Don't Fight the Spark

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Don't Fight the Spark Page 1

by Kasia Bacon




  As the Light Festival draws near, the Něssyrians craft paper lanterns, awaiting the most important holiday of the year.

  The Lyliňg Fighting House, too, prepares for celebration---by laying fresh sand onto the arena and setting up a match against their top pit fighter, the unrivalled Yüuzuki Ōren.

  His last match. One he can't win.

  With the odds more than stacked against him, the gorgeous Barbarian is as good as dead. Unless his lover, healer Ĥaiatto Ẽkana, proves himself every bit as determined as he is clever and finds a way to protect the man he'd stop at nothing to save.

  A fight for love with a touch of Magic.

  "Don't Fight the Spark presents a delightfully fresh exploration for fans of The Order series and an intriguing introduction---rife with assassins, gladiators, vampires, and magic---for readers new to Kasia Bacon's rich, romantic fantasy world."

  --GINN HALE, author of the bestselling Rifter and Lord of the Whitehell series

  "Bacon delivers a jewel box world of magic and true-lovers with a yaoi-manga aesthetic so vivid that I can practically see the screen tone."

  --NICOLE KIMBERLING, author of Sea of Stars

  "An irresistible gem of a love story. In just six short chapters, Kasia Bacon delivers all the goods: an adorably mismatched couple to root for, a seductive and dangerous fantasy world, and more than a spark of wit and charm. Read at your own risk: the second you finish, you'll be afflicted with grabby-hands for Book Two."

  --J.C. LILLIS, author of How to Repair a Mechanical Heart and A&B

  K A S I A B A C O N

  DON'T FIGHT THE SPARK

  A Soldiers and Mercenaries Novella

  Don't Fight the Spark: A Soldiers and Mercenaries Novella

  Copyright © 2019 Kasia Bacon

  Kindle Edition

  Published by The Order Universe

  All rights reserved.

  Written by: Kasia Bacon

  Edited by: No Stone Unturned Editing Services

  Cover photo: Adobe Stock

  Cover Design by: Paul A. Bacon

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, copied, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author except for the purpose of reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described in this book are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblances to actual people or incidents are entirely coincidental.

  For excerpts, free stories and updates about new projects, sign up for Kasia's newsletter.

  For Renata---a good friend and human.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  About the Book

  Praise for Don't Fight the Spark

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  1. Warning

  2. Fighter

  3. Healer

  4. Brotherhood

  5. Trust

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Books by Kasia Bacon

  Excerpt from When I First Saw Red

  Dear Reader,

  I hope the New Year has treated you kindly so far.

  If you subscribe to the Order newsletter or follow me on social media, you know that since early autumn, I've been working intermittently on When I First Saw Red and The Scouts, switching between the two novellas. Everything was going fine and dandy.

  Until smack! The opening line of a new story---They brought him to me bloodied and beaten to a pulp three days before the Night of Lights---thwacked me right in the face on 1st November.

  And that was it. My carefully devised schedule went to hell, dancing a merry jig on its way. Ĥaiatto and Yüuzuki entered the stage, demanding I quit everything else and write their story, not giving a single damn about the inconvenience. And never mind the mounting tension between me and my Elven lads, Ervyn and Lochan.

  But how do you say 'no' to a gorgeous fighter and a courageous, clever healer?

  You don't. You grin and bear it. And swear your head off.

  Don't Fight the Spark is set around the winter solstice. Initially, I envisaged it as a very brief tale and strived to have it ready around Christmas. However, upon further reflection---and as the word count grew and grew---I reconsidered. Given the story's hot location and the fact that the celebrations are there just for a bit of pretty scenery, I wouldn't go as far as to call it a holiday story per se. Besides, you've probably gathered by now that strictly imposed deadlines and I don't mesh very well.

  This novella kicks off my new series titled Soldiers and Mercenaries. It will be a collection of standalone stories, featuring new couples from different corners of the Order Universe. I must admit, I very much delight in writing the Order books in the manner that resembles revealing a new piece of a puzzle with every release. I can only hope that such a formula brings you---the one at the receiving end of this bargain---a similar sense of enjoyment.

  Before I leave you to it, I have two suggestions. Feel free to dismiss them both, of course, but for a fuller experience, I'd recommend starting your reading journey with The Poison Within (and especially the bonus story at the end titled A Late Bite to Eat). Secondly, since the Order Glossary has now become a tradition readers seem to find helpful, I've provided one for this novella as well. Perhaps it's worth breezing through that before diving into the thick of it.

  Happy reading! Until next time.

  ---Kasia Bacon

  WARNING

  They brought him to me bloodied and beaten to a pulp three days before the Night of Lights.

  Being battered black and blue after a fight came with the territory for an ih'mohrô, even one as good as Yüuzuki Ōren. Not once in the past, however, had he ended up unresponsive in my treatment room. My stomach plummeted at the sight of two guards hauling him between them like a sack of coal. Was the dread that had haunted my dreams about to transpire?

  Careful not to unmask my fear, I schooled my features. "Here." I ushered the men to the exam table, erected in the middle of my study for easy access.

