by Aldrea Alien
Dylan spat out a mouthful of grass and dirt. “Still, I disarmed you. That’s one point to me.”
Tracker scoffed. “That does not count.” He ran a finger along the ear Dylan had licked. “You distracted me.”
Dylan rolled onto his side, leaning on an elbow. It could’ve been his imagination or the low light, but the man’s cheeks looked decidedly more flushed than he had a moment ago. “I could distract you some more, if you like.”
Grinning, the hound pressed close. Their mouths met, eager and open, tongues gliding and tangling with each other.
A whimper escaped his lips as Tracker pulled away. He wasn’t sure when he’d grasped the man’s hips, but he tightened his grip before the hound could be free.
Tracker’s brows lowered. “My aim is to teach you to fight. I will not be tempted into anything else. At least not whilst the sun is up.”
He thrust his hips against the man’s, grinding and chuckling at the hitch in Tracker’s breathing. Dylan hummed and nibbled at the hound’s other ear to the sound of the elf’s broken moan. “You sure?” he whispered.
The loud, and somewhat forced, blast of someone coughing drew his attention to the edge of the clearing. Marin had returned. She stood there, her arms akimbo and shaking her head. A small smile touched her lips. “Boys, if you’re going to play, at least do us the courtesy of doing it where we can’t see. It’s bad enough hearing the pair of you carrying on at night.”
Gods… Dylan buried his face into the hound’s shoulder. He’d been so consumed in their sparring that he had completely forgotten they weren’t alone. Who knew what the others thought about them rolling along the grass like a pair of horny teenagers.
Naturally, Tracker seemed to be taking it all in stride. “I am uncertain what you think you are hearing, dear woman, but it is most definitely not me.”
Marin laughed, causing Dylan to risk peeking up at the woman. “My ears may not be as good as yours, but they know what they hear.” She bent over them. “And it’s most definitely two voices.” Her gaze switched from the elf to him. “Also, you are very loud, with the both of them.”
Dylan felt his cheeks steadily growing hotter.
Tracker wound his arms around Dylan’s head. “I would not have him any other way. As they say: If your partner can keep quiet, you are doing it wrong.”
He peered up at the elf from beneath the man’s bicep. That sounded promising. “Do they?”
“Ugh, I give up.” Marin straightened. “Common sense clearly won’t prevail here.” Throwing her hands in the air, she marched towards the tents. “Do as you like. Teach him, screw him, whatever. Just don’t be surprised if I aim a stone or two at your arses if you choose the latter.”
The hound watched her departure, grinning. “As tempting as the suggestion to screw you is, we should continue with your training whilst there is still light to be had.” In one smooth move, he slithered out of Dylan’s grasp and stood.
Dylan rolled onto his back. He grasped the hand the elf offered and bounced to his feet. There was a certain spark in those honey-coloured eyes that suggested further mischief. “I’m going to pay for this tonight, aren’t I?”
Tracker’s gaze ran over him, taking its time mentally tracing every bit of his six-foot frame. He bit his lip as his hand strayed to once again rub his ear. “Most certainly,” he rasped.
“As if you could and still keep me quiet,” Dylan muttered under his breath.
A wicked tilt took the man’s lips. “You would be surprised what I am capable of, dear man.”
Dylan bit his lip, hoping that act would quiet the gentle tremble in his gut. It didn’t. He’d meant only to distract when he touched the man’s ears, but now he thought on it, teasing the hound probably wasn’t a good idea. He was pretty sure he’d not seen the man riled up and such actions were sure to get the elf in that state.
The hound chucked the quarterstaff into the air with one twitch of his foot. Catching the banded length of wood, he gave it an almost idle twirl before presenting Dylan with an end. “Let us try it again.”
Dylan chewed on his bottom lip as he took up the quarterstaff. His gaze drifted to where the women sat around the fireplace—the scent of dinner being almost ready tweaking his nose—then lifted his eyes to the sky. “The light’s fading.”
Tracker laughed. “So eager for the day to be over. Training first, dear man. Then we can play.” He retrieved his sword. “Providing you can knock me down again. Without nibbling on my ears.”
