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As Marcus neared the edge of the town, the street noises faded, leaving the whirr of his cybernetic leg to fill the silence. He still could not manage a smooth gait with it, and his left foot dragged against the ground. The wall came too quickly, bringing him under the scrutiny of the Legionaries stationed there. They made no comment, but he could see the pity in their eyes, even as they saluted him.
“I shall have to see your papers, sir,” one said, apologetic, and Marcus reigned in the angry words that sought to escape him—they would only serve as a surrogate for the true pain that made his days grim and restless.
“Of course.” He fumbled at his belt and withdrew the order giving him permission to leave the confines of Calleva. The priest had been eager to sign it. The populace may have been physically cowed by the might of Rome, but the gods carried on their own fight that was longer in the winning. Word had come that the Lares in the poorer quarter were troubled and distressed. The priests believed the Tylwyth Teg to be responsible, sneaking through the perimeter with their magic and working mischief. They offered a price of one hundred sesterces for each pair of wings brought to the temple.
And Marcus could not live on his uncle’s charity forever.
So, much as he preferred confronting an enemy in open battle, he had taken up the tools of the wing hunters and went forth in silence and secrecy. Like a coward.
The soldiers opened the gate for him, and he stepped out onto the road.
“The dark comes early,” one of the soldiers warned softly, and then the gate rumbled shut.
The dark always came early for him, now. He blinked against the wind that soughed over the brown stubble of the fields. The gears in his leg clicked, and he stumbled forward.
Marcus took to the forest immediately. No good being seen out in the open. He touched the medallion that the priest had blessed. “Mithras, Lord of Light,” he muttered, “guide me now as you once did.”
He had brought his sword, even though it would only be used for the killing.
*
The spring seeped out of the ground, surrounded by squishy, green moss. It looked like the sort of place that one of the Tylwyth Teg would favor. Marcus knelt with difficulty and opened the bag he had brought with him, drawing out the tools inside.
A bowl, a flask of goat’s milk, and a knife. The crossbow, with its iron-tipped arrow. He poured the milk into the bowl, and then pricked his finger with the knife, letting a solitary drop of blood fall, swirling red against the whiteness of the milk before dissipating.
The bowl he placed next to the spring, and then moved twenty paces away and found a thick patch of shrubbery that concealed him well enough. Lying down on his stomach, he placed the bolt into the crossbow, setting it carefully next to him. And then he waited.
The minutes passed slowly, pushing the sun past its zenith, drawing the corners of night into the sky. But Marcus had grown well used to empty hours, and he did not abandon his post.
Twilight had lengthened the shadows and chilled the air when it arrived. He didn’t see it come, only blinked and there it was, crouched by the spring, lifting the bowl to its lips. Marcus reached for the crossbow. He would have only one shot, and the light was poor.
The bolt sank into its thigh, and a startled shriek wailed from its mouth. Marcus stood up awkwardly, preparing himself, and a moment later it turned on him, moving with deadly speed. He had a confused impression of sharp teeth and crooked, grasping fingers.
“Stop,” he said.
It shrieked again and collapsed onto the ground at his feet. Its wings folded into a protective, iridescent cocoon around its body.
“Look at me,” Marcus ordered and drew his sword. He would make it fast.
It did not respond at first, and then, almost languidly, the wings unfurled, revealing pale, human skin and tangled blond hair. Marcus blinked, startled. It had abandoned its fey form, and taken on the appearance of a young man. Red blood trickled from the arrow embedded in its thigh. It—he, for it was most definitely male, Marcus noted as it rose into a crouch—stared up at him.
“Your blood,” the creature whispered. “In the milk. I must obey your commands.” Its eyes narrowed, and the wings, the only part of him that remained fey, trembled angrily. “Who told you of this magic?” it demanded. “You Romans do not know of our ways.”
“It doesn’t matter who told me,” Marcus replied, thinking of the heavy guilt in Sassticca’s eyes, even as she described to him how to snare one of the Tylwyth Teg. “The iron keeps you anchored here, and you must do as I tell you.”
“But not forever,” it hissed. “The spell will wear away in less than an hour. And then, Roman, I will taste the full flavor of your blood.”
“You will be dead by then,” Marcus replied.
It did not look surprised. “So, that is the way of it.” Its eyes strayed to Marcus’s sword. “And will you not tell me the reason for my death?”
“You seek to harm our gods,” Marcus replied. “You seek to drive us from the land. Do you deny it?”
