by J. C. Owens
Daren had not, and Andon did not know how to feel about that.
Proud. He had claimed to be proud of Andon. Accepting of his decision to brave the storm. He scarcely knew what to do with such a statement.
It warmed something inside him that had gone numb after Vren’s death. Vren had always been so supportive, so quick to give praise. Andon had always had trouble believing in the veracity of his words. Vren was kind and good-hearted to everyone he met. Perhaps he had not truly understood how Andon had been undeserving of his support, unworthy of the kindness.
Daren had more reason perhaps, with the true mating, but he was not using the power he could wield. No one would judge him harshly if he kept Andon in line. The rider of the male grif was considered the leader of the two. Or so Andon had assumed. Perhaps it was different where Daren came from.
If so, Andon yearned to see such a place.
Daren left him to begin attaching the harness to Gretnel. Andon was about to do the same for Ceris when he spotted Captain Palresen striding over to him through the blowing sand.
Palresen raised his voice to be heard over the wind. “It is entirely possible that Lasrem will be forced to charge you with irresponsible behavior that has endangered your grif.”
Andon sucked in a breath, then turned to meet the other man’s stern gaze. “I know. I considered that before I left. I will do as he orders.”
Nothing and no one could make him disrespect the commander, the man who, for some unbeknownst reason, had always chosen to defend him. If this was needed, then he would accept the punishment. There was no way he could explain his reasoning or his inner certainty that Ceris could do it. She was wilds born, and the Quartic Mountains were known for their extreme conditions. She would have faced such things from the moment of her birth. If she had indicated in the least that she was uncertain, he would have turned back.
No one would ever understand that.
Ceris turned her head and watched Palresen with a gleaming eye, her ears pinned back.
They stared at each other for long moments before Palresen inclined his head. “I believe that Gretnel’s distress called her as true mates, drove her to her actions, and as her rider, you had no choice. After all, we know so little about true mates…” His brow rose as he met Andon’s confused stare. “That will be my report when we return safely, as we will.”
Andon stared after the base’s second in command with utter bewilderment as he moved off to oversee the status of the other grifs and riders. “Why would he…”
“Shh, sosi. Let it go. I think he admires your courage more than he wants to admit or can officially announce.”
He turned to tangle his hand in her mane. “It was not my courage. You were the one who had to face the elements. I was just along for the ride.”
She leaned close, rubbing the side of her jaw over his shoulder. “You miss the point. Most riders would have used the bond to force their grif to obey, to remain on the base. You did not.”
“I cannot do that to you,” he whispered, stroking over a sensitive ear. “You chose me, when all the world had turned the other way. I love you.”
“As I love you, sosi. Remember that. I may have Gretnel as my bondmate, but our bond will never lessen, only change.”
Andon bowed his head and leaned his forehead against her. “I’m sorry. I have been foolish and self-centered.”
She gave a purring rumble. “No, you have never had this experience before, that is all. By all you learned in the past, my choosing another and casting you aside would have been entirely possible. We will be stronger for this, my Andon.”
His fingers clenched tighter into her fur.
* * *
Daren bent lower over Gretnel’s neck, feeling the strain in the great body, sensing the exhaustion that made them drop lower and lower with each wingbeat. They would have to rest again soon. Would they be able to rise again?
He glanced to his right, squinting through his goggles, but even so short a distance away as Andon and Ceris were, they seemed blurry and smudged with swirling dirt and sand. At least the rising dirt showed they had to be close, past the desert…
Dimly, he heard a sound.
“The alarm bell.” Gretnel gained strength at the sound, a last bit of adrenaline that kept them in the air.
The grifs’ hearing, so superior to humans, guided them to the right. Soon they were over the landing area, barely visible in the tumult.
Gretnel and Ceris managed to lower the injured grif down with commendable precision and gentleness, then Gretnel half landed, half crashed onto the packed dirt, throwing Daren painfully against the harness.
Then there were people everywhere, unclipping Daren from the saddle, urging him down, cadets swarming over the grifs…
He staggered, gave thanks to those helping, then turned to find Andon. His mate still lay slumped upon Ceris, who looked far less exhausted than Gretnel. The cadets hovered nearby but were obviously too nervous to approach her.
Daren gave a bow. “Will you let them unharness you, Ceris?” He waited with clear respect, hoping his shaky legs held out and did not dump him to the dirt in front of watchers.
She inclined her head regally, and he gestured the youngsters forward. Eager to get out of the wind and stinging sand, they leaped to obey.
Ceris offered a leg and Daren gratefully climbed it, laying a gentle hand on Andon’s shoulder. The weapons master slowly rose to a sitting position before shaking his head, sand cascading off his helmet. Trembling hands pushed the goggles up, and dirt-rimmed eyes peered at him, the blue almost glassy with exhaustion.
“We made it, thanks to you and Ceris.” Daren grinned, then leaned forward and laid a gentle kiss upon parted lips. “My parents are going to love you. Probably keep you even if they ever decide to disown me.”
Andon just blinked, obviously in no state to understand, but he gave a small smile, his gaze warmer than Daren had ever seen.
