Ari sat on the raised platform listening to the beautiful singing of one of the younger of the clan’s warriors. The boy’s sweet voice wrapped the listeners in the past glories of their clan as everyone hung on his words. By this time tomorrow Ari knew that the boy along with him and most of his clan would be wiped out by the invading Horse Lords and their leader Nighteagle. Yet the spell of the ancient triumph swept his people along, making them for the moment invincible in their hearts, if not their bodies. Ari closed his ice blue eyes, trying to lose himself as well, but despite the rousing words it couldn’t banish the thoughts of his clan’s death.
It had only been a brief eighty years since their clan had settled in the Valley of Mist.
Raised with a sword in their fists from the day they were born, each member of the dwindling clan of the Iolair were born to fight, yet their constant warlike ways had brought them to the brink of extinction despite their formidable skills. It was Ari’s great-grand uncle that had settled the clan in the fertile valley and brought peace, hoping to rebuild their numbers to one day battle again. That dream wasn’t to be, at least not now.
The Horse Lords had finally united under the banner of one man. A powerful warrior of barbaric ruthlessness and cunning that had swept the world under the hoof of their horses. Intent on battle and plunder, they swept through the lands robbing, raping, and burning their enemies, leaving a wake of destruction behind. Thousands rode under the banner of Nighteagle, who it was said found exquisite pleasure only in the heat of battle.
Ari had evacuated the protesting women with children under ten, and a small number of young warriors in the forest beyond the valley where Nighteagle would not enter. It was the one place the tribe of Horse Lords feared, the depth of forest so different and foreign than the open freedom of the vast expanse of plains of their homeland. The women had demanded their right to fight with the clan and die a warrior’s death, but Ari was adamant that the Iolair survive. He wouldn’t be the leader that had to oversee the death of his ancient clan, for him the recognition of being the youngest leader of his people was enough for him.
The song came to an end as Ari opened his eyes and applauded with the rest of his people. The musicians struck up a rousing beat as many began to dance. The smiling laughter a strange counterpart to the somber thought that swirled in his mind. His people were happy, the day of battle had returned despite the insurmountable odds against them; they would die as warriors. Peace didn’t suit the Iolair, and Ari knew that this battle was something they wanted. His clan always looked forward to the coming of foolish people that had tried to raid their clan.
Every woman, man, child, and oldster wanted to fight and die in glory, it been hard to convince the few that had to flee to the forest. They had protested vigorously that how could they even claim to be Iolair when they had survived in such a way, cowardly fleeing from battle and glorious death? It had been a hard won victory that, for Ari, was rather hollow and empty, for there was some truth in their words.
The Iolair never ran from battle; it was the one reason that Nighteagle had set his sights on his people, who were not as rich as those around them. For the prestige of destroying the legend of the invincible Iolair, Nighteagle would drive his thousands into the Valley of the Mist to battle the slim five hundred people left of his clan.
“Ari, would you dance?” asked Strum, his sword instructor and former lover.
Ari stared at Strum with a frown, looking at the honey blond haired man with a powerful square face and flashing emerald eyes. He could see the man was trying to make peace between them, despite the fact Ari had flat out refused his company the past month. For an instant Ari considered it, for he had not found anyone to fill his bed, and yet he knew that he would rather be alone than feel the sting of disappointment of their pairing.
Ari knew that no matter how hard his old teacher and lover tried, there was no way he could fulfill his true desire. Strum had tried and for years it had been enough, but now he had outgrown Strum and he could deny it no longer. He watched Strum lift a long strand of his pale white hair in his calloused hand, as he leaned over to whisper in Ari’s ear.
“I have a new set of ropes for you. You have been very disobedient to resist me for so long, I intend to teach you the price for such audacity before we die,” Strum purred in his ear.
A year ago such threats would have made Ari tremble in desire, but now he felt nothing but pity for the man gazing down at him. When he was young, before he had become the chief of the Iolair, Strum had been a powerful, strong man that outweighed Ari by more than a little. He was the best and strongest of all the clan warriors except for the chief. Strum had seemed invincible and commanding, just the type of person that drew Ari. It hadn’t taken long for his teacher to notice the starry-eyed gaze of his pupil, who would often times deliberately disobey him. It was apparent from the beginning that Ari was looking not only for attention but something more carnal in his acts of defiance. The first time Strum had strapped him for deliberately dropping his sword, the man knew what Ari’s true intentions were by his growing erection at Strum’s discipline.
