The Agency, Volume III Read online

  Finally, Rowan set to making himself comfortable. He opened his backpack and took out the lounging robe he'd brought from home; he could have changed into one of the outfits the Elves had no doubt filled his closet with, but he wanted something familiar and warm. He smiled as he unfolded the dark purple fabric--it was one of Jason's favorite colors, and when Rowan wore it he couldn't help but think of all the times it had ended up thrown on the floor or in a heap as the vampire's hands impatiently untied it to reach the skin beneath. It was full of magic and love, and that was what the boy needed right now.

  Like all Elven Healing rooms, there was a small altar in the corner, and he paused to light the candles on it and set some incense smoldering in the dish of sand, taking a moment to ground himself.

  The image of the Elven Goddess smiled serenely at him. Rowan felt a twinge of guilt--his own religious practice had dwindled the last year, and here among the quietly spiritual rhythms of his people he was keenly aware of the lack in his own life. Perhaps being here during the Beltaine season was no coincidence. He should, he thought, go and speak to the High Priestess while he was here; if nothing else, Sara should meet her.

  He rose from the altar and returned to the bed.

  "Good evening, little one," he said, keeping his voice low. "My name is Rowan. I am here to help you, if you would be helped."

  He reached over and carefully shifted the boy farther to the side so there would be room enough for both of them, and slid into the bed, propping himself up on one elbow for a moment. Reaching into himself, he turned his vision slightly so that he could see with more than just physical eyes, and lay one hand on the boy's chest just over his heart, settling down beside him, their bodies barely touching.

  Rowan imagined that the human medical establishment would be horrified at the thought of someone offering sex to a rape victim, but Elves understood the world differently than mortals. Again, it was about balance; about giving the patient what he or she needed, not according to established protocol, but according to the subtle senses and dictates of the heart. The first thing to do was to learn everything he could about the young Elf, and the only way to do that was through touch. Telepathy was impossible when someone's mind was this traumatized. He knew from experience what was happening, what the boy would be feeling. In a way, he was lucky--he was among his own people, and with a Rethla, not a doctor.

  He gently parted the boy's mind like a curtain, his psychic touch so light that it would hardly stir the surface of his thoughts, and slipped inside.

  Darkness.

  It was not the darkness of sleep and dreams, but the darkness of death and fear, and a few years ago Rowan's resolve might have crumbled beneath it. Instead, he held fast to himself, and spoke again, giving his name and intentions silently as he had, a moment ago, aloud.

  Rowan didn't expect an immediate response, and there wasn't one, so he shifted his awareness into a sort of double vision where he could see both inside and out. He nudged aside the blankets covering the boy's frail body and exposed his skin, pressing closer so he wouldn't take a chill, and began to lightly trace his fingers along the boy's body, feeding energy into the touch to keep it nonthreatening, his intentions absolutely clear.

  Through his fingers he could feel every injury, both present and past, and every violation that had been committed against the Elf. He could read muscle memory and the places in the body where energy that usually flowed along natural meridians had been disrupted or blocked. There were pools of energy along the spine, each governing its own areas and aspects of living--humans knew them as chakras--that were an indicator of physical as well as emotional health. Normally energy spun within them, but the boy's were all but motionless, drained of their light. The lowest centers were the worst off, as he would have guessed--they governed security, sexuality, and survival instinct. They felt sticky, as if they were covered in tar.

  This part, at least, was easy. Rowan drew energy up out of himself and poured it into the centers, slowly burning away the darkness that had enveloped them. He lost awareness of the passage of time--it would take as long as it took--and focused completely on each center in turn, starting at the lowest, the base of the spine. Under his touch it began to brighten, and finally to spin again, its energy just barely starting to radiate upward toward the next.

  Once he had cleaned out all seven major centers as well as those in the hands and feet, Rowan drew back again to examine his progress. The young Elf's energy was moving again, so it would be a matter of hours before the rest of the injuries healed themselves; assuming he woke, he would regain his appetite quickly.

  The next task was waking him, and there Rowan was daunted--he could follow the cord that connected body to spirit as far out as it went, but the hard part would be convincing him to return to his body and live again after everything he'd been through. How could he offer the boy life, knowing what he would face as he recovered? It seemed almost cruel to ask so much of one so broken.

  But he had to try.

  He spoke into the darkness, projecting reassurance and solace as his physical hands continued their journey over the boy's body, reaffirming his words through contact. "You are safe now, little one. You can come back. You are among friends, and you are loved. I will take care of you."

  The words echoed back to him, edged in grief and the furtive hell of months of fear and torment. Still, he held on, sending more power through his fingers, murmuring among the shadows, calling, but not insisting. He called for hours, the day turning toward night before there was even a flicker of a response. The boy was closer, just a little closer to his body...but that meant he was awake enough for nightmares.

