The Heat of Desire

By Blue Sapphire

In a fantasy land where a cursed monster roams alone through a dark forest Killan, youngest son of the House of Carnack, travels. An innocent young man he knows little of carnal desires.

He soon learns.

Innocence stolen but the memory of it buried, he falls into the arms of the four men who in their own way will help soothe him and calm the raging heat in his veins: the teacher (from who Killian will learn many worthwhile lessons), the bodyguard (who will protect his royal master and be rewarded with sensuous pleasures rather than gold), the dark-eyed prince (who may be more devil than saviour and likes all who serve him to do so on their knees) and the hurt man (who will help Killan to face the monster that still hungers for him).

The heat of desire rages within Killan. He needs these men as much as he needs the air he breathes, but is unaware of the power he wields and that they too need him.

This story starts with fear and pain, travels through delight and confusion but there is love to be had, and healing too; healing given and received.

The monster feels the heat also and his thoughts turn again and again to the prince of Carnack, but Killan journeys further and further from him and ever closer to the one who will ultimately save him.

This is the author's first full-length m/m erotic novel, and is strictly adults only. It contains dark imagery and graphic scenes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yvonne C.
• Release date: Feb 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310677533

Blue Sapphire

Blue Sapphire is the pen name of English author, Yvonne Carsley. It is the name she uses when writing m/m erotic fiction.

Book preview

The Heat of Desire

Blue Sapphire

The Heat of Desire

ebook (Smashwords Edition)

Written by Blue Sapphire

Published by Yvonne Carsley

Copyright Blue Sapphire 2011. All rights reserved.

The rights of Blue Sapphire to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Warning: This work is not suitable reading material for the under eighteen’s and/or those who find descriptions of homosexual acts offensive.

This author advocates the practice of safe sex. Fictional characters do not require condoms; you, dear reader, do. Whatever your sexual preferences please practice them safely.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

He shouldn’t have gone out on his own. He knew that as soon as the horse reared and he began to fall backwards, but when he’d awoken that morning the sun had been shining so brightly. The sky had been so clear; an endless stretch of blue without a single cloud in sight and there had been only the gentlest of breezes.

He’d thought how wonderful it would be to go riding, just him alone; no guards. He never got to go out alone. For as long as he could remember there had always been someone with him: his father, uncle, one of his seven brothers, one of his tutors or a guard or two.

He didn’t really mind their company, though Alick did tend to grumble about having to baby-sit all the time. Alick had developed a liking for the young redheaded serving girl, Misha, and it was her company he craved these days, not his little brother’s. Sometimes Misha came with them and then she and Alick would disappear into the trees for a while…then emerge looking breathless and red-faced.

Killan never asked what they’d been doing that left their hair and clothes in such disarray. He sort of knew but didn’t really want to know.

The things Alick and Misha got up to were things that married people were supposed to do and thinking about marriage made Killan think about Tela.

He and Tela had been pledged to each other when they were too young to know what the word pledge meant. He’d only seen her once and that was nearly ten years ago. He’d turned eighteen three weeks ago and was now old enough to take her as his wife. He didn’t know what to think about that.

So when he’d awoken that morning to find it was such a glorious day he’d decided he would go riding. He would go alone and go to his secret place, where he’d sit and think about Tela and what marrying her would mean.

He’d managed to sneak out of the palace without being seen. He was an athletic boy and had learned long ago how to shinny down the ivy trailing up outside his bedroom window. Sneaking around the stable-boy and appropriating a horse had been harder but luckily the boy had been drinking the previous night and he barely stirred as Killan crept by.

And then, joy of joys, he’d succeeded in riding out of the courtyard, out through the gate, past the equally sleepy guard (his father would not be pleased about that) and out into the fields beyond the city.

And then he’d given the horse a free rein.

The animal galloped wildly, loving the freedom of being able to go where it wished. Killan had laughed at its excitement. He was excited too.

He’d done it! He had bested them all and was for the first time, in a long time, alone. He could laugh and shout and play the silly fool without being told to behave, without having to be reminded that he was a prince of the realm and should act accordingly.

