Returning To The Fold - 1. The Legend Of Them On The Mountain

The cottage was mostly in darkness. In only one room on the ground floor did a light shine dimly through closed curtains. Set back from the road, which was itself only a track between villages, the cottage nestled against the side of a mountain in the arms of an old forest. From the road, no one passing would have noticed even the cottage, let alone the light.

Overhead a gibbous moon hung low over the brooding mountains, in a sky that was clear and scattered with stars. Frost was already whitening the leaves on the trees and the bonnet of the old car parked close to the side of the cottage, where it would not be visible from the road.

To all intents and purposes, for anyone passing close by, the cottage was deserted. Silence hung over the valley, rolling off the mountains in waves and smothering the cottage and its tiny garden. There was no sound except the sighing of the trees and the gentle murmur of the nearby brook. There was no movement except for the occasional scurry of a small furry animal in the grass or the trees, the glitter of moonlight on frost, and the shadows playing among the trees.

Somewhere far, far away, up on the mountain a shadow was moving, taking its time, slipping from tree to tree, flowing like smoke on the wind. It would be some time yet before it reached the cottage, hours perhaps... but it would be there before morning, it had to be. For now the cottage was undisturbed, silent and still under the moon which was slowly turning a deep blood red.

The wind picked up and swirled the leaves in the small front garden, rattling the windows and whistling down the chimney which led to a redundant fireplace filled with flowers.

Inside the cottage the one room where a light shone was small and shabby but comfortably furnished and warm. Two men were sitting at an old table playing cards. They lifted their heads at the sound of the rattling.

“The wind’s picking up.”

“Aye... there’ll be a nasty frost tonight. I hope he comes soon so that we can get our heads down under the duvet. I don’t relish the thought of sitting here all night.”

“Ah well.”

“Fancy a cup of tea, Jack?”

“Why not? There’s bread and cheese too... doesn’t look like it’s been here too long, at least the bread still bends and the cheese isn’t walking. Shall I make some cheese on toast?”

“I would have said no... cheese before bed is not a good thing... but I doubt we’ll be seeing our beds this side of sunrise.”

“I happen you’re right. Cheese on toast it is then... with a nice hot mug of coffee.”

“You’re a bloody saint Jack, that ye are.”

“Hehe... far from it, Willy boy, far from it.”

Chuckling, Jack shuffled into the kitchen to make the snack. It was cold outside the circle of warmth cast by the electric heater and his fingers were slightly blue by the time he shuffled back in again.

“It's colder than an eskimo’s arse on an iceberg out there.”

“Well come and sit closer to the fire...theer ye’are. I’ll move up fer ye.”

“Thanks Will. Aaaahhh.” Jack wrapped his fingers around the hot cup and sipped with a sigh of pleasure. “There’s blood on the moon tonight,” he continued conversationally.

“That doesn’t surprise me... what with His Lordship a comin’ down the mountain an’ all. Trouble and death follow him like a bad smell.”

“Aye... reet enough.”

“I’ve got me doubts about this one Jack...” he nodded his head towards the window. “It just don’t feel reet.”

“Aye, ‘appen I know what you mean there Will. This whole thing ain’t felt good reet from the start.”

“I don’t know why Carson took the job. I tried to say no but he was all over me like a rash.”

“I’ve been trying to get out of this game fer months. The youngest is havin’ a babe and the Missus is nagging fer me to get out o’ the business altogether. ‘He’s a bad lot that Carson,’ she said, ‘you mark my words Our Jack, that man’ll be the death o’yer’.”

“Can’t say as I blame her. He reet gives me the creeps he does. A little too close to the... you know what, if ye ask me.”

Jack shivered and drank deeply from his tea cup. “I can’t say how I came to be involved in all o’ this in the first place. Carson were a good man once. I appen you’re reet about ‘them up there’. Ever since Carson first got in wi’ them it’s been nowt but trouble for the likes of us.”

