When I First Saw Red: Soldiers and Mercenaries Book 2

by Kasia Bacon

  I regretted not having my sketchbook handy.

  Gods above.

  Forced into a chaotic defence mode, the soldiers didn’t last long. Within a dozen heartbeats, Lázhien disarmed the pair on the right. He then pivoted on his heel to thrust forward, directing a vertical blow that landed close to the hilt of the third sparrer.

  To his credit, the poor sod managed to parry, clumsy as it might’ve been. But the sheer strength behind Lázhien’s strike sent him tumbling backwards to the floor.

  Lázhien turned and lunged again. In a blink of an eye, he had the blunt point of his training sword pressed against the carotid artery of the last squaddie.

  Laboured breathing aside, everyone remained quiet for a while.

  I clapped, not able to hold back my laughter any longer. “Oi, sergeant,” I called. “Not bad. How about a trophy for the victor?”

  Lázhien whirled around to the accompaniment of the soldiers’ cheerful greetings. His dark eyes gleamed, saturated with emotion. The fleeting look of surprise gave way to a face-splitting smile. “Red.”

  The longing evident in his voice made me tremble.

  “In the flesh.” I made a sweeping hand gesture alongside my body.

  “Here.” He shoved his sword into the hands of the nearest soldier and barked, “Practice dismissed. Out.”

  He charged towards me and pulled me into his arms.

  My feet left the floor. Next thing I knew, I had my thighs wrapped around Lázhien’s waist. Somehow, he managed to relieve me of my saddlebags, having transferred them over to his shoulder.

  Locked tightly in his possessive embrace, I went lax, feeling warm and comfortable for the first time in hours. I couldn’t keep the delighted groans from escaping me.

  “You’re here,” he whispered into my neck. “Safe and sound. At last.”

  His mouth travelled down and covered mine. He kissed me hungrily and so sweetly I grew dizzy.

  My moans increased in volume, taking on a frantic urgency.

  The soldiers cackled and whistled, squeezing past us on their way out.

  After a long time, Lázhien tore himself away from me with palpable reluctance. “Damn. I’m on duty till midnight,” he grouched.

  I leaned forward to bump my nose against his. “Nuh-uh. Etannen’s cleared you to take the rest of the day off.” I slanted him an amused look. “By popular consensus, you need to relax, sergeant.”

  Lázhien murmured something unintelligible, gathering me close again.

  “What?” I said against his collarbone.

  “Nothing. I missed you, is all. I’m out of sorts when you’re away.” The miserable edge to his words tugged at my chest.

  “So I keep hearing. From multiple sources,” I teased, brushing my lips against his stubbled jawline.

  Jokes aside, it’d been the same for me. I’d grown more temperamental with every passing day.

  Lázhien continued to press against me, breathing me in as if to reassure himself I was there next to him, solid and real. I understood the compulsion because it brought me comfort, too.

  I kneaded the muscles at the back of his head. “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere for a good while.”

  “Oh, yes?” He moved away slightly so he could glance at me. “It went that well, eh?”

  “Very well. Orders from the court will keep me busy for several months. And to cap it off, Baroness Laeyés bought all the pieces I showed her. At scandalous prices, as you predicted. I half-expected her to laugh in my face, yet she never batted an eyelid.”

  Lázhien clicked his tongue somewhat impatiently. “Of course she didn’t. She’s too shrewd of a collector to let a talented artist like you slip her net. She commission anything?”

  “Three paintings to start with.”

  “Ha. I knew it.”

  My lips twitched at Lázhien’s smug expression. It had been his idea to approach Baroness Laeyés—the Elven Queen’s former mistress and a prominent patron of the arts.

  “She’s approved the line art so I can start on the sketches next week,” I said. “The best part is, she’ll collect the lot on her next journey to Ysêmyr. Saves me the travel.”

  “That’s grand, Red. Brilliant news.” Lázhien squeezed my hips. “And how was Asirhwӱn?”

  “As it always is. Full of Elves and up its arse.”

  He snorted. “You loved every moment, eh?”

  “I would’ve. Had you been there with me,” I confessed in a small voice, stealing a peek at him from beneath my lashes. I’d got better at expressing my feelings over the months, but stating them openly at times still rendered me uneasy.

  Lázhien resembled Ōkkanȏ’s-Cat when presented with a bowl of seafood. “Next time, eh Red? I have some leave coming soon. We’ll go wherever you wish.”

  I nodded, excited at the idea. I never thought I’d enjoy travelling, but it’d proven great fun with Lázhien. “I’ll hold you to it. But for now, I can’t wait to get home. Put me down and let’s go.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?” I peered at him. “We’re not going home?”

  “I’m taking you home. I don’t intend to let you out of my hands until tomorrow. You’re mine.”

  I huffed a partly exasperated, partly amused sound. “True as this may be, you can’t carry me all the way.”

  “Can’t I now, little fiend?” He slitted his eyes and smacked my arse before swinging me sideways, so I ended up positioned in a bridal lift. “Quit your wiggling.”

