There was no denying Caraculla deserved to be severely punished for what he'd done. Infecting Kharon was a cowardly and treacherous act. But she couldn't bear the thought of Caraculla swinging from the gallows or having his head hacked off. It may have been completely selfish to want him alive, but her feelings couldn't be denied. They shared a lot of history and passion that wasn't easily forgotten. Gypsy didn't love Caraculla romantically anymore, but she did miss the proud, heroic man he used to be. She understood better than most why her father had let him go.
The Razorback had been part of their family for as long as she had memories. If he had remained to fight Kharon in the arena, one of them would have died. Even if Caraculla had won the challenge, Megolyth would have surely executed him anyway. She couldn’t openly support her father's actions, but any other outcome would have left her and Gavin devastated. Her father only did what he felt he had to for both their sakes.
With her thoughts adrift, she fixed her gaze on the shot glass the bartender had refilled. The cool, amber liquid rippled whenever someone walked by or bumped against the long, black, wooden bar. Despite her attraction to this particular vice, she had always hated the smell of alcohol. It didn't matter the brand or vintage. There was a thick, pungent odor of decomposing sweetness that repulsed her every time it invaded her nose. She reached out and downed the drink. There was a smooth bite followed by the harsh, liquid burn down her throat. Closing her eyes, she relished the residual sting and thought about her father's love for the stuff. It must be genetic.
“Want another?” the bartender asked.
Gypsy shifted her butt around on the hard wood seat. “Sure, why not? Has he been in here at all lately?”
“He came in for a while after lunch, but he didn’t stay long.”
Normally she'd have opted for the comfort of a booth or armchair, but she wanted to face the door in case Gavin came in. Most male AEssyrians stood well over six feet tall. The barstools were constructed with that in mind. Gyspy was barely six foot, so the balls of her feet could only slightly reach the crossbar. Usually she just let her feet dangle like a little kid. She really hated these barstools.
“Did he happen to mention where he might—”
The tavern door creaked as it swung open. It thumped hard against the brick wall. Four Royal Guards stormed in. Gypsy fell silent and sipped her drink. The guards marched straight toward her, looking much less than friendly. Three of them branched off, searching the room as the highest ranking one addressed her.
“Have you seen your father tonight, Lieutenant?”
Gypsy hesitated. This was weird even for Megolyth. After all, Caraculla had been gone for over four months.
“No. Is something wrong?”
The guard sighed in annoyance. “Officially, the Emperor wants an update on the search for Colonel Caraculla. But who knows? There could be something else his Highness didn’t feel obligated to share with me. All I know is that he’s getting crazy mad.”
Gypsy looked down the empty bar and took a few more sips from her glass. She shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
In a lame attempt to intimidate her, the guard moved in very close. He was just shy of touching her. Intentionally invading someone’s personal space was a first year cadet’s lesson. It was a way to bully someone and get your way. Her father was gifted at it. He could incite someone into a blind frenzy just by verbally abusing them close up. It was a test of loyalty and obedience. By using restraint, Gypsy would maintain the upper hand. This asshole could sit in her lap and it wouldn't faze her. She was far better trained than he was giving her credit for.
Gypsy decided to play the dullard. She remained silent like she didn’t understand, and studied the guard. From his size and the light furrows in his dark green skin, she could tell he was younger than she'd first thought. She put him at about two hundred. Most guards, Royal or Imperial, were commoners with considerable size and strength, but not much in the way of smarts. They didn't need it. They only had to take care of things until the real soldiers showed up. Since this male had made rank quickly, he was still green enough to believe intimidation would work with her. Idiot. She was Gavin’s daughter and he had taught her well.
She absently tapped her finger on her lower lip making the guard wait because it amused her. Finally, when she’d tired of toying with him, she said, “Hmmm...when was the last time I saw him? I dunno, maybe a week or two. I've been pretty busy with my border patrol rotation,” she said, carefully holding back a smirk. Fuck you, asshole. If you morons had any brains at all you would know I have an honor match tomorrow and Gavin never misses any of my arena fights. Even the barkeep was grinning.
The Captain regarded her for a moment in a pathetic attempt to detect any deception. She gave him some time and wondered if his interrogation was going to continue. She delicately sipped her drink in a disarming, almost timid way. His features softened. He’s going to give up. Men are so stupid, always thinking with their cocks. Then without anything further, he and his men marched out.
Lieutenant Falken walked in, passing them as he did. The guards froze and bowed their heads as he passed because of whatever his noble title was. It must be nice to get respect as a birthright. The handsome young nobleman strutted up to the bar and slid onto the barstool next to hers. As always, his uniform was in immaculate condition, and the hilt of his saber shined as though he'd spent the day polishing it.
Being a nobleman, Falken didn't get the usual crappy duties the rest of them did. His were special assignments reserved for the highborn. While Gypsy was freezing or sweating her ass off on some reconnaissance mission or border duty, most of her noble academy friends, like Falken, Makkai, and Viken, were learning political maneuvers. She was glad there was no royal blood in her veins. Had she been born noble, she would have been married off to the first political ally Gavin could find. Thankfully she was not quite what he'd expected from a daughter. It made her laugh that he blamed her mother, Harlan, for her wild, willful ways. But her mother understood her need to choose her own path. Gypsy wondered if Harlan would have still supported her had she known that path led to the arena and the battlefield. Whatever her reasons, Gypsy was grateful for her mother's faith and support every day.