Frank, blue eyes met his. “No. I hear the prayers of my people, Roman, and I answer them. Would you do any differently?”
Marcus shook his head, and then, not knowing why except that he wanted to put off the moment of setting steel to heart, he said, “My name is Marcus.”
“Dangerous, to give me your name so freely,” it whispered.
“Will you not give me yours? Or do you prefer to lay no claim to your deeds? To go forth like a thief in the night?”
“You may call me Esca,” it replied.
“Esca,” Marcus repeated.
Esca raised his chin and held out his arms. “Do it. I shall not run.”
Marcus raised his sword and laid the point against the skin just under Esca’s left breast. And then, to his shame, he faltered.
“What are you waiting for, Roman?” Esca demanded.
Marcus gathered himself, readying the blow. But then he thought of the settlements round the fort, after the battle that had cost him his leg. Of the burned and salted fields. The eyes of the children. The fresh graves.
“You are not a stranger to stealing the lives of others,” Esca said, as though he could read Marcus’s thoughts. “Do it.”
“I cannot pretend that you do not have just cause to do as you have,” Marcus said at last and shook his head. I am doomed to be a failure in all I attempt. But Esca was proud and fierce, and should not be put down like a rabid dog. The thought of hacking the graceful wings from Esca’s body turned Marcus’s stomach.
Sighing, he sheathed his sword, and knelt clumsily by Esca’s side. “Hold still,” he said. “I shall remove the arrow.”
Marcus cleaned the wound as best he could, binding it with some linen.
“You have a soft heart, Roman,” Esca said quietly, and Marcus startled at the touch of Esca’s fingers on his arm.
“Too soft.” He swallowed and looked away. “Perhaps it is good that I did not remain with the Legions.” He sighed again and struggled to his feet. “I am sorry that I hurt you. I would ask that you not harm my people or my gods any further, but…this is your home. And you were right—I would not do any differently.”
“Marcus.” Esca said his name in such a way that he could not help but turn back. To his shock, he found Esca kneeling in front of him, head bowed. “You spared my life,” Esca said. “And for that I must serve you.”
“I—no, there is no need—” Marcus began, but Esca met his eyes, and his words faltered.
“Do not show me dishonor now,” Esca said.
And so Marcus found himself returning to Calleva with Esca a half-step behind him, wings concealed under Marcus’s cloak.
The dark came early indeed, but Esca whispered a word, and Marcus found his steps drowned in a soft, golden light, and he smiled for the first time since he had said goodbye to the roses at Isca Dumnonorium, and this time, his eyes were not filled with unshed tears.
*
His uncle accepted Marcus’s tale that he had decided to take a servant in order to spare Stephanoes the labor. And an appropriate sacrifice and prayer appeared to ease the Lares. Indeed, Marcus sometimes caught Esca whispering with them late at night, abandoning the human form he assumed in the daylight for his true one. The twisted shape crouched by the altar, and Marcus always drew away hastily because the air smelled like magic and the dark, secret ways of the gods.
But most of the time, Esca acted the proper servant. He settled into the household, sleeping on a pallet in Marcus’s cell, and even proving a deft hand with the wiring of Marcus’s motorcycle, which had never grown used to the damp climate. On sunny days, Marcus started taking them for rides, Esca sitting behind him, and as soon as they drew away from Calleva, Esca stripped off his tunic and let his wings unfurl. They wandered among the hills, and Marcus watched the strong lines of Esca’s body and the long curve of his wings, and wondered what they would feel like under his hands.
Esca saw him looking, and smiled, and said his name in that way he had. Marcus.
Marcus always flushed and turned away with a shiver, and knew that Esca had been right—it had been dangerous to give him his name.
But one day, as they lay stretched on the grass by a stone wall, his motorcycle propped against it, Esca reached over and took his hand. “You can touch them,” he said softly and guided Marcus’s hand to his wings.
His fingers shook. “Will I hurt you?” The wings looked so fragile, his own hand grossly clumsy.
“No,” Esca told him. He paused and added in a low voice, “I should like you to do so.”
Marcus heaved a sharp breath and let one of his fingers hesitantly touch Esca’s wing. It felt smooth, like a pebble from the river, and strangely fluid, like water trickling over his skin.
Esca groaned.
Marcus snatched his hand away. “I’m sorry.”
“I liked it,” Esca replied, as forthright as always, and he put a steady hand on Marcus’s shoulder, pushing, until Marcus lay back, letting Esca straddle him.
