Текст книги "Bound to the battle god"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

I poke him in the side again. "You act like you had a bunch of options. If I recall, I was the only volunteer and your brain was still foggy from being booted out of Heaven." I put my hands over my eyes and assume a deep voice, mocking him. "Oh look, I'm Aron and I don't know how to sleep like humans."

He pinches my side and I bite back a squeal, but I can feel the laughter rumbling through his chest. "You are full of fire to me, I see."

"Well, sure. You can't do squat about my sassy attitude," I tell him sleepily, and this time when I put my hands down, I do put one on his chest. Why not. "You're stuck with me."

Aron grunts.

"I'm serious, though," I tell him. "I should know the basics of how to fight. Nothing fancy. Just enough to protect myself. This world's way more dangerous than mine. And if you were on Earth, I'd show you how to drive a car and use a debit card. You should do the same for me."

"I will think on it."

I pat his stomach. "Don't strain yourself."

His laughter rolls through the trees and I go to sleep, smiling.

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34

Something hard nudges me awake, and I groan, rolling over only to get a mouthful of leaves. Sputtering, I sit up, wincing at sore muscles and wiping detritus from my cheek. We’re still in the forest, and somehow I managed to fall asleep and crash for several hours. Judging from the pale light wafting through the trees, it’s incredibly early. I grab a handful of Aron’s tunic and press it under my cheek as a pillow, lying back down.

The hard thing nudges me again. I turn over and glare. Aron stands over me, his boot nudging my backside. I swear, this man. “What the hell is your problem, Aron?”

“You wanted to learn how to fight. I have decided to show you.” He flicks his wrist, making an entreating gesture. “Get up.”

“Right now?”

“Was there a time you had more in mind? When we are surrounded by another mob? Perhaps when the dead finish crawling out of their graves and arrive?” He pulls a sword from its sheath and admires the blade, running his thumb along a sharp edge.

“God, you are such an ass,” I mutter as I manage to get to my feet. I’m covered in dirt and leaves from my sleep under the trees, and I ache all over. Last night, I wasn’t keen on the thought of stealing horses but today? Today I am all for it if it means I don’t have to walk any longer. “Fine. I’m up. Show me how to use weapons.”

His lip curls as if I’ve said the dumbest thing imaginable. “You cannot learn it all in one day.”

Like I’m stupid. I put my hands on my hips, my irritated pose nullified by the leaf that chooses that moment to flop from my hair onto my forehead. “I know that. Just show me what you can today.”

“First, show me your hands.” He flips the sword casually in one hand and then stabs it into the dirt, then approaches me.

I stick both hands out, palms up, and wait for the next round of insults. This is Aron, after all.

He takes one of my hands in his and lifts it closer to his eyes, studying it. His thumb skates over my palm, sending ticklish sensations all through me. I want to jerk away, but I don’t. I just go very still. “What are you looking for?”

“Callus. You have none.” His mouth quirks in a half-smile as he meets my gaze. “I don’t know why it surprises me.”

“My world’s really, really different. No one works with their hands if they don’t have to. We have desk jobs. Like…clerks and scribes and stuff.” It’s a huge generalization, and I don’t want to get into an argument about farmers and laborers, who really do still work with their hands. Even they wouldn’t have the callus built up that he does, I think. Even now, where his hand brushes against mine, I can feel the hard pads of his hand where he’s used to gripping weapons. Instead of feeling disgusting, though, I’m oddly aroused by how weathered his grip is.

And that makes me look around suspiciously, just in case Tadekha’s waiting in the trees. But she’s not, and Aron only gives me a curious stare. “Something wrong?”

“Nope.” I slip my hand out of his. “So do I get to use your sword?”

He shakes his head, and I notice that despite an evening of roughing it under a tree, Aron looks as glorious as ever, his smooth black hair pulled back in a loose tail. His clothes aren’t even wrinkled, the bastard. “No sword for you. Your wrists are far too delicate. We’ll start with daggers.”

We try his knives, and it soon becomes apparent to both of us that you require skill and aim, neither of which I have when it comes to weapons. I can't throw them and hit a target. I have to be in extra close to use one to stab, and even then, Aron isn't happy with my technique. He picks through the daggers—I don't know how he acquired so many of the damn things, but I swear he has a half-dozen of them—and finds none that he thinks are fitting for me. "You are terrible with all of these."

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Do you want lies or the truth?"

I sigh heavily, because we both know I want the truth. I need to be able to defend myself, and compliments won't get me anywhere if they aren't sincere. "So what do we do? The sword is out. The daggers are out. Unless you're carrying a can of mace somewhere under your cloak, I'm screwed."

