When I First Saw Red: Soldiers and Mercenaries Book 2

by Kasia Bacon

  It burnt like a branding iron, the thought of someone else in this bed with him.

  A growing sense of restlessness propelled me to move. I needed to go home, dose myself with a bucket of cold water and slap some sense into my face. Maybe busying myself with something useful, like making a bunch of raw recruits weep for their mothers, would do away with the turmoil running rampant in my mind.

  Taking care not to stir Red, I slid out from under him.

  He murmured an objection, but quieted the instant I brushed my hand through his hair.

  I studied him one last time, committing him to memory. All of him. The peach-coloured tip of his pointy ear, which peeked through the ruffled mass of his red locks. The slanted rise of his porcelain cheek tinged pink with a blush. Those pretty lashes of his, bristly and tilted upwards at the ends.

  Petrified of how much I wanted to stay, I fled.

  Separation

  ŌKKANȎ

  “I’ll take the blue-lanterned pergola today, Mailee,” I told my regular bath attendant upon arriving at the heiku.

  If the petite woman clothed in pristine white robes felt baffled by my request, she did a good job of concealing her surprise. No wonder, too. The Nygläär heiku—reputed as second only to the famous Yesmyrian outdoor thermal baths—required their employees to be versed in quiet discretion as much as massage, relaxation techniques and beauty treatments.

  “Of course, Lord Kyatto. Please follow me.” She bowed and led the way.

  I followed in silence, not batting an eyelid at the undue address she bestowed on me.

  Two kinds of patrons were welcome to frequent the grounds of the heiku. Nobles, of course, but also prosperous entrepreneurs, the category I fell into myself. Silver worked in the manner of magic if you had an abundance of it. For the duration of an afternoon, it could conjure up a nice little title even though you held no rights to one. And fair enough, considering the monthly fee I paid for the pleasure of enjoying the hot springs cost me twice the upkeep of my horse.

  Situated on a hilly terrain outside the city walls, the complex stretched over thousands of paces. Several wooden inns sat here and there, linked by dainty bridges and decorative platforms, the light, tiered architecture seamlessly fitting in with nature. Smaller and larger pools of heated water weaved around the buildings, exuding steam and the earthy aroma of volcanic clay. While most were unshaded, a few offered a higher degree of privacy behind roofed ornamental screens, further covered by a curtain of trailing plants.

  Due to a change in weather, the place hummed with activity. The previous night's rain had brought about masses of cooler, fresher air, making the ideal conditions for a hot bath session outside. Thus, most springs remained occupied, and a number of blanket-cocooned silhouettes reclined in sun lounges set about the patios, recuperating after the therapeutic effect of their soaks.

  Many visited heiku for its healing properties, seeking to soothe their spirits, restore energy levels or meditate. But above all, people went there to be seen and mingle. Heiku served as a marker of status—a spot where the finest of Nygläär liked to transact business and gossip, building careers for their allies and scheming to bring misfortune upon their foes. Where they flirted and searched for their next lover, or simply their next fuck.

  That made the heiku the ideal hunting grounds for a Tii-Matâshi: it allowed me fuss-free access to rich and willing patrons. Other than that, my reasons were sentimental. The Elven-styled gardens that encompassed the complex reminded me of my homeland and stirred aesthetic pleasure that often resulted in a painting or two afterwards.

  White pebbles crunched underneath our feet as we headed towards the secluded pergolas on the outskirts, moving away from the main area and huddles of humans.

  Only a week before, I would've been amongst the crowd there, allowing my lust-thirsty Incubus to hold court. And he would have been in his element, making me flaunt our flesh and feeding off the admiration lavished upon us, getting his fix of their yearning, their awe and their desperation. Driving them all mad with want under his glamour.

  And until the week before, nothing could've sated him. Not for long, anyway. We'd still have been locked in a frenzied circle of conquest after conquest, barely finding a moment's respite.

