by V. C. Willis
My view was obstructed by the other henchman with manure across his face. “This operation’s gone to shit, Landon.”
I shrugged. “Should have at least let me finish mucking the stalls.”
“Fuck you, Prince Traibon!” The henchman had grabbed up another rapier and came at me with a flurry of strikes.
Backsliding, I could feel one nick my cheek. The heat of blood trickled down my face, and I clenched my jaw. Flipping the daggers around, I went on the defense, deflecting where I could. He managed to back me out of the stalls, gaining enough distance between me and his leader, Landon. Whatever he paid you, I hope it was worth your life. I managed to hook one with Red Wine’s hilt, and with a twist, broke the blade. He tossed the broken piece at me, and I took the hit to the face, refusing to take my eyes off him. The henchman roared in frustration, swinging wider. The blade skirted the edge of my coat as I leapt back. I readied my daggers, flipping them back to an offensive position.
The man hopped back; he steadied his feet. He launched forward in proper study for a rapier. I braced myself. I’ll take the hit, so I can cut him down. John’s already going to know… Tightening my grip, I inhaled deeply to take the blade. A large hoof came into view, connecting with the man’s head. Eyes wide, I watched the skull-crushing hit launch the man. Blinking, I turned to see Basque snorting steam and bobbing his head. Colonel curled his lips as if grinning over their small victory.
“T-thanks, Basque. I’ll owe you a ton of sweets for that.” Catching a moment to breathe, I refocused. “Landon.”
I ran for the stable, but Landon was gone. A horrific smell lingered in the air and I covered my nose. Landon had managed to burn his wound close before vanishing. Looking all around the blood-painted floor, I searched for clues as to which way he had gone. There’s no tracks. Did he just vanish, even with that injury? My muscles burned with the tension I held, and after several minutes, I placed the dagger back in my belt. Marching over to the water trough outside, I assessed the damage. My face had started to bruise and swell, blood drying from the cut on my cheek. Reaching down to my stinging side, I felt the wound was slow to close.
Healing has become painfully slow like when John—No, I refuse. It’s out of the question to drink from him, but once he sees this… Shit.
Chapter 6
The Priest’s Bodyguard
I scooped up the icy water, desperate to wash the blood off my face, hands, and shirt. Basque began nuzzling me, searching for his peppermints. You really did kill a man for peppermints. Monster. Pulling a handful from my pocket, I tossed them to the ground in a panic. John can’t see me like this. Searching my torso, I yanked my shirt up to see the red badge still bleeding, the flesh sliced open like a stuck pig. Fucking dagger hit the same mark as when John… Choking on my thoughts, I shoved the shirt down, anger building as flashes of our fight with Falco lingered in my mind. The starburst-shaped scar from The Fanged Lady remained white against the tanned skin of my torso and back. It served as a constant reminder of what we did in desperation in the heat of the moment.
First, I need to do something with the bodies. I can figure out my wounds later.
Flustered, I gripped the wheelbarrow from the stall I had been cleaning. With a heave, I lugged the first dead man into it, the body still freakishly warm and not yet rigid. It wouldn’t be long before they’d stiffen, and by the midday sun, start to decompose and gather vultures and scavengers. Wheeling outside, I found the crumpled remains of the second. A pool of blood surrounded him, his skull caved in like a crushed melon. Grimacing, I tossed the corpse into the barrel with his buddy and rolled to the woods. A path had been worn leading away from the stables, and as I pushed farther down the pathway, I could smell the dung heap.
At least it’s far enough for the wolves to dig them out and drag them off.
By the time I finished mucking the remaining stalls and settling the horses in, the bodies were completely covered. There were no signs of Landon besides the top knuckle of a finger. I stepped on it after abandoning the wheelbarrow on my way to stoke the fire in the stable hearth. From the smell of his blood, he seemed human, which meant he couldn’t fully recover from his injuries. A missing finger and ragged slash across the wrist would prove useful for identifying Landon in the future. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but the voice—I’d know that voice. Throwing a few logs into the hearth, I sat down to catch my breath. Feral dogs licked the blood off the cobblestones outside the stables while I stared aimless at the flames, recalling everything that had unfolded.
