by Kasia Bacon
“Do you mind, Dakoi?” I spluttered, sending the insolent fucker a murderous look.
He didn’t mind. Not at all, clearly, because he took his time ogling.
Sod dignity. I stepped in front of Rago, covering his body with mine.
It seemed Rago liked the gesture because he chuckled softly behind me, pressing a hand into my shoulder. “Is there anything you wanted, Quartermaster Dakoi?” he asked calmly.
“Yeah, is there?” I couldn’t help but chime in. “Other than nosing about like a damn Troll?”
“Temper, te-temper,” Dakoi chided me with a shake of his finger. “Remember who allocates family a-accommodation in the garrison, Lieutenant Ĉortez. Considering your new, err, ci-circumstances you might find yourself applying for a double room soon,” he drawled with a wink.
My teeth produced a harsh gnashing sound, which prompted another soothing response from Rago. I exhaled. Alas, bastard Dakoi had a point.
“As to the matter at ha-hand. The Captain said to let you out if the Se-sergeant’s going to behave? And not to worry about the paperwork. He’ll get it s-sorted.”
“What paperwork?” Rago asked in a surprised tone.
“I’ll explain later,” I said, peering up at him over my shoulder.
Not exploring the issue, he hummed his agreement.
“I brought you a change of clothes, Sergeant.” Since Rago’s hands remained otherwise occupied, the Quartermaster passed the bundle to me. “No reason for him to parade himself in the raw, giving us all a complex, right?”
“Dakoi, so help me gods—” I made to move forward, but Rago kept me in place flush against his chest. I settled for a deadly glower instead.
“Small but f-ferocious, eh?” Dakoi snickered, already striding towards the exit. “Good luck to you, Sergeant.”
The heavy gate thudded shut. An instant later, rumbles of laughter, catcalls and whistles carried from outside.
I rolled my eyes. At times, soldiers behaved like the worst bunch of immature gossiping arseholes imaginable. Not that I could blame them. With the monotony of the garrison routine, every departure from the norm constituted entertainment. Sighing, I resigned myself to dealing with gawkers and busybodies bothering us for the days to come.
I shifted around to face Rago, who bent to land a peck on my nose, beaming at me. I smiled back, an exciting, hopeful feeling rising in my chest.
He let go of me to get dressed, and I straightened myself up the best I could.
We started in the direction of the door.
“Hope they haven’t run out of cornbread.” Rago licked his lips, offering me a glimpse of his pink tongue in the process.
I shivered at the reminder of pleasure the slick, crafty muscle proved capable of delivering and immediately forced myself to abandon such musings. Sporting a boner would only egg on the gapers we were about to face.
“Cornbread, huh?” I said, urging my thoughts back to safer ground.
“I’m partial to good buttermilk cornbread,” Rago replied, as if revealing a secret.
I enjoyed learning that fact about him. I couldn’t wait to discover more nuances to his character and really get to know him. “What else do you like?” I asked.
“Lakes. Swimming. Clouds. Flying,” he said with no hesitation and shrugged. “But that’s nothing unusual for a water dragon. How about you?”
I fell speechless for a time. “Well,” I scratched my chin, afraid he’d think me a terrible bore, “fencing is a big one for me. Also, err, chess. Which is definitely unusual for a Ĉortez. Most of my family are into tavern fights and a three-cup game.”
He gave a chortle. “Mmm. I’ve seen you fencing once, Laahn. De-li-cious,” he said as if still talking about food. “Never learnt chess, me.” Rago’s smile faltered for a brief moment, but he brightened instantly. I would soon discover that Rago’s best feature was finding a simple solution to any problem he encountered. “How about this? You teach me to play, and I’ll take you flying.”
“Damn.” By some miracle, I avoided choking on my spit. “You’re on! I think I’m getting a way better bargain, though.”
Rago's mouth quirked. “Grand. Let’s go and eat. We’ll need our strength now. My father warned me the first three months of mating can be taxing. But he also said that shagging twice a day keeps the healer at bay.”
“Oh yeah? Mine just taught me not to eat yellow snow,” I muttered. “And how to cheat at cards.”
Having heard Rago’s unrestrained guffaw, I decided that deep, throaty sound belonged on the list of things I was fond of.
