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Icereach: Immortals

Chapter One

Syrn, once of Gilead

In a dark and silent room, a television clicked on with a low hum and the crackle of static electricity. 'Acquiring Signal...' the screen proclaimed in neon green letters. The picture appeared, followed by sound; a curvy vixen in a white apron and nothing else demonstrated a technique used for beating eggs that was scarcely less than masturbatory. A timer appeared in the corner of the screen. When its count ended, the saucy foxy disappeared. The timer turned red; it now read 'Recording.'

"Good evening everyone," a falsely cheery voice proclaimed, "and have we got a program scheduled for you tonight!" The new voice belonged to none other than Kerson Dally, celebrity reporter. America's favorite grey fox sported snazzy dress sense and a young co-anchor clearly eclipsed by the vulpine star. Kerson drummed his fingers on the desktop as he leaned towards the cameras, serious intent in his grey eyes. "Tonight we're bringing you an exclusive first interview with Rahn Eldra, the King of Icereach, since he revealed the existence of the Immortals more than one decade ago and further proclaimed himself their spokesman to the world."

"Exciting stuff, Kerson, that's for sure!" The younger of the two piped in, a sleek little otter with disturbingly liquid eyes. "We know almost nothing of these allusive beings, aside from their apparent desire to be left alone. I'm sure every person in the world remembers where they were the day this juvenile seeming monarch stood before the United Nations and told them that himself, and several others like him, had lived since times before even Christ himself!"

"I sure will, Devan, because I was there. Let me tell you truly folks, eleven years have passed and Lord Rahn Eldra has not aged a day. Others have come forward since then, most tied to the King of his small mountain nation; most notably, his long time paramour Syrn, who's recently taken to underwear modeling for Russian fashion designer Gloria Munn. They've all been rather tight lipped about their secrets, and for good reason. Now we have this special conversation, with Argos Tremeré."

The camera changed. Two men faced each other from low backed chairs with comfortable looking arm rests. Argos sat on the right, a demure looking corgi with a coppery muzzle slowly fading to dull brass; on the left, the space was dominated by the Lord of Icereach, King in the Mountain. He dressed well, draping his frame in a simply tailored suit of rich, earthy browns and tans. The pallet offset his stark white, or in places oily black, fur and conveyed a very careful attention to detail. His lazy posture lacked the stiff elegance expected of a millennial monarch, though his presence was said to calm those around him by its extreme capability. Rahn sank into his chair as Argos addressed the camera, the protodane turning a rakish angle to the lens.

The corgi addressed the world as diffidently as he did the King.

"Good evening, everyone. Tonight we are all honored by the presence of His Grace, Lord Rahn Eldra of the Mountain Kingdom of Icereach. Your Grace, let me extend my greatest thanks to you for contacting me in this matter. We have been eager to hear more of your people since you first revealed yourself to us."

The young male dane's whimsical grin twisted his face as he nodded in response. His voice, while controlled, still seemed to softly boom like ocean swells as he spoke. "I don't suppose by my people, you mean the people of Icereach." The face turned serious, stern, and somewhat regretful as he twisted round in his chair and revealed more of his profile. "Thank you, mister Tremeré, for having me. I am here to speak of the Immortals, out of necessity. We, that is to say those of us with extended lives, by and large value our privacy."

The older male's face screwed up in obvious confusion. "Forgive me for asking, Your Grace, but if that is so, why did you reveal yourselves in the first place? Many of your fellow Immortals have become quite popular in the local media over the last few years. "

The grin attempted to return as something grim, playing among Rahn's black lined muzzle. "Necessity."

"We couldn't hide much longer. Technology has simply grown to large, and the world too small. I, and many others, knew it was time to come forward and begin the process of treating with the world's leaders, to convince them ahead of time that we were not a threat to world security."

"I believe your plan has been largely successful, Your Grace."

"I agree," the earnest male responded, nodding. "Now that Crocious Berm can work in the open, he's a scant generation away from ending the AIDS epidemic in Africa. Marshall Cargile's celebrity has brought millions in relief to Haiti, and I hear he's staying to help the Haitians rebuild and teach them to survive and prosper. When you've lived as long as some of us, you begin to see it as your duty to guide the world forward and steer it from the mistakes of the past." The speaker's enthusiasm tapered off as he grew distracted, lost in troubling thoughts. When he continued, his voice was sad but undeniably serious and no longer musing.

"In the past, we've taken great pains to stay unnoticed and breed selectively. You see, we've always known the truth. What we are is genetic. It can pass from parent to child... And theoretically could be replicated. I know it's in our nature to covet that which we do not have... But, can you imagine a world in which no one ever dies? It's not as glorious as it sounds. In very few generations we would over run the Earth. We would no longer be able to survive from it's sustenance. Then we would wither and stagnate. Ours would be a slow death, but that makes it even more unbearable."

