Epilogue
With Clove laid out beneath him, cushioned by fine silks and furs, Sobell carried on their lovemaking without ceasing. Not a moment passed without Clove gasping in pleasure, shuddering at each clever touch and lick. Gone was the beast who had ravished him. Now, there was only Sobell.
Not frenzied, not crude.
Sobell the lover.
And Clove had never felt so loved in his life.
Sometimes kissing, sometimes breaking to pant and moan and cling to each other desperately, they carried on for what seemed like only minutes, but was in actuality hours. The progression of the shadows as they stretched across the room was all that gave the passage of time away.
How many times Sobell came in him, Clove didn’t know.
How many times he reached his own limit and spilled across his belly, he lost count.
All he knew was that when it was over, he was a sticky mess.
But still, he yearned for more.
Having withdrawn from him with a dissatisfied groan, Sobell dropped onto the space on the bed next to him and breathed in deeply, closing his eyes.
Like this, so close and in the light, not obscured by the pond or any other means, Clove was able to look at him in full for the first time, and what he saw was nothing short of ethereal.
It was like Sobell had sprung forth from some nobleman’s prized painting.
His hair was dark, long, and lustrous, his body lean and defined.
His was the kind of handsome beauty that would linger in the minds of those he crossed on the street, and the source of distraction to any who wished to keep his company.
Yet somehow, this man had chosen Clove.
Loved Clove, if his words were to be believed.
And despite everything, Clove did not think him a liar.
Not anymore. Sobell was clearly in possession of great magic, but this change of heart had not come about by any spell; there was something in Clove’s own soul that told him Sobell was not the beast he had seemed. He was something—someone—else.
Someone inexplicably familiar.
Lying there with him, Clove felt the weight of some old knowledge settling heavy over the bed, over their bodies. He knew, somehow, that here was the right place. That this was the right person.
That with him, Clove was safe.
“Do you feel it?” Sobell asked quietly, not bothering to speak with any volume more than was strictly necessary for Clove to clearly hear him. “The stirring? The return?”
Clove’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I suppose that is to be expected.” Sobell drew in another deep breath—in grounding, not exasperation—and opened his eyes, turning his head to the side to observe Clove fully.
“You were not given a kind start, although I’m sure that was by your own design.
It was never what I would have wanted for you, but you have always been stubborn.
I’m glad to see that has persisted from one life to the next. ”
The implications of what Sobell said left Clove frowning, unable to believe something so fantastical, though Sobell sounded so certain of it.
Clove’s frown deepened into a controlled scowl.
“You make it sound like I’m some divine being,” he fired back.
“Only the strongest magic users are capable of undoing their own deaths, and I have never been capable of even the most basic spell. You must be mistaken. I’m not who you think I am. ”
Sobell’s lips curved lazily into a smile. “Is that so?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, I suppose I’ve made quite a fool of myself, then.
My apologies.” Sobell rose up onto his arm and leaned over Clove, closing much of the distance between their lips.
His hair dangled down, blocking off the rest of the bedroom like a curtain.
The effect was as instant as it was intimate.
Clove’s heart began to race. “Forget I said anything.”
Clove had already forgotten.
Cheeks burning, he lifted himself up onto his elbows and brought their lips together, unable to resist the temptation of Sobell’s lips.
* * *
Clove woke more rested and relaxed than he had been in his entire life.
It was such a deeply peaceful feeling that he could barely find the will to open his eyes, but when he did, he was rewarded.
The comfort of familiarity swept through him.
The sight of the canopy overhead, the feel of the blankets, and the subtle floral scent in the air—he knew this place.
He had only just arrived, but it felt as though he had always lived here.
Too comfortable to rise, he let his gaze wander the room, taking in impossibly nostalgic sights until it landed on Sobell. He was in his human form and seated at the end of the bed, hair tied loosely between his shoulder blades, but otherwise unchanged from when Clove had last laid eyes on him.
