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Sweat poured down John’s face as he used his sword to hack at the undergrowth that impeded his progress. He cursed Lord Graves for sending him on this foolish mission. John was a knight of the realm, perhaps even the best knight in the realm. He was not the sort of warrior to waste on a bit of guard duty for a temple that had been abandoned centuries ago. This was beneath him. It was beneath his skill, and it was beneath his rank among the other knights. The fact that the last man sent out here had gone mad and wandered off was proof that this was a waste of a knight such as himself.
And then there was the humiliation of being called out of training the younger knights. Graves had shown up in the late morning sun and summoned John like they weren’t equals. All of the others had seen it. Even if he returned from this fool’s errand without having lost his mind to boredom, his position among the ranks might never recover.
“Should’ve gutted him right there,” John muttered as he continued to hack his way through the dense forest. What need was there to guard a temple that no one could actually get to? What need was there to guard a temple that was so far from the castle that most could never reach it? It wasn’t like there weren’t other temples to gods they actually worshiped.
Graves hadn’t been willing to entertain any of these questions. He hadn’t been willing to entertain John at all. He’d told him he was being sent to the Temple of the Ascended One deep within the Mordagan forest, and he was to stop anyone from entering or exiting the temple until he was relieved of his duty by another. That was all he was told. Then he’d been given a pack of meager provisions and told he would need to provide for himself.
“They take me for a damn fool,” John grumbled, checking his blade after cutting through another thick vine blocking his path.
John had only heard legends of the old temples. The Temple of the Ascended was the only one in their kingdom, but there were others in different realms. They’d been the homes to the old gods prior to the Awakening of the New Order. The New Order of mages had found other ways of harnessing magic that didn’t depend on the fickle nature of higher beings. They’d made gods of themselves and left the old creatures to rot and die off as they were forgotten. It was all stories though. Every realm had their stories that exalted those in power. It wasn’t like the old temple was anything more than a way of enforcing the narrative of the legend.
Knights did the same to boast of their own prowess. He’d seen knights have ornate blades forged only to carry them as “proof” that they’d bested another and taken their most prized weapon. It was so common place that it was a wonder anyone fell for it these days.
John himself had not such weapon. He’d been gifted several by knights who’d been impressed with him, but he’d never seen a need to waste coin on a prop for his own vanity, and he saw no honor in stealing the blade of another. What good had honor done him though? He was essentially banished for his troubles.
It had been days of travel, and none of it had been easy. The only thing he had to guide him was a talisman which glowed when he traveled in the right direction. He didn’t recognize the stone, but Lord Graves had assured him that it would work, and sure enough the stone glowed a deep amber when he headed northeast, but when he turned in any other direction, it dimmed and almost flickered out like a flame.
John wasn’t magically inclined. Perhaps, he would not have been sent on this mission had he the magical nature of some of the other knights. John had had to earn his rank the honest way through training and battle. Men like Lord Graves had earned it through parlor tricks that they claimed proved their worth above others.
Magic was fine and all, but it didn’t win battles or secure kingdoms the way some believed it to. He’d seem mages struck down the same as any other soldier because they believed themselves to be all-powerful. An arrow to the chest still killed them.
John slowed as he realized the forest had grown quiet. Even the trees didn’t seem to move or breathe as he stood among the tangle of thick vines. He looked around, but nothing looked different. His horse seemed unnerved though.
“What a silly quest,” he sighed, taking his horse by the reins and leading them on. The forest remained silent, but the underbrush thinned until he came to a low wall that circled the ruins of the temple which had been reclaimed by the forest itself. Trees and vines grew among the stone walls, many of which had crumbled or fell since priests had last tended the place.
John let out a low whistle at the sheer size of the place. It hadn’t been a mere altar housed by a bit of a roof. This temple rivaled the palace back at court.
“Why would they build such a place just to abandon it?” he muttered, following the wall in search of the gate. The talisman around his neck glowed brightly against his armor as he walked, practically humming now that he’d arrived.
His horse remained agitated, but he held the beast steady. It would do him no good to lose it and all of his supplies. Not that he had many supplies other than a change of clothes and some medicinal herbs.
John walked for too long without coming to a gate. Surely, he must have circled the whole thing multiple times, but no entrance appeared. John cursed this entire mission, Lord Graves, and the king himself for such a silly mission. If he had half as much pride or honor, he would abandon this post and seek to serve another crown. Unfortunately, John MacTavish was loyal to a fault.
