Detective Jim Ellison sat on the bunk of his one man cell, knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting on the crook between his knees as he stared unseeing at the bars to the cell door. Without, Jim Ellison looked calm and uncaring, but inside he was quivering with fear.

They had discovered him. He had tried to hide it for months now, afraid that they would find out.

The camping trip had been a bust. Jim had needed the downtime after a big case, but istead and rain storm and a flash flood had stranded him in the wilderness...like the helicoptor crash that had stranded him in Peru.

His sentinel senses that he had never remembered having while in Peru, hell he had never remembered Peru, had returned with a vengeance, and had saved him. But on his return to civilization and back to his job as a police officer in Cascade, they had not disappeared. He had been hard pressed to hide them from his collegues.

Captain Banks, his friend and superior, was angry at him. For not turning himself in, for endangering his fellow officers. But Jim couldn't bear to turn himself in...to be handed over to the Rainier Sentinel Facility, to become some Guide's sex slave...to be owned by someone...to be raped by them nearly every night...to be punished.

Jim shuddered. Vice had had a Guide Detective with his own sentinel. Jim remembered one day in particular very clearly. He had been sitting at his desk having just come off an undercover job, filling out paperwork when Guide Horton had walked in with his sentinel trailing behind. Horton was yelling at Sentinel Mark for apparently zoning at a bust. Horton had said he would teach him a lesson.

Jim remembered watching in horror as Horton pointed to a desk. The sentinel had meekly walked over to the desk, undid his jeans, pulling them and his boxers down and leaned over the desk in front of the whole bullpen. No one had said anything, no one stopped him. The law said a Guide has all power over his sentinel, except death. Though in reality killing a sentinel was prosecuted under animal cruelty laws. Like poisoning the neighbors dog. Horton had used a leather riding crop and had left the sentinel's ass red, bruised and bleeding.

Jim shuddered, his heart pounding with fear, knowing that the sentinel's fate was now his own. Simon had had no choice but to contact Rainier. They were sending someone over to pick Jim up and take him to Rainier where he would be paired with a graduating guide after recieving mandatory training, and punishment for hiding his abilities.

Suddenly Jim lifted his head as his sensitive ears caught the sound of people coming his way. From their conversation Jim knew them to be from Rainier. Jim closed his eyes as he rocked silently wishing he could just die, but they had taken his clothes, and anything else he could use to kill himself with. The cell was also being continuously monitored via camera, and Jim knew that his fate was sealed.

PART TWO
By
Loke

"You'll never make a decent Guide with a face like that."

Blair Sandburg sighed, knowing full well what the problem was. Even though he was at the top of his class, his small size and delicate features nearly guaranteed he would be given a lesser Sentinel -- one who had only one or two enhanced senses at most. He'd end up in the industrial end of Guiding, unable to really make a difference where it was most needed.

He'd recalled how elated the group had been when he and two other members had had been discovered to have Guide abilities. Just as Sentinels were a genetic anomaly, so were those with the ability to control them. A number of truly horrific examples of so-called "Sentinel incidents" caused by attempts to control them by people who'd been trained but not gifted had caused the public to see Sentinels as dangerous animals instead of human beings. The group Blair was a part of was attempting to change that, but to do so they had to work from within.

Guide training was difficult, however, both physically and emotionally, and the others hadn't been able to cope with the level of physical discipline they'd had to mete out. Blair had managed to stomach "correcting" and "punishing" the trainees as his instructors dictated, even when it meant drawing blood or beating someone senseless. He simply told himself it was necessary to become a good enough Guide to change the system. A system in desperate need of reforms to protect the unique people within it.

He'd gritted his teeth, knuckled down and striven to be the best damn Guide the Facility had ever produced. To be good enough to be trusted with that rarest of creatures: a Full Sentinel, one endowed with all five enhanced senses, requiring the most delicate and most vigilant of Guides. Blair had tested high in Guide abilities -- the highest in his class, and one of the highest in the Facility -- but now it appeared the same quirk of Fate that had made him a Guide had also given him a physique which would exclude him from the very people who most needed his talents.

His thoughts returned to the present and the man who'd spoken: Sylvester "Sly" Andrews, the very picture of the public's notion of what a Guide should be. He was 6'4" of perfectly sculptured muscles and tanned Aryan beauty, with piercing blue eyes, chiseled features and white-blond hair in a precise military cut. He and Sly had detested each other on sight, and the fact they were near equals in class standings had done nothing to ease the situation in the slightest. While Blair had "punished" when necessary and cringed in a small part of his psyche he'd never let show, Sly had reveled in inflicting pain with a true psychotic's delight. It was rumored he enjoyed inflicting pain on his sexual partners and in fact preferred it to intercourse; it was even whispered he couldn't HAVE intercourse without seeing his partner in pain first. Just the thing the Facility emphasized most when dealing with a Sentinel: you had to COMPLETELY dominate the beast, physically, mentally, and emotionally. There was no room for the smallest amount of tenderness or affection.

"You've always had a problem with my face, Andrews," Blair replied. "It's always been in yours."

"Not from down there, it hasn't," Sly remarked. "Heard a rumor today they found a full Sentinel hiding out in the Police Department. Word is he's going to be given to someone in our class. Care to place a bet on who?"

Blair glared at his rival in mute, helpless fury, mentally cursing his too-literal shortcomings as he took in the confident smirk on Sly's face. The bastard would surely be given the Sentinel, despite the fact Blair had higher abilities. As he turned to walk away from his triumphant classmate, he spared a moment to pity the poor soul whose very existence would depend on pleasing a sadistic, perverted maniac.

PART 3
by
Patt

Sly Andrews followed Blair into the hallway, wanting to torment him for a little longer. He was just about to say something when, they were both called by the head of the facility.

As they headed into the main meeting room, Sly said, "Sandburg, you haven't got a chance at this new Sentinel. He is a Full Sentinel and he'll be mine as should be."

Not knowing what he should say or do, Blair just decided to close his mouth for a change and sit down. He thought to himself, sit down, and think about what you could do to make your point about the Sentinel.

All of the Guides stood when the main department head came into the room. He expected full attention and got it. He smiled and said, "Please, everyone, sit down. I have some things to go over quickly. I'm sure you've all heard we have a Full Sentinel among us right now. And we are trying to figure out who would best qualify to teach and train this man. He is a Policeman from Cascade Major Crimes. He is an ex-Army Ranger, and is very dangerous. Right now, he needs the training, but also needs to be guided so he won't be so quick to take his temper out on anyone."

Blair's Department Manager stood up and said, "I recommend that this Full Sentinel be given to our own Blair Sandburg, and he is highly qualified. I truly hope you will follow me and vote your conscience."

Blair just looked over at his boss with surprise on his face. He could not believe he was even being considered for this. He knew he wouldn't get it, but still made him feel good to know that his guide aptitude was not being ignored.

Sly's Department Manager stood up next and said, "Well, I recommend Slyvester Andrews, he is the better man, we all know this. While young Mr. Sandburg is a fine guide, Sly has a lot more experience with Full Sentinel's and is a high-quality guide. I hope that you all will see this and vote that way."

No one else was nominated, so they decided to take their votes. Everyone got to vote, including Guides. Everyone was equal in this job. Everyone quickly voted and the count was taken. Before long the main department head stood up and said that the guide was chosen. He walked over to the two guides and shook hands with Sly first and Sly said, "Thank you, sir. You won't be sorry. I'll do a very good job."

He said, "I'm sorry, you didn't get enough votes. Mr. Sandburg did. I was just shaking your hand to tell you that you were going to be chosen for the next Full Sentinel." Turning from him, he went to Blair and shook hands with him and said, Congratulations, Mr. Sandburg, don't let us down."

As he was leaving the room, Sly said, "You don't have a clue as to how hard it is to handle these Full Sentinels. You just think it's going to be a walk in the park. Well, don't come to me when you need help or this guy tries to kill you. Just remember that he'll be mine when he does kill you." Having said his piece, he walked away.

Blair hated that guide so much. And now Blair had more reason than ever to keep himself alive, so that Sly would never get his hands on the new Sentinel. He never understood why the guides couldn't have a better relationship with their Sentinels. He was going to try and get this new Sentinel to trust Blair.

He got to his office door and someone called his name. Blair turned to look and it was the department manager, he walked up to Blair and said, "No time like the present. The new Sentinel is in bad shape, he is trying to hurt himself and others. It's time to see if you can get in there and do anything with him. Get down there as soon as possible."

"Yes sir," Blair said, "I won't let you down. He will make a fine Sentinel. And I will make you proud of selecting me. I will get my things and leave right now."

Blair practically ran down to the chamber that they kept all new Sentinels in. He could hear screaming and quickened his step up. He had a bad feeling about this one. Blair glanced into the room; the man was a beautiful specimen. He was naked and shaking. He was screaming his lungs out. And it was hurting him at the same time.

"I'm here for Sentinel Ellison," Blair said to the guard, "I'll need some time with him alone and please bring me clean clothing and food."

As they unlocked the doors, Ellison backed up with horror written all over his face. Blair stepped into the room and told the guards, "Please leave us alone. And bring those things I asked for as quickly as possible." Blair turned to Sentinel Ellison and said, "Sentinel Ellison, it is good to meet you, I am your Guide. Guide Sandburg. I'll be here to help you deal with all of these new things happening to you. Before long you'll be able to control them all. First of all, we need to get your dials down so you can stand the lights in here. How does that sound? We'll work on one sense at a time."

Ellison kept backing up and he was so embarrassed of being in front of this person, with no clothing and no control. He hated it, wishing he were dead. He suddenly lay down on the floor and just curled into a ball.

part 4
by
Black Rose

It had been instinctive at first, and at any other time in his life, in any other position, he would have been furious at himself. It was ridiculous. He was a grown man, in good shape, perfectly capable of defending himself against... what? A thin boned *nothing*, a boy who at first glance seemed to be all huge blue eyes behind wire rimmed glasses and wild curls of hair that had been bound tightly back only to explode once more at the nape of his neck.

But that boy had a charcoal gray badge looped on a thong around his slender neck, the insignia of the Rainer Sentinel Facility picked out in gold across it. Gold, the color of the badge of a Guide.

A Guide, and he, Jim Ellison, had been stripped of everything from position to clothes, dignity, resources... identified and forever recorded as naught but a Sentinel.

His yells as he had, at last, in a reckless last ditch attempt, struggled with his guards had left his ears ringing from the sound of his own voice. But it hadn't been nearly enough to block out the sound of the young man's voice, smooth and quiet, the words quick. "Sentinel Ellison, I am your Guide. Guide Sandburg."

His Guide.

The boy barely came up to his chin. Ellison could have snapped him in two like a twig. Yet when the Guide advanced on him, he could do nothing but retreat, the panic pattering like a straining drum in his chest. And when there was nowhere else to retreat to, and the younger man was reaching out, he had done the only thing he could and dignity be damned.

The coolness of the floor beneath him had given him the way out. It was chill against his bare shoulder and thigh, seeping into his skin. And he had let it, welcomed it, letting himself concentrate on the feel of it, on the tiny imperfections of the steel floor and the invisible cracks he could feel there, the pits and scores beneath his touch. Sight had fallen away first, his skin alive with the sensation of touch. Dimly he could hear shouts, and then sound fell away as well, his world spiralling to encompass the entirety of the small crack he could trace beneath his shoulder, a crevice that stretched out into infinity, deeper and grander then any canyon.

It was a voice that brought him back, and he hated it for it.

"...just listen to my voice. Follow my voice, that's it. You can hear me. Ellison, I need you go come back now. Come back to me..."

And all unwillingly, he was, the horror of his situation intruding once more into the darkness he had carved for himself. And all because of that voice which quietly coaxed him forth, impossible to ignore.

The voice of his Guide, one tanned hand warm against his bare shoulder as the younger man crouched down beside him, keeping up a low, smooth monologue without even seeming to draw breath. The world was there, and it wouldn't leave him be, and it was all that man's fault.

The Guide was leaning over him, the breath of his soft words almost brushing Jim's cheek. Ellison drew one more breath himself, the same as the last, letting nothing change in the rhythm of that movement.

In the next moment he had knotted his hand in the collar of the younger man's shirt and surged to his feet, hearing Sandburg's muffled yell as he slammed the smaller man back against the steel wall with bruising impact. The guards were on him in a heartbeat, hands on him, swearing as they tried to pull him off the Guide. In the scuffle and confusion, it was Sandburg's voice that suddenly came clear, raising above all of them with an unexpected tone of authority.

"Enough! Stop it! Get your hands off him!"

Part 5
by
Xandria

"Enough! Stop it! Get your hands off of him!" But he attacked you!" One guard protested.

"He's a sentinel, a fighter! Of course he's going to fight me!" Blair exclaimed.

"A sentinel who attacks his guide must be punished, Guide. Those are the rules." The other guard said.

"As his Guide that is for me to decide or do. I choose not to right now. Leave!" Sandburg glared at the two until they left. He stared at his sentinel and sighed as he looked down at him. Ellison sat on the floor once more and had zoned again so he would have to start all over.

Blair knelt down beside the staring Sentinel and began to speak, softly, persistently, once more.

"Listen to the sound of my voice…focus on what I am doing…Smell my scent, concentrate on that…Feel the warmth of my hand on your skin…Hear my voice…See my face….Smell my smell…Feel my hand…Sentinel Ellison…Come out…"

Jim opened his eyes with a gasp and looked around wildly before glaring at Blair. He made an abortive move with his arms but put them down and clenched his fists in his lap instead.

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why bring me out to...this?"

"Because you're better off."

"No I'm not! At least there I can escape. Here, I remember!"

"But you can do so many good things!"

"I have had everything that made me me taken. If you choose to beat me to death that is your right! I'm considered an animal, but I'm not protected like them. I'd rather be dead!"

"Don't say that! It can be different! I…" Sandburg bit his lip. He shouldn't say anything here, and maybe not for a while. Ellison seemed to be a very stubborn individual, angry, desperate even, and who could blame him?

Those discovered with Sentinel abilities at a younger age were trained to be submissive, even though when instincts took over they turned violent at times. Ellison was all Primal Sentinel, wild.

"How can it be different? I can only do what others want of me!"

"But there's so many ways Sentinels help us! In Search and Rescue, in finding drugs, or bombs…"

"Just like dogs! But we can speak."

"Not like dogs, man. A Sentinel and Guide…"

"The Guide. An excuse for some people to be able to hurt another, and no one says a word about it! As my Guide, Sandburg, you can hit me, burn me, assault me, and as long as I can still use my abilities, no one can or will do anything to you!

"As your Sentinel, if I try to protect myself from you and hurt you in any way, I could be hurt more, or I could be put down like a rabid dog! So excuse me if I happen to think a sentinel is treated like an animal. At least they have the ASPCA!" Jim looked up at Blair and blue eyes met blue. Sandburg stared earnestly back and Jim looked away.

"I can't do anything about the law, but I can try and change it."

"Why would you want to?"

"Why wouldn't I? Look, you can at least come with me now and we can talk about it. I have some clothes here you can put on anyway." He waved at the pile that had fallen to the ground earlier.

Jim looked at them suspiciously.

"So what do I do for them?"

"What? Nothing!" Sandburg ran his hands through his hair. " I just thought you'd feel better with clothes on."

Ellison stood up and walked over to the pile. He pulled on a pair of gray sweat pants and sighed in relief.

"Thank you." he said grudgingly.

He reached for the top but Blair stopped him.

"Uh, you can't put that on yet."

"What. Why?"

"You have to be marked first."

Ellison stared at him and shook his head.

"No!"

part 6
by
Gwyphyn

There was no fucking way in hell that he was going to let them brand him like a piece of cattle! Struggling to contain the heaving emotions assaulting him, Jim forced himself to appear outwardly emotionless, even as inside a new wave of rage raced through him.

The ‘mark’ Sandburg was referring to, was in actually a tattoo, drawn into the sensitive skin of the right side of a sentinel's neck once they were bonded to a guide. A mixture of the Rainier Sentinel Facility symbol and the chosen crest of the guide, it as basically a dog tag, telling whoever bothered to look just who they belonged to. What’s more, a highly sophisticated computer chip, inserted directly under the skin where the tattoo was drawn, meant that anyone possessing a barcode scanner, from security personal to shopping clerks, were able to find out his entire history.

Once again the words his captain had whispered to him when the guards had entered Cascades major crimes bull pen played through his head, “I don’t know how the fuck we’ll manage it Jim, but we’ll get you out I swear!” Hearing Simon Banks swear had been s much of a shock as the hope his words had evoked. Through the humiliation and pain of the days following his capture, Jim had held onto those precious word as a life line. Though he was rational enough to realise that there was probably nothing his friend could do, there was a part of him that held tenaciously to that slim hope, a hope which would vanish completely should he be ‘marked’.

Roused from his introspection by a hesitant touch on his arm, Jim shrugged it off and glared dangerously at the long haired freak.

“You have to be marked or they won’t let you out of the building.” Blair said earnestly. Ignoring the glare, though he did drop his hand.

Jim snorted, tightening his grip on the sweat shirt.

“Look, I can understand you not wanting to get it done. Hell, if I was in your shoes I’d probably feel exactly the same way. But you’ve gotta realise, man, that there is absolutely no choice to be had about it.”

“So you say,” Ellison growled. But he knew it was all bravado. If the RSF wanted him marked, he was going to get marked. No two ways about it.

A brief flash of frustration flashed across the delicate features, then was just as quickly suppressed. Piercing sapphire blue eyes gazed at him solemnly, seeming to gaze right through his outer shell, cursed with the freakish abilities, and travelling straight to that central core where he was just... Jim.

Unwillingly, Jim found that core responding. The primal sentinel in him wanting to stop fighting and simply submit to the wishes of his guide. But James Joseph Ellison was more then that primitive being, and he had never *submitted* to anything.

Another thought accured to him. Just because escape was hard didn’t mean it was impossible. Before he became a cop, he had another life and that life gave him certain connections with people who would be more then happy to help him disappear. But to be any chance of that he needed to get out of here, even if it was into the dubious ownership of his owner, Guide Sandburg.

Clutching that resolve to his, Ellison met the piercing gaze with his own, and found himself glaring into eyes sparkling, not with the pity he loathed, but sympathy and concern. So much different from the cold, hard and often cruel eyes of the RSF doctors and guards who had dealt with him for the last few days.

“You know it has to be done.” The soft words hit him with the force of a bullet.

Taking a look around at the white walls, and the cold hard floor of the room, Ellison realised the truth in the quiet statement and came to his decision. Deliberately dropping his head, he allowed his powerful shoulders to slump as though in defeat.

“Your right.” The words tasted bitter even as he said them.

Across the room, he could hear Sandburg expel his breath in relief and fought the desire to hit him.

~*~

Ignoring the painful burning sensation on the right side of his neck and the two RSF guards oozing hostility on either side of him, Jim followed his guide through the maze of corridors culminating, hopefully, in exiting the building.

Coming to a halt in front of a glass enclosed reception desk, he waited impatiently as Sandburg signed the forms the pretty girl seated on the otherside of the security glass deemed necessary. Shifting from foot to foot, the sentinel shuddered minutely as the slightest breeze caressed his skin, and he gazed at the door on the located in the wall next to the desk longingly. The exit to this hell hole must be on the other side.

Suddenly a sharp in take of breath from his guide snapped his sentinel senses back towards the reception desk just in time to see the girl, Betty Myers her badge identified her as, pass Sandburg something. Automatically focusing in on the object, recognition dawned as he realised what it was and what it would mean. The ultimate in sentinel control. In other words a leash.

Dimly he heard someone growling and belatedly realised it was him

Part 7
by
Lilith

The low growl rumbling from Ellison's chest startled Betty Myers but went unheard by the guards, who'd moved to lean against the wall just a few feet further away so that they could watch his whole body at once. Well aware of the situation preparing to erupt beside him, Blair quickly tucked the leash in his pocket, flashing her his most reassuring wink and grin. Ellison relaxed slightly with the disappearance of the leather restraint and Betty swallowed, lifting a hand to her throat, breaking her frozen moment of fear.

