by Unknown
Needing more, he teased his lips from hers, working them down her jaw towards her throat. As his bottom lip touched the red scarf around her neck, he grunted. She still insisted on covering her throat, arguing that the lump inside made her look more like a man. The habit disappointed him for more than one reason, believing she saw more than what other people noticed. He had tried several times to persuade her to go without covering herself and had always failed.
Catching the scarf between his fingers, he peeled back the fabric, exposing her pale throat. Wrapping the ends of the scarf around his hands, he tugged, pulling Tracel towards him. Burying his face in the heat of her neck, Gren nipped her throat, teasing the skin between his teeth.
Releasing the scarf, Gren slid his hands down to her thighs. Pulling up her skirt, he reached underneath to clutch her naked bottom. His fingers moved further, grazing her limp cock caught between them. A moan escaped from her open mouth, the sound vibrating against his lips. Her nails dug into his back, pulling his shirt across his skin, scraping the bruises from his fight.
Lost in the sound of her laboured breaths, Gren dismissed what sounded like voices. When he heard giggling, he jumped back and looked at Tracel. She shrugged and looked towards the inside of the alley.
More giggles, almost loud laughter.
Snatching his hand back, Gren spun towards the rain barrels. He recognized the sounds of whispers and boots scratching dirt. There was a knock on the barrel, followed by muttering.
"Ha!" he shouted, hurling towards the barrels and throwing his hands out.
Three small bodies popped up. The children screamed, escaping into the dark alley and out of his sight.
"Stupid kids." Turning to find Tracel smoothing her clothes, Gren felt disappointed. Her laughter disappointed him further. "It's not that funny."
Tracel giggled. "Come now, it's a little funny. Don't tell me you never pulled tricks like that as a boy."
Gren's gaze slipped away. Orphans in a battle zone could not afford to be foolish. "No, I didn't." Crossing his arms, he tried to ignore his fading erection.
Tracel shook her head and led him to the tavern doors. "We might as well get you back in here," she said, looking inside. "I'm sure you could do with fighting someone else. You know, instead of ripping the heads off of children."
"Only if you're coming. You know, since you're the only healer I like." Gren grinned, hugging her. "I might need some private care, and I have just the room."
*~*~*
"Tracel." Murmuring, Gren eased his chest towards the warmth radiating from the body next to him. Savouring the images of her behind his closed eyes, his fingertips skimmed over skin. Curling his body closer, he sought her, his fingers entangling in her short hair…
Gren forced his eyes open. Blinking, he stared at the man lying beside him, only part of his nakedness covered by the mussed blankets weaving through their legs. The snoring man slept on his stomach, facing the door with one arm dangling over the edge of the bed.
Pushing up, Gren gazed over the man's thin buttocks and up his back, tanned under blue bruises about his shoulders. His dark hair curled inward at his neck, tickling his ears.
Who was this guy and where was Tracel?
Falling back, Gren swore she had crashed into his room with him as he spouted drunkard's poetry and sang. He had twirled her hair around his fingers and felt her hands gliding down his body, wrapping around his cock, pinching and teasing.
He sat up. Had he dreamed it all? Could his drunken mind have twisted old memories into a new experience? Groaning, Gren held his aching head in his hands. Was he even in the same village? Rolling his neck, he winced and stared at the bandage around his hand where he had struck Willar's mouth. He had taken a heavy beating, reminding him of when he had first met Tracel.
Where by the Four is she?
Without giving the sleeping man another glance, Gren slid from the bed to relieve himself before dressing. Slinging his sword over his back, he crossed the room, pausing at the door to study the naked man's face. He inhaled sharply. Maryn, the tavern keeper's brother. How did that happen? Gren wanted to ask, wondering if he should wake Maryn.
Letting Maryn sleep was wiser, Gren decided, and slipped out the door. Walking down the stairs, he was greeted by a table full of older men laughing at each other.
The tavern keeper, Rolah, stood with a smile widening his face. "I trust everything was in perfect order, just the way you like?"
