4. Hiero

Chapter four

Hiero

I kicked the fetching fae out of my bar, but I couldn’t seem to scrub him from my mind.

Visions of Skylar Larkspur invaded my dreams that night, naked in all his glory with his pale limbs spread in unlikely contortions, long hair disheveled from being tumbled, and pink lips parted to reveal the edges of his pointed teeth. From there, I fell even deeper, into the sanguine red of a hot, wet mouth.

I fucked the fae in my dreams, his mouth and his hole. His body molded to my will while his deep voice urged me on with his every little whimper and moan. Phantoms of his bruised and creamy thighs, elegant cock and balls, and wet, swollen hole swam in my head as the dream sex transformed from a fiery need to something slower and sweeter. A sticky heat poured over me like molasses as I was finally roused to wakefulness by the late morning sun .

My body ached with a bone-deep yearning, my cock painfully tight in its velvet sheath and dribbling at the tip. A minute more and I might have come in my sleep like a sex-starved youth. I took myself in hand, appreciating the slide of my sheath and the steady drip of fluid, as I jerked myself roughly, attempting to imagine anyone but him. Impossible. Skylar Larkspur, naked again, was climbing onto my lap and seating his tight little body on my cock, using me like a toy to get himself off. His pretty tattoos shimmered as he bounced with enthusiasm, holding onto my neck and shouting, “Harder, Daddy,” until his voice broke in a wail of ecstasy. That was the moment my dick unloaded, spitting its seed like a venomous cobra all over my hairy chest.

May the Lord have mercy on my soul.

It was one of the best orgasms of my life, and I’d achieved it with only my hand. Well, that and fantasies of the fae, who I was becoming more and more convinced had bewitched me. Hadn’t he been muttering in a foreign tongue while we danced? Some sort of sexual incantation perhaps?

He’d called me Daddy in the alleyway, and my subconscious had repeated it in my dream, surely the product of a repressed desire on my part, to have a boy of my own. The few boys I’d had in the past hadn’t stuck around for very long, which had caused such a crisis of confidence that I’d stopped trying to satisfy that part of me, but there was no harm in pretending.

Except that Skylar Larkspur had trouble written all over him. The exact definition of a very bad idea .

After a hot shower and stern talking to in front of the fogged mirror of my bathroom, I went downstairs to my office to review the bar’s monthly income and expense report, then took inventory in the wine cellar. It was early still, but I made myself a kale salad and poured a glass of iced tea only to find that our ice maker was on the fritz again, as evidenced by the empty bin and the suspicious sputtering noise coming from the compressor. I called on my cousin O’Rien who dabbled in mechanical sorcery, but he was out on a job on the other side of the mountain and wouldn’t get to it until tomorrow.

Nobody liked lukewarm drinks.

After hitting up the local diner and one of the nearby lodges only to find them having the same trouble as me, I suspected something more nefarious was afoot. I tried not to make too many assumptions about a person’s character, but there were only two newcomers in town as of late, the fae and the mysterious Owner of The Magic Shop down the street. Since I didn’t know where the fae was staying, and I’d rather cut out my own tongue than ask Frito (he’d tease me relentlessly), I decided to pay The Owner a visit.

There were no hours posted outside the shop, but the glass door gave way easily when I pushed it open, and a bell attached to the inside announced my arrival. The inside was dimly lit compared to the brightness outside, and it smelled of herbs and old copper pots. The Owner himself was stationed behind the counter, tall and thin with a slight hunch to his back, which might explain the cane he was carrying. His short black hair was arranged in an artful pompadour and his face was freshly shaven. His eyes were dark–nearly black–and his pupils were rimmed with a flickering red ring. Despite his slightly stooped posture and old-fashioned clothing, his appearance seemed somewhat ageless. Human, and yet… not. Was he a vampire? Demon? It was considered impolite to ask, and besides, if I tried to classify every type of creature who resided in the Arcane Isles, I’d never get anything done.

“May I help you?” he asked in a strangely accented voice. I set my two empty buckets on the floor, which was covered, somewhat haphazardly, in ornate area rugs.

“It seems the ice machines around town are all broken,” I said.

“Is that so?” He motioned with an elegant turn of his wrist to a stainless-steel appliance humming with industry. “Mine seems to be working just fine.”

Why a magic shop would even have an ice maker was a head-scratcher, but perhaps it was to chill the many potions and elixirs he sold. I went over and slotted one bucket under the spout. I checked out the price, which was handily listed on the machine, and raised my brow.

“That’s a lot of coin for ice,” I remarked.

“I should warn you, that’s not your average ice. It’s enchanted.”

“How so?”

“It doesn’t melt. ”

“Really?” I said and drew back my bucket. I’d rather serve tepid drinks than accidentally poison my patrons.

“It’s not harmful,” he said, noting my hesitation.

“What am I going to do with a bunch of dirty ice that won’t melt?”

“It’ll melt eventually, and if you apply cold to it, then by some strange alchemy, it will reform again.” He made a swishing gesture with his hand as if casting a spell.

“So, it’s water?” I concluded.

“Water blessed by an elemental sorceress from the Northern Realm and therefore, enchanted.”

