“None recently. I’m getting better at choosing.” The officer checked on the tattoos, but Kendras thought the man might just enjoy touching him. Maybe he did.
Despite the “test,” he wanted that touch, and more of it, but wasn’t sure how to ask for it. The officer didn’t sleep with the men, wasn’t married or bonded—and his words about being alone made more sense now. Maybe nothing would happen after all.
“Will you touch me,” he asked, barely more than a whisper, when the officer crouched close to apply some of that cooling salve to the scorpion sting on his neck.
“After making all those promises?” the officer grinned. “What do you think?”
“They must all want you.”
“They do.” The officer’s crooked smile betrayed real amusement at the concept. “Everyone was in your position here. Some never considered a man as a lover before but did with me.”
“What would I have to do to keep you?”
The officer gave a dry laugh. “You don’t even know if I’m any good, Kendras, but your trust honors me.”
“I think I’ve wanted you all the time. All that… since….”
The officer nodded. “Maybe when I am released to life, but I will not have a favorite among the men. That’s the burden of command I mentioned. What you do amongst yourselves is your matter alone, but once it involves me, every man will be involved to some degree or other; my duty is to everybody, not to one.”
“But if you could have one to help you….” Kendras pushed himself up, knew he was daring too much, going too far, but after what had happened, he felt he could trust the man with his thoughts. That, by itself, was a new and intoxicating idea.
The officer’s smile faded and was replaced with thoughtful tension in every line. As if Kendras had turned into a dangerous animal in front of his very eyes, and he was trying to understand how that had happened.
Kendras reached for him and, when the man didn’t resist, pulled him closer. The officer’s whole body felt tense, even his lips when Kendras kissed him.
Desire leaped up when the man responded to him and didn’t fight him off when Kendras pushed the leathers apart and down, trapping him for a few moments.
The officer immediately freed himself, but Kendras saw the flicker in the man’s eyes. Kendras pushed him down on the blanket and bared him completely. The scorpion’s tail trailed down the man’s right leg, he noted, and then his attention was captivated by the cock, which had risen.
When Kendras got on top to do this soldier style, the officer laughed at him and rolled him over, reaching for something in his pack.
“Not so fast.” He pushed Kendras’s legs apart, the strange moment of passivity wiped out but certainly not forgotten. “I’ll fuck you first. Afterward do what you like.”
Kendras hesitated, remembering that pain far too keenly. “I haven’t….” Of course he had, and he felt stupid for even mentioning that. Playing the coy virgin after this man had rescued him from an executioner’s bed was ridiculous.
The officer lifted an eyebrow.
“Of course I have, just not—”
“Without being forced,” the officer completed.
“Yes.”
“Even the medic didn’t show you how good it feels?”
“No.”
“Ertas?”
“I fucked him.”
“Greedy bastard. Him, not you.” The officer laughed. “I can imagine he wanted to feel all that. He enjoys a challenge.” The officer’s hand began to stroke Kendras as if to flatter and reassure him. “I’ll do it good; not everybody likes it, but I’ll give you a fair chance to find out if you do.”
Oiled fingers found his entrance, as skilled and just as businesslike as the medic’s hands, then pushed inside in a smooth motion. Kendras nearly jumped, tensed, but the fingers had already moved, were already fucking him, and touched something that tightened his guts and made his cock leap.
“Yes, you’ll like it.” The officer pulled out and oiled his cock, stroking himself slowly and languidly until Kendras felt nothing but hunger for that cock. He still shuddered when it entered him, but compared to lying paralyzed on the ground, this didn’t cause any discomfort.
The officer entered him only halfway, then began to fuck him, the sensation impossible and amazing, every stroke sparking off desire until he relaxed and only tensed for a moment when the man hit him just right. He pulled his knees closer to his chest, watched the officer’s cock go deeper now—slow, intense strokes—then pull out almost completely to dribble more oil on his length before he pushed in again. Kendras groaned, unable to understand how something that had hurt so bad could feel so good.
