When I First Saw Red: Soldiers and Mercenaries Book 2

by Kasia Bacon

  Someone tugged at my sleeve. I turned around.

  Little Quen, who played the doorman and usher that evening, stood by my stool. “Ōkkanȏ,” he said. “Lord Heinedorh asks for you. He won’t have anyone else. Should I tell him you’re indisposed? And to come back next week?”

  I glanced towards the opposite end of the room. A slim, middle-aged noble, whose company I enjoyed more than most, had folded himself into an armchair in the corner, dipping his chin in my direction.

  “No,” I said on impulse. “Send him to my room.”

  “Are you sure?” Quen’s pretty features set in a worried expression. “You still don’t look so well, you know.”

  “Thanks.” I snorted. “Just send him up, Quen. And make sure they bring him a carafe of red and candied pashija peels.”

  Quen seemed uncertain. “But Ranélle said you’re not available until the day after tomorrow.”

  “Ranélle isn’t here though, is she?” I said, taking advantage of the fact that wine delivery kept Nélle busy in the cellar. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. It won’t make a difference if I go back to work a day early,” I added to convince myself rather than Quen. Even if I couldn’t get it up, I had ways of concealing that. Perhaps allowing a patron to fuck me would sever the remaining spell and bring about normality. “Go. I’ll be there in a moment. Oh, and give this to Delenah when she comes down, will you?”

  Quen took the fan into his hand. His eyes widened. “Ōkkanȏ, that’s lovely. She’ll be chuffed to bits.”

  I patted his shoulder and nudged him towards the patron.

  It had been thirteen days, and I’d had enough. I was about to find out if Magic really checked the calendar.

  LÁZHIEN

  The air hung thick and humid, charged with the promise of a looming storm. A dense mass of dark clouds rolled over the training grounds. It imparted a livid appearance to the once sapphire-blue sky, threatening to unleash its rage upon us at any moment.

  My damp shirt stuck to my spine as if glued. Wiping trickles of perspiration from my brow and temples did little to prevent the moisture from gathering in the exact spots the next moment.

  “Come on, sergeant,” pleaded a lanky Ysêmyrian, freckled as a duck egg. His shallow pants merged in rasping cacophony with those produced by the rest of his squad. “Would you let up a little? We’re about to puke our guts out in this shit weather. You’ve been working us like cheap whores since noon meal.”

  Cheap aside, the whore comment didn’t go over well with me for some reason.

  “D’ you think your enemy will worry about the weather when launching an attack, you fuckwit?” I barked. “Six more laps. Courtesy of Freckles. Feel free to show him your appreciation back in the barracks. Now move. Double-time!”

  Twenty-five men groaned as one, but wasted no time in breaking into the jog, not daring to test my patience.

  I closed the column myself, intending not only to discourage anyone stupid enough even to contemplate dragging arse, but also to burn off some of the pent-up energy that had me feeling twitchy.

  I hadn’t fared so well since my visit to Cock and Hens almost a fortnight before. If I hadn’t thought it laughable, I’d have said I had been spelled.

  Sleep had been capricious, coming in snatches or not at all. And when I did sleep, I dreamed of him. I hadn’t touched anyone else since that night, even though I’d visited the bathhouse twice with the intention of getting a shag out of it. Why hadn’t I followed through in the end? Who the fuck knew? Only the previous morning in the hot room, the little lieutenant, whose bonny arse used to pump my blood south without fail, had given me the glad eye, not to mention an encouraging pat to my thigh. It’d resulted in nothing but my hasty retreat, calculated to hide the embarrassing lack of cooperation from the part of my anatomy essential for the occasion.

  Yet on lonely nights in my bedroom, my cock worked more than fine. It hardly improved the matters since whenever I’d grip it, the recollection of blood-red hair tumbling down a pale, slender back gushed through my brain in a stream of unstoppable images. It had led to nothing good. So I’d prohibited myself from getting relief by my own hand, too. My thoughts had grown murky, my mood sour and my temper piss-poor as a consequence.