  My demon used to love it—the fuss, the late nights, the ever-changing company. The more debauched, the better. Me? I’d grown acceptant of his needs, given that there hadn’t been a way around them. Not that I didn’t appreciate a good fucking, but sometimes—just now and then, for the gods’ sake—I didn’t mind solitary time spent enjoying art over wine. Or napping by the fire with my mogõ cat curled in my lap. After I’d reached maturity, such quiet moments had become precious rarities. No wonder my poor head split with pain half of the time. I could barely remember the last time my Incubus didn’t push me, didn’t nag me, didn’t issue demands.

  Funny how the tables had turned.

  From the instant he’d recognised Lázhien as his soulmate, he’d longed for the sergeant like he hadn’t for anyone or anything before. Wanted him and him alone. That craving felt different to those transient and erratic fancies we’d chased in the past. My every fibre throbbed with the strength of it—it was no passing whim, but a need I could have abandoned myself to with terrifying dedication. Solid. Urgent. Gut-deep.

  And what a miracle. After Lázhien had left in the morning, there had been not a peep from my demon. He had fallen asleep satisfied, a state I’d thought him incapable of achieving. He’d stayed silent ever since, too, letting me wallow in the sense of tranquillity. My mind felt serene. My body? Damn sore and bruised, but fulfilled.

  I drew crisp air deep into my lungs and expelled it slowly, testing my newly discovered inner peace.

  Oh, it couldn’t last. That much I knew. Yet more reason to cherish the calm preceding the storm. Soon, things would get ugly. The instant my Incubus learned he wouldn’t be getting what he’d claimed as his right, he’d go on a rampage, fighting me tooth and claw. But before disaster hit, I intended to use these few fine moments I had to myself to set my thoughts to rights and soak away the ache from my muscles.

  Climbing the winding path behind my guide, I was struck anew by the scenic beauty of the area. Everything there—mood, colours and textures—called to the artist in me. I couldn’t help but feel enthralled by way the green of the dwarf pine contrasted with the snowy-pink froth of the orchard, further highlighted by the glow of the maple trees against the canvas of the overcast sky.

  My heart twinged at the familiarity of the landscape. For an emotion-saturated moment, bittersweet memories inundated my mind: recollections of that short-lived period, when back in the Elven Country, I’d been a carefree child with parents who loved me.

  Ahead of us, a flock of cranes took flight with ear-piercing cries. I lifted my head to follow their ascension.

  The last remaining steps led us uphill and across a narrow bridge that arched over a gentle-flowing stream. Forced to watch my footing, I focused on the surface underneath, my untimely melancholy forgotten.

  “Please go right inside, Lord Kyatto. Everything’s ready for you.” Standing in front of the cypress structure constructed around a milky-blue pool, my bath attendant invited me in with a bow and a sweeping hand gesture.

  I nodded in thanks. Familiar with the etiquette, I headed straight towards the corner, where wooden buckets filled with water and basketfuls of fresh linens marked the changing and washing area. Leaving Mailee to go about her tasks, I proceeded to undress.

  The heiku trained their employees, male and female alike, to move around the customers in a specific manner. One couldn’t help but admire the precision and grace of their gentle, small-stepped routine, so fluid it was almost reminiscent of dancing. Observing them perform their duties added to the aesthetic aspect of the thermal bath experience.

  Shedding the layers of my silk clothing, I watched the dainty woman light a blue paper lantern and then perch on the tips of her toes to hang it from the hook b
y the entrance. This announced my preference: no chit-chat, no gawking and no propositioning.

  Mailee tended to the cast-iron kettle that had been set atop a tiny wood-burning stove, preparing the heiku’s famous herbal infusion. Zesty spice pervaded the air.

  Just as I managed to undo my braid, she approached me and reached for the spouted bucket, lifting it off the floor as if it were weightless. Naked, I sat on the low stool while she poured a steady stream of water over me, completing the customary ablution required before entering the spring.

  I stepped into the pool, gradually submerging myself in the clay-rich water, allowing my body to adjust to its temperature. I lay back, tilted my head against the wooden rest and welcomed the wonderful sensation of warmth enveloping me. A long sigh of pleasure escaped me when Mailee’s skilled oil-scented fingers began massaging my scalp.