This is my life now. I kill to protect my life and his. Granted, it’s not like I went looking to kill them. They came looking for me. For Prince Traibon, to be exact. Here we were thinking we were going up against mercenaries looking for the princess, but if Viceroy Falco was in alliance with Arbre Tombé, this could prove dangerous for everyone involved. Didn’t Ashton disappear chasing them down? In fact, why would Ashton get involved after renouncing his crown? Feels like there’s far more to their interest in me than…
“Dante, I came to see if you needed a hand?” John’s voice lingered at the stable entrance, and I bit my tongue to force silence. “Wow, this stable is… falling apart.”
I shifted, making sure my back faced him, trying not to reveal my bruised face and my still-bleeding torso. If I can buy a little more time to heal. “It was so shit covered, I couldn’t bring the horses in and had to take out the ones who were here. Trying to make sure the hearth is good and warm before coming back in. Stay close to Red Wine until I’m done. It’s not safe out here, Father John.” Dammit, I sounded too scripted.
Basque shuffled in his stall, and John scuffed his boot against the ground. “It seems you did your share of bleeding as well. It’s hard not to miss the dogs fighting over that pool of blood out front. Exactly whose puddle is out here anyhow?”
Forgot about that… Looking to the rafters, I couldn’t shake the defeated sensation weighing down on me and confessed, “Three men jumped me.”
“Three?” John sighed, coming closer to sit next to me in front of the hearth. “Falco’s men?”
“Not sure.” I swallowed, hoping those blue eyes hadn’t looked me in the face. Catching his glare and the twitch in his cheek, I added, “But they did say they were with Arbre Tombé and looking for a Prince Traibon.”
John held out his hands to warm them. “Why would they be looking for you?” he asked, wrinkling his face.
“I haven’t the slightest idea unless they are still looking for my brother.” I shook my head, not sure what to think of the situation even after pondering on it for so long. “I managed to kill two, but the third man, he was strange. No braid, dressed like a nobleman, hell of a fighter though we didn’t fight long.”
“Where’d he go?” John flipped my hood down, glaring at the bruise and cut on my face. “Did you see where he went?”
“No idea. I cut him good. He’s going to have a scar on his wrist and a mangled finger. Managed to chop the top off one digit.” He moved toward my face, and I leaned out of his reach. “It’ll be gone by morning.”
“Well, I’d prefer next time you don’t use your face as a damn shield.” There was the tinge of anger in his voice I had expected sooner as he tugged the hood back up. “Where else did you get hit? You’re not a practice dummy, yet you seem hellbent on treating your body as one.”
He reached to pull back the bottom half of my coat, and I gripped his wrist in alarm. “I’m fine. It’ll heal.”
John searched my face and smirked. “In that case, I need my bodyguard to escort me to the bath. It seems enemies are afoot.”
“You seem to have made it out here on your own just fine,” I drawled, tossing another log into the hearth.
“I had Red Wine watch me from the door.” He loomed over me, crossing his arms. “In fact, she’s the one who told me it would be a good time to check on you. Something tell
s me she was fully aware of our guests waiting out here to approach you.”
“This doesn’t shock me in the least.” With a huff, I stood. It took everything not to wince as my torso stung, and the wound opened again. “She offered for me to have a drink before taking out the trash.”
“Come on. At least you can wash off the blood and mud.” He stood, crossing his arms in a way that suggested he wouldn’t take a single step until I moved first.
Caving to his pressure, I left the stables with John close behind me. Red Wine was sipping her mead and hissed seeing the bruise on my face. Her eyes dropped, catching the red stain before I could cover it better with my coat. A smile crested her lips, and she spun back to enjoy her drink. John approached the tavern maid, and she handed him a key. I glared at Red Wine’s back, wondering if I should mention what unfolded. Inhaling deeply, the soreness in my chest was a reminder—she too was a bloodeater. I’m sorer from that kick than where she smacked me with the claymore. She knew before me that we were being followed. I’m sure of it.
