Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (16 page)

post.” He chuckled against my neck. “Then you will receive

 

your reward.”

He kissed me sweetly with mounting lust, and caressed my chest and nipples. I moaned and cried with pleasure even though my organ found little use for the hard tree bark that was all I had to thrust against. Then my matelot leapt the tree and came behind me. He slapped my arse playfully; and I was not minded of Thorp in the slightest:this was promise and not threat. And then my love was greased and in me. My cock proved it had no interest in games of suspense: it had been waiting long enough. I came with great force in a long continuous pumping of jism as if I had been storing pints of the substance for just this occasion. With a laugh, my matelot returned the jelly to the exterior of my member with a playful tickle before pleasuring himself in my arse. I hung my head with sated delight and even enjoyed the rhythmic scratchofthe tree beneathme.

When he finished, he lay atop me for a time, kissing my back and shoulders before releasing me. We went to swim without a word. I floated inthe coolwater withthe bright midday sun upon my chest and privates and felt it was the love of the Gods bestowed as light.

“Are you angry with your Horse now?” Gaston asked quietlyas he floated nearby.
“I cannot remember anger,”I said honestly.
“Good.”
I recalled anger quite vividly that afternoon, though; when we cuddled in our bed as the rains pounded the trees yet again. My cock would not rise. Gaston did not seem surprised or even disappointed. I was furious until he tied me to the tree roots. I rose immediately.
Gaston poked my turgid member with a curious finger and grinned. “That is quite a knot.”
I groaned withfrustrationuntilhe smothered it witha kiss and surprised me to emotional quiescence by impaling himself upon me. As always, he was incredibly tight. This new constriction drove me to heights of passion far greater than the bonds about my wrists, and I nearly fainted when I came. He was grinning like a fool when he pushed my legs up to take his pleasure. I laughed withhimwhenhe came.
“I suppose I shall enjoy unknotting it,” I said when we laytogether inthe aftermath.
“I know I will,”he said withglee.
The next day he tied my ankles and wrists to a stick and hoisted me so that the small of my back rested upon the ground. The anxiety and fear was once again nearly overwhelming: and once again I was as hard as iron. He took me tenderly: I came withgreat force.
I did not rise when unbound later in the day. My cock did find interest inhis cajolingwhenI was blindfolded, though.
And so it went. Piece by piece, Gaston emulated all that Thorp had done; includingthe use ofa dildo and gag; but without the beatings, as they were not knotted in my soul—though there were times when I did yearn for the drug-like euphoria that followed his chastising me in that manner. I ceased railing at my Horse and cock and began to wonder at them. I ceased identifying any sexual act with Thorp. There was only Gaston. He had painted over every horror once again: leaving us a magnificent new canvas to scrawlour delights across.
And then one languid night when I was particularly sore from my matelot’s delightful ministrations, I looked across the fire and found himwatchingme withgreat love inhis eyes and his great member in his hand; and the simple string was pulled again. Mycock rose quietlywithstrengthas ifpulled to point directlyat him. We grinned at the sight of it, and sat regarding one another for a time before he came to me and awarded it a very fine kiss for its efforts. I plundered his arse a moment later with relieved abandon.
I woke hard the next morning, and crowed my pleasure and gratefulness to the Gods. I appeared to be healed.
We continued our Horseplay anyway, because we enjoyed it. In all other ways we were a curious mix of our Men and Horses. I felt at peace inmysoul.
The rhythm of our lives returned. We lived in paradise. There were days when I feared a snake would come, but I stomped uponsuchthoughts quickly.
Then one afternoon when I floated in the pool gazing up at the clear blue sky, a snake of a thought slithered past my

defenses and bit me. It was late afternoon, and there was no

defenses and bit me. It was late afternoon, and there was no rain. It seemed there had been no rain for several days. I knew that was important. The knowledge of it filled me with dread. It called to mind other things I had witnessed: the most important beingGaston’s strangelypensive behavior.

There was no helping it once the poison was in my heart. He could either help me suck it free, or tellme how long I had to live.

“Has it rained recently?”I called out.

