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Star Child by kayladie (Part 1 of 3)
Title: Star Child (Part 1 of 3)
Rating: R (for sex/violence)
Word Count: 24,097
Cover: Cover #2
Summary: Alex Luthor's father is enraged by the latest scandal his son has found himself in, so he banishes him to the wilds of Kansas. On the way, Alex's party is attacked by rogue Indians, who are fiercely protecting the land that they believe the Luthors are trying to steal from them. Among the savages is the most intriguing man he's ever met, and the stranger is just as entranced with Alex as Alex is with him. Together, the two of them will face both challenges and betrayals, and perhaps find the most important thing of all...love.
Notes: The word mishidhal is a totally made up by me Kryptonian word that has an important role in this story. I pronounce it mee-she-dahl if anyone was wondering.
Star Child
by kayladie
A sly little wink here, the briefest hint of a smile there. Now a quick little dip of the tongue over barely pursed lips. Oh, yes, his message had definitely gotten through. Ah, and there was certainly interest from the other party as well. Lovely. He hadn’t had someone new in his bed for almost a week, and his previous conquest was already becoming boring.
“Alexander! Are you listening?”
The sharp, slightly nasal tone of his sire jerked him rudely back from thoughts of what he’d like to do to the pretty page standing behind his father’s chair. Alexander was standing in front of the dais his father sat upon like a throne, feeling somewhat like a peasant coming to beg favors of a king. An impression which Lionel Luthor intended, and one which his son had always despised.
He could never let his father know this, of course, as that was all part of the game of cat-and-mouse they’d played with each other forever, ever since Alex’s mother had died fifteen years ago when he was twelve. It varied which of them was the cat and which the mouse.
“Of course, Father, what else could possibly hold my attention more than your own dulcet tones?” Alex said, his tone the perfect blend of obsequiousness, with just a trace of derision. Never outright though, not where his father could call him on it, because that would certainly be poor playing on his part.
“Perhaps the latest servant to catch your eye?”
“I assure you, my focus is purely on what you have to say, Father. I would never disrespect you in such a manner,” Alex lied easily.
“Then you don’t object to my sending you to Kansas to oversee our holdings there for a while?” Lionel said, his words a vindictive purr.
And now he did have Alexander’s complete attention, because that was not what they’d been discussing, Alex was almost certain of it. Almost. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be completely sure because he had been very distracted by that gorgeous young man who was now refilling his father’s cup with wine.
Alex straightened, fighting hard not to let his emotions show on his face, as his mind quickly whipped through possible responses to his father’s obvious challenge. He couldn’t outright refuse to go, for that was defiance that he wasn’t quite prepared to give yet. But he also couldn’t let his father know exactly how opposed he was to the idea, because that would be showing fear, and he definitely couldn’t have that.
“I’m not sure that’s absolutely necessary at this time, is it? When I’m so close to persuading Hamilton to invest in our racing stock?” Yes, that’s it, stall, make him think of money, of business, that will distract him, put him off this wretched idea.
Lionel waved a hand lazily. “Oh, you’ve already done most of the hard work, Son, I’m sure I can close the deal without you. You’ll prove so much more valuable to me out there. I need someone to insure that my interests in the new railroad line are being protected and I believe you’re just the man for the job.”
Alex hadn’t had breathing problems in years - since the last time he’d traveled with his mother in Kansas, in fact - but right now, it was all he could do to keep air moving in and out of his lungs. He’d never thought his sire to be a nice man, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he would never have thought Lionel so cruel as to send Alex back to the place of his nightmares.
“I…Father, I can’t…” And this was weakness, damn it all! He could not let his father see him lose control so completely, and yet he was helpless to stop the panic rising in his heart.
“Alexander, you are approaching thirty years old, don’t you think it’s time that you grew up and started taking some responsibility? I grow very weary of having to read about your latest scandal in the newspaper every week,” Lionel said harshly.
Alex had thought, upon coming to this meeting, that it would be the normal lecture on what a disappointment he was as a son; why wasn’t he married yet; when was he going to start learning the family business in earnest; the usual spiel. In a way, Alex was almost grateful for the return to normalcy because he was afraid that he was going to have a complete breakdown in front of his father and the sycophants that hung on Lionel’s every word, and that just wouldn’t do. Not at all.
Somehow, he managed to rein in his imminent meltdown, and answered his father in the usual vein of sarcasm verging on disrespect.
“Surely, Father, you can’t expect me to believe that you even read the society pages? I thought your copy of the newspaper didn’t even come with anything but the headlines and the business section,” he drawled.
Okay, there, his heart rate was slowing to something resembling normal, and breathing became a little less painful.
“Oh, but Son, your latest affaire is indeed the headline, so I don’t see how I could have missed it,” Lionel growled.
“What are you talking about?” Alex asked, truly dumbfounded. What had he possibly done that could have been front page news? He had always been so careful to be utterly discreet. Certainly, there were rumors and innuendo about his activities, but rarely any proof.
“I have overlooked all the many women you’ve indulged in, both common and blueblood, but Alexander, I will not have you sully the Luthor name with your base predilections for your own gender. I simply will not have it!”
Oh…fuck!
This was bad. This was so far beyond bad that Alex could barely even process how very disastrous it was. He’d been having sexual encounters with both males and females since he turned sixteen and his father had always seemed to be oblivious. Alex had thought that he was merely choosing to look the other way, but the sheer rage on his father’s face at the moment told him that Lionel had not known. But now he did know, and he was furious.
The panic quickly rising in his chest again, Alex attempted to think, to try and figure out how the newspaper had gotten hold of this information, and indeed, who the information even referred to. And he needed to defuse his father’s fury, and fast, before he really did find himself banished to the wilds of Kansas. At least now he knew where that threat had come from.
“Father, allow me to explain. There must have been an error on someone’s part. What have you heard that would make you think this rumor is true?”
“Rumor, Son? I don’t think so. You were observed last week in a passionate embrace,” Lionel said, the words falling from his mouth in a disdainful sneer, “with none other than a stablehand. At Lady Hardwick’s spring soiree, no less. To make matters worse, neither of you were adequately clothed, and I would love to hear how you would like to explain that.”
His father’s eyes challenged him, and Alex felt very much like a helpless fly pinned to the wall. He swallowed carefully, feeling his whole life falling away before him.
“Who…was the observer?” He needed to know, so he could first discredit them in his father’s eyes and then make whomever it was pay with their life for mucking about so foolishly with his own.
