Текст книги "Bound to the battle god"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

25

As I eat my third bowl of dinner, Omos fusses over both myself and Aron, who is poring over maps as if they'll give him answers. I still have a million questions that need answering, but Omos carefully steers the conversation to neutral territory. I suspect he doesn't want to piss off a god…or he and Aron had a conversation this afternoon about keeping things from me. Either way, it doesn't take long to realize I'm not going to get what I need tonight.

I crawl into bed and pull the covers over me, achy and tired. I still hurt from our last journey and the thought of starting another in the morning makes me want to despair, but I like breathing. If we stay in one place too long, someone's going to come after us with murder on his mind. There's no choice but to leave.

I'm just about to drift off to sleep when the narrow cot shakes and an enormous body thumps down next to me, pushing me over to the side. What the fuck? I look over, yanking my blankets back as I realize it's Aron, coming to lie down next to me. "What the hell are you doing?" I hiss at him, trying to keep my voice down.

"Getting into bed with you."

"I realize that! Why? You don't freaking sleep, remember?"

"I didn't say I was going to sleep," he tells me, cranky. "But you need to sleep, and this way I can keep an eye on you."

Aron ignores the outraged noises I make and gets under the blankets with me. After a moment, he steals one of the pillows and shifts his big body, trying to get comfortable. I grit my teeth, enduring his constant bouncing of the bed.

"Hm," he says after a moment.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "What?"

"This is rather comfortable. I see now why mortals are so lazy."

Boy, he really is something else. He puts his hands behind his head and I shove back at the elbow jabbing me in the back of the neck. "One of us has to sleep, you know."

"So sleep."

"You could get on the floor."

He snorts. "I am a god. I do not sleep on floors."

"Fine. Then I will." I grab the blankets and start to get up, only to be dragged back down into the bed by Aron. I make an outraged sound as I fall backward, flailing into the cot.

"You will stay right here," he says again. "If someone comes to assassinate me in the night, I can at least cover your body with mine and shield it."

I don't know if I'm touched or alarmed.

I lie stiffly in bed, wondering if this is some sort of colossal joke. "You are seriously not going to stay here."

"I seriously am."

I sigh and close my eyes, shoving the blankets up to my chin even though it's stuffy in the house. "Fine. Let me sleep, then."

He grunts acknowledgment, and I settle in. If I can't ditch him, I can at least try to ignore him, and I'm tired. I'm always tired. Now that I know I'm sleeping for two (so to speak) it explains a lot. Kinda sucks, too, but so has almost everything about being in this world. I've just about drifted off when Aron taps my shoulder.

I bite back a groan. "What?"

"How is it that you were enslaved by the Order of the Axe?"

I have to think for a moment, then realize that the “Order of the Axe” must be his priesthood. "I wasn't. They bought me from the guy that initially enslaved me. They dumped me into a room with a bunch of other women and were going to sacrifice us in your name, remember?"

"Mmm. None of them stepped forward. I recall this."

"Yeah, they were all smart enough to realize that they were getting saddled permanently with you." I yawn. "I'm the fool that didn't know. Can I go to sleep now?"

"I am not stopping you."

"You're talking," I tell him and close my eyes again. "You have to be silent for me to sleep." When he has no response to that, I say, "Well?"

"You said I had to be silent. I am being silent. Which is it?"

This is worse than arguing with a three-year-old. "Good night," I emphasize and close my eyes again.

"How long were you a slave for?"

I stare at the wall and grit my teeth. It's clear that I'm not going to get any sleep while Aron's around. Correction: while Aron is bored. "Like three days, max."

Aron grunts. "I thought it was longer."

I frown to myself. I shouldn't ask. I shouldn't. It's just going to make him keep talking. And yet… "Why did you think that? Did I have a 'slavey' look to me?"

"No. You glared at everyone in the room as if they were a problem. I admit, I appreciated that."

Some of the irritation I have with Aron fades away. "I was pretty pissed at being enslaved. Where I come from, that shit was abolished a long time ago."

"And where do you come from?"

"Oh no, don't change the subject. You still haven't told me why I looked slavey."

He sighs heavily, and his breath brushes against my hair. "Are all mortal women this difficult?"

"Yes. Now answer."

Aron snorts. "Because you had a very appealing body. If I was enslaving females, I would not want ugly ones. I would pick ones like you."

"I have no idea if that's a compliment or not. I'm going to go ahead and take it as one," I tell him with a yawn. "Can I please go to sleep now?"

"Go. Sleep. This is an idiotic conversation anyhow."

I roll my eyes and then settle in again. As I do, I can't help but think about the fact that he said I had a good body. He didn't say I was beautiful, of course. Arrogant Aron would never go out on a limb like that—but he liked my body…a body that's currently pressed against his in the bed.

I shouldn't even think about that.

