In Pain and Blood (Spellster Series Book 1)

by Aldrea Alien

  Eventually, the humming petered out.

  He lifted his head, his gaze sliding to the elf. Judging by the low breathing, Tracker was asleep. Dylan stretched out a hand, seeking to wake the man, wanting to feel the reassuring press of his arms, to hear the strong thud of his heart. To taste the hot brush of his breath.

  His fingers halted a hairsbreadth from the man’s shoulder.

  What was he doing? Was he really seeking more intimacy with the hound? I am. The way the man touched him, how he coaxed the fire in his gut to blazing at the simplest of movements, left very little room for other thoughts. Under the elf’s ministrations, he’d forgotten about everything. And, if he asked, Tracker might do it again.

  No. Although it might’ve been fun whilst in the middle of it, there was nothing different about it to any other time he’d had sex. Well, he conceded, a little different. Still, it wouldn’t make him forget forever, nor would it change what’d happened here. He most definitely shouldn’t be getting hung up on it.

  And yet, what he had felt in the space with the elf on his lap, the warm wanting welling in his chest right now…

  Stop. He was confusing the residue of pleasure and the weakness of wanting to be comforted with deeper feelings. He had to be. The hound had no interest in him beyond the physical. He couldn’t have. Spellsters were weapons. No one had such feelings for a weapon.

  And yet…

  Dylan rolled onto his back. Tracker was just someone to have a quick tumble with. It wouldn’t even have gone this far if the tower hadn’t been struck down. He should’ve been leashed by now. All set to travel to Wintervale without his magic to rely on. Instead, he spent half the night fooling around.

  And he wasn’t even sure if that point was a high or a low.

  Fun. That’s all he had ever wanted. Never had he needed a lover who was there for him, who cared about more than just pleasure, who he could rely on for support and comfort, in whatever form it took, and the hound—

  Dylan rolled his head to one side and stared at the elf. Tracker slept on, seemingly oblivious for the moment. But he hadn’t been before. Not since they’d arrived here.

  It had always been the hound who checked on him. The women may have expressed concern, but Tracker… Looking back over the day, the elf always seemed to be there, keeping him company, casually veering him away from certain sections of the tower and, now he thought about it with a clinical mind, obviously judging if he was coping. Sex had been a distraction, he knew that, but he hadn’t expected to be… comforted whilst he sobbed into the man’s chest.

  Could it be that the man actually cared about his wellbeing beyond what was necessary to do his job?

  Dylan shuffled onto his side, seriously considering wriggling across the small space between them to snuggle against the elf’s warm body. Something kept his limbs from obeying. Cowardice. The hound lay so close and he couldn’t bring himself to move those few inches.

  Instead, he curled into a ball. The smell of Tracker’s hot skin lingered in the sheet beneath him. A scent he could happily drown in. He breathed deep and, as the torchlight grew dim, watched the hound sleep on.

  Dylan awoke to the thump of cloth on his stomach. He sat up, blearily focusing on the torch-lit figure of the hound. “Track? What—?” His gaze dropped to the clothing. His robe and undertunic lay atop a blanket he foggily recalled the man covering them with last night.

  “The women will be looking to leave soon,” the man said whilst Dylan was still trying to determine the time of day.

  Through the sluggishly dissipating fog of his mind, he registered the growing light of dawn creeping in through the high window at the far end of the room.

  “It would be for the best if you got dressed before they are done, although I would recommend bathing first.” With the jerk of his thumb, Tracker indicated a nearby bucket. “I cannot offer a warmer alternative, but it will chase the sleep right out of you.”

  Dylan swung his feet over the edge of the bed. The air had a certain… familiar funk to it. He eyed the bucket of water. If the elf thought this was the best that could be done, then must’ve dragged it all the way from the garden well. “We’ve a whole room devoted to getting clean, you know.”

  The hound sat on the bed with a grunt. “I did not. And I sadly wish I had about half an hour ago. A bucket is not exactly the ideal substitute.”

