Page 2 of The Lost Art of Seducing a Mage Warrior

Perian scoffed, but the sound was lost amidst the grumbling agreement from the other two.

His rescuer didn’t seem to notice they were outnumbered. Their voice was cool with disapproval. “No matter what he may owe you, a physical attack is not the correct response, never mind one as skewed as this. If you value your continued freedom, you will not behave in such a manner again. Leave. Now.”

Before Perian could quite track the motion, his attackers rushed his rescuer. Perian tensed and let out an involuntary cry at the pain this caused.

Between one blink and the next, a ball of fire glowed in his rescuer’s hand, and Perian almost laughed at the suddenness with which his attackers screeched to a drunken halt.

His rescuer wasn’t just a Warrior, they were aMageWarrior. They foughtdemons. Alone and unarmed, they could have taken out a bigger group than this one.

In a hard voice, his rescuer snapped, “This is your last warning. Go!”

The men scattered, not without final venomous glances at Perian, but those expressions warred with the looks of pure fear they were casting at the Mage Warrior, so it was somewhat comical. Perian tried to laugh, but it came out as a groan as the pain in his chest spiked. The sound of running footsteps faded away. The fire winked out of existence, and the Mage Warrior crouched down closer to Perian’s level.

“Let’s get you up.”

With almost all the effort on the Mage Warrior’s side, Perian regained his feet, though the world lurched alarmingly, swimming before his eyes. Upright, if somewhat dizzy and with his head aching fiercely, Perian could just see the round beads in the dark hair of his rescuer. He was both taller and wider than Perian, and he was most definitely better muscled—not that this was terribly difficult to achieve. Still, this man went above and beyond. He was best described as “thighs like tree trunks” or “bulging biceps” or maybe just “delicious.”

Perian suppressed a sigh of appreciation which would be inappropriate to this particular situation. Also, everything hurt right now, and he felt a little nauseous, which dimmed his enjoyment somewhat.

“Are you all right?” the man asked.

He had a nice voice. It was still strong and a little bit stern, but it was kinder now that the others had gone.

“I’m fine,” he agreed automatically.

The man let him go, and Perian immediately listed sideways as the world refused to stay entirely upright.

Catching him, which made Perian whimper in pain, the man said, “You can’t stand.”

Perian’s attempt to prove that he could stand, thank you very much, failed immediately when his movement made the world lurch and his knees buckle.

Then the world tilted even more sharply, whirling in an alarming manner. Perian closed his eyes with a groan of pain and tried not to throw up. When everything stilled again, he was… pressed against something hard and warm that smelled delicious? Cautiously, he opened his eyes and found that he was now clasped against his rescuer’s chest. He felt the sigh of the other man as much as he heard it.

“Come along.”

This was apparently rhetorical, given that he was carrying Perian, and he immediately set off. Perian considered asking more questions, but it seemed like an awful lot of effort just now. Everything hurt. The motion of being carried didn’t help with the nausea. And this man basically exuded trustworthiness and reliability. Perian leaned his head more fully against that broad chest, even though his head still hurt, and closed his eyes. He fancied that he could feel the warmth of his skin even through the layers of leather and cloth, that he could hear the beat of that steady heart that didn’t seem to notice the extra burden of carrying a whole person through the streets. He really did smelllovely, leather and musk and something that tickled Perian’s nostrils in the most perfect way—heat and earth, a hint of moisture and fresh air.

Perian continued to breathe in the perfect scent and didn’t notice when he fell asleep.

Time passed in a series of fractured moments. Perian was in a large bedroom, lying in an incredibly comfortable bed. The sheets were soft, and there were lots of pillows. The walls were made of stone. The man who had rescued him had inspected his injuries, bound them, and put salve on them. He dribbled water into Perian’s mouth whenever he was thirsty, and he carefully helped him move when he needed to change position. There was a warm cloth, making sure he was clean. Perian’s head ached fiercely, and sometimes the world still swam unpredictably.

There was a fireplace that sometimes had a fire in it. Periodically, his rescuer would carefully lift him to a sitting position, supporting him with his own body so he could drink a concoction that didn’t taste great, but which the man assured him would help with healing. It did usually result in the pain in his head lessening.

Perian sometimes clutched at his rescuer, his only anchor in this strange world, and then he would stay, holding Perian’s hand and telling him he was safe now, and everything would be fine. Sometimes, when Perian woke, his rescuer was not there, but he always returned. Sometimes, he brought soup, and that was much more palatable than the tonic. His rescuer carefully fed it to Perian when he didn’t seem to be coordinated enough to feed himself.

“I don’t even know your name,” Perian managed to croak out at some point.

“Brannal,” the man said, eyes dark and watchful on Perian’s face, like he was inspecting it for signs of discomfort that he would try to fix.

“Thank you, Brannal,” he whispered. “I’m Perian.”

“Hello, Perian.”

His name coming out of Brannal’s mouth was one of the nicest sounds Perian had ever heard, and he was pretty sure he smiled quite stupidly. Thankfully, he fell asleep again before he could say anything completely asinine.

He slept a lot, and each time he woke, the room was a little clearer and the pain a little less. The entire world seemed more approachable as the pain in his head began to diminish and things stayed in focus. Nothing seemed to be broken, fortunately. It was mostly bruising going spectacular colors, swelling going down, a few abrasions, and what he was pretty sure were some cracked ribs—or at least bruised ones.

Eventually, he was able to hobble—with help—not just to the water closet attached to the bedroom, but out of the bedroom and into what appeared to be Brannal’s sitting room. Perian’s knowledge of the day-to-day lives of Mage Warriors was non-existent, but in addition to the many books on the shelves—which looked older and more valuable than the ones Perian’s father had owned—there were several jars perched there as well. Still too immobile to investigate, he found out from Brannal that they were full of earth and water. This seemed very appropriate for a Mage.

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