He made camp at the wall as the forest grew dark. His horse had settled, and he removed his bedroll to prepare for a night beneath the stars. Eventually, he fell asleep, and in the morning nothing had changed. John hunted, but few animals ventured here. He gathered berries that turned his stomach and left him sick for days. He ventured further out until he found water at a stream. He fished and caught enough to feed himself, but it was a long trip to the wall and back, so many days he just sat.
John could understand how a man would go mad out here. He spoke to his horse, but the poor thing clearly hated it here. So, he spoke to the wall.
“What’s the point of all this? A waste of good stones, it would seem,” he said, running his fingers around the weathered surface as he sat in the shade.
It started as annoyed questions like those, but eventually, John just spoke to the wall about anything that came to mind. He’d never had much trouble finding words to say, and while the temple didn’t respond, that had never stopped him before.
So, he told it stories.
“When I was a lad, my Gran would tell me stories about the old gods,” he said one morning when his leg was too stiff to carry him to the river and back. The old battle wound was giving him fits out here with too little food and not enough action to keep it in line. So, he sat even though he knew it made it worse.
“I remember sitting at her hearth as she cooked, and she’d tell me about the times before the New Order. She had this little figure on her hearth, and she would thank it before every meal. When I asked her about it, she said we’d never go hungry so long as we were grateful for what we had.”
John found a branch that afternoon and took his small knife to it. He whittled it away chip by chip as he told the wall about his grandmother and her peculiar beliefs. By the time, time the twilight set in, he had a small figure that resembled a cloaked man. He perched it on one of the stones that stuck out further than the others, and he pulled himself to his feet, so he could go take a piss.
As he leaned against one of the trees, he saw something move in the underbrush. Without thinking, he removed his dagger and threw it at the movement. When he had himself to rights again, he moved to where his knife was and found it had pierced the heart of a rabbit.
The hair on the back of John’s neck rose. He hadn’t seen a rabbit since he’d arrived. What had changed?
John didn’t overthink it. He gathered the rabbit and hobbled back to his meager camp. He prepared it and cooked it over a small flame, and just as he was about to eat, he glanced at the small carving.
“Thank you,” he said, feeling foolish but doing it nonetheless.
In the morning, his knee didn’t feel nearly as stiff as the days prior, and he took advantage and headed for the river. Before he left, he tucked the little figure into the pouch at his waist where he kept several medicinal herbs. Again, he was overcome by the foolishness of it, but he consoled himself that it would give him something to talk to.
And talk to it he did.
“I used to love fishing as a boy,” he said as he sat on one of the slick rocks at the riverbank. I used to race my sister down to the water, and we’d compete to see who would catch the bigger fish. One day we caught so many that we could barely carry them, so I ran back to fetch my gran, and she took us both over her knee for being greedy with the river’s gifts. It was too late to throw them back, so we had to bring them round the other huts until our baskets were empty. Fell asleep with an empty stomach and tender backside, but I learned my lesson.”
His line gave a little twitch, and John steadily reeled it in to find a fat fish on the end of it. His eyes widened at the size of it, and he quickly set it safely in the basket he’d weaved of tall reeds.
John had never had luck so early, and he looked at the gently flowing waters. He stripped out of his armor then his dirty clothes until he was as naked as the day he was born. He made sure that everything was safely away from the water before be climbed down into the river. It was cold like a mountain pass, but John savored it. He dove beneath the surface and let out a happy cry as he came back to the surface.
He swam until his body was tired then he climbed out onto the sun-warmed rock. He dug through his things until he found his little figure, and he held it in his hand, and rubbed it like a worry stone as he let the air dry his skin.
“My gran taught us to swim when I was very young. She told us never to fear the water because it gave us life. When I was a young squire, my knight sought to test my strength. He threw me in a river much angrier than this in my armor. I was just a boy, so my armor wasn’t what it is now, but it was still heavy. I sank down to the bottom, but I didn’t panic. I walked the bottom of the river until it shallowed out, and I dragged myself out again. I think he thought he’d rid himself of my annoying chatter for good. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t so easy to kill.”
