Chapter Seventeen

Shutting the door with my heel and flicking the lock, I carried my boy back to the bed and sat him carefully on the edge of it. He tried to pull me down on top of him but I ignored the light tugs on my arm and the way the shirt began to tent between his legs as he used his entire strength against me without result. Part of being his daddy was taking care of him, and I wasn't going to indulge in as much as a kiss until I'd checked every inch of his perfect skin and ensured it remained unmarked.

"I'm fine," Wyatt assured me, seductively parting his legs and dragging my shirt up to offer delectable hints at what lay beneath. I eyed him with amusement. Having apparently given up on dragging me to bed, he was now trying to coerce me into it, and it was damn near working.

"That's for me to decide," I told him, lowering my head and nuzzling along that exposed section of pale thigh until he was gasping out pleas and rubbing his hips shamelessly against me. "Dios, little one, you could have been killed ."

"Good thing you were here, then."

"I don't want to be your guard, Wyatt," I said, and then faltered, realising how that might have sounded. "I'll always protect you, of course, but I…"

Time to fucking say it, Jiron. Don't let this beautiful man slip away because you're too much of a coward to let someone in.

I cleared my throat. "I want to be something more."

"You are," he said simply, reaching out his hands. This time I let him pull me closer. "Jiron, I don't need a guard-"

I raised an eyebrow and gave a pointed glance in the direction of the door.

"Well, maybe sometimes," Wyatt corrected, beaming. "It is very hot to see you in action, and it means I won't have to spy on your training sessions anymore."

I liked to think I was too professional and composed to splutter, but it was a near thing. "Boy, what ?"

"You heard me," he said, fluttering his eyelashes likely because he knew how much it distracted me. This time was no exception. He stared up at me, lust and fondness flitting across his face and mirroring my own emotions. "But I want you ," he continued, squeezing my forearms. "All of you, Jiron. The man, the friend, the guard, the lover. All of you."

I shook my head. "You don't want all of me. Not the dark, fucked-up-"

" Daddy ," Wyatt said sternly, contorting his adorable features into an uncharacteristic seriousness that he seemingly couldn't hold for long, for it soon cracked back into his usual vivacious grin. "I want everything. I may not be very good at fighting or dealing with blood or carrying heavy things, but I'm excellent at being here for you while you work through it."

And he really was. Just being around Wyatt was to feel a hundred times lighter. His smile banished the shadows; his cheerfulness buoyed my heart, and his small hand in mine made the impossible seem easy.

I let out a breath. The memories didn't leave me alone when I was with him, but they were…less intense. And had I not been able to pull myself from them yesterday with the sound of his voice? That was more progress than any other I'd made in the six months since I'd been rescued.

Perhaps if I…I'd been so scared of their paralysis over me, the way they infected both my body and mind with terror, that I'd done everything I could to stave them away. Pushing myself with work and training so I would be too exhausted to dream. Avoiding anything that could possibly trigger me. I'd even briefly considered the escape of strong drink, although that had only made it all worse. None of it had helped, so maybe I should try running towards the fear instead of away from it?

"It's not pretty," I said quietly. Unnecessary, for he'd already seen me at my worst and was still here, yet I felt the need to utter the warning.

Wyatt nodded. "Do whatever you need," he urged me softly, reaching out to trace his fingers down my cheek. "I'll keep you grounded here, okay?"

I cocked my head. He gave me a playful, mischievous look, slipping between my arms and off the bed. A gentle push and I was seated where he had been, and then it was his turn to drop to his knees for me. My breath caught at the sight.

"It's only fair," murmured Wyatt, gathering his hair loosely over one shoulder and eyeing off my rapidly growing cock with keen interest. "You fed me lunch yesterday and breakfast this morning…now feed me something else."

I groaned when I saw his pink tongue dart out to wet his lips. By the Blessed Five, this boy was everything. "Then you best open that pretty mouth of yours, little one."

He nodded obediently, not bothering to speak because he'd already done as I asked, parting his lips and sticking out his tongue before dipping forward to take me into his mouth. Tight, wet heat enveloped me. And he once again surprised me with how flexible and determined that delicate body of his was, taking much more of my length than I would have expected.

Reluctantly closing my eyes on the arousing sight of that mouth stretched wide around my cock, green eyes crinkled in pleasure, I let myself go, surrendering to the wave of darkness that always lapped at the edges of my consciousness.

I'd never willingly embraced it before. A moment of terror seized my heart at how easy it was to invite those horrors in, but then…I was there.

