NIGHTJAR from the event LOVE IS AN OPEN ROAD (2015)

The war between the kingdoms of Munus and Lakoneh ends when the greatest warrior of Lakoneh, Bracken the Lakon, is captured. Now he will become part of the Kept, the male harem of Adder, King of Munus.

As they discover the path to love and redemption, King and Warrior must learn that not everything is as it seems, and your worst enemy can become salvation to your people and your heart.

CHAPTER ONE 
TAKEN

“The gryphon riders are your solution.”

—Oracle of Apheilon at Cummia

“Oh, my King,” the warrior moaned.

Bracken didn’t like to be called king. All kings were a bunch of peacocks; he wasn’t like them. He took the cock out of his mouth and grunted, “Harder.”

It was great to have mighty cocks in both his holes, rewarding his warriors for a successful battle. These two were not the first fucking him tonight and would not be the last. The ambrosia of victory made him insatiable. He was proud— no other king of the Ten Kingdoms could say he had defeated Munus.

The hands gripping his hips pulled and guided. The hands pulling his braid and holding his jaw commanded. All three swayed as their bodies collided, dimmed lamps creating soft shadows in stark contrast with their powerful motions.

Long ago, before his older brother died, Bracken had wanted to be a scholar, but duty trumped dreams. Still, Apheilon was good; Bracken would never have known the pleasure of rough, calloused hands on his body if he were a man of letters instead of a warrior, protector of his people. He would not change a thing.

“So close, my King.” Jaxton, the one ramming his mouth, shuddered.

Bracken heard a ragged chuckle behind him. “I’ll beat you to it,” hissed Brummi, speeding his pumping.

On all fours, Bracken was a beast in heat, ready to climax without even touching his own hard cock. He moved the hand he had been using to clutch the unpretentious covers of his makeshift bed to tug between his legs— to join his men in completion. Three volcanoes erupted simultaneously. The internal scream of his climax was glorious as he was flooded in both ends.

Yells outside the tent sharply removed them from blissful heights. Their camp was under attack. One of his men entered the tent, his eyes wild. “King Bracken, gryphon riders!”

Fuck.

“Ride your vultures. Don’t leave a single one of those motherless dog-sons alive.”

Jaxton, Brummi, and Bracken jumped and scattered to grab weapons. Before the soldier could turn to leave the tent, a sword skewered him— his last sound a gurgled scream. They quickly picked up their long daggers; a tent wasn’t a place to wield big swords like his Charos.

Their nudity wasn’t a concern.

Ten enemies rushed in. Metal clashed. Bodies swirled.

Trained to fight in enclosed spaces like his low-ceiling tent, Bracken was surprised by the equal ability of his enemies. Their short swords didn’t arch but worked laterally and horizontally. Still, enemy limbs were severed; blood gushed and stained. Bracken rolled to avoid a sharp edge coming at him, the coarse floor mats feeling strange against his bare skin. He almost hurt himself with the main post of the tent. Luckily, the weapon of one of the attackers got stuck in that same post, giving him the chance to stab the bastard in his armpit to disable him and finish him with a quick throat slash. The gash sprayed blood over him.

Bracken lost Brummi first. By the time Jaxton went down, Bracken was surrounded by three wickedly thin swords pointing at his neck. “Come quietly, Lakon. We have orders to take you alive. I don’t like to disappoint my master.”

Bracken growled but let his long dagger fall. Better to live and fight another day.

That resolution flung dangerously as he stepped out of his tent. His camp had been razed. Not ten paces from his tent, four enemies were lancing the last giant bearded vulture alive, Silvercall— his own mount. Slowly rising in the east, the first rays of the new day made her white feathers look almost golden as she lay dying.

They tied Bracken’s hands and feet, then tossed him like a stinky bale on the lap of a rider. The gryphon jerked impatiently, eager to fly.

Shrieks and screeches accompanied the launching of a myriad gryphon riders. Bracken wondered how they had managed to come to their camp so quietly and surprise them.

They flew west toward the ocean, the taste of cum and blood on Bracken’s tongue— the seed of fallen warriors silently dripping from his hole. His hard-on softened as the adrenaline left his body. Mourning and dread were not options… yet.

Soon, potent wings sailed over Cummia, the islet where the Oracle of Apheilon resided. Only those strong enough to swim from the beach and brave the shark-infested stretch to reach the jagged shore surrounding the temple were worthy of an answer. Bracken had done it only once, for his people.

Perhaps if the vulhurs had been ready…

No. Lakonians didn’t dwell in “ifs.” When they heard the music, they’d face it and dance.

His custodian’s gryphon, and several more, alighted on a massive ship in the middle of the ocean. Bracken assumed the others continued to Munus. The sun was almost in its zenith; sweat made Bracken’s eyes itch. Good thing his hair was still tightly braided. He was pushed to his feet and untied. Sailors started to fill the deck. Some looked interested, others like they had better things to do than watch what was about to happen. Whatever that was.