Esca splayed his fingers across Marcus’s stomach. His wings fluttered lazily, catching the sunlight like frost on a winter morning. His eyes seemed bluer, and when he bent down and stole a kiss, Marcus thought he had never tasted anything so sweet.
“Are you enchanting me?” Marcus asked, sliding a hand under Esca’s tunic.
Esca smiled and didn’t answer.
*
Marcus didn’t let Esca strip him bare until they were back in his own bed and darkness had fallen. He wouldn’t let Esca light a candle, either.
“Is it because of this?” Esca asked, and his fingers drifted down to rest on the hard metal and wires attached to the stump of Marcus’s leg. “It was an honorable wound; you should not be ashamed.”
“It is always there,” Marcus tried to explain, “always reminding me of what I have lost.”
Esca made a thoughtful noise. “I should like to see you, though. Will you let me?”
Marcus reluctantly agreed, and Esca lighted one of the gas lamps. Then he crawled back into bed and unbuttoned Marcus’s trousers. “I’ve always wondered what a human would taste like,” he murmured, lifting Marcus’s cock out and sliding onto his stomach so he could lick daintily around Marcus’s balls.
Marcus grunted and bit his fist to keep from waking the entire household. His eyes flew open when he felt something probing under his foreskin, and he looked down to see that Esca’s tongue had flattened and lengthened. It burrowed inside, finding the head of his cock and stroking. Marcus whined, his cock growing hard with shocking suddenness. Esca pulled back enough to give Marcus a smug grin.
Esca acquainted himself thoroughly with Marcus’s cock, and when at last he let Marcus come, his seed spilling onto his stomach, Esca lapped up every drop, laving Marcus’s skin with a tongue returned to human proportions.
“Let me,” Marcus began, reaching for Esca, but Esca stilled his hand.
“Later,” he murmured. “First I must taste you again.” His mouth returned, and Marcus moaned his way to another orgasm, trying to give Esca all he could manage.
Esca petted back his sweaty hair, and then he stroked along the line where metal met skin on Marcus’s leg. “I can grant you a wish, you know,” he said.
“What—what do you mean?” Marcus asked, muzzy with pleasure.
“A wish. Whatever you desire.” Esca smiled. “We do not often grant them to humans, but for you, I should be glad to do so.”
Marcus realized what he was saying—that he could give Marcus his leg back, make it all as it was before.
Drawing a deep breath, Marcus pulled Esca close, nuzzling against his hair. “I shall think on it,” he said, and then teased his fingers along Esca’s wing, paying him back for the delicious torture of his mouth.
Esca made a deep noise in his chest, almost like a purring cat, and rubbed himself against Marcus’s thigh, enjoying the delights of his human form.
*
“You have been with me since the grain harvest last autumn,” Marcus began one day, sitting with Esca in his uncle’s garden. “And now the grain has grown ripe once more. The threshers will go to the fields tomorrow.” He made himself continue. “It is many months between the two.”
“Yes,” Esca replied, his gaze steady on Marcus.
“I—I feel that your debt has been well repaid.” His hand clenched in the edge of his tunic. “I release you from whatever obligations you—”
Esca broke in, laughing quietly. “Did I not say you had a soft heart? And an honorable one.”
Marcus looked at him, then, fumbling for Esca’s hand. “Do not say that, Esca, for I have not spoken all that is on my mind. I know that it is wrong of me to ask, but you said I might have a wish, and—” He paused, aware that he was rambling, and tried to gather himself. “My wish—my wish is that you might stay with me. Always.” He tripped over the word, and it sank in the air, almost inaudible.
Esca sighed and placed his hand against Marcus’s jaw, gripping lightly. “This human body—I took it on unthinkingly and have only discovered the dangers as I went along.”
“Danger?” Marcus asked, puzzled, almost sure that Esca was going to leave him.
But Esca shook his head. “I must ask one thing of you,” he continued. “Lie with me in my true form.”
Marcus flashed back to the first time he had seen Esca, and the dark nights when he had caught a glimpse of him, and his heart beat quickly. But he nodded. It would still be Esca, after all.
Esca smiled again. “Tonight, then,” he said.
*
“Does it bother you, to stay in a human form?” Marcus asked, watching as Esca stripped off his tunic. He had already undressed Marcus with slow, tender fingers.
“Sometimes,” Esca replied. “But it is a pleasing shape. I enjoy the taste of fish and apples on this tongue, and your fingers in my hair, and the swell of my cock as it rises for you.”
Marcus flushed at Esca’s words, his own prick beginning to stiffen. But then he considered what Esca’s words meant and blurted, “You mean you do not have a—but—how do you, um, mate?”
