Freedom RisingFreedom Rising
Willa Okati
 
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2005 by Willa Okati

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Chapter One
 
Silken lived life by the rules of his profession.
Courtesans must offer worship to Lalasa, the Goddess of Love, in thanks for her 
kindness. They must know their rank and live their lives accordingly, humbly or 
with pride. Dress attractively and smell sweet, speak in soft, pleasant tones, 
know how to play Shink-Go and cards, how to drink wine without spilling a drop, 
and how to feed fresh, iced fruit bite by bite to a waiting mouth. They lived to 
give pleasure to their patrons, knowing what each race and rank preferred, and 
delivering satisfaction. They were sexual diplomats, in their way, providing a 
sweet treat in otherwise dull lives.
High in rank, Silken had achieved his station through hard work. And he never 
forgot, when with a client, that he could raise himself even further.
He had risen far enough in the caste of courtesans that he could pick and choose 
which clients he served, and when. Now, with the moon high in the sky like a 
white lotus and the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine drifting in through the 
open windows, he indulged himself with fulfilling a client’s request for secrecy 
by meeting in the dark of night. It was no hardship. Among his customers, Lady 
Aliana was one of his favorites.
She desired oral worship above all things, and Silken was nothing if not 
talented with his mouth and fingers. He laid her back against a mountain of 
satin pillows, saw to her every comfort, then began his work. He coated her 
proud, red nipples with berry juices and honey, now using his tongue to clean 
them. His fingers, long and supple, worked at her engorged womanhood, flicking 
at the swollen bud that peeked between the folds.
“I adore you,” he murmured -- what Aliana wanted to hear -- as he lifted his 
mouth from one plump breast, round and ripe as a peach. “You are everything that 
a woman should be.”
Aliana shuddered beneath him. Her hands, decorated with the long fingernails of 
the highest caste, pressed his mouth against her breast again. “More,” she 
panted. “Give me your tongue, your lips. So close…”
“Are you close, Lady?” Silken whispered. “Well, what if I were to…”
He slipped down, replacing fingers with mouth on her swollen pussy. Gently 
parting the folds, he licked long and lovingly, savoring her high-pitched cry 
and thrusting forward with his tongue. She tasted of the cinnamon and almond 
cream he had used to lubricate her, most delicious, and he lapped up every drop.
“More!” Aliana demanded, rocking from side to side. “Silken, I beg of you.”
To have someone so high-caste beg him was a great honor indeed. Silken bent to 
obey, suckling and licking at the bud between her folds, like a sweet pea, while 
he moved his hand up to her channel. She would allow no manhood there, for fear 
of becoming with child, but oh, how she enjoyed his hand. Still slick enough, 
from the cream and from his mouth, his fingers slipped in easily. He thrust two 
up into her, pumping them slowly.
“Silken!” Aliana cried out. She pushed forward, spearing herself on him. Her 
internal muscles began to quake, a sign that she was close. Smiling to himself, 
Silken closed his lips over her clit and sucked, hard, drawing her fully into 
his mouth.
Aliana shrieked. Her channel ground down on Silken’s fingers and her body 
writhed with the pleasure of her orgasm. He rode it out with her, pushing his 
fingers rhythmically into her passage, licking at her rose-like bud.
When her tremors ceased, he withdrew, his face shining from her juices. Aliana 
wearily raised herself on her elbows and chuckled at him. “You look like a boy 
who has been eating honeydew melon,” she told him, stretching out a hand for him 
to take.
He grasped her fingers and rose smoothly into a standing position. A courtesan 
always knew how to put a client’s clothing to rights discreetly and quickly. 
With gentle, deft movements he re-fastened the laces of her bodice, tying them 
tightly and neatly as was required by a woman of her position. He straightened 
her crumpled skirts over her legs with a last, lingering caress of her pussy. 
“Sweet little kitten,” he murmured, with a wicked flick of his fingers.
She shuddered again. “Silken, you will be the death of me.”
“Only a little death,” he murmured, holding his hand out for her now. “Will the 
Lady rise to her feet?”
He helped her up, a hand to the small of her back when she tottered a little, 
still boneless from her orgasm. She laughed. “I smell of sex,” she said, 
sounding pleased. “Let those who would match me with another of my station scent 
the perfume of my body, and know that I need no mate to find my pleasures.”
“As the Lady wishes.” Aliana had married young to the elderly owner of a tea 
grove, and after his death, had made her fortune crossbreeding the herbs until 
she discovered the best of all possible blends, a smooth, honey-flavored green 
tea that was prohibitively high in price and drunk by only the elite.
She always brought a sachet of it with her, and gifted it to Silken. They drank 
it together before he worshiped her body. Licking his lips, he thought he could 
still taste a trace of that elegant tea, although he far preferred the flavors 
of her body.
His own cock begged for attention, but he ignored it. Long practice had taught 
him how to pay no mind to his body’s needs. The client came first, and if they 
did not want mutual satisfaction, he would simply go without.
Aliana was kind, but did not think of what a man needed. She patted his cheek 
and ran her fingers through his hair. “Silken,” she said fondly. “So long and 
smooth.”
Silken stifled a giggle. If only she knew, or cared, about the hardness pressed 
flat against his stomach -- that, too, was long, and smooth as velvet. But no, 
his name had come from his hair, hanging down to the middle of his back, glossy 
and bronze, soft as fine embroidery floss and shining as the sun.
“Arrange my hair?”
That, he knew how to do by heart. Deftly insinuating himself behind her, he 
unwound Aliana’s own long black locks and reached for a bone comb. Pulling it 
gently through the tendrils, he asked, “Have I satisfied my Lady this night?”
She gave a long, sensuous roll of her shoulders. “Oh, Silken. That you have, and 
more.”
“Then I am pleased,” he said softly, lifting her sorrowfully coarse hair into 
the high bun favored by the elite. He fixed it there with a jade comb that she 
had cast aside earlier, leaving little wisps to fall forward into her face. “Let 
the Lady see if that suffices,” he said, with a final pat.
He could tell by her expression that she was pleased. “You have done well in 
this, as in all things,” she said proudly.
Reaching across to her personal pouch, laid aside for his better access to her 
body, she plucked out three silver coins. Not a fortune, but more than adequate 
as a payment. “I have already paid Mama Luck for your time,” she murmured, 
stroking his shoulder, “but accept these as my thanks to you.” She pressed the 
coins into his palm.
He took them and slipped them discreetly into a pocket of his tunic. “May Lalasa 
bless you,” he said, pressing his forehead to the back of her tiny hand.
She caressed his head. “Blessings on you, as well, Silken. Now, I must go. Ring 
for a servant to show me out, if you please.”
Silken pulled on an embroidered cord hanging from the wall. In a House so 
high-rank as Mama Luck’s there was no lack of errand boys and servants. One 
would be there within moments, decorous and genteel, to escort the Lady to her 
carriage.
When the servitor arrived, Aliana stroked Silken’s hair one last time. “Beloved 
Silken,” she said fondly. “My favorite of the courtesans.”
“You honor me,” he said humbly, bowing his head.
He kept it lowered until she was gone. Then, raising it, he took the three coins 
out of his pocket. He needed to clean himself, and to stow the money away in his 
safe hiding place. Every coin counted. Mama Luck was an excellent 
courtesan-Keeper, but he wished to buy out his contract, some day, and open a 
House of his own. A good one, highly-ranked as this, and for that, he would need 
a great deal of money.
Taking a damp, scented cloth from a pile on his dresser, he wiped at his face 
until it was clean. Wine stood ready in a secret cache, nutmeg-sweet plum juice, 
and he took a swallow of it. He neatened his clothing and, dipping his finger 
into fragrant oils, applied them to his wrists and temples. There. He was ready 
for the next client, if another should come.
A small cough sounded from outside the thick fall of beads that curtained his 
doorway. Silken knew that sound well: a servant, come to see to some pressing 
matter. If it were not urgent, or not a client, he would have been left in 
peace. “Enter,” he said, his voice calm and steady. He was good for one more 
that night, he thought, even if they were not so fair as Aliana.
A servant pushed his way through the doors, a different fellow from the one who 
had escorted Aliana out. Even the household men in Mama Luck’s House were 
dressed well, and this man, resplendent in silk, was no exception. He kept his 
eyes trained on the floor as he approached Silken, and held out a note. “This 
has come for you, from one who wishes to be a client,” he said humbly. “Also, 
Mama Luck has requested your company in her chambers when you are free.”
Silken took the note without a second thought. After all, it was good manners to 
send a missive to a high-rank courtesan before approaching him for the first 
time. He unfolded the fine rice paper, embossed with a rearing cat, and read:
I have heard much of your skills as a courtesan, young Silken. If it pleases 
you, I would come to your chamber and share in many delights with you this 
night. I would not only take, but give you pleasure as well, honoring your rank 
and status. If you would choose me, you have but to send a reply, and I will 
mount the stairs to your chamber. I will pay you well, far beyond what I will 
give Mama Luck for your time.
There was no signature, and the handwriting was strong, bold, masculine. Silken 
frowned. “This note, is it from a man?”
The servant nodded. “A large man, dark in complexion, with long hair bound in a 
tail. He is dressed in brocade, with the finest embroidery.”
Rich, then. He could well afford to pay Silken for his efforts. Yet Silken 
rarely entertained men. His skill with lips and tongue were equally good applied 
to the male sex, but he far preferred the honeyed lips and sweet centers of 
women. Still… for the money… “This man, he is high in caste?” he questioned. “Is 
there anything of note about him?”
To Silken’s surprise, the servant shivered. “He is a Nightwalker,” the man 
whispered. “One of the blood-drinkers.”
Silken recoiled. Never had he welcomed one such to his chambers, not even a 
woman, though there were plenty of them about. The danger was far too great, and 
the chance for damage tremendous. “Send a note in response,” he said hastily. “I 
apologize, but I will not see this client.” He was high enough in rank that he 
could choose who, and who not, to entertain. The Nightwalker would have known 
that when he sent up his request for service.
The servant seemed doubtful. “Yes, Courtesan. But if he should become angry --”
“Then the enforcers will see to him. Surely they are a match for one 
Nightwalker?”
The servant nodded humbly. “Then you will go and see Mama Luck?” he asked. “She 
was most insistent upon visiting with you this evening.”
Silken frowned. It was rare for the Keeper to desire a visit with her 
courtesans, even ones such as himself. Something gravely wrong, or wondrously 
good, had to have occurred. “I will go,” he said with dignity. “Leave me now. I 
will find my own way to her chambers.”
The servant backed out, head still bowed, until he had slipped through the 
curtains. Silken could hear his footsteps pattering away, as if he were eager to 
flee. Silken’s frown became a scowl. Something had gone wrong then, or the man 
would not be so eager to distance himself from it.
“Best to go and see,” he said softly to himself. “Perhaps Mama Luck has simply 
drunk too much plum wine again, and wishes for company.” It had happened before. 
She had a fancy for Silken, and loved to sit and comb his hair when she was in 
her cups.
He tucked a comb into a cleverly concealed pocket, just in case that was Mama 
Luck’s desire. Turning to the mirror, he examined himself narrowly. His face was 
clean, and his hair glossy. His tunic, crimson that night, lay in smooth lines 
down to the knee, covering his thighs. His breeches, a soft shade of gold, 
belled out in silken glory, tapering to ties at the ankle, above soft 
embroidered slippers on his feet. He smelled of sweet oil and the faintest musk 
of sex. His erection had tamed to his will, and his cock lay quiescent against 
his thigh. He would do.
Not bothering to extinguish the fragrant candles that burned in their sconces, 
he strode to the bead curtain and parted it with his hands, going through 
carefully, lest he muss himself. A courtesan must be at his best at all times, 
and going to the Keeper with disarranged hair would not do.
Her chambers lay a short distance away, down one corridor and a left through 
another. Between his room and hers stood a shrine to the goddess Lalasa, deity 
of love and patron of all courtesans. Bowing before her graven image, he took up 
a joss stick and lit it. The fragrance of sandalwood filled the air, a pleasing 
aroma to her honor.
“Goddess Lalasa,” he whispered, “let what comes be good news, not ill. Favor 
your cherished son as he goes to discover what this night has wrought.”
Bowing his head again, he left the shrine behind, padding forward on silent 
cat-feet toward Mama Luck’s quarters. The Keeper, so named for her skill at 
games of strategy and chance, held a fond place in his heart despite her love of 
brandied figs and sweet wine. He found himself with a new lightness in his 
heart, and a desire to see her again. Perhaps they would play at cards, or -- 
could it be, could it be? -- they would discuss his purchase of his contract.
A servant, the one that had come before, stopped him briefly. “The Nightwalker 
sends his regrets that you will not see him,” the man said in a low voice. 
“However, Mama Luck is most glad that you are coming to her. She has news of 
great import for you.”
The man looked oddly sad. Silken would not lower himself to show emotion in 
front of an inferior, but inside, he felt a sinking sensation. “Thank you,” he 
said politely. “Is that all?”
The servant nodded.
“On your way, then.” He felt inside another pocket of his tunic and withdrew 
half a copper. Enough of a tip for a servant. The man seemed pleased enough with 
it, scraping and bowing as he backed out of Silken’s sight.
Worry now fully seated in his mind, Silken approached Mama Luck’s rooms. Her 
bead curtain was twice as thick and lush as his, but through it he could hear 
her plucking at the lute, playing a sad, lilting song of mourning. His heartbeat 
quickened even as he coughed to announce his presence.
The music stopped. “Silken?” Mama Luck called. “Is that you?”
“Your humble servant,” he said softly. “May I enter?”
“Come in, Silken, come in!”
From the sound of her voice, she was more than half drunk. Allowing a fleeting 
expression of worry to cross his face, Silken pushed the beads aside and 
entered.
It was all he could do not to throw up his hands in horror.
The room was in utter disarray. Candles tilted in their holders, the contents of 
her dresser were out of order, and several of her fine ivory trunks stood open, 
their contents spilling out. The beaded cushions for visitors to sit on were 
flung about without rhyme or reason. Several bottles of wine sat on the low 
table, along with the remains of a game of Shink-Go, the pieces lying here and 
there.
And Mama Luck! She had allowed herself to fall into disarray. Her gown was rent 
and hung off one shoulder, her pearlescent skin peeking through. Ashes from the 
dead fire in the grate coated her hair, fallen from its topknot and dangling 
against her cheeks. Her eyes were red from too much wine, and -- weeping?
“Mama Luck,” Silken said in dismay, rushing forward to her aid. It was permitted 
for one of his rank to touch his Keeper in aid, and she seemed in sore need of 
it. He reached for the bell-pull, to summon servants to neaten the chamber, then 
thought better of it. “Let me take care of you,” he crooned instead, kneeling by 
her side. He pulled the comb from his pocket and, for the second time that 
night, began doing a woman’s hair up.
Mama Luck sniffled as he neatened her tresses, tears finally spilling over when 
he finished with a soft pat to her hair. “Grieve with me, Silken,” she said 
miserably. “Sorrow and be sad, for bad luck has fallen threefold on us tonight.”
“Why should I grieve?” Silken kept his tone light as he attempted to straighten 
Mama Luck’s gown, finding pins to hide the tears in the neckline and sleeves. “I 
am here, and I will take care of you. You have nothing to worry about now.”
“Ah,” she keened, plucking at his sleeve. “But I do. I have lost you, Silken.”
“No, no. I am right here.” He caressed her shoulder. “I will not leave you, Mama 
Luck.”
“You will.” Mama Luck gestured at the game of Shink-Go. “I have lost you, 
Silken. I was a fool and bet all my wealth, including the highest-ranked of my 
courtesans. And I lost, Silken… I… lost…”
She collapsed into tears, covering her face with her hands. Silken sat stunned. 
Lost? She had lost his contract? “Mama Luck,” he said, and when that produced no 
results, forgot himself enough to pry her hands from her face. “What do you 
mean? My contract?”
“Is gone to another House,” she wailed. “Oh, how I have wronged you! Silken, I 
have lost your contract to Illia, Keeper of the Lotus Garden.”
Silken dropped Mama Luck’s hands. “The Lotus Garden,” he said stupidly. “But 
that is a…”
“A House of men,” she sobbed. “Men, servicing men. A back-passage establishment, 
where your rank will drop to that of a whore and you will be forced to pleasure 
only those of your own sex.”
Silken sat, stunned. No more Lady Aliana? No more sweet, sultry women, sending 
fine notes and quality tea and coins -- coins!
“Mama Luck!” He seized her hands. “The monies I have stored with you. Drop my 
price. I won’t mind the loss of status. Allow me to buy myself out of this 
contract.”
Mama Luck hiccupped. “Silken,” she sobbed, “I have bet that, too. Gone, gone, 
all is gone…”
“My money!” For the first time in his life, ever since he had come to this House 
as a boy in his teens, Silken wanted to strike his Keeper. His hands clenched 
into fists. “All? You have lost it all, every coin?”
“Every one,” she wailed. “Illia owns you now, body and soul. And she desires you 
straight away. You go there with the morning’s light, taking only what belongs 
to you by purchase.”
“Morning’s light! Mama Luck, there is not time to pack --”
She waved a hand. “Servants have been sent to do it for you,” she hiccupped. 
“Silken, Silken, can you forgive me? Illia heard of your prowess, and nothing 
would do but that she gamble higher and higher, until she asked that your 
contract be put on the table. I had no idea she was a skilled player. She had 
lost so badly until then…”
Silken’s teeth gritted. Fleeced, then. Mama Luck had been tricked out of his 
money, his contract.
And so far as he could see, there was no way out of it, though his heart felt 
like a stone within him. He let his hands drop away from Mama Luck, falling to 
his sides. “I hear, and I obey,” he said stiffly.
She made a grab for him. “Weep with me,” she said tearfully. “Do not begrudge me 
your shared sorrow.”
“I have no tears,” he said stiffly. “And as you are no longer my Keeper, I owe 
you nothing. I must go and see to the packing of my things.”
Standing, he left her there, not even tugging on the bell-pull for servants to 
come to her aid. He walked away with short, clipped steps, ignoring her 
plaintive cries of “Silken, Silken, Silken!”
She had done it at last. Her fondness for wine and gambling had broken Mama 
Luck, and destroyed him as well. All his money, saved from countless clients 
over the years, gone in one stroke. Nothing remaining but the coins from Lady 
Aliana. And to be condemned to the Lotus Garden!
Silken shuddered. Though as a courtesan he should have no preference for gender, 
he lusted after the soft, peach-smooth skin of women, the plumpness of their 
breasts in his hands, not the hard, muscled chests of men, nor their jutting 
cocks that demanded service instead of seeking it sweetly. And to become a 
back-door courtesan, one that bent over to be plowed like a rice field… he 
shivered.
For a moment, he thought of the sweet, almond-scented potion that the 
apothecaries sold. He had a tiny vial of it in his possession. Every courtesan 
did, in case they were shamed beyond repairing their reputation.
But… no. He did not want to die. Not just yet.
Perhaps he would be still able to earn money from clients and buy his way out 
from under Illia’s thumb, though he had heard of her reputation as a 
tight-fisted, cruel and self-serving Keeper. With his status lessened, his price 
would be dropped. He had to hope. Without hope, he was utterly lost.
Setting his jaw, Silken strode back to his chambers, where he could already hear 
the busy noise of packing. He would get no sleep that night, to be certain.
And in the morning, he would go forth, and greet his new life…