The more he wanted it, the slower and more deliberately the officer moved, pulling out now after every excruciating thrust, testing the barrier of his body every time, until Kendras awaited it, expecting the feeling of the hot cock breaching him, tensing around it, holding the cock tight as it invaded and relaxing as much as he could when it withdrew.
Sweat ran down their bodies; the mild night air did nothing to cool them down, just made this more intimate. The officer sped up, then withdrew, breathing heavily, his oiled cock glistening. “Turn around.”
Kendras obeyed. On hands and knees, feeling a gaping emptiness desperate to be filled however the officer chose. He then felt those fingers again, teasing him inside, and a free hand slid around to stroke him back to hardness.
Kendras hadn’t even noticed he’d lost the erection. It didn’t matter as long as he could have that other feeling. He understood Selvan’s slack-jawed, blissful expression now. Getting fucked until one couldn’t bear it anymore, and then some more, didn’t seem like such a bad deal. He understood Ertas’s groans and demands for more, harder, right there.
Fingers were good, but he wanted something more substantial, something with the full strength of a body behind it. He opened his legs further, let his head hang, glancing at his cock which was being stroked. Between his legs, he saw the man’s muscular thighs flex when he moved. Either way, he was getting to the edge, but he didn’t want to get there alone.
Just as he had gathered enough of his wits to beg for it, the officer slammed his cock inside him and pulled Kendras back, getting him to sit back on him, and the officer held him with one arm around his waist, staying still inside him.
Kendras groaned; the hand brought him closer and closer, and the feeling was impossibly intimate, being held with his weight on another man who was all the way inside him, up to root and balls.
“Maybe you have the strength, Kendras,” the officer murmured near his ear, sounding strained but controlled as he continued to pump Kendras’s cock.
What strength? Kendras’s mind went blank as he came, tensing around the cock inside him, which, he could feel, set the other man off. The officer’s grip tightened, and his small, rocking motions betrayed that he was also at the end of his control.
Fingers dripping with his own seed pushed between his lips, and Kendras sucked them hungrily.
They stayed like this for several long breaths, and, strangely, Kendras had never felt so safe and at peace in his life.
“What did you mean…?”
The officer breathed into his ear. “You and me, we’re very alike, Kendras.”
“You mean dark-skinned.”
“Yes, but you’re purebred. I’m a mutt.” The officer huffed laughter. “At least on my skin, the tattoo is visible. I’ll have to scar you so the scorpion stands out, but first you’ll have to heal.”
“If that means we’ll do this again, do whatever you like,” Kendras said, feeling the man’s hand stroking his stomach. He wanted to stretch out under the touch like a cat.
“I’ll make it worth your while.” The officer pushed him slightly forward and slid out from under him. “And mine. It’s not like everything I do is selfless.”
Kendras lay down, boneless now without the connection of before. “So should I wait?” He wasn’t sure the officer understood th
is right—but then the man glanced at him and hesitated.
“Maybe.” The officer smiled. “But don’t hold your breath. If you find something better in the meantime, seize it with both hands. I’m not ready for peace yet.”
Chapter 4
THE man called Widow stared at Kendras from across the table, while Puppy and Stick bantered between themselves, and Steel seemed deep in thought, likely hardly noticing what he ate. Widow was a lean, pale man with shoulder-length black hair that was braided at the sides to keep his face free. He had green eyes that matched Steel’s for coldness.
The food was typical country fare—several kinds of olives, candied fruit, honeycomb, white flat bread, goat cheese, and thick slices of bacon covered in a crust of honey and spices. Whatever these misfits were hired for, they were certainly supposed to enjoy the time until they were called to duty.
Kendras noted Widow’s gaze on his hands and stilled them to give him a good look.
“So you’re a real Scorpion.”
Kendras considered not gracing the obvious with an answer. He didn’t like Widow but hadn’t decided yet whether the man was dangerous or just full of himself. “You know us?”