  Mid-treatment, I must’ve dozed off. I came round, alone in the pergola. Conveniently placed within my reach, a teapot sat on a low table, its belly still warm. I poured a cup of the fragrant, straw-coloured liquid and brought it to my lips. My senses sharpened with every sip. Enjoying the delicate, clean flavour, I let my thoughts roam.

  It didn’t take long before they turned to the image of the tall, dark-haired drill master with enough verve to share between two men.

  What was he doing now, down at the garrison? Something tough and soldierly, no doubt. The difference between our occupations and lifestyles ran as deep and vast as famous Leffledyn Gorge west of Nygläär.

  Lázhien.

  I couldn’t refrain from uttering the word out loud and savouring the sound. Honest to the gods, I had to admit that the owner of the name had defied my expectations. The longer I spent pondering the matter, the more I begrudged coming to the realisation: I had misjudged Lázhien.

  Dismissing him as no cough, no brains, just muscle proved an oversight.

  For starters, after the previous night’s events, I concluded there was fuck-all wrong with muscles. Especially when they clenched around me, pinning me down, sweat-slick and impenetrable like city walls. Secondly, however you considered it, the sergeant couldn’t be called a simpleton. While he’d likely missed a formal education, this natural wit and common sense made up for it in abundance.

  I couldn’t deny that my demon felt drawn to Lázhien’s steady life force and calmed by his balanced temper. The soldier’s no-nonsense attitude had shone through, despite my best efforts to provoke him into losing his shit. He could take a joke, too. The memory of his black eyes sparkling with humour invited a smile to my lips.

  More surprisingly, the sergeant had an impressive command of Common Elven. He might’ve chosen to converse in my native language to show off his skills or pay respect to my heritage. Perhaps both? Despite myself, I found the gesture charming, not unlike his soft pronunciation.

  But the way his gaze heated when he looked at me really lit my stake on fire. The damn honesty of it. So unlike the thousand-and-one meaningless, empty lust-filled stares I received on a regular day.

  No, I hadn’t anticipated Lázhien to be smart, courteous or tender. He shouldn’t have been any of those things, damn it. And even though I realised it didn’t mean shit—he only acted that way because of the bond that had him under its spell—still…

  Still nothing. It just couldn’t be.

  “What do you want, darling?” The returning echo of Ranelle’s words resounded in my brain.

  Such a straightforward question that would’ve been uncomplicated to answer for most. In my case, it instigated waves of unease and discomfort. I couldn’t—didn’t dare to—even build a vague picture of what the fuck I wanted in my head, never mind stating it in front of another person in casual conversation.

  I’d long settled for being carried through life like a leaf caught in the wind. With the way my demon constricted me, I’d had limited opportunity to exercise my free will. Therefore, it’d made no sense to me to wonder what my choices might be, given that implementing them remained a fantasy. Admitting you wanted something and striving to achieve it seemed neither simple nor easy for a person who’d had no practice in that regard whatsoever.

  But in the end, what did it matter? If I couldn’t name a goal or a desire, it surely couldn't have been pivotal to my existence, could it? And why should I have been thinking about it at all, so out of the blue?

  Bloody Lázhien. He had me unsettled, dreaming up nonsense. How dare he not come across as an ignorant roughneck like he was supposed to? Why did he need to complicate the already thorny matter, making it into an even greater disaster? Forcing me to like him, for the gods’ sake? Low. And disgusting.

  It didn’t help either that the man had turned out to be an attentive lover who understood what a dick was for.

  I stopped myself right there, refusing to let my imagination slip any further into this treacherous quagmire. A part of me had already stirred and lengthened beneath the water sheet and I couldn’t afford to let that monster loose. Not for another fortnight, anyhow.

  Lázhien was dangerous. A threat to my peace of mind. My preconceptions. He’d blown those away with the force of a trebuchet.

  Regardless of the heiku’s soothing ambience, my anxiety spiked. I sucked in a big breath and dived in, trying to sink to the bottom of the spring, as if that would help drown the unwanted thoughts.

