Chapter Eleven #3
Cador jerked back, dropping Jem’s hands before Jem felt the prod of his suddenly swelling prick. “You see?” he managed, his mouth dry.
Jem only nodded, his head lowered to his task.
Cador’s heart drummed. Showing him how to knead bread and milk goats was one thing.
It was madness to think about teaching him how good fucking could be.
He’d never sought innocents. What use did he have of virgins?
He liked lovers who were his equals. Who knew what they were about and didn’t need coddling.
He wasn’t cruel with his partners, but he’d never had the urge to…
what? Soothe them? Guide them? What was this foreign tenderness that rose up in him and felt at home?
Felt as though it had been missing and was found.
Fired his blood and inflamed his cock. Was it some mainland spell that had been cast on him?
Cador believed in magic even less than the gods.
Clearly he needed to seek out release. It had been too long, and his physical need was addling his brain.
Yet before he backed away, he found himself brushing a spray of flour from Jem’s forearm, needing to touch.
A stubborn pale dusting remained, and he brushed again, his fingers curling around the lean muscle.
The bird chirped loudly in the silence, and Cador stumbled away completely from Jem, almost tripping on the door to his small root cellar.
The first scent of burning filled his nose, and he rushed to the fire to flip the bread.
Clearly he needed to hunt down Kensa or Jory or anyone for a good rut. He was going fucking mad.
He salvaged the bread, cursing himself for letting it singe. Glancing back at the table, he found he was being watched. Jem swallowed thickly and dropped his eyes to the bowl. Good thing they’d have another loaf soon.
*
Cador whistled as he entered his clearing the next day, looking forward to sharing his portion of the kill with Jem.
Yet his song died on his lips as Jem did not appear in the doorway.
He wasn’t in the clearing either. No smoke rose from the chimney, the stillness complete aside from the goats’ excited bleats and the chickens flapping around as usual.
Cador realized it had only taken a week to grow accustomed to Jem greeting him when he returned. It wasn’t unpleasant to see Jem’s shy smile, to have him listen eagerly to Cador’s recounting of the hunt as though it was a story in one of his books.
On cue, there was that now-familiar stab of guilt—for the books, the plan, the secrets—but there was no time for it today. Today, Jem was gone. Cador called to him, but there was no answer. The cottage door remained shut. He left Massen to graze, unease simmering in his gut.
Inside, the cottage sat empty, though not lifeless. Derwa squawked in her nest—now resting inside an old crate big enough for her to hop around in. It was set a safe distance from the embers of the fire, which were practically nothing but cold ash.
Where the fuck was he?
Had he finally ventured beyond the clearing? Perhaps he’d screwed up his courage and returned to the main stable for more lessons with Austol. Cador scowled. And so what if he had? He was free to do whatever he pleased. They both were.
Cador was acting like a damn fool. He shook his head and went back out to fetch the meat and set about preparing it. He should be glad of the time alone in his own home without his unwelcome guest. He was! He made himself whistle another tune.
Yet… What if Jem got lost? It would be easy to do for someone unfamiliar with the forest or Ergh’s terrain. Cador tensed as he imagined how frightened Jem would be alone in the shadows.
What if he was injured? Or someone had hurt him? What if he was taken ?
Standing at the table, he whirled around to examine the cottage.
There were no signs of disturbance. Nothing out of place.
Jem’s furs were folded neatly on the hearth.
When Cador peered over the nest, Derwa cried up at him with a gaping mouth.
Always hoping for food, although he knew Jem wouldn’t have left her hungry.
Unless it wasn’t his choice.
Cador had to admit the jest in worrying that Jem had been kidnapped when that would be his fate.
But that would have purpose! It would be worthy.
If someone had snatched him now for some other reason, it could put the entire plan in jeopardy.
He couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t allow just anyone to come along and take Jem.
His teeth were gritted and fists clenched, and he forced a breath. Why was he imagining the worst? Perhaps Jem had taken the trail to Rusk. There was only one—it should have been easy to follow.
But what if he did get lost? Useless mainlander that he was, he surely would. He was so delicate he might drop dead at the slightest chill. Or he might encounter a boar. He’d be helpless without Cador. Just like the hatchling he cared for.
She chirped noisily, and Cador wished the damn thing could speak. Jem had been loath to leave Derwa the past days. Why would he go now? And where?
“Doesn’t fucking matter!” he muttered. He poured a tankard of ale from the heavy cask in the pantry and gulped half.
He would enjoy this time alone and that was that.
Derwa chirped again, and he stomped to the fire to stoke it.
The little creature didn’t deserve to get cold, even if she grew feathers already.
He threw logs into the large mouth of the fireplace with too much force, then had to stamp out sparks on the hearth with his boot. Jem wasn’t a child. He’d be fine on his own.
Yet Cador couldn’t sit still. Food was tasteless. Even ale didn’t go down well. He kept checking the clearing, unable to nap as he usually would after rising early for a long hunt.
Where the fuck was Jem?
With a curse, Cador tucked two knives into his boots, strapped his sword over his back, and grabbed one of his spears. Outside, he whistled for Massen, spurring his faithful stallion into a relentless gallop.