Page 8 of Kept to Kill
Chapter 3
Bastian
It was long past dark by the time Quin’s messenger found him in one of the pleasure tents the soldiers frequented. He was dozing with a couple of the girls who’d been only too willing to lie with him as soon as they saw the black of his tunic, hoping their fortunes would change and they’d be moved to the better tents if they pleased him.
That wouldn’t happen. He liked them both well enough, but, in truth, the Brothers’ whores were too haughty for his liking. He enjoyed women who didn’t try to pretend to be something they weren’t. The high pleasure tents were all smoke and mirrors, paint and proxy. It had been an age since he’d indulged so heavily, in women at least, and at first it had been a whirlwind of delights after so long without. But the enjoyment had waned after a few weeks and he found himself tired of it already. Perhaps Gaila had been right to laugh in his face when he’d told her he was leaving to live life in a mortal realm. She’d gleefully wagered he wouldn’t last a full year – a wager he’d taken – even as she gave him a mission, seeing as she couldn’t set foot here herself. Fuck her. Ancient bitch. He’d show them all he still had what it took to be a mortal man.
He tried to focus on the words on the missive before him. He’d have to sober up before he met the holier-than-thou Quin or he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Bad enough Bastian had passed all his tests easily, beaten all the men he’d been pitted against in combat to earn himself a place in the Brothers without having to earn his way through the ranks like many others did.
Chuckling, he remembered how he’d turned up as a stranger in the camp and announced he would be a Brother before the day was out – and then made good on his claim. Quin hadn’t liked that one bit. But the look on his face when he’d announced that Bastian was to replace Quin and Mad Malkom’s dead unit member – he’d remember that until the end of his very, very long life. In truth he’d been surprised that the Commander had actually done what the runes had told him to. Greygor had played fast and free with that aspect of his duties. He’d rarely done what the gods had wanted.
Bastian made his way to a horse trough, smashed the ice and dunked his head in, giving a whoop when he came back up a moment later, the freezing water making him at least appear well and truly lucid once more. He looked at the message properly. It simply summoned him as if he were some lowly mortal. A self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Well, that was what he was now.
He stepped into Quin’s tent on light feet, seeing the man at his ridiculously large desk as usual. Did he never imbibe? Never fuck a woman? Did he enjoy even a moment of his—?
He let out a low whistle as he noticed the extra bed and the delicious-looking woman upon it, dressed in just a thin chemise that was riding up very high indeed. Perhaps he should reevaluate his Brother. Quin’s taste in female company was certainly on a par with his own.
‘What’s this, then?’ He stepped closer and then he recognized her as the girl from the fortress – well, not her, perhaps, but that dark mist that hovered over her. He’d looked for her in the tents earlier but hadn’t been able to find her.
‘A woman,’ came Quin’s sardonic reply. ‘Obviously.’
‘I can see that,’ he said amiably, not rising to Quin’s baiting. ‘Not seen you have one before. She must be special.’
Quin snorted from behind a tower of documents. ‘She certainly thinks she is.’
‘What’s with all the …?’ He gestured to the row of items around the bed in the corner, all in a line from wall to wall, creating a perfect little triangle of space.
‘Her touch kills men, or so she says. Apparently, she’ll give me a demonstration when she wakes.’
‘Don’t you mean if she wakes?’ Quin asked, eyeing the girl, who was looking a little worse for wear.
She was drenched in sweat. At first Bastian had assumed she and Quin had just finished a frenzied marathon of fucking, but now he looked properly, he could see that she tossed and turned, writhed on the blanket-less bed. His gaze was riveted to that thin chemise, though, climbing ever higher. How long before he could properly see her—?
‘Did you hear what I said?’
Bastian frowned, tearing his eyes away and shaking his head at Quin, who let out a long-suffering sigh.
‘I wouldn’t touch her. Her claims are absurd, but until I’ve proven that they’re lies, she stays behind the line and no one crosses it.’
‘What happens after that?’ Bastian wondered aloud.
‘You can have her if you like.’ Quin took a drink from his goblet, ‘When I’m finished with her.’
‘What are you planning?’
‘To punish her for thinking she could come here and dupe her way out of the pleasure tents, for assuming she could make me believe her deceits and for somehow killing three of my men. I aim to make an example of her to any other who’d think to gain power through trickery here.’
Bastian nodded. Quin was very angry about something, but he wasn’t sure it was all to do with the girl.
A shadow moved into his periphery right next to him and Bastian jumped, only just stopping himself from screeching like a maid.
‘By the gods, Mal. Fuck!’
Mad Malkom said nothing, as usual. Just materialized like a fucking specter and observed in silence before disappearing just as quietly. If Bastian didn’t know better, he’d say Mal had some Dark Realm blood to pull off this level of stealth, but Quin was adamant that he was simply an assassin with skill. Bastian sneered at his unit Brother. If the fuck had ever seen Bastian in his previous godly form, he’d have shat himself.
He followed Mal’s gaze to the woman and her shapely thighs and they simply watched together. It was oddly companionable even if he did think Mal was a prick. Two men who hardly knew each other bonding over an unconscious, fevered woman who was unknowingly giving them a show.
He heard Quin swear and stomp over. ‘What are you two starin …?’