  Breathing exercises were meant to be grand for reducing tension, so I tried to stay down there while I slow-counted to a hundred. I came up sputtering for air around forty-five. The chalky flavour of the spring water lingered on my tongue and bits gritted between my teeth, strands of my hair plastered to my chest and face like the tentacles of a bloodied octopus.

  Splendid.

  “Lord Kyatto, is everything all right?” Mailee’s tranquil tone contradicted the way her lips twitched in an apparent attempt not to crack a smile. I hadn’t seen the composed bath attendant amused before.

  “Yes, thank you, Mailee. I’m just, err…”

  …losing the plot, clearly.

  Even if I wanted a human soulmate, which—bottom line—I fucking didn’t, I had nothing to offer the likes of Lázhien. So painfully wholesome and dependable. Decent. Not even a brothel-goer. One who—I could’ve sworn—folded his clothes into neat stacks at night-time. What would I ever do with such a character?

  Apart from fucking him into oblivion a dozen ways from Freeday.

  Then letting him cuddle me in bed for hours.

  Or…

  Dear gods. I needed a slap.

  Instead of pondering absurdities, I’d do well to keep my wits about me and focus on surviving the next two weeks until the damn bond expired. Which would be a blessing for everyone involved, including Lázhien and Ranélle. I just hoped to all hell my demon wouldn’t fuck me up too badly in the meantime.

  I needed to go home and occupy my mind and hands with something useful. Like draining a bottle of wine and doing some sketches. And I had better feed my mogõ before he went begging around the brothel, letting the whores stuff him full of rubbish. For a spiritual cat, he was all about the physical, all right—food especially. Did the little glutton care that his delicate gut didn’t agree with much, apart from fresh cream and seafood? Not hugely. I refused to have to rush him to the animal healer in the middle of the night to watch him get his stomach pumped again. And pay a hundred silvers for the privilege.

  My heiku relaxation ended with pruney fingers and a budding headache. I knew damn well who to blame for such an outcome.

  ŌKKANȎ

  Thirteen days later, I sat at the bar, adding the final touches to the ink sketch I’d spent the best part of the previous hour painting.

  I nodded to myself, pleased with the way the mountainous landscape scene had turned out on the silk fan panel. I hoped it would remind Delenah of her home region east of Radvadur and cheer the poor thing up a bit.

  She’d been bawling her eyes out, moping after one of her regulars—a merchant from a well-to-do Nygläär family. His father had dec
ided to marry him off to a Councilman’s daughter and put a stop to the young man’s exploits on Freeday nights. At least for the time being, which meant until the dowry changed hands.

  Married or not, most of them always came back. And that pertained to men and women in the same measure.

  Delenah, however, had been in the business long enough to know better than to fall for a patron. Mixing tender feelings with fucking for coin rarely amounted to a happy conclusion. But like many whores before her and many to come in the future, she’d made that very mistake.

  Regardless of her foolishness, my heart twitched in sympathy at her genuine dejection.

  I’d been in low spirits myself since my visit to the heiku. All that leisurely drinking, napping and drawing I’d naively promised myself for my recuperation leave—as Nélle called it for other whores’ benefit—hadn’t panned out.

  To say that my demon disapproved of my actions would’ve been a euphemism. We’d locked horns, so to speak, in the past, he and I, and often, too. But this time hardly bore comparison. His rage had sent me flat on my arse, leaving me too unfocused and fragile to attempt leaving my bed.

  There had been something else, though, apart from the physical. Something I’d found more disturbing: the fact that the feelings of anguish, sorrow and barely tolerable hardship that lingered within me hadn’t emanated solely from my Incubus. I’d been careful to analyse this occurrence as little as I possibly could.

  The last couple of days had been better, though. Perhaps, as the spell neared its end, the Magic behind it began to weaken? Whatever the cause, I’d come downstairs for the first time in days, keen to experience life and movement around me at last.

  Despite the early hour, the women bustled about, dusting furniture, arranging flowers, and replacing scented candles. It wasn’t uncommon for the first patrons to arrive in the afternoon.

  I checked whether the painting had dried. Satisfied, I cleaned my brush, pushed the stopper into the inkwell and put both items back inside my drawing kit.