maderr | I give up

I have tried and tried to make this story work. To like it. It's not working. I hate it.

At some later point, when I can stand to look at it, I may just cannabalize the bits I like (namely, Jasmine and Chanda) and make a story about them. I like them. The rest of it reeks of trying too hard, I don't care what my beta says. I wanted it to be a cool foursome story and it's just 33 pages of pretty drivel.

Blah. I hate when I lose.

Am only posting because goddamn it, I tried, and I refuse to let 33 pages of hard work vanish entirely. In two posts, obviously. Normally I'd pester Sammikins to tell me what's wrong but b) she's busy enough as is and 9) I know what's wrong - it flat out sucks.

Boo hiss I say.

Unbreakable

He stifled an unseemly groan as they finally reached the Markets.

Everywhere around him was the stench of too much flesh and not enough bathing. The air was only further thickened with a confusion of emotion – anger, anticipation, excitement, misery, lust, and greed.

If he’d ever forgotten why he detested the Markets, he was quickly being reminded. Truly he wanted nothing more at this moment than to turn his horse back around, strangle his brother, then return to his tower and books.

Far, far away from the idiocy of the rest of the world.

Instead he grit his teeth and rode up the steps of the Auction Hall. The place was despicable, though it was as grandly built as the Holy Palace itself. But where the Holy Palace was white and silver, the Auction Hall was a black and gold. Where the Holy Palace was elegant, refined, beautiful, and smart enough to hide its debaucheries behind doors and curtains…the Auction Hall was nothing but a noxious pit of flesh.

With an effort he kept a sneer of disgust from his face.

Only for his brother, and in the name of a great debt, would he stoop so low.

So very, very low.

Not that many would agree with him, but he hardly cared what anyone else thought.

Heaving a sigh, he carefully dismounted and pulled his cane from its holster on his saddle. He handed his horse off to the boy that came scurrying up, pressing a silver into his palm before turning to greet the fat, red-clad, sausage-like figure that came lumbering down the steps toward him, face as red as his clothes from the exertion.

“Milord! I offer my most profuse apologies for not being here to greet you properly. I received his lordship’s missive only a couple of minutes ago.” He bowed low. “Welcome to the Auction Hall, Lord Night.”

“My brother is Lord Night. If you must call me something, then Jasmine will suffice.”

“Yes, my lord. If I might say so, you look very much like your brother.”

Jasmine accepted the compliment with a nod, stifling a tired sigh. Why people thought it so flattering to tell him he looked so much like his brother, he would never understand. All they were doing, if often intentionally, was implying that he only looked like his brother. Fair skin, white-blond hair, pale gray eyes, tall, broad-shouldered, with the fine, almost pretty features so much a trademark of their line.

In no other way did he resemble his brother. Mandrake was charming, Jasmine was not. Mandrake was witty, talkative, smooth, and overall of an agreeable nature. Jasmine’s closest friends were his books and pets. He could not hold a pleasant conversation to save his life. Mandrake was perfect in nearly every conceivable way. Jasmine had more flaws than could be counted, though the worst were often stated to be his limp and lack of manners.

“Now, I believe all should be arranged in one of the private auction rooms? I do not care to join the general crowds…” Jasmine grimaced. He did not care for that one bit. He rapped his cane on the steps to emphasize his point.

The man bowed. “Of course, Lord Jasmine. Right this way.” Turning, he led the way up the obsidian steps and into the Auction Hall, weaving through a maze of hallways before stopping at last before a door that looked, to Jasmine, much like all the rest. “If my lord will take a seat and make himself comfortable, we will begin bringing in those which might be of interest.”

Jasmine nodded and obeyed, making a face as he entered the room. Decorated in red and gold, the room could not have been more distasteful if it had tried. Oh, he was certain many found it pleasing, but he wanted nothing more than to return to his tower.

He refused offers of food and wine, sitting in stony silence as one bit of flesh after another was presented to him. In the main, all flesh was auctioned off. The auctions ranged from the large general auction to various private auctions. However, in some cases – such as when your brother was the second most powerful man in the country – there were no auctions. He had only to choose what he liked and pay for it.

So far nothing was meeting his requirements. They were all too weak-looking, too complacent, or too untrustworthy. Certainly if he were flesh for sale he would feel no obligation to do the bidding of his purchaser.

If he was to do as his brother had asked, he needed better than what he was being shown.

“Have you anything else? I have seen far too many similar to those I’ve been shown amongst the court. I require flesh with a bit more…bite to them. Not this fancy, frilly stuff fit only for showing off at court.”

The fat man in red – perhaps asking his name might get Jasmine better results, but he didn’t particularly care – shifted restlessly in discomfort. “My lord, we have emptied all the prime cells. The flesh displayed is the finest on offer.”

Jasmine sneered. If this was all they had to offer, he was a simpering miss.

Given that only three hours ago his looking glass had shown him still to be quite clearly masculine – the simpering oaf was lying. Fine, he could play this game. “Then I guess I shall have to come again tomorrow.” Not bothering to give the flesh still displayed nor the fat man another glance, he stalked from the room and back through the halls, pleased that he’d remembered every twist and turn.

On what he knew to be the third to last turn he had left, Jasmine was drawn up short before a door that strangely had been left wide open.

The creatures inside could only be described as exquisite. Better still, they looked as though they could be exactly what he was looking for. In fact, they were far beyond even his highest hopes. Ignoring the shouts of protest he vaguely realized were directed at him from both close by and further down the hall, he stepped into the room to get a closer look.

Dragons. Twin dragons. He had never heard of such a thing, but there was no mistaking that was precisely what these were. Both were stark black, ebony skin as rich and dark as the obsidian walls of the Auction Hall, scales holding an opalescent shine.

They must be problematic, for their bonds were extreme – thick bands of iron around their throats, to which were attached heavy chains that coiled around their arms before wrapping around their wrists behind their back. Their tails too had been wrapped in ponderous chain and attached to a weight that would make it impossible for the dragons to lift them.