Grinning, Dylan shook his head. “And if I don’t?”
The hound shrugged. “I am certain a suitable punishment will present itself.” He raised his blade, one brow lifted querulously. “We are ready, yes?”
Dylan shifted his grip on the quarterstaff. “Do your worst.” Whether he won or not, he was going to regret teasing the man. He might as well aim for getting something out of it.
The smell of toasting bread tickled his nose. Dylan rocked his head to one side, expecting to find the hound still lying beside him. He was alone.
The tent flap stirred in the breeze, bringing with it the stronger aroma of food. There was a hint of meat in that, possibly some remains of the rabbits Marin had caught yesterday. And spices. Stew. The spicy kind Tracker liked to serve. The hound had made breakfast?
Dylan swiftly set about dressing. He exited the tent, his legs still a little on the shaky side after last night’s exertion. Remind me never to call his bluff again. The hound had managed to make good on his hushed threat of containing Dylan’s moans whilst making a hearty attempt at screwing Dylan’s brains out, if only due to some inventiveness with their clothing as a gag.
Tracker and Authril sat near the campfire. He halted, taking in the carefree way the pair spoke to each other. He thought that the revelation of him sleeping with both elves might cause a rift, but they seemed closer than ever.
He frowned. Even though she insisted they were still friends and Tracker claimed to not be at all jealous of sharing Dylan with another, he’d a sick feeling that having the pair of them talking was only going to lead to trouble. The kind he didn’t want to be around when it came to a head.
A soft breeze blew across the clearing, dragging with it the mouth-watering scent of freshly-made toast. His stomach rumbled, reminding him of its emptiness. Food meant going near the fire, near them.
Steeling himself, he made his way to the duo’s side.
Tracker’s head lifted as he neared. Those gorgeous eyes ran over him, no doubt taking in the slight wobble to his steps. The man’s casual smile shifted into a rather self-satisfied grin. “Good morning. We slept well, yes?”
Grunting, he sat down and eyed the pair anew. They’d fallen quiet the instant his presence was noted. “And what were we discussing?” Would it be too much to hope for something benign, like comparing fighting styles?
“You,” Authril replied. A little too matter-of-factly for his tastes. “Don’t worry, I’ve already told him the fact we’re both elves is pure coincidence.” She beamed at him. It was the selfsame cheeky smile Nestria used to get whenever his oldest friend planned mischief. “That you’ve been with dozens of human women.”
Dylan buried his head in his hands and groaned. Had he really said that? I did. He hadn’t meant it that way, but he’d gone and let his fool mouth run unchecked, again. Stupid. He stared at the fire, stubbornly ignoring the growing heat in his cheeks.
“Careful, my dear warrior,” Tracker chuckled, handing Dylan a bowl of stew and a slice of toast topped with a thin strip of the remaining cheese. “You will make him blush.”
“But he’s so very good at it.” Authril grinned. “Blushing, that is.”
“Indeed. But then he is good at a great many things.”
Dylan closed his eyes. His face burned hotter still. This could not be happening.
“I don’t know,” the warrior said. “I’ve had better.”
This was a dream, some horrid little nightmare feeding on his fears. When
he opened his eyes again, he was going to find himself still in the tent all tangled up in the blankets and Tracker’s warmth. He dared to peek.
Alas.
At least that meant the cheese was real. He picked it off the toast and nibbled it before dipping the toast into the stew. There were little lumps of meat in the ochre sauce. He tasted a piece. Definitely yesterday’s rabbit.
“Better? Truly?” The hound looked at Authril out of the corner of his eye. “And did you pay a great deal of coin for their services? I understand experienced whores charge a small fortune.”
Authril all but choked on her mouthful of water. She alternated from sputtering to laughter in between bouts of coughing.
“Or is it less to do with his performance and more to do with his… restraint?” Tracker continued. “I can, after all, handle a great deal more of his magic than the average person.”
The warrior paled. “Magic? He wouldn’t dare.”