“Young Miss Hardwick herself, Victoria, I believe her name is. The poor girl was quite traumatized and had be given a sleeping powder to calm down,” Lionel said from between clenched teeth.
That bitch! Alex thought furiously. Traumatized, right. He barely kept from scoffing at his father’s claim. Victoria certainly hadn’t been traumatized when she was writhing in between the sheets with both himself and Anthony just a few weeks ago. He never should have ignored the niggling sense of danger he’d felt when he refused to marry her as she’d begged him to once the night was over. Alex had known she was a shrew, but he would never have thought her to be this vindictive.
“Victoria is a bit enamored of me, Father, and unfortunately, I find that I don’t return her affections. I fear that she may have fabricated this story in a bit of misguided revenge,” Alex said, carefully trying to control his alarm.
“Perhaps you should consider returning those affections, Alexander. You certainly wouldn’t have found yourself in the position that you’re in now if you had, now would you?” Lionel said, as he gazed at Lex with a shrewd gleam in his eye.
What the hell? Was this some scheme that Victoria had concocted with Lionel? Or had she merely counted on that being his father’s reaction to the news? Alex’s mind flailed about briefly, trying to come up with some reasonable counter to his father’s transparent suggestion. He would almost rather go to Kansas than marry Victoria, that little slut.
“Oh, please, Father, Victoria is in no way worthy of the Luthor name. She’s not been very discreet in her own affairs. If you’re wanting the good people of New York to forget any tiny indiscretions I may have displayed, then I need to marry a young woman who is above reproach. Not Victoria Hardwick.”
“Very well, Son. If you haven’t found someone to wed within a week, expect to find yourself on your way to Kansas City immediately thereafter,” Lionel said calmly.
Alex was anything but calm, and was barely managing to keep from throwing a hysterical fit right there and then. “A week, Father? I hardly think that’s enough time-”
“Alexander, you’ve already had relations with half the eligible women in this city. I should think you wouldn’t need more than a day or two to choose a bride.”
Alex stood there, stunned, unable to say another word in his own defense, wondering how his entire life had suddenly collapsed around him. What kind of choice was that…to marry immediately or go to Kansas? He wasn’t sure which would be the greater hell.
The truly terrible part about the whole ordeal was that Alex knew he really had no say in the matter. Even though Alexander was well past his majority and supposedly a valued part of his father’s empire, Lionel Luthor kept a tight fist on all of his holdings. Alex had nothing of his own and wouldn’t until Lionel died. Even then, Alex couldn’t say for certain that Lionel didn’t have a bastard or two out there ready to replace Alexander should his legitimate son disappoint him.
For a moment, thoughts of patricide drifted through his mind, but Alex knew he would never be able to go through with it. If only Lionel would have a convenient heart spasm and drop dead…preferably before the end of the week.
“Now, I really do have other business to attend to, Son, so if you wouldn’t mind taking your leave?”
Although it was phrased as a question, Alex was under no illusion that it was anything other than an order. Numbly, he gave his father a half-bow and turned to walk out of the room.
“Oh, Alexander?”
Alex paused and turned back, gritting his teeth, having expected a last minute dig. Lionel could never let one of their encounters end without driving home the fact that he was the undisputed ruler of his little kingdom.
“Always such a pleasure to see you, Son,” Lionel said, with a shark’s smile.
“You, too, Father,” Alex replied tonelessly. He had abruptly lost all patience with the games and before his father could say anything else, Alex quickly made his escape.
~*~*~
Ten days later, Alex sullenly sat hunched into a corner of the compartment he’d been hiding in for most of the trip to Kansas City. The few times he had ventured out to mingle with the other passengers on the train, he hadn’t been able to stand the gaping at his bald head. In New York, people knew him and so they didn’t stare. Alex wouldn’t go so far as to say all of them accepted him, but at least they were accustomed to his unusual looks.
The train would be arriving in Kansas City soon and then Alex faced a stagecoach ride for another fifty miles to the small city of Granville, where Luthor Incorporated was busy trying to continue construction on a rail line to Wichita. Granville was as far as the Northern Pacific Railway Company - wholly owned by one Lionel Luthor - had gotten in the last two years. Apparently his father was very displeased at their lack of progress.
Making the decision to be banished to Kansas hadn’t been as difficult as Alex had thought it would, especially when he considered that the alternative was marriage, possibly to Victoria Hardwick. Alex managed to repress his shudder. Marriage was permanent; there was at least the chance that the banishment wouldn’t be.
Still, knowing that he was returning to the place that had forever changed his life had brought about the recurrence of nightmares that Alex hadn’t had since he was a child. He could still vividly recall the noise, the smell of burning ash, the terror that had tasted so sour in his mouth. Closing his eyes, Alex forcefully put those memories out of his head. Perhaps if he did well here acting as his father’s lackey, then Lionel would let him return to New York quicker, hopefully without the continued threat of matrimony.
Two hours later, he was standing in the middle of a busy station in Kansas City, extremely unhappy that no one was there to meet him. The train had pulled in almost an hour ago, and Alex wondered if this was another of his father’s little displays of power. After yet another mother pulled a gawking child away from pointing at the ‘funny man with no hair’, he was seriously considering finding a store nearby where he could buy a hat. Alex hated hats.
“Mr. Luthor?” a hesitant voice said from behind him.
Alex turned to find a young man about his age looking at him with a combination of hope and fear.
“Mr. Luthor is my father. You may call me Alexander. And you are?”
“Albert Simmons, sir. I’m the uh, foreman of the Granville crew.”
Alex gazed at the timid man doubtfully. He certainly didn’t seem like one of his father’s usual toadies. “Really?” he said, letting the sarcasm roll off his tongue.
Albert didn’t seem to notice. “Yes, sir. I apologize profusely for being late in coming to fetch you, but there’ve been some problems…” he started and then broke off as he looked at Alex guiltily. “But I suppose we can discuss that later, once you’re settled in.”
“Yes, fine. Do you think we could get moving now? I believe I’ve seen enough of the train station to last me a while,” Alex said pointedly.
Finally, Albert must have realized that his new boss was none too happy about being left to wait on his first day in town and Alex had to hold back a laugh at the way the man’s entire face turned a dull red color. He allowed Albert to bluster around collecting the several bags that Alex had brought with him, and eventually they were loaded onto an ancient looking stagecoach. Alex gave the thing a dubious look.
