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Chapter 1
Lunar’s Reach, Etria
1881
Galen’s cheek scraped against the stone wall in the alleyway beside the tavern. A meaty forearm wound around his neck, nearly crushing his windpipe. The man pumped into him fast and solid, and without any oil or spit to smooth the way, Galen was sure the delicate skin between his buttocks would be puffy and aching. He’d had rough fucking from customers before, and he could occasionally enjoy it if he closed his eyes and let his imagination lead the way, but this was something entirely different. This was feral, with no regard to him, as if he were only an object or a two-bit whore, which he supposed he was, given the circumstances.
He should’ve stayed away as soon as he noticed the dull gray tint surrounding the stranger’s shape—and not only from the night fog—when the man had stumbled out of the tavern. For as long as he could remember, Galen had been able to read people’s intentions or their quintessence, if you will, in the shades of color suffusing their forms. It was a useful gift, and he could use to his advantage, as a warning of sorts or to put himself at ease.
He was being reckless tonight, ignoring that warning. He knew that, but he needed to eat, after all.
His eyes filled with tears as his hole burned, but he held as still as possible during the thrashing because he desperately wanted it to end. He would use the coin the man had shoved into his hand not five minutes earlier to buy something from the street merchant before he rolled his pushcart away for the night. If he missed him, he would have to dig through the trash bin behind the butcher’s shop for leftover scraps of smoked meats.
A couple more nights like this—if his buttocks survived it—and he might even be able to afford a cast-off pair of shoes from the man under the bridge who collected them. The holes in his current ones provided a weak barrier from the elements, and there was still a way to go before spring arrived.
He focused on the slim possibility of warmer toes as the man’s sour smell wafted against his cheek. Galen shut his eyes and only briefly held his breath, afraid he might faint as his stomach churned.
His eyes sprang open when the man grabbed a tuft of his hair and tugged on it roughly. “I’ve been tempted by the devil himself.”
It was always this way with the vilest of the gentlemen—self-hatred turned outward, the blame for their proclivities never befalling them.
When he’d initially spotted the large man stumbling near the entrance to the tavern, he’d taken a chance, especially when the man had looked him up and down with a sultry leer Galen recognized all too well by now. Galen had beckoned him toward the alleyway, knowing the gentleman would follow, and when the customer agreed to a money exchange to stick him with his cock, Galen felt hopeful he’d be able to eat again no matter the consequences.
The man was groaning now, and when he stiffened, Galen prayed it was finally over. He tried to rein in his racing pulse and remain still as the man stepped away to pull up his trousers and tuck his limp cock inside.
Galen gingerly tugged his own threadbare pants up his thighs with trembling hands. He could feel the man’s seed, most likely mixed with blood, running down his thighs, but he paid it no mind. His sole focus was putting this moment behind him as quickly as possible.
He lifted his cap, which had fallen to the ground, as well as his satchel, where he kept his most treasured things. Not that they amounted to much, but they were all he had. He’d had little time to gather his belongings from his aunt and uncle’s house after he’d been caught stealing bread from the market in plain sight, almost a year ago now. As he’d fled, the owner of the stall warned she’d call the authorities, and though he didn’t know if she had, just the threat of having to pay a fine, or worse, had been enough incentive to leave his village. And also, regardless of whether the authorities would be on his trail, rumors were bound to reach his aunt and uncle, bringing shame, and they had enough to deal with. Not that they would miss him all that much, with so many other mouths to feed. Still, since then, he’d learned not to make that same mistake again, no matter how hungry he became in his travels, so this arrangement worked well most nights.
He’d always worked for himself, never wanting to be kept by anyone or to give most of his earnings to some scoundrel who might treat him worse than the customers. So he avoided the notorious corners where other whores lured willing men. He respected those rent boys, even though they didn’t always return the favor. But he understood their frustration and desperation. There was limited space, patrons as well. Like them, he did what he needed to survive.