That day had led to one of the most intensely erotic days of Ari’s life, even now the thoughts of that day could make him throb in desire. A young, virginal youth being taken by his strong teacher. The following years had led to a relationship between the two that was frowned on but overlooked because of both of their extreme talents as warriors. Days were spent in the training yard, where Strum pounded him with a sword until Ari’s skills outshone everyone in a clan full of warriors. Nights were spent bound and tied as his instructor tortured his body, bringing passions and desire spiked with pain flowing through him.
The last two years had brought many changes in both of their lives; foremost among them was Ari’s elevation to clan chief of the Iolair. When the old chief had died, Ari had been elected unanimously for his skills with a sword and ferocity in battle that had earned him the name White Demon, to the foreigners who were foolish enough to attack their clan in hopes of seizing their treasure or make a name for themselves.
As was proper, he found a woman to bear him a child, and had taken over the hundreds of details of running their small clan. His mornings were spent sparring warriors who wished to test their skills against the clan chief, his afternoons spent buried in the minutia of clan life, and his evenings divided between Gislia and Strum. He had to admit that Strum had graciously stepped aside to Gislia, but Ari suspected it was only because he knew that there was nothing between them except the agreement to sire and raise a child together. Gislia only paired with him until their son had been conceived, then she as well chose another lover.
Leadership, the birth of his son, and sparring everyday with hotheaded young warriors had made Ari even more aware of his own strengths as a man, and when compared to his lover he found Strum lacking. He was a good man and when needed a considerate lover who knew what Ari wanted and needed, but he wasn’t strong enough. The game between them was just a game, the reality was heartbreakingly simple for Ari. Strum could never truly dominate Ari as he wished because Strum lacked the skills to do it. Ari could easily overpower his old lover now, not just on a physical level but an intellectual as well. Knowing that he submitted not because of the man’s strength of will but because of Ari’s need to have someone, anyone command him left Ari hollow inside.
It had been a shock to Strum when one night Ari had snapped the bounds of rope that Sturm had tied tightly and got up. Strum had come at him meaning to push him to the ground and overpower him, only to find Ari astride his chest looking down at him in sadness. Ari had in an empty voice told Strum that they were over. In the month that had followed Strum had tried repeatedly to get him back into his log home, yet Ari had refused.
Many of the clan had looked at the breakup between the pair as a good opportunity to become Ari’s new lover. Not only was he the clan leader, but he knew that many woman and even men looked at him with open desire. He had the classic features of his clan, with broad shoulders, lean hips, and taut muscles on his chest and arms. Long, well muscled legs met with a round curve of ass which Strum had often commented was his best feature. His long, white blond hair hung down to his thighs, a testament to his prowess as a warrior. Only in defeat did an Iolair cut their hair, and Ari had never once needed to. He had often heard in whispers that his ice blue eyes were the thing that drew his potential suitors the most, with their powerful gaze that made one forget their purpose, except to please him.
Even now Ari could feel the eyes of his clan on him, wondering what his answer to Strum would be. He knew that most of them expected Ari to take Strum to his home, since he had refused all offers from the others of the clan. Even Strum had expected it, despite Ari’s consistent refusal of him. None of them knew that Ari had refused all offers simply because he knew that no one in the clan was able to equal him, let alone surpass him.
“No, Strum,” Ari said quietly, looking up at the man sadly.
“We will die tomorrow, will you not give me this one thing,” Strum pleaded softly.
“No, the only person that will enter my bed again is one that can surpass me. That is the only person I can love,” Ari replied as he saw Strum’s eyes widen.
“Then you would always be alone Ari. No one can surpass the White Demon,” Strum answered letting Ari’s hair fall.
Ari watched the man walk away, feeling sadness overwhelm him despite the high sprit of the people around him. Maybe Strum was right, but Ari would never get a chance to find out, for tomorrow he would die under a horde of enemies. The only thing he hoped was that his son would be able, unlike his father, to find the one destined for him.
“Thank you Strum,” Ari said, looking down at the his painted body with intricate blue signs of protection on his white skin.
“Glad to do it, at least I got to touch your naked ass one more time before the end,” Strum leered.
“Strum,” Ari sighed.
“Just joking, still I think you should have let me put a blue hand print on it all things considering.”
“How about I put one on you?” Ari growled.
Strum turned around, presenting Ari with his naked ass with a grin. Ari couldn’t help but smile as the man looked around and stood up.
“Glad to see you smile Ari.”
“Thanks Strum, I just hope that Gislia and the others remain safe. I don’t want to be remembered as the last leader of the Iolair,” Ari said, grabbing his swords.