Blair thanked fate he'd taken the time to court Betty and sleep with her; their casual bond had just given him the crucial advantage he needed. He couldn't forestall punishment if Jim disobeyed again; he'd already pushed his bounds by refusing it earlier. "Act like a man and I won't treat you like you aren't one." He mumbled the words underneath his breath, his lips barely moving, again failing to alert the guards. Ellison gave him a sharp look, keen with anger and intelligence, then his eyes went opaque, tightly shuttered. His taut-sinewed body relaxed deceptively.

Blair shook his head a little. Some Guides might be fooled-- maybe the ones who really thought of their Sentinels as animals. Maybe the ones who only had experience with Sentinels that had been identified young and spent their lives in training. But not Blair Sandburg. He already felt a vital connection with James Ellison; he could feel the man's restrained physical power thrumming with alertness, ready to surge and break forth. If he saw an opportunity, he would take it. Blair picked up the man's paperwork, scanning it carefully. "Jim, huh? I'm Blair." He smiled at Ellison, who looked straight through him, refusing to acknowledge the introduction.

No, Ellison wasn't tamed, not by a long shot, and he wouldn't be for some time. Blair was no fool; he knew his new Sentinel was just looking for a better chance, waiting to find out what kind of opportunities might be afforded for escape once they left the facility. He'd decided to bide his time. Right now his razor-sharp mind was actively engaged against Blair, and his instincts were following its commands. It would be Blair's first and perhaps his hardest task to reverse that orientation, making Ellison's instincts work for Blair and against what his own mind wanted. Once that was achieved, all else would follow, a step at a time.

Blair nodded to the guards and they fell in, neatly flanking Ellison as they moved out the door into the courtyard of the Rainier Sentinel Facility complex.

Protectiveness, obedience, loyalty... the bond forced a Sentinel to begin feeling all those things toward his guide. As Blair saw it, once the bond was formed, a Guide could use it in either of two ways. He could use the natural inclination toward closeness as a basis for earning his Sentinel's trust and build a foundation of mutual respect and cooperation and friendship between them. Or by contrast, he could use it as a crutch.

There were many laws governing discipline for Sentinels who disobeyed or harmed their Guides-- the bond could merely serve as an internalized version of those laws, a frontline defense protecting the Guide from his Sentinel's hatred. Guides who lazily demanded obedience using harsh discipline frequently owed their lives to the inhibiting influence of the bond.

Of the two methods, the former method was a rarity; the latter the norm. Custom and training demanded conformity of Blair much the same way it demanded Jim relinquish his independence. Though Ellison didn't realize it, both he and his Guide were victims of a harsh system. But regardless of that, regardless of which direction they took in this pairing, the bond was inevitable. It formed via touch-- the more frequently and intimately a Sentinel and his Guide touched one another, the deeper the bonding. It was one reason why most Guides formed sexual liaisons with their Sentinels, even if they had to resort to force and punishment to achieve that union.

Blair could already sense the initial vestiges of a bond beginning to form between himself and Ellison. Time to start deepening it.

"That's my quarters on the left, the ones with the porch light on." Blair set his foot on a loose paving stone and stumbled deliberately, his arm bumping against Ellison's. Automatically the bigger man caught his arm and steadied him; Blair leaned against him for a moment, raising his eyes to look up into Ellison's. He read startlement, a little dismay-- that had to be in response to the protective instinct stirring for the first time, unexpectedly. Ellison blinked, his momentary vulnerability transmuting to anger and resolve. Blair straightened up. "Thanks, man." He didn't have to feign his pleasure and gratitude.

Ellison's eyes jerked away from his, darting around the compound desperately, seeking escape from the unexpected emotion he'd just experienced. Blair swallowed guilt, regretting his manipulation. He'd used Jim's own mind and body against him and he'd have to do it many more times before he was through. If he didn't bond Ellison promptly, they'd give the man to Sly Andrews. Then not only would Blair wash out of the Guide program, but Ellison would have one of the worst handlers Blair could imagine him with.

And that wouldn't do. Because even though Ellison might not know it, the bond worked two ways. Blair had reached out to Ellison, drawn him out of two zones, protected him and accepted him. He already felt a startlingly deep commitment to the hostile, fearful man at his heels, a protective, possessive emotion mingled with sympathy and affection.

"Shit." Blair swore softly, coming to a halt as a man appeared out of the shadows and stepped onto the path before them; Ellison bumped against him gently before stopping his own momentum. "Sly." Blair lifted his chin and greeted his nemesis calmly.

"So you got him this far." Sly's face twisted into an ugly, insincere grin. "But who says he won't kill you in the night? You haven't even leashed him. I hear he zoned on you twice already. Not a good record for your first day, Sandburg."

"He's not been raised to this, Sylvester." Blair deliberately used Sly's given name, aware of how much the other man hated it. "He hasn't been trained how to avoid zones yet. And he came out quickly when I called him back." Somehow his rival didn't seem as menacing as he had before; suddenly Blair felt less fear and anger on his own behalf than he did on Jim's.

"He attacked you, too, didn't he. And you didn't punish him." Sly's grin grew wicked, full of hate. "You'll be given a black mark for that. You're too soft, Sandburg. He'll never perform for you, even if he doesn't kill you or escape." Sly stepped forward, crowding Blair back a step, pushing him against Ellison's chest. "I know you can't control him-- and he's a full Sentinel, too valuable to waste. They'll wash you out and give him to me." The guards, instructed only to defend Sandburg from his Sentinel, stood by impassively and watched.

Sly was right. If he didn't control Ellison, the proctors of the facility would take him away. They would be watching his every move. Even this would become a test, Blair realized. Word of it would go to his superiors immediately. Worst of all, he couldn't count on Ellison's protection; it was too soon for that and besides, he'd never been one to passively accept abuse. His fists tightened and he opened his mouth to retaliate, but before he could speak, a hand passed his face, moving slowly, almost trembling. Sly's eyes widened; it caught in his shirt-front and tightened to a fist, knuckles going white.

Shocked and ecstatic, Blair stood very still, leaning slightly against Ellison's chest, not daring to break the contact between them in this crucial instant.

"You aren't my Guide yet." The voice behind him was almost a snarl, low and deadly. "The law doesn't say anything about a Sentinel who kills a Guide who isn't his. I don't like your attitude. Maybe I should take care of you while I have a chance." His arm flexed, lifting; Sly's shirt pulled out of his jeans and the stitching in the shoulders began to pop, infinitesimal sounds that suddenly seemed loud Blair's ears, as though the whole world had fallen silent to listen. The other Guide's feet rose from the pavement; his face blanched white with fear and rage.

"Jim." Blair's voice fell, low and urgent. He turned to face his Sentinel, raised his hand, and stroked along the quivering arm, feeling rock-solid muscle and tight-stretched sinew. "It's all right. It's enough. Let him go, Jim."

Jim shuddered once, resisting, then his muscles bunched and flexed, tossing Sly away like a doll. The man fell hard on his ass, rough paving stones bloodying his hands as he tried to break his fall.

"You won't tame him. They'll discipline you for ruining a full Sentinel!" Sly shouted harshly, his voice shaky and weak. "Extreme sanction. You know the rules as well as I do, Sandburg, even if you've always thought you were too good to follow them!"

Blair ignored him, focused on calming his Sentinel. Jim stared down at Blair for a moment, blinking with horror. Blair didn't look back to see Sly scramble to his feet and bolt, a small part of his mind satisfied by cataloging the sound of retreating footsteps. He held his Sentinel's eyes with his own.

"Thank you." Blair raised his hand, touching one knuckle to Jim's cheek.

Jim clenched his jaw, one muscle twitching hard, and jerked his face away, squeezing his eyes shut in denial. "I didn't do it for you." His voice was raw, full of self-loathing mingled with hatred for Blair. Blair nodded soberly, accepting his word. It didn't really matter; the incident would reflect well on their record anyway no matter how Ellison justified it to himself. Ellison had defended him, then obeyed his command to stop. It was an excellent start.

"Let's go home," Blair suggested softly. God, if the man only knew how magnificent he was. How savage and beautiful and vulnerable. Sandburg felt a rush of fierce protectiveness himself, and one of pride. For Ellison to be responding to the bond so quickly-- if the rest of his abilities lived up to that standard, they might become a team of legendary power. Maybe enough that Blair would earn respect from his peers and superiors and finally be able to reveal his preferred method of handling. Maybe his success with Ellison would ultimately sway the ugly tradition of dominance via force.

Pausing only to level a cold glare at each of the guards, Jim began to walk when Blair did, not seeming to realize that once again, he had obeyed his new Guide. Blair smiled secretly, the expression concealed by his position in front of Jim. Using the carrot instead of the stick was yielding faster and better results than even he had expected.

*****

Jim Ellison took a deep breath and started walking. The air was bitterly cold and there were no stars visible in the sky. Worse, there were no breaks visible in the tall walls that made a rough square around the perimeter of the installation. It was a crushing blow to realize that Blair's quarters were located inside the facility. Jim ground his teeth quietly. There went any hope of rapid escape. He'd scoped out the facility before the other Guide interrupted their walk; it was built like a maximum-security prison with armed guards and walls topped with razor wire. No doubt there were vicious tracking dogs and infrared scopes and a whole host of security precautions specially chosen to incapacitate rogue Sentinels: Klieg spotlights, pepper spray, sirens.

What was even worse than being cooped up inside the impenetrable fortress was realizing that something out of his control was happening inside him-- he'd heard stories of Guides wielding arcane forces over their Sentinels, but he'd written it off as mythology, some kind of romanticized thinking. That is, until he met Sandburg and went from trying to kill him to defending him inside the space of an hour. The kid had some kind of insidious influence on him somehow; maybe he'd been drugged when they inserted the dermal implant, or maybe the electronic chip worked on his brain electronically.

Jim gritted his teeth, determined to resist whatever it was. Mind over matter.

Sandburg's fingers worked the keypad next to the door of his little bungalow. The panel buzzed and opened the lock of the small residence; Jim automatically committed the code to memory, watching without seeming to watch. He blinked with surprise as the guards stepped back and let the door shut with him and Sandburg on the opposite side. The Guide stood before him, looking up at him speculatively. The buzz sounded again, and Jim realized they were now locked in.

He turned and tried the door, tapping in the security code Blair had used to open it, but to no avail. He cast about sharply, studying their surroundings but finding only a single room with a single exit. Over half the room was dominated by a wide bed, its covers rumpled and smelling of stale sex. The windows were tall narrow slits and the few vents in the walls were only large enough to accommodate a cat. There was no apparent way out other than the sealed door. Eyes narrowing, he turned back to his Guide.

"Aren't they afraid I'll kill you, leaving the two of us alone in here?"

Blair shrugged, lifting one shoulder gracefully. "It's a test. All Sentinel/Guide pairs have to pass it. If you do kill me, both of us die." He trailed his fingertips along the grain of the wooden table that stood next to him. "Me now, you later. Do you really want that?"

Jim didn't answer, staring at the table Sandburg was touching. It held a neat array of restraints. There were metal cuffs for ankles and wrists and a sturdy leather collar with an electronic device attached next to the buckle. Probably some sort of electrical stun device, and maybe a tracker. Next to it lay a long metal wand-- his eyes narrowed and he felt his lips draw thin, baring his teeth. Probably a cattle prod. No doubt it was set to respond to Blair's palmprint, and would not operate for Jim.

"Remember. Act like a man, and I'll treat you like one." Blair pulled the leash he'd been given out of his pocket and set it indifferently with the other restraints. He drew a deep breath, his eyes sober, then turned his back on Jim, walking away and leaving the table's contents untouched and unused. "They weren't planning to give me a Sentinel any time soon; your arrival at the facility was unexpected. I'm sorry I didn't know, or I'd have cleaned things up a little before I went to class." He started stripping the bed, wrinkling his nose. "Man, even *I* can smell this."

"I've been in whorehouses that smelled better." There was no humor or good-nature in Jim's tone. He considered going for the contents of the table, using them against the Guide. He stayed still, standing where he was.

Blair flickered a cool look at him and kept working. "Yeah, well, I've never paid for it in my life." His voice sharpened. "So. When you were in those whorehouses, were you buying or selling?"

Jim blinked, red-hot rage rising in him. He stalked forward and caught Blair, feeling the younger man's arm bruise in his grip. He yanked his guide away from the bed, shoving him against the wall. "I won't take that from you."

"You think I'm going to take it from you?" Blair snarled back at him, unblinking. He met Jim's eyes defiantly, unafraid. "Are we going to play nasty, or are we going to play nice? I'm warning you, Jim. If you want to play it nasty, you're the one it's going to hurt."

Jim glared down at him in disbelief, trying to intimidate him with sheer aggressive force, confusion and anger rising when Blair glared right back, not at all dismayed even though his cattle prod lay well out of reach. The Guide's heart rate was high. Jim could smell the bitter tang of adrenaline in the air, but there was no fear in the clear blue eyes. He faltered, not sure how to react to the failure of his ploy. He felt his anger dissipating slowly and realized that there were warm palms rubbing along his arms, stroking his biceps.

"Just calm down." Blair began to talk again, and his time Jim recognized the soothing tone, the one that had called him back from the safety of his defensive zone-outs. It was the same one that had commanded him to release Sly. He couldn't move, paralyzed by the slow hypnotic motion of his Guide's tough and the low liquid voice soothing him. "That's it, Jim. I know you're angry and upset, but it doesn't have to be as terrible as you think." Blair was looking at him, his face alight with growing wonder and pleasure as his tactics worked. Jim felt his mouth go dry and tingling as fear rose in him, as though he'd bitten a wire with an electric current running through it. The Guide could see somehow that he was faltering.

"What are you doing to me?" He choked the words forth with impotent rage. The paralysis never released him; Blair's hands moved over his shoulders, warm through the cloth of the soft gray sweatshirt he wore.

"I'm showing you what you are. What we are."

Sweet warm hands continued to spread gentle caresses over his back. He bit his lip savagely, tasting blood. He hadn't had a woman since his senses peaked; the touch of the Guide's hands fired his senses against his will, ratcheting up his sensitivity to an almost painful level.

"Stop." Jim clenched his fists. "Stop touching me. Tell me what's happening." Desperation replaced anger.

The hands fell away reluctantly. "All right," Blair agreed. "It's the bonding, Jim. Sentinel to Guide. You're mine. I'm yours. Your body knows it. Your mind knows it. All you have to do is accept it, then we can start to work together, start to see what we can do--"

"No!" Jim roared and took a few stumbling steps away, crashing into the near wall blindly, striking at it savagely with his fists hoping for the pain to drown out the memory of that voice, wanting to destroy the sensation of that soft touch on him. But then Blair's body slipped between his hands and the wall, and he couldn't continue, couldn't strike out any longer. He sank to the floor and the warm hands fell on him again, pulling him close, cradling him in gentle arms. Soft salt-hot skin of Blair's throat against his face, Blair's warm cheek against his brow. Blair's strong, gentle hands soothing his bruised knuckles. Sapping his will to fight, draining away his anger and leaving defeat.

"I won't be your slave," Jim hissed, the last of his strength deserting him, leaving him with only words as defenses, sputtering forth in dying jets of anger. "I won't be your pet, your animal." *I'll die first.*

"Then let me Guide you," Blair murmured into his hair. "Don't make me force you, Jim."

Bleakly Jim subsided, let his Guide tug him to his feet and seat him on one of the room's two straight chairs. He watched, dull-eyed, while the man changed the bedding and plumped the pillows on the wide bed-- the only bed in the room. There wasn't even a couch. Of course.

"No," he whispered, latching onto the word, using it as a shield. "No. No. No." If that voice commanded him, if those hands touched him... he'd be on his belly in that bed, being used-- and worst of all, he'd want it; he'd want it if Sandburg told him to want it. He could still feel those hands on his shoulders, seeming to burn through the cloth; his penis was half-hard in anticipation of feeling them again.

How the hell did Sandburg do it?

He remembered Sentinel Mark bending over to take the whipping from Horton, his Guide, eyes closed while the blows rained down on his ass, and pictured himself kneeling, taking something even worse than a beating. Having his manhood taken from him, along with his pride and his independence... but he was already less than a man, was already succumbing to the power of this devilishly clever Guide. If Sandburg had beaten him, pushed him, there would be something concrete for Jim to cling to, for him to anchor himself in and use as a reminder not to trust, not to obey, not to protect.

But he hadn't, and there was nothing to anchor Jim, no focal point for his hatred. It spun, out of his control like everything else in his life, wheeling erratically in his head. He mustn't let it burn itself out, he had to feed it and maintain it, or he'd be left with nothing... he'd be beaten.

Sandburg finished making the bed and stood back to survey his work with satisfaction. "There's nowhere else to sleep. You can choose the floor or you can choose the bed. It's your decision." He began unbuttoning his shirt, tossing his Guide badge idly onto the table next to all the other tools of his trade. "I'll give you pillows and blankets if you want to lie on the floor, but I'd pick the bed if I were you. It can get pretty cold in here before morning. Ranier likes to cut corners on heating costs when they can." He shouldered out of his undershirt and Jim blinked, surprised by what was revealed.

Caught up in the stressful events of the evening, he'd half-forgotten to correct his first impression of the young man, even though Sandburg's bravado had proved that Jim's original estimate of his youth and fragility had been ill-judged. The Guide's hair was long and curly and his lips were soft, giving him an almost pretty, feminine look, but he had a nice mat of wiry chest hair and his body was sturdy, its solidity having been masked by the loose layers he wore. An electrum ring flashed on his chest, threaded through his left nipple. His muscles were undeveloped compared to Jim's but his body was well-formed and filled with the promise of strength and endurance, his skin pale but with a faint natural golden hue. He pushed his jeans down over slender, hairy thighs, revealing plaid flannel boxers. As he bent to untie his shoes he looked up at Jim, hair falling forward over his face. "Which is it going to be?"

Jim set his jaw and stayed where he was. "I'll never choose your bed willingly."

A flicker of hurt and disappointment appeared in the blue eyes. "Well, I'm not going to make you sleep with me, so don't get your hopes up." He sat down on the bed and slid his legs under the sheets, sinking back against one of the fat pillows.

Jim gritted his teeth, misery and loathing flaring again as the taunt hit home, exposing his shame. For a moment he hated himself almost more than he hated Sandburg, hated himself for wanting to be forced, for wanting the Guide's touch. *I just need that one reason to keep hating him. And he knows it somehow; he won't give it to me.* Maybe that was enough, maybe he could hate Sandburg for knowing him already, for reading him so well. He'd have to make it enough.

"I hate you," he whispered through clenched teeth. Sandburg lifted his head and tugged the pillow out from under it, staring at Jim for a long moment with clear, expressionless eyes.

"Come here," Sandburg murmured and Jim surged forward with almost indecent haste, eyes blazing with a defiance he didn't feel, ambivalent relief and bitter triumph singing in his veins, but the Guide dropped the pillow on the floor next to the bed and halted him with an upheld palm. "Lie there," he instructed in the soft inexorable voice, and Jim sagged with dismay, realizing he'd fallen easily to yet another trap, revealing his eagerness to be forced. He lay stiffly on the pillow, turning his back to the bed, his jaw aching with tension. Sandburg tugged a blanket off the bed and draped it over him, then lay on his belly, one arm trailing off the bed, the palm of that hand curved warmly over Jim's biceps. "Would you like me to come down there and lie with you?"

Jim bit his tongue fiercely, knowing his bitter struggle was visible on his face and despising himself for it. *I'm not fit to be rescued. Will anyone still recognize me if I ever get out?*

Sandburg lifted himself a little, shaking his head wryly. "You do want me to come down, don't you. Tell me not to come down there if you don't want me there, Jim."

