A Time For Always

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

      There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven:
      A time to give birth, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to uproot what is planted.
      A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to tear down, and a time to build up.
      A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance.
      A time to throw stones, and a time to gather stones; A time to embrace, and a time to shun embracing.
      A time to search, and a time to give up as lost; A time to keep, and a time to throw away.
      A time to tear apart, and a time to sew together; A time to be silent, and a time to speak.
      A time to love, and a time to hate; A time for war, and a time for peace.


     

Chapter 1

      "Come on, Kila. It's only one month," sharm lord Diomid Ivanovich Azov tried to convince her not to break this month's appointment as well. Last month Kila had snuck off on him before he could deliver her up for her testing transfer with Lord Karola. The shame of his failure still burned at him like a goad. He didn't have time for this. His body was aching with the selyn it had horded for months now. Impersonal transfers were nothing compared to his first. If he didn't get a real transfer soon, he'd go hide under a rock till he died!
      "Don't you want me?" lord Kila Azov's hazel eyes fluttered as her tentacles reached out towards him.
      Diomid had wanted her last month as well and the memory of her betrayal to propriety stung him hard enough to be able to deny her temptation. Even his mouth watering and his arms shivering with desire couldn't make him give in, no matter how much he wanted to.
      Sharm lords like himself had founded the Demense of Russia centuries ago as a place where they could indulge their need to rid their bodies of selyn with their Sime partners as virtual slaves and literal property. At times like these Diomid wondered if giving them even nominal freedom had been worth it. He would have much rather stuck Kila in a cage and beat her till she took him, but that was not civilized.
      "Get it over with. You have to do it either this month or next." His tongue brushed over his own need cracked lips. He wouldn't mind getting his field on Lord Karola. Kila lunged at him.
      The feel of hot Sime skin ripped straight through his conscious controls. Give! his body sang, as frantic as any of his barbaric ancestors. Diomid trembled beneath the onslaught while hardening his will to steel. Kila hissed, her face a mask of mindless desire.
      "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..." he tried to calm his own frantically throbbing pulse with thoughts of how good even an indirect transfer would feel. Unfortunately what caught in his mind was the one time he'd had a Sime lash their whipcord strong handling tentacles about his own forearms for personal transfer. The lords who'd taken his selyn in the intervening months had been kind, but their impersonal contact had only sharpened his memory of twining souls with lord Cyril.
      "You heartless Gen!" She broke into his reverie. "Avilan at least is a man." Kila smacked him again with her infidelity.
      Expecting a young lord, ruled by their laterals and not their brains to keep their promises was like expecting water to run uphill, but Diomid heartily wished Kila wouldn't keep rubbing his nose in how much she had enjoyed last month. Everyone had said his time would come eventually, even though his forearms burned with desire for eventually to be right now. "Come on, Kila. I'll walk you up," he offered her his arm, sternly reminding himself since he was the Gen, he had to do the thinking for both of them. Kila was not constructed to do any such thing at this time of the month, or any other time really. Beautiful Simes might be, smart they were not.
      Kila swept out of the room, her tentacles lashing about her wrists making Diomid's mouth water again in misplaced anticipation of a true transfer. Swallowing heavily and swearing under his breath, Diomid hooked his veil in place. Right now he was in no condition to be going out anywhere without shielding as much of his nager as possible from the fragile Simes he shared the great Demense of Azov with.
     
      Being near the same monthly schedule as Lord Karola was not helping Diomid keep his composure. His kador shielded him from the worst of her need, as well as shielding him from the embarrassment of splashing his own need all over the room, but he could taste roniplin on his tongue and his heart hammering under the strain of too much selyn in his body. Gens would die if they didn't manage to get rid of the selyn their bodies produced as wastes of their metabolism. Die rather messily, his less civilized instincts clamored in rude reminder. Diomid caught himself staring at the taut roniplin glands lying swollen at the base of her lateral sheathes and almost missed Karola's next words.
      "I had hoped to be able to draw you down to give to Kila," her violet eyes were intense as he tried to gather his scattered wits. His attempt to overlay his field with a sense of apology must have failed horribly; her eyes widened perceptibly. "If you could give me some help." Sudden hope made his field ring before he could stop it. Karola laid her hand on Arkay's bare wrist below his bracelets. A blush burned beneath his veil and heated his ears. Her request for help wasn't from him. He'd have tried!
      "Sorry," he whispered as he got himself back under control. Arkay raised a heavy eyebrow at him. This was even worse. Would you quit? He pulled at his field to try to draw it all inside his robes. They were far too light, but Diomid had never had the cash to buy any better. He was still trying to pay back Azov for the years he'd spent as a dependant. In only two more months he'd have paid off his initial debt and be able to start saving. He hoped to eventually be able to get a good horse and learn to ride.
      "What do you mean?" Kila grimaced, looking back and forth between Karola and Arkay. She leaned even further away from Arkay. She touched Diomid and flinched away from him too. Her glare made his skin burn.
      The two leaders of Azov looked at each other when Diomid sighed, "I'm sorry Kila is being so difficult. I should have brought her up sooner and ready for you, my Lords." He approximated the formal curtsey of a fully trained sharm lord to their leige. The trailing ends of his field reached out for the two far too enticing Simes, and he grabbed at it in desperation. Kila skittered again and he brushed his field along hers, trying to settle her.
      With a snarl she turned on him and Diomid was shocked to hear the loud ring of Arkay's bracelets. That must have hurt, her laterals had flicked across Diomid's wrist bones. He could feel the wet traces caress his overheated skin and they burned like dry ice on his moistened skin. With a tight whimper Kila drew her arms to her chest and glared at Diomid as though he had hurt her. "Enough, little lord," Arkay's voice was rough and sounded rather weary. "Diomid is only doing his best. Behave yourself."
      "I am so sorry, my Lord Arkay." he cautiously looked into the Sharm Lord's eyes. They only held a quiet sympathy, not the scorn he had so greatly feared.
      "You've said so already, repeatedly," Arkay's ice blue eyes lighted in a silent grin. "That little one hasn't done more than be rude, which is certainly not your fault."
      Diomid felt as if it were and ducked his head, not incidentally letting his hood slip down to conceal even more of his unwieldy field. It was his fault. If he could keep his shenned field under control, Kila would behave herself.
      "It is!" Kila protested. "He can't do anything right," her accuracy made Diomid want to hide under a chair. He wished he could vanish into one of the heavy tapestries lining the walls, but his shabby kador would look decidedly out of place amidst the finery of his leige Lords.
      "If I had better control, she wouldn't be so excitable. I am sor ..."
      "Hush, Diomid," Karola released Arkay's wrist and came over to him. Looking up into her eyes, every nerve in his body ached with wanting her. Diomid quickly grabbed his own elbows within the sleeves of his kador to keep from reaching out to Karola. Her violet eyes seemed to draw on his, making him dizzy with denied desire. What would it feel like to be taken by such a one as her? For a moment he envied both Sharm Lords Azov with a depth he could have never dreamed.
      "Why are you paying so much attention to him?" Kila whined, making Diomid's ears ache. He hated it when she whined. "I'm the one in need."
      Karola flipped her hair back over her shoulder and glared down her nose at Kila. "If you would, Arkay, I would like to get a chance to zlin who we have here and she," Karola flipped a tentacle negligently at Kila, "is likely to get excited if I undress Diomid in front of her." The gesture had caught his eye and he found himself staring at her arms behind the fringe of metal bangles guarding the gap between his hood and veil.
      Then her words sank in, "It isn't necessary, my Lord." Keep your mind on her voice, not her wrists, stupid. Diomid thought of the state of his rather shabby underclothes. His sharm mother had always warned him about the possibility he might have to take off his kador in an emergency, but he hadn't really listened. Not that he'd been able to think this morning. All he'd known was cloying heat choking his body.
      "Oh, he's good enough," Kila's simpering annoyed Diomid even more, but he couldn't take his attention off the dark hair seeming to outline and highlight every curve of Karola's tentacle sheathes. At the edge of his awareness, Diomid felt a dark mist tease at the heat threatening his existence.
      "Diomid?" Karola's questioning tone brought him out of his distraction. He shook his head, making his hood jangle and reminding him of his place. Perhaps the first thing he'd save up for would be a night with a compliant lord. He couldn't learn to ride if he died of after all.
      "Enough, Kila," Arkay came around this desk with the most amazing grace Diomid had ever seen in any Sharm Lord. The quick movements of Simes were mechanical and awkward compared to the smooth motion of a physically adept Gen, and Sharm Lords were the most adept of all. Diomid looked over to see Kila tremble, as if her muscles had been locked in amber. "Now, are you going to keep fighting or are you going to behave?"
      "Just let me get my testing transfer and then you two can do anything you want with him," she said the last word with a sneer. Diomid shrank away within the heavy metal woven cloth of his kador, grateful he was not in the purely decorative kador of a Sharm Lord. His own was to protect nearby Simes from his nager, theirs was to display their strength and warn off any Sime who might think of threatening them. They had the absolute right to kill any they felt to be a threat, Diomid'd earned no such status.
      Not that he had any desire to kill a Sime. What a disgusting thought. Even though Kila had tempted him a few times.
      The few glass beads on Kila's tunic glittered in the bright lights overhead and Diomid realized she was quivering. Poor little one, his pity for her terror overrode his sense "Please, don't hurt her, my Lord. It isn't Kila's fault she's so nervy." he sighed. "I really ..."
      "Hush, Diomid," Karola brushed her hand across his arm. Even through the shielding her contact his knees turned to water and he ached to beg her to take him. A tight whimper managed to escape his clenched teeth. "When was the last time you had a good transfer, little one?"
      Kila answered, flipping her hair out of her eyes, "Last month, of course." Diomid felt cold breeze brush the cents of exposed skin around his eyes.
      "Don't get coy with me, lord Kila." Arkay growled over Kila's gasp. "I am not Avilan. I believe Karola was talking with Diomid and not you."
      "It isn't critical, my Lord Arkay." Diomid tried to pull himself together as his knees threatened to give out at any moment. His belly muscles were trembling with nerves. "I'll be waiting outside," he turned to go. If he didn't get away from the overcharged environment, he'd never get himself settled enough to be content with an impersonal transfer.
      "No you don't!" Karola said grabbing the back of his kador. Her hand near the back of his neck did override his control.
      With a small involuntary cry Diomid collapsed to his knees. "Please," he whimpered, putting his face in his hands before he realized what he was doing.
      "One transfer, four months ago, this should have been his fifth if he were Sime." Karola said gently.
      "One?" Arkay asked. "All the others have been secondaries?"
      "Look at me, little one," Karola's hand was irresistible as she knelt in front of him and let her tentacles caress his cheek under his veil.
      "Yes, my Lords," his voice cracked. His mouth watered and he had to lick his lips again before he wet her questing tentacle with his incontinence.
      Kila snickered and he shivered at her gibe about his immaturity. He was mature enough to need and Gods but it hurt.
      "I think I will take care of young lord Kila right now." Karola got to her feet with a rush. Diomid's back refused to hold him upright and he slumped over his own knees.
      "Twenty, would you say?" Karola asked.
      "Nineteen, now, but about that," Arkay corrected.
      "I don't quite have enough without stripping Diomid," she said and he forced himself to look at her hopefully. Right now he'd give anything to rid himself of the selyn choking his nerves. "No little one, not this month." He bowed his head, disappointed.
      His heart hammered in his chest as if he were already burning up with selyn and not simply letting a little need get to him. "But there isn't anyone for me except Kila." He'd live, he had to. Other sharm lords coped, so could he.
      "What about Dimitri or Kantiran?" Good enough, Diomid struggled to accept her offer. His tongue seemed numb and unresponsive.
      Kila laughed nastily, "Diomid doesn't like boys. Let me have him and none will be the wiser," she tried to wheedle out of her obligation. He could not let her do it again and struggled to return to his feet. His kador bound his weakened body to the floor.
      "If you have been at all civilized I might have said yes," Karola snarled. "As it is, I think not. We will find someone for young Diomid."
      "Kila is plenty," Diomid clenched his hands till his knuckles turned white. He didn't want anyone to think he was greedy for more than he deserved. If he'd accepted Dimitri or Kantrian they would have been too much. He didn't need a twenty or twenty one. He could more than get by with an eighteen. Oh hell, right now he'd take a renSime!
      "No she isn't lad, you are about twenty one or twenty two right now. If you haven't been stunted you'll probably hit at least twenty four, possibly five," Arkay said gently. "In another month or two you would have had to move on."
      "Or not," Kila flipped her hair back again. "There aren't a whole lot of young women in the sharm right now," she preened and he focused on the worn slick front of his plain kador. A few metallic threads had come unwoven and poked through the wool. "Two of them are only interested in each other," her snort made her disgust plain. "I am the best one for Diomid, if he ever grows up," her scorn of his inadequacies cut like scalpels.
      "How short are you?" Arkay asked, biting out the words over his obvious fury. Even Diomid could tell Arkay was about to wring Kila's neck.
      "About one hundred and sixty cents," he muttered. Couldn't Arkay see that?
      "About two," Karola grimaced, glaring at the young woman as well. Oh, they're talking about Kila, Diomid let his hood cover his burning face.
      "Good enough," Arkay snarled in the blackest anger Diomid had ever heard in his life. He looked up to see the older Sharm Lord's face was suffused with red and his eyes were the color of winter's ice. Now he know why Arkay was considered the most dangerous Sharm Lord in Russia. To short a lord by almost a tenth of their normal transfer was to put them through absolute hell for a month. "No you don't, you little bitch," he shook the young woman to break her concentration. "You are not going to do a shunt off me."
      Diomid's heart ached to see Kila so mistreated. "Please, don't do this to her," he begged.
      "Listen to him," Kila whined again.
      A loud crack echoed in the room as Arkay slapped her across the face. "You little cunt. First you degrade him, then you try to use him."
      "It isn't that bad, my Lord Arkay." he got to his feet with a heavy lurch and straightened out his kador selfconciously. The red hand print on Kila's face was startling against her pale skin and Diomid wanted to smooth it away. "She doesn't deserve to be knocked around."
      "Neither do you," he heard Avilan's soft voice from behind Aghast at having this all come out with, now, all three of the leaders of Azov present, Diomid shook his head no and nearly fell again. The room spun as he concentrated on staying upright. "She has never hit me." Diomid carefully hid his hands within his sleeves.
      "There are more ways of abusing someone than hitting them with their fists, Diomid," Avilan insisted. For Diomid's ears only he added, "I am sorry about last month, little one."
      "I never hit him, even nagerically." Kila snarled. "Besides, he likes it. Embarrassed beyond words, Diomid couldn't say a thing to her far too true accusation. Avilan's hand was gentle on his shoulder, but still Avilan made Diomid face him. Diomid couldn't meet Avilan's eyes for any reason at all and stared at the older man's feet. When he noticed Avilan's boots were missing and he was only wearing socks with a hole in the toe, however, he looked up through his lashes. "That's better, my lad." Avilan shared a private grin with him.
      "Now, before Kila manages to dig herself in any deeper, this is my judgement," Avilan nodded to Diomid to look at Kila and he turned back to do so. Although Avilan's arms sliding around him made him feel quite odd at being so intimate with his liege lord. "She will be shorted by three days and sent to Sergei for evaluation and possible treatment for mental instability."
      "NO!" Kila protested. "You can't do this to me," she stomped her foot. "It's all his fault."
     

