The Stone City and the Heart Wood: uneasy neighbors separated by the Bluebird River. In the City, Hendrik is about to lose the only life he’s ever known, the only love he’s ever wanted. In the Wood, corruption threatens the carefully cultivated ecosystem and Dagan’s way of life. Two worlds, fated to collide at last.
It could be the end. Or a new beginning.
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Hendrik stopped suddenly and said, “Dagan?”
Without even turning, Dagan asked, “Yes, lovely?”
Hendrik was quiet for long enough that Dagan looked up from his pack, wondering if something was wrong. But Hendrik was just watching him, his head co*cked slightly, catlike. When their eyes met, Hendrik asked, “Why do you always call me things like that?”
Dagan frowned and set aside the pack to give this matter his full attention. “Well, you are lovely. I assume you’ve seen a mirror before.” Not that everyone he’d ever called “lovely” was, in the standard sense of the word, but they were always lovely in some way. Most people were.
Hendrik made a face that said the explanation didn’t impress. “I’m not that lovely.”
“Ridiculous boy.” Dagan curbed himself there, remembering the outburst of the day before. Honesty was called for, not effusive praise, and yet…the honest truth was, “Your eyes are the most arresting I’ve ever seen, I think. That blue goes deeper than the sky. Anyone could fall right into them.”
Said eyes widened. Hendrik’s mouth opened and shut once or twice before he managed to ask, “Really?”
Dagan co*cked an eyebrow. He’d often wished Hendrik was easier to read; it seemed as if he had returned to enjoying Dagan’s flirtatious tone, after that little bump last night, but caution was also called for. Perhaps he was trying to make it up to Dagan by initiating some flirting of his own, to show there were no hard feelings? Dagan shook his head but kept smiling. “Oh, now you’re playing with me.”
Hendrik’s eyes remained wide, though. “I mean, I’ve been complimented before. Just, not on that.”
It was quite literally the first thing anyone would notice about Hendrik, though, so how could that be? Without thinking, Dagan asked, “On what, then?”
Hendrik flushed to his ears.
Dagan covered his mouth to stifle a sudden laugh. But it was a little bit sad, too, that he’d been complimented on his dick, which was far less special than beautiful eyes. His co*ck might be visually stimulating for someone with a fancy for them—Dagan included—but any size could do the job at the end of the night. Or not do it, as Dagan was all too aware from past experience.
Those eyes, on the other hand, couldn’t be anything but enchanting. More than just pretty to look at, they spoke of his inner self, his feelings, even if Dagan didn’t know how to read them yet. What could be more interesting than that?
To voice any of this, however, would most certainly have been too far again, so Dagan left it at, “Oh, yes, well, there is that. That can’t be what you wanted to ask, though?”
“No.” Hendrik gave himself a little shake. “I—uh. I wanted to ask about why you can’t flirt with—what did you say? Someone you’re escorting?”
Dagan sat down almost involuntarily, as his knees suddenly felt weak. The bed bounced beneath him; it was a small one, the same size as Hendrik’s just a few feet away. Only the second room they’d ever had but they’d shared more than two weeks’ worth of campsites, now. Why were the beds so much more suggestive?
Right, though, valid question. Dagan focused for a moment before beginning: “It’s considered very bad form, yes. I’d be reprimanded at least, if not taken off duty completely, depending on the severity of the offense.”
Hendrik nodded, sitting on his own bed and leaning forward slightly, as he always did when learning something that interested him. “You said. I’ve been wondering why, though. I mean, why it’s an offense?”
And, considering last night’s near-debacle once again, Dagan had to be certain this wasn’t leading anywhere beyond the realm of socially lubricating flirtation. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question, hoping Hendrik’s perceptiveness would avail him again.
It did. Hendrik shook his head and held up one hand in front of him. “No, I didn’t mean—not that.” He gave a little laugh. “Sorry. I’m curious, is all. When I was a guard we weren’t supposed to become—involved with our charges, either. I never really understood.”
Satisfied, Dagan leaned back on both hands comfortably. If he played this right, he might get some background information, too. “It’s situational. To use you as an example, since you’re the only charge I’ve had so far, your position is a tenuous one. You’re relying on me to get you safely somewhere, to introduce you to the culture, and to find you somewhere you can belong; without me, you might become lost or fall into danger.” He took a little breath and glanced over Hendrik, assessing his mental state briefly before continuing. Since he seemed perfectly fine, this morning, he went on, “And frankly, you’re also vulnerable, right now. Whatever brought you here in the first place was obviously an ordeal.”
Hendrik nodded. “That’s one way to put it.”
“It all adds up to me having too much power in the situation. It might be seen as taking advantage, if I f*ck my way through the forest with you.”
Hendrik cleared his throat and flushed slightly, but then laughed.
Dagan winced. “Apologies. That was graphic.” At least, it obviously was for Hendrik. For Dagan it was just the precise thing he’d done with multiple others…and had occasionally fantasized about doing with Hendrik, on quiet nights in the woods, listening to him breathe on the other side of the fire.
“No.” Hendrik waved his hand in the air again. “No, it’s—it’s fine.”
“You take my meaning, though? Is it fair, when you’re relying on me for something so important just now, for me to want something from you?”
Hendrik narrowed his eyes, leaning forward again. “How do you know I wouldn’t give it anyhow?”
Dagan couldn’t find his breath for a moment. He had to remind himself this was entirely hypothetical—or, well, at least functionally hypothetical. Hendrik may be attracted to him, as well, but neither of them would or could, at the moment. “I can’t; that’s just the thing. I could never be sure. So even if you think you’d like to—”
“f*ck our way through the forest?” Hendrik cut in, laughing.
Dagan did too. “Yes, that. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Because of power.”
“Precisely.”
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About the Author:
Katey Hawthorne loves queer romance. Originally from the Appalachian foothills of West Virginia, she currently lives in Pittsburgh with her family of one other human and many furry creatures. In her spare time, she enjoys travel, comic books, B-movies, loud music, video games, Epiphones, and Bushmills. Her favorite causes include animal rescue and bisexual representation in media. She is an unashamed fangirl and collects nerdy tattoos like she’s trying to prove it.
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