“Bracken the Lakon. Rider of Vultures. King of Lakoneh. Welcome to my ship.” The voice should have been a whip, instead it sounded like rough fingers over his lips, prying them open. He heard the murmurs and noticed how those uninterested before were eager now.

Bracken turned to face the man. “Adder.” He would not say his enemy’s titles.

Adder tilted his head sideways; he smirked. “You would not acknowledge me as your equal?” He tsked and shook his head. “It will not change the outcome anyway.”

“I’m your prisoner. We are not equals.”

“You’re still a king.”

Bracken would still be a king after Adder bent him and fucked him in front of all his men, as was the custom with the vanquished. What would happen after that was a different matter. The shriek of a gryphon hardened Bracken. This fucker had killed his valiant men and their precious vultures, including his own Silvercall. He would take the humiliation for them. He would be claimed, but he was still bathed in the blood of his enemies.

Two soldiers grabbed his arms to guide him to Adder. Bracken shook them off. “I can go by myself.”

Icy eyes appraised him. “Eager?” asked Adder, and the men on the deck cackled. He was in full battle gear. Two manservants started helping him to undress.

“Why delay the inevitable? That’s not the Lakonian way.”

Forty paces later, Bracken stood in front of a naked, tall, and muscular Adder. His dark hair with faint whispers of silver enhanced the golden band adorned with three black diamonds over his brow. Bracken was shorter, but he didn’t need to raise his head to look at those cunning, night eyes. Bracken had a lot more white in his hair, but they were not old men; it was the burden of royalty and ruling.

Adder’s hard cock glistened in the midday blaze in its nest of night curls. Under other circumstances, Bracken would have appreciated length and girth and been excited about it. Same for the massive chest covered in delightful fur. Now it was pure duty, as many things had been in his life.

One of the manservants came with a pot of oil. Adder poured some over his cock, coating it. “Turn around and on your knees, King of Lakoneh.”

“You will take me standing. If you force me to my knees your cock will pay for it.”

These words gave pause to Adder— but fleetingly. If Bracken hadn’t been staring him down he would not have seen it.

“As you wish,” Adder said. A pinch of something Bracken couldn’t decipher made the voice deeper, almost heady.

A big hand found Bracken’s neck as soon as he gave his back to Adder. It caressed his Adam’s apple, while the oil-coated cock breached him. Soon Bracken was flush against Adder’s groin. It felt so fucking good he almost moaned. Almost. He didn’t close his eyes in bliss either. He glared, making eye contact with every single man on that putrid deck.

But this dog-son, Adder, didn’t batter Bracken like he was supposed to. He did it slowly, languidly, nearly savoring it. This wasn’t the way. The heat, the slowness, the hand caressing his throat, the fingers playing with his pubic hair, all conspired to unhinge Bracken. It was hard to resist; it was hard not to push back and impale himself on his enemy’s wonderful cock.

“You’re going to embarrass yourself,” Adder whispered playfully in Bracken’s ear.

“Damn you.”

“Beg me to stop.”

“No.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“No.”

Adder was whispering, while Bracken was answering back loudly. Surely the men around them thought Bracken was saying “no” out of fear or due to the humiliation of being vanquished. Adder grabbed Bracken’s cock and tugged.

“No.”

“I’m going to get you hard and make you come.”

“NO. That is not the way, and you know it!”

“Do I look like a give a fuck about the way?”

“Adder, stop,” Bracken sighed.

“Beg, so my men can hear you.”

“Adder, King of Munus, Beloved of Erin, Master of Gryphons, please stop,” Bracken said loudly. The only thing making it a plea was the word “please.” Everything else sounded like a command— or an insult. He knew Adder would not stop, but Bracken couldn’t bring himself to beg like a weakling. He would rather swallow his tongue to defuse his unhelpful libido.

“That’s a good king.” Adder pulled Bracken’s braid down, making his taut, wired body arch.

After three powerful thrusts, Adder came with a war cry that had his men cheering.

Bracken expected to be tossed toward the soldiers approaching them as Adder’s cock vacated him.

But Adder surprised him; he turned Bracken around and touched his brow with Bracken’s. They stood like that for several heartbeats. When they separated, he said to his men, “Bathe and clothe him. He and I will have a meal after that in the deckhouse.”

Bracken was taken below deck, where soldiers— not manservants— attended him. They let him soak his sore muscles in a wooden tub filled with warm water for a while. He was scrubbed and perfumed and given a rich burgundy tunic, a belt made of golden circular plates, and soft sandals that felt like pristine clouds. He didn’t let them unbraid his hair. Hair could be untied when you were done battling; Bracken didn’t think he was done yet.

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