Unexpected Magick, An Rhodes, M L

AN UNEXPECTED MAGICK

M. L. RHODES

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.amberquill.com

An Unexpected Magick

An Amber Quill Press Book

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used

fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

http://www.AmberHeat.com

http://www.AmberAllure.com

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the

exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

ISBN 978-1-61124-398-7

Published in the United States of America

Also by M. L. Rhodes

Always

Bring The Heat

Couplings

The Draegan Lords

The Elf And Shoemaker

Falling

Familiar

Fires Of Ballian

Hearts & Bones
Into The Woods

Lords Of Kellesborne

Never Let Go

Out Of My Mind

Passion

Passion & Satisfaction

The Professor's Secret Passion

Satisfaction

Shattered

Souls Deep

True Of Heart

Under My Skin, Vols. I & II

Vertigo

Wanting

Dedication

This one is for all my readers who asked for more Wen and Wesley. All I can say is thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for asking because

it opened up a whole new layer in the Draegan Lords series for me and gave me a chance to further explore some of the secondary characters

I've grown to love so much. I enjoyed giving Wen and Wes a chance to be the heroes in their own story! I hope this is only the first of several for

them.

Acknowledgments

Most writers will tell you that we're only as good as our support structure, and I'm very lucky to have a strong one. My books would never happen

without the dedication, talent, and time of Catherine, Ingrid, and Trace at Amber Allure, who all work hands-on helping me put out the best

product possible. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to my critique partner for her feedback, support, kicks in the rear when needed, and

especially her friendship, which has survived fifteen years and over sixty published novels and novellas between us. But I have to give an extra

special love-filled thanks to my own three heroes. Without them, none of this would be possible. Not only do they keep the house running and

the people and animals fed when I'm down to the white-knuckle edge with a deadline, they also help me brainstorm, work out conflicts for my

characters, invent legends and backstories for my fantasy races, and even offer advice on battle strategies and choreography. (Me: I've got a

guy with a sword and a guy with a bow. They're being ambushed by ten armed warriors. I need them to win. Go!) M, J, and C...I love you guys

beyond measure!

Chapter 1

"Take your stand. Good. Nock your arrow. Draw. Hold. Then loose your arrow."
Wesley Brannock concentrated on the circle that had been painted onto the rough fabric of the grass-stuffed sack--one of the practice targets

they used in weapons training. He followed the directions as Captain Rizik called them out, but when he loosed his arrow, it wobbled as it flew, and
dropped like a drunken bird into the winter-browned grass next to the sack.

"Keep working on it," Captain Rizik said to the gathered group. "For those of you who haven't shot a bow before, I know the position and

motions might feel uncomfortable at first, but you'll get used to it and pretty soon it'll become a natural movement."

Wesley sure hoped so because right now, he felt like he might as well be trying to shoot arrows

from

a drunken bird. A huge, unwieldy bird with

a string attached to it. The longbow, a weapon he'd never used before today, felt big and awkward in his grasp.

They'd spent the majority of the past three weeks learning how to handle a sword, how to thrust and parry, move their feet, learn to read their

opponent. Wesley had picked up the skills quickly, and already could hold his own in a match against his friend Jarrad. But today, Captain Rizik
and Second Lieutenant Daneson had set aside the afternoon for those who wanted to shoot a bow. Wesley had been looking forward to the
challenge, but so far the bow had been mastering him rather than the other way around.

Next to him on one side Jarrad easily loosed an arrow and it hit his target, not directly in the center but certainly within the circle. On the other

side, Jarrad's younger brother Allend did nearly as well. When Wesley tried again, however, he had no better luck than he had before, missing the
sack completely.

Sighing in frustration, he started again, going through the mantra in his mind that Captain Rizik had taught them.

Stand. Nock. Draw. Hold.

Loose.

He watched with a grimace as this arrow floundered like the last. It grazed the edge of the sack before it landed, though. Small comfort, but it

was a little closer at least

Next to him, his friends once again hit their targets with solid thunks.
Damn, they made it look so easy. He wished he had their comfort and confidence, but he also knew they'd probably been using bows since they

were old enough to hold one. Whereas he...well, he hadn't exactly led a life filled with weapons and training, much less anyone to show him how it
was done. Until a few short weeks ago, he'd spent most of his days by himself, roaming the forest near the tiny, isolated settlement where he and
his mother and a few others had lived. And even before that, when they'd lived near the bigger village, their house had been on the outskirts of town,
in the woods, and they hadn't interacted much with others. He knew a lot about plants, herbs, and trees, knew their uses as food or medicine. He
knew how to set snares and traps for game, and how to fish. He knew the lakes and waterways even more intimately than the woods. And he could
wield a knife as well or better than most folk, since he'd learned long ago how to skin and gut the game and fish he caught.

But he'd never been taught any skills with weapons of war. Any skills with weapons that could save lives. Or take them. Until he'd come here.
"Keep practicing and you'll get the hang of it," Jarrad said.
"It feels like I'd be better off just beating someone over the head with it rather than trying to wrestle with balancing a long pointy stick on a string."
Jarrad laughed. "You should have seen me the first time I tried--the bow was actually bigger than I was. And I couldn't even come close to

drawing it. My dad wanted to make me a lighter one, but I was stubborn and kept insisting I'd use the full-size one or nothing at all, by damn."

Wesley arched an eyebrow at him.
"Yeah, I know." Jarrad grinned. "I was young and dumb and, like I said, stubborn. It took me two years before I was strong enough to handle the

thing properly. And even when I finally could, I was shit at it forever."

Wesley looked at his friend and then his target, which had several arrows jutting out of the circle. "Yeah, you look like you were shit at it."
"I was! Really. I sent an arrow straight through our tent one time, and out the other side. It lodged in the wild boar Mum was roasting on a spit

over the fire out back. She was standing right next to it when it happened and I thought she was going to kill me, railing about how I could have
skewered one of the younger boys if they'd been in the tent. My dad was gone by then and Wen was supposed to be supervising me, so she gave
him

hel

, too, for letting me practice so close to the camp. You've never known scared until you've had a serious chewing out from my mum!"

Wesley smiled. "I'll try to remember that."
Jared's mother, Marta, was one of the draegan lord's first lieutenants, as well as an advisor and close friends. She'd always been nice to

Wesley and he'd never seen her be anything but loving with her sons, but he knew she was as tough as any other member of the

draeganjhere

--the

guards of the camp--so he could imagine that to keep four boys in line by herself for the better part of the last twelve years she probably didn't take
much guff from them. What Jarrad had said about his dad being "gone," Wesley knew he meant dead. It was something they had in common since
his own father had died when he was a baby. His mother and Jarrad's couldn't be any more different, though. While his own mother had chosen to
hide them from the high sorcerer's tyranny, Jarrad's had not only encouraged her sons to learn how to fight to survive, she'd fought right alongside
them. She was, in fact, one of the draegans who'd pretty much saved Wesley's life not so long ago.

Four weeks before, the draegans had come to the aid of his small settlement, saving the seven residents from certain death at the hands of

twenty of the high sorcerer's soldiers. Afterward, the draegans had brought them here to live, to the draegan lord's camp, where there was safety in
numbers and they had a better chance of survival against Byram's raids. Though it wasn't the first time Wesley had survived an attack by the high
sorcerer's troops--the village they'd lived near before had been razed by soldiers as well--the most recent attack had been the first time Wesley had
been in a position to fight back.

Unfortunately, when he'd tried, he'd discovered he was sadly unprepared. A fact that didn't set well with him.
So when Captain Rizik began offering weapons training to any members of the camp who wanted to learn, he'd immediately signed up. His

mother had worried over his decision. All his life she'd tried to shelter him from the "bad things out there" as she called them, which was one of the
reasons she'd joined the group of survivors from their town four years ago and traveled to the isolated spot in the forest near an old draegan temple.
She'd wanted to disappear from the world and hope the sorcerer's long arm would never touch them again.

After all they'd been through, he understood her feelings, and it wasn't that he didn't appreciate her protectiveness--he did, truly. But he was no

longer a child. Hadn't been in a long while. Though he looked younger than he was and many people mistook him for a teenager, he was twenty
years old. And here, in the draegans' camp, he finally had a chance to learn new skills and be of use. He'd pointed out to her that even as isolated
as they'd been for the past few years, in the end, Byram's troops had found them anyway. They no longer had the luxury of hiding and pretending
war wasn't upon them. The only way they would ever have true peace was to fight for it.

He'd encouraged her to come with him to the training, to learn some skills for herself, and she had the first few days, but when it came to be

known around camp that she was particularly skilled in growing things, she'd been asked by the draegan lord himself to help set up gardens that
could be tended even during the winter months to help feed the residents of the camp. She'd taken on the project with gusto and now had little time
to pursue anything else.

Wesley, however, had thrown himself into the weapons training wholeheartedly, as he'd thrown himself into this new life they now led. He liked it

here. For the first time since he could remember, he had something to work toward, something to look forward to each day. And he had friends his
own age...something he'd missed out on for most of his life.

Plus, he liked this place. The forest here was different from the one where they'd been living. This one felt younger, more welcoming...with lots of

pines and the tall, gold-leafed delik trees rather than the ancient, massive-trunked oaks and thick clinging vines. It felt less dark here. Less stagnant.
Less...heavy, which he wasn't even sure made sense, but that's how it seemed to him. In the old place he'd always felt as if some unknown and
unseen weight pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe, as if the ancient roots of the forest, up against the mountains, were filled with
things older and more menacing than here. The only place he'd ever felt somewhat at ease there was when he was in and around water--the ponds
and lakes that dotted the old forest. And even that had been a double-edged sword because while he found the water welcoming and, in many
ways, comforting, it had also forced him to be wary of watchful eyes.

Here, on the other hand, he felt lighter and happier than anytime he could remember. The sheer number of people in camp should have been

daunting for him, but for the most part it wasn't. His old fears and anxieties weren't gone--there would always be a part of himself he kept hidden
away. Too many years of caution and fear had taught him he could never let his secret be exposed. But though he had to work a little harder at that
here, the trade-off was that he had friends, and a purpose, and a way to defend himself now if need be.

He woke up each day with a sense of urgency to learn how to protect his mother, himself, and this odd group of draegans and humans he'd

found himself part of. It seemed strange to have such a strong sense of loyalty to a group he'd barely joined, and yet the draegan lord--Keiran
Hareldson--inspired a sense of loyalty in most everyone. And his mate, Captain Rizik--or Lord Rizik as most of the draegans called him--was the
same.

Wesley had heard stories of Captain Rizik's history, knew he had once been the captain of Byram's High Guard and had been called the White

Panther because of his lethal skill and his ability to instill terror in the peoples of the land. It was hard to imagine that now, though. Captain Rizik was
tall, muscular, striking to look at with his white-blond hair, and a fierce fighter. But he had a kindness to him, an empathy in his dealings with people
here in the camp. He was fair and patient in teaching those, like Wesley, with very little training, how to handle weapons and fight to protect
themselves and their families. And his devotion and love for the draegan lord was legendary around camp. Anyone who saw them together could
never doubt how much Captain Rizik loved Lord Hareldson, or the lord him.

In short...the two of them together, leading by example rather than demand, inspired loyalty from everyone in camp. They made the people they

led and looked after want to support them, want to support the cause of everyone who had so long been abused by High Sorcerer Byram.

It was that loyalty, as well as a deep down need to finally fit in somewhere that kept Wesley showing up at weapons training each day and trying

his hardest to learn all he could. Sometimes it was frustrating that his companions--the draegan brothers who'd instantly befriended him when they'd
met him--were more experienced than he. But he refused to let that scare him off or daunt him. His goal was to become a member of the

draeganjhere.

If he worked hard enough, practiced long enough, he would be as good as his friends were. At least he hoped so.

He kept telling himself this over and over as he continued to nock arrows on the bowstring, draw, and release them. He half shocked himself

when one actually hit the bag. Not inside the circle, but still...the bag.

"See, you're getting better already," Jarrad said.
The next arrow belied that statement, however, as it lurched its way forward and fell short of the target. Wesley mumbled a swear word under his

breath.

"Try widening your stance a little," Jarrad offered.
Wesley did as he suggested, but before he could get his next arrow nocked, he heard a teasing voice behind him, speaking to Allend. A voice

that instantly filled him with nervous tension and made him drop the arrow.

Bugger!

The voice belonged to Lieutenant Daneson--Jarrad and Allend's older brother.
With another whispered curse and heat rising up his cheeks, Wesley bent to pick up his wayward arrow, trying not to notice how being near the

lieutenant had a habit of making his palms sweaty and his pulse race a bit faster. How could he not notice, though, when it had been happening
more and more of late? Every time the draegan came around to check on their progress, offer advice, and chat with his brothers, Wesley felt his
presence like a warm ball of heat coming to life in his belly.

"Hold it steady, Allend. You're trying too hard to show off and not taking time to aim," the lieutenant was saying good-naturedly.
"Who died and made you perfect, Wen?" Allend shot back. "Like you don't show off every day, trying to impress Lord Rizik."
Out of the corner of his eye, Wesley saw the tall, wiry draegan with sun-kissed, shoulder-length hair cuff Allend upside the head, but not hard

enough to really hurt him. And he was smiling. He smiled a lot, Wesley had noticed. Hard not to when his green eyes were often twinkling and his
smile had a way of tightening Wesley's stomach muscles with an undeniable clenching need. Today the wool cloak he wore matched the color of
his eyes, and with the sword hanging from his lean hip and the dagger tucked into the wide braided belt he wore, he looked like an ancient hero
from one of the illustrated manuscripts Thomas used to let him read back at the settlement. The ones with gilt-edged pages and people portrayed
with gold auras, as if they were glimmering with divine light.

"That's Lieutenant Daneson to you."
Allend snorted. "In your dreams. Like I'm going to call my own brother by a rank."
"Better listen to him, Al," Jarrad said with a grin from the other side of Wesley. "Now that Wen's all-important, sitting in on the draegan lord's

council and working as Lord Rizik's assistant here in training, if you don't do what he says, he'll have you locked up or make you clean out slop pots
as punishment."

"As if. You don't scare me,

Rowen.

" Allend stuck out his tongue.

Lieutenant Daneson cuffed him again. "You'd better be scared. Remember, I know all your secrets, little brother. I used to help Mum change your

nappies when you were a baby, and I was there when you said your first word, which, in case you've forgotten, wasn't something good little draegan
boys said."

"It was

fuck

," Jarrad silently mouthed to Wesley with a grin.

Wesley's brows shot up and he bit back a laugh.
"And don't forget," Jarrad added aloud, "that time when he was seven and Mum caught him--"
"Shut up! You're both puckheaded gnarlbeasts!"Allend groused.

"Puckheaded?" Jarrad said, laughing. "Oooh, I'm scared."
"Gnarlbeasts? Is that the best you can come up with?" Lieutenant Daneson added.
By this time Wesley was openly smiling, even though he was still trying to pretend he was concentrating on the same arrow he'd been holding

forever.

But even that lame attempt at pretense fell away the moment the lieutenant leaned in closer to him and said companionably, as if he and Wesley

had been having a conversation all along, "Don't mind him. Mum dropped him on his head when he was a baby, which explains why he's such a
prat."

"Bite me!" Allend said.
"Wow, and you kiss Mum with that dirty mouth?" Jarrad taunted. "Wait 'til I tell her how you're talking shit not only to your older brother, but to one

of your commanding officers."

"You can bite me, too, Jarrad. You both think you're so great, but one of these days, you just wait. I'll get back at you when you least expect it!"

Allend gave them an evil glare that might have actually looked real, if he hadn't ruined it by somehow tripping over his feet and falling in the dirt.

His brothers both chortled, as did Wesley. Though all three brothers had the same coloring--sandy-blond hair, fair skin, and eyes the color of

forest moss--Allend was still young and lanky, without his older brothers' more muscular builds. And he had a tendency to run everywhere he went,
full speed, and even when he was standing still had a crazy pent-up energy about him, all of which seemed to conspire to make him accident-prone.

Jarrad set down his bow and crossed behind Wesley to Allend's side. He grasped a handful of Allend's shirt and dragged him upright.
"One of these days you're going to grow into those big feet," Jarrad said with a grin that only grew wider when Allend slugged him in the

stomach. That started a tussle between the two.

"All right, that's enough," Lieutenant Daneson commanded. He was smiling still, but there was also no mistaking that he'd switched from teasing

big brother to lieutenant of the

draeganjhere.

"Lord Rizik's going to be over here loading you up with extra chores for goofing off if you don't stop.

Get back to work."

After a final shove from each, they parted with fake glares followed by quick grins.
Wesley had seen Jarrad and Allend, and sometimes even their younger brother Edric, get into some real knock-downs, sometimes out of actual

anger, but at the end of it, they always laughed and slapped each others' backs and all was forgiven. As the oldest, the lieutenant teased along with
them, but usually served as peacemaker when things got too heated. What always surprised Wesley was that the lieutenant's brothers actually
obeyed him for the most part and clearly respected him. It was one thing to command respect from the people who worked for and with you--to
Wesley that was indicative of a good leader. But for siblings to freely offer it as well--that, to his way of thinking, was indicative of a good man.

He couldn't help but admire and envy how well the brothers got along. They obviously and openly loved each other, and it made him all the more

aware of how different, how isolated, and how lonely his own upbringing had been.

Jarrad returned to his own position and he and Allend lifted their bows and went back to target practice, while tossing out occasional good-

natured jibes at each other.

Wesley on the other hand stood stiff and felt even more awkward than he had earlier because even though he could no longer see him, he felt

Lieutenant Daneson standing behind him, watching him. Knowing he couldn't keep dawdling like an oaf, he finally nocked the arrow he'd been
holding. He lifted the bow and began to draw, but stopped when he felt hands on his shoulders and the warmth of a tall body close in behind him.

Holy gods.

The contact between the lieutenant's hands and his skin, even through his shirt, was a searing brand that sent ripples of awareness

through him. Now what was he supposed to do?

He felt his face flush again as the draegan said softly against his ear, with a hint of humor in his voice, "Breathe."
He did, sucking in a gulp of air and letting it out slowly.
"Loosen your shoulders." The lieutenant squeezed them gently for emphasis. "Widen your stance a little."
Wesley did, but at this point he was just going through the motions as he was told, because he couldn't think at all with the draegan so close to

him. So close he could actually feel the warmth of his taut, muscular body seeping through the back of his shirt. He'd taken off his own cloak earlier
when the combination of their daily training exercises and the pale winter sun had left him overheated, but now he felt overheated for completely
different reasons.

He could have sworn he heard a low chuckle, as if the lieutenant knew exactly what he was thinking. But he couldn't, of course. Draegans had a

form of magick they used, but they couldn't read minds. Damn...could they?

"Elbow up." A hand on his arm put it in the correct position, and once again Wesley allowed himself to be arranged. "Pads of your fingers on the

string. Good. Now sight your target as you draw, hold for a moment, then release."

Wesley did, hoping the shot wouldn't totally embarrass him.
It did, of course, wobbling and falling to the side of his bag.
Before he could say anything though, the lieutenant gave his shoulder another light squeeze and said, "It's okay. Do it again."
With a hand he hoped wasn't shaking, he pulled another arrow from the quiver next to him and nocked it.
"This time let's try something different," that husky voice said, still so near to his ear. "I want you to close your eyes."
"What?" That jarred Wesley out of his dream-like stupor.
The draegan's soft laugh made his skin tingle. "You heard me. Close your eyes."
"I..."
"You have good form, but you're overthinking, trying too hard, and this is going to help."
"But--"
"Trust me, Wes."
His heart skipped a beat at the warm, easy way the lieutenant used his nickname. Wesley did trust him; that wasn't the problem at all. It was

himself he didn't trust. The lieutenant left him so rattled just by being near that he could barely keep his thoughts together, much less expect his body
to behave and not give away, in blatantly obvious fashion, just what his presence did to him. But he didn't want the draegan to know how in over his
head he was right now, so he let his eyes flicker shut.

"Good. Now, I want you to imagine for just a second what the target looks like. Then take a deep breath as you draw. Let it out. Open your eyes.

And release."

"When? Now?" Wesley felt completely awkward and self-conscious, but he was also buzzing with tension and anticipation.
"Whenever you're ready. I don't want you to think or plan."
Wesley took a deep breath as instructed, but was certain this would never work. How could he not think about what he was doing? How could he

aim if he wasn't looking? How could he--

"You're still thinking too much."
"How can you tell?"
"Because your shoulders are bunching up again and I can practically feel the questions vibrating inside you." His tone once more held a note of

humor. "Trust me. You can do this. Clear your mind."

Wesley sighed and tried again, this time attempting to shut down the questions in his head. He really tried. But his mind didn't want to be quiet

and his body had no interest in cooperating either. He could still hear Jarrad and Allend teasing one another. Could hear Captain Rizik somewhere
nearby talking to someone. And was far,

far

too aware of the man standing behind him.

"Relax."
"I can't." He sighed and opened his eyes, turning his head to look at the lieutenant. "I'm sorry. Clearly this is hopeless." He hated to admit it, but

at this point his embarrassment was already complete, so he figured it was better to be honest than to keep digging himself in deeper.

The draegan smiled, which pretty much tied Wesley's stomach into more slithery, warm knots. "No, it's not. Let's try this... Close your eyes

again."

Wesley did, but almost jumped out of his skin when the lieutenant settled a hand on his shoulder once more. He hated to tell him, but if he

wanted Wesley to relax, touching him wasn't the solution.

"I want you to picture in your head the most peaceful spot you can think of. Someplace where no one can disturb you, where you're at ease,

happy, relaxed, with no worries."

His tone was soft, sensual almost. Intimate. And as he spoke, his hand slid down Wesley's spine until it rested at his lower back, radiating heat.

Yet, instead of causing Wesley's heart to pound harder and his body to tense more than it already was, something about the lieutenant's voice was
actually having the opposite effect on him. It was hypnotic, sliding through his veins like warm liquid, making his knees weak and his mind turn to
mush.

"Can you do that for me?" the lieutenant asked softly. "Find that place?"

For him?

If it meant he'd keep talking to him in that low, intimate voice. "Yes," Wesley whispered.

"Good. Once you have it in your mind, I want you let go of everything else. Nothing else matters except that spot and how content you feel when

you're there."

Wesley drew in another breath and released it. Where was he the most at peace?
In the water, of course. He pictured himself swimming in a crystal clear pond in the middle of a sunny meadow. The cool glide of the water over

his skin felt good. And he loved the silence that surrounded him when he was fully immersed, shutting out all the sounds of the outside world. He
tried to experience that now, put himself there...and slowly but surely all the external noises and thoughts he'd been fighting slid away and it was only
him, the water...

...and the lieutenant's voice, which, surprisingly, wasn't intrusive. It was simply another tranquil thread in his altered mind space. "Are you there?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now let your instincts take over. Feel your breath. In and out." He spoke slowly, his voice guiding Wesley into an even deeper state of

calm. "Let the tension leave your body. Feel the bow, but not as a separate thing. Feel it as an extension of your arm and shoulder. There's nothing
awkward about it. It's part of you."

Wesley slowed his breathing to a steady rate, let his body relax further, and allowed himself to sink even deeper into the vision he'd created

around himself. It had shifted now, and he wasn't in the water anymore, which surprised him. Instead, he was standing in the meadow, lush grass
blowing around his legs, the sun warm on his head, the scent of wildflowers on the air. But what he was most aware of was the feel of a strong, lean
body pressed against him from behind, chest to back, groin to ass, with an arm wrapped around his waist. The extra presence wasn't holding him
back or impeding his movement, but rather had become a part of him. In sync with him. Breathing with him. Heart beating with his.

The sensation was arousing in a balls-deep, thrumming, make-the-anticipation-last sort of way.
"Do you feel it?" The words were whispered now, warm against his neck, sending tingling ripples of desire through him.
"Gods yes," he whispered.
"And the bow?" The hint of humor was back, but even it made his body sing.
Suddenly, he realized the bow didn't seem like an obstacle any longer. He almost could imagine it was part of him as he lifted it, drew the string

back until his fingers touched his cheek.

"Good. Whenever you're ready..."
Without hesitation, Wesley opened his eyes and released the arrow.
It flew straight and true...and hit with a thunk in the center ring of the target.

