Farfall

by J. C. Owens

  Abuse, he understood. This…whatever this was, made no sense at all.

  He stood with his back to the wall, literally, and bowed his head. There was no trust within him to turn his back on anyone. Daren seemed to understand. He did not question at any rate, only poured soap on his hands and then gently worked it into Andon’s hair.

  He felt himself twitching, unused to a gentle touch, sure that it would hurt at some point. He tried to restrain the telling flinches, but this close to another man, his body and mind held surety of pain.

  Daren did not react, didn’t comment, just continued the gentle, calming motion of long fingers carding through his hair, rubbing over his sensitive scalp, leaving a tingling heat wherever they touched.

  Never, not in the faintest degree, did he show disrespect. When Andon looked up through his eyelashes, Daren’s expression was calm, warm. There was no lust shining in his eyes, no uneven breathing to mark his body’s reaction. He tended to Andon with tenderness, as though each touch was precious, as though he actually valued more than Andon’s body.

  Andon closed his eyes and bowed his head further, shutting out the confusion. He found himself leaning into the blissful touch, biting his lip in order to contain the shameful noises that struggled to escape.

  There was a pause, then gentle fingers teased his abused lip from between his teeth. Andon jerked, opened his eyes to meet a grin as a finger tapped his chin.

  “No drawing blood.”

  And he had. He could taste the metallic tang upon his tongue and flushed.

  Daren just grinned more widely and returned to his hair. The touch was fine, never too hard or painful, and Andon felt a rush of emotion that brought him to the edge of tears. A touch that did not bring pain.

  Was that part of what this man truly offered? He struggled to bring a drop of trust to the fore, to believe…

  Daren carefully guided Andon under the water flow, tipping his head back so that he could rinse his hair without soap running into his eyes.

  The man was curiously pliant, eyes closed. If Daren had not known better, he would have assumed he was in a state of bliss, content to let his mate guide him in whatever direction he thought best.

  If this was what one shower had accomplished, Daren could only hope the future brought many. He was so reluctant to bring this to an end, but he knew Olnar was waiting for his own well-deserved shower, and the grifs…

  Regretfully, he drew back, letting a hand rest, light as a feather, upon Andon’s shoulder. Blue eyes opened to meet his.

  “Clean as a whistle.” He grinned. The weapons master gave a huff of laughter, then pulled away, stepping out of the shower with more energy than he had shown earlier. He grasped a towel and threw it at Daren, then took another for himself, beginning to rub himself dry.

  Daren gave a fleeting, appreciative glance at his mate’s beautiful form before devoting himself to the task at hand.

  Someone must have come in while they were showering, for there were fresh clothes nearby. He dressed with moderate haste, relishing the cleanliness, the lack of grit and grime. Andon was swift, and he stood dressed far earlier than Daren. Daren felt the weight of a glance or two and smiled as he pulled the shirt over his head. There were small, hardly there nuances that told him that his mate was feeling the pull of the newly fledged bond.

  It gave him hope.

  He patted Andon on the shoulder, more gently than he would have shown his riders, still cautious of the skittish distrust that could return within a heartbeat.

  “Shall we return to our grifs?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As it turned out, it was some time before they could actually see Gretnel and Ceris. They had forgotten about Commander Lasrem.

  Now he and Daren stood in the commander’s office relating all that had taken place. Palresen had joined them, freshly scrubbed from a shower, and true to his word, he had told the commander his interpretation of events. Daren had fleshed out the commentary with his own observations, his words precise and clear, his manner respectful.

  Lasrem listened in silence, hands clasped behind him, lips thin and tight, a bad sign in Andon’s opinion. He swallowed hard when that stern gaze fell upon him.

  “I have no excuse, sir. At the moment we realized the wing was missing, that a sandstorm was arriving, both Ceris and I took a course of action that could be termed dangerous and irresponsible. I am prepared to redeem myself through any punishment you feel appropriate.”

  There was complete silence as he bit back any other words that could dig him deeper into the mire he had created by his own actions.