“I’ve seen you fight.” Widow’s sneering tone didn’t change, so Kendras knew he was being baited. He shrugged, rubbing the tattoo. Outsiders couldn’t understand; there was no point defending his unit against ignorance.
“And?” asked Steel.
“They were good.” Widow turned to Steel. “For an outfit made up of criminals and slaves. They are so fierce because they know that if caught alone, they’d end up in prison or chains again.”
Kendras stood, saw something flicker in Widow’s eyes, and Steel looked at him too.
“Where are you going?”
“To test the new glaive.” Kendras walked out and back into the smithy.
While sharpening the new blade, he decided he shouldn’t have left. But that was how he’d handled any situation that might turn into blows among the Scorpions. Walk away before it got ugly. If the situation persisted, the officer interfered.
Steel was not cut out to be a leader like the officer. Kendras would be surprised if Steel knew himself, let alone other men. Then how could he hope to lead? Right now, he was only a dog with a knack for sniffing out opportunities to make money.
While Kendras ran the stone over the edge, the other soldiers emerged in their armor and with weapons to train together. They all used swords, and sometimes swords and shields, so apparently they knew at least what a combat line looked like.
One against one, all were competent fighters. He liked Steel’s way of moving—he lured out the enemy with a few probing thrusts, then stood firm against the first attack, which, once it began to falter, he shattered with a fierce series of counterattacks that sent the enemy reeling.
Widow fought dirty. No doubt the man was a dangerous fighter on the battlefield, focused only on death and destruction with little regard for himself. Kendras could respect that, however grudgingly.
Puppy was clever and had a lot of heart, not faltering even when he received painful hits. The longer Kendras watched him, the more he wondered if Puppy ever gave up, and the thought made him wince. There was no point in thinking those thoughts. He wasn’t the officer. There might be no Scorpions anymore. What if all that was left now was a cripple and a lot of carrion?
When he’d seen enough, he turned back to work on the blade. The glaive had always been his favorite weapon—the spike at the front stopped horses, the long blade at the top lent danger to a forceful sweep. The butt of the pole could stun and break. The grip of the pole served as a weapon at close quarters—smashed against a bare face or helmet, it often did the job on its own: to stun and ready for the crippling blow, or the kill.
Kendras’s knuckles tightened. He remembered breathing with the blows, exhaling sharply just before impact, inhaling when he withdrew. The ebb and flow of battle, the dance of violence. He wanted it back, that sense of unity and purpose. What was he if not a Scorpion?
Maybe one day you’ll command your own outfit.
Kendras grimaced to himself, felt his hands shake, then realized it was his whole body trembling with something that felt like rage, but lacked the glory and passion of it. A sudden weakness he couldn’t explain, that just added insult to injury. What if they needed him? What if nobody was left?
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Steel said from the door, and Kendras glanced at him, briefly so as to not shatter a moment’s illusion that the man was a Scorpion too. But that was nonsense. Steel wasn’t and would never be a comrade.
Kendras returned to work on the blade, hoping that his clumsiness didn’t register with the other mercenary. “Did you ever tell me why you left Fetin?”
“More money elsewhere.” Steel sat on the larger of the two anvils and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What about the rest of your unit? Is everybody dead?”
“I don’t know.” Kendras put the blade down and rubbed it clean with an oiled piece of leather. “I was shipped off before I could make it back to camp.” And why was he telling Steel that? He didn’t want to feel the pain.
“Shipped off?”
“Yes, they removed the survivors. The others might have been on a different ship.” Released inland, or further down the coast, told to never come back.
“Did you commit a crime?”
“I wouldn’t be alive if I had.” Kendras stared at him, willing Steel to shut up, but all he saw in the man’s face was genuine interest.
“Then why were you treated that way?”
“A minor misunderstanding about our contract. The survivors should have received the pay of the whole unit. Rather than pay up, the king decided to scatter us to the wind. I don’t know how many are alive. Might be none. I’ve seen….” Comrades fall.