Argos, always a sober fellow, even outside of an interview, took in this lecture without a flinch. He did hastily lick his lips, though. It seemed he could hear something in the King's voice the others could not, not without being there. Later he described it as dread to his fellow anchor, Devan Soulder. The King in the Mountain shifted around in his seat, turning the chair to face the camera directly for the first time. The solemn mien should have looked ridiculous on one so youthful, but his old, old looking green eyes held the same severity. He leaned forward seriously and clasped his hands above his knees, then spoke with serious regret.

"Immortality has been replicated, and it is not a gift. If the world accepts it, it will be the end of everything."

A pair of vertical bars appeared in the upper corner of the screen and the interview paused, the face of Rahn Eldra looming out. The silent watcher moved at last, a hulking frame in dim outline. It leaned forward, and in that gesture seemed familiar. Big hands lifted, pressed against prominent temples, fingers weaving circular patterns in the flesh. Suddenly the light blinked on overhead and Rahn glanced up in surprise.

"It's too late for regrets," Syrn noted from the doorway, ever aware of his partner's mood. He'd been wandering the grounds for an hour, taking note of how empty it all seemed with the wait staff on leave. He'd also missed the king's stealthy return home, just now finding the monarch in one of the upstairs studies. He stalked quietly into the room, lime pajama bottoms whispering against his course, rich fur, and finished his thought. "Davenport was going to release the news soon. He needed funding to continue his work. He was going to sell the process to the highest bidder. Genetic manipulation..." The lean wolf shuddered with discomfort.

"You can't help but pity him," Rahn replied quietly. "Five children, all of them mortal. His life taught him to regret all he lost instead of appreciating what he had." The dane sighed and shook his head, glancing back at the screen. Syrn followed his gaze. "I fear what the future may bring us. What it may ask us to do."

The wolf reached the couch and leaned over its back, powerful fingers cupping the king's shoulders through his button down. The instant his fingers clenched and kneaded the muscles spanning the canine's collarbones, the weary monarch relaxed. There was no denying the truth of the other's statement, and no response was good enough. As the silence deepened, Syrn found himself studying the familiar face on the monitor, hunting all the allusive details Rahn Eldra had trained himself to hide.

There was nothing comforting in the hard, jade glare and the way the black mark over his eye seemed to well from the pits of nothingness, a visage so dark it mocked sinister. When it smiled, though, or cried, or showed its inordinate humanity... Syrn found the dane the most beautiful being in the world. There were times those green orbs could sparkle like gemstones.

Rahn leaned forward and groaned, grinding the bones in his neck as he sought out the satisfying 'pop.' The wolf's fingers traced their way down the king's spine, causing him to arch backwards. Syrn met his muzzle with a tender kiss. "I'm ready for bed, love. Are you coming soon?"

"Now," the canine replied softly. "I've seen this program already."

The two joined hands as the monarch left his couch and stumbled wearily to his feet, lacking in his normal grace. The wolf led their way, his mind quietly occupied by his partner's distress and imagining ways to prevent a sudden bout of depression. That was also common in those that lived forever. As they reached the narrow stairwell leading only up, Syrn drew the other close behind him and angled his head back to nuzzle under a black spotted, wide jaw. "I remember building this part of the keep ourselves. You attempted to carry me up it when we were done."

The dane smiled. "And I remember that you were too big to be carried, as I'm always telling you, and you wouldn't fit." His arms formed a secure ring around the wolf, into which Syrn felt he could relax a bit. He spoke back with a gentle, teasing tone.

"I think you lost the original plans and built the stairs too small."

At the top of the flight, the doorless arch opened into their sumptuously appointed suit, the first chamber a cozy receiving nook. Their suit consisted of four rooms laid out in a U formation, each bounded by the massive King's Tower's curving walls. Syrn turned the corner from their dressing room into the bedroom and solar first, Rahn following behind and conservatively turning out the lights in the rooms they passed through. The wolf wandered across the room slowly, stretching his arms to the ceiling. "I'll definitely need a shower in the morning." He could make out his own musk in the enclosed room.

The dominant canine leaned forward and inhaled deeply of the swirling scent, something so purely the product of his only true companion. A move Syrn never failed to notice. It made the love he constantly felt like a low burning bonfire flare with passion and glory; his finger tips trailed over the runes branded and inked into his skin. The long dead characters traced the curve of his hipbones and up across the valley of his abdomen, to curl gently against his ruff covered naval. They meant many things, but most of all, they bespoke the eternal vows he'd made to a certain Lord. The scar tissue seemed somehow sensitive when he traced the patterns, and with something like incredulity, felt himself harden through his fatigue. He cast a glance at his mate.

Rahn stood in shadow, the other half blazing from the kiss of the moon. The pose was so striking, there with his broad back turned, that the wolf made a mental note to capture it in charcoal some day soon. He memorized every falling beam, determined that such an iconic image would not go uncaptured. Suddenly he wondered if the sneaky dane had designed the room that way and he'd never noticed before now. Kings were vain, beneath all their purported wisdom. No matter who they are.