“This doesn’t exactly seem up to usual Luthor standards,” he observed.
Albert once again flushed in embarrassment before he replied. “Well, uh, that’s one of the things I guess we need to discuss, sir. There’ve been some difficulties with a rogue Indian tribe near the work site.”
“Explain please,” Alex said shortly, and wondered what the hell his father had gotten him into.
Albert stumbled his way through a semi-coherent explanation as the stagecoach lumbered its way away from civilization towards the hell where Alex would have to suffer for god only knew how long. He certainly hoped that his father’s ill mood would pass quickly because this was beginning to sound worse than the marriage option.
“So let me make sure I understand this. There’s a group of disgruntled Indians, who think that we’re encroaching on their territory, even though they’re not a tribe recognized by the US government.”
“That’s because they just popped up out of nowhere about ten years ago. No one had ever heard of them prior to that,” Albert interrupted.
“Yes, yes, I got that. And they’re calling themselves the Kawatche?” Alex said impatiently. Albert nodded. “And they’ve been sabotaging the work site, stealing supplies, and generally scaring the hell out of the work crew?”
“Um, yes, that’s pretty much the situation, sir.”
“Why has no one ever informed my father of this? He would have put a stop to it some time ago if-” Alex broke off at the strange look that suddenly came across Albert’s face. “What is it?” he demanded, even though he had a sickening feeling he knew exactly what the man was about to say.
“Your father is aware of the situation, sir. He’s always known about it.”
Alex’s lips thinned to a grim line and he turned his head to look out at the rapidly passing landscape. So, either his father had sent him here to fail or he’d sent him here to die. Alex wondered which one Lionel was hoping for.
“Thanks, Dad,” he muttered under his breath.
He curtly informed Albert that conversation for the rest of the trip was unnecessary. Alex then spent the rest of the journey staring out the window at the passing landscape, brooding over what he’d learned. He was pondering whether Lionel would relieve his son of his exiled status before Alex was killed or simply lost his mind.
When they finally reached their destination, Alex had to fight hard to keep his dismay from showing on his face, and he was well accustomed to having to hide his emotions. Granville. He wondered if that was some sort of goal the town was striving for or if it was irony on someone’s part, because the place was anything but grand. They couldn’t even claim the ‘D’ in the name.
There was one main street, with buildings clustered on either side of it. Alex was gratified to note that there was a saloon, because he envisioned having to imbibe serious amounts of alcohol to make it through this experience. As he stepped out of the stagecoach, following Albert to the hotel where he’d be staying, Alex could feel the stares and almost hear the curious whispers. Whether more of it was due to his baldness or the fact that he was Lionel Luthor’s son was anyone’s guess.
Albert was babbling something about the town being the base of operations and how they’d ride out to the current work site in the morning, but Alex really wasn’t paying any attention to him. Thankfully, these few shabby buildings didn’t really resemble the place that his nightmares recalled, but just being back in the vicinity of where the accident had happened made Alex very uneasy.
Right now, all he wanted was the privacy of his own room, a little of the scotch he’d snitched from his father’s supply, and his bed. It would’ve been nice to have some company in that bed, but glancing at the locals, Alex wasn’t very optimistic about his sex life while he was here.
It took him another hour to finally get rid of Albert, but at long last he was ensconced in the small hotel room that was to be his home for the next…well, who knew how long, but it was probably measured in months rather than weeks, judging by the intensity of his father’s anger at their last meeting. Alex poured a little more scotch into the glass he’d found by the bed and swallowed it down in one gulp. This hotel certainly wasn’t up to New York standards, but at least the glassware was nice. He’d take the small pleasures where he could get them at the moment.
~*~*~
‘In the morning’ came way too early for someone who wasn’t used to seeing the light of the outside world until well past the noon hour on most days. But Alex found himself sitting beside Albert in the stagecoach once again, bleary-eyed from having drunk a little too much of the scotch in his pity party of the previous night.
Being still just a little bit drunk was the reason he gave himself for giving in to his fears and wearing the stocking cap that was on his head. He had tried to pretend it was only because he feared sunburn in the bright Kansas daylight, but a part of him knew that it was really that he didn’t want to be stared at by the men that were going to be working for him.
Albert was once again blathering on about the work site, or at least Alex assumed he was. The steady pounding in his head was pretty much drowning out any actual words. He was so immersed in his own misery that it took a few moments for him to recognize the driver’s shout of dismay for what it was. That was also the instant that he realized the pounding was coming not from his head, but from dozens of horses that were swarming around the stagecoach.
Albert was no longer speaking; instead, he was screaming in a high-pitched squeal that was annoying Alex so much that he could only barely focus enough to be afraid. He finally managed to break out of his stupor long enough to reach out and give Albert’s shoulders a firm shake.
“What the hell is going on?!”
“It’s those Kawatche! But they’ve never attacked so close to Granville before, I don’t understand…”
Alex swore under his breath and turned to look out the window at their assailants. The driver was obviously trying to outrun them, but it was equally obvious that it was a futile endeavor. The Indians rode their horses with such skill, it was as though they were one with the beasts. Their faces were painted in garish colors; their dark hair flowed with the wind behind them; their hands each held a fearsome looking weapon of some sort. If he weren’t petrified that he was about to be killed, Alex might have admired the fierce picture they represented.
His erstwhile foreman might not have realized why the Kawatche were changing their methods, but Alex suspected the truth. Clearly, these were no plain ignorant savages. They were no doubt quite aware of exactly who the passenger in the stagecoach was. The son of their enemy. A very visible focal point on which to vent their anger, frustration, and revenge.
Thanks, Dad, I guess you’ve managed to get me killed after all, Alex thought bleakly. He felt the moment that the Indians must have taken out their driver, as the stagecoach lurched sharply to one side, throwing Alex and Albert helplessly against the door, and then down to the floor. The coach picked up speed for a few moments as the horses panicked now that no one was leading them, and then it began to list seriously to the left and Alex knew they were going over.
He tried to brace himself, but there wasn’t much to hold onto and he ended up being bounced around the interior of the coach along with Albert. The crash when it hit the ground was loud, frightening, and dust and dirt flew everywhere, blinding Alex and stinging his eyes. There was one long moment of perfect silence, wherein Alex tried to imagine that this was all just a dream and he was going to wake up in his bed back in New York, but then the door above their heads was wrenched open.