  Lasrem turned and paced away from them, going to stand by his desk, resting his hands upon its polished surface and leaning there, head bowed.

  When he looked up, his eyes had softened, and a tiny quirk of amusement tilted the corner of his lips.

  “Andon, if I were younger and considering having children, you would completely convince me not to step into the arena of parenthood. You constantly bring me worry, then pride, then worry all over again. You are heedless of your own worth, and have no concept of self-protection. You and Ceris are one of a kind. I swear every gray hair I possess is, in some form or another, created by the both of you.”

  Andon stood rigidly, hands clasped behind him, confused. He had been prepared for a tongue lashing at best, but this did not sound exactly like an official reprimand.

  Lasrem glanced at Palresen and Daren. “In your professional opinion, you could not have made it back without Captain Grazon’s assistance?”

  They both nodded crisply.

  Lasrem looked back at Andon. “Then it is completely evident that you just saved two wings, Captain, through your actions, that while reckless, were incredibly courageous. I shall send in a commendation in your name.”

  Andon blinked, confusion rising.

  “But…sir?”

  Lasrem held up a hand. “You are exhausted. Your grifs need you. We will speak of this tomorrow. Dismissed.”

  Andon felt a hand on the small of his back, guiding him from the room, and looked up at Daren. “What in the hells just happened?”

  The captain grinned. “You went from deserter to hero in a few words.”

  “Well, shit.”

  All thoughts of Lasrem’s words fled once they reached the wing house. Daren’s relief at Andon escaping punishment did not last long.

  Gretnel was in one room, Ceris the other, a bad sign. If they were injured, then it made sense that they would be separated for a night or two. People were still swarming around the two grifs. Daren strode forward, a sound of horror escaping him at the sight of Gretnel’s wings, with several weeping sores evident and still shiny with salve. No wonder his grif could not nest with his mate tonight.

  The grif raised a weary head when he approached.

  “Don’t fuss. Just a few sand burns is all. Feels better already. Salve numbs it…” The great head lowered once more, eyes closing.

  Daren stood, stroking a soft ear, allowing his fears to settle. He let his eyes rove over the sand burns and grimaced. If it had not been for the grifs using their wings to protect the riders, then all the humans would have such wounds as well, despite their riding leathers. If they had remained where they were, with the storm worsening…

  “Sleep well, my friend,” he whispered, giving a last caress before leaving Gretnel in peace. The grif healers had slipped away, and quiet had fallen upon the old wing house.

  He made his way down the hallway. The door to Andon’s room stood open. He knocked on the door frame, smiling a little as he saw Andon leaning against a sleeping Ceris, his eyes half closed, on the way to sleeping on his feet apparently.

  “Hey. There’s a bed right there, you know.” He moved closer, nudging Andon’s shoulder. The other captain roused briefly, trying to scowl at him but failing spectacularly.

  “She’s injured. Sand burns all over her wings…” The worry in his tone matched Daren’s own.

  Daren shook his
head, then wrapped his arm around Andon’s shoulders and steered him across the room and to the bed. “She is sleeping. So should you. It is no use us standing over them and being too exhausted to help.”

  Andon fell face-first into the softness, a groan escaping his lips and his body instantly going limp.

  Daren rolled his eyes, pushing him to one side and pulling the covers free before rolling him back like a ragdoll. He unlaced the dusty boots and yanked them off.

  One blue eye opened. Andon’s fingers wrapped around Daren’s wrist as he covered the smaller man with a blanket. “Sleep here. Ceris will let us know if Gretnel needs you. I just need to know you are all right.”

  Daren wondered if Andon even realized what he was saying. The words were slurred, his mate’s expression half asleep.

  He hesitated, wondering if Andon would be defensive upon waking in the morning, and then shaking his head. He undressed with clumsy, exhausted fingers, pulling his own boots off with slow tugs, before sliding under the covers.