The little figure was warm beneath his fingers as he continued to stroke it. When he was dry, John gathered his things and walked back to the wall. He placed his wooden companion on its perch and readied the fish. Once it was cooked, he thanked the statue and even placed a tiny piece on the stone beside it.
The next morning, a stag stood not a hundred paces from where he slept. He watched it for a long while, itching to grab his bow and kill it. He didn’t though. A stag that size was far too much for a single man, even if he he could have used the skin and other parts. Too much would go to waste, so he settled for watching the impressive creature until it disappeared into the forest once again.
John ate the fish skin he’d removed and crisped over the flame. He tucked a tiny piece onto the rock, noting that the fish from the night before was gone.
“When I was a squire, I was lucky if I got so much as fish skins. Lord Graeme wasn’t one to share.” John went about his morning chores, regaling the figure of his years as a squire. It wasn’t all bad, and John had gotten up to more trouble than he’d been worth many times.
By the time he’d cleaned his weapons and armor then mended what needed it, the sun was shining through the trees, and John was hungry. He considered walking down to river, but as he walked the now familiar route to the water, he saw a rabbit chasing another. John lifted his bow and killed it. He continued onto the river for some water for a stew, and he spent the late afternoon patrolling around the wall while his stew cooked over the embers the way his grandmother had taught him to cook it slow.
“My first campaign as a knight, they used to give me the night watch because none of them wanted to listen to me chatter. Figured whoever was stuck with me would just be grateful that I kept them awake,” he told the figure which peeked out from the pouch at his waist. “I saved more than my share of them on that campaign. Proved myself an asset despite my affection for chatter. Even so, it didn’t win me any friends when I spoke back to my superiors. Never did know my place. Why should a man bow to another when he is superior in every way but for his wealth? I suppose the old ones bow to no one, so maybe I’m speaking to the wrong man.”
John tucked into his meal when he returned, but first he fashioned a tiny bowl out of a notch in a branch and placed it before his statue on its perch.
“It’s not as good as my gran’s, but we don’t have an herb garden out here. When we return to the palace, I’ll make it for you proper.”
The following morning, John found several herbs growing along his walk. He pinched off just enough to dry for himself and carried on. That afternoon a fox crossed his path, and that evening he and his little god had a feast.
That night, he sat up talking to his friend later than usual. The solstice was upon them and the extended twilight was almost magical.
“The year I became a man, I returned to my grandmother’s village for the welcoming for summer. She lived beyond the watchful eye of the realm, and her people would take to the wood in the old manner, if you know what I mean. She told me on those nights the old gods walked among us, but only the most precious would catch their attention. I’d already been a knight at that point. I’d thought myself above such things, and I’d completely embarrassed myself.
“It turned out I may have been an experienced knight, but I was just a naive young man, favored by no one, certainly not the gods. Spent most of the night embarrassed by my own nakedness when I realized no one saw my battle strong body as appealing when there were men who worked the earth and brought their village life through their labor. I was marked by death. In the morning, my grandmother tried to console me by telling me that I was marked for greater things, but she was just being kind. I am but a soldier, no affinity for magic, nothing to set me above the rest. I spill blood, and one day mine will be spilt, and then I will finally nourish the land. I suppose I’m not all useless. I did make you,” he said, thumbing at the hood of his cloaked little statue where it stood in its place of honor beside his shoulder.
John’s eyes grew heavy with the weariness of a long day fending for himself on this fool’s errand. He’d been at it for weeks now, and each day he became sure of his purpose. No one came to the temple. No one tried to get in, and certainly there was no one inside trying to get out. Lord Graves was probably just looking for a way to rid himself of John, and he’d sent him out here to die of boredom.
“It’s not all bad,” John found himself saying. “There are no expectations out here, and no one around to get offended when I talk back. Maybe I should have asked for a post at the edges of the realm ages ago.”
John was beginning to nod off, but as the full moon reached the summit overhead, his talisman flashed as bright as the sun itself, and the earth shook beneath him.
Scrambling to his feet, John was too slow to catch his horse before it bolted into the forest. He turned to grab his sword, but as he faced the wall, an arching gate had appeared where he’d been sitting.
“What in the gods…” John muttered, slowly reaching for his sword. He held it aloft, ready for whatever might attack him, but as he approached the gateway, the ruins remained as abandoned as before. “They said nothing about me not going in or out.” It seemed like sound reason to John, who’d never met an adventure he didn’t jump at.