If nothing else, it seemed that, for the moment at least, they had a truce, and perhaps more than that.
Daren held out his hands and surprisingly, with no argument, Andon slid into his grasp, his legs almost collapsing under him. Daren could sympathize. He braced them both, testing his own balance, before he guided his mate down Ceris’s leg to the ground.
Gretnel was already unharnessed. He came to hold his wing over Ceris, shielding her. “Go,” he told Daren. “Take Andon with you. The other riders are being taken to the hall. The cadets will see to us.”
“But,” Daren balked, not wanting to leave his grif and certain Andon was feeling a similar desire.
“You get both of you checked out, then come to the wing house. You are letting me be seen to. I want the same for you.”
Palresen appeared, sweeping them toward the hall, taking matters into his own hands. “They have prepared the showers for all of us and are getting fresh clothing. The doctor and his assistant are waiting to check us over, and no doubt Lasrem will be pacing, needing to know we are all right. You can return to your grifs after that.”
Daren kept a firm arm over Andon’s shoulders, and it was difficult to say who was holding who up. Their weaving steps resembled a drunken walk home from a tavern, and Daren felt a wild laugh bubbling in the back of his throat.
They were alive. By some miracle, mostly Ceris and Andon, but with perhaps a little divine support, they had come through. Everyone was home. The injured grif would be tended to by the grif’s healer, and with luck would regain the full use of his wing. If they had remained upon the sands…
He shook off the negative thoughts. It had not happened. There was no point in ruminating over the what ifs.
The lights seemed overwhelming once they entered the great entrance of the hall, and the sudden lack of howling wind made Daren’s ears ring almost painfully. There were faces and hands clapping his back, people speaking, but he could scarcely hear them. Andon seemed to have the same problem, as he reached up to cover one ear, a pained grimace on his fac
e.
They were swept away, all those who had undergone the ordeal, to the community showers on the west side of the complex.
Daren urged Andon to the far end, where two stalls were tucked into an awkward alcove. There was more privacy there. Olnar gave a nod, making it evident that he would stand guard until they were finished.
Daren clapped his shoulder, thanking the gods for his second’s calm stoicism.
Andon was already stripping, his movements weary and without his usual grace. His body was streaked with sweat and dirt intermingled, his face almost comical, with white rings around his eyes where the goggles had been. He made no demur as Daren came to stand beside him, removing his own clothes with haste. He did not want Olnar having to wait too long to cleanse himself.
Now, finally free of the grimy clothes, he became aware of the grit that seemed to have worked its way into every tiny crevice.
Andon stepped in first, turned the knob, but nothing but a trickle came out.
The look of disappointment made Daren feel like holding his mate. “You could share my shower.”
The offer caused his brain to stutter to a halt. What was he thinking? Andon would…
Blue eyes searched his own, and then Andon nodded.
Daren almost trembled with restrained eagerness. It was going to be difficult to keep his hands to himself.
They stepped into the somewhat cramped space, both careful not to touch, then Andon turned the knob and blissful hot water cascaded over them both.
Daren was exceedingly careful as he reached around Andon to find a container of shampoo, feeling his mate press back against the cold tile wall. He kept his eyes to himself, much though they wanted to wander to all that milky skin.
Pouring scented soap into his now wet hair, he handed the bottle to Andon and began scrubbing into his grit laden hair. His arms, so tired, shook as he began to rub down to his scalp, grimacing in distaste as the soapy foam blackened.
He felt the touch of fingertips upon the back of his hands and froze, his gaze rising to meet uncertain blue eyes.
They stared at each other, before Andon swallowed hard. “I could wash your hair, if you want?”
Daren felt his heart leap, but he fought down the excitement. Too much response and Andon would retreat.
He nodded, managed a little smile. “Do you think I would refuse? I feel like I could sink down right here and sleep for a month.”
His mate smiled in return, a little tentatively, then lowered his gaze, pouring more soap into his palms and gesturing for Daren to turn around.
In a moment of epiphany, Daren realized this was the way to win Andon’s trust. Give him control, let him be the one to reach out, to make the decisions on how fast or slow this newborn relationship would go.
After all, he had been in control of himself long before most children would have had to step out into the world. Daren may not be able to empathize, but he could certainly show respect for that ability.
One day, he hoped that Andon would trust him enough to tell him the story of his life and how he came to be here, leading to their bonding. Daren could not imagine further than that. It felt like if he wanted this too much, it would slip between his fingers and he would be left with a distant, emotionless bond.
He thrust aside the doubt and worry and sank wholeheartedly into the sheer pleasure of having his mate touch him freely.
Long fingers rubbed deliciously over his scalp. He released a small moan, quickly stifled, his head bowed. Leaning against the wall, he used all his willpower to stop from sliding down the wall into a pleasure-riddled puddle.
Perfect pressure, then fingernails gently scratched at the stubborn grit that clung to the hairs. Daren’s eyes rolled back, his head following suit.
A chuckle made his eyes slowly open. Andon’s expression was softer than he had ever seen it, a hint of amusement in the blue eyes.
“Well, I know how to overcome you now. Should you really give me this sort of power over you?”