Jim struggled against himself, but his tight-clenched jaw refused to cooperate, refused to push out the words his mind wanted. After a long moment Sandburg sat up and scrabbled with the bedding. Briefly a soft avalanche of soft blankets and pillows cascaded down around Jim, then his Guide was sitting up, turning out the light, and slipping down to lie next to him, all warm silky skin and springy soft hair.

Somehow as he tucked the bedding into a comfortable nest around they wound up nestled together, Blair's body tucked into the crook of Jim's. "That's better, isn't it?" he purred softly, voice already slurred with relaxation and impending sleep.

It was. Damn the kid, damn himself, but it was. It was just about the best thing he'd ever felt; it felt like sex and chocolate and cool pure water trickling down a parched throat on a hot day. It felt like coming home. He'd never smelled anything as fresh and light as the soft curls he'd buried his face in, curls that were growing wet now and sticking to his face as bitter tears stung his eyes and leaked from under the lids. The new tattoo on his neck hurt and the floor was cold under his hip and the man in his arms-- the Guide-- *his* Guide-- was everything he wanted, everything he needed, everything he feared and hated and resented, all wrapped up in one unbearably luscious, insidiously brilliant package.

He lay awake miserably for a long time, listening to the soft susurration of his Guide's blood and the low rush of his breathing; outside in the compound guards moved back and forth regularly. And then there was a click; Jim's body tensed and he slid slightly away from Sandburg, who murmured in protest and then stilled again. Was this it, could it be the rescue he'd hoped for?

His heart leaped eagerly. The door slid open, admitting a shaft of moonlight, then a dark-clad figure. The figure covered its mouth with a single finger, tucking away a lock decoder in a vest pocket, then stepped back to the door and light fell on his face. He lifted his arm away from his leg, the moonlight revealing a semi-automatic handgun. The gun's muzzle steadied in the vicinity of Jim's chest.

Jim's bubble of relief burst instantly. He didn't recognize the face, but the olive features and tilted eyes suggested Chinese descent; this had to be a hold-over from his next-to-last case. Obviously someone from the Chang Syndicate had heard the detective investigating him was a Full Sentinel, and decided it wasn't safe to leave him alive.

"Get up, Ellison. You're coming with me."

Very slowly, using Covert Ops stealth, Jim slid his arm from under his Guide's head, levering his body out of the cozy nest of blankets without letting in a draft to disturb the sleeping man. He shoved away the unwanted surge of relief when the wicked black ring of the gun's muzzle tracked him, moving away from his sleeping Guide.

"We were just going to kill you, Ellison," the man sneered, whispering low. "But then they caught you. The Syndicate wants you for itself, now. You've got nothing left, no rights, no assets, no status. You're property. Come with me and work for the Chang, and you can be your own property again. It's your only choice."

"It sounds like a good one to me." Jim's voice came out like rough silk; Sandburg stirred slightly at its sound. "Better than staying here. Let's go." He watched out of the corner of his eye as he dressed, pleased that he hadn't taken off his coverall; all he had to do was jam his feet into his shoes and step up close to the terrorist infiltrator, who was holding the cuffs from the small table. He reached to clip them on Jim's wrist, the gun he held wavering briefly.

Ellison exploded into motion, knocking the gun aside; five rounds squeezed off randomly and thudded into the walls with a dull horrible roar that deafened him. He screamed, soundless through a white lightning-blaze of agony; the world grayed out.

*****

"Come on, man. Jim! Come back to me. Focus on your vision. Focus on touch. Feel my hands, I'm touching you, Jim. Come back to me." Vague words from somewhere in a universe of thudding pain; he pried his eyes open and focused blearily on the agitated face of his Guide. "Yeah, that's it. You gotta let go, he's dead, Jim, let go. Let go."

His fingers responded woodenly, cramped and aching with a pain that was small compared to the roaring in his brain, jackhammering behind his eyes. Warm hands rested on his shoulders, stroking them. He looked down and saw the swollen, purpling face of the Asian terrorist, eyes frozen in a rictus of death above the pale streak of his throttling hands, closed violently around the man's throat.

Abruptly the world jerked into focus; he flinched away from a screaming whistle and the dull muffled roar of an explosion.

"What the fuck's going on, man?" His Guide tugged at him urgently and he released the corpse, letting himself be pulled away. "Who is that guy, and if he was trying to get you out, why'd you kill him?" Exasperated, Sandburg manhandled him into a corner, trying to curl them up into a protected ball. "Come on, Jim, get with it, I need you working on all cylinders. We've got to do something, somebody's bombing the place!"

"Yeah..." Jim blinked sluggishly, pulling himself together. "The assassin... he told me was from the Chang Syndicate. They were involved into one of my recent cases. I was trying to link them with a series of murders in Chinatown. I was chasing one of their operatives, but she--." he shut down fast, eyes growing opaque. "This guy wanted me to work for them, said he'd get me out if I..." he shook his head suddenly, pushing away the headache that hammered at his temples. "His backup must have heard the shots, decided I didn't want to go. They'll have orders to kill me."

A familiar soft metallic bounce interrupted his words; without thinking Jim snatched his Guide and pushed him into the corner, tucking the curly head against his chest and covering their heads as well as he could with his arms. The world exploded in dust and a spattering of painful impact; when Jim lifted his head moonlight filtered through the shattered rubble of the far wall.

"Grenade," he explained shortly as Sandburg squirmed to escape, poking his head up, staring at the remains of the smoking bed with shock. "I've got to get out of here before they pin me down." He shoved himself to his feet, ignoring the bleeding cuts on his arms and back. He kicked through the rubble hastily, finding the semi-automatic next to the dead man, half-buried in broken brick. Its grip fit comfortably in his palm. He started to launch himself toward the open wall, but felt his feet dragging. The memory of Sly's voice, half-unheard at the time, echoed in his head, filled with malice. *'They'll discipline you... extreme sanction.'*

On the threshold of action, muscles quivering with adrenaline he turned his gaze back at Sandburg... his Guide... and realized the man was sill sitting in the corner, staring at him quietly.

Extreme sanction. You didn't have to have a past in Covert Ops to know what that meant.

"Come with me." Jim's voice broke the silence hoarsely.

His mind screamed at him, cursing his weakness, cursing the quiet compulsion that kept him there while Sandburg made his decision, just waiting for the next grenade to strike him dead instead of running for it while he still could. A sputter of fire erupted from the main complex; it illuminated a jagged hole in the perimeter wall, just waiting for him to slip through and be free.

He ignored the screaming voices inside his aching head, lifting his hand and holding it out in silent, helpless invitation, not knowing what he would do if Sandburg refused. It was a moment of truth, the flipside of a coin Jim wasn't yet sure how to value or to spend.

Sandburg stood up, shattered wood falling away from him, and stared at Jim for an agonizingly long minute, then stepped forward, snagging his Guide badge from the table, which somehow had survived the attack, standing ironically near the middle of the room.

He was wearing only the plaid flannel boxers, already shivering in the bitter draft.

"Come on!" Jim hissed, urgency like gravel in his voice, and the man obeyed slowly, grimacing in pain as his bare feet landed on broken glass and rubble, coming to him. Another grenade exploded, shaking the world, and then Sandburg was against his side and they were running through the shadows together, machine-gun fire masking the thumping of their footsteps.

Then they were through the wall, and Jim sprayed a fan of fire at the sentries waiting in the truck there, striking two right away. The third managed to open fire, but his shots went wild; he fell screaming when Jim's bullets caught him, sending him tumbling into the truck bed. Caught by a stray bullet, the gas tank ignited and exploded, sending searing heat washing over Jim, singeing hair and tightening skin; he rolled with the impact, his Guide tucked protectively under his body.

"There they are!" A sudden scream from across the complex, and Jim's vision homed in on a small knot of people, one pointing toward them. Sly, his face twisted with rage, his eyes narrowed at Jim and Blair across the hundred yards that separated them. Jim blinked, a puzzle piece falling neatly and unexpectedly into place in his mind even as Sly shouted again. "It's Sandburg, they're escaping, he's making a break for it with his new Sentinel!"

Then machine gun fire drowned out his words and a coughing explosion spewed smoke, obliterating the line of vision. Jim snatched his Guide up, hauling him past the fire, the blaze billowing dangerously as wind blew it toward the remaining truck. Thank God: the keys were in it. He tumbled the corpse of the driver out onto the tarmac and climbed in, his Guide darting around the front fender to yank open the door and jump in. Jim's vision caught a momentary snapshot of Sandburg's bare back, gilded by the orange of the gasoline fire, snowflakes paradoxically fluttering around him and clinging in his tousled hair.

"Last chance to stay," Jim turned the key in the ignition savagely.

"I'm going with you, wherever you go." Blair was turning blue with cold, his shivering body clutched inside the circle of his arms.

Jim jammed the truck into gear and peeled out, leaving the hellish chaos behind them quickly, just as the first sirens began to moan in the far distance. "Sly saw us. All the way across the compound." Sandburg ignored him, still caught up in his own misery, fumbling for the heater with cold-numbed fingers. "That Guide has Sentinel abilities." Jim explained, voice taut, scanning the rear view mirror for signs of pursuit. "He's got to be a hidden Sentinel, like I was."

Blair blinked at him with shock, then nodded, accepting. "That's... almost impossible, but if anyone could do it, Sly could." He swallowed hard. "I heard him yelling that we were making a break for it." Suddenly his face looked bleak, lost. "We can't go back, man. I can't go back. I left with you, if I go back they'll take you away from me and--" he shook his head fiercely. "I don't care what they'd do to me, but they can't have you!"

Jim nodded curtly, setting aside the question of how Sandburg meant that and whether or not the Guide still thought he owned Jim, leaving it for another time. Now that he knew the kid would listen to him when it mattered, now that he was away from the prison-like facility, they didn't seem as important. Instead, he was wondering what the hell was going on; the Chang Syndicate wasn't the sort to use bombs and grenades and all-out frontal attack. They preferred to employ assassins and subtler tactics, slipping in and out with the subtle stealth of a knife-blade whenever possible. And if they'd wanted him to come work for them, why hadn't they sent Lila, to ensure that he'd come quietly? A flicker of pain stabbed him. This wasn't what it seemed. No, something else was going on, Jim was sure of it.

He made a rapid decision. He had to trust someone, and Sandburg was his only candidate. "My brother has a summer cabin in the woods north of Cascade. There's no record he owns it; he didn't want to pay taxes on it after one of the high-rollers gave it to him in return for an insider tip at the track. If we can make it there without being followed, we might..." his voice trailed away as he checked the rear-view mirror. Get down," Jim commanded, staring into the rear-view mirror, his voice taut. There's someone behind us."

PART 8
By
StormwolfDawn

"Who do you think it is?" Blair asked.

Jim shrugged, "Who knows."

"Well find out. Just look in the rearview mirror, and zoom in on the guys face in the image. I'll keep you from zoning."

Jim looked at the guide. The kid was still wearing only the flannel boxers, the guide tag hanging around his neck. His face and skin were mottled with blood, some his, some not. Small scratches from flying glass and clay decorated his face and chest. But even huddled in on himself trying to soak up what little warmth that was coming from the truck's heater, Sandburg still had a strong commanding presence. He was deferring to Jim for the moment, probably because of Jim's experience in the current situation, but all the training and discipline Blair had gone through was still there. And should the situation call for it, Blair would and could take command. Like at the moment.

Jim nodded, and Blair reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. Jim looked at the rearview mirror, and as Blair talked him through it while the guide steered the truck with one hand, Jim zeroed in on the person following them in a black Ford Excursion.

The face revealed itself, and Jim slowed to a stop and pulled over on the side of the road.

"What are you doing?" Blair asked.

"Getting answers." Jim said.

The Ford Excursion pulled up behind the truck and the driver, one of three people in the vehichle stepped out and trudged through snow to reach the truck. Jim rolled down the window.

The man looked through the window, his emarald green eyes looking directly at Sandburg, then turned its attention to the sentinel.

"Brady, what the fuck is going on?" Jim asked in a tightly controled voice, anger evident.

v "Ever heard of Humans First, Ellison?" Brady said.

v "That's the group that thinks sentinels are abominations to the human race and should be exterminated." Blair said.

Brady nodded.

"Is that who launched the attack on the compound?" Jim asked Brady wondering what the ex-Ranger's role was in the night's adventure.

Brady laughed a bit, "Ellison, I gotta tell you, you are one popular person tonight. Not only did the Chang syndicate send a couple of people for you, but Humans First launched an attack on the compound and at the same time my people were there to extract you. Hell, if I had know about the others coming in ahead of time, this little fiasco wouldn't have happened."

"You were planning to get me out." Jim asked.

"When I heard what happened, I knew the time had come for me to pay my debt to you. Not all countries have the same laws about sentinels, Ellison. I though I'd get you out, set you up a place in Peru, and maybe then I could talk you into working for me."

Peru. Jim knew about Peru. He had been planning to run to Peru. Everything had nearly been ready, but then he had zoned in the bullpen in front of everyone. Brady was right. Peru had a different view of sentinels than the US. The laws were not nearly as strict and sentinels had more freedom. They were still bonded to guides, and still marked as sentinels, but had the freedom to choose their own guides, live their own lives, and be essentially free.

"Brady after tonight, working for you sounds like a good idea." Jim said.

Brady smiled. Then he nodded his head in Blair's direction, "And him?"

Jim looked over at Blair. The kid was realising that Jim could leave him. Maybe even have him killed because Jim was now in the company of HIS friends.

"He goes with us." Jim said.

Brady nodded.

They abandoned the truck and climbed into the excursion. Brady had clothes for them both, and Jim got out of the hated jumpsuit and into a pair of jeans, a sweater and a pai of hiking boots. Blair's clothes fit him loosely since they were meant for Jim, but they were warm.

The other men in the Excursion worked for Brady. Jim didn't know them, but knew that their backgrounds would be military. Brady's people were all ex-military with extensive training.

When Jim looked at Brady's men suspiciously, Brady reassured him. "Don't worry, Captain. These men are loyal to me, not my money."

Jim nodded.

They rode in silence for awhile until Blair spoke up, "Do you know what happened back at the compound?" Blair asked.

"Your people were able to repel the invasion force sent by Human's First, though they took casualties." Brady answered at Jim's nod.

Blair nodded and lapsed back into silence.

They drove to a private airport where a jet, fueled and ready, waited for them.

The Excursion was parked inside the hangar, and the six of them boarded the jet.

Jim would curse himself later for not being more alert.

When they entered the plane, it was Jim who first felt the sting of a dart in his already sore neck. He reached up and removed the dart and saw the men on the plane. They were dressed in black fatigues, and carried AR-15's which they aimed at the boarding party. Three more men with AR-15's followed up behind and the men had to give up.

Jim fell to his knees as the drug began to work, and his vision blurred. He felt Blair's hands clutching his shoulders and the worried voice speaking to him, though he did not understand the words. He looked up and saw the man with the air rifle move toward them, then everything went black.

Jim awoke a few hours later. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Blair's face looking at him with concern. He could feel the guide's hand stroking his shoulder in arm in a calming and soothing manner.

Jim groaned. The tranqu had left him a gift of a headache that started behind his eyes and wound round his temples in a crushing grip.

"Easy, Jim, take it easy."

The soothing voice floated into his head, and notch by notch the pain began to recede as the voice flowed on, the hand continuing its insistent petting on his arm.

Finally, the headache cleared as did his vision and Jim tried to set up. Fear gripped him when he realised that the heavy weight he had felt around his neck was metal collar, with a chain that ran from it to a ring bolted into the floor. From the feel in his ears, Jim knew they were still on the jet which was now in the air.

"What's going on?' Jim asked. He was afraid that the compound had caught up with them, now he wasn't so sure.

"I don't know. So far they haven't said anything. Brady and the others were taken off the plane. I'm sorry Jim. I heard gunshots. You don't think..." Blair didn't finish.

Jim tried to think about it. Brady dead. Possibly. Or maybe their captors wanted them to think that. Jim hated to think that Brady might have set them up.

"I don't know." Jim said. "How long have I been out?"

"Little less than an hour." Blair said.

"Must have not been strong stuff." Jim mused.

"Oh it was. Could have dropped a horse. But you sentinels have a strange metabolism. Burn sedatives faster."

Jim looked at the speaker. It was the man who had used the air rifle to dart Jim. He was short, with blond hair that fell over his gray eyes. He, like the others, wore dark fatigues.

"Who are you?" Jim asked.

"That is not your concern, sentinel." The man said, then he looked at Blair. "We will be landing in a few hours. I am sure you are hungry. I will have someone bring you and your sentinel some dinner." And with that he left the passenger cabin and went into the cockpit.

Jim looked at the five guards that sat in the passenger area with them, all carrying AR-15's, and a .45 in a holster at their waists. Then he looked at Blair. "Well, at least I know where I stand with this group." He said angrily, then laid back down on the couch, chain rattling as he did.

Blair watched him, the sat down in the chair next to the couch and waited.

Dinner plates were brought. The two of them ate in silence.

Eventually, the plane gradually lost altitude as the jet manuevered for a landing.

Within a few hours, the jet landed smoothly, and came ot a stop. The blonde came into the passenger area, and while two guards pointed their weapons at Jim, the blonde unlocked the chain from the ring on the floor. The man wrapped the chain around his hand a few times then motioned to Blair to proceede them off the plane.

When they walked out of the doors, the first thing Blair noticed that it was warm. he looked around and realised they were on an island in the tropics. They stepped down off the plane, and walked over to were a limo waited them. The driver opened the door and they stepped inside.

They drove through a small fishing village to a large mansion situated on the top of a mountain. At the mansion they stepped out of the limo.

Waiting for them at the top of the mansion stairs was a man in an Armani suit, light tan in color, with a cane beneath his left hand. As they got closer, Blair could see the patch stiched into the left breast of his coat. It was simliar to the markings of the Sentinel Rainier Compound. Two dark circles intertwined with a red triangle pointed down. The Egyptian symbol for the mouth on one side, the ear on the other, below the eye was for the hand, and nose below the ear and in the center of the triangle was the eye. Below the symbol was an exquisitely stitched white wolf. The man's personal symbol, and Blair knew the man to be a guide.

Blair looked at Jim. He couldn't see it, but beneath the collar was nearly the same symbol tatooed into the sensitive skin. Except in place of the white wolf was a grey wolf. Blair personal sigil. And the spirit guide that walked his dreams.

Blair looked at the man. He had chestnut curls that were cut short and framed his face. Bright blue eyes looked at Blair, eyes that were crinkled around the edges from age. A few gray streaks cut through the hair. The man smiled as Blair came forward.

"Welcome to my home, Blair. My beloved son." The man said. And Blair immediately knew who it was. The man Naomi had hoped to avoid, and hoped Blair would never meet. Jacob Stillman, his biological father. The man he had inherited his guide abilities from, because like Blair his father had also been a guide. Trained at Rainier, until, like Blair, he left with his sentinel, and became a wanted fugitive. During those years he had also fathered a child on a woman whose wander lust had brought her within his reaches and his bed.

Blair didn't know why he did it, nor did he remember consciously deciding to do it, but one moment Jacob had been standing there smiling, the next he had staggered back as Blair's fist connected with Jacob's nose.

Jacob looked at his son, blood pouring out of his nose, and laughed. Yes, indeed, the boy was truly his son.

PART 9
by
Loke

"It's not very damn funny," Blair snarled, "and as for 'beloved son', I only found out who you were when the Institute ran my genetic profile against their records. What do you want, anyway?" Please, please don't let it be Jim. There was no sign of his father's sentinel.

"You're not even going to thank me for saving your life?" he said after regaining his composure and wiping away the blood from his face. "There was no reason for keeping you alive once your Sentinel reached Peru. Did you really think he was going to choose you, after having been forced to accept you at the Institute? I simply wanted to make sure you kept what was yours: I'd heard about the assaults by the Chang syndicate and Humans First, and I also knew about Sly Andrews. A real piece of work, that one. The epitome of what normal humans want in a Guide -- how revoltingly pathetic."

