Dark Rider

by Elizabeth Monvey

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 Elizabeth Monvey

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-006-9

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  This story has taken a long journey. My heartfelt thanks to Evernight for allowing me to finally bring it to life, and to my editor Karyn for her guidance.

  DARK RIDER

  Elizabeth Monvey

  Copyright © 2014

  Prologue

  Hark staggered out of Poro’s pub, weaving his way down the dark street. He half wished he’d drunk so much that he’d have passed out because navigating the treacherous tiers wasn’t going to be easy. The province of Eyvindar had been built into the mountainside, and that fact was reflected in the architect, resulting in a mismatch of levels only accessible by stone staircases that lay scattered among alleys. A road passed through the tiers, winding upward, but it was a steep incline with loose gravel and not practical for horses.

  Or drunk men.

  He cursed as he slipped and grabbed onto another man who happened to be walking by. The man cursed, too, and pushed him away, and Hark fell heavily onto his back. He lay there for a moment, staring up into the night sky. The stars twinkled mockingly at him.

  He wished he was up there. He wished he was anywhere but here, in this cursed province. Instead, he was stuck here. It was enough to drive him crazy.

  Suddenly, the man he’d bumped into loomed over him, blocking out his view. Hark blinked and frowned. He couldn’t see the man’s face since a large hood blocked out all recognizable facial features, and he tried to formulate the words to get him to move, but his brain wasn’t cooperating with him.

  It didn’t really matter because in the blink of eye the man leaned down, the shine of a dagger glinting briefly in the moonlight, before the sharp blade was thrust into his belly.

  Pain lanced through him, but all he could do was lie there and watch as the man rushed away. He felt blood pour out of the wound, felt himself slipping away, and his eyes refocused on the night sky.

  Maybe his wish had been answered. Maybe he would be up there soon enough.

  Chapter One

  Cax kicked at his broolhorse as they passed over the barbican of Eyvindar. The animal’s hooves struck sharply on the stone path and caused several people to veer from in front. The animal nodded, its dark mane flapping wildly, as if saying thanks. The huge beasts were the quickest animal on land, and expensive, so Cax wanted to make sure his was well taken care of.

  Cax glanced up at the watchtowers where the sentinels stood, alert and suspicious of all new arrivals. He made a mental note of the number of guards present, various weapons and the occasional dull blade of a newly graduated soldier.

  He was dressed entirely in black, black cloak tied at his throat, black breeches hugging slender hips, and black boots that laced up to his knees. His shirt and tunic held no identifiable markings save for the ornate stitchery that trimmed the ebony material. Even his hair, the color of midnight, blended perfectly with his color of choice. The only decorations he wore were two silver rings encircling his left thumb and left first finger.

  His pale blue eyes took in everything, every shadow, every corner to escape from or hide into. Once over the fixed bridge and lowered gates, Eyvindar held a central point, with several stables, wash houses, merchant stalls, and eating establishments. He reined his broolhorse toward the nearest stable, leaving the coming and going traffic to blend in with the merchants who were preparing for the night by closing their stalls. He saw an old woman trying to sell scraps of lace and the last of her withered flowers. There was a pickpocket making his round on an unsuspecting public. And there were men bustling from vendor to vendor for last minute suppers. He saw a frenzied excitement thrumming through the people as twilight faded into night.

  After stabling his broolhorse and making sure the animal would be well cared for, he headed on foot for the seedier tier, a place called Winemaker Row, where a man like him would blend better and not raise too much talk, yet where talk flowed freely.

  The pub he chose was a hole in the wall. The musty smell of fermented yeast and barley greeted him with a familiar waft since the life of a Mercenary never revolved around the opulence of high society. There were half a dozen tables whose candles burned at low wick. Around the walls were shadowed booths, faded velvet curtains ready to be pulled shut when customers were able to pay enough for the pleasure of a serving wench. There were only three patrons visible since twilight wasn’t the happy hour of drinking to oblivion. One serving girl in faded sateen moved between tables while another one stood by the bar clearly waiting for her work to begin.

  She eyed him up and down, met his eyes briefly before realizing she was not needed. She turned her body away, presenting him her back, a clear sign of dismissal. He ignored her as he eased up to the bar that lined the far wall, placing a silver piece upon the stained wooden counter. “Pint,” he mumbled to the barkeep. “Nothing watered down.”

  The barkeep shifted from one foot the other, a gap-tooth smile appearing from behind a grimy moustache that hung slightly too long over his top lip. He was tall, lanky in an unhealthy way, with yellow tinting his eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t seen a bath in a month, which a slight odor confirmed. He eyed the coin greedily then scooped it up in a single fluid motion, using one browned tooth to verify its worth. A second later, a metal cup was plopped down as a splash of liquid tipped over one side of the rim. “Here you go,” the barkeep nodded to him. “Straight ale. Name’s Poro. If you need anything, just let me know.”

  The man inclined his head, taking a tentative sip. It was extremely bitter. He wrinkled his nose at the musty yeast smell. “I’m Cax. New in town and this looked to be the best establishment on Winemaker Row.”