Holy...

"Did I just do that?" he breathed. He blinked to see if the picture in front of him changed, but it didn't...the arrow still jutted from the circle on the

bag, not perfectly centered, but damned close.

"That was excellent!" Jarrad said with genuine enthusiasm.
"Good shooting," Allend added.
The praise blurred together for Wesley, though, because he was still staring at his handiwork in total surprise. "I can't believe it."
Actually, he couldn't believe any of it...the way his arrow was stuck in the target, the ease of how it had felt to shoot the bow, and especially how it

had come about. He still wasn't fully back in the real world yet, and not even sure he wanted to be as he remembered the person who'd been with
him in his imaginary...whatever that had been. He could still almost feel the press of the solid body against his backside, the synchronicity as they
breathed, the arousal, the rightness of it all.

But back in the here and now, it was just a memory. He wasn't even sure it had happened at all. Maybe he'd just imagined it.
Uncertain, he turned his head to look at the lieutenant, who'd been oddly silent since Wesley's shot. The draegan was standing behind him,

close, but definitely not close enough to have been fully embracing him.

He found the draegan looking back at him with an expression Wesley could only label as...shaken. His gaze, so often twinkling with mischief or

pleasure, now seemed troubled and confused.

Oh gods, what did I do wrong?

Before he could think, he spoke it aloud, or started to. "Did I..."

Now a quick smile flashed on the lieutenant's face, but it didn't fully erase the odd look, nor did it ease Wesley's fears. "You did great. I told you

you could do it."

"I... Thank you."
"Just...keep practicing. Like that. Okay?" He was already backing away. "You did good, Wesley." Then he turned and took off at a fast walk

across the clearing, as if he couldn't escape quickly enough.

Wesley watched him go, his heart in his throat, wondering what had just happened.

Chapter 2

Wen made his way across the clearing, through the thirty or so trainees who were shooting arrows at targets. For the past three weeks they'd

had as many as sixty or seventy members of the camp here at various times for weapons training, but Lord Rizik had set aside this afternoon
specifically for those who wanted to learn the bow, or if they were already familiar with it, to practice. It was a more specialized weapon than a
sword, took a different skill set, and while most members of the

draeganjhere

had used one before, a good number of the civilians had not. Fewer

still had wanted to take the time to learn. So the group was smaller this afternoon than usual.

A fact for which, at the moment, he was grateful. It made it easier to escape for a few minutes to clear his head.
He entered the weapons tent under the guise of needing to get something, but once inside its darkness, alone, with a thick panel of canvas

between him and the rest of the camp, he stopped, took a deep breath, and attempted to slow his pounding heart.

What in

hel

had just happened out there with Wesley Brannock?

He closed his eyes, trying to regain some equilibrium. Instead, all he saw was himself standing in a warm summer meadow, pressed against

Wesley's back, his arm around him holding him close as he whispered in his ear, and his body betraying him with deep-down aching desire.

Damn it!

His eyes flew open. He didn't want to see it again! He'd left Wesley and come in here precisely to get away from the vision.

No...not just a vision, he corrected himself. It was more than that because he'd experienced all his senses while it was happening. He wasn't just

watching it; he'd been able to touch and hear, smell and speak. And gods knew he'd been able to feel other things as well. All while at the same
time still standing in the forest clearing with thirty other people around who were oblivious to the link he and Wesley were somehow sharing.

He couldn't deny he'd been drawn to Wesley, with his mouth-watering body and dark-haired, dark-eyed soulfulness, since the day the draegans

had fought off Byram's soldiers to save the tiny settlement where he'd lived. Then, during the week of travel it had taken to get back here to camp,
and in the weeks since, the longer he'd been around Wesley, the more he'd become equally intrigued by the younger man's determined
perseverance to be successful at anything he tried, as well as fascinated by his quiet intelligence and the unassuming shyness always lurking just
beneath his surface. So, yes, Wen knew he was attracted to him, and had been for a while now.

But he'd

never

intended to act on it, or even to let it show.

Getting involved with anyone was too complicated in this world they lived in. He'd seen too many people invest in relationships, develop close

bonds, share their hearts, only to have everything torn apart with one slash of a sword, one "accident," one raid by the high sorcerer's armies. He
loved his mother and brothers and would die defending them. He'd freely given his love and loyalty to the draegan lords and would die for them
because it was his job to protect them. But he knew what kind of damage came from extending one's heart too far, knew what kind of loss it led to.
So he'd made a point of keeping his distance from anything resembling a close attachment outside of his family and the draegan lords' inner circle.
On the rare occasions he'd felt a spark for someone over the past several years, he'd always managed to overcome it and move on. He'd had no
reason to believe it would be any different this time.

He drew in a ragged breath and let it out, then sank to a crouch and rubbed his eyes.
Gods he was such a liar.

Overcome it and move on? No different this time?

Utter crap and he knew it.

If this was no different, then why had he been finding every reason possible to stop and talk to his brothers at training each day? Yeah, he

enjoyed giving them grief sometimes. But lately he'd been stopping more often than usual...and it wasn't because he found his exchanges with them
so fascinating or liked watching them bicker. It had nothing to do with his brothers at all...and everything to do with their new best friend.

Something about Wesley was different. He'd known it, but just hadn't wanted to admit it, damn it.
Now, though, he couldn't keep pretending. What had happened out there a little while ago had exposed him for the fraud he was, if not to

Wesley, then to himself. And the way it had happened...he was still reeling from that. When he'd used a bit of calming magick on Wesley to get him
to relax, something about the combination of the physical touch and the magick had created a link between them--a mind and body, synchronistic
bond of some sort.

He couldn't understand it. He'd used magick before to help soothe people--both draegan and human--and touching was part of what made the

magick work. But he'd

never

forged a connection with any of them like he had with Wesley. The only thing he could compare it to was the way he

and other draegans communicated in their winged forms. They used a type of telepathy to interact since they couldn't vocalize.

But this had been different from that. This hadn't been mind-speak. This had been...more. On a whole other level of

more.

What had really staggered him was the intensity of it. The moment they'd linked, the connection had been potent and, for Wen, soul-shattering.

Because it had made him feel things he hadn't experienced in a very long time. Things he hadn't expected or wanted to ever feel again.

Worse, and much to his shock, he'd felt all those things even more powerfully than he had so long ago--the churning need that was both physical

and emotional, so raw, and at the same time, so right.

And therein lay the problem. Because with that realization had come guilt. Which had promptly been followed by a healthy dose of paralyzing

fear.

Which was why once the connection had broken he'd escaped. He knew he hadn't handled it well, knew he'd left Wesley standing there

uncertain and confused, but he'd had to put some distance between them. Had to figure out why this was happening.

And then he had to find a way to make it stop.
By the time he emerged from the tent a few minutes later, however, he'd come to no conclusions and found no solace. All he knew was that not

only could he not let what had happened earlier ever happen again, he couldn't allow his attraction to Wesley to come to light in any other way
either. It was better for them both if he kept it locked up tight. Which meant, as much as possible, he needed to stay away from him.

The thought left a dull ache in his gut, but he didn't know what else to do.
And yet he found his mind working overtime trying to come up with a different solution. Maybe the connection between them had just been a

one-time deal, a fluke. Maybe if he made sure to never use the calming magick, or any kind of magick, around Wesley, nothing like that would
happen again and they could still...

Still what? Be friends? He wouldn't exactly call them friends now. Wesley was Jarrad and Allend's friend, and even Edric hung out with the three

of them sometimes. Wen, however, didn't have that luxury. Because he was several years older than his brothers and now in a position of
responsibility in the

draeganjhere

--he'd been promoted to the rank of second lieutenant after Jax was banished from camp several weeks ago and

Lord Hareldson had asked him to join his group of advisors--so he seldom had free time to spend with his family or anyone else outside of work.
Doing whatever it was his brothers and Wesley did in their spare time, being part of their group, was out of the question for him. Which was why

he'd been using the excuse of checking up on his brothers at training in order to spend time with Wesley.

Gods, how sad was that, that he'd been acting like a lovesick schoolboy? He was far too old for those kinds of games. Especially when he

knew, he

knew,

damn it, that nothing could come of it.

In the end, he had no one to blame but himself for this situation. He'd let down his guard, allowed himself to get too close, and now he had to end

it. It was the only way.

His gaze ranged across the clearing and settled on Wesley, who had his back turned to him. Dressed in leather boots, tight brown pants that

hugged his long legs and unbearably sexy backside, a white shirt with the sleeves pushed up, and his dark hair loose and skimming his collar, he
was a sight Wen never grew tired of looking at.

And damn it, there he went again, letting his guard down because he hadn't realized until this very moment just how much he

had

been looking

over the past few weeks.

How had he let the younger man sneak in so easily under his defenses and invade his thoughts and, bloody

hel

, even his fantasies?

And more importantly, how was he going to purge him, now that Wesley was so deeply under his skin? Especially now, after they'd shared that

odd connection and he knew what it was like to hold him, to feel his firm body against his own? It hadn't been real, exactly, but it had been real
enough to give him sensory memories that, he was certain, would be burned into him forever.

He sighed and shook his head. If there was an easy answer, he couldn't find it.
Lord Rizik joined him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You all right? You look a little out of sorts."
Wen took a breath and put on a smile. "I'm fine, my lord." He'd do his damnedest to make it seem so anyway.
Lord Rizik shook his head. "How many times have I told you that you don't need to call me that? Captain is fine. Or even Gaige."
"And have my mum beat me blue for being disrespectful to the draegan lord's mate? I'd rather walk barefoot through fire nettle," he quipped,

finding his smile more comfortable and real now.

Lord Rizik chuckled. "Point taken. I've seen your mother mad and I certainly don't want you on her black list. Still...she's not here right now, so

she would never know."

"My lord, you're playing with fire."
"Do you mean fire nettle?"
Now Wen laughed. "That, too. The thing about my mum is, she always finds out. Do you think my brothers or I have ever been able to get away

with anything?"

Lord Rizik held up his hands. "Fine, I surrender. For today. But eventually I'm going to get you to see things my way."
"Unlikely, my lord, but if you want to keep trying, I'll keep humoring you by listening."
The lord laughed again. "How very diplomatic of you."
Wen shrugged and smiled again. "I try."
"All right, my tactful yet astute lieutenant, look across the clearing here and tell me what you see. I value your insight. Who do you see with

enough potential to fill positions in the

draeganjhere

? I know of probably twenty or so who will be ready soon, within the next few weeks, but I'm

wondering about people ready now."

Part of the reason for the weapons training wasn't just to give civilians a chance to learn skills to defend themselves and their families, it was

also to better train the existing

draeganjhere,

to help them hone their skills and be more effective. And it was also to train potential new members

for the draegan lord's guard. More draegans and humans were joining the camp every day, and with the growth of the camp's population, and High
Sorcerer Byram's more frequent incursions into the areas surrounding the camp, they needed more guards to aid in defense and serve as scouts
to track Byram's troops.

"There are a few, yes. Did you have anyone in particular in mind?" Wen asked.
"I think Oren Millette and his wife have good fighting skills, and they don't seem daunted by the idea of taking on Byram's soldiers face-to-face."
"They shouldn't be. They used to run rhum over the mountain passes. We saw them from time to time when we were still a small group--just my

mum and dad, the boys and Jax and Lord Hareldson and a few others. The Millettes have dealt with Byram's troops on numerous occasions."

"I was thinking about using them as scouts. But the question is," Lord Rizik said quietly, "and I'm asking you this in confidence, can we trust

them? They're used to making their own way in the world, capitalizing on opportunities to get rich. Are they going to run off the first chance they see
of making some coin?"

Wen pondered the question, knowing it was a valid one. Finally he nodded. "I think they'll be okay. Oren's brother was killed last year in a raid.

He used to work with Oren and Maryla, and they were close. Since then Oren's had little on his mind but destroying Byram, and since we're the
biggest chance he has to do that, I think we can depend on them not to go anywhere and stay loyal."

"Good, that's what I was hoping to hear. I've also been thinking about Lasha Eliason as well as Nedrick Frenz."
"Both have solid skills. I think those are good choices."
"Who else?" Lord Rizik asked him.
"Orlinda and Carliss would be excellent additions as well." Wen nodded toward the mated draegan women, one with a long blonde braid

hanging down her back and the other with short-cropped red hair. "It would be a real asset for us to let them work as a team because they've been
together for many years and read each other so well. Orlinda's fast on her feet and nimble with a sword, and Carliss is strong and a dead-shot with
her bow."

"I've noticed, and I agree. Good call." He paused and studied the fighters practicing their skills. "What about Wesley Brannock? Any thoughts?"
Oh gods.

Any thoughts?

How about all his thoughts right now?

Once again Wen let his gaze slide to Wesley, who, as he watched, managed to get an arrow into the target, but nowhere close to the beautiful

shot he'd nailed when Wen was there with him earlier. A rush of need spread through Wen as he remembered their shared connection again, and
the feel of Wes's body against his. It took all his willpower to stay put and not stride across the clearing to his side once more just so he could be
closer to him.

Bloody

hel,

he had to stop this. Now that he'd admitted to himself his desire for the man, he suddenly couldn't shut it off. And he had to. But

watching Wesley move, thinking about his shy, sexy smile, and about the truly graceful, instinctive way he'd shot the bow once he relaxed, how

could

he shut it off?

"Wen?"
Pulled back to the moment, Wen cleared his throat. "Sorry, my lord."
"Do you have concerns? Is that why you're hesitating?"

Concerns?

Dear gods...Lord Rizik didn't know the half of it.

"No, I don't have any concerns about his abilities," he said honestly, trying to divorce his personal feelings about Wesley from the picture and

look at him strictly for his potential as a future member of the

draeganjhere.

"He works hard, he's persistent, is eager to learn, and he picks things

up quickly. He's already got a solid mastery of the sword for such a short time handling one."

"Yeah, it's impressive, no doubt, which is one of the reasons I mentioned him. He doesn't have much experience, though. And while it's not a

requirement to be a good soldier, he's never even shot a bow until today."

"No, he hasn't. But when I was over there a while ago working with him on it, he's got good form and excellent instincts. He's unsure of himself

right now because it's awkward for him and he's overthinking it, but with practice, I believe he could actually become one of our better archers."

"Really? Hmm." Lord Rizik seemed somewhat surprised by his analysis, but Wen meant it.
"He's stronger than he looks, and...I don't know...there's something there. Hidden depths. I think we haven't quite seen all Wesley has to offer yet.
As he spoke the words, Wen knew they were true. There was something about Wes...and he suspected what had happened between them

earlier was only the tip of the mountain. Gods, he wanted to know more about him, wanted to explore the mystery of him, and find out just how deep
that mountain went.

But he couldn't do it on a personal level. Couldn't allow himself to get any closer or he knew he'd be swallowed up by it and, in the end, there

would only be pain and heartbreak. That didn't mean the

draeganjhere

shouldn't benefit from what Wesley had to offer, though.

"All right. I trust your judgment." Lord Rizik smiled. "It's one of the numerous reasons I chose you to help me with the training."
"Thank you, my lord. I'm glad I can help."
"I'd like to try to incorporate the people we talked about into the schedule for the

draeganjhere

as soon as possible." He had an uneasy look on

his face that caused a flare of concern in Wen.

"Are you expecting trouble?" Wen asked in a hushed tone. "Have you had another vision?" The entire camp at this point knew Lord Rizik

sometimes saw things that hadn't yet come to pass. Many called him The Oracle. One of his visions had, in fact, been how they'd located the
settlement where Wesley lived, and how they'd known it would be attacked.

Lord Rizik winced and rubbed his temple as if recalling an old pain. "Nothing specific. Let's just say I don't think the situation with Byram is going

to get better anytime soon, and..."

Wen waited, sensing

something

was bothering Lord Rizik, even if it wasn't specific.

Finally, he sighed and said, "I just have a gut feeling we need to be as prepared as possible for whatever's to come because whatever it is, it's

not going to be good."

Slowly, Wen nodded. He suspected Lord Rizik had just shared something with him that he hadn't shared with anyone else except perhaps Lord

Hareldson, and Wen didn't take the lord's trust in him lightly. "Will the people we talked about be enough?"

"I don't know," Lord Rizik answered, keeping his voice low. "I hope so. Because I'd rather not put anyone on the front lines who isn't fully

prepared to be there."

"Understood."
"Do you think they can be ready in the next few days? The ones we discussed?"
"I do," Wen said.
His one real worry was for Wesley. When Lord Rizik had mentioned him, even though Wen fully believed Wesley was a good choice for the

draeganjhere

, he hadn't been able to stop the flicker of apprehension he felt over putting him in harm's way. The

draeganjhere

wasn't always about

staying close to camp and guarding it. It also meant scouting into unknown areas, going out to hunt Byram's troops, or fighting them in combat--
which he suspected was going to be happening more often in the coming months. And with the sorcerer's use of dark magick, from the invisible
nets he'd cast across the skies to trap any draegans in flight, to his tricks and spies and the ability to disguise himself and others, hand-to-hand
combat wasn't the only peril the

draeganjhere

faced. The work was dangerous and unpredictable, and members of the

draeganjhere

were much

more likely to lose their lives than civilians who stayed close to camp.

And now, knowing Lord Rizik sensed something bad was coming, the thought of Wesley in the midst of the fray sent a cold chill up Wen's spine.

He knew from talking to Jarrad that Wesley's ultimate goal was to join the

draeganjhere

, but Wen wondered if he'd be able to live with himself,

knowing his recommendation is what had convinced Lord Rizik to induct Wesley into the guard. What if Wesley ended up seriously injured...or
killed. The thought of him lying dead, bleeding out, all that beauty and grace and sweet shyness crushed forever, nearly stole Wen's breath.

Gods, what had he done? He should have kept his mouth shut and told Lord Rizik that, no, Wesley wasn't ready yet, maybe wouldn't ever be.
But the moment he had the thought, he knew he couldn't have gone through with it. He'd been raised to be honest and honorable. He wouldn't lie

to one of the lords he'd sworn to protect. And he had to remember that Wesley

wanted

to be in the

draeganjhere.

It wasn't up to Wen to interfere or

make decisions for him. Even if watching him walk into danger might tear Wen up inside.

"I'll speak to each of the potentials over the next couple of days, tell them our thoughts, and ask them if they're interested," Lord Rizik said. "As

much as we desperately need the extra hands, I won't force anyone or coerce them into doing it. It's a dangerous job, and it has to be their choice."

Wen nodded. He reminded himself again that it would be Wesley's choice, and he already knew what the younger man would decide. Which

was all the more reason Wen needed to stay away from him...so he couldn't get any closer to Wes than he'd already foolishly allowed himself to be.
Distance was the best, the

only

, plan of action.

"I do have one request of you, though," Lord Rizik said.
"Whatever you need, my lord."
"I'd like for you to work hands-on with Wesley over the next couple of weeks. I'm concerned about his inexperience, so I'd like to give him as

much instruction and practice time as we can before we give him any official duties. Get him comfortable with the bow and fine-tune his sword
skills, see what he can do with a knife. And there's no one better trained or better suited to teaching him than you."

Wen stared at him, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. "You...want me to work with him directly?"
"I don't want to single him out too much during training because we need to be available to help everyone. But if you're willing, I'll speak to Iann

about temporarily cutting back on your night sentry shifts so that you can work with Wesley in the mornings and evenings. Does that sound all right
to you?"

Wen swallowed hard. "That's...fine, my lord. No problem."
"Good." He smiled. "I feel better placing him in your more-than-capable hands. If anyone can get him ready, it's you."
"Thank you, my lord." It was all Wen could do to scrape the words out of his dry throat. "We'll make you proud."
"I know you will. Now, why don't you call it a day, Wen. I know you worked a shift until late last night and then were here early this morning. And

Iann told me you volunteered to fill-in for someone on another shift tonight. So go try to catch a few hours of sleep while you can." His brows
furrowed again and his blue eyes glinted in what Wen recognized as genuine concern. "You still look a little off. You feeling okay?"

"I... I'm just tired."
"All the more reason to go find your bed then. Tomorrow will be soon enough to begin working with Wesley."
Lord Rizik gave him another shoulder squeeze and a smile, then strolled out into the midst of the trainees, offering encouragement and advice.
Wen didn't stay to watch him. He turned, and for the second time that day, made his escape.
Except this time, he knew it would only be temporary. He had until tomorrow morning to find some way to close off his emotions and come to

terms with the fact he'd be spending the next couple of weeks in close contact with the one person who could tear down his carefully guarded walls
and make all his fears a reality.

Chapter 3

The water in the hot springs pool lapped in small waves around Wesley and felt good against his skin in contrast to the cold night air.
This was one of his favorite spots, especially lately when he needed to get away from people and be by himself for a while. And the perfect thing

about this particular pool was that while it was fed by a heated spring, it wasn't as hot as the two larger, more often used pools closer to the camp.
Which meant the temperature was more comfortable for him to fully submerge without feeling like he was boiling as he did in the others. Plus, this
one was deep, which he loved because he could have a proper swim.

It was a farther trek from the camp, but from what Jarrad and Allend had told him, most of the residents didn't even know this place existed

because it was over a ridge and tucked into a concealing grove of pines. It was still within the invisible shield the draegans had cast around the
camp, but only just, which discouraged people from coming here because many didn't like being so close to the magick barrier that gave the
illusion of keeping them safe.

All of that suited Wesley just fine because it gave him a chance to relax his guard, at least a little, and bathe and swim in relative peace.

Especially the way he did it, which was late at night after most of the camp had gone to bed. One of the few things he'd missed about the old forest
and the isolation of living in it was all the water and the freedom to roam on his own and swim whenever he felt like it. It was harder living here, with
so many people, but if he was careful and timed it right, he could get out here at least a few times a week without drawing any notice.

And at this point, he was more grateful than ever for these few stolen hours because after the past week, this was about the only thing keeping

him sane.

He dove down into the lightly metallic-scented water. The feel of it sluicing over his skin soothed him as he swam to the bottom of the pool and

then glided along it, letting his fingers skim the warm rocks and grainy pebbles. The silence was...glorious. All he heard was the faint pounding of
his pulse and the swish of the water as he moved through it.

He reached the underwater rock ledge that indicated the edge of the pool, did a flip turn, and stroked across the bottom again, this time circling

the perimeter. Picking up speed, he tucked his arms against his side and savored the power and freedom coursing through him. He supposed the
draegans in their winged form might have a similar reaction when they took to the sky. There was something about not having to keep your feet
firmly rooted on the ground, and being able to lose yourself completely with no tethers that appealed to him in a way nothing else could.
Although...he hadn't always felt that way. At first, he'd been terrified of what happened to him when he was submerged in water. So terrified that
after the first time he'd fully shifted, he hadn't gone near water any deeper than in a washbasin for over a year.

If he'd understood why his body changed like it did, and what it meant, he might have dealt with it better. But he'd never had that. His mother had

seen the early signs of it when she'd bathed him as a child--the scales that developed on his legs when he sat in the tub, the filmy webbing that
formed on his feet. That alone had unsettled her so much she'd kept him close to her when he was young, and drilled into him the danger of ever
letting anyone know of his difference. People could be cruel, she'd said, and were often afraid of things they didn't understand. So when he was
thirteen and changed fully for the first time when he'd snuck out to explore and discovered a pond in the woods, he hadn't told her about the
complete transformation for fear she'd never let him leave her side. Either that or maybe she'd think he was so horrible and disfigured she'd disown
him.

Eventually, though, he'd returned to the pond out of sheer, driving curiosity. He'd begun to wonder if it had ever happened, if maybe he'd fallen

asleep by the pond and dreamed the whole thing. It had been summer again, as it had been the first time he'd changed, and he'd spent those
warm, sunny weeks in a constant internal struggle between being fascinated by his newfound shape and completely revolted by it. The
transformation of his body into the new form was so dramatic it made him uncertain about everything in his life. Why was he different? What had
done this to him? Had he been cursed? Was he not fully human and had mixed blood of some other creature? Those questions had eaten at him
that whole summer and, in some form or another, had been doing so ever since.