“Non,” Gaston called back, and then he appeared at the edge ofthe pool—upside downfrommyperspective.
He appeared contemplative and guilty; but I could not be sure fromthe angle. I righted myselfand swamto join himon the rocks. He did indeed appear guilty.
“The rains have stopped,”he said sadly.
“In what month do the rains usually cease? November? December?”
He smiled grimlyand nodded.
Time—or at least the passage of it—swooped in and snatched my breath. “Six months? Five months? We have been here that long?”
He nodded. “And I have betrayed our pact,” he sighed. “I have beenthinking.”
My recaptured breath left my lungs in a prolonged sigh. I knew that. I had seen it. I pulled myself from the water that seemed suddenlycold. “Go on,”I said sadly.
“We needed…”He paused and frowned. “
I
needed
you
to be wellifwe are to return. I cannot live amongst themwithout

you. You are…” He chewed his lip and then met my gaze and

you. You are…” He chewed his lip and then met my gaze and smiled. “We are complementary and yet opposite. My Horse is a creature ofanger. Your Horse is a creature oflove. MyManis a creature ofthoughtfulness and caring—at least I feelhe is when I amat mybest.”

“He is,”I assured him.

Gaston smiled anew. “Your Horse is much the same; and your Man is… cynical: a worldly creature well-suited to battlingmen.”

“I see, and I agree with that assessment,” I said with wonder as I considered it.
“In that we are opposites after a fashion, but we complete one another as centaurs:MyHorse and your Man, and your Horse and my Man. One is perhaps the worst of us, but it is very strong; and the other is the best of us—and it is not as weak as we sometimes feel.”
I envisioned the curious image of my torso upon the powerful, black, horse body I had always ascribed to him, and his torso uponmysleeker, white horse:the former a warrior, and the latter a philosopher. “I see it,”I said.
“I need your Man to ride my Horse into battle if I have anychance ofsurviving
them
:the world out there. And I feelyou need…”
I nodded. “My Horse very much needs your Man to guide and love Him. As much as He loves to run with your Horse…”I shrugged.
“We make a whole person as a team: a good person,” he said seriously. “One that places love above all else; but one that cannot be bullied.”
that cannot be bullied.”
I grinned. “Oui. And now I am on my feet again: all of me. How are you?”
“I have been quite well for months now. We were here

for you.”His guiltymienhad returned.

“And now youwishto return,”I said withresignation. “For the children, Will: nothing else. We agreed that if we should have children, one of us should place them first. And… I do not feelI canbe a man, a good man, ifI do not take responsibilityfor what I have wrought.”
My heart ached. “I love you more than life itself,” I said. “And I do not think I would love you as much as I do if you were not a manwho would make that choice.”
He sighed withreliefand smiled. “Thank you.”
I allowed myself to think of the children. We did not know if our pickled baby was alive. Agnes would likely have delivered now—or Gods forbid—died trying. And then there was the other purported child. Christine would surely have delivered by now as well: she had become pregnant at the same time Agnes had—or…
Old ways of thinking returned. How many young ladies had I seenwho were desperate to marrysome foolbecause they had alreadylainwithanother and carried a seed badlysown?
I realized how little Gaston and I had discussed of the matter: nothing. We had read the letter; he had professed his intent to remainmarried toAgnes; we had learned ofour friends’ troubles; and Thorp had struck.
“My love, do you count Christine’s babe among those
“My love, do you count Christine’s babe among those youare responsible for?”I asked withmylip betweenmyteeth.
Mymatelot nodded sadly.
“Because youfeelit is yours, or because…”
“It is mine.”He frowned. “Do youthink it is not?”
I shrugged. “It could explainher wishto marry.”
He shook his head. “She bled.”
“She could have lied about menstruating.”
“When I took her,” he said quietly. “And… I simply know:it is mine.”
I had known women to concoct a ruse to fool a man about their virginal bleed, but not while being raped. Of course, she could have set the stage by cutting her lips or some such thing before going to the stable to seduce him, but… Nay, I knew as surely as my matelot did. Whatever she bore was his. I had knownit whenI read his father’s letter.
I pushed it all away. I no longer wished to think my Man’s dark and cynical thoughts predicated by his dark and cynical experiences with life. My Horse’s faith was far more appealing. I was happier when I gave my animalHis head, was I not? And I wanted to live as I had been living these last months:

happy.“Can we not return here with the children?” I asked lightly.He brightened briefly. “I was envisioning that, but…” He

sighed again. “There is always the matter oftheir mothers.” “My Man says the Devil with their mothers. What says
your Horse?”I teased.
He laughed. “Much the same.” He sobered. “But He laughed. “Much the same.” He sobered. “But

Will…”“I know. We cannot have allwe wish in order to have…

 

allwe wish.”I shrugged. “So when?”

