Playing With Fire by Sean Michael

life.” He shuddered at the thought of letting the firefaeries do that to him. He received no answer, no movement, just the shallow hint of drawn breath.
    “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t complain. We captured your lands, you know. Dumas to the west and my father to the north. Banded together and attacked, and you were so busy feeding your disgusting little firefaeries that you couldn’t do anything to fend us off.” He rubbed his hands along Zujan’s arms; there was definitely some warming happening. “This castle is mine now, and you are my prisoner. Our fortunes have reversed. I think you will find that I am a far kinder master.”
    The tiny sorcerer seemed to shrink even further, the pale eyes closing.
    It was hard to be angry and nasty to this small, almost boy-like man in his arms. Without his magic, Zujan seemed innocent and powerless, more like the boys from his harem than the kings and princes and dukes of the surrounding lands. It confused Wintras. It twisted his anger and his desire for revenge.
    He tried not to think about it too hard and just held Zujan close, warming the little sorcerer with his own body.
    * * * *
    Someone was speaking to him, but he could not bring himself to care, to understand, to answer. There was nothing but the sensation of heat and cold. Heat outside of him, chill within. An endless circle. The sounds continued, on and on, scented with oils and heat.
    How he ached, deep within.
    Movement and a sudden loss of the warmth jolted him. He opened his eyes, the universe watery and blurred, unfamiliar, almost painfully bright.
    “You’re awake.” The warmth came back, the world shifting once more as he was pulled close to it. “Are you hungry? All this cold is making me starve.”
    He looked up, trying to focus, to understand. Hungry?
    “Or thirsty? The mead should help warm you.” Something was pressed against his lips, but he made no move to take it in, and the warm voice tsked. A moment later hot lips pressed against his own, liquid pushed into his mouth. The flavor shocked him, scared him, but he swallowed convulsively, hands opening and closing again and again. The warm lips finally released him. “There, that should help.”
    Help? It was fire inside him, burning and sliding and sharp and good.
    He was rocked, pulled close to the heat with hands that were like brands. Oh. He cuddled in, eyes closing, the steady beating under his ear a comfort. There was a long sigh and then the words started up again.
    “I don’t want to like you. I don’t want to feel sorry for you. You’re supposed to be my enemy, who I’ve vanquished, and now, I get to lord it over you like you lorded it over me.”
    Oh. Vanquished sounded less than fun. He really wasn’t sure if he was supposed to care. He supposed he should.
    “Come on, Zujan, warm up already. I’m tired and cranky, and you’re colder than the snow.”
    “Kill me.” The words surprised him at first, although they shouldn’t.
    “What?” The warm body holding him went stiff.
    “Kill me.” He was so tired.
    “No!” The word was adamant.
    He sighed, damn.
    There was a soft laugh. “I didn’t understand why you insisted I stay alive, but I guess now, I do. You won’t escape me that way.”
    Escape? He didn’t even know where he was, who held him, who he was or why he should escape. The warm hands went back to sliding on his skin, inexorably heating him. He curled into himself, the heat sinking deep, into his blood, allowing it to move. His…captor? savior?...kept holding him, talking softly, bringing him back to life.
    Eventually he blinked up, long gold hair catching his attention. He reached up, petting it, watching it shine in his fingers.
    “What are you doing?” Dark blue eyes looked into his own.
    He frowned, considered. “Touching.”
    “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve been addled in the cold.” The owner of the dark blue eyes sighed. He pulled his hand back, hid it under his own hair. Another sigh, those hands