"A mace would be difficult for you. They are very heavy."

"Not what I meant, but good to know."

Aron scratches his chin thoughtfully. "A bow, perhaps?"

"Because my aim's so good with knives you want to give me a bow and arrows?" I retort, defeated. I sit on the ground, sweating, exhausted, and angry at myself for not being a master with weapons. Who knew that defending yourself was going to be so challenging? I expect to be unskilled, but I'm fumbling so much that I even cut my fingers trying to fix my grip on one of the knives. I swipe at the sweat on my forehead, feeling rather pitiful. "I need a weapon for idiots."

He snaps his fingers. "Of course."

I look up, indignant. What does he mean, of course? But Aron's heading into the trees, preoccupied, and he returns a few minutes later with a big branch. "A staff?"

He studies it. "It might be too short to be a staff, but we can make it work." He lops a twiggy offshoot off of it, then holds it out to me. "Come, give it a try."

I get to my feet, and even though my arms are aching and I want to whine, I give it a shot anyhow. It was my idea to learn weapons, after all. I can't bitch and moan that I suck at them, not when he's taking the time to teach me. So I heft it in my hands. The wood isn't all that smooth and tears at my palms, but the weight isn't bad. It comes up to mid-breast for me, and there's a knobby, ugly knot at one end. "Okay, it's a staff. How do I do this? Where do I grip it?"

Aron looks at me like I'm stupid. "You hit people with it."

"Duh. I mean, I just walk around with a giant club? And people are okay with that?" Then again, he's wandering around bristling with weapons, but I feel like a girl wandering the countryside with a giant stick kind of screams obvious.

He gives it a thoughtful look. "We can decorate it. Throw some charms or fripperies on the end so it looks like an affectation instead of a weapon. And then when they dismiss you for a soft female, you hit them with it." He taps the knot at the end. "Especially with this part."

"So…I clock people with it like a bat?" I heft it in my arms and hold it at one end. It's a bit too long to be a bat, so I adjust my grip and give it a careful half-swing. It pulls at my wrists, but I think it's doable. "I can knock a home run with this, I think. I played softball when I was a teenager."

"You'll break your wrists holding it like that," Aron warns.

"Then make me wrist supports, Mr. Weapons Expert."

"Do I look like an armorer?"

I drop the staff again, toying with the heft of it. "You look like someone that wants to be hit in the head with a bat if we're asking me," I mutter.

He throws his head back and laughs. "You're very violent for one so soft, Faith. I like that."

His words make me flustered. I'm not sure if it's a compliment or not, since I just offered to knock him in the head, but he's a god of battle. Maybe that shit turns him on. "You're a very strange man, you know that?"

"Your first mistake is thinking I am a man," Aron tells me, and his eyes gleam with amusement, little sparks flicking in them and making me think of lightning.

Of course, seeing that makes me shiver, just a little. He's a god. Just because we joke around and he gets muddy like I do, it doesn't mean we're the same. Sometimes I forget. I'm so used to the electric charge when we touch I barely notice it anymore. I didn't notice it when I bathed him.

Good god, why am I always thinking of him naked? "I have far too many problems right now," I tell myself under my breath. "And all of them are named Aron." I shoot him a look, but he's still got that speculative, eyes-flashing-lightning expression on his face and I avert my gaze. "We should get going," I say loudly. "Just in case someone's coming after us."

"Indeed." He sounds thoughtful, but he doesn't move.

"I'll practice with my bat later," I tell him, and deliberately avoid eye contact, even when he moves closer to me. I focus on the branch itself, pretending to pick at a particularly knotty spot as he stands next to me, his gaze still fixed on my face…or my body. I wonder what he's thinking.

I wonder if he's going to touch me.

Goosebumps prickle up and down my arms as I remember that night in Tadekha's Citadel. The way I crawled all over his lap like a cock-hungry ho, begging for his dick. Is he thinking about that? Is me handling a weapon turning him on? I wait for him to say something, do something, and I keep prickling with awareness. I know he's watching me.

My stomach growls, the sound overloud in the early morning quiet.

Aron turns and walks away. "You have a few minutes to eat before we leave. I suggest you do so because I do not plan on stopping again."

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35

Aron’s wrong of course. We do end up stopping again, though not for several hours.

The weather turns to a misty rain, which makes our clothing stick to our skin and everything damp. There’s a muddy, rutted road that cuts through the countryside, but we avoid it. Walking on it would probably be easier than creeping through the trees and bushes, which is what we’re currently doing since Katharn is still on the distant horizon, but every so often someone rides past on a horse, or in a wagon, and I don’t complain about hiking next to a road.