 
 
 
Chapter Two
 
Golden and ripe as a peach, the sun peeked over the horizon when Silken and the 
last of his belongings arrived at the Lotus Garden. He stood in the street for a 
moment, basking in the warm richness of the light, refusing to look at his new 
home. It can’t be that bad, he thought to himself. Even if I have fallen, surely 
I can build myself up again. Let this place be a good one, Lalasa.
He opened his eyes, barely restraining a groan of disappointment.
In the dawning light, the Lotus Garden could be seen as nothing but shoddy. The 
paint that must look fine during the night was peeling and cracked; the vines 
twining around the pillars that were meant to give it a temple effect were 
wilting for lack of water. The low, wide stone steps that one mounted to enter 
the Garden were dirty, scuffed by dozens of feet. One lone servant, small and 
scrawny, scrubbed ineffectually at the stains as though trying to grind them in 
rather than wash them away.
One of Mama Luck’s own servants scurried out of the main entrance. “Master 
Silken, you have arrived,” he said meekly. “We have made your new quarters 
ready, with the permission of Keeper Illia. Will you come and see?”
Silken restrained a shiver. If he took the next step toward the entrance, his 
fate was sealed. He could run, certainly, but how far would he get before 
guardsmen swooped him up like a butterfly in a net?
Reluctantly, he smoothed down the fine brocade of his tunic, and slid his feet, 
encased in fine leather, forward. “I will come and see,” he said slowly. Then, 
because he was brought so low, “Thank you for your service.”
The servant looked startled. “It was -- was our pleasure, Courtesan Silken,” he 
stammered. “Please, this way?”
Silken took two steps forward and caught the servant’s hand in his own. “You 
mustn’t treat me as if I’m high-rank!” he hissed. “Here, my status is lowered to 
that of whore. I don’t want the others jealous, thinking I’m putting on airs.”
The servant regarded him. “Even if you coat a golden statue with dung, the value 
remains,” he said obliquely. Then, with the first sparkle of personality Silken 
had ever seen in the man’s eyes, he added, “If you want status, make it for 
yourself. Show these back-passage whores that you can suffer your fate with 
dignity and still be a good courtesan. Let them see how much you were esteemed, 
and be jealous. Give yourself an edge on them to begin with.”
Silken let a bit of his own fire show through his expression. The man’s plan was 
good, and who knew that behind his humble demeanor lay such fervor? “Your plan 
is a good one,” he said. “Show me to my quarters, then.”
The servant beamed once before his face fell back into the mask of humility. 
“There is but one room,” he warned. “But we have taken care to make it as much 
like your home as possible.”
Silken glanced at the worn exterior of the Lotus Garden. “I hardly see how that 
is possible.”
“We have tried.” The servant paused at the dimly-lit doorway. “Will you come?”
Silken mounted the steps, feeling their roughness beneath the fine material of 
his slippers, and paused for a second at the door to let his eyes adjust to the 
light. Once again, his heart sank.
Two servants, one an old mama and one a young, thin girl, were scrubbing the 
stone corridor clean with lackluster effort and no attention paid to corners or 
rails. A worn path showed where hundreds of men had walked. The wall sconces 
were chipped, and covered in dripping candle wax, unattended.
Silken walked through, amazed at the lack of care. The dirt. He thought he saw, 
off to the sides, short corridors leading to rooms that looked a bit better -- a 
gaming room, a receiving room -- but he also saw things to chill his blood. A 
bare stone room with shackles and a wooden X nailed to a wheel, with a selection 
of whips hung on the wall. A huge, empty room filled with wooden benches and 
tables, most likely an eating place for the staff since there was no finery in 
evidence, which meant that there would be no meals brought to his rooms -- no, 
his room, singular. He caught a glimpse of an office, stuffed with paper and 
scrolls, before the servant hurried him past.
They mounted steps, similarly stained, and turned to the left. Down a long hall, 
and to the last door at the end they walked. The servant felt in his pocket for 
a key and unlocked it. “I must give this back to the guards when we have 
finished,” he said meekly. “You are not permitted to lock your chambers. I am 
sorry.”
Silken felt his heart squeeze. Not allowed to…? How would he keep his things 
safe? How would he keep out unwelcome visitors?
Realization dawned. If he wanted to keep his things protected, he would have to 
stay in his rooms, a dove in a cage. And there would be no keeping out visitors. 
As a back-passage whore, he would be required to service anyone or anything that 
came his way with the coins to pay Illia.
Only years of training kept his face immobile as he stepped in.
Mama Luck’s servants had no doubt done their best, but you cannot add brocade to 
simple white cotton and make it fit for more than a lowly servant. The room was 
plain and stark in some ways, and terrifying in others.
A black leather harness hung from the ceiling. Silken peered at it and shivered. 
He had heard of such things before, but never expected he would be ordered to 
climb into one of them. Whips and floggers were arranged on the wall. Moth-eaten 
cushions littered half the floor, where clients could lean back to be serviced. 
And a chest, a small stone chest…
Curiosity led him to open it. When he saw the contents, he flinched back as if 
burned.
The servant laid a hand on his arm. “Do not be afraid.”
Silken reached in and pulled out a dildo. Carved of marble and buffed to a 
silken sheen, it was clean, but it had clearly seen hard use before. There were 
others in there, shaped like dolphins and other creatures, made of glass and 
stone and shining smooth wood. Along with the dildos, he saw pots of salve. He 
uncapped one, and the fragrance of orange blossoms drifted up to his nose. 
Lubricants, then.
“All these are meant… for me?” he asked, running his hand down the length of the 
dildo. Thicker and heavier than a man’s cock, by far. He imagined himself strung 
up in the harness. Being whipped by the flogger, or the cat-o’-nine-tails on the 
wall. Ordered to take the false prick up his ass, being stretched and split open 
by it…
He hadn’t realized his legs were shaking until he collapsed down onto a pillow.
Instantly, the servant was beside him, cool cloth in hand, patting his forehead. 
“I know, Master Silken, I know,” he crooned. “It is a great deal to take in at 
once. But save that for later, and come to see what we have done with your 
personal part of the room.”
Silken let the stone cock fall into the pillows, where it landed with a solid 
thunk. “Yes,” he agreed. Let this be better, oh, please, let this be better…
It was, but only by a little. There were fresh linens on the low cot, but they 
were threadbare, and made of cotton. The pillow was thin and flat, despite any 
efforts to plump it up. His things -- his fan made of silk, his carefully 
preserved cherry blossoms sandwiched between glass, his peacock feathers -- all 
had been arranged on the plaster-cracked walls, giving it some pitiful illusion 
of beauty. A small dresser had been arranged with his combs and fragrant oils. A 
cupboard in the corner had one door invitingly open, showing off his silks and 
embroidered clothing. Shoes peeped out of the bottom, butter-soft leather and so 
inviting to his tired feet.
Silken straightened. “I will rest,” he said, gently removing the servant’s hand 
from his arm. “I’ve had no sleep, and I cannot work on no slumber. Will you 
inform the Keeper that I have taken to my --” He swallowed. “-- bed for the 
day?”
The servant backed up two steps and shook his head. “My apologies, Master 
Silken,” he said, looking unhappy. “The Keeper has ordered you to her office as 
soon as you have settled in, and sent us back to Mama Luck’s. She requires that 
you bring her any coins you might have, for safe-keeping.”
Silken’s hand tightened around the small money pouch he wore at his waist, every 
coin that he had been able to salvage. “My money? But what will I buy things 
with?” How can I hope to ever purchase my contract from Illia without a nest 
egg?
The servant seemed to read his mind. “I would do it,” he whispered. “Keeper 
Illia has guards that will roam through your property, and take back to her 
whatever they find valuable. Another courtesan warned me of that, and I saw no 
reason to doubt him. Hopefully, she will leave you your personal things, but the 
money… give it to her, and prevent her snooping for a while.”
Silken swallowed. His fine bone combs… his oils… his brocades. Even his peacock 
feathers, worth their weight in silver. How long before he was dressed in plain 
linens, with woven grass sandals on his feet, shuffling to do his clients’ 
bidding?
Still, he was a courtesan at heart, even if his rank had been lowered to that of 
whore. And a courtesan lived by the rules of his House. He straightened, lifting 
his head. “Will you show me to her office? And then I give you leave to go.” He 
held up a hand. “It’s best, I think, if we say no farewells.”
The servant gave him a pitying look, but bowed his head in acknowledgment. “It 
is this way, Silken.”
Silken couldn’t help but notice that he left off the honorific. And why not? He 
was now a whore, the lowest rank of pleasure-servants. Briefly, he cursed Mama 
Luck and her lack of sense, but the anger slid from him as water through cupped 
hands. He hadn’t the energy to be enraged at his plight. All he had left was 
weary, bitter acceptance.
The servant led him out of the room, key in hand, not locking it behind him. 
From other rooms, men were starting to emerge. Some wore bits of silk, but most 
were in unadorned white linen. Their shoes were woven sandals, as Silken had 
feared. They gave him curious looks, those who were not yawning without covering 
their mouths or letting out loud burps or farts of the newly-risen.
One young man, no older than Silken, with a head of uncombed, tousled dark hair, 
stopped in front of them and smiled, bowing. “You’re Illia’s new prize,” he 
said. “I heard the gossip last night. So she finally got one from Mama Luck, did 
she?”
Silken regarded him with mixed surprise and horror. Courtesans did not address 
each other that way, with such familiarity! But whores… perhaps whores did.
“I am Silken,” he said slowly. “And yes, I come from Mama Luck. This is my first 
morning here. I’m ordered to Keeper Illia’s office, to speak with her.”
The whore whistled. “Worse luck to you, then,” he said with a real sympathy. 
“Illia’s a bitch, and she’ll strip you of every coin you’ve got. Don’t think you 
can buy your way out of this place, Silken. Illia takes everything we get and 
more.”
Silken’s heart sank. “There’s no hope?”
“Not unless some rich man offered her a price she couldn’t refuse for you to be 
his personal sex slave. And Silken? No matter how good you are, men like that 
don’t come here.” The whore bowed again, a casual swing of the waist. “I’m 
Andreus, by the way. I’ve been stuck here since I was fifteen, and that was ten 
years ago. Trust me when I say there’s no way out.”
From the innards of the house, he heard a gong. The whore jumped. “Better be on 
my way,” he said hurriedly. “That’s the signal for breakfast. First come is 
first served, and I don’t want to go hungry. You understand?”
“There is not enough food for all?”
“There’s supposed to be,” the whore said bitterly, “but some greedy-guts heap 
their bowls with the rice and wheat bread, and leave only the scrapings for 
those who come in last. If you’ll excuse me?”
Silken gave him a nod. “It was a… pleasure to meet you,” he said, the words 
coming slowly, unfamiliar in his mouth.
Andreus grinned at him, as if they were old friends, and turned his back on them 
to dart away. Silken’s mouth fell open a little. “Is there no courtesy here?” he 
wondered out loud.
“Precious little,” the servant warned. “Be careful, Silken. Hold yourself high, 
but gently. You would not want to make enemies.” He paused. “You do realize that 
you will miss the morning meal by visiting Illia’s office?”
“Rice and wheaten bread.” Silken shivered. He was used to freshly scooped melon 
balls in iced orange juice, slivers of pineapple, and freshly baked white loaves 
with sweet butter. “I would rather go without.”
“For now. Tomorrow, be hungry enough to join the men. I would advise it.”
Silken nodded. “Are we far from Illia?” he asked. “I would get this over with.”
“Not far. It’s just down this way.”
The servant led him down the stairs, back through a corridor, and toward the 
office he had spotted as they came in. Walking, they passed a shrine to Lalasa. 
It, too, was unkempt, with dead flowers littering the base of Her image, dried 
lumps of candle wax and the spent stems of incense scattered over Her feet.
All the same, Silken reached for a fragrant joss stick, and lit it with the one 
small candle alight between the Goddess’ feet. “Lalasa,” he whispered, “have 
mercy on me. Haven’t I always served you as best I could? Take pity on me here, 
reduced to a whore, and bring me my freedom.”
“That’s one copper,” a strident voice interrupted him.
Silken jumped and turned. A thick-set woman stood in the entrance to the office. 
Her mouth was pulled down, as if she had been eating lemons and sucking on the 
rinds. Deep lines on either side told him this was a customary expression for 
her. “One copper,” she repeated. “Worshipping the Goddess isn’t free, here.”
She held out a hand. Silken dipped into his money pouch and found, by feel, one 
copper coin. He placed it into her palm, and then, determined to do things 
right, backed up two steps and bowed low.
The woman snorted. “Fine airs and fancy graces you have there, boy.”
Shocked, Silken raised his head. “It is -- courtesy --” he managed to get out.
“Courtesy buys you nothing,” the woman rapped out. “I want obedience and your 
pleasure-skills, not frippery and fine manners. I am Illia, boy, your new 
Keeper, and from this point on, I rule your life. Is that understood?”
He nodded, unable to speak.
“Is that understood?”
This time, he forced his mouth to work. “Yes, Keeper.”
“Good.” Illia turned on her heel, striding back into the cluttered office. She 
snapped her fingers at Silken, indicating that he should follow. Silken and the 
servant exchanged one glance, one last touch of sympathy, and then the shuttered 
expression of a finely trained servitor fell down over the man’s face. He backed 
away from Silken a few steps, then turned his back and strode away.
Silken watched him go in rising misery. He would have stood there until the man 
was out of sight, save that Illia snapped her fingers again. “You! Boy! That 
means jump, and jump quick! Come in here this instant.”
The office was small, ripe with the scent of unwashed flesh, old leather, and 
cheap parchment. Illia dropped heavily to the floor, with no hint of grace. She 
pointed impatiently. “Well? Are you going to sit, or stand and stare all day?”
Gracefully -- he couldn’t help it -- Silken folded his legs beneath him and sank 
onto a cushion. His fingers found the bead fringe along one edge and played with 
it nervously. Illia stank, and of worse things than unclean skin. She fairly 
crackled with malevolence.
She held out a hand. “Your money. I’ll take it, for safekeeping.” When he 
hesitated, she snorted. “You expect me to believe that a ‘courtesan’ like you, 
from a place like Mama Luck’s, hasn’t any coins of his own? I saw that money 
pouch. I’ll take it, if you please.”
The servant had warned him, but it still pained Silken to unsnap the pouch from 
his belt and hand it over. Keeper Illia grabbed it from him, and opened it then 
and there, running a finger through the silver coins with a greedy look on her 
face. “This is good. I’ll protect it for you,” she lied.
Not make it disappear into your own accounts? he barely restrained himself from 
asking.
Illia took the pouch and tucked it snugly among the folds of her damask robes. 
“You know what sort of House the Lotus Garden is, boy?” She laughed, a raw 
sound, like a raven cawing. “If you don’t, you’re in for a rude surprise.”
Silken nodded carefully. “I know.”
“Then you know you’re not a ‘courtesan’ any more. You’re a back-passage whore 
now. All the status you gained is gone, although coming from Mama Luck’s, I know 
you have the talent to please. She trains all her ‘courtesans’ in pleasing both 
sexes. If it’s been long enough that you’ve forgotten your lessons, you’d better 
remember them right and quick, understand?”
Silken nodded. He thought of the box of phalluses, and shuddered. Keeper Illia 
leered at him. “You found the box of toys in your room? Good. Any one of those a 
client wants to use on you, or you on him, you do it. Anything a client asks you 
to do, you do it. You have no right to refuse anyone who wants your services. 
And we’re more popular than you might think, boy. Visiting hours start after 
lunch and go until the twelfth strike of the clock at night. You work here, and 
you work hard. You do what they say, when they say it.”
She ran her eyes over his fine clothing. “We’ll get you something more fitting 
to wear,” she said. “I’ve sent servants to your room to clean out all the 
embroidery and brocade. I won’t have you strutting around like a bird of 
paradise when all my other men wear linen.”
Silken’s heart sank. All his things -- his personal, private things! Keeper 
Illia must have seen the dismay on his face, for she cackled. “Too bad for you 
if you wanted to keep them,” she said cruelly. “We share and share alike, here. 
I’ll let you keep what’s on your back, but you save that for special occasions, 
mind me? And when your new clothes arrive, you change into them snap-quick.”
Keeper Illia levered herself up, clumsy as a pig. “We’re done here,” she 
snapped. “It’s too late for you to have breakfast, so you go without. When you 
hear the gong sound again, come down for mid-day meal in the common area. 
There’s no fine meals served on dainty trays here.”
She snorted disdainfully. “You were pampered at Mama Luck’s, but here you eat 
with the rest of the whores. No meals in your rooms. I haven’t the servants to 
spare or the patience for such fancy ways. Here, the men eat rice and 
vegetables. No ices, no fruits, no chocolates. You forget that kind of life, 
understand me? A servant will bring you your new clothes before then. If I see 
-- this --” She pointed. “-- on your back without orders or permission, I’ll 
have you flogged.”
Silken stiffened. “I will dress in what you order me to, Keeper.”
She cackled. “Such pretty ways. Well, the men around here will thrash that out 
of you soon enough. You’ll be one of the boys in no time.”
Silken kept his face immobile. “If you wish.”
“Oh, I do wish,” she mocked. “Go. And no worshipping Lalasa. She’s there for the 
clients, not the whores. She doesn’t care about you any more. Back up to your 
room, now, and wait. You’ll be busy soon enough.”
Silken rose with the grace of a deer. Though he hid it well, behind his mask he 
was boiling with anger. This crude -- this ox of a woman, ordering him about -- 
as if he were nothing more than an object -- “As you desire,” he said stiffly.
She made a disdainful waving motion at him. “Go, then. You had better remember 
the way.”
Silken refused to give her the courtesy of stepping back and bowing. He half 
expected her to snap and bite at him for it, but she had already turned her back 
to him, and was rummaging among a crowded set of shelves.
Burning with fury, he stalked out of the Keeper’s office. Oh, yes, he knew his 
way back up to his hole of a room. His stomach rumbled, and he was half tempted 
to disobey her and go to see if there was a scraping of rice left, but oh, no. 
His eyes were scratchy with the need to sleep, and he would have circles beneath 
them if he did not rest.
A few of the whores, emerging from the common room, scratching their bellies, 
made friendly gestures at him, but he ignored them. This time, deliberately, he 
cursed Mama Luck and her foolishness.
Life at the Lotus Garden wouldn’t be as bad as he had expected. No.
It would be far worse.


