A Love Like Fire: High Fantasy M/M Romance (Juxtan Book 1)

by Tricia Owens

"Well, I’m not lonely,” he said stiffly, looking anywhere but at Caledon. “My days have been filled with mercenary after mercenary. I wouldn’t use the word lovely to describe my interaction with any of them.”

  “Not a one?”

  At Caledon’s wounded tone, Hadrian felt a smile tugging at his lips. He resisted its pull. “Not one.”

  “Then I know who you must have met so far,” Caledon stated. “You must have spoken with Duggan. You’d know him, if not by name, then by the critters living in his beard.”

  “Oh, gods,” Hadrian gasped. “You mean the red-bearded man.” He felt his stomach turn over. “Are you telling me that creatures live in that—that beard of his?”

  “Go on. Call it what it is. A tangled, smelly, nest of hair that belongs between the legs of an ogre.”

  Hadrian clapped a hand over his mouth.

  Caledon laughed. “You didn’t shake his hand, did you?”

  Hadrian felt a bit ill, but also grateful that he could shake his head in the negative.

  “Wise man. He helps out sometimes when ni Copwick’s cow is birthing calves. Reaches right in there—” He shuddered. “Never washes his hands.”

  “Oh, gods.” Hadrian reached for his ale and gulped the sour liquid down. “Are the others better or worse?”

  “I’ll leave it to you to guess who’s better.”

  Caledon’s cocky smile was irresistible. Hadrian finally let loose with a laugh. “That’s hardly a feat, being better than a man with things living in his beard and hands stained with that.”

  “Oh, but I’m far, far, better, Hadrian. You merely haven’t discovered how much yet.”

  Caledon’s smile was innocent, but his look could only be called smoldering.

  The warmth in Hadrian’s body sank lower, settling between his legs. He could tell, too, that he was blushing and that Caledon could most definitely see it.

  “All of you are awful,” Hadrian muttered, not really meaning it, but too nervous to say anything else.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

  Caledon reached across the table and took hold of Hadrian’s wrist. Stunned, Hadrian didn’t know what to do as Caledon turned his palm upwards and lightly dragged a calloused fingertip down the middle of it. Such a small touch, and yet Hadrian’s breath caught in his lungs and his heart began to pound fiercely.

  "You aren't proficient with the sword," Caledon said as he watched his finger trace the smooth contours of Hadrian's palm. "You ride, but your hands are too soft to convince me you labor over anything, or beneath the harshness of the sun. I’m inclined to believe you’re a night-blooming flower who’s been growing in the dark, somewhere secret, yearning to be plucked." He glanced up at Hadrian’s wide-eyed expression. "Tell me, love, how you intend to protect yourself against those unlovely mercenaries should one choose to misbehave. Because they will. They see what I see, and what I see I want to possess. The difference being, I would never hurt you or force you. I would never allow a pretty thing like you to be hurt."

  Love. Pretty thing. Hadrian stared at Caledon, shaken by the casual endearment, grasping at the lazy compliment as though it were real.

  When Caledon released his wrist, Hadrian was quick to wipe his frown of disappointment from his face, but he continued to feel it.

  "You need someone to watch your back while you're in Rhiad," Caledon declared, sitting back.

  "What are you talking about?"

  The pale light picked out the highlights in Caledon’s hair, making Hadrian fantasize about carding his fingers through the golden strands. Would Caledon purr like a great cat? Hadrian loved the thought of it, though he was careful to hide what he was feeling. He was no fool.

  "Maybe you’re considered untouchable where you’re from,” Caledon said. “Your father’s money or influence might offer some protection for you. But the opposite becomes true in a place like Rhiad. For some men here, nothing is quite as seductive as the chance to break someone like you. They’ll do it for the money. They’ll do it simply because they’d enjoy it."

  Hadrian looked away, humiliated. He didn't want to be having his conversation.

  "I'm not a weak lamb," he insisted, dragging his hand into his lap and scrubbing at his palm to erase the mercenary's touch. "And I don't need your assistance. I’ll be here another three days and I’m confident I’ll remain unmolested until I leave."

  Caledon’s smile hinted that he understood the nature of men far better than Hadrian could ever hope to.