The male skinned out of his slacks easily enough, casually folding them over a clothes hanger. Instead of peeling each sock off with the other foot in the tradition of men the world over, he bent over and rolled them down his slender, digigrade legs. Syrn reclined on the bed to watch, muzzle parting in a quiet pant. The bulge in his loose sleep pants began to pulse as the muscular dog bent over, his flanks rippling delightfully. Rahn's docked tail hid nothing, especially not the firm fruits dangling between his powerful thighs. He turned as he straightened. Moonlight glimmered off a matching set of characters, inked black, that curled downwards from the base of his spine and traveled over the crest of the hip opposing his paramour's. Syrn noted the deepening of his own scent only an instant before the dane spun round, brows raised curiously. The wolf felt like blushing, unaccountably, but his need was becoming quite obvious.

The wolf hooked a thumb in the elastic waistband and pulled them down over his crotch, exposing swollen sheath and tightly drawn up globes. Rahn's head leaned forward drunkenly, nostrils flaring, and crossed the room with heavy, weary steps. One knee found the bedside, then the other. As the dane's virginal pale thighs crept between his own, Syrn arched his back and pressed up against Rahn's firm belly. He could see a sultry fire starting to burn in his partner's eyes, lightning them from within. The bigger male hovered in position over the slightly smaller lupine, pulled his head back, and met the other's muzzle again.

Rahn and Syrn had had a very long time to get to know one another. Their tongues met with no hesitation, pressed briefly against the each other, then seemed to meld into an easy, mutual massage. The wolf's body yearned upwards, one ankle rising to hook around the dane's lower back for more leverage. Trapped between their two bodies, a darker tan sheath drew back to the wolf's writhing, exposing a red, pointed cock of enviable girth. A low groan rolled from between between lips as the rapidly dampening tip slid through obnoxiously soft white fur and began puddling the flesh beneath. Rahn's breathing deepened, releasing the weight on his arms to press his partner further into the soft mattress.

Syrn relished the sensation as he swung his other leg round and ground his exposed perineum against the dane's flat abdomen. He slid his body cautiously down his partner's frame and came to a rest pressed against a lump every bit as impressive as his own. Rahn rocked his hips forward gently, creating friction on the dick snug between them. Syrn felt his pink star spasm, smiled appreciatively when Rahn groaned as well. The head of the king's cock pressed gently at his hole again, slicker this time, then away. The dane's hips rolled and rocked gently, back, then forward. The wolf breathed deep to relax, broke their kiss, and opened to the invading shaft. They're movements where so practiced by now, so slow and tender, that it had become an easy thing to sink layer by layer on the delicious manhood of his king. Still, Syrn felt stretched and gaping by the time the knot, still layered in inky fur, pressed against him.

His arm grasping for purchase across the muscular shoulders, the wolf reached his free hand beneath their akimbo legs and skinned the sheath back before it could constrict the popping vessel. They wrapped tightly around his lover's root, providing a steady source of pressure. The king's kisses intensified as he relaxed the weight on his arms and bore the wolf deeper into the mattress. No fragile flower, the weight settling atop him and the spongy flesh easing inside were sensations of the deepest comfort, lighting Syrn's brain afire in mellow golds. Chocolate hues half lidded in a delirious sort of ecstasy as the mass inside him began to pulse in time with his heart beat. Rahn's hands and thighs became a frame on which he reclined, hips angled up to accept the other more readily. The wolf abandoned all thoughts of dignity and brought his ankles up round the king's shoulders.

Their rhythm on nights like these was deep and slowly, a gentle back and forth that only intensified near the end. It allowed Syrn to drift in a state of intense delirium, his fiery red rocket slobbering all over his chest and stomach. The pleasure was nearly effortless on his part, and had long been a favorite. Their meshed furs soon grew soaked in the fluids rubbed between them. Pressed together like they were, it felt as if a velvet mouth caressed his cock in the most obscene fashion. The wolf knew they could last like that until either hunger or sleep took them and put his money on sleep, despite the euphoria. He began guiding his lover down by the rock hard mass in his fist, a part of his brain dedicated to muscle control. His brilliant dane was the most courteous when it came to love making, and refused to finish without his partner.

Taking more direct control, the powerful lupine lowered his calves and locked his heels behind the canine's flanks, then rolled his hips down in a rhythm counter to the king's. In response, Rahn arched his back and withdrew nearly completely and held himself steady. A big hand released one tawny thigh and slid between them, the base of a thumb pressing against the wolf's piss slit. Syrn rode the cock inside him back up with a surge, steadily thrusting into the wet pads. Trapped between a hard fist and a hard cock, he burst with a sharp gasp. The thin stream of precum became a milky torrent washing across his abdomen, a fresh, palpable iodine smell rising off rough and smooth fur indeterminately.

Rahn caught his lover's orgasm on the upswing and smoothly transitioned their motion. He brought them down amongst the pillows and worked his cock in a thrusting fashion that gently milked the last from the wolf's prostate, all the while building his own steam. Syrn moaned delightedly as he felt the dog loose a torrent of his own. The distance between them was less than nothing in that moment, one as the other as one.

Their passion cooled and quickly became lethargy. The mess they'd made would of necessity wait until tomorrow. Eventually Syrn worked himself from under the gently dozing monarch and wriggled the other's member from his rear. Immediately, the wolf turned his back to the broad, comforting chest and pulled the dane's arms around him. He was on the edge of sleep when his partner spoke.

