles grotesque. "Which is it?"
"I. Well. God," Ban said desperately, beginning to feel as ignorant as when Sebastian had taunted him at the beginning of his second life, forever asking questions a peasant couldn't possibly answer. "Not me. God."
Mrs. Robinson laughed. "I release my wards on Nicholas. I give him into your care. But one last question, Mr. Ulwin, and take care you tell me the truth. If you decide to betray me. If you are some foul thing, lying to my face. Have I given you the power, just now, to finish my beloved grandson?"
It took Ban a moment to muster the inescapable answer. "Yes. Of course you have."
Touching his cheek with a clawed hand, the old woman kissed his cheek. "Thank you. Now go, with my blessing."
***
"Your grand-mamma thinks me an imbecile. And I'm not certain she's wrong," Ban told Nicholas as he closed the bedroom door, barring it behind him. "Martha told me how you questioned the boys who sought to be your students, before rejecting them all in favor of her. And I fear I, too, earned a rejection, though your grandmother never said so. Just looked into my eyes and laughed. I'll have you know, I'm accustomed to striking fear in mortals, not mirth."
Nicholas lay exactly as he had before. Beautiful, a line beneath each closed eye, that highly individual nose dominating an otherwise symmetrical face. Two lines on his brow, one deep, the other faint. High cheekbones and red lips, the upper and lower each perfectly formed, utterly kissable.
"I don't know how I ever hurt you." Ban let the statement hang in the air as he moved toward the head of the bed. The night sky through the uncovered windows seemed impossibly dark. Which meant in less than an hour, it would be dawn.
"That's not true. I know why I hurt you. Because I'm weak." Unbuttoning his coat, Ban hung it over the chair. His chest was still painted with red, but no one was present to notice. "If I could tell you how they hurt me, Nicky, I would. But to say it aloud would leave me unmanned. Does that surprise you? I've always been a lover of men. Usually I throw my leg over, but not always. Sometimes I take it, and I like it. That doesn't mean I want to be hurt. To break like a door before a battering ram."
Ban stepped out of his trousers, which fell the moment he loosened his belt. He'd never had any hips to speak of, nor any shanks, just a big cock when the moment came.
"I saw how you looked at me last time. When I wasn't ready. But it wasn't like that. It wasn't that you didn't entice me. Besides, I've bedded men who made me want nothing but a fuck. I wanted more from you. I worried about you. What you were thinking. How you felt. It's hard to keep a cockstand with so much on your mind. My mind, anyway."
Pulling back the coverlet, Ban slid in beside Nicholas, who lay unmoving on his back, still as a corpse but warmer.
"I'm sorry I hurt you. The thing is, well, I've been afraid of death, what we call the true death, for too long. Yet Sebastian almost dealt it to me the other night. He cracked my skull and broke my neck. I swear to you, Nicky, I almost left my body. And there was no pain, nor grief, nor guilt. Just oblivion. It made me wonder what I've feared for so long."
Slowly, Ban pulled back the coverlet still farther, studying Nicholas's nude body. Shoulders broadened by years of exertion. A chest with firm pink nipples and a flat stomach. Before he knew what he was doing, Ban kissed Nicholas's left nipple, then his right, tongue following the faint brownish-red trail toward the man's lower belly. He wouldn't have recoiled at softness, but Nicholas was hard, firm to his groin, where his hip bones stood out and the remnants of his injury waited.
"I would take you. Now, as you sleep," Ban whispered, kissing Nicholas again, following the trail to a thicker forest of red-brown below. "I would press my cock against your lips and jut, jut, jut against those red curves until I come. But any man could give me that. Alone, it's not enough, not even from you. No. Such a gift is only meaningful if offered." Ban kissed the head of Nicholas's cock, wondering if the man could feel it, sleeping or waking.
Nothing. No flicker of qi. Either Nicholas was slumbering deeply within that beautiful male body, or he was sliding toward someplace else, a transition point where Ban couldn't follow. Ban waited and listened, listened and waited, until he grew truly afraid. And then, in the midst of his fear, came an answer.
"Very well," Ban said to Nicholas, dabbing at the fresh perspiration on his forehead. "While we await your grandmother's concoction, I shall tell you what you want to know."
Chapter Fourteen
Ban never met Serafino in Calais. As the spring of 1472 took root in the walled city of Bath, Ban found himself rarely permitted to leave Sebastian's side. Not that he wished to, in those early days. His transition, though swift, was rocky, testing Sebastian's patience over and over.
Ban awoke to the tolling of bells. He found himself in an unfamiliar room filled with tapestries, rich furnishings, and delicate bits of art. Across the marble floor, fragrant rushes were spread. As the bells concluded, Ban realized he hadn't attended a divine office in weeks. Outside the unshuttered window, the sun disappeared in a final tide of purple and red.
"Vespers?" Ban asked.
"What an extraordinarily inauspicious first word." Sebastian looked displeased. "You have been washed in the blood of the wolf, peasant boy. The maudlin songs of churchmen no longer have anything to do with you."
