When I First Saw Red: Soldiers and Mercenaries Book 2

by Kasia Bacon

  The bastard.

  “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said.

  “So I've gathered,” I sneered. “Back to the garrison, are you?”

  “Well, yes,” he replied, smooth as Calm Sea and considering me as if the matter should be self-explanatory.

  “Right,” I grounded out through clenched teeth. I intended to leave it there, but my mouth moved ahead of my brain. “Why—?”

  Finishing that sentence proved impossible. I refused to highlight my humiliation any further.

  How could have I forgotten? After all, I’d known better. Declarations of men in heat—damn, men in general—meant fuck-all. How could I have believed he wanted to stay with me forever?

  “To see my quartermaster, of course.” Lázhien’s look suggested again I’d acted densely for not having recognised it as the most apparent answer.

  “Whatever the hell for?”

  His dark gaze glinted as he approached the bed. “To ask for leave, Red,” he replied patiently. “What else?”

  “Leave?”

  “Didn’t you say we couldn’t separate for a fortnight? To let the bond take?” Lázhien cocked his head to one side. “Well, for that, I need to be off duty. And my quartermaster has to authorise it. That’s how the army operates, you know.”

  I closed my mouth on that with a soft pop. “Oh, I see,” I said in a small voice.

  Heat spread over my cheeks. I shouldn’t have doubted Lázhien and jumped to conclusions, even if living with insecurities for so long has made it hard for me to let go of my mistrust. But embarrassment aside, pure joy erupted in my chest—so great it choked me up.

  I contemplated conveying those complex feelings to Lázhien, but he seemed deep in thought, preoccupied with some other matter.

  His eyebrows knitted together in a way that formed one line on his forehead. He took another step forward and rested his hands on the footboard. His knuckles whitened and an odd expression ghosted in his gaze.

  If I hadn’t known any better, I’d say he seemed self-conscious. Perhaps even timid?

  Pressing my palm to my sternum to combat a new wave of anxiety, I waited for him to speak.

  “I meant to ask you this last night,” he started with caution. “You see, the army has a few dozen townhouses at the outskirts of the garrison. For couples and families. I’ve served enough years to qualify.” He ran his fingers through his hair and threw me a furtive glance. “In fact, my quartermaster showed me one the other day. I wouldn’t call it luxurious by any means, but it’s big enough to be comfortable for two. The loft has a high ceiling and large windows. With all that light, the space would make a nice art room. Not that I know anything about that sort of thing, of course. But I thought you might like that.”

  In the short pause that followed, I heard my pulse hammering in my throat.

  Lázhien’s expression shadowed.

  “I know you’re hardly thrilled at the prospect of living in the garrison. But I’d like you to consider it nonetheless. It’s close to the city walls. With a safe pass, you’d be free to come and go as you please, Red. To visit Ranélle or the heiku, go to the market or whatever else you fancy. A few paintings and cushions or such and the house could be cosy. If we want it, it’s ours,” he concluded almost shyly, his eyes downcast.

  “You couldn’t be more wrong, Lázhien.” I drew a ragged breath. “I am thrilled.”

  His head jerked up and it took a moment for understanding to seep into his eyes. “You are?”

  I snickered at the shock in his tone. “Well, we need to live together. I want us to live together. And we need to live somewhere. I can’t believe I’m saying this myself, but it might as well be in the garrison.”

  Lázhien leant over while I knee-walked the mattress to meet him halfway. In one smooth movement, his arms locked me in an embrace.

  I couldn’t imagine ever going without the solid, reassuring warmth of his body. Not anymore.

  “You know, I still can’t wrap my head around why you’d want me,” he murmured, sounding genuinely perplexed. His earnest gaze slanted towards mine and he rubbed his face. “I’m nothing special. Unlike you.”

  “You’re special to me.” I shook my head at the nonsense he spouted. “For a lot of reasons. Your muscles might be one.” I smirked and kneaded his biceps. “As to why? It’s simple. Firstly, because my demon wants you. You and nobody else. And secondly, because... you make me whole.”

  Was there a thing of greater importance to a Two-Soul? Not feeling conflicted? If so, I had trouble thinking of one.

