Nicholas - Book 1 Saga of the Wolf

Nicolas Ross sat back in his seat and listened to Seymour with interest. He was rambling, but he tended to do that. His unrequited lust for his master came bubbling over into anger each time he came to him. Nicolas smiled. It was the smile of a cunning cat. He stood up. "Now, now, Seymour," he said softly, his high black boots making almost no sound on the carpeted floor, "calm yourself, my friend. I'm sure he doesn't mean to be intentionally heartless. It's in his genes. When you possess that much power, it can't help but condemn you to petty cruelty."

"He does it on purpose," Seymour complained. "He knows my hunger for him, and he leaves off the covers and…"

"Never mind that," Nicolas said, clasping his shoulder in a comforting gesture. He had absolutely no interest in the way Adam Lang got his thrills tormenting his poor love- struck butler. "So, he wants a fine whore from one of the stables, does he?"

"That's what he said," Seymour muttered, his gaze darting around a little nervously. "That's why I came to you, Mr. Ross. I…didn't know what else to do and…"

"You did fine, Seymour," Nicolas smiled. "Did he say what he had in mind?"

"Something beautiful, sculpted body, large…ah…well…well endowed." Seymour blushed a little.

Nicolas noticed Seymour's gaze suddenly settling on his pendant, which hung around his neck.

"It's beautiful," he said, reaching out to touch it.

In a flash, Nicolas reached out a hand and grabbed his in mid air. "Ah ah ah…don't touch."

"Is it true?" Seymour blinked. "Is what they say about you true?"

Nicolas smiled, and released his hand. "I don't think you want to find out, do you?"

Seymour took a step back. Nicolas knew he'd seen the flash in his eyes. It was only a warning. Besides, he needed Seymour. Nicolas walked across the room. He stood looking at his reflection in the mirror. He tore at the leather cord which held his long chestnut brown hair back, and let it fall around his broad shoulders. His body was hard, and lean, the limbs, muscular and golden. His eyes, large and chocolate brown reflected back at him in the mirror. He smiled seductively. "So, Seymour," he said, turning around and fixing the butler with his gaze, "do you think I'd suit Mr. Lang?"

"You, Sir? You mean…sexually?" His eyes were bugging out of his head.

"Yes."

"Mr. Lang…I mean, he uses his whores…he's in control, and I don't think you are the kind of man who…"

Nicolas laughed softly. "It's only a game, Seymour, a game which will put Mr. Lang directly into my hands."

"You're not going to hurt him. I couldn't bare it if…"

Nicolas frowned. "After all the humiliation you've suffered at his hands, making you watch him with his whores, teasing you, treating you like dirt…and still you protect him?"

Seymour lowered his head. "I love him."

Nicolas sighed. "I promise you, if you cooperate I will give him to you."

Seymour's head picked up. "Give him to me? You mean…?"

"Precisely."

"Tonight, you will bring Mr. Lang his whore. You will bring him me. Now go."