“Aye... but we’re in the middle of it now Jack... this job...” He shook his head, glancing about nervously. “This one sets me teeth on edge. I’ve nivver bin involved in anything like this afore.”

“Me either.”

“What do you think...? I mean His Lordship... why does he want...? What’s he going to do with...?”

“’Appen it’s best we don’t think about that.”

Will nodded and peered anxiously over at the old battered sofa. It was one of those which had flowers on it but was so worn that they were hardly visible as more than just a background pattern. It was dusty too, and there were patches where it was so worn the stuffing was showing through. It wasn’t the sofa that was demanding his attention though... it was what was lying on it.

The figure was sprawled out, as though it had just been dropped there, and was covered by the threadbare tapestry throw so that all that could be seen was the rough shape under the cover and a long tumble of midnight black hair spilling over the top, falling like a shadow, black against while. In the flickering light of the numerous oil lamps it almost looked alive, like dark smoke curling at the edges, creeping towards the floor.

Will shivered. Too close an association with ‘them on the mountain’ made you see the darkness in everything.

“It’s about time.”

The two men’s eyes met and neither one of them made a move.

“Aye.”

Still neither moved.

“Do you want...?”

“Shall I...?” they said together.

“Do you think it’s really necessary? There’s bin no sign of life for hours. ‘Appen we should just leave him be.”

Sadly Will shook his head. “If only we could Jack... but we’ve got our orders and they come from up theer...” He nodded vaguely in the direction of the mountain. “Carson was handling the stuff as if it were radioactive. Now, I might bend the rules a bit if it was only Carson I was answering to but...”

They both shuddered and nodded. No one... but no one messed with ‘them on the mountain’.

“I’ll do it.”

Stiffly Jack got to his feet and shuffled over to the sofa. The body was wrapped in the throw like a mummy and it took him a while to pull it free. Jack had handled things like this before. Working for Jimmy Carson, one of the biggest rogues in the County, he had got used to being called out in the middle of the night to ‘take care of business’. Sometimes it was driving someone somewhere... sometimes even to the old quarry where he would stop and lean against the car smoking a cigarette while Carson’s men disposed of whatever was in the boot. He never looked.

Once or twice he had been asked to ‘entertain guests’ at the cottage... sometimes for a few hours, sometimes a few days. More often than not they would be tied up and locked in the bedroom shackled to the huge solid four poster bed. They could scream their heads off here... no one would hear... no one would ever hear.

But this was different... very different. This time they had been not so much ordered as begged by what had appeared to be a very frightened Jimmy Carson, to take on this job for a very special client. Both men had hesitated when the learned it was for Lord Palfrey, the erstwhile Lord of the Manor who lived high up in the mountains with his family and retainers and who was rarely seen in any of the villages except for certain holidays when certain traditions demanded it.

No one said no to His Lordship... not Jimmy Carson and certainly not Jack or Will, even though they had grown more and more uneasy as the job progressed.

Their instructions were simple enough. Take the car to a pick up point where they would meet with colleagues who would transfer to them a certain ‘guest’ who was to be taken to the cottage and kept there until His Lordship collected him before dawn the following day... which was... almost... today.

The guest was to be kept comfortable but unconscious and not harmed in any way. Drugs were provided by the handover team which were to be used liberally to ensure there was no chance of their charge ever getting close to recovering consciousness. In particular, strict and precise instructions were provided with regard to the administering of a particular drug, which Carson himself handed, over, in an ornate wooden box, that he handled with what seemed to be considerable apprehension. They had been warned to expect a possibly extreme reaction.

Well... everything had seemed nice and simple to begin with. They were both used to this kind of job although they were uncomfortable with the use of drugs as neither of them was expert in that field... although that was not to say they were novices either. In the criminal underworld in which they had grown up and grown old, drugs were stock, tools, and very much a fact of everyday life... although it gave them a huge incentive to keep them as far away from their own families as possible.

And then they had met their charge. Given that His Lordship was involved, they had expected... well to be honest neither one of them could have said what they had expected but they certainly hadn’t expected what they’d got.