The beauties were also muzzled, and as a final touch chained to the wall. From the way they were growling and snarling, threatening even with the bonds, they must have driven their trainer from the room.

Like all dragons, their scales covered the majority of their bodies, leaving only their faces, the majority of their torsos, and their groins bare. They had long, waist-length hair, as black as their skin and scales, messily tied back to keep it out of the way. In stark contrast, their eyes were the palest, most delicate blue.

Jasmine rounded on the fat, red fool as he came panting into the room. “Why were these two not shown to me? Why!” He banged his cane with each syllable, pleased to see the way the lazy bastard jumped and trembled. “Tell me this instant.”

“M-Milord…they are not suitable. You’ve seen we’ve had to fully restrain them.”

“Clarify ‘not suitable,’” Jasmine said coldly.

“They cannot be controlled. All methods are repelled. The only way to calm them is to sedate them, and that of course makes them useless. We have tried separating them, but—“

Jasmine banged his cane down hard. “Idiot! Why in Saint Rose’s name would you do such a foolish thing? If they are such a problem for you, sir, I will take them off your hands.” And treat them properly. Such beautiful creatures were not meant to be flesh.

“You cannot control them—”

“That is none of your affair,” Jasmine snarled. “I have said I will take them, and that is the end of the matter unless you’ve a better argument to make against it.”

“N-no, my lord.”

Jasmine nodded. “Then draw up the contract and present to me your best available trainers.”

Though the man obviously wanted to argue, it was equally obvious he’d finally grasped the futility of doing so. “Yes, my lord.”

“I can train them,” said a voice that could only be described as pure sex. Jasmine felt it shiver down his spine and straight to his cock. That it had even more deeply affected the fat, red fool was painfully obvious. Only one manner of creature in the world had such a voice, such an effect.

Jasmine turned to face the door, quirking his brow at the man calmly standing there. His hair was a deep, deep red, so rich and dark it could pass for black in lesser light, tied in a loose tail that fell over one shoulder and stopped halfway down his bare chest. Tight, black pants displayed further assets. His eyes were dark, and likely the same color, drawn out by dusky, copper skin. If Jasmine could almost be described as pretty, this man was definitely beautiful.

But Incubi faired poorly if they were not beautiful – from voice to features to natural born skill at all things sexual, they were the most tempting and dangerous of predators. Though…this one…

“You’re a halfling,” Jasmine said.

“Yes.” The half-incubus flashed a smile that looked far too fine on full, utterly kissable lips. His voice stirred shivers that Jasmine repressed only with effort. “You’re quite observant.”

“One of my few positive traits,” Jasmine said. “Stop it.”

The half-incubus shrugged, and when he spoke again his voice caused no reaction. “As you like, I suppose.”

“What did you mean you could train them? What is your name?”

“Chanda. I can train them.”

“Then why were they not given into your care?” He could see now that Chanda was closer the black belladonna inked into the side of his throat, mostly hidden by his hair.

“He was supposed to be executed,” the stupid oaf replied curtly, though it came off as largely ridiculous when the fabric of his robes still showed the evidence of the effect of Chanda’s voice.

Jasmine quirked a brow at Chanda. “Executed?”

Chanda’s face darkened. “Yes. I decided I did not like that and was on my way out.” He looked briefly chagrined, somewhat sheepish. “I could not help stopping when I saw the commotion around the twins. Were I not on the executioner’s to-do list, I would have likely been told to try training the twins.”

The fat man snarled and moved toward Chanda. “I may kill your guards alongside you for being so weak as to let you escape.”

“He is coming with me,” Jasmine said abruptly, causing both men to look at him in surprise. He looked coldly at the man in red. “Draw up the contracts, send them to me for signing.” He drew out a piece of paper from his dark blue jacket. “I will pay you then…though the halfling of course is free, as you already expelled him.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said unhappily.

“Then you are dismissed. Have you the keys to their chains?”

Nodding, the man handed over the keys and then all but bolted out of the room.

“Why were you to be executed?” Jasmine asked idly, not particularly caring so long as Chanda wasn’t a rampaging killer.

Chanda smirked. “They could not control me either, entirely, and finally grew fed up with trying.”

Jasmine snorted. “You’re half-incubus. What makes you think you can control them?” He motioned to the twin dragons, who watched them both, pale eyes sharp, intent. “Close the door, remove their muzzles.”

“Yes, my lord. And I can control them because I am very, very good at what I do. Naturally.”

“Indeed,” Jasmine replied. “My name is Jasmine; that is all I want to hear come from any of you.”

“As you wish, Jasmine,” Chanda replied with a faint smile, a thread of his power in his voice, making Jasmine want to shiver.

“Stop that.”

Chanda grinned. “It’s hard not to with you, my lord – Jasmine. You’re quite delectable.”

Jasmine rolled his eyes and waited as he freed the dragons’ mouths. “What are your names?” he asked them. “I am Jasmine Night, and require your assistance with a matter that has been entrusted to me to handle.”

The nearer of the two dragons bared his teeth, just slightly longer than human teeth, sharper. “We do not whore. If we earned punishment for killing those bastards, then we should be killed in our turn.”

“I have no doubt they probably deserved it,” Jasmine replied, “if it was yet more of the Emperor’s Army attempting to steal yet more land.”

“We will not help anyone,” the second dragon said. “Especially those who have done nothing but harm us. They tried to tear us apart!”

“Quiet,” the first dragon hissed.

“You are far too magnificent to be torn apart,” Chanda murmured, reaching out to stroke each dragon. “Only fools would think to do so.”

Jasmine almost laughed to see the way they jumped, recoiled, at the touch of an incubus. Even a halfling was dangerously powerful, lacking only the abilities to invade dreams and shape shift.

“Get away,” snarled the first.

“Your touch is strange,” the second dragon said.

Jasmine moved closer to them. “Have you never encountered an incubus? I guess the chances would be slim, they are quite rare…”

Chanda laughed and touched them each again, eyes glowing ever so faintly red.