“There are worse things to be remembered for. Besides, you can’t fool me, I know you’re excited. Your blood’s boiling is it?” Strum answered, picking up his own sword.
“There are only two ways for me to truly feel alive,” Ari answered.
“I couldn’t make you feel alive anymore, could I? Does that mean that you used to think I was better than you?” Strum asked as they walked.
“At everything,” Ari said quietly. “I did love you.”
“Thank you for that at least. Well it’s time.”
“Yes,” Ari said simply, looking down the hill to the four thousand horse lords on the doorstep of Iolair’s home.
Ari watched the first wave of horse men approach his line of naked warriors, feeling his whole body tingle with excited energy. Looking down at his line of men and women he felt the tension exploding from them as they waited impatiently for the enemy to approach. With a grin he looked over at Strum and winked before giving a loud bellow that echoed throughout the valley and running at the charging horses as he felt his men follow, cheering.
Ari lost track of the time as both men and horses fell under his blade. It wasn’t long before the intricate designs Strum had so carefully applied on his naked body were covered in the blood of the enemy. The noise of steel against steel, the screams of the men and horses fighting and dying, almost deafened him as he plunged further and further into the horde of horsemen, losing one of his swords but continuing on, creating a wake of destruction in his path.
Suddenly in front of him he saw a man, dressed in the finest of chain mail and a helmet covering his face, dismount and come charging toward him. Men and horses moved out of the man’s way as his sword meet with Ari’s, jarring him with its power. A circle seemed to open before them as they fought, as though the men around them knew not to interfere with what was taking place. Ari howled as he attacked furiously, only to be countered and pushed back. He could see the man’s breath become labored as his own and their gory blades met again and again.
Ari could feel the heat of the man’s body so close to his own as their blades ground against each other, the grating of steel singing in his ears as he pushed, finally winning the contest of strength as the man fell back, his black eyes wide with shock. He recovered quickly, ripping off his helmet, his long raven black hair falling free as he charged Ari.
Ari felt shock run through him at the man leaping towards him, stunned for a split second at the absolute beauty of the warrior he faced. Black hair whirling around the man as he raised his sword, bearing down at Ari with a furious gleam in his dark eyes that sent a jolt of excitement through Ari. Shaking himself from the trance he raised his blade a half second too late, feeling the force of his opponent’s swing rip the sword out of his hands.
Growling in absolute anger, Ari charged, diving under the slicing blade that had swung around as he grabbed the man’s wrist, snapping it as the sword dropped out of the man’s hand, even as his opponent’s free hand connected fully against his skull, turning the world black.
Nighteagle looked down at the naked man on the floor of his tent with open desire. The White Demon of the Iolair. He was shocking and surprising; he was nothing like the man Nighteagle expected. He never imagined he would be able to capture the man alive, he had no intention of it until he had seen the man cloaked only in blue paint and blood come screaming through his men, leaving a trail of dead behind him. He knew in an instant who the man was, just by the aura of death that flowed around the gorgeous man. Divinity in motion were the only words Nighteagle could use for the man who was known as the White Demon.
It had been sheer luck that he had been able to capture the man. He wasn’t even sure how it had happened, but for a single moment it was as though the man had lost consciousness. In that single instant Nighteagle was able to disarm him, and even then, with no weapon, the man had almost had him. Looking down at his cracked wrist he smiled at the thoughts of their battle. He should have stuck a sword through him instead of knocking him out, yet something inside of him desired this man. It was suicide to try to keep him, for it was obvious that he was skilled beyond imagination with a sword, but Nighteagle didn’t care.
Looking down at the luminous pearl white skin he was amazed by the unmarred surface. This man had been through many battles to have earned his name, yet his perfect skin was unblemished except for, strangely enough, scars encircling his wrists as though he had been held captive. He had run into battle completely naked except for guards around those wrists, hiding the scars. Nighteagle wondered at the story behind them, knowing for certain that this man had never known defeat or captivity before. Only Nighteagle of the Horse Lords would be mad enough to even try holding this fierce beast against his will.
Nighteagle’s eyes inevitably drifted down to the unawakened manhood that nestled in a soft bed of white curling hair. He admired the size and shape of the unconscious man, wondering briefly what he would look like full and hard with desire, something he had never considered before with his other partners. He unconsciously licked his lips, feeling an overwhelming desire to do the unthinkable, suckle the man as a defeated warrior would.
“He is clean, husband,” GraySparrow said softly, looking at the floor.