  The images rose thick and fast, and Rowan fought them off, standing directly between the young Elf and his ordeal. Rowan saw everything, and it was all too familiar to him--groping hands, white-hot agony, laughter and shame. He had been called a demon and treated like a whore, and the only saving grace was that when his Clan had been slaughtered he had not seen it. The slavers had caught him by surprise as he returned home in the night from a tryst with his lover. She had been killed trying to flee, and he had been taken, just as the destruction began. He had heard the screams and smelled the stench of burning flesh and wood, but by then three men had beaten and raped him in the back of a truck, and the pain and terror were all he could understand.

  "I'm so sorry," Rowan whispered. "Poor, poor child...I know what you've suffered...I know. I know it must seem easier to hide away and wait for the end...but you have so much more to see and do. Don't let them take anything else from you, dear one."

  Rowan placed barriers between the Elf and the nightmares, allowing him space to breathe; the relief was palpable, and the young one edged closer to wakefulness, now able to feel his body around him, and feel that it was no longer in pain...Rowan felt him flinch under his hands, but Rowan didn't pull away.

  "Yes," he said. "Remember what it's like to be touched without hurt. Remember how you loved feeling flesh touch your own...it's been far too long. You are beautiful, young one...you deserve to be loved, to be touched, to be kissed...remember your lovers and the pleasure they brought you, and you them."

  Slowly, Rowan lowered his mouth to the boy's shoulder, following the path of his hands with his lips, putting such care into each kiss that there was no mistaking it for violence or greed. He was careful not to apply too much pressure, or to be rough at all; he blew lightly on skin that was now flushed and damp with sweat, letting his hands move down along the Elf's back, over his hip, pulling him closer.

  As his mouth sought the other's, Rowan brought their breathing into synch, letting healing energy flow from him into the younger Elf with each exhalation, lathing away the trauma as if he were bathing his charge in warm water.

  He could easily have channeled some of that power into arousing the Elf and bringing him to a shuddering, world-shaking orgasm, but he held back, waiting, deepening one kiss into another, then lifting his lips and moving down over neck and shou
lder, collarbone, ribs...warmth had returned to the body beneath his, and he gave more, raising his own body temperature slightly--it was an old trick of his calling, a way of soothing a troubled client, and had brought a certain vampire plenty of comfort as well.

  Down, and down...energy continued to flow from his hands and through his mouth, until at last he eased the younger Elf's legs apart and found, to his satisfaction, that his efforts were working. He was starting to harden, and that was enough of a sign that Rowan was willing to take another step. He bent his head to kiss the stiffening length, then gingerly sucked, coaxing the Elf deeper and harder into his mouth.

  He knew that it was safe enough--the slavers and their clients were rarely interested in the blade, only in a sheath for their own. He had been fucked in every conceivable way, but most of the men who had abused him had ignored his cock, preferring to bend him over or force him to his knees. Most of those men preferred women; Elves' sexual allure was too great to resist, however, regardless of gender, and perfectly straight human males had paid hundreds of dollars for a chance to pound into an immortal's body no matter what was in front.

  Rowan concentrated on the Elf's pleasure, feeding him just enough energy to heighten sensation without overloading him; meanwhile he kept up the shielding against nightmare and memory, allowing him to feel without tumbling into flashbacks. There was nothing in the world as beautiful as an Elf making love, except perhaps for a vampire, and even with ribs showing and bruises still marking the sweetness of his flesh, the way he clutched at the blankets and arched his back was almost unbearably attractive to Rowan, who spared a tendril of power to keep his own body in neutral. His needs were irrelevant now, and besides, he would have plenty of opportunities to fulfill them later, with Sara, and probably anyone else in the Clan he desired. For now he siphoned off the arousal and added it to the fire, building it with aching slowness, hands curved around the Elf's hips, tongue moving in lazy spirals as he drew his mouth up and down, up and down.

  A hand wove into his hair and gripped tightly; the momentary pain nearly jolted Rowan out of his healing trance and had him pinning the boy down to fuck him hard, but though his body had its own ideas, his mind forcibly reasserted itself--this was not Jason, and it was not about him. It had obviously been far too long since he'd done this.

  He could feel the peak approaching, and he reached into the boy again to create an energetic loop between them--as he slid his head down one last time, taking the Elf all the way down his throat, a violent shudder thundered through them both, and Rowan heard a gasp and a moan as the boy came, the waves of climax striking Rowan, who doubled them back into the loop and used them to set a seal on his work.

  Moments later, Rowan raised his head, licking his lips, and looked into slitted eyes glazed both with exhaustion and relief.

  Rowan moved back up the bed, setting himself down beside the Elf, who was panting, and shaking, tears filling his eyes. Rowan kissed his temple and stroked his hair, not speaking, just waiting.

  "Aven," the young one whispered. "My name is Aven."

  Then he turned his face into Rowan's shoulder and wept.