What a difference one day had made! Suddenly, I had a lot to look forward to. Flying and playing chess with Rago. Sharing cornbread. Implementing health advice as suggested by Eerik Senior. But most of all, I looked forward to sleeping while wrapped in the embrace of a man who made me feel safe in the dark again.
Together, we stepped over the threshold of the fencing hall and ventured out into our new beginning.
The End
Glossary
Barbarians—A number of free wild tribes, controlling the vast region south of the Elven Country and the Empire. Organised in independent groups, and bound by ever-changing alliances rather than forming one political entity, the Barbarians observe a variety of customs and speak separate languages. Considered primitive and savage by both Elven and human criteria, the tribes earned the reputation of fierce, physically hardened warriors.
Dragon shifters—Non-humans. An Elder Race of shapeshifters, consisting of two main family groups: water dragons and fire dragons. Both branches are closely related, longevous and equipped with ancient Magic. Known as islanders, dragon shifters mostly populate remote, wild archipelagos under Elven or Barbarian rule, but a small number also inhabit the mainland Empire and autonomic territory of South Isles.
Elven Country—The biggest country in the world with a capital in Asirhwÿn, inhabited by Elves and ruled by Queen Nae’amh II. Its territory borders the Empire in the east, the Barbarians in the south, the Livid Sea in the north, and vast, impenetrable woodland areas in the west. Elven society is defined by the existence of the clan system, mandatory army service and widespread focus on military excellence. The Elven Country’s political and military hegemony over the human world was established in the aftermath of the Elven War.
Emperor Xenedor I—The ruler of the Empire, North and South Isles and—since the Empire’s loss in the war against the Elven Country—an unwilling liegeman to Queen Nae’amh II. The Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces, who remain caught up in a drawn-out military conflict with the Barbarians. Empire—The biggest human state with a capital in Ysêmyr, also inhibited by a percentage of non-humans and ruled by Emperor Xenedor I. Its territory consists of the progressive mainland and more conservative Northern and South Isles. The Empire finds itself in a state of internal unrest and is currently engaged in an endless and financially draining war with the Barbarians.
Freeday—The fourth day of the week that comes after three regular workdays and before two more, followed by Restday (seventh day of the week). On Freedays, people work shorter hours and dedicate their time to leisure activities.
Lord of Radvadur (Count Ellydhar Finn-Jánn)—An influential aristocrat and the top fencer in the Empire, who governs over the vast province of Radvadur, the strategic region in the Western Borderlands of the Empire that extends between the Elven Country and the Barbarian-controlled southern territory.
Pashija—A large, elongated fruit with bright red, smooth skin and seedless, meaty flesh. Common in some regions of the Empire and Elven Country, pashija is widely used in cider production due to its refreshing, sweet and tangy flavour.
Pits of Ghadarra—An infamous Barbarian prison located on the outskirts of the city of Ghadarra. The dungeons are known for appalling conditions, torture and cruelty, resulting in low inmate survival rates.
Best wishes for a peaceful holiday season
and a very happy 2020!
Have Laahn an
d Rago tugged at your heartstrings?
If you’ve enjoyed this festive bite of romance,
please consider leaving a brief review.
Who knows—the couple might well appear
in another Order story!
About Kasia Bacon
A linguist and an avid reader with a particular fondness for fantasy and paranormal genres, KASIA BACON lives in London with her husband. When not tearing her hair out over a translating project, she writes stories about the shenanigans of emotionally constipated assassins and sexy Elves. Otherwise, she can be found shaking her loins at a Zumba class, binging on anime or admiring throwing knives on Pinterest. A lover of MMA and Muay Thai, she also enjoys nature and the great outdoors. She dreams of becoming independently wealthy, leaving the city and moving into her wooden mini-manor—located in the heart of stunning forests resembling those of the Elven Country depicted in her tales.
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Find Kasia online:
The Order Universe Books
The Mutt (Order Book 1)
The Highlander (Order Book 2)
Twenty-One Arrow Salute (Order Book 2.5)
The Poison Within (Inspector Skaer Book 1)
Blessing and Light (Standalone)
Don’t Fight the Spark (Soldiers & Mercenaries 1)
Rago (Standalone)
COMING SOON
When I First Saw Red (Soldiers & Mercenaries 2)
The Scouts (Order Book 3)
Care to try another Order Universe tale
from The Empire?
Read on for an excerpt from The Poison Within.
An aristocrat who craves a firm hand
in the bedroom.
A commoner who knows how to lend it.
Three murders.