The dragons growled low as the touch affected them, writhing in their chains, the evidence of the lust inspired by the incubus obvious.

“Stop it,” Jasmine snapped. “You’re a trainer, not a tormenter.”

“Same difference, most would say,” Chanda said, no small amount of bitterness in his voice. His eyes flashed again, and as he touched them the twins immediately calmed. “I am not harming them.”

They growled. The second bared his teeth. “Do not do that again.”

“I was trying to calm you,” Chanda said calmly. “Transform your anger. We’re not here to hurt you.” He shot a questioning look at Jasmine. “What are we here to do?”

Jasmine sighed. “A few days ago the Vizier stormed from the palace and withdrew to his estate in the Untamed Mountains. No one knows why.”

“I heard about that,” Chanda said, surprised. “Are you going to see him? Why?”

“Because my brother has bid me do so,” Jasmine replied, “for a reason which must remain confidential.”

Chanda tilted his head. “Why do you require flesh?”

“To maintain that confidentiality I just mentioned.” He motioned impatiently. “I detest the practice of keeping flesh. So far as I am concerned, we are making a business arrangement and I will address that now. I will free you once I have your contracts in my hand. The papers are already drawn, I did it this morning. I’ve only your names and the relevant signatures to add.” He looked at Chanda. “That includes you.”

“Oh?” Chanda asked. Jasmine saw his fingers twitched, and wondered if Chanda had been about to touch his tattoo, as restricting in its way as the chains which bound the dragons. “What do you want in return?”

“For you to accompany me to the Vizier’s estate. Afterwards, you will be paid for your trouble and thereafter free to go.”

Chanda shook his head slowly. “Why should we believe this? You have no cause to do such a thing. Lord Night is a powerful man. You’ve no need to free flesh and a trainer for which more than a few men would pay a great fortune.”

“My brother is paying a great fortune for the three of you,” Jasmine replied, “which means I will go about matters as I please and he has no room to complain. He has called in his debt, but I may repay it as I see fit. If I choose to free you when the matter is settled, not even he can countermand me. Do you agree or must I go find others?”

“I agree,” Chanda replied immediately. “My only other option is to return to what I was doing – fleeing before they could have me put down.”

Jasmine grimaced at the cruel term. He turned to the dragons.

“We do not believe you.”

“Remove their chains,” Jasmine said.

Chanda nodded and did so.

Jasmine motioned to the door. “I have already claimed you, and it’s obvious no one can tame you. Go if you like.”

The second dragon drew close, ignoring his brother’s snarls. “You smell strange for a human.”

“I probably smell like musty books and horse. Those have been my only companions in the past day.”

“Hareret!” The first dragon hissed. “We are leaving.”

Hareret frowned at his brother. “I…do not think that is a good idea, Tenasuli. Anyway, I want to know why he smells strange.”

“He smells neglected,” Tenasuli said flatly, glaring furiously at Jasmine as if annoyed at him for daring to smell so.

Jasmine calmly met the challenging stare. “I would greatly appreciate your assistance.”

“You have not bothered to tell us precisely what we will be doing,” Tenasuli countered.

Jasmine conceded the point with a nod. “True. I do not care to elaborate here, where anyone could be listening. I will pay whatever you deem proper and even cover your passage back home. I assure you it is not cheap.”

Tenasuli growled low. “So we really cannot simply leave, as you offered.”

“You can,” Jasmine said. “However, freedom means you must make your own way. I am offering you temporary employment and passage home, and what I want in return should not be exceedingly difficult for you.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “I will not ask you to whore yourselves, I assure you.”

Hareret crossed to his brother and placed his hands on Tenasuli’s chest. “Please, Tena? I am curious.”

“Your curiosity is why we’re in this mess to begin with,” Tenasuli groused, but Jasmine could hear the defeat in it. “If we’d simply gone along the river…”

“The village would have been annihilated,” Hareret reprimanded, tail lashing sharply from side to side.

Tenasuli sighed. “I know. As you wish. You’re the one who makes all these decisions.”

“Thank you, Tena,” Hareret said with a smile, and leaned up to kiss his brother in a remarkably non-brotherly fashion. Jasmine caught himself staring, and turned away with a frown.

Chanda chuckled. “They are something to look upon. They make me hungry.”

“Which reminds me,” Jasmine said, eying the half-incubus. “Confine your feedings to me and the dragons, if they are amenable.”

Chanda bowed low, crimson-black hair spilling free of its loose confines at the abrupt movement. “You are my master, until such time as the arrangement is no longer required.” He looked up and flashed a smile that could only be described as predatory, and his voice when he spoke again held a bit of seductive power. “Rest assured, I shall feel no compulsion to dine upon another.”

Jasmine could not entirely repress a shiver. “However did they keep you under control?”

“The tattoo,” Chanda said shortly, his dark eyes dulling.

“I see,” Jasmine said, not surprised at all. He almost asked what specifically they did, but even he knew that was poor manners and he didn’t want to harass a man who’d agreed to help him.

He looked over his three new companions, silently cursing his brother for forcing him into this. Couldn’t he have called in his debt in a different fashion? Ah, well. Nothing to be done but to press on. “Shall we to my home then?”

“Where is home?” Hareret asked.

“A great tower deep in the royal woods,” Jasmine replied. “It’s quite lovely, and secluded. About five hours from here, and I would very much like to return home tonight thought the journey will be exhausting.”

Chanda nodded. The dragons exchanged a glance, then nodded as well.

Jasmine returned it, then rapped his cane and turned to lead the way out of the Auction Hall and to his home.

He snarled softly as he prowled his library – most of the great tower had been given over to his books. Shelf after shelf crammed with all manner of literary works from every country that was or had ever been.

His life, his obsession. All he cared about anymore. Jasmine relaxed the death grip he had on his cane with an effort. Doing so drew his focus away from his books, to his leg, and with a grimace he moved to sit beside the fire and the large, wide chair he had there, carefully propping his bad leg up on the stool, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

The door opened with a slow creak and he lifted his head to snarl at whoever had dared bother him – and stopped when he saw Hareret. Freshly bathed, hair still wet, gleaming in the firelight, dressed now in a loose, low-slung black wrap. “Did you need something?”