"I'll bet you twenty dollars American that Zeke will be on our doorstep by this time tomorrow."

"Make it Euros and I'll accept. While I admit that he never misses a chance to berate you, he's got to be broke by now. It's been six years at least since he last used his family account. Remember the last time we went looking for him? We found him tied to a bed in a courtesan's parlor. I doubt he could afford transportation from that back water in the States. They probably don't even have the news in that part of Mississippi." Syrn fell quiet, as did Rahn. The wolf was on the verge of sleep once more when the other spoke.

"Syrn. The chaos we unveiled today is going to spread to the tiniest fly speck of the Earth in a few more hours. Everyone in the world will cry for a chance to be like us. He can't help but hear."

The seriousness in the dane's tone needed some modification. Syrn forced a chuckle and replied teasingly. "A courtesan's parlor, Rahn. He'd been there four days. It'll be at least a week before we even so much as hear from him."

"You're probably right, my dear," the king replied with a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "Wake me for that shower in the morning. I love you."

"I love you too, Rahn. Sleep well. Dream deep."

_ I fear the future as well, love. What we'll have to do for it._

Rahn Eldra

Ravished faces screamed and wailed with hunger across a nightmare landscape. Every square inch of bleached ground was filled my emaciated bodies, their hands reaching up at him. Their mad, mad eyes full of need. Each was so sunken as to make distinguishing male from female nearly impossible and certainly irrelevant. Rahn Eldra groaned and rolled over in an empty bed. In the background of his terrible vision, some of the corpse-like creatures had begun to feast on their own kind. These unfortunate souls screamed in pain for eternity, for they could not die.

The king awoke all at once, sitting straight up in bed. His nose crinkled at the stench that greeted him, like old salt and sweaty gym socks, but something beneath it turned his bat like ears upwards...

"So, da. You managed to create a world wide spectacle. Again."

His massive heart leapt as he rolled over, dragging the sheets with his knees. An elegant male of supple stature, with silky black fur, dressed like some vagrant wanderer, sat in a chair just beyond a shaft of midmorning sun. The similarity between father and son was unmistakable, though the son's muzzle was shot with grey and he looked to have fifteen years or more on his sire. The mother was there as well in his shapely features, lending that air of refinement in even the coarsest attire. At the moment, he wore his father's signature scowl.

"Your father owes me twenty bucks," the protodane grinned into his progeny's displeasure. The way he felt at the moment, nothing would spoil his eager desire to be with his flesh and blood. Over a dew seconds of silence, the black canine's lips pursed, then flattened with a small sigh of resignation. Rahn slid quietly from the sheets, navigated the maze of Syrn's discarded clothing, and dropped to his knees beside the slightly paunchy dane, encircling that soft waste in his powerful arms. Zeke's paw settled between his ears and Rahn's stumpy tail jigged furiously.

He soaked in the man's scent. It smelled of cloves and sweat and dirt, the charcoal male's personal odor, and... Rolling his head and casting a baleful eye upwards, the youthful looking monarch regarded his last born with something like disgust. "You smell like an old whore's crotch. Where in God's name have you been staying?" He thought he detected a glimmer of amusement in those soft, chocolate brown eyes at the colorful profanity, but little else.

"I just came in last night. I stopped at Miranda's. We're old friends."

"Ezekiah Eldra. She's nearly as ancient as I am and not nearly so well preserved."

"I think you're getting a little carried away, da," Zeke responded, arcing an eyebrow disdainfully. "Besides, when you age, you begin to see things differently. You throw your heart into what time you have left. And you've made that joke before." The sudden solemnity settled Rahn on his haunches, maw closed. His hands drew back, clasped fingers with his son's.

"So, you were already coming to see us," the splotchy male murmured, eyes searching that grim visage for a hint of the trouble ahead. Zeke broke the eye contact first, his gaze shifting to the left and falling on the floor. The king felt his brows draw down, knew the confusion stood out plain on his face. There was no answer, and silence for a long while. During that time, neither dane moved, nor looked at the other. Eventually the bigger of the two made to stand, picking at the dried semen in his fur absently. His brain was already picking at the secret being held between them.

He left his son's side and crossed the room in the other direction. The last room in their suite was the deluxe bathing chamber, probably the single most expensive private room in the entire construction. "I need a shower... And you could do with a bath yourself. Scrub your back?" It was an unconscious offer, not intended to provoke the wrath that followed. He'd been absorbed in admiring this finest of bathing constructions, his private little fifteenth wonder of the world. Cleverly angled mirrors reflected light and the occupants in all manner of wild and spectacular angles.

Rahn stepped down into the shallow basin, sinking his elongated hind paw into a few inches of constantly filtered, blessedly warm water. It stirred with a weak current that flowed over roughed faux stone -heated from beneath by sealed electrical warmers- which had been designed to mimic marble. The shattered pink veins made a path to the room's different and varied features. Along the inner wall ran a deep, trough like sink with clever alcoves. The center of the room consisted of a massive raised platform, inside of which nested two linking, kidney shaped tubs of pure copper. They sat at different heights, such that one emptied constantly into the other in a small waterfall, the bottom then overflowing into well hidden drains tucked beneath or joining the steady wash in its circulation. The bottom tub was for washing, and was the cooler of the two. The top was designed for soaking, and it's heat could leave a man dazed if not monitored properly.