  Lázhien’s stormy, wide-eyed stare flickered to meet mine. His heart raced underneath my palm as he lifted my other hand to his lips.

  With a flutter of lashes, I added, “It doesn’t hurt that you make me harder than obsidian, either.”

  A deep growl bubbled in Lázhien’s chest. “I can relate to that.” His warm hands slid down my spine and towards my tailbone. He gave my arse a promising squeeze.

  “What of your quartermaster, Lázhien?” I mocked, tilting my head so that he could gain better access to my neck. “Weren’t you just rushing off to see him?”

  “Let me clue you in on important army information, Red. The quartermaster ain’t a rabbit. He won’t hop away. He’ll still be there in an hour all the same.”

  “Is that right? And how are you intending to spend that hour, exactly?”

  He tongued my ear and whispered a filthy suggestion into it.

  I produced a strangled grunt of approval in response. “Hm. That sounds good. Really good,” I huffed. “The association with me has done wonders for your refinement, sergeant. Stick with me, and there might be hope for you yet.”

  I felt his smile against my temple. “I plan on doing exactly that.”

  Epilogue

  ŌKKANȎ

  A silver lace of frost covered the ground outside the Nygläär garrison. My mare’s exhales came out in steamy bursts in the morning air.

  Bending awkwardly in my saddle so the man on gate duty could see me through the small opening of his security window, I struggled to keep my shit together.

  “Corporal,” I grated. “I’m telling you for the tenth time: I live here. So let me in already.” I stomped my foot, but the action didn’t seem to carry the same punch while hunching on horseback.

  The unfamiliar face on the opposite side of the wrought iron panel—the side I’d been desperate and unsuccessful in reaching for some time—remained locked in a stubborn expression of suspicion. As did the door. “And I likewise keep telling you to present your safe pass if that’s the case. One bearing Commander Cadarh’s seal.”

  “I’ve told you I don’t have it on me.”

  “Well, then. You’re not getting in, are you?” the guard reiterated, his physiognomy unruffled. “No safe pass, no entry.”

  Somehow, I refrained from screaming.

  As it happened, I’d quit carrying the wretched parchment around soon after moving to our cottage six months prior. I’d had no use for it. The news about Lázhien living with a Tii-Matâshi had circled the garrison within moments of my arrival. Curiously, soldiers’ passion for gossip exceeded that of the whores'. And with my pointy ears, red hair and facial markings, I could hardly be mistaken for anyone else.

  Alas, Corporal Fucking Jobsworth in front of me was new and clueless.

  I let out a string of curses in Common Elven.

  Having spent eight hours in the saddle, exposed to the piercing wind, I felt worn to a frazzle and bone-cold. My chafed coccyx ached. The last thing I had the patience to deal with was some knob creating an obstacle to my immediate plans: dismounting and getting out of my travelling clothes that smelt like rain and stables. I needed a hot bath. Food. Wine. My cat. But above all—my soulmate.

  Thinking of Lázhien—and the anticipation of unleashing my starved Incubus on him—had propelled me to ride throughout the night without stopping. And yet, despite being so close to the garrison wall that I could brush my finger against it
s pitted stone, what I craved the most remained out of my reach.

  Fuck.

  For a brief moment, and much to my demon’s liking, I entertained the notion of drawing from my aura and hitting the stubborn soldier with a lust wave. The glamour would render him pliant—putty in my hands. Convincing him to open the gates would be child’s play. He’d get a damp stain in his undergarments and a feeling of confusion for his trouble. Hadn't I used to do it all the time to get my way? It’d been a riot. Well, excluding the occasion I ended up locked up under the charge of unlawful demonic coercion.

  Lázhien, however, wouldn't have approved.

  I could picture his dark eyes narrowing at me in reprimand, his fingers digging into my hips, his low voice a whisper, “No. Naughty little fiend. Play nicely.”

  After I’d persuaded the stubborn innkeeper in Azlě to give us his fanciest room in a supposedly full establishment, Lázhien—partly disturbed, partly amused and plenty jealous—had made me promise never to turn my lust glamour on ‘unsuspecting members of the public’ ever again. Unless in self-defence.

