Shared Between Them

by Korey Mae Johnson

  Somehow, even through Taric’s harsh words, the ‘I love you’, was just as clear as Draevan’s whispers. She hugged her arms around him, feeling soothed for a moment even though his arm stretched uncomfortably across one of her angrier welts.

  Suddenly she jumped, startled that she forgot about the guards even for a moment, and said, “There were royal guards in the forest down there where I was!”

  Taric stopped walking, and Draevan, who was walking next to him, froze and exchanged a dangerous expression with him.

  Draevan looked down at her. “Did they see you?”

  She nodded. “When I was hunting. I got away, but they can’t be far behind.”

  Draevan took the sword out of his satchel and looked around. “They’ll be invisible, won’t they?” he asked dryly, even as he was looking for them. “Did they hurt you?”

  “They ripped up my trousers a little, but I’m not hurt,” she told them. “They’re easy to fool, but they’re not entirely stupid. They’ll be able to track us, and if they came all the way out here, it means they’re not stopping.”

  “Alright, here,” Taric gently set her down on the ground. She pulled her tunic down her front, and Draevan passed over her trousers and her belt. She hissed a breath when she put them on—the linen felt like sandpaper. “We need to get back to camp in a hurry, honey,” Taric said. He pulled out his sword, but his free hand found hers and grasped onto her tightly. “I’m sick of this shit,” he seethed to Draevan. “Damn cowards with their bows, their stealth, and their stupid invisibility—how are we supposed to find them to kill them?”

  Draevan growled, but after a moment he snorted. “We’ll have to let them find us.”

  * * *

  “Draevan,” Taric sighed, dropping the tools he’d used to make up his booby-traps on the ground. “Are you eating the bait?”

  “No,” Draevan said, trying not to chew on the pheasant for a moment. It was hard to not to notice that the pheasant was missing a whole leg. After another second he growled, “I’m hungry!”

  Taric rolled his eyes. “Eat the jerky.”

  Draevan set his jaw and gave him a crude gesture. “Eat me.”

  They were trying to produce smoke with a scent that would travel around the area where they knew the guards were already looking for them. Right now it was mostly burning, as was the plan—they needed the air sweet and smoky.

  “My poor, starving husband.” Kyra came along Taric’s side, leaned down to where Draevan sat next to the fire, and kissed him. Afterwards, she smacked her lips, and then frowned at him. “Draevan, you taste like whiskey.”

  “I’ve watered it down enough, darling,” he whispered to her. “I’m preparing the props here.” Louder, he hooted, “I’m a man—I can have a drink when I want!” He gave a saucy nod of his head and a smirk. He reached out and tried to hook his arm around her waist to pull her onto his lap.

  She stepped back from him. “No.”

  “Come sit,” Draevan told her more plainly, patting his lap invitingly.

  “I’m not sitting ever again!” she pouted, rubbing the bottoms of his old trousers she was still wearing and had journeyed in all the way to the Hidden Springs that day. According to her, it was the safest place to be to spring a trap on men who didn’t want to be caught. The spring was part of a strange step, fed by a tall waterfall on the north of them and a leading to a long drop-off to the south. The west was blocked by the deep, still spring, and on the east was the only way for the elves to get in or out of their nook. Better yet, it was so overgrown with ivy and other foliage that a long-shot arrow wouldn’t have a chance to make it to them.

  Best of all, even Kyra’s footprints were showing up in the loose soil under their feet. Even if they went invisible, they might still be able to see their attacker’s location.

  “I was only being nice by finding you food. I was going to be back before you woke up.”

  “Do us and yourself a favor,” Taric said, “and don’t do anything else nice for us. The true nice is waking up with you between us and safe, rather than waking up to a nightmare.”

  Taric had been lecturing her off-and-on for the better part of the day as they put booby traps together, so now she was looking at him with exasperation.

  “Go take a dip while we pretend to get drunk. The hot water will feel warm against the welts,” he advised, smiling kindly at her.

