by Aldrea Alien
The hound shrugged and flipped the finished end of his braid back over his shoulder. “So take him.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. Even if I managed to convince your king to let me have one of the few spellsters he has left at his disposal…” Katarina bit her lip. “There are other factors, personal ones, that may make him unsuitable to becoming a fully-fledged member of the Coven.”
The man’s russet brows lowered. His gaze flicked between Dylan and the hedgewitch. “Such as? I seem to recall you saying your coven has elven members amongst its people. Surely, you must have humans, too.”
“It’s not that and we do. It’s just hedgewitches—”
“—are celibate,” Dylan finished. “Unless I became the same, all they could offer me would be a lifetime of apprenticeship.” Years of hopping from master to master, always at their call, never truly studying for himself. Just the thought of it made him homesick.
“Truly?” The hound turned back to Katarina, his face ashen. “None of you have sex? At all? But…” Tracker clutched at his chest as if he was going to collapse. “The very thought makes me weak. How do you cope?”
The hedgewitch pressed her lips together, vainly trying to hide her amusement. She folded her arms. “It helps if you’ve no desire to in the first place, but it’s a requirement of the coven that our lives be dedicated to preserving history, of learning from the little that remains of our ancestors and ensuring it does not fade further. Those who are willing to partake in the search of such knowledge are always welcome, but it must be done with the whole self. Having a lover or children is seen as having a distraction.”
“But Dylan could become an apprentice of your Coven? Even though he is not a dwarf?”
“He could attain full hedgewitch status if he forsook intimacy.” She hoisted her little pack of tools. “We should return to the others.”
Tracker frowned as the woman headed off in the direction of their camp.
Dylan laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I…” That honey-coloured gaze lifted from Katarina. “Would you be happy as a hedgewitch?”
He’d thought of it, in the past. An apprentice’s life was comfortably similar to the one he’d been living in the tower. Odd, how he had never considered missing the hours he used to spend compiling and translating the scraps of text people brought. “This isn’t Dvärghem.”
“No, it is not,” Tracker said. “But what if it was?”
“Maybe?” Hedgewitches did more than wait for people’s accounts of ruins. They scoured the land, hunting for all the places where an untouched piece of their history could be lurking. Aiding the occasional travelling hedgewitch in determining which part of a map would be the best area to start was as close as he’d ever gotten to it. The act had sated his hunger in the beginning. That had been some years ago.
Would travelling the world at a hedgewitch’s side be enough? “Probably,” Dylan mumbled. He’d no chance of finding out. The gods had laid but a single path before him. To leave it would be no easier than scaling a cliff blindfolded, with as much chance of fatality.
Dylan flashed the hound a smile. “I’m hungry. Let’s go find out what the others caught for dinner.” He marched after Katarina before the man could speak another word. He couldn’t bear to think on any more what ifs. It would only have him winding up in trouble.
It seemed luck had favoured the camp in their absence. The two women had indeed managed to catch some game, even if it was only a trio of hares. One sat over the fire, whilst another lay stretched out before the hunter. The smell wafting from the fireside watered Dylan’s mouth. If he was any judge, at least one of the hares was ready to eat. He’d almost been dreading the return to camp and the discovery that the pair had caught nothing but fish.
The trio joined the other women by the campfire.
Marin wordlessly carved chunks off the hare and passed them around before poking the fire a little. “So,” she drawled as they ate. “Come on, out with it. Did you find anything interesting? I mean beyond dusty walls and rivers of lava.”
“It wasn’t a river,” Katarina grumbled around a mouthful of hare.
“I would call it a stream at best,” Tracker quipped. Already, the man had consumed his portion of food and was silently holding out his bowl for more.
Marin rolled her eyes and complied with the hound’s request. “And that’s it? You spent all day in there to note that?” She cleared her throat and held out a hand as if reading from it. “Dear Coven, we found a musty cavern with lava and dusty walls. Done!”