“I am sorry. I am bothering you.”

“No…” Jasmine grimaced. “I am unused to guests. My manners suffer for it. What did you need?”

Hareret entered the study with slow, hesitant steps, a look of wonder on his face. “You have a lot of books.”

“Yes,” Jasmine replied, preening slightly. “The finest collection in the country, likely several countries. Every book I acquire I translate into at least three other languages, though my goal someday is the full ten Master Languages.”

The look Hareret gave him was gratifying. “You know all ten of the Master Languages?”

Jasmine nodded. “Yes, as well as a handful of others. Languages, words, these things are my life.”

“Incredible,” Hareret said with a smile. He moved to the fire, hesitancy seemingly vanished, and sat down alongside Jasmine’s chair. “I came to say thank you. We might lack manners ourselves, but we know we are most fortunate that you purchased us rather than someone else.”

“If I were bound in chains for days on end and lived under the threat that my brother was to be taken away from me, I would be lacking in manners as well,” Jasmine replied. He looked at Hareret, amazed that this dragon who had been angry and frightened only a few hours ago now sat so complacently at his feet.

Hareret shrugged. “They would not have separated us for long, had they managed to do it at all. We two can always find each other.” He smiled, pale eyes bright with his good humor. “You seem to be as close to your brother.”

“Yes,” Jasmine said, looking away, hand tightening on his ebony cane. “We were all the other had for a long time. Have you eaten?”

Hareret nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

Jasmine grimaced. “You need not be so formal with me, not in my home or when we are alone. My brother is the lord, not I. Jasmine works just fine.”

“As you wish. I like your tower.”

“Thank you,” Jasmine said, looking around the floor they currently occupied. The tower was enormous, more than capable of housing a good fifty people. Most of it had been given over to his library, but there were kitchens and rooms for his dozen servants on the bottom floors, and the top two were given over to his own rooms. The suites there which had gone unused had been aired in the last day to accommodate his newly acquired guests. “It has belonged to my family for years and years. Ever since it was gifted to us by the Queen Rapunzel, after she was finally freed from its confines after the Great War. Most of my family has had little use for it, but I find it suits me perfectly.”

Hareret nodded, absorbed in looking around though he did not move from his spot.

Jasmine suddenly felt foolish. Clearly having company was turning him into a rambling idiot. He sincerely doubted a dragon yanked from his home cared about his stupid tower.

“You live here all alone?” Hareret asked.

“Minus the servants, yes,” Jasmine replied. “I have little use for company.”

Hareret nodded, clearly to some thought in his own head. “Then that must be why you smell as you do.”

Jasmine blinked. Scowled as he recalled what the dragons had said earlier in the Auction Hall. That he smelled ‘neglected.’ “I’m sorry if my smell bothers you,” he said curtly, suddenly tired of the conversation. He had still to decide which books to take with him. Just because his debt was being called in did not mean his work could stop. Many of his translations were commissioned, and his clients expected their books.

He started to rise, but his leg protested loudly and Jasmine bit back a cry of pain. All the walking, then moving yet more upon his return home…he’d known he would regret it, but it had not hurt this badly in years.

“Are you all right?” Hareret asked, standing to loom over him, face full of a surprising anxiety. “You have gone bone white.”

“I’m fine,” Jasmine said tightly. “It is only my leg. A few more minutes of rest will solve the problem.” What he really needed was a hot soak, or hot towels to wrap around it, but he would be damned if he acted so weak as to ask for coddling in front of others…even if those others were, until his debt was paid, his slaves. No, the dragon would get bored soon enough and then he could ring for a servant.

Hareret frowned. “You are in pain. What happened to your leg?”

“A sword happened,” Jasmine replied, refusing to dredge the matter up even in his own mind. “Where is your brother? I can’t imagine he would be happy you are here…”

“He is sulking,” Hareret said in the tolerant tone of a sibling. “Tena does not like to feel as though he is indebted.”

Jasmine’s mouth quirked briefly. “I can sympathize.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “You should not aggravate him further by spending time with me.”

“He deserves it,” Hareret said quietly. Jasmine heard him moving around, but his eyes felt too heavy to open and for some reason listening to Hareret roam his library did not aggravate him the way it usually did with the servants…but he was probably just too tired to care.

Then suddenly he felt Hareret close, able to smell the cinnamon and honey-suckle soap. “Tell me if it is too hot,” the dragon murmured quietly, but before Jasmine could ask what that meant, a not-quite painful heat was pressed to his aching leg.

His eyes flew open and he saw Hareret once more kneeling on the floor, hands pressed to his wound. He gasped at the pleasure-pain of it, the heat nearly too much to take but so very soothing on his leg. “How—“

Hareret grinned, and the expression was so boyish he wondered suddenly just how old the dragons truly were. “Dragon.” He nodded his head toward the fire.

Of course. Dragons thrived on heat. Most fires could not hurt them – people liked to say that dragons bathed in fire rather than water.

“It is hard to gauge how much heat is too much,” Hareret said. “You are not screaming, and nothing is burning…”

Jasmine laughed, startling himself. “No, nothing is burning. I would prefer you not go near my books until you’ve cooled, however.”

Hareret smiled back. “Of course. Is your leg feeling better?”

“Yes…it is indeed.” Jasmine stared at the dragon, confounded. “Thank you.”

“My brother says I am too soft,” Hareret said with a shrug, obviously sensing Jasmine’s thoughts. “He is quite rock-headed though, so we make a fine pair.” His hands slowly slid away and he balled them loosely in his lap.

Jasmine tilted his head. “What precisely brought you here?”