  She pouted and closed her arms across her chest. “No. I’ll just stand here. Besides, you don’t want anyone else to see me naked, do you? They could be ambling up around us any minute!”

  Taric shrugged. “They wouldn’t live to tell about it,” he replied.

  She shook her head, stubborn, and stood there miserably. She was tired, and her hands drifted back to move across her well-spanked thighs.

  Taric grumbled, grabbed some salve from his saddle bag, and went to sit down, pointing at his thigh.

  She walked obediently to him but didn’t seem to know what he had planned. “Pull down your trousers and bend over my lap,” he said, and when her face distorted with dismay, he added, “Let’s see what you made us do to you.”

  “That’s not exactly how I’d put it,” she sulked, but she carefully crawled over his lap.

  He pulled her trousers the rest of the way down to her ankles. He whistled appreciatively, “Cousin—look at these.”

  Draevan leaned over to look. “I know,” he agreed, running a finger over one of her welts, leaving her cringing. “I’m an artist.”

  Taric smirked, running the salve against one of her puffy welts. None had broken the skin, but they were still angry, swollen, and red. Prettily, he hadn’t crisscrossed any of them, even if her position during the punishment had been less than ideal. There was a half-inch between each one on her bottom. “Well, Grandfather always did say you’d be good at something.”

  “Don’t lather on that too thick,” Draevan told him, pointing to the salve. “I don’t want cause-and-consequence to get lost on this little huntress of ours.”

  “Just enough so she can ride a horse tomorrow without us getting smothered by her whining,” Taric assured with a laugh.

  “It’s not like I whine often!” she whined.

  Taric and Draevan smirked mischievously at each other.

  “Whatever you say, wife,” Draevan chuckled, then gave her a slap on her less-welted flank and got up to steal another drip of burnt meat off of the pheasant carcass.

  Her fingers clenched against Taric’s pants, “Ooowe!” she whined. “I have the meanest husbands in the universe…”

  Taric chuckled to himself and carefully put his fingers into the salve and ran it along her welts. At first, she whined about how cold it was, and then she hissed at the pain when he paid attention to some of the most swollen of the welts. There was fewer on her thighs, and even less on her calves, but she squirmed and twitched as he put the soothing potion on her.

  He was uncomfortably erect at the moment, and because of the way her squirms were becoming seductive wiggles, he knew that she knew it too. He smiled and cupped her sex with his hand. She emitted a cute, innocent little gasp, but she was wet.

  “Is my little slut wanting something?” he rumbled coquettishly at her.

  She moaned slightly, not answering, so he flicked her clit with his finger. He knew he had absolutely no time to salve up her welts, let alone to bed her right now. But he loved teasing her and getting her sexually frustrated, mostly because her pout was so cute and sexy.

  “Tell me how much you want my cock, baby,” he demanded quietly.

  “Please, Sir… Fill me?” she replied, something that she had been taught to say—they were still working on getting her to talk filth in their ears.

  Still, Taric had a sadistic side. He liked to tease her mercilessly. “Nope.” Taric gave her a pat on the thigh and helped her up. “Now go feed and blanket the horses.”

  There was that pretty, gold-eyed pout that he’d grown to love. She pulled her trousers back on in a h
uff.

  “If you’re a good girl,” he told her, “maybe we can have fun later. If not, I know another entrance that hasn’t gotten any attention for a while.”

  She blushed and narrowed her eyes at him, knowing he was talking about her bottom. “There’s something wrong with you, Taric,” she declared.

  Draevan laughed heartily, only to get interrupted by a ‘ching-ching’ sound of a small bell, announcing that the band of elves were close-by and that they were more than likely being watched.

  It was show-time. If it worked on their wife, it would work on these higher-born elves too. They only had to act drunk.

  Kyra had to play the part of the nervous-and-nagging wife who was constantly yammering about the dangers out in the woods, that they were being hunted by the king’s men, that they should believe her… everything was said and done loudly, deliberately, trying to lull the spies into a false sense of security.