Albert was blubbering loudly, pleading for his life, but all Alex could do was stare mesmerized at the angry face peering down at him. The next thing he knew, hands were reaching down, grabbing first him and then Albert and harshly pulling them out of the coach. The breath went out of him as he was thrown down to the ground. Alex scrambled to turn over onto his back so that he could at least face his killers.
There were perhaps two dozen of them, some of them tall, some shorter. They were all dressed similarly in brown buckskin breeches, with nothing covering their chests, although some of them wore odds and ends of adornments on their arms or around their necks. The one thing that he noticed quickly was that each of them looked very angry. Alex attempted to push his fear down, hoping that he’d be able to face his death with at least a modicum of dignity, but he was finding it extremely difficult not to join Albert in the begging routine.
The only thing that kept him from doing so was the absolute mess that Albert looked from all the crying and wailing. Alex may be about to die, but he certainly wasn’t going to do it with snot and tears running down his face. He only wished he could see his father one last time so he could give him a hearty fuck you.
The moment seemed to stretch out into forever as the Indians glared down at their captives. Alex was starting to wonder if they expected him to say something, and he was debating if he should attempt to bargain for his life, when one of the Kawatche made a sharp motion to one of his brethren.
That one gave a nod and stepped forward towards the two men lying on the ground. Before Alex could fully comprehend what was happening, the man had brought the small hatchet in his hand down brutally on Albert’s head, and just like that, Albert was gone.
Alex let out a small cry of shock and reared backwards away from the grisly scene, staring in horror as the Indian nonchalantly worked his weapon back out of Albert’s skull. His face felt wet, and Alex lifted a shaking hand to his cheek and had to swallow bile when his fingers came away red from the spatter of blood.
The first Indian gestured again and Alex jerked as the killer turned and gave him a vicious smile. That’s when Alex decided dignity be damned. He wasn’t going to lie here helplessly and let this savage snuff his life with no more concern than if he stepped on an ant. The killer raised his arm up, but before the hatchet could fall again, Alex reached out and kicked him as hard as he could in the knee.
He heard the satisfying crunch of bone cracking as the killer screamed and dropped to the ground. Immediately, half a dozen of them were on Alex, pummeling his head and body with sharp blows. Apparently his show of defiance had pissed them off and they were going to punish him before they killed him. Well, that was fine…Alex didn’t expect to win this fight, but he’d damn sure make certain a few of them felt it in the morning.
He kicked, clawed, bit, hit out with his fists in a frenzy, finding a strength that he hadn’t known he possessed until that moment. His strikes weren’t really having much of an effect on his assailants, but it did grant him a few minutes mercy from their death sentence as none of them seemed to be able to get hold of him firmly enough to kill him. Alex knew that couldn’t last, but he was determined to make them fight for his blood.
In the scuffle, his clothes were half ripped from his body as the Indians grabbed at him, trying to pin him down. His hat, the one he hadn’t even wanted to wear in the first place was pulled from his head, and he was glad of that, in a way. If he was going to die, he wanted to die as himself, as Alexander Luthor, bald freak, not some coward who hid behind a scrap of clothing.
Alex was tiring quickly, his burst of adrenaline fizzling out, and more of the savages’ blows were starting to land, when a voice saying a single word thundered through the mob surrounding him. To his astonishment, every single one of the men who were trying their level best to kill him froze instantly in their tracks. Another command in a language he didn’t know, and all of them dropped him and simultaneously backed several steps away.
He lay on the ground, panting with exhaustion, wondering what the hell was happening. Squinting up through one rapidly swelling blackened eye, Alex watched as one of the Indians who’d stayed in the background walked slowly towards him. Even fearing that this man was about to kill him on the spot, Alex couldn’t contain the indrawn breath of awe at the being who stopped at his feet. He was the tallest of them all by at least half a head and without a doubt the most beautiful thing that Alex had ever laid eyes on, male or female.
Even as he feared them, Alex could appreciate the raw, untamed magnificence of his captors. He was nothing if not a connoisseur of beauty, and this man went straight past magnificent into exquisite. His dark hair was as long as the others’ but had more of a wave to it, falling over bronzed shoulders that were impossibly wide. Two vivid stripes of blue paint marked his left cheek from nose to jaw, matched by two red ones on his right cheek.
Alex gazed in fascination at the broad chest that tapered down into slim hips and long, long legs. When he managed to raise his eyes back to the Indian’s face, he was met with a stare so intense, it seemed to burn right through him.
The Adonis turned and spoke a few harsh words to the Indian who had ordered Albert’s death, the one whom Alex had thought to be in charge. He wasn’t so certain of that anymore as he watched the two of them have a brief argument. Alex recognized well the executioner’s fear mingled with resentment of the Adonis. It was a position he’d found himself in quite frequently with Lionel.
The two exchanged a flurry of fierce words, and then the Adonis barked out another command and made a slashing gesture with one hand, ending the heated discussion. The other gave him a glare full of bitterness, but bowed his head in acquiescence before turning away. Alex held his breath, wondering what the hell all that was about and what it had to do with him. Perhaps they were arguing over who would have the chance to kill him?
The Adonis then turned all of his attention to the hostage on the ground, and Alex found himself short of breath from more than just the beating he’d endured. Truly, the man was awe-inspiring. Alex thought it a shame that something so beautiful was about to kill him. To his surprise, the Adonis knelt down in front of him and stared at him intently for several seconds.
Alex swallowed, and pondered whether this was some strange ritual he had to go through before striking the killing blow. Then the Adonis did something that rattled Alex more than anything else so far…he smiled. Not the malicious smirk of someone about to kill, but the tender smile of someone greeting a loved one they hadn’t seen in years. Alex blinked in confusion, trying to figure out what that could possibly be about and coming up with nothing logical whatsoever.
Adonis reached out with his hand towards Alex’s face, and Alex couldn’t restrain his flinch, anticipating a blow. Instead, Adonis lightly ran his fingertips down the side of Alex’s head, starting at the temple and trailing softly down to his jaw.
“Mishidhal,” Adonis sighed, almost reverently, and Alex felt his breath leave his body.
It was some sort of magic, it had to be, because that one word affected him more strongly than anything he could ever recall. It was strange, yet familiar, it was everything, and Alex suddenly knew without a doubt, that he had felt this man’s touch before…which was ridiculous, of course it was.
But it was true.
And it was far too much for his mind to process at the moment. The rush of emotion threatened to overwhelm him, and so he let it. The last thing he registered before the darkness swept him away was a pair of startlingly green eyes.
