by Mason Thomas
The morning lagged on, and Hunter felt increasingly isolated. And ignored. He knew it shouldn’t have bothered him that the thief who robbed his apartment wasn’t being conversational. But darkening unease gummed up his thoughts. His mind either rehashed the events of the last two days or tormented him with imaginings of what was happening in his world. The worst part was wondering if anyone had noticed he was missing yet.
He didn’t give a shit about irritating Dax. The silence was maddening. “How did you manage to escape them?”
Dax glanced back over his shoulders with a predictable narrow gaze.
“Last night,” Hunter pressed. “How did you escape?”
“Easy enough,” Dax replied.
Hunter couldn’t tell if this arrogance was an act or if he really believed himself to be that infallible. “I’m certain it was, but please, thrill me with the details.”
Dax held his eyes on Hunter a moment as if attempting to read him. “They were searching for a larger force. No surprise. You left enough traces behind to appear like an army had marched through.”
Hunter had enough of biting of his tongue. “I get it. I’m terrible at walking through the woods. Not a skill I’ve needed in the past.”
Something new passed behind Dax’s eyes. Surprise? Amusement? “That much is obvious. I dropped a few clues around to lead them away from you. Ones I knew the kug’ra wouldn’t be able to resist. They may be formidable and strong, but they’re easily manipulated. I circled back around them and searched for you.”
“But what about those blue chasing lights?”
“I was well away by then. That fiend had no hope to find me, even with his sorcery.” His expression darkened. “Do not think to let down your guard. They are still searching. Even now. I’ll not be satisfied until we quit these lands.”
“If it’s so dangerous here, why did your—what did you call it? Portal stone? Why’d it bring us here?”
“Because you forced me to use it far from where I entered your world.”
Hunter grunted. Yes, this was all his fault.
Dax returned his attention forward to climb over a fallen tree, and the brief conversation came to a complete and abrupt end.
Afternoon supplanted the morning, and the terrain swept downward into a rugged valley, a deep furrow that sliced through the landscape like a wound, cut by a twisting river at its bottom. Hunter followed in Dax’s wake as he navigated his way down, and in time, they stood at the water’s edge. The river here was wedged into a narrow channel. It rushed by in a frenetic torrent, surging and dipping around boulders the size of small cars. It was clear they weren’t going to cross here. Dax signaled Hunter with a tilt of his head, then turned to follow the river’s path downstream.
They pressed through the thick growth that hugged the riverbank. Hunter heard the low rumbling of the waterfall long before it came into view. The river tripped over a series of rocky steps before the ground disappeared, and the water tumbled over the lip. From the bank, Hunter craned his neck to glimpse the dizzying white veil that landed foaming and misting in a quiet pool below. Beyond that, the river continued again on its journey.
Dax was quick to find a way down a series of tiered rocks. He hopped from one to the next with the nimbleness of a squirrel. Hunter followed more cautiously. His size, the awkward load of a pack, the mace, and slick mossy rock made his descent harrowing. He used tree trunks and branches as handholds as he slunk from tier to tier. As he descended, the steady roar of the falls grew louder.
Dax dropped his pack near the bank of the pool. “The Green River,” he announced. “The border between the Heneran lands and Andreya.”
“Andreya?”
“The domain of men. Once across, we can rest.”
Hunter rested the mace on his shoulder and looked to the far bank. “Is there a bridge?”
“We swim,” Dax replied. He sat down on a log and started to unlace his boots. “You can swim, yes?”
Hunter bit back a retort and instead narrowed his eyes at him. He wasn’t going to open himself up to more of Dax’s condescending barbs. Yes, he could swim. Somewhat.
Hunter was used to having to prove himself. It went along with the territory of being a gay rugby player. But he always did prove what he was capable of. Often it was hard won, and it took time, but he never doubted in his own abilities. So why did this guy manage to make him feel incompetent?