  Poro leaned his bony hip against the bar and gave a satisfied sniff. “I have the best rooms this side of the Row. Small they may be, but I personally vouch for privacy since each room has its own door. You’ll not find that anywhere else on the Row. Plus, we have wine girls aplenty, clean ones, and many a lad if your taste leans that way.”

  Cax drank deeply from his cup before shaking his head. “Tempting but I’ll pass for now.”

  Poro shrugged, using a cloth to wipe the wooden counter in front of him, then moving on to listen to the serving girl who had come up to the bar. As the barkeep filled her order, Cax took another sip of his ale. True to his coin, the brew wasn’t watered down, but it was far from satisfying.

  "How long you staying?" Poro asked out of courtesy, his tone clearly not interested one way or other.

  Cax scratched his head as he pretended to think about his answer. "A day at least, maybe two."

  “Headed into Vermundir or Mountaingate?”

  “Vermundir,” he answered.

  “You be careful going through the pass. Krellian marauders live in the mountains and prey on the travelers.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  It seemed to be the answer Poro expected, as he gave a nod and then moved away again. When the tavern door swung open, hinges squeaking through the low hum of the room, Cax turned his head to the side, allowing his peripheral gaze to sweep the entrance walk. A young male strode in, tall with il
l fitted clothing over his thin frame. His reddish hair was cut as if a bowl had been turned upside down and placed on his head to give the cutter a guide to follow. Some type of intriguing scent drifted to Cax from the man, and it made all his senses focus on him.

  Cax saw his eyes shift toward him, then down. The eyes widened and then jerked forward as Poro gave a snort.

  “His thirst is growing,” the barkeep muttered.

  The male shifted a quick, shy glance in Cax’s direction before concentrating on Poro. “Things are particularly stressful. Especially after what happened.”

  “Four bottles last week and three afore that. Now twice in two days you’ve been in, Alisander.” The male’s gaze didn’t falter away. Poro sighed. “How many this time?”

  “Bring me what you have.”

  Poro gave a snort, rolled his eyes, and turned, hobbling as he left the bar to head to a side door where Cax assumed the liquor storage was kept. He took another sip on his drink and felt the eyes of Alisander upon him.

  “What?” Cax grumbled, sliding his eyes to the side to capture the ruddy hue that highlighted the male’s fair complexion. He wouldn’t have said he was attracted to redheads, but there was something stirring about this young male. Maybe it was his pale blue eyes that stared at him in a mixture of hero worship and awe that had his cock growing hard.

  “No reason.”

  Cax kept one eye upon the guy beside him, noting the finery of the clothes he wore and tiny stitches melding the seams. Every few seconds his eyes would steal toward him, making Cax’s cock pulse. What was wrong with him? He’d never had such an instant attraction like this before.

  “Here, Alisander,” Poro called out as he stepped back from the storage room. When he stepped back behind the bar, he sat a bottle down with a sharp click. “My last one. Tell him that it’ll take me several days to procure more.”

  “Stock up if you can,” Alisander warned, slapping a coin.

  Poro huffed, grabbed the money, and then moved away. Alisander, the dark bottle grasped firmly in one hand, turned to face Cax, and a long moment passed. Inside Cax squirmed, but outside he revealed none of his internal struggle.

  “If you keep staring at me,” Cax muttered to him, “I’m going to have to hurt you.”

  Alisander grinned. “New to Eyvindar, eh?”

  “Does it matter if I am?”

  “Passing through?”

  Cax finished his drink and rose from the bar. "Poro," he called out, ignoring Alisander. "I'll take a room for the night."

  The barkeep came over and held out his hand for the coin, which Cax gave him without counting. He figured it was enough when Poro beamed and gave him a quick nod. "Don't worry about a thing, Cax. You come back when you want. The room is waiting for you." He jerked his head to a corner. "Up the stairs, first door on the right."

  Cax's fist bounced on the bar once to seal the bargain, and then he turned and started out. To his annoyance, the redhead was right on his heel. Even though he felt wildly attracted to him, for some unknown reason, the last thing he wanted to do get involved with someone while on a mission, and especially with someone so young.

  "Why are you following me?" he asked over his shoulder.

  "I'm just walking myself out as well," Alisander nimbly replied.

  "Then, when we reach outside I expect you to go your way and I shall go mine."

  "Unless your way and my way happen to be the same way."

  Cax growled under his breath, and when they did indeed emerge onto Winemaker Row, in the blink of an eye, he had Alisander backed against the wall, his hands held prisoner within his own and thrust above his head. The position was meant to put him at a disadvantage, but Cax instantly saw his mistake. Without realizing it, he’d brought their bodies flush up against each other, and he couldn’t help but grind his pelvis into the younger man, making sure he felt his hard cock so he’d know exactly what he was dealing with.

  “What—”

  “Shush,” Cax ordered, leaning forward a little to get a sniff of his scent. There was something sweet and intoxicating, and Cax couldn’t help but moan at the aroma. He had the urge to bite, to take, and that was something he’d never experienced before.

  “Cax?” Alisander asked a bit breathlessly.