Ertas, skull split from a terrible blow from one of the Flame cavalrists. The medic, who’d rushed forward to pull the first man from under a fallen, dying, thrashing horse. The red daze of battle had settled before Kendras could know if the medic had made it.
The most likely survivor was Selvan. He’d have stayed in camp. Or maybe even the officer, but since the man had led them all into battle, that hope came only from the fact that Kendras couldn’t imagine him dead.
Steel was suddenly close. His touch on Kendras’s arm made Kendras want to lash out, roar in helpless rage, but he managed, barely, to constrain himself.
“You’re shaking.”
Kendras half-turned away to guard his emotions and expressions, cursing the leg, the whole situation. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Where would you rather be? Dead?”
Maybe later. Not before I know…. Kendras exhaled. “I have to go back to Fetin.”
“To?”
Kendras shook his head. “We had a slave. He might be still alive.” Unless he’s been captured and sold. The thought of Selvan in a brothel was disquieting. Or whatever he’d ended up doing.
“If you were shipped off, they won’t take kindly to you just walking back in.”
“As if I could walk.” Kendras bared his teeth. “But yes. I have to look after the slave. You said two months. I will be back next week.” He began to hobble back to his room.
“Stop.” Steel walked at his side, trying to get in Kendras’s way and hold him back. “You are fucking kidding me, right? You’re walking back into a war? There will be brigands; neither side will welcome you. Fuck that slave, Kendras. You’re staying.”
Kendras paused. “He’s a Scorpion.” As if you could understand what that means, mercenary.
“So what? You owe me, and I’m calling it in. You’re staying.”
“Fuck you, Steel.” Kendras headed back toward his room, walking laboriously past the training mercenaries. His knee hurt, his hip hurt, the peg wasn’t a real solution to the problem, but it at least helped him move, and better than any crutch.
“Kendras, stop,” Steel ordered behind him.
&nb
sp; Kendras half-turned, and was about to tell Steel what to do with his order when he suddenly lost his footing. He crashed heavily to the ground, injured foot scraping over the dusty ground, and he called out in pain and surprise.
Widow stepped back with a grin. “Steel has given you an order, Scorpion.”
Kendras grimaced, blinked back tears while rolling over on his knees. He saw the other mercenaries watch him, Puppy with a mournful expression that would have been irony or mocking if the man had been much nastier than he was.
Stick giggled.
“That hurt?” Smiling, Widow began to circle. “You’re fucked, Scorpion.”
Kendras couldn’t get back on his feet, couldn’t turn, couldn’t react fast enough. A kick between the shoulder blades forced him onto hands and knees, then Widow stepped on him, and, when Kendras held the weight off the ground with his hands, Widow jumped up, finally pressing Kendras into the ground, hurting, breathing in dust.
“That motto of yours—never stop fighting…,” Widow said, rolling his weight on the balls of his feet on Kendras’s back. “Fight me, Scorpion. I’ll happily cut you down to size. You’re not the biggest, baddest man I’ve broken.”
Kendras tried to push up, lift both himself and Widow, but after a day spent working, and with Widow wearing armor, and the wound bleeding his strength away, he struggled in vain.
Being mocked for the very thing that had always given him courage. He was surprised that cut through the haze of pain and crystallized into hatred, a sharp, jagged spike in his throat. It would be easy to give up. Especially against overwhelming odds.
“Widow. Let him get up.”
“He’ll submit.”
“You can do that when he’s healed. Kicking a cripple is pretty pathetic.”
“What, are you fucking that ugly son-of-a-bitch?”
“Want a piece of the action?” Kendras growled.
Widow stepped off him and danced back when Kendras tried to grab his ankle. Kendras pushed himself back up to kneeling, and almost considered pushing Puppy’s outstretched hand away. But he had very few things to waste now, and kindness wasn’t one of them.