  Knowing Lázhien well enough to realise when he couldn’t be swayed, I stopped my insincere attempts to free myself. I sagged into his hard frame with delight, greedy for his body heat and thrilled to be supported by those strong arms.

  Besides, why walk when one could be carried?

  At my capitulation, Lázhien gave a gratified hum and started down the steps.

  I’d stirred out of my contented daze by the time we neared the bathhouse. I squeezed Lázhien’s bicep once to get his attention and another two times because I enjoyed the feel of his firm muscle underneath my fingers. “Wait. How about a quick detour? I could do with a bath.”

  “A bath? Now?” He gave a shaky laugh. “Red, you’re insane—and I mean more than usual—if you think I’m stopping anywhere. I’m going to have you bent over the first solid piece of furniture we encounter once inside our cottage. A bath might be a good plan for later. And I mean much, much later. I promise to soap every part of you very thoroughly including your neck, back and your pointy ears,” he drawled.

  I snickered. “But I surely smell.” My protest, I had to admit, sounded entirely unconvincing.

  “That you do,” he agreed, leaning to inhale the air around me. “Mmm. You smell delicious.”

  Somehow I forgot the reason why I’d wanted a bath in the first place. I didn’t feel cold anymore and I knew Lázhien wasn’t opposed to the tang of horse and leather on me. In fact, he considered it quite a turn-on. I thought of it as one of those bizarre soldier things. With time, I’d minded them less and less.

  The white exterior of our cottage became visible through the greenery marking off the residential part of the garrison.

  Lázhien’s long strides picked up the pace.

  Finally, the zesty fragrance released by the blooms of arbasiums welcomed us home. I watched Lázhien open the front door with a knee push.

  Our eyes met. The wordless message conveyed in his dark gaze clenched my chest with acute happiness—so intense it hurt.

  My response was no different.

  My choice. My fate. My love.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading Red and Lázhien’s story. I hope it kept you entertained.

  As always, I’m grateful to readers who take time to write reviews and post them to Amazon, BookBub and Goodreads. Reviews help increase visibility, which in turn allows stories to find more readers. The value of that for an independent author cannot be overestimated.

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aders. It’s a source of great joy and satisfaction for me to know that I managed to make someone laugh or cry (or indeed feel any other emotion). Feel free to get in touch at kasiabacon@gmail.com if you wish to share any of your thoughts.

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  —K.B.

  About the Author

  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.

  For excerpts, free stories and updates about new projects, sign up for Kasia’s newsletter.

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  Bacon & Elves.

  The Order Universe Books

  AVAILABLE NOW

  The Mutt (The Order Book 1)

  The Highlander (The Order Book 2)

  Twenty-One Arrow Salute (The Order Book 2.5)

  Blessing and Light (Standalone)

  Rago (Standalone)

  The Poison Within (Inspector Skaer Book 1)

  Don’t Fight the Spark (Soldiers and Mercenaries Book 1)

  When I First Saw Red (Soldiers and Mercenaries Book 2)

  AUDIOBOOKS

  Don’t Fight the Spark (Soldiers and Mercenaries Book 1)

  The Poison Within (Inspector Skaer Book 1)

  Blessing and Light (Standalone)

  Rago (Standalone)

  GERMAN EDITIONS

  Der Halbelf (Der Orden Buch 1)

  Der Hochländer (Der Orden Buch 2)

  21 Pfeile zum Salut (Der Orden Buch 2.5)

  Segen und Licht (Einzelband aus der Ordenswelt)

  SPANISH EDITIONS

  El mestizo (Libro 1 de La Orden)

  El elfo oscuro (Libro 2 de La Orden)

  21 flechas (Libro 2.5 de La Orden)

  La Noche de la Luces (Independiente)

  ITALIAN EDITION

  Non combattere la scintilla (Soldati e Mercenari 1)

  COMING SOON IN THE ORDER UNIVERSE

  The Scouts (The Order Book 3)

  Read on for a sneaky snippet from The Scouts.

  Book 3 in The Order series is coming in 2020.

  Excerpt: The Scouts

  I was rough with him that night. Teeth marks. Pulled hair. Crushing, restraining grip on his hips. Short, fast thrusts to the rhythm of mine, mine, mine.

  The thought of someone—anyone—else laying hands on that smooth, porcelain skin, desecrating the body I’d grown to revere and know so thoroughly, made me want to lash out like an ambushed animal. My jaw clenched, and the stinging behind my eyes blurred my vision. I couldn’t quiet the roar of jealousy that wreaked havoc with my head and stabbed my brain with vile images.

  Lochan’s raven hair fanned out across his lean back. Observing the long lines of his muscles tensing and releasing in sync with the snaps of my hips had me struggling for control, my blood overheated. The view of his firm, round behind and the way his body stretched to welcome and accommodate mine, accepting and gripping me again and again, threatened to tip me over the edge all too soon. He spurred me on, pliant yet demanding, delivering the most delectable resistance, and not quiet about it, either. Fuck, could the lad moan.