John checked his other weapons before slowly approaching the gate. His talisman practically hummed as he stepped through the archway, only to go dark once he was on the other side. The ruins looked worse here. The trees he’d seen from outside the wall had to have been a spell because the light of the moon revealed nothing but decay. Even the air held a tinge of winter despite it being the brink of the summer solstice.
There was no path to follow and no magic to guide him, so John let himself be the guide. He followed the path the moon lit for him which wasn’t a path so much as the only things visible to him. He wandered through arching ruins, feeling the weight of centuries of history around him. His grandmother would have had so much to say about this place.
The glow of the moon grew brighter as he passed columns and stepped through crumbling walls until he reached the center of the temple. Rather than a closed room, the place seemed to have always been open to the air. The moon stood almost directly overhead, casting the sacred circle and altar into dazzling silver light.
Runes were carved into the pillars and into the stone of the altar. John couldn’t read them as they weren’t the common symbols of their people. He bet his gran would have been able to. She’d been a sly old thing, and he’d seen books in her hut that no commoner should have been able to read. The altar itself was crumbling, and the steps that led up to it didn’t look like they’d support him.
Instead, John circled the altar, examining the long-forgotten temple. It must have been beautiful back in its glory, far more beautiful than anything the New Order had produced. Gone were the days of worship and grace. Gone were the days where knights would pledge their fealty to the old gods rather than a king. This was the sort of place that an entire army would be baptized in magic and readied for war. Where legions of priests would ensure the favor of the deity and tend to their ties to the realm.
For a moment, it the silver light, John could almost imagine it. Dozens and dozens of priests circled around the altar awaiting the god’s arrival.
“Who did you belong to?” he wondered aloud as he finally approached the center of the scared circle. Perhaps if he could read the runes, it would tell him whose domain this once was. Just another secret lost to the passage of time. “A ghost now,” he finished the thought as he climbed the steps and rested his palm on the thick stone altar.
As his gloved fingers touched the cold stone it seemed to come alive with warmth, and suddenly his amulet flared to life again. The amber glow burst free of the stone and rose above the altar like a star casting the temple in light as bright as day.
The earth shook again, and John fell to his knees unable to balance on the crumbing stone. He looked up, but shielded his eyes from the brightness of the star.
The hair on the back of John’s neck rose as he sensed another presence. He turned from the glow above him to see a shadow standing at the edge of the circle. The figure stepped out of the shadows, and John’s breath left him in a gasp.
There, across the circle, stood his whittled statue, but it wasn’t the size of his finger now. No, the cloaked figure stood tall, far taller than John’s height, and he was by no means short.
“Sir John MacTavish,” the figure said, voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder.
John felt a shiver run down his spine.
“Afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name,” he said. His voice was far steadier than his heart as it stuttered and raced in the presence of this stranger.
“Ghosts do not have names,” the figure said, taking a step further into the circle, and the runes seemed to undulate with his progress.
“A ghost you say? You look real enough to me.”
The creature tipped its head at his words, the hood moving to the side then back again.
“In fact, you look like my wee friend. He knows all my secrets like you seem to. So, tell me Ghostie, are you friend or foe?” John asked, rising to his feet as the cloaked figure reached the bottom step of the altar, leaving them at what would have been eye to eye if John could have seen inside the hood concealing the creature’s face.
“If I meant you harm, it would already be done, and I would be bathing in your blood.”
A shiver ran down John’s spine. He lowered his sword though he gave it no conscious thought. It was almost as though the creature reached out and lowered it for him.
“How can I trust you?” John asked, ever the skeptic. It was his greatest fault as a knight. He was fiercely loyal, but most of his superiors did not take kindly to his questions, certainly not when he questioned their intelligence or authority.
“You had no problem eating the food I provided you, the herbs you wished for.”
John’s pulse raced. “You heard me say all those things…”
“You told me. It would have been rude not to listen.”
“Could’ve talked back a bit. I was losing my mind out there.”
“Don’t have much use for conversation. You filled the silence readily enough.”
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“Then what are you?”
The creature tipped its head to the side again. “I think you know that too.”
John had so many questions, but he doubted he’d get many answers. Gods were known to be fickle creatures, unwilling to be taxed by the questions of humans. Yet, this Ghost seemed content enough to humor him so far.
