Author Alex Izeri

“Should we say hello?” I asked.

“I don’t think this is a person,” Sarael said. “Emotions from people are complex and nuanced, this feels simpler. I think it’s an animal.”

“Oh, wow, I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Normally, I can’t,” he said. “I’m not sure what makes this time different. Hmm, I think it just moved away. I lost it.” He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing, and then shook his head. “No, it’s gone. It was over there, though.”

“Hey, maybe we can find tracks,” I said as I followed him into the brush. We’d gone about ten yards when he stopped and crouched down. I peered over his shoulder, trying to see what he was looking at. “Are those deer tracks? Or elk?” The marks in the soft loam seemed a little big to be deer, but I was pretty sure we would have noticed a creature as large as an elk in these woods.

Sarael didn’t answer, he just slowly straightened up and let his gaze sweep the forest. I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle, like I was being watched, and my heart began to race.

“Can you sense it?” I whispered. He shook his head. “Does that mean it’s a- a dragon?” He told me he couldn’t sense dragons.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back.

I was ready to make a run for it when something snorted a few yards to my left. I jumped and screamed, the sound echoing through the trees. Sarael moved in front of me, his outstretched hand flashing with magic power. I don’t know how we didn’t see the creature, unless it was camouflaged somehow. All I know is that something bleated like a goat and ran away, the bushes shaking as it fled.

Sarael extinguished the glow and ran forward, searching the ground where it must have been standing. Cautiously, I joined him, finding more of those almost-deer tracks, except these ones glistened and shimmered for a few moments before the faint sparkle faded away.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

“There’s only one thing it could have been,” Sarael said, sounding awed. “A unicorn.”

“Unicorn...” I breathed, my eyes wide as my gaze darted around, hoping to catch a glimpse through the trees… “Wait a minute,” I said, my excitement snuffed out like a candle. “You said there hadn’t been unicorns in these woods for five hundred years.”

“I said they hadn’t been seen in these woods,” he said, his eyes swirling with orange and blue and streaks of warm red, not the dark color of anger, but something else. If I had to take a guess based on the way he was acting, I’d say he was as happy as a kid at his birthday party. “They can’t be seen if they learn how to hide in plain sight, now can they? Creatures adapt when threatened, it happens all the time. These unicorns must have adapted to be invisible, but they’re still here!”

“That’s great,” I said, grinning at his infectious enthusiasm.

“It’s better than great,” he replied. “This is a good omen. It means we’re on the right path.”

“What path?” I chuckled as I gestured to the forest all around us.

“I just mean I’m doing the right thing, taking you to the Prince.”

“Wait, what?” I asked. “What prince?”

All of the joy left Sarael’s face, his eyes darkening to the color of mud. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. We should go.”

I reached out, grabbing him by the sleeve of his tunic as he started to walk away.

“What prince? And why are you taking me to him?”

He shrugged off my hand and scowled at me. “You forget your place, boy. You belong to me, and I owe you no explanations. Now, come along, or I will put that collar back on you.” He stalked away into the trees, stopping after a few yards and looking back, as if daring me to refuse.

I couldn’t outrun him, I couldn’t fight him. My only option was to follow him and hope he would calm down and tell me what the fuck was going on.

~ Next Chapter ~

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I took a deep drink of the cold water and handed the canteen back. “Well, for starters, where am I? Does this planet have a name? Does this forest? And where the hell are you taking me? And why? What do you want me for? And—”

“All right, all right, slow down,” Sarael said, tucking the canteen back into his bag. “I will answer all of your questions. I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.”

“I didn’t think any of this was real,” I said. “I suppose part of me is still hoping it’s just a dream.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s very real,” Sarael said. He eyed the bank on the other side of the stream, and then hopped across. I tried to do the same, but I misjudged, maybe because of the increased gravity, and I started to slide down the back into the water. Sarael grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away from the edge.

“Thanks,” I said, glancing over my shoulder into the stream. It wasn’t very deep, but I was glad not to get my shoes wet again.

“No problem,” he replied, releasing me and giving his hand a shake, as if he could dislodge the emotions he got from me. I found myself wishing I could control my feelings better, to make such incidental contact easier on him. Which struck me as a little weird, considering what an asshole he’d been the day before, but maybe he wasn’t the only one to be made more sympathetic by sharing emotions.

“So, this is the southern end of the Golden Unicorn Forest,” Sarael said. “It’s roughly in the center of the Kingdom of Elven Light and Beauty, which is on the coast of—”

“Whoa, hold on,” I said. “There are unicorns and elves here, too?”

