Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“But would he really bother to go through all the hassle?” Eridan said, still skeptical. “I mean, there are plenty of young unclaimed initiates he can get his creepy hands on much easier.” He cringed—he hadn’t meant to make it sound that way—but it was the truth, nonetheless. Eridan was far more protected than the hundreds of unclaimed initiates, and he didn’t flatter himself by thinking he was all that special.
A cold smile touched Castien’s lips. “Of course there are. But he will want mine. It is a power play, Eridan. Tethru’s power is not as absolute as he would like. He does not have a fraction of the respect Grandmaster Kato commanded. If he can take my apprentice for himself, that would certainly make the Chapter respect his authority more.”
Eridan pulled a face. Of course. It always was some power play. In the years as Castien’s apprentice, he had learned that the Chapter was pretty much a pit of poisonous snakes, all determined to seize more power and backstab each other. Though, maybe he was being unfair. There were a few decent Masters among the Chapter members, maybe even more than a few. The problem was, it was hard to tell if there were decent people behind those cold, formidable facades.
“I still think you’re being paranoid, Master,” Eridan said as the sun finally disappeared into the horizon. The twin moons were already visible against the darkening sky. “I’m sure Tethru has more important things to do thanks to the situation on Tai’Lehr.”
Castien hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps. And perhaps it will only make him more fixated on the idea. There is little we can do about Tai’Lehr besides planting seeds of distrust toward the rebels, but those things would be delegated to lesser Masters. Tethru will want a distraction, and you just might be one.”
Eridan made a skeptical sound, unconvinced.
He felt Castien’s gaze on him, at last.
Turning his head, Eridan found his Master watching him with a strange, intense expression.
Castien lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over Eridan’s cheek.
Eridan shivered and held himself very still, stunned. It was so rare for his Master to touch him voluntarily instead of simply tolerating his affections.
Eridan licked his dry lips. His skin felt prickly, too tight. “Master?”
“You should grow a beard,” Castien said, with faint irritation in his voice.
“A beard?” he repeated blankly, looking into Castien’s eyes. The blue of them seemed so dark at the moment they looked almost black.
“Yes.” Castien brushed Eridan’s jawline with his thumb, a displeased twist to his lips. “You do not even have stubble. Your face is still disgustingly pretty and boyish. No wonder Tethru wants you.”
Eridan scoffed, trying not to lean into the touch like some touch-starved animal. “Well, I’m sorry, Master, for having the audacity to be born with my face.”
“Don’t give me attitude, Eridan,” Castien said, his eyes flashing.
Eridan dropped his gaze. Although his Master wasn’t easily angered and was surprisingly tolerant of his attitude, sometimes his patience was worn thin and his displeasure could be very unpleasant.
“You know I’m right, Master,” he said in a more neutral tone of voice. “I can’t help it. I’m a throwback, remember?” He wasn’t exaggerating: throwbacks were physiologically different from the rest of Calluvians. Most throwbacks had softer, more refined features, and were usually incapable of growing any facial hair. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t look his age.
“Yes, a throwback,” Castien said, as if he were tasting something foul. “Which undoubtedly only feeds Tethru’s fascination. He likes them.”
Eridan glared at him. “I’m not sure what’s worse: people who fetishize us or people who find us disgusting.”
A wry smile touched Castien’s lips. “I am not disgusted with you, Eridan. I am many things about you, most of them not nice, but disgusted is not one of them.”
Eridan blinked, unsure how to take it.
As always, when he felt confused, he found himself in need of reassurance.
Tell me you care. I need you to tell me you care. I need you to care. I need you.
He leaned into his Master’s hand, rubbing his cheek against it.
Castien allowed it, staring at him with an unreadable, fixated look in his eyes.
“I missed you, Master,” Eridan murmured, his eyelids becoming heavy from the rush of endorphins.
“You should make friends your age,” Castien said in a clipped voice. “You are touch-starved.”
“You don’t have any friends, either,” Eridan said.
“I do not need them. But you are not me.” Castien’s finger brushed against his telepathic point, and a whine slipped out of Eridan’s mouth, his telepathic core pulsing with need.
Fuck, it had been too long.
“Please,” he whispered, meeting his Master’s gaze. “Just a short one?”
A muscle twitched in Castien’s jaw. “You always say that, but it’s never a ‘short one.’ You are addicted, Eridan.”
He shook his head with a faint smile. “I’m not. If I were addicted to the merge, I would have been a wreck after a month and a half away from you. But I was fine, Master.” That was a bit of a lie—he had been very far from fine—but he wasn’t a wreck, either. Eridan was sure he was getting a little better at controlling himself when it came to having his Master’s mind inside his.