Responsibility and duty…these were the words he knew best, having had them drummed into him all his life. A prince must be restrained. A prince must remember that at all times he is being observed. A prince is someone to look up to. He must be a model for others to aspire to.

Maybe so but he was also a boy and sometimes all he wanted was to have a little fun, to play in the mud; to shout and holler and whoop like the other boys did.

So he hollered and whooped until he was hoarse, and he rode on and on, forgetting his secret place, forgetting Tela and his upcoming marriage. He forgot his father and his brothers. He forgot his teachers and the fact that he was a prince. He forgot everything except that he was a boy.

He would pay for it later. His father would be angry, his teachers would no doubt lecture him and his brothers would be furious at the worry he had caused, but right now he didn’t care. All that mattered was that for a few hours he was gloriously, blessedly free.

He rode on and on, no clear direction in mind, just riding and enjoying the moment.

Then the horse pulled up sharply, forcing him to grip tightly with his knees to keep his seat.

Hey, he uttered. What is it, boy?

He looked up and around, suddenly realising where he was. He swallowed dryly.

He’d ridden all the way to the northern border of Grattarn; the border that was marked by the Forest of Shadows.

He stared wide-eyed at the dark trees looming towards him. Another ten feet and he would have been in their grip.

He knew the stories; who didn’t?

There was a monster living in the forest; a monster of such unspeakable ugliness that all who looked on him dropped down dead of absolute terror.

The monster roamed the forest at night in search of prey and his meat was the flesh of young boys.

Alick had told him the story with relish, giving him several nights of broken sleep. Their father had punished Alick severely, warning him to never speak of the forest or its supposed occupant again.

But Killan remembered his brother’s words.

The monster comes out only at night, slouching through the forest, leaving trails of rotten slime in his wake. He has fingers twice as long as a man’s, with talons at their tips. He uses these to rip the flesh from the backs of young boys. The meat there is the sweetest. And he kills the boys slowly, delighting in their shrieks of terror and agony. In the daytime the monster sleeps in his cave, dreaming of fresh meat.

Killan had been six years old when Alick had told him this story and it had scared him senseless but he was older now; wiser. He didn’t scare as easily. There were no such things as monsters. His father had told him so.

But there are such things as bandits and pirates, he had said. And you are a prince of the realm, worth a great deal in ransom, which is why you must never go out alone and certainly not into the forest, where bandits have been known to roam.

Killan stared at the twisting trees, trying to pierce the gloom they cast, wondering what really lurked beyond it.

He urged his horse on a few steps. The animal was reluctant but Killan commanded it with a gentle kick.

It was foolish perhaps but he had a sudden daring idea of going into the forest and bringing back something from within it to show his brothers. They had never dared defy their father and pass beyond those trees. Well, he would. He would enter the Forest of Shadows and bring back a rock, or something, to prove he’d been there. His father would likely tan his hide (even a prince was not exempt from feeling a strap across his backside) but his brothers would be so impressed and he would no longer be their cute little brother with the easy-to-pinch cheeks and delightful curly mop of hair that his three aunts just couldn’t resist tousling.

He would be Killan the Brave, Killan the Daring…Killan the Adventurer. They wouldn’t tease him anymore for being the littlest one. They would look at him like he was finally a man. They’d shake his hand and raise him up on their shoulders.

He urged the horse onwards, biting his lip excitedly.

As the animal crossed the border it began to truly balk. Killan had to force it onwards. Just a few feet, he urged. Please. Just a little more.

Ten feet over the border and the animal came to a halt, refusing to budge further. Killan sighed and looked around, searching for some unusually coloured or shaped rock that he could take back with him; something that could not have come from anywhere but within the forest. There were tales of black rocks that littered the floor of the Forest of Shadows; rocks that had turned black when the shadow of the monster had fallen over them.

He was looking so searchingly for a prize to take back that he did not see the snake.

The horse did and suddenly it was rearing up and he was falling.