Jack eased the boy onto his back and looked down into that hauntingly beautiful face. He... the boy... couldn’t have been much out of his teens and was strikingly beautiful with a perfectly oval face enhanced with delicate features and flawless pale skin. The inky black of his hair made his skin seem even paler and he had a look of nobility about him as if he was one of... perhaps an errant member of the family... a cocky pup being brought to heel.

Jack would have liked to think that His Lordship’s interest in this boy was familial but if that were the case why the drama...why the drugs? The boy was clearly well to do as the clothes he wore were expensive as was his jewellery... a silver ring on his finger with en enormous square cut emerald and a silver pendant at this throat with an elongated version of the same stone, surmounted by and equally enormous diamond.

There was something about the boy... something other than his beauty and obvious wealth that made his captors uneasy. There was an air about him, a feeling of strangeness that had been apparent the moment they had first set eyes on him. They had sensed that the others had felt it too. They had been the ones who had snatched him from wherever they had taken him... they had seen him conscious and, although they were from the cream of the organisation; tall, well built, silent men... they were shaken and couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

He had put up a fight... that was obvious. One of the men had had a split lip and the boy had an ugly, darkening bruise over his left eye. Jack touched it with the tip of a finger but the boy didn’t stir. He had neither moved nor made a single sound in all the time he had been in their care, which was almost twenty four hours. It made them wonder what the hell they had done to him.

The clock on the mantle began to chime midnight, startling Jack out of his reverie. He tore his eyes away from the boy’s face, thinking... imagining that for a moment... for an instant he almost... he almost heard someone whisper... something.

Shaking his head he reached for the carved wooden case. It was, bizarrely, shaped like a coffin and Jack shuddered when he opened the lid.

Inside, the box was lined with red silk and, nestling within was a small crystal bottle and a syringe. Jack took out the bottle and held it up to the light. The contents were a dark ruby red and seemed to swirl, filled with dancing motes of silver.

“I’ve never seen anything like this afore.”

“Aye... well I ‘appen the less we know the better... so ye’d better get on with it and we can forget we’ve seen it at all.”

“Aye.”

Carefully Jack drew the liquid from the bottle into the syringe until it was full and the bottle was empty. It was strange how the liquid had almost seemed to pour itself from one vessel to the next without a trace of itself being left behind.

Replacing the bottle Jack set the case down on the table and the needle besides it. Efficiently he set to work pushing up the sleeve exposing the boy’s right arm, applying a tourniquet and swabbing the skin with an antiseptic wipe. This much he had done before. As he set the swab down he looked into that angel face again and was transfixed by the beauty of it. What was he doing? Was he carrying out a death sentence on this beautiful creature? He had no way of knowing what the drug was going to do to him. He had never seen anything like it before and had no idea what it was or what it did.

Again he thought he could hear whispering, like wind through the trees, or someone very far away.

“Jack... time’s a wastin’.”

With a start he looked up to see Will standing over him. “What?”

“You’ve bin a sittin’ there for a good five minutes just looking at the lad. The instructions were precise... it were to be between midnight and a quarter after... if you leave it any longer...”

Neither of them needed the sentence completed. No one messed with ‘them on the mountain’... or if they did they never did it again.

Nodding once Jack picked up the needle and running his thumb over the inside of the boy’s arm to find a prominent vein he carefully slid it in. Slowly, as instructed, he depressed the plunger so that just a little of the red liquid entered the boy’s arm. The liquid seemed to be glowing slightly in the dim light and Jack found that his heart was pounding as he sent more of it into the boy’s system.

At first there was no response, the boy remained passive, unconscious and still. Encouraged, Jack slowly injected, bit by bit, more than half of the liquid which, now that he thought about, it looked uncomfortably like blood...a strange, glowing, mote flecked blood.

Tremors started to run through the boy’s body as Jack persevered. Before he had finished the tremors were a pronounced shaking and suddenly, without any warning, his whole body went rigid and his eyes flew open, wide and horrified. Startled Jack and Will leaped backwards, Jack dropping the syringe which rolled under the sofa. It was still almost half full of the red liquid. For a fleeting moment Jack considered finishing the job but then the boy started to scream and he skittered further away, the needle forgotten.

