Sealed with a Kiss

by Ariana Nash

  ‘Sealed with a Kiss’

  0.5 Silk & Steel

  Ariana Nash

  Dark Fantasy Author

  Subscribe to Ariana’s mailing list here.

  Copyright © 2018 Ariana Nash

  Ariana Nash is a pen name of international USATODAY bestselling fantasy & sci-fi author, Pippa DaCosta.

  November 2018. US Edition. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictions, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited in US English.

  Version 1. 1

  sillandsteel@btinternet.com

  Contents

  Foreword

  Sealed with a Kiss

  Silk & Steel (excerpt)

  Also by Ariana Nash

  Foreword

  While writing the dark-fantasy novel, Silk & Steel, our mysterious elven assassin mentions how he had his eyes opened to his own sexuality by a messenger from a nearby village. At the time, the line was meant to be just that, a brief mention of his past, but after finishing the full length novel Silk & Steel, that line wouldn’t let go. Like all good stories, it demanded to be told. And so, after I suggested the idea to my Facebook reader group, and they demanded it too, Sealed with a Kiss was born.

  Events in this short story take place a few years before Silk & Steel. It can be read at any time during the series without spoilers. It’s also worth noting that the story here is lighter than the main Silk & Steel series.

  If you enjoy reading about Eroan’s first m/m encounter, please sign up to my mailing list here and continue his journey in the full length novel, Silk & Steel, out early 2019.

  Add the series to your shelves on Goodreads here.

  Now grab yourself a glass of wine or two, get comfortable, and enjoy Sealed with a Kiss…

  * * *

  Please note: the following story contains on-page gay sex.

  Sealed with a Kiss

  A Silk & Steel short story

  This land lost its name,

  When the dragons came.

  In fire and ice and pain,

  They spread their reign.

  Buried and forgot,

  Cities fell to rot.

  Now there’s nothing left,

  For us elves to protect.

  * * *

  ~ Elven folksong

  “Did you hear? The messenger said they found a cache of human weapons buried to the east of Cheen.” Janna slid onto the bench next to Eroan, squeezing herself into a gap between him and his dining companion. She plucked a grape from Eroan’s bowl and popped it in her mouth, earning Eroan’s playful look of disgust. She swallowed and added, “Guns, apparently.”

  “Sit beside me why don’t you, Janna.” Eroan grinned, plucked his own grape free and washed it down with a generous sip of wine. The harvest had been good this year. Elves filled their plates from the spread overflowing the long communal table, some with flushed cheeks and slightly glassy gazes. He couldn’t blame them for their fun. Alumn wasn’t always this plentiful with her gifts of fruit and grain. They deserved to enjoy it while they could.

  He raised his gaze to the hooded figure guarding the door. Curan. Beneath that cloak, the Order assassin would be armed to the teeth. Eroan felt the press of his own two daggers against his shins and another at the small of his back. Assassins of the Order didn’t partake in celebrations, they protected them. He couldn’t stay long. Really, he was just here to keep Janna out of trouble. A task easier said than done.

  “I hope they found ammunition too,” he drawled. “Else the guns will bounce right off dragon scale.”

  Janna sent him a sideways look, testing if he was joking. Her bundle of hair flowed in various artful curls and hitched where she’d pinned it back in places. The style suited her and showed off her perky elf ears. Ears he’d often liked to flick when they were younger, just when she least expected it.

  She saw the crack in his thinly pressed lips, and a smile slipped through. “You’re a fiend.” Her quick hands stole another grape. “Do you have to spoil all the fun?”

  He scooped up his bowl of grapes and dumped it in front of her. “No, just being realistic. Guns haven’t been of any use for centuries.”

  She twisted on the bench, giving him the full weight of her glare. One of her fine eyebrows arched. “You’re still on your first cup of wine.”

  “Counting, are you?”

  “Only because I’ve had three. You’re making me look bad.”

  He’d noticed and had watched her drift about the crowd, trading smiles and laughter. Janna had a magnetism few could ignore. Children and the old loved her. She was easy to love. He had to admit that. She was also a ruthless hunter, better than Eroan.

  “They say he’s gorgeous.” She plonked her elbow on the table and planted her chin on her fist. It took Eroan a moment to catch that her thoughts had circled back to the messenger. “Long dark hair like ravens’ wings,” she sighed. “I suppose as a messenger he must see all sorts of wild and dangerous things on his treks between villages.”

  Eroan rolled his eyes. “I see all sorts of wild and dangerous things every day.”

  “You don’t count.” She waved a hand dismissively.

  By Alumn, that look in her eyes. Anyone would think the messenger had bespelled her. Or more likely, it was the wine. “I guarantee your messenger has never killed a dragon.”

  “You were trained to do that since you could walk.” She dismissed it like killing dragons was a daily event. “He lives in the wilds. Alone.” She fluttered her lashes. “Piper says he has eyes that speak of untold mysteries and a jaw she wants to paint.”

  “She’d better ask before approaching him with a brush.”

  Janna snorted a laugh and then sobered. “Do you think he’ll be here?”

