Duck! (Avian Shifters Book 1) (21 page)

Raynard shook his head at himself. What kind of bastard didn’t notice that he was breaking down another man’s soul bit by bit?

The doorbell rang again. In another version of the world, Ori would have answered it for him. Memories flooded Raynard’s mind—making him recall the last time Ori had been unable to answer the door. Pushing himself away from the bar, Raynard strode through the hallway and wrenched open the front door, if only to make the blasted ringing stop.

Everet stood on the doorstep. He silently offered him an envelope.

Raynard stared at the rich cream paper. The coat of arms belonging to the nest was embossed on the flap.

Of course, the elders wouldn’t be pleased about what had passed between a hawk and their new swan, either. Forget how Ori had been treated while at the nest. They’d want to make it clear Raynard had screwed up in ways they found completely unacceptable.

Raynard took the envelope and nodded his dismissal, unable to raise the inclination to speak. He was about to slam the door when the raven stopped him short.

“Would you like me to wait for a response, sir?”

Holding back a sigh, Raynard left the door open as he turned away from Everet and tore open the letter.

The moment he saw the handwriting, Raynard knew it was no mere summons from the elders. He’d seen pages and pages filled with those same neat letters, line after line of the same words repeated over and over again.

Ori.

For a full minute, that was all that really sunk in. It was from Ori. Raynard reached out to steady himself against the banister. Slowly lowering himself to sit on the third stair, he forced his mind to take in the words before him.

Sir,

I don’t know what the elders saw during the ceremony. I don’t know what you saw either. None of it matters to me. I didn’t grow up among my own species. I have no idea what I should be like—you can make me into whatever you want me to be.

I’ll never shift from my human form. You can place whatever mark you’d approve of inside my wrist. I can be whatever it is you need me to be—whatever is best able to serve my master and make him happy.

I might never have given you reason to believe me, sir, but if you are willing to give me just one more chance, I’ll show you that I can be the kind of submissive you want to own. I’ll do anything. I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit, and I’ll take any place in your life you are willing to grant me.

I am your submissive, your servant, your—whatever you want me to be.

If you send for me, I’ll come to you, sir.

Please…

Yours, Ori.

Then, a little way farther down the page, in a slightly less steady hand.

The most valuable possession my master owns is his submissive. I will take great care that no harm comes to my master’s submissive whenever he is not there to watch over me himself.

With his head still bowed over the paper, Raynard closed his eyes.

If there was one undeniable fact, it was that Ori truly hadn’t been raised among shifters. He had no idea what any of this meant—what it really meant for a man to force another avian to live outside his true place in the world.

Well, there was no doubt he’d learn quickly now that the truth was known. The letter crumpled within Raynard’s grip. Ori would learn his true place in the world, then he’d understand how much he should hate his former master, what sort of cruelty the man he seemed to think so much of was capable of inflicting.

Raynard forced himself to open his eyes. Even now he could feel Ori’s affection for him slip away as if it had never existed. Ori couldn’t be blamed for that. He really was the one innocent victim in the middle of it all, poor little sod.

Standing up, Raynard strode across to the door.

Everet still waited on the step.

Raynard stared blankly at him until the raven finally cleared his throat. “The return message, sir.”

“You may tell your swan that there’s no return message and that I’ve no intention of visiting the nest in the foreseeable future.” He closed the door before the raven had a chance to reply.

Leaning against the woodwork, it was all too easy to remember the way his fledgling had jumped when the door thudded into its frame on the first night Raynard had brought him to the house.

Turning away, Raynard looked for some place of solace away from his memories. Wandering through the house only took him on a tour through different days they had shared there. Each room bore the duckling’s…the swan’s touch. The library. The study. The attic room.

Raynard paced through each of them in turn, pouring out a whole glass full of whisky as he moved through the library, before his wandering finally took him down the stairs to the servants’ quarters.

The kitchen was as immaculate as ever. The floor leading to the butler’s quarters as well scrubbed as all the others in the house. The little bedroom seemed to bear less evidence of Ori’s presence than any other room.