The nostalgic feeling persisted, and as it did, other emotions began to take root. Strange emotions Clove didn’t care to name, but enjoyed all the same.
“Sobell,” Clove said, without truly knowing why.
He had nothing to say and no reason to want to draw attention to himself other than to indulge the bizarre things he was now feeling.
When Sobell looked over his shoulder at him, Clove’s chest lit from the inside with joy.
“I was just thinking… if I were to feel whatever it was you were talking about before, what would it be like?”
Sobell arched a brow, then turned and crawled his way across the bed.
As he approached, Clove couldn’t help but watch his sizable cock swing with each forward movement of his thighs.
The urge to part his legs for Sobell mounted until it reached such a fevered pitch, it became compulsion.
By the time Sobell reached his side, Clove was spread for him.
But rather than claim him, Sobell lay by his side and introduced his fingers to the strange new parts of Clove’s anatomy, rubbing and teasing what he found there until Clove was nearly writhing with pleasure.
“Someone wise once told me,” Sobell said as slickness gathered in the slit between Clove’s legs and made the glide of his fingers all the more intoxicating, “it would feel something akin to stirring from a dream. Thoughts, feelings, memories of a time before you wouldn’t otherwise have known.
All of it will return to you. Or it would have, if you were who I thought you were, but you aren’t, are you? ”
A jolt of pleasure caused Clove’s back to arch when Sobell’s fingers stroked him just right. “I… I don’t know.”
“It’s of no consequence. Regardless of who you are, I’ll take care of you.”
More pleasure followed, wave after wave, until Clove had no recourse but to clamp his thighs to hold Sobell’s hand in place so he could gyrate against it at speeds Sobell had not been willing to entertain. He was close—so close—painfully erect and drenched all at once, and needed to come.
In that delicate state, so consumed with his own state of being that the rest of the world ceased to exist, what little remained of Clove’s hesitations, worries, and fears faded away.
He did not have to be afraid because there was no reason to be.
He was here where he was safe, sharing a bed with the dragon who had promised to protect him.
He would not come to harm.
After a lifetime of loneliness, he would be loved endlessly.
Pleasure peaked.
Clove gasped and groaned, hips shuddering.
He knew this love. Knew this touch. Knew it all as well as he did the streets he had once fought to survive in, and all the places therein where a pickpocket would unlikely be seen.
It was unreasonable to think he was special, but there was no denying that the strange emotions rooted in him were sprouting up and eager to bloom. He could ignore them, deny them, starve them of light, but now that they were there, they would never wither away.
Why not let them in instead?
Clove squeezed his eyes shut and came on Sobell’s fingers. Balls churning, cock throbbing, the mouth between his legs pulsing hungrily, clarity arrived.
And with it, glimmering memories of a life that was—and was not—his own.
The first touch of Sobell’s palm against his, and the rush of excitement it had brought.
Laughter while they raced through foreign fields where the grass came up beyond their elbows and bowed in the wind.
Lazy mornings in comfortable places, and lazier kisses that set the tone for the day.
And then the night he and Sobell had cast the spell that would bind them together forever. The one that had changed him once, and had now changed him again.
Clove’s eyes snapped open.
“Do you remember, love?” Sobell asked, drawing Clove into his arms. His hand slid down to Clove’s lower abdomen, caressing, affectionate beyond the realm of simple physical touch.
“I’ve looked for you since the day it happened.
I searched for you all this time, driving myself mad for want of you, knowing that you were out there somewhere, waiting for me.
There will be no more of that. The wait is over.
I’ve found you. And you will never be without me again. ”
Tears streamed soundlessly down Clove’s cheeks.
He clung to Sobell, mind abuzz, oversensitive to touch, yet never wanting to let go.
For love had found him.
His old life was over, but there was no reason to mourn, for the future stretched out before him now bore the possibility of all things.
And his new life with the man he loved had only just begun.