 
 
 
Chapter Three
 
Resting on his cot, which squeaked when he moved and had dry, raspy cotton 
sheets that chafed his skin, Silken had not slept, but had thought. If this was 
his lot in life, he would do his best to live by its rules. No longer a 
courtesan, but a whore. Very well, then. He would be a whore. He had always 
striven to do his best, to be the best. He would do no less here.
More, he would earn enough money to buy out his contract. Surely even Keeper 
Illia would abide by the laws of the land that permitted courtesan or whore to 
purchase their freedom.
Toward that end, he unbent enough to go and eat luncheon with the House’s men 
when the gong rang.
“Is this all?” he asked, wrinkling his nose as he picked through the bowl of 
rice with mild yellow peppers, and sniffing at the small wheaten roll that was 
shoved at him as he went through the line.
Andreus winked at him. “You bet,” he’d said cheerfully. “Cheer up! This is good 
stuff. Sometimes, it’s just oatmeal. But once a week, we get soup made from meat 
bones.”
“Once, we had ham,” another young whore said, wistful and yearning.
Andreus’ face took on a look of wonder. “Oh, yes. It was a holiday, and a rich 
client sent in a smoked ham for all of us to share. Illia couldn’t keep it to 
herself, or it would rot. No choice but to let us have it. Mmm, but that ham was 
good. Small enough that we only got a scrap each, but I can still taste it now.”
Silken nibbled at his roll and found it coarse, full of husks and grains. The 
cheapest that could be made, as well as the rice. “No fruit?” he asked, 
faltering. “Not ever? Not even cherries?”
Andreus tipped his head back, laughed, and slapped Silken on the back. “Not 
unless you get really lucky and a client brings some with him. Some men like you 
to feed them. You can sneak a bite in every now and then.”
The table erupted with laughter at that. Silken puzzled a moment, then turned 
bright red.
They laughed at that, too.
Later, sitting in his quarters, Silken reviewed. There was no bubbling fountain 
in his room, as there had been at Mama Luck’s -- only a trickle of water from a 
spigot in the corridor outside. He’d done his best to wash himself clean of the 
sweat and dirt the morning had brought, and dressed himself in the plain white 
linens the servant had given him. He refused the sandals though, both spiky and 
itchy. Bare feet were acceptable for whores, and would have to do.
He took oils from his dresser and used them sparingly, not knowing when he’d 
have a chance to buy more. He combed his hair, stroke after stroke, until it 
gleamed like a waterfall of silk.
Then, he sat and waited. The gong sounded noon, signaling that the Lotus Garden 
was open for business. If what he had heard was true, his first client would 
approach at any moment, demanding service.
In his mind, he went over what to do -- how to please a man. Lips and tongue, if 
they were willing. The positions to assume, if they wanted to take his ass. He 
still flushed with anger at the thought -- not out of disdain for the act, but 
at Mama Luck, for the loss of his status.
All around him, he heard the shuffling of feet, and the closing of doors. 
Through the thin walls, he could hear Andreus’ low voice as he pleasured a 
client. “You want me to suck you?” he said. “I could eat you all day long.”
Low laughter.
“Oh, so you want a piece of this, today!” Silken could hear the forced laughter 
in Andreus’ voice. Could hear the stiff ties of his trousers coming undone. 
“Would my Lord like to choose the lubricant? The almond cream is best for 
friction, and the extract of lotus for slipperiness.”
A soft growl; words he couldn’t make out. Noises he couldn’t quite distinguish. 
And then Andreus’ soft cry, whether of pain or pleasure, he couldn’t quite tell. 
The slapping of flesh against flesh.
Absently, Silken’s hand stole to his own cock, and to his dismay, he found that 
he was stroking it lightly in time to the sounds from Andreus’ room. He was a 
handsome man, despite his years of hard use here at the Lotus Garden. Silken 
would have enjoyed the chance to practice application of the whore’s arts with 
that man. They must differ in some ways from the finer manners a courtesan 
employed.
And even though he had preferred women, Andreus was very… appealing. Oh, yes. 
The thought of running his hands through that flyaway hair, feeling those tender 
lips pressed against his own… it would have been pleasure, as well as business.
Thinking of it, he grew hard, fully engorged, and damp at the tip. His face felt 
hot, and his hands trembled.
“Now that,” a voice said from the doorway, “is what I like to see in a whore. So 
eager for a piece of meat that he can’t keep his hands off himself.”
Silken jumped and yanked his hand out of his trousers. “I -- I apologize,” he 
stammered, bowing his head. “What I have done is shameful. You may punish me if 
you like.”
“Oh, I’ll punish you, all right. Here, boy, look up at me.” The man sounded 
irritated. “I want to see your face, know what I’ve purchased.”
Silken flinched at the lack of courtesy, but obediently looked up. The man 
crossed the room and put two fingers under his chin, tilting his head this way 
and that. “Pretty enough,” he said after a moment. “You have all your own 
teeth?”
Silken’s temper flared. “All of them,” he said, baring them in a white smile 
that looked more like a snarl.
“Oh, fiery, fiery! I like that.” His client was a tall man with a lean, foxy 
face, and a smile that came from the Underworld itself. Silken shuddered at the 
hunger he saw there.
“Scared? I won’t hurt you… much. At least not more than you can take.” The man 
sniffed. “Do I smell oils? You are a fancy one, aren’t you? When I heard you’d 
come from Mama Luck’s, I had to try you out. Cost me a pretty amount of silver, 
too.” He flopped down on the cushions. “Well, come on then.”
Silken hesitated.
The man made a noise of disgust. “Don’t you know anything? I thought you were 
well trained. Come on. Undo my trousers and suck me. I want to feel that 
talented mouth on my cock.”
Hesitant, Silken made his way between the man’s spread legs, kneeling on a 
cushion. He reached for the ties of his trousers, soft and worn, frayed in 
spots. Seeing that, he fought to keep a sneer under control. This was no 
gentleman, but a laborer, perhaps the manager of a tea plantation. Rich enough 
to afford whores, but lazy and poor enough not to have a tailor to see to his 
needs.
I am a snob, he realized. The thought made him sad. Determined to do a good job 
of it, he finished unlacing the trousers. The man’s cock fell out into his hand, 
half-hard and musky.
“Go on,” the man said, digging his fingers into Silken’s hair, directing his 
head. “Suck. And if you’re a good boy, I’ll give you a copper.”
One copper. A servant’s tip. Silken swallowed miserably, and lowered his head, 
taking the head of the man’s cock into his mouth.
If he was going to do this, he would do it right. He had his pride.
 