  Andon had turned away, his back to Daren, facing the doorway defensively. Somehow that gesture seemed a gift. There was a trust in it. Daren shook his head, laying a gentle hand upon Andon’s shoulder, needing the link between them.

  There was no response. Only a soft snore.

  He smiled to himself, and slipped gratefully into sleep.

  * * *

  Andon woke with a start, disoriented, wondering what had woken him. His hand slipped under the pillow, fingers wrapping around the hilt of his dagger. Opening his eyes to mere slits, he gauged his surroundings.

  Ceris lay asleep, head tucked under her wing, and her gentle breathing soothed him. She would have noted if anyone had attempted to enter the room.

  A soft snore sounded behind him…

  He whirled around, dagger drawn, eyes widening as he realized that someone was in bed with him. His lips drew back into a snarl of rage.

  The person woke abruptly, startled green eyes meeting his.

  With twin yelps, they both shot off the bed in opposite directions, half crouched in defensive positions.

  Ceris woke, raised her head to look at them, then curled round in the other direction and went back to sleep.

  There was stark silence, then Daren gave a choking laugh, sheathing his dagger and running a hand through his wildly tousled hair.

  Andon stared at him, vague memories returning.

  By the gods, he had actually asked Daren to stay and then had responded like a madman this morning. A flush heated his cheeks.

  Daren put a hand over his mouth, but the continuing amusement was evident in his eyes.

  Andon slowly put his own dagger into its sheath, feeling acutely foolish.

  That grin just invited reciprocation…

  He found himself looking to the side, feeling his own lips quirk.

  Daren gave in, beginning to laugh wholeheartedly, and it roused something within Andon, something rare and usually only found with Ceris.

  Humor.

  It brought a light, warm feeling that made his spirits rise for no true reason he could discern. Only that Daren’s happiness made him follow.

  Much like he had with Vren.

  He flinched back from the thought, but the light feeling remained. Despite his fear of reconnection and the grief it could bring, he felt helplessly drawn to this man. It made sense, being true mates, but it was terrifying all the same.

  It was like standing on a precipice and wanting to fly, but not having the courage to believe that you could.

  “I am going to check on Gretnel. Do you want to go to breakfast?” Daren’s invitation was casual, no force behind it. He could refuse…

  Instead, he nodded.

  Daren looked astonished for a split second, as well he might, given Andon’s avoidance of both morning and noon meals. Andon himself had no idea why he accepted, only that being at Daren’s side seemed to be no hardship.

  The man had slept with him. Not touched him, not tried to take advantage of the moment and of Andon’s weakness in asking him to stay.

  It might be madness, but it seemed a lighthearted one.

  * * *

  Daren strode along the hallway toward his own room. His grin was almost painful it was so wide. He had slept with his mate, and more than that, Andon had agreed to go to breakfast with him.

  He could not believe the weapons master had accepted his offer. He had made it on the spur of the moment, feeling a desire to stay with Andon in whatever method was allowed.

  Now, he felt like he could fairly walk on air.

  Gretnel raised his head when Daren entered, looking much more alert and rested than yesterday.

  Daren could hear the sound of feed carts in the hallway, and Gretnel licked his lips, making Daren stroke his ear affectionately.

  The cadets rolled the carts into the room and stopped by the slightly raised stone platform that bordered one edge of the nest. They unloaded chopped fruit, sweet potatoes, grain cakes, along with chicken pieces, and a bit of desert deer. The fact that grifs were omnivores certainly made them easier to feed.

  Daren shook his head fondly as Gretnel ate with more speed than grace, although his grif made certain to keep any food crumbs out of his nest.

  At last, replete, he settled back, stretching his wings painfully while Daren checked the sand burns and applied salve that had been left for that very purpose. The wounds looked to be healing well, without infection, and the numbing salve was helping with the pain.

  After the treatment, Daren helped his grif fold his wings back, the movements stiff and painful. Gretnel shooed him away, wanting only to sleep after his meal. Daren acceded, giving a last caress as Gretnel’s eyes closed.