Back in the basement, blood glistening across my chest and trickling down between my legs. I coughed and it felt like fire in my lungs; hot and acidic and yet just one more pain among many. My head hung low, unable to maintain the strength to keep it up.

I shifted in my restraints, trying in vain to find a position that brought more comfort. But there was no comfort here, just agony and exhaustion and fear and…

And a hot, curious tongue lapping at my slit. I sighed at the unexpected pleasure, thrusting my hips to feel more of it. The eager mouth around my cock willingly obliged, taking me deeper, and it was distracting enough to make me miss most of what the rebels around me were saying.

"…still working on him, sir. We've broken all his fingers, given him the taste of the lash once or twice, and a whole host of other fun things to show him his place. But without the Touch, there's a limit to how far we can go before we kill the royalist prick."

Sir frowned, glancing at the healer slumped in a chair in the corner of the room. His sweat-drenched hair was plastered to his neck, his skin was flushed, and his eyes hooded. All the signs of a Blessed reaching the last dregs of their magic, and if he tried using it again before it had properly replenished, he'd be lucky to survive.

"How long until you're better?" Sir barked at him.

The healer could barely raise his head. He whispered something, his tongue flicking out over cracked lips, and Sir glowered.

"?Qué?"

The healer tried again.

"At least two days, sir," one of the rebels standing closer to him conveyed.

"Prince Renato will be long gone by then, if he's not already." Cursing, Sir waved a hand in my direction without bothering to look at me. "Consider the mission an absolute fucking failure, and kill this one."

I let out a long exhale, a breath I felt like I'd been holding since my capture.

My prince was safe, I hadn't broken, and I was now to be permitted death.

I couldn't ask for more.

Sir was in front of me in an instant, digging his fingers into one of the knife cuts along my ribs. I gritted my teeth, focusing the last of my strength into lifting my head so I could hold his disdainful gaze.

"Not quickly , brute," he murmured. "My men will make sure it takes you a very long time to die, considering how much you've inconvenienced us. They'll take you apart piece by piece, starting with your cock and ending with...let's see. Maybe your heart? Your eyes?"

"His tongue," rasped the healer, looking as though he was struggling as much as I was to keep his chin up. "Because I'll have that scream from you before you go, big guy."

I smiled and spat out yet another mouthful of bloody spittle. "I'll take that bet."

It seemed my late friend Ademar's spirit was with me in my final moments, for his fuck you attitude in the face of danger graced my words and expression, making the smile a genuine one. With Dios' mercy, I'd soon be reunited with him, and I closed my eyes in a futile attempt to block out what these men could – and would – do to me.

"Jiron," Wyatt murmured, hot breath tracing over my balls. His small hands, delicate yet rough, roved down my thighs, jolting me out of my acceptance of my death and reminding me of everything I had, everything that had happened, and that all of this terror and pain was nothing but a months-old memory.

For a moment I existed in two realities: one where a man began to carve up my skin and I fought to rein in a scream, and the other where a beautiful blonde boy lavished affection on the most sensitive parts of my body, his touch sweetly provocative as he worked me over with his hands and mouth.

With the duality came clarity, and remembering that my torture at the rebels' hands was long over reduced its hold on me. While it seemed real, such was the vividness of the memories that seized my mind, knowing it was anything but immediately dulled every sensation.

It was like when one realised one was dreaming. I'd had my control returned to me, and while I wasn't entirely immune to the memory's effects, it no longer felt so inescapable.

I moved my hand.

In the memory, I could do no such thing: my wrists were tightly strapped to the posts with tough strips of leather designed to keep me in place while they worked.

But in the present, my fingertips found the feathery softness of Wyatt's hair, felt his head bobbing beneath my hand as he returned to sucking me off. He murmured something incomprehensible, yet I didn't need to understand the words to feel his intent through the vibration it made along my cock.

The rebels were still inflicting their painful attentions on my body, the healer rasping out commands on how to worsen the hurt – but I forced myself to hold on, blocking out the agony and replacing it with the pleasure Wyatt was delivering on me instead. The comfort. The assurance of daddy, I'm here .

The head of my cock bumped against the back of my boy's throat and I groaned, clutching him tighter to me.

All the pain was gone now. It was as if I was merely watching the scene in the basement instead of living it.

"Just one scream," the healer purred from his chair, stroking a finger down its arm. He still looked pale, but the excitement of my renewed torture had perked him up, for his eyes were bright as he watched what the others were doing with their blades and ropes and twisted shards of metal. "Give me what I want, big guy, and I'll see your corpse is properly prepared for the afterlife. Refuse me, and you'll never stand before Dios-"

I watched with a vague kind of detachment as his left eye exploded, the space where it had been replaced in an instant with the glistening tip of an arrowhead that was protruding through his skull. The healer's surprise froze on his face, echoing that of everyone else in the room as they stared at him for a second and then scattered, diving for weapons and cover.