"Yes, thank you." Gren cleared his throat. He hated when people knew his business.
"I suppose Maryn intends to sleep until noon, as usual," one of the men called out to Rolah from the table. Harker, the blacksmith, Gren realized. "It's not easy being him, especially when he tried to best you and found his arse smacked down within a couple minutes."
Rolling his eyes, Gren glimpsed memories surfacing from the back of his mind. He remembered Maryn lying on the ground, grinning as Gren tackled him. There were comments about a bet that would have landed them in bed no matter who had won. He also remembered demanding Maryn to get on his knees, naked, and spread before him on the skewed bed sheets. He remembered feeling guilty… similar to what he felt now.
He needed to find Tracel.
Rushing from the tavern, Gren burst into the sunlit road. He would check Tracel's home first and then work outwards. Pushing through the market, he ignored the chatter of the women, his gaze darting from one face to another. Reaching the clearing on the other side of the crowded carts, he stood in the fork in the road. Looking up and down the paths, he debated his decision. Why did he think she would not be at home?
"Looking for something?"
And of course she has to be standing right behind me. Gren turned to face Tracel, her smile making his heart feel like it was diving to his stomach.
He looked to the red scarf around her neck. She wore the same clothing from the night before. The only differences were the basket in her hands and the darkness under her eyes. Had she even slept? "Just looking for you," he answered.
"You're sweet." Tracel lifted the basket. "I'm just picking up some things. I can come by the tavern when I'm finished."
The tavern, a place he wanted to avoid. He had spent too much time there for one night. "Or I could escort you." Turning, Gren offered his arm, relieved when she accepted. Leading her in a slow walk, he leaned close. "You didn't happen to give me something last night, did you? Something that would make me forget things, maybe?"
"I did nothing of the sort." Tracel snorted. "I only give you things when you're near death and whimpering. Otherwise you'd want it all of the time. I'm just not that type of healer."
How could I be so stupid? Gren wanted to yell. "Sorry," he muttered, shuffling his feet. He pulled Tracel forward, staring at the red earth in the silence.
"Why?" Tracel asked after walking several paces. "What's the point in asking?"
Gren hesitated. "Because I thought I went to bed with you, but I woke up with… someone else."
Tracel snickered. "Maryn."
If his heart could have fallen to his groin, it would have. With one word, she summoned more guilt than he had felt in years. How or why, he could not understand. His rules pushed guilt out of his life, one of their many benefits. So why did he feel guilty now?
"You heard," Gren mumbled.
"Absolutely. The village has to talk about something, other than the new baby, of course."
"Baby?"
"Yes, I told you, don't you remember? We were in the tavern and a messenger fetched me to Elia's. It's why I couldn't stay last night." Tracel smirked as she pulled him towards the carts. "It's why you ended up with him."
At least there's an explanation. Doesn't make me feel any better, Gren realized, watching Tracel browse a fruit cart. When she leaned over the cart and small yellow fruits tumbled down, he rushed to her side. Swiping the basket from her, he chuckled and bent down to pick up the fallen fruit.
"Thanks," she muttered, blowing hair from her eyes. Pullin
g her shawl tighter, she continued browsing the carts, dropping items into the basket as Gren followed.
Her silence lasted too long. Gren lowered his voice, his mouth close to her ear. "You're not mad about it, are you?"
Tracel glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. "What?"
"About me, him."
"No, of course not. It's what you do."
"Really?"
Tracel pulled bright red flowers from the cart, smelling them before placing them in the basket. "Yes. I remember your rules." She stared over the cart and into the distance. "Let's see if I can remember this right: no loyalty, no preferences, and no attachments."
Turning, she walked down to the next cart. "You take what's available when you want it," she continued, stopping to look back at him. "I think those are all of the applicable ones."
They were, Gren wanted to tell her, but the way she recounted them made him sound horrible. He gripped the basket and tried to find a rebuttal that did not sound pathetic.
