Bought

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Rafe followed Jim across the night-dark lawn heading on a bee-line for the building sitting away from all the others; the building that now housed Blair and the new nursery. Jim's posture was tight, stiff, his manner tense, even the bristle cut of his hair seemed to gleam ever sharper in the moonlight.



And Rafe couldn't blame him, couldn't grudge him his upset. He was on his way to tell Blair the plans. Plans Blair was not going to be happy about. Plans Rafe disagreed with. Plans to breed the Guide.



The two Sentinels reached the heavy entrance door, finding another tall, straight backed Guardian inside, quiet and alert, moving like a ghost in the shadows to intercept them, intimidating, quiet as death if they had not been welcome here, the big man would have made short work of both. Jim held up his hand. The man paused, regarding them with narrowed eyes as he sniffed them, prowling close. A second man was as quickly there, looming behind them. A beat, two, and then as if the Guardians had picked up some hidden signal or sign, they both stepped back, and Jim and Brian were free to pass.



Rafe inched past, happy to see that neither man was the massive Captain Rathe. But both men still looked him over with interest, eyes covering him head to toe, chins lifting and falling in little sniffing motions. He shivered, but made it past without being touched, sticking close to Jim's back.



Jim stopped, turned to Rafe, putting a hand in the center of the shorter Sentinel's chest. "You don't have to do this with me. I will go in alone if you wish to remain here." He said, an offer Rafe dearly wished he could take, he didn't want to do this, didn't want to tell Blair what was going to be done. But the pain hidden deep in Ellison's eyes made staying outside, letting Jim go in alone, an impossible choice. Brian shook his head.



"I'm going in." He said in return. Jim's hand slipped down to his bicep, gripped there, an unspoken thank you. "With you." Rafe added, wanting to say, with Blair, too. Knowing that would be pushing it he stayed silent, but kept Blair's name on the tip of his tongue. He waited for the verdict, and Jim nodded, once, jerkily, as if a marionette, moved by strings.



They went inside.



Blair was there standing silhouetted against the night glow of the moon, his profile visible through the gauzy veil. It took a moment before he realized he wasn't alone. He was outlined in silver light, the tail ends of his hair showing from under the veil, black in the unlit room. When he came to know he wasn't alone any longer, his hands rose up to his chest, one hand clenched the other partially raised, until he saw who it was. Then his head inclined back down, he looked at the floor, a faint color rising on his cheeks, Rafe dialling up sight to see the flush through the thin veil.



Blair smelled of shame, of fear. There was nothing Rafe wanted more than to be able to go to him, to hold him and comfort him. But he did what he had to, remained behind Jim and waited.



Jim moved closer.



Blair's eyes grew wider, his heart racing, speeding up with each step bringing his Sentinel nearer to him. His mouth was white, bloodless, his breathing, sharp rasps. Blair expected the worst, and Rafe wished he could beg his Senior to change his mind. To give the Guide any news but that which was coming to him.



"You're going to a Guide House, you will be bred." Jim said without preamble, forcing out the grim, clipped sentence. His anger and pain over Blair's betrayal still evident in his voice, as emotionless on the surface as it was twisted with grief down deep. After that, he had no more to say to his Guide. It was simple and to the point, he turned to leave, his jaw locked down tight against the hurt of it.



Rafe watched as Jim, usually the bravest of men, turned to flee.



The whimper of total despair that came out of Blair was otherworldly; he crumpled to the floor, his robes puddling around him, a new flood of salty tears running down his face, a stinging tang in the air. The sound, the scent together stopped Jim in his tracks, he stood trembling, quivering head to foot. Rafe felt his own body respond to the cry. Anguish. Every Sentinel sense each man had was focused, taut, aware of a Guide in distress. Their Guide.



Rafe couldn't move. Leaving the room and Blair in it was out of the question.



Jim tried to take another step closer to the door and the exit, his foot dragging with reluctance. Rafe watched him. Waited. Torn. Jim's head drooped, his body shook, his fist trembled against his side. He looked up, fast and filled with desperation, as his eyes met Brian's.



