Years of training have turned Bastian into a sublimely sexual weapon, capable of pulling magic to enthrall. His mission is to captivate the overlord, then kill him, when years of violent revolts had failed. Vashi wasn’t meant for Bastian’s snares, but passion catches him up in them.
Sex to Bastian is means to an end and a method of control. But Vashi shows him pleasure in sex, and that the magic Bastian can use is stronger when the two of them are as one.
Unfortunately, Bastian’s mission is a cruel and harsh one. One that demands complete and total submission, and Bastian has been purchased, body and soul. If he fails, Bastian’s people are at risk of losing their lives as much as their freedom. If he succeeds, he may lose Vashi. As ever, the devil is in the details.
|File size:||178 KB|
|Age Range:||18 Years|
About the Author
Angela Fiddler is the occasional pen name of Barbara Geiger. Barbara didn’t learn that she had lived in three out of the four Northern Alberta towns that had a known or suspected Wendigo attack until well after she’d moved south to Lethbridge. She grew up loving ghost stories and pony books, and spent most of her summers on the British Columbia coast, where she fell in love with the ocean. As Angela Fiddler, she has written The Master of the Lines series as well as Cy and his sex demon problem books. As Barbara Geiger, she has written The Tempest trilogy, starting with Coral Were his Bones, which exists in the same universe as the Middlehill series, starting with Changeling, as well as various other novellas and short stories. When she’s not following the exploits of selkies, sex demons and vampires, she writes epic fantasy and makes the occasional foray into science fiction and short stories.
Read an Excerpt
The door wasn't locked.
Bastian tried to relax in his chair. All around him, below him, beside him he felt the sex. Bodies moved against bodies, men with women, men with men. The room wasn't hot, or at least the fireplace was black and cold, but Bastian felt the friction of the connections around him.
He stood up. It didn't break the connection entirely but it did keep him from becoming overwhelmed. It had been over three years since he'd been so close to so many bodies joined in lust, and he had forgotten how much his body was tied to the need around him.
He was sweating, and rubbing his palms on his thighs didn't seem to help. The sound of leather kissing flesh came over all the other sensations, and he focused on that. The pain that the sounds brought with it--the kiss of the quirt, the grunts, the clenched teeth, the shuddering--was strong enough that it could drive the rest of his thoughts off.
It wasn't the whore being beaten. Bastian didn't think he could share in that. It was the Camillian on the bed, his hands clasped over his head. Bastian knew he couldn't have remained tied to the feeling if the one being whipped was being whipped unwillingly, but here and now, the rise and fall of the double-tailed whip was a call he couldn't ignore. Bastian touched his cock for the first time, holding his opened palm against the base of it.
A woman on the third floor of the huge building was climaxing in her bonds. A young man down the hall was gagging on something thrust down his throat, but Bastian didn't think it was a cock. The quirt cut down again, over already reddened skin and the pain was silk against Bastian's skin. It drove off everything else, and hecould ride the pain like a sleek, sweating beast between his thighs.
The two men had been close to ending it. He had felt the building orgasm, but when Bastian slid into their heads, the Camillian couldn't let go, not yet. The need for pain that had brought him to the brothel was not something he could, or even wanted to control. With Bastian so close, he reveled in it for the first time. The whore's whip arm, which had been starting to radiate hot, spiking muscle ache found new strength, and the quirt fell, over and over again. It wrapped around the man's torso, across his upper thigh, around his hip to his belly, and instead of flinching, he rolled into the pain, exposing more of his white skin to be kissed.
The sting drove him further into the place in his head that needed it, and Bastian could have ridden them both all day, but their bodies bucked and shuddered against his control. Bastian could only hold on to the control for so long.
The whore was hard as well, though it surprised him to be so. He was not accustomed to becoming involved in his sessions. He was quite shocked to find that he'd taken a step toward the bed. His hand felt comfortable, grabbing the ... he'd never thought of the Camillians who rented them by the hour as men before, not like the Illians were, but when he put his hand on the back of the man's neck, it felt good. So did reversing the quirt in his hand. He could never bring himself to actually fuck the man; that went beyond something he saw himself doing. Bastian couldn't force him, nor would he have. The handle of the quirt was thick enough. He kicked the man's legs apart, half on the bed, half off.
But he didn't even have to penetrate him with it. Just as the first of the rolling, boiling wave began, the door of Bastian's room opened.
Bastian turned and the lines between him and the couple snapped in two. He was hard and flushed, and the woman who entered noticed both immediately. She wore a silk shirt and leather trousers like a man, the shirt transparent enough to show off the leather corset pushing up her breasts beneath it, and she'd obviously just said something he'd completely missed.
Bastian clasped his hands behind his back, refusing to feel guilty. His travel robes were suddenly too hot for the room, though he had been cold when he'd first been shown in. She hadn't stopped staring at him, so he relaxed his hands and let them fall to his side, refusing to feel defensive any more.
"I said, I am Becca. Are you my beloved?"
"I'm a beloved, at the very least," Bastian said. Beloveds were to whores what the sleek Camille racing horses were to the average cart nags, and it disturbed him that she had the upper hand when he should have controlled the meeting from the very start.
"Let me see it, please."
"See what?" Bastian asked, feigning innocence.
She glared at him. "Do not flatter yourself. Let me see your brand, please."
Illian contracted workers were not branded; only their labor belonged to their master. But it was not a slave brand she wanted to see. He held out his hand.
The hourglass shape was unmistakable. "And this it was done without any heat at all," she said.
Bastian snatched his hand back. "You know it was."
"Excellent." She clapped her hands. "Now, if you don't mind, drop your robes."
Bastian shrugged. This part was just business. Bastian reached up and undid the single clasp by his throat. The red cloak, a color that was forbidden on the street but which he wore regardless, swirled down to his feet. He wasn't wearing anything beneath it, and she was slightly taken aback by that, but he remained stone-faced as she dropped her gaze. "Very nice," she said, finally.
His skin tingled. The school had taught him the use of volatile oils that showed him the past as much as the future. Being back in his city, where he'd grown up and been betrayed brought cold memories across his skin. It wasn't unpleasant, as such, but still, he wanted to put his robe back on, just to protect himself.
There was one more thing he knew Becca would question him about. He waited, counting in his head, and reached fifteen before she asked it. "What is your expertise?"
Bastian sighed. There were a thousand things he could do brilliantly, but she only wanted to hear one thing. "I mix my own oils," he said. He could create something that would make penetrative sex glide effortlessly, and something else--using three of the four same ingredients that would blister skin on contact; not that he told her that.
She smiled, honestly, for the first time. "Excellent."
"You should know, Becca," he said. "You cannot house me here. There is too much futile sex in the building."
"I've already made arrangements for that," she said, just as sharp.
"And I won't whore for you. Be aware of that, too."
"I am aware of the arrangement, Your Highness."
He'd been naked for a dozen heartbeats, but now he felt exposed. "You know," he said. He hadn't been a prince of the realm for over a decade, not since he was still young enough that clutching his nurse's skirt when they went down to the market was not yet unbecoming. Being the second son of a second son of the disgraced former king held no sway in a conquered kingdom.
"There is nothing I don't know that happens in this city, Your Highness. But I am willing to respect the terms of our agreement, if you are."
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I think it would be a much better read if it was longer. Since it was very short, the author did not have time to go into the culture, people, myths, etc. of her universe. The magic used in the book was not clearly explained and it's the intrinsic part of the main character. The author also started using foreign terms off the bat without clarification and it took several pages to understand who was who. I had to re-read a few places to make sure I didn't miss anything. The plot and characters have potential and I would have liked to get to know them better.