In Pain and Blood (Spellster Series Book 1)

by Aldrea Alien

  He nodded his agreement and planted himself as he’d seen Tracker do. “I’m ready.”

  The hound wasted no time in talk. He came at Dylan, markedly slower than he’d done with Authril, but still at enough speed to be taken seriously. Dylan reached out before the man could grab him. Knowing where to do what wasn’t as easy as watching had been, especially not with Tracker so close. Was it there that he was meant to twist the limb? Or—

  Dylan found himself staring at the darkening sky before he registered he’d been flipped onto his back.

  The man’s head soon came into view as Tracker knelt over him. “Still too hesitant.” He shook his head and his heavy braid slithered over his shoulder, slapping the side of Dylan’s face.

  He mutely glared up at the man. Had the hound done that on purpose?

  Tracker grinned. “I would apologise, but you probably needed that.” He bounced to his feet and held out a helping hand. “You need to be more forceful in your actions. I am not so easy to break.”

  “No,” he agreed as he grasped the outstretched hand and hauled himself upright. “I seem to remember you mentioning that some time back.”

  Tracker’s brows shot up. “I do not recall—”

  Dylan drew the elf closer. “I believe you said,” he whispered into the hound’s ear. “And I quote, you’re not some delicate flower.” The final few words passed his lips in a rough approximation of the man’s accent. He’d meant to tease. Anything to shake off some of the fluttering churning in his gut that seemed to spring to life whenever they were close.

  He didn’t expect the soft hitch in the man’s breath.

  Tracker cleared his throat. “Ah, that.” He stepped back, a faint dark tinge across his cheeks. “Yes, I do seem to remember saying that. Slightly different situation, yes?” He cocked his head. “Unless you would prefer to…”

  “No,” Dylan shot back, casting a glance at the campfire. The women still seemed involved in whatever it was they did around the flames. Although, they surely couldn’t still be preparing the rabbits. “We’ve only so much daylight left.” And he had managed two days without succumbing to the walking temptation that was the hound’s very presence.

  The man’s brows drew together as he gave a firm nod. “Quite right. Everything else can be done under the cover of darkness, yes? But do keep in mind what I said. You must be confident in your actions. Do not be afraid that you will hurt me.”

  I don’t mind a little pain, his treacherous thoughts echoed Tracker’s words, said to him the first time they were intimate. Dylan rolled his tongue around his mouth to keep from sniggering or blurting the phrase.

  He was well aware of needing to focus. But the way those long fingers wrapped around his limbs, each move strong and confident. It tightened his chest and churned his gut. Every breath came fast and ragged.

  In a very short time, he was on his back again.

  Tracker rested his head on Dylan’s shoulder, his chuckling shaking both of them. “You are going to need a lot of practice to get good at this.” Propping himself up on his forearms, he gave a resigned sigh. “I would suggest we—” Those gorgeous eyes widened. “Why, Dylan,” he breathed. “Out in the open?”

  Heat flooded his face. Of course he notices that. But how could Tracker not when the man was practically sitting on it? Dylan hadn’t exactly intended on it happening, but the man always managed to wind up straddling his waist and the friction, coupled with the hound’s delicious heat, rather did the rest.

  “My dear man,” Tracker murmured, caressing Dylan’s cheek with the back of a forefinger. “There is no need to be embarrassed. It is a common occurrence, I swear.”

  Dylan chewed on the inside of his cheek. That didn’t really stop the heat from slinking down his neck.

  “Perhaps you could ask assistance from our dear warrior to alleviate the situation, yes?” The man leapt to his feet, allowing Dylan to sit up and draw his knees closer.

  “Actually.” Dylan glanced up, his heart hammering and his stomach knotting into a tangle that he wasn’t sure would ever unwind. “I was hoping you might be willing to later?” Two days. And all it took to bring him back to the idea of sleeping with the man was an accidental brush. I really am a whore.

  The soft twitch of surprise took the elf’s face for a moment. Tracker arched a brow at him, one side of his mouth lifting along with it. “Getting bolder, I see.”