Dax made an unconvinced little shrug and began the long production of removing his gear, unfastening buckles and stripping off the layers. Hidden beneath it all was a tight, muscular frame, with proportions so perfect as to seem unnatural. Hunter caught himself transfixed. His eyes drank in the flawless contours of his chest, his hips, and his legs as each were unveiled. Standing naked on the bank, Dax glanced over—Hunter quickly averted his eyes, embarrassed and annoyed with himself for enjoying what he saw.
Dax tugged at his ball sac unconsciously as he strolled over. From the edge of his vision, Hunter could see his uncircumcised cock flop about joyfully, and he forced his attention to the trees. Dax grabbed the burlap sack from him, opened it, and stuffed his gear inside. He glanced over.
“Don’t recommend crossing in that,” Dax said, his eyes raking over Hunter from his shoes on up. “You’ll regret it later. We’ve a long march ahead of us yet.”
Hunter frowned and made a reluctant start of undressing by pressing his toes at the heel to pull out his foot from his shoes. He wasn’t sure he wanted Dax to see him naked.
Dax tossed the sack back, and it landed with a thump at Hunter’s feet. “I’ll take this one,” he said as he scooped up the leather pack. It had the broach in it—of course he would. “Can I trust you to get my gear across?”
“I’ll manage,” Hunter replied dryly.
Dax hoisted his pack up onto his shoulder and splashed into the water. Hunter focused his attention on peeling off his own clothes instead of watching Dax’s naked form disappear little by little beneath the surface. His eyes involuntarily shifted over in time to catch the water rise over the bulbous curve of Dax’s buttocks.
Hunter forced his eyes shut and grunted. He hated everything about this place. It tore at his insides that he was trapped here. And he hated that right now he was dependent on Dax for his own survival—and that Dax knew it too. He hated that Dax had saved his life. Not once, but twice now.
On top of it all, he hated that Dax looked like that.
Hunter took the time to fold up his pants and T-shirt before adding them and his shoes to the sack. He kept his underwear on.
He wouldn’t be able to swim across carrying both the sack and the mace, he realized. Too awkward. He’d need at least one arm free. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave it behind. Gripping it by the handle, he stood on the shore, and after taking a few preparatory swings to gauge its weight, he launched the weapon across the pond. It sailed in a great arc over the water and landed with a thump on the opposite shore.
With the sack propped up on his shoulder, he stepped into the water and pulled in air through his clenched teeth. The water was freezing.
Dax was nearly halfway across the pond already. He held the leather pack balanced on his head with one hand, while his other hand dragged him through the water.
Cold slime squeezed between Hunter’s toes as he stepped out farther. The waterline stung as it worked its way up his legs. He choked down any complaints, knowing it would only result in more derision from Dax. Holding his breath, he pushed out into the deeper waters and, following Dax’s example, balanced the sack on his head as he waded in.
He’d always felt awkward and clumsy in deep water. His thick body didn’t have buoyancy. The thrashed his legs to lift himself while his one free arm struggled to pull his bulk along. The sack shifted on his head, and part of it rested in the water, but there was nothing to be done about it. It was taking all his strength and control to keep his face above the surface.
Dax pulled himself from the pond, dropped onto the b
ank in a patch of sunlight, and leaned back on his elbows. He scrutinized Hunter’s progress with a hand shading his eyes. It looked like the corner of his mouth was lifted. The fucker was enjoying watching him struggle.
Eventually, Hunter reached shallower waters and got his legs underneath him. Attempting to hide his panting breath, he marched up onto the shore as water cascaded off his body, and he tossed the sack down next to Dax, whose eyes immediately moved to where sand and dirt clung to the large wet spot on the bottom. He made no sign of getting up, but instead seemed perfectly content to lie there naked in the sun.
“Shouldn’t we be moving on?” Hunter asked.
“In time. Best to dry off.”
Annoyed, Hunter strolled off to retrieve the mace from where it landed on the bank. He turned it about in his hand and inspected it more closely. It was an intriguing weapon. Heavy, but not as heavy as he would have expected. Five pounds, maybe. The knobbed ball of iron at the end was the size of grapefruit. He choked the handle with two hands like he would a baseball bat and swung it around a few times.