  Had I been contemplating going back to the brothel in hopes of spotting a glimpse of Red? To feast my eyes on him from afar, if nothing else, under the pretext of drinking? Too often for my liking. But the shortage of silver aside, I’d stayed away for another reason. One so disturbing it’d been rough going to even acknowledge it—out of worry over what my reaction would be upon seeing him entertain another patron. A scenario in which I exited Cocks and Hens under the escort of gendarmes, dragged off the fine premises for beating the crap out of some pissy noble, couldn’t be ruled out entirely.

  How would I explain that I, a level-headed sergeant, previously noted for good judgment and prudence, was sparking brawls over the city’s most notorious male courtesan? I could imagine Commander Cadarh’s reaction if he were to get wind of such a conundrum.

  Gods almighty knew I hadn’t considered myself a possessive man prone to throwing claims about. Growing up in a family with many siblings had weeded the jealousy out of me. Serving in the army had only reinforced the concept of sharing and waiting one’s turn. Yet it was different somehow when it came to Red. Even though I held no rights to him, the very thought of others so much as touching him stained my vision with scarlet.

  What is happening to me?

  Try as I might, I couldn’t shake this unexplained feeling of abandonment that lingered over me, leaving me untuned like a warped harp. A vague sense of unfulfilled duty nagged at me. Nothing could unsettle my conscientious nature quicker than the notion of a neglected task, even if I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was I’d supposedly disregarded.

  Ever since I’d mastered the ability to pull on my boots unaided, I’d been the responsible type. One who looked after others, someone they relied on to take charge of things and keep them safe. And I had. Firstly—my siblings and peers in my village. Then—my wife and child, my own family. Until a nasty bout of fever had snatched Larhitta and Tamen from me one rainy season, leaving me alone and anchorless.

  Would the loss have been easier to handle had I been by their sides to comfort them? Watch life slip from their gazes? Set their pyres alight with my own hand afterwards? Who could tell? But as the gods had willed it, the ashes of my loved ones had long turned cold before I’d returned home from a hunting trip high in the mountains.

  I’d felt broken inside. I couldn’t endure staying, so I’d forsaken the place of my youth, leaving the cinders of my home behind. For months, grief and guilt accompanied me on my downward spiral. No sooner had I fused the shattered pieces of my life back together than I’d enlisted.

  The Imperial Forces had become my home, just as watching over the welfare of those under my command, ensuring they stayed sharp and alive, had become my purpose.

  All these years later and the thought of not being where I was needed, failing at the job entrusted to me, remained my greatest torment.

  Faster and faster, I ran, attempting to outsprint the swarm of memories that should’ve been buried a decade ago but still held the power to unravel me. My pulse juddered in my throat, synchronised with the beat of my feet.

  Breathe in. Out. And again.

  Listening to the rhythmic crunching of gravel underneath my hard soles allowed me to centre myself.

  Why the fuck was I reminiscing? I hadn’t dwelt on any of this in years and with good reason, too. It hurt and made me bitter. Some sores were best left unpicked. Why think on it now?

  Living for the army, with my share of friends and lovers but otherwise unattached, worked fine for me. I didn’t wish for anything that stretched beyond that. Not when I knew first-hand how transient and fragile happiness could be. How the pain could ravage your soul, leaving it a barren husk.

  Besides, I couldn’t have been more content with the way things
were. I really couldn’t.

  An old, half-forgotten yearning shot to the surface, as rapid and blunt as a kick to the ribs. A longing for something—someone—worth fighting for. Someone who’d give themselves to me as completely as I’d belong to them. Someone mine and mine alone.

  I’d clearly gone batty, dreaming up such nonsense. And I knew just who to assign liability for my lunacy.

  The culprit’s fetching, angular face came into sharp focus in my mind. Even after thirteen days—and I resented realising the precise number—I recalled the tiniest details about him. His plump, rosy lips, so soft and inviting once he’d stopped sneering. His chestnut- coloured eyes, frosty one moment, only to turn molten with passion the next. His brooding glower, which I couldn’t help but find darling.

  A voice of warning screamed abort in my head so loudly I feared others might’ve heard it, too.