  Dylan rubbed at his neck. He didn’t know about that, but a part of him rather preferred not sleeping whilst Authril’s backside was the last one Tracker groped. The man was only going to get himself in trouble if he pushed the warrior and Dylan wasn’t quite sure who would win that dust-up. “If you don’t want to…”

  A huff of contemptuous laughter puffed out the man’s nose. He hummed. “Let me think…” He tapped on his lips as if considering his options. Finally, he smirked. “Ah, who are we kidding? How could I possibly turn down such an offer? Tonight then.” A wicked grin took the man’s face as Tracker bent over him and breathed, “Unless you would like me to tend to you now?”

  He hugged his knees tighter to his chest. “Tonight.” How he was going to manage to make it to the tents without anyone else noticing his current predicament was still an issue, but he wasn’t about to let the man have his way with him out in public.

  “Spoilsport.” Straightening, Tracker jerked his head at the nearby tree line. “That should be private enough for you.”

  Dylan turned his gaze on the undergrowth. “You expect me to…” He took a deep breath as a fresh surge of heat flooded his cheeks. “In the bushes?”

  The elf tipped his head to one side. “My previous offer is still open.”

  “Bushes it is.”

  “Do not worry about the others, either. I shall keep our dear women entertained until you return.” He toyed with the buckle of his vambrace as if his armour was far more interesting than their current topic. “If they query your whereabouts, you are merely relieving yourself.”