It had an un-lived in feel, much like the entire house had before Ori arrived. The fledgling hadn’t spent a great deal of time there for what felt like a lifetime. He’d spent every night in Raynard’s bed for months.

He should never have been working below stairs in the first place. Raynard turned away from the sight of the neatly made bed.

In spite of everything, part of him wanted nothing more than to race back to the nest, to take the newly fledged swan in his arms and tell him everything was fine. Except that wouldn’t make anything fine. It would just make everything worse for Ori and confuse him even further. He needed certainty now—from men who could teach him about what he really was.

There was nothing Raynard could do for Ori now but stay as far away from him as possible. If he couldn’t remain away from the nest until his return would be painless for himself, then he could at least stay away until his return wouldn’t cause Ori any further pain.

Turning his back on the kitchen, Raynard tossed back the last of the whisky in his glass and went in search of the rest of the decanter.

Chapter Eleven

Frederick Raynard hadn’t been brought up to believe that hawks were inclined towards masochism the way some of the other avian species were, but he couldn’t think of any other reason why he’d drag himself all the way across town to visit the nest that night either. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known that it would feel like his soul was being torn apart.

From a vantage point near the rear of the nest’s grand hall, he studied the raised platform that occupied the opposite end of the towering space. The chairs lined up on the stage were all empty, but Raynard was acutely aware that they wouldn’t remain that way for long. His hand clenched into a tight fist at his side as he tried to keep his impatience at bay. In just a few minutes, the elders would file in—and they wouldn’t be alone.

Another shifter stepped in front of Raynard, blocking his view for several seconds before he continued on his way.

The whole space was full of men. A palpable air of expectation buzzed through the crowd. Every pair of eyes should have been fixed on the stage, but as many people seemed to be fascinated by Raynard’s presence as by anything that might happen at the other end of the room.

Whispers swirled through the air.
Tried to master the swan… Calculated insult… Worse kind of cruelty… Servant… Shouldn’t be allowed…Something should be done…
Raynard ignored them all.

Folding his arms across his chest, he tried to be patient—but with very little success. All he needed was a glimpse of his fledg— Raynard clenched his jaw. No, not his fledgling. Ori was a fully-fledged member of shifter society now. It was no more appropriate to call him that, than it would be to refer to him as a duck, or as his submissive.

Ori wasn’t a fledgling, and he wasn’t Raynard’s
anything
, no matter what the crumpled note tucked into the inside pocket of Raynard’s jacket might suggest.

Raynard took a deep breath. All he needed was a glimpse of the swan, just so he could know that Ori was safe and well and thriving in his new life—in the life he should have lived ever since he’d found his way into the community of shifters.

A commotion at the other end of the room sent a wave of chattering through the gathered men. Respectful silence followed in its wake. For several consecutive lifetimes, Raynard was unable to catch a glimpse of those who entered the hall.

With his heart racing faster and faster, he kept his gaze fixed on the steps leading up to the raised seating area and prayed.

Hamilton stepped up first. Another elder followed him, then another. Then…

Ori.

Raynard’s breath caught in his throat. He’d known that Ori was bound to have changed over the weeks since his true species was revealed. Raynard had steeled himself for that. Ori’s attitude, his mannerisms, everything would have altered as he found out who he was. Raynard had prepared himself to see a swan.

The image of Ori growing stronger and happier as he settled into his new position in the nest and found himself free to explore his true nature had kept Raynard going during the longest month of his life. It had given him the self-control to stay on the other side of town no matter how much he missed Ori.

But, the mental picture he’d pushed to the front of his mind every time he felt Ori’s absence couldn’t have been further from the reality that confronted Raynard now.

The figure that dragged himself onto the stage was no vision of health or happiness. His skin was pale, and it wasn’t because his adult plumage was coming through. Dark shadows circled Ori’s eyes. He’d lost weight. His body was all tension, all nerves. Every movement he made was tinged with something close to panic. The most opulent clothing in the world couldn’t hide the way he was suffering.

