When I First Saw Red: Soldiers and Mercenaries Book 2

by Kasia Bacon

  I might’ve well have been conversing with the stove since her hand had already grabbed for the door handle. “Well, you’re here now, aren’t you? Do your thing.” She stomped her foot as if trying to tap some sense into my slow-working brain.

  Her expectation seemed as perplexing as her instruction. My thing? What did that mean? Did she assume I’d yell Red into well-being, perhaps?

  I blinked in befuddlement, noting that the smooth, beguiling attitude she’d adopted towards me the first time we’d met had vanished. The affable shortness she treated me with seemed better suited for a friend or relative rather than a customer and serviceman.

  Before I could quit gaping and hurl a retort, the door clicked shut, leaving me with the indisposed Elfling.

  I sat there for a while, stroking his hair and listening to the roar of wind sweeping through the trees. Nature’s tantrum bolstered, and soon the drumbeat of rain pounded against the glass window panes. The darkness around us thickened.

  It had been ages since I’d tended to someone while they slept, trusting me to care for them in their malady. The memories of that long summer night when my wife had gone into labour came rushing back. I sucked in a deep breath, putting my shields up. Occasions when I allowed myself to think about the past were few and far between.

  Red seemed to have dozed off.

  Despite being folded underneath him in an awkward position that messed with the circulation in my legs, I daren’t move for fear of stirring him. Slowly, I succumbed to drowsiness myself, numb limbs or not.

  Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

  I twitched alert at a wooden clunking noise coming from somewhere inside Red’s rooms. The gale had likely unlatched a shutter, which proceeded to whip the side of the house. I waited a moment, hoping it would cease of its own accord. No such luck, of course. The dull sound not only persisted, but grew more rhythmic and annoying.

  Red gave an unhappy whine.

  I made to extract myself from his hold. But he clutched onto me—even in the midst of sleep—digging his long, pointy nails into my thigh in disapproval.

  “It’s all right,” I soothed, smiling at the sting. Red reminded me of a cat I’d once kept. “Coming back in two ticks. Just sorting out that damn shutter is all.”

  I waited for Red’s body to go slack, and when it finally did, I moved towards the clattering.

  Feeling my way in the dark, I identified a door. Neither locked nor closed, it gave way when pushed, creaking as it did so. A faint, apothecary-like scent swirled up my nostrils upon entry.

  Tap. Tap-tap.

  There was the source of the commotion, a few paces in front of me.

  The dimness inside the ante-chamber seemed less intense, courtesy of the open curtains and an occasional flare of lighting up the sky, allowing me to take in glimpses of the layout. Another moment and my eyes would’ve adjusted to the new environment, but I rushed forward too soon. And immediately smashed my shin against a hard surface. “Motherfucker,” I wheezed on the exhale, grabbing the obstacle for support.

  A new brilliant flash enhanced my vision. The large wooden structure I’d draped myself over turned out to be an easel. It neighboured a tall, narrow table stacked with a variety of jars, dishes and bucket-filled brushes. Different sizes of canvas rested everywhere.

  My eyebrows rose at the realisation that I stood in a painter’s studio.

  Tap-tap.

  Determined to do away with the gods-forsaken ruckus once and for all, I made my way over to the open window. Figuring out how to secure the stubborn outside shutter called for some fumbling around. With the help of some acrobatics, I completed the task in the end, getting my upper body drenched in the downpour as a reward.

  I jumped down from the sill and wiped the moisture off my cheeks, some of it sweat, no doubt.

  A further pulse of light illuminated the wall I was facing, revealing an array of framed pictures, hung all the way back to the door. Intrigued, I hovered to examine them. In uneven intervals, one painting with each flash, I walked along the little gallery, feeling more astonished with every piece.

  The landlady caught in a pirouette, like a carefree priestess of dance, surrounded by the blur of her silk petticoats. A magnificent silver-coated mogõ cat, flexing his paws in a lazy, graceful stretch while on the prowl for affection. Patrons at the bar, raising their glasses in a sloppy toast, flushed and rowdy, the laughter amongst them nearly tangible. An old woman crossing the cobbled street, bent under the weight of firewood, the life force in her eyes defying her features, which were wrinkled with age.