Turning to follow John, the barmaid cleared her throat to call our attention back to her. “Only one at a time. You paid for one bather, not two.”
“But he’s my bodyguard,” declared John, pointing at my face. “He’s already been mugged outside your tavern! You think I’m going to get naked without him there in the room to protect me? Forget it. Who do you have to protect me while I bathe?”
Red Wine snorted her mead out her nose. My face flushed, and I covered it with a hand, praying that I looked more annoyed than embarrassed. Too far, John. Too far.
The tavern woman waved us off. “I ain’t dying for you, Father. Might as well be that brute you already paid to risk life and limb fer ya.”
There was a wave of laughter from the patrons as we walked past the staircase and down the hallway. At the far end, one door had been painted white with the word bathhouse scrawled across it. John unlocked the door and stepped inside, the steam rolling out into the hall. I turned, arms crossed to start my guard duty. John gripped the back of my coat, scruffing me like a kitten and jerked me inside. The door slammed, and he slid the lock into place.
The room was tiny with most of the space filled by a large metal drum full of water. Under it, a crude furnace had nothing left but hot coals glowing red in the wake of the slamming door. A single chair sat next to the tub and shelves burst with jumbled items on the walls. If we weren’t mindful, we would knock elbows trying to undress at the same time in the small open space near the tub. John rummaged through the containers, whistling as he went before settling on two. He held them up to the lantern, one with rose petals and another herbal blend. The whistling stopped, and he opted for the juniper-based medley, the smell making me cough when he opened the jar and dumped it into the water.
“John, I can stand outside,” I insisted as he began to remove his jacket. “There’s not enough room in here.”
“Nonsense. Strip down and let me see that stab wound,” he demanded, cutting me down with his stare.
He pulled the chair up against the tub, motioning for me to sit with his brow raised high. Against my better judgment, I relented and took off my coat. A hiss escaped me as I pulled my shirt out of the healing wound. By the time I tossed them on the shelf, I began to bleed once more. Taking a closer look, the opening was struggling to close as normal. Poison? Maybe that herb from before to counter the healing process?
“Sit,” demanded John.
His back was to me. I didn’t have the energy to argue with him. He rolled up his sleeves, unbuttoned his collar some, and reached for some clean cloths. I snorted. Would have thought he would strip down naked by now, but he’s hellbent on playing nurse tonight. John leaned over the tub, and I watched as he stirred the water and began dipping a cloth into it. I stepped forward, sliding into the chair, straddling it. The silence between us was mesmerizing as I watched the herbs and steam spin.
My chest ached. I was looking forward to private little moments like this, but under better circumstances.
Wringing out the cloth, John turned to me and frowned. “How am I to clean this one?” He knelt beside me, his fingers making the muscles in my abdomen jump.
“You can reach it just fine. I’m tired, to be honest.” I nuzzled my arms, closing my eyes as he began to wash away the blood. Something about the simplicity of the act was comforting. At first, he was tender, and as he began the process of cleaning it, I did my best not to react to the stinging sensation it brought to life. My frustration peaked at last. “Clean it. Don’t dig it out to be bigger.”
“The blade was coated with something,” he muttered, bringing the lantern closer and dipping the cloth again. Cracking open an eye, he seemed upset on every level. His face was serious, lips tight with concern. “It left an oily residue so I can see where to scrub, but some of it is deep and is going to take me being aggressive. It seems to be the reason it hasn’t healed in places.” Again, the cloth stung as it scraped and dipped into the opening. This time I couldn’t keep myself from hissing. “Sorry,” he breathed.
I grimaced. “Brings back memories, though I recall I was the one doing the scrubbing.”
John scoffed. “Paybacks are hell.” We both managed a smirk as he stood, dipping the cloth once more. “I pray it’s not always going to be like this.”
The words hit me, knocking my breath away to leave my soul aching.