PART TWO
Rating: R (for sex/violence)
Word Count: 24,097
Cover: Cover #2
Summary: Alex Luthor's father is enraged by the latest scandal his son has found himself in, so he banishes him to the wilds of Kansas. On the way, Alex's party is attacked by rogue Indians, who are fiercely protecting the land that they believe the Luthors are trying to steal from them. Among the savages is the most intriguing man he's ever met, and the stranger is just as entranced with Alex as Alex is with him. Together, the two of them will face both challenges and betrayals, and perhaps find the most important thing of all...love.
Notes: The word mishidhal is a totally made up by me Kryptonian word that has an important role in this story. I pronounce it mee-she-dahl if anyone was wondering.
Star Child
by kayladie
A sly little wink here, the briefest hint of a smile there. Now a quick little dip of the tongue over barely pursed lips. Oh, yes, his message had definitely gotten through. Ah, and there was certainly interest from the other party as well. Lovely. He hadn’t had someone new in his bed for almost a week, and his previous conquest was already becoming boring.
“Alexander! Are you listening?”
The sharp, slightly nasal tone of his sire jerked him rudely back from thoughts of what he’d like to do to the pretty page standing behind his father’s chair. Alexander was standing in front of the dais his father sat upon like a throne, feeling somewhat like a peasant coming to beg favors of a king. An impression which Lionel Luthor intended, and one which his son had always despised.
He could never let his father know this, of course, as that was all part of the game of cat-and-mouse they’d played with each other forever, ever since Alex’s mother had died fifteen years ago when he was twelve. It varied which of them was the cat and which the mouse.
“Of course, Father, what else could possibly hold my attention more than your own dulcet tones?” Alex said, his tone the perfect blend of obsequiousness, with just a trace of derision. Never outright though, not where his father could call him on it, because that would certainly be poor playing on his part.
“Perhaps the latest servant to catch your eye?”
“I assure you, my focus is purely on what you have to say, Father. I would never disrespect you in such a manner,” Alex lied easily.
“Then you don’t object to my sending you to Kansas to oversee our holdings there for a while?” Lionel said, his words a vindictive purr.
And now he did have Alexander’s complete attention, because that was not what they’d been discussing, Alex was almost certain of it. Almost. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be completely sure because he had been very distracted by that gorgeous young man who was now refilling his father’s cup with wine.
Alex straightened, fighting hard not to let his emotions show on his face, as his mind quickly whipped through possible responses to his father’s obvious challenge. He couldn’t outright refuse to go, for that was defiance that he wasn’t quite prepared to give yet. But he also couldn’t let his father know exactly how opposed he was to the idea, because that would be showing fear, and he definitely couldn’t have that.
“I’m not sure that’s absolutely necessary at this time, is it? When I’m so close to persuading Hamilton to invest in our racing stock?” Yes, that’s it, stall, make him think of money, of business, that will distract him, put him off this wretched idea.
Lionel waved a hand lazily. “Oh, you’ve already done most of the hard work, Son, I’m sure I can close the deal without you. You’ll prove so much more valuable to me out there. I need someone to insure that my interests in the new railroad line are being protected and I believe you’re just the man for the job.”
Alex hadn’t had breathing problems in years - since the last time he’d traveled with his mother in Kansas, in fact - but right now, it was all he could do to keep air moving in and out of his lungs. He’d never thought his sire to be a nice man, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he would never have thought Lionel so cruel as to send Alex back to the place of his nightmares.
“I…Father, I can’t…” And this was weakness, damn it all! He could not let his father see him lose control so completely, and yet he was helpless to stop the panic rising in his heart.
“Alexander, you are approaching thirty years old, don’t you think it’s time that you grew up and started taking some responsibility? I grow very weary of having to read about your latest scandal in the newspaper every week,” Lionel said harshly.
Alex had thought, upon coming to this meeting, that it would be the normal lecture on what a disappointment he was as a son; why wasn’t he married yet; when was he going to start learning the family business in earnest; the usual spiel. In a way, Alex was almost grateful for the return to normalcy because he was afraid that he was going to have a complete breakdown in front of his father and the sycophants that hung on Lionel’s every word, and that just wouldn’t do. Not at all.
Somehow, he managed to rein in his imminent meltdown, and answered his father in the usual vein of sarcasm verging on disrespect.
“Surely, Father, you can’t expect me to believe that you even read the society pages? I thought your copy of the newspaper didn’t even come with anything but the headlines and the business section,” he drawled.
Okay, there, his heart rate was slowing to something resembling normal, and breathing became a little less painful.
“Oh, but Son, your latest affaire is indeed the headline, so I don’t see how I could have missed it,” Lionel growled.
“What are you talking about?” Alex asked, truly dumbfounded. What had he possibly done that could have been front page news? He had always been so careful to be utterly discreet. Certainly, there were rumors and innuendo about his activities, but rarely any proof.
“I have overlooked all the many women you’ve indulged in, both common and blueblood, but Alexander, I will not have you sully the Luthor name with your base predilections for your own gender. I simply will not have it!”
Oh…fuck!
This was bad. This was so far beyond bad that Alex could barely even process how very disastrous it was. He’d been having sexual encounters with both males and females since he turned sixteen and his father had always seemed to be oblivious. Alex had thought that he was merely choosing to look the other way, but the sheer rage on his father’s face at the moment told him that Lionel had not known. But now he did know, and he was furious.
The panic quickly rising in his chest again, Alex attempted to think, to try and figure out how the newspaper had gotten hold of this information, and indeed, who the information even referred to. And he needed to defuse his father’s fury, and fast, before he really did find himself banished to the wilds of Kansas. At least now he knew where that threat had come from.
“Father, allow me to explain. There must have been an error on someone’s part. What have you heard that would make you think this rumor is true?”
“Rumor, Son? I don’t think so. You were observed last week in a passionate embrace,” Lionel said, the words falling from his mouth in a disdainful sneer, “with none other than a stablehand. At Lady Hardwick’s spring soiree, no less. To make matters worse, neither of you were adequately clothed, and I would love to hear how you would like to explain that.”
His father’s eyes challenged him, and Alex felt very much like a helpless fly pinned to the wall. He swallowed carefully, feeling his whole life falling away before him.
“Who…was the observer?” He needed to know, so he could first discredit them in his father’s eyes and then make whomever it was pay with their life for mucking about so foolishly with his own.