  She played her part quite well, although she was sweating with nervousness. The drunker they acted, the more alone she acted. For a time, he wondered if she thought they were really truly drunk, possibly because Draevan helped himself to the most severely burnt part of the pheasant roasting on the fire.

  Taric pretended to fall asleep first, resting upon a hidden shield. Draevan sat up, molesting Kyra openly as she whined and cried at his clumsy, handsy movements. He didn’t last much longer.

  After Kyra felt between them and snuggled up in the blankets, Taric and Draevan were more on high-alert than ever. They were made to wait—the guard only came in when the fire had burned down to embers, and they were invisible when they came in, their boots smacking the mud near the camp as they trudged through it, nowhere near as stealthy as Kyra could be.

  Taric kissed the back of her neck. He hated this, truly. Draevan’s idea was sound; he couldn’t fear the king’s guard on top of his future son’s enemies as well. He had to do away with them and end it. But Kyra was helpless in a battle; she wasn’t strong at all, and she weighed nothing—or seemed to; she was so elvish.

  He would have to move fast. He squeezed Kyra’s hand, just enough so that the approaching band wouldn’t notice.

  Taric heard a sword being unsheathed—one that did not belong to himself or to Draevan.

  Draevan was the first to move, impatient for battle. He swung his body up, swinging with a sword he had hidden under a blanket. A gurgle came from the empty air of the night, and then an elven body became visible as it fell to the ground.

  Taric struck out and hit another blade, and then he pushed Kyra back, out of the bedroll, and she pulled the shield up with her and ran behind the horses as if she was sure they’d protect her.

  Though they had been the ones to defeat the giant, this battle was far stranger. They were fighting with footprints in the mud, using moonlight to see by. They had to fight by intuition, by listening, by imagining what might be running through the other’s head. There were four of the elves left now, and they were fighting for their lives.

  Draevan was quickly covering the way out, blocking them in the small sandbar.

  That made the guards panic; he could hear their breaths speed up and their mumbling become desperate. They fought like small children, despite their astounding advantage, and in a dark moment of carnage and noise, swinging their swords, Draevan and Taric ended them like they were sheep at the slaughter.

  They looked about, seeing bodies now, but no other footprints. “Killed two,” Draevan panted.

  “Yes,” Taric nodded. “Me… too…” It settled upon them both at once that their count was off. Yet there was no one around them… “Kyra?” he called, swallowing.

  Then one of the horses whinnied and stomped forward, exposing two shadows in the darkness, the vision clear. Kyra had a knife to her throat.

  It was odd—the knife was at her throat, but Draevan and Taric were the ones having trouble breathing or swallowing. It felt like the knife was at theirs.

  Taric felt horror akin to illness.

  “Drop your weapons,” the elf seethed, his pale yellow eyes looking demon-like in the moonlight.

  Draevan and Taric couldn’t have dropped their swords with any less hesitancy. “If you hurt her—if you put a scratch on her— by the gods, I will rip off your balls, shove them down your throat, and fuck you up the ass!” Draevan snapped angrily. His pulse could be heard in his tone, causing his voice to break every beat.

  “I’m not going to get out of here without her—we know that. Just stay where you are and she might live a little longer,” the elf hissed like a cornered animal. “Now move out of my way.”

  “What… where are you taking her? You can’t just take her,” Taric snapped. “We won’t allow it. Let her go, and we will let you go.”

  The elf snorted. “She goes with me. We will let her go as soon as you turn yourself in to the king’s mercy.”

  That was a bleak alternative; none of them would make it out alive that way…

  Draevan swallowed and glanced helplessly at Taric. They weren’t prepared for a hostage situation; neither of them had any idea what to do. They watched dumbly as the elf stepped forward, grasping their wife by the throat.

  Kyra’s eyes were wide as saucers, terrified.

  “Keep moving, whore,” the elf hissed at her, making sure to keep his eyes on Draevan and Taric the whole time. “Else they’ll find you in pieces, or hanging from the highest tree where your kind belongs. Lord knows it dirties me just to touch you.”