A shower he'd said and a shower he intended, however. He'd closed half the distance to the large structure, suited for nine large men standing, before he noticed the black shape in the background. Rahn felt himself beginning to relax, blessed the power of familiarity. The eyes glaring at his back were stern, however, angry even. His voice, normally so smooth and urbane, managed to betray the turmoil bubbling below the surface. "I've been out in the world now, da."

The king turned, his floppy ears sagging. He strove for neutrally in his deep voice when he responded. "Yes, Ezekiah. You have. Fifteen years. I'm so thankful you've come home. Are you staying for a while?"

"Staying for a while?" The other dane's tone was incredulous. "My childhood here ill prepared me for the real world. All of my happy memories have turned to ash." Then he left, shape retreating in a rush from the silvered lenses. Concern prompted Rahn to follow, but a flash of ire convinced him otherwise. The man's statement hinted at a some deep seated wounding, but as a boy he'd chosen to leave over his fathers' protests. "Ill prepared you? We gave you everything to prepare you for the world out there," he muttered sourly.

Each of their seven children had received the finest education imaginable, in fact. Scores of tutors were interspersed with lessons at the hands of the king and his paramour themselves. Self defense, health, riding, even flying lessons were mixed in with the traditional curriculum. The protodane's thick digits fumbled the knobs on the shower, releasing a steaming spray from several directions. Of all the gifts Rahn Eldra and Syrn, now of the Mountain, had given their multifaceted brood, however, love was by far the most bountiful.

He moaned in relief beneath the hot splash. The heat worked it's way into his muscles and he leaned forward, resting his cranium against the heated tile wall. A loufa made of still coral hung from a loop to his left; the brawny beast used it first to scour his hide of loose fur and dead skin. He hung it back on it's recessed hook and reached for a lightly scented wash. Lesson, lessons, lesson. All designed to maximize their potential and help them find their way in life. Especially the ones about love and family. Rahn worked the gel into a lather between his spatulate palms and began massaging it in to his fur.

He worked downwards from his skull, having to scrub at the stuck fur splattered over well rounded pecs. His nails dug in as he cleaned his belly, scratching casually at the rocky abs beneath. Eventually he made his way down to his thighs, where the mess had been most evident. As he worked vigorously, his knuckles brushed against his remarkably full sac. From somewhere deep inside, his cock twitched in response. Rahn closed his eyes, leaned his weight more firmly against the shower wall, and sighed.

The male opened his eyes. The shower was same as it had been, as was his posture, though, fundamentally, they weren't. Sometimes, when one lived for an eternity, some memories had a way of crystallizing, becoming perfect in their recollection and detail. The king had many of these memories, and frequented them often. It was like walking in the past, with the end result always the same. In this particular memory, he wasn't alone.

Furtive as a mouse, a pair of slender, coal black arms slid around his waste.

Rahn's head, as it had all those years ago, whipped around in feigned surprise. The angry, middle aged man from earlier was transformed into a tentative, curious lad of an age younger than the protodane's physical appearance. Ezekiah Eldra had been a beautiful pup, a gorgeous adolescent, and a ravishing if somewhat brooding young adult. Rahn had lusted after his youngest son from the moment the boy hid his first cum stained sheets. As always, he'd had strictly bound himself in his own set of rules where that was concerned. The children of Rahn and Syrn, however, all bore a certain fearlessness when it came to their own pleasures, no matter which had sired them.

Thus explaining this perfect moment that Rahn would cherish for the rest of his days. The boy's eyes were so full of lust the protodane wanted to chuckle, but that would likely embarrass them both. He made to turn against the wall, instead, but Zeke pressed firmly against him from behind, forcing his no doubt painfully swollen sheath between dappled, muscled flanks. The king remembered being silently impressed at what he felt bulging beneath his stumpy tail.

The memory moved on with a dream-like quality. Zeke was eager to explore and touch and heft, his hands soft but firm after their initial unsteadiness. Rahn spread his stance more widely, leaned forward at a slightly sharper angle. The boy's dick shifted with him, a fat spike dragging across the sensitive pink bud of his entrance. When the midnight tinted fingers dug into his thighs and continued soaping them as before, Rahn let out an appreciative moan. For a time that's all the young canine did, teasing his desire by massaging beneath the fur and leaving the obvious arousal to hang.

When Zeke worked his way back around from soaping up his father's taught buttocks, his hands finally gripped Rahn's cock with conviction. The thick, floppy sheath rolled easily in the dane's fingers, responding smoothly to easy jerks and twitches that left the red meat within sliding in and out. Rahn huffed and curled his toes in amazement. He realized suddenly that this was most likely how his son masturbated when alone; the intimacy of the gesture touched the infinitely older canine's heart in a way the physical act couldn't. His jaw dropped open and a tongue as splotched as his coat lolled out.

