Duck! (Avian Shifters Book 1) (17 page)

In one of the large communal lounges on the main floor, Raynard dropped a cushion onto the floor at the base of a leather armchair before taking the chair himself. He nodded to the cushion, but Ori didn’t immediately accept his invitation to kneel there.

“A drink, sir?” he asked, softly.

Raynard nodded his approval.

Ori had waited on him for long enough to know what to fetch without it being spelled out to him. “For us both,” Raynard mentioned, just in case Ori still didn’t know him well enough to guess that, too.

Ori made his way to the bar on the far side of the room. Raynard was willing to bet every penny he had that he was the only man there who could see just how nervous Ori was about being back there. He didn’t relax at all until he was kneeling safely at Raynard’s feet, sipping his lemonade.

Raynard stroked his fingers through Ori’s hair, certain that he had made the right decision in bringing him back to the nest at least once before Ori found himself standing in front the elders for his first shifting ceremony. That would be a stressful enough occasion for him without anything else added to the mixture.

Ori leaned into Raynard’s touch, resting his head on his bent knee, just the way he did in the library at home. It was quite possible to believe that they were alone in the old gothic monstrosity until a shadow fell over Ori.

Raynard glanced up at the men who’d paused by the little group of chairs they occupied.

Two peregrine falcons stood there, waiting to be recognised. Harry and…Harry’s brother, whose blasted name Raynard never could remember. He had a vague recollection of them from before he’d moved away from the area. They didn’t appear to have changed much, even if their fledgling jeans had been exchanged for overly fashionable suits.

“We wish to pay our respects—we were both very sorry to hear about your uncle’s passing,” Harry said, sombrely.

Raynard nodded his acceptance and indicated to the sofa opposite him.

As the two men sat down, Raynard sensed Ori looking up at him. A question shone in his eyes. Raynard nodded permission for him to ask it.

“May I serve either of you a drink, sirs?”

“Two beers.” Harry didn’t even look at him as he said it—ignorant little pillock.

Ori returned with their drinks just as all the bland pleasantries that the situation demanded were concluded.

Neither falcon said anything when Ori set their drinks before them, but Charles, as Raynard had discovered the younger brother was called, glanced at Ori as he once more knelt at Raynard’s feet. “Didn’t he used to serve here?”

“He did,” Raynard agreed.

“Not a bad fuck, if he’s the one I’m thinking of.”

Raynard felt himself tense at the statement. He looked down but Ori just kept staring at Raynard’s knee, his expression unreadable. Raynard stroked his fingers from where they rested in Ori’s hair, down to his collar, subtly reminding Ori of the leather’s presence around his throat.

“He’s belonged to me for several months. He’s no longer available to serve other members of the nest.”

Charles seemed to sense something in his tone of voice. He quickly dropped the subject, but Raynard wasn’t in the mood to lighten the frigid atmosphere. He wasn’t overly surprised when the brothers made their excuses and retreated within a few minutes.

Tugging gently at his messy strands of hair, Raynard pulled Ori’s attention up to his face.

“You don’t belong to the nest anymore, fledgling. You belong to me. No one has the right to lay a hand on you without my permission, and no one has my permission. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Raynard held his fledgling’s gaze, wanting to make sure that knowledge settled deep into Ori’s mind. There was no longer any reason for him to put up with any kind of mistreatment from anyone.

Ori was physically strong enough to defend himself; Raynard had no doubt about that. He just needed someone to give him permission to stand up for himself—to make sure he knew he was worth that.

Finally, Raynard let Ori look down. Ori sipped his drink. His expression was still unreadable, but Raynard found it hard to believe that Ori wasn’t remembering all those times when he’d needed someone’s protection before and hadn’t received it.

Understanding that he was safe now wasn’t the same as being able to forget a time when it had been very different. Ori would always have those memories. Raynard couldn’t fix that.

Raynard took a deep breath and pushed down his anger. Thinking about the way the fools at the nest had used Ori had been distasteful enough when Ori was a stranger to him. Now that Raynard knew Ori, and knew how deep his fledgling’s instinct for submission went, it was obvious that Ori could never have fought back against the demands they made on him unless he’d had someone there to care about him and prompt him to do so.

“Do you remember Charles?” Raynard asked, as calmly as he could.

Ori shook his head. Raynard guessed there would be more than a few men there that night who Ori wouldn’t remember half as well as they remembered him. It was hard to remember the faces of men who didn’t think a duckling was good enough to look them in the eye.

“He always was a forgettable little sod,” Raynard observed.

Ori smiled slightly, as if it really was that easy for his master to make all right with his world.

A few minutes later, Raynard glanced in the general direction of the kitchens, guessing there would be a few of the servants that Ori might appreciate the chance to visit. When Raynard spotted Hamilton making his way across the room, he decided there could be far worse times to have Ori out of earshot.

“Go and see if there’s anything you can do to help your former colleagues for a few minutes,” Raynard ordered, with a nod to the kitchens.

“Yes, sir.”

Hamilton arrived just as Ori rose to leave. Ori hesitated, but only until he saw a drink already in the eagle’s hand. By the time Hamilton had taken his seat, Ori was already on his way down the corridor leading to the kitchens. There was a little more confidence in his stride now than when he’d approached the bar less than an hour before.

“The collar looks good on him,” Hamilton said.

Raynard nodded his agreement.

“A little premature though, wouldn’t you say?”

“I thought you were a better judge of men than that,” Raynard said, taking a sip of his drink.

“Oh?” Hamilton asked, as he leaned comfortably back in his chair.

“Do you really have any doubt that submission is in his nature?”

Hamilton shrugged. “I’ve no idea what he is. He’s not even a true shifter until he—”

“Bollocks.”