It was too late for most of them. Two more arrows found two more targets with deadly accuracy, and then Luis was there, polishing off the remainder with his sword and whatever torture implements were within his reach. One rebel died with a pair of pliers stuffed into his open mouth and his innards sliced open, while a second – who had slipped on the gruesome, slithery mess of his friend's intestines – soon found himself both decapitated and with a heated poker through his leg.

Sir hissed out orders for Luis' death, but there was no one left to follow them.

The rebel unsheathed his sword and swung it at something I couldn't see from my position, only to be parried with a clash of steel. I caught sight of Elías' sword before I saw the man himself, graceful yet ferocious in his movements...movements I had taught him myself, long ago.

Within seconds, the blade came to rest at Sir's throat, bloodied by the strokes it had made along the man's hands and arms to rid him of his weapon. He snarled out ineffective threats, making El raise an eyebrow before glancing over at me with concern.

"You alright, Jiron?"

"The tough bastard has served His Highness for thirteen years," Luis drawled from my other side. "It would take more than this lot to finish him off."

My restraints were cut and I slumped into his arms with a grateful nod. I heard myself groan as shredded skin was pulled taut and battered muscles forced to stretch, but thanks to Wyatt's ministrations in keeping my head clear, felt none of it.

"Speaking of finishing off," Elías said pointedly, using his sword to force Sir to a kneeling position on the floor. "This one, and the others we left alive outside, are for you, Jiron." My friend's voice took on a harsh note, the only sign of the fury broiling inside him other than the darkness in his eyes.

"I don't want them," I rasped.

That was his permission to kill them all. To exterminate the monsters who had been hunting my prince like the animals they were. And perhaps El would have done it, but it was at that moment that Luis helped me fight my way back to my feet and I caught Elías' wince as he took in the full extent of my injuries.

His expression went even colder.

"I do," was all he said. He reversed the blade in his hand and smacked Sir across the temple, sending him unconscious to the ground in an ungainly heap. I didn't envy the man and the other captives the excruciating torment they were in for when they awoke under Elías' capable hands, but I had other priorities.

"Ren?" I heard myself ask hoarsely, my fingers slick with my own blood and slipping on Luis' skin where we clutched at each other. "Are Ren and Mathias safe?"

The uncertain look he shot at El as if for guidance made my heart plummet.

"Don't lie to me, Luis. Please."

"We don't know," he muttered. "No one has heard from either of them."

Panic and fear weakened my limbs and blurred my vision. No...

They're both fine. You saw them just yesterday in the palace gardens, happy and laughing.

The thought came unbidden, unexpected because I had not been thinking any such thing at the time, but also gilded in certainty, because fuck, the boy was good. Wyatt had taken the edge off the terror I'd felt when this all happened the first time: what I'd felt whenever I'd unwillingly relived it since – but his eager mouth was now sending me soaring through the clouds, stripping the memories of their darkness and forging them anew in pleasure and joy. Reminding me that Ren and his husband were safe. That I was safe.

I'd made Luis keep me quiet at night, but I wouldn't ask that of Wyatt. And I didn't feel the same need to hide as I did in the palace; not here, in this cozy little home with my man at my side. He let me be vulnerable and strong all at once.

Not just the guard, he'd said. But the lover and the man beneath too.

Could I let myself be more than my job?

It likely wouldn't be the last time I'd fall prey to whatever infected my mind and dragged me back to experience those horrible memories over and over, but Wyatt had helped lose them some of their bite. Writing over the experience like a worn piece of parchment, grounding me against what was then with what was now and-

I cried out my boy's name as he patiently but insistently took me over the edge, then ran my hands through his soft and now tangled hair while he eagerly lapped at my tip and milked the last few drops of cum from my satiated cock.

"Wyatt," I murmured again, dragging him up to meet me. Our mouths met, his hot and sticky, and he eagerly rubbed himself against me, ready for more. The exuberance of youth, I thought fondly as I took him in hand.

I was worn out from all of our exertions this morning but refused to let his energy go unrewarded. It had somehow – miraculously and so damn thankfully – become my job to look after this boy, and I was going to give it as much dedication as I did my appointment as royal guard. Wyatt wouldn't want for anything, I'd make sure of it. Money, protection, comfort. A hard cock in a firm ass. A shoulder to cry on, a daddy to fix his problems, someone to be at his side every day from this one to the end.

I'd give him it all.

*