"Good Lord," he wheezed as his son suddenly changed grip and skinned the sheath down with one motion. Rahn's engorged package presented itself red and gleaming to the eye, a sight Zeke craned around the other's body to witness. It pulsed in time with their syncopated heart beats, looking so big in those lean black fingers. Every beat sent thin, murky fluid running from a flared, spear shaped head. The hands went their separate ways, one forming a tunnel while the other squeezed down on the fast growing knot. In the past, an insane curiosity had come over the king at that point. He'd asked, voice a croak, "Is it the same?" Zeke had responded with a barely felt nod and a whispered, "Bigger, but narrower."

The protodane's knees shot forward, but as his body involuntarily spasm, he retained enough control to clench his ass muscles and roll the boy's sheath up over its cock head. Rahn heard a gasp near his ear, as he knew he would, and Zeke rolled his hips in conjunction, grinding upwards. Half free of it's confines, the girthy red meat grazed across the king's hole again, earning another gasp of sensitivity. Between them, the canines built up a well timed rocking motion. Zeke's hand left the engorged knot only briefly, to free his own from the constriction of his sheath. When it regained its grip, the twin began sliding up and down his father's shaft with a firm, twirling grip.

Excitement alone made Zeke burst, and he'd lasted remarkably long considering his inexperience. The youth gave a soft, startled grunt an instant before Rahn felt his checks and hole painted with ropes of thick cum. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," Rahn heard himself muttering as if in prayer, so very close to a hallelujah.

"And here I'd feared you quarreled." Syrn's teasing bark brought the king from his imaginings. His cock pulsed and burned in his own familiar hands, paw pads much rougher than those of the boy who'd been so determined to have all of his father's love. The shower was the same. So was the way he leaned against the wall, legs spread wide. Yet... So fundamentally different. He continued stroking himself, hoping to achieve a climax as he rinsed off, yet the spark was gone. The sensation of flesh on flesh was woefully inadequate, in view of the feelings involved. He finished his shower no more satisfied and even more tense than when he'd begun. His ever considerate lover handed him an exceedingly plush towel, earning a kiss before leaving in silence.

The unhappy monarch found his family gathered in the private kitchen a goodly walk from their private apartments. Zeke had bathed and cleaned up, as well, a fact which both hurt and puzzled his father. He glanced askance at the aging canine's new collared shirt and loose slacks but said nothing. It was now beyond any question that something was very wrong between them. Did it extend to his interactions with his other father as well? Syrn stood across the room, making another pot of his strong smelling coffee, a drink the monarch failed to enjoy.

Zeke glanced up as Rahn entered; the wolf behind their small, marble topped island poured a fresh cup. The king felt his ire flash again, and returned their sudden paused by waving his hands at them, as if to say, 'Well, carry on!' The tan wolf snorted into his brew. The darker dane looked away. However, he spoke softly and firmly. "I only came here because I was asked. I'm leaving tonight, so don't get comfortable."

Before Rahn could protest, Syrn asked the sensible question. "Asked. By whom?" He seemed unconcerned as he sipped his drink, held in both hands.

"Velvet," came the reply. The grey muzzle drawn into a frown, the dane explained in a rush. "I don't know what's going on or how it happened, but he's being held against his will. In Egypt. I wanted to investigate on my own, but the message was specific only in that you had to be there." His chocolate hues flicked up to the king tentatively. Rahn felt his heart clench in fear but he didn't have time to coddle the feeling. Velvet was Syrn's first born, and the only one to carry their immortal gene structure. Velvet was odd and wonderful in many ways, and the most precious of all the tan wolf's children. It was known and never acknowledged.

The brawny white canine moved quickly but very smoothly, rounding the counter top and placing his reassuring brawn at his paramour's back. His hands he placed very lightly on the wilder wolf's hips, offering the comfort of touch, the urging to restraint. "Who could possibly hold your brother against his will? And why?"

"I don't know," Zeke shook his head, brow darkening with anger again. "The boy who told me was one of Symen's, but had only happened to pick up the message by chance and found me before his master." Rahn felt the wolf steady beneath his hands and felt a great flush of pride. Syrn was a warrior without equal, in spirit as well as arms. "I was in Morocco," their son continued, quieter now. "I wanted to go directly to Cairo, but the boy was insistent. So I came here. And now we have to go. Right now. Immediately, if you can manage."

"Why me?" The protodane stammered, perplexed. Theirs had been an extremely peaceful and neutral existence for a very long time. After the young bloods had more or less killed each other off with a brutal, brutal efficiency, the older beings had seen the sense of leaving each other well alone. In other words, they had very few enemies and no present quarrels. Unfortunately, as he well knew, immortals one and all knew when to pick their battles and avenge such slights as they have perceived with uncanny study and timing.

Such was the turn of his thoughts when Syrn spoke in a firm tone. "Abuskhua is still in Egypt. Cairo, in fact. Symen keeps an eye on his movements at all times and will likely head their first, himself." Dread clawed its icy hands around the king's heart.

