At His Throat, a Promise (56 page)

Harte was still watching him, so quiet, so thoughtful—but they fell closed, and the last thing in his mind was the piercing blue of Harte"s eyes.

Though his blood was pounding, his mind was completely blank. His being was focused on the steady filling and emptying of his body—William owned him; there was something so visceral, so completely
primal
about that. His body wasn"t his own and that was all right. William took such good care of it.

When Ellis came, it seemed to break him apart. He didn"t remember opening his mouth, but there was a cry so wild it was almost frightening, and it couldn"t have been William or Harte so it had to be him. It scared him but it was liberating and the release was beautiful.

He didn"t remember William coming, but he could feel slickness inside him as he straightened his leg and moved onto his back. There were hands all over him, but he couldn"t really feel them, only accept that they were there.

He did feel, and try to respond to, the kisses that were pressed against his lips, but the effort was too great. He couldn"t even open his eyes, but he did whisper, “Thank you,” again, though to whom 483

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

he was speaking, even he wasn"t sure. William. Harte. Both of them. The universe. Himself.

Two sets of arms wrapped around him, slender and smooth, and muscled with crisp hair. He felt like he could float away, but they kept him there, where he was needed and wanted. Where he wanted to be.

“Sleep,” came William"s voice, and it was an order, so Ellis did.

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A knock on the bedroom door disturbed Ellis form his well-earned sleep. He didn"t bother opening his eyes as he heard one of the servants speak in a low, urgent voice to William, who"d risen from the bed to answer the knock.

Ellis reached out and gathered Harte into his arms, his entire body protesting the move. He was sore all over and he loved it.

There was nothing more satisfying than a raw ass and morning wood. Sadly, by the tone of William"s voice, Ellis wouldn"t be doing anything about it.

“Excuse me!” the servant said in a high, indignant voice.

Surprised that a servant would speak to the master in such a manner, Ellis reluctantly opened his eyes. But the servant hadn"t 485

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

been addressing William; a broad, dark man in Facility Guard gear had entered the room and was stalking toward the bed.

There was only a moment for déjà vu before the man grabbed Ellis"s arm and took him from the bed.

“That"s Ellis,” William growled.

Ellis couldn"t determine the tone of William"s voice. His face, however, was equally horrified and defeated, though there was an undercurrent of rage quivering beneath the surface.

“Master, what"s—” Ellis said as the guard dropped his arm and moved around the bed, seemingly to treat Harte to the same roughness. Uncaring about his nudity, Ellis moved fast, caging Harte"s still sleeping body under his, sneering at the guard who had tried to reach for Harte. “Don"t touch him!” The shout seemed to spark action in William, who crossed the floor to the bed and tried to get between the guard and Harte.

Beneath Ellis, Harte was stirring. Ellis could tell the moment awareness came to him, because he went stiff all over. “Master?” he ask in quiet voice.

“You can"t just come in here! Where"s your superior?” William demanded.

From the back, William was stiff with tension, hands clenched at his sides. Ellis wished the action didn"t seem so impotent.

“What seems to be the problem?”

Looking at the door, toward the voice, Ellis saw the room was even more crowded. Three more Facility guards stood at the ready, and through them walked Veerson, the Facility worker who"d sent Ellis and Caleb back into the Facility after Jude had died.

“Sir, the civilian is reluctant to give over his slave.” Harte gasped and gripped Ellis"s arms; Ellis"s own grasp tightened. There was no way either of them was leaving, not while 486

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

he still had energy in his body.

“What is the meaning of this?” William roared, bearing down on the guard who"d tried to get Harte. The guard backed up, looking to Veerson for support.

“Mr. Goddard, as you were informed two days ago, you are currently under investigation for expressions of ardour unbecoming a master. In that time, we"ve gathered enough evidence to prove that the charges are sound. As dictated by the law, as you very well know, we are obligated to remove the slave in question.”