He still had no answers. He'd eventually told his mother and she'd taken it probably more calmly than he had--which wasn't to say she hadn't

panicked at all, especially when he showed her the full transformation--but she'd coped faster than he had. Unfortunately, she could offer no
explanations for him, and had only reiterated even more strongly the same warnings she'd given since he was small--never let himself be seen and
never tell anyone else what he could do. He'd always wondered if she knew more than she said, but if she did, he'd never been able to get her to
speak of it. She never talked about his father and Wesley wondered if his "difference" had been inherited from him.

He'd tried looking in some of Thomas's books--his tomes filled with stories and legends of the past--but aside from a few vague references here

and there about strange, unexplained sea creatures, or four-footed hoofed beasts that had been blended with men, he had found nothing that
resembling whatever he became in the water. And he couldn't ask Thomas, who was knowledgeable about so many things, because he didn't want
to make Thomas suspicious about why he was asking.

Now, he just did his best to cope in his own way, which was to keep his secret, and sneak away when he could to enjoy the water. Because he'd

found, once he'd gotten over his initial fear of his transformation, that

this

form was as comfortable for him as his fully human shape, and if he

couldn't spend some time in the water every so often, he grew restless. He couldn't imagine staying like this all the time, wouldn't want to. But when
he was in this form, the water soothed him as nothing else could.

That's why he'd been so surprised that day a week ago, on the training field, when he'd sought out a place in his mind to relax and it had started

out as water but evolved into him standing with his feet firmly planted on the ground.

Standing firmly planted next to Lieutenant Daneson.

"Do you feel it?"

The whispered words had been warm against his neck, and filled him with heady desire.

"Gods yes,"

he'd whispered back.

Wesley shuddered with remembered need, still able to feel the man behind him when he closed his eyes now.
And just like that, the peace that had filled him only moments before drained out of him, leaving in its place the same knot in his belly that had

been present since that strange afternoon

No longer enjoying his swim, he stroked to the surface, breaching it with a quiet splash. He headed to the odd, monolithic rock that rose out of

the center of the pool. It was mostly flat on top, and only jutted a few centimeters above the water, so when he got there, he folded his arms on top of
it and rested his chin on them. Both of Velensperia's moons were up tonight, the larger one nearly full, and the smaller halfway to being there.
Between the two, they bathed the pool in bright silvery light, making the water sparkle.

Normally he'd appreciate the beauty of it, but tonight his mind was once again fully centered on

him

and he couldn't tear his thoughts away from

the subject he'd been worrying over all week--the lieutenant and his odd behavior, and what he, Wesley, had done to cause it. Wesley could still see
the troubled confusion in his eyes and on his face right before he'd walked away that day.

And things had only gotten worse since then.
At first Wesley had been thrilled when Captain Rizik asked him if he'd be interested in joining the

draeganjhere.

He was honored the captain

would even consider him so soon, as new as he was to weaponry and fighting. And when he'd said he'd like Wesley to spend time with Lieutenant
Daneson one-on-one for the next couple of weeks to fine-tune his skills and get some more experience before he joined the guard in full, he'd been
eager for that as well, in a confusingly terrified way. He'd been worried about being in such close and frequent contact with the lieutenant because
he didn't know how he was going to hide his attraction to and growing feelings for the draegan, or find a way around the awkwardness that had
come up so suddenly between them. But for a shot at being in the

draeganjhere,

he was willing to do whatever the captain asked of him in order to

prove himself.

What he hadn't expected was to have the sunny, smiling, good-natured Lieutenant Daneson nowhere in sight when they began working together

the next day. Instead, he got a different version of the lieutenant altogether--one who was still calm and patient, but strangely intense, who didn't
smile much, who was all about business, and who had never, not a single time this past week, touched him in any way, not even a casual pat on the
back. He pushed Wesley hard, and Wesley really didn't mind that. He was happy to work hard, wanted to, but what rattled him was that nothing he
did seemed to be quite enough for the lieutenant. If he hit the target with an arrow, he hadn't shot it quickly enough. If he did it more quickly, then he
hadn't gotten the bow into position fast enough. If he did everything perfectly, then the lieutenant moved him farther away from the target and made
him do it all again. And again. And again. If they were sword fighting, he wasn't moving his feet fast enough, or parrying correctly, and the one time
he'd actually bested the lieutenant it had earned him a "good" and a "now do it again." Said with no smile, only a fierce urgency.

The worst part was that he couldn't read the lieutenant at all to find out why he was being like this. Usually Wesley was good at sensing what

people were feeling--he didn't know why or how, but he could. Lieutenant Daneson, however, was a blank slate to him. And he didn't understand
why because up until the afternoon they'd shared that weird experience, he'd been able to at least tell on the surface when the lieutenant was happy
or pleased. Now, nothing.

They'd been working each day from shortly after sunrise until darkness fell, taking time out for the regular training with everyone else, but

spending the rest of the daylight hours in each other's company, drilling on weapons, stealth tactics, how to read tracking signs. But for all the time
they were together now, Wesley felt like he knew him less than he did when they'd begun.

And on top of it all, his overactive imagination had taken to fantasizing about the lieutenant when Wesley did have a moment of quiet time, or at

night when he slept. Not this strange

other

lieutenant he was working with, but the happy, smiling one who looked like a shining gilt hero in one of

Thomas's books. The one who'd held him close in Wesley's altered mind state. Who'd talked warmly and softly to him, who'd pressed up against
his back, letting him feel his need, and there definitely had been need there, as hard as Wesley's own.

Except in Wesley's fantasies, it didn't stop there. In his fantasies, the lieutenant's hands slid down from his waist to his groin, cupping his

testicles and erection through his pants, kneading until he was hard and aching. In his fantasies, he pressed back against the hard shaft behind
him, moaning and begging to feel it against his skin. And when the lieutenant complied, easing his pants down over his ass, and he felt the hard,
bare, sleek length against him, slick with the first drops of cream, gliding along his crease, it was all he could do not to explode. Especially with his
cock freed and now gripped in a hot, stroking hand, while a husky voice whispered encouragement in his ear.

Wesley had awakened from that or similar dreams several times this week, either having already spilled his seed, or so stiff he had to quickly

find relief while lying on his cot in the dark.

Remembering those dreams now, he ached with need, his shaft growing hard even in his water form. He lowered a hand to it and squeezed the

base, determined not to give in to his body's desires yet again. Slowly, slowly he managed to bring himself back under control.

He'd been spending far too much time thinking and dreaming about something that clearly would never happen in real life. What had occurred

between them that afternoon on the training field had obviously caused the lieutenant to draw a solid line between them. He wouldn't even touch
Wesley casually now, so the likelihood of him ever wanting more was nonexistent.

Since it was so hopeless, Wesley knew he should get over this constant yearning for the draegan and focus on becoming the best fighter he

could, something he did have control over and could achieve. Yet he couldn't seem to let go. Instead, he lived with this damned constant ball of
anxiety in his gut and an ever-present need to see the lieutenant smile again, to see some little spark of pleasure in his eyes at something Wesley
said or did.

Gods, why did everything have to be so difficult?
What he needed to do was get out of this pool where his thoughts wouldn't seem to shut off, and go get some sleep. In a few hours, he'd be

back at it again with the lieutenant, and trying to pretend he didn't care about the man was always harder when he was tired.

He was just about to swim in, when he heard a noise. Instantly on alert, he paused, listening closely. And what he heard made his heart skip a

beat.

Footsteps crunched over the winter-dried leaves and pine needles, coming toward the pool.
Damn it! He'd been so caught up in his fantasies and angst he'd forgotten all about being cautious. He knew better than that! He'd lingered too

long tonight.

The footsteps were almost at the edge of the trees now, and he was near the middle of the pool, in clear sight in the moonlight. He'd have to

swim for it, which he could do, no problem, staying underwater. But he couldn't stay underwater forever. Much longer than a normal person, yes, but
if whoever it was lingered, eventually he'd have to surface for air. And there was no way he could get out of the pool anywhere without being seen--it
wasn't that big and there were no trees or brush to hide his exit. Plus, there were always a few awkward seconds of transition before he shifted to
his human form and he'd be found out. And...

Bugger!

His clothes and weapons were piled on a rock right near where the person was going to

emerge from the woods any second. So even if he went underwater, whoever was coming would see his possessions and know someone was
here.

But they don't have to know they're my things.

Decision made, he was just about to slide beneath the surface of the water when a tall, masculine frame emerged from the trees and came into

view, lit by the moonlight.

In that second, Wesley was frozen in place, tingling with recognition even before the man pushed back the hood of his cloak to reveal the fair

hair he'd worn pulled back today in a queue at his neck.

As Wesley watched, because he couldn't have torn himself away at this point if he tried, the lieutenant pulled the quiver of arrows and his bow off

his shoulder and set them on the rocks a fair distance away from Wesley's, which he obviously hadn't spied yet. His cloak came off next; he draped
it over another rock. Then his sword and belt, followed by his boots. It wasn't until he reached for the hem of his shirt and stripped it up and off over

his head that Wesley fully realized what was happening. Then he felt stupid because why else would the lieutenant be here but to bathe or soak in
the hot springs. And to do that he was going to have to...

With deft hands, the lieutenant untied the laces of his leather pants and pushed them down over his lean hips.

Holy gods almighty.

Wesley's throat went dry and his recently curbed desire returned with an eager ache.

The moonlight did a spectacular job of highlighting every curve, every dip and hollow, and every very generous length of the lieutenant's body,

limning him in silver like an ethereal being. Dear gods, he was beautiful.

And watching him wade into the water was both a treasure and an agony as Wesley knew the water would slowly but surely swallow all that

recently revealed glory. He found himself silently praying, begging, for time to slow so this moment could last just a little longer.

It wasn't until the lieutenant turned slightly, presenting his perfect pale ass to Wesley, that Wesley realized he'd stopped. And then he took notice

why

he'd stopped.

He'd spotted Wesley's clothes and weapons on the rock.
Gods, he just couldn't get a break tonight!

Maybe he won't know they're mine.

"Wes?" the lieutenant said, his voice breaking the silence of the night.
So much for that. Wesley sank lower in the water behind the rock just a mere second before the lieutenant's gaze looked out over the pool.
Damn it, instead of gawking he should have already been underwater. He couldn't let the lieutenant see him in this form.
His heart raced as he struggled over what to do. Even if he dove now and stayed underwater as long as he could, the draegan knew he was

here somewhere. He'd know Wesley wouldn't have just stripped down, left everything, including his weapons here, and gone back to camp. So
maybe he'd go looking for him. Or, almost worse, wait for him to show up if he thought he'd just gone to relieve himself in the woods. In either case,
there'd be no easy escape.

"Wesley, are you here?" the lieutenant called.
Panic set in now.

Damn it!

What was he going to do? All the warnings his mother had given him over the years rushed back to haunt him now...

You can't let yourself be seen when you bathe or swim, stay close to home, don't trust strangers, never let yourself be exposed!

It would be awful enough for anyone to catch him like this...but to have it be the lieutenant? Wesley was terrified he'd be labeled a freak and run

out of camp, and all of it would happen while the lieutenant looked on in disgust.

Stop!

He swallowed hard.

Stop. Breathe. Find a solution.

Oddly, the words were Lieutenant Daneson's, given in advice to Wesley if he found himself in a desperate situation during a fight. But they were

good words, and gave him a measure of calm now.

When he did stop his panic and force himself to breathe, he was surprised to realize he felt a ripple of concern flowing off the lieutenant. Even

from a distance he could feel it. All week he'd been unable to read his emotions, but now he did, as if some door in the lieutenant's psyche had
opened a tiny crack. The lieutenant was worried...but about what?

It hit him like a surprise punch to the gut. He was worried about

Wesley.

Worried that something might have happened to him, that he might

have been attacked and dragged away, and that's why all his clothes and weapons were sitting there on the rock and he was nowhere in sight.

Suddenly Wesley's own fears didn't seem nearly so overwhelming and he knew he couldn't continue to hide and let the lieutenant's concern

grow. It wouldn't be fair when he was so genuinely worried.

He still had to protect his secret, but if he stayed calm, he could do it. After all, from the waist up, he looked pretty much the same as he always

did, as long as he didn't let the draegan get too close. So he'd just keep his distance, and then stay in the water until after the lieutenant was
finished and had gone.

"Wes!" the lieutenant called, more loudly. He was starting to move back out of the water now, reaching for a weapon, and his voice hinted at true

fear, which both humbled Wesley and also sent a sliver of warmth through him. For all his distance this week, the lieutenant cared enough to be
upset something might have happened to him.

Sucking in a breath and hoping for the best, Wesley called, "I'm here." He made a splashing sound with his hands to make it seem like he'd just

swum up by the rock.

The lieutenant turned toward him and even though Wesley couldn't make out fine details because the moonlight wasn't

that

bright, he could see

enough to recognize the rush of relief that passed over his features.

"Wes..." He actually sounded a little breathless. "Thank gods. I was starting to worry something had happened to you. I saw your clothes and

weapons, and we're so close to the barrier..." When he dragged a hand over his face and another ripple of emotion flowed off him, it tugged at
Wesley's heart.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I didn't hear you. I was underwater...swimming."
Underwater, swimming? For all that time? Gods, could he have come up with anything worse that would cause the lieutenant to ask questions?
But he didn't question. "It's okay. I'm just glad you're all right." He'd started back into the water and when it was up to his chest, he struck out with

a smooth stroke, swimming toward Wesley.

Wesley edged farther to the opposite side of the rock. This rock was going to be his saving grace. He'd wondered before what force of nature

had uplifted it into the center of the pool, but now he was grateful and decided the gods were looking out for him. They must have known one day
he'd need it to hide behind.

Thank you

, he silently mouthed to whatever divine beings were listening.

When the draegan reached the rock, he pulled himself into the same position as Wesley, arms resting in front of him, so that he and Wesley

were facing one another. With the rock between them, they were apart, yet still close enough that if they reached out, they could touch fingers, and
gods, Wesley wanted to touch him. He'd wanted to all week, but now, both of them unclothed and in the warm embrace of the hot springs...it made
that wanting all the more powerful. Especially after having just seen the sight of the lieutenant undressing, and the hard, perfect body he'd revealed
to Wesley's starving gaze.

They were also near enough to one another now for Wesley to see details of the lieutenant's face, and he recognized the lines around the

draegan's eyes and mouth as those of exhaustion. Which tamped down his physical response and caused yet another twinge in his heart.

"You know," the lieutenant said in the husky voice that for the first time in a week sounded more like the draegan Wesley had known before the

weirdness set in, "as much time as we're spending together, you really should just call me by my name."

His words caught Wesley off guard. "But you're..."
"Screw that. Tonight I don't care that I'm a second lieutenant in the draegan lord's guard. I'd just really..." His voice trailed off and his brow

furrowed.

"You just what?" Wesley encouraged, knowing he was probably being bolder than he should, but not caring because this was the first time all

week the draegan had talked to him like...like someone other than a commanding officer who was never really happy about anything he did.

"I want to forget for a few minutes about training and fighting and just be me. And have you just be you. Can we do that?"
Wesley's breath caught at his honesty. "Yeah, we can do that."
"Good. So say my name, Wes. In all the weeks I've known you, you've never said it."
No, he hadn't. He hadn't even allowed himself to think it because there was a part of him that was afraid if he let himself call the lieutenant by his

name, even in his thoughts, then it would be too hard for him to maintain that line between superior and underling, between work and personal
desire. And with the way he'd felt about the lieutenant from pretty much the first time he'd met him, he'd known he had to set boundaries or he'd end
up embarrassing himself.

"Is it such a hard request?"
"No."
"Then say it. Please."
He saw a flash of vulnerability on the lieutenant's face that broke down the last of his resistance.
"Wen," he said softly.
The draegan closed his eyes and sighed, almost as if he were savoring a rare treat. When he opened them again, he seemed strangely more

at peace. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."
"So what are you doing out here this time of night?"
"Couldn't sleep," Wesley said. Which was the truth--he hadn't been sleeping well at all this past week. "Why are you here so late? I thought you

weren't working any sentry shifts right now?" Because Captain Rizik had asked him to work extra with Wesley instead. Wesley wondered if Wen
resented that he'd had to give up part of his job to handhold a newbie.

"I filled in for somebody tonight. The day watch spotted a detachment of Byram's soldiers near camp, so Lord Hareldson sent some scouts out

to find out what they're up to. Which left the camp shorthanded."

Wesley wanted to ask when he might be able to step in and lend a hand, but decided not to do anything to remind the lieu-- To remind

Wen

about his training, which might then remind him about the awkward distance that had loomed between them all week.

"Do we need to worry about the soldiers?"
"No, I don't think so. Not directly. But all the activity from Byram's troops the past several weeks is a concern. Lord Hareldson suspects the high

sorcerer is up to something, maybe building his forces to box us in. He and Lord Rizik are trying to figure out what the sorcerer's plan is. They're out
flying tonight, most nights, because Lord Rizik can see the sorcerer's nets that are invisible to everyone else, so they're mapping them, which will
allow us to fly more freely and do wider sweeps to see where Byram's concentrating his efforts."

"How can Lord Rizik see the nets if they're invisible?"
"They're not sure...they think maybe it's because he's half draegan and half human, plus he's the draegan lord's mate. Something about the two

halves and the lord magick canceling out the sorcerer's magick."

"Do you wish you were out there with them, flying?"
The question seemed to give Wen pause for a moment and the tired lines on his forehead seemed to dig a little deeper into his skin. "Yeah,

sometimes," he finally said in a quiet voice. "It's been hard for a long time to not be able to fly freely for fear of the sorcerer's traps."

"What happens exactly if you fly into one of the nets?" Wesley had heard stories, but he wasn't sure what was truth and what was rumor.
Wen sighed and his expression turned bleak. "Byram has somehow employed a race of beings called nyctophans to work for him. No one

knows exactly what the nyctos do, how they know the traps have been triggered, because..." His voice caught. "No one's ever survived a nycto
attack."

"No one?" Wesley asked, startled.
"No. I've heard the nyctos somehow create pain in the mind, pain so intense that it makes a person scream and beg for death, and then, when

the brain is completely shut down, when the person can no longer function at all, the nyctos kill them."

"My gods, that's horrible." Wesley couldn't even imagine such terror. "Is there no way to fight them?"
"Not that we know of. So we don't fly for the most part, which has basically kept us pinned down exactly the way the sorcerer wants. He keeps us

on the ground in human form so we're less of a threat to him. But now, Lord Rizik can see the nets, and Byram doesn't know it, so we're planning to
use that to our advantage." Wen's brows drew together. "I'm telling you this in confidence, Wes. You can't share this information with anybody
because Byram has spies everywhere. Even my brothers don't about it yet."

Taken aback that Wen was sharing something with him that had apparently been discussed only within the lord's council, he quickly nodded. "I

won't say a word to anyone. You can trust me."

"I do trust you," he said quietly. "Or else I wouldn't have mentioned any of this."
Wesley released a slow breath, not even realizing he'd been holding it. Having the draegan's trust meant more to him than he could say. He just

hoped... No, he couldn't go there. But the thought lingered. Would Wen still trust him if he found out the truth about Wesley? If he knew Wesley was
keeping such a big secret from him?

Gods, he hated always having to sneak around and hide. Just like he was doing now, with this big rock between them to shield his body. He

hated having to lie to Wen, and not for the first time, wished he could share the truth with someone other than his mother. Wished he could talk to
someone and get their take on who and what and why he was the way he was.

"What's going on in that head of yours? You're lost in thought."
Wen's expression was sympathetic, and for a moment Wesley wished he had the courage to just blurt it out. To swim around the rock and show

him. But he didn't. Couldn't.

Think of something to say.

"Can I ask you a question? On a different subject."

"Okay."
"I've heard your brothers sometimes call you Rowen. Is that--"
He smiled, a tired but very real smile, the first Wesley had seen in a while. It instantly warmed him up inside and chased away clinging fears that

were never far away.

"That's my real name, my full name. When Jarrad was little and first started talking, he couldn't say the whole thing. All that he could get out was

the 'wen' at the end and it just sort of stuck. Mum and sometimes the boys call me Rowen, but most people know me only as Wen."

Wesley nodded. He liked them both...each fit him in a different way.

"Now tell me something about you I don't know," Wen said.
Oh gods. If only he knew how close he was right now to finding out a huge something he didn't know. "I haven't exactly lived an exciting life. I

don't have much to tell." Understatement of the world, but the truth would shatter Wesley's world.

"I don't believe that for a second. Everyone has stuff to tell."
Wesley shrugged and tried to stay calm, hoping Wen didn't have some kind of super draegan magick way of hearing his heart beating too fast

that would give away the truth.

"All right, let me ask you a question then."
Wesley took a nervous swallow. "Okay."
"How'd you know about this pool? Most people in camp don't, and those who do, don't usually come here because the others are closer."
A tiny sigh of relief escaped Wesley that it was such a simple question to answer. "Your brothers showed it to me a few weeks ago." Then he

frowned, realizing it might not be so simple after all. "Should I not know about it?"

"No, of course you should. It's fine. I just...I've never run into anyone up here before. It surprised me to see your things at the edge of the water."
"I'm sorry if my being here is invading your space. I'm sure you probably meant to come bathe and then head to bed, not hang around and talk to

someone you never expected to run into."

It shocked Wesley when Wen reached across the rock and rested his fingers over his hand. His touch was like a spark of lightning, setting off

fires through Wesley's body. Wen seemed to feel it, too, his breathing growing erratic, but he didn't remove his hand, and so Wesley turned his own
palm up and their fingers curled together.

"I'm not sorry you're here, Wes. And besides, you were here first. If anyone's invading, it's me."
"I'm not sorry you're here either."
"I know it's been a hard week."
"Yeah," he whispered.
"For what it's worth, you're doing really well."

Then why are you so cool and distant with me on the training field? Why can't I seem to do anything to please you?

He badly wanted to ask

the questions, but instead kept it to a simple, "Thanks," because he'd never seen Wen so relaxed, and after the crappy week, he didn't want to do
anything to disrupt this rare moment of closeness that he'd never expected to have.

"You know, there are legends that say this spring has healing properties. That's why it smells different from the others. "
Wesley had noticed, aside from the metallic scent, that the water

felt

different, too. There was a distinct energy about it, a faint tingle against his

skin and scales as he swam, which made him wonder if there might be some truth to what Wen said. "Do you believe that?"

"Iann told me some of the ancient peoples used to come here for rituals because of the power of the water. And that this rock here in the center

was used as an altar...that's why it's so flat. But as to how true it is..." He shrugged. "Who knows."

Wesley caressed the oddly smooth surface of the rock with his fingertips and wondered.
Wen's eyes drifted closed, and they each floated in silence for a while, their fingers still intertwined. But finally, when the draegan seemed to be

actually dozing off, Wesley squeezed gently. "You're exhausted."

Wen opened his eyes, dragged a hand over his face again and let out another sigh. "I am."
"Why don't you go back to camp and get some rest."
"Yeah. I think I will. I was hoping a soak would relax me enough to sleep."
"And instead you ended up with me."
This time it was Wen who squeezed

his

hand. His gaze settled on Wesley with a warm intensity that cause his stomach to tighten in a slow,

needy clench.

"Being with you here, like this...it's good, Wes. Comfortable." The last was said in soft rush of breath, and for a split second, Wesley felt the

strongest sense the draegan wanted to say more. But then Wen's brows drew together again, and the sensation was gone.

"I guess I'll go," he said. "Are you coming back, too?"
"Not yet...I'm going to stay out here a bit longer."
"Okay. Well...I'll see you in the morning, then."
"Yeah."
He hadn't released Wesley's fingers yet, and Wesley wasn't in any hurry for him to do so. Wen seemed to hesitate, like he didn't really want to

go, but finally his hand slipped free, and Wesley instantly felt the loss. As if the connection between them had been keeping them linked in more
ways than just physical, and now that it was no longer there, he could almost feel Wen drifting away again. He shut his eyes briefly in sorrow,
wishing it wasn't that way.