“We were on our Age Journey,” Hareret replied slowly, face tight with unhappiness. “We came upon a village that was being ‘disciplined’ for defying the Will of the Great Empire…really they sought only to harm…my brother and I attacked…they were going to kill us, but the…General, I think…said we were too fine to let rot in the ground. He sold us to the Auction Hall.”

“I see,” Jasmine said, anger flaring up. “I am sorry.”

“It was not your fault,” Hareret replied. “I can see you would not do such things.”

Something else suddenly struck Jasmine. “Age Journey?”

“Yes,” Hareret said. “We are…” he bit his lip, thinking. “I know the Master Language of my country…but dragons I think count time strangely compared to most. I do not know the proper measure in the Master Language.”

Jasmine nodded. As the dragon lands shared a border with the Great Empire, they tended to speak the same Master Language – in this case, the official language of the Great Empire. Dragons however did not measure age in years as most species did, but in stages of physical maturity. These two must be fully developed…but while that made them adults in dragon society… “How many hatchings have you seen since you were yourself hatched?”

Hareret frowned in thought. “Nine, when we left for our journey.”

“Nine?” Jasmine repeated, groaning. Dragon eggs hatched every two years. That made the twins roughly eighteen years of age. Barely out of childhood by his own country’s standards. “You do not look that young.”

“We are considered adults,” Hareret said, tail lashing back and forth across the floor. He frowned. “Or we would have been accepted as full adults upon returning from our journey…now we are most likely believed dead…” He shrugged.

Jasmine winced. “If not for the debt I must repay, I would set you on a ship home now…”

“If not for the debt to your brother, we would still be in the Auction Hall and likely separated, so a little time spent helping you is not so terrible a thing. Tena would agree, if he were not still sulking.”

“Does your brother sulk a lot?” Jasmine asked, faintly amused by the constant references to Tena’s foul mood.

“Only when he knows someone else is right,” Hareret replied, grinning. He moved closer to Jasmine’s chair, tilting his head back, long, dark hair spilling everywhere.

Somehow reminding himself the dragon was both too young and thoroughly off limits anyway was not helping at all. In his defense, Jasmine thought sourly, a blind man would not miss the utter sex appeal of the dragons.

“Pretty, pretty,” a familiar voice rumbled. “I’m not certain which of you looks more edible.”

Jasmine shivered despite himself, thoroughly annoyed with the halfling’s ability to manipulate so easily with just his voice. “Chanda, I have told you not to do that.”

“It’s hard not to when I’m hungry,” Chanda replied, drawing close. Rather than cinnamon and honeysuckle, he smelled of lavender and musk, the strong, heady scent as distracting as his voice.

“Do not feed off the dragons,” Jasmine said sharply, wondering just what precisely he’d been thinking to take in such a potent creature.

Chanda frowned. “You said I could if they agreed.”

“At the time I was not aware they were barely eighteen, if that,” Jasmine snapped, meeting Chanda’s gaze, expression hard. “Leave them in peace.”

Hareret bristled. “We’re adults back home.”

Jasmine almost smiled at the offended tone. “Given how strongly you reacted to Chanda’s touch, I doubt you’ve much adult experience in certain matters.”

“Only each other,” Hareret replied faintly, dropping his head.

“You’re upsetting him,” Chanda said, moving around the chair to kneel and cup Hareret’s face in one hand, leaning close to give the dragon a brief kiss. He winked as he pulled away. “We’ll make adults of you. Better we two than anyone else who might have purchased you. For now, though, I suggest you go find your brother.”

Hareret blinked, then slowly nodded and stood, padding from the library.

Chanda rose to his feet. “You are right, they are young. I will leave them alone – for now.”

“See that you do,” Jasmine said wearily, contemplating all the ways he would like to kill his brother for this mess. Surely his debt was not…but it was that great, and the twinge in his leg would never let him forget that. “So I guess you are stuck with me for now, incubus.”

“What a pity,” Chanda said. “Does your leg pain you?”

“Yes,” Jasmine said curtly.

Chanda sighed. “That is a shame, it would have been fun to play right here. Ah, well. I will settle for a snack and feed properly tonight, hmm? A bed is always better anyway. Feeding an incubus is exhausting.”

Jasmine opened his mouth to offer a retort, but found his mouth taken before he could manage it. His cane clattered to the floor as he grasped Chanda’s wide shoulders for balance, feeling suddenly dizzy as the incubus’s kiss devoured him – literally and figuratively. He moaned, body going immediately tight, thrumming with energy and a burning need for release.

Too long, far too long alone and now he was being assaulted by a creature who lived on passion, craved need.

Chanda broke the kiss, leaving Jasmine’s lips tingling, nearly burning, fingers moving to his shirt, tugging the laces loose, mouth burning where it touched his skin, hair a soft, cool torment all its own, still slightly damp from a shower, gleaming deepest crimson in the firelight.

“I’m not the only hungry one,” Chanda murmured. “A fine, exquisite feast you are, my pretty Lord Jasmine…yes…I no longer feel like waiting. If you want your bed, I suggest you point the way now or I will have you on the floor.” Humming in pleasure, Chanda stole another hungry, burning kiss.

Jasmine tried to force his mind to work, to regain control of himself, wondering why he’d been so stupid as to hire a half-incubus and give the creature leave to feed upon him. He was too logical for his own good sometimes.

He groaned as eager hands pushed their way inside his breeches. “Bed,” he gasped out. “My leg cannot take this. Up the stairs across the hall, until they stop.” He started to try and stand, but found himself bodily hauled up and half dragged, half carried away, snarling protests that quickly turned into needy moans as the incubus periodically stopped to kiss him dizzy, making him hard to the point he thought he would burst.

Then he was being pressed onto his bed and roughly stripped, the cool velvet of his dark blue coverlet a startling contrast to the hard heat of Chanda’s fine muscles, the still-hotter length grinding against his.

“Chanda—“

“It is a foolish, foolish world that would let one such as you go to rot in this tower,” Chanda replied, eyes a brilliant crimson, the color of the roses surrounding his tower. “But that’s all right,” he continued with a smirk. “More for me.”