  That night—my night with Red—had ruined more than my finances. It had wrecked my head. And I couldn’t even begin to fathom what the fuck it had done to my heart.

  A faint burn crept up my calf muscles. The fact that I could no longer see the squad ahead of me registered. I glanced over my shoulder.

  Gasping for air, the men struggled some two hundred paces behind me, their features contorted from the effort, veins lining their foreheads. Nonetheless, a fierce expression of grit and determination flickered in every single gaze I met.

  Pride swelled in my chest. I slowed down to a march, then stopped altogether, turning around and allowing the group to catch up. When they did, I yelled, “Squad, halt.”

  They froze in a flash. Twenty-five pairs of eyes clung to mine, awaiting my next command.

  I scrutinised the soldiers one by one, letting them dread their fate for one more prolonged, character-building moment. “Dismissed,” I roared.

  Relief—so intense it neared comical—bloomed on each flushed, sweat-laden face in front of me. My lips twitched, but I resisted the urge to smile. It wouldn’t have done for a random smirk to tarnish my reputation as a hard-hearted, humourless motherfucker. I’d worked years to earn that status.

  I didn’t rush back to the garrison. My shift ended in the afternoon, leaving me free for the next day and a half.

  A distant rumble of thunder now and then aside, the weather held out. A storm was drawing close though, and I looked forward to the cooler air, hoping it would help clear my mind.

  After a quick wash and a change of clothes, I strolled towards the food hall to take my meal early. The herbaceous aroma of slow-braised beef greeted me at the entrance, causing me to ginger up. Soon, I sat down to a dish of tender meat that had stewed in redcurrant and port gravy for hours, relishing its rich, savoury sweetness.

  Several mouthfuls in, a sense of compelling foreboding hit me out of nowhere, inciting such feelings of dread and urgency that my insides knotted. The fork fell out of my hand, clinking against the edge of the pewter plate.

  Red.

  As if burnt by the bench, I lurched to my feet. Something was wrong and he needed me.

  I didn’t ponder how I was able to detect that or what that even meant. It seemed unimportant. I merely heeded the summons. My instincts commanded me to drop everything and rush to Red’s side. And that I did, sending a fat fuck you to sanity.

  In no time, I found myself outside the stables, calling for my mount at the top of my lungs and scaring the wits out of the private on duty.

  An hour before sundown—my hat forgotten and the breeze ruffling my hair—I rode towards Nygläär.

  The Aftermath Of The Storm

  LÁZHIEN

  Ever sensitive to the smallest body cues, my stallion needed no more than slight pressure applied to his sides to keep up the gallop.

  My thoughts raced with matching speed.

  What am I doing? Am I out of my mind?

  Despite there being no apparent logic to any of it, I kept tearing towards the brothel on some ridiculous hunch.

  What if I’m deluded? What if nothing’s wrong? What if he's with someone else and I’ll lose my shit? What if—?

  The familiar beige stone of the town walls loomed ahead. Having exchanged a hurried greeting with a couple of city guards, I whizzed past the toll gate, which was, as usual, under siege from merchants about to part with a fifth of their goods or silver. It took another moment, brief enough to sing half a cadence, for me to reach the south bank, the area favoured by businesses of ill repute.

  My feet flew from the stirrups the instant I reached the building with strings of paper lanterns and decorative banners hanging from its eaves.

  Despite the early hour, the crimson-painted gate—customary for a bawdy house—swung open at the push of my hand. Taking advantage of the unattended foyer and with a single-minded purpose, I stormed up the wooden staircase two steps at a time.

  The door to Red’s bedroom stood ajar.

  Half-drawn drapes blocked some of the receding daylight, bathing the interior in soft shadows. The figure of the dainty landlady, leaning by the foot of the bed, came into view.

  "Lay him down. Careful now,” she said in her nasal Něssyrian accent, instructing two young, male employees who each supported an armful of Red.

  Red appeared unconscious in their hold, his body lifeless and his face pallid.

  I froze. My heart lurched into my stomach at the sight of white bedclothes stained with streaks of blood.

  It took one horrifying moment to realise Red’s hair, spilt in a tangled mess across the linen, created an illusion of a gory scene, duping me into believing he’d been gravely injured.