"Night, Wes."
"Night."
But Wen still didn't swim away, just continued to slowly tread water. "Say it again. One more time before I leave. Please?"
With a warm quiver in his stomach, he said softly, "Goodnight, Rowen."
The smile he got in return stayed with him for a long time.
The next day and in the days that followed, they went back to work, and Wen still pushed him hard, still stayed businesslike as he had the

previous week. There was no more touching or quiet personal conversations, and Wen still made him do and re-do everything until Wesley was so
exhausted he slept without dreaming each night. But all of it was...easier. He couldn't really explain it, except that the night at the hot springs, though
they'd done nothing else but talk, had eased some kind of tension between them. Wen still wasn't the happy, sparkling-eyed tease he'd been
before, something still clearly weighed on him, his smiles were few and far between, and he was back to being mostly a blank wall to Wesley. But
there were moments, occasional, breath-stealing moments, when he opened that door again, just a crack, and let Wesley see inside.

And though he wished it could be more, for the time being, Wesley tried to make that be enough.

Chapter 4

"Move your feet!"
"I am."
The clang of steel rang out as their swords clashed together.
"Move 'em faster."
"Gods, don't you ever get tired of being such a tyrant!"
Wen smiled. Couldn't help it. He'd been trying so hard to keep his and Wesley's relationship strictly business. To not let his emotions, his fears,

or the ever-present need that burned him up inside escape. But seeing him right now, his dark hair damp from the cold drizzle that had fallen earlier,
broad shoulders and biceps flexing as he wielded the sword, his brown eyes blazing with challenge because he knew he was good enough to beat
Wen now if he wanted to badly enough, he was a sight to behold. Looking at him made Wen's chest swell with pride and his groin ache with desire.
And then to hear him--usually so cautious in his word choices--feel self-assured enough to actually call Wen a name? He couldn't have stopped the
smile if he had to.

"Don't get cocky. It'll get you into trouble." Wen made a move on him and, in a quick maneuver, disarmed him.
"Gods damn it!" Wesley's shoulders sagged and he kicked a nearby tree in frustration as he went to retrieve his sword from where it had fallen

on the wet ground. They'd taken to practicing in the evenings south of the camp, near a rocky cliff that dropped off to the valley floor far below. It was
right next to the barrier so they were seldom interrupted.

Wen rested the tip of his own sword in the damp pine needles and leaned on it, watching Wesley. As he did, he knew all over again, the same

way he'd known every day since they'd started working together, that what he felt for this man could so easily become the center of his universe and
then he'd be lost. It took all his energy, all his willpower to keep his feelings leashed. He knew he'd been a bastard to Wes last week--it had been
the only way he knew how to keep his feelings in check and not let his fear for the younger man completely bury him. But after that night at the hot
springs, one thing had become abundantly clear to him--there was no escaping how he felt and even though he was afraid to get too close...trying to
shut Wesley out completely had been worse.

That night. Gods, that night. If he hadn't been so damned tired, he would have pretty much given his left testicle to stay there with Wesley and talk

to him all night. Or, better yet, take him back to camp to his bed and bury himself inside him so deep and so thoroughly neither of them would be
able to move or breathe or live without the other.

But since that could never happen, instead, this week, he'd taken solace in just being with him. Watching him gain confidence, become even

more proficient with his weapons, and doing everything in his power to make him the best soldier he could because he knew what Wesley learned
here and now would affect how well he survived when the fight came to their door.

When Wesley returned to face him, Wen raised his own blade and said, "Again."
With a sigh and then a squaring of his shoulders, Wesley took a breath, raised his blade, and they returned to their mock battle in the waning

evening light.

This time it ended in a draw, with each of them having their blade pressed against a vulnerable part of the other's anatomy.
"Nice! Very nice, gentlemen. I wouldn't want to be at the end of either of your swords."
"Thank you, my lord," Wen said, nodding as a cloaked and hooded Lord Hareldson emerged from the trees. The draegan lord could move more

stealthily than anyone he knew, and even with his own heightened hearing, he hadn't known he was there until he spoke.

"Thank you," Wesley echoed, no longer with the cocky gleam in his eye but returning to his quiet shyness in front of the draegan lord.
The lord rested a hand on each of their shoulders in greeting.
"You're working late this cold, damp evening," Lord Hareldson observed, moving to the small fire Wen had started earlier so they could warm

their hands between bouts. The lord held his own hands over the flame. "I thought training was over for the day."

"It is, but this is extra practice," Wen said. "I'm helping Wesley fine-tune his skills."
"Well, I'd say it's paying off. Your prowess with the blade is impressive, Wesley."
"Thank you, sir. I've had good teachers."
"Some of the best I know of," Lord Hareldson said, and smiled at Wen.
Wen felt a flare of pleasure at the draegan lord's praise. He dipped his head in a nod of thanks. "What brings you out this way, my lord?

Trouble?"

The lord's smile broadened and a warm gleam lit his silver-grey eyes as he gazed over Wen's shoulder. "The best kind."
Wen turned to look and saw Lord Rizik coming through the woods toward them. He was, Wen thought, one of the most regal-looking men he'd

ever known, with a thin layer of braids blending with the long strands of his white-blond hair, his pale blue eyes, tall stature, and confident stride. He
looked, for lack of a better word,

kingly.

He and the draegan lord made a breath-stealing match when they were side-by-side, with the lord's wavy

dark hair, which he also wore braided now in the old draegan tradition, his broad-shouldered muscular body, and his fierce yet compassionate
gaze.

Lord Rizik smiled as he approached, but it wasn't directed at Wen. For a sizzling second, he only had eyes for his mate, and Wen sensed

something passing between the two of them. Which wasn't surprising because it was constantly like that with them. Wen had worked side-by-side
with them long enough now to feel the constant, ever-present connection between the two, and couldn't deny there were times he was so envious of
their love and closeness it made his chest ache.

His own gaze shot to Wesley, who happened to glance at him at the same moment. He wished... No, it was best not to let himself wish anything.

Because already, as it was, it was hard enough to look at Wes and not feel turned inside out. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to let down
all his barriers and allow himself to fall completely for the younger man, to feel the way Lords Hareldson and Rizik did about each other. To love that
deeply...only to risk losing it.

He couldn't do it.
He took a painful swallow--painful from the lump that had tightened his throat--and turned away. But not before he saw a flicker of

disappointment in Wesley's eyes, as if he knew what Wen had been thinking.

"Wen, Wesley," Lord Rizik said as he joined them. "What brings you all the way out here? I thought you were taking Wesley on sentry duty with

you, Wen?"

Damn.

Wen could feel Wesley's startled gaze on him without even having to look. "That's the plan, my lord." A plan he hadn't yet shared with

Wesley even though Lord Rizik had talked to him about it two days ago.

"Good. It's nice to have you on board officially, Wesley." Lord Rizik clasped a hand to Wesley's shoulder. "You've worked hard and made huge

strides very quickly. I'm proud of you."

Wen saw a flush creep up Wesley's cheeks and he looked more than a little stunned. "Thank you, sir," he murmured, but when his gaze shot to

Wen, it was filled with questions. Wen winced, already hating that he was going to have to explain why he hadn't said anything to Wes.

Smiling, the draegan lord stepped up next to Lord Rizik. "If you're half as talented at everything else as you are with your sword, Wesley, we're

lucky to have you."

"Thank you," Wesley said again, his voice quiet, but Wen heard the confusion in it and winced again.
The draegan lord turned to Lord Rizik then and held out his hand. "You ready to go,

m'aerlas

"With you? Always."
The smile they shared as the draegan lord wrapped his hand around his mate's sent another stab of envy through Wen. He fought the urge to

look at Wesley again because he knew Wesley wasn't happy with him right now, or wouldn't be once the lords were gone and the questions started.

"Are you flying tonight, my lords?"
"Heading south, then across the east road toward the mountains."
Toward Kellesborne. The ancient draegan stronghold. Wen suspected the lords were checking and double checking where the nets were

between here and Kellesborne should the need arrive at some point in the future to evacuate the camp to the stronghold.

"Safe journey," he told them.
"Thank you. Wesley, again, well done. And Wen, see you in the morning."
Wen nodded. "My lords."
They walked toward the barrier a dozen meters away. It was invisible to human eyes but draegans could see a flicker of its magick and could

feel it. In the quickly fading light, Wen saw it glint faintly. The lords paused long enough for Lord Hareldson to swipe his hand along the invisible
barrier and open a "door" in it, then they crossed through and walked to the edge of the cliff. There, as if there were no one else in the world around
and they cared naught who saw, they kissed, deeply and passionately, their tall, muscular bodies pressed together as if they could never get
enough of each other.

"Are they always like that?" Wesley asked quietly. He'd moved to stand just behind Wen.
"Always."
As they watched, the lords drew apart, then Lord Hareldson backed away from his mate a few steps and began to shimmer. Within seconds,

instead of the dark-haired man, a huge, silver, winged draegan stood next to Lord Rizik.

Behind him, he heard Wesley's gasp.
Wen glanced over his shoulder at him and smiled. "You've seen him shift before, at your settlement when we first found you."
"I know," Wesley whispered reverently, his gaze still glued to the draegan lord and his mate. "But it's been a while and it's still..."
"Overwhelming?"
"I was going to say majestic. Is that what you look like in your other form?"
"Yeah. Not quite as big, and a different color, but similar."
As they watched, Lord Rizik stowed his mate's clothing in the pack he carried on his back. Then he put one foot on Lord Hareldson's wing,

gripped one of the spines on his neck, and with a graceful movement, pulled himself up onto his mate's back. Within seconds they were airborne,
the lord's wings carrying them high into the darkening sky, far over the valley below.

When Wen turned back around, he found Wesley staring at him. He looked as if he were torn over something.
"You okay?"
"I... I want to tell you..." He stopped, swallowed, and then turned away, taking a few paces around the fire.
Wen followed him, concerned now. "Wes, what is it? What do you want to tell me?"
But he shook his head and wouldn't look at him. "It's not important. Never mind."
"Clearly it is or you wouldn't have brought it up."
But Wesley shook his head again. "It's nothing." He grabbed up his cloak, where he'd tossed it earlier across a clump of winter-bare scrub oak,

and put it on, pulling it tightly around him and tugging the hood up over his head.

No, it was definitely

something.

Wen's concern grew. "Wesley, just talk to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

He saw Wesley's shoulders stiffen as if something he'd just said had struck a nerve. When Wesley suddenly turned around, his expression took

Wen aback. He saw something on Wesley's face he'd never seen before--anger.

"No, Wen, why don't

you

talk to

"What do you mean?"
"Why did I just have to hear from Captain Rizik that you were apparently supposed to take me on sentry duty with you--and yet we're here

instead, doing more

practicing

? And why were he and Lord Hareldson congratulating me like I'm an actual member of the

draeganjhere

now

instead of a trainee?"

Wen dragged in a deep breath and expelled it. "I was going to tell you, Wes."
"When? How long have you known? Did he talk to you about it earlier today?"
Damn it, he hated this, but he couldn't lie. "No. We talked a couple of days ago."
"A couple of

days

"He asked how I thought you were doing and if I thought you were ready to start taking on some shifts at one of the sentry posts."
"And?"
"And I told him you were," he said quietly.
Wesley's brows shot up in surprise, but then his expression closed up and Wen could almost see the thoughts churning in his mind. "I don't

understand," he said slowly. "If you told him I was ready, if you really thought that, then..." His face slowly crumpled and he looked away from Wen to
stare past him, into the quickly darkening forest. "I see." His voice was tight now, like he had something caught in his throat. "You don't think I'm
ready."

Oh gods, Wen hated that look on his face. He moved toward Wesley, wanting to touch him, offer comfort, but stopped himself, afraid that if he

touched him he'd be lost. "No, Wesley, it's not that."

Wes's gaze moved back to his and the hurt churning in his eyes bothered Wen more than he wanted to admit. "Really? Because I can't see any

other reason you'd do this. If you don't think I'm good enough for the

dreaganjhere

, why are we still pretending to do this every day? Why are you

wasting your time on me?"

"You

are

good enough, Wes. I would never lie about that, to Lord Rizik or to you."

Frustration flashed in Wesley's eyes. "How in

hel

am I supposed to know that, Wen, when all day, every day, all you do is point out what I'm

doing wrong? You push and push and push, and I do everything you tell me, without question, until it's as perfect as I can get it, as perfect as

anybody

could get it, but it's still not good enough for you." He huffed out a breath and shook his head. "And it's never going to be, is it? That's why

you told Lord Rizik I was ready but you still have me out here. Because no matter how good I get, I'm never going to be good enough to meet

your

impossible standards, whatever they are."

Each word battered Wen with guilt, making it hard to breathe as he realized how his treatment had affected Wesley. In the interest of protecting

himself, of holding Wesley at arm's length, the way he'd gone about it had insulted and hurt Wes in ways he'd never intended. Why hadn't he seen
that?

Gods, he'd made a mess of this. "No, Wes, I meant what I said. And Lord Rizik is right. For someone who'd never held a sword or bow before a

few weeks ago, sometimes I'm in awe of how good you are. You've been the most naturally talented fighter in the training sessions from the
beginning, and that includes my brothers, who have more experience than you.

Hel

, right now you're better than half the existing

draeganjhere

Wesley stared at him. "How am I supposed to believe anything you say about this? I can't read you. You stay closed off all the time and never let

me in, and then when you do, everything contradicts. Your actions imply one thing and your words something else all together."

"That's not my intention, I swear."
"Okay, well if I'm so good, then why did you not tell me about your conversation with the captain? Why keep me out here instead of putting me to

work where I can help? I know as well as you do how shorthanded the

draeganjhere

is right now. Gods, I've seen you working impossible hours,

doing multiple jobs, including filling in for other people on guard shifts late at night after you've already worked all day. I've seen you barely able to
keep your eyes open because you're not getting enough sleep. Yet here I stand. So, please, tell me why that is. I'm starting to get the feeling you
don't want me in the

draeganjhere

at all, no matter what."

"I don't, damn it!"
The emotionally charged words were out before Wen could stop them, and as soon as they left his mouth he instantly regretted them. But it was

too late to take them back.

Wesley took a step back, his face gone pale in the firelight, as if Wen had just delivered a physical blow to him. "Why?" he whispered.
His throat tight, Wen rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's not what you think."
Wesley stared at him and then shook his head. "Again with the contradictions. And how do you know what I think, Wen?" His voice was

strained. "You've never actually asked." He reached for his bow and quiver and flung them over his shoulder. He'd already sheathed his sword
earlier. Without looking at Wen, he turned his back on him and strode away.

"Wes, don't! Let me explain."
But he didn't stop, didn't even hesitate, just continued on into the forest without looking back.
Wen started to go after him, but stopped because the truth was, everything Wesley had said was right. He'd been giving him so many mixed

messages it was a wonder Wes hadn't walked away sooner. By rights, he should have. And by rights, Wen deserved it.

With an aching heart, he watched Wesley's retreat. His broad shoulders were so stiff, his stride so angry, but he knew beneath that anger lay

pain. Pain that

had caused because of his own fear.

Damn it all!

He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to fend off the overwhelming hopelessness he felt at the whole situation. He couldn't keep pushing and

pulling Wesley this way, wanting him, then shutting him out. It was selfish, and all he was doing was hurting him.

This was the moment of truth. It had to be. He had to make a decision one way or the other and then honor it.
There were only two options. The first... He could let Wesley go, then return to his old existence, where he kept his emotions locked up tight, so

afraid of losing someone that he wasn't really living at all. He'd done it for a long time and been okay with just his family and his job to anchor him.
But was being "anchored" enough? Especially now when he'd had a taste of something that was so much more?

Or... He dragged in a ragged breath. Or, he could stop running, stop hiding, and damn well fight for what he wanted, even if that meant risking

everything.

Watching Wesley disappear into the woods, still feeling his pain and wanting to do everything in his power to make it better, Wen suddenly

realized that, without even knowing he'd done it, he'd already made the decision weeks ago. All the time he'd been fighting his feelings for Wesley,
had been holding him at arm's length, struggling with his fear, one thing had always been constant... He'd known Wesley was different. And now he
understood why.

He was different, because Wen was in love with him.
The truth hit him hard, gut deep. And in that moment, he knew he would go through

hel

, if that's what it took, to have whatever precious time he

could with Wes.

Moving as fast as he could, he kicked out the remains of the fire, grabbed up his own weapons and took off into the woods at a run.
He caught up to him in a copse of trees not far from camp. The clouds from earlier in the day had finally begun to break up and Halla, the larger

of the moons, cast wispy strips of silver through the trees, lighting the way in front of him

"Wes, wait." He came up behind him, out of breath but determined. He caught his arm and stopped him. "We need to talk."
Wesley didn't turn or try to look at him. "I think I've already heard all the talking I can take tonight."
Wen had known this wasn't going to be easy. He turned Wesley, who complied only grudgingly, until they were face-to-face. "No, you haven't."
Wesley sighed. "I don't know what you want, Wen. I wish I did. Gods, I wish I did. But I don't."
Wen cupped his stubbled cheeks between his hands and looked into his eyes, those beautiful, dark, expressive eyes, and hoped Wesley could

see the honesty in his own. "All I want, all I've ever wanted, Wesley...is you." And then, for the first time in a long time, he let his heart be his guide.
He leaned in, feeling the warmth of Wesley's breath against his own, and kissed him.

Wesley had grown still when he drew close, but the moment their lips met, he leaned into Wen, his mouth pliant and warm, and cradled the back

of Wen's head with one hand while the other fisted at the front of his cloak. His response was all Wen needed right then. Just to know the door
wasn't firmly shut and he still had a chance.

The kiss wasn't deep or fancy--it was just a gentle press of lips, the lightest flick of tongues. But Wen felt that simple kiss radiating through his

whole being like lifeblood, warm and alive, giving him hope there could be a future.

When it ended, Wesley didn't pull away--also encouraging--and Wen wrapped an arm around his waist, keeping him close.

Resting his forehead against Wes's, he said, "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Wes. I've never meant to hurt you through any of this. I know

you have questions, and you have every right to. And I know I've given you all kinds of confusing signals. All I can say in my defense is that I was
afraid."

"Afraid of what?"
"This.

This

," he said, cradling Wesley's face again with his palm, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I care about you. I care too much, and I'm..."

He had to swallow past the lump in this throat. "I'm scared of losing you. I know how this world works, how this war with Byram works. I know what it's
like to care about people

much and then have them ripped away. I know how it feels to be one of the ones left behind after it happens, hollow and

aching and... Damn it!" He rubbed his burning eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"I was there, Wes, the night my dad died. I was sixteen. We'd been out hunting for several days, he and I, and on our way home, we ran into a

small patrol of Byram's soldiers. They saw us and gave chase, but we were faster. We ran hard, and so far, and then, as we were going along a
narrow ridge, I was out ahead of my dad and the rock crumbled out from under my feet. I fell, sliding down the side of the mountain, tumbling, being
thrown against first one tree and then another. By the time I finally stopped, everything on me hurt and I wasn't even sure I could stand. But then I
heard moaning and I realized my dad must have fallen as well. I dragged myself up as best I could, but knew right away my arm was broken and my
knee was twisted. I was also dizzy because I'd hit my head. But I had to get to my dad."

Wen took a hard swallow, remembering what he'd found. "He was wrapped around a tree, bent at the most gods-awful angle. His back was

broken and things were wrong inside him as well I'm sure. I knew there was nothing I could do for him, and he knew it, too, but he still smiled and
held my hand and talked to me so calmly, telling me he was proud of me. How much he loved me. And then he was gone."

Wesley's eyes were filled with quiet sympathy, and one of his hands had found its way inside Wen's cloak and was rubbing up and down his

back. It was comforting and he appreciated it more than he could say.

"It took me two days to walk out of the woods. Everyone told me how brave I'd been, what an ordeal I'd been through. But all I could think about

was what I could have done differently. Maybe, if I'd been paying more attention and hadn't stepped on that crumbling part of the ridge, my dad
would never have died."

"It wasn't your fault, Wen. It was an accident. A horrible, unfair accident, but an accident nonetheless."
"I know. I mean, intellectually I know that. But it doesn't change the fact that things happen that we can't control, and we lose the people we care

about. And my dad...he wasn't the only one."

"There was someone else?" Wesley said quietly. And then Wen saw understanding dawn on his face. "Someone you loved."
Wen nodded. "By that time I was nineteen. Philippe was a friend in the beginning, the son of some draegans who were passing through and

joined our group for a while. We were the same age, so we spent a lot of time together, and eventually we became more than friends. His family
had been traders and had passed as humans for years, so they'd never really been fighters like my family. I'm not even sure why they stayed with
our group as long as they did except maybe because since we were fighters, we offered them some protection.

"One night, Philippe and I were out gathering firewood...something we'd done endless times before, in the woods very close to our camp. We

were laughing and talking, not paying any attention to anything except each other.

"They came out of the woods around us, four soldiers. Two of them grabbed Phillipe, and there was nothing he could do. He had no fighting

skills, no training. And I couldn't get to him because the other two had taken me and were holding me down. I was fighting them, desperate to get
free and help him, but stupidly, I'd left my sword in camp and all I had with me was my knife. I managed to kill one and get away from the other, but
before I could get to Phillipe, one of the ones holding him ran a blade through him."

Wen squeezed his eyes closed, trying to escape the memories. He hadn't allowed himself to think of that night for a long time. "Lord Hareldson--

back then he was just Hareldson--my mum, Jax, they all came running because they'd heard the fight. They finished off the other soldiers. But it was
too late for Phillipe. He'd been dead the second the blade entered his heart."

"I'm so sorry, Wen."
"Me, too. He was good, innocent. He didn't deserve to die like that. And once again I was left behind, empty and raw and wondering had I done

something different, if maybe he wouldn't have had to die. If I'd had my sword with me, or been aware of our surroundings. But I wasn't paying
attention."

Wen leaned back so he could see Wesley's face clearly in the moonlight, desperate for Wesley to understand why he was telling him all of this.

"When I've been hard on you in training, when I've pushed, it's because I'm scared, Wes. I'm scared of caring too much, and scared of losing you.
And when I said I didn't want you to be in the

draeganjhere

it was emotion speaking in the heat of the moment, because if you weren't a soldier,

then maybe you'd be safer. But that was my own fucked-up rationalization because you and I both know Byram makes no distinction between
soldiers and civilians. He kills anyone who gets in his way, so in reality, the people who have the best chance of surviving are the ones who do know
how to defend themselves. You deserve to be in the

draeganjhere

more than anyone I know, Wesley. I'm the one who told Captain Rizik he should

choose you."

"You did?" That bit of information had obviously surprised him.
Wen nodded. "Because you are good. Damned good. But even knowing that, there's this part of me"--he winced and pressed a hand to his gut-

here

, that's terrified I might forget to teach you something important, forget to show you a skill or trick that could save your life one day, or not work

you hard enough to be the best you could be with every weapon. If something happened to you because of me, because I could have done
something different..."

"Rowen," Wesley said quietly. "I'm not Philippe."
"I know. But because you aren't, it's almost worse."
Wesley's expression grew pained. "Because you loved him and..."
"No, Wes. Because what I feel for you already, even trying to hold back, is so much

more.

His eyes grew wide and Wen could see the pulse in Wesley's neck fluttering fast and hard.
"I've been afraid of letting myself fall for you more than I already had because this world is thankless and has no care for who it wipes away with

a sweep of a careless hand. I'm already so scared of losing you that it tears me up inside. And so I've kept my distance, and done everything in my
power to train you to be the best."

He sighed. "Maybe that makes me weak, for being afraid to open my heart, for hiding behind my built-up walls all these years. I don't know. I

can't promise I'll be able to get over all my fears, and sometimes I might be irrational, I might react on gut instinct instead of thinking something
through. But what I do know"--he grabbed both of Wesley's hands and wound their fingers together--"with no doubts whatsoever, is that I don't want
to live without you, Wes."

Wesley let out a soft, slow huff of breath.

"Watching you walk away tonight, I realized the thought of spending even a day apart from you had become far more terrifying than anything I'd

been running from. But I realize it's not just my decision. I've been an ass and all I can say is, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. Can you forgive
me?"

"I forgave you the moment I heard your footsteps behind me."
"Gods, Wes... Is there a chance? For us?"
"Are you asking if I want to be with you?"
"Yes."
"That's all I've wanted. From the first time I saw you."
Something inside Wen, some tight painful ache that he'd been carrying around for years released, and for the first time in a very long time he felt

like he could breathe freely.