The sun set as the moon rose, white as a lotus blossom in a rapidly darkening 
sky. Silken staggered out of his room once again, a cloth that he had used twice 
in one hand, to dampen at the tap. His clothes were sweaty, sticking to his 
skin. His mouth felt sore and his jaw abused, and he ached where he had never 
ached before.
The first client had never come, and Silken had been glad of it. He had a foul 
taste, worse than fish meal, in his mouth, and he hadn’t known how he could bear 
swallowing the man’s juices. He’d been displeased, and let Silken know it in 
loud, ranting tones that, no doubt, everyone heard.
The second and third clients had wanted to fuck him. The first of those had been 
kind enough, if fat from too many sweet cakes, and endowed like a squirrel. He 
had jovially pushed Silken into position, and slathered on jasmine-scented 
lubricant as if it were water. He hadn’t bothered with any of the arts of 
preparation, and Silken found himself glad the man was so small. It hurt, yes, 
and he’d torn, but only slightly.
But the man had been displeased that Silken’s cock remained soft. His jolly 
manner had turned sour. He refused to touch Silken himself, ordering him to 
bring himself off. But Silken, sickened by the fat belly brushing against his 
back, hadn’t been able to make his arrow straight and strong.
That one, too, had left in displeasure.
And the third, who used neither preparation nor lubricant, and had the cock and 
balls of a horse…
None of them had gifted him with coins. They’d left with mouths pursed like 
Illia, each one displeased in his own fashion. Silken couldn’t understand it. 
He’d used the same graces and delicate moves that he’d called into play as a 
courtesan. Surely, they should have been pleased?
But no. They’d used him, abused him, and cast him aside without so much as a 
copper. At this rate, he would never be able to save up enough to buy out his 
contract… if that wasn’t the idea in the first place. Illia got the silver from 
men wanting to try out a whore from Mama Luck’s, and he got nothing but dirty, 
sweaty rutting that left him feeling filthy.
Silken shuddered. After three men in a row he was dirty, so dirty. He needed a 
bath. A proper bath, in sandalwood-scented water, and salve to ease his aches 
and pains. But he’d not even seen a water tub in his room, and had only one 
threadbare square of cloth to clean himself with.
As he moistened the fabric at the hall tap, he heard soft, pattering footsteps. 
He looked up with weary eyes to see a servant approaching. Scrawny and small, 
his hair falling out along with his teeth though he was not that old, he came 
close enough that Silken could smell his stinking breath and tugged at his 
sleeve. “Another client for you,” he hissed. “I had to come and tell you!”
Silken drew himself up. “Why? No one has bothered to warn me before.”
The servant cackled, and almost did a little dance of glee. “Because, silly 
whore, this is a Nightwalker! A blood-drinker. He offered Illia one gold for the 
rest of your night. She couldn’t refuse that. If you’re still alive by morning, 
I want to see your bites!”
Silken shoved the tottering old man away from him. “Get you gone,” he growled. 
“Pervert!”
The man hooted. “Pervert, am I? You’ve never been with a Nightwalker, then. 
They’ll take every drop you’ve got to give!” Giggling, he turned to leave. “Get 
yourself ready, boy -- he’ll be up here shortly!”
Silken stared after the man’s crooked back until it vanished around the bend in 
the corridor. The cloth, forgotten in his hand, grew soaked with water until it 
trickled through his fingers.
A Nightwalker -- a vampire. He shuddered. Would the creature demand his blood, 
as well as his sex? And to have bought the whole night out -- he no doubt had 
plans. Plots that boded no good for Silken.
Still. He straightened his back and schooled his face into calm, demure lines. 
Vampire or no, he would do his best, just as he had before.
Taking the cloth, he walked back into his room, grimacing at himself. The men 
who had used him had left him streaked with dirt and grime and worse. The 
clothes he wore weren’t fit to greeting anyone in. He had no extra sets of the 
linen. If he were to meet with a Nightwalker, he needed to show a face that said 
he was not afraid. That he was equal to any demands.
The brocades he had worn that morning peeked out of his wardrobe at him. Should 
he put them on, as he would a set of armor, and show the Nightwalker that though 
he had fallen, he was no plain whore, to be dealt with casually and tossed away?
Yes. He should. Let the vampire see what he had purchased. The true Silken.
Decision made, he hastily stripped off the filthy white linens and folded them 
into a tiny parcel. Lalasa grant him mercy, there would be servants coming in 
the morning to take them for washing. He ran the sodden cloth over himself, 
lamenting the lack of sweet berry-scented soap, and anointed all his pulse 
points with fragrant plum oil.
Then, his hands shaking a little, he pulled down his brocades and dressed 
himself, from the bandeau that went in his hair, to leather shoes on his feet. 
If Illia found out, he would be punished. But no -- he couldn’t face the 
Nightwalker as a common whore.
Finished, he folded his hands behind his back and stood tall and proud in the 
center of the room. Just in time, too. A knock sounded. “Who calls?” he asked in 
his best court voice.
“One who has purchased your time this evening,” a low voice, raspy as a lion’s 
purr, soft as velvet, and smooth as honey, replied. “Will you let me in?”
Silken raised an eyebrow before he remembered. Nightwalkers required permission 
to enter a person’s domain. No doubt that was the reason for his manners. “You 
may come in.”
The door opened, and a tall, broad-shouldered figure ducked through. Silken’s 
lips parted just a little. By Lalasa, he had seen many a handsome man in his 
day, but this one topped them all.
He had the pale, slightly luminous skin of all the vampire-kind, but his lips 
were berry-red. Sharp fangs peeked at Silken as the man smiled, no doubt meaning 
to be reassuring. His hair, glossy as Silken’s own, was dark as the night and 
bound in a tail at his neck. He was clean, and smelled of lemons and oranges. 
Dressed finely, too, in embroidered tunic and pants.
“Wel-welcome,” Silken stumbled. He cursed himself. A courtesan -- no, a whore -- 
never showed nerves in front of a client! “I am Silken. It is my honor to 
pleasure you tonight.”
The Nightwalker smiled again, his sharp teeth glinting in the candlelight. “Is 
it really?” he asked gently. “You’ve just come from Mama Luck’s, I hear.”
“That is true.”
“Then you can hardly be used to such treatment as you get at the Lotus Garden.” 
The Nightwalker reached behind himself, and drew out a bottle of wine from a 
holster at the small of his back. It was tiny, but there was enough for two, and 
the bottle, wrapped in intricate designs of silver wire, showed that the wine 
inside was fine. “A gift for you, Silken. Will you drink with me?”
Silken’s mouth hung open. “You do not -- do not want to fuck me?” he said 
stupidly. “If you have paid for my time --”
The Nightwalker clucked. “Surely one day away from the life of a courtesan 
hasn’t brought you so low,” he scolded. “We drink together, first. Perhaps we 
play cards. I bought you for the night to treat you properly, as your station 
demands -- and as I desire. Though I know you have preferred women, you have a 
certain fame among courtesans for your mouth and your fine manners, and I have 
long desired to taste your company.”
Pieces suddenly clicked together in Silken’s mind. “Last night!” he exclaimed. 
“You came to Mama Luck’s last night, and asked for me. Didn’t you?”
The vampire laughed. “I did. And you turned me down, through the mouthpiece of a 
servant, no less. When I heard what had become of you, I waited until it was 
safe for me to venture out, and came straight here. I knew you could no longer 
reject me, and…” Soft fingers came out to cup Silken’s chin. “I wanted to treat 
you properly.”
He offered the wine again. “Shall we drink? It’s only wine, I promise you.”
Silken took the gift. “I -- I have no glasses,” he said stupidly.
The vampire frowned. “Illia treats her whores with less courtesy than I had 
thought, then. Well, we will simply have to drink from the bottle.” He uncorked 
the wine, taking a polite sip first to prove that it was harmless. He offered it 
to Silken, who took it eagerly. His mouth was so dry! It proved to be rice wine, 
sweetened with honey, flowing over his lips and tongue like nectar.
He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he lowered the bottle. “A wonderful 
gift,” he said earnestly.
“For a wonderful courtesan. Forgive me, I had meant to be polite, but I cannot 
resist a taste.” The vampire cradled the back of Silken’s neck, and dipped down 
for a kiss.
Silken froze at first. He could feel the press of fangs against his lips, their 
sharpness and power. But oh, how this vampire kissed… he threw himself into it, 
filling the embrace with passion and smoldering desire. No one had kissed him 
yet that day, refusing him even so little an honor. Grateful, Silken began to 
move his own mouth beneath the Nightwalker’s, slipping his tongue between the 
creature’s lips.
When they parted, the vampire’s eyes were clouded with desire. “You make me 
forget myself, Silken,” he rasped. “I would have treated you with all the 
respect you deserve.”
Silken shook his head. “I am a whore, now,” he said. “A whore, like a courtesan, 
lives to serve. And service.”
“Is that all this is to you?”
Silken hesitated. Then, he resorted to the courtesan’s response. “I live to 
please you. Let me serve you.” Finally, his cock had risen to the occasion, and 
pressed flat against his belly. He felt certain the vampire wouldn’t want to see 
to his pleasure, but -- oh!
The vampire’s hand, strong and lean, reached down to caress Silken’s manhood. He 
broke out into a low, rumbling laugh. “You’re ready, I see,” he said. “Are you 
so eager to try out a Nightwalker’s talents? We can take as long as you like. 
There are cards, there is conversation, and more wine…”
Silken shook his head. “You treat me as I was,” he said. “For that, I would give 
you the best I have to offer.”
Gracefully, he sank to his knees in front of the vampire. “Would the master 
prefer oral service, first?”
The Nightwalker laughed again. “So formal, Silken. And oh, by Lalasa, yes… I 
would love to feel your lips and tongue wrapped around my member.” He threaded 
his hand through Silken’s glossy locks. “But only if you’re ready, beautiful 
one. I wouldn’t rush you into anything.”
Silken shook his head. “No rush,” he responded. “Only the need to please you, 
for the honor you’ve given me.”
He reached for the laces to the vampire’s trousers. He could feel the creature 
was erect, his cock pearling with moisture and ready to be tasted. He smelled 
sweet, like powdered honey, and Silken knew he must have dusted himself with the 
substance. He nuzzled his nose against the Nightwalker’s cock.
“My Master smells sweet as an offering to the goddess of Love,” he breathed. 
“Let me please you.”
The vampire’s hands came down to help unlace his pants. “Nanashi,” he breathed. 
“Call me Nanashi.”
Nanashi. A curious name. It meant nothing. “Is that your true name, my master?” 
Silken asked pertly, slowly moving his hands inside the vampire’s trousers. He 
gripped the creature’s cock, amazed at the feel of it, like satin over steel. He 
was large, but not grossly so, thick around as his own slender wrist. His mouth, 
sore as it was, could take Nanashi in. If he was to worship male bodies, then 
would that they could all be like this one, beautiful as cut marble.
“It’s close enough,” Nanashi rumbled. He pressed Silken forward. “Come, my 
Courtesan. You’ve won me over. But later, we will have conversation and a meal 
before I take you again. Bend you over so sweetly, your rosebud exposed to me 
alone.”
Silken leaned forward, gripping the base of Nanashi’s cock, and slid his mouth 
over the tip. Sweet and musky. He lapped up the juices that had already emerged, 
and sank the member deeper into his mouth. No, he had not forgotten all that 
he’d learned during his lessons as a courtesan. And a vampire was not that far 
removed from a man. At least, from Nanashi’s deep groan and tightening of 
fingers on Silken’s scalp, he seemed no different.
“Beautiful one,” Nanashi purred. “I knew that you would be worth a gold. Ah, by 
the gods, you feel so good around me!”
Silken sank as deep as he could go, feeling the vampire’s cock brush the back of 
his throat, and swallowed. He hummed a low tune, making Nanashi cry out in 
pleasure. Suckling and licking, he made his way back up the vampire’s shaft, 
paying special attention to the large vein that ran on the underside.
Nanashi’s fingers played with the side of his neck. Silken shivered, but found 
himself bending into the touch. The way Nanashi felt, brushing against his neck… 
it was erotic, to say the least, and he found himself craving more.
Hungry for approval, he lifted his other hand to play with the heavy sac between 
the vampire’s legs, rolling one ball against the other. He sank down again on 
Nanashi’s shaft, still humming the small tune, and swallowed again when he 
reached his limit.
Nanashi’s fingers trembled in his hair. “So good, Silken. Too good. It has been 
so long since I’ve known the touch of a man, much less one that came willingly. 
You will undo me, you will --”
Silken swallowed again and held it, squeezing the tip of the vampire’s cock in 
his throat.
Nanashi let out a sharp cry and bucked against him, hips jerking forward. Silken 
drew back hurriedly, catching the vampire’s offering on his tongue. It, too, 
tasted sweet, like honey and rice milk. He lapped up every drop and bathed the 
Nightwalker’s shaft with his tongue until it was clean and soft between his lips 
before reluctantly letting it go.
Nanashi groaned and collapsed to his knees among the pillows. Putting an arm 
around Silken’s waist, he dragged him close, so that their bodies spooned 
together among the softness. “It seems crude,” he whispered into Silken’s ear, 
“to pay you for giving me such pleasure. But here -- this --”
Something hard and round was pressed into Silken’s hand. He glanced down to see 
the glimmer of gold. “Hide it,” Nanashi whispered into his ear. “Conceal it 
well, lest Illia take it. This is my gift to you, for pleasing me so. Please me 
again this night, and I will give you more.”
Silken slid the coin into one of his pockets. “And now?” he asked, leaning back 
against Nanashi. It felt peculiar, to be leaning into cool skin instead of 
warmth, but it felt good against his heated back.
Nanashi laughed, the ripples of it tickling Silken until he felt his mouth 
quirking into a smile. “Now, my Courtesan, we rest. Or at least, I do. Rest with 
me for a while. We can talk of small things, or simply let me hold you. I would 
love best to do that.”
Silken smiled, and snuggled into the Nightwalker’s arms. Inside, he marveled. 
Mortal men had treated him as less than dirt, but this vampire acted as if he 
retained all his old status. More, he acted as if Silken were a precious thing, 
to be cherished instead of used.
“Will you come again?” he asked, surprising himself by the request.


 
 