"Blood of the wolf?" Sitting up, Ban found himself wrapped loosely in the most splendid robe he had ever seen. He'd never glimpsed a king before, but he'd spied London's Lord Mayor, and this robe put the distinguished man's parade coat to shame. "Am I... am I dead? Is this heaven?"
Sebastian laughed. "You are indeed dead. But this is not heaven. It's merely Bath, and you are in my apartments. Not one of my finer dwellings, yet far better than you've ever sampled, I'll warrant. It's no use searching for your things. What little you carried with you has been burned. Nevertheless, it may take some time to fully delouse you."
"I don't understand."
"A phrase I suspect I shall hear till my ears bleed." Sebastian sighed. "Rise and approach the mirror."
Ban obeyed. He was dreaming, surely, yet the images flitting through his mind seemed quite real. The bronze square on the wall was beautifully polished, its surface so reflective, Ban was surprised by its inaccuracy. The lines across his forehead weren't there. Moreover, his temples were dark again, as if he were still a young man, not an elder approaching three and thirty.
"What's happened to me?"
"I told you. You're dead. And risen again as my creature, replete with gifts to better serve your master. My, what a gormless look. Oh, yes, it's true, you've regained some youth. But, alas, no wit."
Those early days held many wonders for Ban. The idea he was dead proved easier for him to grasp than Sebastian expected. True, Ban lacked the years of preparation future half-breeds had once received in the ancient tradition. But his history as a runaway bondsman and bent man served much the same purpose. For a lifelong outsider, a future separate from most of mankind was no great transition. And the gifts Sebastian mentioned seemed well worth the sacrifice. More handsome than ever, Ban found himself ten times stronger and vigorous in every way. Food lost nearly all luster and alcohol tasted like poison, but Ban regained the cockstand of a hot-blooded boy and the boundless virility of Zeus himself. The first time he fucked Sebastian, the sport lasted half the night, enlivened by a crowd of boys Sebastian rented from Bath's most reputable whoremaster. Drunk on sensation, Ban had taken one pretty youth after another, pounding them until they begged for mercy, fucking and fucking until he roared with pride in himself, his cock, his endless stamina. Only Sebastian could weather the storm, and when Ban came inside him, he screamed loud enough to startle those passing in the street below.
Yet fear, too, went hand-in-hand with wonder. Warned to avoid the daylight, Ban promptly broke the rule, burned himself badly, and was castigated with a cat-o-nine-tails. That was the first time he realized wounds dealt by the sun healed slowly, but slashes and contusions sealed almost at once, allowing corporal punishment to go on for what seemed like forever. That beating was also the first Ban learned of Sebastian's second nature, his preferred means of taking pleasure. After beating Ban's ass bloody too many times to count, Sebastian had mounted him before the Brethren's avid eyes. When finished, he bid the mortals to open their robes and each take a turn. Recalling the weeping whores, Ban had set his teeth and borne it, vowing never to disappoint Sebastian again.
Except he did, over and over and over. His stupidity before his tutors was legend, his ineptitude in supervising the staff an ongoing disgrace. He had to be taught to carry himself, to address his now-equals with grace even as he addressed his now-inferiors with authority.
Three weeks after his awakening, Ban became aware of a gnawing need. Akin to his memory of hunger, this urge was far crueler, affecting his entire body. Night and day he fretted on it, hands shaking, knees weak. He began to dream of returning to Cowslip, finding Simon, and taking him in a new way. Sucking him, drinking him, and indulging in bliss such as no meat or wine had ever afforded.
Sebastian did everything he could to make Ban's first kill tranquil and lovely. He selected a rosy-cheeked youth, a junior servant with no family, priming the boy with fine food and strong red wine. Giggling, the youth had gone willingly to Ban, climbing into bed and settling contentedly in Ban's arms.
"I am yours," he'd whispered in French, thinking he knew what was to come.
Ban, aware of Sebastian's eyes upon him and determined to please his master, tore into the boy's jugular with his bare teeth.
***
"Nicky. Forgive me for stopping there. I would not recount every terrible moment, not to you, who once believed me an object fit for study." Hand sunk into Nicholas's hair, Ban let his fingers work slowly, tracing the man's scalp with gentle movements. "I gave myself up to the act of feeding. That first youth died in terror and agony, and to confess I enjoyed him, both before and after his passing, does not confess enough."
Ban waited for some answering flicker within Nicholas, some stirring of qi, but none came. He didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
"The next day, I felt I could not go on. My power, my restored youth, my new wealth—none of it was balm enough to soothe my conscience. So while it was still daylight, I fled to a quiet place and threw myself off a cliff, certain the fall would destroy me, or the sun, or both. They did not, of course, and my punishments thereafter were a revelation. Sebastian was so angry, he nearly ordered me destroyed, and his pleasure in me twisted. Once, he'd permitted only candlelight in the bedchamber; now he added braziers and oil lamps, so he might scorch or burn me whenever he wished. Toys were purchased, some cunning, most cruel. From that moment forward, Sebastian climaxed only after I'd borne a certain amount of pain or humiliation, or if we shared our bed with a victim and fed together.