Or the fact that I pretty much had my hands all over his dick at Tadekha's Citadel. And that I begged for it. A lot.

Like, a lot.

Of course, Aron hasn't brought it up again, so I won't either. It's just a shameful bit of history that I pray won't repeat itself again.

Even as I ponder this, he nudges me in the back. "You did not say where you are from."

"No, I didn't." After the first few rounds of getting the snot beat out of me every time I brought it up, I stopped saying anything at all. Even I'd find it a little hard to believe if a stranger came up to me and said they weren't from my world. It's not something that comes up in casual conversation.

"Where is it, then?" He nudges me again, this time so hard I nearly roll off the damn cot.

“You finally decided to ask?”

“I still don’t care,” he says arrogantly. “But you are…somewhat interesting.”

Wow. I bite back a sigh of irritation. "I told you before. I'm not from this world. My world is Earth. I don’t know how I got here. I kept hearing voices in an empty apartment next door, and when I went to go check it out, I got sucked into this world. Some jackass grabbed me the moment I showed up in Aventine and the next thing I knew, I was a slave girl."

I don’t bring up the fortune teller. The King of Pentacles card.

The Lovers card.

God help me, I forgot all about the Lovers card.

All Aron says is, "Mmm."

"What's that 'mmm' mean? That you don't believe me?"

"Why would I not believe you? You are speaking to a god. I know what is possible and what is not."

That makes me turn over. I sit up on my elbows and look down at him. That's right. He is a god. It's evident in his perfect form and coloring, and the way he seems to be just so much more than everyone else he encounters. "You don't think I'm lying?"

He tilts his head and raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. "When I was cast out, I imagine the boundaries between worlds grew thin so I—and my fellow gods—could come through. It stands to reason that you were pulled in through the same circumstance."

That's the most logical explanation for why I'm here, and I feel a little bit like crying and laughing both. I'm not special. I'm not a chosen one. I'm a doofus that wandered through the wrong place at the right time. It makes sense and yet…I'm disappointed because if it's just random happenstance as to why I'm here, there's no grand game plan for how I get back, either. And that's damn depressing. But it's an answer, and I finally have one. "Thanks, Aron."

"For what?"

"For believing me. No one has until now."

"I am a god," he says, as if that explains everything. Heck, maybe it does. He pats my shoulder. "Go to sleep. You keep talking and we will be leaving early in the morning."

As if I'm the Chatty Cathy. I bite back a snotty retort, because it won't do any good. "Going to sleep now."

"Good." His arm goes around my waist and he pulls me tight against him. I'm surprised when a moment later, he sniffs my hair. A hot flush moves over my body as I remember the night in Tadekha's Citadel and how I crawled all over the man as if my life depended on getting his knob. He'd made me come, but every time I reached for him, he pushed me away.

But…he'd been hard as a rock. I distinctly remember how hard he was, how erect every time I touched him. I think of the Lovers card again, and heat floods through me. If he touched me right now? I’d be wet. The realization is shameful.

He sniffs my hair again, and I wonder if he's hard right now. Is he overcome with lust for me?

"You smell bad," Aron says. “When was the last time you bathed?”

Man, fuck this guy.

Morning arrives far too early, and then Omos is there, handing us our packs and is all smiles of excitement. "It is a good day for traveling," he tells me as he helps me put on my pack. "The weather is fair and lovely and there's a nice breeze. The gods are smiling down on you."

I want to retort that the gods are ill-tempered brats and that's why they're on the mortal plane, but I don't. Omos is just too nice. My pack is heavy with food supplies, extra blankets, a change of clothing, and anything else he could think to give us. I'm utterly touched by his kindness. As I look around his little monastery, a fat goat rambles past, heading for the crops, and he immediately chases it down, pushing it back toward the field. I smile at the sight, because this is such a peaceful existence.

Then, I glance over at Aron. There's nothing peaceful about the guy at all. Even standing still, he screams authority and arrogance…and impatience. His big arms are crossed over his chest and his long hair has been pulled back into a tail at his nape. The scars on his face are vivid against the sunlight and his strangely colored eyes look like slits as he watches me. I get the impression he's impatient and ready to be off, but I'm not ready to leave yet.

I like it here with Omos. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe. Like the world's not falling apart around my ears. And for a moment, the realization that I have to leave this safety is too much. I'm overwhelmed.

A gentle hand pats my back. "It'll be all right, my dear."

"I don't want to leave," I whisper to him, even as I fuss with the straps on my pack.

"I know. But you have a greater fate ahead of you than that of this poor monk." He smiles at me, so peaceful and fatherly that I fling my arms around his neck and hug him close. He pats my back and then whispers in my ear, "Be careful, lest Aron decide I'm stealing you away from him."