Up on the mountain the seeping shadow coalesced, twining around the bole of a tree and moments later a young man stepped out into the moonlight. The sound of the scream echoed through the silence and was loud in his head. He raised his face to the moon and sniffed, a smile spreading over his face. The moon was blood red and its eerie light lit up a pale face and regal bearing.

The man was, perhaps, in his late teens; long black hair secured with a black ribbon behind his head, fell almost to his waist and beneath the black on black clothes he wore his body was lean and toned. The eyes that stared at the stars were a bright startling blue flecked with gold and the luscious red lips that parted slightly as they curved upwards revealed long gleaming white teeth, sharp as needles.

The scream ended and the man narrowed his eyes, the smile widening. Stepping forwards he entered a patch of deep shadow and seemed to dissolve into the night.

Jack and Will looked at each other nervously. The boy was still and silent again, his eyes open and staring unseeing at the ceiling. A trail of bright red blood ran down over his arm to drip onto the carpet, where Jack’s hand, jerking in shock had torn him.

“Shit... what the fuck were that about?”

“Well...” Will said, his voice shaking, “they did say to expect an extreme reaction.”

“Aye... that were extreme alreet.”

“Better get ‘im cleaned up. Did you finish?”

“I... I’m not sure.”

“Then find the needle and make sure. The last thing we want is to have ‘them on the mountain’ on our backs.”

They exchange another look and Jack fell to his knees scrabbling under the sofa for the needle. He never found it. Whilst he was looking Will cleaned the boy’s arm, tugged down the sleeve of his white shirt and tucked him back under the throw. All the while the boy stared upwards unblinking, entirely quiescent and hardly seeming even to breathe.

When they were done they retired uneasily to the other side of the room and began to play cards again, acutely aware of the boy’s stare which seemed to bore into their backs whenever they were turned.

“Do you think...?”

“I think it’s probably better if we don’t think.”

“’Appen yer reet, but...”

“Don’t Jack. I don’t like this any better than you do but in an hour or so he’ll be someone else’s problem.”

“I hope so.” Despite himself Jack kept looking over at the sofa. He wished they had turned the boy over so that they couldn’t see his face. The more he looked the more uncomfortable he felt. He seemed so young and vulnerable... what had he done to deserve this? What did ‘they’ want with him? What were they going to do with him? Something seemed to be tugging at him, drawing him to the boy. He wanted to get up and go over.

“It’s not your problem Jack.”

“What?”

“I have eyes. I have a mind too... and a conscience. The boy is not our concern.”

Jack sighed. “I know it.”

“Then accept it. Whatever happens to him is out of our hands... even if that’s reet uncomfortable for us.”

“For you too?”

“I have a heart Jack... the boy looks like and angel but...”

“Angels are dangerous too.”

“Exactly. We know nowt about him and the less the better I think.”

“Still... that stuff... It looked like blood.”

“And that surprises you?”

“No... I suppose, but... what it did to him...”

“Not our concern Jack.”

“No... but...”

They both jumped as a loud whisper seemed to echo through the room... no it was just the echo... just the shape of the words... no sound... there never had been any sound... just the words... Help me.

“Did you...?”

“I don’t know. Did you?”

“We’re just getting spooked. It’s that bloody wind.”

They listened. There was no wind, somewhere along the way it had dropped, everything was silent. The two men exchanged frightened glances and tried to concentrate on their game.

Help me

They were simultaneously on their feet and standing over the boy. He was still... very still. Was he even breathing? It was unsettling to look into those wide, unblinking eyes. The blue was shot through with flecks of gold and there was a circle of pure gold around the pupils, which were pin pricks. Had they always been like that?

“What should we do?”

“I... don’t know.”

Please... help me.