 
Chapter Four
 
Silken slept through the morning gong for breakfast. When he heard the sounds of 
doors opening, and noisy yawns out in the corridor, he simply shrugged it off, 
rolled over, and drifted back into slumber. Truly, he wasn’t hungry. Nanashi had 
brought not only wine, but candied figs, oranges infused with cloves, and 
sugared violets. With all of that in him, he felt not only pampered, but 
well-fed and content.
He drifted in a lazy state, half-awake and half-asleep. Remembering Nanashi’s 
hands on him. He’d never expected, especially following the afternoon he’d 
suffered, to feel gentleness or consideration again.
He had never before known the pleasures that Nanashi had shown him that night. 
The vampire had even taken care of Silken’s own arousal with a smooth hand on 
his cock, stripping it of an orgasm that left him floating in a bright white 
light for long moments until he came down.
And Nanashi, supposedly a beast, had given him all that and more. He’d treated 
Silken as the courtesan he once was. Three more gold coins had been added to the 
first. Silken had been careful to slip them into a hidden pocket of his brocade 
before sponging it down and hanging it back up, after Nanashi had left near 
dawn.
“The dawn is breaking,” he’d said regretfully, bringing Silken to him for a 
gentle kiss on the forehead. “I would stay longer and sample more of your 
charms, but the night ends. Here.” He’d pressed the gold coins into Silken’s 
hand. “And here. A copper, for you to worship Lalasa with. I know the rules that 
Illia keeps. She’ll be punished for them in the afterlife. Worship of who one 
chooses should be free.”
Silken had smiled -- almost grinned -- at Nanashi. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll say 
my prayers.”
Nanashi put gentle fingers under his chin, tipping it up. “Will you pray that I 
come to you again? Because I plan to, little one. I’ll buy your time tomorrow 
night as well.”
Silken had shivered in anticipation.
Nanashi had laughed at his bliss. “Do what you will between now and then, 
Silken. Only know that I’m coming for you again. I’ll take care of you, if no 
one else does. Take the copper, and worship.”
That one coin, Silken had slipped into his otherwise empty money pouch.
He had been forced to sleep naked, with no night robes provided for him. 
Mosquitoes buzzed around the room, biting at his skin. The rough cotton of the 
sheets chafed against his tender skin, but now, deep in the arms of the Lord of 
Peace, he barely noticed.
Absently, his hand slipped down to caress his cock, marveling again at the care 
Nanashi had taken for it. The vampire had not penetrated him once he’d seen the 
damage caused by other clients -- oh, but Silken could still hear his indignant 
cries! -- and he could still smell the almond scent of the lubrication the 
vampire had used on his cock.
“Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!”
Silken jumped and sat up sharply, just barely managing to keep the sheets about 
his waist for dignity. He blinked. The sun was high in the sky, and an old mama 
servant stood in front of him, indignantly clapping her hands.
“You’re meant to be out of bed, you!” she snapped indignantly. “How else are we 
supposed to clean in here?”
Silken glanced behind her. The same scrawny servant he’d seen scrubbing the 
steps yesterday hung back, a bucket of water tilting in her weak hands.
“I -- I apologize,” he said with as much dignity as he could manage. “If you 
give me a moment to dress, I’ll --”
The old mama cackled. “You got nothing we haven’t seen before, boy! Get up out 
of that bed. That vampire you had last night paid Illia extra to see that you 
got fresh linens this morning, so fresh sheets you get! Lucky you. Most of the 
brats around here sleep on the same stuff until it stinks of sweat. Besides,” 
she said, grinning slyly, “Keeper Illia noticed you weren’t at breakfast. She 
wants to see you. Now.”
Inwardly, Silken groaned. Another encounter with the Keeper? And not even the 
chance to dress in privacy?
“Very well,” he said stiffly, flinging back the sheet. The woman hooted and 
cackled, pointing at his half-erect cock.
“Got to make water, do you?” the mama chortled. “Or were you dreaming of your 
Nightwalker, eh?”
Silken snatched his freshly laundered tunic and trousers from the woman. He 
dressed himself quickly as he could, glad that his cock subsided into obedience 
against his thigh. Helped, no doubt, by the servant’s pointing and jeering. He 
slid his feet into the woven sandals, wincing at their coarseness.
“I am ready,” he said. “Will one of you lead me to the Keeper?”
The mama hooted. “Lead you? Fancy, fancy! No, we’ve got no time for that here. 
No wonder Keeper Illia’s pissed at you! You go on your own.”
The scrawny girl slapped at one of the mosquitoes that filled the room. Silken 
glanced down and realized he was covered in bites. Soon, he’d be in agony, 
aching to scratch. And surely, there would be no steel-cut oats, nor a bath to 
add them to, to ease his misery.
“I go,” he said. “And I will make sure Keeper Illia knows about your insolence.”
“You do that,” the mama hooted, wiping her eyes. “Now, get! You’ve just enough 
time to get your tongue-lashing before lunch.” She waggled her hips. “I hear 
you’re good with your tongue!”
Silken drew himself upright with anger. But what use arguing with such 
impertinent servants? Furious, he stalked out of his room, down the corridor, 
toward the steps that led down to Illia’s office. Keeper, ha! He wouldn’t call 
her Keeper. If anything, she was a slattern, a dirty slut, a thief of the men 
she was meant to protect.
As he drew near the statue of Lalasa, he fingered the copper coin in his money 
pouch. Yes, he thought. Nanashi said to, so I will.
He took the time to carefully brush the detritus away from Lalasa’s feet before 
lighting a fresh joss stick and placing it in its holder. The sweet scent of 
jasmine rose up -- a pleasing odor, he hoped, to her nostrils.
“Goddess,” he whispered, “be with me today. Protect me against the Keeper’s 
wrath. Let me be a good whore, if an unwilling one, until Nanashi comes again. 
And let him come again!”
He paused. “Keep me safe from Illia,” he said softly. “I beg of you, Lalasa. 
Watch over your faithful son.”
“Silken!”
The bellow came from Illia’s office. Wincing, Silken turned. Illia stood with 
hands on her hips, glaring at him. “One copper,” she snapped, holding out her 
palm. Silken fished in his money pouch, found the coin, and slapped it into her 
greedy fingers. “A gift,” he said, drawing on all his dignity. “From the 
Nightwalker. I told him I worshipped regularly.”
Illia sniffed. “If I hadn’t known before what was wrong with you, I surely do 
now.” She turned her back on him. “Follow me into my office, brat. We need to 
have words.”
Silken followed her with quiet, obedient steps, but a scowl on his face that she 
couldn’t see. A courtesan must never show his emotions, but be damned if a whore 
wouldn’t.
He entered to find her standing in front of her scrolls, hands planted firmly on 
her fat hips, her face twisted in rage. Deliberately, insolently, he sank 
gracefully down onto the cushions.
Illia’s face worked. “You -- you worthless whore,” she spat. “Do you know that 
three out of four clients yesterday came back to me, demanding the return of 
their money, saying that you were insufficient for their needs? Master Sen, Lord 
Ko, and Journeyman Frey all said that you were too high-and-mighty to please 
them. That you wouldn’t come for them. That you bent over, but you did it as if 
it tried your patience to put up with their needs. Is that true, brat?”
Silken gazed up at her, impassive. “I did my best to serve them,” he said, voice 
flat.
“Your best isn’t good enough!” She smacked her fist against her palm. “I should 
beat you for being a rotten whore. You lost me coins yesterday, boy. Coins that 
were mine by right.”
And what about my rights? Silken thought, but did not say.
“That’s why I sent you the Nightwalker,” Illia went on with a smug smile. “I’ve 
heard of this Nanashi. He’s a tough bastard, that one. Everyone fears him, even 
his own kind. He’s king among their sort, and rules them with an iron fist.”
An iron fist for his own breed, but a gentle hand to me. Why?
“I’ll wager he taught you a lesson or two.” Illia’s eyes narrowed. “And he 
hadn’t heard the rumors yet, that you need to be taken down a peg or ten, so he 
paid me in gold. Did you bend over sweet enough for him? He didn’t ask for his 
money back. Not that I would have given it. Nightwalkers. Fah!” She spat on the 
floor. Silken drew back in disgust.
“You have one more chance,” Illia warned him. “Please your customers this 
afternoon, and I’ll spare you the lash. If you get any customers, that is. Lord 
Ko is the biggest gossip in the courts, and he’ll be spreading the word that 
you’re useless. And if I don’t get any coin for you as a whore, I can always use 
another servant.”
Her face twisted into a mockery of a smile. “How would you like that, boy? 
Carrying water, taking out night soil, mopping down floors? If I don’t get my 
money’s worth out of you one way, I’ll get it another.”
Silken kept his face carefully trained into lines of blankness. “As the Keeper 
wishes,” he said.
Inwardly, he seethed. What she proposed was against all the rules that governed 
courtesans, and even whores. Once trained for the position, one could not be 
lowered to servant class. But he had no doubt that Illia would manage to do it. 
She’d see him mopping up spills of piss before she gave him up.
He thought, briefly, of his four gold coins. The law said that he needed twenty 
to buy out a whore’s contract. If he could only do that, then he could go back 
and offer his services to Mama Luck, and work until he had the money to start 
his own House. It would be a good House, full of high-rank courtesans, ruled by 
protocol and manners. There wouldn’t be any fat, lazy lords wanting a quick fuck 
over their lunch break coming to his House. Instead, there would be long 
mornings allowed for sleep, afternoons of meditation, exercise, and worship, and 
evenings to service those who paid silver for the privilege.
Nanashi was generous with his coin. Perhaps, just perhaps, if he could keep 
Illia from finding out about his stash, he could save enough from the 
Nightwalker alone. Then, he’d slip out and go before the courts, showing proof 
of his purchase price. Illia wouldn’t be able to deny him that.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re grinning, boy,” she said sourly. “What’s 
got you so pleased? You like the idea of being tied to a cross and whipped? 
Maybe I should tell your clients you get off on pain. Would that make you 
happy?”
“No, Keeper,” he said quietly.
“You’ll do your best today?” she inquired, voice sharp. “Do what the clients 
ask, and not put on any of your fancy airs?”
“Yes, Keeper.”
Two-faced, Silken thought. I have grown a double face. One of obedience to this 
fat sow, and one that I keep hidden, looking toward the light of freedom. 
Lalasa, let her never find out until it is too late!
Illia regarded him with displeasure, then rummaged among the papers on her desk. 
“Here,” she said, shoving a sheet of thrice-folded rice paper, wax seal 
unbroken, at him. “I know the law’s penalties for reading private mail, or I 
would have scanned this. It’s from the Nightwalker. If I hear later that he was 
displeased with you, I will whip you. Understand me?”
Silken took the note. “I understand, Keeper.”
She snorted like a pig. “Be on your way, then. And no lunch for you, since you 
were too fine to come down for breakfast. Go hungry, and maybe that’ll teach you 
a lesson.”
“Yes, Keeper.”
She glared at him, then stamped one fat foot. “Well, what are you waiting for? 
Get out! Take your note and go back to your room. And when clients come, I had 
better hear good things about you!”
Silken rose with the ease of a gazelle, and bowed deeply to Illia. Mocking her, 
if only she knew it. “Yes, Keeper.”
Tucking the note into his belt, he walked out with measured steps, pausing only 
to genuflect at the statue of Lalasa. Thank you. I know that you watch out for 
me, even if Illia is a sow. A note from Nanashi! Courtesy, the kind he sorely 
missed. He ached to get back to his room and read it in privacy, only --
Andreus burst from a room, his face alight with excitement. “I heard the news,” 
he whispered excitedly, seizing Silken by the arm. “You had a Nightwalker last 
evening!”
Silken inclined his waist. “I did.”
“So, tell me all about it!” Andreus’ face was alight with eagerness to gossip, 
as well. “Did he want your blood? Where did he take it from? The thigh, or your 
neck?” He made to pull Silken’s hair back, but Silken jerked away.
“That’s private,” he said stiffly.
Andreus laughed at him. “Your room is next to mine. I heard you, making pleasure 
until nearly dawn. Don’t tell me this is private! For a Nightwalker, truly 
getting off means taking blood. I want to see your new scars!”
Silken drew back. “No!” He would not sully Nanashi by dragging his name through 
the mud. But -- had he denied Nanashi full pleasure, by not giving him blood? 
Nanashi hadn’t brought it up. Hadn’t even tried to nick his lip with a fang, 
when they kissed.
Troubled, he drew back. “I am in trouble with Illia,” he said, hoping to 
distract them. “My clients yesterday said I acted too fine for them. What can I 
do about that?”
Andreus laughed. “Silken,” he said, “I heard you. They don’t want conversation, 
and they don’t want manners. What they want is for you to bend over, or suck 
them, without any words. They want someone who jumps to please them, not a proud 
man who has to be talked into it. There’s your problem. Just move fast, get it 
over with, squeeze out an orgasm -- they like that, like to think you’re getting 
off as well as them -- and go on to the next. You might even earn a coin or two, 
if they’re pleased with you.”
His face twisted. “Not that Illia won’t take it from you. But still. You get a 
name, get a reputation for being a good fuck, and you’ll be busy from afternoon 
bell till midnight.”
He must have seen the dismay on Silken’s face, because he put a kind hand on his 
arm. “It’s not all that bad,” he said, friendly. “So it’s the life of a slave. 
At least we have food, and a roof over our heads. It could be a lot worse, 
Silken.”
It could. Silken thought about Illia’s threat to make him a servant, and 
shuddered. More than ever, he wanted to read Nanashi’s note. “I am to have no 
lunch,” he said. “I’ve been ordered back to my room until clients start to 
come.”
Andreus slapped his arm. “What are you talking to me for, then?”
“You stopped me.”
“More fool me! Get on, fast! Before Illia comes out and sees you here.” Andreus 
looked frightened. “We’ll all be in for it, then.”
Silken nodded. “Enjoy your meal. We’ll meet again.”
“Sometime, sometime.” Andreus’ eyes shifted. “Excuse me, Silken.” He scampered 
past Silken, heading for the dining hall. Other men had already gathered there, 
waiting for the luncheon gong.
Shaking his head slowly, Silken mounted the stairs. He walked down to his room, 
letter carefully held between his fingers, feeling the fine quality of the paper 
and the rich thickness of the wax seal.
When he entered his room, he was relieved to find the cleaners gone. His bed 
linens had been changed, and a new suit of clothes hung in his wardrobe to 
replace yesterday’s soiled ones. Mosquitoes still filled the room, and he 
wondered if he dared ask Nanashi to order that nets be put over his window. He 
slapped at one that tried to bite his arm, and noticed in misery that welts were 
beginning to appear on his skin.
Sinking down among the ratty cushions, he kicked off his hated sandals and ran 
his hands one last time over the wax seal on Nanashi’s letter, before breaking 
it open. He unfolded it to see thick black handwriting, finest ink on the fine 
paper, smelling of copper.
To Silken, from Nanashi,
Where do I begin? You are everything that you are reputed to be, and more. 
Ignore those who call you a bad whore, as I have heard rumor begin to circulate. 
You are no common slut, but a true courtesan, and one of the highest rank. Being 
moved to the Lotus Garden does not change who you are, but only makes you stand 
out, like a diamond in a dung heap.
I advise you to obey your Keeper’s bidding, for the sake of your own safety. But 
for me, I ask only this: though your body may go through the motions of orgasm, 
come only for me. Let me be in your mind at all times, and when I return to you 
this night, paying out a gold for the honor, let me be in your heart.
Honor me by obedience, Silken. Favor me with your love.
Yours in courtesy,
Nanashi.
 
Silken blinked, re-reading the letter again. Love? From a Nightwalker? Were they 
even capable of such a thing?
Nanashi had been so gentle, and so kind, though. Such a contradiction! Silken 
had heard all his life that vampires were cruel and dangerous, lurking in 
shadows to snatch the unwary and drink down a pint of their blood, leaving them 
collapsed in a heap, not caring if they lived or died. Guardsmen killed them 
when they could, but there were far too many of the creatures to stamp out the 
breed, and they protected their own.
But Nanashi had not even asked for a sip of his blood.
Slowly leaning back among the cushions, Silken thought again about those lean, 
smooth hands, sculpting out the muscles of his body. He moved, his loins 
beginning to burn, aching for the cool touch of the Nightwalker once again.
His own hands were hot, and it was simply not done, but he slid his hand inside 
his tunic, and caressed his own nipples. Tugging, he pulled them into stiff 
peaks, shivering with delight at the sensation. Pleasuring himself, after so 
many years of denial -- he felt like a child faced with a tray full of sweets, 
each one better than the last.
He ran a hand down his belly, stopping only to circle his navel, flicking at it 
with a finger as Nanashi had done with his tongue. He had gone no further, but 
Silken moved on, slipping his hand into his trousers and gripping his cock, 
which had grown stiff and heavy with the thoughts in his head. Slowly, slowly, 
he stroked up and down the length, feeling the weight of it in his hand. Shivers 
of bliss ran up and down his spine at the feeling. The bliss of it overcame even 
the torment of his mosquito bites.
As commanded, he thought of Nanashi. His gentle hands, his cool mouth, his 
kisses that burned like fire.
I will come only for you, Silken decided, stroking harder, faster. No matter who 
I service, it is you who will be on my mind. In my heart. You have treated me 
like the man I am, and I am forever grateful.
In love? He wasn’t so sure about that. But as he pumped his cock, hurtling 
headlong toward the bliss of orgasm, working his nipples with his free hand, he 
thought to himself: Perhaps I could love Nanashi… perhaps, though I doubt it. 
But for certain sure, I could honor him for the chance he stands for. Nanashi, 
the Nightwalker, may be my ticket out of whoredom, and into freedom… freedom 
rising, tall and proud…


 
 