Chapter 2

      As soon as the Lords of Azov got Kila sent off, against her voluble protests they all turned their attention to Diomid. He looked up at all three of them nervously. "What ... ?" his voice cracked again, making him stop. No one snickered and he looked at them through the fringe of metal baubles on his lowered hood. "What now?" He managed to get out all in one range.
      "Well," Karola looked at him pointedly before he refocused his attention elaborately parqueted wooden floor. Avilan wiggled his bare toe, making a giggle flutter against his diaphragm. "I think the best place to do an examination might well be where we can all get comfortable. Come along."
      With wide eyes, Diomid followed the three of them up to their private suite. Feeling like the tail end dragging along behind his leaders in all their splendor, he hung back, hoping they would forget his presence. He looked down the hall when they reached the Azov suite. The guards seemed to look over his head with even more deliberation than most.
      The renSime guards had always made Diomid nervous. Their dedication in a harsh position, that of sometimes having to face unrobed Gens, unlike any other renSime, was fantastic. If he were renSime, forbidden by tradition and sense to ever touch the opposite larity, Diomid knew he'd have gone mad in months. Most renSimes never zlinned a Gen other than the great Sharm Lords, who certainly could never be temptation, as renSimes feared the Sharm Lords more than any other force on earth. A Sharm Lord, if they wished, could kill a renSime on pure whim with no explanation ever required of them.
      A yelp escaped him when Avilan neatly grabbed him by the collar and dragged him inside, breaking into his wild musings.
      "What happened to your smooth tongue, my lad?" Karola asked with a grin as she gestured for him to take a seat.
      Gingerly he sat on the edge of one of the overstuffed green chairs. "I think a bit overwhelmed by everyone's treatment of Kila," he said, trying to come up with some way to excuse himself politely and find a lord to take his field down. Perhaps while lord Cyril would not be available for personal transfer, he could be bribed into a hard strip. He'd been kind enough for Diomid's first.
      Arkay sniffed, "Good riddance. I used to weed those out on a regular basis. There are too few Sharm Lord candidates to have one ruined by a spoiled little lord."
      "ME!" Diomid squawked and sat bolt upright. "No, no, not me," it was warm in the room and getting warmer by the minute as Avilan put more wood on the fire. "I'm just another sharm lord, my Lord Arkay."
      Tipping his head curiously, Arkay asked, "Why do you say that?" He looked like a great gyrfalcon eyeing a tasty haunch of rabbit. Diomid was not entirely sure of exactly what Arkay was zlinning for.
      "I'm no one special, my Lord," he saw his own bare hands and drew them back into the sleeves of his kador. They must have splashed poor Karola with his unruly nager badly enough without him compounding their error. Sweat sprang out on his forehead. With wide astonished eyes he watched Avilan shrug out of his robes and toss them across the back of a chair. Diomid would have never thought to treat clothes like that, particularly the beautiful Sharm Lord's kador Avilan had been wearing. While his own might be threadbare and shabby, he did treat it better.
      Arkay followed Avilan's example though, despite Karola's weary sigh, "Don't you two ever hang anything up?"
      "About as often as you do, my love." Avilan said lightly, returning to what was obviously his chair, from the familiar way he picked up the embroidery lying on a table next to it.
      By this time, Diomid was sweating as if it were high summer despite the meters deep snow outside. "What can I do for you, my Lords?" He really wanted to go some place cooler, preferably someplace with an available lord, but at least they were no longer standing over him.
      Karola's ringing laugh startled him and he stared at her, "You are the most stubborn young man I've zlinned in a while."
      "My Lord?" he resisted the impulse to wipe the sweat from his forehead and settled for trying to get something like a draft of fresh air under his veil.
      "Get comfortable, you silly goose," Arkay told him.
      "I don't want to do anything untoward, my Lords," he looked around with his eyes only. He didn't want to be zlinned gaping like the youth he was. Diomid found focusing on the beautifully woven tapestry showing the wheat sheave and shears of Azov on the wall kept him from disgracing himself too badly.
      "You won't, Diomid." Karola voice was soft and he realized she was looking at him. "Now I know what's wrong, I can keep from pulling at you."
      "You don't have to do that," he protested. "I'll be fine. I don't have to have a transfer. I'll get by for another month. Just let me give you a secondary and get out of your way." Diomid flinched at the realization he'd overstepped his bounds horribly. She had two Sharm Lords to be jealous of her affections. Two Sharm Lords who could pound Diomid into the floor like a tent peg.
      "Diomid, you idiot," Arkay laughed. "Don't you know anything about women or Simes?"
      "Some about the latter, almost as little about the former." he was glad his veil hid his blushes. Although he did feel like a right idiot at the moment. All he wanted was to get out of here and get rid of his selyn, any way he could.
      "Quit teasing him Arkay," Karola knelt down in front of Diomid. Timidly he pulled his feet up under his kador to try to keep as much away from her as possible. "It's all right, Diomid. I won't hurt you."
      "Certainly, I would think not." Diomid tried to plead with her, "But I don't know I wouldn't hurt you." Any Gen could badly injure or kill a Sime. It was the way people were. Simes were so much more fragile than Gens they had to be protected, both from Gens and themselves or they'd do themselves grievous harm.
      "Oh you have a glib tongue, my lad." Karola laughed gently. "Please, for me, not as your Lord, would you let me zlin you better?"
      Rendered defenseless by her personal plea he shook his hood back and let his veil drop to the side. "Would you like more?" He asked timidly. The breath of cool air caressed his sweating face like balm from heaven.
      "Please," she stood and moved back slowly, as if not to spook him. What a strange thought. Her diffidence was flattering to his overstrained ego.
      With shaking hands, he stood and pulled his kador off. Concentrating on the motions, he folded it over his arm and stroked the heavy cloth, ignoring the prickle of metallic threads coming loose from their wool partners.
      "Here," Avilan offered to take it and let it out of his hands. Then he noticed the patches and holes in Avilan's clothes. Losing it under the stress and tension of being examined Diomid let loose an amused snort. Avilan shrugged, "No one but family and friends ever see my underclothes," but the wink he added cheered Diomid enormously.
      "Who would you recommend?" Karola turned to Avilan after making Diomid stand for so long he wondered if there was something wrong.
      "I don't know," he grimaced.
      "I don't mean to be any bother," Diomid protested, although he now realized he wasn't going anywhere without their express permission now that he had given up his kador. Without it he wouldn't be allowed anywhere.
      "Hush," Karola said and Diomid felt tiny pull as she released some of her control. He bit at his lower lip. "Sorry"
      "You don't have to apologize to me, my Lord," he tried to hide his hands and only succeeded in making her look at him speculatively. For a moment he imagined hot tentacles tightening around his wrists hard like they had his one real transfer and he gasped. "I'm sorry" he panted as he got himself back together, flailing around trying to get settled without being able to hide the way he was used to.
      Her tentacles flicked out towards him and the brief sight of the those most erotic of organs, a Sime's tentacles, undid him.
      "Here, little one." Arkay's hand was on his shoulder and the touch helped him rebalance.
      "Thank you," he whispered, trying not think about anything. His forearms itched as he clamped them to his trembling abdomen. Getting together his courage, "I'll be going as soon as you let me get dressed, if you would." He held out his hand for his robes.
      "Are you certain you won't accept a male?" Arkay's voice turned the question cheerful by its tone.
      "I don't know," Diomid shook his head. "For my first time, I think, well ... " Even though right now he'd do nearly anything to get a Sime to touch him. But if he had any choice in the matter, he'd really rather a woman. Maybe if they were good enough, he could even manage after another secondary. His curiosity about what had gotten Kila so pleased last month was eating him alive. He had no idea if it would even be close if he were the same gender as his partner.
      "Ah, Kila wouldn't let you?" Avilan frowned forbiddingly.
      "No, I mean she," Diomid wanted to floor to open up and swallow him whole, "I mean I couldn't, well, not with a secondary from ... " The absolute humiliation was more than he could speak of. Kila's harsh accusations ripped at his self confidence again with the memory of her words earlier today. "I did my best, but, well, some things didn't work very well." Diomid couldn't help covering himself in his shame. "I would like to return to my room, if you please," where he could take refuge from everyone. In the cool darkness he could hide his shame from the world.
      "Where is Ilira in her cycle?" Karola asked Avilan. Her ignoring his discomfiture actually helped. If she had made any mention of it, Diomid thought he might have disgraced himself so far as to actually bolt from the room, or worse begged her on his knees to take him.
      "She's a day or so short, but right at twenty one." Avilan grimaced again, "But she's ..."
      "Hush. I think if I talk with her first we can work things out." Karola cut him off. The three of them exchanged another of those looks Diomid couldn't quite interpret. Frustrated at obviously being left out of part of the discussion he tried reaching out with his mind
      "No, little one. Not yet," Arkay distracted him. "You're too young."
      "Too young for what?" Diomid asked, suddenly curious about this too. Curiosity was good. It kept him feeling alive and not half dead or worse.
      Arkay laughed softly, "Oh, you are a bright one when you aren't being stepped on. Why don't we go in the other room and see if we can't find a better place for you than becoming the third watchman over the loom tenders on the eastern estate."
      "At your will, my Lord," Diomid bowed his head respectfully. He had wanted more than simply to be shuffled from estate to estate, but had never dreamed he would get the opportunity. And he'd certainly not expected any such thing so young. Most sharm lords with any responsibility at all were dried up old sticks long past the vicissitudes of youth.
     