Katarina giggled. “Well, there were runes,” the hedgewitch said. “Each one must be copied exactly. All pretty standard, until Track found some dwarven remains.” A smile widened Katarina’s lips as Marin straightened at that news. It was enough of a prompt for the hedgewitch to regale the two women with the full details of their discovery, with Tracker chipping in every so often.
Dylan sat back, quietly eating and listening to the pair. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the hound’s face, of how animated it was whilst the man talked about his theories on how and why the long-since-dead dwarf was there. It was quite a list, ranging from an innocent bystander of some scuffle to a would-be thief who’d been thwarted part way through a raid, to some murdered higher-up trying to secure a secret formula.
Slowly, the pressures of the day, coupled with the lack of sleep the previous night, the ebbing sunlight and lulling warmth of the fire drained the remainder of Dylan’s energy. He’d nodded off twice, jolting awake as his head dropped onto his chest, before deciding rest would be a good idea. They’d still a number of days before reaching Riverton.
Stretching, he bid his companions a good night and staggered off towards the thick undergrowth to relieve himself before seeking out his bed. Away from the fire, the night air was far cooler. It jolted him awake and encouraged speed in his task.
When he returned to the clearing, he found the fireside rather less crowded. Katarina had first watch and wouldn’t be retiring anytime soon, but it looked as though the others had decided to also turn in for the night.
Except for Tracker, who appeared to be quite involved in his conversation with the hedgewitch. Dylan toyed with the idea of joining them, or at least edge close enough to listen in, before thinking better of it and seeking out his bed.
Katarina laughed as he opened the tent flap, giving Dylan some pause.
He glanced over his shoulder, half expecting them to be looking his way. Neither one seemed aware he stood here. What did they speak of? Dylan shook his head and entered the tent to snuggle under the blankets. It was quite cold without Tracker’s body heat to warm him. Perhaps if he—
No, asking for Tracker to join him would invite more talk. But knowing the hedgewitch, she was likely informing Tracker where he was wrong in his theories. The hound would be good-natured enough to listen, even if it meant Katarina would be some time.
Dylan rolled onto his back, flopping an arm across his eyes to block out the flickering light. Now that the rest of him was prepared for sleep, his mind was no longer willing to slow down. It swirled on the man’s earlier question. Would he be happier as a hedgewitch?
Yes. He could admit it in the darkness of his own thoughts. But even if it was possible, it would also mean giving up Demarn and any chance of avenging his kin. Of never returning to the land of his birth.
There was the faintest disturbance of the tent flap.
Dylan peeked from beneath his arm to find the hound silhouetted in the entrance.
“So then,” Tracker drawled as he slunk onto the bedding. “I do hope I did not keep you waiting long.”
He let his arm drop to his side. “Actually, I was just contemplating sleep.” Not that there was much chance of convincing his body to do such a thing now.
“Sleep?” Tracker clicked his tongue reprovingly. The hound straddled Dylan’s hips and, as Tracker sat back, he felt himself responding to the m
an’s closeness quite a bit faster than expected. “I can think of far better things for us to do than sleep.”
Dylan ran his hands up the thick leather of the hound’s attire. His mind was already racing through the possibilities. However… “Aren’t you a bit overdressed for anything else?”
Tracker’s low laughter rocked his body. “That was not— Give me a moment.” The rattle of metal took over the tent as the man’s sword belt was discarded. Then, piece by torturous piece, he peeled off the upper half of his armour.
By the time the man reached his undershirt, Dylan couldn’t resist slipping his fingers under the soft linen to caress the warm skin lying beneath.
The hound arched at the touch. A soft groan parted his lips as his hips rocked on top of Dylan’s. Tracker stripped the remaining cloth from his torso and bent over. “Am I going too slow for your liking?” he whispered into Dylan’s ear.
Dylan wordlessly tugged at the man’s belt, tucking his thumbs beneath the waist of the hound’s trousers. On any other night, he’d be amicable to the elf’s teasing. “These should be off by now,” he growled.
“My, my,” Tracker breathed. “We are certainly eager tonight.”