“Does the gate always appear on the solstice?” he asked, giving up on knowing the god before him.
“If I deem it so.”
John sighed. “And what made you deem it so tonight?”
There was a shrug of thick shoulders that made the heavy cloak shift gracefully. John found himself reaching out to touch the soft fabric. It was nothing like any he’d encountered, and he pulled his fingers away realizing his foolishness. He should’ve bowed before this deity, but he’d never been much good at that.
“You’re thoughts are almost as active as your voice,” Ghost sounded amused or as amused as something so old and powerful could be.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Ghost didn’t speak. Instead, a cloaked hand reached forward and wrapped cold fingers around the wrist of John’s sword arm. He brought he arm up and studied the blade from the cover of his hood.
“A fine weapon.”
“You want my sword?”
“If I wanted it, I would already have it… I would like to fight you.”
John choked. “Fight me? I know I boasted about being a good knight, but I don’t—”
“Humor me.”
“Like a spar?”
“Sure.”
“You aren’t giving me much hope of surviving this with that attitude, Ghost.”
The hood tipped to the side again, and John couldn’t help picturing a confused kitten beneath that hood.
“I’ve already told you that if I wanted you dead, you would be already.”
“I suppose you have. Do you have a weapon then?” John wasn’t sure what had come over him, but he stepped back, and Ghost let him go.
The cloak fell back, off those broad shoulders, to reveal a colossal man beneath. He almost seemed to grow without the cloak to hide his size. He had thick legs, covered in black leather beeches, but his chest was bare save for thick hair and covered in scars. His face was obscured by the top portion of a skull. Beneath it amber eyes that glowed the same color as his amulet watched him. A mouth of jagged teeth smiled at him.
John couldn’t help but stare. He’d never imagined what a god might look like, but even as human as Ghost seemed, John was not disappointed.
“Your weapon?” John asked, feeling his pulse liven at the prospect of fighting such a worthy opponent.
Ghost reached past John and drew a long blade from the altar. It was like nothing John had ever seen, with the same runes that lit the circle etched into the blade in molten patterns. Ghost stepped back and motioned for John to attack when ready. Well, John may have met his match, but he’d never cowered from a fight before.
John charged forward swinging his own sword and meeting Ghost’s in a teeth-clattering clash. He danced back with speed.
Ghost still stood as he had, wielding his massive sword like it weighed no more than a feather.
John approached again, using his speed to test Ghost, but Ghost met his blade at what should have been an awkward angle for him. He used his weight to push John back.
“You fight well,” Ghost said after trading several more parries.
“I had a good mentor.”
“The one who tried to drown you?” That fanged mouth was twisted in something of a smile, and John almost lost his footing with how it made his heart skip a beat.
“No, another. Lord Price. He took me under his wing. Me and another young knight.”
“I know John Price,” Ghost said, sidestepping John’s heavy swing and twisting to catch John around the waist before he could escape. John cursed himself to being caught off guard, but as soon as Ghost’s broad chest pressed against his sweat-soaked back, he forgot his frustrations.
“How?”
“I used to walk among men.”
“On the solstice when you’d do lewd things to pretty young lasses?” John asked, breath coming in gasps as Ghost dropped his weapon and wrapped his other arm around John’s waist as well.
“It wasn’t lasses I did such things to. In fact, I remember a young man sitting so shyly on a rock that he wouldn’t meet my eyes when I tried to beckon him to join me. I believe he was the only man to ever turn me down.”
John swallowed thickly as clawed fingers trailed over his stomach. Desire curled beneath them, threatening to embarrass John. He knew he was at Ghost’s mercy, yet he didn’t feel trapped.
“Perhaps you didn’t try hard enough to get his attention.”
Smiling lips pressed to the nape of John’s neck. “Do I have his attention now?”
“Why me? You could have anyone.”
“You intrigue me, Johnny.”
“You must be raving mad from boredom then. I’ve done nothing intriguing since I’ve arrived.”
“You didn’t take my stag.” He tugged at John’s armor, and it fell away like it hadn’t been fastened to him at all.
“It would have been a waste.”
“Yes, but I know of no other man who would have passed on such and opportunity.”
“I told you the story of going without supper for taking too many fish.”
Ghost hummed. “So you did, Johnny. So you did.” He ran his fingers through John’s thick hair, grasping it and tugging John’s head back. John looked up into those fathomless brown eyes.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you alive.”