      "What is your will, little one?" Arkay asked unexpectedly after he had seated himself on the couch in the room across the hall. Diomid heard the floor boards creaking as he shifted his weight from side to side. It felt as if he were in class again ... and had not done his homework. "Come, sit," Arkay patted the seat next to him.
      Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, Diomid found himself wrapped in Arkay's arms and telling him his life story. "There's not a whole lot to tell, m'Lord. My mother died when I was young, trying to give birth to another child." His voice cracked again. "I don't know as much about her as I'd like, and obviously, from my patronymic, I have no idea who my father was," the shame of being a bastard rose up within him again and he quashed it before it could disturb anyone but himself. He'd heard Sharm Lords were sensitive to thoughts and all the evidence he had pointed to that being true. Arkay didn't deserve having to deal with Diomid's problems as well as his own. He looked as if he'd had a hard enough life as it was. "I was raised by the Azov sharm. Even before I established, I realized if I were going to make anything of myself, I had better be able to do useful work, so I learned everything I could about management and accounting. Lord Piyetrov taught me some things, but most of them didn't make any sense, so instead I set up my own techniques.
      "Once I established, right around the time Sharm Lord Avilan disappeared for a month, I had made myself useful to the Azov accountants, and so have been working with them. There really isn't a whole lot else to say, my Lord Arkay." he shrugged. "I'm not anyone special."
      "Everyone is special, little one." Arkay's arms tightened around him. Diomid leaned into the caress. He had forgotten how good simple physical contact could be it had been so long since anyone had touched him like this. Kila had either pawed at him or ignored him. "Would you be willing to apprentice yourself to me?"
      "I'm too short!" Diomid protested, even as he longed to lunge for the offer and grab it in both hands. To apprentice to Arkay would be great! From the very first time he'd met him at court, when Kila had been such a flirt, he'd respected him enormously. He'd even stayed up far later than Kila had managed and had heard him sing with Avilan and Karola. Avilan was a tenor, but Arkay's baritone was nearly the same as his own should settle to and he wanted him to go on forever so he could learn to sing like that as an adult.
      Arkay laughed softly, "You won't be short forever, Diomid." It was as if he could see all the thoughts flickering through Diomid's mind.
      "Maybe" he sighed. "I don't seem to be growing very fast though. Besides, don't you want someone better?" Diomid had to be certain Arkay wasn't offering him a job out of pity. No matter how much he wanted to work with the older man, he didn't want to be a burden to him.
      "I don't think I could find anyone better. You are bright, curious, and very, very stable."
      Diomid snorted, "After my almost falling on Lord Karola?" By this point it felt as if his ability to be ashamed or embarrassed had worn itself out. He said this last with weary regret. His heart was too battered to take this any longer. All he wanted was to somehow dump his selyn and be gone.
      "You didn't, even when she tempted you, my lad."
      "I wanted to," Diomid grimaced, looking at his arms. "If you think I am good enough, I would like to become your apprentice." He didn't know how much good he'd be in a few more months of inadequate transfers, but he wanted to repay Arkay in some small part for his kindness today. Besides, he certainly was not going to refuse if Arkay was going to insist.
      "Don't you even want to know what you will be learning?" Arkay asked him with a bit of a laugh.
      "Doesn't matter much to me." he shrugged. Then grinning, even if Arkay couldn't see his face, "Besides, if it is learning, I want it."
      "You know a lot of it will be boring," Arkay warned him.
      "Same with all skills, they take time and practice." Diomid felt himself unfolding under Arkay's attention. Arkay felt almost like a Sime a few days after turnover. In need, but comfortingly so. Not wanting to let such a comfort go, he snuggled deeper into Arkay's arms. Physically he was cool, but so was his nager which was good enough for Diomid at the moment. "Although before I expire of curiosity I would like to know what I have gotten myself into."
      There was a knock at the door. Diomid felt Arkay's weight shift and he hurriedly moved over to allow the older man to get up, not that he wanted to. "Well, three things, fighting of course," as Arkay said this, Diomid's eyes got really big. Only the top fraction of the nobility were taught combat beyond the basics. "medicine, and estate management."
      "I had never dreamed of being able to ..."
      "Hush, little one. I want the help." Arkay grinned and opened the door. "Welcome, lord Ilira." he waved the newcomer in.
      With a bow, a tiny, exquisitely beautiful young woman paced into the room. She had dark blond hair had barely grown out of its renSime short crop and an impish smile lighting her hazel eyes. "Thank you, my Lord Arkay," with unusual self confidence she took the older man's hand and kissed the back of it. Although as she caressed Arkay's hand with her tentacles, Diomid had to fight down the urge to pull them apart.
      "Don't tease him too much, Ilira," Arkay cautioned her. His eyes focused on her tempting tentacles stroking Arkay's hand. He wondered what they would feel like on his own hands and another wave of pure lust tried to drag him under.
      "Only enough," she grinned and then turned her attention to Diomid. He felt it like a draft of the sweetest mead he could imagine.
      Forgetting his ragged clothes and insecurities, Diomid flared his field in a great sweeping bow. "If my lord wishes to forget her cares in my arms, I would not find her desires amiss." Right now he didn't care who she was, she was Sime and that was good enough.
      Ilira's eyes widened and for the first time he saw a Sime flash over into hunting mode. Her immediate stalk thrilled along his nerves. Power sang its temptation to Diomid's soul. It would be so easy dominate her. Arkay's hand clamped down on his shoulder, reminding him not to force. Thanks, his heart was poinding so fast he feared it'd explode. Diomid had never felt anything like this.
      As gracefully as he could, he caught her up and slid her back to physical awareness. Her caress sang over his skin with a whisper of cool promise. "Who was it you warned about teasing, Arkay?" She asked softly, staring into Diomid's eyes as her fingertips caressed his face. The gesture was more sensual than he'd ever dreamed he could earn.
      "Only you. Be careful, Ilira," Arkay's voice echoed in his woefully empty skull. Diomid shook his head, trying to clear the worst of the fuzz. It didn't work. Her hand was too tempting.
      He'd always wondered what tentacles tasted like. He flicked his tongue out and caught one. There was the faintest trace of bitterness underlying a sweet muskiness which seemed to tighten the skin on Diomid's arms even more. Her quiver emboldened him and he licked along the length of one of her ventrals, finding his nose brushing the soft skin beneath her arm. "Yes, please," Ilira murmured and Diomid caught a sweet tang of what had to be roniplin as let his mouth wander to her lateral sheath.
      "Easy," Arkay's voice held him back. "Careful."
      "Go ahead," her warm breath stirred his hair. "Just be very careful to keep your teeth covered." There was a tremble in her voice. Diomid's eyes widened as he felt her hand shake.
      "I won't hurt you?" How he wished to touch. The tempting fragrance seemed to be removing any common sense he might once have had.
      "Not if you're careful," he could feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. It was racing nearly as fast as his own. With only a breath of pressure he brushed his wetted lips over the opening to her lateral sheath. It tasted like nothing else. Sharp, sweet and in some odd way purely Sime. There was a bite to it entirely unlike the roniplin flooding his own mouth.
      A sharp gasp rose from her throat. "More," her breathy plea made all the hair on his arms stand on end. This was what he wanted. With only the lightest touches of his lips, he nibbled his way up to her now filling roniplin glands. They were hotter than he could have imagined. Her deep groan seemed to rise from the earth itself.
      "Who are you?" Her question broke his utter fascination. He blinked in shock. There was no way he could catch his breath.
      "Take it easy on him, Ilira," Arkay's voice finished pulling him out of his distraction. He looked up. What? A soft, if tight chuckle made him shake his head. Oh, there she was. He had the unique experience so far in his life of looking down at another adult. His eyes crossed.
      "Thank you," she gave him an equally cross eyed grin and he managed to get his wits back. "I do like to know who's about to toss me on my back."
      "Uh, yes, my name is sharm lord Diomid Azov, m'lord," he managed to get out, hopefully coherently. "And I hadn't planned on forcing myself on anyone," he backed up a step, feeling his body's tug to force like he'd never known. Gods it hurt, but he was not going to rape her!
      "Easy, Diomid," her hand traced over his hammering pulse. His vision grayed as he fought need. It would be far too easy shove her onto the couch. He was heavier and far more desperate. His entire body trembled from head to foot. Give! it sang, trying to seduce him to violence. "How long?"
      His tongue had blocked his voice again and he struggled to speak. All he could taste was her roniplin on his tongue and feel the soft velveteen of her tentacles against his skin. Need was rushing in his ears, deadening his hearing. He wanted her like nothing else.
      "Oh," she stepped forward. His arm muscles cramped as he fought not to grab her. "Yes, Diomid," her fingertips slid over the rock hard muscles. "It's all right."
      "Are you sure?" He wanted to be sure. No one could want him like this. He was nearly insane with desire.
      "Yes, Diomid, I am willing," her hands bracketed his face. "You can't rape me," her hazel eyes seemed to dance with amusement. Then the meaning of her words sank in. His very own Sime! Her hands were the closest thing he could reach and he turned his face to nibble at her slender fingers.
      The heavenly, wonderful sensation of need pulling at him deepened and strengthened. Blinded by desire Diomid thought heard a soft chuckle from the doorway. He wrapped his arms all the way around her and wished he could get even closer to her. Her body heat was intoxicating to his remaining senses. To try to get some more control, he turned her around.
      With shaking hands, Diomid slid off Ilira's shirt. The smooth skin of her back tempted him. Not so delicately he nipped at the back of her neck. Ilira gave a small cry, like an animal, but her field pulled at him even more sharply. For one brief instant, Diomid lost control. Ilira writhed in his arms and ended up facing him. "Now, my friend." She growled and pulled off his shirt. When her tentacles lashed around his arms all his resistance dropped. This was what he'd fantasized about for months, and it felt better than he'd ever imagined.
      Now she teased at him, at first nipping at his shoulders lightly. "Harder," he begged and heard Arkay's shocked gasp from the doorway. Ilira looked at him in surprise. "Please," he leaned his head back, exposing his throat, offering himself to her. With bruising force her tentacles clamped down. "Yes," he hissed, pulling back against her to seat her laterals more firmly. Her tentacles loosened slightly. "No, don't let go," he stilled his struggles, despite his muscles locking in their desperate desire to pull back against her with all his might so he could feel her selyn fueled strength overwhelm his resistance.
      "You like this, do you?" Ilira murmured against the base of his throat. She yanked at his arms in her grasp.
      "Take me," Diomid pleaded, letting his body continue its game of trying to pull free.
      Her chuckle was deep and dark. "Oh my little Gen. You don't really want to get lose, do you?"
      "No," he whispered, to let her know it was a game. Diomid was rewarded with the most incredible flare of darkest need he had ever felt. He whimpered and looked at her as her tentacles slid back along his arms. "Don't go."
      "Strip. I want to see what I have." Ilira's eyes were black with need and desire.
      A stranger intruded, "Don't, Ilira." Diomid turned on him and snarled in purest hate. The stranger backed off. "I see" for a brief instant Arkay was recognizable and the bright flare of laughter almost broke the mood. "Never mind, Ilira."
      Sharp, searing desire yanked Diomid's attention back to Ilira. "Strip," she repeated, gesturing tightly with her tentacles. The image of aroused Sime as he'd only seen in pillow books was more erotic than he could have imagined. Even in the best of them, they could never portray the quicksilver fluid movement of those tempting digits. "I want to feel you against me afterwards," she had slipped out of her clothes during the brief interruption. Without taking his eyes off her, he untied the drawstring on his pants and let them fall to the floor. "Very nice, my little toy," she purred, offering her hands again. Playing up to the game, Diomid backed away.
      In one sinuous move, Ilira was on her feet. Backing slowly towards the bed, Diomid let a frission of fear lace through his field. He'd read how this could tempt a reluctant Sime and wanted to see how excited he could get her. She snarled, low and deep. The sound tugged at the core of Diomid's entire being.
      Diomid chuckled softly in the back of his throat, even as he longed to simply throw himself at her feet and beg to be taken. Never before had he felt this incredible shifting balance of power, back and forth. As long as he wasn't touching her, he had all the reins. Teasing at her for all he was worth, Diomid let his field flare in defiance. "Mine!" she lunged, knocking him backwards onto the bed.
      With her touch all his barriers dropped. GIVE! his body and mind screamed. Selyn flared as she yanked him into the fifth contact. He drove the selyn from his burning body with every last atom of his being. Bright, searing pleasure washed over and through him with a violence he'd never imagined. From beginning to end, Diomid learned the true meaning of ecstasy, soaring free of selyn and screaming his pleasure into the now glittering bright world of sprit he'd lit with his soul.
     