  Dylan stood and hauled on his undertunic and boots before bundling the rest of his clothes into a ball. “Come on, then. I’ll show you where we can get clean like civilised men.”

  Tracker frowned. “Is it far? I would prefer not to expose you to more of this place than is necessary.”

  A small smile twitched one corner of Dylan’s mouth. “It’s the next level down, but I’ll be fine. I don’t, however, want to travel smelling like—” Sex. That’s what his nose picked up. “Last night… happened, didn’t it?” His body was certain. “We…”

  The elf held up his hand, stilling his tongue. “All nights happen, but if you mean to ask if we were intimate, then let me put your mind at ease on that count. Do not think of it as we had sex. You were upset, and rightly so. I merely comforted you, nothing more, and then…” A small huff of what almost sounded like a mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. “Well, then you managed to cry all over me.”

  He had, hadn’t he? Dylan stared at the man, struggling to make sense of what he had felt during the night. What he still felt bouncing in the back of his mind. The memory of Tracker’s warmth in his arms, the completeness. How violently it clashed with everything else that’d happened here. “What happens now? With us?”

  His question was greeted with gentle laughter, the sound a touch on the nervous side. “Us?” Tracker coughed, rather dramatically. “Well if it makes you feel better, you can blame me for everything. Or we could pretend last night never happened. I do not know how these things are handled in the tower, but hounds are generally discouraged from… closeness. I am quite used to meaningless fun.”

  Dylan blinked, trying to take in what Tracker had said. Meaningless. Just like every single relationship he’d ever had. And why wouldn’t it be? His whole life had been nothing but one-night stands. This was all just something to distract him from what they’d found here so he didn’t do anything stupid during the night. It was that simple. He opened his mouth, surprised to find “Ah.” was all that would come out.

  The man eyed Dylan, seeming to come to some sort of conclusion. “That is your wish, yes?”

  “It is.” He still wasn’t certain what last night had been, but pretending nothing had transpired beyond them sharing a room would help. “I’m sorry.”

  The curve of the man’s lips were absent of their jovial tilt. “There is no need for apologies. It is not the first time someone has wished to forget such a thing happened. I understand. It was just fun. A distraction, if you will. Still, should you ever wish to repeat it…” He shrugged. “Well, it is not like I will be far. Even if you merely need a chest to cry into.”

  Except the hound wouldn’t be as close as he had last night. In another tent. When he’d been too cowardly to cross a few inches. Clearing his throat, Dylan said, “I think you’re forgetting I share my tent.” Only the gods would know what parts Tracker would be left with if the hound attempted entering the tent when Authril was there.

  “Yes, but I am very much alone in mine and our dear warrior does not seem the type to allow you to use her for such maudlin reasons.”

  Probably not. A lot of the intimacy he shared with the woman was on her terms. Relinquishing the sconce of its lit torch, Dylan strode to the door. “Civilised bathing is this way.”

  He led the way through the corridors, steadfastly refusing to take notice of the bodies littering their path. Fortunate that the bathing chamber was mercifully free of such death, he didn’t think he could bring himself to use it otherwise.

  Dylan halted as they reached the entrance. Standing in the single light of the torch, he could almost convince himsel
f that everything he’d experienced since the last time he’d been here was naught but a vivid nightmare.

  Tracker gave a low whistle, snapping the hazy thought back into the dark. The hound wouldn’t be here if everything else wasn’t real.

  The elf strode amongst the already full tubs, his attire jingling and steadily growing loose as he shed the outer layer. “I can see why a person would be reluctant to leave.”

  “I never was.” Maybe if he had been just a little hesitant, then he would’ve been here when the tower was attacked. He could’ve helped.

  “Yes? Well, some people cannot be satisfied with paradise.” The man bent to test the water of a nearby tub, flinching when it proved cold. “Then again, if this is your idea of civilised bathing…”

  Dylan wordlessly thrust is hand into the frigid water. He focused, letting the heat of an unformed fireball warm the water until steam rose from the barrel. “Better?” He moved on to heating another tub before the man could answer, or suggest they shared.