  I sucked in a loud breath. Those drawings were bold. Life-capturing. Engaging. Packed full of mood and movement. Each told a story. Even I could appreciate the flair, despite knowing shit-all about art.

  Only one canvas remained before the exit. But the storm I’d been relying on to light my continued perusal withheld its offerings. Grey shadows veiled the room as the rain began to let up.

  Just as I readied to give up and turn away, a triple flicker of lightning struck again, bright and illuminating.

  The last frame held a mirror.

  Wait. What? It can’t be.

  I jolted as it dawned on me that what I’d initially taken for a reflection of my face was a depiction of me.

  Or rather—some refined, sensual version of me. Raw longing oozed from the man in the portrait. Desire imbued his gaze. He seemed almost predatory. Yet there was a tenderness to his expression that balanced what would’ve otherwise come across as lewd and obscene.

  I remained glued to the spot for a time, even though I could no longer make out anything beyond vague shapes in the painting.

  The storm had eased.

  Finally, I shut my mouth, then the door behind me too, and returned to the main bedroom.

  Red seemed fragile and vulnerable bundled in the comforter, lying in a heap by the edge of the mattress. He kept shivering and whimpering, the pitiful sounds slicing through my heart. I loathed the concept of him suffering.

  With some effort, I slid off my boots and damp jerkin and climbed into his bed. All I could think of doing was wrapping my arms around him while I shushed him and murmured some nonsense. I feared my touch would cause him discomfort. I feared he would push me away. For some inexplicable reason, however, he crawled into my embrace and melted against me, taking noisy breaths with his nose pressed flush against my skin. Soon, he calmed down and stilled next to me, as if he’d been provided with exactly what he needed.

  I beamed to myself, savouring the moment. Was I pathetic for loving the fact that he needed me, if only for a bit?

  The day’s happenings weighed on my mind, my thoughts whirling into chaos. I clamped down on them, though, refusing to analyse any of it. Not that I could reason anything out when Red lay plastered to me without a thumb to spare, his scent overpowering my senses.

  My body, however, shared no such qualms. It relaxed into a feeling of rightness. Sleep lured me in not long after. I gave in to it easily, basking in the air of satisfaction at a job well done, my role somehow fulfilled.

  How cuddling with a Tii-Matâshi in a brothel related to that, I neither knew nor cared.

  LÁZHIEN

  I woke from what felt like the first restful slumber I’d had in days, aroused—in every meaning of the word—by the pressure applied to my hips and the urgent ache pulsing away between my legs.

  My eyes shot open and I peered into the nightly gloom.

  Above me, Red was straddling my thighs, rubbing himself against my groin with single-minded dedication. He moaned and not in pain, either, by the look of things.

  Merciful gods, true and immortal.

  Every one of those throaty sounds he uttered sent a new spasm right down my iron-hard cock.

  I hissed in warning, clutching at his waist with both hands to prevent him from grinding me right into staining my drawers.

  Red’s glazed gaze aside, he appeared better than he had the previous evening, and fairly lucid.

  Which
was more than I could have said about myself, already riding on the verge of release.

  It didn’t help matters at all when Red leant forward to reach for the ties of my trousers. “Please. Please, Lázhien,” he whispered against my cheek. “Please, hurry. We want you.”

  I couldn't say what made me more stupid: what he said, how he said it, or that he simply remembered my name. Either way, his words—half-begging, half-demanding and spoken in that shameless, lustful tone of his on top of everything else—punched the air out of me. My balls drew up tighter. A hungry, heady feeling set off at the bottom of my gut.

  Something wild and primal took charge of my actions. All traces of rationality vanished from my brain, shattered to damnation by his cool touch searing my skin, and his mellow voice vibrating in my ear. Nothing mattered any longer—beyond his need. It called to me and bound my will.

  Given that his fiddling with my knotted drawstrings had yielded no result apart from increasing our mutual frustration, I yanked at the garment in one powerful tug. Having sprung my straining shaft free, I rushed to assist Red with the split fall of his breeches. A thread ripped and a horn button flew away, torn off in my urgency to bare his smooth hardness.