      Arkay shook his head in amusement as he watched Ilira pounce on Diomid. He never would have guessed the young man would truly wish to play Ilira's games, but from the look of hate Diomid had given him at his interruption, it seemed he had been wrong. Tense to be certain no one would get hurt, he watched carefully as Ilira yanked hard enough at Diomid to make Arkay flinch. Ouch, his own shoulders flexed in sympathy at her extremely rough handling of her partner. It only seemed to make Diomid even more enthusiastic.
      Before, they had problems finding partners for the young woman because she could be so hard. Diomid was taking all she could give him and begging for more. Selyn flared and Arkay focused his attention on the transfer. Absolutely perfect despite all the unusual preliminaries and how little foreplay they'd managed. Diomid must be physically tougher than Arkay had thought. And far more desperate, he chuckled to himself. The nageric link finally dropped both of them back into the physical world. For a moment Arkay wondered if they had so exhausted their enthusiasm in their brief but frantic foreplay they would slip and not instantly strike off into post reaction.
      A shattering flash of what felt like pain to Arkay blinded him. He blinked his vision clear to see Ilira's teeth sinking into the skin of Diomid's shoulder. It obviously didn't feel like pain to Diomid, from the hiss of lust rising from his throat. Feeling a bit like a voyeur, but too curious to leave immediately, he consoled himself with the thought he was making sure she wouldn't damage him permanently. A small trickle of blood appeared on Diomid's shoulder and Arkay started to step in to separate them. He blinked when Diomid growled, "Yes," and pulled Ilira even closer.
      Shrugging and trying not to laugh, Arkay quietly slipped out of the room. After closing the door behind him and making it back to the Azov suite, he couldn't take it anymore and howled with laughter. He leaned against the wall and still laughed.
      "What is it?" Avilan asked quickly.
      "What's wrong?" Karola chimed in.
      Arkay shook his head, unable to stop laughing for a moment. "Remember how we were all afraid Ilira would be too rough on Diomid?" He finally managed to get out.
      "She didn't!?" Avilan turned to the door.
      "Wait, wait," Arkay bit back another giggle. "She did, however ... Diomid, well, lets just say Diomid has odd tastes."
      "He didn't," Karola giggled.
      "Yes he did, teased her till she lost control then wallowed in her yanking him around." Arkay shook his head again, "I think the young man will be wearing very loose shirts for a few days."
      "Did you ever see the bites she left on her last partner?" Avilan looked a bit disturbed.
      "Avilan, love, I don't think you will want to see Diomid after Ilira is done with him. Trust me, he's having the time of his life." Arkay tried to reassure him while not giggling some more. "Seriously, I did step in once and Diomid almost attacked me he was so mad at the interruption. He's happy, she's happy and while they will probably be very sore tomorrow, I doubt if either of them will have any regrets."
     

Chapter 3

      Gently, Diomid let his hand trace over Ilira's wonderful curves. The memory of his first fumbling and far too quick attempt shamed him. "I'm sorry sweet," he ducked his head. Oh how he wished he could have managed to pleasure her as much as she'd pleasured him in transfer.
      "For?" her touch was far more sure and direct, grasping him firmly in her hot palm. He was still slick with his abortive attempt to take her and her long strokes did nothing to distract him from wishing he could have done better by her.
      His breath hissed between his teeth, "I'm not much of a lover, it seems."
      "It seems?" she grasped him even harder, stroking him firmly. His vision grayed as all the blood fled from his brain.
      "Well, I didn't exactly manage a success," he stilled her hand before she could tease him into wanting more than she'd possibly be able to enjoy.
      Ilira's eyes widened, "Your first. You mean you have never done this before?"
      "No," he leaned down to kiss her, regretting his poor use of her kindness with all his heart. How he'd dreamed of being the perfect lover. All the books he'd read had led him to believe it would be far simpler to hold back his desire to wait on his partner's pleasure.
      She licked her lips before he could kiss them. After pushing him back onto the bed, "Lets see if I can help remedy the situation." Ilira proceeded to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt some Simes could manage more than once, despite the books he'd read.
     
      Diomid stretched, hissing as bruised and strained muscles rebelled. "Ow," he complained, rolling his shoulders. Gray daylight spilled across the wooden floor. For a moment he forgot where he was, then his memory caught up with him. Almost afraid she would have slipped out on him, he turned and was relieved to see Ilira looking at him with hot eyes. "Again?" he winked at her with a grin.
      She stretched and he purred as he watched her catlike grace. From tentacle tip to toes, she tensed and the loosened all her muscles. Absently he stroked her smooth flank. "I think, I want another hour or two to recover, my sweet," she touched the back of his hand. "You aren't the only one who is a bit sore this morning." she grinned back. "Thank you, Diomid."
      "For?" he couldn't think of why she would be thanking him. "Thank you for accepting me." Nothing, ever, could have prepared him for how wonderful she'd been. Now he knew why Kila had been so intent on wanting more from him than he could give.
      "You are easy, sweet one," her soft hair tickled his chest as she rested her head on it. "Thank you for transfer and letting me have my way with you."
      "Letting you have your way?" Diomid asked with a grin, daring to be forward and caress the curve of her ear. Her neck arched and she pressed into his hand, urging him on. Amazed, he took advantage of the situation and rubbed the soft skin a bit more firmly. "It wasn't as if I weren't willing," the memory of their game playing made his body react despite the fact most of it was sore.
      "I can get a bit rough when I get excited," her words were demure despite the actions of her wandering hand.
      For a moment Diomid forgot what they were talking about. "I am not complaining. Far from it," for while he did have some soreness, the absolute contentment he now felt made it all worth while. Now he knew why generations of sharm lords had catered to their lord partners. This pleasure was beyond any possible fantasy ever dreamed of by man.
      "You really did like it when I grabbed you?" Her hand stopped suddenly and she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide with what Diomid could only guess was surprise. I thought she was the one who could zlin? Then he remembered very post Simes couldn't and felt warmly flattered.
      "I would think you could tell, since you are the Sime around here," he twitted her gently. "As long as you aren't disgusted by my tastes ..."
      "No, no, you taste just fine," she grinned wickedly, returning to her previous occupation. "However I do think Arkay was a bit shocked."
      "Oh no!" he blushed furiously. "He was here when we ..."
      "I think he left a bit before your enthusiasm got the better of you." she laughed softly. "Although I think that would have not bothered him at all. He was a young man once too, Diomid."
      "Do other young men have that problem?" The idea of not being singled out was definitely appealing. His first attempt had been such a disaster he'd have died of embarrassment if any other soul ever knew.
      "Yes, Diomid. I am not quite so young as my hair would indicate." Ilira sighed heavily. "Avilan had me on lord's transfer because I got a little too aggressive with my last transfer partner and she complained about it."
      "More aggressive than with me?" He thrilled at the idea. If she'd been holding back, maybe next time could be even more wild. The idea made his head spin, or maybe it was Ilira's warm hand holding him so tightly.
      She laughed, "Not even close, lover. Sorry to get your hopes up. She bitched about my lack of control when I pulled her to make lip contact. I let her go immediately and didn't even leave a bruise, but the damage had been done." Her fingers briefly traced the interlaced lines she had left on his forearms. They burned now, but Diomid remembered how wonderful it had felt when she'd marked him so. "You are another story entirely."
      Critically he looked at the traces she had left on his arms. "They'll probably fade in a day or two. Or not, I don't really care. Although Avilan might get a bit excited about having one of his people marked up like the loser in a body painting contest." He kissed her gently on the lips, "I like being wanted. Is that so bad?" Diomid knew he sounded like a greedy child asking for another sweet after having finished a basketful of apples, but hoped she'd say no anyway.
      "I don't think so," her tentacles twined among his short blond curls. "The only person who complained was that one woman. Before then, I was just as careful to be certain my partner was not upset by what I wanted. Even with her, I didn't do anything to hurt her, but she was scared anyways. Maybe I am simply making excuses for myself."
      "No, no," he held her tighter. She looked so crestfallen for having accidentally scared someone with actions he'd enjoyed immensely. "You didn't get aggressive until I teased you mercilessly. Even then you made sure I wasn't put off. I had to reassure you it was wanted."
      "So you did, Diomid."
      "I think Arkay will back me up, as well," he was having increasing difficulty thinking with Ilira's gentle distraction.
      She giggled softly, "So he will. I think, once he realized you had wanted and asked for it, he was only surprised."
      "And amused," he said softly, letting his eyes close. Ilira's touch was driving him crazy. "You know I am to be apprenticed to him."
      "Congratulations, sweet one," the flickering, lightest touch of her tongue was added to her hand. "He is a good man, if a bit hot tempered."
      "Why aren't you afraid of him, like most lords?" He was trying to keep his mind on her words and failing miserably, or pleasurably as the case may be.
      "Because I was born to Kirov and knew him when I was a child. I only came here to Azov less than a year after change over when it was determined I had far more affinity with animals than humans." She shifted her weight around to look up at him. "Arkay was the one who got me the move," were her last words before coherent speech became impossible again.
     