Sarael glanced over his shoulder at me, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Yes, but how did you know that?”

“Uh, you just told me,” I said. “I figure a place called the Golden Unicorn Forest probably has unicorns in it.”

Sarael began to laugh, a rich and musical sound. “Of course, silly me. The translation charm works on the archaic elvish names as well. So when I say—” He reached over and pulled the magic stone pendant out of my tunic and away from my skin. “Desarni Xian Ria...” He tucked the charm back into my shirt. “You hear Golden Unicorn. Which is funny, because no one has sighted a unicorn in these woods in five hundred years. I think most people have forgotten what the name even means.”

“Okay, that is kind of funny,” I admitted with a chuckle. “So I’m guessing the Kingdom of Elven Light and Beauty isn’t the real name, either.”

“Oh, shit,” Sarael gasped, laughing even harder. “I’d forgotten what pretentious pricks those elves could be. Oh, tell me what Testicles of the Bright God means.”

I told him, and he had to lean against a tree to keep from falling over. I couldn’t help but laugh with him, even though I wasn’t sure why it was so funny.

“What?” I asked. “What did they name that?”

“It’s the Elven capitol city,” he managed to gasp out. “The palace is built upon a massive white bluff. I always thought it looked like a pair of giant balls, but I thought that was just me!” We laughed until we were out of breath, my sides aching. It felt really good, like the endorphin rush I would get after a long run.

Suddenly, Sarael stopped laughing, his head jerking up as he looked around the forest.

“What is it?” I asked, sobering.

“We’re not alone.”

Neither was the comforting warmth of Sarael’s body pressed against my back, his arm draped over my side, his breath against my neck. His own erection digging into the back of my thigh. He whimpered again, panting and sighing as his hips twitched, rubbing his hard cock against me as his fingers glided up and down my aching shaft.

For several long seconds, I just lay there and let him do it, watching the shifting patterns dancing over the canvas, the sunlight shining through the branches above us. My sleep-swaddled brain felt sluggish and lazy, and his hand felt really good on my cock. But then, like a fog lifting, I realized that his hand was in my underwear, after he’d promised never to touch me. Anger coursed through my veins, stronger than any cup of coffee, and I grabbed his arm, shoving him away from me.

“Wha—What the fuck?” he gasped, blinking owlishly in the morning light, his eyes a swirling kaleidoscope of colors before settling on a flickering red. “What the fuck was that for?” he demanded, scowling up at me as I scrambled out of bed and grabbed my pants.

“You couldn’t keep your fucking hands off of me, you pervert,” I snapped, jerking on my stiff, dirty trousers and grabbing my shoes as I stormed out of the tent. Hopping on one foot, I pulled on my sneakers and stomped down into the meadow, to the cold, blackened campfire, our clothes strewn about on the grass. I found my jacket, the heavy material stiff but warm from sitting in the sun, and pulled it on, wrapping my arms around myself as I paced back and forth beside the fire pit.

I felt sick. I felt betrayed. Sarael was the only person on this whole planet that I thought I could trust, but the second I let my guard down, he decided to grope me in my sleep. He was a liar. He was a deviant, not me. I didn’t want this. I didn’t agree to this.

But I had enjoyed it.

I felt his hand in my undershorts and I liked it. I could have shoved him away sooner, but I didn’t. I let him touch me, just like I let that werewolf fuck me. I was the deviant, I was the pervert. I was the one dreaming of Armiran, I was the one getting turned on in my sleep. All Sarael did was sleep too close to me. My emotions got to him.

This wasn’t his fault, it was mine. He woke up angry because I was angry, and he touched me because I was having an erotic dream. He wasn’t the one who couldn’t be trusted, I was. My anger bled away, leaving me cold and empty, and not sure what to do now. I stopped pacing, my legs shaking as I stared blankly into the distance.

I don’t know how long I stood there, but eventually I realized that I wasn’t alone. I glanced over as Sarael walked up, wearing clean clothes, his hair brushed and pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

“I’m glad you finally got that sorted out,” he said. “I could feel you all the way up in the tent.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, my gaze dropping to the ground.

“Don’t worry about it.” He began gathering up the dry clothes. “You were dreaming, yes?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Thought so. Dreams can’t be controlled, so it wasn’t your fault. We should be glad nothing worse happened and move on. We have a long way to go.”

“That’s it?” I asked. “Just like that, we’re supposed to forget what happened?”