“Alive? So, you fed me and healed me? What does it matter to you if I live or die? I’m just a man.”
Ghost stroked his long finer over John’s chin. “Because you’re mine, Johnny.”
A shiver ran down John’s spine. He’d heard of those claimed by gods before. Enslaved to their pleasure. Was that what Ghost wanted? A toy to play with?
Before John could say something that would make Ghost change his mind about not killing him, Ghost’s lips descended on his own. They were soft and warm, and the kiss itself was sweet and chaste.
“Will you have me, Johnny?” Ghost asked, stroking his throat with those sharply clawed fingers.
“I am your humble servant,” John promised.
“It’s not servitude, I seek,” Ghost said, but he swung John into his arms like he weight less that his sword. John gasped as Ghost carried him across the scared circle to the altar and laid him down upon it. What had been a hard slab of stone now felt as soft as the best mattress in the palace. John sank into what felt like silks as Ghost stretched above him.
John looked up at Ghost and shivered as the larger man watched him like he was something precious. John was not used to such looks. He’d never gotten the hang of intriguing those he might be interested in himself. He’d always been more taken by his fellow knights that the young women in the camps or around the palace. They hadn’t been taken with him though. He’d humiliated most of them in training, and those he hadn’t, he’d outshined on the battlefield. Those above him in rank hated his achievements, and those below him were intimidated. So, John was truly out of his depth.
Ghost gripped the sides of his tunic and tore it open. John gasped as the cool air touched his skin. The chill was quickly replaced by Ghost’s hot mouth trailing kisses over his stomach and chest. John couldn’t stop himself from arching into it.
When he pulled back, Ghost tore the breeches from him just as easily. The thick leather giving way like a fleeting thought. John resisted the urge to cover himself as Ghost looked at him hungrily.
“You’re mine, Johnny,” he said reverently, trailing his fingertips over John’s chest and down the trail of hair that led to his straining cock. Ghost stopped just shy of that, instead bringing his mouth down to the nest of curls just above it. He took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of John, and John couldn’t fight the whimper that slipped free of his mouth.
“Mine,” Ghost said again, wrapping his hands around John’s thighs and spreading them wide.
It was the most vulnerable John thought he’d ever been, but Ghost whispered quiet praise as he sank his fangs into John’s left thigh. John gasped at the flash of pain that quickly soothed into something heady and seductive. Ghost lapped at his skin before bringing his mouth to John’s balls and lapping at them.
John squirmed at the onslaught of pleasure Ghost brought with his mouth, and Ghost simply held him in place. A long tongue trailed behind John’s balls to his entrance, and John tried to close his legs as he realized Ghost could see every inch of him. He’d never been shy before. Body parts and bodily functions were just a matter of life, but he’d never had another so close to him as this.
Rather than indulge John’s moment of weakness, Ghost gave his ass a sharp slap, and John gasped at the sting of it. In his distraction, Ghost lifted his hips entirely off the altar and brought his lips down to meet them. He feasted on John’s most sensitive flesh, pressing his tongue inside and met little resistance from John’s confused body.
John’s fingers found their was into Ghost’s flaxen hair, and he held on for dear life as Ghost pleasured him within an inch of sanity. When he felt like he couldn’t take another moment of it, Ghost rolled him onto his belly, and John felt a thick cock press against his ass as Ghost stretched over him.
“Will you have me, Johnny?” Ghost asked, rocking his hips against John’s ass even as his hand found John’s and laced their fingers together.
“You have me, Ghost,” he promised, and his words broke into a moan as Ghost sank into him.
John knew it should be painful, but he felt nothing but pleasure as Ghost’s thick length filled him. He sobbed as Ghost’s hips met the meat of his ass, and Ghost draped himself over John’s back.
Ghost pressed a kiss to John’s neck then began to move. John met his every thrust, learning his body’s desires as they went. He reached back for Ghost’s hip and guided him as he wanted him to move. Ghost took the direction without resistance.
“I want to see you,” John begged as it all became too much.
Ghost pulled free without a second plea and gently rolled John to his back again. He braced himself over him and guided his cock back inside John. John reached for him, and Ghost went to him. They moved together, wrapped in each other’s arms until pleasure crested into something more.
John felt like the lines of his body fade until he and Ghost were one, and when he came back to himself, Ghost watched him with an expression bordering on awe.
