Prologue

AT THE TENDERage of 17, Laurel von Isildor considered himself incredibly lucky to be so very certain of his future. He was on a trajectory his parents approved of, with a promising future in the art world, even still while he was only just approaching his final year of academic schooling. And though he'd been apprehensive at first about the older, exceedingly sophisticated man they'd nudged him into a relationship with, it hadn't taken long for him to tumble helplessly into the velvet-lined fantasy of love.

Malory von Aurant was so profoundly flawless with his achingly handsome fairy-tale face, and his heaps of knowledge and polish. He was a man who appreciated art and music and literature, who could wax poetic about everything from philosophy to fashion. Laurel was being courted in a glossy, sparkling way that none of his friends could possibly understand. And if his friends still had reservations and complaints about the older man, he could assure himself that they were only jealous of what he had.

When the door at his side opened, he snatched his hand down and away from his golden locks of hair, trying to not to feel embarrassed about being caught preening in the mirror. Primping was for the anxious, Malory was fond of saying. And anxiety was not attractive.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly before the man could have a chance to scold him for his insecurity. Attributing the rush of nerves in his stomach to the coming evening, and how intimidatingly elegant Malory looked with his brooding aura, Laurel resisted the urge to fidget under his intensely cobalt gaze. "I wanted to look good tonight," he explained. "For you."

Because the answer pleased him, Malory let the unappealing habit pass. For now. "Laurel, you look lovely as always." As if he would have tolerated anything less in a courtship.

Flattered, the tension in him dissipated into anticipation when he was taken into the older male's arms and gently kissed.

He was so easy, Malory mused. So malleable, and so eager to please. The youthful flush of innocence coupled with the desperate need for approval shining in the blonde's eyes stirred him, flickering arousal in his belly. When he went in for another kiss, Laurel's mouth parted eagerly under his, slender arms wrapping around him.

"You're wearing my gift," Malory observed, pulling back to run his smooth hands down over the younger male's shoulders.

"Of course," Laurel said, touching his wrist with a bit of reverence. The diamond bracelet was slim, and perfectly suited to him. It sparkled on him like ice, catching the light with brilliant flashes of grandeur. He'd nearly swooned when he'd opened the present that morning, hand-delivered to him by a snooty courier. The note inside, written on glossy stationery paper with a fancy border, had contained only a single sentence, in a loopy font.

You are only mine.

THE PARTY CAMEand went in a whirl of champagne and glitz and superiority. Malory's parents were known for throwing very dignified, and very exclusive celebrations, and Laurel's parents fit seamlessly into the high-society crowd there.

Laurel's vatra, Helio,had looked approvingly at him all throughout the night, at the expensive jewelry he adorned, and at the refined man at his side.

They'd eventually escaped from the dwindling party, making their way through the elaborate gardens at a sedate pace. As Laurel's brain hazed with the fragrance of the bursting flowers, the twinkling starlight, Malory fantasized about his place in society, and how that place would be maintained with their coupling.

"I could see you were reaching your limit," the older male noted, lips curving when Laurel's fingers tightened a bit on his sleeve, clinging to his arm.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, knowing it was probably a flaw that he didn't altogether enjoy mingling at these kinds of things. He had been trained well on appropriate social behaviors, but it didn't mean he enjoyed them.

"No, I'm glad," Malory lied. He would have largely preferred a spouse that required less tweaking and grooming, but so be it. "It gives me an excuse to be alone with you."

Wealth and success were already promised to him, but with a well-bred spouse like Laurel, with a high-ranking noble family, he was all but assured admiration as well, and an unflappable position in society.

Those that were born into a magical bloodline weren't permitted to dilute those genetics by breeding with someone that didn't have magical genes. And with their combined genetics, both from well-bred lines of sorcery, they would be revered and respected, as would their children. And if Malory could get him to cooperate, he would eventually be granted access to the stubborn brat's multitude of abilities.

Sharing magic was a rare and difficult process, only possible with the deepest, purest bonds. But if done correctly, each participant would receive the other's unique skills. He wouldn't be able to emulate Laurel's massive reserves of energy, but even without that his potential would be hugely magnified. All he needed to do was convince the spoiled little heir to fall in love with him, something that he imagined wouldn't be too difficult. He was already part of the way there.

"Show me something," Malory suggested, breaking the still air around them.

Flushing, Laurel lowered his eyes a bit. "Show you what?"

"Show me your power. Something small," he tacked on, when the blonde looked surprised at the request.

Glancing around timidly, Laurel wanted to refuse but Malory stared at him with those cool ocean eyes, waiting. He knew his parents wouldn't condone it, but disappointing Malory was more than he could bear. So he opened his palm, creating a link between it and his impressive supply of energy, summoning forth a simple orb. It glowed beautifully, swelling and swelling until it was thin as gossamer, eventually bursting like a bubble, showering them with sparkling flecks of light. It wasn't the most impressive or practical display, but…

"That's how you make me feel," Laurel explained, feeling his face heat a bit when the older male cupped him under his chin.

"Would you like me to show you how you make me feel?"

Deliriously happy, Laurel had absolutely no qualms about being led back into the house, to the man's bedroom. And no one would miss them in any case, Malory assured him, closing the door behind them, shrouding them in privacy.

As he was gently eased back onto the bed, Laurel pointedly ignored the trickle of unease, shivering at the feeling of fingers slipping under his shirt as Malory's mouth hungrily possessed his. The unease exploded into full panic when he felt those fingers begin tugging impatiently at his zipper.

"Wait, stop." This wasn't right, was all he could think. Not with unforgiving lights blasting his eyes and the sounds of the diminishing party beneath them. When Malory didn't pause in his ministrations, Laurel's alarm intensified. Struggling, he managed to wedge his hands between Malory's and his own body, defensively. "Please. I'm sorry. I don't want this. Not yet, I mean," he stuttered, panting out quick breaths.

"You love me, don't you?" Malory's voice was flat.

"Yes," Laurel answered quickly, breathlessly. "Of course I do." When he received no response from the older male, he squeezed his eyes closed, fighting back hot tears. "I'm sorry, Malory. I know you don't understand because you're so much more experienced than me, and you've done all this before, but I'm… I'm just scared. Please don't be upset. I just need more time, or something. I'm so sorry."

When Malory's hands finally lifted up and away from him, moving to frame his face for a sweet kiss, Laurel let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"Of course I'm not upset," he said, injecting as much contrition as he could manage into his words. "You're just so mature, I forget how young you are sometimes."

Believing the words wholeheartedly, Laurel snuggled into his arms, thankful for his patience. As Malory murmured promises into his ear, stroking a comforting hand down his slender back, Laurel again reflected on how lucky he was to have his rosy, comfortable life.