Gypsy hadn’t seen Falken in a long time and was kind of happy he’d come in. She was always comfortable around him, despite his abrasive personality. In the past they had competed against each other while training under her father. Makkai was good, but Falken was her real competition. She had also served with Falken on her first campaign. That was an unrivaled experience and she’d been grateful he had been out there with her. But through it all there had always been mutual respect. Unfortunately, the memory of that war brought thoughts of Nole's desertion, and shame tore through her. Kharon had told her not to feel bad about it. Deep down she knew that she would have helped Nole regardless of whether or not she'd known of his cowardice. But she still felt remorse over her actions.
Falken looked her up and down like an oddity at a festival and grinned. That rare smile of his definitely held some mischief in it. “I passed some guards on the way in. Since you’re still here and not in shackles, I guess for once they weren’t’t looking for you.”
Gypsy smiled back despite the insult. “It’s so good to see you. And what’s this? You’re alone and still single? What a huge surprise. They’re looking for Gavin, you prick.”
The bartender poured Falken a shot and left the bottle on the bar between them before walking off.
“I see your father is as talented at making friends as you are.”
“Screw you, Falken,” she growled.
The young warrior ignored her mood and poured her another shot. This was her fourth or fifth. She needed to slow down. Without regard for her inner voice, Gypsy sipped the fresh pour. The familiar numbing effects were taking some of the edge off her grief. The tension in her neck and shoulders eased, leaving her relaxed. At
least having Falken here disrupted her thoughts of Kharon.
“Sooooo, what are you doing here? You're not much of a drinker.”
Falken chuckled. “I came to get laid.”
Gypsy twisted around in her seat. Stretching the balls of her feet downward, she pushed herself up and made an exaggerated search of the tavern. Satisfied that there were no other women in the room, she sat back down and pulled another delicate sip from her glass.
“Sorry, there are no women to pick up at the moment. Unless you have an exotic preference I'm not aware of.”
He turned and looked her in the eye. An erotic current flowed from him. “There’s only one woman I really want. Some might say she is exotic enough in her own right.”
A slow, unexpected smile spread across her lips. This was great fun. No one gave her the same kind of sexual thrill Falken did. Even when they were on campaign she'd been hot for him. Hell, every woman who met him was hot for him. It wasn't love she felt, just the rush of the game. He was both scary and sexy at the same time without being too much of either. She wasn’t sure what it was she found so threatening about him, but there was quietness to his danger that really lit her fire. Falken was a whispered menace in a world full of shouted ones.
“I don’t think that woman wants anything to do with you,” she snickered.
He topped off her shot glass. “Maybe if I get her drunk.”
Gypsy tossed back her shot then gaped in feigned shock. “She's a married woman. Have you no morals?” She smiled as she considered the invitation. “Besides, she's already drunk.”
When he spoke, he lowered his voice into a thick murmur as though he was telling her a secret. “It doesn’t matter if she’s married. Her husband understands her. I’ve heard he allows her to roam.”
She laughed out loud and bumped her shoulder softly against his. “My husband doesn't allow me to do anything. I do as I please. You of all people should know that, my lonely warrior.”
Falken grinned, taking the jab in stride as he always did. It was hard to anger him outside of combat. He was the epitome of self-control. The emotions in him were always locked up tight, not to be wielded by anyone, least of all him.
When she'd fought alongside him in the field she had always sensed an underlying resentment bubbling beneath his surface. Not because he had to fight, which she knew he loved more than anything, but because he didn't have the choice of whom he raised his sword for. Often enough she'd believed that if Falken had been born a commoner he'd have carved out his own infamy, because, like her, his soul was infused in the fight. Since they’d first met they had always connected as soldiers, despite their many disagreements, but tonight they were bridging a new, uncharted alliance. Her body wanted him like it always did, but she'd never act on it. If something was going to happen it would be his burden to make the first move.
It didn't take nearly as long as she'd thought. He pinched the tips of his black leather gloves and pulled one off, then the other, placing them on the bar next to his glass. Watching through her intoxicated fog, she was mesmerized as one of his fingers traced the blue vein in her left hand. His fingertips tickled down her index finger then back up to the others. Soft and gentle, his touch was not unpleasant. Tenderly, he gripped her hand and turned her palm to face the ceiling. He seductively traced all of the rough patches left by the hilt of her sword, reins, and other war tools. His caresses journeyed to her wrist and Gypsy felt herself falling under his spell.
Gypsy swallowed and slowly removed her hand. She placed it in her lap. A sexual romp with Falken could be fun, but she hesitated. Further damaging her relationship with Kharon was something she couldn't bear. The pain was so raw. How she wished Kharon hadn't shut her out so she could ask him if this would upset him. But there was another part of her that didn't care. Her husband had gutted her like an injured yearling, leaving her empty and dead inside. The prospect of this liaison wasn’t to hurt him, but she felt so sad and forsaken that she didn't want to be by herself.