Rafe moved. Two steps and he was there, barely a millimeter between him and Jim. So close their scents mingled. So close he could feel the tremor in the cushion of air between them. They stood, not touching, nearly touching. Then Rafe, daring, let his hand brush over Jim's knuckles, and the knotted fist fell open. Their fingers wove together. Jim sagging against Brian. Rafe held him upright, put an arm around his Senior's shoulders.



"Please," Blair begged from behind Jim, his voice tiny, broken, "let me apologize. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Please don't go yet."



There was movement on the air currents behind Rafe; Jim raised his head, looked at the Guardian who came to stand in the door behind Rafe. The large Sentinel's nostrils dilated, checking out the confusion of scents now filling the room, restless, watching. Jim scowled, Guardians were Blair's constant companions since his Guide had begged Rathe for protection. Since Blair had not trusted Jim with his safety, his body. Since the discovery of the birth control pills.



"Leave us," Jim said to the Guardian's bright observant gaze, his voice had lost none of power despite the low volume, and now it held overwhelming anger. Anger at being seen like this. Anger at being watched. None of which affected the man who observed from the door, who didn't move away. Jim growled his frustration, then wrenched himself around, turning his back on the Guardian.



Brian's arm remained around his shoulders. Ignoring the eavesdropping Guardian, Jim looked at his Guide who sat on the mattress, curling his legs under himself, shaking, imploring, with every ounce of his heart. "Please? Please? I didn't mean to hurt you."



"Hurt me?" Softly spoken, words and emotion like arrows finding tender flesh, sinking fast, wounding. "You have dishonored me, betrayed me. Why should I listen to your apologies?" He raised a shaking finger pointed at the window and beyond it.



"Out there are the men who I will one day rule. You have made me look a love sick fool in their eyes." And that was part of the problem, but not the biggest part. Rafe knew Jim wouldn't voice the way he had felt, the slap in the face when he learned his Guide didn't trust him. Jim was too proud to say it. And Rafe, though he knew it to be true, couldn't reveal it.



"I just want you to know how sorry I am." Blair murmured from under his veil, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I only wanted to wait a few months more before becoming pregnant again. I never thought this...."



"You should have come to me. I am your Sentinel." Snapped, hard. There it was, the rush of anger, harsh and hard, vibrating in each word. Blair curled even tighter. "You trusted the doctor above me. Do you understand Guide? It was I you should have turned to, you should have trusted me!" Jim hissed the last. Before going silent, lips closing on even more painful words, wanting to lash out at the miserable crouched figure on the bed. Holding back those last, most terrible words.



Blair's voice broke as he spoke, it was a whisper, a gasp full of regret, "I didn't know I could." Another blow. Rafe inhaled, reared back from Blair's honesty. Oh, god, not the right thing to say at all. Truth or not.



Jim's stopped breathing mid breath. Time seemed to stop, frozen with a realization that stabbed his psyche. His mind spun. Was it possible? His Guide did not know he could trust his Sentinel? His mind raced over the time since Blair had come to live with him and Rafe. He remembered feeding Blair the peach and the pears, bathing him, wiping his brow during labor, tending to the babies since then. Loving them. Protecting them. Leaving Rafe with Blair, rather than keeping his Junior at his side, to be sure all the Guide's needs were met.



Yet even with the care he'd taken, Blair didn't believe in him. Didn't trust him. Doubted him. Never loved him.



"It changes nothing, what more could I have done to convince you?" Jim said, but this time his voice was less harsh, though more pain filled. "What's done is done. Tomorrow you leave for the Guide House and you will stay until you are impregnated." Once more the Sentinel turned on stilted, stiff legs to leave the room. Once more he was stopped.



This time by Blair's low howl of hopeless despair. His hand, bare, outstretched, the lush, bright green of his robe falling away from the wrist, the vibrant color so at odds with the stark despair of his bent fingers, digging onto his palm, his hand thumping onto the bed. "No." Begging.