"Pathetic isn't my first choice of words to describe Sly," Blair stated. "Sadistic and psychotic are running neck-and-neck for the honor. Probably the result of having to hide he's a Sentinel for all these years."

"Andrews is a Sentinel?" Stillman asked. "Are you certain?"

"He saw us escaping and shouted a warning from several hundred yards away," Jim said, speaking up for the first time.

"That is intriguing," the older Guide remarked, "and possibly useful."

"Useful for what?" Blair asked, the idea of Sly being a Sentinel finally penetrating his brain for the first time. "He'd almost certainly have to be destroyed, especially now that he's had Guide training. He's too unstable for even the strongest and most experienced of Guides to handle. He'd go rogue, and he'd be the worst kind of rogue: a killer almost impossible to catch and striking at random."

Jim stared at Blair as if seeing him for the first time. Here was his Guide -- his GUIDE, for Chrissakes -- calmly advocating the cold-blooded killing of a man who had been one of his colleagues just the day before. Maybe not someone he got along with very well, but it still gave him the shivers. What if he decided his Sentinel was "too dangerous"? Would he calmly have Jim "destroyed"? Stillman was speaking again.

"Useful for discrediting the Institute, of course," he said. "When I said 'revoltingly pathetic' earlier I was referring to how the Institute shapes public opinion for their own ends. How are they going to explain this? They had a Sentinel right under their noses and didn't even notice, because he made the perfect picture of a Guide! Oh, the press is going to rip them to pieces!" He chortled, rubbing his hands together like an old movie villain.

"But we need the Institute to train Guides and Sentinels so they won't go rogue," Blair pointed out. "Oh, God! I've got to warn them about Andrews! Is there a phone or something nearby?" He looked around, as if the desired object would appear out of thin air as requested.

"They wouldn't believe you even if I allowed it," his father replied. "Don't concern yourself; I'll see to it Andrews is reported within the hour, and by someone with far more credibility than yourself. I've had quarters prepared for you and your Sentinel; since I know you're still working on your bond you'll remain there for the next few days. You'll find clothing and personal needs already there; meals will be delivered to you." He indicated to the man still holding the chain attached to Jim's collar that he should show them the way, and turned to go.

The blond haired man tugged on the chain, and Jim and Blair followed him to a medium-sized cabin. Upon entering, they discovered it had 3 rooms, living room, bedroom, and bath, but no kitchen, although there was a breakfast nook in one corner of the living room. The bath was extra large, with a sunken tub equipped with Jacuzzi jets and large enough for several people.

It was the bedroom, however, which garnered the most attention. It was completely equipped: restraints and harnesses adorned the walls, along with a selection of whips, prods, tazers, and stun rods. Two separate closets, each with a large selection of clothes, one set in Blair's size and the other in Jim's. A large four-poster bed with an iron frame, with a number of metal rings attached.

The blond pulled Jim over next to the bed. "How do you want him restrained?" he asked.

"I don't," replied Blair, "and could you get that collar off him?"

"Your funeral," the man remarked, locking the end of the chain to a ring on the bed. He handed the keys to the Guide. "Just let me get outside before you release him, OK?" Blair nodded and let him go.

He was locating the right key and unlocking Jim's collar almost before he heard the door slam and lock. Jim rubbed his neck and twisted his head around, trying to get the kinks out. "What now?" he asked.

"How about a bath? You can't be too happy about how either of us smells." They'd had no opportunity to clean up, and only the short trip to the private airport to apply first aid. "Let me check the bath supplies and you can go first if you want."

A check of the soap and shampoo proved them to be Sentinel-safe; they were the same brand used at the Institute. Jim looked at the oversized tub, which was beginning to fill, and at a decidedly wilted-looking Blair; the strain of recent events was catching up with him. "Why don't you join me, just this once? I can check your feet for glass or other slivers."

The Guide simply nodded and started removing his too-large clothing, as did the Sentinel. He was just pulling off the last item when he heard a hiss of pain. He turned to find Blair with one foot in the water and wearing a grimace. He picked the smaller man up and, after reaching the bottom of the tub, gently lowered both of them into the water. He set Blair with his back to the side of the tub and reached for one of his feet.

Grabbing a bar of soap, he lathered his hands and washed the foot, using his sense of touch to locate injuries and debris. He removed several splinters and slivers of glass before rinsing the foot and using his sight to check for any he missed. He was so intent he nearly zoned, but a few words and a touch from his Guide pulled him back. He removed a few more bits of glass and debris before repeating his ministrations on the other foot with equal scrutiny. He then proceeded to check all of Blair's other injuries with the same thoroughness, washing nearly every part of his body in the process. The only places he missed were his face, buttocks and groin; he even washed his hair, after picking all the glass and debris out of it.

Jim didn't realize what he was doing until he finished, and then he mentally cursed himself. Why should he care if this near-stranger was OK? He knew he should fight these feelings of protectiveness, but he just couldn't; the developing bond between them was too strong, and growing stronger by the hour. He felt the touch of a soap-slippery cloth against his arm and flinched away.

"It's all right," he heard Blair saying, "I'm just checking your injuries the same as you did mine. I'm not going to touch you anywhere you didn't touch me." He was as good as his word, going no higher than mid-thigh and no lower than Jim's navel in front and the small of his back, and never touching him with his bare hands except when he was examining a wound. Though there were many wounds, none were deep enough or long enough to be serious; bandaging should be sufficient for the worst of them.

After he was finished, Blair offered the cloth to Jim so he could wash the places he hadn't, but he just grabbed the soap and washed himself with his hands. Blair rinsed out the cloth and used it to wash his own unwashed places. By the time he was finished Jim was out of the tub and drying himself. He hit the toggle to open the drain and made his own way out of the tub, trying not to let his Sentinel see or hear how much putting weight on his damaged feet hurt.

He didn't succeed very well; he was wrapped in a dry towel, lifted up and set down on the lid of the toilet, which had been lowered to accommodate him. Jim poked around in the cabinets while Blair dried himself, coming up with a good-sized first aid kit. He pulled out first aid cream, bandages, and gauze, and proceeded to dress his Guide's feet. He allowed Blair to dress the rest of his own wounds when he could reach them, while he tended himself, except for wounds he couldn't reach and needed his Guide's assistance.

When they were finished tending themselves, Jim carried Blair into the bedroom and put him on the bed, grabbing the first pair of boxers he found from Blair's closet and passing them to him. He found underwear for himself and put it on, took the towels back to the bathroom and hung them up, and returned to the bedroom to find Blair already asleep. Not really wanting to, he laid down on top of the covers and spooned against the smaller man, knowing the slightest noise would wake him.

PART 10
by
Patt

The Sentinel slept all night long with his arms wrapped around his guide. He hadn't slept like this in ages. Not since they had taken him away from his life as he once knew it. When he woke, he stared at his sleeping guide.

Blair was a beautiful man, he had never really thought of men like that, but he couldn't help. It was something that was between them, whether they wanted it or not.

He moved closer to Blair and hoped that he wasn't being used by him. He didn't know who to trust any longer. Simon has sworn to try and get him out of there, but at this point, he didn't trust anyone.

The indignities he had been forced to live through were almost more than he could take. He almost wished he was dead. But the only thing that they would probably kill him for would be because he killed his guide. And he wouldn't even do that. He had feelings for Blair. When did that start? He felt so protective towards him.

Blair was starting to stir and Jim didn't move fast enough before Blair woke up all the way and Blair smiled at his sentinel. "Did you sleep well, Jim?" Blair asked quietly, knowing that Jim's senses were still compeletly off kilter.

"Yes," Jim answered, "Thank you for asking."

Blair looked at him and said, "How hard do you think it would be to get away from here? Do we have any chance at all? That man you met, Jacob Stillman? Well, he is my father, but he is a very evil man. I don't trust him as far as I can throw him. We really need to get away from here."

"Lets hold off on that, Blair." Jim requested, "we can get moving as soon as your feet are healed up. In the mean time, we'll try to just stay here and keep out of everyone's way. They think that we are supposed to be bonding, so let them think whatever they want."

Blair reached up and rubbed his fingers across Jim's lips as they laid there on the bed thinking of what they were to do. Jim shivered, even though it wasn't cold. In fact it was plenty warm. Blair then moved up so that their faces were apart from each other and Blair said, "Can I kiss you?"

Jim was shocked by this question. He had seen the other guides through the years and didn't think he would ever have a choice. Smiling, he said, "Yes, I would like that."

When their lips touched, it was like a major connection was made. Blair knew right then that Jim was his and his forever. He'd do anything he could to keep him safe and sound. Jim was thinking the same thing at the very same time. Jim knew that he wouldn't ever try to get away from his guide.

Jim opened up his mouth so that Blair could enter him with his tongue. They were both moaning into each others mouths. It had been a long time for both of them. Blair pulled away from Jim and said, "Jim, I want to wait until you don't feel like you have to do this. I want this to be something we both want and want badly."

Jim brushed his hand down the front of Blair and felt the swollen cock and rubbed his erection against Blair's and got a rhythm going and before long they were both coming. It didn't take long.

"Next time," Blair said, "just you and me somewhere quiet and no one or anything to bother us, ever."

Jim said, "There is a phone next to the bed and I tried to use it this morning, but it's not connected, or if it is, not to the outside world. Just between houses, I think."

Right then, it rang making them both jump. Not expecting that at all. Blair picked it up saying, "Hello?"

"Good morning, son," Stillman said, "I wanted to call and let you know that breakfast was on it's way. That way you and the Sentinel have time to clean up before breakfast. You have to keep this all private. Don't let the help see you with the Sentinel. It's one thing knowing about it, but quite another seeing it or smelling it. I'll talk to you later today."

Blair slammed the phone down and said, "He's got the fucking room bugged or maybe on camera's. He knew that you and I had been together and knows what we did." Blair started shaking at the thought of someone watching them in a very private moment. Now, he knew how Jim must feel all the time.

Jacob Stillman, sat at his dining room table and told his partner, Martin, "I was hoping to bring Blair into the business, but he's not willing to adapt. I can tell. We'll have to get rid of him. But that Sentinel will be worth it to all of us. He's quite a fine speciman."

He'll bring in a good price, but we have to keep him sexually away from my son. I know they did a little something today, so now I need them to be separated. He can't penetrate Sentinel Ellison or the price will go down. Virgin Sentinel's are worth triple the money. And if they are ones that will fight, all the better."

"Who is interested," Martin asked, "and how much is triple the money?"

"Martin," Jacob said, "leave that all to me. It's not anything for you to worry about. Now we just need to get them apart from each other.

Jim had been sitting outside on the patio, getting some sun before breakfast and decided to try listening for sounds and people to see how many were here. He now knew what Blair' father had planned for him and this scared the shit out of him.

Walking into the condo, Blair looked up from his reading and whispered, "What's wrong? I can tell that something happened."

"Your father plans on selling me on a open market for virgin Sentinels." Jim whispered back, "And they are going to separate us so that I will remain that way. They also think I'll put up a fight which will bring more money."

Pulling Jim down on the bed, Blair said, "I can take care of part of that right now, so they can't hold that over our heads. It's up to you."

Jim stood up and slowly took his clothing off and slipped into the bed. Blair knew that he was scared, so was he. They'd make it good for both of them.

Jim put his fingers up to his lips and made a shush sign. If they heard them, they'd be there in record time to separate them. They started making love to each other in pure quiet and both men, were quite shocked at how wonderful it could be.

Afterwards, Jim was lying on the bed and said, "Thank you. This will make them angry at both of us, but at least now they don't have that to use against us. You were wonderful."

"So were you," Blair whispered, "and when we are out of here, I plan to show you how much more I'd like to do with you."

They began kissing again and Jim's cock was growing hard again. He knew that Blair would be willing to do this again. He needed them to do it once more. Except that this time, everyone would hear it and there would be no mistaking who he belonged to."

PART 11
by
BlackRose

When his companion's head jerked up, face turning towards the window, Jacob Stillman did not react even though he knew very well what the cause was. Not until he had completed his chain of thought, fingers tapping swiftly across the keys of his laptop, did he glance up and look idylly at the window which showed only undisturbed green leaves and blue sky beyond. "Five minutes to ten. Good. I admire punctuality. At ease, Martin."

The last was to the other man, who, at the words, relaxed and looked away from the direction he had been intently staring. Turning back to the desk that faced Jacob's, he began sweeping the papers that littered it into a neat stack. "Two minutes until they touch down. You sent Cassie to meet them?"

"Yes," Jacob replied distractedly, fingers once again busy upon the keyboard in a riot of clicks.

Martin slipped the papers into a drawer and shoved it closed, harder then necessary. The older man didn't appear to even notice the noise. Sighing, Martin leaned his elbows against the desk. "This is your new buyer?"

"Prospective buyer," Jacob corrected. Beneath his hands the computer screen flickered and went dark. He still hadn't glanced up, but his tone grew a touch sharper as he closed the laptop with a snap, putting it to one side. "Don't sulk, Martin. It doesn't become you."

He did look up then, eyes locking with the younger man. It was Martin who looked away first, gaze downcast as a dull flush stained his cheeks. In another moment he had recovered himself, leaning back in his chair, a sardonic grin on his lips. "Yes... Sir."

Stillman tsked quietly against his teeth. "Stop that." Reaching for the cane that was propped against the desk, he climbed heavily to his feet. "You're to be on your best behavior during this visit, Martin," he warned. "I mean that. If this client is good, we stand to gain quite a bit."

Martin pursed his lips, lacing his hands behind his head as he slouched down slightly. "'Quite a bit', eh? When *you* say that, you're talking the national debt of small countries. Where's the catch?" Before Jacob could reply Martin grinned, raising his hands. "No, wait... let me guess. He's looking for a *female*," he sketched an hour glass shape in the air, "42, 26, 38, caucasian, a natural red-head, between sixteen and twenty-five years old, *virgin*, AND a full sentinel!"

Stillman, who's lips had twitched slightly with each outrageous addition to the hypothetical requirements, made a masterful attempt to suppress his grin. "Would you please *try* to be serious? No, no, and no. We have the stock on hand to fulfill his minimum requirements. The question is the client himself."

Martin sat up, all playfulness abruptly forgotten. "Background check threw up flags?"

Sniffing slightly with irritation, Jacob brushed down his already impeccable suit. "No. Not a one. *That's* what makes me cautious. It's all too... neat. Less than thirty-six hours ago he put out inquiries on the buyer's net, looking for a full sentinel. Male, caucasian, English speaking, well built, little or no training. Bonded status and anything else left completely open."

Martin's eyes narrowed. "Ellison."

Jacob smiled slightly, a not entirely pleasant expression. "He does rather come to mind, doesn't he?" The smile disappeared, replaced by a firm, angry set to his jaw. "Speaking of which... still down, I presume?"

Martin's expression turned inward momentarily, his eyes unfocused. "Yes," he replied firmly. Shaking his head slightly, he refocused on Stillman. "He and the kid both. The gas is keyed to refresh every two hours."

The older man nodded. "No adverse reaction?"

"No. Heart rate, respiratory, all regular."

Jacob sighed, smoothing back a wayward curl of his hair. "Good. The labs got a fair sample from him earlier. I dislike using the gas too long, but he and Blair are at a precarious state in the bonding and I'd rather it not go any further just yet."

Martin snorted, shoving his chair back and standing up with a join cracking stretch. "That'd be a sealed deal if you hadn't put observation on them. Ellison has quite a range on his ears for not having any real training."

"A good Guide compensates for the Sentinel's flaws," Jacob replied. "That he overheard us was... unfortunate, but hardly irrecoverable. We would have had to separate them in any case. Their precipitous little plan to seal the bond just forced our hand slightly earlier." He paused, smiling slightly. "It *did* put Ellison in a receptive frame of mind for the suggestions. The labs said the sperm count was quite high."

Martin barked a sharp laugh, his flashing grin feral. "You'll show him to the buyer, then? Sell him off quick?"

Frowning slightly, Jacob reached out to place the back of his hand against the younger man's cheek. "Enough. You've better control then that," he chided. Martin swallowed, his expression fading away. Flushing, he reached up to cover Stillman's hand with his own, turning his face into it for a moment before drawing a breath and letting both hands drop.

"Sorry," he said shortly.

Jacob shook his head slightly, somber. "It's your nature, Martin. But rational thought can overcome instinct - we are not, after all, our primitive ancestors."

"I know," Martin began, then broke off, his head turning towards the door. "They're here."

"So they are," Jacob murmured. "Well, then... shall we go greet our esteemed guests?"

-----

The limousine was a part of the decor, as much as the swaying palms that lined the drive or the white marble of the steps that Jacob stood upon. Long, white, and sleek, the vehicle was a model of its kind and certainly not something one would consider tiny.

Except that it looked positively small compared to the man who had unfolded himself from the passenger seat. Standing at his full height, he dwarfed everything around him - the car, the statuesque blonde driver who held the door for him, the two heavyset men who climbed out after him... certainly he towered over Jacob, who, on the bottom step, just cleared the man's broad shoulder.

He hadn't made his fortune in the drug trade, though, as was so common - Jacob would have wagered on it. He didn't have the flash and glitter found in that set.

The tailored suit was neat and tailored on straight lines that emphasized the man's height and width, the deep black complementing his dark skin. Sharp eyes picked out the subdued glitter of cufflinks and a pocket watch chain, while gold wire rimmed glasses presented a more scholarly appearance then one expected in drug or arms dealers. The background check had indicated the buyer's money was old - not that it mattered to Jacob, who was quite willing to trade in any money, old or new.

But old money, family money, required a different approach. Particularly when it was 'Family', capitalized and solemn sounding, Jacob reflected, keeping one eye on the two flanking bodyguards.

The client was looking at him, eyes clear and glittering behind the rim of the glasses. "Jacob Stillman?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble.

Smiling, Jacob descended the last stair, stepping forward with a slight bow. "I am he. Welcome.... Mr. Simon Cebancs, yes? I trust your flight was a pleasant one. Please, come in."

PART 12
By
Xandria

The client was looking at him, eyes clear and glittering behind the rim of the glasses. "Jacob Stillman?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble.

Smiling, Jacob descended the last stair, stepping forward with a slight bow. "I am he. Welcome.... Mr. Simon Cebancs, yes? I trust your flight was a pleasant one. Please, come in."

"Thank you." they entered and Jacob led Simon to his office where they sat.

"Cigar? And what would you like to drink?" Jacob said, as Mark opened a box of Cubans and offered it to Simon before going to the drinks cabinet.

"Glenfiddich. Your message said you had a Sentinel for me."

"Yes. By a strange coincidence I just happen to have acquired one that meets your specifications. May I ask why you want one?"

"Do you always ask your clients what they will do after buying?"

"Of course not. But, having been in the business for a while now, I know the market. I've never heard of you."

"I'm sure your background check would have shown you I am in the market. Let me be quite clear. What I do with this Sentinel or any I may buy from you in the future is none of your concern. Let's just say that my family unexpectedly lost some...stock and we need to replace it."

"Replace it?"

"Breeding stock, Mr. Stillman. My family has been breeding them for several centuries now."

"But sentinels have only been recognized in the last century."

"In Western society, yes. But surely with your own history you would know that certain cultures never forgot."

"I see. But why one with these specifications then?" Simon smiled, showing his teeth in a feral grin.

"We specialise. Now shall we see the goods? Or have I wasted my time?"

"Of course." Jacob pressed a button on his desk and a section of the wall paneling turned around to reveal a large flat screen TV. Another button turned it on to show Blair and Jim lying in bed together, curled around each other.

"Why are there two of them?" Simon demanded.

"The one on the left is Jim Ellison, Sentinel, former policeman and only just discovered. The one on the right is Blair, Guide, and only just trained at Rainier. They have only been together a few days and have not instituted a full bond."

"And why are they still together like that then?"