  I could've argued that hovering outside the garrison at risk of malnourishment and hypothermia posed a threat to my well-being. But if I did so, Lázhien would’ve been more than pissed. He’d be hurt and disappointed. And that I wasn’t in a hurry to handle.

  I sighed, determined to try my hand at negotiation one more time.

  “Listen here, soldier,” I said in a stern tone, straightening my posture and groaning at the stiffness of my joints. “I’m done joking about. Which part of I live here don’t you understand? If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me in. Now fetch your commanding officer. Or, even better—”

  “Orders are orders. Stop wasting your breath. Come back with a safe pass or not at all. I care very little.”

  As if he hadn’t made that obvious. Talking to a wall guaranteed a better result.

  “Damn your safe pass,” I seethed in the end, vexed to hell, negotiating all but forgotten. “When I find it, I’ll shove it so deep up your arse, you’ll be burping wax till Freeday.”

  Smack. The wooden flap clonked shut on me.

  Oh, no. He fucking didn’t.

  Not only did I scream then, I roared. “Fucking wanker. Open the gate!”

  I heard some shuffling on the other side.

  “Corporal Tynn? What’s with the shouting?”

  Upon recognising the muffled voice of Quartermaster Cleriē, I sagged with relief. “Etannen,” I called—or whined—trying to stop my teeth from chattering with little success. “Let me in.”

  The flap slid aside, and Etannen’s tanned face popped into view. “Ōkkanȏ? Welcome home, lad. Why are you lingering in this damn chill?”

  Hinges rasped, wood creaked—the most beautiful sounds I’d heard in a while—and finally, the gate swung open.

  I cued Nadyr to walk on. “Why? Because Corporal Tynn here seems to have it in for me.” On passing, I cast the soldier my best death glare.

  He turned out to be a small-framed youth with ruddy cheeks and a pert nose.

  The quartermaster stared at him, too. “After a broken jaw, are ya? That’s Sergeant Jhagán’s mate you had freezing his balls off out there.”

  “Sergeant Jhagán’s?” The corporal’s eyes widened. I could hardly keep from snickering at his panicked inhale as the messages sank in. “The big, shouty drill master?”

  “Have you ever met a drill master who doesn’t shout?” Etannen scoffed and shrugged in my direction. “The boy’s an idiot.”

  “Clearly,” I agreed sourly. But I stopped nursing grudges the moment I set foot inside the bastion.

  Etannen walked alongside my mare for a few paces. “Gods, am I glad you’re back, Ōkkanȏ. So will be the others. I foresee a few blessing lanterns lit in thanks tonight.”

  “Lázhien’s been that bad, eh?” I chuckled.

  Etannen tilted his hat to scratch his forehead and added in an undertone, “Worse than a wolf with a wounded paw. He’s no ray of sunshine on his best day, mind you, but since you’ve been gone, he’s been giving the lads hell on earth. Recruits shit themselves when he as much as looks at them. You need to get him to relax.”

  In readiness for all the relaxing I had in mind, my mouth had already gone dry. “Consider the matter taken care of. But how about getting Lázhien off shift till tomorrow? Huh? I wouldn’t want to half-arse things, you see,” I said with a wink.

  “Gods forbid. The situation sure calls for a full-arse job, I’d say.” He guffawed. “I’ll make it happen.”

  Pleased, I nodded. The wolf was all mine, wounded paws and other assorted bits. “He’ll be at sword practice, right?”

  “Aye. You best don’t dawdle.” Etannen’s face screwed up. “He broke three sparring swords only yesterday. On the backs of his trainees. I’m sure they had a fun afternoon plucking out the splinters.”

  I pursed my lips.

  The quartermaster shook his head. “You lads pop in for breakfast tomorrow, eh? Ranélle’s making crumpets. She’s getting better at that.”

  In response to the sceptical look I shot him, he rephrased, “Well, at least they’re lighter than cannonballs now.”

  I chuckled at his besotted expression and sketched a mock salute in farewell.

  Nadyr went into a trot the moment I gave her a light kick with my heels, her impatience to get home clearly equal to mine.

  Home.

  Who would’ve thought I’d end up living on a military compound, happy and settled?