Jim was on his knees and next to Blair in the blink of an eye, meeting Rafe there, Rafe no more able to ignore that call of distress than the alpha Sentinel. Jim pulled Blair into his arms. Holding him, rocking him, only a half second faster than Rafe who added to the embrace, his own two arms.



"Blair." Jim said. "Guide, Guide. Oh, god. No, don't." He seized Blair held him fiercely tight. "Damn it. No. Let me do this. Let me."



He jerked back the veil with an exclamation of impatience. His cheek pressed to the Guide's wet cheek. Then to his mouth. Kissing him, hungry. Breaking away, his words spoken against Blair's cheek, tasting bitter tears on his tongue. "I....it has to be done. It is the only way. It will be done." He kissed Blair again. Hard, hurting, needing. Shaking. Rafe's arms engulfed him, not enough.



Rafe rocked them all. He would have given anything to go back one month. To start again, knowing what he knew now. To talk to Blair, let him know he wasn't alone. To find an alternative to this. He swallowed hard against the squeeze of tears spasming his throat. Too late.



Jim's arm shot out, met Rafe's wrist, pushed him gently out of the way. Rafe loosed his hold, backed away, found a spot next to the mattress and knelt. Jim, hardly paying attention, gave all his attention to Blair, lowering the Guide down, onto his back.



Jim held the small body. He kissed Blair's forehead. Licked his cheek. His arms not giving way. He tugged the veil all the way off, parted the front of Blair's robe so the bindings were revealed, white and startling against olive skin, the much softer colors in the room. An extended claw took care of the wrapped cloth, it fell away.



Jim's hand was filled with the soft roundness of a breast, the warmth and dampness, against him, the dark nipple, plump and impossible to resist. The scent of the milk once again pure, the smell of the artificial hormones gone. Jim lowered his face to Blair's chest. His mouth found the nipple, the closest, latched on, licked, suckled and savored it, as Blair arched into the nuzzling, drinking touch.



At that act, the Guardian in the doorway left, vanishing back out of sight into the dark hall. Giving them what privacy he could as the rest of Blair's robe was taken away, leaving him naked in the dim room with Jim over him, hands searching, finding Blair wet, ready, fingers petting into wetness.



A lift of hips, widening of thighs, a slide of flesh. Jim entered him and Blair let out a moan. It was deep. Blair's body wanted it. Curved up to accept it, feet hooking over the small of the Sentinel's back, digging in. Jim let out a groan, picked up Blair's hips, cupping them in strong hands, tilting him, drawing him even closer, going in, deeper, hotter.



"Guide." Jim thrust. "Guide. Guide, guide...." On and on. His tongue on Blair's mouth, in it. Licking.



Rafe crept up, lay on the bed beside them, pressing himself against the length of the Guide and the Sentinel buried inside the Guide. He purred soothing sounds for both his Senior and his Guide. He took one of Blair's hands and lifted it to his mouth. Kissing the fingers, licking the sensitive fingertips and then sucking them into his mouth. Trying with each lick, each stroke, and each purr to let the Guide know he was vital, loved, revered, desired.



On and on. Then the climax. Jim crying out. Blair even wetter, drenched, limp, clinging. Praying.



If there was a god, goddess, anyone, anything, please, Blair prayed. He closed his eyes tight and prayed.



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Rathe moved closer to the prey he was stalking. He could see the outline of a figure against the starred sky as he approached, a man sitting on the low stone wall. He sniffed. Dialled in sight. Let the scent flow into his mouth, over his tongue and down his throat, into his lungs.



Sentinel. Young. Unarmed. Fresh. Smelled so damn good. Rathe straightened to his full height, stepping into the light. The young man didn't move, he stayed as he was, his face lifted slightly as if he were gazing at the silvered disk of the moon hanging low in the sky.



Rathe stepped closer. No reaction. Not even when he moved up right next to the youth and reached out. His hand settled on the slightly bony shoulder. Squeezed. Nothing. Barely breathing. Slow, slow heartbeat. Skin too cool.