Falken searched her face. “Why do you excite me so much I wonder?”
Gypsy knew that if she were going to leave, this would be the time. Once it had passed there was no going back. Unfortunately her mind refused to tell her feet that it was time to go.
Falken’s eyes transfixed hers like a serpent’s, promising a smooth yet exciting seduction. Still a tiny fragment of her thought that she should leave. But that part was fading by the second. Something basic and provocative was awakening in her and she felt herself embracing the electrifying sensation.
A hint of whiskey spiced his breath giving it an oddly pleasant aroma. The touch of his lips against the soft flesh of her jaw pushed her eyes closed in bliss, only opening them again when his mouth found hers. Sweet and demanding, the sensual contact seized her senses.
Before she had time to think of what she was doing and its implications, she was pushing her lips back into the kiss, relishing the unusual honeyed touch of his passion. His mouth broke from hers and glided along the flesh leaving a moist trail along her cheek. Pleasure smoothed over her entire body. Her spirit felt awake and alive. The pain that Kharon had inflicted upon her waned but was not completely gone. It never would be.
Was it wrong to use Falken to make herself feel better? Could sleeping with him destroy their peculiar and complex friendship? Was she willing to risk it, especially now that Kharon was done with her? What does it matter? This is my last marriage no matter what happens between me and Falken. He has to marry a noblewoman, plain and simple. There are no other choices for him.
For a moment, Gypsy mused at the consequences that would occur if she started collecting husbands like men accumulated wives. After all, Kharon had three wives when she started sleeping with him. Sometimes she still felt guilty that he'd put them all aside for her, but he always pointed out that none of the parties involved had married for love, only money, safety and status. She'd even managed to marry Caraculla by AEssyrian marriage while he was in a coma. Who is to say she couldn't be married to more than one man? It was a curious thought, but she knew it'd never be allowed. Her career as a warrior had pushed enough limits for now.
Placing her hands on Falken's chest, she pushed back from him. “I'm not sure if we should do this. I don't want things to get weird between us.”
Falken took her face in his hands, caressing his tongue along her upper lip. “That only happens when you are in a relationship. We’re young, let’s embrace it. Let this be a night where we do nothing but have sex for the sheer pleasure of enjoying each other. We are using each other. Nothing is going to get weird.” He covered her face in eager kisses. “The whorehouse is across the street. Let’s get a room and fuck ‘til dawn.”
This was crazy and different. Gypsy had done lots of stuff before, but she’d never slept with any man on a whim just for the fun of it. The prospect was intriguing and a little scary. What the hell? I could be killed in the arena tomorrow night.
Falken took her hand and squeezed it. He threw some credits on the bar to cover their drinks. “What do you say? Are you in?”
Gypsy’s heart felt like it was going to pound itself out of her chest. How could she say no? Better yet, why should she? “Alright Falken, I'm in.”
Chapter 3
Most nights the whorehouse was noisy and crowded. Tonight was no different. Falken led Gypsy up to the two-story red stone building and through the colorfully painted glass doors. It was nicer than a lot of brothels, with a front porch lined with pillowed benches, but even so it still held the aura of sorrow. Being no stranger to the insides of these dens, she still couldn't help but feel pity for the broken lives housed within. Her father had grown up in one and they comforted him as a second home.
Once inside, Falken pushed past a soldier making small talk with three prostitutes in the foyer and another man having sex with some woman against the wall behind him. Gripping her wrist tightly, Falken pulled Gypsy along. The central parlor was awash in carnal activity. Odors of cigar smo
ke, sweat, and cheap perfume choked the breath from her, forcing her to breathe through her mouth. Gypsy was terrified she'd be seen by familiar faces, but everyone was too wrapped up in their own pleasures. No one spared a glance to either of them.
An older dark-haired woman in a snug red and black dress appeared out of the crowd and yelled something in Falken’s ear Gypsy didn’t catch. She knew her to be the Madam, but like everyone else, she didn't pay the General's daughter any mind. Falken held up two fingers and gestured toward the ceiling. The Madam pushed a key into his left hand while he shoved coins into her right. Gypsy looked on as the woman disappeared back into the crowd again. The rhythm her heart beat out against her ribcage brought fresh sweat to her brow.
Falken led her up a narrow staircase nestled against the side wall. Peering over the banister, she saw patrons screwing on chairs, against walls, under tables and inside alcoves. The center of the room housed an enormous purple velvet couch playing host to an orgy. Guessing that it was cheaper than getting a room, she suppressed some of her apprehension by counting the number of bodies entwined on it. She lost count after twenty-two.
The din was a symphony of yelling, moaning, and loud conversations. Gypsy became overwhelmed by all of the sights, so she refocused her attention on Falken's broad back as she followed.
All of her brothel visits in years past had usually been to find her father. The activities had frightened her as a young child, so she'd always kept her head down and eyes to the floor. It was a habit she carried through to adulthood. Tonight was one of the first times she had ever truly looked.
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