  This was no time for finesse. Not with both of us panting and arching into each other. So I went for it the way we did it in the barracks: rough, crude and sloppy. The faster, the better. I grabbed our cocks and squeezed them together in my palm, locking the thumb around my girth and four fingers around Red’s, never happier for having such large hands in my life.

  We both thrashed and grunted at the silky friction.

  However pitiful it might have been, I was ready to lose it after a couple of glides, overstimulated by his litany of ‘Ahh. More. Lázhien. Please.’

  Thank the gods he tensed right then, his sticky heat erupting all over me in a gush. Just the go-ahead I’d been waiting for. I exploded faster and harder than a man my age and experience had any business to.

  With disregard for the damp mess coating our stomachs, Red crumpled down and settled on my chest, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His lashes brushed my skin in butterfly kisses. Our limbs entwined and slotted into a perfect position, as if by design.

  A delighted bliss enveloped my body, compelling my muscles to go lax underneath his weight. I listened to his contented humming. Or perhaps it was mine? It took a while, but our ragged breathing and racing heartbeats finally eased.

  My eyelids drooped with fatigue. I needed a moment like this, resting with my arms around him, soaking in the feel of his cool closeness. One tiny moment.

  LÁZHIEN

  The morning was already in full swing when I started awake, this time to the feeling of being watched.

  Indeed, two pairs of angular eyes, one warm chestnut and one vivid green, came into focus, drilling into me from across the mattress.

  On the opposite edge of the bed, Red reclined in a regal pose on his elbow, his head resting on one hand. He had the other buried in the silver fur of a gorgeous, long-haired mogõ cat that lay curled next to his chest, purring away for the Empire.

  I knuckled the remnants of sleep from my eyelids, wondering if I’d drooled. A quick assessment proved that a shave wouldn’t go amiss, judging by the scratchy feel of my chin. Meanwhile, the skin of Red’s impeccable jawline—of which I had a great view—remained porcelain and peach-like.

  “Morning,” I gave a hoarse chirp. “Feeling better, are we? What’s your little friend’s name?”

  Red let the silence ring before supplying a clipped, “Not-Ōkkanȏ’s-Cat.”

  The mogõ chose that precise moment to start rubbing his sweet, snub-nosed face all over Red’s chin and neck.

  “I see. How fitting,” I deadpanned, observing the way Red patiently endured the cat’s antics without showing any attempts of discouraging him.

  A tiny crease marked the space between Red’s eyebrows.

  Once Not-Ōkkanȏ’s-Cat settled down again, I extended my hand.

  Cautious at first, the mogõ stretched to have a good sniff. His pink tongue came out next to give my fingertips a rough bath. Finally, he shifted altogether and plopped himself right against my chest, proceeding to knead his chubby little paws on the comforter. His lush, warm coat felt even softer and more pleasant to stroke than I’d expected.

  At the resumed purring, Red’s furrow deepened. It would’ve been fair to say that if a stare could kill, the mogõ and I would have been on our best way to expiry.

  I squashed the urge to crack up.

  Despite being contained within the demonic glare zone, I couldn’t fail to notice how endearing the damn Elfling looked, all moody and feline-like himself. A tender fondness swirled within my chest.

  Alas, Red then opened his mouth and formed words. “Why are you here, Lázhien?”

  The chagrin in his voice had me faltering. I said nothing at first, perturbed by his undisguised display of hostility. Hard on the heels of surprised hurt, however, a surge of temper hit me.

  I prided myself on the ability to keep my emotions in check. Nasty things happened when men my size allowed their actions to be fuelled by anger, so I’d got a handle on controlling mine as a youth. I reined it in on this occasion, too, even though a sense of frustration at Red’s hot and cold treatment came bubbling to the surface.

  Was he messing with my head on purpose? Jerking me around? His prickly belligerence stood in contrast with the way he’d clung to me throughout the night, wrapped around my body like a limpet over a piece of timber. And what of the ‘Lázhien, we want you’ incident, before dawn?