Dylan lifted his hips. The fabric between them did little to hide the bulge in the man’s trousers. “And yet, I don’t see you getting any more naked.”
Smirking, the hound sat back. He unbuckled his belt and the ties to his trousers with aching slowness. “I must admit,” Tracker rasped as he shifted to remove his boots. “It has been quite the exercise in restraint, especially with you teasing me all day.”
“I don’t recall any teasing.” Unable to keep his hands off Tracker whilst he watched the waist of the man’s trousers descend, Dylan plucked at the cords keeping the hound’s smallclothes on. Loosening the ties, he coaxed the linen off Tracker’s hips. These, too, were eventually shed. “Unless you count now.”
“No?” The hound slowly tugged the blanket further down Dylan’s chest. “I spent the whole day in your naked presence, barely able to touch you and having to conceal my feelings as to what I most wanted to do.” The man lay on top of him, the heat of bare skin igniting that all-too-familiar fire in Dylan’s gut. The trips through the pool had taken the edge off the man’s citrusy-cinnamon scent, leaving behind an aroma that was purely Tracker. “And I want you so very much,” he purred, sending a pleasant little tingle down Dylan’s spine.
“Well, when you put it that way…” Dylan murmured. He slid his fingers into the man’s hair and silently coaxed Tracker close enough to kiss. “How do you want me?”
Tracker gave a considering little hum that bore a definite cheeky edge. His lips meandered along Dylan’s jaw, seemingly content with that action. “Inside me would be a start.”
“I can do that.” With very little effort, he rolled the man off of him and onto the bedding. “But we’ll have to be quiet.”
The hound chuckled breathlessly. “Then it is for the best that I have already proven how exceptionally good I am at maintaining my silence.”
Dylan gently grazed his lips across the elf’s ear to the delightful sound of the hound’s broken groan, whilst shifting the man’s legs into a more agreeable position. “We’ll see about that.” He slowly slipped a finger into the man and let a short pulse of cold radiate from the digit.
Tracker gasped. He tipped his head back, soft laughter curving his lips. “That was not quite what I meant,” the hound managed between moans as Dylan sent a pulse of warmth down his finger. “But do carry on.”
I intend to. There was a certain thrill to watching the hound in the throes of pleasure. Even though quiet was demanded of him, the man made no secret of his enjoyment. Tracker arched at every pulse, his head rolled from one side to the other. Strangled gasps and hushed moans poured from his mouth. He rocked against Dylan’s hand.
With his free hand, Dylan wrapped his fingers around the man’s length to find the hound already dripping. He wet his lips, silently contemplating whether he had it in him to bend over and—
Tracker clutched at Dylan’s arm, his neck, those long fingers digging into whatever flesh they found. His name slipped from the man’s lips, hot and needy.
Dylan tipped forward, pressing his forehead to the hound’s chest and groaned. The way the man spoke was almost his undoing.
“Da—” Tracker puffed, the word lost in a moan as Dylan resumed thrusting into the hound. “Is something wrong?”
Dylan shook his head. If he admitted anything now, the hound might change his mind on what he wanted and that just wouldn’t do. He’d much rather watch the man tumble over the edge.
“Wait.” Tracker squirmed further up the bedding. “Th-that is enough.”
With great reluctance, Dylan withdrew his touch. It wasn’t quite the command to halt, but he’d the feeling that it could quickly become so if he insisted. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he panted. The hound caressed Dylan’s cheek, his mouth twitched into a curve of amused reassurance. “It is not that, I just— Well, as much as I enjoy your little tricks, they are rather one sided and I would not wish to appear greedy.”
Dylan frowned. ‘Greedy’ wasn’t the first thought that came to mind. If anything, the man was all too willing to give. “I’m not—” His words halted, not because the man’s long fingers had moved from his cheek to his mouth, but due to the other hand cupping him through his slightly damp smallclothes.
“Allow me to put it another way,” Tracker said, his breathing a little less erratic. “If you are in no mood to be ridden, then there is something I would like to try. If you would be agreeable to it?”