The boy was still, his face immobile, his body apparently relaxed but they both felt it, the tension humming within the shell. He was in pain, terrible, excruciating, mental and physical pain.

“Jack...”

“I feel it too.”

They were frozen, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to think. The boy was beautiful, a beauty that was made to be touched. Slowly, hesitantly Jack stretched out his hand and touched the cold cheek. Emotion ploughed into him... fear, sorrow, anger... he staggered backwards and fell to the floor.

“Jack... are you alreet? What happened?”

“He needs us Will. Touch him... he wants you to know.” Jack’s voice was soft, dreamlike and Will backed away as he slowly got to his feet and reached out his hand.

“Jack...come away from him. I don’t know what’s happening but I don’t like it.”

“Touch him Will... and you’ll understand. It’s not what we thought. It’s not right. We have to help him.”

“Jack, you’re insane. There’s nothing we can do. Leave the boy alone. Come back to our game.”

Come.

Will jumped. The word was clear, dropped into the silence like a spot of ink in water, spreading through his mind, compelling, drawing, leading... Without being aware of having moved Will found himself kneeling on the floor next to the sofa, his hand reaching out. The boy was so beautiful... his eyes so incredibly deep, fascinating. He was made to be touched... Will leaned forward slightly and his fingers brushed the cold cheek.

“Nooo!”

Will scrabbled backwards, his eyes wide in horror. His back hit the wall and he huddled, rocking.

“It’s alright Will. It will be alright. We just need to help him and it will be alright.”

His racing heart calming Will looked up at his friend and smiled. Jack reached out a hand and Will took it, climbing to his feet. Together they turned towards the sofa. The boy hadn’t moved; not a twitch, not a flicker but something had changed.

Take me home.

“We have to get him out of here, before His Lordship arrives.”

“Take the keys and start the car.”

“Can you carry him?”

“I can do anything ... for him.”

“Oh well done brother... bravo.”

The two men spun at the sound of the soft silky voice that seemed to seep from the very air around them. They were stunned by what they saw. If it hadn’t been for the clothes and the fact that the long black hair was tied back, the man who was standing in front of them could have been the same one that had been lying on the sofa... they looked back... who was still lying on the sofa.

The man made a gesture with his hand, a casual flick of the wrist. Jack and Will froze, their bodies locking in position while their minds became clear, their senses acute as the newcomer drifted over and peered closely at them. He reached out his hand and stroked Will’s cheek, running his long pale fingers through the short spiky hair.

“Thank you.” The voice was like velvet, sinking into his subconscious mind and sending a thrill of pleasure through him. It wouldn’t have mattered what he said, it wouldn’t have made a difference if he had told him that he was about to cut off a finger... the sound of that voice was like a drug and Will found his body reacting in an unexpected way.

The man ran his hands down over Will’s chest and closed the long fingers around the erection that was tenting out his trousers. Leaning close he licked the side of his neck and whispered into his ear.

“Later... keep it warm for me.”

He then turned his attention to Jack who found that his body reacted in exactly the same way when the stranger whispered. “You have taken such good care of my baby brother... you shall have your reward... later.”

After caressing Jack for a moment he slipped past the two men who remained frozen, rooted to the spot, and knelt on the floor next to the sofa. It was as if he was looking at himself... everything from the colour of the hair, to the shape of the nose, the full red lips and the glittering gold and blue eyes.

The cocky smile slipped from his face and he licked his lips as he stroked his brother’s pale cheek. Their eyes locked as his fingers traced the strong but finely drawn features. He could feel the struggle within. He could feel the pain, the anger, the bitterness. Surprisingly he could feel no fear. It made him smile.

“I feel your pain... brother. It’s so unnecessary. You shouldn’t have left. You knew Father would never let you go.”

A single tear rolled from the corner of one eye, running down into the inky blackness of the hair that was spread like a silk cloth beneath his head.

“Always the sentimental one, brother.” He touched the teardrop, capturing it with his finger and then raising it to his lips, tasting the saltiness, the essence of his brother, a smoky flavour of loss and regret.