  “Not on his back. It makes him more nauseous. On his side. Just move that pillow out of the way. Yes, that'll do.”

  “QUIT TOUCHING HIM,” I growled through clenched teeth, hardly recognising the low, menacing sound that escaped my throat as my own voice.

  It shocked everybody into a start. All three heads whipped round towards me. The men, in particular, looked about ready to part with clean undergarments. They backed away a step, fixing me with wide and unblinking stares, their mouths agape.

  Incapable of keeping my distance any longer, I leapt to the other side of the bed, eased down onto the mattress and gathered Red’s lean form to me as gingerly as if I were handling glass.

  He objected to being moved at first, uttering a weak moan. But then he looped his arms around my waist and snuggled up, his eyes shut tight. Once he adopted my lap as his pillow, he settled, sighing in evident relief.

  I felt my nostrils flare. It thrilled me, the way he adhered himself to my side, seeking comfort and safety there so naturally. Waves of protectiveness burst to life within my chest. Without thinking, I cradled him as if he were mine to hold. How could I not, since he fit so well against me? Having him close again felt right and soothing. Like clicking a disjointed element into place.

  A tremendous crash of thunder nearby announced the arrival of the long-awaited storm and snapped me back to the present. The windows rattled, emphasising the stony silence within the room, in which everyone present goggled at me in incertitude.

  “You boys can go now.” The Něssyrian waved her helpers towards the door. “It’s fine. Sergeant Jhagán and I are previously acquainted. He’s Ōkkanȏ’s—” She cleared her throat in her fist, appraising me with a complex stare. “Well, never mind. He’ll help, anyway.”

  The youths nodded despite clearly having no comprehension of what the hell had just happened. In that, they weren’t alone. Sticking flush against the wall to give me the widest berth, they slipped out of the room.

  “Praise the gods you’ve come, sergeant,” the landlady whispered, clasping her fingers together in front of her chest.

  Only then did it occur to me that the woman didn't question my presence or seem puzzled by it in the slightest. On the contrary—she acted oddly reassured by it, almost as though she’d expected me to turn up all along.

  Right then, I lacked the state of mind to ponder that further. “What’s wrong with him?” I asked i
n a strangled voice.

  “It’s just a bad one.”

  “A bad one?” I repeated obtusely. The situation felt more and more like arriving late to the mess hall, joining the table mid-joke and remaining clueless on delivery of the punchline.

  A tremendous thunderbolt outside had me glancing up just in time to spot an entire series of zig-zags rending the darkening skies.

  Red grunted again, lumbering about in an attempt to shield his eyes with his palm. But straight away, his arm slid back down to his side.

  Seeing that he lacked the energy to maintain the position, I replaced his hand with my own.

  “The light bothers him,” the proprietor explained, stepping forward. She drew the curtains in two pulls, and continued quietly, “Ōkkanȏ suffers from migraines. They get horrendous at times. Even more so when he’s at odds with his demon. His senses get overworked, you see, and his body shuts down. That’s why he collapsed downstairs earlier.” She shot me a small smile. “Don’t be so distraught, sergeant. He’ll be right as rain now that you’re around.”

  Again, I understood very little of her explanation. However, the feel of Red’s cool body resting on me, curled up in pain, seized all my concentration. A nasty thought occurred to me and tightened my jaw. “You’d better not expect him to work anytime soon.” I tried to gentle my tone, given that I was a guest in her house. Even still, a loud grinding sound escaped my teeth.

  Her head tilted to the side as she regarded me, piercing me with the same hard, expectant look she offered me before, the meaning of which I couldn’t decipher. “Rest assured, sergeant. Ōkkanȏ has been… resting for a while now. Actually, this happened because he had this brilliant idea to pick up working again tonight. Let’s say that particular patron won’t be coming back in a hurry. Well, anyway. Listen, just sort him out.”

  “Sort him… Wait, what?” I bit out. How the fuck was I supposed to do that? I’d received limited medical training in the Forces, but sure as shit, it didn’t cover mysterious ailments of Tii-Matâshi.