“Well, no,” Sarael said and I think I saw his cheeks redden beneath his brown skin, “but it won’t do any good to be angry at each other, or to feel ashamed of ourselves. We didn’t do anything wrong. Now come on, help me pack up and we can eat those sweetroot tubers I cooked last night. I bet you’re hungry.” He shoved the armload of clothes into his bag, then picked it up and headed for the tent. I followed after him.

“I’m surprised you’re not being more of an asshole about this,” I said, kneeling beside him in the tent and doing my best to copy his technique as he rolled up his bedding.

“And I’m surprised you’re not still angry at me for it,” he replied. “I suppose getting to know you last night, sharing your emotions, has made me a little more sympathetic. I didn’t realize your world was so vastly different from ours, and I underestimated what a shock it must have been to you. I suppose it still is a shock.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” I said, grabbing my socks as he put the bedrolls back into the bag. While he took the tent down, I banged as much grit out of my shoes as I could and brushed off my feet before putting my socks back on. After I helped him fold the two sheets of canvas, he reached deep into his bag and pulled out two large, steaming hunks of golden brown tuber.

“Damn, it’s still hot,” I said, blowing on the piece he handed me. But that made sense, if no time passed within his bag, then they would be as hot as the moment he put them in there. I took a tentative bite, the skin a little tough, but the meat inside was soft and sweet, kind of like a sugary baked potato. I devoured it in about thirty seconds flat. Sarael chuckled and handed me another before zipping up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Ready?”

“I doubt it,” I mumbled around a mouthful, but I gave him a nod and followed as he led the way through the forest.

Sarael chuckled and picked up his bedroll. “They won’t return tonight. The sun is too close to rising.”

“Yeah, but they’ll be back tomorrow night.” Together, we headed for the tent, plodding up the slight rise to the trees.

“If I hesitated to use my magic because of the spirits, I’d have been dead a long time ago,” he said. “I can’t worry about them. Besides, it only takes a little magic to excite the air between the fibers of that blanket enough to raise the temperature a degree or two.” We reached the tent and I toed off my shoes before ducking beneath the canvas. Reluctantly, I shrugged off the blanket and dropped it on the foot of my bedroll as Sarael shuffled in beside me.

“Let me get out of your way,” I said, but before I could lie down, Sarael caught the end of my leash, giving it a gentle tug.

“I’m pretty sure we made a deal,” he said and pulled the little key out of his pocket.

“Thank you,” I said as he unlocked the collar. I rubbed at my bare neck, feeling the rough, sore spots where the stiff leather chafed my skin. “Maybe we could find a more comfortable one for when I have to wear it in public.”

“Oh, you don’t want that,” Sarael said with a chuckle. “Only sex pets wear fancy collars. Now take off your pants.”

“Excuse me?”

Sarael glanced up from spreading his bedroll. “Relax, boy. I’m too tired to enjoy looking at your ass, but if your pants are as wet as mine are, you probably don’t want to sleep in them. Or maybe you do. I really don’t care.” He stripped off his own trousers and slid beneath his blankets, leaving me standing in the middle of the tent.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I said finally, turning my back and unbuttoning my fly. The damp material clung to my skin, leaving the backs of my thighs cold and stinging as I peeled them off. Shivering hard again, I scrambled under the blankets. “Do you want your heavy blanket back?” I asked, feeling the weight of it on my legs.

“You can keep it,” he replied with a yawn, then he rolled over and pulled his covers over his head. As tired as I was, I lay awake, staring up at the inside of tent, absently flexing my aching feet, which felt like two blocks of ice at the ends of my legs.

Was this really my life now? Cold, hungry, thirsty, exhausted, walking all day, sleeping on the ground all night, plagued by ghosts, fucked by werewolves...I shuddered, unable to resist the memories, the thoughts that came rushing over me. I tried not to feel ashamed, tried not to judge myself as I remembered the way Armiran had made me feel. It was no big deal. No one cared. No one but me.

Beside me, Sarael groaned. “Do you have to do this now? Can’t you hate yourself while we’re walking?”

“Sorry,” I muttered, rolling over and burying myself under the blankets.

I slept soundly, until I started dreaming, and then I dreamed of Armiran, his handsome face, his soft lips, his strong arms wrapped around me, his hands sliding down the front of my undershorts, stroking my cock. My own voice pulled me out of the dream, a low, guttural groan escaping my lips, but it was the breathless whimper in my ear that snapped me awake.

He rolled his eyes. “Sex is hardly intimate. I’m asking you to share your emotions with me. Except I’m not asking, because you are not capable. Just go away.” The spirits were closing in, a writhing, seething mass of pale light, filled with the horror, anguish, and rage of a hundred violent deaths.