  Irritated that the mercenary was right, Hadrian squared his jaw. "My time is short and there are many I need to seek out. May I count you as interested in my father's employ? As I said, he’ll be here in a fortnight to explain everything further."

  Caledon didn’t react to the pressure. "The sun hasn't set yet. We've plenty of time to share good conversation." He cocked his head. “Or are you trying to run me off because I get under that pretty skin of yours?”

  Another compliment that left him feeling flustered and cornered. Hadrian was out of his element and they both knew it.

  "I didn’t come to Rhiad to engage in wasteful conversation," he said carefully, making sure the mercenary understood every word.

  “It’s not a waste, love, if something good comes of it.”

  Hadrian understood what Caledon meant…and yet he didn’t. Mostly, he was afraid to hope. You don’t understand what I’ll face if I fail my duty here. I can’t allow myself to be waylaid by you. Even if you’re—

  Hadrian wouldn’t allow himself to finish the thought.

  "I'm sorry, Caledon.” Hadrian looked down at his hands, watched them twist over each other in endless anxiety. “I need to conduct my business."

  He was afraid to look up in the ensuing silence, afraid of the censure he would find on Caledon’s face. Perhaps there would even be disgust. Surely there would be disappointment in him. There always was.

  “When you’re through with your business, then, you and I will spend some time together.”

  His head jerked up. Caledon didn’t appear disappointed or angry with him. On the contrary, his interest remained as obvious as ever, perhaps even stronger, as though Caledon sensed that the origin of Hadrian’s reticence came from elsewhere, not from him.

  And he would be right. If Hadrian’s father found out that he was―curious―about someone on the mainland, Hadrian would face some type of restriction, possibly even punishment.

  “I can’t,” he insisted.

  Caledon only smiled. “Hadrian, love, you will. With me.”

  His confidence was like a spear to the chest. Hadrian could only fall victim to it and nod slowly, tentatively. I will regret this, but perhaps I won’t care.

  “That’s settled, then.”

  Caledon rose from his chair and came around the table. He braced a strong, tanned hand on the table and the other on the back of Hadrian’s chair. Hadrian dropped his eyes to the table, afraid to look up into the blue gaze right beside his face. Caledon's breath curled warmly against his cheek, stirring his hair.

  "I'm glad I met you, Hadrian.” The quiet rumble of the mercenary’s voice against his ear made him shiver. “I’m not sure I've encountered anyone quite like you." Rough fingertips were gentle as they tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Hadrian’s lashes fluttered like moths attempting to fly away. "I'll see you this evening. I promise."

  Something long repressed made Hadrian turn his head and blurt, "Will you?"

  Caledon’s evident surprise gave way to low-lidded look of pleasure that melted Hadrian's defenses. Caledon's gaze dipped to Hadrian's mouth for a moment before the mercenary's thumb replaced with look with a touch. "I always keep my promises, love. And this is one I want to keep very badly." He stroked Hadrian's bottom lip, staring as his mouth opened for him. "Very badly, indeed."

  Hadrian's heart pumped so erratically he feared it would explode. Oh, gods, he wanted to lick Caledon's thumb. He wanted to grab him and, and―what? Sadly, he didn't know what he wanted, just more of
this luscious, blood-stirring feeling that made him ache in all those secret places and left him hungry. Hungry for touch, for taste, for emotions.

  He knew he was trembling by the way Caledon's eyes darkened as they looked over him. "Gods be damned," the mercenary said abruptly. "Meet me in the stables beside the Fickle Harper Inn."

  Hadrian started to nod automatically, then stopped himself as reason began to intrude. "No, I―I can't. I need to meet too many―"

  "Later tonight," Caledon breathed. "After you've had your supper. I want to see you."

  Gods, if his father ever found out...But, found out what? What if the mercenary only wanted to speak with him? Ah, but what if he wanted more? Hadrian had little idea what that "more" could entail, but he wanted to find out.

  He nodded, regretting the action as it dislodged the touch from his mouth. Caledon smiled at his expression as though he understood. "Meet me tonight and I'll give you more," he promised.