This time it was Wesley who kissed him. It started off slow and filled with emotion, but like fanning a spark, the flame grew, along with the need,

and very quickly it turned hungry.

By the time they pulled apart to gasp for air, there wasn't a part of Wen that didn't ache for wanting him, and Wesley seemed to be in the same

agony. It was as if all the pent-up desire they'd both been experiencing from the past weeks had broken through a dam and they had to deal with the
flood before it leveled them.

"Need you," Wesley said hoarsely, voicing what they were both feeling as their cocks strained to get closer behind layers of leather and wool.
"If we do this here, everyone in camp will hear us." Not that he cared at this point, but he wanted to be sure Wesley knew how close they were to

a residential part of the camp.

"I don't give a damn, as long as I can feel you touching me skin-to-skin. I want you inside me. I want you fucking me, Wen."

Holy gods.

Who was this outspoken, demanding man he was with and what had happened to shy, reserved Wesley Brannock? He grinned.

It was tempting to rip open their pants right here and now and take what they both wanted. But it would, by necessity, have to be hard and quick

and utilitarian this close to camp.

And right now, quick wouldn't be enough. Not nearly enough.
"I have a better idea. Let's go."

Chapter 5

They strode along the outer edge of the camp, where they had less chance of running in to anyone who'd want to stop and talk, and Wesley was

grateful for that. Because right now, with his body aching for contact with the draegan who walked at his side, and imagining having him alone and,
hopefully, with significantly fewer clothes in short order, the last thing he wanted was to run into anyone they knew.

After they'd passed all the other tents, Wen pulled him back into the woods, away from the main part of camp.
"What the

hel

?" Wesley said.

"You'll see."
A few paces later, he did. Tucked away in a tight stand of pine and delik trees, in a relatively secluded bit of the forest, stood a solitary tent. It

wasn't big, but it wasn't one of the tiny ones either that some of the single humans and draegans had pitched in camp.

"Whose is this?" he asked as Wen untied the flap and held it open for him.
"Mine."
He turned to him in surprise. "You don't live with your mother and brothers?"
"Not for a while now. It's just easier this way, working the hours I do."
When he sealed off the flap and tied it closed, he shut out the last of the moonlight, leaving them in darkness.
"Stand still until I get a fire started," Wen told him.
"How can you see anything? It's dark as tar in here."
Wen chuckled and gods the sound was sexy. "Ancient draegan secret."
"Secret." Wesley smiled. "Right."
He could hear Wen rummaging around and then heard the sound of logs and kindling being placed. "Okay, not so much of a secret. Draegans

have night vision."

"You can see in the dark?" How had he never known that before?
"Yeah. It's not the same as regular vision, though. It's more like we can see heat patterns. It and actue hearing are a carryover from our winged

forms." As he talked, a flicker of flame sprang up from the dirt floor in the center of the tent, and within moments a decent-sized fire burned, casting
the inside of the tent in a warm, orange glow.

Once Wesley's eyes had adjusted, all he could see was Wen. Everything else in the tent was insignificant. Wen was smiling at him--gods, how

he loved that smile--and had already taken off his cloak.

Wesley didn't remember how his bow and quiver ended up on the floor, he only knew by the time Wen had made the few strides from the fire to

get to him, it was gone, and so was his belt with his weapons and everything else he carried on it, and he was unfastening the brooch that held his
own cloak closed.

Still smiling, his gaze filled with a heat that made Wesley's knees weak, Wen pushed his fingers aside. "Oh no. I get to do this. You have no idea

how many times I've undressed you before now, but this time, it's the real deal and I'm not going to miss out on a second of it."

Wesley's breath caught. "How many times?"
Wen bent to kiss his neck, just below his ear. "Dozens," he whispered, his breath hot and erotic just as it always was in Wesley's fantasies.

"Maybe hundreds."

His breathing already coming out in shaky rasps, he said, "So many? Aren't you bored with it yet?"
His cloak fell away, and warm hands were tugging his shirt up, skimming over his abdomen as they did. The kisses against his neck continued,

but then stopped as his shirt was drawn up over his head and it, too, disappeared.

"Tired of this?" Wen's hot gaze caressed every inch of his exposed skin. "Never. He dipped down and flicked his tongue over a nipple, making

Wesley gasp. When he did the same to the other one, Wesley gasped again, even though he knew it was coming.

Standing up straight Wen's smile had turned mischievous. "Oh, I can see this is going to be fun."
Wen devoured his mouth in a wet, thorough kiss that went on and on. His hands spread over Wesley's back, mapping every contour, leaving no

bit of exposed skin unexplored, then sliding up to his shoulders, down his arms, and finally moving to the front of him to do the same. There, Wen's
thumbs lingered over his nipples, rubbing gently, drawing them up to hard, aching nubs until Wesley squirmed and moaned into Wen's mouth.

Wesley's reached for the opening of Wen's pant, but Wen backed away a step, keeping his groin just out of reach.
When Wesley pulled out of the kiss in protest, Wen chuckled. "My turn right now...you'll get your chance." He drew him back to his mouth, but

Wes got his revenge by sinking his teeth into his lower lip.

"Fuck!" Wen looked at him in surprise, licking his lip. Then he grinned. "Keep doing stuff like that and I'm going to have you spread-eagle in the

bed in about two seconds with my prick buried so far up inside you you'll be tasting my seed for a week."

A surge of white-hot need shot through Wesley at his words. "Is that a promise?" he asked breathlessly, smiling.
"Think you can take it?"
"Try me."
"Oh, I will. Trust me." With his fingers still working Wesley's nipples, more firmly now, he leaned in until his mouth was against Wesley's ear

again. "Before the night is over, you'll be mine, Wes, in every possible way. I'm not letting you leave this tent until you know, balls to bones, that I'm
never letting you go."

"Oh gods." Wesley's eyes closed as the words set his veins on fire. "I'm holding you to that."
"I wouldn't expect anything else."
"Get me out of my fucking pants."
"Demanding. I like that."
"You'll like it even better when my pants are off."
Another sexy chuckle and then long fingers were pulling at the laces. Well, pulling and fondling him all at the same time, which wasn't helping

anything because the fondling only led to Wesley trying to thrust against the questing hand for more contact, which, apparently, made it harder to
undo the laces.

It earned him a swat on the ass. "Stop, or you're going to be stuck in these things all night. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, because you wear

them well. I can't tell you how many times I've looked at your ass in these tight pants and wanted to tear them off you."

"Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual."
"Oh really?"
"At least a couple of times a day. Sometimes more. And that doesn't count the dreams."
Wen leaned back and gazed at him with a teasing smile. "Been having wet dreams about me?"
Wesley felt a flush creep up his cheeks. "What do you think?"
His pants suddenly splayed open and, as Wen pushed them down over his ass and hips, he sank to his knees in front of Wesley. When his

cock, hard and aching and already leaking sprang free, the look on Wen's face was something Wesley thought he'd remember forever--admiring,
hungry, worshipful. He looked up at Wesley and in all seriousness said. "I think the next time you have dreams about me, you better be sleeping at
my side and wake me up so I can personally make sure we wring every possible pleasure out of them."

Before Wesley could respond, Wen's mouth was on him, taking him in one swift, wet movement that almost buckled Wesley's knees.

Dear gods. Dear almighty gods...

He couldn't decide if the feel of Wen's mouth on him was the hottest thing he'd ever experienced, or if the sight of him, eyes closed, cheeks

hollowed, his lips wrapped around the ruddy skin of his cock was. He bobbed up and down, licking and sucking until Wesley had to bury his hands
in Wen's hair just to steady himself.

When Wen pulled off him way too soon, Wesley whimpered in protest.
"It'll be worth the wait," Wen assured him, smiling up at him. "I told you...I'm taking advantage of every bit of unveiling I can do of your body and

I'm not quite there yet."

He sat back on his heels and tugged off Wesley's boots, then with another teasing smile, reached up to where his pants were still gathered

around his thighs and slowly...slowly... "Too damn slow!" pulled them down.

Wen laughed and didn't speed up at all. Instead, he seemed to savor every inch of skin as it was revealed, pressing kisses to the insides of

Wesley's thighs, his knees, his shins and calves.

When they were finally off, Wen rose and took a step back. With Wesley breathing hard, his cock standing straight out from his dark nest of

curls, and his face flaming from a combination of embarrassment at having so much attention focused on him and pure lust, Wen's hot-as-sin gaze
raked over Wesley from head to toe.

"Fucking

hel

," he breathed. His gaze skidded up to meet with Wesley's, still hot, but also filled with emotion. "You know what I said earlier, about

what I was going to do to you before you left this tent?"

"Yeah," Wesley whispered, his pulse racing.
"I lied. I don't think I'm ever going to be able to let you leave the tent.

I'm

not going to be able to leave. There will never,

ever

be sufficient days in

this lifetime to get enough of you, Wes."

"Do you think I feel any different about you?" he said in a shaky whisper. "I watched you that night," he confessed. "At the hot springs."
Wen's brows rose. "What?"
"I wasn't swimming when you got there. I was at the rock already, and then you started to undress...and I couldn't look away. You were so fucking

beautiful in the moonlight. And then when you called my name, I realized I was caught and I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if I should stay quiet
or let you know I was there and have you maybe realize I'd been watching."

Wen's gaze flared with new heat. "You just keep surprising me."
"Wen..."
He stepped closer and cupped Wesley's face. "What, love?"
"You have on way too many clothes...and you're not inside me yet."
With a throaty groan, Wen pulled him into his arms. His mouth took Wesley's with desperate insistence while his hands roamed everywhere,

sliding, caressing, squeezing his ass, stroking his hip, his balls, curving around his shaft.

At the same time, Wesley was working at the laces on Wen's pants, and when they gave way, he peeled open the skin-hugging black leather to

reveal the hot, hard prize inside. The first touch of his fingers to the warm flesh drew a guttural groan from Wen, and when he curled his fingers
around its circumference, Wen shuddered.

Without stopping the kiss, Wen wrapped a strong arm around Wesley's hips and lifted him.
Without hesitation, Wesley curved his legs around his waist, hitching himself higher until that generous length of hot flesh was bobbing against

his crease as Wen walked them to the bed. He laid Wesley on his back, and settled between his legs, dragging his cock back and forth over
Wes's.

"So sexy," he whispered.
When he rose to his knees, Wesley sat up with him, reaching for the hem of his shirt. With a quick tug he had it up and off, revealing Wen's

sculpted abdominal muscles and the planes of his chest. Just as he was about to lick out for one of his nipples, Wen stood and stole it from him.
But Wesley didn't complain when he saw why he'd stood. With an intense expression in his face and eyes burning with hunger, Wen toed off his
boots and then, as he had that night at the hot spring, eased his pants down over his ass...his hips...his turgid cock. Wesley's mouth watered at the
sight.

When his pants were finally gone, he stood in all his tall, lean glory, and Wesley couldn't take his eyes off him. He was beautiful--his finely

sculpted body, the sensual fullness of his lips, the graceful arch of his high cheekbones and brows, and the dusting of freckles across his nose that
tempered the elegance with a hint of mischievous rogue. His fair hair had come out of its tie and fell around his shoulders in a wavy tangle.

Tonight Wen wasn't lit with silver, but rather with the warm, orange glow of the fire flickering over his skin. A sun god instead of a moon god.
It suddenly shocked Wesley to realize all of that beauty--not just on the outside, but the man within--was his. And it was freely given. Wen had up

no walls right now...every look, every touch he offered rippled with emotion. And when Wen pressed him back onto the bed and lowered himself
over him again, Wesley felt surrounded by it, embraced by it. Loved.

The realization startled him and he looked up at Wen to discover the emotion openly visible on his face, in his gaze.
Wesley's heart thudded, overflowing with his own feelings for this draegan who'd turned his life upside down.
"Roll over," Wen whispered.
He did, feeling the softness of the woven sheet under his aching shaft. When Wen's lips pressed against the nape of his neck, he shuddered.

But it didn't stop there...kiss after kiss, across his neck, his shoulders, down his spine, all while warm hands kneaded his muscles. He moaned with
pleasure and building desire as each kiss, each squeeze of hand, moved lower. Then moaned even louder as those talented hands worked over
the muscles in his ass while the sweet kisses found the top of his crease.

But then, much to his frustration, they left him, shifting focus to his legs and ignoring the core of him that clenched with unrequited need.

By the time Wen's attention returned to where he wanted it, he was writhing on the bed.
"So beautiful," Wen said, stroking a hand over Wesley's back and down over his ass.
"Wen...please. Gods, please."
He could feel Wen smiling. Couldn't see it, but the smile, like the love, radiated off him. "Rise up on your knees."
Wesley did, his whole body trembling, and the trembling only grew more intense when warm palms spread his crease open exposing his

sensitive spot to the now-warm air of the tent, and the even warmer air of...

Oh dear gods.

"Wen!" he hummed as the damp heat of Wen's mouth brushed over his quivering hole. Then did it again. His entire body clenched and then

shuddered, and then continued to do so over and over as Wen took full possession of him, tonguing and kissing and suckling.

By the time he felt a probing finger enter him amidst everything else, he almost lost it. His cock leaked, his balls ached, but not as much as the

wet, ever-widening, fully worshipped core of him.

When he realized how loud he was being, how out of control, he tried to restrain himself, embarrassed.
But Wen wouldn't let him. "Don't hold back, Wes...feel it all. Let go and let me take care of you."
So he did...he let go and gave himself up completely to Wen's attention.
When Wen finally,

finally

, pressed the head of his impossibly hard cock to him and pushed in, he was so slick and ready that Wen filled him in

one sleek thrust.

They both moaned as he hit home. And like in the strange, powerful link they'd shared on the training field that day, once again they were in

sync, breathing together, hearts beating. But unlike then, this was real, this was flesh and heart, body and soul. With their combined emotions
wrapped around them, and their bodies joined--Wen stretching him to his limit, making him achy and heavy, filling him full, completing him--they
were united at the most primal level.

"Don't hold back," Wen said again, a hand on his hip as he teased almost out of him, then ploughed back into his channel. Each time he stroked

in, it felt as if he went deeper, impossibly deeper, and Wesley cried out his gratitude and begged for more. Wen held nothing back either, giving
and giving--long, powerful thrusts that made them both groan, that made Wesley's ass ache in the best possible way, then sensual, slow strokes
that left them shuddering with desire.

The sounds of their cries, the slapping of their bodies as they surged together, filled the air, along with the aroma of damp pine, the fresh grass

and herbs in the mattress, and the scents of their lovemaking.

Wen reclaimed Wesley's shaft, and each tug, each swirl of his thumb over the leaking drops at his slit, brought Wesley closer to the edge. Just

as he was on the brink, Wen leaned over his back and kissed his neck. Then, in a hot, throaty voice, said, "We're going to roll over...I want to watch
you when you come."

In a lust-drunken haze, Wesley nodded, and in a quick movement, Wen slid out of him, eased Wesley onto his back, and lifted his legs up to his

shoulders. He pressed back into Wesley, drawing another cry from him.

"Damn, I love you like this," Wen said. "All flushed and breathless and debauched." He leaned down and took Wesley's mouth in a heated kiss

that was both carnal and tender, and never stopped as he resumed the deep and thoroughly plundering of Wesley's body.

They didn't last much longer. The need was too powerful. With both of them working Wesley's prick in sweat and cum-slicked hands, and Wen

driving into him with sensual ferocity, Wesley went over the edge first, convulsing against Wen and crying out his name. Wen followed moments
later and, true to his promise, drove into him so deeply and came so hard that Wesley thought he might very well be able to taste his seed.

Long after their bodies relaxed and the sweat on their skin had cooled, they kissed and rocked together, neither in a hurry to separate.
Eventually, Wen brought a wet cloth to clean them up, and then they curled into each other and slept.
For a while anyway.
Twice during the night they found each other again. The first time, Wesley woke to a warm, wet mouth spreading kisses over his groin, nuzzling

his balls, licking into his hole, and eventually bringing him to a blinding orgasm with his cock deep down Wen's throat.

The second time, in the hour before dawn, Wesley had taken Wen as they lay spooned together. He'd assumed Wen would always want to be

the giver not the receiver, but when what started off as sleepy kisses and caresses grew erotic in a hurry, and Wesley's hard prick was already
wedged against Wen's backside, it had been Wen who'd spread his legs and shamelessly thrust back against him. It had been Wen who'd begged
for more until Wesley had slicked him open with wet fingers and then fucked him until they both shattered.

After that, utterly sated, exhausted beyond thinking, Wesley fell dead asleep in moments.

* * * *

Sometime later he awoke again, but had no sense of time except that it was after daylight since gray light filtered in through the walls of the tent.

He lay sprawled on his stomach, warm and comfortable, if a little achy, with a blanket draped over him. He sensed he was alone in the bed, which
caused a pang of loneliness. Ridiculous since he'd always slept alone. But after last night, where every time he'd moved or stretched he'd felt the
heat and comfort of Wen's body close by, without it he felt lost. Where was Wen?

A faint sound made him turn his head...and instantly the pang disappeared and a sense of contentment replaced it. "What time is it?" he asked

sleepily when he realized Wen was already dressed and had been in the process of pulling on his boots.

Wen saw him and came over to crouch next to the bed, running his fingers through Wesley's hair. "Early still." He pressed a kiss against

Wesley's lips. "Go back to sleep for a while, love," he said softly. Wesley's heart skipped a beat at the warm, sensual smile on his face.

"Why are you up and dressed then, if it's early?"
"Duty calls."
"Oh gods." The warm contentment he'd been wallowing in skittered away and Wesley sat up in a panic. "Training."
Wen, showing no signs of the urgency Wesley felt, kissed him again, causing Wesley to forget what he'd been saying or even thinking. Wen

tasted of the spiced tea that he must have been drinking, and a very faint lingering hint of cum. Wesley's balls tightened at the reminder.

Good gods...after last night, how could he even be thinking about sex. And yet, with Wen he suspected this might be his fate for the rest of his

days, not that he was ever going to complain.

When they pulled apart, Wen, in that husky voice that always did delicious things to Wesley's insides, said, "Damn, I wish I could get back in bed

with you."

"Me, too. But if it makes you feel better, I have to get up also."
Wen leaned back and smiled. "No, actually you don't."
"Trai--"
"No training for you today, Wes. The members of the

draeganjhere

only train if they don't have other obligations."

Wesley stared at him, letting the words sink in.

Wen gave him one those bone-melting smiles that turned him inside out and upside down. "You've been working long hours for the past two

weeks, above and beyond, with no time off. And since you and I have a shift at the south sentry post this evening at sunset,

and

you pretty much got

no sleep last night because your lovesick lieutenant"--his voice grew husky again on the last part--"kept you busy all night, your obligation today is to
catch up on your sleep so you'll be fresh for work later. And by the way, that's non-negotiable. It's an order."

Wesley didn't know which part of that spiel to focus on first...the part about being a member of the

draeganjhere

, about having a shift tonight, or

the bit about his lovesick lieutenant.

"You do know there's no way I'm going to be able to go back to sleep now, after all that, don't you?"
"Will you try? For me? If for no other reason than it'll make me happy knowing I can think about how the sexy, naked man I love is sleeping in my

bed."

Wesley's pulse scudded warm and dizzily through his veins.

The man he loved.

"What about you? In case you didn't notice, the lieutenant in question didn't get much sleep either."
"I'll try to catch a couple of hours this afternoon."
"Wen."
"I promise."
"Okay. I'm trusting you. As it happens"--he caressed his cheek--"the man I love works too hard sometimes."
Wen's breath caught and his eyes shimmered with emotion. "He promises to do better now that he's got motivation for coming home to bed."
"See that he does." Wesley dug his fingers into Wen's hair and pulled him into a kiss.
When their lips finally parted, Wen leaned back and pulled a leather thong with a silver medallion on it from around his neck. It was something he

always wore--Wesley had never seen him without it.

"I want you to have this." He draped the leather cord over Wesley's head, and when the medallion fell into place against his chest, Wesley

picked it up to look at it. "What is it?"

"My dad gave it to me before he died."
"I can't take this, Wen! Not if it's from your dad..."
"Trust me, he would have been happy for you to have it. But it's mine now and I'm choosing to give it to you."
Wesley looked down at the round piece of silver engraved with delicate, scripted words. "What does it say?"
"It's written in draega and says,

Cherish the unexpected, for it can lead you to your heart.

His chest suddenly tight with emotion, Wesley looked up at him. "Thank you."
Eyes glinting with heat and undeniable love, Wen smiled and kissed him again, then leaned in and nipped at his earlobe. "Now go back to

sleep," he said against his ear. "You have a busy night ahead."

Somehow Wesley was certain he didn't just mean sentry duty.

Chapter 6

Though he hadn't expected to, Wesley had gone back to sleep for another couple of hours, and when he woke, he was better rested and glad

for having done it.

It felt decadent to have the day stretching ahead of him with no plans. It was the first time in weeks, since he'd moved here really, that he wasn't

at weapons training or, on days off, helping his mother with her gardens, looking for herbs in the woods for Lilia, the camp's healer who'd come
here with them from the settlement, or off with Jarrad and Allend somewhere. He supposed his friends would be hard at work with their bows or
swords this morning, unless they, too, had other duties. They sometimes went out scouting with their mom and the draegan lord. And Edric was
probably working with the blacksmith today, to whom he was apprenticed, since his real passion was for pounding steel. Unlike his brothers, he had
little interest in becoming a fighter, instead preferring to forge the weapons they used.

Wesley went to the tent he shared with his mother, scavenged something to eat from their stores of dried meats and fruits, washed up, and put

on fresh clothes. He was tender and achy in spots from the night he'd spent with Wen, but he didn't mind. Because each time he felt a twinge, it just
reminded him how Wen had explored every part of his body, how he'd touched and kissed and licked him until he'd begged. How he'd filled him
hard and deep, but also with such tenderness, marking him in places he still felt today. And then, he'd begged Wesley to do the same to him.
Gods... He'd never known it could be so good. That there could be another being out there he could ever feel this close to.

So close, and yet...
A flicker of guilt nagged at him, drawing a sigh out of him. Last night Wen had opened up, finally, and shared his past, the things that had

molded him into the man he was, the things that still scared him. He'd trusted Wesley with everything.

But Wesley had yet to offer the same. The matter of his

problem

in the water still hung over them.

Damn it. He dragged a hand through his hair, then down over his face, feeling the scrape of several days worth of dark beard he was trying to let

grow out so people would stop thinking he was a damned teenager.

What was he going to do? He could try to continue to hide his changes. But as more and more people came to the camp seeking protection

from the draegan lord, the harder it was going to get to keep his secret because more people meant more possibilities of being discovered. Even
if he could keep it from the rest of the camp, though, how was he going to keep it from Wen long term? What if Wen wanted them to go to the hot
spring again? Or...Allend had told him the draegan lord and Captain Rizik had a huge bathing tub in their tent they used. After last night, Wesley
didn't see a lot of clothes in his and Wen's future when they were alone together, so what if bathing became an issue at some point? Would he be
able to hide from Wen every time? Avoid every situation without it looking suspicious?

There were so many possibilities for exposure. It would just take one accidental moment when his guard was down, when he wasn't being

careful enough.

Hel

, it had already happened, that night at the hot springs pool. Wen had been there before he'd realized it. And now, with the

intimacy they shared, he wouldn't be able to hide on the other side of a rock.

It was inevitable that Wen would find out. Maybe not today or next week, but sometime. And when he did, as if the fact Wesley was some kind of

freakish monster in the water wouldn't be bad enough, Wen would no doubt also feel betrayed that Wesley had never told him about it. That he'd
allowed Wen to get close to him, to care about him, when all along he'd been harboring a secret that could change everything between them.

The fact was, he'd come so close to telling Wen the truth just yesterday. As he'd watched Lord Hareldson shift into his winged form--witnessed

the beauty and power of it, and how easily the people around him accepted it--it had given Wesley pause, made him realize that what he did in the
water wasn't so different from what the draegans did when they changed form. To them, their change was natural and they weren't ashamed of it.
Certainly they hid their winged form from the sorcerer's troops, for good reason. But amongst each other and the humans in camp, their ability to
change form was simply another aspect of who they were, not something to be feared. And so Wesley had, for one brief, crazy moment, thought
that his changing form might not be something to be feared either.