  “Maybe.” Probably. The celebration was partly in the messenger's honor as thanks for bringing gifts and news from Cheen and farther afield. Despite Eroan’s words, messengers were a tough breed. The wilds killed more elves than dragons these days. Especially elves alone. Wolves, bears, and dragons routinely picked off unprepared travelers. Although dragons tended not to bother a single elf unless hungry or bored. Eroan could respect a male who’d chosen a messenger profession. They didn’t often live for long, but the role was a vital one.

  He caught the warmth on his friend’s cheeks and watched her take another sip of wine. “If you don’t slow down, you’ll be too drunk to lure him back to your bed.”

  She gasped, exaggerating shock. “I would never do such a thing!”

  A wicked little twinkle sparkled in her eyes. He loved to see it. That look of hers had often gotten him into trouble with the elders. Somehow, she always wiggled out of punishment while he usually ended up knee deep in it. “Of course not, you’re such an honorable pillar of our fair community.”

  “I am, actually. Why Xena said to me moments ago”—Janna cleared her throat and adopted a high, proper accent—“Janna, you could be a pillar of our community if you stopped socializing with that terrible Eroan.”

  Eroan laughed. “You’re such a liar. Xena adores me.”

  Her hand landed softly on his thigh. She leaned in and grinned. “Pfft, she’s just trying to get in your pants.”

  Eroan laughed harder. Not only was Xena as old as an oak tree, but the thought of the elder getting in anyone's pants was also one he rather wished he hadn’t had. “Thank you for that image, dear friend
. Now I remember why I don’t come to these celebrations with you.”

  The main hall door creaked on its hinge as it swung open. Xena, dressed in the elders’ heavy white gowns, breezed in as if summoned by Janna’s joke. At the sight of the elder, Janna almost spat out another gulp of wine. Eroan might have shushed her if all his thoughts hadn’t vacated his head at the sight of the male now entering the hall behind her. Gorgeous was one word. Eroan might have thought of more had his mind been capable. The messenger had the type of jaw Eroan wanted to run his fingers along, or maybe he’d use his mouth, and he wouldn’t stop there. The messenger’s lips, full, and bow-like, Eroan would explore next. The messenger would then look into his eyes, and those long, dark lashes would pull Eroan deeper into a magnetic gaze he’d never escape from.

  Janna thumped him on the arm, snapping him back into the now. “What?”

  “You!” She snickered.

  Warmth flushed his cheeks. He chuckled at her, himself, and having had too much wine. Alumn, it was warm in here.

  “Oh…” Her eyes went wide, and she fluttered her lashes while speaking through a pretend smile. “He’s looking right over.”

  Eroan poked his tongue into his cheek and firmly glared back at his friend, determined not to look and give himself away. “He’s this messenger you mentioned?”

  “Told you he was beautiful.”

  “Didn’t notice.”

  Janna snorted a dirty laugh. “Blushing at Xena were you?”

  “Oh, come on, it’s warm in here.” He grabbed for his wine and stole a surreptitious look toward the door as a few more gulps went down.

  Xena was escorting the messenger through the crowds, politely introducing him to the elders. He smiled small, kind smiles in return, said a few things Eroan couldn’t hear over the background chatter and generally looked like a respectable emissary for Cheen.

  He was perhaps slightly older than Eroan but young for a messenger. They were usually all old and weathered like they’d been left out in the sun too long. This one couldn’t have been much over twenty years.

  A cloak draped from his shoulders, and just as Eroan wondered what hid beneath that cloak, someone kindly offered to take it. The messenger’s quick fingers unbuttoned the fastenings at his neck. He shrugged it off and handed it over. His waistcoat sleeves ended just above his biceps, and now that the cloak was gone, the snaking play of tribal tattoos around the male’s muscles were on full display.

  Apparently, Cheen were making messengers differently these days. It was about time they made fighters to carry their messages. And this one clearly either worked his body for his trade, or he trained well.

  Eroan let his gaze follow the tight cut of the waistcoat down to the male’s narrow waist. No weapons. But then it would have been rude to arrive to a celebration armed. Eroan’s gaze wandered farther down, riding over the curve of his ass. The trousers hugged in all the right ways.

  A flutter tightened in the pit of Eroan’s stomach. He finished his wine and licked his lips clean, then caught Janna’s long, knowing look.

  She knew him too well. Better than anyone here. And she was looking at him now, equal parts amused and happy. He wasn’t sure he liked that look on her. Like she knew something he didn’t and would make him pay later to reveal it.

  She settled her hand on his arm. “Go talk to him.”

  “I have patrols.” He brushed her off and stood.

  “Eroan…”

  “It’s fine. I’ll be late. Have fun.” He stole her wine and threw back the last of it, then handed her the glass and kissed her lightly on the forehead before she could protest. “But not too much fun, eh?” He flicked her ear.

  She squeaked and batted his hand away. Within minutes she’d be laughing among her many friends. But his place wasn’t here, among them. He made his way through the crowd, exchanging greetings and best wishes and almost made it to the door when Xena appeared in front of him. For an elder, she moved damn fast. Talk was she’d been an assassin once. Although, these days, her weapons were more likely to be words. She wasn’t someone any elf dared mess with.