He tried to grip with his knees but the horse was already skittish being in the forest and the snake was just too much. The animal shrugged Killan off as though he were an insect.

Killan’s head struck one of the rocks he had been looking so hard for. He didn’t notice if it was black. The only blackness he saw was that behind his eyelids as he passed out.

The horse thundered away, leaving the young prince lying sprawled in the dirt, blood trickling from the gash behind his ear.

----

He didn’t know how long he was unconscious for. He had moments when he thought he was conscious but he couldn’t be sure.

He had hazy memories of looking up and seeing the trees towering above him and the sky turning black. He thought he heard a noise; the scuffling of heavy feet. Then it seemed he was being lifted and carried; he felt bony hands clutching at him but that could have been a dream.

When he woke, when he was sure he was conscious, he was gripped by an instant of absolute panic when he realised he couldn’t see. He thought for a moment he was blind. He scrabbled at his face, encountering a cold, wet cloth draped across his head and eyes, but even when he ripped it away he still couldn’t see.

He realised that was simply because the light was very poor. In a corner of the…room he was in a candle glowed weakly. He stared fixedly at it and his vision adjusted slowly.

It was not much of an improvement. The single candle was almost completely burnt down and its light only made the darkness slightly less dark.

He lay back on the…bed? It was not soft. So, not a bed? A table perhaps, a bench…a slab?

He shuddered. Was he in the lair of the monster, waiting to be cut open like fresh meat?

He lay still, ears pricked for the slightest sound that would tell him where he was and what was going to happen to him.

He could hear water dripping somewhere and there was a cool draft against his cheek. He shivered, suddenly realising how cold it was. He shifted uncomfortably on the…bed and heard the rustling of the thin sheet that was draped over him. With a start he discovered that he was naked beneath it!

Where were his clothes? Who had removed them and why? Oh god, was he being prepared? Was the monster even now sharpening his claws in readiness for his meal? How long would it be before he came in, whipped the sheet from his body and began slicing strips from it?

There are no monsters, his father’s voice uttered in his mind.

But there are bandits and pirates, he remembered.

Was he now in the den of bandits? Had they removed his clothes so that he couldn’t run away? Would they cut him; chop some appendage from his body to send to his father as proof that they had him?

He swallowed then uttered a squawk as he heard a cough and the steady thump, thump, thump of footsteps heading towards him.

He lay frozen, too afraid to move, as the cave (he now saw it was a cave) was suddenly filled with a bright light. His eyes widened as a short, wizened…troll, dwarf, goblin…moved to the side of the…oh god it was a slab…that he lay on.

The creature put aside the lantern it was carrying and gripped his face in its cold, bony hands. His head was tilted this way and that. The…man ran his fingers over his wound, pressing it and causing him to wince.

Hurts? the man asked.

Yes.

Urm. Count yourself lucky, boy.

Lucky?

A blow like that could’ve killed you. Be grateful you have a strong head. Go back to sleep. You’ll feel better after rest. I will return with food.

Wait!

The man moved away, moving fast on his bandy legs. He did not turn at Killan’s command and took the lantern with him, leaving Killan with just the light of the candle, which finally stuttered out.

----

The man…and he was a man, if a rather misshapen one, moved down the corridor and went to report to his master.

He had been in a bad mood for many months now. His last pet had died too quickly, not possessing the stamina to withstand his games. The arrival of the young prince might prove fortuitous indeed.

In his hand he clutched the medallion that Killan wore beneath his tunic; the medallion bearing the royal seal. The master would recognise it instantly.

The man, Mlingo, briefly paused to consider allowing the boy to escape. When the master found out who he was he would hurt him terribly. Mlingo remembered the screams of the other boys. Killan’s cries would overshadow them all. A merciful man might do all he could to spare him.

Mlingo carried on.

He was not a merciful man. Those other boys had looked at him with disgust; the young prince would look at him that way too when he was in better health and more able to get a good look at him.