“Young Miss Hardwick herself, Victoria, I believe her name is. The poor girl was quite traumatized and had be given a sleeping powder to calm down,” Lionel said from between clenched teeth.
That bitch! Alex thought furiously. Traumatized, right. He barely kept from scoffing at his father’s claim. Victoria certainly hadn’t been traumatized when she was writhing in between the sheets with both himself and Anthony just a few weeks ago. He never should have ignored the niggling sense of danger he’d felt when he refused to marry her as she’d begged him to once the night was over. Alex had known she was a shrew, but he would never have thought her to be this vindictive.
“Victoria is a bit enamored of me, Father, and unfortunately, I find that I don’t return her affections. I fear that she may have fabricated this story in a bit of misguided revenge,” Alex said, carefully trying to control his alarm.
“Perhaps you should consider returning those affections, Alexander. You certainly wouldn’t have found yourself in the position that you’re in now if you had, now would you?” Lionel said, as he gazed at Lex with a shrewd gleam in his eye.
What the hell? Was this some scheme that Victoria had concocted with Lionel? Or had she merely counted on that being his father’s reaction to the news? Alex’s mind flailed about briefly, trying to come up with some reasonable counter to his father’s transparent suggestion. He would almost rather go to Kansas than marry Victoria, that little slut.
“Oh, please, Father, Victoria is in no way worthy of the Luthor name. She’s not been very discreet in her own affairs. If you’re wanting the good people of New York to forget any tiny indiscretions I may have displayed, then I need to marry a young woman who is above reproach. Not Victoria Hardwick.”
“Very well, Son. If you haven’t found someone to wed within a week, expect to find yourself on your way to Kansas City immediately thereafter,” Lionel said calmly.
Alex was anything but calm, and was barely managing to keep from throwing a hysterical fit right there and then. “A week, Father? I hardly think that’s enough time-”
“Alexander, you’ve already had relations with half the eligible women in this city. I should think you wouldn’t need more than a day or two to choose a bride.”
Alex stood there, stunned, unable to say another word in his own defense, wondering how his entire life had suddenly collapsed around him. What kind of choice was that…to marry immediately or go to Kansas? He wasn’t sure which would be the greater hell.
The truly terrible part about the whole ordeal was that Alex knew he really had no say in the matter. Even though Alexander was well past his majority and supposedly a valued part of his father’s empire, Lionel Luthor kept a tight fist on all of his holdings. Alex had nothing of his own and wouldn’t until Lionel died. Even then, Alex couldn’t say for certain that Lionel didn’t have a bastard or two out there ready to replace Alexander should his legitimate son disappoint him.
For a moment, thoughts of patricide drifted through his mind, but Alex knew he would never be able to go through with it. If only Lionel would have a convenient heart spasm and drop dead…preferably before the end of the week.
“Now, I really do have other business to attend to, Son, so if you wouldn’t mind taking your leave?”
Although it was phrased as a question, Alex was under no illusion that it was anything other than an order. Numbly, he gave his father a half-bow and turned to walk out of the room.
“Oh, Alexander?”
Alex paused and turned back, gritting his teeth, having expected a last minute dig. Lionel could never let one of their encounters end without driving home the fact that he was the undisputed ruler of his little kingdom.
“Always such a pleasure to see you, Son,” Lionel said, with a shark’s smile.
“You, too, Father,” Alex replied tonelessly. He had abruptly lost all patience with the games and before his father could say anything else, Alex quickly made his escape.
~*~*~
Ten days later, Alex sullenly sat hunched into a corner of the compartment he’d been hiding in for most of the trip to Kansas City. The few times he had ventured out to mingle with the other passengers on the train, he hadn’t been able to stand the gaping at his bald head. In New York, people knew him and so they didn’t stare. Alex wouldn’t go so far as to say all of them accepted him, but at least they were accustomed to his unusual looks.
The train would be arriving in Kansas City soon and then Alex faced a stagecoach ride for another fifty miles to the small city of Granville, where Luthor Incorporated was busy trying to continue construction on a rail line to Wichita. Granville was as far as the Northern Pacific Railway Company - wholly owned by one Lionel Luthor - had gotten in the last two years. Apparently his father was very displeased at their lack of progress.
Making the decision to be banished to Kansas hadn’t been as difficult as Alex had thought it would, especially when he considered that the alternative was marriage, possibly to Victoria Hardwick. Alex managed to repress his shudder. Marriage was permanent; there was at least the chance that the banishment wouldn’t be.
Still, knowing that he was returning to the place that had forever changed his life had brought about the recurrence of nightmares that Alex hadn’t had since he was a child. He could still vividly recall the noise, the smell of burning ash, the terror that had tasted so sour in his mouth. Closing his eyes, Alex forcefully put those memories out of his head. Perhaps if he did well here acting as his father’s lackey, then Lionel would let him return to New York quicker, hopefully without the continued threat of matrimony.
Two hours later, he was standing in the middle of a busy station in Kansas City, extremely unhappy that no one was there to meet him. The train had pulled in almost an hour ago, and Alex wondered if this was another of his father’s little displays of power. After yet another mother pulled a gawking child away from pointing at the ‘funny man with no hair’, he was seriously considering finding a store nearby where he could buy a hat. Alex hated hats.
“Mr. Luthor?” a hesitant voice said from behind him.
Alex turned to find a young man about his age looking at him with a combination of hope and fear.
“Mr. Luthor is my father. You may call me Alexander. And you are?”
“Albert Simmons, sir. I’m the uh, foreman of the Granville crew.”
Alex gazed at the timid man doubtfully. He certainly didn’t seem like one of his father’s usual toadies. “Really?” he said, letting the sarcasm roll off his tongue.
Albert didn’t seem to notice. “Yes, sir. I apologize profusely for being late in coming to fetch you, but there’ve been some problems…” he started and then broke off as he looked at Alex guiltily. “But I suppose we can discuss that later, once you’re settled in.”
“Yes, fine. Do you think we could get moving now? I believe I’ve seen enough of the train station to last me a while,” Alex said pointedly.
Finally, Albert must have realized that his new boss was none too happy about being left to wait on his first day in town and Alex had to hold back a laugh at the way the man’s entire face turned a dull red color. He allowed Albert to bluster around collecting the several bags that Alex had brought with him, and eventually they were loaded onto an ancient looking stagecoach. Alex gave the thing a dubious look.
“This doesn’t exactly seem up to usual Luthor standards,” he observed.