  “I had actually forgotten you could do that. You tend to limit your magic to fire making outside of fighting,” Tracker said as he all but tore off the rest of his clothes. A groan escaped his lips as sank into the water. “Just right. You have my thanks.” He sat cross-legged in the tub, his head tipped back to rest on the tin-bound rim.

  Dylan eyed the pose enviously. It’d been decades since he’d last been able to fit in the small wooden barrels without barking his legs or back. Kneeling was the best it got. With the water in the second tub at the temperature he liked, he quickly peeled off his undertunic and stepped into the barrel.

  The gentle slosh of water as Dylan set about scrubbing himself alerted him to the elf’s movements.

  His heart skipped, only to return at double speed. What was the hound attempting now? Visions of the man trying to restart last night flooded his mind and knotted his gut. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to rebuke the elf if Tracker attempted such.

  Trying to keep his actions casual, and with the thudding in his chest quickening, he twisted around to peer at the hound through his hair. Tracker had merely sat up. It should’ve eased him, but the way the man’s gaze—sharper now, he was certain of it—settled on watching him did strange things to his stomach.

  He continued his bathing in silence. It felt good to be properly clean after so many days of just a quick morning wash in a basin.

  Eventually, Tracker leant his elbows on the barrel’s edge and cleared his throat. “I know you would prefer not to speak of it, but I meant to ask when you first woke… How are you feeling? Any lingering tenderness?”

  “Wh–?” Heat bloomed across his face as he realised what the man meant. Dylan prayed the elf would mistake it as a product of the warm water. By the gods, how could he still be blushing after last night? “N-no,” he stammered. “I’m just a little tired.” Sleep hadn’t come easily. Bouts of it, perhaps, his dreams a mess of dead bodies and the elf’s warm skin.

  Tracker’s back straightened and his brows rose. “That is all? Well, the tiredness is completely understandable. You have not had an easy time as of late. I imagine your head was full of the horrors we came across. And you did toss in your sleep something fierce, so I can assume nightmares were a factor towards your—”

  “You figured all that,” Dylan muttered, “and, naturally, thought proposing sex was a good idea?”

  The hound tilted his head to one side. “For someone who wishes to forget last night happened, you rather readily allude to it.” He rested his chin on his upturned fist. “And as I recall, you were the one to push it as far as that.”

  Dylan wet his lips. “You mentioned it first.”

  Tracker grinned. It was a slow, almost predatory, expression. “That is very true. But it seemed to serve adequately enough as a distraction.” He clambered out of the tub, water streaming off his skin. The elf rifled through the nearby shelves, turning up a pair of drying cloths. “Admit it, you forgot about everything else for a little while, yes?”

  I did. As much as he didn’t want to agree, whilst he’d been in the man’s arms, his body abuzz with pleasure, he had forgotten. He even foggily recalled last night’s desire to press the elf for more as Tracker had fallen asleep.

  Dylan scrubbed at his face. Everything about last night seemed surreal. Worse still, the longing to erase everything he had witnessed from his memories lingered in the back of his mind. And the hound would help him forget again if he asked.

  “My only regret was that I could not chase the images from your thoughts entirely,” Tracker said as he briskly rubbed his skin dry. “And we really should not linger in this place any more than is absolutely necessary. It will do you no good.”

  “I’m fairly certain I’ve seen the worst of it.” He wasn’t entirely sure what the women had found, but he could guess there’d been a similar level of carnage.

  The hound glanced up from donning his trousers to give Dylan a grim smile. “Nevertheless, you might want to speed along your bathing. I would prefer not to worry the others with our absence.”

  Dylan scrunched himself further into the barrel. The faint reluctance to leave nibbled at his limbs. “You can go on ahead. Tell them I’ll be out in a bit.”

  Tracker brows twitched together ever so slightly. “Leaving you on your own is a far greater concern.”