“You have never considered it?” A wicked grin stretched the man’s face. “Are you not even a little bit curious?”
She wrinkled her nose and made a gagging sound. “I’ve no need to be reminded of what he’s capable of. It’d be like having sex with a sword involved.”
“Ah, dear woman, you have not even thought to grasp the idea of what he could do. You would be amazed how a little extra warmth, or cold, adds to the act.” Tracker’s gaze slid to Dylan, the smugness on his face growing more prevalent. “Although, I rather favour his little sparks of lightning.”
“Whoa,” Marin piped up from the other side of the fire. “That’s quite the image there. One I did not need, thank you.”
Dylan watched as Authril’s expression grew increasingly disgusted the more Tracker talked. The thorny vine of shame knotted itself around his gut. He’d already gathered she wouldn’t be receptive to him using magic during sex, and he was all right with that, but seeing her reject the hound’s words so vehemently…
“No?” Tracker concluded. “It has not crossed your mind even once? My dear woman, you have no idea what you are missing.”
Authril stood, chucking the remainder of her breakfast on the fire. The flames hissed and popped. “I do know, thank you. Magic is not some extension of himself. It’s a tool. A weapon. No less so than a sword. If you’re fine with the idea of having sex with a blade involved, it speaks more to your depravity than his skills.”
The wicked joviality of the hound’s face vanished. The skewed tilt of his lips flattened, his brows lowered. “You also sleep with him, yet I am the depraved one?”
“I let him be a man, not some… magical toy.”
Tracker scoffed. “Oh, please. I suppose the next thing you plan to say is how you would rather he was incapable of magic?”
Her head tipped back. She glared at the hound down her nose. “Yes, since you brought it up. I’d prefer he had no magic at all. As he well knows.”
The hound leapt to his feet with frightening speed. “So you would rather it locked away? Suppressed? Constrained where it can do no harm?”
Authril pressed close enough for their noses to touch. “That’s where it belongs.”
Tracker glared at the warrior, his hands flexing as if he contemplated attacking her. A grin spread across his face. Something oddly disquieting lurked in that flash of teeth, an almost predatory gleam made even worse by the excessive sharpness of his canines. It was there for a moment, then gone. “Do excuse me, my dear. I must take down the tent I shared with the glorified sword last night.” Turning swiftly on his heel, he marched off, muttering under his breath.
“That’s not what I said,” Authril snapped at his departing form.
“But that is what you mean, yes?” the hound shot back over his shoulder.
On the other side of the fire, Marin fidgeted. One hand tapped on her thigh, whilst the other picked at her lip.
Katarina got to her feet. “I’ll pack up our tent.”
In a heartbeat, Marin was also upright. “I’ll help you!” she blurted before ushering the hedgewitch towards the other tent. “Authril, won’t you get our blankets packed away?”
The warrior took a step towards the other two women before turning back to him. She clasped her hands before her. “You know I’m right, don’t you?” Those sea-green eyes all but begged him to answer. “Your magic is a weapon, not a toy.”
Dylan glanced at where Tracker had already half-dismantled their tent. “Sometimes,” he mumbled around a mouthful of stew. What his magic could do was no different to anything else. A rock could become a weapon just as easily as it could become part of a wall or a floor. Fire burnt as well as warmed. Water could quench a man’s thirst or drown him.
Frowning, Authril strode off to help the others.
Dylan remained by the fire, eating as they packed away the tents. Such animosity between the two elves wasn’t ideal, especially if they came across more bandits, but it had certainly gone better than he’d dreaded. At least everyone was in one piece.
The trip down the road was no different than the past few days. Save for there being fewer caravans heading in the same direction. Did that mean Whitemeadow had also exhausted that method of transport? The sun seemed hotter, too. Although, that could’ve been the hostility in the air.
By the time evening came, the tension was almost thick enough to chew.
They’d discovered an area that had all the markings of being recently used by other travellers, including a distinct lack of wood for a fire. Dylan was able to ignite the remains of the previous person’s fire, but it wouldn’t be enough to last the night.