And a creature of the night…
The Poison Within
THE MORNINGS HAD A HABIT OF arriving too soon when I spent the night with Elly. I cherished our stolen moments, shiny glimpses of happiness. Like a fool, I threaded them onto the cord of my memory in the desperate hope of creating a fully beaded string one day.
Light would seep through the wooden shutters of the inn where we stayed. The clinking of crockery, mixed with the innkeeper’s nagging at the kitchen maids, would carry up from below. Every time we roused, it felt like a strike to my stomach. I’d grown to hate the sense of relentless finality this breakfast noise brought about.
I tightened my arms around Elly’s sleeping form. We would fall asleep and awaken entangled. Although he sometimes protested I squashed him, he made no attempt to twist free from my embrace. I craved his proximity to a degree that would’ve been mortifying if I hadn’t long stopped caring about hiding my want for him.
Ellydhar Finn-Jánn, the Count of Radvadur, was neither a morning person nor a light sleeper. I once joked that he could nap through a siege with blasting cannons and catapults unperturbed. He admitted to being famous for ‘suchlike’ when he served in the cavalry during the Elven War.
He hadn’t been well these past months, run ragged by his duties, which had mounted during the latest crisis. The word ‘turbulent’ best described the geopolitics of Radvadur, the westernmost region of the Empire, neighbouring the powerful Elven Country on one side and unpredictable wild tribes on the other. Being the lord of a province riddled with unrest and flooded by a surge of Nymph refugees took up a huge chunk of Elly’s time and health. Yet he rode for over an hour to meet me in a village outside the town of Azlě. Then I kept him up, literally, and ravished him until we both passed out from exhaustion on the damp bed linens a couple of hours before dawn.
I didn’t want to disturb him. I liked watching him sleep. He was the most fine-featured man I’d ever known; coming to terms with his looks had required some effort on my part. I first met him at the library of his family manor while I conducted an investigation that concerned the theft of his mother’s jewels. Speechless and awkward, I’d simply gaped at him.
His aristocratic bearing exuded charm and quiet authority. At first, being in his presence made me feel bovine and conscious of my unwieldy size. But then his kind gaze bore into mine with interest, and heat prickled my skin at the encouragement and mischief I noticed glinting there. He stole my heart the second he offered me a smile.
Thinking back, I couldn’t say how we went from that, to me—a blacksmith’s son—fucking him three days later against the doors of his own stables.
Ours presented an unlikely coupling. Yes, I’d made Inspector, which meant an enormous step up for a village gendarme. But the prospect of advancing my career any further didn’t seem realistic in light of my background. Not that I wished for a promotion. I enjoyed my job and felt otherwise content with my social standing. In the eyes of the world, I could never be the Count of Radvadur’s equal, even if, by some miracle, I advanced to the Prefect Inspector one day.
Week in, week out, I feared Elly would tell me we were over. That it had been the last time. But two years on, our unlikely arrangement continued, and as we rolled in the sheets—as hungry and frantic for each other as at the very beginning—his proud and noble ancestors were turning in their graves.
Inhaling the faint scent of the fancy soap lingering in his hair and the musky essence of his skin, I brushed a dark strand away from his face. I loved his glossy waves loosened from the restraint of the ribbon he usually wore at the back of his neck. It was the first thing I stripped off him the instant he entered our room the previous night.
He didn’t stir. His breathing sounded steady for the moment, but his cough, which had worsened since our last meeting, worried me. I’d noticed him rub his chest after every nasty rumble ripped through his lungs, as if in pain. He’d tried to shrug it off by putting it down to a cold. Each of those crackly spasms set a new spark of panic through my mind.
I ran my palm down his arm and laced my fingers with his. Why did Elly’s narrow hand feel so perfect in my large paw? I often marvelled at how our bodies fit together as though we were tailor-made for each other. I knew he found our size difference appealing, and it excited me, too. Although shorter and lighter, he epitomised strength and agility. His leanly muscled, long-limbed physique corresponded with his reputation as an acclaimed fencer and rider. Nevertheless, I could manhandle him with ease the way I knew he yearned for. I’d pin him down to the mattress or against a wall to sate our mutual thirst. The noises he produced while writhing powerless underneath my weight, his eyes wide and liquid, were entirely inapposite for a composed aristocrat.
He made my blood boil.
The very thought of his responsiveness invigorated my morning rise.
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