Hamilton’s lips twitched. His accent deepened as his amusement seeped through. “Succinct and to the point—just like your uncle. The boy really has made an impression on you, hasn’t he?”

Raynard studied his drink for a second. “He’s a good submissive.”

“And is that all it is?” Hamilton asked.

Raynard raised an eyebrow at his uncle’s old friend.

“You wouldn’t be the first man of rank to go giddy over a boy who is, as you’ve already said, so naturally inclined to want to please his betters.”

Raynard had his mouth open and a curt answer on the tip of his tongue, when a crash from the general direction of the kitchens caught his attention. If Ori had all the natural inclination to service that every duck seemed to possess, then he had all the coordination of a true duckling as well.

A face appeared around the corner. It wasn’t Ori. Raynard didn’t recognise the man but, whoever he was, he looked straight toward Raynard and caught his eye.

Rising from his chair, Raynard strode rapidly across the room, only half-aware of Hamilton trailing curiously along after him. Raynard’s heart rate doubled as the image of the dining room sprung back into his mind.

Swearing reached his ears as he turned the corner. Ori stood to one side of the narrow hallway, halfway between the main kitchen and the dining room. Raynard ran his eyes over the scene. Ori stood next to one of the nest’s servants. Pots and pans littered the floor around their feet, but they both appeared to be unhurt.

The same couldn’t be said for the crow crumpled on the floor with his hands clamped down over his crotch. A knee had obviously made recent acquaintance with his balls.

Another of the crows from the flock that lived at the nest approached Ori, his trainers squeaking against the tiled floor. Ori held his ground far better than Raynard expected, even tilting his chin back and looking the crow straight in the eye.

“And what do you think your master will say when we tell him—”

“His master will tell Ori that he’s obeyed his orders very well,” Raynard cut in.

Ori jerked around to face Raynard.

“He doesn’t have permission to allow any other man to lay a hand on him,” Raynard added, catching Ori’s gaze and holding it. “I assume you mentioned that fact to them?”

“Yes, sir.”

Raynard nodded his approval. “Good boy.”

Raynard forced himself to look away so he could meet the gaze of every other man lurking in the narrow corridor. He had a feeling that any man in the nest who was tempted to try to treat Ori as public property, would soon take note. Word like that flew around the nest quickly.
Raynard’s sub can defend himself—and his master likes that fact.

Raynard took a pace back. Without so much as a glance at the other men present, Ori stepped over the prone crow and hurried across to join Raynard. They made their way out of the corridor, stopping only for Raynard to mention to one of the nest’s security flock that an eye should be kept on the servant who’d been at Ori’s side, just in case the crows took exception to him.

Finding their seats again, Raynard settled himself in his chair.

“You did well,” he told Ori, nodding to the cushion at his feet once more.

“Do you really think so?” Hamilton asked, as he took a seat on the sofa opposite Raynard.

“He followed my orders perfectly,” Raynard snapped.

“You ordered him to strike out at a higher ranking avian?”

“I ordered him to defend himself if he needed to,” Raynard corrected. He barely managed to stop himself pointing out that it was the same order Hamilton should have given Ori when he first came to the nest.

Ori dipped his head to lean his temple against Raynard’s knee as he instinctively sought his reassurance. A shudder ran through him. Raynard settled his hand in Ori’s hair, encouraging him to stay there and rest until he got himself back together.

Hamilton seemed to linger for a long time, purely to be annoying. Raynard gave the leader of the nest less than half his attention. His focus was on his fledgling. Ori really had come a long way since they were last at the nest. He would never have had the confidence to floor the crow back then. Raynard smiled to himself with the knowledge. Pride rushed through him.

Finally, Hamilton got bored and moved away to bother someone else.

“Where did all that courage come from?” Raynard whispered to Ori.

Ori looked up at him through his lashes as he lifted his hand to his collar. It didn’t seem to be an intentional answer as much as an instinctive gesture, but it was still remarkably eloquent.

When Raynard rose, Ori did the same. He fell into step beside Raynard as if it was the most natural thing in the world. If he was anxious about remaining in the nest, he showed no sign of it.

By the time they’d made their way into the maze of playrooms that existed on one of the upper floors of the club, no one who saw them could have doubted exactly who Ori belonged to. Every shifter who had looked consideringly at Ori had also met Raynard’s eye—and every one of them had lowered his gaze before a hawk. Raynard was gradually starting to feel a little bit better about the world.

The main exhibition station in the centre of the most overtly leather-clad part of the nest was set up for a whipping. Raynard heard Ori’s steps falter when the arched wooden frame came into view. Raynard glanced toward him. Tension ran through every bit of Ori’s body, half fear and half something far more interesting.

Raynard walked confidently up to the whipping post as if that had been his intended destination all along. Ori didn’t hang back. He didn’t speak either.

Raynard carefully examined the cuffs that hung down from the top of the arch. They looked harsh, but they were actually well padded. They would do nicely.

Raynard looked over his shoulder. Their eyes met.

“Take off your coat and shirt.”

Ori maintained eye contact as he obeyed. Garments removed, he folded each one and knelt down to place them neatly on the floor just outside the whipping area. And he did it all without looking away from Raynard for a second.

Ori got up off his knees, but he didn’t approach the arch. Settling himself into his rest position, he remained on the edge of the whipping area, waiting for his master to invite him closer.

Raynard didn’t make him wait too long. He soon had the cuffs wrapped around Ori’s wrists, securing his hands above his head. The arch was high and Ori was far from the tallest of avians. Every inch of his body was stretched out taut, creating a perfect canvas for Raynard to decorate in any way he chose.