Albert once again flushed in embarrassment before he replied. “Well, uh, that’s one of the things I guess we need to discuss, sir. There’ve been some difficulties with a rogue Indian tribe near the work site.”
“Explain please,” Alex said shortly, and wondered what the hell his father had gotten him into.
Albert stumbled his way through a semi-coherent explanation as the stagecoach lumbered its way away from civilization towards the hell where Alex would have to suffer for god only knew how long. He certainly hoped that his father’s ill mood would pass quickly because this was beginning to sound worse than the marriage option.
“So let me make sure I understand this. There’s a group of disgruntled Indians, who think that we’re encroaching on their territory, even though they’re not a tribe recognized by the US government.”
“That’s because they just popped up out of nowhere about ten years ago. No one had ever heard of them prior to that,” Albert interrupted.
“Yes, yes, I got that. And they’re calling themselves the Kawatche?” Alex said impatiently. Albert nodded. “And they’ve been sabotaging the work site, stealing supplies, and generally scaring the hell out of the work crew?”
“Um, yes, that’s pretty much the situation, sir.”
“Why has no one ever informed my father of this? He would have put a stop to it some time ago if-” Alex broke off at the strange look that suddenly came across Albert’s face. “What is it?” he demanded, even though he had a sickening feeling he knew exactly what the man was about to say.
“Your father is aware of the situation, sir. He’s always known about it.”
Alex’s lips thinned to a grim line and he turned his head to look out at the rapidly passing landscape. So, either his father had sent him here to fail or he’d sent him here to die. Alex wondered which one Lionel was hoping for.
“Thanks, Dad,” he muttered under his breath.
He curtly informed Albert that conversation for the rest of the trip was unnecessary. Alex then spent the rest of the journey staring out the window at the passing landscape, brooding over what he’d learned. He was pondering whether Lionel would relieve his son of his exiled status before Alex was killed or simply lost his mind.
When they finally reached their destination, Alex had to fight hard to keep his dismay from showing on his face, and he was well accustomed to having to hide his emotions. Granville. He wondered if that was some sort of goal the town was striving for or if it was irony on someone’s part, because the place was anything but grand. They couldn’t even claim the ‘D’ in the name.
There was one main street, with buildings clustered on either side of it. Alex was gratified to note that there was a saloon, because he envisioned having to imbibe serious amounts of alcohol to make it through this experience. As he stepped out of the stagecoach, following Albert to the hotel where he’d be staying, Alex could feel the stares and almost hear the curious whispers. Whether more of it was due to his baldness or the fact that he was Lionel Luthor’s son was anyone’s guess.
Albert was babbling something about the town being the base of operations and how they’d ride out to the current work site in the morning, but Alex really wasn’t paying any attention to him. Thankfully, these few shabby buildings didn’t really resemble the place that his nightmares recalled, but just being back in the vicinity of where the accident had happened made Alex very uneasy.
Right now, all he wanted was the privacy of his own room, a little of the scotch he’d snitched from his father’s supply, and his bed. It would’ve been nice to have some company in that bed, but glancing at the locals, Alex wasn’t very optimistic about his sex life while he was here.
It took him another hour to finally get rid of Albert, but at long last he was ensconced in the small hotel room that was to be his home for the next…well, who knew how long, but it was probably measured in months rather than weeks, judging by the intensity of his father’s anger at their last meeting. Alex poured a little more scotch into the glass he’d found by the bed and swallowed it down in one gulp. This hotel certainly wasn’t up to New York standards, but at least the glassware was nice. He’d take the small pleasures where he could get them at the moment.
~*~*~
‘In the morning’ came way too early for someone who wasn’t used to seeing the light of the outside world until well past the noon hour on most days. But Alex found himself sitting beside Albert in the stagecoach once again, bleary-eyed from having drunk a little too much of the scotch in his pity party of the previous night.
Being still just a little bit drunk was the reason he gave himself for giving in to his fears and wearing the stocking cap that was on his head. He had tried to pretend it was only because he feared sunburn in the bright Kansas daylight, but a part of him knew that it was really that he didn’t want to be stared at by the men that were going to be working for him.
Albert was once again blathering on about the work site, or at least Alex assumed he was. The steady pounding in his head was pretty much drowning out any actual words. He was so immersed in his own misery that it took a few moments for him to recognize the driver’s shout of dismay for what it was. That was also the instant that he realized the pounding was coming not from his head, but from dozens of horses that were swarming around the stagecoach.
Albert was no longer speaking; instead, he was screaming in a high-pitched squeal that was annoying Alex so much that he could only barely focus enough to be afraid. He finally managed to break out of his stupor long enough to reach out and give Albert’s shoulders a firm shake.
“What the hell is going on?!”
“It’s those Kawatche! But they’ve never attacked so close to Granville before, I don’t understand…”
Alex swore under his breath and turned to look out the window at their assailants. The driver was obviously trying to outrun them, but it was equally obvious that it was a futile endeavor. The Indians rode their horses with such skill, it was as though they were one with the beasts. Their faces were painted in garish colors; their dark hair flowed with the wind behind them; their hands each held a fearsome looking weapon of some sort. If he weren’t petrified that he was about to be killed, Alex might have admired the fierce picture they represented.
His erstwhile foreman might not have realized why the Kawatche were changing their methods, but Alex suspected the truth. Clearly, these were no plain ignorant savages. They were no doubt quite aware of exactly who the passenger in the stagecoach was. The son of their enemy. A very visible focal point on which to vent their anger, frustration, and revenge.
Thanks, Dad, I guess you’ve managed to get me killed after all, Alex thought bleakly. He felt the moment that the Indians must have taken out their driver, as the stagecoach lurched sharply to one side, throwing Alex and Albert helplessly against the door, and then down to the floor. The coach picked up speed for a few moments as the horses panicked now that no one was leading them, and then it began to list seriously to the left and Alex knew they were going over.
He tried to brace himself, but there wasn’t much to hold onto and he ended up being bounced around the interior of the coach along with Albert. The crash when it hit the ground was loud, frightening, and dust and dirt flew everywhere, blinding Alex and stinging his eyes. There was one long moment of perfect silence, wherein Alex tried to imagine that this was all just a dream and he was going to wake up in his bed back in New York, but then the door above their heads was wrenched open.