"Because they were about to so I had them gassed...lightly to keep them asleep. It's enough to keep them under and not harm them but too light to separate them. They have formed enough of a bond to fight if we do separate them."

"So is that Blair the Blair Sandburg who scored so high at the Rainier facility? The one who also happens to be your son."

"Yes. I see you had a background check made on me as well."

"Naturally. Are you attached to your son, Mr Stillman?"

"Why?"

"My family wouldn't mind if I brought home a Guide as well. One untried like him can be trained to our specifications as easily as a Sentinel like you claim Jim to be."

"You want the Guide as well?"

"Why not? You say they have a preliminary bond. That would be fine. We can ensure they bond the way we have had them traditionally do in our business. Just how preliminary are we talking about here?"

"One session of mutual groping. Enough that a few subliminal suggestions have resulted in some very good results."

"What kind of results?"

"Several sperm samples from both of them. My own organization deals in breeding as well, and invitro-fertilization ensures that no sperm will be wasted. I know for a fact that my genes breed true as Blair shows the potential to be a good Guide. And the Sentinel, in spite of being untrained, has already shown a good potential as well."

"I see. That would do nicely. I would like to take the Guide as well."

"This is my son, Mr Cebancs." Simon smiled again and his teeth glinted in the semidarkness of the room.

"One you never met until now. I am aware of your reputation, Mr Stillman. How much extra for your son?"

PART 13
By
Lokemele

Stillman named a figure, and Cebancs raised an eyebrow. It was nearly twice what he was asking for the Sentinel. "Isn't that a bit steep for an unproven Guide?"

"You said it yourself," Stillman replied, "he received high marks from Rainier, and he's finished training. A finished product will always bring a higher price."

They dickered for some considerable time before agreeing to a price which, while lower than the original, was still considerably more than the price of the Sentinel. They concluded business with an electronic transfer of funds and Cebancs asked, "How soon can I take delivery of my merchandise?"

"I can have them doped and ready to go in an hour," Stillman assured him. "How long do you want them out for?"

"I'll be airborne in about three hours," Cebancs said. "Make it for that long; once we're in the air they won't be so adverse to listening to reason."

Technicians quietly slipped into the bedroom and sedated the pair. Taking care not to separate them too long or too far, they were dressed, restrained, and transported to Cebancs private jet. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you," Stillman said, passing the keys to Cebancs before he boarded. The jet taxied down the runway and lifted off.

"I just hope Rainier and the city aren't going to scream too loudly when they find out how much I had to shell out for you guys," Capt. Simon Banks said to his former detective and his not-quite Guide. "And I hope you can forgive me, Jim, for bringing you back to them." He left them restrained, as per his orders if he discovered they hadn't fully bonded, in separate makeshift beds, to awaken on their own.

Jim woke first, testing his bonds and howling for Blair. He calmed instantly when he saw Simon until he looked into his sad eyes. "I can't let you be together. A situation has come up back in Cascade that requires an unbonded Blair."

"He's NOT unbonded," Jim protested, forcing Simon to explain about the drugging and suggestion Stillman had forced on the pair. "But it felt so real, Simon, and so -- right. Wait a minute; you said Cascade. Simon, please tell me we're not going back. I can't live like that. Tell me we're going to Peru."

"I'm sorry, Jim," the other man said, "but Rainier and the mayor's office both approached me about retrieving the pair of you for this case; they funded your purchase price." He didn't mention Blair was the priority, and if he'd had to let Stillman retain Jim to get the Guide he was ordered to do so. He was simply glad it hadn't come to that.

"What sort of case requires an unbonded Guide?" Jim demanded.

"Can it wait until Sandburg's awake?" Simon asked. "I'd like to brief the pair of you together."

"Brief us about what?" a sleepy-voiced Blair asked.

"Before I begin," Simon said, "I'd like to make sure you're as comfortable as possible. Do either of you need to use the facilities? Do you want anything to eat or drink?"

After both men had used the restroom (separately), and been served juice in boxes and sandwiches (easier to eat in handcuffs), Simon began:

"When the Facility was attacked there were casualties, but not all of were the result of the attack. The public isn't yet aware of this, or of the identity of the killer. Blair, did you have any idea one of your fellow students was a hidden Sentinel?"

"Oh my God," Blair whispered. "Sylvester Andrews." His eyes narrowed in sudden rage. "Damn him! He said he'd report the guy!"

"If you're talking about Stillman," Simon went on, "he contacted his sources immediately -- that's how we discovered where you were -- but by that time Andrews was long gone, leaving three dead bodies behind and taking one of the younger trainees with him. I know it's a bad time to ask, but did you know Larry Steele?"

"Larry?" the Guide asked. "Knew of him would be more accurate. Everybody said he could have been -- " He paled suddenly. "No. Oh God no." He turned pleading eyes to the police captain, and received an answer he didn't want.

"Could have been what?" Jim inquired, interested in spite of himself.

"Could have been my younger brother," Blair said tonelessly. "How long --" he rasped, and paused to take a drink of juice before starting again, "How long did he have him, and what did he do to the poor guy?"

"We found the body about 36 hours after the attack," Simon told them, "and it wasn't pretty. What we found in his room is what we need to discuss; among other things, his diary. He knew what he was before he even came to Rainier, and he was obsessed with you, Sandburg; it was some sort of love/hate thing. On the one hand he wanted you for a Guide, knowing how good you were; he wanted to be dominated by you, have you punish him, rape him, and hurt him. Conversely, he hated and feared you for being what he wasn't; he wanted to dominate, rape, and hurt you. The Senior Guides think it's why he took Steele, as a substitute for you."

"And you bastards want him unbonded," Jim growled, "so you can use him as bait." He struggled against his bonds, needing to protect his Guide, fully bonded or not. Part of what he was feeling was sheer fright; if Blair bonded to Andrews, where did that leave him?

"Jim, calm down," Blair told him Guide voice. He ceased to struggle but continued to glare at Simon. The Guide turned to the police captain. "What, exactly, do the Senior Guides expect me to do? I'd need to bond fully with him to exert that level of control, and even then there are no guarantees."

Part 14
by
Lil

Twenty-four hours later, Jim had come full circle. He sat in the same dull, cold cell where he'd been incarcerated before Blair Sandburg entered his life, staring at the same obdurate metal bars and wondering again who was going to come for him. Only this time... it was worse. The last time, he'd ridden on a knife-edge of hysteria and panic, not knowing what to expect. This time, he had a better idea what was in store for him and no hope that he might find mercy a second time. His gut ached dully with nausea that might once have been hunger, but that was so long ago he'd forgotten what it meant and it had subsided into dull pain.

After they arrived in Cascade, Simon had taken them both straight from the airport and they'd been met by guards from the Rainier Sentinel facility. Banks took Blair into the police department, away from Jim, talking about setting a trap for Andrews immediately. Meanwhile Jim was bundled into the prison transport truck usually reserved for rogue Sentinels who were being hauled back to face discipline. And in a manner of speaking, that's exactly what he was-- only mitigating circumstances and Simon's intervention were keeping him from punishment. Instead, he was sequestered, to be assigned a new Guide. And Blair...

Blair was gone, presumably to hunt down and bond Sly Andrews in order to try to control him. Bitterly, Jim supposed that everything they'd been through in the roughly 72 hours they'd been together hadn't been enough for Sandburg to form a permanent attachment to him. They hadn't bonded, in spite of Stillman's cruel ruse. The tenderness they'd shared at Stillman's compound was nothing to Sandburg. Jim was just another animal, even to Blair: just another animal to be used and discarded at leisure. For a trained Guide, any Sentinel would suffice.

Now that Jim knew how insidious the bonding process was, he knew he was doomed. No matter who they sent to him, he would not be able to defend himself. The new Guide might not be as skilled as Blair, but the bond would creep up on Jim nonetheless, destroying his will, making him a slavish possession. For all he knew, he might even grow to feel the same way about a new Guide that he'd begun to feel about Sandburg.

Jim gritted his teeth, fists clenching in impotent fury. Agonized, he cursed William and Grace Ellison for ever meeting, for ever sharing a first kiss. If either of them had known of the genetic curse they carried... he shifted miserably, his abused bones and muscles aching. He'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting, motionless. Maybe he'd even zoned out, losing part of the time. It might have been even longer than 24 hours, in that case. Maybe days on end. He didn't find himself capable of caring, regretting only that he'd come back if he'd ever zoned at all.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor outside interrupted his musings, making his body tense in fear and anticipation. His nostrils flared, seeking scent, hoping against hope for Sandburg's return... but what he found made him shrink inside himself miserably.

"Horton." He greeted his visitor dismally, not looking up. "What an unanticipated pleasure." "Guide Horton." The voice was taut with fury as it corrected him. Doubtless Horton had an axe to grind, having worked alongside Ellison for years without uncovering his secret. Imagine finding out your colleague was less than an animal...

"Where's Mark?"

The scent of fury intensified; Horton paused to control himself before answering Jim. "Andrews put him in the hospital." Surprisingly, a lance of anguish shot through his scent, like the sour tang of sweat or dried come. Ellison smiled without humor at that bit of evidence that the bond actually went both ways. "Banks asked for permission to have you fill in while he's down."

So he would be stuck as Horton's Sentinel? Even temporarily... Jim remembered cursing his father and mother earlier, and made a sarcastic mental note to spare some animosity for Simon's parents as well. "What if I don't want to?"

Horton flicked his hand; a slim metal rod he'd held next to his thigh struck the bars and showered sparks. "If that half-wit Sandburg isn't enticement enough, I have plenty of ways to make you cooperate."

"Sandburg?" Jim felt his interest pique in spite of himself.

"Didn't I remember to mention...?" Horton's grin turned even uglier. "Banks used him as bait for Andrews in a capture attempt this morning, but things went bad. Andrews took off with him, and left three men in the hospital." Again that sharp lance of sour pain struck Jim's nostrils. Sentinel Mark had apparently been one of them. Horton opened the cell door and moved toward Jim, a steel collar in his left hand.

Perhaps because he was already bonded, Horton's voice held no allure for Jim; it would be enough to serve as a focus, but it had none of the smoky seduction of Blair Sandburg's, none of the innate hypnotic power. Jim was relieved enough by that discovery to find his defiance. "It's a pity Mark wasted himself defending the likes of you," he spat deliberately. "Don't expect the same consideration from me."

His world exploded in fiery, wracking pain as the rod flicked out and caught his thigh, sending a painful surge of electricity jolting through him and rattling his teeth. He tasted blood, a metallic taint coating his mouth. His muscles jerked uncontrollably for a long moment after Horton drew the wand away, long enough for the experienced Guide to step in, clamp the cold metal collar around his neck, and clip a leash to it. He was away before Jim could recover enough to think of reaching for his throat.

"I've collared you. In the eyes of the law, I'm your Guide now, if only temporarily." Horton smirked humorlessly. "I would advise against acting on what you're thinking. Especially if you want Sandburg to have a chance of surviving. Every minute you waste, Andrews is probably using to its best advantage. It's already been about four hours while Banks and I completed the paperwork to get you out of here."

He made sense, and Jim restrained himself sullenly, shamed that he felt glad that there was good reason to do so. He didn't want to taste that cattle prod again. He could still feel the echoes of pain in his nerves. He didn't pause to ask himself why he was eager to go after Sandburg, the Guide who'd abandoned him... instinctively he understood that he'd rather not know.

He followed Horton meekly out, chafing at the leash but unable to resist it, especially since his Guide's life was at stake. His Guide. So recently, he'd never thought he'd hear or think those words without feeling hatred, but now all he felt for Sandburg was possessive anxiety. If he had to have a Guide, he wanted Blair Sandburg, and no one else. Even if Blair didn't care about him, at least he was kind.

Banks was waiting for them in the lobby, not having been permitted to enter the secured sector with Horton. Simon looked at Jim apologetically, but began to speak briskly, all business.

"We lost Sandburg to Andrews, and with Sentinel Mark in the hospital, we needed someone who can track him. Ellison, you know departmental procedure and your police training will keep you and Horton safe." Jim was keenly aware of Horton bristling at his side, resenting the fact that Simon was addressing the Sentinel rather than him.

"You should have left me with him in the first place," Jim growled, and had the pleasure of watching Simon blink, startled by the depth of his anger. Horton's rod struck across his shoulders, the charge jolting him only mildly this time, but the heavy instrument left bruises where it landed.

"You will speak civilly to your superiors." Horton's voice was cold; Jim wondered how high the charge would have been set if Horton himself hadn't been angry with Simon, feeling slighted by him. "If Sentinel Mark dies..." Horton's voice nearly cracked, then resumed, tight with pain. "I'll bond *you* as my Sentinel then, and I'll teach you how to behave properly if I have to flay off half your hide to do it."

"It wasn't my choice, Jim." Now Simon seemed sad and his words held two meanings; his eyes locked with Jim's for a long moment. "Come on. Let's get the kid back."

Jim nodded curtly and stepped forward; Horton's hand on the leash jerked him to an abrupt halt, and he choked for a moment, only to be yanked forward stumbling as Horton preceded him in Simon's wake. Jim's eyes narrowed at the Guide's back with hatred; he could hardly understand how the man could be a Guide at all, he was so different from Blair.

Horton motioned for him to climb in the back of the squad car he and Simon had brought. With difficulty Jim folded his long legs into the tiny space left by the plastic covering on the rear seat, taking up a large chunk of the seat and leg room because of its recessed compartments for cuffed arms and hands. Simon and Horton were both long-legged men; they had their seats pushed back and Jim had to hook his legs across the middle divider. Horton secured his collar to a ring set in the rear dash of the car, designed to prevent him from leaping out during the ride-- and he made sure the chain had barely enough play for Jim to be able to tilt his head forward and see out the front window. Ellison felt every jolt of the uneven pavement keenly as they pulled away from Rainier; he could smell Sandburg's scent lingering in the car, or perhaps on Simon's overcoat...

"Don't zone." Horton snapped, and Jim grudgingly admitted that the Guide knew that much of his business; he was attuned enough to Jim to recognize the signs before Jim had properly done so himself.

Jim had a crick in his neck by the time the car stopped, his abused deltoids complaining fiercely. Horton unfastened him and he rubbed his neck as he struggled out of the car, resisting the leash this time, prepared for Horton to jerk on it at the worst possible moment.

"Get moving," the Guide snapped, and Jim did, but at his own pace, already scanning the scene. There was blood on the ground, smelling like decay in his nostrils, but he moved past it, heading under the pier. He remembered Andrews' scent and it was strongest there; Simon nodded at him with approval.

"Andrews was under there. When the kid passed overhead, he popped out and dragged him down. He must have had chloroform; Sandburg went like a marionette with sliced strings. He had Sandburg in his arms so we couldn't shoot, but he did-- he took down Sentinel Mark and one of the patrolmen, and winged H." Simon screwed his face into a characteristic grimace of annoyance and regret. "He had a boat under the pier. We drilled a few holes in it as he made for open water, but nothing that incapacitated him."

Jim nodded absently and stepped toward the pier, almost surprised that Horton let him have his head. Another boat waited below; he glanced at Horton and Banks.

"Can you track by scent?" Horton sounded contemptuous of Jim's ill-training.

"I don't know." Jim refused to let the Guide rattle him.

"Try," Simon suggested drily, and the three of them stepped into the boat, Banks moving to the tiller and revving up the motor.

"Ignore the fumes," Horton commanded peremptorily. "When we get moving, you'll have to filter out everything but Sandburg's scent. Or Andrews'."

Jim nodded absently, realizing he could still smell Blair, but not on the wind. "Take off your overcoat," he commanded Simon.

Simon looked puzzled and Horton's hand twitched toward the stun rod, but Jim stood his ground. "It has Guide Sandburg's scent on it. It's confusing me." He failed to notice that he'd used the honorific that he'd denied Horton.

Simon nodded and handed the coat over to a uniformed cop on the beach. "Put it in my car," he snapped, and received a salute in response.

With Simon's coat gone, the scent dissipated almost to nothing. Jim let himself sink into it, hardly noticing when Horton stepped up behind him, tapping at his arm. He couldn't have said what Horton was using, only that it wasn't his hand. Jim used the irritating touch as a focus, anchoring him to the world while he sought for a greater concentration of Sandburg's cologne and sweat. Finally he pointed, and Banks steered at his direction; being a Sentinel, Jim wasn't allowed to steer either a car or a boat himself, though he could have followed the trail more easily that way.

As the ocean breeze freshened, Jim began to despair: the scent trail dissipated, leaving him rudderless. He opened his eyes, scanning the mouth of the harbor and the coastline on either side. His sharp gaze narrowed in on a flutter of cloth left beached by the tide, a familiar shade of blue-- Sandburg's shirt, the last thing Jim had seen him wear.

"That way," he pointed, and they approached the beach close enough for him to catch the tell-tale scent again. It wasn't much, but it directed them northward. They hugged the coastline, Jim's nostrils flared tensely for another trace of Sandburg, and at last he found what he was seeking: scent combined with a suspicious trail of brushed sand vanishing into grassy turf.

They approached the shore and Horton ordered Ellison out of the boat into the low surf; he stalked impatiently at the extent of his tether as Banks beached the boat and they took off into the woods. After the sand was replaced by grass and brush, the trail grew even easier to follow, both Andrews' and Sandburg's scent clinging to bits of broken greenery.

"Slow down," Horton ordered snappishly, dragging the leash taut. Jim almost snarled at him, sensing Sandburg so close he could nearly...

"Hey!" The voice was tired but pleased; Jim's head jerked upright, his body on point. Sandburg appeared from around a jagged outcrop about a hundred feet ahead of them among the trees; he had no shirt on, and the reason for that was momentarily clear as he dragged Andrews around the boulder with him, the man's neck encircled by a flannel shirtsleeve, the other sleeve in Sandburg's triumphant fist.

Both were bloodied and bruised, considerably the worse for wear; Andrews' lip had split and he looked furiously sullen but cowed. Jim flinched, realizing he'd probably looked the same way after Horton first struck him with the prod.

"Glad you guys made it. You got room for us on your boat? Sly sank his before I talked him into admitting who was boss." Blair sounded obscenely cheerful. "You know now, don't you." His voice was stern but oddly gentle, and the possessive look he directed at Andrews twisted in Jim's stomach.

"Yes, Guide Sandburg." Hatred and obedience in the voice, awe and dazed lust in the eyes. Jim was the only one who could see it, they were still some distance away.

Jim felt his hands curl into claws, and his upper lip rose in a silent, deadly snarl.

"Oh fuck," Horton's alarmed whisper was lost in the deafening rush of Jim's blood, and he hardly felt the vicious jolt as the prod fell between his shoulderblades at full charge; the sturdy leather leash parted, the end falling loose in Horton's hand. Jim had no awareness of the blood leaking down his throat from where his collar had cut him; he stalked forward mindlessly, sight narrowed on Andrews to the exclusion of all else.

The vegetation seemed to part effortlessly around his stalking feet; Andrews' eyes narrowed and he too stepped forward. There were voices echoing in the woods, but Jim didn't heed them. They were familiar but inconsequential; he could almost feel his ears lying flat against his skull, sense the rending power of his nails, feel the sharpness of his teeth as he moved inexorably toward his rival, intent on the kill.

"Stop." A single word, Blair's voice soft but irresistible, halted him in his tracks; he blinked, disoriented. Standing before him was Guide Sandburg, the tattered sleeve of his own shirt in his hand, trailing up behind him... to Andrews, who stood obedient, his eyes fixed on Jim with hatred and triumph in them, half-crazed, his teeth bloody behind his split lip as he smirked.

Jim gazed down into Sandburg's face, identifying pain and resolution in his eyes, trembling with the need to fight-- to bite and scratch, to rend flesh and kill. His nostrils flared, scenting Blair-- aftershave, muted. Sweat, old and new-- Andrews' blood-- and something else, something... musk and pheromones, fresh semen. Andrews' semen. And on Andrews, he could smell traces of Blair's come, the scent of Blair's climax more familiar to Jim. Blair's outstretched arm held Andrews possessively behind him; they stood close together, bodies touching familiarly.