Jasmine again tried to speak, to be coherent, feeling like an untried youth that he was left so breathless and dizzy and utterly consumed. “You are trouble.”

“Of the finest sort, Jasmine,” Chanda replied, wrapping a hand around Jasmine’s aching cock, stroking firmly, kissing him hard, drinking down his cries and moans as though they were the finest wine.

Only a second after he fed the screams of his climax into Chanda’s mouth, he was given one in reply, the halfling’s pleasure mingling with his own on their skin. Chanda finally broke the kiss, his pants blending with Jasmine’s, a ragged, unsteady sound.

He finally lifted his head enough to look Jasmine in the eyes and smile. “A fine feast indeed, my Lord Jasmine. I cannot wait to enjoy you fully and properly.”

“Indeed,” Jasmine muttered wearily, suddenly too tired to figure it all out. His eyes slid shut even as he knew he should be cleaning himself up, ordering Chanda not to be so damnably…incubus-like…but he could only rumble at the soft chuckle in his ear before he was asleep.

Jasmine sighed as another bucket of hot water was poured over his head, rinsing away the thick suds in his hair, the scents of apple and vanilla thick. He slicked his hair back and dismissed the servant with a brief thanks, then settled his head against the towel padding the edge of the tub, closing his eyes to enjoy the hot water and flickering fire.

Resolutely not thinking about how easily he’d become a meal for an incubus. Half-incubus, technically, but Chanda may as well be full-blooded.

To think he usually prided himself on his cool control…he’d been little better than a boy on his first time out.

Grimacing, disgusted, Jasmine turned his thoughts to the reason he was being made a meal.

What he wanted most to do was storm into Mandrake’s study, where the bastard had no doubt locked himself safely away, and wring his neck.

Jasmine had not seen the Vizier in ages, let alone talked to him. The man was Mandrake’s friend, not his.

But Mandrake had Given an Order, and the Order must be obeyed. They would leave in the morning, though he’d hoped to already be on his way by now. It did not seem wise, however, to rush the dragons about from place to place. Hareret was calming, a good sign. Hopefully by the time Tenasuli made an appearance he would have mellowed as well.

His only problem right now was the dratted incubus.

Of course, it was his own blasted fault for underestimating just how powerful an effect an incubus could have when feeding. He’d heard and read of being the victim of a feeding…somehow the retold tales did not even remotely capture the reality.

The sound of the door opening broke his thoughts, and Jasmine opened his eyes to glare at whoever had dared to intrude, somehow unsurprised to see Chanda. He was, however, surprised to see Tenasuli standing next to him – and glaring rather angrily back. “What is it that you would bother me while I’m bathing?”

“Oh, I just wanted to enjoy the view,” Chanda murmured.

Tenasuli turned to focus his furious gaze on the halfling. “You said he was likely reading, demon.”

Chanda gave a long suffering sigh. “I am not a demon. I am a halfling incubus.”

“You have the touch of an evil one,” Tenasuli said firmly.

Chanda rolled his eyes and strode further into the room, eyes slowly working their way up and down the length of Jasmine’s body, smirking.

Resisting a childish impulse to splash him, Jasmine instead pointedly ignored him, focusing his attention on Tenasuli. How he knew this was Tenasuli and not Hareret…the set of the shoulders, the glower, the way he moved as though tightly wound, ready to strike. If he had not already known, he would have realized now that Tenasuli was as fierce as his brother was calm. An intriguing contrast…that he was not going to ponder further.

Heaving a sigh, he slowly leveraged himself up, trying not to wince at the pain shooting up his leg. He wanted to go back to sleep, blast it all. Let it rest a bit, stretched out and not made to move…

He tensed as hands took hold of him, helped him out. Jerking away with a snarl, Jasmine snatched up his linen dressing robe and slid it on before finally confronting Tenasuli. “Is there a problem?”

“You said we were not your slaves,” Tenasuli hissed.

Jasmine quirked a brow, folding his arms across his chest with the fire to his back. “You are not. I showed you the contracts, they were properly witnessed.”

“Then what is the meaning of this!” the dragon snarled, and Jasmine finally noticed what he’d been holding the entire time.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and held his hand out, wrapping his fingers around the thick band of leather as Tenasuli thrust it at him. He rubbed his thumb across the smooth surface, unable to resist noting that the white leather would be breathtaking against the glistening black scales, draw out the pale, perfect blue of the dragons’ eyes.

Disgusted with himself – and the bastards who’d sent the ‘gifts’ – Jasmine turned and pitched the collar in the fire.

“Well, that was uncalled for,” Chanda said with a sniff. “They would have looked quite good.”

Jasmine shot him an icy look. “As fine as that flower on your throat, I’m sure.”

Chanda made a face. “I would never treat them so.”

“That does not mean they would not feel so.”

“One would think you’d be relaxed after earlier.”

Jasmine ignored him and retrieved his cane from where it rest against a nearby chair, then made his way to the bell pull and rang for a servant, who would know to have the bath cleared away. “I take it the collars came from the Auction Hall?”

“Yes,” Tenasuli said, tail lashing back and forth across the floor, blue eyes bright with fury. “Compliments of the Hall, in honor of your fine acquisitions.”

“Who felt free to open packages addressed to me?” Jasmine asked, shooting Chanda a look.

Chanda smiled lazily back. “I knew what it would be, there seemed little harm.”

“Do not behave so informally!” Jasmine snapped. “I have extended my hospitality and am paying you most generously – after freeing you, and sparing you an execution – but that does not mean you make take such gross liberties as to open my correspondence.”

“Are you always this rude to those you employ?” Chanda asked coolly. “To those you bed?”

“I do believe you were the one who bedded me,” Jasmine replied, voice just as chilly.

Chanda glared. For a moment Jasmine thought he saw something very much like hurt flicker through those dark crimson eyes, but it was replaced so quickly by anger he could not be sure. “With your permission, my lord.”

“Yes,” Jasmine said, knowing his tone and expression made it clear the permission was given only because it was necessary.