Rathe shook his head. Silly Sentinels, nature made them too highly tuned for their own good, falling into their senses, their greatest strength also their greatest weakness. He tapped a thick knuckle against the young man's jaw. Nothing.



Zoned. The kid was zoned. Another Sentinel without a Guide, one who needed one pretty badly. Very young. Delicious scent, alluring, sweet. How could he be unpaired? Unclaimed, unprotected from the zone by the strength and discipline of an alpha Sentinel?



Rathe sniffed again, his nose riding right up against the moist skin of the slender neck. He flicked out his tongue and tasted. MMMmmmmm. Then he bit down.



The scream blasted against his eardrums, but he smiled anyway. Best way to get a Sentinel out of a zone. Bite him. The young man, now awake and aware, skittered backwards frantically on all fours, across wet grass and wetter mud.



"Who the hell are you?" It was a shriek, the bright grey eyes were wide and panicked, the thick swathe of amber brown hair falling into the fascinating eyes before being tossed back to clear sight.



"Who do you think I am?" Rathe asked seating himself on the wall, intent on making himself far less of a threat in the boy's eyes. It worked. The young Sentinel stopped scooting backwards. He sat, tense. Then he must have felt something, he looked down, grimaced and gained his feet. He examined the muddied bottom of his jeans.



"Great." He wiped his palms against the now soiled jeans. "That wasn't funny, you know. Biting me. Why did you do it?" It was close to a scolding tone. Rathe's brows shot up towards his hairline. Not many people talked like that to a Guardian. He wondered if it were courage or stupidity. He admired the first, deplored the second.



"You were in a zone." He answered the query patiently, his deep voice as quiet and neutral as he could make it. He stole another little whuff of scent, savored it, before dialling smell down very low. He looked at the boy, evaluated him. There was an irresistible pull to this one.



"I was not. I've never zoned. Not once." The tone was supremely offended and disbelieving. The full mouth pressed into a flat line.



"You did this time." Rathe assured him. The kid looked shocked.



"But, how? Why? Even the instructors couldn't make me zone in school." He exclaimed. Rathe shrugged, of course they couldn't. The youth looked unhappy, as if he'd expected Rathe to share the answer.



"You have graduated from your program?" Rathe asked a minute later. Perhaps the boy was more man than child if that was the case. If so, he could dial his sense of smell back up without the least sense of guilt and enjoy the toe curling-ly sweet scent of him.



"Yes." Defiantly. "I am not a kid or something. I'm twenty years old," he said. Indignant. Rathe felt pleasure bloom in his chest. Not a kid. So. That was good if it were true. But still, he needed to be careful, cautious. Alert.



"I am glad to hear that. Do you have an alpha?" He got right to the point. He'd love to know if he had a rival around. Not that a rival would take much time to eliminate. Rathe would eliminate him, for this prize.



"No. That is why I am here. Mom thought I'd never find one at home, so she and Auntie Beth sent me here, to find one." He tugged at his

forelock, pushed it up and away from his face with long, slender fingers. Not a bad face. Not beautiful, but fine, a face to grow into, someday this one would be a handsome man. Now, it was the eyes that stuck in Rathe's mind. And the heavy, silken hair, with the puff of scent released each time it was handled, or flicked out of his eyes.



The surge of possessiveness was instantaneous when the boy talked of alphas. Rathe bared his fangs, felt the creaking extension of his claws. The Sentinel was his. His.



"Oh." Surprised, the boy insanely stepped forward not back, his eyes were fastened on the much longer than normal length of Rathe's fangs. At least double any common Sentinel's. "You aren't like the rest....your teeth are, jeez, I've never seen teeth that fucking long. What are you?"



Rathe frowned at the profanity, disapproved, but let it go.



"Who are you promised to?" Rathe managed to growl, asking the important question. The words understandable but barely. He ignored the boy's question.



"No one! Not yet." The young man exclaimed, defensively, then mumbled. "Alphas...they don't always like me. Or they like me too much. Mom thought...." He bit his lip and Rathe's heart sped up. "It isn't my fault."