“Lean back. Let me have a look at this bruise on your chest.” I searched his face, but his eyes were locked on Red Wine’s footprint.
He dipped the cloth. The sound of water dripped back into the bath as he once again wrung it out. I slid the chair back, giving him space between the tub and back of the chair. He squatted to be eye level to the red and purple mark across my left pec. Golden strands of hair shifted, falling to block his eyes from me. The heat of the cloth pressed firm against the injury.
My eyes fell to his lips, my heart fluttering. When you get like this… John was so close, his breath sent a shiver through me as the scent of him filled my lungs. When you’re so close and all I smell and feel… He looked up, parting his lips to express concern. I can’t stop myself…
The chair toppled over on its side as my lips pressed against his. John’s back thumped against the tub. The cloth hit the ground between us as his hands pulled me into him, deepening the kiss. Blood filled the span, and I gripped the side of the tub. Hunger rattled me and I suckled, swallowing. I pulled away, my heart racing as his flavor lingered on my tongue. John’s eyes dropped to the wound and scar. He tilted his wide, flicking his eyebrows.
“I guess that does speed it along.”
Licking the blood from my lips, I slid a hand over the closed wound. “It helps to have it cleaned.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I still want to take a bath.” The sparkle in his eyes told me that everything had fallen in line according to his plan. “You joining?”
Licking a fang, I picked up the chair, swinging a leg over it to straddle it once more. “We’ll take turns.”
John frowned. “You’re impossible at times.”
I smiled, running a hand through my hair, feeling rejuvenated to a mind-numbing amount. “And I love you, too.”
Inhaling deeply, I held my breath. I was backed against the door, though still only two armlengths from the tub with John undressing between. The golden braid of hair nested between his shoulder blades as he unbuttoned his shirt. I exhaled as the shirt dropped to the floor. The white-scarred cross seemed like ancient magic etched across his skin. Not one flourish had failed to leave its mark. Despite the trouble it had given him, it healed smooth and bright. He had only seen similar brandings on the duke’s horses. His complexion was paler than mine, but the skin was sun-kissed as if his years working the farm were stained into his flesh.
I bit my lip. He shot me a look over the shoulder as he began unbuckling his pants. Always want
ing my eyes on him and nowhere else. He let them drop and wasted no time climbing in. The muscle in his legs flexed, his arms bracing him tense enough for me to admire the lines of his forearms. Groaning, John’s body disappeared into the tub. Steam rolled up from where he sank. Juniper and herbs disrupted the pleasure I took smelling his scent, seeing and sensing his arousal. Every muscle in me fought the urge to join him, to throw the chair to the ground once more and abandon the walls I was trying so hard to rebuild. We might be fine to lose ourselves here in this shithole of a tavern, but if we can’t pull back now…stuck in the catacomb library together for two years might prove impossible. What is he thinking?
Chapter 7
Desires and Speculations
Leaning back, my head pressed against the door as I covered my face. Everything ached with the rising tide of desire building at my core. Cuts and bruises had faded in the wake of our kiss, a power only he could give me, and it always pushed me to my limits, emotionally and physically. Why did he let me do that? The heat of his lips still lingered on my own. I shouldn’t but… I kicked my boots off, unbuckling my pants. This might be our last chance to… fuck. An exasperated sigh escaped me. I rose to my feet, leaving my pants stretched across the floor.
Leaning on the side of the tub, I admired the view. John’s eyes were closed. Narrowing mine, I knew his heart had picked up speed, and I smirked. He was waiting for me, his excitement growing as he heard the rustling and light slap of bare feet on the stone floor approach. A mixture of frustration and flattery rolled through me. Maybe Red Wine was right. I’m an open book if you can pull me along so easily, my love.
“You should really let the patient rest,” I announced.
He cracked open an eye and shrugged. “I haven’t done a thing but tend to your wounds. Glad your face doesn’t look like shit anymore.”
The juniper stung at my nostrils as I stirred it with my fingers. “Why the juniper over the rose or even lavender? It smells horrendous.”