“I will not trouble you again, my lord,” Chanda said stiffly, then turned and walked from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Jasmine sighed and sank down on his bed, cursing himself softly. This was why he locked himself away in the tower, blast it! He was not meant to interact with others. His leg throbbed, reminding him with painful clarity of the last time he’d been stupid enough to think he could manage any sort of relationship.

“Your temper is worse than mine,” Tenasuli said into the silence, reminding Jasmine the dragon had not left. There was…something that sounded ever so vaguely like awe in his voice. “You snarl like our grandfather when grandmother sets him off. He usually apologizes.”

“Oh, yes,” Jasmine said dryly, trying and failing not to be amused. “I’m sure you always hurry to apologize when you upset your brother.”

Tenasuli grimaced. “When he’s really mad, he ignores me. Won’t talk to me or look at me or anything. It’s awful. I apologize.”

Jasmine stared a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. “I see. My brother and I always just beat each other up.”

“We do that too, but not when we’re really, really mad.” Tenasuli drew a bit closer, eyes narrowed, the overly-suspicious expression somehow cute. “Hare says you will not make us slaves.”

“I have no interest in slaves. You may leave whenever you like.”

Tenasuli nodded slowly. “I killed three soldiers before they caught us. You should not be any harder than that, if you go back on your word.”

Jasmine smiled faintly. “It would be hard for me to run away, that’s for certain.” Chilling, that one so young would speak so casually…but dragons lived in a much wilder world. That was precisely what he’d been counting upon when he’d seen them. “I have a temper, but I’m no liar.”

“You should apologize,” Tenasuli said, then turned and strode from the room.

Grimacing, Jasmine conceded the point and rose to get dressed so he could go find Chanda.

He resisted the urge to snarl at the coachman, knowing the man was not to blame for their rough journey.

Equally free of blame were Tenasuli and Hareret, sitting quietly opposite him, reading a book of dragon legends and murmuring softly in their own language. If he felt like it, Jasmine could probably follow along reasonably well. He was not as strong in dragon speech as in others, but he would not completely embarrass himself if he made an effort.

However, his attention was solely for the bastard riding alongside the carriage on Jasmine’s black mare. He had four horses in his stables, besides his carriage horses, and had brought them all along on the journey in case something happened to the carriage – which he hoped it would not. His leg disliked the rough, jarring carriage ride but it would hate hours on horseback even more.

Stupid incubus. Jasmine had been trying for two days now to apologize to the bastard, but other than a stiff acceptance of his words the incubus had said nothing, merely remained cloaked in brooding silence and stiff formality.

Jasmine bit back a frustrated snarl. Give him his books any day! He’d apologized to the man…

Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and willing the journey to be over and his debt repaid. How in the world had he gone in a matter of days from translating texts to struggling over how to apologize to a halfling incubus for his temper?

Mandrake was rapidly becoming the one with a debt to pay.

He settled into a restless doze, never quite able to sleep properly between the jarring carriage, his throbbing leg, and the knowledge the ultimate source of his current aggravation was just outside.

Looking distinctly unwell, though not as bad as he would in a few more days. Jasmine sat up with a sigh and stared out the carriage window, mouth twisting at how pale and tense and…miserable Chanda looked.

Damn it all, why should he care? The extent of his caring was permitting the servants to take time off when they were feeling ill. He did not behave this way. Just because the incubus had bedded him did not mean—

Jasmine cut off his thoughts with a snarl, tired of going in circles and accomplishing nothing.

“When are you going to tell us why we were purchased?” Tenasuli asked.

“I was waiting until I could be certain there was no chance of being spied upon,” Jasmine said. He’d also been hoping to tell all three together, but Chanda had ruined that with his blasted stubborn avoidance. Why the bastard was still about was beyond Jasmine’s comprehension. “Several weeks ago there was a scandal – kept ruthlessly quiet – involving black mail and a rigged vote on a very important matter of which I am not permitted to speak. My brother was not supposed to tell me.

“The relevancy to you comes in with the Vizier, who was accused of being responsible. A great deal of evidence seems to indicate he is, in fact, responsible.” Jasmine’s grip tightened on his cane, knuckles white with fury. He was not as close to the Vizier as Mandrake, but he knew the man would not do something so unscrupulous. Not even if his life depended on it. “This is where it gets complicated – and idiotic. The Vizier stormed off because he believes my brother to be amongst those who think him so despicable. He and my brother have been friends for well over a decade.”

Tenasuli growled. “Then why would he believe such a thing?”

Jasmine pinched the bridge of his nose. “My brother believes the Vizier to be in grave danger, that this blackmail fiasco is merely the first stage. I do not know the whole of the matter, so do not ask – know only that my brother thinks the Vizier could be ruined completely, if not simply killed if the source of the trouble gets angry or desperate enough. So my brother wants the Vizier out of harm’s way until the root of the problem can be located. The Vizier, my brother claims, would never agree to such a thing as hiding away.”

“I should think not,” Tenasuli replied, eyes flashing. “Hiding does nothing.”

“It keeps men alive,” Jasmine snapped. He sighed and tried to relax in his seat. “My brother is fiercely protective of those he cares for.” His leg throbbed, emphasizing his words. “He knew the Vizier would refuse to go if asked, or even ordered. So my brother did the only thing he felt would work – angered and upset the man enough he ran away to his private estate. I assure you even the Emperor’s Army would have a hard time getting into the Montserrat Estate. He is safe, but my brother would like him to be a trifle safer.”

Hareret leaned forward, speaking up for the first time. “We’re going to protect him?” he asked, eyes gleaming.

Jasmine blinked, somewhat surprised – then only surprised at his own surprise. In the short time he’d known Hareret it was obvious the man was just as bad as Mandrake when it came to caring – to a fault. A quality Jasmine could not fault, for all he often thought his brother mad. “Yes,” he replied. “Anyone who may be watching me would not think it terribly strange to see me going with a few bits of flesh to see a friend of my brother’s after they’ve had a nasty fight.” He sneered. “No doubt they will think I’m in on the plot and against my brother. That would suit the court’s need for vicious amusements.”