      Diomid looked down at the loose shirt he had worn only the day before yesterday and realized it was not going to cover up a thing. Between his forearms looking like they had gotten caught by a mad snarl of rope and his shoulders looking like they had been molested by a pack of hungry cats, he wasn't quite sure what to do. "Look in the closet," Ilira recommended, trying unsatisfactorily to cover up her own various bite marks. Diomid did as she suggested and noticed everything was in blue. He hadn't even know there was a Maryam suite at Azov.
      Finally giving up, he gingerly slid the shirt on. "Ow," it caught on one of the places where she had actually broken the skin. "I thought Simes were obligate herbivores."
      "Only means we don't swallow," she grinned wickedly, licking her lips.
      "You lie, my sweet," he tickled her nose. "I think I'm going to have to face Avilan to get my kador back."
      "Probably so. Sorry," she looked up at him.
      The fact she was one of the few people who was actually shorter than he was, was an absolute delight to Diomid. "If you really meant to apologize, we wouldn't get out of here till much later," he winked. Her blush startled and delighted him. "Do that again," he crowed, laughing.
      "Quit, Diomid," she placed her hand on his arm. The burn lines stung horribly and he hoped they'd heal quickly. Much as he'd enjoyed getting them, now they were a nuisance.
      He looked down to see a couple of small bite marks on her arm. "At least I gave as good as I got," he noted, gently stroking his hand over them, "Lets go."
      He knocked on the heavy door as both guards turned fantastic shades of red. It looked decidedly odd against their green uniforms. Diomid had no idea if they were blushing or angry, but from the way Ilira refused to look at them, he guessed it was embarrassed. Just about the time Diomid was going to give up and try to find another kador to wear temporarily, the door to the Azov suite opened. "I really have to have my kador back," he grinned up at Avilan's startled look.
      "Come in, both of you," his mellow tenor seemed even more pleasant this evening. Although when they stepped through the door, Avilan's eyes widened in shock.
      Defiantly, Diomid wrapped his field and attention around Ilira. He stroked his face against hers when she winced away from Avilan. "Easy, sweet." he tried to mimic the fierce protectiveness he had seen Avilan wrap around Karola.
      "Back down a bit, lad," Arkay sported a couple of small marks himself. "You don't have to singe Avilan's eyebrows off."
      "I'm not very good at it yet," he still looked suspiciously at Avilan, wanting to make sure the older man wasn't going to be a problem. Ilira was his lord. He'd won her fair and square and wasn't letting anyone take her away.
      Arkay laughed, "If you don't back away, Avilan, he's likely to thump you one. You're too close to his lord."
      "He's a mess, Arkay." Avilan protested, but at least he moved away a little bit. More, Diomid glared at him.
      Ilira trembled on his arm. "What is it, sweet?" he pulled her closer so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders.
      "Please don't let Lord Avilan send me away," she cried against his chest. "Tell me I didn't do anything wrong." He wrapped his arms around her, trying to guard her from any possible harm. Even as high field as she was currently, a Sharm Lord's bare displeasure could hurt her badly. It was his job to keep her safe. That was why Simes had to have a Gen to guard them.
      "Are you willing to say the same thing when Diomid isn't here?" Avilan stepped towards them again.
      "Back down, Avilan." Arkay's stance was no longer relaxed.
      Diomid's breath hissed between his teeth. Get away from her, he glared at the threat to his lord. There was no way in hell he'd let Avilan hurt her. She was his.
      "What in hell is going on out here?" Karola rubbed at her eyes. Then she turned to Diomid and Ilira. "Oh dear, it seems we have a problem."
      "Only if he keeps pushing at her," Diomid narrowed his eyes at Avilan, then wrapped himself even more firmly around Ilira. "Oh, lover, no. You were wonderful. If you go away I go with you, Ilira," he murmured for her ears only. "Believe me sweet." She fit so perfectly into his arms, which was as it should be, as she'd been made to be protected by a sharm lord.
      "Ilira didn't do anything I didn't want, Avilan." he felt his own teeth bare in threat as Avilan reached out his hand. A low growl came from his throat. Ilira shook violently in his caress, her knees trembling so hard he feared she'd collapse. "Mine."
      "Don't do it, Avilan." Arkay was suddenly standing next to him. Although when his hand touched Diomid's shoulder, his muscles knotted as he forced himself not to move away. Diomid had to remind himself Arkay was not displaying threat to his Sime, Avilan was.
      "I can feel that from over here." Karola blinked. "What did she do?"
      "We made love." Diomid closed his eyes and grasped Ilira to him with all his strength. He vowed to learn to fight. Right now if Avilan forced the issue, he'd not be able to protect her. Her heart had slowed from its mad panicking rush and he wanted to keep it that way. "I love you, Ilira," he murmured, lipping her ear.
      "I love you, my Diomid, even if ..." she looked up at him then looked away. "Even if he sends me away, I'll always want you and love you." Her fingers dug into the muscles of his back.
      "He won't send you away," he repeated. "He can send you away from Azov but not from me."
      "You win," Avilan gave them a crooked smile. "I'm sorry about getting you all riled up. Really, Ilira, if Diomid doesn't mind I don't have a problem. Although I would like to take a look to be sure you didn't get him too badly."
      "Actually what I would like is something I could wear that didn't catch as badly." Diomid gently let Ilira go as her shaking stopped. He slipped his shirt off, grimacing. "The cotton snags."
      "I can see why it would." Arkay whistled. "I'm tempted to check to see if it's the full moon," he teased.
      Ilira blushed, "I don't think I'm a werewolf, m'Lord Arkay."
      "We'll see if Diomid gets fuzzy next month." Karola laughed. "Oh dear. Come with me." she blinked a few times and pursed her lips. "I know I can be bad, but Ilira ..." her exasperation was more amused than annoyed.
      "I'll be fine." Diomid protested, not wanting Ilira out of his sight for any reason. All he wanted was a soft shirt and his kador back.
      "You can't get all the marks on your back," Karola tapped a finger thoughtfully against her lips, which twitched upwards at the corners.
      "Oh," he hadn't thought about that.
      "You come along too, Ilira. If you're going to be playing so rough with your partners, you should know how to put them back together afterwards." Karola seemed to have the common sense and wisdom around here. Docily they followed her into the bathroom.
     
      "That was quick," Avilan looked towards the bathroom where the young people had disappeared.
      "Diomid had been so starved for the sort of affection he wanted, I'm not surprised at his reaction once he found it." Arkay poured himself a glass of wine from the carafe on the end table. "You want one?"
      "Sure, a little." he watched Arkay pour a second. "Leave the rest for the youngsters if they want." After they had settled themselves, Avilan took a sip of the rather rich, fruity port. "Do you really think he wanted to end up like that?" Avilan couldn't understand why someone would want such abuse. It looked frightfully painful. The last time he'd gotten bitten he'd scolded Lukian so harshly the poor man had nearly crawled under the bed. What Ilira had done to Diomid had been far worse.
      "What Kila did to him was abuse, Avilan." Arkay looked at his wine and then drank a bit of it. "Ilira asked."
      "She did?" Avilan had held the young woman who had accused Ilira of attacking her while she cried in his arms after having finally managed to give transfer to another lord. Thinking back on the case though, he wondered if he had done right by Ilira. She had seemed contrite at the time, but underlying it all he'd known subconsciously, that she hadn't truly felt she'd deserved punishment, which was why he'd put her on lord's transfer. The girl who'd complained against her hadn't a single mark on her, unlike Diomid's well marked arms.
      "When she grabbed him, Diomid pulled and she released him immediately." Arkay shrugged. "I stepped in and got snarled at by Diomid for interfering. Ilira did nothing Diomid didn't either explicitly or implicitly ask for."
      Avilan shook his head, "I don't know, Arkay. His arms are a mess, not to mention his shoulders and back." His own skin burned where Diomid's arms had been rubbed raw.
      Arkay laughed softly, "You didn't see Diomid tease her past control, Avilan. Even then she didn't mark him till he goaded her into it. On top of it, she made him get out of contact to test him."
      "She released him after seating her laterals?" Avilan was astonished. "Most lords can't retract once they reach that stage." All Simes were rather mindless once their laterals came out. He didn't blame them, usually once he felt the touch of wet tentacles on his arms, all he could think of was transfer too.
      "Not only released him, but forced him to stand up and back away from her." Arkay sipped some more of his wine. "I can't think of more definitive test, Avilan. I admit I wouldn't want what she has to give, but Diomid certainly does." And before he could ask, Arkay went on, "And yes, Diomid was a gentleman and made sure he had permission. A good thing too, as otherwise I would have had to have at least put him on report if not under ban for a while. It was a close thing."
      "How so?" Avilan tipped his head. It looked as if Diomid were the one who'd come out the worse for the experience.
      Arkay snorted and took another sip of his port, "He nearly raped her, Avilan."
      "After Kila?"
      "He was desperate," Arkay grimaced. "Do you have the records of recent establishments handy?"
      "Why?"
      "Because I want to be sure all the young sharm lords are managing to give personal transfers at least half the time. Doesn't do us any good to run sharm lord high if only the older, more experienced ones are actually getting good transfers out of it. The younger ones can be a bit too shy in pursuing partners and get left out."
      "I'll look into it," he couldn't remember any of them being as timid or shy as Diomid though. He was so self effacing, even Avilan had forgotten about him. "Particularly the ones coming up on, or having recently passed their fourth." That was the typical age of sexual maturity, when a Sime or Gen discovered, often overwhelmingly, physical desire for the opposite larity as well as nageric. It was often a rather traumatic and stressful event.
      Avilan's own fourth had been quite unusual, with an older lord who would seek out young sharm lords and lead them through their first experiments with all the facets of sexuality. He'd deemed himself extraordinarily lucky for having caught her laterals when he was facing his fourth. She'd only shared a bed with him for the two short weeks between transfer and turnover, but Avilan still remembered every moment of those glorious weeks. He'd gone from being so timid and shy he couldn't even open his mouth around a lord, to knowing so much of what he would be missing, he could even manage to join in the dances after high court.
      "Anyways, I'll be taking Diomid as my second." Arkay added rather unexpectedly. This was a good thing, Avilan thought. Arkay was still quite fragile, for all his and Karola's care the past month and more. Working with someone who depended on him, would be good for his old friend. Arkay'd always enjoyed the company of young people, and it seemed Diomid had a serious case of hero worship for Arkay.
      Avilan thought again about taking a second of his own. He wished he could find someone who was better with animals than he was. His own training was in the fabric arts, not the barns, kennels or mews. Usually his Lord had taken care of the livestock portion of Azov's business. Maybe with Arkay spending time with Diomid, he could give Avilan some leads.
      "With Kila, Diomid was trying to get the reassurance he wanted by submitting himself to an abuser." Arkay sighed. Sometimes Arkay's lightning fast mind made Avilan feel like an utter idiot. He had to review the last five minutes three times before he remembered what it was they'd been talking about. Finally it dawned on him; Arkay had gone back to Diomid's mindset and his new relationship with Ilira. "It was probably the worst thing he could have done. Diomid is a very timid young sharm lord. He has to have a lord who will take control or he'll dither himself into burning up."
      "I don't understand how such relationships work." Avilan toyed with his wine glass. He himself had never had any sort of urge that way at all. It was usually lords who had to be reassured of their worth, not sharm lords.
      This was given he was tracking the right conversation at all. He was still a bit dazed after their mutual transfer with Karola. It often took him a couple of days to get back up to speed after transfer with her. Arkay's recovery was amazing to him. He'd not been so quick before he'd gone to Kirov, but then having to deal with a mad Lord probably explained it. That and the fact that everyone was smarter than Avilan was.
      "Diomid is not comfortable taking control. Kila told him what to do for her own selfish interests." Arkay nodded towards the bathroom, "Ilira is mature enough, and aware enough of herself to know Diomid's tendencies and not to take advantage of them except in very limited circumstances." Avilan wondered how he did it. Right now all he wanted to do was loll around in bed, preferably with both Karola and Arkay.
      "Such as sex and transfer?" Avilan asked, managing to finally, hopefully, sound intelligent.
      "Exactly. She wouldn't abuse Diomid by making him submit to her in public or on a whim." Arkay laughed. "Although Diomid might get a little worn out once a month, he'll probably be a lot more steady with someone to back him up."
      "How do you know so much about it?"
      Arkay's arm was comforting around his shoulder despite his words, "Because I have seen it before, although usually the other direction."
      "No" Avilan automatically rejected the idea he could ever perpetrate such a thing. He wouldn't dominate someone for bed pleasure. Never!
      "Silly," Arkay's brief kiss was sweet with the wine and affection, "Why do you think you drove Karola's ascension transfer so hard she double ovulated?"
      "I love her. I don't want to hurt her." Avilan protested.
      "As it seems Ilira loves Diomid." Arkay rubbed at the side of his neck and gave Avilan an off center grin, "Speaking from my own experience, a few nibbles here and there are not exactly crippling wounds."
      "But why did she hurt him?" Avilan couldn't understand this. "I mean, he looks like he was dragged through a bramble bush by his wrists."
      Arkay laughed. "I bet you a case of this wonderful port, Diomid would say it didn't hurt at the time."
      "I'm not going to take you up on that, Arkay." he had to laugh and shake his head. "I remember the last time you suckered me into a bet."
      "Oh, when I convinced you girls really were as interesting as boys?"
      "No, the time before that when we almost go caught fooling around because the forfeit was to hide behind one of the tapestries in the great hall and watch Lord Azov swear in Sharm Lord Giardin." Avilan put his hand on Arkay's knee.
      Arkay clasped his hand, "It wasn't my fault we were both post as could be and it was very close behind the tapestry."
      "But you planned it that way," Avilan grinned.
      "So I did," his kiss was as sweet as it had been on that day so long ago. "However, what I want to know right now is what is keeping the three of them." *so long?*
      Avilan overheard Karola's response as well as Arkay's sending, *both of them* With a sigh, he put down his glass and with Arkay in tow, wandered over to peek in the door.
      "Someone bites," Karola laughed as she examined Ilira's tentacles.
      The young woman was looking over at Diomid with an obviously infatuated gaze, "Yes, well. We got a bit carried away."
      Arkay snickered. "I would say." So would Avilan from the various places Karola had anointed young Diomid with the salve they used for recently healed skin. Although Ilira sported almost as many little shiny places. "You might not want to get so enthusiastic every time, you two."
      "Your words are going in one ear and out the other, Arkay." Avilan pointed at the two of them, looking into each other's eyes with the gaze of the hopelessly besotted.
      "I heard you." Diomid said absently. Then he leaned forward and kissed Ilira, making her twine her extended tentacles around Karola's.
      "Wait till I'm done." Karola deftly convinced one still rather sorry looking tentacle to heal a bit more quickly. "I think this is the first time I've had to heal tentacles. They usually do it on their own before I get to them," she patted the appendage fondly. It coiled around her finger in a brief caress.
      "I hadn't really noticed," Ilira looked up through thick dark lashes.
      Avilan sighed as Arkay gave him yet another, 'I told you so', look.
     