He peered at the man. “That depends on what it is.”
The hound chuckled. “So suspicious. There is no need to worry so. It is nothing we have not already done. Just not quite in the position I am thinking.”
“And that would be?”
Tracker stretched out, tucking his hands behind his head. “Hop on?”
Oh. Grinning, he bent over the hound. “You know this won’t last long, right?” Already, his insides quivered and he wasn’t even fully undressed.
Tracker’s fingers, soft and yet firm, ran up his sides. “If you are bothered by it, there is always again, yes?”
“True.” Although he rather doubted there was enough in him for a second go. Nevertheless, Dylan stripped off his smallclothes and, after a brief bit of preparation, lowered himself onto Tracker. It was an odd sensation, straddling the man. His own weight had the hound pushed deep inside him. He kept his eyes trained on the canvas stretched above them, trying to contain the raging desire boiling in his core.
“Look at me,” Tracker whispered.
Taking a deep breath, Dylan heeded the hound’s request.
The sight of Tracker laying there, those honey-coloured eyes dark with lust, set his insides quivering. Was this what every woman he’d ever lain with saw? That intoxicating darkness?
The tip of Tracker’s tongue peeked out from between his lips. “Are you going to move?”
Dylan wriggled, trying to see if the man could go deeper. That was a definite no. He leant back, bracing himself with a hand on either of the man’s thighs, and started to rock his hips back and forth.
A slow, considering hum left the hound’s throat. The man’s hand resting on Dylan’s thigh slid higher, his thumb idly rubbing small circles into the hollow of Dylan’s hip bone. “This is what you choose to do?” Tracker murmured.
Dylan bent over the man, arching his back to get their heads level. “Would you prefer I did something else?”
Tracker’s lips met his in a brief kiss. “Not if you would prefer not to. I merely thought you might be a little more forceful. I have, after all, made no secret of liking it a little rough and fast.” His hips thrust briefly upwards and Dylan groaned against the man’s skin. The hound kissed and nuzzled his way along Dylan’s neck as he sank back to the floor. “But this is… nice.”
“You’re not rough with me.” Th
e man would test Dylan’s limits from time to time, but whenever he did he always seemed to be constantly checking if he’d taken it too far.
“I can be if you want. You only have to ask.”
Dylan sat back, chuckling. “So that’s how this works. I ask and you give?”
“Well, that rather depends on what it is you ask for.” Tracker shifted his weight onto one outstretched hand, tipping Dylan a little further back. He slid his other hand to the nape of Dylan’s neck, drawing their lips together again.
“What if it’s just a question?” Dylan managed between kisses.
The hound chuckled. Those wicked lips trailed along Dylan’s jaw and down his neck. “You can still ask,” he said, his breath heating Dylan’s skin. “Although I may choose not to answer.”
“It’s just…” His thoughts, and his voice, trailed off as the man sucked at the hollow of his throat. He tried to continue, but all that escaped his lips was a soft groan, the words scattering.
The hound released Dylan’s neck with a wet pop. “Sorry. You were saying?”
Dylan stared at the man in a daze. He’d been saying something? Oh, right. He rested his hands on the hound’s shoulders, keeping his grip firm in case Tracker tried to resume sucking on his neck. “Sometimes, I get the feeling you’d prefer me to be more—I don’t know—aggressive?”
Tracker stared at him for a time that seemed to drag on forever with one brow raised and his head cocked. The longer they sat there, the more Dylan’s stomach tied itself into a neat little bow.
Eventually, the hound sighed. “Dylan,” he murmured. “All I ever desire is for you to just be you.” Those long fingers walked their way up Dylan’s chest, slid past his neck to trace the outer curve of his ear. “If you wish to play such a role… Well, I am no stranger to being the submissive party, nor am I adverse to the idea.”
The knot in his stomach loosened ever so slightly. He had gathered Tracker wouldn’t mind. The man had probably been in both positions quite a number of times throughout the years, especially during his time in the Oldmarsh brothel, but… “Is it what you want?”