Albert was blubbering loudly, pleading for his life, but all Alex could do was stare mesmerized at the angry face peering down at him. The next thing he knew, hands were reaching down, grabbing first him and then Albert and harshly pulling them out of the coach. The breath went out of him as he was thrown down to the ground. Alex scrambled to turn over onto his back so that he could at least face his killers.
There were perhaps two dozen of them, some of them tall, some shorter. They were all dressed similarly in brown buckskin breeches, with nothing covering their chests, although some of them wore odds and ends of adornments on their arms or around their necks. The one thing that he noticed quickly was that each of them looked very angry. Alex attempted to push his fear down, hoping that he’d be able to face his death with at least a modicum of dignity, but he was finding it extremely difficult not to join Albert in the begging routine.
The only thing that kept him from doing so was the absolute mess that Albert looked from all the crying and wailing. Alex may be about to die, but he certainly wasn’t going to do it with snot and tears running down his face. He only wished he could see his father one last time so he could give him a hearty fuck you.
The moment seemed to stretch out into forever as the Indians glared down at their captives. Alex was starting to wonder if they expected him to say something, and he was debating if he should attempt to bargain for his life, when one of the Kawatche made a sharp motion to one of his brethren.
That one gave a nod and stepped forward towards the two men lying on the ground. Before Alex could fully comprehend what was happening, the man had brought the small hatchet in his hand down brutally on Albert’s head, and just like that, Albert was gone.
Alex let out a small cry of shock and reared backwards away from the grisly scene, staring in horror as the Indian nonchalantly worked his weapon back out of Albert’s skull. His face felt wet, and Alex lifted a shaking hand to his cheek and had to swallow bile when his fingers came away red from the spatter of blood.
The first Indian gestured again and Alex jerked as the killer turned and gave him a vicious smile. That’s when Alex decided dignity be damned. He wasn’t going to lie here helplessly and let this savage snuff his life with no more concern than if he stepped on an ant. The killer raised his arm up, but before the hatchet could fall again, Alex reached out and kicked him as hard as he could in the knee.
He heard the satisfying crunch of bone cracking as the killer screamed and dropped to the ground. Immediately, half a dozen of them were on Alex, pummeling his head and body with sharp blows. Apparently his show of defiance had pissed them off and they were going to punish him before they killed him. Well, that was fine…Alex didn’t expect to win this fight, but he’d damn sure make certain a few of them felt it in the morning.
He kicked, clawed, bit, hit out with his fists in a frenzy, finding a strength that he hadn’t known he possessed until that moment. His strikes weren’t really having much of an effect on his assailants, but it did grant him a few minutes mercy from their death sentence as none of them seemed to be able to get hold of him firmly enough to kill him. Alex knew that couldn’t last, but he was determined to make them fight for his blood.
In the scuffle, his clothes were half ripped from his body as the Indians grabbed at him, trying to pin him down. His hat, the one he hadn’t even wanted to wear in the first place was pulled from his head, and he was glad of that, in a way. If he was going to die, he wanted to die as himself, as Alexander Luthor, bald freak, not some coward who hid behind a scrap of clothing.
Alex was tiring quickly, his burst of adrenaline fizzling out, and more of the savages’ blows were starting to land, when a voice saying a single word thundered through the mob surrounding him. To his astonishment, every single one of the men who were trying their level best to kill him froze instantly in their tracks. Another command in a language he didn’t know, and all of them dropped him and simultaneously backed several steps away.
He lay on the ground, panting with exhaustion, wondering what the hell was happening. Squinting up through one rapidly swelling blackened eye, Alex watched as one of the Indians who’d stayed in the background walked slowly towards him. Even fearing that this man was about to kill him on the spot, Alex couldn’t contain the indrawn breath of awe at the being who stopped at his feet. He was the tallest of them all by at least half a head and without a doubt the most beautiful thing that Alex had ever laid eyes on, male or female.
Even as he feared them, Alex could appreciate the raw, untamed magnificence of his captors. He was nothing if not a connoisseur of beauty, and this man went straight past magnificent into exquisite. His dark hair was as long as the others’ but had more of a wave to it, falling over bronzed shoulders that were impossibly wide. Two vivid stripes of blue paint marked his left cheek from nose to jaw, matched by two red ones on his right cheek.
Alex gazed in fascination at the broad chest that tapered down into slim hips and long, long legs. When he managed to raise his eyes back to the Indian’s face, he was met with a stare so intense, it seemed to burn right through him.
The Adonis turned and spoke a few harsh words to the Indian who had ordered Albert’s death, the one whom Alex had thought to be in charge. He wasn’t so certain of that anymore as he watched the two of them have a brief argument. Alex recognized well the executioner’s fear mingled with resentment of the Adonis. It was a position he’d found himself in quite frequently with Lionel.
The two exchanged a flurry of fierce words, and then the Adonis barked out another command and made a slashing gesture with one hand, ending the heated discussion. The other gave him a glare full of bitterness, but bowed his head in acquiescence before turning away. Alex held his breath, wondering what the hell all that was about and what it had to do with him. Perhaps they were arguing over who would have the chance to kill him?
The Adonis then turned all of his attention to the hostage on the ground, and Alex found himself short of breath from more than just the beating he’d endured. Truly, the man was awe-inspiring. Alex thought it a shame that something so beautiful was about to kill him. To his surprise, the Adonis knelt down in front of him and stared at him intently for several seconds.
Alex swallowed, and pondered whether this was some strange ritual he had to go through before striking the killing blow. Then the Adonis did something that rattled Alex more than anything else so far…he smiled. Not the malicious smirk of someone about to kill, but the tender smile of someone greeting a loved one they hadn’t seen in years. Alex blinked in confusion, trying to figure out what that could possibly be about and coming up with nothing logical whatsoever.
Adonis reached out with his hand towards Alex’s face, and Alex couldn’t restrain his flinch, anticipating a blow. Instead, Adonis lightly ran his fingertips down the side of Alex’s head, starting at the temple and trailing softly down to his jaw.
“Mishidhal,” Adonis sighed, almost reverently, and Alex felt his breath leave his body.
It was some sort of magic, it had to be, because that one word affected him more strongly than anything he could ever recall. It was strange, yet familiar, it was everything, and Alex suddenly knew without a doubt, that he had felt this man’s touch before…which was ridiculous, of course it was.
But it was true.
And it was far too much for his mind to process at the moment. The rush of emotion threatened to overwhelm him, and so he let it. The last thing he registered before the darkness swept him away was a pair of startlingly green eyes.
PART TWO