Ori obviously didn’t want to be up there on the stage in front of everyone. It didn’t take a man as familiar with Ori’s moods as Raynard was, to see that he was barely hanging on to his composure.

Hamilton whispered something to Ori and indicated the high-backed chair set in the centre of the row of seats—the one that looked like a throne. Ori perched tentatively upon the very edge of it.

The other elders took their positions, sitting and standing around him, jostling in an effort to demonstrate their superior rank by being closer to the nest’s new swan than the others. Ori’s backside had barely touched the velvet cushion before the first shifter approached the little set of steps leading to Ori’s feet.

The man dropped to one knee before him. Ori’s eyes opened very wide as he stared down at the top of his head. He looked terrified that the man might dart forward and bite him at any moment. Hamilton whispered into Ori’s ear once more.

Ori extended a hand toward the kneeling man, who placed a kiss on Ori’s knuckles. It was nothing more than one avian paying due homage to the arrival of a shifter bearing a truly exalted rank. Raynard still felt jealousy rush through him at the sight of another man laying a hand on Ori. It took every ounce of control Raynard could scrape together to stay where he was.

If it was possible, Ori grew even paler.

Another man knelt before the Ori a few seconds later. The process was repeated. Then again, and again. Any hope Raynard might have harboured of Ori settling into his chair and finding some sense of ease as the ceremony continued, faded away.

Ori stayed on the edge of his seat. His anxiety wasn’t easing. If anything, it was becoming more apparent with every second that passed.

Raynard’s control failed him. He stepped forward. A long line of men waited to greet the swan, but if any had outranked Raynard, they had already knelt for Ori and moved away. As a hawk, Raynard strode past those of a lesser rank without a thought. Mutters and whispers rattled along the queue, but no one tried to stop him.

There was a man at Ori’s feet when Raynard reached the front of the line. Ori looked up. Their eyes met over the other man’s head. Raynard knew that panicked expression. He’d seen it in the Ori’s eyes before.

Ori had been about to bolt, but he froze when he saw Raynard standing before him.

The man between them moved away murmuring his subservience to the nest’s swan as he went. Raynard stepped forward. He took hold of Ori’s hand as he lowered himself to one knee on the top step in due respect.

Ori found a new level of tension. He parted his lips.

“Stay exactly where you are.” Raynard remained bowed over Ori’s hand, but tilted his head so their eyes could meet. “It’s your duty to complete the tradition. You will fulfil your duty.” He left no room for argument in the statement.

“Yes, sir,” Ori whispered, very softly. As close as Raynard was to him, he could barely make out the words. No one could have overheard them. Raynard let the honorific pass without comment or correction, just that once.

He nodded his approval, just slightly, before brushing his lips quickly across the back of Ori’s hand and rising to his feet.

Ori moved as if he intended to follow him. Raynard looked over his shoulder and their gazes locked.

Please.

Raynard heard the plea inside his head so loudly, Ori might as well have screamed it. But he couldn’t answer it—not in the way Ori wanted him to.

Tilting up his chin, Raynard pinned Ori to the seat with a look, damn near daring him to disobey his order to complete the ceremony. Ori obediently subsided back against the rich velvet.

Raynard had to force himself to turn and walk away. Each step was harder to take than the last, but he finally reached the side wall of the hall. He turned back to face the stage. His choice of vantage point meant Ori would be able to see him if he was inclined to look in that direction.

If seeing him there gave Ori some sort of courage, then it was the least Raynard could do. He had no idea why Ori would ever want to set eyes on him after the torture he must have endured when trying to mould himself into someone suitable for service, but Raynard didn’t need to understand it to do whatever he could to ease Ori’s pain.

Hamilton stepped forward and whispered something to Ori. For the first time, Ori whispered back. More softly spoken words passed between Hamilton and a man standing just off the stage.

Raynard soon lost track of the relay of messages. He turned his attention back to Ori and watched another shifter kneel to welcome Ori to the nest. Ori was still far from comfortable, but he didn’t seem quite so panicked. Raynard leaned against the wall and settled himself for the duration.