      "When is the hand fasting?" Karola asked suddenly, almost throwing Diomid into a blind panic. Ilira looked even more stunned than he felt.
      "I think we'll wait a while." Diomid took Ilira's hand possessively. Her relief would have been obvious to a corpse. "There's no rush." He wasn't even an adult yet and wouldn't be for years. Diomid knew he had many more years of growing up to do before he bound himself with more than tentacles.
      "Thank you, Diomid." Ilira squeezed his hand back, twining her tentacles among his fingers in a sweet echo of their earlier private bonding. "Really Karola, I don't think right after our first transfer is the time to be talking marriage."
      "I think you'll manage just fine." Arkay beamed. "Truthfully children, I think you both want some time to grow up. But if I'm going to get my apprentice," his gaze bore into Diomid's, "then we have to find something for you to do upstairs." He pointed at Ilira.
      "In every season but winter I work in the stables full time," she shrugged. "I am one of the few Sime large animal specialists."
      Diomid looked at her in surprise, "You're so tiny." He tried to imagine someone so small trying to convince a stubborn horse to do something the animal had no intention of. It didn't work. Any horse larger than a child's pony could flip her around like a bit of sack cloth.
      "So?" her look was a direct challenge.
      "I mean a horse could just toss you around if they decided to get difficult." Diomid didn't know a whole lot about animals, but a five hundred kilo horse could easily do bad things to a forty five kilo woman from what he did know.
      "That's why you have to be smarter than they are." Ilira cheated him of any chance to protest further by snuggling against his side. With her warm body so close he could no more deny her anything she wished as he could fly to the moon by flapping his arms.
      "Not always as easily said as done." Arkay led them back into the sitting room now Karola had finished her various ministrations. Diomid wasn't ready to put a shirt on again, particularly after having noted the rust colored spots he had left on his last one. He really didn't have the clothes to spare to blood stains.
      "I think this is ready for rags." Karola looked askance at Diomid's favorite shirt.
      Without thinking of propriety he took it out of her hands and carefully folded it despite its wanting to be washed.
      "Is there some kind of hormone thing about men and their underwear, Karola?" Ilira asked, making him blush furiously and hide his face. It was a perfectly functional shirt. What was wrong with it?
      "I think so," Karola looked at Avilan closely. Diomid could see nothing wrong with the trousers and shirt Avilan was wearing, except for the frayed cuffs, see through seat and elbows, various stains and not a few holes.
      "Don't look at me." Arkay neatly retied his belt which had slipped sideways a centimeter or two. "But as we were talking about," everyone settled into what seemed like practiced positions, with Karola firmly caught between the two men. "I think something can be arranged once spring comes. Diomid will probably be working strange hours, as will you, Ilira, so I don't see why we can't set it up so you get quite a bit of time together."
      Ilira had arranged it so she ended up sitting between Diomid's outstretched legs, "Sounds good to me. Although I do have to warn you," her tentacles twined between his fingers, "during the spring particularly, I tend to be very busy."
      "As long as you eat and sleep occasionally." Diomid hugged her tightly. "I'm not going to stand between you and your work."
      "Good lad." Avilan smiled. "Are you sure you aren't full grown?"
      "At a hundred and sixty cents, I hope not." Diomid chuckled ruefully. "Do you know how hard it is to find anything to wear when you are shorter than almost everyone?"
      Yes!" Ilira agreed. "I get so tired of having to roll up cuffs and hem everything myself."
      "You sew?" Diomid was surprised at the idea of a Sime willing to have anything to do with the normally Gen oriented craft. Their tentacles could so easily injured by the sharp needles. Besides, that was what Gens were for. They stayed at home and kept it while their partners worked in the world above.
      "Not well," she grinned. "At least on cloth. Animals are another matter."
      Diomid realized there was something missing here, "Ilira, you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but how old are you?"
      "Its all right, Diomid." she patted his hand. "You should know. I'm almost twenty five."
     

Chapter 4

      "What a little tramp." Ilira looked around the tiny room, the corners of her mouth turning sharply downwards. Not all of this was Kila's fault. He'd felt so sick the last couple of weeks, he'd not wanted to do much more than read and do a little sewing.
      Quickly, Diomid slid the rather obscene romance he had been reading a few days ago under a book on military history he should have been reading. Looking around at the various garments Kila had left out when she had insisted on trying to find something to tempt him with yesterday, Diomid couldn't quite disagree entirely with Ilira's assessment entirely. "I don't have a great deal," he gathered up his spare kador and the few undergarments he had use of.
      Before he could stop her, Ilira picked up the history book. "High Simelan?" Her eyebrows raised. "I didn't know you knew the language. Most residents of the sharm never both to learn it."
      "I've always had something of a gift for language," he tried to distract her from the damning romance by focusing his attention on the history book. "There are a lot of books written in it I wanted to be able to read." He wrapped his tongue and nager around the tonal language with a decided lack of practice turning his words halting, but hopefully understandable.
      "Quite an accent," she grinned, replying in the same tongue but with an odd overlay.
      "I learned it as a child," he tried to imagine what it would zlin like as he said the words. This came out a bit more like Ilira's easy use of the tongue. It was restricted to the peerage, with use by rens punishable by the Hunt. As Diomid had read through some of the treatise written in the language, he well understood why. Many of the concepts inherent in High Simelan were antithetical to the ideals of the Rus, such as freedom of the nager and a rather overwhelming tone of Sime superiority, both from the heavy emphasis on nageric inflection inherent in it.
      "Impressive." she finally turned entirely away from the damning evidence on the desk. "With practice you should do quite well." Diomid reached under the foot of the bed for one final item. A peal of laughter rang out as soon as his back was turned.
      "However I don't think you learned Low Simelan just for being able to read the propaganda from Maryam." she giggled.
      Diomid turned back to see her opening Heart's Passion. Blushing furiously, he stammered, "I don't suppose you would believe it was Kila's."
      "I doubt if she knows how to read at all." Ilira was shaking her head.
      "She could have wanted to look at the pictures." he said as Ilira flipped to one of the plates in the book. He hoped it wasn't the one showing a sharm lord being pinned against a wall and being taken from behind. It was one which had fueled many of his fantasies, but the position itself was quite dangerous and not one he'd care to try just yet.
      With a snort Ilira said, "There are entire picture books, Diomid. Far more explicit than this."
      "Really?" his curiosity got the better of him. Perhaps he could learn to be a bit more adept at the arts of seclusion if he worked at it. His previous research had not seemed to have a great deal to do with reality.
      "I have been known to collect such things." she winked. "Although I do prefer a bit more elegance than one can find in Low Simelan."
      "I haven't heard of romances written in High Simelan."
      "I wouldn't call them romances, lover," she closed the book. "Rather they are more along the lines of erotica. This is pornography." Ilira sniffed in disdain.
      "I thought if I read up on the subject I might do better." Diomid's blushes returned. "Kila was not at all pleased with me after I couldn't satisfy her last month."
      "What about you, sweet?"
      "I really did try, but since I couldn't give her what she wanted." Diomid rattled on. "I did want to, but, well, my body, after a secondary ..."
      "Hush," her fingertip touched his lips. "Did she do anything for you?"
      "Scolded me," the memory of the humiliation stung worse than any physical injury. "Told me since I couldn't get it up, she would rather bed a dog than let me touch her." Diomid carefully smoothed out the wrinkles his clenching fists had made in the faded green cloth of the lightweight kador in his hands.
      "What a little bitch." Ilira snapped. "And I take it she did nothing at all to try to help."
      Diomid looked at her in surprise, "No, of course not. Young males are always supposed to be ready, or at least that's what she said."
      Ilira shook her head frowning like a thundercloud, "Maybe in the world of romances and the sharm. Every single sharm lord I have ever known who had enough of a field to live above can't get aroused between turnover and transfer, or after an unsatisfactory transfer."
      Her statement startled him. "I didn't know that," he looked at her curiously. "Anything else I should know?" Of course Simes often had a hard time between turnover and transfer, but that was because their blood was in their forearms. Not that he'd been any better, being honest with himself. After his last turnover, all he could think of was getting a set of wet laterals on his own forearms.
      She laughed, "Only that unless you are really post, you won't be fertile at all."
      "How did you learn all this?" Diomid really wanted to be able to do some research of his own. This was fascinating.
      "Shop talk between the veterinary staff and the medical staff," she grinned. "We were gossiping about estrual cycles in mammals one day when one of the physicians happened to wander by. Never did decide if modern humans were estrual or not, since in the sharm renGens are not restricted to the need cycle for sex and all Simes are but it was very interesting."
      "I wonder if Arkay would have any input," Diomid mused. The older Sharm Lord had a reputation as one of the best healers in the Demense after Sharm Lord Sergei himself, particularly in regards to reproductive medicine.
      "Arkay has input on everything, Diomid." Ilira laughed. "After I got over my surprise at seeing him with Avilan and Karola, I realized Azov will never be the same. The man has a passion for work you would not believe."
     
      Diomid paced nervously. He looked up at the clock against the wall for the fifth time in as many minutes. Grumbling, he threw himself down into an overstuffed armchair. His work with Arkay filled a desire to help he had never known before, now need pulled him to his feet again. Where is she? he thought.
      At first they had spent long, wonderful evenings in each other's arms. Talking about his work and how much she looked forward to getting back to hers. Diomid had known things would change with spring, but he missed her company so dreadfully when she was gone. Once he had mentioned possibly spending some of his free time with her while she was working but when she snapped at him to mind his own business, he gave up on the idea.
      It had gotten even worse when the mares began dropping their foals. Two weeks ago she had barely managed to spare the time to sleep over with him for her turnover, hurrying off as soon as the worst of it had passed. Diomid hadn't even gotten a chance to tell her how much he appreciated the contact with her to help him over the end of his own turnover, which was getting worse and worse with every month that passed. Although now it was more than a complete day ahead of hers and his shortening cycle, he knew, did nothing to help his moods as each transfer was less satisfactory than the last.
      "I think we well be able to manage without you this afternoon, my lad." Arkay had taken to calling him a lad shortly after they had begun working together. It made Diomid feel wonderful, as if he did have a blood father. The sharm nurses had done their best, but they had been so busy with the many children in their care, he hadn't wanted to take them away from those who required their care more.
      "It isn't necessary," Diomid damned his hands shaking with the nearness of transfer which restricted him to the most menial tasks in the infirmary. "Ilira probably won't be back until this evening." he tried to smile to show his nonchalance. Roniplin rich saliva flooded his mouth and he had to swallow heavily, ruining the effect.
      "You don't want to have to make her wait, youngster." Arkay's hand was cool against his own. "You're ready even if she isn't."
      "Don't I know it." the pen he was holding snapped in his fingers. "I'm sorry." he tried to gather up the pieces of splintered wood.
      "You've been ready for the last couple of days." Arkay stilled his hands. Diomid looked up at him, shaking his head in rejection of this appraisal. "Ask for a shunt transfer, Diomid. It won't hurt her pride to know she has a sharm lord overproducing for her."
      "Everything hurts her damnable pride." Diomid jumped to his feet and paced the room. "I feel like a failure."
     