“Yes, prepare him for me. Then leave us,” Nighteagle said, glancing fleetingly at the small pregnant woman with short cropped, mousy brown hair.
He watched as she pushed and heaved the dead weight of the unconscious man until he was on his belly. She parted the man’s ass, inserting a generous amount of oil in the as Nighteagle watched greedily. The light pink hole seemed so impossibly small and inviting as his wife slipped her small finger inside the man. He reigned in his desire for the movement, knowing with certainty he wanted this man awake before he began his conquest of the White Demon’s virgin ass.
“Nighteagle?” came the familiar voice of Starfall as a tall, lanky warrior entered his tent.
Graysparrow rose gracefully from the ground despite her bulging belly and moved towards the exit quietly. Nighteagle nodded politely to her as she left, glad for such an obedient wife. Looking over at the entering man he frowned fiercely, surprised to see Starfall, since he often avoided Nighteagle after a battle, making him search for him.
He noticed that the young warrior had recently bathed, and his shoulder length black hair was wet and slicked back away from his finely crafted face. His slim, elegant body clothed in his best light brown leathers and an emerald stud in his right ear. He could tell that the young warrior had dressed himself up to impress Nighteagle.
“What is it?” Nighteagle growled.
“I thought you would like to know that we lost fifteen hundred men in this battle, but all of the Iolair are dead except for five captives and this man,” Starfall answered hesitantly.
“Did they surrender?” Nighteagle asked in surprise.
“No, they were knocked unconscious like this one.”
“Interesting, I didn’t expect our losses to be so high, over half of their forces were women, children, and oldsters. They were worthy foes,” Nighteagle mused.
“There is a forest nearby. It will take a day to cut enough wood to burn our dead,” Starfall said softly.
“And the Iolair as well,” Nighteagle commanded.
Starfall looked surprised for a moment then nodded in approval.
“Is there anything else,” Nighteagle asked impatiently.
Nighteagle’s eyes swung over to the warrior, looking at the man intently as he paled and looked at the ground. He could see it in the Starfall’s eyes even though he denied it, even though he protested.
“What is it Starfall, you still want to be my bitch?” Nighteagle said deeply, walking forward toward the warrior.
“No, I hate it, but I lost to you. I follow the old ways,” Starfall said defiantly.
“So you are only following the old ways? You don’t like my cock up your ass?” Nighteagle asked, grabbing the man’s chin, making him face him.
“How could I possible like it? I’m a strong warrior, you are the only one that could possibly defeat me and make me submit to you,” Starfall said desperately.
“Then why did you challenge me? Did you honestly think you could win?”
“Yes, damn you. I thought I could be you, instead I ended up on my knees as you rutted with me. Again and again,” Starfall said, jerking back angrily.
“Good, then you are free of your obligation to me. I now have a new defeated warrior to rut with. If I tire of him I will challenge another,” Nighteagle said, dismissively turning his back on the man as he heard him leave.
Laughing softly he knew that the young man would be back eventually, despite his protests, but Nighteagle had no intention of using Starfall again. The man wanted it too badly and his full submission to Nighteagle’s demands cooled his desire for the young warrior. He could never respect a man who willingly offered his ass to him without protest. Although the boy’s moans of pleasure had their appeal, his cries of defiance had excited Nighteagle more.
Looking back over at the naked man on the floor he felt himself harden just thinking of the night ahead. The man’s naked ass and bound hands stirred something deep within him, a burning desire for conquest. He looked at the hair that had been crimson with blood, now almost white, spilling over the man’s back and sighed with regret.
Kneeling down he gathered the hair in his hand and brought out a knife, hesitating. The soft, corn silk hair slid through his fingers, tantalizing him. By his traditions, and he suspected the Iolair’s, the White Demon must shore his hair. He had been defeated, but despite that Nighteagle hesitated to mar the beauty of the man. He let the hair fall for a moment before braiding the impossibly long hair that matched his own, except for the color. When he finished he took his knife and sliced through the braid. Tying off both ends he tucked the trophy away in one of his chests regretfully.
He heard a soft moan and turned to see his captive stir on the floor and smiled. He watched the man, with a grace he shouldn’t have possessed, being bound and lying in an awkward position, rise to his knees and turn to face Nighteagle.
Fierce, ice blue eyes glared at him for a moment before he saw the man’s arms flex as he heard the impossible ripping of the binding ropes. Nighteagle stared in amazement as the man launched himself at him, the White Demon’s hands encircling his throat in an instant.