“Your stance is wrong.”
Hunter spun about. Dax had silently snuck up to stand behind him, still naked. The man moved like a ninja. He watched Hunter with his arms crossed.
“Excuse me?”
“Your stance. If you want to maintain balance and stability in a fight, your feet need to be properly positioned.”
Hunter let the mace hang down at his side. “And how is that?”
Dax came closer to stand next to him. Hunter tried not to think about his nudity, but it was like trying not to notice an argument. Dax, on the other hand, was perfectly comfortable. Hunter caught a glimpse of all the scars that marred his skin. Raised white lines crisscrossed his arms, shoulders, and chest. “Your feet were parallel,” Dax said. “Like this. But you want one anchored behind you. And shift your weight onto it.”
Hunter mimicked Dax’s stance.
“Bend the knee. Yes. Like that,” Dax said. “Angle your foot more. Now you can step into the attack. Or back away from an attack at you.” He demonstrated the movement, stepping forward, stepping back. Hunter copied it.
Dax frowned at him. “It is clear you’ve had no weapons training.”
“Yeah, in my world, this is obsolete tech. People have guns.”
“Here, you will need to learn how to defend yourself. Like I told you, my world has dangers that are unlike anything you’ve encountered. The mace seems to suit you, but it is a clumsy weapon. Inelegant. I’d recommend a longsword, but I’m not certain you have the agility for it.”
“I’m more coordinated than I look.”
“We’ll see. Practice those movements one hundred more times. Step in, pivot back. Step in, pivot back. Then I will show you more.” Dax strolled back to his patch of sun, but froze.
The sound of a horn soared over the trees from the west. The same sound they’d heard the day before. It was distant, but it was answered by one considerably closer.
He looked at Hunter with a scowl, and his eyes alight with alarm. “Grab our gear and move.”
9
THEY CRASHED through the dense underbrush, quickly putting distance between them and the river. Branches whipped against Hunter’s near naked body, and stones jabbed into the tender skin of the bottom of his feet. Dax, fully nude except for the strap of his leather pack over his shoulder, trudged heedless through the thicket ahead of him, the soft white of his ass directing Hunter along like a lighthouse beacon.
“I thought you said we were safe?” Hunter grumbled.
“Not from arrows,” Dax replied sourly. “Or sorcery. They are being more tenacious than I would have predicted.”
They stumbled upon a trail shortly after. It was little more than a thin brown line that wove through the trees, but it was enough to allow them to double their pace, and Hunter’s bare feet were thankful for the relief. The trail snaked up a rocky incline. Toward the top of the rise, Dax slowed to a stop.
“We should be well beyond their range now,” he said as took the sack from Hunter. He pulled out pieces of his gear and dropped them on the path. “And they will not dare enter our borders.” He sorted through the garments and began to pull them on. Hunter tugged his clothes on too, all the while chiding himself that he was disappointed Dax was covered once more.
“I’ll hunt for something to eat,” Dax added. “There’s a flint kit in the sack you’re carrying. You know how to use one, I trust?”
“Of course,” Hunter said, as if it was ridiculous question. He had no idea how to start a fire without a lighter, but he didn’t want to add any more to Dax’s growing list of his incompetencies.
“Good.” Dax tossed the sack over to Hunter. “Get started. I shouldn’t be long,” he said as he stepped into his pants and tightened the laces in front. “I’ll—”
He stopped.
Sounds came from the forest around them. Movement. Dax sprang for his knife as shapes emerged from the foliage around them. Kug’ra. Five of them stepped from the trees to surround them. Instead of the clubs from before, each bore a long curved blade of iron in their meaty grip, and they grinned in triumph as they tightened their circle around them. Hunter brought up his mace and tried to look tough, but his hands betrayed him by quaking. He was still in his underwear.