  “Who are you?” Cax asked, feeling all shades of confusion over his powerful attraction.

  “Alisander from Emporia.”

  “No, I meant … never mind. This is crazy.”

  With reluctance, and a lot of willpower he didn’t know he possessed, Cax pulled his body away from Alisander. They looked at each other in the darkened shadows, and although Cax couldn’t see the pale orbs clearly, he could feel their burning gaze.

  "Which way are you heading?" Cax asked him gruffly.

  "Er...."

  "That's not a choice."

  Alisander shook his head, as if clearing it. "To the castle."

  "Fine. I'm not." And with that, Cax pivoted and headed in the opposite direction.

  ****

  Alisander watched as the Vermundir Mercenary walked away from him as if he hadn’t a care in the world, while his own body burned. He panted slightly as his heart thundered in his chest, unable to believe that Cax was able to incite such lust at first touch.

  He’d only ever felt like that with one other man … his master, Lord Hark. Not that Hark even realized that his young servant loved him with every fiber in his body. The day he’d been sent to the province of Evyvindar and he’d laid eyes on the Governor’s nephew, Alisander knew that his life would be forever changed.

  But this man … this Mercenary … changed everything again. To become someone with respect, one had to belong to a guild, and right now his lot in life was as a servant. Alisander wanted more. He craved more. Now, he was angry at himself for failing to talk with the man further.

  Sometime later, he entered the chamber of his master, the Captain of the Guard, Lord Hark. Alisander set the bottle down next to the bed and looked down at the resting warrior. The man was large, heavily muscled, and stood about a foot taller than his uncle, the Governor. He wasn’t a man many messed with, powerful and deadly with any weapon he picked up. When Alisander had been given to the Governor, he’d been turned over to Lord Hark, and the moment he’d laid eyes on the man, he’d fallen in love. Of course, Hark never even looked twice at him.

  And although Hark had his demons, to which Alisander wasn’t privy, he served his master well, procuring the strong wine whenever Hark needed relief. Alisander wasn't stupid. He knew the wine in the bottle was much more than a medicinal cure, but really, if it helped Hark cope, who was he to judge? He reached down and gently touched the warrior’s shoulder. Immediately, the eyes snapped open, and a set of bloodshot hazel orbs blinked up at him.

  "I'm back."

  Hark grunted. "Pour me a drink. I feel as if my head is going to explode."

  Seconds later, as the young lad watched Hark's hands steady with each sip, the memory of how the Mercenary warrior had felt against him exploded in his mind. It was quite natural to compare the two men, seeing similarities yet noting the differences. Each man had an air about them that warned others to never turn one's back on either of them. Both were handsome, had profiles chiseled from stone. Taciturn, as well. Where Hark had muscles that bunched every time they were flexed, the Mercenary’s body held a streamlined strength hidden under his dark clothes. Alisander felt his cock begin to harden, and he had to concentrate on getting it to go down.

  Hark finished his glass and set it down with a heavy click on the bedside table. He blinked a few times then straightened, slowly, moving each vertebra at a time until his posture was rigid. He then bent his head to each side, cracking the joints, before standing up.

  "Poro said it'll take him a few days to have more," Alisander told him quietly as he watched his master inflate, filled with the liquor that pushed aside any lingering pain or hurt.

  "Tell Poro if he doesn't have more by tomorrow afternoon he can expec
t a tax lien placed against his establishment."

  Alisander nodded, clearly used to the command. He had served the papers once before, when Poro had thought Hark only bluffing.

  "What time is it, Alisander?"

  "Close to evening meal."

  Hark nodded, scratched his chin, then straightened his doublet. "Let's finish off this day in the training pits," he muttered. "The next couple of days will be busy, too busy for the simple pleasure of mock fighting." He sighed and ran a hand over the back of his neck, where his short black hair lay smoothly against his skin. Alisander wanted to run his hands over the silky strands and had to curls his fingers inward against his palms to hold back. “I almost wish we were at war with someone.”

  “What about the Krellians? We’re at war with them.”

  “Damned marauders.” Hark shook his head. “If my uncle would let me, I’d hunt all the bastards down.”

  Alisander had nothing to say to that. As he followed Lord Hark out of the room, he couldn’t help but wish he was noticed as more than just a servant.

  Chapter Two

  A Vermundir Mercenary was hired to perform a job. And although it was a noble profession, his loyalty lay with the person who hired him. Cax had come to Eyvindar for this reason, but since he had a while until his meeting he decided to use his time wisely by walking the perimeter of the province. He started out on the Row, walking its length until he reached the next steep steps that could take him either up to the next tier or downward. The Governor’s castle was located up, toward the top, where the castle garden could look down into the mountain corridor or up into the heavens.

  Cax took his time walking every tier, noticing the layout of each building crammed into one another, each door looking the same as the others. Windows had bars upon them and plaques with designated numbers above each door. It was a system to identify each inhabitant, an easy way to collect taxes and distribute mail. Even the thought of such confinement clawed at Cax’s stomach, and a light sweat broke upon his forehead.