  He dipped his fingers into the water and idly swirled his hand around. “You did yesterday.” For a longer period of time than it would take Dylan to dress.

  A small, almost sheepish, smile tweaked the elf’s mouth. “That I most certainly did. But that was also before I learnt the full extent of the damage here.” Tracker crouched on the edge of the tub. “It also does not change the fact that the others have no knowledge of our whereabouts.”

  Dylan snapped his hand up, flicking water off the end of a finger. “So, go tell them.”

  The hound jerked back, wiping the spray off his face. “What are you, six?”

  He chuckled. “A six-year-old spellster would’ve funnelled the entire barrel of water over your head.” He climbed out of the tub and started drying himself, pausing as another thought came to mind. “Would that actually be able to touch you?” Lifting the contents of the barrel into the air would involve magic, but if he stopped… Well, then it was just a mass of liquid at whim to gravitational forces.

  Tracker tapped on the barrel’s rim, watching in silence as Dylan continued to dress. Disquiet thinned the man’s lips and furrowed his brow. “I do not wish to pry into your grooming, but… Well, human men shave every day, yes?”

  Dylan frowned. So the man would prefer to speak nonsense than talk about the limit of a hound’s abilities. He carefully tucked that thought aside to mull over later.

  Nevertheless, he ran a hand over his chin. Faint stubble pricked his fingertips in places. He’d see to it later, or tomorrow. “Not always.” Not for him, at least. “I thought you wanted me to be quick?”

  “And preferably not with a blade at your neck.”

  “Is that the reason why you won’t leave me alone? Because you think I might try to do something like slit my throat?” It was a quick way to go, granted. And he had heard rumours of some spellsters who took such a way out. However, he wasn’t entirely certain if his magic would heal the wound before he could bleed to death. If it did, then he’d be rather weak for some time.

  The elf gave a considering hum. “Truthfully, I am unsure what to think right now, but I doubt you would be the first to attempt it. Usually, I am more focused on looking out for signs of people trying to flee. You wish to be alone for a time? Well, you also know this place far better than I. What stops you from slipping out some back passage whilst I am gone? I have no desire to play hide-and-seek amongst corpses.”

  He bent over the man, holding that honey-coloured gaze. “You think I’m going to run? To where? I’m a spellster. The only place I belong is in the tower or the army, and seeing that this—” He waved his hand around the room. “—is all
that’s left of option number one, I don’t really have a choice but to be leashed again.”

  Tracker’s gaze dropped. The tip of his tongue brushed his top lip. “The border? That is where most runaways aim, if not for their families. After all, other kingdoms have rather different rules on what they do with their spellsters, yes?”

  He knew that. The Udynea Empire let her spellsters run roughshod over the common people. At least, those of noble birth. He’d thought it wishful thinking of others until learning the truth from Launtil.

  There was the smaller kingdom of Tirglas, who cloistered their spellsters in a similar manner to Demarn. Although he’d heard rumours that the only acceptable magic there was of the healing sort. He didn’t think he could go back to another life of staying inside walls.

  Heimat wouldn’t admit him on the basis that he was human. Obuzan hunted down and burnt any spellster they found. Talfaltan was no better. A few of the other kingdoms had the same outlook as Udynea, including slavery. None of them seemed like a good option to face alone. And alone is exactly what he would be if he ran.

  Dylan peered at the man. “You’re a hound. Aren’t you’re meant to dissuade me from running?”

  “What I am supposed to do is bring you back to the tower, but…” Tracker spread his hands wide. “If the alchemist at Wintervale is able to leash you, I have no doubts that you will be put back on the front line. You could be the only spellster—”

  “I know!” Dylan’s words echoed as he turned from the elf. The terrified, haunted cries bounced off the walls to fill his ears. Did the man think it hadn’t occurred to him? He didn’t want to be the only one left, but what choice did he have? Running, even at the hound’s suggestion, would only court death that much sooner. He wasn’t about to risk his life. Not until he found the bastards who did this to his home. Why else would he dare to venture anywhere near the capital?