With Tracker at his side, he left the campsite where Authril sat minding a pot over the fire and Katarina read one of the tomes from the tower library. Picking their way through the underbrush, they gathered fallen lengths of wood as they went, returning to the edge of the clearing only once their arms were full.
Tracker grumbled as he collected. He snapped several of the longer pieces in half, dumping them in the mutual pile they’d made and glared at Dylan.
Dylan lowered his find onto the pile. “You’ve been surly all day. What is it?”
Sighing, the hound flicked his braid back over his shoulder. “How could you lie with her if she demands you lock away a part of yourself?”
Ah. There it was. The comparison. He was amazed it hadn’t started sooner. “She doesn’t make me do anything. I’ve never tried or broached the subject.” Even in the tower, magic during sex wasn’t always a given. A great deal of trust was needed, especially when a spellster with healing knowledge wasn’t involved. And Authril was already wary of what he could do.
“She is the reason you are somewhat less magical at times, yes?” Tracker asked as he added several more lengths of wood to their haul. “I should have seen it sooner. You only act a certain way when our dear warrior is around. It is not right.”
“I can twist reality, wrap it around my little finger and make it dance at my whim. It frightens her.” After the way he’d seen other people react to his magic, it was about normal.
The man’s brows drew together. “And yet, she readily takes advantage of your ability to heal and fight as well as sleeps with you. How can she claim to be frightened? If she is so bothered by what you can do, she should not indulge in intimacy. You should be able to feel free to be all of yourself with your partner.”
Dylan shrugged. He’d never been entirely himself with anyone. There was always a piece kept aloof. It was the easiest way to not grow attached. “Well, that’s between me and Authril, isn’t it?” It was just fun, after all. Nothing more serious than what he had with the hound.
The hound’s generous mouth narrowed, his lips thinning. It was brief. Gone in a heartbeat. But when he spoke, it was with a strained light-hearted tone. “Of course. It is not my place to judge how you two conduct your affairs.”
There was more to it, Dylan knew, but pushing the hound wasn’t going to get him answers. He sucked at his teeth, fighting the urge to dig further. “S
he was right, though. About how you both being elves is a coincidence, I mean.”
Tracker laughed. “Was I meant to be offended by that?”
Dylan shrugged. How was he meant to know the woman’s agenda when she revealed what he’d told her to the man?
The hound shook his head, a good-natured smile tweaking his lips. “You do know I was only teasing the other night, yes? Elf. Human. I have lost count of how many of either has shared my bed. Why would it bother me which you have preferred in the past?”
Dylan gathered an armful of their firewood haul. “I don’t know.” He could guess, though. Perhaps the warrior was bothered in part and thought Tracker should be too. Or she was trying to drive the hound away, an idea that had a whole different bundle of thoughts tied to it. “Maybe because, in the past, certain people that I’ve wished to become intimate with have been bothered by it.”
“Ah. Considering I know you have never been with another man—”
“Not that I hadn’t thought of it before,” he blurted. It might have been some time since the idea of being intimate with a man had crossed his mind, but it hadn’t been nonexistent. “I mean, if you hadn’t initiated this I probably wouldn’t have—” He fell silent, only because Tracker had clapped a hand over his mouth.
“I know. Even without your flirting, the way you looked at the men back in The Gilded Lily told me as much. Still, I can surmise that these people you speak of were women. There is a certain advantage to us both being men, yes?”
“I noticed,” he mumbled past the man’s fingers. Especially in the weeks he’d dallied with both elves. But then, quite a number of things seemed sharply different as of late and it had nothing to do with the obvious.
Tracker smiled. “I am sure you did. Nevertheless, the nature of the women you have slept with does not concern me, nor am I particularly troubled that the one you are currently bedding is also an elf.”
I’d hardly say currently. It had been some time since he’d been intimate with Authril. Roughly a week. He peered at the hound out of the corner of his eye as the man collected an armful of wood. “Would you care if they’d been men?” Tracker had admitted to sleeping with them far sooner than women. Perhaps that made a difference.