Bonded. The Sentinel in him recognized it by instinct, irrevocable and unarguable. A completed bond.

Sandburg had bonded Andrews, had tamed him with the bond. He'd touched him and taken him and allowed himself to be taken in return. Jim's eyes flickered between the men, finding misery and pity and regret in Sandburg's eyes. Mad triumph in Andrews'. And in Jim, there was nothing now but emptiness and fading hope. Nothing remained but memories of Sandburg's mouth and his body, of lovemaking once with his Guide-- and they weren't even even true memories! All Jim had left was a future as another Guide's slave and beast, another Guide's whore. But even that didn't matter to him as his eyes focused on a love bite at Sandburg's throat, the print of Sly's mouth on his Guide: Sly's Guide. Linked in a bond breakable only by death, and if some of the legends and myths held true, perhaps not even then.

He threw his head back and screamed until his lungs blazed, until there was no more air left in him, and still he howled, tearing out his throat with agonized sound, sanity leaving him. The forest floor rose up to catch him, but by the time he was on it, he was no longer aware.

Part 15
by
Stormwolf Dawn

And what rough beast
its hour come round at last
slouches toward Bethleham to be born.

Jim slowly awoke to the feel of a strange hand rubbing his shoulder. He cracked open his eyes and saw Guide Horton kneeling over him, his hand rubbing along Jim's left arm and up to his shoulder. Jim closed his eyes again and groaned, his head feeling as if it were about to split open any second. The hand moved up his neck bypassing the now body warmed steel collar that still encircled his throat, and rubbed at his temples helping to relieve the pressure.

Confused as to why Horton was suddenly so damn considerate, Jim opened his eyes again and refocused on Horton's face. The tears filling the man's eyes left a rumbling fear in his heart. He looked around. They were in the back of a police van, and from the vibration beneath his body, the van was moving a goodly speed.

Scent told him that Horton wasn't alone in the van. Jim looked around and saw Sly lying in the far corner of the van. Like Jim, Sly now sported a steel collar. A short steel chain leashed the guide trained sentinel to the wall of the truck. Sitting crosslegged beside him was Blair Sandburg. Blair's hand was stroking Sly's short blonde hair tenderly, and the sentinel seemed to lean into the caress while a snarl creased his lips.

Shoving down the pain of watching Blair with his new sentinel, Jim turned his attention back to Horton, who looked at him with tear filled eyes which brought the fear back full fold.

"Mark is dead." Horton whispered. Jim shivered in fear as Horton's hand slowly carresed its way down Jim's head, neck, arm, until finally the hand stopped positioned on Jim's left buttock. Jim could feel the callouses, and the body warmth through the coverall he wore. His stomach was threatening to rebel. His only consolation with Horton as his guide would be that he would be working for the police department.

************

The van returned to the Rainier Compound, and the gates opened to let it through. When the van stopped, the doors opened allowing moonlight to creep through. Jim's sentinel eyes adjusted to the moonlight, the irises shrinking just a bit. The men who opened the door where Rainier Guards dressed in their dark grey uniforms.

Guide Horton reached around and unhooked the chain from the wall that leashed Jim to the truck. Horton then stood and tugged on the leash and Jim obediantly stood up not wishing to feel the sting of the cattle prod that Horton still had secured to his belt. Horton stepped out and Jim followed. When they had walked far enough away, Blair brought out Sly, who struggled a bit before Blair's command echoed across the courtyard. "Heel!"

Jim winced as the voice fell upon his ears. He turned his head away from the scene. Not wanting to see the last of his hope drift away.

*Fool, get over it. Blair has bonded to him. He doesn't want you anymore. Get used to it.* Jim thought to himself as he followed Horton across the Courtyard. Two guards tried to follow them, but Horton ordered them off.

"But sir, we were told to protect you..." The guard couldn't finish when Horton rounded on him.

"Listen you rent a cop. I'm not some greenhorn rookie that needs his nose and ass wiped. I'm a fucking cop and a veteran guide. I can handle one rogue sentinel, asshole. So I suggest you go guard the rookie, and leave me to my fucking job!" Horton growled angrily.

The guard stepped back at the venom in Horton's voice involuntarily. Then nodded adrubtly, and he and his partner turned on their heels and walked back toward where Blair and his two guards were walking toward Blair's new quarters since his old ones had been demolished in the attack.

"Damn rent a cops." Horton mumbled to no one in particular, then turned back toward his quarters tugging on the short chain leash. Jim followed obediantly, his stomach tying itself in knots, and it took all he had not to quake in fear.

It only took a few minutes before they were at Horton's door. The man punched in his access number on the keypad. Jim didn't even bother to learn it knowing the damn thing wouldn't open for him anyway. It took all his concentration to control his fear. He knew what was about to happen, and it frightened him more than anything that had happened since the discovery of his senses.

The door closed behind them, and Jim tried not to stare at the implements inside the room. The bed with its iron rings embedded into the wall above it. Or the other rings embedded into the walls around the room. The leather whips and paddles that hung on one wall, or the sling that hung in one corner of the room. Instead he stared at Horton's back, the only safe direction.

Horton led Jim over to one wall where he attached the leash to one of the iron rings, then Horton went into the bathroom.

From the bathroom Jim heard Horton's order, "Take off your clothes, Jimmy."

Jim hated that nickname, but with shaking hands Jim began to unzip his coverall slowly.

"You'd better be naked when I come out there." Horton warned.

Jim growled silently and stripped out of his coverall, then slipped off his black silk boxers. He had noticed quickly that Horton's tone had become mesmerizing like Blair's had been. Jim knew it had probably started soon after Mark died.

Horton walked out of the bathroom with a couple of towels folded over his arm, and to Jim's horror an enema kit in the other hand.

Horton placed the items on a table in the room, then walked over to wall of implements. Taking down a leather crop, he moved it slowly through the air testing its weight. Then snapped it once against his jean clad thigh. Nodding in satisfaction, Horton then walked over to Jim. He unsnapped the leash chaining him to the wall, and Jim followed on shaky legs as Horton led him to a whipping horse. with a hand on Jim's back he guided Jim to lean over the whipping horse belly down. Horton buckled the leather restraints aorund Jim's ankles and wrists holding the quivering sentinel into place. Horton's hand rubbed over Jim's ass, and the to Jim's horror he could feel tears welling up inside his eyes. Jim squeezed his eyes shut willing himself to suck it up, to take the humiliation, to not cry.

"I have delayed punishment long enough. You will recieve ten lashed for running away, ten more for hurting the guards, another five for stealing the vehicle, then another ten for your diobediance to me. That is thirty five lashes Ellison. You will recieve those after I have administered the enema. If you release the water without my permission, you punishment will double and I will use something much worse than the crop. Do you understand?" Horton asked.

Jim nodded.

A slap to his ass by the leather crop had Jim biting back a yelp. "You will answer yes or no Guide Horton!"

"Yes, Guide Horton." Jim practically growled. Another slap to his ass.

"You will loose your willfullness when you address me, Jimmy."

"Yes, Guide Horton." Jim answered in a more calmer voice.

A hand stroked his head smoothly, "Good boy, Jimmy."

Jim hated that tone.

Horton retrieved the enema bag and hung it on a pole next to the whipping horse. The tubing already had clamps in place, and Horton lubricated the tip of the tube, and for the first time in his life Jim felt something pushed inside his ass.

"Don't fight it, Jimmy. It will only hurt. You will take all of the bag."

The tube was inserted until it pushed past the second ring of muscle, then Horton released the clamps.

The feel of the warm water moving inside him was unpleasant to the sentinel. He had never had an enema before, and the vulnerability of the position and the warm water only made him want to weep, and Jim had to fight the tears that threatened. Horton's hand rubbed Jim's back as the water filled his bowels. A few cramps started, but Jim tried to ignore them. He knew if he relaxed he could ease his way through the cramps, but it was difficult to relax.

Eventually, the bag emptied, and the tube was removed.

The first strike of the crop against his ass nearly made him lose the water inside him, but he held it in. Again the crop descended and pain lanced through his ass, and stomach. Cramps shooting though him.

The crop continued to fall across his ass, and after the tenth one Jim was having a hard time controlling his reaction. Tears leaked form his tightly shut eyes, and pain radiated throughout his ass and stomach.

Finally, when the last strike against his ass fell, Jim was disgusted to realise that he was sobbing. His ass was on fire. His stomach still felt cramped and fear filled him as he smelled Horton's arousal fill the room.

A hand rubbed across his back, and Jim's hearing heard the sound of a bucket scraping across the floor.

"Good boy, Jimmy. You did real good. Now you can release it. Come on, Jimmy release the water as you released your tears."

Jim cried as he expelled the water from his body into the waiting bucket while Horton petted his back.

When all the water was gone, Jim felt Horton's hand leave his back and the bucket was picked up, and the water and waste inside was poured into the commode, and flushed. The bucket was rinsed out.

Footsteps told Jim were Horton moved and he was not surpised when the hand returned to his lower back. The smell of antiseptic filled the room, and his ass stung as Horton used a rag covered in rubbing alcohol to clean the wounds on Jim's ass. When he was done, Horton placed the rag in the bathroom.

Jim's sensitive ears caught the sound of a cap popping open then a few seconds later, a cold slime covered finger probed between the cheeks of his stinging ass to find the virgin puckered opening to his body. Jim tensed, and Horton rubbed his other hand over Jim's back and began to talk in his soothing guide tone. Jim could not help but relax when the guide's voice ordered it, and eventually Jim felt the finger invading his body, probing his anus and rectum.

Eventually the finger was followed by another and another until three fingers moved around stretching the tight muscles, every so often stimulating the prostate that sent bolts of pleasure through Jim' s body. Blood began to fill his cock. Jim felt lost, and tears began to fall again.

He whimpered in loss when the fingers where removed much to his disgust, but then something larger was pressed against his anus and Jim knew that Horton's cut cock was pushing its way inside until he could feel Horton's hairy ball against his ass.

Horton began with short, low thrusts, and speeded up slowly until the thrusts were deeper and slow. Horton's cock brushed against Jim's prostate, and Jim's body began to react even more until his own cock was hard and leaking precum.

Horton began to thrust faster and more furious, and his hand reached down and grasped Jim's swollen cock. "Cum for me, Jimmy. Cum now." Horton's hypnotic voice said, and Jim's body had no choice but to obey. He cried out as he came, semen shooting from his penis coating his stomach and Horton's hand.

Horton rode the wave of orgasm, feeling the tightening of Jim's muscles around his own cock, and Horton came then, his own seed filling Jim's ass, no latex barrier to block the warm semen. Jim groaned when Horton came, tears falling from his eyes as he sobbed.

Horton waited a few seconds then slipped his cock out of Jim's body. He walked over and knelt nude in front of Jim. He lifted Jim's head and kissed the sentinel's mouth while stroking Jim's sweat soaked hair. He released Jim's mouth but continued to stroke his hair, then wiped the tears from Jim's cheeks with a gently hand. "You belong to me now, Jimmy. Don't forget, you belong to me."

Part 16
by
Patt Rose

Sentinel Ellison swore to all gods above that he would never forget that he didn't belong to Guide Horton. His hate for the man didn't seem to leave with the bonding. Jim thought it would. Jim couldn't believe what this man had done to him. He put Jim in a position to lose all of his dignity. There was nothing left in Jim's head to even make him think about reasons to go on. Everything had been taken from him. First his job, his friends, then Guide Sandburg and now he was left in Guide Horton's hands. Life could get no worse. Jim had no pride left whatsoever.

Jim was under the impression that all guides and sentinels would bond and be happy with their new lives. Why didn't Jim like Guide Horton? What was wrong with Jim? Now Jim's mind was wondering if Guide Sandburg felt anything for the sentinel he was with. /Ellison, why are you wondering about another guide? You'll not get a chance to be with anyone else anyhow. You belong to Guide Horton now, like it or not. Too bad I hate it. /

Meanwhile on the island, Mr. Stillman got back results from the sperm samples and was quite impressed. So impressed that he knew he had to get both of these men back immediately. His staff in the laboratory said that they'd never ever had tests come back with the results that these two did. Sentinel Ellison's sperm was had the highest quality cells they'd ever seen. He, no doubt, would have perfect offspring. But then there was Guide Sandburg; his was just as potent and pure. Mr. Stillman was pleased and proud. After all, Blair was his son, did he expect anything less? Stillman would stop at nothing to get them back into his hands. He had found out that the man who had bought the two was not who he seemed. They were back at the same place they started out.

Dr. Morris came walking into Stillman's office and said, "I think the high count has something to do with the two of them being together."

"Doctor, are you saying that if they aren't together they won't be as potent?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, so we need to keep these two men together if you plan on doing anything with this sperm."

"So tell me, how do you know this?" Stillman asked, not knowing if he could quite trust this man.

"I asked tests to be run on Sentinel Ellison this morning, and the tests weren't good." The doctor replied coldly.

"Are you saying that you know someone there that we can trust?"

"Mr. Stillman, everyone has a price. I got the sample run from Guide Horton."

"Are you saying that the two men have been bonded to someone else?"

"Yes, sir, they have. And it's not going well. Guide Horton said that Sentinel Ellison is listless and has given up. He doesn't seem to care what happens to him."

"This only happens when they are bonded with a guide that isn't their true guide. We all know this. Am I right, Doctor?"

"Well, sir, I guess they don't know it there at the compound."

"Doctor, we have to get him out of there, but he won't be much good without his true guide. Make arrangements to have them both brought here."

"Mr. Stillman, this will be most difficult, they are under heavy guard this time."

"Doctor, I don't care what you have to do, get them both out of there. I don't want to hear from you again until you have some good news."

As Mr. Stillman was leaving the building, Dr. Morris was making some calls trying to call in all favors he could think of to make things go smooth for the sentinel and his true guide. /These men are all so fucking stupid. They have no idea what they have on their hands, and I'm not about to tell them. I'll take advantage of this myself. / Dr. Morris made plans to go to the compound and get the men himself. He'd be allowed inside, since he had the medical credentials to get in and out any time he pleased. Soon, these two men would belong to Dr. Morris, not Mr. Stillman. Dr. Morris was smiling while he packed his things.

At the same time, Mr. Stillman was making calls to the compound and finally reached Guide Horton. He discussed a price and they came to an agreement. Guide Horton was going to sell his so called Sentinel.

Guide Sandburg was angry, angrier than he had ever been in his life. He couldn't believe how everyone just expected him to bond with Andrews and leave Sentinel Ellison hanging, so to speak. And for some reason, the bond wasn't holding for Blair. It was for Andrews, but not for Sandburg. He felt nothing for this sentinel. In fact, he hated the man with a passion. Which was the only passion he seemed to have for the man. Blair found himself wondering if Sentinel Ellison was having the same type of problems. He'd have to ask Guide Horton how things were going for the two of them.

v Sentinel Andrews kept trying to get Guide Sandburg to pay some type of attention to him, but to no avail. Andrews knew that the guide hated him. But why? This was very confusing to the sentinel. And why didn't the guide seem to need the sentinel as he needed the guide? Perhaps they would be able to talk about it later on that night.

In Guide Horton's quarters, Sentinel Ellison was lying on the bed, having not moved since Horton put him there after the beating that night. Horton knew that Ellison had given up and would not let him get away with it. He'd be sure that Ellison would know exactly what he was around for and he'd train him or kill him trying. He also wanted to be sure he got in as much as he could before he made the sale of this sentinel to Stillman.

Going over to the bed, Guide Horton said, "Sentinel Ellison, get up now."

Jim didn't move from the position he was in. He was in such a total zone that Guide Horton had never even seen one like it. But he wasn't a guide to give up easily. He called some guards in to help him. They drug Ellison out to the table outside their quarters and tied Ellison down to it. Guide Horton then proceeded to rape Jim, over and over again, in front of everyone, including Blair and Andrews. Jim didn't fight him, but he did scream and there was no getting hard for Jim this time. Jim wanted to die, but the guide was too good, always talking him out of it, just in time to be raped once again.

Finally the guards took Ellison's bloody body to their quarters and put him in the bed and left him with Guide Horton. But Jim was lost to Horton and Horton knew this. Horton would let it go for tonight. He would work on this more tomorrow before they came for him. Feeling exhausted from the day's work, he went to sleep.

The zone that Jim slipped into was wonderful. There he was with Blair Sandburg and they were together as Guide and Sentinel. It was one of the happiest moments of his life. He felt warm for the first time since they had gotten back to Cascade. Just thinking about Blair made him feel good. He knew that he didn't belong to Guide Horton; he knew that he would always belong to Guide Sandburg. He didn't want anyone else.

There was a knock at the door on the quarters of Guide Sandburg and Sentinel Andrews at about 3:00 a.m. in the morning. Blair answered and found a nice looking man standing there waiting to be asked in. Being somewhat wary, Blair asked, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Mr. Sandburg, my name is Dr. Theo Morris and I've come to make you a proposition."

"Dr. Morris, what could I possibly do for you that any number of people couldn't do?"

"Well, I'm going to tell you the truth, but I have to ask you to ask your sentinel to not listen to our conversation."

Blair turned to Sentinel Andrews and said, "Don't listen and I'll be back in a few minutes."

Not waiting for a reply, Dr. Morris and Guide Sandburg walked outside where they could talk more openly.

"Guide Sandburg, I have run tests on your and Sentinel Ellison's sperm sample's taken at your father's island. They are the highest count you can get from a sample. Your sperm when you are together is perfect. You would produce perfect offspring. Needless to say, your father wants to get you out so he can sell your sperm and make money off of you. I, on the other hand, want to run tests and use you both for experiments."

"Dr. Morris, you think that's better than what my father wants to do?"

"Yes, I believe so. You'd be free to be together as you should be. Your sperm is only high when you're with him. Both your samples have gone down since you've been bonded with the others."

"And what exactly do you have planned for experiments?"

"This you'll have to wait and find out. But Sentinel Ellison won't live much longer. I heard he is near comatose now. I can promise that no one will hurt either of you. You'll be free of Cascade and your father on that damn island."

"And you have a way of getting us out of here? I mean we can't just walk away."

v "We could if there was enough of a diversion. I have a friend, Simon Banks who will be pulling an alarm bell at that very moment. I want you to tell your sentinel Andrews to bring Guide Horton to us."

"Simon Banks is the one that brought us back to Cascade and made me leave Sentinel Ellison."

"He knows now that he was used as you were. This will not be another mistake, Guide Sandburg."

"I can talk Sentinel Andrews into bringing Guide Horton along with us. This could work. When do we start?"

"I'll give you two hours to get your things ready. We'll meet by the back door of Sentinel Ellison's quarters. Our ride is a van with hidden compartments to get the four of you out. She can be trusted, she's my wife."

"Dr. Morris, could you please tell us what you want with us? I find it hard to make a decision without knowing what you're planning for us."

"I will tell you that you'll be safe from the others. I'll also tell you that we might be making history. Do you really care? Do you want to get Sentinel Ellison out of here or not?"

Again, Blair didn't hesitate, "I'll be ready in two hours. I'll bring Sentinel Andrews to Guide Horton's quarters and he'll know exactly what to do."

"Guide Sandburg, we'll see you in two hours. Good luck and god speed."

Blair walked back into his quarters and found Sentinel Andrews waiting for him. Blair could see the look on his face wanting to ask him what was going on. Blair decided to tell him the truth.

"Andrews, I'm not properly bonded to you, in fact, I find myself drawn to another Sentinel. If I had a chance to get out of here, would you help me in any way to get away?"

"Of course I would, Guide Sandburg. You know I'd do anything you would tell me to do. I would hate to see you leave, but would also know that you don't have the same feelings for me that I have for you."

"So if I asked for you to bring someone with us, would you come along? You would do that for me?"