"Aron can go fuck himself," I murmur into his ear, but when I pull away, Aron's glowering at us both. He looks…jealous. It's not in a sexual way, of course. Not with Aron. It's more of a someone-else-is-playing-with-his-toys way. I ignore him, still mad about last night.

Omos just chuckles and pulls something from his belt. "He is who he is, Faith. Remember that. Do not expect him to be more or less."

"Yeah, yeah." I'm still sad that I have to trade sweet, gentle Omos for Aron and his Big Dick Energy. Even now that energy is practically blazing with impatience, and he casts another look at the road, as if he were hoping we were already on it. His pack is twice the size of mine, but he's a bigger dude, and strapped to it are what look like a half-dozen homemade spears. On his lower arms, he's got crude leather bracers and has knives strapped there, as well. He's been busy while I slept and talked with Omos.

He looks like he's going to war, and that gives me a chill.

I turn to look at Omos again, and he sees the panic on my face. "It will be all right," he tells me in a gentle voice. "You are here for a reason, Faith. Remember that."

"Yeah, to be a target," I mutter, but I hope he's right to a certain extent. I don't think I'm a chosen one or anything, but maybe the fact that my wagon's hitched to Aron's means something.

Omos shakes his head and presses a pouch into my hand. "This is all the coin I have. It will do you more good than me."

"Oh, Omos, we can't take this." I feel so guilty, because it's clear that he's stripping his kitchen to feed us, and now he's giving us all his money?

"You can and you must. You have a hard road ahead of you, and if a little coin makes it easier, then it is the least I can do." He hesitates and then pulls out a scroll from within his robes and holds it toward me. "This is my letter to my goddess."

"I hope we find her."

"I hope you do not," he says in that same gentle voice. "I would rather you find your way home instead."

My eyes fill with tears. "Me too."

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26

ONE WEEK LATER

I eye the piles of land-hippo poop littering the road and sidestep, only to end up in mud anyhow. "Man, these roads are terrible."

"That means we are close to Katharn," Aron tells me. "Very close. It will get worse."

"Let's pause for a moment so I can switch to my boots, then," I tell him, and sit down on a grassy spot off the edge of the road.

Aron sighs heavily with irritation, but he follows me and waits nearby. I'm getting used to his surly personality, though, and his bitching and moaning no longer sets me off. It is what it is—just part of his “arrogance” personality. And, well, he's a god. Or part of one. I kind of expect him to be a dick to “mortals.” In a way, I kind of appreciate his griping, because it makes me remember that someone else hates being here as much as I do. It's funny, because this is his world, but he doesn't seem to appreciate any of it. I can understand my dislike of it given that it's so very different and crude compared to my modern world.

Just like right now, I'm covered in mud and sweat and grime from a week straight of traveling, and Aron looks as fresh as a daisy. The traveling doesn't bother him, even though my feet blistered up and swelled like balloons. I glance over at his sandal-clad feet and he doesn't even look as if he steps in mud. I can't seem to keep out of it. He's just as cool and handsome as he was the day he first showed up…and that could be a problem.

He doesn't blend.

Our surroundings are muddy road and cottages that trail toward a distant walled city. Katharn, which we've been heading steadily toward for a week. The scenery has changed slightly from the Dirtlands in that there are trees and fields and pasture animals. We've passed a few outlying farms here and there, but this entire area is pretty quiet and settled…and poor. The few people we've seen working in fields as we walked looked tired and worn and hungry, shoulders hunched from long hours of labor. They stared at Aron, his strong, proud body, and then at me, and I felt acutely vulnerable.

No one tried anything, of course, but they were farmers. Now, we're approaching the city and I'm trying to imagine all the horrible things that might be waiting for us. Thieves and cutthroats for sure. Worse, if there's another god Aspect nearby. I work on fastening my boots, which are too tight and uncomfortable compared to the sandals, but seem smarter if we're heading into the city itself. "Do you know much about this place?" I ask, trying to think of the best way to phrase what I want to say next.

"Katharn?" Aron grunts. "Only that it exists. It is claimed by no god as a stronghold."

"No? How come?" I wiggle my feet in the boots, trying to stretch the leather.

"Look around you. Do you think the sight of this would make anyone proud?" He sweeps an arm through the air at the distant buildings. "This is a poor place. A place for pickpockets and mercenaries. There are no grand temples or manicured gardens, no noble houses or anything of the like. It is the armpit of the mid-lands, necessary but foul."

I stand again and tuck my sandals into my bag. "Thought you didn't know much about this place."

"Do not try my patience, mortal."

I just roll my eyes at him. "Oh, I'm not just trying. I'm succeeding."

He makes an irritated sound that I ignore. We're fond of pricking at each other, he and I. Or at least, I'm fond of pricking at him, since I'm stuck at his side and he can't do anything about it. In a way, it's the most fun I've had all week, knowing I'm driving him crazy. I sling my pack back over my shoulder and move closer to him. "So what's the plan?"