“I thought you didn’t like feeling other people’s emotions,” I said.

“I don’t, but when the alternative is this—” He gestured up at the spectral glow. “And I don’t want to be bombarded by every random emotion you have. You would have to be in complete control of your feelings, focused on something peaceful and pleasant, and I would have to trust you not to make this worse.”

“Seriously? You think I could I be worse than them?”

“The emotions of the dead are hollow memories,” he said. “They are painful and frightening, but I can tell that they aren’t real. Your emotions, on the other hand, would be as real as my own and stronger than you can imagine. If you decided to remember something that frightened you as a child, for instance, you could conceivably scare me to death.”

“Okay, that would be worse,” I conceded. I tried to consider what he was asking of me, but it sounded like I just needed to think nice thoughts and everything would be okay. And that sounded utterly stupid, so I figured I was failing to grasp something. “I can do this,” I said finally. “Let me try.”

He still seemed hesitant, even as he cringed away from the reaching cloud of hungry ghosts.

“All right,” he said finally.

“Great. What do I do?” I asked.

He pointed to the ground in front of him. “Sit.”

As I sank down into the damp, trampled grass, the cold and wet soaking into my trousers and making me shiver hard enough that my teeth began to chatter, I almost sat on the end of my leash, and I could just picture the light bulb appearing over my head as a brilliant idea came to me.

“Say, if you trust me enough to do this, I don’t suppose you might trust me enough to take this damn collar off? It chafes and the leash is always in my way.” Not to mention that I hated being dragged around like a dog.

Sarael drew a sharp breath and tensed. “That. Right there. That little flicker of anger you just felt. You can’t do that with me. No anger, so fear, no sadness. And unless you want me to jump you, no arousing thoughts either. Got it?”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. This was the part I had trouble grasping.

“Yeah, I got it,” I said. “Now what about this collar?”

“If we survive this,” Sarael said, and from his tone he found that doubtful, “I won’t make you wear it unless we’re around other people.” I started to argue, but he cut me off. “It’s for your own protection. Most folks won’t bother someone’s property.”

“Okay, fine,” I said. It was a start. “Now what?”

“Think of something peaceful, something soothing,” he said, a trace of urgency in his voice, and I watched as a few daring spirits left the chaos of the ghost cloud to claw and grab at him. Their forms were faint and misty, features indistinct, but I saw him flinch away from them, saw them tear something intangible from his body.

Something peaceful, something soothing...I closed my eyes, blocking out the ephemeral assault occurring in front of me, and tried to conjure up a warm fuzzy feeling. I thought about Sunday breakfasts with my father, when he would make pancakes or waffles after mom died—

“Nothing sad,” Sarael gasped.

“Sorry.” I tried again, remembering happy times, vacations and holidays with my family, all the people that I was never going to see again—

“Are you even trying?” Sarael demanded. “I knew this was never going to work.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, opening my eyes. The spirits were swarming him again, like a malevolent cloud of gnats. “I really am trying, but my life has hardly been perfect. All my memories are bittersweet.”

“You’re letting your mind wander,” he said. “You need to focus. Pick one thing, one moment. What makes you happy?”

“Um...I like running, I guess.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, his voice tight, but at least he wasn’t screaming and sobbing. Maybe talking to me was enough of a distraction. “What do you like about it? Describe how it makes you feel.”

“I feel...alive,” I said. “When I run, I feel free and healthy, my body light and loose. I feel at peace.”

“Perfect,” Sarael said with a sigh. He leaned toward me, reaching out and placing his hands on mine. He drew a stuttering breath, an expression just short of rapture washing over him as his eyes grew unfocused and distant, changing from dark to almost silver in the pale starlight. “Tell me more. Tell me everything about when you run.”

I don’t know how long we sat in that meadow, the campfire burning down beside us, surrounded by the spirits of the dead, but it was long enough for me to describe in detail the half-marathon I ran a few years ago, describing the roads, the buildings, the feeling of the other runners all around me, but being alone with just my breath, just my feet hitting the pavement. It was like a guided meditation, his voice keeping me on track, prompting me when I started to run out of words. I have never felt so calm and relaxed, so focused on one single thing.

And then it was over.

Sarael drew his hands back and I opened my eyes, relieved to see only darkness surrounding us. The ghosts were gone.

It was his own fault. If he hadn’t tortured me with his magic, it wouldn’t have been so bad. The scream came again, haunted and filled with terror, and I covered my head with the blanket again, but it couldn’t block out the sound. I had never heard a man wail before, long sobs of grief and agony that got under my skin and softened my heart, no matter how hard I tried to stay mad at him. No one deserved to be tormented like that.