Release me

“Oh I will... that’s why I’m here. I will release you... in time... my time.”

Release me... let me go

“Let you go? Let you go where? Back to your pathetic little life in the suburbs... spending all your time hiding and looking over your shoulder? You’ve not done so well for yourself have you?”

Let me go... home

Gently he laid and hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “You are going home. Hush now... and let me take you home.”

No

“I said ‘Hush’.” At the word he lashed out with his mind and although there was no outward sign of any change the wide eyes were stunned and the churning emotions silenced.

“That’s better.” He leaned close and brushed his lips across his brother’s cold, unresponsive ones and then whispered in his ear. “I’ve missed you. It’s been a long time. You never gave me what I wanted. Tonight you will... and then I’ll take you home. I have a present for you... from Father.” Smiling, he leaned forwards and brushed his lips across his brother’s again. “He sends you a kiss.”

The scream began to build deep inside him. The stranger could feel it and it made him smile. “Don’t fight it Arial... it will only hurt more if you fight it, you know that. You can’t escape. Tomorrow you will answer to Father, but tonight... tonight you are mine.”

Asta

Pressing his lips hard against Arial’s, Asta forced them both apart. Arial struggled as hard as he could against the coldness that poured into him from the kiss, a dark shadow that filled his being. He felt it begin to overwhelm him... his mind and soul numbing, sinking beneath the darkness. The pain was intolerable. The overwhelming emotional and physical pain tore at his soul as he fought to stop the coldness creeping into him.

He was no longer aware of his brother, or of the kiss, or the room around him... all of his awareness was focussed on the burning coldness that was stealing his will, his thoughts, and feelings. He was sinking and the harder the fought the more he was consumed. With his last sliver of consciousness he screamed and every piece of glass in the house shattered into a million glittering shards. The sound of the tinkling lasted much longer than the scream, but not as long as Asta’s laugh which started the instant he felt his Arial’s will crumble, shattered like the glass, subsumed by the darkness.

From now until he was released, Arial would be nothing but a creature of shadow, an empty shell with no will of his own, reacting but not thinking, sensing but not feeling, existing but not living. If only Father would allow him to keep him this way forever... but no... that was not his intent, nor his instruction. For some reason he wanted the lone wolf back in the lair and was prepared to forgive the fool when Asta would have left him broken and mindless. However, Father’s instructions could never be ignored or disobeyed but... every now and again... they could be... postponed for a while.

Raising his head to look deep into Arial’s eyes Asta smiled. They were no longer blue, there was no gold... there was only swirling darkness... but in that darkness, for a time... there would be bliss.

Asta rose to his feet and reached out a hand to his brother. Arial looked at the hand for a moment until the mental command reached his numbed subconscious and he took it and rose. The throw fell away and Asta smiled to see his brother had lost none of his condition in the years he had been on the run. His body, like his brother’s, was slender but toned, the chest broad, the hips narrow and the bearing regal... everything in perfect proportion.

Stepping forward Asta slipped his arm around Arial’s waist and pulled him hard against him. This time, when they kissed it was just a kiss... nothing more and nothing less... but it was hot and it was hungry and it had years of repressed and repulsed desire burning behind it. Again, answering the mental command Arial responded, wrapping his arms around his brother, pressing his body against him, opening his mouth to ravaging tongue entry.

Will and Jack, still frozen, watched with horrified fascination as the two men kissed passionately, remaining locked as Asta slowly stripped his brother naked, by which time they were both clearly aroused. What they didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that the all responses in Arial’s body, including the obvious erection, were completely outside his control, or even his awareness, and occurred wholly at his brother’s command.

After a while Asta dropped to his knees and greedily took his brother into his mouth, his head thrown back staring up into Arial’s face which gazed down impassively the black eyes swirling as though filled with smoke. Asta smiled and sent his mental commands pulsing into Arial’s body.

Arial threw back his head, the long black hair swinging. As his body began to shake his lips parted but instead of a moan or whimper a curl of dark smoke rose like a living entity and then dissipated into the air as his hips jerked and Asta milked him of his essence, which tasted smoky and dark.