William interrupted to shout, but Veerson just raised his voice and continued to speak.

“You should be grateful we are not taking the other one as well—I"m sure you can imagine how difficult it would be to find a master willing to take on a slave whose owners regularly die.” The threat was clear: give Harte over or they"d take Ellis, too.

Cold fear was making everything seem to happen so slowly—

William was restrained by two of the guards by the door. Another guard, with the help of Veerson, pulled Ellis off Harte"s shaking body. Ellis twisted and squirmed for all he was worth, even going deadweight, but their grips did not fail.

The last guard approached the bed warily, but Harte just started at him with wide eyes, shrinking back into the bed as if he wished he could disappear. He went more easily than Ellis, but everyone in the room could see his terror.

Veerson bent and picked up two slave sheaths without breaking his grip on Ellis. He tossed one to Harte"s guard and gave the other to Ellis. “Don"t make this harder on yourself,” he said coldly.

Ellis dressed, loath to cover his eyes for even that half-second.

“Who made the complaint?” William demanded. He wasn"t 487

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

relaxed, but no longer was he actively fighting.

“Now, you know that"s confidential. I will tell you that you brought this on yourself. You"ve had warnings before, Goddard.

Telling a slave you love him—honestly. It"s pathetic. And as we told you—in writing—last time: one more warning and he gets taken away. Don"t act so surprised by this.” William didn"t.

“You can"t take him to the Facility!” Ellis shouted. The last time Harte had been there… He wouldn"t survive something like that again. He couldn"t be asked to try.

“We"re not.” Veerson"s sharp smile was turned on Ellis, who cringed back in disgust. “He"s being taken in by a very respectable master.”

“Who?” William snarled, trying once more to escape the guards.

“How would I know?” But Veerson"s words were too hasty, and the lawyer in William picked up on it immediately.

“Tell me,” he demanded. “You know I"ll find out the minute you leave.”

Veerson hesitated, but quailed under William"s unforgiving glare. When Veerson answered, Harte sank to the floor and Ellis felt something inside him die.

“Richard Develyn.”

“What?” William shouted. “Are you crazy? You"d give a slave to a man who
kills
them for
sport
? I won"t allow it!”

“You have no choice. And besides, Develyn has been most helpful in providing us with the names of masters who aren"t fit to be called thus.”

The insinuation flooded the room, and Ellis watched with dismay as William once more tried to escape the guard"s grip. He 488

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

seemed uncaring as to whether he was hurt—Ellis was certain he"d break bones in his struggle. For his part, Ellis could only watch, helpless. He took in Harte, on his knees, head bowed. Except for his trembling, he seemed to be accepting of his lot.

When breaking the burly guards" hold on William became apparently fruitless, William visibly shrank. “Develyn made the complaint, then. Can"t you see through this? Surely you can"t all be that foolish! Develyn was under investigation by my firm—we were working on reopening the slaves" death cases. And now suddenly he gets his hands on my slave? This isn"t a coincidence!”

“That"s enough,” Veerson snapped. “How, then, do you explain the two other such complaints against you? Why, one was half a year ago! At a public party, did you not say that you hoped to find a master for
this
one—a master who would love him as you did Harte?”

Through the roaring in his ears, Ellis heard the words. William had wanted Ellis"s master to love him. That must have happened at the Cohens" costume party. How long ago that seemed. William publically confessed his feelings for Harte. That was foolish.

“I did say that.” William made no excuses.

And then Harte was laughing.

The guard holding him looked confused and shot a glance to Veerson as if to say,
What do I do?

Everyone looked at Harte—William"s expression was so tender, so apologetic that Ellis felt physically sick. Harte was being taken away and it was William"s fault. Ellis didn"t
blame
him, but it was the truth.

“Master… ” Harte said, looking up at William with wide eyes, tears striping his cheeks. “William. I love you, too.” A collective gasp travelled around the room. If Harte or 489

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

William had hoped, even for a moment, to escape or outwait this mess, fate had been sealed.