  More. Whatever it was, Hadrian wanted it. He couldn’t tear his gaze away as Caledon backed away and strode from the room. When the tavern door closed behind him, Hadrian cupped his face in his palms. He was flushed with heat and his heart was a wild thing. A smile flirted with his lips, begging to be expressed. He normally only felt this way when he magicked. He wondered if what he had just experienced with Caledon wasn't its own form of magick.

  He prayed he would soon find out.

  Chapter Two

  Rankin needs to clean his damn windows, Caledon thought sourly as he squinted at the dirt and smoke-filmed glass. How in the hell was Caledon supposed to keep an eye on his newfound object of fascination if he couldn't see him? Leaning against the side of the neighboring mercantile, he stretched his neck to better make out the latest interloper seated at Hadrian’s table inside the Bell and Buckle. Caledon scowled. All he could tell of the other mercenary was that he was grinning at Hadrian, which was entirely too suggestive for Caledon's tastes. The man would have to go.

  Before he could straighten away from the wall, a hand caught his sleeve.

  "Don't go causing trouble you don't need," Tye warned jovially. "You just met him. He might not be worth it."

  Caledon shook off the hold. "He's worth it. I'd stab you in the back for a chance with him."

  Tye slapped both hands over his own chest and staggered back. "Me? I always suspected our friendship was thin but not that thin. Throw me over for a pretty face, eh? I'll remember that the next time you're arse-deep and a cuckolded husband comes at you with a pitchfork."

  "I don't get it, Tye," Caledon seethed as he watched the mercenary inside the tavern throw yet another leering grin at Hadrian. "There’s something about him I can’t explain. Ten words in, and I was ready to throw him over my shoulder and gallop off with him. This feeling is like a burr in my shoe that keeps digging deeper with every step. It's like I don't want anyone else in Rhiad to even look his way. He's mine."

  Tye whistled, settling against the wall beside Caledon. "Your words frighten me, my friend. You sound as though you're―dare I suggest it―falling in love?" He clutched at his chest melodramatically. "Surely the great Caledon ni Agthon hasn't succumbed at last to that fabled affliction?"

  Caledon leveled a glare at him hot enough to melt glass. "Don't make me run you through with my sword. Because believe me, continue on with this subject, and I'll do it."

  Tye smiled sympathetically. "Aw, come, come, Caledon. Nothing wrong with falling in love." His eyes swung to the window that Caledon was trying to stare through. Tye’s expression grew thoughtful. "I admit it’s a surprise, though. I've never known you to care about anyone that way. You keep several regular lovers, yes. And I hear that you treat them well. But this...Well, I’m happy for you. It's nice to see you take a deeper interest."

  Several regular lovers. That was an understatement, and it left out the lovers he had enjoyed only once. Caledon knew he was a good lover and he enjoyed sharing his talents with receptive partners. So what if he never settled down with one person? He had his brothers to carry on the family line. All that was left for him of family obligation was to not embarrass them all. And Hadrian wasn't an embarrassment. Oh, no. He was a prize.

  But was this something more, as Tye was insinuating? Caledon’s natural inclination was to deny it. But the denial felt like too much effort, and that was curious in and of itself.

  "I'm going to see him tonight," he told Tye. He breathed easier when he saw the mercenary who had been speaking with Hadrian stand up and leave the table.

  “Of course you are,” Tye drawled.

  “It wasn’t easy,” Caledon felt compelled to say, though he didn’t know why he needed to defend Hadrian’s honor. "I received the impression that he doesn't engage in trysts very often."

  "It’s no surprise you're hooked," Tye teased. "The call of deflowering is a powerful one."

  "That’s not it," Caledon grumbled. "It's something about him. He's different, he's—” Why, by the gods, was he trying to explain himself like he was a besotted maiden in denial? "Ah, forget it." He pulled out his classic grin. "Once I poke him a few times, I'll likely grow bored of him. It wouldn't be the first time I lost interest after a tumble."

  Far from the first time, but he secretly doubted that it would be the case with Hadrian.

  If Tye had similar doubts, he kept them to himself. "Yeah, maybe that'll happen. We'll see, huh?" He lightly punched Caledon in the shoulder. "Just don't go starting fights over him just yet. That'd be a humiliating way to die, my friend."

