Page 58 of Sword & Sacrifice

Cold seeped through Penn’s clothes where Valistair touched him. Penn shivered and instinctively pulled away only for the mage’s muscles to flex and hold him firmly in place.

“Do you still think I’m weak?” Valistair asked, his breath clouding the air.

Niall frantically shook his head. The ice melted in a burst of water, splashing down his front and soaking his shirt. He stumbled to the side and grabbed the wall to support himself as he vomited more water onto the floor. Once he’d expelled it all, he wiped his mouth clean on his shoulder and glared at Penn as if he was to blame for the harsh rebuke.

“I may have a new face,” Valistair said, “but never forget who I am.”

“No, master. Of course not.” Niall obediently dropped his gaze. His fist clenched on the pry bar he still held, as if he sorely wished to bash someone’s head in.

Go on. Try it. Penn stared intently at the weapon, watching for the slightest twitch. The moment Niall attacked him; he would have an excuse to fight back. It might even convince Valistair that the man was dead weight, not worth the effort it took to discipline him. Either way, it would remove Niall from the equation, making Penn’s task easier.

Niall’s hand loosened on the pry bar, dropping it to the ground. “Forgive me, Alistair. My head is clouded from long days of travel. Since you have everything covered here, I will return to the inn to rest.” He left the shop without waiting for Valistair’s approval.

The wedge between them widened. A few more careful strikes, and their relationship might break beyond repair. Penn just needed to find the right tool.

“You’re scheming something.”

Penn glanced up at Valistair’s face. He shifted closer, caressing his hand down the mage’s back, fingers splayed wide to touch as much of him as possible. “Being here reminds me of Val,” Penn said, voice soft. “I miss him.”

The mage grabbed Penn’s chin, holding it in place in preparation for a kiss. “I am him.”

“You look like him,” Penn agreed. His hand switched directions, stroking a path up the mage’s spine in a lazy pattern. Desire thickened his next words. “You feel like him.”

“I have his memories,” Valistair whispered against Penn’s lips. “I know everything he does about you.”

“Do you remember how it felt the first time you fucked me?” Penn asked, specifically changing the pronouns, dragging the mage deeper into the fantasy. He grabbed the mage’s shirt and tugged them both backwards until his ass hit the counter. “Right here, in this shop, with only a ‘closed’ sign to keep the customers away.”

The mage brushed his lips over Penn’s, then kissed a soft line from his cheek down his neck, leaving Penn’s mouth free to speak. The mage’s hands trailed down Penn’s sides, then grabbed his hips and lifted him up onto the counter.

“Do you want to feel it again?” Penn whispered. From this angle, he couldn’t see the mage’s eyes, only the blond top of his head. He could pretend it was still Val in control.

The mage’s teeth sank into his neck, a sharp mix of pleasure and pain. He sucked the skin slowly, purposefully, intending to leave a dark mark of ownership.

Penn tilted his head back to give him better access and wrapped one leg around Val’s waist, pulling him closer.

The mage’s teeth slowly withdrew from Penn’s neck, his attention wandering to somewhere behind Penn.

No, look at me. He needed to distract Valistair, to delay his search of the shop. The longer it took him to find whatever he wanted, the more time Val had to fight him. Penn placed his hand on Valistair’s cheek, trying to gently guide his face back down for a kiss, but the mage resisted him. He grabbed Penn’s wrist and held it away as he stared at the shelves behind the counter.

They’d once held raw materials and other supplies. Like the rest of the shop, they’d been picked clean when Valerian left. Unlike the other shelves, they lacked the expected layer of dust.

The mage dropped Penn’s hand and walked around the counter, running his fingers over the edge of each shelf.

“What are you looking for?” Penn asked, keeping his tone nonchalant. The more he knew, the easier it would be to guide the mage away from his goals.

Valistair gripped one of the shelves and tugged, pulling out a chunk a few inches long. He held it firmly in one hand while he stroked the edge with his thumb. The wood shifted under his hands, parting into pages, splitting open like a book. The mage’s eyes glimmered with avarice as he looked from the hidden book in his hand to the rest of the shelves.

Dread curdled in Penn’s stomach and soured on his tongue. The mage never responded to his question, but he already knew the answer.

Alistair had found Valerian’s grimoires.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Archer had traveled Cesta Road, the old trade route between the kingdoms, twice before. Both times he’d been heading toward Silas: the first time to meet him, the second time to save him. Now that Archer was riding away from the man he loved, the wide road, trampled path, and easy passage earned his ire rather than his gratitude.

Archer knew he needed to eliminate the advisers and the threat they posed to both Arnsveld and Bellacosta as soon as possible. It didn’t make the rapidly increasing distance between him and Silas any more bearable.

The green blur of soldiers surrounding Archer reminded him that he wasn’t just on the hunt for traitors, he was also returning home. The parts of his heart that hadn’t stayed behind with Silas still ached for the mountains. Archer just wished Silas was coming with him, so he could safeguard all of his heart in one place.