  “Ah, Eroan… I saw you leaving and hoped I might catch you. Allow me to introduce Trey, Cheen’s messenger.”

  Eroan could taste his own heartbeat. He tried to swallow it back down again, but as he flicked his gaze to Trey, the damn thing raced harder. “Welcome,” he said tartly. “I’m just about to head out on patrol.”

  Xena’s kind, old eyes smiled. “Oh yes, I don’t want to keep you from your duty.”

  “You’re of the Order?” Trey asked, one dark eyebrow raised in intrigue.

  The male had a voice like warm honey. It rolled and dipped, slow and leisurely, like it could wrap around Eroan and lick down his back. Now that image was firmly rooted in his head, heating his face.

  “Yes, now if you’ll excuse me.” He attempted to brush by Xena, but inside the tightly packed crowd, the movement pushed him closer.

  Trey touched Eroan’s elbow, just a steadying grip. It was there and gone again, but the feel of the male’s fingers on him sent his blood racing. Eroan pulled his arm free, and Trey immediately lifted his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… It’s rather packed in here.”

  His expression must have come off as hard because Trey backed off. “Enjoy the food,” Eroan snapped. He turned and shoved his way outside, deliberately keeping his head up and pace quick to avoid any more attention.

  Outside, the evening air dumped a shock of cold realism into his veins. He stopped at a well and braced his hands on top of the waist-high stonewall and breathed in. Cold air tightened his lungs and helped cleared his head.

  That had been a spectacular disaster.

  Enjoy the food? Really? That was the best he could come up with? What by Alumn was wrong with him? He straightened and adjusted the dagger at his back like he always did, as though realigning it helped realign something in him. Too much wine and the warmth in there… He could think clearly again now he was outside. Only his thoughts fell to the way Trey’s hair had been braided in places to keep it weighted down his back. Smooth, straight black hair. What would it feel like sliding through his fingers? These thoughts, they were slippery too, and they led to places he shouldn’t go.

  Eroan spotted Nye striding through the village, the assassin’s gait long and fast. Eroan could use the distraction and headed to intercept him. “Nye, how are the patrols?”

  “Good.” Nye tucked a thumb into his pocket, dipping the belt and array of throwing daggers slung there. “It’s all quiet out.” He nodded toward the great hall. “Has everyone gotten merry yet?”

  “Getting there. Janna’s making an attempt to beat her wine record. Are you going in?”

  “No, I—” He stopped and seemed to reconsider. “Are you?”

  “No,” Eroan laughed softly. “If I go back in there, Janna will never allow me to leave.”

  They chatted for a few moments more until Nye excused himself and headed for the Order house, leaving Eroan standing in the village square, drumming his fingers against his thigh. He could patrol, but really it was too early, and the Order had the village well-guarded for another few hours.

  He certainly couldn’t return to the hall after he’d made such an idiot out of himself by rushing out. If he returned to his hut, he’d just rattle around inside.

  “Damn it.” He needed to burn off the restless energy or he’d lose his mind during the long hours patrolling the woods.

  Beside the Order house, the long training hut sat quietly tucked on the village fringes. With all the Order recruits on tasks, Eroan slipped inside. Instantly, his heart slowed its manic racing. Pushing through the inner door brought him into the narrow sparring room with its matted floor and weapon racks. Oil lamps offered enough light to chase away most of the shadows. This would do nicely.

  He shrugged off his outer jacket but left on the snug-fitting tank top to keep his muscles warm until exertion kicked in. The working daggers went onto the table
too. He plucked heavier, resistance daggers from the racks and tested their weight in both hands as he made his way to the center of the mats. With each step, his thoughts sharpened on the task ahead, slipping into the zone where nothing beyond these walls could distract him. And he began the positions he’d known for at least twenty years. He knew them so well, he didn’t need to think them, they flowed through him as easily as the blood in his veins or the breath over his lips. One position became another became another. Every extension he pushed through, every thrust ended in an imaginary kill. He was a machine, a monster, a thing without thought and emotion. He was forged steel. A killer.

  He spun. The dagger flew and punched into the doorframe beside his unexpected visitor’s head.

  Trey swallowed hard and slowly turned to watch the blade strum in the wood. “Fuck.”

  Eroan hadn’t heard that word before, but it seemed to suggest surprise and awe. A curious lick of pride smothered some of the anger but not nearly enough to brush it all away. He could have killed the fool. “That’s a good way to lose an eye, or worse.” He strode forward and stopped in front of Trey. The messenger leaned against the doorframe, like his being here was perfectly acceptable.

  “Only elves of the Order are allowed in here.” He tugged the dagger free of the wood and returned to the mats.

  “I asked someone… They said you were here…”

  Someone, huh? Nye probably. Eroan stood in the center of the mats again and flicked splinters off the blade. The warmth of the messenger’s gaze rode down his back. Or maybe that was his imagination, which seemed to be running wild this evening. “What do you want?”

  Trey sauntered into the corner of Eroan’s vision. The messenger stopped at one of the weapon racks and ran his hand along one of the training swords. “Have we met before?”