Oh. Kesst’s breath was still coming in panting gulps, and Eft’s smile was far too understanding, too kind. “And I told you, no putting down my best patient,” he said. “He’s making today better than any other day I’ve spent yet in this damned mountain, all right? He’s clever, and funny, and thoughtful, and generous. Not to mention beautiful.”
The lump in Kesst’s throat was thickening again, and somehow he was easing closer, and attempting a wretched little smile. “Fallegur,” he corrected Eft. “Orstórglæsilegur, if you want to get really excessive.”
And Eft just kept smiling, with such ridiculous, impossible warmth in his eyes. “Þú ert stórglæsilegur, Kesst,” he said, so soft. “And look, I’m the greedy one here, because I could look at you and smell you and listen to you all damned day, all right? Whether you like chains or not is completely irrelevant.”
Kesst’s swallow felt almost painful now, dragging against his constricted throat. “Well, I don’t,” he said thickly. “Like them, I mean. Just so you know.”
Eft’s smile didn’t even slightly falter, and he nodded. “Was getting that impression,” he murmured. “Luckily, I think I know a few other things you like.”
The devious bastard, because Kesst’s cock was already twitching to life in his trousers, and he couldn’t even seem to make himself care if Eft tasted it, felt it. Or if he leaned a little closer into Eft, close enough that their hands brushed together — and oh, that was one of those playful flares of magic, rippling from Eft’s fingers into his palm. Making him gasp, cracking something, breaking something —
And suddenly Kesst lurched forward, grasping for Eft’s hand, yanking it against his bare waist. Feeling it tremble and skitter — the shakiness echoed in Eft’s scent — before it shifted, deepened. Eft’s fingers spreading, pressing, as his scent did the same, so strong and stubborn and singleminded it made the room spin. While Kesst grasped that hand tighter, pressed it closer, lower,more. He needed this, he needed Eft’s sparkling shimmering warmth on his belly, down his trousers, around his swollen straining cock —
And Eft was, his fingers sliding smooth and easy around it, encircling it with his staggering, impossibly stunning touch. Driving a guttural, shameless moan from Kesst’s mouth, his hips reflexively bucking forward, his hands suddenly, desperately clutching at Eft’s tunic.
“Fuck,” he gulped, broken, lost. “Oh, gods wreck me. Don’t stop, Eft, don’t you dare stop, you feel like —”
But at that precise perfect, horrible moment, Kesst smelled something. Something too strong, too close, something that stole away the pleasure and poured terror into its place —
And even as Kesst whirled away, he knew it was too late, too lost, everything destroyed, the end.
Skald was coming.
11
If there was any hope left of salvaging this, of saving Eft for one more day, it was this.
“That hurts, you imbecile!” Kesst irritably barked, as Skald’s huge, furious-tasting form lumbered into the room. “I asked you to heal it, not yank it off!”
He could feel Eft’s sudden stiffness, an unmistakable shudder of rage as his eyes flicked toward Skald — but then, thank the gods, Eft yanked his hands back against his body, crossing his arms tightly over his tunic. “Andyouought to know that healing isn’t always painless,” he hissed back. “If you really want your rubbish dealt with, you can bear a little discomfort in the process!”
It was the exact same tone he’d used on several obnoxious orcs these past days, and curse him, but Kesst felt himself flinch back a little, his head shaking. Eft didn’t actually think all that, did he? He was just — just —
But Skald’s huge deadly body just kept striding closer, his scent sickening in Kesst’s nostrils — until he powerfully gripped Kesst’s arm, roughly yanking him away from Eft. “You ought not to be down here, wench,” he hissed at Kesst. “And this lying, craven bewitcher” — he shifted his heavy gaze to Eft — “ought to be on his knees for me, and begging for yet more of my mercy!”
Kesst could taste Eft’s surging stubbornness, even as his narrowed eyes very briefly flicked down to the shining scimitar at Skald’s side. And Kesst’s fear was swelling, screeching, because despite Eft’s promises to try, there was still no way he would ever kneel for Skald, ever —
“Forgive me, sir,” said Eft’s wooden voice, as he brought his fist to his chest, his head lowered, the way Grimarr had taught him. “I’ve just been focused on healing these injured orcs, and thus serving your captain and your mountain, as I’ve sworn to do.”
Skald’s eyes glanced darkly around the room, clearly taking in the assortment of unconscious orcs still in the beds. Drafli, Olarr, Abjorn, Silfast, Ulfarr. And for the first time, it distantly occurred to Kesst that — with the glaring exception of Ulfarr — these were all orcs who were likely to be loyal to Grimarr. And not only that, but their fighting skills ranged from good to spectacular. As if his most calculating brother had stuck them all down here… on purpose?
“Ach,healing,” hissed Skald now, with a mocking bark of a laugh. “And this is why your fresh scent is all overmywench’s prick, whilst he yet stands here healthy and hale before me!”
It took all Kesst’s wherewithal to keep himself still, but Eft didn’t look even slightly alarmed, that stubbornness still thick in his scent. “Yes, Kesst still stands, thanks to me,” he said flatly. “But he isnotfully healed yet, no matter how he looks. He still has two broken ribs, his chest wall is still healing, and his blood pressure and circulation are still erratic, and therefore in need of constant monitoring. Not to mention all the new contusions and lacerations he’s recently gained! And without me managing his pain, he would certainlynotbe still standing here, and complaining at me!”
He didn’t look at Kesst as he’d spoken this time, but Kesst still felt himself twitch at those words, at the certain truth behind them. Eft had really been doing all that for him, all this time? He was still managing his pain, even now?
But Skald clearly wasn’t swayed, the taste of his terrifying anger surging higher in the air around him. “Youdarespeak to me thus, bewitcher?” he growled. “I said, you are to kneel, and —”
And finally, finally, Kesst lurched into motion, flailing toward Skald, his smile pasted to his face. “Skald, dearest,” he said, his voice unnaturally high-pitched, his hands sliding up Skald’s bare chest. “Your concern for me is very much appreciated, but Ididask this blockhead to fix me. As he said, my — ahem —circulationwas clearly still not quite… functioning, in quite a crucial area. And I couldn’t bear the thought of not performing properly for you, so —”
But it wasn’t working, Skald was still glowering at Eft, his rage still seething, his big hand dropping to grip his sword-hilt. “This bewitcher yet ought to know,” he hissed, “not to touch what belongs to me, without my leave! Mayhap now I shall command him to put all your wounds back again, wench, one by one! Or mayhap make him watch as I do so? That shall teach him, I ken?”
Kesst had frozen stiff against Skald, the horrifying dread curling up his spine, and he couldn’t stop the gulp from escaping his throat. “No, Skald,” he gasped. “No, let’s not, I am so finished with him anyway. Why don’t we just go, I’ll give you a nice deep suck, make you something tasty for supper, and —”
But Skald had roughly shoved Kesst aside, and drew out his scimitar with a fluid, deadly flourish. “Or mayhap,” he purred, “we watch whilst the bewitcher bleeds out onto this floor. This shall be even better, ach?”
He was already advancing toward Eft, no, no,no, and Eft was backing away from him, his hands raised, his unease finally swirling above his fierce stubborn rage. “Killing me will not help you,” he said, his voice still astonishingly steady. “What happens when you need healing next? Or your captain? Is it not your calling to protect him at all costs, so that —”