Aron narrows his eyes at me. "I thought we had discussed this already. We enter the city, get supplies and weapons, and listen for news of other god Aspects. Katharn is the hub of the mid-lands and we can find our way to other countries if we must. Adassia is to the east, Yshrem to the north-east, and—"

I raise a hand before he lists off the litany of small countries once more. He's told me this a bunch of times this week already. Off to one side, I notice a distant man in a field that's staring at us—probably because we've been paused on the side of the road for too long. I grab Aron's arm and move him under the nearest tree so we can have a little privacy. "I know that part of the plan. That wasn't what I meant, big guy. I'm talking what is the plan for this?" And I gesture at him, drawing a little circle in the air and indicating his proud, handsome face. "You don't exactly look like one of the locals."

He crosses his arms over his chest again, bracers practically bristling with weaponry. "Why should I?"

"Let's talk about low profiles and what a good idea it is to not be noticed," I tell him brightly. "In fact, let's think about this. Let's say you've heard that the gods are walking the mortal plane again. Let's say one of the gods put a bounty on the head of a rival, because why not?" When Aron frowns, I continue. "And then let's say you and I saunter in. I might look like another dirty woman fresh off the road but you, my friend…you do not blend. From your eyes to the scar to the way you hold yourself, you're not exactly a low-key individual."

Aron scowls down at me. "You do not look like a camp follower."

Is that a compliment? "Why, thank you, Aron. I think."

He grunts. "You merely sell yourself short. For a mortal, you are passably attractive."

"You are positively killing me with flattery here." I can't help but smile, though. Lately I've started trying to determine how Aron's words would sound if he wasn't “poisoned” with arrogance, and I bet that would be something nice after all. "You're not so bad yourself. But let's stay focused. You don't look mortal, either. You're big and beefy and you practically radiate otherworldliness. If they did a police lineup, you'd stick out like a sore thumb." I gesture at his face. "The coloring doesn't help. The scars sure don't help. You might as well wear an axe atop your head and scream to everyone that you're Aron of the Cleaver and you've come to steal their wives and eat their children."

Aron's hard mouth twitches with a hint of amusement. "I want no one's wives. I have a hard enough time with you at my side."

I just laugh, because that is something so very Aron, and I'm getting used to him.

He rubs his jaw, studying me. "So you tell me I am too handsome to mingle with these people."

"Well, you are a god." Suddenly it feels like the conversation is turning, and I’m getting flustered. "But I, ah, meant the scars and the coloring."

"Of course." He doesn't sound like he believes me though. "I cannot change the scars, I am afraid. I won them in battle against the dragon One-Tooth who took my left eye before I found another."

Okay, that’s weird and I’m not going to ask, because I’m not sure I want to know more about dragons. We’ve got enough problems in this world. "Maybe we start with a cloak and see how these things progress."

Aron grunts and pulls the hood over his head, hiding his jet-black hair. It's in a messy braid and most of it has fallen out of said braid, and I realize that he might not know how to braid it himself. How do the gods function if they can't do simple things like this, I wonder? Or is it just a matter of waving a hand and being perfect? Either way, it reminds me how shockingly vulnerable Aron is. If I wasn't with him, he'd probably just wander into town, demanding people give him information…and he'd end up murdered right away.

Or wait, I'd end up murdered and Aron would die because of it. Neither one sounds good. I frown to myself as I reach up and pull his hood on a little deeper, completely hiding his features. "Keep this on at all times."

He tilts his head back and gazes down at me. "How am I supposed to see anything?"

"You're not. You're supposed to hide and let me handle things." I pat his chest, and then wonder why I keep touching him. Dammit, Faith. "Just in case, though, I should give you some of the money. In case we get split up."

"If we get split up, we have bigger problems than money," he says, and catches my hand when I pull it away. "I am going to be watching you closely. If you feel threatened or worried, simply invoke my name and I will slaughter all close to you."

I stare at him, eyes wide. I shouldn't be flattered by that. I shouldn't. But it sounds protective and in a bloodthirsty way, kind of sweet. A weird thought comes to mind: Is this the way a god of battle flirts? Surely not. But all I say is "okay."

Aron pulls one of the makeshift blades—a shiv, really—off his leather bracer and offers it to me. "Put this in your boot and do not be afraid to use it."

"How bad is this city?" I ask him, but do as he says.

"How bad is any big city? Better to arm you in case someone decides you should be a slave again."

Okay, he has a really great point. "Let's just go before I freak out and decide we should keep going to the next city."

"All outlying cities lead to this one. Katharn is a necessary evil."

Lucky us. "We stick to the plan, then. Get in, listen for rumors, find what we need, and head out from there." When he nods, I take a steeling breath. "All right. Let's do this."

Showtime, Faith.

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