 
Chapter Five
 
Much to Silken’s surprise, he received no clients that afternoon. Neither did 
Keeper Illia summon him for a chastening. He supposed word had spread thanks to 
the Lord who’d visited him the day before, and no one was willing to take a 
chance on the snobbish whore.
Very well, so be it. He waited patiently for an hour after the gong, on his 
knees in the pillows, before deciding that there would be no unwanted company 
for him that day. Deliberately, he got up and shut his door securely, wishing 
for a key. He crossed to his wardrobe and checked the four gold coins in the 
secret pocket of his brocades -- still there.
Then, with great solemnity, he stripped off the starchy white linens and lay 
down naked among the pillows on the floor. There, the mosquitoes were much less 
of a bother, and it felt cooler. “No wonder clients prefer this to a bed,” he 
murmured to himself.
Bare of any stitch, he let himself go and writhed among the pillows like a great 
cat, savoring the slight chill of the floor and the smoothness of the satin. He 
felt light, airy, uncaring of any slight that might come his way. If a client 
decided to show up, well, he would be ready. Otherwise, he would please himself 
this afternoon, as he had never done since he first became a courtesan.
“I shall make myself happy,” he said quietly, enjoying the hushed sound of his 
own voice.
He could hear the sounds of flesh slapping next door, but after a while it 
became rhythmic, like the ticking of a clock or the trickling of a fountain, and 
faded into the background.
Slowly at first, savoring it, he let his hands wander over his own body, from 
the curves of his neck to the planes of his abdomen, still hard from the 
exercise he had been used to taking at Mama Luck’s, down to his cock. Hard and 
slippery as soapstone, dripping with love juices, it felt heavy in his palm. His 
skin tingled from head to toe as he lazily stroked himself.
At one point, he sat up and reached for the stone box of toys. It was 
surprisingly heavy, but he managed to get it onto the floor. He reached in, 
playing with the phallus-shaped goods, running his fingers over polished wood 
and smooth glass, before settling on a smallish toy made of marble and a 
cherry-scented lubricant.
Breathing a little heavily, he lay back down among the cushions and ran the 
phallus through his fingers. Never in all his days as a courtesan had he craved 
such a thing, but oh, he ached for it now. Curiosity consumed him, and he needed 
to feel a cool fullness splitting him apart.
Coating the dildo with cherry-scented salve, he slid it between his legs, raised 
for best access, and teased at the pucker between the cheeks of his ass. He 
pressed, ever so gently, and felt the tip slip inside him.
He sucked in a breath. By Lalasa! It felt so good, this burning stretch, as if 
Nanashi himself were above him. He pushed back against the intrusion, and felt 
it slip fully inside, seating itself.
He burned. He ached. It was perfect, so good that he thought his cock might 
explode.
Grasping at his member, he stroked hard, circling the tip with his thumb, 
rubbing at the bottom side with rough fingers. Inside him, the cool marble 
radiated a deep heat that made him burn for more. He thrust into one hand, 
rolling his balls against one another with the other. Shameless as an alley cat, 
he thought to himself, with a gasping laugh. How have I grown to love this so? 
It is not the act that I crave… it is Nanashi, with his kindness and his gentle 
touch. But oh, how I need to feel that now!
Bucking his hips, he pushed forward into his hands and came in a sticky mess, 
splattering semen over his stomach and chest in heavy gouts. White light 
surrounded him, filling his vision while the pulses of pleasure took over his 
mind and body.
When he came back down, he felt as if he were floating. Slowly, savoring the 
slithering sensation of it, he pulled the false phallus from his ass and laid it 
aside. He ran his fingers through the puddled come on his chest, and lifted them 
to his mouth. Not so sweet as Nanashi, but he could taste cherries, the last 
thing he had eaten. His mouth watered at the thought, even as his belly rumbled.
Arching and stretching in the bed, he kept the stone box of toys and lubricants 
close. It would be a long afternoon, he felt sure, and he would do this again, 
and again.
He found himself drowsing just a bit. Nanashi, he thought lazily. Will you come 
to me again, as you promised? Treat me with respect and -- love? Bending my body 
to your will but asking instead of taking, as if I were still a high-rank 
courtesan?
Silken giggled to himself. He knew, now, why no customers would come to him that 
afternoon. Nanashi could not be out before sunset, but he would not want to 
share. He would have sent gold to Keeper Illia, reserving his time. Perhaps a 
note, too, letting Silken know what he had done -- but Illia would send no 
servants to bring it to him, and he felt far too lazy, too satisfied and 
replete, to clothe himself and go down to fetch the thing. He didn’t need to 
see. He knew.
He lifted his hips, reveling in the soreness between his legs, and the evidence 
of his pleasure on his chest. In a moment, he would fetch a cloth, dampened in 
preparation for the afternoon, and clean himself. For now, he would lie still 
and dream.
“Who would have thought such a thing,” he whispered to himself. “That I should 
feel such a tenderness for a Nightwalker, of all creatures. But Nanashi… oh, 
Nanashi, you are special… you make me whole again.”
And laughing softly to himself, he subsided into the cushions, hair surrounding 
his head like a halo or a cloud. Silken and soft. “Would that you could see me 
now,” he murmured. “I would bend myself to your pleasure, vampire, if you did 
not ravish me first.”
He laughed. Free, free of Illia’s vile clients and their cheap offers of a 
copper. Nanashi was his savior, and when he saw him that night, he meant to 
offer him proper thanks…


 
 
 
Chapter Six
 
Dusk fell. The cool light of the moon spread over the city in a calming blanket. 
From out of the shadows, the vampires slinked and walked about, performing their 
business. Some mortals fell to the bite, but others exchanged coins for wine, 
for elegant garments, for exotic hummingbirds in cages and other rarities. The 
merchants stayed open late for the Nightwalkers, who had much coin, and a 
willingness to spend it.
And, as Silken had expected, when the city was enveloped in darkness a messenger 
came to his door. The scrawny girl who had helped clean his room that morning, 
eyes huge as full moons in her thin face.
“Silken,” she whispered, unfolding her palm, “look.”
He glanced down and saw a glimmer of silver in her hand. She closed it again, 
quickly. “The Nightwalker is here again. He gave me this to come to your room 
and bid you down to the entertainment chamber.”
“This House possesses one of those?” Silken asked in astonishment.
The servant nodded. “Only for the richest, or most important clients. It’s 
rarely used.”
“I can well believe that.”
“Only… silver!” The servant’s hand tightened around her coin. “I’ve never had a 
whole silver, all to myself. Your Nightwalker must be rich.”
“He is.” On impulse, Silken folded his hands around hers. “Did Illia see him 
give it to you?”
She shook her head, loose braids swaying. “No, Silken.”
“Then keep it secret. Keep it safe. Find a trustworthy merchant to change it 
into coppers, and use it for food, to fill out those cheeks.”
She smiled -- the merest glimmer, but the first expression he had seen on her 
face except fear. “You’re a kind one, Silken.”
“I am a --” He stopped. He’d been about to say ‘courtesan’. “I am what I am, 
little one. Now go, and tell Nanashi that I will be with him shortly.”
“I am to wait for you,” she said, bowing her head. “The Nightwalker asks that 
you come down in your linens, not your brocades.”
Silken’s heart sank a little. Had Nanashi decided to treat him as a common 
whore, then?
“He has brought you new clothes,” the servant went on. “I’ve never seen such 
embroidery, not even on temple tapestries. And a basket that smelled oh, so 
good. And a small man, with another basket, full of good things to eat. He 
promised me a taste if I hurried. Please, Silken, make haste!”
Silken turned from her, and toward the small, warped mirror above his dresser. 
Picking up a bone comb, he ran it through his hair until it shone, crackling 
from static electricity, then settling in a waterfall down his shoulders and 
back.
He glanced down at his linens, glad that they were clean. “I am ready,” he said. 
“Take me to the master.”
The servant girl hopped for glee. “Come, come! It’s this way!”
She all but took him by the hand to drag him down the corridors. Down the 
stairs, and to the right, instead of the left, away from Illia’s office. They 
stopped at a stone door, shut tightly. “He promised,” the servant girl said. 
“Save me some of your feast.”
Silken thought of the watery gruel that would be all she’d be likely to have, 
and laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll save you what I can,” he promised. “The 
choicest bites go to the master, but after him, I’ll keep you in mind.”
This time, he got a definite smile. “Thank you, Courtesan Silken.” The girl 
seized his hand and pressed it to his forehead. “Thank you!”
“Now go,” he shooed her. “When your work is done here, be off to find a 
merchant, and then to your home. Come to me in the morning for your treats.”
“Knock twice,” the girl advised him. “Your master and his servant are within. 
And yes, I go, I go!”
Turning, she scampered down the hallway, a skip in her step. Silken watched her 
go, a half-grin tilting his lips.
Then, taking a deep breath, he straightened his linens as much as possible and 
lifted his knuckles to rap twice, gently, at the stone door. He calmed himself, 
letting his face fall into composed lines, and waited.
The door creaked open. Even from without, Silken could feel the heat of a 
crackling fire, and though the room was dim, he saw it littered with velvet 
cushions and pillows that were actually fine, not worn with use. The promised 
baskets sat on a low table, and embroidered clothing hung on a hook, but most 
important… beyond it all, Nanashi sat, legs crossed tailor-fashion, welcoming 
Silken with his eyes.
“Come in,” he said, his voice as lion-deep as it had been before. “Come in, and 
close the door. Tonight, Courtesan, I treat you as you deserve.”
Blushing with delight, Silken stepped inside, his head held high and proud. “My 
master.”
“Nanashi,” the vampire reminded him. “While we are alone together, call me 
Nanashi.”
Silken cast a glance back at the servant who had opened the doors. Not one of 
Keeper Illia’s, to be sure. He, too, glowed with the incandescence of the 
Nightwalkers, and his cheeks were full with health. His hair, dyed an odd purple 
color, set off the bluish-white tones of his skin and his deep blue eyes.
“This is Api,” Nanashi said dismissively. “He came to help me carry things, and 
to welcome you, as I do, to my fold.”
“Your fold?”
“To my arms,” Nanashi changed his words. “Api, you may go. See to it that the 
screens we brought are put up over Silken’s windows. I note that he has been 
bitten many times today, and his blood is too precious to be devoured by 
insects.”
Api smiled at the pair of them, lifting several soft sheets of netting from the 
top of a pile of baskets. “I go,” he said, his voice light as a flute’s.
“But my window -- it is on the second floor --”
“Never fear.” Nanashi reached out for his hand. “Api can climb like a monkey. 
Within minutes, your windows will be covered. Ah, so many welts. You must be in 
agony, my Silken.” He stroked down the length of one arm. “I suspected that 
would be the case. Illia is far too stingy to provide even the basic 
necessities.”
“Illia is a hard mistress,” Silken said softly, though he was not at all ashamed 
of betraying this Keeper with hard words. “You are a kind master.”
“I try to be.” Nanashi caressed him again, then stood back. “Undress for me, 
Silken. I would see your beautiful body in the firelight, and I have a salve 
that will soothe your itching.”
“You wish for me to be nude?”
The vampire smiled, as would a cat that had gotten into the cream. “Bare, every 
inch of you,” he purred. “Let me see you, and soothe you.”
Obedient to Nanashi’s whim, Silken stripped away his linens. He had no 
underclothes, so it was a quick operation. Naked, he stood before the 
Nightwalker, waiting his inspection.
The vampire almost hummed with satisfaction as he reached for Silken. “So pale, 
like a lotus blossom, and so perfect,” he crooned. “Lie down, Silken.” He opened 
the smallest of the baskets and brought out an urn with a cork stopper. Removing 
the cork, he dipped his hand in and came out with his fingers coated in a 
slippery lotion that smelled of ripe peaches. “Let me massage this into your 
skin. The bites will vanish, as will your itching.”
“But -- but it is not for you to take care of me,” Silken said awkwardly. “It is 
for me --”
“Hush,” Nanashi whispered. “This does please me. Lie back, Silken. Let me care 
for you.”
Loosening his muscles, Silken lay back against the cushions, boneless and 
graceful. The vampire moved easily forward and laid his hands on Silken’s body, 
rubbing the lotion into his skin.
“Ah!”
Nanashi laughed. “You like this, yes?”
“Oh, my master,” Silken murmured, undulating. The lotion instantly soothed the 
burning of his skin, leaving it tingling with a new sort of sensation -- 
arousal. “Please, don’t stop.”
“I have no intention of stopping.” Dipping his hand into the pot, Nanashi rubbed 
the lotion up and down Silken’s arms, laughing when he groaned and moved to 
expose more of his flesh to the vampire’s touch.
Wickedly, Nanashi’s hand stole to his cock. “I have no bites there,” Silken said 
with a child’s grin up at his Nightwalker.
Nanashi bent to kiss it. “Not yet,” he teased. “But ai! Let me treat all of you 
equally.” His other hand stole around to rub Silken’s hip. “Turn over,” he 
suggested with a wicked smile. “Surely, your backside needs the same attention…”
When he had finished, Silken felt as relaxed as a child’s rag doll, limber in 
each muscle -- except for his cock, which was hard as stone and lay flush 
against his belly. Nanashi laughed at him. “I see that you enjoyed this,” he 
said teasingly. He took Silken’s hand and pressed it to the front of his 
trousers, letting him feel the hardness beneath. “Courtesan, I would undress 
too, to touch you skin to skin. Will you permit it?”
Silken smiled lazily. “As you will, Nanashi,” he consented, well-pleased. 
Sitting up on his heels, he watched eagerly as the Nightwalker stripped off his 
jeweled tunic and trousers, revealing a body that glistened in the moonlight and 
firelight, pale and perfect as a carved statue.
“You are beautiful,” he breathed, reaching for Nanashi.
The vampire looked delighted. “Am I?” He sank into a crouching position, 
reaching out for Silken. “Then kiss me, Courtesan. Touch your lips to mine and 
let me know how you appreciate the view.”
Silken needed no urging. He leaned forward hungrily, capturing Nanashi’s mouth 
with his own. Again, he felt the sharp prickle of fangs along his lips, but the 
vampire was careful not to draw the smallest drop of blood. Their tongues 
tangled and writhed together, mimicking what would soon come, and it was with 
the greatest regret that Silken drew back for air.
Nanashi cupped his cheek. “Little one, do you know how precious you are to me?” 
he asked. “What would you not do to please me?”
“Nothing. In fact,” Silken said, looking down and reaching to run a hand along 
the length of Nanashi’s hard cock, “I know a trick my master might like. Will 
you let me give you pleasure?”
“Silken? You need never ask.”
“Good, then.” Smiling a wicked smile, Silken inched forward until he knelt 
between Nanashi’s spread legs. He bent his head and seized a handful of his 
glossy-smooth hair.
“Silken, what are you --”
With a low chuckle, Silken wrapped his hair around Nanashi’s jutting cock, 
stroking with the glossy strands, tickling him with the ends. Nanashi almost 
choked, thrusting his hips up.
“Silken -- Silken!”
“My master,” Silken whispered, stroking harder. “I knew that you would like 
this.”
Nanashi struggled for control. “You’ll make me come,” he rasped. “And I would 
have been inside you --”
“There is time for that,” Silken soothed. “As for now, the night is young, and 
you are a powerful master.” He stroked in time with his words. “Come for me, 
Nanashi. Come into the touch of my hand.”
“Ah, Silken!” Nanashi snapped his hips up, loosed a low, wailing cry, and 
erupted into orgasm, his honey-scented come dribbling through Silken’s hair. 
Silken stroked him gently as he panted through his climax. Then, loosing his 
grip, he sat up on his heels and extended his hand.
Nanashi took it. With the other, he reached up, delicately brushing Silken’s 
hair. “Don’t clean that off,” he ordered huskily. “In the firelight, it looks as 
if I have decorated your hair with a strand of pearls. As I mean to, one day.”
“It will dry into a sticky mess --”
“Let it be, I said.” Nanashi’s hand tightened on his own. “Later, perhaps, we 
will bathe and I will wash it from your hair. But for now, I want to see myself 
decorating your crowning glory.”
Silken felt at the thick, sticky droplets, and smiled. “Let it be as you say.”
“Ah, but what do you think of it?”
Silken couldn’t hold back a delighted giggle. “I’ve never done such before.”
“And?”
“I like it,” he admitted. “Wearing your stamp. It makes me glow inside.”
“Silken,” Nanashi crooned. “Wrap your hand around me again. Touch me so that I 
grow full once again. I would have your rosebud tonight, before we are done.”
Instead of fear, the thought filled Silken with a tremble of delight. He hurried 
to obey, caressing Nanashi’s member with his hands, rolling his heavy balls 
within their sac. He bent his head and kissed the tip of Nanashi’s cock, tasting 
the honey and rice-milk of his come while the vampire gasped out his name.
Silken held the member, soon erect in his palms, marveling at the feel of it. 
Cool, yes, but not cold. No pulse. Satin-smooth skin over marble, moving with 
his hand. “Are you ready for me, Nanashi?” he asked, looking up through his 
eyelashes.
“Always ready for you,” Nanashi rasped, turning and moving so that he was on his 
knees, and then his feet. “Stand up, Silken. Turn your back to me.”
Silken obeyed, already shaking like a leaf. A cool hand stroked down his naked 
back. “Is this fear or lust, Courtesan?”
“Lust,” Silken managed to say. “Come to me. Fill me, Nanashi.”
“That I will.” The hand continued down his back, between the cleft of his ass, 
and probed gently at his entrance. “Tell me, what scent do you favor?”
“Whatever -- whatever pleases my master.”
Nanashi laughed. “I have brought rose cream,” he said. Silken heard him uncork a 
bottle. “Women use it to soften their hands. I’ll use it to ease my passage into 
your bud, if you are willing.”
Silken bent, gripping his ankles. “Not only willing, but eager,” he said, voice 
shaking. “Hurry, Nanashi, before I die of wanting you.”
“Impatient, impatient,” Nanashi crooned, anointing his fingers with the 
sweet-smelling cream. Silken felt the sudden stretch and burn as two filled him, 
slippery soft. “So tight,” the vampire hissed. “Still so tight for me. If you 
could only feel this, Silken, you would know why I value you so.”
“So long as you do value me, I’m glad of it.”
“I do. Oh, how I do.” Nanashi added a third finger, rubbing small circles on 
Silken’s back to ease him through the twinge of pain. He thrust his fingers 
forward, in and out, crooking them this way and that. Silken twisted his head 
back in curiosity. What was Nanashi doing? Surely he knew by now that --
He tilted his head and screamed. Lights of every color burst in front of his 
eyes, like fireworks on holy days. Nanashi laughed, soft and low. “You like 
that, do you?” He stroked the hidden spot inside Silken again, making him gasp 
and keen. “That is why men come together, among other reasons,” he murmured. 
“The sweet spot, that only fingers, or another cock can find. Now that I know 
where it is, when I fuck you, you’ll feel this with every thrust.”
“Then do it -- do it now,” Silken panted. “Hurry, Nanashi. Hurry!”
Nanashi withdrew his fingers and anointed his cock with the rose cream. He lined 
the cool, slippery tip of it against Silken’s hole. Silken felt himself open and 
close, fluttering for Nanashi, greedy for the feel of him deep inside.
With a hoarse cry, Nanashi speared Silken with his rod, pushing deep and hard 
and fast, bashing against the spot inside him that made him see fireworks. He 
withdrew until only the tip was inside, then pushed forward again, his balls 
slapping against the curves of Silken’s ass. “Do you like this?” he rasped. “Is 
it good for you, my Courtesan?”
Silken’s own cock pounded, fluttering in its beat like a hummingbird trapped in 
a cage. Ribbons of pre-come oozed from his slit. “So good,” he panted. “Touch -- 
touch me, Nanashi? Put your hands on me?”
“Your wish,” Nanashi said, with a hungry kiss between Silken’s shoulder blades, 
“is my command.”
His hand, long and strong, reached around to Silken’s cock and began pumping it 
in time with his thrusts. Silken arched forward into the grip, and back onto the 
vampire’s member, spearing himself and pushing into the tight hold. He tried to 
form words, but could not. His orgasm was approaching, uncoiling at the base of 
his spine like an explosion, and he tried to warn Nanashi, but could not.
Nanashi’s thrusts became ragged, as if he, too, were losing control. “Silken,” 
he called hoarsely. “Are you ready for me?”
Silken managed to nod, his hair sticking to his face. So -- so very ready, he 
screamed within his mind. Fill me!
With a low howl, Nanashi thrust forward, and froze. Silken felt the pulses of 
cool semen deep inside him, and the sensation thrust him over the edge. He 
dropped, free-falling into pure white light, flying through the air with the 
bliss of his climax.
When he came back to himself, he was on the floor. Nanashi had his arms around 
him, and was holding him close, nuzzling into his neck. Lips and tongue danced 
along the curve of his throat, sharp but not cutting. Still, Silken could sense 
the hunger.
He remembered what Andreus had said, that a Nightwalker could not find full 
bliss without taking blood. On an impulse, he reached up to sweep his hair back 
out of the way. “Drink,” he invited. “Sip from me. Let my neck be your chalice, 
my Master.”
Nanashi stiffened behind him. “Silken,” he whispered. “You don’t know what you 
ask for.”
“But I do,” Silken said quickly. “I would please you in every way possible. 
Drink, Nanashi. Let your time with me come to its fulfillment.”
Trembling fingers pulled Silken’s hair back further, exposing the curve at the 
juncture of his neck and shoulder. “You are sure?” Nanashi asked hoarsely 
against Silken’s skin. “There is pain…”
“But also pleasure.” Silken pushed back against him. “Taste me, and see how good 
I am,” he whispered. “Drink.”
With a short, low growl, Nanashi pulled Silken’s head back and pressed forward, 
sinking his teeth into the courtesan’s throat. Silken cried out at the sudden 
pain, but as quickly as it had begun, he felt the warm glow uncoiling again in 
his pelvis. His cock filled as Nanashi sipped from him, pressing down with his 
tongue, milking Silken’s neck for more of the precious fluid. The vampire’s hand 
came down to wrap around Silken’s cock. His thumb stroked the tip roughly once, 
twice, and again, and Silken erupted into his second orgasm of the night.
Panting, he felt Nanashi withdraw his teeth from his neck. He rolled over to see 
the vampire lifting come-washed fingers to his mouth, suckling on them. “You 
taste of cherries,” he whispered. “Both your blood and your seed. Ripe, sweet 
cherries and cream.”
Silken found himself blushing. “That pleased you?”
“More than.” Nanashi lay back as if drunk, lapping at the corners of his mouth. 
“You will not bleed,” he said. “There is magic in my mouth, to seal up the wound 
as soon as my fangs leave your flesh.”
Silken’s hand flew to his throat. Just as Nanashi had said, the wound was 
already closed. Two small holes punctured his neck. He pushed his hair back and 
away from them, proud as if they were a brand of rank. “Your pleasure is mine,” 
he said softly, gazing at the vampire his arts had brought to such bliss. “If 
you are happy, then I am in Nirvana.”
“Happy?” Nanashi laughed. “Happy is not the word for it, Courtesan. Drunk on you 
is more like it. Sodden with drink, satisfied to my bones, and determined on my 
course.”
“Your course, my master?”
“Here.” With an effort, Nanashi rolled over to where the baskets were stacked. 
He reached into the bottom of the smallest one, and drew out a fine leather 
pouch. It jingled with the bright sound of gold, a great deal of gold. He 
pressed it into Silken’s palms, folding his fingers around them. “There are 
fifteen coins in there,” he said, voice hoarse. “You already have four. You will 
lack one to buy your contract.”
Silken stared down at this bag. This was a fortune, and to be given it so 
freely…
“I will give you no more gold,” Nanashi said.
Silken jerked up, staring. “Master?”
Nanashi shook his head, reclining wearily back onto a particularly thick 
cushion. He held out his arm, beckoning Silken close. Wary, but obedient, and 
wanting the comfort of that strong, cool arm, Silken went. Nanashi hugged him 
close, stroking his hair.
“No more gold,” he said, “unless you agree to my plan.”
A warning bell signaled in Silken’s mind. “Plan, my master?” he asked carefully.
“If you agree to what I propose, I will give you the twentieth coin, and 
together we will go to the courts and buy your freedom. But freedom, my handsome 
Courtesan, comes with a price.” He wound a strand of Silken’s hair around his 
finger. “I know what a courtesan dreams of. Opening their own House. This is 
true?”
Hesitantly, Silken nodded.
“And knowing you, it would be a fine House. Elegant as cut glass, perhaps made 
of white marble within and without. A statue of Lalasa would grace the central 
plaza. You would fill your rooms with high-rank courtesans who commanded a fair 
price. But you would allow them their share, too.”
“That is my dream,” Silken whispered. “A good place, a safe place.”
“Perhaps, knowing what you have learned, it would be open to those who enjoyed 
pleasuring their own sex, as well as the opposite?”
Silken did not hesitate to nod. “I have learned the bliss of loving one’s own 
gender,” he said, caressing Nanashi’s chest.
“As I thought.” Nanashi petted him gently. “Silken, agree to my proposal, and 
I’ll not only give you the coin to buy your freedom, I’ll finance the building 
of your House. Everything from fine stone for the walls to well-trained 
courtesans to fill them.”
Silken raised up on one elbow. There was a tone in Nanashi’s voice that he did 
not like. It warned him of what lay ahead. His voice trembled slightly. “And the 
conditions?”
“Ah, the details of our bargain.” Nanashi gazed up at him. “First, let your 
House be open to Nightwalkers. There are many of us with the coin to purchase a 
courtesan’s worship, and the gentility to appreciate it.”
“Finding courtesans who are willing would be difficult --”
“You could do it,” Nanashi whispered. He reached up to caress Silken’s cheek, 
drawing his fingers down the man’s neck, to the mark of his bite. Silken 
shivered. It was still so sensitive, felt so erotic to the touch. “Second, and 
most important, I want you for my Consort, Silken. Not to service any other but 
myself. To grace my bed every night. To be my sip of bliss and the warm body 
waiting for me when the sun goes down.”
Silken drew back, eyes wide. “You -- you mean --”
“I ask you to bind yourself to me, Silken.” Nanashi raised himself on his 
elbows. “Come live with me and be my lover, and I will make all your dreams come 
true.” A wistful look passed over his face. “Would that I could coax you out of 
love alone, but I know how fruitless that would be. So -- there is my offer. 
Will you take it, or no?”
Silken pulled away, wrapping his arms around his chest. “I-I don’t know,” he 
stammered. “Such a thing has never been heard of.”
“Does that mean it shouldn’t be?” Nanashi followed his every movement. “I want 
you, Silken. You should belong to me. In time, loving me. Will you?”
Silken stood. With the greatest of efforts, he pulled his dignity about himself. 
“I must decide,” he said softly. “Give me until tomorrow night, Nanashi.”
The vampire looked terribly sad. “Even temptation cannot win you over,” he said, 
in his low, lion’s voice. “Very well, Silken. Until tomorrow night.” He stood. 
“The feast in the basket is yours. I would have shared it with you, but I have 
no stomach for food now. Stay in here as long as you like, but I must go. When 
the sun goes down tomorrow, I will be here. And I will expect an answer from 
you. Do you understand me?”
Silken bowed his head low in acquiescence.
But inside, his mind tumbled with uncertainty.


