Cold earth knocks the breath from his lungs and the sense from his head. Stunned, Leth blinks at Evain poised above him. Evain’s hair falls around them like a curtain, a strand of it tickling Leth’s neck. Evain’s hand is still hot around his shoulder.
And somehow, Evain’s other hand ended up cradled beneath Leth’s head. Fingers gently curving into his hair, cushioning his skull from the hard ground.
Leth’s blood pulses, and he can’t feel anything besides the points of heated contact. He can’t think about anything besides the dark light in Evain’s eyes. Evain looks just as stunned as Leth feels. Apparently neither of them had expected Evain to win.
Evain shouldn’t have won. Except Leth was distracted at just the wrong moment. Except Evain had that inexplicable surge of strength.
Someone applauds. By Marta’s musical laugh, she’s won the bet.
“I yield,” Leth whispers.
Evain’s lips part as if he’s about to say something unbearable. But he restrains himself, slides his fingers from Leth’s hair before rising to his feet. He offers a hand. “Here.”
Ignoring the hand, Leth stands up on his own. “Good fight,” he says, more for the others’ sake than Evain’s. He doesn’t need them to think the duel meant anything. That there was anything strange about the result. “I’ll check the horses now.”
Keeping a wide berth from Evain, Leth gathers his coat and blades. He still feels Evain’s touch burning into his shoulder. Gently cradling the back of his head. The bruises are welcome. The tenderness is not.
At least the fight worked. Leth isn’t thinking about the Dravans anymore.
?
CHAPTER SIX
EVAIN
Someone wants to fuck Evain. Which would be splendid, except Evain doesn’t knowwho.
He’s been trying to figure it out ever since his spar with Leth a few days ago. The sensation in the middle of the fight was obvious; that instant rush of power always means someone is laying lascivious eyes on his body. Evain can’t blame his mysterious admirer—it’s a great body—but maybe he should have kept his coat on to give Leth a fair fight. They agreed not to use blades or magic, after all.
Oh, well. The outcome of the fight wasn’t important. Evain had just wanted to get Leth out of whatever bad mood the Dravan woman left him in. It seems to have worked; Leth is back to his ordinary quiet self.
The more important matter remains: who wants to fuck Evain? Ever since that fight, the sensation has continued, on and off.
Evain contemplates his options as they ride one afternoon. Gray skies hang overhead, layers of heavy clouds threatening rain. The next town is still three hours’ ride away. Evain takes up the rear, trying to figure out which of his companions is lusting over him.
Arthur and Shae set the pace ahead, and Evain crosses them off first. The paladin and necromancer are so wrapped up in each other, they can’t spare a single thread of desire for anyone else. Whenever they dismount, they’re practically glued together.
Leth rides just behind them, and Evain contemplates his slim figure. His posture is perfect, as if he’s on parade instead of traipsing through the woods. If anything, Leth seems colder and quieter now than before the Unbinding. He hasn’t warmed up to the paladins and Shae yet—though to be fair, Evain can’t remember how long it took the rest of the Locksmiths to befriend him.
And Leth never warmed up to Evain.
No, definitely not Leth. Evain continues his contemplation. Perhaps Freya? She’s three pints of fun poured into a single glass, and certainly not shy. Evain has a feeling there wouldn’t be any question about whether she was ogling him, if she was.
Marta shows no sign of interest in men, whether she’s half-asleep before lunch or wide awake after. Her partner Haldis would certainly be fun—she seems like the sort of law-abiding stickler who turns into a kinky, glorious mess behind closed doors. Evain won’t rule Haldis out completely.
His musings end abruptly when Daziroth veers towards the side of the road. Swearing, Evain jerks on the reins and hooks back his heel, far more roughly than he’d treat a mortal horse. A fat rabbit darts to safety through the underbrush.
“I’ll feed you later,” Evain hisses under his breath. Summoning demon mounts has certain inconveniences; Daziroth is more carnivorous than expected.
The horse snorts in annoyance but continues along the road. Before Evain can resume contemplating the mystery of who wants to fuck him, Freya slows her mount to keep pace with him, well behind the others.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” She gestures to the clouds.
“Don’t tempt the storm gods,” Evain says. “How can I help you, Sir Paladin?”
Freya nudges her horse closer and lowers her voice. “I just wanted to make it clear that I’m calling dibs.”
Raising an eyebrow, Evain follows her gaze. She’s looking at Haldis and Marta—not Leth, which is a strange relief. Evain is certain she and Leth would be a bad fit. “Which one?”