  With a brief nod of gratitude to the hound, Dylan wasted little time in scurrying off into the bushes. If this truly was a common occurrence then, with Tracker insisting on teaching him, he would need to find a better way to get this sort of reaction under control. And fast.

  ~~~

  Night claimed their little camp without any further incident. Although, Authril had dragged him off to their tent almost at the very moment the sun set. Unlike the other nights since the tower, his thoughts were focused more on the elf lying in another tent than the one with him. It was surreal, thinking of riding one person whilst being ridden by other. As if he wasn’t where his body was. It’d never happened before.

  That was perhaps why he had found himself slipping into the hound’s tent at the first opportunity. Much to the man’s delight.

  Now he lay here, panting. His heart racing and his body once more satisfied beyond measure. He wasn’t sure how Tracker knew, but if Dylan had been a musical instrument, then the man hit all the right notes.

  The hound’s lips caressed Dylan’s throat, always gentle as they traversed the scarred tissue. “You know,” he breathed. “I am quite surprised it took you this long to realise what you like.”

  Familiar words came to him, tugging at his lips. “I like a lot of things.”

  Tracker’s near-silent laughter briefly shook their bodies. “Stay with me tonight?” The question came on a whisper. So quiet that Dylan briefly believed he’d heard wrong.

  His heart all but vaulted into his mouth. Stay? The man actually wanted him to remain until morning? “I…” He could. There was no logical reason why not. It was warm here, far more so than in the tent he shared with Authril. “I can’t,” he managed. Swallowing, he barrelled on. “Most of my clothes are in the other tent.” Such a weak excuse. He’d walked here in nothing but his smallclothes, he could make the journey back just as easily. All whilst being watched.

  No, he wasn’t yet ready for that sort of scrutiny.

  “I see.” Tra
cker rolled to one side of the bedding, relieving Dylan of his radiating warmth. “Then I guess, seeing that our fun is over, you should depart for your tent, yes?”

  Dylan rubbed at his neck. A strange sensation crept over his skin as he pulled on his smallclothes. For what had to be the first time in a good long while, he felt unclean. “Track, I… I’m—” Had he imagined that slight hitch in the man’s voice? The swift concealment of hurt. “If I’ve upset you, I…”

  The elf’s low chuckle stilled his tongue.

  “It would take a great deal more than mere words to hurt me. I merely thought that…” His sigh seemed overloud in the still night air. “Well, what I thought is of no consequence now. You have made your choice plain. But before you depart to spend your time asleep at her side, may I have a goodnight kiss?”

  Dylan hesitated. If he allowed the man this, his resolve to depart the tent might just waver. He knelt beside the elf. “One quick kiss.”

  The hound slid his finger beneath Dylan’s chin. “I shall be as brief as you desire,” he purred.

  Their lips met and Dylan forgot all about brevity. The elf might claim to be unaffected by magic, but his mouth certainly had a power all of its own. As dangerous and unrelenting as a storm. It promised and begged, giving its all in each sweet, intoxicating brush.

  Dylan’s lips parted, granting Tracker entry that the man greedily took advantage of. The faint taste of himself lingered on the hound’s tongue. Those long fingers slipped into his hair, suggesting he stay in place as the elf continued to explore his mouth. An act he was all too willing to do.

  Eventually, they separated to breathe. Only then did Dylan realise he’d returned to the man’s arms. “I…” His face fast grew warmer as he became aware of the growing tightness in his smallclothes. Breathing deeply in hopes of banishing the flushing, he continued, “Where—”

  “Are you sure you want to leave now?” Tracker purred, his own arousal blatantly thrusting against Dylan’s. He rocked his hips. The soft, smug twist of his mouth suggested he was very much aware of his actions.

  Clearing his throat, Dylan shuffled a little ways across the tent floor before he found himself stripping for a second round. His body obeyed sluggishly, longing to return to that warm embrace. His lips still tingled from the contact. He forced himself to look only at the tent. “Where did you learn to kiss like that?” he rasped.

  “The Gilded Lily. I…” Tracker sat up. “Well, I spent quite some time there in my youth.”

  Dylan frowned. Oldmarsh was some distance from the capital. For Tracker to have spent his youth there… It certainly couldn’t have been whilst training under the close eye of the other hounds. “So, you were actually raised elsewhere before they found you?” What of the dead mother? Had she also lived there? As a worker?

  The man chuckled. “What is this? You actually think I was raised in a brothel?” He leant back on his hands, a wide grin plastered across his face. “Do I remind you so much of a whore that you—what?—think it comes naturally?”

  Mortifying horror stole the breath from his lungs. “I… I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered.

  The elf’s laughter deepened. “I am not so easily offended. True, I spent a few years there before being given the rank of tracker, but I was never raised in a brothel.”

  “The hounds sent you there? Why?”

  “To train, of course. A pup’s life must be devoted to training. Especially if you want to live long enough to become a hound.”

  “Train?” Dylan echoed. In what? He bit his tongue as the answer leapt to mind. “In your youth?” When Dylan had been a child, the older spellsters born beyond the tower walls would try to scare them with tales involving all manner of debauchery. He’d a hard time believing the stories, but the guardians also never refuted them.

  Tracker scoffed. “Do not get it into your head that they sent a child. I was more than old enough to know what our parts can be used for. Nor did I arrive there with no prior experience of what two people can do when alone.”

