The print edition of this title can be purchased directly from Createspace.
An m/m erotic fantasy/science fiction romance.
Sir is a shih-aan merchant living in Bronlyn Harbor to maintain trade with the humans his people fought to a standstill in a bloody war twenty years earlier. The humans consider him a demon to be feared and avoided. But he is exactly what Wishbone needs.
Wishbone has a risky life as a human male prostitute in a world where homosexual acts are criminal. But when one of the shih-aan buys him for a night, he learns of true danger for the first time.
Under Sir’s hand Wishbone will learn many other lessons—of love, loyalty, and power.
And he will learn Sir is a spy.
This is the author’s preferred edition of Wisbone. (Previously published by Torquere Press in 2010.)
Wishbone expected a bedroom. Instead, this looked like a drawing room. Sir lay back on a brocade-covered lounge chair, reading a book. Freed from the hat, his curled hair spilled down past his shoulders in a thick fall of darkness. The small amount of skin that showed glowed a burnished tan in the light of the roaring fire. The door closed behind Wishbone with a click that made him jump. Sir smiled, this time showing both canines, so long and sharp that Wishbone wondered how he shut his mouth without puncturing his lips. Wishbone noticed the coils of rope on the floor next to Sir’s chair. They worried him. He’d been bound by clients before. Usually they displayed more enthusiasm than skill, and he had to pretend that he couldn’t get loose. Sir struck him as the sort who wouldn’t use something he couldn’t use well, though.
“Your name is not a common one amongst your people,” said Sir, marking the book and placing it on an end table. “Tell me how you acquired it.”
Wishbone tugged the robe more snugly around his body and looked away from Sir’s inhuman face. “There’s a child’s game. The breast bone of a goose or a turkey is shaped like a bow. One child grasps each end, and they make wishes. Secret wishes. Then they pull on the bone until it breaks. The child with the biggest piece gets their wish.
“There’s a trick to it. If you let the other person pull while you hold your end steady, you almost always get the bigger piece. I used to win all the time and my little sister would cry and tell my father I’d cheated. He patted me on the head and called me his Wishbone.” Sorrow like a physical blow to Wishbone’s breast came with the memories of his father calling him something else when the man had stumbled on Wishbone and Athel the smith’s son behind the barn. He mastered himself, but it appeared that the shih-aan’s predator eyes missed nothing.
“What did you wish for?” asked the shih-aan.
Wishbone shook his head. “It might still come true.”
The shih-aan tugged his gloves free and fanned his fingers so that Wishbone could see the extra joints on each one. “Perhaps even tonight. Remove the robe.”
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