  Part Two

  In the months since she'd joined the Agency, Sara had gotten used to living at night and spending most of her time underground. Her own quarters were above, with windows and everything, but all her training, briefings, and other business went on below, and besides, that was where Rowan and Jason lived. It had been strange at first and a little frightening on those nights she woke up in Rowan's room far beneath the Earth, but she'd gotten used to it, along with hardly ever seeing sunlight. Once in a while she ended up on day patrol, but most of her caseload was in tandem with the vampires.

  Once in a great while she and Rowan, and occasionally Frog and Sage, snuck out of town for a weekend to go camping when the weather was cool. This was the first time she'd been on a real vacation, not injury leave or a national holiday.

  She didn't know what to do with herself.

  After Rowan left for the House of Healing she immediately dove into her closet and found something new to wear, a sort of pants-robe hybrid in dark blue cotton. Elves went for flowing fabrics, but they also managed to blend utility and comfort into their fashions, so that she felt she'd be equally at home dallying with a lover, dancing round a bonfire, or winning a barfight in the hand-dyed outfit. She looked at herself in the mirror and had to admit the cut was perfectly flattering to her figure, even though she was shorter and curvier than any Elf had ever been.

  She yanked her hair out of its ponytail and let it fall down over her shoulders, nodding to herself in satisfaction. Not bad. If she could get someone to do it up in the elaborate braids she'd seen Sedna and Ardeth wear, she might even look like she fit in.

  Well, except for the ears. And the breasts. And the fact that her hair and eyes never changed color.

  She really had no idea how they told each other apart around here, if everyone's coloring was the same and they all had such similar features. She'd know Rowan anywhere, but that was as much familiarity with his energy as it was his short hair and the subtle difference in demeanor.

  There was also that ninja-silence thing. Elves didn't make any noise.

  Case in point:

  "Hello!"

  Sara yelped and spun around at the cheerful voice behind her in the doorway. There, as Sedna had mentioned, was Elora, as adorable as ever, if not moreso because of the glow of radiant health around her, her beaming grin, and the six inches of height she'd added since Sara last saw her.

  The Elfling all but vaulted into her arms, and they hugged. "Hey there, midget," Sara said, laughing. "You've grown so much!"

  Elora pulled back and kissed her soundly on the forehead. "Yes. So have you."

  Sara, who hadn't physically changed at all, decided to let that one go; Elora had a habit of saying things that were way beyond a human child's maturity level. "Thank you. I'm glad to see a face I know."

  "Did Tiomi Rowan go to the Healers?" Elora asked. Sara noticed that she was carrying a small cloth bag over her shoulder, and that it was a patchwork of sorts, made partly out of what remained of her stuffed elephant. The last time Sara had seen the toy it had been losing stuffing and looked more like a Tribble than a pachyderm.

  "He did. He wanted to get to work right away. I don't know when he'll be back, but I know he'll want to see you."

  Elora grabbed Sara's hand and dragged her toward the door. "Come--Father wants to say hello, but he's melting something and couldn't get away."

  "Oh, I don't want to interrupt--"

  "Did you know Beltaine is in two days? It's the biggest festival of the year. All the grownups walk into the woods together."

  Sara managed not to blush at the thought; she knew exactly what Elora was talking about, having been briefed on Elven traditions by Rowan on the drive out. She wasn't expected to take part in the rites unless she wanted to, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it--there was something about the idea of watching all the other Elves slip away to make love under the trees that made her feel uncannily like waiting to be picked for dodgeball in elementary school. She didn't want to be the only one left standing.

  "Oh, I've heard all about it," Sara said lamely, following the child out the front door and onto the main path, this time leading away from the Temple, toward the east. As far as she could tell the village was built in a circle, with the Temple in the center north; the main path seemed to wrap all the way around, so if she got lost it would be easy enough to find her way back to the guesthouse.

  "Father will be there," Elora added, no particular inflection to her voice. "Will you?"

  "I don't know...I'm not sure I'd be welcome. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable."

  Elora shrugged. "They know who you are. The Elves here don't hate humans. Some of them might be a little afraid, but that's why they should meet you, so they know it's okay." Her wide eyes, spring green and sunny yellow, were serious as she added, "Nobody ever ends up stand
ing by themselves, you know. Not unless they want to."

  Now Sara did blush. The kid was way too insightful for her own good. "Are all Elflings like you, Elora?"

  She paused, considering the question. "No. Some of them are boys."

  Sara let herself be pulled along, taking in the scenery as she went. There didn't seem to be too many people about, but now and then she caught a glimpse of a willowy figure gliding between buildings, and in the distance she heard the chiming sound of harpstrings and the lilt of a pipe. Everywhere, there was art, just like in Clan Yew; statuary, gardens that almost looked wild until you realized they were perfectly tended, fountains, bird houses, even a short row of beehives on the edge of the woods. Everything was made with an eye toward fitting in with its surroundings, and the wildlife seemed to appreciate it. She saw at least a half-dozen deer picking their way along the trees, stepping in delicately to nibble at a shrub here and there that seemed to have been planted especially for them. A pair of fat rabbits looked up at her as she passed by, deemed her inoffensive, and went back to their munching.