  “But why would the hounds…?”

  “Our hunting techniques are not all the same. I showed promise in more than swordsmanship. After my fifteenth year, those involved in my raising decided I was stable enough to be trained in seduction. What better place to learn?”

  “Why Oldmarsh? Surely, there are closer ones.”

  Tracker nodded. “Yes. But the brothels in Wintervale are heavily regulated and are not all that revealing of secrets. Also my face was…” He grimaced sheepishly. “Somewhat familiar in a few.”

  He didn’t doubt that one bit. “Still… You expect me to believe they sent a fifteen-year-old boy with numbers for a name to pose as a prostitute?” Had the man not said he hadn’t been given the name of Tracker until he became a full-fledged hound? Dylan couldn’t see the elf’s birth date being acceptable, not if he was to remain incognito.

  Confusion twitched the hound’s brows closer together. “Pose? There was no posing. I was treated no differently than the other newly-made workers. As for the name…” An oddly fond smile took the hound’s lips. “They called me Precious.”

  He’d heard that before, back at the brothel. The woman used it, hadn’t she? He thought it a bland term of endearment, one to be used on clients. “That’s how you know Treasure,” he murmured. Not through being just another customer, but being a fellow prostitute.

  Tracker inclined his head. “She helped me hone my rather rough techniques and, in return, I taught her how to extract information.”

  “And, naturally, you and Treasure would… extract information together?” The thought that Tracker had done the exact same thing with him as the man had done to countless others knotted his insides. Knowing the effect it was having on him only tightened them further.

  “Not always, sometimes it was a solo affair. The customer was generally the one who decided those things.” The hound slunk across the space between them, concern creasing his brow. “Are you all right? You look ill.”

  “I’m fine. It’s just… I wasn’t expecting you to have that sort of connection with the place.” Or the woman. He really couldn’t compete with years of familiarity. Not that he was competing. This is just fun. “Do you miss it?”

  A gentle breath of laughter puffed its way out the man’s nose. “Do I miss playing the whore? Gods, no. It was fun for a short while, do not get me wrong there. Yet, to believe it was always like when we were there would be very much a lie. It got repetitive, extremely so, and the lack of ability to choose who I bedded did not exactly help.”

  “Funny,” Dylan mumbled. “I was under the impression you slept with anyone anyway.”

  Gasping dramatically, Tracker gently slapped Dylan’s shoulder. “Such cheek! I have standards, thank you.”

  Very low ones if it involved even half the people the man flirted with, himself included. “Those tricks you show me? Did you learn them there, too?”

  “Not all of them. Most came through trial and error before I even stepped one foot outside of Wintervale.” His lips curved into a secretive, and slightly self-satisfied, smile. “And one out of boredom and loneliness. No one has ever been more surprised about that one than I.”

  Dylan was almost tempted to ask what that particular trick entailed, but a thought of a far more concerning nature nagged at him. “The ones you learnt there? You don’t have to do them if you don’t want.”

  The hound’s smugness fell away, melting first into shock, then clearly restrained amusement as Tracker bit his bottom lip and those gorgeous eyes crinkled. “Dylan,” he breathed, laying a hand on Dylan’s knee. “If I did not enjoy doing them, then you would never know I was capable of them. Do not worry yourself over where I learnt something. I choose to share the knowledge with you because they are mutually satisfying. That should be all that matters, yes?”

  So beseeching was the man’s gaze that Dylan found himself nodding before he could think. “I might need a little while to get my head around that,” he con
fessed.

  Tracker leant back, returning some of the distance between them. “Does this change how you see me?”

  “No.” The word was out before he could consider its repercussions. It was true, though. So what if the hound had spent a few years as a whore? With all the encounters Dylan had in the tower over the past decade, he’d long considered himself under a similar status. Where Sulin would trade secretly-made bottles of potent alcohol, all Dylan had to offer was a few moments of consistently-average pleasure. “This is just fun, right?”

  “That is… correct.”

  Still, even knowing that did nothing to the acidic knot burning in his gut at the mere thought of the elf spending so long with Treasure. It shouldn’t make him feel this way. It was foolish and childish to worry over what had happened in the past. He’d never felt like this when learning about a partner’s previous encounters. Sure, lie to yourself. Even if he had felt something like this before, it had never been this bad. “I should go. Sleep well.”

  “I would sleep better with you at my side,” Tracker shot back as Dylan parted the tent flap.

  Dylan glanced over his shoulder, flirting with the idea before dismissing it back into the gloom. “Goodnight, Track.”

  “Pleasant dreams, my dear spellster.”

  Smiling, Dylan shook his head. His dreams as of late had been rather repetitive and altogether wicked, his dream self having a great deal more confidence than he would ever claim. In truth, with the state he found himself in some mornings, he rather feared waking in the hound’s presence lest he never gathered himself enough to leave.

  Dylan tucked the edges of his cloak tighter around him, peering through the torturous screen of mizzle and low cloud. A pointless endeavour. There was no chance of seeing anything in this glaring light before the two elves walking at the head of their little group could spot it.

  Still, the forest had opened into more farmland on the left side of the road. Blocked off by a small fence of stones. That meant there’d be farmhouses somewhere nearby, along with the prospect of shelter a little more robust than a section of leather.