Esca raised his eyes from Marcus’s groin, where he had been staring with unabashed interest. “We join,” he said, “melding our bodies. And from the sweetness of our arousal and our magic, we create an egg.” His eyes wandered down to Marcus’s prick again. “I have wondered sometimes if we might be able to do the same.”
“Make an—an egg?” Marcus said, with an embarrassing squeak.
“Your seed is potent, Roman,” Esca replied. “I like to hold it in my mouth and savor your essence.”
Marcus grew harder. “Gods—Esca .”
Esca smiled, stretched, and then crouched on the ground, folding his wings around himself.
Marcus swallowed and sank down on the bed, gripping the edge. The transformation happened in silence, and he could not see past the cocoon of Esca’s wings. And then abruptly, they opened, and Esca knelt there, looking up at him.
He still had two arms and two legs, but they seemed to bend in strange ways, and his fingers and toes were longer and twisted, like twigs. His skin had become the color of pine bark, with mottling and odd bumps. His ears were large and pointed, his nose flat, his teeth sharp points, and when he opened his eyes, although they were still blue, they were slitted, like a cat’s.
“Esca?” Marcus asked, uncertain.
“It is I,” Esca replied calmly. His voice sounded deeper and rougher, but still like Esca, and Marcus sighed, relaxing a little.
He held out a tentative hand.
Esca moved differently, in a skittering sort of crouch. He knelt at Marcus’s feet, and laid his own hand in Marcus’s proffered one. His skin felt warm and softer than Marcus had expected. He traced Esca’s long fingers.
“Your bones are so light,” he marveled.
“I do fly, Marcus,” Esca reminded him, sounding amused, and he fluttered his wings a little.
As Marcus stroked Esca’s hand, his skin seemed to grow wet, and Marcus began to feel a tingling in his fingertips. “What is that?” he asked.
Esca shifted and seemed embarrassed, although Marcus had a difficult time deciphering his expressions. “I’m responding to your touch.”
Marcus’s cock, which had softened, began to show an interest again. Esca noticed, and his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. His tongue was longer, and Marcus thought of what he could do with it, and couldn’t help spreading his legs a little.
“Soon,” Esca whispered. He sprang onto the bed and stretched out on his stomach, wings shivering a little in anticipation. “Stroke them,” he demanded, tugging at Marcus’s hand.
Marcus chuckled and did as Esca asked. Esca went limp under his ministrations, eyes slipping shut, making that pleased, rumbling noise in his chest. More of his skin began to glisten wetly.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Marcus said after a while, giving in to the temptation to trace a finger along the curved and pointed shell of one of Esca’s ears. Esca twitched and growled a little and suddenly Marcus found himself pinned to the bed, Esca straddling him.
“I will make you beg for it, Marcus,” Esca murmured, saying his name in that certain way, and Marcus could only whimper, helpless, staring up with wide eyes.
Esca looked pleased, and he showed his teeth in a sharp grin.
“Perhaps—perhaps you should not suck me tonight,” Marcus managed to say.
Esca just grinned some more and did not reply, instead choosing to lap at one of Marcus’s nipples with his tongue. It had a slightly rough surface that stimulated Marcus’s skin. That same wet, viscous fluid seemed to be secreted at his mouth as well, and Marcus’s skin quickly grew wet. His nipple hardened into stiff peak, and Esca scratched it, very, very lightly, with his teeth. The sensation made his cock jump, and he groaned, high in his throat.
“Esca.”
“You make such lovely sounds,” Esca purred. He turned his attention to Marcus’s other nipple. Marcus felt precome dribble from his cock.
And then Esca rubbed his whole body along Marcus’s, coating Marcus with his fluid. And Marcus’s cock, caught between them, felt every bump and angle on Esca’s body as it moved across him. He thrust his hips, desperate for more. Esca rutted against him for a few moments longer, and Marcus began to think he might come just from this, but then Esca pulled back.
“No!” Marcus gasped, reaching for him. “Esca—”
“None of that, now,” Esca chided, grabbing him by the wrist. He suckled at one of Marcus’s fingers, and Marcus whined. Esca nipped his thumb. “I think you need some help being good this evening.”
Marcus found himself agreeing—anything to get Esca’s attention back on his neglected prick—and before he knew it, Esca had bound his wrists to the bed. Lightly, so that the cord did not bite into his skin, but enough that he could not reach out and touch.