He shrugged. “Whenever you are ready. I have been dreadingthis conversationfor days.”
I considered remaining for a time, but as I looked about our paradise I knew the innocence was shattered. I did not wish to think of what we faced, but I could not return to my Horse’s happymindlessness.
I stood and lunged atop him, toppling us into the water. “Tomorrow?”I asked as we surfaced.
He nodded before his grin turned feral and he dove atop

me. We wrestled like careless boys; for tomorrow we would

 

be men again. I told the Gods we were ready, and asked for Their strengthand guidance inour comingbattles.
Eighty-Nine Wherein We Return To Battle

Several days later, to my amazement, Gaston found the place we had secreted the canoe; and to his amazement, it was still there. With the joviality of young men embarking on a grand adventure, we put it inthe water and paddled to Île de la Tortue. We did not speak of what we might find in Cayonne. We had decided on our journey down from the mountains that any conjecture was useless and we would not dwell upon anxious thoughts. We would act as the centaurs we were, and live in the moment and assess each event or opportunity that befell us as it

came. Cayonne appeared much as it had when last we visited

two years ago: a jumble of small buildings at the foot of a small mountain overlooking a small bay that was presided over by a small fortress. It had been established by the earliest buccaneers at the turnofthe century; makingit about sixtimes as old as Port Royal. And it had changed hands among the French, English, and Spanish severaltimes in those years. Overall, it was much as if the section of Port Royal around the Chocolata Hole were put ona hill. Thoughthere were smallplantations on Île de la Tortue, her port was a place of pirates and traders: not planters and merchants. There was little Englishattempt at civilizationhere.

I heard the church bells of the Jesuit mission tolling our

I heard the church bells of the Jesuit mission tolling our doom as we approached the port; and despite our pact not to fret, I could not help but wonder how we would deal with the Holy Roman Church. When last we were here, I had said things to priests that would have had me hauled before the Inquisition or stoned by somber, black-caped Protestants if I had been anywhere in Christendom. And now, Gaston was a French lord, and the Church would play a very important role in whether or not he was allowed to inherit all that belonged to that title. And acquiring his children might require that he inherit. I would have felt less dread if we were approaching a Spanish colony—alone —to rob it. At least thenI could shoot our enemies, or die trying. Here, my hands would be tied; and it was my Horse who liked to be helpless onoccasion, not myMan.

There were very few vessels of any size in the harbor; and we recognized none ofthem.
“If it is December, they might have already gone roving,” Gastonremarked.
“Are we sure the port is still French?” I asked with amusement.
He pointed at the French flag flying over the little fortress.
I laughed.
We pushed the canoe ashore on a beach crowded with similar craft. They were all over-turned with the seaward end buried in sand in preparation of a long stay. It was an indication that the men who last used them had gone roving. We did the same with ours, and I bid it a silent farewell. When we left

Cayonne, it would be ona larger vessel.

 

Cayonne, it would be ona larger vessel.

Since the
Virgin Queen
—or any other ship of our acquaintance —was not in the harbor, we walked uphill toward the church and the only place we knew: the huge house sitting next to the mission: Dominic Doucette’s. Though we knew not what state we might find Gaston’s former teacher, his house was where our people would have gone upon arriving in the summer, and where Gaston’s father would have sent any letters or other instructions.

Sarah’s house had been designed to match Doucette’s, but in form and concept, and not function and actuality: the two people who designed Sarah’s abode had never seen the Doucette home. More than half the ground floor of the big horseshoe of the physician’s house was a hospital; and several doors opened from these rooms onto the alley separating the house fromthe mission. They were the primary point of entry for all but the servants—who entered via the yard; while what might be considered the main door of the residence—the door in the short section of the horseshoe—opened onto the street proper but was never used.