  I’d embraced the rhythm of garrison life with an ease that astonished me. From the start, no one had given me any grief. I suspected it had less to do with my winning personality and more with the soldiers’ unwillingness to incur Lázhien’s wrath. But even if that’d been a factor initially, I’d soon forged friendships. I’d felt genuinely welcomed. Included. Respected.

  Lázhien had told me how the discipline and structured ways of the army had helped him to cope with the loss of his family. Funny how busy but somewhat monotonous days filled with repetitive duties soothed the spirit. I understood it now.

  It’d taken a while, but I’d allowed my daily routine to evolve. Never an early riser before, lately I would wake at dawn so I could watch morning practice, sketching away in the pale sunlight.

  Lázhien often remarked how those quick outlines of soldiers in action counted amongst my best work. And there must’ve been something to it, given that those charcoal renderings kept selling like hotcakes. Especially those featuring a fierce, well-muscled man with dark hair and alluring eyes, whose depictions dominated my drawing book. The same looker had also inspired a whole different series of art—one involving less clothing and even more detailed anatomy. But that wasn’t for sale.

  Taking myself further by surprise, I’d proved quite a domestic creature. Even now, eyeing the distant row of white cottages tucked at the foot of the hill across from the training grounds, I felt a lump in my throat. My gaze darted to the last house on the left. Several flower boxes overflowing with purple cascades of blooming arbasium decorated the front. Lázhien had crafted those for me when I’d expressed a wish to play a jolly gardener in the spring.

  I didn’t miss Ranélle’s shiny two-wheeled carriage parked in the driveway of the neighbouring house. She had been spending more time at Etannen’s than in the city these days. More often than not, Aurrin accompanied her. The little bugger got on with the quartermaster like apple and pastry. If things carried on as they had been, I suspected Nélle and Etannen would formally adopt the boy before too long.

  On my way to the stables, I encountered a dozen exclamations of ‘Ōkkanȏ, thank the merciful gods.’ I waved in greeting, biting back a smirk—Lázhien must’ve done a grand job demonstrating his irritable side during my absence.

  Not that he’d been alone in his frustration. Our bond tolerated separation poorly. Whenever we parted—for reasons to do with the increase in my art commissions—a fortnight marked the hard limit. I’d left
for Asirhwӱn twelve days ago, and my demon was about ready to turn me inside out.

  Outside the stables, I swung my leg over Nadyr’s haunches and landed on the ground. My stiff knee joints protested the sudden impact. Just as I prepared to lead my mare inside, two stable boys ran out to meet me.

  I’d developed a habit of caring for my horse after each ride in early childhood, owing it to my father’s influence. But I went against it on this occasion. I couldn’t postpone seeing Lázhien another moment. Instead, I handed the reins to the youths, slipping them a silver each.

  I untied the leather straps of my saddlebags and hefted the well-stuffed load onto my shoulder. A visit to the capital of the Elven Country without shopping for souvenirs wouldn’t have been complete. I’d snapped up some quality purchases, too. Asirhwӱnian daggers for Lázhien. A dragon kite for Aurrin. Blue silk for Ranélle. Picture-scrolls for Etannen. Elven mead for soldiers I played cards with. And a hand-painted fan for me.

  Puffing under the lot, I strode off towards the fencing hall.

  The walk seemed endless, although the distance didn’t exceed a few hundred paces. I passed the armoury pavilion and the canteen. From there, mere steps separated me from the tall, dome-roofed building.

  I sprinted up the stairs.

  A clatter of sparring swords greeted me at the entrance. I stopped short at the scene unfolding inside.

  One half a squad stood plastered to the walls, watching the other half go at it in the middle of the hall. Four soldiers, grunting and panting, were failing to withstand the attacks of a tall man whose black hair was twisted in a high ponytail. The tailored shirt he wore accentuated his broad shoulders in a way that zinged right down to my groin.

  My heart sped up. Bewitched, I observed Lázhien advance on his opponents simultaneously. Or rather, play cat and mouse with them. Smacking them across their chests, backs and arses with the flat of his wooden weapon every time they revealed gaps in their technique and left themselves exposed to his powerful assault. Calm and measured, he moved with the agility of a large predator and smirked away to himself.