Esca crouched over him, and his eyes glowed with a fey light, and for just a moment, Marcus felt afraid. But then Esca stroked his crooked fingers through Marcus’s hair, just as he always did when they had made love in Esca’s human form, and Marcus calmed, settling.
“There,” Esca whispered, and then he coaxed Marcus’s mouth open for a kiss. Esca’s tongue caressed his own, and Marcus tasted him—salty and a little tart, like lemons, but not unpleasant, not overpowering. They made wet, filthy noises, and Marcus could feel his saliva mingling with Esca’s fluid and sticking to his chin.
Esca pulled back at last, panting. He rubbed against Marcus’s skin again, like he wanted to crawl inside, and Marcus groaned, getting more stimulation on his cock at last.
“You are ready for more, I think,” Esca said, and Marcus nodded, frantic. Esca slid down in between his legs, and for once, Marcus didn’t care about the whir and hum of the cybernetic limb, only desperate to have more of Esca.
When Esca licked his cock with his rough tongue, a strangled cry burst out of him.
“I’m—I’m sorry; I’ll be quiet,” he gasped, hips jerking up in desperation. But Esca frowned and fetched some cloth and stuffed it gently in Marcus’s mouth.
“We can’t have you waking the household,” he explained, taking the opportunity to gnaw lightly at Marcus’s nipples again.
Marcus whined, and Esca gave him an indulgent smile and returned to his cock.
He seemed to want to taste the precome seeping from Marcus’s cockhead and spent long minutes dabbing his tongue at the slit, his fingers massaging Marcus’s balls. Marcus was soaked in sweat and fluid and if he didn’t get to come now—
And then Esca abandoned his cock, ignoring Marcus’s pitiful moan, spread his legs, and—oh gods—eased his tongue into Marcus’s body.
His fingers teased at the edge of Marcus’s hole while he licked and probed. Marcus shuddered and gave a muffled cry when Esca found his prostate. Esca took note and thrust his tongue against it, prodding Marcus into a frenzy. His cock kept jerking against his stomach, and now his hole was soaked, too, fluid pooling around his balls.
Again, just as Marcus almost crested, Esca pulled back, replacing his tongue with a less insistent finger.
“You’re going to spend for me now,” Esca told him. “And I’m going to drink you, Marcus.” He squeezed Marcus’s balls in his hand. “I want everything that you can give me.”
Marcus nodded, cock straining upwards. He would—he would be so good, he would give Esca everything, so much—he was so ready—
Esca fit his mouth around the tip of Marcus’s cock very carefully, making sure not to bite, and then he began thrusting his finger into Marcus again, finding his prostate and pressing, crooking his finger just so.
Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and came, spurting hard, filling Esca’s mouth. He screamed into the gag, jerking against his bonds, and then collapsed back, riding the swells of pleasure as Esca milked him, suckling at his cock, tongue dipping into his slit to draw out his seed.
At last Esca threw back his head, limbs shuddering, and then he folded forward, wrapping his arms around Marcus, his wings enfolding both of them. His fluid and Marcus's sweat seemed to stick their skin together, and Marcus could hardly tell where Esca ended and he began. He lay still, feeling Esca’s weight against him, watching the candlelight through the prism of Esca’s wings.
*
Esca slept with him that night in his true form, curled against Marcus, but in the morning, he reverted to his human shape.
“You didn’t have to,” Marcus murmured, running his thumb over the familiar curve of Esca’s cheekbone.
“I know.” Esca smiled and gave him a kiss. “It was more than I had hoped, to have you respond to me so beautifully last night.”
Marcus blushed, remembering. He had never been so wanton in his life.
“I bathed in your scent,” Esca continued. “I drank your seed. If I returned to my people, they would smell you on me. They would know that I had lain with a human.” He paused and sighed. “That you are Roman would only make it worse.”
Marcus felt his heart twist unpleasantly. “I am sorry, Esca. I should not have asked—”
“No. I did it for myself, and I do not regret it.” He wrapped an arm around Marcus’s chest, drawing close. “I know well the sweetness of your heart. And you have not tried to change me or turned away from my true self.” And the smile he gave Marcus was bright and joyful.
“Then, will you grant my wish?” Marcus asked softly, threading his fingers through Esca’s.
Esca’s smile turned gentle. “You do not need a wish on my account,” he replied. “I shall not leave your side.” He gave him another kiss. “Now draw close, love, and I will give you my name.”
And when he whispered the tangled syllables, Marcus could smell the delicate fragrance of Isca’s roses on a sunny, broken morning.