"I would make Guide Horton never forget what he did to his sentinel today."

"How did you know I was talking about Guide Horton?"

"I'd be a fool not to see the way you watch Sentinel Ellison. And pure hatred flows from your body when you see Guide Horton. I must say that I would be more than happy to take care of that evil man for you. So why will I be going with you?"

"I can't possibly leave you here after you help me. I'll talk to the person that is helping us to see if he can find a place for you. Anything would be better than here."

"When do we leave, Guide Sandburg?"

"In two hours, Sentinel Andrews, and you don't have to worry about taking care of the evil Guide Horton. I have plans for him myself."

Part 17
by
Black Rose

It was five o'clock in the morning, by the glowing face of the bedside clock. Five fucking o'clock *AM*, and he'd only finally laid down a few hours before. Horton bit back a groan, gritting his teeth as the door chime rang again.

Pushing himself up, he rubbed a hand across his face, shoving it back through his hair as he stumbled towards the door. Jerking it open, he expected to find... well, he wasn't quite sure, not at that hour of the morning, with sleep still clinging raggedly to his not quite awake mind. But whatever he might have been expecting, it wasn't the quite obviously very awake and fully dressed figure of Blair Sandburg.

Horton pulled absently at a handful of his hair, squinting at the other man blearily. "What the hell do you want? Do you know what time it is?"

"Two to five," Sandburg replied quietly. "Horton, I need to talk to you."

"It can wait," Horton snapped. He moved to slam the door, but the solid mass of it rebounded from the other man's sentinel as Andrews slipped around Blair's smaller body to thrust his shoulder into the way. Blair himself did nothing; only stood, watching, expression unreadable.

Horton narrowed his eyes. "What the *fuck* do you want?"

Sandburg's mouth tightened slightly. "May we come inside?"

"No," Horton replied tersely. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it right there." It wasn't entirely comfortable standing in the doorway to his quarters, in only a pair of boxers and the night chill still in the air, but he'd be damned before he invited the other two men inside.

Sandburg sighed. Andrews was tense, set like a block of concrete in the doorway - he relented only when the smaller man reached out to lightly tap his shoulder, gesturing him back to one side. Sandburg's voice, when he spoke, was a low sound that only reached between the two guides. "I have a proposition for you. One that might be mutually beneficial to both of us."

Horton's lips twisted. "Such as?"

The smallest trace of a wry smile crossed the other man's expression and his voice dropped another notch, forcing Horton to lean forward to catch the words. "Such as what we both want. A sentinel we can bond with."

Unbidden, Horton's glance slid to Andrews. The sentinel stood, eyes cast down, the picture of silent obedience to his guide's will. So much like Mark. He swallowed that thought quickly, pushing it away. This wasn't the time to dwell on it.

Sandburg, on the other hand, despite his apparent stillness, was a vibrating mass of energy. It trembled through a muscle twitch in his jaw and the hands fisted on his belt. Horton judged it was an act of will, more than anything else, that was keeping the smaller man from vibrating in place.

And Sandburg's eyes, behind the silvery lenses of his glasses, kept darting past Horton, unwilling to meet his gaze. Looking for something. Something behind the other guide, in the darkness of the quarters.

Ellison.

Horton felt his mouth go dry. His eyes drifted back to Andrews, to the still and silent submission in the bent neck, the quiet subservience painted like washes of desire across the man's broad form.

Just like what he'd had with Mark. And Mark not yet cold in his grave, god help him, but he wanted it. Wanted it back so bad he could almost taste it, and nothing, *nothing* he had done had wrung it from Ellison.

Sandburg looked at him, understanding in his eyes, and Horton saw there the same need, the same craving. The smaller man nervously licked his lips. "Well?"

For one moment, he let himself imagine it. Let himself roll the idea around, across his tongue, like a sweet taste. But the words that came instead were, really, almost as sweet in their own way as he watched the breathless anticipation on Sandburg's face splinter into a million shards. "No. Impossible. Ellison is to be disposed of."

"What?" Sandburg's voice cracked on the syllable, sharp and hard.

Horton let the rictus of a smile spread thinnly over his lips. "You heard me."

The look that blazed to life in the smaller man's blue eyes made Horton physically take a half step back. Blair surged forward, shoving past him, his voice an angry snarl. "What the fuck did you *do* to him?!" v "Where do you think you're... Ah!" Horton reached out to grab Sandburg's arm but found his own wrist restrained, caught in Andrew's grasp and twisted viciously. Blair slipped past them both, flipping on the lights of Horton's quarters as he made for the still figure upon the bed.

"That will be enough, Sentinel Andrews."

Horton froze at the intruding voice. The man who stepped up to the door wore a medical badge; his face was unfamiliar to the guide, a stranger. But his voice was familiar and after a moment Horton placed it, relaxing slightly.

Andrews, however, didn't seem the slightest inclined to either relax or release Horton's aching wrist. "You're not a guide," he said sharply to the doctor.

"No," the man replied mildly. "But Guide Horton is, and we would rather he remained intact." He smiled slightly, though Horton personally thought the jest in bad taste. "You did agree to this, Sentinel Andrews," the man's gaze flickered to Horton, "as did you, Guide Horton."

"Morris," Horton acknowledged dryly as Andrews reluctantly let him go. "You're here with these two?"

The doctor inclined his head. "Yes. I'm sorry about the confusion - we contacted you yesterday before Guide Sandburg agreed to assist us."

Horton grimaced sourly. "You need *him* to control Ellison," he said. It wasn't a question. He glanced back at Andrews. "And this one?"

"Yours, if you want him." Seeing the narrowing of Horton's eyes, the doctor hastily continued. "As well as the price we agreed upon for Ellison, of course." He hefted the slim briefcase he carried, smiling faintly.

Horton ground his teeth. What had seemed like a fine idea the day before, angry and exhausted from trying to bring Ellison beneath his control, seemed to grate against his nerves now. It was a failure. And yet... there was Andrews, ready for the taking, and he could feel the warmth coil in his stomach with an anticipatory pleasure that he'd never found in Ellison's unresponsive body. It was a sweet addition to the deal and Morris knew it; the smile on the doctor's face was smugly self-satisfied.

Growling ungratefully, Horton stepped back. "Come in, then. No sense doing this on the steps."

They followed him in. Sandburg had been sitting by the edge of the bed, worriedly checking over Ellison's still and silent form. He rose as they drew near, jaw set, fists clenched, his voice furious. "Horton, I should..."

"Save it, Sandburg." Stepping forward, Horton brushed the smaller man aside. Reaching down, he quickly stripped the collar from Ellison's neck, letting the heavy leather drop with a jingle of steel fastenings to the mattress. "He's yours."

Sandburg drew in a sharp breath, a whirl of emotions crossing his expressive face. When Horton drew back, firmly quelling any lingering feelings of reluctance, Sandburg took his place immediately. Sinking back down to the bed, he cupped Ellison's lax face between his hands, his voice dropping into the smooth, low tone of the trained guide. "Jim? Jim, I need you to listen to me. Hear my voice. Jim..."

It was the low, gutteral sound of a growl that was Horton's first and only warning. Sandburg heard it as well, head jerking up just as Andrews shouldered Horton aside, something like fury twisting his face.

Whether the sentinel's outstretched hand was to grab Sandburg back or attack the still figure of the other sentinel, Horton never knew. The next moment errupted in motion as Ellison, with no warning, jerked from zoned stillness to aware, blue eyes snapping open. Sandburg was dumped from the edge of the bed to the floor as Ellison surged up, a soundless snarl on his lips, knocking Andrews back.

Endless emergency drills, which Horton had cursed as worse than useless when he had been forced to go through them, were a saving grace. He was in motion before his startled mind could even find the right swearing words to bring to his lips, ducking across the room to fumble open the cover of the recessed alarm button and slamming the signal down. Outside, in the compound, the alarm began to wail.

Ellison and Andrews were on the ground, absolutely insensible to anything outside of each other. Hitting had become a technique too sophisticated - tooth and nail served just as well, and there was blood on the carpet, though he couldn't tell whos as the two sentinels grappled, snarling. Morris had backed towards the door, eyes wide. Sandburg, mouth open, started to dart forward but Horton grabbed him roughly by the arm and hauled him back. "What are you, insane? Neither of them is going to hear you! Wait for the restrainers to get here!"

"Let me go!" Sandburg snapped, struggling. "Jim! Sly! God damn it..."

From somewhere amid the rolling flail of limbs on the floor came the sickening sound of snapping bone and one man - Ellison - reared back with a bellowed cry. Sandburg wrenched away from Horton, throwing himself forward, his outstretched hand grabbing at the closest thing, which was Andrew's shoulder. "No! Sly, damn it..."

The sentinel threw the smaller man off as though he were nothing, elbow driven back into Sandburg's gut. Sandburg hit the wall behind him with a hard crack, sliding down it limply. Morris, with a bravery Horton wouldn't have credited him for, darted forward to drag the guide out of the reach of where Ellison had thrown himself at Andrews, pulling the other man back down to the floor, hand locked around his throat.

And then Horton was having to move, as Andrews flung Ellison off and the two rolled towards him. By the time Horton looked back the alarm had, finally, done its job and guards were swarming through the door like angry hornets, tranq guns loud in the enclosed space as they pumped into the two struggling sentinels who went limp beneath the barrage.

Horton sank slowly down to squat against his heels, rubbing harshly at his face. His heart was pounding, he realized, and there was a tremor in his hands. The scent of fresh blood was all over the room.

A guard reached down, touching his arm. "Guide Horton? Are you alright?"

Letting out a long breath, Horton slowly nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sandburg..." But, when he turned to look, Sandburg and Morris were nowhere to be found.

It was the voice that reached him first, swimming lazily in and out of his range of hearing, and dimly Blair wondered if that was what it felt like to come out of a zone. The words took shape only slowly, the syllables themselves understandable but his grasp of them slipping away as he tried to string them back into sentences.

"..concussion.. he's slipping into shock.."

"..descending. Be there soon.."

There was a droning sound somewhere, and a hard pressure against his ears. Plane, Blair thought muzzily, trying without success to open his eyes. He regretted it, a moment later, when someone's thumb peeled back his lids for him and a bright shot of light stabbed through his retinas to bounce, sickeningly, across the inside of his head. The hands had mercy and let him slip back into the darkness, the urgency in the voice the last thing he heard before he gave up the fight for consciousness again.

"Make it faster.."

-----

When he woke again it was to a stomach churning pain in his head and the sharp, antiseptic smell he always associated with hospitals. Groaning, Blair rolled carefully up to one elbow, only to be jerked to a stop by the cold metal of a handcuff around one wrist, the other end of which was locked securely around the bars of the standard hospital bed he was laying on.

"Wha.."

"Ah! Good, you're awake!" The voice belonged to Morris and a moment later the doctor himself came into view, beaming happily. "Touch and go there, for a bit. How do you feel? Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up? Good, good.. no, don't try to move too much, you'll just be sick."

Blair lay back against the pillow, pressing one hand to the bandage wrapped around his aching head. "Where.."

"My labs," Morris replied promptly, busy with a set of instruments beside the bed.

"No.. Where's Jim? Ow!" The last was in response to the hard prick of a needle at the junction of his elbow and Blair had to look away as something clear was injected into his arm, swallowing hard to keep from being sick.

Morris withdrew the needle expertly, taping a square of cotton over the small puncture. "Just something to settle your head and stomach." Pausing, the doctor frowned. "As to Sentinel Ellison.. we weren't able to retrieve him this time around. Not with that unexpected alarm, and he and Sentinel Andrews in that state."

"We've got to go back.." Blair struggled to sit up, hampered by head and handcuff. He jerked at the restraint roughly. "What's this for?"

"You were thrashing around while you were unconsious," Morris replied easily. "I didn't want you tearing the bandage off. Would you please lay back down? Head injuries are nothing to take lightly.."

"Yes, Blair, please do lay back down, there's a good boy."

Both Blair and Morris turned towards the door, Blair with an increasingly sick feeling, Morris with the color draining rapidly from his face. "Stillman," he gasped.

Jacob Stillman smiled pleasantly. He stood in the doorway, leaning easily upon his cane. The taller forms of Martin and another man flanked him. "Good morning, Edward. Such as it is. Frankly, I'm rather injured. I thought we'd be invited to breakfast." v Morris was whiter than most sheets, his hands clenched against the rail of the bed. "Stillman.. look, I can explain. We just got back. Ellison.."

"James Ellison," Stillman said evenly, the pleasantness falling away from his voice, "is in the medical wing of the Rainer Sentinel Institute, in unstable condition from an overdose of tranquelizers administered in an attempt to seperate him from a fight with Sylvester Andrews. Both sentinels have a list of injuries as long as my arm."

"I had no idea he'd react that way!" Morris protested, babbling. "He and Andrews went beserk.."

"Ellison and Andrews both fancy themselves bonded to my son," Stillman snapped. "Edward, you're a fool. And a clumsy one, at that. It seems Andrews came in contact with Ellison because you were there to purchase him from Guide Horton.. A plan which you completely neglected to inform me of."

"I was going to.." v "Inform me when you got back? Don't bother, Morris," Stillman said dryly. "I have it on good authority precisely what you were going to do, which is steal both sentinel and guide out from under me. You're hardly the only one with contacts in the Rainier facility." Reaching beneath his suit jacket, he calmly pulled forth a small hand gun, aiming it at Morris. "I realize I'm hardly the most paternal figure, but you can't seriously expect that doublecrossing me for my son's life was going to make a favorable impression?"

Blair sucked in a sharp breath. "No, don't!"

His cry went lost in the sharp retort of the gun. Morris fell back, the instruments on the table scattering with a clatter. Blair turned away, eyes squeezed shut, trying desperately not to be sick.

Stillman's cool voice caught his attention once more. "Martin - why don't you get Blair down from there, and we can all go somewhere a bit.. cleaner."

Martin went to Blair's side, producing a key for the handcuffs and unclipping the smaller man from the bed before offering him an arm to assist him in sliding to his feet. Blair stumbled and Martin steadied him; as he did, the other man easily caught Blair's free arm, slapping the handcuffs into place behind Blair's back. Satisfied, he gave the guide a small push in the direction of the door.

Seething, Blair stumbled in the direction they wanted him to go, looking up only as they passed Stillman. "Whatever you want, I'm not doing it," he spat. "Fuck you."

Stillman chuckled slightly. "An interesting proposition, but I believe that was Naomi's job. Just come along, Blair. I really do have your best interests at heart."

-----

There was a house attached to the labs and they ended up there, seated around a very comfortable living room. Stillman seemed remarkably pleased, and except for the handcuffs had instructed his men to treat Blair well, seeing him seated as comfortably as he could be upon the couch while Stillman occupied the chair opposite. It was late morning, a warm sun coming through the windows that, to Blair's eyes, looked far distant from the usual weak Rainer sunlight.

Blair had been watching it all in grim silence. Leaning back against the couch, he had been working furiously at the cuffs on his wrists - he was making some progress, his hands slippery, but if it was from sweat or blood he couldn't tell.

The other men had retreated, only Martin staying nearby. The man had sank down beside Stillman's chair and Blair's father, without seeming to think about it, was running his hand lightly over the other man's hair in almost the way a man might pet a dog.

Blair grimaced, then jerked his chin towards them. "He's your sentinel."

Stillman nodded. "One of them."

"No," Blair ground out. "I don't mean the ones you sell. I mean he's *yours*. Bonded to you."

The older man's smile was infernally smug. "Yes. One of them."

That took a moment to sink in, and when it did Blair tensed. "You can't bond more than one!"

Stillman made a tsking noise. "Amazing what they don't know at those facilities. Martin, would you go get our little surprise for Blair, please?" Martin rose, wordlessly exiting the room, and Stillman turned back to Blair.

"Now, boy, listen closely. You're right. Most guides can't. But a *good* guide can, and you, Blair, have the potential to be one of the best." He smiled. "I should know. I took care to make sure the genes were reinforced."

Shocked, Blair could only sputter. "Naomi isn't.."

"Your mother," Stillman said firmly, "has some admirable genetic qualities. I wouldn't have bothered, otherwise. You, on the other hand, are an above exemplary specimen. You and Ellison both."

"You're insane," Blair growled.

"Am I?" Stillman leaned back in his chair. "You know, Blair, some cultures find it quite acceptable for a father to choose their children's marriage, leaving the children locked into whatever political alliance the patriarch might deem suitable. I, on the other hand, am not without feeling. Or sense. I know destiny when I see it. Or don't you want to spend the rest of your life with James Ellison?"

One hand was slowly, agonizingly, sliding free. He doubted he'd have much skin left when he was done. "What do I have to do in return?"

Stillman smiled benevolently. "I give you the marriage of your dreams. And in return.. in return, you and Ellison will be the fathers of a new generation of superior guides and sentinels."

"You really are insane," Blair spat through gritted teeth. "What kind of sick.."

"Now, now," Stillman chided gently. "Think about it, why don't you? Freedom for you, for your sentinel, away from the United States laws regarding such things.. and in return, a few samples of sperm. Is that really all that unreasonable?"

They were interrupted by the return of Martin. With him was a woman, a little taller than Blair, dressed in a smart blue skirt and blouse. Martin guided her with a hand to her elbow; at closer range, Blair could see the blank, unblinking stare of her eyes.

"Ah, there you are! Come here, my dear." The woman went to Stillman easily, letting him pull her down to sit on the arm of the chair. "Blair, I'd like you to meet Alex." Stillman smiled, patting the woman's back in a fatherly way. "I know she's not precisely supermodel material, perhaps, but she is a remarkable sentinel." He chuckled. "She'll be the first to present me with a grandchild. Imagine that."

The handcuff slipped past his fingertips and Blair drew a deep breath. "I am *not* some horse you can just put out to stud!" he yelled. Lunging off the couch, he grabbed the woman's wrist and yanked her forward. She went bonelessly, whatever drug Stillman had her on acting in Blair's favor as he dragged her in front of him and flung the chain of the cuffs around her neck, pulling it tight.

Martin froze, his gun training on Blair even as he looked to Stillman for direction. Blair's father remained calm, watching, then casually raised his hands. Blair tensed, but Stillman did nothing but clap, softly, a deliberate, mocking noise.

"Very good, Blair," he said approvingly. "Very good indeed. The flaw is that the experiment, far from being hypothetical, is already in place. And while you might use an innocent young woman as a shield - might even harm her a bit in a bid to escape.." He leaned forward, eyes sharp, the triumphant smile playing at his lips. "While you might do that, if desperate enough, can you really bring yourself to harm the mother of your own child?"

Finale
by
Stormwolf

Blair released his hold on the woman, shock upon his face, "You can't be serious?"

"Oh but I am." Stillman said with a smile.

In disgust Blair pushed Alex away from him, and Martin caught her. Blair slumped down in the chair. "You are out of your mind." Blair said.

"Perhaps." Stillman stood and motioned to Martin who led Alex out of the room. "We shall discuss my sanity later. Come Blair, you look tired. I will show you to your room." Stillman held out a hand as if to guide Blair my the elbow. Blair jerked away from his biological father's touch, but resigned himself to following the man into another room. The room held a bed. Stillman unlocked Blair's cuffs, and left the room locking it behind him. Blair stared at the door, fury and anguish written on his face. He could see no way out of this predicament.

*********************

Jim became aware first of the pain. As taught, he dialed it down quickly, but not quickly enough to stifle the moan that emerged from his lips.

"Easy, Ellison, you're going to be alright." A familiar voice said and Jim's eyes snapped open.

Bending over him, a smile on his face, was someone Jim thought he'd never see again. "Brady? You're alive?"

"Yeah, I am, though I had wondered for a moment there or two. Stillman's men, I can't believe they got the drop on us. I lost seven good men that day. Stillman owes me, Ellison, and I still owe you."

Jim looked around, "Where am I."