“So we are to guard this man until your brother figures out who is truly at fault?” Tenasuli asked.

“Precisely,” Jasmine replied. “I doubt it will amount to more than several days of doing very little. Assuming of course that the Vizier even agrees to put up with us for as long as it takes my brother to solve the problem.”

Tenasuli stared pensively at him for several long minutes. “You will not treat us as whores or slaves?”

“No,” Jasmine said, stifling a sigh. There was no reason for them to believe him, he could only try to summon patience he did not have.

“Tena,” Hareret said softly in a tone Jasmine was slowly realizing meant the gentler twin was going to have his way.

Tenasuli grunted and turned away, crossing his arms across his chest. “It is an honorable thing to do. Better than being flesh.” He shot Jasmine a look. “What did the demon think of this idea?

“I have no idea,” Jasmine growled, looking once more out the window, his current problem returning forcefully to mind now that he’d addressed the matter of his mission and settled it with the twins.

He was tired of this mess with Chanda. Utterly and completely. He rapped his cane sharply on the roof of the carriage, barking an order to halt when the coachmen opened the trap, throwing himself out of the carriage as best he was able when it had more or less stopped. “Prepare my horse,” he said. “Tie her to that tree, then press on without me. We will catch up.” He looked at the twins, staring at him from the carriage door. “Behave.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Hareret said with a snicker, laughing harder when Tenasuli cuffed him.

Rolling his eyes, but smiling briefly, Jasmine waited until the carriage was well away before rounding on Chanda, who had been good enough to at least realize he was supposed to stay put. “I have said I was sorry for my behavior,” Jasmine said stiffly.

“And I accepted, my lord,” Chanda said with that detestable formality.

Jasmine forced back the memories of only a few days ago when Chanda had addressed him quite differently, breathless and hungry and with a touch of possessiveness. “Yet I feel you have not accepted it.”

Chanda dismounted his horse smoothly, the loose tail of his dark crimson hair spilling over one shoulder. “You made your feelings quite clear.”

“I was in a foul mood and acted inappropriately,” Jasmine said, forcing his teeth to unclench enough to speak. “I extended my apologies.”

“Yes,” Chanda replied. “Quite like you are now – wholly against your will.”

Jasmine glared, wishing he could blame everything on the infuriating bastard but unable to deny he was wholly the reason Chanda looked so worn…and hungry. “I am not used to extending them. The words are no less meant for all they are poorly executed. You should not starve yourself because I have spent too much time alone.”

Bitterness and anger filled Chanda’s face. “You made crystal clear your feelings on the matter of feeding me, my lord. I would rather starve than be the object of a nobleman’s pity.”

“I am not a nobleman,” Jasmine snapped, furious. Did the blasted fool not see he was doing his damnedest to apologize for what he’d said? That he hadn’t meant it? “Do I seem as though I am inclined to give anyone pity? Are all incubi as stubborn as you?”

Chanda’s fists clenched in anger. “No, my lord, they are not. But then, most incubi are full-blooded and so don’t care how their victims feel about being made a meal. I’m not that fortunate, being a worthless halfling. I mistakenly thought you offered willingly. I will not trouble you again, as I said.” He turned away to walk back to his horse.

Jasmine snarled and strode toward him, ignoring the screaming protests of his leg, just catching Chanda’s wrist and yanking hard – only to upset his own balance and send them both crashing in an unseemly heap on the grass. “Confound it, you stupid incubus.” He took a deep breath, as much to gather his thoughts as to get control of the pain caused by the fall. “If I had not wanted to offer, I would not have. I do as I please, not as expected – minus this aggravating favor for my brother. I knew, more or less, what it meant to take in an incubus. Had I not wanted to feed you, I would have had them reactivate the spell in your tattoo.”

Long fingers touched around the tattoo just barely visible above the low neckline of Chanda’s shirt. “It forced me to feed on pain instead of pleasure,” Chanda said, the words all but a whisper. “That was how they kept me in line. I could slip it, occasionally…they finally got fed up and decided to kill me.”

Rage poured through Jasmine, and he wanted nothing more than to do all manner of vicious things to the bastards of the Auction Hall. He banked it, more intent on the man before him, cautiously reaching out a hand, not quite certain what to do with it – but when he carefully touched Chanda’s cheek with his fingertips, it seemed the right thing to do.

Chanda turned into the touch with a rough, indistinct sound, hunger plain on his face for a second before he gained control of himself – and Jasmine wondered suddenly if even such a simple touch could feed, if Chanda was as starved for touch as he was for pleasure.

“I didn’t mind,” Jasmine said. “I’m just…too used to my books.”

“Then we will have to get you more used to people,” Chanda said, the faintest of smiles curving his so very fine and tempting lips. He leaned in closer, taking Jasmine’s hand in his own. “May I?”

“I have been trying to tell you that you may for the past two days you infuri—“ Jasmine was neatly cut off as the incubus kissed him, heat immediately pouring through him, the hungry mouth attacking his making him shiver and moan, the effect of Chanda immediate and consuming. He broke the kiss by sheer force of will, catching the hands already working at his clothes, forgetting what he wanted to say for a moment as Chanda moved to his throat instead, his teeth as wicked as his lips. He forced himself to speak. “Slow down. We are not in a race.”

Chanda went still over him, rose up enough to look at Jasmine, confusion furrowing his brow. “Most prefer the feeding go quickly.”

“One,” Jasmine hissed, “I am not ‘most,’ and two – a good meal should be savored and I am aware enough to know I am not entirely a poor meal.”

Chanda stared at him a moment, then broke into a smile that made Jasmine’s thoughts stutter to a halt – then leaned down and kissed him again, this one a slow and steady burn that left Jasmine aching in an entirely different and somewhat frightening way. With a moan that sounded far too much like defeat for his liking, he held tight to the incubus, the pain in his leg a distant thing.