Even if Aron’s pretty clueless about some things, he’s right when it comes to keeping us safe.

Just when I’ve about hit my limit of walking for the day, a small farm comes into view on the horizon. It’s no more than a square cottage in the midst of an enormous plowed field, but Aron points to it. “That is where we’re going.”

“Sounds good.” I’m not so sure about his master plan of “steal horses and supplies” considering the place looks pretty bare to me, but he’s the one in charge, and I’m too tired to argue.

We pick our way through the barren fields, and I can’t help but notice that they’ve got the saddest-looking crops known to mankind. The ground here seems to be mostly rock and the plants are choked with mud and sludge and look wilted. My feet sink into the carefully tilled rows, messing up their symmetry and making me stagger behind Aron a good distance. Him, you’d think his feet were made of air. He doesn’t notice the mud, and even the rain doesn’t seem to be soaking him quite like it is me.

I hear him sigh heavily as he pauses. I catch up to him, about to retort that if he wants me to keep pace with him he needs to walk at a human speed, when I realize he’s not even looking in my direction. He’s looking ahead at the farmhouse, and so I stop at his side and gaze, too.

At first, I’m not entirely sure what we’re supposed to be looking at. It’s all foreign to me. The walls look like stone spackled with mud, and the roof is thatched hay. In the distance there’s a second shack that might be a stable of some kind, with a fat land-hippo chewing hay nearby, his legs encased in mud. Then I see them.

There’s a man and woman at the front of the cottage, their heads bent as they kneel in one of the puddles. They’re both incredibly thin and dirty, their clothes faded and poor. The woman clutches a swaddled baby to her breast and her belly is huge with another kid on the way. The man has both fists over his heart in Aron’s symbol, as if he’s holding an invisible axe to his chest.

Oh.

“Look,” I tell Aron brightly. “Superfans.”

He gives me a dark look and doesn’t move forward. Even as we stand there, the rain seems to pour down harder. They ignore the rain, but I can see the woman trembling as water drips down over her, and the baby starts to cry.

I glance at Aron. He looks highly annoyed, as if this has ruined all his plans. “Why aren’t we approaching?” I whisper, leaning in.

He leans back toward me, not taking his eyes off of the couple. “They know who I am.”

“Well, you don’t exactly blend,” I point out. Even now, my hair’s streaming water into my eyes but Aron looks only lightly misted upon and just as overwhelmingly sexy as ever. At least, he’s sexy until he opens his mouth. “And they don’t look all that dangerous.”

“They will tell others we have stopped by.”

“So tell them not to,” I whisper. “You’re a god. It’s clear that they’re scared of you.” The baby wails louder, but still Aron doesn’t move, just scowling in their direction.

“Please, my Lord of Storms,” the farmer calls out. “We are your faithful. Bless us.”

The hollow-eyed woman gives us a terrified look, clutching her baby tighter, and then leans forward, as if ready to prostrate herself in the mud but prevented by her big belly.

Oh boy. “Come on,” I tell Aron, grabbing him by the hand and ignoring the pleasurable little jolt of touch. “He’s coming,” I say to the couple. “Blessings for everybody around in exchange for dinner and someplace dry.”

“Faith,” Aron warns me.

I glare at him, even as I drag him forward. “New plan. Instead of stealing, why not let your adoring worshipers gift you with things? Or at least give us shelter and get out of the rain?”

“They could be dangerous.”

“They’re starving,” I point out to him, gesturing at the swampy field. “Look at this. They’re farmers. You think they’re rolling in dough with this crop here? I realize you’re arrogance personified, but they have a small baby and it’s getting wet.”

He glances over at the couple, who quiver in fear at his baleful look. “Very well. But if this is a trap, I shall be very displeased with you, Faith.”

“Fine. I will accept full blame if this turns out to be a sham,” I tell him. “Can we go inside now?”

“Please come in,” the man calls out, kneeling and putting his head to the mud despite the driving rain. “Let us honor you and your consort, Lord of Storms.”

I already like them. “Consort” is way better than “tart.” I give Aron another encouraging smile and he nods, squeezing my hand in acknowledgment as we head inside.

The woman casts me a grateful look as she struggles to her feet, dripping mud and rain, her baby wailing. Both she and her husband wait at the door, their eyes wide. I gesture that they should enter. “After you, please.”

“We cannot walk before a god,” the woman whispers, juggling her crying baby as she tries to make Aron’s symbol over her chest.

“You’re not. You’re just preparing the way for his comfort,” I reassure them, trying to make it sound as if they’re doing us a favor.