 
 
 
Chapter Seven
 
Silken popped the last bite of seared ici fish into his mouth, and chewed with 
his eyes half-shut. Even cold, it was a delicacy to be savored. He had given the 
cleaning girl a basket full of tidbits, but some he had saved. Candied bits of 
fruit, fragments of fish and chicken, roasted vegetables -- all things he had 
not tasted in days, not since coming to the Lotus Garden. The feast was all 
thanks to Nanashi.
He opened his eyes as he swallowed. Nanashi… what was he to do about the 
Nightwalker?
Lalasa. Surely she would provide an answer to his dilemma. Yes, he needed 
Lalasa’s guidance. However, he had no coppers. Only the gold coins, filling his 
secret pocket to bursting.
He got up from the floor, carefully closing the baskets and tucking them away 
beneath pillows. He didn’t think Keeper Illia would search his room at this time 
of the morning, fat and sated with Nanashi’s gold as she was, but he’d take no 
chances.
Once again, he had ignored the gong for breakfast, and the lunch summons had not 
yet sounded. There was a chance, then, that Andreus would be in his room. It 
stung his pride to go, hand out, to one that might be considered a friend, but 
he had no choice.
Straightening his linens as best he could, giving a wistful look to the elegant 
clothing that Nanashi had brought him -- surely, as soon as Illia found out 
about it, it would be taken from him and sold -- he walked out his door and 
crossed to Andreus’ room. He knocked twice, gave a soft cough, and folded his 
hands in his sleeves.
To his relief, he heard the rummaging sounds from within of the man getting up 
off his cot, and stumbling toward the doorway. The door cracked open, and 
Andreus peeked out. Clearly, Silken had caught him in the middle of a nap. His 
flyaway hair stuck out in all different directions, and his eyes were puffy with 
sleep. “Silken?” he asked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Forgive me.” Silken bowed. “I need to worship Lalasa, but I have no coppers. Do 
you have one to spare?”
Andreus eyed him curiously. “Your Nightwalker didn’t give you so much as that? 
Here, hold on.” He left the door ajar, fumbling back in. Overcome by curiosity, 
Silken peeked inside. It looked much as his did, only… neater. The pillows were 
arranged for maximum comfort, the surfaces were dust-and-grime free, and his bed 
was only slightly rumpled from lying on it.
Andreus dipped into a small bronze pot on his dresser. “My last customer gave me 
two,” he whispered. “Illia won’t know if I give one to you, and one to her.” He 
held out the coin. “Here, if you want it.”
Silken took it with an awe approaching reverence. “You have so little, yet you 
give me half of what you own?”
“Why not?” Andreus grinned, free and easy. “Easy come and easy go.”
“You honor me.”
Andreus swatted his shoulder. “Bah! Just let me come down with you. It’s been 
ages since I’ve been able to send up a prayer, and just this once maybe we could 
slip in two for one, so far as Illia’s concerned.”
“I would be pleased by your company as well.”
“So formal,” Andreus tsked. “Is that what being a courtesan is about? Rules and 
manners?”
“Some,” Silken admitted. “Mostly, it is about putting on a face -- a mask of 
politeness that never comes off. Soon, it becomes your real face, and it takes 
much effort or an unexpected act to peel it off.”
Andreus nodded. “I wondered. You know, I began the training to become a 
courtesan? But then Keeper Illia won me in a game of Shink-Go, and I came here.”
“She’s a master at that game, isn’t she?”
“None better. But she only uses her skills when she wants something.”
“Remind me never to play against her.”
Andreus laughed. “Gladly! Now, let’s go to Lalasa, and send up our prayers.”
When they arrived down at the shrine, they saw that Illia’s door was closed. 
Andreus poked him. “Quiet,” he whispered. “If we’re lucky, she’ll never know we 
were here at all. Say your prayers in silence.”
“The incense?”
Andreus hesitated. “One stick, for both of us,” he relented. “It’s not a proper 
prayer without a sacrifice. But if Illia catches us --”
“Then I give her the copper.” Silken frowned. “She’s wrong in what she does. 
Worship should be free.”
Andreus nodded. Reaching out, he selected a joss stick and lit it, sticking it 
in the holder. “Now,” he said. “Silence, and pray that Illia doesn’t notice.”
Silken bowed his head. Lalasa, he prayed fervently, hear my plaint. The 
Nightwalker offers me everything I have dreamed of, everything I have prayed 
for. But this has never been done, not that I am aware of. Lalasa, what should I 
do? Does it please you that I should serve the Nightwalker in this way?
He glanced over at Andreus. I know not what he prays for, but Lalasa, Goddess of 
Love, hear his cry as well.
A voice chimed in his mind. Speak with him.
Silken froze. Goddess?
The voice, unmistakably feminine, and tinged with laughter, repeated, Speak with 
him. Find the answers that you seek.
Silken’s skin tingled, as if he had come too close to a lightning strike. Next 
to him, Andreus had already lifted his head and stood watching Silken patiently.
Silken put out his hand and touched Andreus’ arm, feeling the solid warmth of 
the muscles beneath. “Come with me, to my quarters,” he whispered. “I have food 
there, left over from my time with the Nightwalker. The Goddess has told me that 
we must talk.”
Andreus’ eyes widened. “She said this herself? You heard it?” He looked 
unbearably wistful. “She has never graced me with a word.”
“Nor I, either, until today.” He plucked at Andreus’ sleeve. “There must be a 
reason. Come with me to my quarters. Please?”
Andreus regarded him solemnly, then nodded. He broke into an unexpected smile. 
“Goddess-bid or no, I would come for the food alone, Silken.”
Silken found himself grinning. “It is good food,” he coaxed. “Walk with me.”
Andreus bowed, low as a courtesan on his finest manners. “I come.”
 