  Kyra’s eyes filled with pain and misery. Gods, Taric hated to see her pain. He knew her well enough now to know that all she wanted to do was gain the smallest measurement of acceptance and respect… Taric shuddered a breath, feeling worthless. There she was—led away helplessly while her husbands stood there like dick-less—

  They were at the tree line already. Draevan grabbed his sword. “I don’t care what happens, he’s not getting another fifty paces with her,” Draevan swore between clenched teeth.

  “Hyah!” There was a tightening, whip-like sound, and a shadow flew upside down from one of the trees.

  Draevan and Taric raced over, watching Kyra pace around the flailing body, hanging by a noose tied around his heel, exactly like the trap they had ensnared Kyra with when they’d met. Kyra picked up the man’s dagger from where it had dropped on the ground, coldly walking up to him. “It dirties me to touch you too,” she told him, and slit his throat.

  “Kyra, gods!” Draevan panted, slowing down and clamping his arms around her to drag her away from the hanging body. “You… You didn’t have to—we would have killed him for you,” he said, fretting. He eyed the noose. “I don’t remember you making that booby-trap.”

  Their old response finally came back to them. “You weren’t watching me closely enough.” She shook her head, looking quiet and very, very tired. “I wanted him to know,” she said quietly, “in case he was the last of my kind I will ever see… that I’m not untouchable.” She looked up at them, looking like a warrior goddess in the moonlight. She was incredible. She straightened, her posture impeccable. “I’m a Giantsbane.” She eyed the swinging body. “And I’m better than him. I’m better than them all.”

  With that, she dropped the dagger onto the ground and headed back to camp.

  Draevan and Taric watched her as if spell-bound for a moment. Taric was the first to cut the silence. “Did you ever for a moment think that she might have not been mother of The One to Kill the Dark Wizard?” he asked him.

  Draevan frowned. “I’ve doubted it before, yes. I thought, for a time, that there might one day be other giant-killers, and other elves… that the prophecy had nothing to do with us, or with her.” He turned his head, and then patted his shoulder. “But I don’t worry about that anymore. It’s her, Taric. It’s about her.”

  Taric smiled weakly, for the first time not skeptical of the prophecy. What a crazy life they had in front of them now. There was so much to do yet that it was nearly overwhelming… But for now, Taric could only n
od and say weightily, “I know.”

  “We should tell her about… You know. The prophecy,” Draevan told him. “Our village knows it. She’s strong now—she can handle knowing.”

  Taric took a deep breath. “I don’t want her to think that’s the only reason we married her.”

  “That is the only reason we married her,” Draevan replied strongly, then softened. “It’s not the only reason we love her, and it’s even not the only reason we take her into our bed. We’re proud of her… We can’t live without her.” He frowned and shrugged weakly. “At least I couldn’t. Could you?”

  Taric sighed heavily. “No,” he admitted. “I couldn’t imagine it.”

  “Then the least we can do is tell her. Trust her.”

  Taric raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. “So you’re the one telling me to trust her now?”

  Draevan agreed that it was odd. “I guess that’s what they mean when men talk about women turning their world upside down, huh? Gods know, I barely know up from down anymore.” He straightened. “To tell you the truth, I’ve gone sort of insane. I’ve even thought about killing you in your sleep.”

  Taric’s eyes widened, but not with terror or even surprise. “I’ve thought about killing you!” he said, somehow relieved that he wasn’t the only one who’d lost his mind since Kyra. “Just so I can have her to myself!”

  “Exactly,” Draevan nodded, but then smiled. “Our wife probably needs ten men just to keep her in line and keep her safe, yet she only has us two.”

  “That was also my conclusion,” Taric admitted. He punched his cousin in his brawny shoulder. “So I guess I’ll just have to deal with you.”

  “We’ll have to learn to enjoy sharing.” Draevan sighed and then waved his fingers around, adding, “That is, if she even speaks to us again after realizing that we’ve kept sort of… you know… Kept from her the fact that the Northern hemisphere depends on her.”