Such a pretty boy, Mlingo thought, sneering slightly. His master only liked pretty boys. He liked to do ugly things to them. The prettier the boy; the uglier the things.

He pitied the boy, but only briefly.

Such boys took their prettiness for granted, often wasting it. Why should they have been so gifted when he wasn’t?

He clutched the medallion tighter and entered the chamber where his master slept fitfully.

CHAPTER TWO

Mlingo stood and knelt obsequiously in the doorway of his master’s chamber. He could see that his master was asleep but that was no excuse not to show respect. Even in sleep the master knew what was going on around him and would be angry if he woke to find Mlingo on his feet rather than his knees.

Mlingo waited patiently, watching the rise and fall of his master’s chest.

The master slept on a huge hard bed of stone piled high with blankets. He lay on his back, his hands laced together on his stomach. He slept naked. He owned no clothes but a great swirling hooded cape that he wore only rarely. Mlingo let his eyes roam across his master’s oddly fascinating body.

It was gross.

It was hideous.

It was a great big, ugly, terrifying bulk of a body. It was truly the stuff of nightmares. His master was not quite the monster of legend; he was still recognisable as something that had once been a man, but it was a close thing.

His master was now twice as big as a normal man. He wasn’t fat, just extremely big; powerful-looking. His arms and legs were thick; as were the veins bulging along their length. His chest and stomach were muscled and covered in a thick thatch of black hair that grew all the way down to meet the hair growing at his groin. Mlingo’s eyes lingered a moment on his master’s prodigious sex organ.

He shuddered.

Even in rest that massive slumbering member looked ready to leap and attack at a moment’s notice. The scrotal sack behind it was huge and heavy and covered in more of that dark curling hair. Mlingo wondered if there was a man or creature as hairy as his master was becoming. The man had been quite hairy to begin with but as time went on he was turning into a veritable bear.

Mlingo forced his eyes away and turned his attention to the rest of the man. Dark nipples rose up out of his master’s dark chest hair. They were hard. They were always hard; a sign of his master’s constant state of arousal. It was only his amazing self-control that kept his monstrous penis from standing constantly to attention.

His master groaned loudly upon his bed, his taloned fingers clutching tighter together. There the stories had not been wrong. His master’s claws were wickedly sharp and had rendered flesh from bone on many an occasion. Though he did not feast on the flesh of young boys. Not in that way anyway. He had other hungers that he needed the boys for. Killan would soon discover that there were worse things than having flesh torn from his back.

The master groaned again and twisted on the bed.

The master rarely slept well. Asleep or awake he was in a state of unending arousal. Awake he could satiate his desires, for a while, or at least take the edge off, but at night he was at the mercy of his dreams. He twisted and groaned; sweat poured off his face and body, his hair glistened wetly.

He groaned again and with a cry awoke clawing at the air.

Mlingo waited until his master was calmer then he raced to his side. My lord, do you require comfort?

His master groaned, nodding his head, unable to speak the words.

Mlingo clambered up on to the bed and seated himself between the master’s legs. He reached out and grasped his penis in both hands and began to stroke it.

You have something to report to me? the master groaned through gritted teeth as Mlingo alternated his strokes between slow and fast.

There was a boy in the forest. He was injured.

Injured?

A slight head wound. It was nothing. He’s resting comfortably now.

Is he beautiful?

Very.

Describe him. The master grunted as Mlingo squeezed him firmly.

Raven-haired.

Urm, the master moaned.

A youth. No older than twenty I’d say.

Urm. The master bit his lip.

Blue eyes; amazingly blue, like the sky on a summer’s day.

Urm. The master’s own eyes, a dark brown, darkening to black, gleamed in delight.

Slender but not as scrawny as that last boy. Quite athletic. That might bode well for his longevity.

The master smiled. It was not a pretty smile. Perhaps.

He has full lips; juicy I’d describe them.

Plump?

Very.

Nice. Continue. The master’s breathing was deepening.

He’s quite tall for his age. Not very hairy.

Urm. The master’s eyes were closed, his tongue poking out between his teeth as Mlingo worked him harder. What else?