Tracel caressed his cheek. "It's alright. I know you won't stay. I know you enjoy one-night flings." She turned to the cart, sifting through the feathery green herbs with one hand. "You're lucky I don't take it so personally. I've been rejected enough by men to expect as much. It's just easier to give up on looking for the perfect relationship and go with the next best thing. I guess I'm learning to apply your rules."
Gren caught his breath, pain wrapping around his heart like a fist. Watching her drop the herbs into the basket and carry on made the pain worse, the imaginary fist squeezing in his chest. Hearing her talk like that hurt, and for the first time, he wished the rules had never existed. They were meant to protect him, not make him feel guilty. They certainly were not meant to make it sound like he wanted to take advantage of her.
"We talked about this," he murmured. "We both agreed to keep what we have casual. To have no strings."
Tracel blinked. "I know. Isn't that what this is?"
"If you call it that." Gren nodded to her empty hands. "Except I have to wonder if you're trying to hang me with the invisible rope you've got there."
Tracel's face reddened. "I am not." Snatching the basket from him, she held it close. "I haven't said a word about making anything more permanent. Maybe it's you who wants the strings. You're the only one talking about them."
Tossing her head, she looked to the women staring at her over the cart. Backing away, she pulled Gren into the road. "Look, I need to get to Elia's with these things. You've got things you need to do, too." She pointed down the road. "You've got the festival fight coming up—the one to honour Aeley Dahe, our new Tract Steward. Why don't you go train with the others?"
She lowered her voice. "Besides, I hear there might be trouble. Aeley's brother is apparently none too happy she got voted in and not him. You need to keep sharp in case she comes calling for swords." Tracel gave Gren a gentle push. "Go on. Go play well with others."
Opening his mouth, Gren wanted to argue about why she was trying to get rid of him. It'll get you nowhere, he realized and closed his mouth. He nodded. "Fine. I'll go. But I'll see you later. Maybe we can have a better discussion."
"There's nothing to discuss," Tracel muttered.
"What?"
Tracel forced a weak smile. "Nothing." She shooed him away before turning. Watching her walk away, Gren wondered if he should have bothered waking. He could use a new day, a better day.
*~*~*
Slipping into the tavern, Gren stopped when he saw the group standing around one of the tables, strapping weapons to their bodies. Nine men, all participants in the festival fights meant to entertain the villagers and show prowess. They all greeted him loudly, saluting him with raised fists.
He returned the gesture weakly and joined them. They would train in the woods, Willar told him, eyeing Gren. "If you think you can keep up, you should join us."
Gren almost laughed at Willar's smugness. "I beat you, remember?"
"Yes, and we were intoxicated. Sloppy. This time, we have no excuses." Willar swung his short sword, spinning the blade before sheathing it on his back.
"Fine. I'll join you." Gren held back his sarcasm. When he had agreed to participate in the fights, he had not anticipated obnoxious soldiers. All he cared about was the fight. Most days it was all he had.
Saying nothing more, he followed the men, journeying into the thick woods enveloping the village. Clumped together and exchanging insults, the men weaved through the stands of red trees, tugging on the branches to knock down the white blooms nestled in the pale green leaves. Gren did not join them, instead walking behind the group by a dozen paces, reaching to the glossy ferns. No one else had ventured through the woods for days, he figured, considering how everything looked undisturbed. Their training should remain uninterrupted.
The others crowded around Willar in a clearing. Gren stood several paces away on a flattened stump. Crossing his arms, he watched Willar's face cascade through multiple expressions before settling into a mask of indifference. Gren laughed inside his mind. Soldiers never appreciated him, even during his misguided stint in the army and pathetic attempts at loyalty.
"We'll start with a hunt just to make things interesting," Willar announced. "To test your senses and candid ability under the duress of cleverness and surprise." He grinned, gripping the scabbard strap across his chest. "I know you're all just dying to get to it."