A sixth figure glided out of the trees, like a ghost taking on solid form. Hunter recognized him as the same Heneran that pursued them the night before. The branches were undisturbed as he stepped closer. His dark eyes shifted from Dax to Hunter with an expression of cold hate and ruthlessness. Up close, he was even more chilling with his sheet of black hair and flawless alabaster skin. The rust-colored horns twisting from his temple were somehow both grotesque and beautiful. Hunter could not break his gaze.
A sharp pain sparked between Hunter’s shoulder blades. While spellbound by the strange creature’s appearance, one of the kug’ra had moved behind him and positioned the point of its blade into his back. It moved with surprising speed for a creature its size. The kug’ra kicked him behind the legs and Hunter dropped to his knees.
“Drop it,” the Kug’ra growled, its mouth seeming to struggle to form the sounds. Hunter hesitated until the point pressed harder into his flesh. Clenching his jaw, he released his grip on the mace.
Another did the same to Dax, kicking him roughly to ground. Dax tossed the knife out in front of him. A third creature looped around and kicked the weapons out of their reach.
“Do you not have the courage to face us in person, fiend?” Dax hissed.
Hunter threw a questioning look at Dax. What was he talking about?
The Heneran’s mouth lifted a fraction in a cold and haughty sneer as he fingered a strange crystalline pendant around his neck. It glowed with a deep blue from within. “My servants do not need my presence to slice your throat. Only my blessing.”
“This is bold, even for one of you,” Dax replied. His voice had a forced calm about it. His eyes were shifting, surveying the scene. Hunter could tell he was waiting for the opportunity to lunge for his knife. Hunter’s heart pounded against his sternum. Dax was going to get them both slaughtered. “Sending your slaves into our lands? A violation of the treaty—”
“So sanctimonious,” the Heneran purred. “Coming from the vermin that violated the treaty first. We are simply executing our right to dispense justice for the crime committed against us.”
Hunter studied the Heneran more closely. There was a strange translucency about him, an unreal quality that he hadn’t noticed at first. Somehow, Dax had spotted it straight away. This was some form of illusion. More magic.
The Heneran might not be real, but the sword poking into his back certainly was.
“Your justice has no jurisdiction here,” Dax said.
“Yet, oddly, there are no patrols to prevent it.”
Something changed on Dax’s face, a realization that gave him pause.
“Splitting your company up will not save any of you,” the He
neran continued. “We have several search parties in the area and will hunt down all of the agents involved. You will simply be the first to learn how we deal with spies. But we will find the others too.”
Anger darkened Dax’s eyes. “This is an invasion. You’ll regret it.”
“I will regret nothing.” The Heneran wove his arms together like two intertwining snakes. “How you die today will depend very much on how you answer my questions. Why were you in our lands?”
Dax shrugged. “We took a wrong turn. Innocent mistake.”
A kug’ra kicked Dax in the gut. With a heavy grunt, Dax collapsed onto his side and pulled himself into a ball. The Heneran swung his cold attention over to Hunter with a single raised brow.
Hunter held up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m new here. I have no idea what’s going on.”
The self-assured smirk faltered. “Very well. If you prefer to toy with me and waste my time, I am compelled to demonstrate my determination.”
With a subtle look and tilt of his head, the Heneran signaled something to his minions. A beast pinned Dax to the ground by stepping on him, while a second held the tip of the blade against his throat. The other three kug’ra converged around Hunter.
“One of you will talk,” the Heneran said. “Eventually. You need proper motivation, is all. Let’s start with the big one. Remove his hands.”
Hunter’s insides went hollow and cold. He flinched to pull himself away, but the beasts were on him. They forced him down onto his belly. He twisted and tried to pull away, but for all his strength, he was no match for theirs. A knee was shoved into the small of his back, pressing him to the dirt. He tried to pull air into his lungs, but the weight on him only allowed quick and insufficient gasps. Panic gripped him, adding desperation to his struggle, but he couldn’t move. A kug’ra grabbed his flailing arm and forced it out and on the ground.
“No!” Hunter cried out. He tried to wiggle himself free, kicking his legs and shifting his arm. But their viselike hold on him would not give.