"We're done with the Jackal Lord. We paired our price for his peace. He would be foolish to attack us this day and age." He spoke with firm conviction, and wished he felt it.

"We're going to Cairo, pa, da. I'm leaving as quickly as I can manage to book a plane back, and you two are coming with me."

"I'll pack. You plan." Syrn brushed past the pair, stalking in that oddly graceful way of his. The brute soon disappeared down the corridor, such was his haste. That left the two canines alone, staring at each other from across a green veined marble counter top. "I'm going to call and have the helicopter prepped and ready to take us to the airport, then see about the royal jet's status. It won't take long, but a night's preparation is in order. It will save us a good deal of time in the long run if we make straight for Egypt."

The black dane nodded quietly, though he obviously expected his creator's next statement.

"Once we're on the plane, you and I have a lot of talking to do."

Ezekiah nodded again, and glanced away.

Ezekiah Eldra

Pitch furred fingers clenched her withered flanks with force, confident she could take the pressure. He released a deeply pent sigh as he sank himself home, feeling even her experienced nether lips strain to consume his girthy knot. The warm, wet cavern probably felt like a canyon to most, but once the aging dane's fleshy boulder sank within, Miranda's cleft felt like home. He didn't over stay his welcome, however. Once the venerable tabby began hungrily pulling him in, he loosed his seed with a relieved grunt. It over flowed round his manhood, as it must. Zeke distinctly heard a moist tinkle as it pooled and dripped to the mattress.

Neither spoke as he shrank, but that was the blessing of this surprisingly well appointed room. Miranda had always been a warm port in any storm, giving freely of her body to calm a man's soul to silence. For a price. He brushed her thighs as he eventually hefted her up and off his manhood with a squelch, then went to clean himself. Dressed properly in drab, colorless trousers and jacket, the man left some cash on her divan and departed.

Blissful oblivion proved all too short a release. The dane barely made the street before his emotions soured again. The burden of his task plagued him, squatting on his shoulders like a demon; a terrifying black demon. The chill mountain air off the keep felt somehow sinister, the wan morning sun a starved thing.

He wandered for a time, seeking the comforts of once familiar sights. His father had been perfecting this tiny, but easily manageable, kingdom for millennia. Its capitol city's streets where paved perfection, its layout ordered in a fashion both pleasing to the eye and easy to navigate. Reachers were a proud and often artistic folk, and offered their own homage to the city's quaint splendor, communal murals of varying but similar themes. The Village had modernized, grand squares and plazas with gurgling fountains and statuary giving way to lively outdoor markets one might find in the States. All but the King's Square. Eventually Zeke found himself entering that grand crossroads.

The community's main thorough fair split around a large square park, dividing off at perpendicular intersections to either side before joining again at the Grand Gate. A statue dominated the square bit of turf. It rose high above the ground, its depiction simple: a thin band forming a circle, the universal symbol of balance and equality. Behind it rose the Grand Gate, functionless as no walls supported it. Above it all towered the Keep Within the Mountain, its foundation pillars the mines that once produced the kingdom's wealth.

He couldn't dally much longer without turning around and going back the other way, but that wouldn't solve anything. Zeke gazed up at the fortress woven seamlessly into the rock and sighed. Long legs carried him through the open arch, up a flight of switch backed stairs, and to the main entrance. Of course, the eternal heir didn't have to use the public door, if he didn't want to.

A hidden recess took his palm print, sliding open a slab of rock three times his height. Within waited an open elevator. There was only one floor selection. As the box rose, the dane meditated on his father's ingenuity. The monarch had quietly collected the world's most powerful, beyond the edge technologies and put it them to use automating and securing his very public abode, with very few the wiser. Another palm print was required to open the door, requiring a longer press that subtly read your stress level and could accurately determine if a person was being held hostage. This time the door slid open on silent tracks.

Coffee with a hint of chicory assaulted him immediately. The familiar scent guided him directly to the small, private kitchen of his childhood. There, over the stove, dressed in a horribly dated clout that hadn't been outside for centuries, stood Syrn. The shaggy, muscular beast glanced up, nonplussed.

"My heart. I don't know where you've been, but you smell awful."

Something inside Zeke tore free and suddenly, the graying dane was bawling. The man he called his quiet father circumnavigated the small island countertop and embraced his emotional progeny, wrapping thick arms around slender shoulders as they heaved and shook. He couldn't turn it off, the years of frustration and longing pouring out through his eyes. With Syrn, he could always let himself completely go, but was it wise? "Welcome home, Zeke."

The word home struck a dissonance. The dark canine felt a wash of emotions even more powerful than before, drying up his tears. They gave him strength, but he forced himself to swallow them before they raged in their bitterness. A calm slipped over him.

"Thanks, pa. It's been a long time. Where's da?"

"Still asleep," Syrn responded, patting his son's head tenderly. They released each other, the tan wolf returning to his old fashioned coffee press. Zeke watched him apply force to the spindle, felt oddly fascinated by the way the murky brown fluid seeped upwards. Two steaming cups were prepared, one for each of them. The dane accepted his with a nod and set it aside to cool. Syrn continued in a thoughtful tone. "Where were you when you saw the broadcast."