Nighteagle dropped to the ground, planting a foot in the man’s mid-section, pushing with all his strength and sending the man hurling over him. He rose only to see the totally naked man coming at him again, his expression that of man intent on death whether it be Nighteagle’s or his own.
Grinning in pleasure Nighteagle planted himself as the man attacked. Before long they found themselves on the ground grappling each other, before Nighteagle got the slight advantage and flipped the warrior quickly, seating himself on the middle of the man’s back and pinning his arms. The man under him struggled fiercely until Nighteagle reached around behind him to hit the wiggling ass hard with his hand, almost losing his grip on the warrior’s crossed arms.
Suddenly the strength in the man’s arms decreased slightly as Nighteagle struck the man’s ass again. The White Demon bucked under him, yet despite his fighting it seemed almost weaker.
“Let go of me you son of a bitch,” the man under him growled.
“I don’t think so, you belong to me now.”
“Let me die, damn you. This is not life for a warrior.”
Nighteagle chuckled at the words, acknowledging their truth but unwilling to kill the man despite the fact that it was the right thing to do. He gripped the man’s arms hard, pinning them, and reached around to land multiple hard blows on the now red ass of the man under him. He expected the man to renew his struggling and was surprised when he felt the man lift his hip a little.
Curious, he slid of the man’s back and flipped him quickly, recapturing the man’s wrists in his hands to look down in absolute shock. The man known as the White Demon, who was feared by all, was completely engorged. His organ, red and angry, stood up straight as ice blue eyes glared at him. Nighteagle almost lost himself inside his confining pants at the unexpected sight.
Without saying a word Nighteagle did something he had never done before expect with his wives, he leaned down and forced his mouth on the warrior under him. He felt resistance as the man bit his lip. Tasting the metallic taste of his blood he moved his mouth down to the man’s pale pink nipple and licked it to hardness, flicking a tongue over the ridged surface before taking the erect little nub in his teeth, biting.
The White Demon struggled beneath him, his now leaking member leaving a white trail on Nighteagle’s chest. He continued to play with the little nipples until he heard the man growl in pleasure. Nighteagle looked up to see anger and lust mixing in the man’s face as he let go of one of the man’s arms to quickly undo his confining pants and sink himself brutally into the small opening that had tantalized him not so long ago.
Instead of the expected cries of anguish at his brutal invasion he heard the man growl in pleasure even as he felt the man’s nails embed in the tender flesh of his face, drawing blood. Nighteagle hissed in pain, thrusting hard and deep in retaliation even as he felt long, powerful legs wrap around his, squeezing him painfully against the man’s body.
Reaching down, he stroked the pulsing member, squeezing it hard occasionally as the man hissed at him. Looking down into the deep pools of lust that made up the man’s eyes he leaned down and pressed his mouth to the red lips, and the man began to suck on his lower, injured lip, drawing out a little blood. Their tongues battled for dominance as he felt the White Demon move his hips against him, loosening his strangle hold on his body.
Nighteagle began to thrust hard into the body under him even as his hand milked the ridged organ between them and his mouth drank the man’s own suckling lips. He felt the pent up passion build between them as he the man shuddered under him, his far from virginal ass constricting on Nighteagle’s sensitive manhood. He moaned as he lost control deep within the man, even as he felt a fist connect with the side of his head, stunning him with conflicting feelings.
Groaning, he collapsed on the man under him. His body was pushed off of the hard, sweaty man as he backed away from Nighteagle. He looked up to see confusion and anger warring in those blue eyes. He felt himself pulled towards the man, captivated by that gaze for a moment before he shook himself.
“You’re Nighteagle?” came a surprisingly soft voice.
“Yes, and you are the White Demon,” Nighteagle said, shaking his head, trying to collect himself from the mind-blowing sex and blow to the head that had left him shaken.
“I’m Ari,” the man said, shaking his head.
“You’re not the White Demon?” Nighteagle asked sharply.
“It is only a title given to me by foreigners,” Ari said, shaking his head as he crouched down, ready to spring at Nighteagle.
“I’m a foreigner.”
“You’re a coward, taking me prisoner,” Ari retorted.
“You are mine. I defeated you in battle,” Nighteagle growled angrily.
“I fought you with honor, you should have killed me,” Ari retorted, his light voice holding menace in it.
“It is my right, you’re. . .”
Nighteagle’s words were drowned out by the man’s cry of anger as he launched himself at him. This time Nighteagle was ready and hit the man in his temple, knowing that having already been knocked out once, the second time would be easier as he felt the man collapse in his arms. He looked down at the man known as the White Demon and wondered what the hell had just happened.