  "Don't worry," Caledon assured him. "Not even the sweetest arse is worth dying for."

  ~~~~~

  By the time Hadrian exited the doors of the Mercenary Guild, Caledon was ready to strangle someone simply to relieve the pressure. If he'd known the other man wanted to go to the Guild, he would have talked him out of it. The Mercenary Guild of Rhiad was nothing more than a house of whores. Run by a handful of former soldiers, the Guild hired out men like they were selling prostitutes. When they couldn't find enough mercenaries willing to take the meager cut being offered them, the Guild had no qualms about dragging in drunken wretches to play the part of "skilled swordsmen." Though he clung to the lower rungs of the social order, Caledon still felt able to sneer down at the Guild.

  As he trailed Hadrian from a careful distance, Caledon began to reassess the other man’s motives. Hadrian might not care about whom he hired, as long as they were armed. Indeed, he hadn't asked a single question about Caledon's skills, which Caledon found mildly insulting in hindsight. In joining Hadrian’s mercenary army, he might be working alongside common, wretched Guild members. He vowed to have a word with Hadrian about that. Even he had his standards.

  Caledon followed Hadrian to the docks, his movements concealed by the shadows of deepening twilight. Hadrian had kept to the main byways of Rhiad during the day, but now he strayed into more questionable territory. A rough crowd typically loitered at the docks. Caledon could well imagine the sort of reception someone with Hadrian's looks and mannerisms would receive. Caledon kept his hand near his closest dagger.

  True enough, as Hadrian paused at the end of a pier to look out over the purple water, a man approached him. He was a deckhand by the looks of it, taking a break from maintenance on a small schooner docked alongside the pier. Caledon stepped closer, watching carefully. He didn't want Hadrian to know he was being followed, but Caledon wasn't about to sit back while that pretty face was marred, either.

  The man said something and reached out to tug on Hadrian's hair. Hadrian turned slowly, looking strangely unconcerned at finding himself cornered by a much larger, stronger man. Caledon kept his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to spring forward at the first hint of fear from Hadrian. The deckhand spoke again and continued to fondle the younger man's dark hair.

  Hadrian frowned and knocked the hand away. The deckhand growled something, his hand reaching up again. Caledon tensed. But Hadrian remained eerily calm. He said something very quietly and looked straight into
the other man's eyes.

  The deckhand started, as if confronted by something unexpected. He pulled his hand back as though he’d been burned. Caledon's confusion deepened. Hadrian didn't move, simply stared at the deckhand, yet whatever was in his eyes or on his face was powerful. The deckhand murmured something before quickly backing away. He turned and stumbled down the pier until he came to the gangplank of his schooner and scurried into the boat as though an angry mob were on his heels.

  Now what, by the gods, had that been?

  So thrown aback by what he'd witnessed, Caledon neglected to conceal himself when Hadrian's gaze fell his way.

  "Are you following me?" Hadrian demanded.

  Caledon grinned to cover up his uneasiness. "Said I'd watch your back, didn't I?"

  "And I said I don't need you to," Hadrian shot back.

  "So I see." Caledon nodded toward the schooner as he walked past it. "What was that all about? He acted as though you're the carrier of some particularly foul plague."

  Hadrian sighed. "Maybe I am."

  Caledon drew near enough that he could see the generous spill of Hadrian’s pupils.

  "I hope that’s not the case," he said easily as he closed the gap between them. Caledon reached up and caught a strand of dark hair between his fingers, for some reason wanting to mimic the deckhand's movements. Wanting to see if Hadrian's reaction would be the same, perhaps. "Because if you’re contagious, and it's transmitted through touch…we may have a problem."

  The grey eyes watched Caledon warily. "Why is that?"

  Caledon stroked the silky lock of hair. "Because I hope to touch every inch of you."

  "You―" Hadrian dropped his eyes, a fierce blush spreading over his cheeks. The length of hair between Caledon's fingers trembled. When had Caledon last made someone tremble so easily? The reaction made him feel like the land's most potent lover. They hadn't done anything together yet. What would happen when they did? Caledon's skin broke out in tingles. He vowed to find out even if it killed him.

  Hadrian took a step back, his hair slipping free to lay across his shoulders once more. "Caledon," he began, his tongue struggling around the unfamiliar name, "I don't need you following me. I'm able to take care of myself."