  I did my best not to wince when Yüu's limp body landed on top of the linen-dressed surface with a dull thump.

  I got to him in two leaps and busied myself with arranging him in a recovery position. Placing two fingers on the inside of his wrist, I took his pulse. It felt thready and rapid, but it was there. I observed his chest rising and falling in shallow but regular breaths. Having seen no evidence of a collapsed lung or any blockage in his airways, I sighed with relief.

  The blood caking his body---part dried, part fresh---prevented me from fully determining the damage.

  I ordered the men to step back and allow me room to work. The next moment, I snatched my emergency kit from the side cabinet and prepared a basin of fresh water, dampening a soft muslin washcloth in it. Having settled Yüu onto his back with speed and care, I proceeded to clean the skin of the wounded man.

  Not just any man, but the one I loved.

  The scanty outfit of a pit-fighter, consisting of a simple loincloth, allowed me to get on with my task right away, taking stock of his injuries as the sweeping movements of my hands uncovered more and more scrapes, cuts and contusions.

  Yüu was as tough as they came. The toughest. I would know, having treated him and other prized combatants of the Lyliňg Fighting House for over three years. If his body shut down, going into shock from blood loss and pain, both must've been significant.

  Two water changes later, I had completed my assessment. To start with, some anaesthesia wouldn't go amiss. Fuck me sideways if I let Yüu suffer a moment beyond that point.

  I rummaged thr
ough the items in my first response kit and fished out a ball of red yarn. I doubled the thread around Yüu's wrist, fashioning a bracelet out of it.

  One hand on the cord, I placed the other on the jade crystal that hung from my neck.

  I forced my mind to relax and drew a generous amount of magic from my source stone, far greater than I would have been willing to extract under any other circumstances. A familiar rush of elation made me shiver from head to toe, goosebumps erupting on the nape of my neck as the crystal heated under my fingertips. I focused on the bracelet this time, channelling the stream of energy into the yarn to charge its fibres. They stiffened and crackled, spitting tiny purple sparks all over my fingers. When the thread softened and slackened again, I let go of my jade necklace. I began tying three intricate knots on the bracelet while murmuring incantations. I filled each ligature with a slow-releasing spell: pain relief, infection suppressant and healing stimulant.

  Beads of perspiration formed on my forehead by the time I'd finished. Only then did I get down to business.

  The laceration on the outer part of Yüu's brow ridge took precedence. Not so much due to its severity, but because it kept bleeding in ghastly streaks all over his eye and cheek. Despite their dramatic appearance, cuts to the bony prominence of the head were common amongst ih'mohrôs and often superficial. The spectators, of course, loved the gory blood spurting on everyone inside the ring. Afterwards, they left the arena with the satisfied conviction they'd got their silvers' worth.

  A simple application of steady pressure, followed by a dab of a greasy coagulant ointment did the trick, permitting me to move onto the next affected area.

  Yüu's right shoulder rested at an odd angle. Taking advantage of his unconsciousness, I palpated around the dislocated joint and popped it back into the socket.

  I didn't like the feel of the swelling that had formed around the large, livid bruise below Yüu's breast. The result of a vicious back kick, I guessed by the shape of it, which had likely fractured a few ribs. I couldn't do much about that, but drawing from my source again, I pressed a topical charm into his skin to accelerate the knitting of broken bones and regeneration of the tissues around them.

  Finally, I bent over the wide and ugly gash in his upper thigh. The elliptical incision had clean cut edges. A stab wound.

  The fuck?! Are they arming his opponents with knives now?

  I shot a panicked glance over at the guards.

  The taller and older of them, Rhēn---with whom I was friendly and who served as my chess partner on a sporadic slower night---looked pained when meeting my eyes. He happened to be the only one on the compound who knew about Yüu and me.

  A sinister feeling seeped in, spreading chill throughout my sternum. The matches between ih'mohrôs weren't governed by any rules save for one---no weapons, just bare hands.

  So why the hell did Yüu sport a nasty, four-thumb long cut from a blade?

  Biting my lip, I redirected my attention back to Yüu's leg, giving the wound another brisk clean. Closing it required stitching and a dressing on top.

  From here on out, taking care of the remaining minor marks and abrasions didn't amount to much.

  "He walked out of the ring unaided. Only collapsed and passed out afterwards. Not something he usually does," the young guard mused, as though he suspected Yüu of feigning his fainting episode.

  "He doesn't usually get stabbed," I snapped, letting the underlying you fucking imbecile float heavy in the air.

  I touched up the last of the scrapes and scratches on Yüu's cheek and lip with my ointment-covered fingers. I longed to wrap my arms around him and hold him close to my heart so my face would be the first thing he saw after coming around. Instead, I had to settle for rechecking his pulse. Reassured by its slower and less erratic rhythm, I allowed myself a long exhale.

  My repose didn't last long.

  Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

  The persistent sound drew nearer, resonating through the stone corridor outside the door left ajar by the guards.

  My back stiffened. Only one person around the compound followed the fashion set by the court with enough dedication to wear Ysêmyrian-style shoes featuring high, curved heels. Their hard soles, meant as a status symbol, produced noise every bit as obnoxious and annoying as their owner.