  Suddenly, it wasn’t enough. A visceral urge to imprint myself on his perception had taken charge of me. I needed to look into his eyes and have him see me—truly see me. Show me that I’d become just as unforgettable and irreplaceable to him as he’d always been to me. That no matter what, no one could ever step in for me.

  Two strokes short of completion, I slid out of him.

  The linen sheets crumpled around his fists as he bunched up the fabric, growling out a curse into the pillow. “Ervyn, please,” he panted, throwing me a wanton, long-lashed look over his shoulder, “I’m almost there.” His lush lips parted, the blue wells of his gaze molten, sheeny and dissolute.

  Mighty gods.

  He shouldn’t have been able to cease my heart with a single glance like that. Never had I encountered anyone who could combine the sweet and the obscene with such ease. Any other time he would’ve swayed me, too: the master of manipulation. Just not right then.

  Oh, yes. He enjoyed getting his way. But at times he loved being denied even more.

  I squeezed my cock between my thumb and forefinger. I had to rein in my need so I could see to him first. The slap I applied to his arse—which elicited a thick groan from him—brought a warm sting to my palm and a lovely pink blush to his flesh. I wished I could’ve spent some time spreading the mark by running my tongue and teeth over it until I made him squirm. At that point, alas, we were both too far gone for such subtlety. “Turn around, mu’hrōnye.” My drawl scraped hoarse with breathlessness. “I want to see your face when you come.”

  The ragged pace of his breathing rivalled mine. He sent me a very Lochanesque glare, but acquiesced nonetheless. The way he shifted his sculptured limbs around me to settle on his back, seductive without conscious effort, left me choking on my spit.

  Before I entered him again, I couldn’t refuse myself a languid, sloppy kiss. I leant into him, enveloping him with the weight and heat of my muscle, and licked at the outline of his lips, demanding he let me inside.

  Immediately, he opened up to invite me in. Pursuing my tongue with his own, he pulled me closer and slid his hands down my sides until they reached my arse, and anchored themselves there, his impatient fingers digging into me, enticing me nearer still. At times, I sensed he wouldn’t have minded if I’d crawled into him whole, and didn’t the idea tickle my possessiveness in all the right places.

  A floaty sensation descended upon me, disturbing my grip on reality. My head spun from the pleasure of having his solid, honed body beneath mine, desperate for the taking.

  All mine. That night, at least.

  A reminder of what was to pass the following day clobbered me like a jagged-edged poker through the chest. One dragged red-hot from the fire and wielded by some sadistic fucker with a grudge.

  He reclaimed my attention by moaning into my mouth and arching into me, as if my torment didn’t escape his notice. My thoughts dissipated, banished into the dark recesses of my mind. I wouldn’t give in to anxiety and ruin the hours we had ahead of us—together, alone and naked.

  I shoved his face to one side, and he groaned. I trailed my lips along his jaw and down the crook of his neck. The tendon there begged to be sucked and branded. Mine. So I sank my teeth into that juicy curve and smiled around it when he tensed in a silent spasm underneath me, a trickle from his cock slicking my groin. Dizzy with want, I brushed my nose against his skin, taking in his mellow, exotic scent, which grew headier with each inhalation, layered so thick on him there.

  My sternum ached almost as much as my balls when I buried myself in him for the second time.

  We both let out a moan.

  His fine features softened, allowing me to observe a rare expression on him—heavy
-lidded, unshielded and raw. Exquisite.

  I gripped his chin in my palm and yanked it up.

  “Don’t take your eyes off me, Lochan,” I rasped, my voice steady despite the fear it would fail me. “Look at me.”

  The one who’s fucking you.

  The one who loves you.

  As always, he gave me precisely what I wanted. And more. The conviction that there would never be another like him, that he was it for me—everything I needed in the world—washed over me in a familiar wave. Equally frightening and comforting.

  I switched to long strokes, deep and slow. He came quickly, and I didn’t linger myself after his release coated his pale, tight stomach.

  Afterwards, I wrapped him tightly in my arms, the way I knew he needed. But I held him as much for myself as I did for him.

  All that strength in him. All that beauty. And he’d chosen to trust me. To yield to me.

  To let me own him.

  And love him.

  It had never stopped being a thrill, the knowledge that he could shake me off in a snap and wrestle me into submission. I could fight as well as the next Elf, but if it came to a physical confrontation between Lochan and me, I’d be glad to last three heartbeats. Yet there he lay—a warrior, lethal and feared, who loathed being touched—letting me have him, clinging to my body as if starved for the contact. And I’d have been lying if I said it didn’t sharpen my senses and turn my blood into lava.

  I’d developed a fascination with his hair, its silken length just made for me to twist around my fingers or, when things got heated, around my fist. A great measure to control him by and lavish affection upon him, too. My caresses—a mute apology for subjecting him to a punishing treatment for something that wasn’t his fault—drew contented, sleepy purrs from him.