7. Sunlight’s Spell #3
Something in Rerdas’s face changed, went intent. He leaned forward slowly, his head tilted, his green eyes half-lowered, the sun alight in his lashes.
Imalroc’s breath caught in his chest.
“Thought so,” said Rerdas calmly. “There’s a bug in your hair.”
Embarrassment at whatever the fuck he’d thought was happening ran rampant. “What? Get it out!”
“Eternals, you don’t have to—” Rerdas sat on the cloak instead of leaping to action, as if there wasn’t some disgusting, filthy, most-likely poisonous creature crawling around on Imalroc’s head.
Imalroc untangled the braid down his back, shaking his fingers through his hair, but found nothing. “Get it out!”
Rerdas finally reached over, his fingers sweeping through Imalroc’s hair. He withdrew and held up a cupped hand. “Look.” A little green flying thing skittered about in his palm. “It’s nothing.”
“Ugh. Get it away.” Imalroc shuddered and tipped Rerdas’s hand into the grass. The bug hopped free, and he had to release the huntmaster.
“Did you see the way it moved? Disgusting.” He ran his empty hand again through loose hair, letting it fall in long strands over his shoulders. Rerdas’s gaze followed the motion, his green eyes a shade like sunlight in emerald water. Imalroc’s stomach clenched.
“Which are worse, bugs or fish?” Rerdas asked. Those eyes glittered with smothered laughter.
“Fish,” Imalroc growled.
Rerdas laughed and held out a hand, this time in silent request for the wine bottle.
Imalroc passed it to him, watched him drink, watched the movement of his throat, the curve of his lips around the bottle.
Rerdas returned the wine with some cheerful comment that couldn’t cut through the haze in his head. He pressed his lips to the bottle where Rerdas’s had been.
They picked at the food and traded the bottle back and forth. Rerdas told stories of his childhood escapades with Etiana, and Imalroc chased all the warmth of Rerdas’s smiles and laughter. Second only to the warmth of his skin, which was rapidly becoming all Imalroc could think about.
“Do you feel up to walking again?” Rerdas asked. “We’ll have to turn back soon to make it into Lakara before nightfall, but if we keep near the water a while, I think we’ll find firewicks. Do you want to stay here while I look?”
Stay. Yes. He wanted to stay in the green wealth of the meadow, guarded by a forest that might keep everyone else out.
He could stay still and rest, stay and watch Rerdas with the color high in his cheeks and a smile warming his face every time he looked at Imalroc, only at him.
Sunlight poured through the lower branches and tree trunks around them, soaking everything in a dreamlike glow. Yes, it would be so easy to stay here.
“Imalroc?” Rerdas peered at him.
He blinked. “I’ll come with you.” He stirred. It felt like trying to shake off winter blankets.
They packed the remnants of their meal, and Rerdas led the way upstream. The grass thickened and grew taller around the water’s banks, and Imalroc fell a step or two behind. Walking in Rerdas’s wake, he could let his gaze linger.
Rerdas spotted a stand of firewicks at a bend in the stream and jogged toward them, crowing happily.
Imalroc watched as the huntmaster drew a hunting knife from its scabbard.
The sun glanced off its edge, a familiar gleam, and Imalroc’s hands twitched.
But Rerdas wouldn’t turn it on him, and his instinctive reaction traveled no further than that.
The bundle of shorn firewicks on the bank grew into a small pile as Rerdas sawed through more orange canes. The late sun cast the stream in silver and Rerdas against it in shining copper and brass. He was painfully, sickeningly lovely.
What, exactly, was the point of denying himself this? So Rerdas was using him. He could use Rerdas in return. The huntmaster wanted to be used.
Rising from his crouch, Rerdas slid his firewick harvest into the travel sack. “This will do!” He waded through the tall grass back to Imalroc. “On to Manolia.”
They started back at an amble, but the lengthening shadows were a reminder of the cold night winging in, and they picked up their pace.
Imalroc walked beside Rerdas, letting him chatter about plants and asking inane questions to keep him talking, all the while distracted by every near-brush of his shoulder and how easy it would be to slip an arm around his waist.
What was the point of refusing? Why did he have to keep telling himself he couldn’t have a good thing that wanted to be had?
The thought chased through his head, round and round. It muffled the sounds of people closing back in on him as he reentered Lakara. Mutely, he followed Rerdas into Manolia and up the stairs, and before he was ready, they stood at the door to his room.
Rerdas glanced up and down the hallway once, and then at Imalroc. “Thank you for your foraging assistance. We should try to get you out of the cities more often.”
Imalroc opened the door to his room, paused on the threshold, and turned back on impulse. “After you make the tonic, will you come back here?”
Rerdas blinked. “I… Do you need me to?”
Yes. He couldn’t quite make himself say it. “I’d like you to.”
“Imalroc...” Rerdas twisted his bottom lip beneath his teeth. “I don’t think I should do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you made it clear I shouldn’t…” Something bordering on frustration flashed through Rerdas’s gaze. “What is it you want from me?”
Imalroc folded his arms, propped a shoulder against the doorframe, and leaned into Rerdas’s space. “I can think of a few things.”
It had the opposite effect he wanted. Rerdas took a step away. “Before, you seemed angry. About the way I touched you.”
He had been angry. It was enraging that this man who asked him to bleed in battleboxes was so irresistible. Part of him was still angry, and yet it didn’t seem enough to stop the quicksand of wanting.
“Can’t I change my mind about what I’ll permit?”
The huntmaster bit his lower lip, flushed pink skin that Imalroc wanted to taste. “Of course you can. But about this…” His throat bobbed. “I think I’m… I’m afraid.”
That felt like several ribs breaking. “Don’t be ridiculous; I’m not going to hurt you.” And gods, he hated how raw his voice sounded.
“No.” Rerdas brushed Imalroc’s wrist. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake again. Hurt you. Before, I went along with it, and I shouldn’t have. You don’t truly want—”
“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want.” He had to brace both hands in the doorway now, to keep from leaning forward and just dragging Rerdas inside. A confession leapt loose. “I haven’t spent a night free of wanting you since Draal.”
Rerdas looked stricken, his eyes wide. “Then… why did you…”
“Huntmaster, it was right after Navona. I don’t know what you want me to say. My head was still full of water?” It was a stupid dodge, and he could see from Rerdas’s face that he knew it.
Swallowing, Imalroc tried for something true. “It’s… it’s different when I’m alone with you for a while. It feels different. When the rest of it isn’t so close.”
Attempting to explain more than that felt like flaying his skin back for Rerdas to poke at, and if that was what the huntmaster was waiting for, he wouldn’t get it. Imalroc tightened his fingers against the wood until it hurt.
Rerdas touched the pack on his shoulder. “I have to get this to my aunt.” He backed uncertainly down the hallway.
Imalroc gripped the doorframe like he could crush it. “When you’re finished, come back,” he ordered.
Alone in his room, he hung the blue cloak and his sword in the empty wardrobe.
He kicked his boots off and lined them beneath the window.
The last dregs of daylight flooded the room in rust-red bands, and the coverlet of the bed was warm beneath it.
He tied the curtains shut and went to the bed.
Spreading his hands back and forth across the soft coverlet, his gaze rose to the door.
He watched it with bated breath until a knot curled in his back from sitting still too long.
He waited. Evening crept into the room and up over him. Eventually he sagged back among the pillows and stared at the ceiling instead of the door. Maybe it was better Rerdas stayed away and shook off his ill-conceived, lust-addled command. But then came the dark, and a tentative knock at his door.