  The next moment, Takano Lyliňg, the eldest and most beloved grandson of my employer, as well as his right hand, appeared in the entrance.

  Despite sporting clean-cut, symmetrical facial features that should've pleased the eye, Takano's beauty seemed somehow tampered with by the cold cruelty congealed in his expression. I tended to avoid the man as I would a venomous snake. His distorted aura set my teeth on edge like the scraping of fingernails on glass. My healer senses perceived Takano's mind as a jigsaw that had broken a long time ago, and while it reshuffled itself to fill the gaps left behind by the missing pieces, the entire thing had never slotted back together quite right.

  Without sparing me a word of greeting, the fucker marched himself all the way up to my treatment table and propped his hip against it. For a time, he studied Yüu with knitted eyebrows.

  Everybody knew Takano loathed Yüu's guts, even if not a soul, myself included, had any insight into the reason why. Pressed to speculate, I'd have gone with jealousy.

  Takano fancied himself a good fighter without much exaggeration. As a youth, he'd longed for the glory of the arena. His ambitions, however, had been thwarted by the Lyliňg patriarch, who'd insisted his heir only partook in the training and no actual matches. Thus Takano's dream of becoming a true ih'mohrô remained just that: a dream. Try as he might, despite honing his craft throughout the years, he simply couldn't compare to Yüu---the unrivalled star of his grandfather's Fighting House and the audience's darling. Besides, the instances when Yüu had stepped in during practice to curb Takano's sadistic streak aimed towards the unfledged trainees in particular, didn't aid their relationship a great deal.

  "The Barbarian's still out of it? Such a little graze and he just keeled over. Who would've thought?" Takano said with perfect detachment. "You'd better fix him up and quick, Ĥaiatto. We've set up a big fight for a special audience on the Night of Lights. He's in it."

  In a jolt of fury, I clenched my jaws until the hinge joints ached. I only spoke after the worst of the emotion subsided, when I could trust my voice to sound dispassionate. "No way in hell will he be able to fight in three days. A fortnight would be too soon, magic or not."

  Takano cast me a brief, dismissive glance. I didn't fail to notice the way his dark, hard eyes lit with glee before he went back to examining the unconscious man in front of him. "Oh, but fight he will." Takano continued as if nothing had happened, baring his teeth in an unpleasant grimace he employed as a smile. "Even if for the last time."

  I couldn't help but react to the malice in his voice. Terror clenched my gut in an iron clasp.

  "You care about him?" Takano's narrowed gaze drilled into mine.

  Does he know something? Has he heard rumours? Or is he trying to sound me out?

  "I do." I shrugged with forced nonchalance. "The same as I care about every ih'mohrô you bring me to treat."

  "The same?" Takano's drawled, arching an eyebrow. "So you say."

  I didn't expect him---still smiling---to reach out and grab a fist full of Yüu's hair and yank his head upwards in a vicious jerk.

  A vein at my temple started throbbing and my mouth filled with the taste of copper. Yet I stayed perfectly still, impersonating a stone carving. "Your grandfather pays me heavy coin to heal his fighters. Healing is what happens in this room. Ever do this again to any of my patients," I waved my hand at Takano in mock invitation, fixing him with a blinkless stare, "and I'll slap an impotence hex on your cock before you even figure out how to spell erectile dysfunction."

  I wouldn't have done that, of course. Not only because it went against the ethics of my profession and all of my beliefs that obligated me to do no harm. But also---and more impo
rtantly in any case---because the execution of such a curse would prove too costly.

  Being a Spark and not a Mage, I didn't have the ability to produce Magic myself. Instead, I relied on purchasing raw supplies of it from a willing donor. Once transferred into my source stone, the power stored there became available for me to draw on and shape for medicinal purposes as I saw fit. Magic was rare. And I paid over the odds for the privilege of using and handling it: in coin, migraines, nose bleeds and an occasional bout of fits. I'd never consider squandering a good portion of something so precious on a tosser like Takano when I could reserve it for those in need of my healing. But I banked my silver on him being oblivious to the existence of my internal restraints.

  "Tsk," Takano sucked air through his teeth. He retracted his hand roughly, letting Yüu tumble back onto the headrest. "Three days, healer, and I'll be taking him back onto the sand."

  At that, he left, summoning the guards with a sharp chin tilt.

  The smaller-framed man followed with no delay, but Rhēn stalled by the door, clearly wanting a quick word with me.

  I approached him, pricking up my ears.

  Rhēn peeked into the corridor, checking it left and right for eavesdroppers. The door shut with a soft creak at the push of his hand. When he turned towards me again, his grim face didn't promise great news.

  "It's bad, Ĥaiatto," he said in a hushed voice. "Yüuzuki's been set up against more and more ih'mohrôs. They're testing to see how many he can take down at once. Tonight he won, but in the end, he'll get ripped to shreds. Especially if they continue arming his opponents to make more of a spectacle of it."

  I could swear I'd developed arrhythmia on the spot. "How many did he fight?" I whispered, not really wanting to hear the answer.

  "Seven. Including one with a blade."

  "Seven," I repeated with horror.

 

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