      I feel like a failure Diomid repeated his words to himself, wanting to rend the bed curtains from their hanging in frustration. Even by the clock, Ilira was now late. Desperate for anything to take his mind from the horrible, burning, desperate desire for transfer he dug through the few garments he managed to trade for during lonely evenings down in the sharm. Finally he settled on a shirt and trousers he had modified himself. He had loosened the seams on them so they would come off easily, hoping to tempt Ilira with being able to rip the clothes off his body. He'd do anything to get another good transfer. Right now he was frantic for the feel of hot tentacles lashing about his wrists.
      It was tacky and probably not anything which would truly appeal to her, but he wanted to give it a try. At this point he wondered if she would even show up at all. After changing his clothes, Diomid sat on the chair, careful not to give his game away by making the weakened seams gape. Finally giving up on even that, he curled up and hugged his knees to his chest. Diomid's eyes stung with wanting to cry as he stared at the clock.
     
      The door opened behind him. Before Diomid could get to his feet, Ilira said, "Where are you? I have to get back to work, damn you, Diomid."
      Crushed by her callousness, Diomid simply stared ahead of him in absolute shock. "Here," he finally managed to croak out. He unfolded his stiffened body.
      "Stay put." Ilira told him. As she came around the chair, Diomid gasped as her need hit him. She hardly seemed to be affected by it. Ilira barely looked at him before she took his arms and pulled him to her. Diomid knew sharm lords felt need in their entire body, while lords only felt it in their arms, but this was beyond any mere monofocus.
      Wanting at least some attention out of it, Diomid pulled back. Without even a blink, she simply leaned forward and made lip contact. Stunned, Diomid let her take what she wanted without really even feeling it.
      Absolute despair washed over him as she stalked out, not even looking back at him once. "See if you can't do better next time." Ilira slammed the door behind her. The hollow sound echoed in his ears.
      "Come back," he reached for empty space where she'd stood so briefly.
     
      Arkay was absolutely aghast to see Diomid show up for work the next morning. There were huge dark circles under the young man's eyes, and his hands shook even worse than before his transfer. Even worse, he still was high enough field to satisfy some of the least of the lords. "Diomid, you don't belong here." he tried to urge him back to bed, with a lord.
      "I don't belong anywhere else," he snarled, quite uncharacteristically, then Arkay saw the tears forming in Diomid's eyes.
      "Hush, lad," he tried to offer Diomid a hug by holding out his hands. Diomid crossed his arms over his chest, refusing him any contact. "You should be in bed with Ilira, not at work."
      "Don't mention that bitch's name to me again," Diomid snapped. "I'll be all right in a few days." angrily he rubbed at his eyes then, worse, rubbed at his forearms.
      Arkay saw faint red lines running up them, as if Diomid had been scratching at his arms. "No lad," he gently took Diomid's hands from his own arms. "Don't hurt yourself."
      "Why not?" Diomid pulled away. "I'm no good."
      Discreetly, Arkay closed the door to his office, "You are good to the people you help heal, Diomid." He tried again to get Diomid to come to him. Without him being ascended, Diomid couldn't directly sense fields, but he was normally rather sensitive anyway.
      Diomid's back stiffened. "What, with my hands shaking and my eyes so full of tears I can't even see?"
      The question wrenched at Arkay's heart, "These things will pass, Diomid." This time he didn't wait for Diomid and simply caught him up in his arms. For a moment Diomid struggled against him and then he collapsed into heartbroken weeping.
      "I'm no good. Even Ilira doesn't want me anymore." Diomid cried against his chest. "Why can't I be good enough to keep her?"
      "Sounds like she rejected you, my lad." Arkay stroked Diomid's trembling back. "What happened?"
      "She came home, took transfer and left." the bland recitation spoke volumes.
      "Would you like some company?" Arkay tried to think of a lord who might be post right now and realized he should have been better prepared when he couldn't come up with anyone. He wished he had Avilan's memory.
      "Yours?" Diomid looked up at him with half a smile through his tears.
      Arkay grinned down at him, "Sure, although wouldn't you rather have a lord?"
      "No, I think I'd rather be safe." Arkay hid his flinch at Diomid's bitter tone.
     
      Diomid was startled to see Karola laugh gaily and throw a peach pit at Avilan. "What are you doing back so early?" she asked as they appeared at the door to the inner chambers.
      "I think a second breakfast wouldn't hurt either of us." Arkay gently pulled him forward. If he could have, he'd have run from the room. He didn't want to be rude though and submitted to Arkay's tugging.
      Karola made a very obscene noise, "You never ate your first, and from the looks of him, neither has Diomid. What are you trying to do, starve the lad?
      "I wasn't hungry," Arkay protested.
      "You are never hungry, Arkay." Avilan poured two mugs of tea, putting honey in the first. Hesitantly, Diomid reached for it and Avilan put honey in the second as well. "Heathens." Avilan sniffed, "At least you don't drink coffee."
      Coffee, where? Diomid looked around intently as he dropped his veil. He had only managed to get some once, when, quite by accident, he had ended up working alongside one of the Fatima work gangs as a child.
      "You've corrupted him so much already?" Karola seemed amused then she stopped her reach for a sweet roll and looked him over carefully. "Oh, lad. What happened to you?"
      Cursing his overly fair skin and reactive nager, "Nothing of importance, my Lord Azov."
      "Don't you 'my Lord Azov' me at my own breakfast table." she got to her feet and stood before him. Standing there, tea mug in hands, fuddled by his condition, Diomid couldn't think of what to say. "Come with me," Karola demanded.
      Meekly, he bowed his head to her, unsure of what she had in mind, "As the most exquisite Lord in all Azov desires."
      "You do have a smooth tongue. Let's see if you can do something else with it than talk." Karola grabbed him by his collar and started pulling him behind her towards the bedroom.
      "You can't be thinking of stripping him down the rest of the way?" Avilan protested.
      Diomid leaned back against her grasp, "You don't have to do that for me. I don't want to cause strife between you and your mate, my liege."
      "Hush," she shook Diomid, as a hound would a rag. "My tentacles are itching for work, sweet. I'll be fine."
      "It's your transfer nerves I'm worried about." Arkay said pointedly.
      "They're fine too, or will be after I stretch them a bit. Now either let me cart him off to the bedroom and take care of him, or I'll do it right here in front of you."
      "No, no, I'll be fine, really," he looked up at Arkay, pleading, trying to beg as silently as possible to get him out of this.
      "Go on with you then." Arkay gave him a bit of a smile. It was almost encouraging. "Give the lad a thrill." A chill ran down his spine at the fang Arkay showed with his comment.
      "I intend to," Karola steered him into the bedroom and shut the door behind them. It sounded like the drug vault door slamming, loud and final. "Now, my lad, stand still." Diomid still held his mug of tea, untouched. Standing there like a statue, his hand shook so hard a bit slopped out onto his fingers. Karola took the mug and put it down on the table next to the bed. "For later, maybe," she grabbed the shoulders of his kador and Diomid at least had the presence of mind to slide out of it. He didn't have one to spare.
      "Very pretty lad," she said, despite the fact he had slept in his underclothes all night in the chair, or at least tried to sleep. She tugged at his sleeve and it came off in her hand. "Oh-ho," she grinned widely and Diomid could feel the first faint flickers of need pull at him.
      Unwillingly, he closed his eyes to better savor the sensation. It flickered on the edge of awareness and Diomid reached for it. "Yes, my pretty," Karola purred, now all Sime to his senses. "There is something you want?" Tentacles twined about her arms, catching his eyes with their hypnotic patterns.
      "Need," he growled softly, flaring his field to try to attract her. The training Arkay had given him in the salle made his stalk that much more effective. Diomid managed to brush his hand along her arm before she skittered back out of reach. The hot feel of Sime skin made his fingers burn. For a moment he was discommoded by how tight and sparse his own field felt to him.
      "You'll not catch me that way," Karola laughed, mocking him. Need pulled at him suddenly, ambushing his thoughts.
      "I'll catch you as I find you." Diomid promised, forgetting his earlier hesitance. Quickly, he slid off his shoes to better be able to move. Toes now digging into the thick pile of the rug, he judged the distance between them. This time when he neared her, Diomid got more than a light brush, almost catching her hand in his, but he left his other sleeve behind.
      "I like this game," her need taunted at him, strong and only barely out of reach. "Come here to me," she purred, waving him forward.
      This time, using guile rather than speed, he bowed his head meekly and simply walked up to her. He focused his attention on the tea she had left on the table. The heat rising off her body as he neared her almost distracted him from his stealth. Before she could react to his change in thoughts, Diomid quite neatly caught her around the hips and managed to get her onto the bed. In a flurry of blankets and other bedding, he landed holding her with his knees alongside her thighs.
      Sputtering in surprise, Karola sat up, neatly landing in Diomid's arms. He flared his field again for all he was worth and the hot, wet feel of Karola's laterals on his arms made him gasp. "Take me," he offered himself to her, tugging back against her hold.
      With a snarl, she leaned forward to make the lip contact. With maddening slowness, selyn began to flow. Teasing at him then trickling off to a near stop. No! he growled, flicking his field away briefly, trying to draw her out. Close to stasis, the trickle began again. This time Diomid resisted, pulled back nagerically. Need flared and with a mental gasp of relief he filled it, thrilling to the exquisite sensations of transfer.
      Soft, smooth lips parted under his in a kiss of honeyed sweetness as Diomid pulled her to him the rest of the way. A small kick made him hesitate. He looked down into Karola's violet eyes. They were gentle, not matching his passion, but loving all the same. Reluctantly, he sat back, trying not to display too violently, his now desperate desire for her person. "Let's see what other trouble I can get into." she smiled wickedly. Before he could stop her, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled sharply. His shirt came apart in her hands. "This is fun."
      Her hot look at his bare chest made Diomid beg, "Please, if I am too forward, I don't mean to be."
      "Hush," she pulled him close and this time there was far more fire than sweetness in their kiss. "You are a beautiful young man and I mean to take advantage of your delightful presence and clothes." Karola suited gestures to words, and soon Diomid found himself in her hands. "Yes, quite wonderful."
     
      With what he knew had to be a silly grin, he returned to the sitting room with Karola an hour or so later. He sipped at his now cold tea, not caring a whit. Then he caught the smell of coffee. As if sleepwalking, he set down his tea and eyed the carafe hopefully.
      "Go ahead, my lad." Arkay laughed. "Its good to have company in the morning, even if it is almost lunch time."
      "Why is he wearing my clothes?" Avilan asked. Diomid blushed furiously and pushed up the sleeves again so they wouldn't dangle in his coffee.
      "You should make sure the seamstresses do a better job." Karola grinned, "Diomid's clothes fell apart in my hands."
      Diomid sipped at the coffee. It was even better than he remembered and he let the rich taste of it roll around in his mouth. "Oh my, this is good," he sighed. "Life is good." Suddenly the aroma of food hit him and he realized he was starving. Not recognizing some of the oddly shaped and colored fruits on the tray, he boldly decided to try something different. One of them, a small brown, slightly wrinkled piece was so sweet he thought it was pure sugar. "Sime fruit," he grinned, knowing full well the yen Simes had for sweets.
      "A date, actually." Arkay smiled at him. "And yes, Sime fruit."
      "Not all Simes go into raptures over sweets," Karola grinned, then looked at the honey she had put on her sweet roll.
      "Certainly not you, my sweet," Avilan grinned, making them all laugh.
      "Although with the way Arkay drinks coffee, and now Diomid, I'm thinking sharm lords like bitter." Karola looked at them. "However, with the way you two react to it, I'm not complaining," she added quickly.
      "Its good." Diomid cupped the warm mug in his hands.
      "I'll agree with you, although few others will this far north." Arkay took a piece of bread and nibbled at it. "Where, in the world, did you learn to like coffee?"
      "Fatima," he grinned at the older man.
      "Figures," Avilan flipped his heavy braid over the back of his chair. "She can certainly corrupt some young people. Do you know I lose half a dozen renSimes to her every year?"
      Arkay snorted, "Yes and you get at least that many back in trade, and occasionally a renGen. Don't complain too loudly."
      "You weren't supposed to mention that." Avilan grinned, taking some more of the bread. "It makes it so much harder to keep 'em in line if they know they can wander off."
      "Hardly," Arkay shook his head, "Its better to let them go than deal with them as troublemakers."
      "True enough, my old friend." Avilan stroked Arkay's hand. Diomid was feeling a bit left out until Karola put her arm around him.
      He caressed her hand with his cheek, "Thank you."
      "You are quite welcome." Karola whispered back.
     