  My cheeks pulsated alongside my jaw muscles, but I forced a slow exhale. “Why don’t you tell me why I’m here, Red?” I drawled with an edge to my voice.

  Wearing a strained expression, he sprang up to sitting. The abrupt motion scared the mogõ, who gave an aggrieved mew and scampered away, the picture of disgruntlement. One graceful hop onto the high window sill, and he installed himself on the cushion clearly placed there especially for him, and wrapped his bushy tail around his body like a shawl.

  The unease in the air became as thick as the porridge served in the garrison’s food hall.

  I sat up as well and busied myself with straightening my clothes. “It might be news to you, but I’m not dense,” I sneered. “Something’s off here. Why not just come out with it?”

  Red pursed his lips. His outright antagonistic demeanour transformed into wary vigilance.

  I couldn't help but to squinch up in response to his cagey behaviour.

  “You’re not going to like it any more than I do,” he forced out at last.

  “Oh, goodie. A promising opening.” I narrowed my eyes, waiting for him to speak.

  “Fine. Here it is. You’re my demon’s soulmate.” He raised his head as though trying to challenge me to call bullshit. “Believe it or not.”

  Funny. I believed it right away. The instant he’d finished the sentence. My obsessive pining, the protectiveness, my painted portrait—at least some explanation for my madness existed. Learning that came as a huge relief.

  “Soulmate,” I repeated, keeping my tone mild. “The way it happens with shifters?”

  I’d once served with a Lieutenant, a cougar shifter, whose penchant for cards had cost me heavy silver. The man had a thumb in height on me and could take me at arm wrestling. When he’d experienced The Pull—the force that initiated the bond between him and his unknown mate—our Commander had granted him permanent leave from the Imperial Forces. The Lieutenant had returned to the South Isles, where his kin tended to settle in close-knit communities, to claim his mate. Back then, I hadn’t quite wrapped my head around the concept of fate choosing one’s lifelong partner that way. Yet in secret, I considered it romantic.

  Red observed me with preoccupation. “Shifters?” He wrinkled his nose at the suggestion before adding a reluctant, “Same principle, I guess. More sophisticated Magic, of course.”

  “Of course.” I restrained the urge to roll my
eyes. Gods, but he could act like such an arse. “But what I’m asking is whether this soulmate thing is just as commonplace for Tii-Matâshi?”

  A firm headshake served as a prelude to a long pause. “No. It’s rare,” he said in the end. “As is bonding with a human.”

  Uh-huh. All right, then.

  I expected Red to share more insight on the matter, given the weight of what he’d sprung on me. But he merely continued to rake me over with a hard gaze, his emotions indecipherable.

  “So…” I scratched my head, trying my best to push this stilted conversation towards any conclusion. “Where does it leave us? Are you saying we’re bonded now?” I took care to keep my voice flat and vacant, not daring to nurture the odd, frail hope that blossomed low in the pit of my stomach, setting jitters all over me.

  “Gods, no.” The vehemence in his exclamation crushed my short-lived excitement like a bug under a cartwheel. “Not irreversibly, anyway. The bond between soulmates only becomes permanent with specific conditions in place. Luckily, we’ve got a way to avert it.”

  My head reverberated with no, luckily and avert, spoken in his crisp accent, each uttering like a dagger to my eardrums.

  “What do you mean? Avert how?” I said, feigning calm.

  “Through separation. Fourteen days without any contact dissipates the bond. For good.” Red gave me a pointed look. “We would've been free of it today if you hadn’t barged in here the way you did last night. Now everything starts anew.”

  Separation. Dissipates. Free.

  Stab. Stab. Stab.

  I hated the need to explain myself that had appeared out of nowhere, but I resented being considered the wrongdoer in this even more. “Last night,” I said with a puff, “felt like danger. I couldn't ignore it. The impulse—”

  “How about ignoring any further impulses from now on?”

  Dull pressure built behind my temples. He’d really started to piss me off. The entire situation had me bitter and disappointed to the core. “Forgive me for pointing this out,” I grated, “but you didn't seem entirely put off by the state of affairs last night. On the contrary—”