"A facility I own. I had my men kidnap you from the Rainier Hospital. You were in a coma and near death from those tranquilizers they had pumped into you. I got there in time to. Stillman had sent men to get you. As it is he got that other sentinel, Sylvester. And he has Sandburg."

Jim sat up and immediatley regreted it when a pain lanced through his ribs. Brady layed a hand on his shoulder, "Easy there, Captain. You're still recovering from some cracked ribs. Your left wrist is broken and you have some very colorful bruises. Hell, you looked better when we got out of that prison camp in Iraq."

"That bad, huh." Jim said with a hint of a laugh.

"Yep."

"We need to get Sandburg away from Stillman. That man is crazy." Jim continued.

"Yeah, you still need a guide, but are you sure you want Blair? After all he dumped you to get that other one."

"He didn't have a choice. At least, I don't think he did."

"You might be happy to know that Horton is dead."

"How?" Was all Jim asked.

"Stillman. Its a damn good thing, though, that you didn't fully bond with him. Or you'd be dead. As it is, the doctors here say there is a good chance that you still might IF we don't get you bonded properly to another guide. Which means getting Sandburg, stopping that piece of trash Stillman, and getting you two to Peru intact."

"Brady, Stillman is powerful, are you sure you want to go up against him?" Jim asked.

"The man owes me Ellison. And he is going o pay. No one kills my men and gets away with it. I wasn't expecting Stillman the first time, now he's going to learn what it means to go up against me."

The look on Brady's face would have made a grown man quiver in fear. Knowing Grady, Jim knew Stillman was in for a big shock.

*********************

Stillman stood over the bed where Alex lay. The sentinel had been drugged senseless, and lay in a stupor. A powerful sentinel, she had lost her guide some three months before and instead of suiciding like most do, she had slowly gone insane until the homicidal urges and split personality disorder had emerged. Stillman had to keep her drugged to keep control over her.

"Soon you won't be needed, my dear." Stillman said and left the room.

He went inside Blair's room to find the guide waiting for him.

"Why are you doing this? What do you hope to gain."

"What all men in power seek, my son. More power." Stillman said.

"Don't call me that. As far as I am concerned you are nothing more than a sperm donor."

Stillman smiled. "With your genetic material and Ellison's I will build an army of sentinels loyal to me. Sentinels who wil then be guided by my chosen Heir."

"You know there's medication that will help control your delusions. You migh want to see a psychologist for that." Blair said sarcastically.

Stillman backhanded Blair across the mouth. Blair staggered back, then spit blood onto the floor and glared at his father.

Stillman visibly took control of his anger then opened the door. Martin brought in a stretcher with Sly lying still upon it.

"One of your sentinels had been returned. The pother dissapeared from the facility, but it is only a matter of time before I find him." Stillman said and left the room.

Blair went to Sly's side, and placed a hand on the sentinel's face. Sly had a fever, and his body was curled up, pain lines clear on his face.

"Martin had stayed int he room, and he calmly stated, "He is dying."

Blair looked at him. "Why?"

"They overdosed the sentinels on the tranquilizers, and Ellison did some internal damage. The doctors did what they could, but there is nothing to be done. Stillman wants you to watch as he dies." With that Martin left the room locking the door behind him.

Blair sat vigil at Sly's bedside, handing moving through Sly's short blonde hair in an attempt to comfort the dying sentinel.

*******************

Ellison waited for his turn to leap from the plane that was flying below radar. Ahead of him, Brady was encouraging his men,a nd watching them as they leaped formt he plane, his eyes following them to be sure their chute opened. When finally it was Jim's turn, Brady asked, "Are you sure about this ellison? Your still not in good shape."

"Don't worry about me." Jim said and leaped form the plane. His chute opened, and he slwoly floated to the ground.

It was dark, and his sentinel senses gave him an advantage, one that Brady's men used night vision goggles for. They eventually found each other, and buried their chutes. They had landed ont he far side of the island and had a good hike to get to Stillman's mansion, but all of them were prepared.

Jim checked the clip on his HK 53, and his .45 semi automatic, then followed Brady and his men through the forest toward Stillman's mansion.

They easily slipped into the mansion, bypassing the alarms. while Brady's men took down the guards silently, Jim used his senses to lead Brady to Blair.

Brady bypassed the electronic lock on the door, and they both enetered. Blair looked up from where he sat beside his dead sentinel.

"Jim!" Blair whispered in shock. "What are...how...oh man you gotta get out of here. Stillman's been trying to catch you."

"I know, Chief. Don't worry about it." He came up n the other side of the stretcher and looked down. "What happened?"

"They brought him here so I could watch him die. There was nothing the doctors could do. Too much damage from the fight and the tranqu." Blair said, then looked up at Jim, "How are you doing?"

"Better now that I've found you. Come on. Brady has a boat waiting for us."

Blair took one last look at Sly, and stood up to follow Jim out of the room.

"Not so fast." Stillman said appearing at the door. Martin had a gun pointed at Brady's neck.

Jim pointed his .45 at Stillman.

"I suggest you put the gun down, Ellison or your friend will pay the price."

"Brady owes me a life, it might as well be his." Jim said with conviction in his voice.

Stillman seemed confused for half a second, then motioned with his finger. "No, I don't believe you, Ellison. I believe I will call your bluff."

*Fuck*, Jim thought to himself, but seeing as how he didn't want Brady to be killed for him, Jim tossed the gun.

"Good boy." Stillman said. Martin hit Brady across the back of his head. Brady fell to the ground unconscious.

Stillman smiled.

***********************

Stillman led the party to a large room where two hospital beds awaited them. They had left Brady in the room Blair was locked in tied to the bed.

Martin motioned to the beds with his gun.

"What are you planning?" Blair asked.

"I must finish the experiment. Get ont he beds." Stillman said.

They complied to the orders, and Martin strapped them down while Stillman held the gun. Once the straps were buckled into place, Martin took back the gun and place it in the holster at his shoulder.

Once they were secured, several doctors and nurses entered the room. Their clothes were removed rom their bodies, and IV started in their arms. Other machines were attached them to monitor their vitals while the team of doctors wrote down the information. Stillman bid them goodday and left the room with Martin following at his heels like a good sentinel.

Finally after hours of tests, and prodding, the nurses injected a sedative into their IV's and the sentinela nd guide drifted off into a drug induced sleep.

******************

Stillman watched through the two way mirror the breakthrough surgery being performed int he operating room. Blood covered the doctor's scrubs as they worked exhaustibly on the delicate surgery. Stillman smiled as the doctors nodded to each other giving themselves congratulations on a successful surgery. Tehy cosed up, inserted the final stitches and left the nurses to finish. Stillman left the small room and went out to speak to the surgeons.

They spoke, the surgeons saying that the operation was a success, and that there would be no complications. The patient would need a few weeks to recover completely, and would have to be kept on a strict diet. Stillman nodded, and watched the patient now covered by a sheet being rolled out of the operating room into the recovery room. He looked at the other occupant in the room, still asleep from the drugs, looking peaceful. With one last check on the other patient, Stillman left the room.

Martin came up to him, "And how are our other guests?" Stillman asked.

"They are angry but none the worse for wear. The cells in the basement have come in handy."

"Its always best to be prepared." Stillman said.

They walked down the hallway.

"Was the surgery a success?" Martin asked.

"Yes, a complete success. Which it should have been considering the amount of money I've paid for the brains and expertise that were in that room. Nothing but the best."

******************

Blair was the first to awaken. He opened his eyes and looked up at the white ceiling. He tried to move his limbs to discover that he was still strapped to the bed. A bedsheet covered his nude body and Blair looked aorund the room to find Jim asleep in the other bed, an IV in his arm, other machines attached to him, and bed sheet covering him to his chest.

Blair tested his bonds to find them secure. He noticed that he also had an IV, and a few machines attached to him. He explored the sensations of his body, but found no pain to indicate what had happened while they had been out. He looked back at the sentinel.

"Jim, wake up." Blair said.

He heard a groan and then Jim's head moved. Another groan accompanied the head movement.

"Easy, Jim, dial it down." Though he wasn't sure what Jim was dialing down.

"Oh man, did you get the liscence number of that truck?" Jim asked groggily.

"Stillman." Blair answered.

"Too many letters." Jim joked.

Blair let loose a little laugh. It helped ease the tension.

"What's going on?" Jim asked groaning. "Oh man my stomach hurts, and their stitches in me." He groaned again.

"Dial it down Jim. Its alright, just picture the dial and slowly move it." Blair coaxed him through the excercise, and Jim was able to dial down enough to function.

"I don't know what happened." Blair answered Jim's earlier question. *What did they do to you?* Blair wondered.

The door opened to admit Stillman and Martin. "Aaah good, you are both awake." Stillman said smiling.

"What's going on, what did you do to Jim." Blair demanded.

Stillman smiled proudly, "You are truly my son, Blair. YOu demand, and expect people to obey even when you are not in control."

"Stop playing that game, and tell me what happened."

"Well I believe you will be gratified to know that Alex died last night."

Blair's face fell. He hated the idea of his seed being used like that, but he the baby regardless of its conception was stll his.

"However, the baby is alive and well." Stillman said.

"How, she couldn't have been more than a few months pregnant?" Blair asked incredibly.

"Because the baby is now inside your sentinel. " Stillman answered.

Stillman had left the room after having explained a bit about the procedure. Blair had been in shock through the explanantion and if pressed couldn't repeat the information Stillman had passed on.

Jim had been in shock, but he had listened to Stillman's every word, fear like a sharp pain in his gut. He could repeat everything Stillman said about combining his DNA with Alex's to produce a viable egg cell that was then fertilised with Blair's seed. The DNA had been manipulated, impurities taken out, and the babies...BABIES! would be born practically perfect with no defects. Jim had thought a few times about throwing up when Stillman talked about the procedure. A uterus grown in a vat and surgically implanted in his body, the babies...BABIES! placed inside the uterus and the doctors stimulating the uterus to create an amniotic sac. The placenta had also been placed inside with the babies, though they were still practically microscopic.

"Twins," He whispered shocked, a sick feeling twisting through his stomach. Idly he wondered if it was morning sickness, then laughed hollowly. He noticed Blair was looking at him as if wondering if the sentinel was still sane. Jim looked back at Blair, blue eyes catching blue eyes. "Twins, Blair."

Blair winced at the fear in Jim's voice, "I know Jim." Blair whispered. His mind had caught on that statement as well.

"What are we going to do?" The sentinel asked.

"I don't know." Blair wished he did.

Sometime later two men came inside the room with Stillman following. The went immediately to Blair and began to unhook the IV's and such from the Guide's body.

"What's going on?" Blair asked his so called father.

"We are moving you both to a private room. I don't know if Jimmy boy here told you but Horton is dead. The fact that the sentinel is still alive says that the bond between them wasn't very strong, but strong enough. The doctors have told me his health is detoriating, and eventually he will zone and then die. I cannot let that happen. Therefor you will need to finish your bond to him." Stillman said then motioned to the men to wheel Blair's gurney out of the room.

"You're crazy! He still has stitches in him. He just recovered from surgery."

Stillman shook his head as he followed Blair's gurney down the hall. "Blair, Blair, Blair. You will be doing on the work, all he has to do is lie there and take it like a man." Stillman smiled at that.

Blair's gurney was wheeled into a private room with a bed. It was not the same room where he had first been held, where Sly had died from his injuries while Blair had stood vigilance. The orderlies removed the straps that held Blair to the bed, and assisted him in sitting up and getting off the gurney.

"You will have everything you need in here, my boy. Ellison will be brought in shortly. I suggest you don't get too carried away, after we wouldn't want him to tear his stitches." Stillman laughed and left the room with the two orderlies locking the door behind him.

A few minutes later the electronic lock deactivated and the orderlies brought in Jim still strapped to his gurney. Stillman followed his hand stroking Jim's short brown hair. The sentinel was trying to ignore the guide.

Stillman motioned for the orderlies to release the strps, which they did and picked up the sentinel carefully and layed him on the bed. Leather straps on the bed were used on his wrists to hold him to the bed. The orderlies then lifted and spread Jim's legs, locking them in place by straps hanging from the ceiling above the bed. Blair noticed Jim's hole was clenching and unclenching, tension and fear causing the reaction.

Like Jim, Blair was also nude, and Stillman smiled at his son when he saw Blair's cock reacting to the sight of his sentinel spread out and revealed to him.

Stillman motioned to the orderlies, and they went into the bathroom.

"Now Blair, my boy, I wil prepare your sentinel for you, and then I want you to take him. If you don't then I will bond him to me."

The orderlies came out of the bathroom, supplies in there hands. One of them placed a latex glove on Stillman's hand and the other handed him a bottle of lubricant.

Blair tried to protest, but the orderlies held him while Stillman walked over to the bed. Jim fought his restraints to no avail.

Stillman asked at both the guide's and sentinel's behavior then popped the cap of the lube. He spread it generously on his gloved finger, then almost clinically he began to prepare Jim's hole.

His finger slipped inside easily, Blair was using his voice to calm the struggling sentinel so that he would not be injured. Stillman moved his lubed and gloved finger around inside Jim, stretching the sentinel's hole. He felt some of the scars that were left over from when the sentinel had belonged to Horton. His own cock grew hard from looking at his his finger inside the sentinel who was so neatly tied up and exposed to the room. Stillman ignored his erection, knowing his own Martin was waiting for him inside his room, tied to the bed in exactly the same manner as Jim, a large butt plug filling the sentinel's ass, waiting only to be removed for Stillman's cock to replace it.

Stillman pushed another finger inside Jim's ass and eventually was able to push three inside. All three moved around inside, stretching the sentinel's well used and scarred ass.

"Too bad Horton popped his cherry, Blair. A virginal sentinel is always a delight to fuck." Stillman said crudely. Blair winced at the words.

Stillman removed his fingers believing the sentinel's ass was now ready. He then walked over to his son.

Squirting lube onto his gloved hand, Stillman covered Blair's hard leaking cock with the lube rubbing it a few times while the orderlies held him. "You're a sick fuck, Stillman." Blair said.

Stillman released Blair's cock. "Now, Blair, my boy. Your sentinel is ready to be used. i suggest you do so now before I take care of it." Stillman pointed to his own crotch, jeans bulging rom where his cock desperately wanted to be freed.

Knowing Stillman would, Blair went to the bed and climbed up onto the foot, kneeling between Jim's raised and spread legs. He rubbed his hand on Jim's outer thigh in an attempt to calm the sentinel.

Blair's voice was the only thing that had kept him from falling into a hallucinatory state. As it was he could still see Horton at the corner of his eyes, and it took everything he had to keep the dead guide away from him. Blair's touch on his body helped immensely.

Disgusted, Blair knew Stillman was going to stand there and watch.

"Blair, no delays. He's lubed and ready." Stillman said. "Or should I take over as replacement pitcher."

"No." Blair said, and grapsed his cock. With whispered apologies that only Jim could hear, he slowly guided his cock into Jim's ass. the sentinel tensed only once, but Blair's voice helped him to calm down. Eventually, Blair's balls rested against Jim's ass cheeks.

He started slowly at first, catching a rythmn. Eventually, the strokes sped up, and Blair changed the angle so that each stroke of his cock brushed against Jim's prostate until the sentinel's own cock stood straight up toward his stitched belly, precum leaking from the tip. Blair reached over and grapsed Jim's cock and began to pump it as he thrusted into Jim's ass.

Jim came first, his orgams clenching and unclenching his ass muscles around Blair's cock, and Blair came as well, his seed spilling deep inside the sentinel's ass.

He slipped his now spent cock from Jim's body, and rubbed his hands up and down Jim's legs.

Stillman smiled and he and the orderlies left the room.

Martin was waiting for him in his rooms, and Stillman removed the plug none too gently and plunged his cock in and fucked his sentinel until he came.

Inside Blair's room, Blair was unbuckling the restraint that held Jim in such a vulnerable postion. He had checked Jim's ass and had been relieved to find no blood or signs of damage.

When he released Jim's limbs, he wrapped his own arms around HIS sentinel and together they fell into a deep sleep.

****************************

Brady watched the guard pass by his cell through the barred window of the door. The guard walked all the way down the hallway checking each door to see if they were secure and looking inside to be sure that all the prisoners were inside and accounted for. When he had walked the length of the hallway, the guard then left through the door.

Brady didn't have a watch, but after four days of watching the guards, he knew for sure that the guard was changing and it would be another thirty minutes perhaps more before another guard walked the hallway.

Moving quickly, Brady removed his combat boot on his left foot, and removed the sole revealing the item hidden within.

A small packet of C-6, a small detonator, and a remote detonator.

Brady packed the C-6 on the hinges of the cell door, then set the detonator for a few minutes. He hid behind the mattress of his bunk.

The C-6 made a nice explosion and blew the door off its hinges. Guards came running of course, but Brady took them out easily. He quickly handed off the keys to his second, Dubrious, who immedialtely used it to open his cell. Once he was free, together they took out the guards. Brady then pushed three of the eight buttons on the remote detonator. Three explosions from carefully placed C-6 occurred almost simulataneously. Smiling, knowing that would keep everyone busy, Brady released the rest of his men.

They relieved guards of their weapons, and immediately exited the basement and flooded intot he house itself. Brady pushed another button and another explosion occurred, this one of the munitions building. The resulting explosion rocked the house, literally.

Dubrious pulled out a hidden tracking device, and the blip came on the screen. The protein tracker inside Ellison's body would help them find the sentinel. They followed the blip taking out men as needed.

The room had an electronic lock, but Brady bypassed it easily. Inside, he found the sentinel and guide waiting for him. Both were nude, and Brady had one of his men strip a couple of guards. He noticed the stiches on ellison, but asked nothing. Now was not the time to interrogate them.

Once sentinel and guide were dressed, and armed, they left the room, and Brady pushed another button.

"You're not going anywhere." Stillman said. He had a HK 23E in his hands pointed at them. Jim aimed with his own Berretta FC70, and used his sentinel sight to aim for the barrel. He fired, and the bullet entered the HK 23E, and the weapon practically exploded in Stillman's hands. The guide fell over to the ground dead, shrapnel embedded in his forehead.

Blair looked at his father's body for a few moments. Jim placed a hand on Blair's shoulder. Blair looked at his sentinel, then spat on the dead body of his so called father and left with his sentinel.

The rest of the explosions were set off as they ran from the mansion toward the docks. They fought a long, bloody battle the entire way, and some of Brady's men fell along the way, including his second ubrious.

When they reached the docks, Brady commandeered a large boat with three cabins, and starte dher up. They sped away and the last explosion destroyed all the other boats at the docks.

Neither Blair nor Jim looked back.

*************************

Jim Ellison stood on the balcony of his beautiful home in the hills outside of Lima. The sun beat down upon his already well tanned body as he stood in his black silk boxers watching with sentinel sight as a few brightly colored parrots flew over the tree tops of the Peruvian jungle. His sentinel hearing could detect Blair moving around in the bathroom behind him, the shower running.

Jim smiled as he imagined the warm wter running over Blair's nude body following well known paths.

A whimper and a soft cry had Jim going back into the room to check on the other occupants.

Lying nestled in their cradle, sleeping peacefully together, were the twins that birthing had nearly cost him his life. As it was, the scar on his abdomen was a reminder of all that he and Blair had gone through in their lives.

Looking down at the sweet innocent faces, Jim acknowledged that it had been worth every scar, every pain, every tear shed to be able look upon his children.

"How are they doing?" Blair asked in a quiet voice so as not to disturb them.

Jim realised he had been engrossed in the heartbeats of his own children he had not heard Blair enter. He looked up at his guide. Blair stood before him wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips.

"Just fine." Jim said.

"You zoned, didn't you?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded, "Yeah I was listening to their heartbeats."

Blair smiled. He reached down and cupped Damion's little head, and the small sentinel sensed the touch and cooed in his sleep. Seth opened his blue eyes and looked at his brother, then closed them as Jim placed his hand on Seth's head. The two little sentinels slept on, their parents watching over them.