But he hadn't been able to go through with it because he'd realized while there were some similarities between what happened to him and the

draegans, there were differences as well. For one thing, the draegans could control their shifts. They changed shape only when and if they wanted
to. He couldn't do that. He had no control over his form. If he went in the water, even a few inches of water, his body would begin to show signs--the
scales on his legs, the filmy webbing on his feet. The same signs his mother had seen when he was a child. If he went in as deep as his waist, the
full change came upon him. No exceptions. He'd tried for years to gain control over it, but it was useless. The water controlled him, not the other way
around

The other difference, and it was a big one, was that the draegans had a rich history. Before the Great Massacre they'd retained control over

many parts of the land, wielded great power, had many friends and supporters, and been close allies with the humans. He, on the other hand, had
no history at all, and knew no one outside of this camp. He wasn't even sure what he was or how he had come to be like this.

Still...in spite of what had been done to them, the draegans were an accepting people. They could have hated and turned on the humans who'd

supported the high sorcerer during and after the massacre, but instead the draegan lord brought them into camp and they were shown the same
respect, given the same opportunities, as any draegan.

So maybe they would simply accept him. Or at least maybe Wen would.
But what if they didn't?
Frustrated and torn, he decided to seek out the only person he could really talk to about this.

* * * *

He found his mother in one of the planting tents. For the most part, because of being hunted by the high sorcerer, many draegans over the past

hundred years had become wanderers, living in tents in camps that could be quickly broken down and moved as need arose. But with the
population in this camp growing so dramatically now, the need to find better solutions to feed and house and clothe everyone were being sought.
One of those solutions was to create gardens that could grow and provide food even in the winter. So under his mother's direction, and with the
draegan lord's authorization, several members of camp had helped build a series of large wooden carts. The idea behind them was that they were
filled with soil and planted, then in warm months they could be left outside to flourish. In the winter, on sunny days they could be wheeled outside, but
at night or on days when the temperatures were too cold for tender vegetation, they were brought into the tents, which were warmed with fires.

It was experimental and some had doubted it would work, but as seedlings began to erupt from the soil, the naysayers had been quieted, and

now, several weeks into the plan, the plants were healthy and prospering.

Today, with the sky gray and overcast and threatening more sleet, and a cold wind blowing, the carts were inside, and he found his mother

alone, transplanting seedlings from one cart into others with more room for the plants to spread.

"Hello, Mum."
"Wesley!" Her wavy brown hair with a few streaks of gray in it was in a knot on the back of her head as usual, but several strands had come

loose and were falling around her face. With her hands in the dirt, she used the back of one wrist to swipe a wayward strand off her cheek, then
tilted her cheek up for him to kiss.

He did and smiled at her. "Need some help?"
"Sure, pull these up, one plant at a time, carefully, and transplant them about a hands-width apart in this next cart. If you'll work on it those, I'll do

the one beside it."

The work was familiar, even a little comforting--she'd always had a garden wherever they'd lived and he'd helped her often.
"I don't usually see you this time of day. Is the weather too dismal for weapons and practice?"
"No, it's in progress. But I'm actually working my first shift at sentry tonight, so I didn't have to be there today."
"Ah, they're putting you to work finally. I'm happy for you. I know that's what you've been wanting." She smiled at him, but beneath it he felt worry

flare up in her. He'd always been able to read her the best of anyone. Most likely because he'd lived with her all his life.

"I'll be fine, Mum. It's just a sentry post. I'll probably be lucky to see a few birds or a squirrel.
"Well, for your sake, I hope one of them makes a threat so you can use your new prowess with weapons to dispatch it quickly."
He grinned. "Well, then at least we'd have dinner for tomorrow night."
Her soft chuckle made him realize how much he loved her. She'd always been protective of him, sometimes it had felt

over

protective and he'd

resented it. But he knew she'd only ever done what she thought best to keep him safe and keep his secret from coming to light. And they'd always
been close, had always had a comfortable relationship, able to talk and laugh. Here in camp, being around so many other people who'd lost family
members, or who'd grown up with none, it made him appreciate her all the more.

"So," she said, giving him a sidelong glance, "I notice you didn't come home last night."
A leading question if he'd ever heard one, but he wasn't one to keep secrets from her. Except the one time, about his full change, and even then

he'd eventually told her.

"I stayed with Wen." He tried to keep his tone light, but just the thought of Wen made his pulse race and certain sensitive places twinge with

pleasure/pain. He felt a flush of heat creep up his cheeks.

She chuckled softly. "I see."
Yeah, she probably did.
"I was wondering when that might come to pass since I've noticed for weeks how you look at him."
He winced. "That obvious?"
She smiled. "To your mother, yes. Would I be interfering if I asked whether or not it's serious?"
Wesley's heart gave several hard slow thumps as he remembered the look on Wen's face when he left this morning. "Yeah. Yeah, it's serious."
"For what it's worth, which isn't much I know since you're an adult and don't need your mum's advice, I think you've chosen well. He's a good

man. Kind, loyal, honorable."

"I think so, too. That's...why I wanted to talk to you, actually. I do need some advice, Mum."
The way she quickly looked up at him, with the glint of concern in her eyes and rippling off her, he could tell she suspected

what

he wanted to talk

about because she was fearful about it, too.

"I think I'm going to tell him the truth about me."
She stopped working, resting her hands on the edge of the cart. Her concern had just grown into full-fledged worry.
"I know what you're thinking. But, Mum, I don't think I can hide from him forever. He'll find out eventually. I can't sleep with him, share everything

with him and not expect him to see something at some point. Plus, I don't want to have to hold a part of myself back. It's not fair to him."

She wiped her hands on a rag and turned to face him. "I know. Don't think I haven't worried about exactly this kind of thing for years. I knew

keeping you isolated in the woods away from everyone couldn't last forever. But now..." Another surge of concern swept through her. "Living here,
around so many people who wouldn't understand...I can't help but be afraid for you."

"The draegans aren't closed-minded, though, Mum. The draegan lord and his mate are accepting of everyone, and they treat everyone equally

whether. So it's not unbelievable that they could accept me for who...what...whatever I am. I just think it's better for me to be honest with Wen. I don't
like this feeling of keeping such a big secret from him, and since the draegans change from one form to another, I think they might be understanding
since that's what I do as well. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think it'll be okay."

She sighed and her shoulders sagged. "Walk home with me and let's have some tea. I think the time has come for something I've been

dreading."

He looked at her oddly. "Okay...that sounds ominous."
"I need to tell you some things, Wesley, and it's best done in private and not here where anyone could come in."
All right, now he was the one worrying. What could she have to tell him that would require secrecy? And, for once, he couldn't read her, as if

she'd just closed him off. She'd never done that before.

"Mum..."
"Please. It's important."
With his heart suddenly pounding, he nodded.
They didn't speak during the short distance between the planting tent and their own. Once inside, he stoked the fire and she made tea. It wasn't

until he was seated on one of the coarse wooden benches at the table with a stoneware mug of hot spiced brew in front of him, and she sat across
from him that she broke the silence.

"I need to tell you about how I came to have you."
His pulse leapt. "You mean about you and my father?"
"No. About how I came to

find

you."

"Wh-at?" he asked slowly.
She took a deep breath. "I didn't give birth to you, Wesley. And I never had a mate--not a male mate anyway, whom I could have conceived a

child with.

"But you...you said my father died when I was a baby."
"I did. And he did. That's all true." Sorrow bloomed in her eyes, and she reached across the table to rest her hands atop his. "You don't know

how many times I've asked myself over the years if I'd done the right thing, keeping the truth from you. It's eaten at me for so long, and there was

never a day that went by that I didn't wonder if I should go ahead and tell you. But then I would think of all the reasons I'd kept my secrets and
convince myself it was still the right course."

"What secrets?" he asked warily. His heart had begun pounding again.
She drew in another deep breath, then slowly released it. He recognized it as her way of centering herself before she began an arduous task.

Oh gods...this couldn't be good.

"Nineteen years ago, in the summertime, I was traveling through the Aurian Mountains. My mate, Aveline, whom I'd know since we were children

together, had just died from the wasting sickness a few months before and I was distraught, grieving her."

She'd had a female mate? Why had she never told him this before?
"I no longer wanted to stay in the small village where we'd lived. Too many memories. So I took up with a troupe of entertainers who traveled

from village to town. We earned a bit of coin, but mostly were fed by the good graces of the people who lived in the villages. It was a simple life and,
for a while, I was content with it because it kept my mind off my loneliness.

"But then one evening, when we'd stopped to camp, I was out walking, looking for berries. I'd already gone much farther away from the group

than I usually did, but it was a beautiful night, the moons were full, so it was almost as bright as daylight, and I was enjoying the walk. I came to a
small lake fed by a waterfall out of the mountains. I had my water skin with me, so I went down to the shore to fill it. When I drew close..."

She sighed and squeezed his hands, but her gaze had settled on the wall of the tent, as if she were lost in a painful old memory. "I found the

bodies of a man and a woman lying on the shore. They'd been shot through with arrows and...and they'd suffered other horrible torments as well. I
knew it was the work of the high sorcerer's soldiers because of all the boot prints and matching arrows. And the atrocities that had been done to
those poor people...they were just the types of things the sorcerer's soldiers would do. I'd seen it before in my travels and I had no doubt in my mind
that the couple had been hunted."

Wesley watched her, felt her pain, and all the while his mind was spinning. A man and a woman. Murdered...
"They had obviously been there for hours by the time I found them and I wished I could have buried them or done something to give them peace,

but I was by myself, far from my group. Plus I was worried the soldiers might still be nearby. I couldn't leave without doing something, though, so I
gathered flowers from the meadow by the lake--the white daisies were blooming, and purple coneflowers--and made up bouquets that I placed on
each of them.

"That was when I heard a noise. A small, whimpering noise." Her gaze locked with his now. "At first I thought it might be some meadow creature,

come to drink from the lake, but when I went searching, tucked way back under some bushes, in a bed dug out and lined with moss, I found a child."

"Oh gods." The earth seemed to spin out from under Wesley as he realized what she was saying. "Me?" he whispered.
She nodded, tears in her eyes. "You were maybe a year old, no more than that. And you were sound asleep. I like to tell myself that you didn't

have to witness any of the horrors that had taken place there that day, that your parents had hidden you away to keep you safe and you'd slept
through it all. Once I'd found you, I couldn't leave you there, so I gathered you up. You were so beautiful with thick dark hair, and when you opened
your eyes, they were so big and brown and you had the sweetest smile. I fell in love with you on the spot."

Wesley's chest ached as if someone had wrapped a steel band around it so tightly he couldn't breathe.
"I took you away from there. The sorcerer's soldiers had clearly hunted your parents down--I'd seen the brands on them."
"Brands?"
"They had the slave brand on them, the one Byram uses to mark his

property.

" She said the last word bitterly. "I suspect your parents had

somehow escaped, perhaps to prevent you from having to grow up a slave, and so he had them hunted down. I was worried for your safety, afraid
they might know about you and would look for you, so I set off across country with only you and the clothes on my back. Wherever we went, wherever
we stayed for a few weeks or months at a time, I said you were my son and that your father had died in an accident. Eventually, as you know, when
you were twelve we ended up in Wellan, where we lived for many years until the town was razed and then we moved to the settlement near the old
draegan temple."

He'd always wondered why they'd moved so much during his early years, and why'd she'd never discuss his father with him. But..."Why?" he

whispered. "Why didn't you tell me all of this?"

She sighed and shook her head. "I might have, one day, but everything just got so complicated. A few weeks after I found you, we were living in

a small room I'd let from an innkeeper. It was the first time we'd had a real washbasin and could do more than just wipe off with a damp cloth. I
stripped you down and put you in the basin and that's when I discovered you weren't...the same as other people. I had my suspicions about what it
meant, but I didn't know for sure. But then, when you finally told me about your full change when you were thirteen...I knew. Because of what had
happened to your parents, though, I realized you'd be safer if I didn't tell you."

He stared at her, anger bubbling up inside him. "You knew what I was? You've known all this time?"
Her eyes welled again. "Like I said, I only suspected at first, but when the full change happened, then, yes."
"You know what I am and you never told me? All these years you've seen me worrying over it, confused, craving answers, and you

knew

"I didn't tell you, Wesley, because I'm certain your parents were enslaved and then murdered because of what they were. And I didn't want you to

live with the stigma of it. The fear."

He pulled his hands free from hers as hurt, anger, and a bloody good flood of his own fear made his chest hurt even more. He stood, and the

bench fell to the floor behind him. "What am I?"

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears. "You're an ondaen."

Ondaen.

He rolled it through his mind, but the word meant nothing to him. "I don't know what that is," he whispered, his mouth dry now in addition

to everything else. "What is it?"

When she didn't answer right away, he shouted, "

What is it

?" A part of him knew he shouldn't raise his voice to her but she'd just pulled the rug

out from under him and he was floundering and in the dark.

She held out her hand to him. "I know you're upset. Please, come sit down and I'll explain.
Numb, he looked at her hand, up at her face, then her hand again. Finally, he righted the bench and sank back onto it. But he didn't take her

hand. Couldn't right now.

"Tell me."
"The ondaen are...they're creatures of legend, really, because they're so rare most people in their whole lives would never see one. You already

know what you can do, and that's what ondaen are--shapeshifters who can change between a human form and a water form."

"I don't understand," he rasped. "You said fear. And stigma. And you thought my parents were killed because of what they were. Why?"
"Remember what I've told you all your life, that people are afraid of what they can't understand?"
He nodded, still not understanding any of this, and still unable to make the damn pain his chest stop.

"Who knows how legends get started. There's often a grain of truth in them somewhere, or maybe not at all. But my guess is that because

ondaen are so rare, so seldom seen, when they have appeared over the centuries people have been...unsure of them."

"You mean afraid?"
She nodded. "Probably. Sometimes all it takes is a bit of broadly told misinformation to start a terrible story. Think of what Thomas has long

suspected about the draegans. They were persecuted because people thought they'd murdered dozens of human children. The humans, in their
fear and outrage, turned to the high sorcerer and begged him to do something about it. So he hunted down the draegans and slew all but the few
who escaped and hid. In reality, the draegans never did anything at all, and the entire war against them came from a story perpetuated by the high
sorcerer for his own gain. When people are afraid, they react rather than think rationally. And in that way, legends are born."

"What kind of legends are there about the ondaen?" The word felt odd on his tongue, both fascinating and terrifying.
She reached for his hand again. He didn't stop her this time.
"Remember...these are stories, Wesley. They don't define you."
"What legends?" he said through gritted teeth.
She sighed. "Some say that ondaen will come up out of the water and pull swimmers or people in boats down under with them and drown them.

Some say they'll come out at night and steal children and take them down to their watery homes and hold them prisoner. Or that they steal children
and eat them and leave their bones for the fish."

"My gods! I would never do anything like that!"
"I know, my darling." She patted his hand. "I know that, but you asked what the legends are and these..."
"What else?"
"Some believe the ondaen can control minds or ensorcel people. That if you look one in the eye or let it speak to you, you'll get sick and die. Or

if a woman sits next to the water and cries, an ondaen will come out of the water under the guise of comforting her, but then later that night, she'll kill
herself because the ondaen bewitched her."

"Gods damn it!" He felt sick inside, but he couldn't tell her to stop "Do these creatures...do I...have any redeeming qualities at all? Is everything

bad?"

"Wesley...remember, this isn't you. These are legends. Stories."
"Just finish. Tell me the rest of what you know. What other horrible things are the ondaen supposed to do."
She sighed and shook her head, and he knew she was frustrated with him. But she continued, as he'd asked. "It's said they have the magick

ability to heal, but only use it if the person asking for help is willing to give them a boon, usually one of their children or a lover. Some believe they
get into wells in the ground or springs in the mountains and spread magick poison that will enchant anyone who drinks it. Then they make their
victims do their bidding, stealing, maiming, sometimes even forcing them to kill themselves.

"I'm not going to go on, Wesley. You get the idea."
"Yeah, I get it," he choked out. "Basically you're saying that people believe I'm a monster."
"Do you understand now why I didn't want to tell you? Look at you, torn with grief, aching with hurt over things that you've never done and never

would do. I didn't want you to grow up with that stigma. I wanted you to grow up exactly as you did...as normal as possible under the circumstances,
with a parent who loves you, and the ability to think for yourself, to be your own person rather than be trapped and damaged by a collection of fairy
tales told by frightened people."

Heartache swelled in him like a storm, battering him from all sides. "How could... Why... Why would anyone..."
"Oh my darling, I don't know. I look at you, at the brave, good man you've become, and I just don't know. Fear makes people do horrible things

sometimes."

"But you weren't afraid? Why did you keep me?"
"Because I knew you, knew you weren't capable of the cruelties that the legends try to paint about you race. And because I love you."
"Gods, Mum..." His eyes burned, wet and hot, and he couldn't breathe from the pain in his chest. He dropped his head into his hands, trying to

fight the sickness, the anger, the horror roiling within him. But when he heard the scrape of a bench on the dirt floor and felt his mother's arm go
around him, he gave up the battle and let the sorrow take him.

He had no idea how much time passed, only that eventually he had nothing left inside him but an empty hole. For so long he'd wanted to know

what he was, and now that he did, the truth was so twisted and the reality so bleak he wished he could go back to the blissful ignorance he'd been in
before.

He shuddered and dragged a hand over his aching eyes. "I don't know what to do. About Wen...about any of it."
"And I can't tell you, my darling. I love you with all my being and I've wanted so much to protect you all your life, but you have to make your own

decisions."

"If I tell Wen, even if..." He choked on the words. "Even

he accepts me, it doesn't mean others in the camp will. If other people find out, then

anything that goes wrong-- Gods, if someone's child goes missing or someone gets sick, I'll be blamed even if I was nowhere near them. And if
people are afraid and Wen stands by me, then he's got the stigma on him, too, just for being with me. They might turn against him." A thought hit
him. "Oh gods, or worse, it could cost him his life if they decide to hunt me down like the soldiers did my parents."

"Or," she said, rubbing his back, "none of those things could happen. As you said, the draegans are compassionate and open-minded for the

most part. I've met very few since we've been here who harbor grudges or hold ill will against those different from them."

"Yes, but the camp's not all draegan. There are plenty of humans here, too. And even if they're mostly good people, I won't always be in the

camp. As a member of the

draeganjhere

, there will be times I'll have to travel, and there are still plenty of people in Velensperia who believe the

sorcerer's lies and still hate the draegans for what they think they did. All it would take would be one person starting a story about me, and with
emotions on edge it could get out of control quickly. Look how quickly Byram turned the entire human race against the draegans and nearly wiped
them out."

He looked at his mother...the woman who'd raised him and loved him and done what she thought was best for him. The same woman who'd

picked flowers for his dead parents. And at last he began to understand why she'd made the decisions she had.

"There is no right answer, is there?" he whispered.
She sighed. "No. All you can do is make the choice you can best live with. Both come with risks. Either possibility could allow you to live a long,

happy life depending on the people around you."

"Or both have the potential to tear everything apart," he finished.
"Trust your instincts, Wesley. Follow your heart. Sometimes there are other solutions we can't see, that aren't obvious when we first look at a

situation but only come to light after we act. Sometimes, you find unexpected answers where you're least likely to look."

His hand moved up to his chest, where he fingered the silver medallion Wen had given him.

Cherish the unexpected...

Chapter 7

Wesley was already at the south sentry post waiting for him when Wen arrived, and Wen knew immediately something was wrong. He was

doing a masterful job of covering it up as he spoke with Jarrad and the other guard, whose posts they were supposed to be taking over, but Wen
knew the truth of it as well as he knew his own breath. He felt a pull to Wesley, as if a diaphanous strand of emotion linked them together. He'd felt it
before he'd even seen Wes as he'd come through the woods. And the nearer he drew to him, the more aware of it he became. It was like a faint,
vibrating hum, and along the hum he sensed Wes's turmoil.

Something had happened today while they were apart.
When Wen joined the three of them, Wesley gave him a smile that stole his breath...one filled with love and longing, but also vulnerability. It was

the latter that unsettled him, because even with all the crap he'd put Wes through the past few weeks, even when they'd had the argument last night
where he'd laid out all his hurt, anger, and confusion over Wen's behavior, he'd still been strong. Strong enough to speak his mind, to stand his
ground. Strength, he realized, had always been one of Wesley's most admirable traits. Strength of heart and of character.

So this vulnerability was new, and it caused all of Wen's protective instincts to surge to the surface.
But as much as he wanted to draw Wesley aside, take him in his arms and find out what was going on, he had to deal with the other issue at

hand first.

"Jarrad, Dale, there's a change of plans."
"What's going on?" Wes asked, his brows drawn together, his face serious and alert.
Wen couldn't help but be impressed by his instant transition to work mode and how he pushed aside whatever was so deeply troubling him to

concentrate on his duty. Gone was the insecure, shy young man he'd first met on the day the sorcerer tried to burn his settlement to the ground. And
in his place was a confident, capable fighter who, Wesley realized, he'd be proud to stand back-to-back with in battle any day. Gods, he loved this
man. What in

hel

had he ever been thinking to have pushed him away?

"Bessel saw something today as he was patrolling near the ridge. Boot prints, trampled ground behind a group of rocks as if someone had

been hiding there, the remains of numerous stubs from rolled kellow leaf."

"Somebody's been spying," Wesley said.
"Or more than one somebody," Jarrad added.
Wen nodded. "Two soldiers is Bessel's count based on the footprints. He did a cursory sweep and didn't find anybody still around, but he

couldn't leave his patrol route, so as soon as he was relieved this evening he reported it. His feeling is that whoever was there will be back."

"I bet they've seen someone in camp going in or out of the shield," Wesley said. "But they can't tell what it is because they can't see it, and once

the person's through to this side they disappear."

Damn he was good. Pride flared in him again. "That's exactly what Iann thought when Bessel reported it to us."
"So does that mean we're going to go looking for them?" Jarrad asked, his eyes alight with excitement.
"No." Wen clapped his brother on the shoulder. "It means as soon as Corliss and Orlinda get here, you and Dale are relieved for the night."
Jarrad groaned in complaint.
"What are we doing then?" Wesley asked.
Wen turned to him. "You and I are going hunting. You up for it?" he challenged, cocking an eyebrow.
Wesley's smile went straight to his balls, tightening them with a sweet ache. "Yeah, I'm up for it."
They waited until Orlinda and Corliss arrived, so he could brief them on the situation and make sure they were particularly alert tonight to

anything odd. And to be sure Jarrad and Dale headed back to camp. He loved his brother like mad, but sometimes out of all of his brothers, Jarrad
was the one with just enough of a cocky attitude that he would try to sneak out and find the spy or spies himself. Wen pretty much had to order him
to go home. Once he did, although Jared still grumbled about it, Wen trusted him to listen.

Finally, he opened a door in the barrier and he and Wesley crossed through, then quickly headed into the darkness of the woods on the other

side, staying as silent as possible in case anyone was around.

As soon as they were out of sight of the shield, and Wen's sensitive ears picked up no noise except the faint hooting of an owl in the distance

and the sigh of the trees in the wind overhead, he stopped.

"What are we doing?" Wesley said in a quiet tone. "I thought the place Bessel found was farther down the tree line."
"It is, but first things first." He pressed Wesley up against the closest tree and captured his mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing Wesley's soft grunt

of surprise, then taking it even deeper when Wes's arms went around him.

"Fuck, I missed you today," Wen growled when they came up for air.
"Gods, me, too." So much so, apparently, that one kiss wasn't enough because Wesley crushed his mouth against Wen's again and kissed him

as if he were starving and more than a little desperate.

It didn't take much encouragement to make him even more so, when Wen gripped a handful of Wesley's ass and dragged him in close until their

groins were fused. Another soft gasp, and then Wesley was humping against him. He tore his mouth away long enough to say, "Pay attention and
listen. You have better hearing than I do."

Wen

was

listening and staying alert for noises or threats with one part of his brain, while the other part that controlled his body was all about

giving Wesley pleasure. The thread that linked them was pulsing now, and somehow he knew this was what Wes needed to banish at least some of
the demons that were torturing him tonight. He needed the connection, and if it was the last thing he did, Wen was going to give it to him.