Andreus paused with a glazed cherry halfway to his mouth. “He offered you that? 
All of that?”
Silken nodded.
His friend threw back his head and whooped. “Silken, why aren’t you with him 
now?” he demanded. “To have all that, and more? I would have been gone before 
the time it took to say ‘yes’.”
Silken stared. “But -- all I have ever known is the life of a courtesan… and 
now, that of a whore. To be the Consort of one single man, and that a 
Nightwalker?”
“To own your own House!” Andreus pressed. “So what if he is a vampire? I can see 
the marks where he bit you, and they’re nearly healed. There are plenty of 
whores and courtesans who wouldn’t mind servicing the Nightwalker kind. Myself 
included. They’re rich, and when they have the notion to, they’re kind. Just 
different from us.”
“But -- but to make such a change --”
Andreus put the cherry back on its china saucer. “Silken,” he said seriously, 
“you’re being a fool. You stand to gain what all of us long for. Even yourself, 
I’d bet, if you looked down deep enough. It’s not a matter of being owned by the 
Nightwalker that frightens you. It’s the thought of being free.”
A gong sounded. Andreus jumped. “That’s the bell for customers. If I know your 
Nanashi -- and I think I do, from all that you’ve told me of him -- he won’t 
share. You’ll have the day to yourself. Think, Silken. Think seriously.” He 
reached out to take Silken by the hand. “Only promise me one thing?”
Silken gripped back. “Anything within my power.”
“When -- if -- you do go, take me with you,” Andreus pleaded. “I can be a good 
courtesan. I’ve watched you, and I’ve seen others. I had the beginning of the 
training. Don’t let me stay here with Illia forever.”
Startled, Silken let go. “But you do well here.”
“Does that mean I want to stay forever?” Andreus stood, neatening his linens. 
“Think about it, Silken. There’s one hundred coppers to the silver, and one 
hundred silvers to the gold. You’ll never earn that last coin before Illia 
discovers your stash. This is your one chance to be free. Truly free.”
He stepped over the remains of their impromptu picnic, to the door. There, he 
turned around, with pleading on his face. “Think long and hard, Silken,” he 
said. “That’s all I ask of you.”
And with that, he left Silken alone, in a room full of ratty, disorganized 
cushions, with the remains of a feast spread out at his feet.
Silken stared at the tidbits of dainties left over. Slowly, he reached for the 
cherry that Andreus had discarded, and popped it into his mouth. He chewed, 
tasting the sweet juices and the sugar together, and swallowed. Delicately, he 
spit out the pit, and dropped it back into the saucer.
Think about it, Andreus had said. As if he could think of anything else.
Freedom. He shivered. Was it true? Was what he had striven for all his life that 
which frightened him most?
What did life with Nanashi promise? Gentleness, for one thing. Being worshipped, 
body and soul, as the pleasure-giver he had been raised to be. Owning a House, 
where he could see that courtesans were treated well. He could put Illia out of 
business, if he provided back-passage service, and did it with the high in rank. 
He could hire Andreus and train him. With a little polish, the man could be 
highly sought after.
Was it the thought of Nightwalkers that frightened him? Delicately, he felt at 
the twin scars on his neck. They were nearly invisible -- when he looked at them 
in the mirror, were barely pink circles on his flesh.
No… he did not fear the bite. Not when it was as erotic as it had been…
He closed his eyes, weaving a little, remembering.
Nanashi. His savior in this horrible place. Strong and commanding, yet gentle 
and kind. Handsome as the carven statue of a God, tender as a lamb. Did he 
desire Nanashi enough to let himself become a Consort?
Silken lay back among the cushions, reliving the feel of the Nightwalker’s hands 
on his body. No one had ever played him like that, had taught his body to sing 
like the strings on a well-tuned lute. He had had plenty of kind words from 
women at Mama Luck’s, but none so heartfelt as Nanashi’s. Nanashi saw beyond the 
courtesan to the man, and it was the man that he… loved…
Silken opened his eyes wide. Nanashi loved him! How had he not seen that before? 
He had sought him out, and courted him, as a free man would a lover.
Did he love Nanashi, in return?
He searched through his heart, seeking for answers, and came up only with 
thoughts of gentle hands, tender lips, and a rod that provided him more pleasure 
than he had ever thought possible. Kind words, and thoughtful gestures. All of 
them designed to win him over.
Silken smiled, ever so slightly. Yes… yes, he thought, he did love Nanashi. 
Nightwalker or no, the creature had found a place in his heart. Add that to the 
freedom and prestige of owning his own House, and the honor of being a Consort 
-- he had been the best courtesan that there could be; could he not be the best 
Consort ever? -- and he realized why Andreus had called him a fool.
Rolling over on the pillows, he raised himself to his feet and went to his 
dresser. From an inlaid rosewood box, one of the few things he had left from 
Mama Luck’s, he brought out a sheet of fine rice paper, embossed with peach 
blossoms. Ink and a pen were in there as well.
Smiling softly to himself, he sat down to compose a letter. He would use the 
copper he had not had to pay for worshipping to bribe a servant to take it.
Nanashi, my love, I write to thank you for all you have done, and to say that I 
will indeed meet with you tonight. I am eager to speak with you again…
 
Just before the sun set over the city, Silken began his preparations. With all 
the care and skill of a courtesan, he stripped himself of his hated linens for 
the last time, and folded them into a pile. An offer of the last scraps from 
Nanashi’s feast had bribed a servant girl into bringing him two buckets of hot 
water. Though it wasn’t the hot milk baths he had once been accustomed to, it 
would do.
He washed his hair first, rubbing spicy clove-scented soap into every long 
strand, and cinnamon oil as it dried. He brushed it time and again until it 
gleamed, falling over his shoulders and back.
He washed himself with the threadbare cloth provided, from his forehead to his 
toes, taking special care with his cock and the cleft of his ass. He would 
present himself clean and fresh for his master’s pleasure, doing the best he 
could with what he had.
Taking up his bottles of scented oil, he anointed himself at every pulse point 
and joint of his body, until he smelled richly of spiced plums, fragrant as a 
garden.
Then, with the reverence due them, he took down the embroidered clothing Nanashi 
had brought him the night before. They were stiff with stitched figuring, but 
lined with silk, soft and smooth against his skin. The tunic was of the sort 
that wrapped around, more of a kimono than a shirt -- a free man’s garment. The 
trousers were loose and baggy, coming in to tie at his ankles with gilt ribbon. 
Soft leather slippers went on over his feet, fitting so neatly that they could 
have been made for him. Those clothes alone were worth nearly a gold. A prince 
could wear them and be proud to be seen.
Silken closed his eyes. Thank you, Lalasa. Thank you for showing me the way.
Without being summoned, he slipped out of his room and down the corridors, 
padding down the stairs, making his way toward the entertainment room.
“Hoy! You, boy!” Illia’s strident voice caused his steps to falter. “That 
Nightwalker’s in there, and he wants you.” She stomped toward him, and took his 
chin between her fat fingers, shaking him roughly. “He’s paid out a fortune for 
you, brat. You better give him what he wants, or you’ll feel the back of my 
hand. You understand me?”
Silken stepped back gracefully, bowed, and smiled. “You have no cause to fear,” 
he said softly. “I intend on doing just that.”
She sniffed. “I’ll beat those fine airs out of you sooner or later, see if I 
don’t.”
“No,” Silken murmured, “you won’t. Nanashi won’t allow it.”
“Nanashi doesn’t control you, boy. I do. And if I say I’ll beat you, then --”
“But Nanashi will not allow it,” the lion-rich voice emerged from the room 
behind him. A cool hand came forward to land on Silken’s shoulder. “This 
courtesan --”
“Whore!” Illia spat.
“Courtesan. He is my heart’s delight, and I’ll see you before the courts if you 
lay a finger on him.” Nanashi’s face was paler than ever, and determined. “Do 
you want the gold to dry up, Illia?”
She took a step back, her demeanor changing instantly to that of a fawning 
servant. “No, no, Master Nanashi. All will be as you desire.”
“Good.” Nanashi tugged at Silken. “Come on, then. Inside, where we can talk.”
Silken followed him gladly, happier still when Nanashi shut the door behind 
them. As with the night before, a fire crackled in the grate, and small baskets 
lay on the low table. “I have brought food,” the vampire said. “No clothes this 
time, save for this…”
Dipping into one basket, he brought out a bandeau of pearls and laid it 
reverently on Silken’s hair. He slipped his hands beneath the shining mass to 
tie it. “There,” he said, stepping back to gaze at his work. “Now I have truly 
decorated you with pearls.”
Silken felt them, and smiled. “So you have,” he said, “but truly, I preferred 
the way you painted me last night, with your pleasure.”
Nanashi looked startled. “Silken?”
“It’s true, my master.” Silken ran his fingers through his hair. “Would that I 
could have kept it so. The pearls of your seed gleamed so in the firelight, like 
finest jewels.”
The faintest of smiles tipped up the corners of Nanashi’s mouth. “Truly?”
Silken took the vampire’s cool hand in his own and pressed it to his forehead. 
“By my service, I swear it is true, Nanashi.”
Nanashi’s fingers pressed against Silken’s skin. “You are a thing to be 
treasured, Courtesan.”
“And so you treat me.” Silken stood, a genuine smile on his face. “I am so glad 
you came this night, my master.”
“You said… that you were eager to speak with me.” Nanashi looked hopeful, yet as 
if he wished to keep his hopes from rising too high. “Have you come to a 
decision?”
“I have.” Sweeping his hair back from his neck, Silken sank to his knees before 
the vampire. “If you still want me, after all that I have put you through, I am 
yours.”
“Silken!” Nanashi collapsed to a crouch. His eyes blazed with a hunger unlike 
any Silken had ever seen. He reached out to touch the nearly-healed wounds on 
the courtesan’s neck. “You’re sure? You know what it is you’re agreeing to?”
“Oh, yes,” Silken said, savoring the words. “Freedom. Love.”
Nanashi stared at him for a moment. Then, slowly, he began to smile again. “And 
so it will be. Your freedom. A rise back to and beyond your rank, the freedom to 
own and operate your own House, and the freedom to choose just one to share your 
bed with. And you choose me?”
Silken looked at his vampire with eyes of love. “I do,” he said. “I am yours.”
Nanashi’s fingers rubbed at the fading bite mark. “Will you let me drink again?” 
he asked. “It must be done, to seal the bond. And you must taste of me, as 
well.”
Silken inclined his neck. “Do it,” he said, leaning forward. “Will it be the 
same as -- as the last time?”
Nanashi’s laughter rumbled. “If you do not come in a shower of seed, I’ll be 
very surprised.”
“Then I had better remove these clothes,” Silken said wickedly, undoing the tie 
on his trousers. He wriggled out of them, pushing the things aside.
“Silken!”
“And the kimono, too,” he said, unwrapping the fine garment. “A shower, you 
said?”
Nanashi stroked his pale skin as it was unveiled, adoration in his eyes. “For 
you,” he said, “and for me.”
“Then,” Silken murmured, reaching out for the ties to Nanashi’s own fine 
garments, “you had best be naked, too, so that we may share our pleasure as 
one.”
In a matter of moments, both men were bare, piles of rich fabric cast aside 
behind them. Silken leaned down to kiss the tip of Nanashi’s erect cock, running 
his tongue around the swollen surface. Nanashi gasped. “Hold still,” he ordered. 
“I want us to come together, in the bliss of the bite. Any more of that, and 
I’ll spend myself before I can lay fangs into your neck.”
Silken pretended to pout. “But, Master --”
“Nanashi,” the vampire reminded him. “Now, forever, and always, Nanashi. Your 
lover. Your equal.”
“My Consort.” Silken presented his neck. “Drink of me, and make us one.”
“A moment, first.” From a small basket, Nanashi withdrew a little knife. Drawing 
it across his chest, over his heart, he made a shallow cut. Taking Silken’s head 
into his hand, he pressed the courtesan’s face to the wound. “You first,” he 
whispered. “Drink of me.”
Silken’s tongue flickered out obediently. Nanashi tasted of copper, and yet 
still of honey and rice milk, flowing thick and sluggish across his tongue. He 
swallowed, and went back for more, milking the skin for each drop.
“Enough!” Nanashi gasped, pushing him away. Ribbons of pre-come streaked down 
his cock, straining up against his stomach. “I would not make you one of us. Not 
yet.”
“Is that a choice, for someday?”
Nanashi stroked Silken’s cheek. “Perhaps,” he said softly, “if you choose, 
someday. But for now, I want you warm, human, and alive.” He bent closer. “Your 
blood flowing within you like a river.”
Silken felt the touch of cool lips on his neck. He pressed forward, against the 
sharp fangs. “Bite,” he urged. “Make me yours.”
And with a groan, Nanashi did. The fangs sinking into his skin hurt again, but 
oh, then, oh! The bliss rocketed through him with the force of a lightning bolt, 
exploding through his groin. His cock, swollen and hard as stone, erupted with 
vast gouts of come, splattering his stomach and Nanashi’s. He felt cool liquid 
on his belly, and heard Nanashi’s answering moan as he drank, and knew that he 
had felt it too. Better than the time Silken had let him taste before, this was 
a true Joining. A bond formed between them, tangible as a length of silk 
stretching one to the other, pleasure dancing the bridge between them.
His eyes wide and hazy with pleasure, Nanashi withdrew. Silken followed him, 
cleaning his mouth with little cat-licks. He tasted cherries and cream, and 
love. “I will always serve you so, Nanashi,” he murmured.
Nanashi rubbed small circles on his shoulder. “Always,” he agreed. “Come then, 
Courtesan. I have three more things for you. Look first in the smallest basket.”
Lazy with sated pleasure, Silken drew away and reached for the basket. Putting 
his hand in, he pulled out two golden rings, and a teardrop earring, the token 
of a Keeper. “Nanashi!” he exclaimed in pleasure.
The vampire took his hand, and slipped one of the bands onto his third finger, 
that with a vein which led to the heart. “As you are mine,” he said, sliding the 
second ring onto his finger, “I am yours.”
Silken held out his hand, admiring the ring. “Truly your Consort,” he said in 
delight. “But the earring? My lobes are not pierced.”
Nanashi winked at him and smiled broadly, flashing his needle-sharp fangs. “No 
worries. Slip that into your pocket, when you have dressed again, and later I 
will pierce it for you.”
To his surprise and delight, Silken found himself laughing. “Will you indeed?”
“I will.” Nanashi laughed as well. “As for the third gift, feel again in the 
basket. In the very bottom.”
Silken did… and drew out a gold coin. His twentieth. The price of his freedom. 
Staring at it, he felt his eyes beginning to water.
Nanashi brushed a kiss like a snowflake against his cheek. “Your life,” he said 
softly. “I give it to you, as you gave it to me.”
Silken’s hand closed around the gold. “Nanashi…” he said, struggling for words.
The vampire laid a finger across his lips. “Hush. You need say nothing, little 
one.”
He stood, and held out his hands. “I have brought clean, damp cloths. Wash me, 
as I will wash you. Then we dress, and go to the night courts to pay for your 
contract. Tomorrow, you see builders about constructing your new House.”
“Away from the river,” Silken said, swaying in Nanashi’s arms. “No mosquitoes.”
Nanashi rumbled a laugh. “No. On the other side of the city, where it is quiet 
and peaceful. I own land there, just waiting to be built on, if you’ll accept it 
of me.”
Silken folded his hands over Nanashi’s. “My Consort,” he said, looking into 
Nanashi’s eyes, “I would take everything you gave to me, because I know what 
love lies behind it.”
Nanashi’s eyes crinkled with pleasure. “Then come,” he said. “Wash, and dress. 
Your freedom is on the rise, Silken. And with it, our future together. Will you 
go with me?”
“We will take our revenge on Illia?”
Nanashi kissed his temple. “If it pleases you.”
“And I may begin selecting courtesans? I already have one in mind, called 
Andreus…”
“Anything that delights your heart.” Nanashi took his hand. “Come, now. The time 
is upon us. Come.”
And Silken, his heart full and light as a feather dancing in the breeze, went 
gladly with his Nanashi, his Nightwalker, his vampire.
Together, into their future.
 
THE END


 
 
Willa Okati
 
Willa Okati is a long-time devotee of all things vampire and supernatural, but 
an even bigger fan of stories that feature beautiful men exploring their desires 
for one another. Physically, she lives in North Carolina, but mentally thrives 
in a world where each adventure is bigger and brighter than the next. She is 
also owned by far too many cats, but she insists that they serve as emissaries 
from the Muse and can’t spare a one of them. You can visit her at her web site, 
www.willsheornillshe.com.