Chapter 5

      "Get Lord Karola for me." Arkay snapped, releasing the tourniquet on the young renSime's arm momentarily. Diomid bolted for the door, not even thinking to ask where. By the time he hit the steps half-way to the sharm, an image of Karola in the laundry flashed before his eyes. Veering towards the servant's quarters, he ducked to the side. Only after he looked backwards did he realize it was to get out of Karola's way.
      Even seven months pregnant, the woman can move. Diomid noted absently, retracing his steps. Now he could run all the way down and then back up all the stairs snaking through the Azov city residence. Last winter he would have collapsed in a gasping heap simply running across the lower quarters. Barely out of breath, he stood at the door way as it looked like Karola was repairing the renSime's arm. It looked like it had been savaged by a wild animal and was hanging by a thread. Although the forearm was almost completely untouched.
      The young renSime stirred and Diomid went to her head. As her eyelids fluttered and tried to open, he thought at her as hard as he could to sleep. Concentrating on thoughts of oblivion to keep her under, Diomid lost track of the work being done next to him.
      "She's going to come to in hard need." Arkay warned him suddenly.
      "Let her go?" Diomid asked, not wanting to take his attention to look and see if they were done with their repairs.
      "Can you take her?" Arkay asked.
      As Diomid tried to think about it, the young woman screamed and opened her eyes. "NO!" she howled and threw Diomid across the room. Stars crossed his vision as Diomid's impact with the far wall tried to send him into darkness. Clawing his way away from barely avoided unconsciousness by force of will, Diomid tried to push himself back into the fray. Karola was in his way and he sidestepped her. The renSime's arm was bleeding heavily again, the crimson stain under the table growing frighteningly fast. He tried to clamp the arm wound. Arkay shoved him away before he could get a hold.
      Diomid fell, hard. He tried to scramble to his feet again. The renSime shuddered and then was dreadfully still. Diomid stopped what he was doing. Rudely, Arkay shoved Karola out of the way and then slumped in on himself. "Damn!" Arkay swore, head bowed.
      "If I could have gotten here sooner." Karola left a bloody hand print on Arkay's shoulder. Before either of them could realize who was really to blame for the young woman's death, Diomid ran.
     
      Lungs burning, Diomid tried to force his legs to move faster. He ran down the stairs, taking them three at a time. Trying to escape himself, he pushed even harder. Finally coming to the dank, dark, abandoned storerooms at the bottom of the sharm, he threw a door open at random. Rats squealed and skittered at his intrusion. Blinded by tears, he closed the door on the lighted hallway and burrowed between two empty crates. Splinters dug into his shoulders as they rubbed against the rough wood, but he hardly felt them for the pain in his heart.
      "I murdered her," he hugged his arms to his body, trying to press out the memory of her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Shivering at the chill, his muscles began to cramp. The smell of blood still clung to his hands and he scraped at them savagely. Scratching at himself, he drew more blood. The pain of his body was a welcome shield against the pain in his heart. Frantically, he dug his nails in even harder. Wracked by sobs, he tore at his own hands and arms.
      Finally, exhausted and alone, he felt the warm pulse of his heart spill through the rents he had made in his own wrists. Relief at his success made him giddy. He soft laughter murmured sweet words in echo from the nearby crates. Diomid licked at the salty, metallic warmth, pleased by its sparkling life coursing over his shredded arms. Still chuckling madly at his own cleverness, Diomid slipped under the dark waters of unconsciousness.
     
      Arkay damned himself for having pushed Diomid too far. When the guards had left the renSime who had foolishly tried to separate two dogs fighting over a bitch, he hadn't thought she would live and so sent Diomid off to get Karola so he wouldn't have to face his first patient death just yet. When Karola had come so quickly, for a brief instant he had hoped the young woman had a chance to survive, but there had been nothing he could do. There had been the slimmest chance a sharm lord transfer might give her the selyn to be able to survive, but her imprintation against direct transfer had been too strong.
      When Diomid had been thrown back, both he and Karola had tried to keep Diomid from exposing himself again. In at least that much they had succeeded. What incredible dedication, Arkay shook his head sadly as he closed the young woman's eyes and covered her face.
      As he turned his attention away from the dead to deal with the living, "Where is he?" Arkay couldn't find a trace of Diomid anywhere. The door was standing open, he noted.
      Karola leaned against the table for support. "I don't know, Arkay," she sighed heavily. "Poor lad to have to deal with death so young."
      "Indeed, I made a mistake and should have sent him away entirely." Arkay admitted, tightening his jaw against his own failure. Beating himself over it wouldn't help, no matter how much he deserved it. "Do you have any idea where he could have gone?" Diomid was obviously not here.
      "No," Karola shook her head. "Ilira is currently at the north west estate, too far for him to run to easily."
      Arkay snorted, "She wouldn't be much help right now. For all her experience with animals she is not the most compassionate woman in the world."
      They washed up. Looking down the hallway, Arkay felt the first frission of true fear for Diomid. "I don't trust Diomid's stability, love." He knew Diomid was not the most stable person in the world and right now he had no one with any sense he could turn to. Arkay had certainly proven his own incompetence.
      Karola clucked at him and looked down the hallway. "Neither do I," she took a deep breath. "Do you have his pattern?" Arkay concentrated on the feel of Diomid; his smooth, graceful tongue and elegant wit foremost in his mind. Karola finally said, "Got it." She took off running.
      "Diomid, you idiot," Arkay cried as he got the image of clammy darkness from Karola and took off after her.
     
      "I lost him." Karola stopped suddenly at the top of the stairs. Arkay caught her as she began to overbalance. He was not going to let her get hurt today too.
      "Where was he going?" Arkay asked.
      She shook her head, "All I got was 'away'. His mind hasn't been opened yet, has it?"
      "No," he hurried down the stairs to the sharm, hoping Diomid would just keep going in one direction. "I didn't want him to grow too fast." He cursed his own idiocies. Arkay himself had been ascended at his establishment and he survived the experience, barely.
      "Good idea at the time," she looked around carefully.
      "Great lot of good it does us now." Arkay groused.
      The sharm guards held the doors open respectfully, "If'n yer lookin fer yer lost lamb, he ran through not but ten minits past now, m'Lords."
      "Thank you," Arkay nodded absently, not wanting to waste time on formalities. Oh how he wished he could go back in time and tell the guards not to just let people, even sharm lords bolt through the doors.
      "Would do more harm than good, love." Karola stopped at the first intersection.
      As she headed for the stairs straight ahead, Arkay stopped her, "Don't those lead to the kitchens?"
      "Yes," her violet eyes were questioning.
      "If Diomid has lived here most of his life?" Arkay meant this to be a question.
      "As far as I know he has." Karola shrugged.
      "Then he'll probably not want to go near other people." Arkay grimaced, "He's probably going to want to hide. I caught a glimpse of damp and dark through you. What's the shortest path down?"
      "That way," she pointed towards the awkward steps to their right.
      "Lets go down and then start searching from the bottom." Arkay swore silently at the rabbit warren design of all sharms. Up stairs and then down and around, all of them placed for maximum inconvenience of rapid movement. "Damn all our ancestors for making this snarl."
      "Yes well, better some exercise than a kill." Karola slid her hand along the banister. "No dust," the stairs here were so steep it would have been slower to try to run them without a hand hold. Arkay took heart from her observation. At least Diomid wasn't suicidal, he prayed.
      Finally they came to the bottom floor, hardly more than raw cut stone walls and damp, musty dirt on the floor. "You take one side and I'll take the other." Arkay wished he could wave the lights up further, but this far underground they were lucky to have any light at all. For what seemed like hours, they opened doors and peered in at centuries worth of abandoned and neglected store rooms.
      They came to the end of the lowest common level of the sharm, no further along in their search than when they started. Arkay wanted to hit something and so pounded his fist futilely the wall. It echoed hollowly in the near darkness.
      "Stop that," Karola grabbed his wrist with her tentacles extended. Nothing less would have stopped him. "I want to bite something too, but I'm not going to let it stop me."
      "Where could he have gone?" Arkay had rarely felt so impotent. From the last glimpse Karola had gotten of the young man's emotions he was in no condition to be left by himself. I should have never let him bolt.
      "I don't know, Arkay." Karola leaned against him heavily. "I don't know this sharm as well as Sergei's."
      "Do you think Avilan would know?" Arkay was grasping at straws. For all he knew, Diomid could well be dead by now. He shivered at his own thoughts. Of course he wouldn't have suicided over this, but then a cold grue ran up his spine. Arkay had not reacted well to his own first sight of death and he'd been prepared for it.
      "Maybe," she closed her eyes heavily. "Although I have another idea."
      "Tell me" he looked down into her eyes. Right now he would do anything to find the lad, hopefully healthy. Even though as every moment passed where he couldn't sense Diomid's presence, his chances for survival got slimmer.
      "Right after I first met Avilan, your father, Vanya Sergei, opened Avilan's mind. He didn't touch him to do it." The hope in her eyes was brilliant. He hoped it wasn't misplaced. "I don't know what kind of range that kind of thing takes."
      "Less than sending, but considerably more than healing or ascension usually takes physical contact." Arkay thought about it for a moment. "It's worth a try, but you know this means he will have to be ascended eventually."
      "No gain without a cost," she shrugged. With these words Arkay leaned against the cold stone wall and concentrated. Arkay tried to remember everything he could of Diomid, his voice, the way he moved his hands, the brilliant wit, his eagerness to learn, even his submissiveness to anyone Sime, and his fascination with Ilira. Sweat trickled down the side of his face as he strained to reach out to Diomid and call him.
      Arkay shivered with exhaustion, "I can't find him."
      "Try again" Karola's arms went around him, dispelling the chill of the stone with the warmth of her body.
      One last time he reached out, leaning on Karola's strength as much as he dared. Finally he caught a flicker and latched onto it. *Open,* he sent with the gestalt of how to do so. For a brief instant the other mind returned to awareness. Arkay screamed as excruciating pain, even worse than Ilya had given him, ripped through his forearms. Blackness threatened to overwhelm him before the other mind returned to its stillness. Panting in reaction, Arkay turned his head towards Diomid. "There," he pointed to the fourth door on the right. His hand shook in reaction.
      "I already looked," Karola gasped, running towards the door. Arkay shook his head clear and followed after her. He knew Diomid had hurt himself, but not how or how extensively. Now all he hoped was he hadn't hurt himself as badly as he feared.
      "Stand back," he opened the door quietly. There was absolutely no light in the room. Rodents and other small creatures skittered. Arkay entered the room, waving Karola back. From what he had gotten, he didn't want her to accidentally run across Diomid. The store room was huge, although with the low ceiling, and all the boxes and crates piled around, it was a maze. Closing his eyes, Arkay let his other senses show him where the debris on the floor was. He couldn't sense the field of another person in the room, but with all the junk in here i