Growling and trembling with desire Asta lifted his brother bodily off his feet and flung him backwards onto the table, scattering cards, cups and the remains of the meal. He grabbed Arial’s hips and roughly entered him. Arial wrapped his legs around his waist and raised himself, thrusting into his brother’s strokes. Again, instead of the sound that should have been torn from his lips by such rough and careless treatment wisps of dark smoke rose until they obscured the writhing bodies and filled the lungs of their watchers with acridity.

It didn’t take Asta long to satisfy himself and, when he had done he withdrew and rearranged his clothing, looking down at his brother, who now lay quiet and still, sprawled across the table clothed only in his hair which seemed to writhe as much as his body had done only moments before. The look on Asta’s face was partly hunger, partly triumph, and partly disgust.

“You’re mine now,” he growled, the grabbed Arial’s arm and hauled him to his feet.

Turning to Will and Jack, he smiled and it was not a nice smile. “You have been very patient gentlemen... it’s your turn now.”

Standing side by side the two brothers were, apart from the eyes, identical in every way. The same height, same build, same colouring, same features. It was like looking at two sides of the same coin. They moved in unison, Asta to Will and Arial to Jack.

Standing behind them, the twins were a good four inches taller than the older men. Every move Asta made was mirrored precisely by his brother.

Leaning forward Asta released Will’s cock from his trousers as he dropped his head to press his lips against the throbbing pulse in his neck. Slowly he began to massage the twitching member and Will, released, of a fashion, let his head fall back, his eyes half closed and a moan escaping him, which was echoed by Jack’s.

Slowly, methodically the brothers brought their victims closer and closer, higher and higher until they were trembling and moaning, lost in a sexual arousal that was more intense than any they had ever previously experienced. It was as if with every stroke something was reaching deep into their guts turning them to liquid, heating them to boiling point in an excruciating ecstasy, and drawing it out again to further engorge their cocks. Whimpering and moaning, way beyond the ability for conscious thought, the two men shuddered and trembled beneath the expert hands while lips that were surprisingly cold kissed and licked their necks and ears, whispering words that three of the four of them barely heard and did not understand.

Asta felt the climax coming, teased it, prolonged it and then allowed it to flow through the body of the man in his arms. Will cried out in ecstasy, his body convulsing in an explosion of pleasure that literally blew his mind. At the same instant he felt a sharp pain in his neck that lasted only an instant before the pain, the pleasure, and the world around him dissolved in a throbbing red-tinged darkness.

When Asta raised his head his lips were smeared with blood which dribbled down his chin. Letting the limp body slide from his arms he fastidiously took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face clean. Glancing at his brother he could see that there was not a trace of blood on his lips and he wondered for a moment if perhaps he had not fed... but no... Jack was just as drained, just as dead as his friend. His lips curled in a sneer, revealing the needle sharp fangs which were slowly retracting. His brother had always been the more controlled.

Regretfully Asta turned and strode from the room with a contemptuous look at his brother. Stupid fool to think that he could escape Father: stupid, arrogant, selfish, blind. Why had he thought, even for a moment that Father would let him get away? His only escape was death. Why had he not taken it?

He had always been Father’s favourite; so controlled, so neat, so precious. How sweet it had been, just for a moment to hold him in his hands, take that purity and spoil it. And yet, he knew that he had not spoiled it. No matter what he did to his brother he would never spoil it. Even thought Arial now stood before him with blank eyes and would do anything; anything that he commanded, he was still strong and still free. Father would punish him and then he would welcome him back and he would be the favoured son again. Asta hated him.

“Come, brother, our father awaits.”

Leading the way from the house Asta stepped into deep shadow and disappeared. A moment later Arial followed. For a moment there was silence and then, without prelude or purchase the house exploded into flame. It burst through windows already devoid of glass and reached with loving arms towards the car which, shortly afterwards added its own blossom of fire to the furnace.

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