He was drawn to a spark of light and reached out to carefully loop a leather string over his gloved finger and cautiously raised the attached pendant from its home on the desk. A curious blue magic swirled within the crystal. Ashiyn had never seen blue magic. The Magus had attacked him with a common metal spell. Perhaps the Magus had not yet unlocked the pendant’s secrets.
Ashiyn took a special black pouch from his belt and slipped the pendant into the magic-resistant cloth. He would study that later. He rooted around in the magus’s meager home for anything else useful.
They come.
Sihtaar’s warning made him scowl, but he stalked out to the street. He stretched his hand out toward where he had left the blade and it flew to him as the knights on horses charged down the road toward him. It never ceased to amaze him. No matter how many of them he killed, they still managed to recruit more fools to face him down in the name of justice.
Justice. As if they knew the meaning of the word. He swung his blade back and forth as he waited for them to ride up to him.
“Halt! King Ashiyn, you are wanted…”
“I am wanted for crimes against all lands and the entire world. King or Queen whatever-their-names have sent you to bring me to justice.” Ashiyn rolled his eyes as he cut off the knight’s speech. “You bore me.” He stretched out his hand, yanked the knight off his horse, and speared him with his blade. He could hear the entity within the blade laughing with glee as it feasted on the righteous blood.
The other knights pulled back, exchanging the same paranoid looks as they always did, while their comrade choked and died.
Ashiyn shook the corpse off his blade and took bold steps toward the other knights, drawing golden magic to flow over his left hand as black lightning flew off his blade in his right. “Well? Attack me or flee back to whomever sent you and tell them I cannot be stopped. Tell them I am tired of their games and the next time I will finish what they start.”
The Knights looked at each other and chose to abandon their oaths. They turned their mounts and fled like the cowards they were.
Kill them, too!
Ashiyn looked down at his blade and raised a brow. “Have you not feasted enough for one day?”
The sword responded with a negative feeling, almost grumpy. The righteous are the most delicious.
“Save some for next time. There will be a next time,” Ashiyn promised and sheathed the blade. Sated, he strode to where Illusion waited. He returned to the castle and retreated to his chambers. The servant still sat there waiting for him, though the man scrambled to his feet and bowed when Ashiyn entered the room. Ashiyn gave him an irritated look. “Do you have a name?”
“Of course, my King. My name is Soryn,” the servant replied as he risked a glance up.
Ashiyn felt that odd sense of familiarity and the confusing inability to remember something again. What was it? “Make yourself useful and draw me a bath,” Ashiyn grumbled as he turned and stalked to the armory to meticulously clean the blood off his armor and blade. Soryn scrambled to obey.
By the time Ashiyn walked into the washroom, a steaming bath had been prepared with soothing aromatic oils that wafted through the air. As he slipped off his stained shirt and dropped it carelessly on the floor, he heard a sharp gasp behind him. He turned to find Soryn gaping at him. Ashiyn raised a brow. Women threw themselves at him all the time, but he was not used to seeing such unbridled desire for him in a man’s eyes. Feeling a little wicked after all the killing he held the man’s gaze and smirked, as he slowly unfastened his pants and slid those to the floor as well. Without a word, he strode boldly past the servant and took his time slipping into the bath.
Soryn had turned an interesting shade of red and was gasping for breath, nearly hyperventilating. He mumbled an excuse and fled the room.
Ashiyn snickered to himself as he relaxed in the hot water and let it chase the stiffness from his muscles. The reaction should have angered him, he supposed. Rhadamanthus was adamant that two men enjoying each other was an abomination. Ashiyn remembered Diredin and his lessons though. Still, no man had interested him. He had women available to him whenever he wanted them. The fact that Soryn was so clearly affected by him amused Ashiyn.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Soryn fled to the sitting room of Ashiyn’s chambers. He did not dare go farther than that. Ashiyn would need him soon. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He took deep breaths to slow his racing heart. He felt like he was on fire. He tried to think of anything besides Ashiyn’s bare skin, the rippling muscles beneath it. What had he been thinking? Ashiyn was no uncertain child. Three-thousand years of seduction had given Ashiyn confidence in whom and what he was.
Soryn wanted, needed, to go back into the washroom. When they were young he had successfully seduced Ashiyn a few times. No. Ashiyn did not remember who he was. Too dangerous. Soryn had to wait for him to remember. Ashiyn had a reputation now for killing his lovers and he had not once taken a male lover after Rhadamanthus had erased Ashiyn’s memory of Soryn. Oddly, Soryn’s reaction had seemed to amuse Ashiyn rather