Tying a square of fabric around his head, Willar gestured to the trees. "Two groups, each man on his own. First group runs, second follows after ten-ten count. Chase, climb, hide, and spar all you want, but first blood only. Drawn blood puts you back here until we all return. Last man standing chooses their first opponent for the festival."
He paused, looking to each man except Gren. "Got it?" Seeing nods, Willar called the assignments. Looking to Gren, he smiled. "You're running. Got a problem with that?"
It figures. I bet he'll be coming after me just to prove a point. Gren returned the fake smile. "None."
When Willar's hand went up, Gren spun and ran. He ignored the other four men who were also running, batting trees from their path—they were not his concern. Dodging and tucking under branches and ferns, he sucked in his breath. Only idiots run through the woods flinging arms and moving branches. Shifting his weight, he stayed low, avoiding the smallest plants and hugging the trees. He intended to return last, wanting to call Willar out at the festival. After all, Tracel did want him to feel like part of the village.
Maybe not quite what she had in mind, he thought as he neared the edge of the forest and crouched into a ravine. But it'll do. Listening for footfalls, Gren huddled close to the ground and hurried down the dry ravine. A pile of ashen brambles lay at the end in the shade of ferns so dark a green their leaves appeared black. Pausing to listen to the silence, Gren delved into the narrow space between the brambles and the ferns. Lying on his side, he wrapped his legs around the ferns. He pressed his ear to the ground and stared through the small spaces of the brambles.
The sound of footsteps did not come quickly. The longer he waited, the more he considered jumping out. Smart prey hides; smarter prey put up a strong offense.
When he heard the crackling of feet running through leaves, he took a breath. Finally. Through the brambles he could see a dark figure in the distance, and then another. Their faces and bodies mostly hidden by boughs and ferns, the men crossed over the ravine and disappeared into the other side of the wood. Two of them? Really? Just for me? Wonder where that puts everyone else. Gren laughed silently, his chest shaking.
A third man ran through the trees and crossed the ravine, followed by two more men.
Gren stopped laughing.
When more dark figures rushed through the ravine, Gren's fingers slid over his sword. Peering through the brambles, he squinted to get a better look. The black leather armour set the men apart from the trees, their faces obstructed by metal helmets. Without sparing a look to the bramble patch, they ran through the woods towards the village.<
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Gren held his breath. The men were not a part of the training game. They were strangers wearing armour he recognized.
They belong to Allon Dahe, he realized as images of the man burst into his thoughts. He breathed out and felt his body tense. If Allon really was their leader, the men were trained guards sent to cause trouble. Either way, the game was over.
Pulling out of the brambles, he ignored the sting on his cheeks. Rushing up the ravine, Gren spun and hid behind a tree. More footfalls. Pulling his sword from behind his head, he counted the steps moving towards him.
The steps stopped. Silence.
Gren pushed from the tree and turned, raising his sword.
"Ha! Got you!" Willar shouted.
Gren flew forward, spinning Willar by the shoulder and slipping behind him. He cupped his empty hand over Willar's mouth. "Shut it," he whispered, his mouth touching Willar's ear.
He pulled them both back behind two thick, entwined trees and released Willar. Holding a finger to his lips, he motioned to the trees away from them. They peeked around the trunks, watching another guard running towards the village.
Turning to Willar and leaning close, Gren recognized the darkened expression. "Where are the others?" he asked with a lowered voice.
"Went the other way. I'm the only one who came after you," Willar murmured between clenched teeth.
"And you didn't see these guys?"
"I saw something moving, but I thought it was you."
Gren eyed Willar. It almost made no sense except for how familiar it seemed. He needed to know more.
Working with his instincts, he sheathed his sword and gripped the branches behind them, stepping into the crevice of the embracing trees and pushing up. Flattening his body to the trunks, he pulled himself higher, shards of the red bark slipping under his fingernails. At the top, he stared out to the village.
The guards were easy to find as they rushed through the golden fields towards the houses. A flash of bright red fabric caught Gren's attention, drawing his gaze to a young woman as she sprinted from a house, pulling a boy behind her.