  Returning to Andon’s quarters, he found his mate doing exactly the same thing. Ceris opened one eye upon his arrival, then closed it again. Her food platform was licked clean, so she must have had the energy to eat, a good sign for recovery.

  Andon murmured something to her, then came to meet Daren in the doorway.

  “We’ll meet my riders first and then walk to the hall.” Daren still could not believe Andon was accompanying him. By the look on his mate’s face, neither could Andon.

  The morning was fair, with the sky bright and clear. The storm of the day before had disappeared utterly, and only the sight of small patches of sand and dirt upon the green grass that comprised the base grounds told the story of yesterday.

  Daren shivered, the memory of what they had gone through…

  A hand touched his shoulder, gently, almost nonexistent, and Daren pushed aside the memories. They had survived, come back relatively intact. He had Andon to thank for that.

  A soft breeze ruffled Andon’s hair, for once unbraided. The long, pale-blond strands moved softly, and Andon tucked them behind one ear absently, his gaze warily surveying the area.

  Daren’s fingers itched with the need to touch that hair. His memory supplied a vivid sensory impression of softness…

  He swallowed hard, yanked his errant thoughts back into line. Things were going so well. Pray to the gods that he did not do something foolish and set it all back.

  Xaxter was just exiting the wing house, tucking his shirt into his pants. He saw Daren, grinned and waved, then paused, staring at Andon with clear astonishment.

  Daren rolled his eyes and glanced at Andon. “Xaxter’s not really a fool. Well, mostly he’s not a fool. Just tends to say whatever comes to his mind. No diplomacy at all.”

  Andon’s expression grew blank in the way Daren had seen so often, and he mourned the loss of the openness of the morning.

  Xaxter gave a small salute to Andon, his eyes full of curiosity. “Morning. Good to see you out and about, Captain. How is Ceris?”

  “She slept well, last night. She has a few sand burns, but on the whole, she came through well. How is your Bavlin?” Andon’s tone was excruciatingly polite.

  “The same. Sand burns, exhaustion. Thank the gods for our flight leathers, or we would have suffer
ed the same.”

  Olnar, Paulsa, and Cansi appeared behind Xaxter, all of them looking tired and hungry. They halted abruptly upon spying Andon. Daren wished fervently that they were not so obvious as he saw Andon stiffen, the blank expression becoming something colder, more wary.

  Olnar gave a small bow of respect, something the big man did rarely. “Good morning, Captain Grazon. I had no chance yesterday to give you my heartfelt thanks for what you did.”

  Paulsa stepped forward, not crowding Andon, but meeting him eye to eye. “What you did was amazingly courageous. If, at any time, you need our support, you only need to call and we will be there for you.”

  Andon blinked, the coldness cracking into surprise and confusion.

  Cansi came up to lay a hand on Paulsa’s shoulder, supporting her lover’s words. “I agree. We are a tight-knit wing, Captain, but I would welcome you to our small circle. If there is any fallout from this matter, we will be at your back.”

  “Hear, hear,” Xaxter chimed in.

  Daren glanced at Andon, feeling a clench of sympathy at the look in his mate’s eyes. Confusion, wariness, disbelief, and just the tiniest glimmer of longing.

  The tension in that lean body pointed to the desire to flee, to regain distance.

  “Time for breakfast,” he announced, gently laying a tentative hand upon Andon’s shoulder. “I don’t know about you, but I am starving.”

  The others took his cue, turning to walk with them toward the hall.

  Andon did not shake off Daren’s touch, and he could only count that as a win.

  The hubbub of the hall dimmed for a moment, as people saw them enter and realized that Captain Grazon was actually with them. From the corner of his eye, Daren could see Andon’s chin rise, his eyes go utterly cold and distant.

  No wonder the man had never wanted to endure this.

  Daren wondered if Vren had had the power to coax him to public meals. From everything he’d heard, he wished he could have met the man. Anyone who was wise enough to see beyond Andon’s barriers and prickly mannerisms must have been a strong, kind person, one who had not been bothered by other people’s opinions.