Daren leaned into the fingers. “If you do this frequently, I am willingly under your spell. Ask what you will. I am yours.”
A small chuckle, then his mate’s eye’s darkened. “Be careful, Phalnir. You don’t know what I would ask of you.”
Daren raised a hand to gently cup Andon’s cheek. “I have no fear you would request anything harmful.”
The weapons master met his gaze, seriousness overcoming the faint humor. “You should not trust anyone so far, Daren.”
The sound of his name upon Andon’s lips made a shiver run down Daren’s spine.
“You are my mate. I feel what you are and I would trust you to the ends of the world and back.”
“Then you are a fool.” The words were crisp and sharp, but the touch remained, the fingers gently working through his hair. When they drew back, Daren found himself almost following them, mourning the loss of touch, the link to his skittish mate.
Sighing, resigned, he leaned into the hot water, letting it cascade over his head, rubbing his face clean and letting the water seep into his skin, his senses, driving the memory of scorching wind away. They had come so close to disaster…
He slicked his hair back, blinking through the droplets on his eyelashes.
“Can I return the favor? I promise to behave.” He kept his tone light, so that Andon could freely refuse.
Andon eyed him. “I would like to wash first, then—yes.” He turned away, reaching for soap and beginning to lather his body.
Daren caught his breath, astonished, then did the same, giving privacy to them both. Even in this, back to back, Daren swore he could feel Andon, a warmth in his chest, a sense of completeness.
Please gods, let this work.
Andon thought he had to have lost his mind.
It was as if the worry and fear—the realization that he could have lost Daren, that Ceris could have been mourning her mate, with the possibility that she would never recover, could fade into illness and death—and the resolution of that same fear had made him giddy, foolish.
From what Ceris had told him, grifs in the wild did not survive their mate’s death. They stopped eating, craved isolation and waited for death. The thought of losing his grif was terrifying. It was one thing to think of her living with her mate, happy without him, but to think of her dying, leaving him behind… It made him aware that he could not take his own life. No matter how Ceris might view Gretnel, how she might value the male grif, he realized that it made no difference to her relationship with him.
He could not abandon her.
A feeling of entrapment made his eyes close, and he paused in his washing, drawing in a quivering breath. He opened his eyes again, staring blindly at the old, ornate tiles. Death had beckoned so sweetly, the call growing stronger since his arrival here so many years ago and all that had happened since. But he had the strength inside him to refuse that call…and maybe now he had more than enough reason to.
He half turned, discreetly eyeing Daren’s naked form, trying to distract himself from his morbid thoughts.
His new…mate…was a beautiful man, tall, broad-shouldered, with a strong, masculine face with wide heavy cheekbones and a mouth that held humor even in repose. His eyes… Andon often had problems meeting other people’s eyes, but with this man, he was fascinated with the green eyes, so rare where he was from.
Green, the color of the royal family.
It made him wonder what Daren’s bloodline was, when he came from Alterna, the home province of the queen. He would not ask, for he was not prepared to return the favor with tales of his own background. He had spent too long trying to flee the memories and had no desire for this man to see him as he was, a child from the gutters, with no father, and a mother addled and neglectful. He could not even remember her face and did not want to. There was nothing within him that desired the faintest connection with her now. He had no idea if she still lived, and no drive to find out.
She, as far as he was concerned, was incidental to his
life.
The knowledge that Daren had a good family, a caring family, like some of the tales he had read or occasionally heard the cadets speak of, made him more aware of the barrenness of his past.
What did he possibly have to bring to this new-fledged relationship?
Daren turned into the spray, and Andon found himself flushing, eyeing the firm buttocks and powerful legs. The trim waist and muscle delineated across his back…
Never before had a mating produced such clarity of images in his mind. Before, it was impressions and a feeling of shame, that he had once again submitted to the madness of Ceris’s heat.
With Daren the images had remained, and he could clearly recall the muscle of that back flexing under his fingertips as those lean hips had thrust against him, those calloused fingers wrapped around their cocks, heat and warm wetness…
Gods…
He fought to get his libido under control, something he had never had to do before. He had actually considered that he was not a sexual creature at all, since he had never desired any touch in between matings.
With Daren…
Perhaps this was the sign that this truly was different, a greater thing than was common. He found his breath quickening, the thought of Daren’s fingers upon him, cradling his head, brushing through his hair. He swallowed hard, feeling himself harden and feeling a faint horror at his reaction.
He had always managed to convince himself he did not want the touch of any man, and yet, here and now, he was feeling a strange heat, his cock beginning to fill and harden. The feeling of Daren beneath his own touch, the intimacy of caressing him, hearing that soft, abruptly terminated moan…
“Are you ready?”
He glanced wildly at Daren, hoping he had not somehow read his heated thoughts. The man quirked a brow at his reaction, then smiled a little, not mockingly, but almost fondly.
“Don’t hesitate to ask me to stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”
When had anyone ever asked such a question? How did you defend yourself against someone so determined to be reasonable, be pleasant and concerned? He found it almost more terrifying than the abuse he had suffered here.