They look to Aron, and he gives a terse nod. “My consort and I would sit at your fire.”

“Of course, my Lord of Storms. Whatever you need.” They’re super nervous, these two. Poor things look ready to fling themselves to the ground again, then think twice when Aron crosses his arms and head into the cottage itself.

I start to follow, but Aron puts a hand in front of me, indicating he should go first. He pulls out his sword, and I remember that everyone wants to kill us. Right. Better that the immortal guy goes in first. I wait as they all disappear inside for a long moment, rain splatting all over me, and then Aron finally appears in the doorway and nods, giving the all-clear.

Thank goodness.

I step inside, and it’s humid and smoky but there’s no more rain, so I’ll take it.

The interior of the cottage is clean, if dark. The floors are dirt, but there's a stone hearth along one wall that dominates the room and it has a cauldron of something that smells delicious bubbling over it. A wooden table sits across from the hearth, and herbs and dried roots hang in strings from the rafters. Off to one side, I can see a bed, and a second tiny room that has been set up for the baby, complete with cradle. There are barrels of goods and farm implements stacked in one corner, and everywhere there is clutter, but it seems cozy.

"Your home is lovely," I offer, sliding the hood of my sodden cloak off my head. It just feels good to get out of the rain.

Aron looks at me like I'm crazy, and the two farmers just duck their heads, still clearly frightened.

"We require supplies," Aron tells them imperiously. "Food and drink for travel. A mount. And my consort needs a bath."

"Dude, are you going to tell everyone we meet that I need a bath? You're going to give me a complex." I make a face at his back.

"I will until you stop smelling."

"I don't smell," I tell him, lifting my sleeve to my nose and inhaling. "I…oh god, okay, I still smell like sewer." Bile rises in my throat and I choke, waving a hand in the air. "Never mind."

Aron moves into the house and takes the best chair, the one by the fire that's probably for the pregnant woman. He sits on the edge of the seat and glares imperiously at the two terrified farmers who still stand in place. "Well? Will you be able to help us? Or do you work against me?"

"Never, Lord of Storms." The man drops to his knees and presses his forehead to the floor. "Please. We will give you whatever you need. Just…we ask for a blessing."

That's not the first time they've asked for a blessing, and I wonder what they're talking about. Aron ignores them, looking satisfied, and relaxes in the chair. "Get my consort her bath."

The woman jiggles her baby, casting me a worried look. "Of course. My soaps are poor," she begins.

"Hey, if you have soap, you're a step ahead of me." I try to seem as friendly as possible to make up for Aron. "And we totally appreciate it, even if it doesn't seem like it."

The man nods, racing outside and back into the rain. A moment later, he appears with a tub, and drops it in front of the fire.

Oh shit, am I supposed to bathe in front of everyone? I cast a worried look at Aron, but he's got his dagger out and is sharpening it by the fire. I'm not sure if that's him “relaxing” or if it's a subtle threat, but it's obvious he sees nothing wrong with this scenario. "I hate to be a pain, but can I bathe somewhere private?"

"My husband will not look upon your beauty," the woman says shyly, then tugs the cauldron off the fire with surprising strength and puts an empty pot on the hook.

Aron snorts, not looking up from his daggers.

I move to Aron's side and put my hand over his face, covering his mouth. "I'm a shy, delicate flower," I tell her with a wink. "And I'd rather some privacy if it's all the same to you. Ignore this man."

She gives us a startled look but nods.

Aron just calmly removes my hand from his mouth, as if women manhandle him every day, and then goes back to his dagger. "Do you have a sharpening stone I can use?"

"Of course," the man says, then hesitates. "Should I get water first or the stone?"

"I can get the water," I offer, "If you show me where it is." Heck, this poor woman's got a baby to juggle and her husband looks ready to fall over with exhaustion.

They give me horrified looks, as if the thought of me tending to myself is abhorrent. Aron just rolls his eyes.

"We will tend to you," the woman says. "Please, take your rest."

I feel guilty about that, given that she's very heavily pregnant and they're both underfed. But they look terrified at the thought of displeasing Aron, and he's clearly not going to make any effort, so I look around for a seat. There's a stool, but I want to leave that for her, so I move to Aron's side and plop in his lap. "Hope you don't mind if your smelly consort takes a load off, then."

His hands go to my waist and he leans in to murmur to me, "As long as I do not breathe deep, I am fine."

"Prince Charming," I tell him. "You're going to make me swoon with your flowery words."

Aron just chuckles low, pats my hip, and then we watch as the poor farm couple scurries to make Aron welcome.

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