I really didn’t have time for this nonsense, especially since I suspected he was just trying to price gouge me. I didn't have a prejudice against magic, per se, but I’d seen a lot of spells go wrong, and since I had no casting abilities myself, I always felt like I was at a disadvantage when dealing with these slick wizarding types.

I was considering turning tail and leaving when the bell on the glass door jingled and in walked my other vexation, one Skylar Larkspur wearing scandalously short cut-offs and a sleeveless crop top that said, “Fae boys do it better.” It goes without saying that I wished to test the validity of that claim.

He propped his heart-shaped sunglasses on top of his head and blew a bubble nearly the size of his face before sucking it back into his mouth, sweeping his wet tongue across his pink lips in a salacious way. And as he performed these lingual gymnastics, he steadily eyed me up and down, taking his time with it, not bothering to hide his interest. He was a bold one. His makeup from last night was smeared, giving his eyes a smoky quality that I thought rather fetching, though quite honestly, he could be wearing a feed sack over his head and I’d still find him attractive.

“Daddy,” he purred, flashing me that cheeky, dimpled grin. “We meet again?”

“Hiero,” I reminded him. “Hiero Wolfsbane.”

“Mr. Wolfsbane,” he said with a formal bow, clearly mocking me. “What brings you to The Magic Shop this fine morning?”

It was closer to afternoon than morning, but I didn’t remark on it. “I need ice,” I said, and then to The Owner, “The old-fashioned kind. Not this enchanted stuff.”

Skylar strolled over to the ice machine and pressed the button, collecting a few cubes in his hand and pressing them to his forehead, his cheeks, and then to his lips. “Tastes like normal ice to me, though perhaps a little sweeter.”

“Blessed by the sorceress,” The Owner said with a flourish.

Needing something to do with my hands, I thrust one bucket under the spout and pressed the button. The machine belched up ice until the bucket was full. I popped one of the cubes into my mouth, thinking it did have a mild sweetness to it. Meanwhile, Skylar had turned his attention to The Owner.

“I’d like three prickly pears and five mallow fruits, a dozen of those saffron sticks if you’ve got them, and three honey cakes but only if they’re fresh.” He placed a bit of gold on the counter, the same earring that had belonged to the ogre from last night. “And a six-pack of Mind Eraser, if you please?”

“That’s a strong drink,” I said. We had a one-bottle-per-customer rule at Church due to its potency.

“I have a lot of memories that need erasing,” he said, looking somewhat melancholy. “And since someone forbade me from entering their bar…”

I nodded at the evidence of his thievery. “There’s your reason right there.”

“You can’t prove that I stole it,” he said tartly. “It might have been a gift for all you know. You assume that just because I’m a guildless fae that I would resort to theft?”

I didn’t know what he meant by “guildless fae,” as much of their customs were a mystery to me, though I did know he was a smooth talker.

“What might’ve happened if one of those ogres realized what you’d done and decided to take it out on your pretty face?” I asked.

“I would have simply offered up something else to soothe their anger,” Skylar said.

Lust rose within me, savage and sharp-toothed, as my fantasies from the morning played out behind my eyes–Skylar spread eagle, fingering his hole for my pleasure; Skylar bent over my bar, getting plowed from behind; Skylar wearing a cock cage with tears in his eyes, begging me to take it off and allow him to come .

My carnal thoughts were interrupted by the thunk of a six-pack on the counter and a paper bag containing the various vittles he’d ordered. The Owner held the gold band up to a watery beam of light that suddenly sliced through the shop, then bit on it to determine its authenticity. Nodding, he disappeared the trinket from sight.

“Listen,” Skylar said, turning toward me again. “I know I didn’t make the best first impression, but if you’ll give me another chance, I promise not to accept any more gifts from strangers.”

“That’s what we’re calling it now?” I asked tightly.

“I’d like to earn my keep around here, Mr. Wolfsbane, if you’ll let me?” He batted his long eyelashes and pouted his pretty lips, looking younger and more vulnerable than he had last night. I wondered at his age, for the fae were said to live a long time and their faces rarely reflected their true years.

“And how would you do that?” I asked, trying to maintain some semblance of self-control.

“I saw you were having a wet t-shirt contest tonight. I’d like to enter.”

“You’d have to pay your way in or get sponsored.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said with a flirtatious arrogance. There was power in knowing you were a fine piece of ass, and Skyler Larkspur clearly knew it. “Maybe I could even convince you to sponsor me? I promise to show you something you’ve never seen before.” His voice was low and sultry as he placed one finger against my sternum, teasing me again. Everything felt like foreplay with this vexing fae.

“I’ve seen it all, pretty boy,” I assured him. Running a bar that catered to all manner of beasts and magical creatures made it so.

He shot me a wink. “We’ll see about that.”

Grabbing the six-pack of spirits and grocery bag, he sashayed his way toward the door, giving me a saucy look on his way out. My cock was raging all over again, a fiery hot brand in my pants. The Owner pointed to my two buckets of freshly minted ice and said discreetly, “Ice baths are good for cooling one’s passions.”

I grunted and shot him a dirty look before laying my coin on the counter. “If my mechanic finds anything suspicious when he looks at my ice maker tomorrow, I’ll be coming back here to pay you a visit.”

The man gave me a toothsome smile as he collected his coin. “I’ll look forward to it, Mr. Wolfsbane. I hope you have a most enchanting afternoon.”