"It's okay, I'm paying attention," he said against Wesley's ear. "You take what you need, love. Take as much as you need. I'm watching your

back."

Wesley's hands tore at the laces on Wen's pants, and then his own, pushing them down far enough for...
"Unh, gods!" Wen groaned.
The contact was good, so damned good. Hot flesh to hot flesh.
Wes knelt in front of him and took his prick in his mouth with no preamble, swallowing it down as far as he could get it. As the wet heat

surrounded him and pleasure tore through him, Wen buried a hand in Wesley's hair, then tilted his own head back, fighting off another moan. They
had to be quiet, but Wes was making it tough for him.

Fucking hel!

Wesley worked up down on his cock like a man possessed, quickly bringing Wen to the edge. Blind with lust, he dropped his other hand to

Wesley's head and, holding it in place, began to thrust into his mouth with abandon. A part of him worried he was being too rough, that it might be
too much for Wes, but damned if Wes didn't grasp his hips and pull him deeper, inviting him to plunder farther.

His head spinning, his balls near to bursting, the moment Wesley burrowed his chilly fingers into his pants, grasped his tightly drawn-up

testicles, and tugged on them, he lost it. With barely contained silent groans, he shot flood after flood of liquid heat down Wesley's throat.

Wesley took it all, gods knew how, and then, as Wen's shudders slowed, eased off him and proceeded to lick him clean.
When he rose, Wen pulled him into an open-mouthed, appreciative kiss, tasting himself in the heat.
Wesley was rubbing against him, holding his hips, his granite-hard shaft growing slick from the saliva and Wen's own natural lubricant still on his

dick. He groaned softly, the sound one of raw pleasure.

"Tell me what you want, Wes," Wen said. He didn't care what Wesley asked for...he'd give him anything.
"This." Wes shuddered. "Oh gods...this. You feel so fucking good, Rowen. You're still hard, and I fucking love that about you. Fucking love being

close to you like this."

Wen smiled. He loved the sound of his full name when Wesley used it, but especially with that sexy, raspy whisper he knew came at least in part

from the thorough fucking he'd just given his throat. He curved a hand around his throat, massaging it gently, and Wes tilted his head back, his eyes
closed, his sensual lips parted.

Gods damn, he was the sexiest man Wen had ever known. He had no idea how he'd ever gotten so lucky as to earn Wesley's trust and love, but

he wasn't about to let him go. He was in all the way now, for better or worse, because the thought of being apart from him was unthinkable

He pushed Wes's pants down a little farther to give them more skin contact, and then gripped a cheek of his warm, bare ass in each hand.

Wesley shuddered again and his motions grew more focused, more intense. "Can't last long..."

"You don't need to,

m'caire.

" Wen pressed a lingering kiss against his throat. "You're in control. You come when you're ready."

Wesley's panted breathing, so quiet, but a beautiful sound to Wen's finely tuned hearing, made him smile again.
"Oh gods...gods..."
His sexy heart of hearts was close, so very close.
With a final grind of slick heat on slick heat, a silent cry, and a shudder, he was soaring, and Wen felt the evidence pouring out between then,

coating Wesley's cock and his own in hot cream.

One final shudder, and Wesley's eyes opened, dark gems in the moonlight. He reached up for Wen's cheek and pulled him into a tender,

grateful kiss.

Wen used the corner of his cloak to wipe them up, then tucked Wesley back into his pants and fastened them, then did up his own. When he

was done, he feathered another kiss over Wesley's lips and brushed his hair out of his face.

"Thank you," Wesley whispered.
"Feel better?"
"Yeah."
"What happened today, Wes? I felt your anxiety before I ever got to you tonight. I can feel you...like I have a connection with you somehow."
"I feel it to."
"How?"
"I don't know."
"Did you have a bad day?"
Wesley's eyes closed, but then they were open again and filled with emotion. "Not one of my better ones."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Yes. And no. But shouldn't we get back to work?"
"We will, and I've been listening. There's no one near us. Right now, you're who I'm concerned about."
"First night on the job and I'm already slacking."
Wen smiled. "It's not slacking when you're with me." Then he sobered. "Will you talk to me?"
Wesley took a hard swallow, then he sighed. "There are things..." He shuddered and this time it wasn't from pleasure.
Wen caressed his bearded cheek with his fingertips, waiting. He knew pushing wouldn't help. Whatever it was, Wesley had to get it out in his

own way, in his own time. Or maybe never. But it had to be his decision.

"I feel like I'm walking on a finely stretched rope over a chasm of fire. If I lean too far one way I'll fall and burn. If I lean too far the other I'll fall and

burn. But I'm stuck and I can't get off of the rope either. Eventually it's going to burn through, so I'm fucked no matter what."

"No, you're not. Because you're not alone. I'll come out and get you and you don't have to fall at all."
Wesley's breath caught, and as he stared at Wen, Wen felt surprise and...was it hope? radiate through link.
"You really mean that, don't you?"
"Of course I do. I love you, Wes. There's no place you might ever go that I won't follow and be there for you."
"You shouldn't say that... What if there were things about me you didn't know, Wen? Things that might...might change how you saw me."
"I don't know what happened today, love. I don't know what's got you so spooked, but I promise you, there is nothing you can tell me about you

that will change how I feel."

"Even if it didn't change your feelings, what if it had the potential to hurt you, or others you care about? What if--"
He put a hand behind his head and pulled him into a kiss. Then he said softly against Wesley's lips, "Rope. Fire. Me coming to get you. It's that

simple."

A shaky breath escaped over Wesley's parted lips. "Gods, I love you."
The words slid through Wen's veins and curled around his heart, only confirming what he already knew. He'd do anything for this man.
"When you're ready, I'll be here. And if you're never ready to tell me, that's okay, too. Because I know the man you are, and I will stand by you and

love you no matter what."

* * * *

By the time they got to the spot Bessel had discovered, Wesley seemed calmer. Still struggling with some inner demon, but more relaxed.
They quickly went over the area to see if the other guard had missed anything obvious, but he hadn't, and Wen came to the same conclusion he

had--there'd been two men here, probably Byram's, and they'd been settled in for a fair amount of time, several hours at least.

"No signs of a fire or that they ever laid out bedrolls," Wesley whispered, crouched near the rock that the soldiers had used as cover. "No food

remains. All the more reason to think their time here was for a specific reason and not just a rest stop. "

Wen nodded. "And no one's been back since Bessel was here this afternoon."

He looked out toward the magick barrier. He couldn't really see its glimmer tonight, not from here, but he knew where it was. "The footprints

leading away are all muddled and disappear in the pine needles. Let's follow this line of trees a little farther. I'd rather keep us under cover as much
as possible."

"Do you think someone could be watching."
"I don't hear or see anything, but it's always possible. Better to play it safe."
They hiked through the trees, keeping their footsteps as quiet as they could, and Wen constantly scanned the forest as well as the slope leading

up to the ridge, searching for any signs of motion or heat. The moonlight gave them enough light to see where they were going, but his night vision
helped as he looked into the darker, shadowed areas.

"Wen, wait."
He turned and found Wesley crouched and reaching for something on the ground. He backtracked a few steps to stand next to him. "What is it?"
Wesley held the object to his nose and sniffed it, then showed him. A half-burned kellow-leaf smoke. "Somebody came this way."
"Oh yeah."
They slowed their pace, more watchful now. If someone was staking out the barrier, waiting to see someone from camp, they wouldn't want to

be seen themselves, so it made every group of rocks or fallen log suspect.

Not too much farther, the terrain turned mostly rocky, with outcroppings and uplifts getting progressively larger the farther up the slope they

appeared. The trees were thinning, as well, which would give Byram's soldiers who wanted to hide, more places, and less coverage for Wesley and
him.

"Let's stop here," he whispered.
They eased in behind a tightly clumped group of delik trees. "If anyone's going to come around tonight, I just have a gut feel it's going to be

around here somewhere. So many hiding spots. And the barrier is just at the top of the slope. Keep your eyes open."

"If someone shows up, are we watching or confronting?"
"Confronting. If any of Byram's soldiers do suspect the camp is around here or there's magick being used, we need to know what they've seen

or found. If we can capture them, then that's always the first choice. But if we can't"--he locked gazes with Wesley--"then we cannot let them get
back to Byram with that information."

Wesley nodded.
"Are you okay with that?" If they did face a confrontation tonight, it would be Wesley's first with the possibility of taking a life. It wasn't something

Wen took lightly. Killing was never easy, and the weight of it could burden a person in a way that left permanent scars. Scars that some fighters
coped with, but some couldn't. He knew Wesley had seen death--he'd lived through two raids from the sorcerer's troops. But this would be the first
time he might actually be the person wielding the bow or the blade.

Wesley seemed to know what he was thinking. "I'll do what has to be done."
Wen nodded. That was all he could ask for. And if, on the other side of any battle, Wesley needed someone to help him cope, he'd be there for

him.

They stood side by side, watching.
The air grew damp. A storm was moving in, Wen thought. He could smell it. Eventually, the wind picked up, causing low clouds to scud across

the sky and blowing cold gusts through the trees that ate under his wool cloak. The warmth of Wesley's body so near helped fend off the discomfort,
though.

An hour passed with no activity. Then two. They didn't talk much, only an occasional whisper, as if they both knew they didn't dare lose their

focus--Wen felt deep in his gut that something was going to happen tonight.

Light snow began to fall sporadically, bitter icy crystals that flurried and swished over the ground. Damn, could the night get any more

miserable? Any of Byram's men who decided to come out here tonight had to be gluttons for punishment.

Just as he had the thought, Wesley rested a hand on his forearm and nodded.
Wen looked to where he indicated and, by damn, climbing out from behind a rock about halfway up the slope was a soldier dressed in the black

uniform of Byram's High Guard. Apparently unaware he was being watched, he stretched, scratched his balls, lifted a flask to his lips, then
scratched his balls again.

Wesley looked at Wen and rolled his eyes, causing Wen's mouth to quirk with a smile. But he noticed even as he was making light of the man's

behavior, Wesley's fingers had curled around the grip of the bow and he already had an arrow nocked. When had he done that? He had to admire
Wesley's forethought and preparedness. All those hours of practice were paying off, and carrying and using the bow had become second nature to
him.

Ball Scratcher looked over his shoulder and spoke to someone. It was too far for Wen to hear the words, especially with the wind blowing, but

his conversation indicated there was at least one other soldier besides him.

Wen scanned over the rest of the area, once, twice, and saw no other motion, no indication anyone else was there. But even with his night

vision, he didn't want to take any chances "Do you see anyone else?" he whispered to Wesley.

Wesley shook his head.
There was no way to be sure, though, and with all those rocks, anybody up there would be in a better position than they were. They needed to

get up there, too. If they could find a higher position, he could put up a shield around them so they could watch without being seen themselves. But
that was dependent on them getting there in the first place. The magick shields only worked for stationary positions. There was nothing he could do
to protect them as they moved.

He spotted a potential route and tapped Wes on the shoulder, then pointed. He saw Wesley squinting to make it out, and realized he could see

it better than Wes could now that the moon was behind a thin, racing layer of clouds.

"Follow me," he whispered.
Wesley nodded. When Wen stepped out from behind the trees and took off running on silent feet, Wesley was right behind him.
They dipped in behind another stand of trees, checked to be sure the soldier wasn't looking at them, then sprinted to the next stand, and then to

the first grouping of rocks on the lower slope. Wen threw up a quick shield around them while they got their bearings. The shield, like the much
larger one around the camp, would keep people from seeing them. Someone could be standing directly on the other side, just inches from them,
looking right in their direction, and wouldn't know they were there. All they'd see was a reflection of the surrounding landscape. And they'd feel a
vague urge to be someplace else.

But unfortunately, he and Wesley weren't going to be stationary for long, because they needed to get higher. Wen didn't like being below the

soldiers. It was always better to have the high advantage if possible.

They moved up a little farther. Then again.
They'd just made it to another cluster of rocks about halfway up the slope, parallel to Ball Scratcher, when another soldier came out of hiding to

join him. He stretched, too, like he'd been cooped up a long time. Which they probably had because they had to have gotten to their position before
Wen and Wesley had taken up their spot in the woods below.

Wen held up a hand to let Wes know they were going to have to stay put for the moment. They were too close to the two men now to risk moving.

But the advantage was that now Wen was close enough to hear pieces of their conversation.

"Tired of skulking..." the new man was saying. "Nobody around here...cold!"
"...have to stay put. Can't go back to the lieutenant unless...proof. We'd be..."
"There ain't nobody out here. No draegan scum, no nothing. And this... about... invisible...is bloody stupid! We should...more men."
"No. Have to...proof. ...whinging! Just you and me. No one else!" Ball Scratcher shouted the last in obvious irritation.
Wen and Wesley looked at each other. The last part was loud enough Wesley had clearly heard it and picked up on the same key words Wen

had

. Just you and me. No one else.

So only the two of them out here, then. And neither of them were looking remotely like they were expecting a fight. They had their swords

sheathed, and were more concerned about passing the flask between them.

Ripe for the taking. He and Wesley could have these two in short order. Wesley, in fact, was looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to

give the word.

But Wen knew from experience that sometimes when something looked too good to be true, it was. He held back, scanning the area again,

checking and double-checking everything. He was not going to put Wesley in any danger he didn't have to because he wasn't being cautious
enough.

Wesley still watched him. "What is it?" he mouthed.
Wen shook his head. He didn't know. Something just felt...strange. Some inner nagging sense wouldn't leave him alone.
And yet, nothing he saw or heard offered anything to counter that this wasn't exactly what it seemed.
The two soldiers were talking again, babbling about whether either of them had any smokes left, and someone called Brigger, who seemed to

be a source of amusement to them because he couldn't handle his tobacco.

But then their conversation shifted and Wen started paying closer attention once more. The subject about it being only the two of them there

came up again.

Ball Scratcher was clearly annoyed now at the other man, and most of what the two said was shouted. "I told you, Lurg, we can't go to the

lieutenant without some kind of proof."

"We could sit around here for days and nights and never see no one," Lurg whined. "I'm tired of sittin' out here in the cold, I'm outta smokes, I'm

hungry, my ass is frozen, and we're outta rhum."

"Too bad," Ball Scratcher said. "We saw people out here yesterday and then they just disappeared while we was watching. There's something

odd goin' on and you know the high sorcerer is lookin' for the draegans' camp. We're gonna get proof and then we'll be the fuckin' heroes. But if we
go tell them now, we're just gonna get laughed at."

Wen met Wesley's gaze. So they'd been right about the reason for the soldiers being here.
Lurg rubbed his purportedly frozen ass, sniffed, then squared his shoulders. "I'm done. You can stay here and freeze if you want, Grit, but I ain't

doin' it no more. I'm going back to tell the lieutenant what we saw and if he wants to send more men out he can, but it ain't gonna be me freezing in
these fucking rocks no more." He pushed past the man he'd called Grit and scrambled down onto the flat rock that stretched below where they'd
been standing. He was only a few meters from Wen and Wesley now.

Damn it all!

Something still didn't feel right to Wen, but they couldn't let Lurg get back to his "lieutenant" and spread the word about seeing

people out here.

Especially when Grit said, "Ah, fuck it!" and jogged down to join the other man.
"Wen," Wesley said in a tense whisper.
Wen nodded, still not liking something about this, but knowing they had no choice now. "Stay alert, Wes. I mean it...

stay alert!"

At Wes's nod, he said, "Let's make this quick."
He banished the shield around them and he and Wesley lunged out from behind the rocks, he with his sword drawn and Wesley with his bow up,

arrow nocked.

"Going somewhere, gentlemen?" Wen said, reaching Grit and angling the blade of his sword under his chin before the soldier could ever reach

for his. Next to him, Wes had an arrow pointed directly at Lurg's heart.

For a full, tense second, no one moved. Then Grit and his companion held out their hands.

Too easy... This is too easy...

the nagging voice in Wen's head said.

And then Grit laughed, a grating noise that was as hard as the rock on which they stood. "Nope, we're not goin' nowhere. But I think you might

be."

The hiss of bows being drawn back and the swish of swords coming out of sheaths filled the night air from all around them.
And with a sick twist in his heart, Wen knew they'd just been had.

Fuck!

A quick scan using all his senses told him they were surrounded by maybe eight or nine soldiers in addition to the two in front of them.

Archers in the rocks above, and swordsmen behind them who'd probably been hiding in the lower rocks or even the woods.

The whole gods damned thing had been a set up and he and Wesley had walked right into it.
"Looks like we caught us some draegans, boys!" Grit boomed. "And I betcha we can make 'em squeal and tell us all about where their precious

camp is. The high sorcerer's gonna give us all promotions!"

No.

Hel

no. This was not going to happen!

Wen felt tension, a hint of fear, but mostly anger radiating off Wesley. Anger at...he didn't know. It didn't matter. Anger was good. Healthy.
He looked at Wesley, who was looking at him, and as if they were sharing the same decision at the same moment, understanding passed

between them.

"Now," Wen said.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wesley's bow suddenly aim over Lurg's head and in a flurry of smooth, elegant shots he let loose one, two,

three arrows before Lurg even realized the bow was no longer pointed at him.

At the same time that was going on, Wen drew his sword back and, with a powerful swing and a growl, cut off Grit's head, then turned and ran

the blade through Lurg's belly.

The two soldiers dropped, and he and Wesley moved back-to-back, Wesley facing up the slope, and he down.
A spate of arrows fell around them, with one scraping along his sleeve, but almost before the ones aimed at them hit the ground, Wesley shot off

another burst of arrows with a speed that made Wen's head spin.

Leaving Wesley to deal with things on his front, Wen faced-off with the four soldiers, blades drawn, coming at him. He took a step toward them

and shook his head. "Looks like a good night for a fight,

boys.

Chapter 8

His arrows spent, Wesley dropped his bow and drew his sword. All the archers up in the rocks were down, unless there were reinforcements

somewhere he didn't yet know about. But he didn't think so.

He turned to see Wen, looking breathtakingly magnificent, fighting four soldiers at once. As Wesley watched, one of them fell.
He stepped up to take one of the remaining three off Wen's hands. The clang of swords rang out in the night as they circled and lunged.

Wesley's arm burned from the exertion, yet slowly but surely, he beat back the soldier he faced, until he had him on the ground and then, with a final
lunge, ran him through.

Chest aching for want of air, sweating, his heart thrumming mercilessly against his breastbone, he turned to see Wen still engaged with the

other two, but one was bleeding from a gash across his chest and the other's arm was hanging at his side useless. Wen fought on like some kind of
warrior god, lunging at one and knocking him several feet away, then swinging around to clash blades with the other. And then, with a strength no
human man could have possessed, Wen lifted his blade and, slicing down, took off the head of the one he fought.

The soldier on the ground a distance away from Wen got up, his eyes focused on Wen and not paying attention to Wesley. Wesley thrust his

sword through the man's gut.

The soldier fell with the blade still embedded in him, and the movement jerked the sword out of Wesley's hand. Breathing hard, he crossed over

to him, put a foot on the soldier's body, and grasped the hilt, pulling his blade free.

When he straightened, it was to find Wen turning toward him. His gaze quickly scanned over Wesley's body as if to reassure himself he wasn't

injured.

"I'm fine," Wesley croaked, his chest still heaving from exertion. "You?" Wen was covered in blood, but none of it seemed to be his. And he

wasn't moving like he was hurt.

"Yeah," he huffed. "I'm good." Their gazes met and, even in the half-lit darkness he sensed a teasing glint in Wen's eyes. "So, just an easy first

night's work for you. No problem."

Wesley choked on an unexpected laugh, then groaned when it made his chest ache. But the sight of Wen's smile made it worth it.
Still smiling, Wen started to take a step toward him. But he stopped suddenly and gasped.
"Wen?"
His face went slack, like he was in shock.
A warning tingle of fear spread through Wesley. He headed toward Wen instinctively. "Rowen!"
A movement behind Wen caught his eye. One of the soldiers, bloodied and dying, had managed to drag himself up to his knees behind Wen.

And then Wesley heard a gurgled laugh. "Gotcha, draegan scum," a wheezing voice said.

"What did you do?

What did you do?

" Wesley shouted, now running.

And then he saw. The hilt of a sword jutted from Wen's back.

"No!"

He lunged around Wen, and with a bellow sank his blade through the soldier's throat.

The man gurgled and fell backward, no longer smiling.
Behind Wesley, Wen sank to his knees.
"Oh gods... Gods, Wen!" The cry tore from Wesley's throat as he turned and dropped to his knees next to him. His gaze ran over his lover, and

what he saw left him sick with terror. The blade buried in Wen's back had gone all the way through and protruded a full hand's length out of his
abdomen in the front.

"Wesley," Wen gasped. His eyes fluttered open and he reached for Wesley with a bloodied hand
"I'm here. Damn it, Wen. Stay with me."
"I think..." His eyes closed again, then opened, and his gaze softened. "I love you, Wes."
"I love you, too. But you have to stay with me, Rowen. We have to think. Let's just think. Let's get the sword out."
Wen's hand stopped him when he was going to move behind him. "No, Wes. If you..." He winced and closed his eyes again.
"Wen!"
"If you take it out..." His voice was shallow and tight with pain. "I'm pretty sure...right now it's..."
Oh gods. It was keeping him alive. The godsforsaken sword was what was keeping him alive, holding him together inside.
Tears slid hot down Wesley's face. "I'm not losing you, damn it! I'm not."
He thought of Lilia, the healer, but she was clear on the other side of the camp. It would take him ten minutes to get to her, even if he sprinted,

and another ten at least to get back. And...gods damn it! He couldn't even open the magick barrier to get in without having a draegan do it for him. If
he could get to the south sentry point, Orlinda and Corliss would see him, though, and they could let him through. "Let me go get Lilia," he said.

"No!" Wen's hand wrapped through his.
"Wen, I can be there and back in..." Not soon enough. The reality of the situation pressed down on him, threatening to crush him.
"Please...don't leave me, Wes. Don't leave me here alone."
Fear surged through Wesley and he realized it wasn't just his. It was Wen's. He was ... Oh gods. He was thinking of his father and Phillipe. He'd

been with both of them when they died and he was afraid to be alone if...when...

"It's okay. It's okay." Wesley pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I won't leave you. I promise."
"Thank you," he whispered.
He slumped forward, but Wesley caught him. "Stay with me, Rowen."
Wen's hand reached for his face and Wesley leaned in so he could touch him. "It was worth it just to..." He grimaced. "...to be with you...for a

short while."

"Wen, don't. Don't say that."
"Don't cry,

m'caire.

"What does that mean,

m'caire

"My heart..."
Wesley's heart shattered. He brought Wen's hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. How could he possibly bear this? How could he lose him

when he'd just gotten him? He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

"Don't leave me, Wen."
"You'll be all right...just...don't...forget to live."
A sob shook Wesley's chest and then another. He rested his face on Wen's shoulder and Wen's arm came up around him. They clung together

as the snow fell on them, and he began to understand now why Wen had shut himself off from caring for so long...because losing someone you
loved was unbearable.

But then, somewhere deep inside him, something stirred. A spark. Something that wasn't willing to concede, that told him if he didn't want this to

happen, then he needed to get up, get on his feet, and fight back.

This was the man he loved, damn it. Strong, loyal, beautiful Wen. The draegan who'd chosen to fight off ten soldiers tonight rather than give up.

Who'd smiled and teased him about his first night's work. The man who'd held him in the woods earlier and told him he would always follow him.
Always be there for him.

"No!" Wesley said sitting up. He crawled in front of Wen so they were face to face. "Wen, open your eyes and look at me." When he did, Wesley

said, "You listen to me, Rowen. You promised me you would be here for me, and I'm not letting you out of that promise. Sure as

hel

not tonight!"

Wen smiled weakly. "Always strong," he whispered. "But sometimes--"
"No. No buts."
Wesley's mind spun. Going for Lilia was out of the question. What else... And then he remembered. His gaze shot up the slope.

Bloody hel!

the top of this ridge, just on the other side of the barrier was the hot springs pool. The one Wen had said had healing properties!