Else?

The master opened one eye. Don’t play with me, Mlingo. I know you. You prepared him for me. You must have had a good look; touched him. So?

His sex organ is not as large as yours–

It could hardly be expected to be so.

–but it is of a generous size. He has a wonderfully rounded backside.

Urm. Did you do more than look at it?

Master?

Did you touch it?

I…yes.

Firm?

Yes, Master. Very.

Did you do more than touch?

Master?!

Those naughty fingers of yours. Were they not tempted?

Tempted? Perhaps, but I resisted. I know it’s not my place.

It’s not. The master groaned as he finally climaxed. It was not satisfactory but it would have to do. Do you think the boy will please me, Mlingo?

Yes, and for other reasons.

Oh, what other reasons could there be?

Mlingo retrieved the medallion and placed it in his master’s sweat-soaked hands. He was wearing this.

The master turned it over in his hands, a gasp filling the chamber as he recognised the seal. Carnack!

Mlingo smiled. Yes, Master. The seal of the royal house of Carnack. The boy must be one of Eldred’s sons.

The master leapt up off the bed, no small feat for a man of his size and snatched up his cape. I will see this boy now. You, Mlingo, will go out and discover how the youth came to be in my forest. You must find out if anyone knows he’s here. I doubt Eldred would have the guts to send search parties into my forest, not at night anyway, but he might.

Yes, Master. Right away.

The master was gone, speeding away down the corridor.

Eldred’s son! Oh please, let him be one of Eldred’s sons; not a nephew or a cousin. Let him be a son. Let him be the favourite son. He would sell what was left of the rest of his soul for the chance to defile Eldred’s favourite son.

----

Killan had slipped into a light doze after Mlingo’s exit. He had thought to get up and search for a way out but he had to be sensible. His head still hurt, he didn’t know where he was, let alone how to get out, and without his clothes he wouldn’t get very far. The thought of returning to Grattarn without his clothes was not a pleasant thought. How his brothers would laugh about that. They’d be teasing him for the rest of his life.

Cold, your highness?

Killan yelped. He had not heard anyone enter the cave and with no light by which to see he could not tell from where the voice had come.

Cold, your highness? the voice asked again.

Was that a sneer in the tone at the use of his title? He wasn’t sure. He turned his head towards where he thought the speaker was standing, but try as he might he could see nothing.

Who are you? He tried to sound firm; princely. Where am I? What do you mean to do with me? I should warn you that my father will not pay any ransom you demand. He does not bargain with bandits.

Not even for the life of his son? The voice was deep, obviously masculine; almost friendly but with a hint of menace.

Not even then.

Killan secretly hoped he was wrong but his father had spoken often and at length of the dangers of bargaining with kidnappers. It set a dangerous precedent. But it was one thing to say he would not pay if a child of his was abducted and quite another to follow through. Eldred had never yet faced this reality. He’d been so careful to ensure that his sons be careful.

Killan chastised himself bitterly. Now he had put his father in the position of having to choose; go against his own policy and pay or stand firm and risk having his child being delivered dead to his doorstep.

Killan hoped his father would pay, that he’d come and save him, but he was not certain he would.

How is your father? the voice asked. Is old Eldred well?

He…he’s fine, Killan replied, confused at the question. Did this man know his father? He spoke as though he did.

Good King Eldred. There was a definite sneer in the tone this time. Such a good man; a good king. So wise and gracious. At least to those who obey him without question.

Killan frowned but kept silent. There was hatred in the speaker’s voice now. Whoever this man was he hated Eldred, and he was Eldred’s son. He swallowed, thinking he might have more to worry about than whether his ransom would or would not be paid.

A good man; a good king, the voice was softer. Is he a good father too? Does he love you very much, your highness?

Killan remained silent.

Eldred loved him very much. He loved all his sons, in different ways, but as the youngest Killan occupied a special place in his heart.