Zeke shifted uncomfortably on his stool, realized his antsiness belatedly, and leaned forward instead. A lingering tension hovered, and he played into it, answering evasively, "The village." He went from leaning forward to standing and pacing, not daring to meet those calm, thoughtful violet eyes. "I was on my way already. Have any of the others come?" His sire's head shook in answer, and turned away.

"Jace called. At the moment he's training with Taito Kenshin and too far away to make it soon. Symeon sent word via one of his boys. He's too invested to leave, but severly disappointed in us. Imagine that." Too casually, Syrn reached for the remote control on the counter. Zeke ignored the blathering news anchors as the other went on quietly. "L'erika left the day you did, as you know. We still haven't heard from her. That just leaves Velvet, and you know how he is. Mérde. I haven't spoken that many words together in a month. Go wake your father already, he's the one you came for."

Zeke's pacing slowed, then stopped. He embraced the wolf one more time, kissed the big male on the bridge of his wide snout, and murmured, "Heart to heart." The portraits had changed in the hallway beyond but not the old furniture. It led to a certain narrow stair. The man paused at its foot, then went up it with a hint of trepidation. He would come down much more blindly, wrapped in his own anger.

The King of Icereach had not changed, not physically nor character wise, Zeke told himself as he stomped down the hall in retreat. His sire's direct, honest affection burned the midnight canine's soul after so many years of sullen resentment. It sheared right past his masks and walls, and was utterly unacceptable at this point. The anger had been an instinctive response, his condemnation made to sound resolute and firm. Now, though, he felt like weeping again, a tragic occurrence for a man of his life experience.

The days of his parents' predominance in his life had been filled with lessons. Zeke recalled them so sharply the memories were bittersweet. Lessons in every practical subject under the sun. Lessons in love. Lessons in family. Rahn and Syrn had offered him the finest of lives imaginable... If he stayed in Icereach. Of all they'd taught him, the one thing they'd neglected had broken him entirely. They'd failed to teach him that love does not conquer all.

The slender dane began breathing deeply, attempting to still his features as he closed on the kitchen again. He slowed his steps, reflecting on the day his older brother Jace had asked why they took their meals in there. Rahn had joked that he had years of experience on most of his staff, and besides, he was in better shape. The TV was turned off when he entered and Syrn no where to be seen. Zeke cleaned up a few crumbs and picked up his coffee, finding it stone cold. Instead, he sat down on a stool and waited on the upcoming conversation.

Much later that night, he stared up at the ceiling from his old mattress, pleased to feel that it still gave in all the right places. His earlier words had been an outright lie, and here, in this room, he could not deny it. He'd never felt more comfortable and secure in all his days as he did beneath these sheets. The king his father had believed him, though, and that was important. But their talk could never happen. Not the kind the protodane wanted, in any case. Zeke doubted he could hold to the strength of his anger if the other managed to sink hooks into his heart any deeper. A few bare minutes had unhinged him already.

And he needed that anger, if he was going to get vengeance, if he was going to win his redemption. He would continue playing just a little bit longer. Just until he had what he needed. Then he would go, and never look back.

Chapter One: End

Dramatis Personae

The King's Family

Rahn Eldra - the King of Icereach, called the Eternal King, also the King in the Mountain: the prehistoric prototype of the great dane species, his fur white with distinctive black spots, eternally in his late teens in appearance

Syrn, once of Gilead - paramour of the king and underwear model, also called now of the Mountain: a tan mountain wolf of a breed not seen since Biblical times, large and hulking but generally unthreatening in appearance

Their children:

L'erika - a daughter of Rahn Eldra

Velvet - male identified firstborn of Syrn, once of Gilead

Symeon - a brother of Ezekiah Eldra

(Silk) - a daughter of Syrn, once of Gilead, deceased

(Rose) - a daughter of Syrn, once of Gilead, deceased

Jace Eldra - a son of Rahn Eldra

Ezekiah Eldra - lastborn son of Rahn Eldra, called the Eternal Heir: a once slender black great dane of elegant bearing now thickening to paunch in his mid thirties, goes by Zeke

Other Immortals

Crocious Berm - an immortal famous in Africa for his work in restoring the continent's health care system

Marshall Cargile - a celebrity immortal who is leading relief efforts in Haiti

Davenport - an immortal who has purportedly created a way to gift immortality to anyone with the funds

Abuskhua - a shadowy former nemesis of Rahn Eldra

Taito Kenshin - an immortal in training with Jace Eldra

Others

Kerson Dally - a North American male celebrity reporter famous around the world: a sleek, wise looking grey fox with hazel eyes and impeccable fashion sense

Devan Soulder - a co-anchor on Kerson Dally's show: a soft looking brown North American river otter in his early twenties

Argos Tremeré - a special reporter interviewing Rahn Eldra for his second ever press release: an aging, paunchy corgi in his later forties, very dignified of mien

Miranda - a whore and frequent haunt of Zeke Eldra in the village of Icereach: a grey and white striped tabby female getting towards the far side of fifty