Rathe's snarl interrupted again, his eyes taking on an unholy glow. "They've touched you? Are you pure?" He asked, getting to his feet, towering. Prowling closer. The huge grey eyes were staring up at him. Astonished at his size.



"Oh my God. You...you...what are you?" Breathed the boy. "I've never seen..."



"Pure?" Rathe asked again, guttural, deep.



"Wha...no! I mean yes. It's all I have. I'm not rich. But I am...uh...you know. Pure." His skin shone with his blush. A potent bargaining chip for a poor boy, certainly. But pure or not, Rathe wanted him. Would have him.



Rathe slowed his motion forward, forced the rage down and away. His face went to neutral, or as close as he could get. The young Sentinel was playing havoc with his control. He wanted to get closer. To push right up against that lanky, coltish body and stroke his hands over all of it. Every precious inch, in his grasp. Safe. His.



"Never been away from home." Rathe said when he could form the words, inching closer. So innocent. The young man was rooted to the spot, still staring, making no attempt to escape.



Then he blinked and his own eyes took on a glare, his hands planted themselves on his hips. "Hey! I have too been away from home. I went to school."



"A mile from your childhood home." Rathe guessed his voice warm and

rich as melted butter.



"No!" The Sentinel protested. Then ducking his head. "Ten miles." He muttered.



Rathe couldn't help it. He threw back his head and laughed.



"Hey! It's not that funny! Anyway, I'm here and I'm going to find an alpha. Cousin Rafe is going to help me." He looked determined and oh so young. Naive.



"No." Rathe said, thinking it made such sense that Rafe was this one's kin. "No alpha." He wouldn't allow it.



"What's that supposed to mean? I have to! I can do it. Sometimes they follow me. Right down the street." He lifted his chin. "Some of them want me. Not all of them hate me." His voice quavered for a second before steadying.



"No." Rathe repeated, not bothering to moderate the growl that emerged. "They are not for you." No more pandering to the all mighty alphas. They had done enough harm. They would not take this one from where he truly belonged.



"You don't get it. I ~have~ to. My family needs me to. Rafe helps out, but he can't do it all. I have to do my part, too." There was a note of fatalism mixed with rising anxiety, agitation. No different than a thousand young Sentinels each year, to help his family, he would sell himself to the wealthiest alpha he could find.



Rathe growled louder. No.



"You don't want to." He watched as Blue failed to suppress his shudder. A grim satisfaction filled him. "Do you want to know why? I know why."



The grey eyes raised. The thin face turned up. "Why?" There was pain and uncertainty in the question. As if it wasn't the first time he'd wondered, needed to know if the awful lack was in himself.



"Because, you already belong elsewhere. You were born for other

things. Not for a common Sentinel." Rathe made a shooing motion with

his hand as if he were flicking something off his fingertips. "Think.

When they touch you, how does it make you feel?"



Rathe could see the wave of revulsion as it washed over the young man

head to foot. He could sense the skin prickling, hair standing on end.



The grimace wasn't possible to miss. He smelled the whiff of acrid

sweat as the boy remembered grasping hands. Rathe bit down on his own

tongue to keep from asking again, if there was a Sentinel out there

who needed to be tracked down and punished for taking too many

liberties. The young man had denied rape. Rathe had to accept his

word.



"You see." Rathe said, instead. "You aren't for them." He took another step forward, now he could reach out and put his hands on those bony shoulders, shoulders that still needed growing into, but promised to be wide and strong when the growing was done. He gentled his touch, made it careful, welcoming. Transmitting to the youth that he belonged.



"What is your name?" Rathe asked.



"Caleb Ezekiel Henny. My family calls me Blue."



"Blue." Rathe rolled it over his tongue, liked it. "I am Captain Michael Rathe. Of the Sentinel/Guide Protectorate."



Much smaller hands shot up, hovered, then floated down to rest on

Rathe's chest. Not pushing him away. A good beginning. But...Rathe

went down on one knee, putting himself down to the other's level.



"They will not have you." He said. "You are mine."



The young man nodded. "Yes," he said.



Ne'ichan and Joan Z