Rafa, being the eldest and the heir apparent, was loved because he was the first and because he was the strongest and the bravest of Eldred’s sons. He was a tall man, imposingly so, but had a careful way about him. Being so big and muscular he could have hurt others easily, without even meaning to, but he was cautious in his movements, made sure he never lashed out in anger. Those who walked at his side did not fear him because they knew he would use his strength only to protect them. When Alick had scared Killan with his stories it was to Rafa Killan had gone for comfort. He saw Rafa as a god, but not the mean and vengeful sort. He was the protective one; the one whose arms comforted not crushed.

Murrand was the second son; a stark contrast to Rafa. He was lean and bookish; a man of learning. He loved words and numbers. He liked order and neatness. He liked control. He did not go carousing like the other men. He viewed drunkards with disdain and those who used women he looked at with contempt. He was a gentleman who believed truly that manners maketh the man. Murrand was not an emotional man. Killan would never have gone to him for a hug but he was the man to go to for unvarnished advice. Some people thought him cold; unfeeling, but Killan knew better.

When he was eight years old Killan had been very ill. Eldred and Rafa had been out of the country at the time and it was Murrand who had overseen Killan’s treatment and he had sat by his bed throughout. He claimed it was because he didn’t trust the healers (barbaric shamans most of them, he’d said; with their leeches and bloodletting) but Killan had seen the concern in his brother’s eyes.

After Murrand came Yani and Sethan. They were twins who preferred their own company to the rest of their brothers. They were the children of Eldred’s second wife; his first having died after contracting the Purple Pox when Murrand was only four years old.

Renka, Edan and Alick came next; sons of Eldred’s third wife. Renka was utterly fascinated with swordsmanship, eschewing every other activity in favour of honing his skill to a deadly art. Edan was an artist, loving to paint and play the lute. Alick loved everything and anything. He was one of those most annoying individuals who was good at everything and hardly seemed to need much practise to be so. He was the son who got into trouble, who liked to pick fights and chase girls, but he was good natured, never malicious in his pursuits.

Killan was the last son; the child of Eldred’s fourth wife, his favourite wife, Alicita.

She had been very young on her marriage to Eldred, not even seventeen when they wed. She had been a slender, fragile-looking doll of a woman. Eldred had been almost afraid to take her into his bed, fearful that he would crush her like a sparrow. She had been a quiet woman, painfully shy. She’d feared Eldred’s sons from his previous marriages. Rafa and Murrand were older than her and had towered over her like giants. They in turn had not known what to make of this…child who had become their new mother. They had been at first awkward in her presence. They had become slowly accustomed to her, deciding to treat her with the deference shown to a sister rather than a mother, and had become quite protective of her towards the end.

The populace of Grattarn had taken longer to warm to her. Her raven hair put them in mind of the gypsies who camped along the southern border; the gypsies who were tolerated only because their king commanded it. Each of Eldred’s previous wives had been of the more favoured blond-haired type and they’d been more vocal and animated towards their supporters.

Alicita had shrunk from crowds. She’d had no flair for public speaking, paled and stuttered if asked for her opinion on things she knew nothing about, but where she had shone had been in her treatment of the sick.

Alicita’s own family had been decimated by the Purple Pox, which struck rich and poor alike. She had been moved to pity by the plight of anyone suffering an illness. She had visited the hospitals, never minding or seeming to notice when her fine shoes were stained with blood. She’d held disease-riddled hands and administered to the sick herself. She’d strode through hospital corridors, all shyness evaporated, behaving like a true queen, demanding answers of the doctors, commanding that better treatment be given.

Alicita had been no stranger to illness herself. She’d been a sickly child, only surviving because her family’s doctor had been a stubborn man who’d refused to give up on her. After marrying Eldred she’d suffered four miscarriages; two before Killan’s birth and two after. It had been the fourth miscarriage that had ended her life and Eldred had wept for her as he had never wept for his other wives.

It was not that he hadn’t loved them. He had. It was just that Leena, Razzia and Safina had all seemed so full of life and had lived every day to its fullest; their lives had been so plentiful. Alicita’s life had been so short and painful