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Speaking of which, Galen waited for the man with the acrid breath to be on his way instead of fussing with the buttons on his placket—he’d no doubt need some sobering up. Galen was hoping for a moment to himself before he limped off to take care of his empty stomach. He’d worry about his tender hole later.
But when Galen next glanced at the customer, the man’s eyes were flat dark stones, matching the aura surrounding him. Again, he asked himself what in the hell he’d been thinking, but his growling stomach reminded him that desperation had clouded his judgment. Besides, the wind whistling through the alleyway signaled a late-season snow was due to fall in Lunar’s Reach, which meant fewer potential customers, especially those with inclinations he could fulfill.
He’d no doubt be sleeping in a doorway this evening, or perhaps he could make it all the way to the covered bridge despite the soreness and stickiness he was now feeling. The sting as he shifted told him just how unlikely that was.
He’d fared much worse, but he still hoped not to pass one more night without food.
When the man was finally able to straighten his clothing, the gray outlining his features grew darker, and Galen’s pulse jumped. He recognized the very moment the man came to his senses. Sometimes the sobering reminder of what they’d done caused them to scurry off, shame hanging from their sated bodies. Others, like this one, would have more to say, and Galen decided not to wait around for it.
“You fucken’ molly whore,” the man said through clenched teeth just as Galen took a step forward. “Making me lose control.”
He’d heard the same sentiment too many times to count. Such a shame. The guilt and frustration weighed them down like a wet coat. Proper society dictated that men like them were a disgrace, and not only should they lose all standing, but be punished as well. Galen ignored such faulty logic. He took pride in using his body for work—after all, the food was for his own survival. And unlike this man, he would never allow himself to fall into the blackness of self-loathing.
Turning toward the darkened street, he should’ve left quietly, but something hot and angry poked at that hollow space in his gut. “You chose to follow me and pay for use of my body. Maybe you’re the—”
The man gripped his shoulder roughly, and before Galen could react or even make sense of what was happening, the man’s arm swung and his fist made such solid contact with Galen’s mouth, he saw stars. His body crumpled to the ground like an accordion as the metal taste of blood filled his mouth. But the man wasn’t done, swearing and spitting and kicking Galen repeatedly in the stomach, making him gasp for breath.
Tears sprang to his eyes as he turned his head and vomited violently into the dirt.
He vaguely recalled the man bending down to retrieve the coin Galen dropped, then heard his retreating footsteps, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t even lift a hand to help dry his tears. He felt the first snowflake melt against his cheek before his world went dark.
He didn’t know how many minutes or hours he lay barely conscious in the alleyway. He only knew his head felt fuzzy, his entire body ached, and he was nearly frozen solid from the snow that kept falling. The man’s beating had rendered him useless, and Galen vaguely wondered if he still had all his teeth, but his tongue was too numb to check for certain.
He’d awakened upon hearing a rumble of voices and was initially afraid the man had returned with friends, but most likely he’d been dreaming.
Until he felt hands nudging him, and he stiffened in fear.
“We won’t hurt you. We want to help.” The voice had an instant calming effect, and it seemed obvious the gentle touches were only to assess him for injury.
Galen dared open his eyes, and he saw a man who looked younger than his age of one-and-twenty, with soft, angelic features. Galen had been mocked for his feminine lips and lean torso, but it sometimes worked to his advantage. Especially if he needed to disappear quickly in a crowd, or sometimes even to pretend he had delicate sensibilities to fulfill a gentleman’s fantasy.
When another lad with eerily similar features peered at him from the other side, Galen thought he might be hallucinating cherubs calling him to heaven.
Two sets of hands lifted him to a sitting position before encouraging him to stand, which seemed impossible. But with their help, Galen was able to manage without swaying too much. He didn’t know why he so easily followed their commands, except he didn’t think they meant him any harm. Their auras reflected a bright-yellow glow that made him feel safe and warm.
