“I am sure it is,” he said flatly. “Except you and I both know you cannot desire meaningless intercourse with a stranger. You are a throwback.”
Eridan glowered at him, smacking him telepathically. “Fuck you. I’m more than just my biology. You think I can’t get laid just because I’m a throwback? I can. I will!” He stormed out of the house, fuming, hurt and rejection making his chest tight.
Screw him.
Gods, he hated him.
Chapter Nine: Ice Prince
Eridan barely remembered getting to the apprentices’ district. His house was cold and dark and unlived-in. Eridan marched straight to his rarely used bedroom and searched for the most immodest clothes he could find in his closet.
Those happened to be a tight pair of dark pants that accentuated his ass, and a half-sheer black shirt. He’d bought those clothes last year, but there had not been any occasions to wear them. He didn’t have friends, so he had never been to any of the nightclubs in the apprentices’ and initiates’ districts. But he had heard of them, of course. Everyone had. Eridan was sure all Masters were aware of those nightclubs—they had been apprentices once, too, after all—and just feigned ignorance. The Chapter wasn’t stupid: so many teenagers and young adults would go crazy in an isolated town like this and do something stupid if they weren’t allowed to unwind. Eridan suspected there were such establishments in the Masters’ districts, too, but he didn’t know where they were located.
He didn’t need them, anyway. The one in the apprentices’ district would do just as nicely.
Pulling his hair into a bun, Eridan stared at the purple gemstone resting against his throat with mixed feelings. He should probably remove it. Castien’s telepathic mark would make it obvious who his Master was and would likely scare off most men. But on the other hand, did he want to sleep with anyone scared of his Master?
The mere thought of sleeping with some stranger made his stomach turn, but Eridan pushed through his discomfort. He was more than his biology. He could have sex if he decided to. So what if according to the Order’s research, eighty-five percent of throwbacks needed emotional intimacy for sex? Maybe he was among the lucky fifteen percent who could fuck anyone they wanted. Ironically, those fifteen percent of throwbacks were the ones who gave all throwbacks such a bad reputation. Wet slut, boypussy, back whores: those degrading terms existed entirely thanks to the fraction of throwbacks who biologically had an extremely high sex drive and didn’t need any emotional intimacy for sex. And never mind that those terms couldn’t have been more wrong for the majority of throwbacks.
Ever since Eridan could remember, he had hated it, hated being a throwback. Children could be cruel, and the humiliating nicknames had only bothered him more with the years, especially since they were so unfair and inaccurate. Sometimes he almost wished he were as promiscuous as the throwbacks’ reputation was: at least then he wouldn’t feel dirty for things he didn’t do. When other teenagers had been making out and having sex, he’d had no sex drive to speak of. He was a very late bloomer: he started getting urges only after becoming his Master’s apprentice.
Eridan tried not to think about what that could mean. It was natural that his body had mistaken their deep training bond for emotional intimacy. It meant nothing. His Master was an emotionless bastard who wouldn’t recognize emotional intimacy if it hit him in the face.
Stop thinking about him, damn you, he told himself, annoyed. He could totally have sex with a stranger if he decided to. He was going to prove Castien wrong and then rub it in his face, coming home smelling of sex and some stranger.
Ignoring the unease churning in his gut, Eridan headed out.
The club was called Ice Prince, in honor of the Crown Prince of the Third Grand Clan, one of the most gorgeous men on Calluvia. Eridan had never met the prince, but he had seen him on the news. Prince Jamil really was drop-dead gorgeous, but hilariously, he couldn’t be more different from the establishment named after him. Eridan wondered what that prim, proper prince would think if he found out that there was an illegal establishment for sex, dancing, and drinking within the Order named in honor of him. The thought was funny.
Eridan winced as he entered the club. He had never felt comfortable in big crowds, his empathy becoming a huge disadvantage. Other people’s