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going to win your favor or entice you to accept our ways. He is now aware that he
needs to step more gently with you.
Thank you, Mikon whispered, the words heartfelt. I would not have survived
what he wanted of me. I cannot be Kei yet. I may never be able to be Kei. Does he
truly understand that?
No. Satarin grimaced slightly, a worn look about his face as though the
conversation with the god had not been easy in any respect.
He had obviously fought for Mikon, fought for his freedoms and sanity in a way
Mikon had never expected of the enemy.
But Satarin felt less like the enemy all the time. There was not trust, that was true.
Such a thing would take more time than they had had up to this point, but there was
something there&
Mikon felt safe with him, and it had been a long time since he had felt such a thing.
It was always him providing safety for others, and he had never realized how much he
longed for such a thing himself.
This experience seemed to be opening up parts of himself he had never imagined
and Kei was just one aspect of it.
He glanced at Satarin once more, with fresh appreciation. Whatever else the Imar
might possess, power and grace, he was without doubt, a spectacular specimen of his
race. Mikon could not help the heat that rose within him, the way his gaze traced over
those angular features, noticing the impossibly thick eyelashes that brushed lean
cheeks. The long-fingered hands that lay clasped upon his lap. Those eyes&
He jerked out of his thoughts as Satarin spoke.
You must tread softly with Janizar. That advice is all I can give you, little though it
seems. Since the crash and the loss of you, of Kei, he is not quite he paused, a frown
passing over his face. He looked squarely at Mikon then, and a faint hint of fear in those
blue eyes shocked the Tacartian badly.
He killed two of my men. The tone still held the remnants of shock that must
have resounded that day. His own people. They are frightened of him now, when once
they loved him.
And you? Mikon asked low-voiced, as though the answer were dangerous as
perhaps it was.
Satarin opened his mouth as if to speak, then his eyes clouded and he changed
whatever he had been going to say.
He is my god. I will always love him. Mikon stiffened, knowing immediately by
that stilted and unnatural statement that they were not alone.
My Chosen and my beloved. I am the most fortunate of gods. Mikon s fingers
clenched upon the arm of the sofa, watching Satarin s eyes warily for the change that
would indicate the god had taken possession, but Janizar seemed content with merely
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The Chosen
speaking. The satisfaction in the tone jarred Mikon s senses, and he gritted his teeth,
something within him feeling almost as much outrage for Satarin as for himself.
It was beginning to become apparent that Satarin was as much a slave, a prisoner,
as Mikon himself, and had endured such a state for far longer. How was it possible for
him to simply hand over his body, have another control him utterly? What kind of a life
was that?
I am pleased that you both are getting along so well. The god s voice held true
pleasure. Satarin, it is good to see you move beyond your unreasoning dislike of my
Kei.
Satarin merely inclined his head with silent respect and Mikon could only admire
the strength of will it must take to deflect the anger that must surely rise within the
Imar. He seemed to have good reason to dislike Kei and it must be difficult to endure
Janizar s blind favoritism.
Stand, my Imar.
Satarin did so slowly, his face becoming entirely expressionless as though he knew
what was coming.
Disrobe. The tone held no expectation of being disobeyed, and indeed, there was
only the briefest hesitation, a faint tightening of Satarin s lips before he removed first
his boots and then the robes he wore.
Mikon stared in shock, such obedience foreign to his nature, and color rose to his
cheeks as that magnificent body was displayed before him, no longer in a god s control,
but Satarin himself. Dark-brown skin, flawless, taut over lean muscle. Long, well-
muscled legs. There was no body hair, none at all. Mikon swallowed hard.
The Imar s eyes stared straight ahead, his body posture stiff and unnatural,
evidence of his discomfort with this display. Whatever Janizar s personality might be,
Satarin seemed modest and rather withdrawn. It did not seem a natural thing to him to
be so vulnerable in his nakedness.
Have fun, my Kei. You remember, I am sure, how Satarin entertained you when I
could not be there. The god s voice held nothing but amusement, no indication that he
truly understood the wrongness of his actions toward his Imar.
I must attend to the ship properly, so I cannot spend time with you, my little one.
Therefore, Satarin will keep you company in my absence. The light chuckle cut off and
there was only silence in the room.
Mikon released a breath he had not even realized he had been holding. Hesitantly,
he looked at Satarin, the sudden silence pressing upon him, emphasizing that they were
utterly alone in a way not yet experienced.
The toned, dark-skinned body was so very beautiful, from the plaited tail of hair to
the long, fine-boned feet. It was a work of art, and Mikon could only helplessly
appreciate it for long moments before his mind caught up with the situation.
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J.C. Owens
It was then that he stepped forward, gently picking up the soft inner robe and
cautiously, as though he approached a wild animal, moved close enough to Satarin to
put the robe over his shoulders.
Satarin did not move, his eyes dark and unfathomable, his body held so stiffly it
seemed he would crack at the wrong touch.
When the Imar did not attempt to cover himself, Mikon hesitantly took one of the
large hands and worked it into a sleeve, repeating the action on the other side until the
robe hung properly and Mikon could tie it closed.
He did so in silence, trying to keep his eyes fixed upon his work and not upon the
tempting skin that lay so close to hand. It was so strange that now, when he was not
pressured, that Janizar had no part of this, that he should feel this strange curling
attraction in his stomach.
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