"You might think a wise man, or vârkolak, would redouble his efforts to please his master. And in some ways I did. But I was a runaway, a criminal accustomed to breaking laws, or at least rules. In midsummer, Araba Fenice returned to Bath, and I was eager to see Serafino. As fate would have it, Sebastian was invited to spend a week with the Archbishop. So while he dined with a prince of the church, I crept off to see the son of the dragon."
***
"I missed you in Calais. And Paris." Serafino's voice was cool as he washed his face, dabbing away kohl, rouge, oil, and sweat. "Either I mistook you, sir, or my tricks onstage failed to impress."
Ban, dressed in clothes he'd bought off a servant, regretted not wearing his new finery. Perhaps Serafino would have melted more readily if he realized how far Ban had risen in the world since their first meeting. "What did you take me for?"
Serafino cast him a sidelong look.
"I await your answer."
"You know it well enough. Besides, if I don't finish bathing, I'll smell like a goat, and my sister will bar me from our tent."
Ban smiled. "Please. I realize I intrude, yet after such a magnificent performance, I am loathe to leave. Pray continue."
Lifting an eyebrow, Serafino stripped away leather apron, breeches, hose and boots. To Ban's surprise, he wore another garment beneath, a thick white cloth twisted between his legs and around his buttocks like a babe's swaddling clothes.
"You needn't gape like that," Serafino said, beginning to unwind the curious undergarment. "Onstage, I say I fear no flame. Yet you notice I keep my chest scraped of hair. Arms and legs too. The area I prefer not to tamper with, I afford an extra layer of protection."
"Safety is to be admired. I wonder you don't shave your head."
Freeing himself from the wrappings, Serafino propped a leg on his stool, sponging his flesh unhurriedly. "Ah, but if I spoil my beauty, fewer devotees will accost me after the show."
"No danger of that. Spoiling your beauty, I mean." Ban took a step closer. Serafino was almost perfectly formed, his one visible flaw making the rest of him painfully tempting. "Were you injured?"
"No." Serafino propped up the other leg, caressing his thigh in a way that placed him on full view. "I'm as much of a man as you, though I have only one bollock. The crone who pulled me into the world said sometimes they drop slowly, or not at all." Dipping his rag into the water basin, Serafino wrung it out, then wrapped the cloth around his cock and began to tug. Instantly it swelled, lengthening far past its modest beginnings.
"If you'd like to take over with your mouth...." Serafino studied Ban from beneath his eyelashes. "I won't say no."
"I don't fall to my knees for men. They get on hands and knees for me."
Serafino made a derisive sound. "Then I'll just have to find a willing pair of lips. Or a girl to open her legs," he added, though it had the ring of an idle threat. Still, he took up his binding and began winding it into place, covering himself quickly and efficiently.
"I don't understand." Ban did his best to sound persuasive. "There's nothing new under the sun, and many a man enjoys it."
"Not me. When I was a boy, my mother's second husband took me that way. Worst pain I ever suffered." Serafino stepped into his trousers. "Never again. Especially not with a man like you." He indicated Ban's trouser leg. "Who announces himself like a centaur."
"I'm not so big." Over the years Ban had told many lies in pursuit of pretty men, but this, perhaps, was the most outrageous. Serafino rolled his eyes.
"I'm off in search of my supper. Not the rubbish cooked here. Decent food from the city. You can accompany me to a public house if you wish. But only if you pay."
They didn't sleep together that night. There was kissing, though, after Serafino dined on roast fowl and wine and Ban pretended to drink a mug of ale. The following night, kisses came first, then a long walk from the West Gate to St. Mary's. Ban found Serafino surprisingly easy to talk to. He'd feared it might be difficult, keeping company with a mortal, since Sebastian told him repeatedly that humans were nothing but food to him now. Instead, Ban fell almost effortlessly into the rhythm of his old life, inventing a few simple falsehoods to fill the gaps. He claimed that, while in Bath, he'd been adopted by a rich, childless uncle. During the day, he was expected to learn his letters and the family business. In the evening, he dined with his benefactor and discussed his progress. And each night, sated on food but hungry for carnal entertainment, he was at liberty to enjoy himself as he chose.
"Loosen that ridiculous thing," Ban whispered, kissing Serafino's neck even as he pawed below his waist. He was never tempted to feed from Serafino—the disaster of his first kill was still too close—but Ban often had to remind himself of mortals' comparative fragility. "Let me at least stroke your cock."
"Stroke it with your tongue, or not at all."
"Wicked thing. I won't kneel." Ban paused to join their mouths, to kiss Serafino until the man writhed, squeezing his thighs together and groaning. "But if you lie back, I'll lie with you, face between your legs."
"Here in the alley?" Serafino looked scandalized. "I don't fancy being pilloried or hanged by the neck. You English take cock sucking far too seriously."