William"s face was crushed; he looked as close to crying as Ellis had ever seen him.

“Harte,” Ellis whispered, throat tight.

Harte"s face turned to Ellis now, and a tremulous smile shaped his lips. “Hey. Don"t worry. I"m crazy about you, you know.” Ellis laughed, and it was a choking, sorry sound. “Crazy about you, too.”

“Get him out of here,” Veerson said, disgust heavy in his voice.

The guard holding Harte pulled him to his feet and bodily dragged him from the room.

Hell broke loose around William again—shouting and slamming and restraining, but Ellis couldn"t watch. He distantly heard a car door slamming and an engine start.

With a burst of energy attributed to despair, Ellis tore free from the hands holding him and ran out of the room, down the stairs, almost falling in his desperation. He just had to get to Harte, and then everything would be okay, somehow.

He bolted out the front door. There were two unfamiliar cars parked in the driveway, but neither was running. A third car was driving away, and Ellis could see a flash of almost white-blond hair through the window before the sun set a vicious glare on the vehicle, and Ellis was blinded.

He ran and ran after the car, but it was driving too fast with too much of a head start. He might have screamed Harte"s name, because he could see the head in the backseat of the car turn to face him, but he couldn"t distinguish any features. The gravel of the driveway tore up his feet but he didn"t care. He tried until his heart hurt to keep up.

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And he ran even after the car was gone.

Eventually, he just knelt. He could almost see the road at the end of the long driveway. Harte was on that road. Going to live with a man whose slaves died. Harte was strong, but he wasn"t unbreakable.

After some time, the two unfamiliar cars passed him, the second one spewing gravel against him, but he didn"t notice. Part of him saw Veerson in the front seat, staring straight ahead.

They hadn"t even been together that long. Could they not just be left alone? What did the Facility care that a master and slave had found love? How could they claim that Harte was
hurt
by that?

Harte was the happiest slave Ellis had ever met. There was something so twisted about the law if men who left slaves outside to die from exposure and pneumonia could take in a slave who was
loved
because that was
worse
.

He couldn"t say how much time had passed when he heard footsteps on the gravel behind him. He didn"t bother to turn—it wasn"t William. The steps were too light, too close together.

“He"ll come back,” Nell said, kneeling behind Ellis and holding his shoulders.

“No.
I
came back. It doesn"t happen twice.”

“Mr. Goddard won"t let him stay away for long.”

“Master has no choice. It"s over.”

“Hush, little one. You are letting your grief rule you. Don"t let them win. Find a way. Bring our Harte back.”
Bring my heart back.

* * *

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

so he let himself in.

It was empty.

Ellis stared at the evidence of the trauma that had happened earlier. The bedsheets were torn halfway off the bed, and the nightstand had been overturned—Ellis figured William had done that in his struggles to get free.

William was probably in Harte"s room. That had actually been Ellis"s first guess, but he had bypassed it—it was too soon. There was no way he could look at the bed Harte had slept in when he never would again.

But this side of the bed, where Harte had slept the night before… The tussle had ruined the perfect impression of Harte"s head, but when Ellis leant in to smell it, the scent of Harte"s shampoo was still there. It shouldn"t have been different—he and Ellis used the same bathroom products—but there was a unique undercurrent to it, something sweet and fresh.

Crawling under the covers and hugging the pillow to his chest, Ellis curled up into a ball. How would William bear this massive bed all by himself? It was true that he normally slept alone, but it would be, to Ellis, unbearable—never sharing it with Harte again.

There was really only one thing Ellis could think to do. Fall asleep and hope that when he woke up, everything was back to normal.

* * *

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Ellis didn"t want to sleep if that was what he"d see.

He made his way downstairs after staring at the wall for a while. Even putting on his shift reminded him of Harte, whose slave clothing seemed to fit him so much better, who took such pride in wearing what William gave him.