Despite all the staring, everyone had given Raynard a wide berth, but now he sensed someone step up alongside him.

“Mr. Jones invites you to stay behind after the ceremony to speak with him in private, sir.”

It took Raynard several seconds to connect Ori with his surname. He glanced at the servant. “You may give Mr. Jones my apologies. I’ll be leaving the moment the welcoming ceremony ends.”

The servant shuffled his feet. Raynard thought the little finch might take to his heels and flee, but he held his ground. “Mr. Hamilton reminds you that Mr. Jones’ rank enables him to order the attendance of any avian at any time.”

The poor little bugger obviously thought he was going to get a back hander for being the unfortunate last link in the chain. Raynard offered the servant a brisk nod, forcing himself to keep any of the words he might be inclined to let fly safely tucked away inside his head until they could be unleashed upon those who really deserved to feel their sting.

The finch scurried away. Raynard turned his attention back to the stage. The queue was shorter now. Those below a certain rank would have to wait for another time and another ceremony to pay their respects. They hadn’t even been allowed into the hall on this occasion.

As the last few men approached Ori, Raynard felt someone take up a position directly to his left. He looked over his shoulder. At over six foot, he wasn’t used to other men being a great deal taller than him, but the hulking albatross towered over him.

“Mr. Hamilton asked me to show you to Mr. Jones’ suite, sir.”

Raynard bit back a curse. Unwilling to make a fool of himself by getting into a tussle with a man twice his size, he reluctantly nodded his acceptance.

Ori had barely left the room, looking over his shoulder with every step he took, before Raynard found himself being led unceremoniously out of the hall, up the stairs and to a massively oversized set of double doors.

The huge painted panels swung open to reveal a marble coated entrance hall. Every surface visible through the various doorways leading off the room glistened and gleamed.

Ori must have worked his fingers to the bone putting it in that condition.

Raynard hesitated just inside the door, mentally cursing himself for a fool. Ori wouldn’t have lifted a finger. He had an army of servants now—ready to cater to his every whim, and keep any room he wanted to use immaculate.

A matching set of doors on the other side of the room swung open. Ori walked in, flanked by several bustling servants. His steps sped up as he caught sight of Raynard. He stumbled to a halt barely a step away from Raynard, his face still pale and his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

“You came back, sir…” he whispered.

Out of the corner of his eye, Raynard saw yet another servant walk through the room and carry a tea tray into one of the rooms to his right. Turning away from Ori, Raynard made his way into what appeared to be a formal drawing room and to the little group of seats where the servant set down the tray.

Ori followed, hot on Raynard’s heels. When Raynard indicated a chair, Ori sat down, as obedient now as he had ever been when he thought he was a duckling. His new found maturity hadn’t yet transformed itself into grace. His movements were even jerkier than they had been when he lived with Raynard.

The servant—a pigeon according to the tattoo on his wrist—reached for the teapot.

Ori sprang forward onto the edge of his seat and snatched the handle away from him. Tea splashed from the spout, over the edge of the tray, and onto the table. “I’ll do it!”

“Sire, that’s really not—” the pigeon began.

“I know how Mr. Raynard likes his tea,” Ori bit out. His grip on the pot tightened. His knuckles turned white.

For a few seconds, it looked as if there would actually be a scrum over the pot. Then the servant dropped his gaze. “Just as you wish, sire.”

“Can…can you make them leave, sir?” Ori whispered, not once glancing up from the pot.

“Ori?”

Ori closed his eyes. “Order them to leave, sir. Please?”

Raynard looked up. Five different servants lurked around the edge of the room, none of them with any clear purpose. “Leave.”

Only one hesitated to obey his command—the same pigeon who had tried to do battle for the teapot. “Mr. Hamilton said—”

“And I’m telling you that your master wishes our meeting to be conducted in private. What an eagle wants should be irrelevant to you while you’re fortunate enough to be in the service of a swan.”

The pigeon dropped his gaze, backed out of the room, and no doubt rushed away to carry tales to Hamilton.

They were finally alone.

“Thank you, sir.”