“Do I have something on my face?” John asked.
Ghost smiled and shook his head. He leaned forward and chastely kissed John’s lips.
John looked around them, and was shocked to find the ruins weren’t ruins any longer. The crumbling walls now stood tall in gleaming stone. The trees and vines were full of life again with vibrant flowers that blossomed around them. The night sky was filled with more stars that John had ever seen before even as the light of the moon shined down upon them.
“Do you like it?” Ghost asked, continuing to stroke John’s cheek like he couldn’t believe he was there with him.
“It is beautiful.”
Ghost nodded, and slowly he pulled out of John’s body and laid down beside him. Feeling bold, John rolled and pressed his palm to Ghost’s bare chest. His fingertips traced the edges of one of his scars.
“I didn’t think gods could scar.”
Ghost shook his head like he didn’t want to speak about it. He caught John’s fingers in his own and brought them to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the pad of each finger.
“I could be rid of them if I chose, but they serve as a reminder.”
John bit his lip, holding himself back from saying the wrong thing.
“Out with it, Johnny. Silence isn’t your way.”
“What must you remember?”
“Not to trust men.”
A shiver ran down John’s spine, but he held himself still. “You were betrayed?”
“I was kidnapped and used to fuel the magic of a mage who fancied himself a god. I escaped, I razed everything in my path until I killed him, then I locked myself away here.”
John felt tears prick at his eyes. His fingers traced another jagged scar. “I’d never do that to you.”
Ghost smiled at him, leaning up and pressing a kiss to John’s temple. “Rest Johnny.”
John wanted to protest, but his eyes grew heavy, and he slipped into a deep sleep.
“Rise and shine, MacTavish,” a familiar voice woke John from his sleep. He scrambled to sit up, realizing he was still lying on the altar. Expect, he was fully clothed again, and the altar was just a crumbling stone slab.
Lord Graves stood over him, smiling cruelly.
“I didn’t believe them when they said you’d manage it, but look at you finding your way into the Ascended One’s temple.”
“What?” John rubbed at his temple, feeling hungover despite not having had a drink in move a month.
“Where is the old Ghost now?” Graves asked, walking around the sacred circle with none of the reverence it required. John looked around and realized that it wasn’t just the altar that had returned to its state of decay. The whole temple looked even worse than when he’d arrived.
John felt panic rise in his chest. Where was Ghost? Why was Lord Graves here?
“What are you doing here?” John asked, sliding off the altar and looking around for his sword.
“You see, John, knights are useful, but gods are everything. Who needs the loyalty of weak men when you have a god at your disposal. I read Mage Roba’s writings. He had himself god he’d trapped. It was how he raised the Order in mere years. It was how he brought entire kingdoms to their knees. It’s how I plan to take what should always have been mine.”
John blinked at the man several times.
“Thanks for your help, but you’ve outlived your usefulness.”
Graves raised a sword which John realized was his own missing blade. He swung it at John, but before it could connect. The ground began to shake and the walls began to crumble.
John bolted out of the sacred circle, rushing back the way he’d entered. He heard shouting behind him, then he heard screams as some of Graves’ knights were trapped beneath the crumbling temple. John didn’t look back until he staggered through the gate, falling to his knees as a massive stone fell, blocking the archway completely.
John looked back, but he could not see beyond the wall. He was without a blade and a horse. He was without Ghost. He walked over to his meager camp and packed it away. He thought of Ghost and he wondered if he blamed John for yet another betrayal.
As John rose from the ground, his eye caught on a little rock that stood out from the others. Sitting on the perch was John’s little statue. Beside it was the amulet. And when John lifted those up, the stone fell away to reveal the pommel of Ghost’s blade. John pulled it free of the wall and traced the beautiful designs with his finger.
“A new adventure then. Where shall we go?” John asked, running his thumb over the hood of the tiny Ghost. “I’ve always wanted to see the coast. Perhaps I’ll slay myself a sea monster, or woo myself a siren.”
John felt a cold breeze wrap around him and what felt like a brush against his cheek.
“Fine! But what if she seduces me?”
A cold hand around his throat, and John grinned.
“Have I ever told you the story of how I bested the greatest knight of our time?”
There was no phantom response this time, and John pressed forward. “Well, I bested him at cards, but I think it still counts.”