Oh gods. It was a long shot. A desperate, no-chance, crazy plan. This wasn't some bruise or simple cut or aching muscle. This was... It was

Wen's life. But, damn it, it was better to try a desperate, crazy plan than to just sit here and do nothing. And if worse came to worst, at least... A hot
lump filled his throat. At least if Wen didn't make it, he wouldn't have to die lying here in the middle of this carnage. He'd be warm and with Wesley in
a peaceful spot.

He cradled Wen's face in his palms. "Wen, look at me. Look at me, Rowen and listen to me."
"I'm listening."
"Every order you've ever given me, I've followed. No matter how difficult, no matter how mad I was at you, anything you've asked me to do, I've

done it. So now it's your turn. Now I have some orders for you, and I want you to listen to me, okay?"

His brows drew together, but he nodded.
"Right up at the top of the ridge, just a few dozen meters from here, on the other side of the shield, is the hot springs pool. We're going to go

there. But I need you to get us through the barrier. And that means you're going to have to stand up. I know it's not going to be easy. And it's going to
hurt. But I'm going to be right beside you, helping you every step of the way. I'm not going to let go of you. Do you trust me?"

His eyes were hazed with pain, but somewhere behind the pain, Wesley thought he saw a glint of determination. "Always," Wen whispered.
The faintest ripple of warmth crept into Wesley's veins. He had to keep that determination lit in Wen.
"All right. Every step of the way I'll be right here. This is me, coming to get you off the rope."
Wen's eyes shone with emotion, and he nodded.
Wesley wedged himself in under Wen's shoulder, with one arm gently around his waist below the blade. "I don't want you to think about how far it

is or how much it hurts. I want you to find a place...someplace that's calm for you, comforting. A place where there's no pain. There's no fighting. No
cold. Only peace and warmth."

Wesley sought out the connection between them, the one that Wen had mentioned to him earlier, the one he'd felt with him while they'd been

making love last night. Once he found it, like a fine thread stretching between them, he knew he needed to bolster it with all the good emotions
possible. Love, peace, happiness. In order to share them with Wen, he had to let himself experience them first. He closed his eyes and pictured the
two of them standing on the training field that day, then in the meadow, warm and buzzing with awareness for one another. Then at the hot springs
pool, holding hands, feeling close just by being together. Making love in the firelight, with their bodies in sync, their hearts beating. He concentrated
on how Wen made him feel and then tried to direct those feelings across the link.

Through it, slowly, he felt Wen relax.
"Good. Just keep feeling that, Wen. Don't let go of it."
He opened his eyes and braced himself. "We're going to stand now, so you need to open your eyes. Ready? I'll count to three."
Wen tried to get to his feet from where he'd been on his knees, but he struggled and almost fell. Wesley held him steady and pulled. And then,

with a shuddering groan of pain, he was up.

Somehow...by some grace of the gods, they made it to the top of the ridge. Wen was white as the snow that continued to flurry around them, and

he was struggling to breath, struggling to stand. But they got there.

Wesley knew generally where the magick barrier was, but not for sure. "I don't know how to find it," he said.
"I do," Wen whispered. "I've got it."
He reached out with one shaking, bloodied hand and swiped it across the open air.
"Damn it. Can't...concentrate."
"It's okay. Take your time." He knew they didn't have much time, though.
Wen tried again, and this time Wesley heard him murmuring words under his breath. Draega he assumed. "Okay," he finally gasped. "Just walk

straight."

Wesley did, but Wen stopped him after a few steps.
"We have...to put it back up. Can't risk...leaving it open here."
With the soldiers having almost found the camp, and the risk of others who might follow, he knew Wen was right. He just wished Wen didn't have

to exert any more of his strength on the magick.

"'Kay...done."
They continued on, but Wen was growing weaker. Too much weaker. By the time they got to the trees that tightly surrounded the pool, he was

only half conscious and Wesley was bearing most of his weight.

"Just a little farther, love. Just a little more."
At the water's edge, knowing they didn't have much time, feeling Wen's life ebbing away, he waded into the pool with both of them fully dressed.
It wasn't until he was up to his thighs in the water and his boots began to feel wrong, and something was wrong with his pants that he snapped to

his senses.

Bugger!

How could he have forgotten? Shifting had been the last thing on his mind.

At this point he didn't give a gods damn about being caught, he just didn't want to lose any time to help Wen. But if he didn't take a few seconds

to get his boots and pants off, he might end up hurting himself and then he'd be of no use to Wen. So, holding Wen with one arm, he yanked off his

boots, dropped his belt, tore his pants open, and peeled them down. The wet leather stuck to him and it took way too long, frustrating him at every
second lost, but finally the pants were gone.

He got behind Wen, who was nearly limp in his arms now, and careful to keep the blade unimpeded, Wesley stepped backward into the pool

and half carried, half dragged Wen with him.

The change came over him immediately and he felt the odd pull and tug as his body altered. There was no pain when it happened, but always a

few seconds of discomfort as not only his lower body transitioned, but his lungs and internal structure did as well.

Once he was fully formed, he tore off his cloak and shirt, which were getting in his way.
He held Wen so that Wen was floating on his back, but now that they were here, in the pool...desolation swept over Wesley because he didn't

have a clue what else to do.

The plan had been to get Wen to the pool, but nothing after that. They were in the water now, but Wen's condition hadn't changed. His eyes were

closed, his breathing was labored, and a hand's-width of sword still stuck out of his abdomen.

His tail flicking to keep him afloat, Wesley swam behind Wen, cradling his head in his hands. "Wen? Can you hear me?"
No response. Wen's chest still rose and fell, but it was getting slower. He was losing him.
"I don't know what to do now, Rowen." He knew Wen couldn't hear him, but he couldn't stop the words. It felt like his chest was being crushed

under a weight he couldn't bear.

"All I could worry about all day was you finding out what I am. And now, that just seems so foolish compared to this."
Wen's chest suddenly rose in a harsh jolt and his eyelids opened. He gazed up at Wesley, his eyes still half shuttered and groggy with pain, but

when he saw Wesley a flicker of a smile curved his lips. "Hi."

"Hi."
"I need you...to do something for me, Wes." His voice was so tight and quiet.
"Anything."
"Pull it out."
"No. No, Wen. If I do..." He couldn't say it.
"I know. But...it's better that way. I just... I just want to feel like myself."
"How long? After?" Wesley asked, barely able to speak but needing to know.
"Probably not long. It's better here. Good here...with you."
"How do I do it?"
"Put your boot on my back...leverage. Then pull hard."
Wesley didn't have the heart to tell him he didn't have any boots at the moment. He wrapped his arms around Wen's chest and let the lower half

of his body ease down into the water. Behind him, he nuzzled his face against Wen's wet hair, smelling the metallic scent of the water and the wet
wool of his cloak, but wanting to hold onto those scents because even they would help him remember.

"Wen..." His voice choked.
"It's okay, Wes."
"I love you." And he would never be the same again.
"Love you." He turned his head to look back at Wesley and smiled. Then pain closed over his face. "Okay. Do it."
Wesley grasped the hilt of the sword in both hands, and though it was an odd position, used his tail as leverage. It was strong, in some ways

stronger than his human legs, but it wasn't meant for this. "On three," he said softly.

"On three," Wen acknowledged.
Gods, was he really going to do this? Yes. Because Wen asked him to. And if it would give Wen comfort, then he'd do it.
"One. Two." He pulled.
Wen's scream tore through the night air, and seemed to take root directly in Wesley's soul. It was the most desolate, anguished sound Wesley

had ever heard and he knew he would be hearing it forever.

The sword had come out more easily than he'd expected. He let it fall out of his hands and drop to the bottom of the pool, and then he cradled

Wen against him and sobbed.

"Shhh...it's okay,

m'caire.

It didn't seem right, having Wen comfort him like this. He stroked Wen's hair. "What do you need? What can I do for you?"
"Cloak off. So...heavy."
Wesley unfastened it and let it float away
"Take me...over to the altar rock."
Wesley held him and swam, and when they got to the center of the pool, he push him up onto it and Wen rolled onto his back.
"It's cold out of the water, Wen."
He turned his head to the side so he could see Wesley, and reached for his hand. "It's peaceful. Come up here with me. Please? Just...want to

feel you."

Wesley nodded and started to pull himself out of the water. He got partway when he heard Wen's soft, surprised gasp.
Oh gods. He'd forgotten again. He looked down at himself and saw the change was already starting to reverse but there was no mistaking that

instead of legs he had a thick, gold and turquoise tail. He closed his eyes and slid back down into the water.

"Wes..."
"I know. I'm a monster."
Wen's hand settled on his head. "I was going to say beautiful."
Wesley's breathing hitched and he looked up at him.
"Why didn't you tell me...that you were a shifter?"
"Because I thought..." Wesley shook his head. "I don't know. I was afraid. Always. All my life. I didn't even find out until today

what

I am, that

there's a name for what I am."

"Ondaen," Wen whispered.
Wesley stared at him. "You know of them? And you're not... You don't think I'm some terrible thing?"
Wen gave a soft, choked laugh. "You're asking...a man who turns into a giant...winged...lizard if you're something terrible?"
Wesley felt himself blush, but then he smiled.
It faded instantly, though, when Wen began to cough...a horrible, racking sound that went on and on. Wesley felt so damned helpless and he

hated it. Gods, he fucking hated it! All he could do was stroke Wen's hair and wait for it to pass. If it passed. It seemed like he grew weaker by the
second.

When the fit finally ebbed, Wen weakly swiped a hand across his mouth, and Wesley saw that it came away with blood on it.
"Wes..." His voice was barely audible, and Wesley knew the end was close.
He gripped Wen's hand. "I'm here."
"Blood," Wen whispered.
"I know. I saw. So much blood. But it's okay, it'll be okay."
"No." Every word seemed to be a struggle now, but he seemed desperate to speak. To make Wen understand.
"No?"
"Yours." His grip on Wesley's hand went limp. "Ondaen," he whispered.
And then his eyes closed.
"Wen!" He rested a hand on his chest and felt just the faintest movement, but not much. Tears slid down Wesleys face, hot in the cold air.
He rested his cheek against Wen's hand, needing to touch him, so maybe somehow, when his breathing stopped, Wen would know he was

never alone.

What had he meant, talking about blood?

Blood. Yours. Ondaen.

He'd been so urgent about it.
And then, for some reason, Wesley remembered something his mother had said today, about one of the legends of the Ondaen, that they were

healers. Except it had been given the horrible twist, as with everything else, that they were healers only for the right price. But legends...

Oh gods!

Legends often came from a grain of truth. And Wen had seemed to know about the ondaen. And he'd used his last words to desperately tell Wesley
something about the ondaen.

Yours.

About him. His blood.
"Fucking

hel

!" Was it possible?

Wesley reached for his belt, but then remembered he'd taken it off along with his pants over at the edge of the pool. He looked to see if Wen

had his, but he'd lost his belt somewhere as well.

He rested a hand on Wen's chest briefly and said, "Wait!"
Then he turned and dove into the pool. He swam to the bottom, searching, and finally found his belt. There was his knife, in the sheath, right

where it was supposed to be. He pulled it out, then swam hard and fast to the surface. He came up next to the rock, and started to heave himself out
of the water to have better access to Wen. But then changed his mind. Ondaen blood. He wasn't sure if that meant he needed to be in his water
form or not, but he wasn't going to take any chances. So he only pulled out of the water far enough to drag Wen a little closer to the edge of the rock
so he could reach him while still staying in the water.

He cut open Wen's shirt and spread it apart to reveal the wound on his abdomen. It was the exit wound, but he'd start there, then turn him over

and do the other side. Quickly, he used the knife to cut a deep gash across his own palm. He hissed in pain, but pushed aside any discomfort. He
didn't have time for that.

Blood was already seeping from the wound. He held it up over the gash on Wen's abdomen and squeezed his fist closed, pumping it several

times to force out more flow. The sword wound was already bloody from Wen's own body, so at first it was hard to tell if anything was happening
because the moonlight was sporadic tonight because of the storm.

He leaned closer to watch. And then... Was that... The wound looked...not as angry.
He didn't know how much blood he should use, but figured since the sword had gone all the way through Wen's body, he should make sure there

was enough to seep in.

When he had trouble getting any more from his hand, he carefully rolled Wen over and finished removing his shirt. Then he cut his other palm

and let the blood from it drip into the wound on Wen's back.

He hadn't known what might happen, didn't know if he expected Wen's wounds to close up and then he'd sit up on the rock and be fine instantly.
That wasn't the case, however. Instead, while his wounds maybe looked a little less angry, there was obviously no instant cure. And his breathing

stayed faint. It didn't stop, though, which in Wesley's book was something positive he could cling to.

He stayed in the water, and Wen's still body continued to lie on the altar rock, as Wen had called it, for some time. But eventually, it was so cold

out that Wesley was afraid for Wen, afraid he'd freeze to death. So he pulled him back down into the warm water of the pool and held him, with
Wen's back against his chest.

And then...he waited.

Chapter 9

The lap of water against his cheek brought Wesley to awareness. That, and an odd metallic scent. And the fact his arms were achingly tired. But

it was a flutter of something icy on his cheek that brought him fully awake and made him open his eyes.

When he did...
Emotion like he'd never known surged through him, warm and thick and overpowering to the point his eyes welled and he almost couldn't

breathe.

"You're here," he whispered, the words scraping out of his raw, tight throat.
"I'm here," came the equally choked answer in return.
They leaned in for each other at the same time, and their lips met, warmth on warmth, soft tender flesh, the scrape of stubble, and a world of

emotion too powerful to put into words that could only be conveyed like this.

"Wen," he breathed against his mouth, not willing to leave yet, and not having to when the heat returned even more tenderly and more dear than

before.

When they finally eased back enough to look at each other, Wesley's chest tightened at the memory of what had happened. "Are you okay?"
Wen nodded and gave him a flicker of a tired smile. He was pale, so pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes, but gods...his eyes were

open and churning with emotion, and he was alive. He was here and alive.

"How do you feel?"
He reached over and brushed a flake of snow off Wesley's cheek. "I feel grateful," he said softly.
"So do I."
They were still in the hot springs pool, and at some point during the long night, Wesley realized he must have dozed off. He'd held Wen against

him for hours, but now Wesley had an arm out of the water holding himself up at the altar rock, with his head resting on his arm. Next to him, facing
him, Wen was doing the same. But Wesley still had his other arm around Wen's waist, and he realized that was probably why his arm ached. He'd
never let go of Wen all night, and still found he couldn't.

The gray of dawn lit the sky, but there would be no sun this day. The scudding clouds of the night had given way to a thick, full overcast, and the

occasional flurries had become a light but steady snow, with large flakes falling and melting on the surface of the water, which steamed around
them.

"Thank you," Wen whispered. "For not letting me go."
The hot sting of moistue burned in Wesley's eyes. "Thank you for telling me how to keep you here. When I think of what would have happened if--

"Don't think it, Wes. Because it didn't happen. Don't dwell on the what ifs and darkness. I spent too many years doing that and it almost cost me

you."

He reached beneath the water and slowly eased Wesley's fingers from around his waist, then brought his hands up to his lips and kissed his

palm. "This is what's important. Life, being together, being able to feel your skin under my lips, watching the way your eyes light up when you're
happy, and the way your body trembles when we touch. This is how it's meant to be, treasuring every precious moment for however long we're lucky
enough to have it."

"How'd you get to be so insightful?"
He gave him another of those tired but beautiful smiles. "Most of the time I don't feel very insightful. But let's just say I've got a lot more reason

lately to pay attention."

He shifted slightly and winced, and Wesley immediately slid closer to him to offer his support if Wen needed it.
"Are you okay? How are your wounds?"
"I'm all right, don't worry. They're tender, but it's like I can feel them healing. They're prickly. It's a little unpleasant, but...I'm okay." His hand

caressed Wesley's hip in a slow, intimate motion, or what would have been his hip had he been in human form. The simple gesture caused a lump
in his throat. Wen wasn't turned off by his ondaen body, hadn't shut him out or looked horrified. Last night he'd told him he was beautiful like this.

"What are you thinking?"
"That I hope someday soon maybe you'll let me see you in your winged form."
Wen's smile filled his heart. "I promise. Once we get all the nets mapped and get the all clear from Lord Rizik and Lord Hareldson, I'll take you

up with me. If you want."

"I'd like that. Do you want to get out of here? Our clothes are all wet, but you'd probably be more comfortable home in bed, Wen."
"Bed sounds good." He smiled. "Very good. But I think I just want to stay put for a little while longer. The water's warm and I think it's helping, too,

in addition to what you did."

"It didn't help last night," Wesley said bitterly. "I'm not sure it does much."
"Maybe not big stuff, but there's something about it. I should be waterlogged, but I'm actually pretty comfortable."
Wesley pulled up their hands that were linked together to kiss the back of Wen's knuckles. As he did, he glanced at his own and realized his

palm wasn't sore and it should be. He turned it over...and the only thing remaining of the deep gash he'd cut last night was a puckered scar.

"Oh my gods." He looked at his other palm on the rock. It was healing as well, but not as much as the other that had been in the water all night,

holding Wen. "I think you might be right." He showed Wen the scars. "I cut these last night, that's where I got the blood from, and look at them."

"But don't you heal naturally, considering what your blood does?"
"I don't think so. It might work on other people, but I've had plenty of scrapes and cuts in my life and I've never healed any more quickly than

anyone else." He looked at Wen. "How did you know?"

"About the blood?"
Wesley nodded.
"Iann. He's been around a long time. I don't know if you're aware or not, but he was in Lord Hareldson's mother's

draeganjhere

a hundred years

ago. After she and her mate were murdered by the sorcerer, Iann and another guard escaped with Lord Hareldson. They raised him and watched
over him all these many years. My family, for as long as I can remember, has always lived in the same camp as them. When I was young, Iann used
to tell me stories. About the elves and the early days of the draegans and other creatures in Velensperia. And I remember some stories about the

ondaen."

Wesley sighed. "I hope they're better than the ones I've heard, with all the manipulation and cruelty."
"Iann told those, too, but he always said stories like that were based on people's fear of the unknown, and that the truth was seldom so dramatic

or wicked. He used the draegans as an example as well because of what happened with Byram to turn people against us. Then he told me about
how the ondaen, long, long ago, used to be the caretakers of the water, like the draegans were the caretakers of the sky. He said they were
peaceful, but as with many races that have faded over the millenia, they were hunted almost to extinction for their gifts and abilities that others
wanted to control."

"What gifts and abilites?" Wesley asked, a little bit in shock at the wealth of information Wen was giving him.
"Well, the blood. Your blood has healing power, clearly." He smiled. "And you already suspect one of the other abilities, don't you?"
"Suspect? No."
"Wes..." His hand stroked Wesley's cheek. "You're an empath."
Wesley drew in a breath.

An empath?

"Everything makes so much sense now that I know what you are," Wen said. "I couldn't understand, but now... That's why we have such a strong

emotional connection, and how the link on the training field happened that day when we shared that experience. That was your emotions merging
with mine, what we were both feeling at that time. And since you were in a calming trance, that's where I ended up, too. You did something similar
last night, remember? Reliving times we've shared so that I could feel them as well."

Wesley dragged in a shaky breath as he nodded.
"I suspect you can read emotions from most people on some level, yes?"
"I just... I guess I just thought everybody did that."
"No, most people can't. Read facial expressions or listen to tone of voice, yes. But you actually

feel

other people's emotions, don't you?"

He nodded again.
"That's part of your gift. And then, with me, I have draegan magick and whenever you're exposed to it, it merges with your magick--"
"I have magick?"
"Of course you do. Healing blood, remember? True empathy. There are probably other things as well, but magick is how those happen, Wes."
"And what about our magick merging?"
"Whenever you're exposed to my draegan magick, it merges with your magick and it gives us this..." He held up Wesley's palm again and

kissed it. Wesley felt a ripple of love spread through him, and he suddenly realized it wasn't just his own he was feeling, it was Wen's as well. Like
the night he'd felt it enveloping them in Wen's tent.

"I don't understand, though...I don't feel this connection with any other draegans. You all have magick, don't you?"
Wen smiled, still looking so tired, but there was a warmth in his gaze now that made Wesley's body tingle. "Well, you're probably not

intimate

with other draegans, are you?"

Heat spread through Wesley at what he was implying. "Are you saying that when we..."
"Let's just say that as a race, we're sort of naturally graced with certain magickal

traits

when it comes to intimacy. To put it simply, our fluids are

spiked with magick. And when I share them with you, since you have magick as well, everything's heightened."

"So kissing and..."
"Yeah."
"So..." He leaned in, and as he did, Wen's eyes darkened with expectation. "When we do this..." He pressed his mouth against Wen's, easing

into the kiss, but slowly deepening it until their tongues twined and a warm pulse built deep within Wesley and then reverberated out to Wen and
then back to him, locking them in a loop of intimacy and emotion. He poured everything into that kiss...his fears, hopes, desire, love, he sought
solace over what had happened last night, and found it, then offered his own comfort and strength.

When at last they parted, Wesley had never felt so close to anyone in his life.
Wen pressed Wesley's hand against his chest, directly over his heart. "Feel that?"
Wesley did...the steady, firm beating.
"This is because of you. For you. You're in my soul, Wes."
"And you're in mine."
"Always."
"What happens now, Wen I'm still scared for anyone else to know what I am. My mum said she found my parents dead, murdered by Byram's

soldiers. They'd been enslaved. And you said the ondaen died off because they were slowly hunted by peole who wanted to control their--

our

abilities."

Wen's hand slid around to the back of Wesley's head and he pulled him in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then to his lips. "I'm not going to

let anything happen to you, Wesley. You're not alone. And we don't have to tell anyone. It's your decision who and when, or never, to share, and I'll
stand by whatever you need and want."

"I don't want you to get hurt by it, though--"
"Don't. There is no me or you. There's us. And just like we did last night, we'll face anything that comes our way and we'll do together."
"War is coming."
Wen nodded, looking serious. "I know. And I have a deep down gut feeling it's going to happen sooner than we think. I suspect there are going

to be some dark days ahead. But for the first time in a long time..." He smiled. "I have hope."

M. L. Rhodes

Award-winning and best-selling author M. L. Rhodes lives in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her physicist husband, two teenage boys,

and a menagerie of animals. She's been writing professionally for sixteen years. Her characterization and emotional storytelling have received high
critical acclaim and garnered her numerous awards in the writing industry. She's had books published in several genres, but her focus now is
entirely on gay male romance, which is her passion!

If you'd like to keep up with what's going on in M. L.'s world and find out about her new and upcoming releases, check out her website at

www.mlrhodeswriting.com.

* * * *

Don't miss True Of Heart (Book I of The Draegan Lords), by M. L. Rhodes,

available at AmberAllure.com!

A hundred years ago, the high sorcerer of Velensperia launched a swift and deadly attack against the draegans--a race of dragon

shapeshifters who'd always lived in harmony with the humans. The draegans were all but destroyed, with the few who remained scattered and in
hiding. Now, a group of them have united and begun to fight back. Their leader, Keiran Hareldson, seeks to free his people from the cruel
repression the high sorcerer's reign has imposed on them.

Gaige Rizik is captain of the sorcerer's High Guard, and known for his lethal ability to hunt down his prey with no remorse. His orders are to

infiltrate the draegan rebels' camp, learn their plans, and identify their leader so he can be destroyed. But when Gaige joins the rebels, posing
as a human sympathizer to the draegans' cause, he discovers the shapeshifters aren't the bloodthirsty beasts he's been led to believe, and
their leader is a passionately captivating man who only wants what's best for his people. Keiran sparks powerful emotions in Gaige, tearing down
his walls of steely control, and stirring a longing in him he can't deny.

Torn between his duty to the high sorcerer and his growing feelings not only for Keiran, but for the draegan way of life, Gaige knows he's

damned no matter which side he chooses. In a world of lies, deception, and dark secrets, one false move will bring destruction to all he's begun
to hold dear. With the fate of so many lives on his shoulders, Gaige's only hope is to follow his heart...and pray it's true enough to save them all.

Amber Quill Press, LLC

Print and Electronic Books

Romance

Action/Adventure

Fantasy/Paranormal/SciFi

Mystery/Suspense/Thriller

Historical/GLBT

Erotica...& more!

http://www.AmberQuill.com

http://www.AmberHeat.com

http://www.AmberAllure.com

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