But what could I do? I knew nothing of magic and spirits. Nothing useful, anyway. My crazy aunt, the one who always knitted me socks, used to burn nettles any time something bad happened to the family. A lost job, an injury, a break-up, and without fail, here would come Aunt Elena with her nettles and matches to drive the evil spirits away.

I lay there as another heart-rending scream echoed through the dark. There was no way Aunt Elena’s old-world superstition could be true. But that’s what I thought about magic and werewolves. Maybe, somehow, those old myths and legends started from fact and truth about a world we lost contact with long ago. It sounded ridiculous, but as Sarael screamed again, I figured I didn’t have anything to lose.

Sitting up, I threw back the blanket and pulled my shoes on, the insides gritty against my bare feet. God, it was cold, my breath pluming out ghostly before my lips as I stepped out into the dark forest. I could barely make out anything more than a few feet in front of me, but I remembered avoiding a patch of nettles while we were setting up the tent. The hot sting against my bare hand told me that I’d found them.

Ignoring the pain, I felt down the stalks and pulled several plants out of the ground, then turned and hurried toward the light of the campfire. My legs ached, muscles overworked all day now stiffened up in the cold, but I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, promising myself that I could curl up by the fire when this was over.

Sarael let out a shriek that nearly made me jump out of my shoes. I was almost to him, so I gritted my teeth and forced myself into a stiff, lumbering run. I reached the edge of the fire pit, the wood burned down to sinister orange coals, and my blood ran absolutely cold I realized that the glow I had been running toward wasn’t the fire at all, but a swarm of ravenous spirits congregating around Sarael. He lay on the ground, curled up like a frightened child, screaming and sobbing.

Now, Aunt Elena had always burned dried nettles, and these were green and full of water, so I new they wouldn’t burn well, but I hoped they’d burn well enough. I stirred the coals with a stick and dropped the nettles into the pit. They hissed and popped, thin ribbons of dark, medicinal-smelling smoke curling into the air as the leaves shriveled and blackened. Grabbing a handful of the smoking stalks, I waved them back and forth, fanning the smoke toward Sarael.

“Begone, foul spirits,” I said, wishing I could remember exactly what Aunt Elena used to say. It was something in a slavic-sounding language, but I had no idea which one. Aunt Elena never spoke about her life before she came to America. Honestly, I’m not even sure she was my mother’s biological sister. The words didn’t seem to matter, however. The twisting ribbons of smoke peeled the spirits off of Sarael, driving them back. “Ha, it’s working!”

“Wh-what did you do?” Sarael gasped, tentatively raising his head and pushing his silky black hair back from his face. “What is that?”

“Nettles.” I said. I dropped the clump I was holding back into the fire and grabbed another, the smoke stinging my eyes as I walked a circle around Sarael, surrounding him in a protective curtain. “It’s something my aunt taught me.”

“How is it that ignorant Earth folk know this magic, but I have never heard of such a thing?” he asked, sitting up. His clothes were dirty, his hair tangled, and his expression haunted as he gazed up at the swarm of spirit light circling us.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Honestly, I thought it was just superstition, but I figured I’d try it anyway.”

Sarael glanced over at me. “Why? Was I keeping you awake?”

“Yeah, you woke me, but...” I hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’re an asshole, but you don’t deserve this. And like it or not, I need you. I’d wind up dead in ten minutes without you, so if I can do something to help, then...I will.” I looked down at the nettle in my hand, the smoke fading from the blackened leaves. “I should go find more of these if we’re going to keep those spooks off of you all night.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sarael said, sounding tired. “I appreciate the reprieve, but I have to let the spirits finish their work. If they don’t clean the energy from my body, it will continue to build up, and the greater the energy, the stronger the draw. It would attract spirits from miles around, and when they eventually got to me, the resulting trauma would be devastating. But I do appreciate you making the effort to try to save an asshole like me.” He smiled at me, and I was once again reminded of how uncommonly beautiful he was. I quickly glanced away.

“I guess I understand,” I said, touching the blackened nettle leaves to make sure they were cool before I tossed the charred plant down on the ground. The one in the fire pit was little more than ashes now, the protective smoke thinning on the breeze. I could see the spirits pressing back in, drawing close to their prey again. “I’m glad I could give you a break, at least. I just wish there was more I could do to make this easier on you.” I turned to head back to the tent.

“You could stay.”