Blood Feud Ch. 01

***

I drifted in and out of consciousness for awhile, but it could have been my imagination. Thinking that I had died, I was having difficultly distinguishing reality from the dull tint of my dreams. If there was any reality for the dead that is. My entire body burned with stabbing, aching pain in varying degrees as time passed. I had a dream that I was whimpering and moaning from the strain of attempting to fight it off, and a gentle hand began stroking my back. After that, I could never decide if I was awake or not. How could I have concocted something like that in my own mind? I had never experienced a kind touch in my life. Well, almost never. It was very strange and unknown for me anyway. I shuttered at the thought of some cruel bastard silencing me with a perverse gesture before slipping a knife in my ribs. But it never happened that way. It was just the touching. I had that same dream more than once, but sometimes my head was being cradled and rubbed. Those times I knew couldn't be mere ghosts of my imagination. They had felt too damn real. There was nothing I could do to stop my waking dreams from coming over me. My body was a useless shell where my mind was tethered hopelessly, seeking escape.

I also dreamed that I was back in the nameless city, but none of my former friends would speak to me. I just wandered the dusty, stinking streets, aimlessly seeking out someone who would accept me. All the people's faces had changed to look like the blank, impossibly similar daemen. Would they hate me, if they knew what I was now? Or had they all become the same?

I even dreamed about my days at the daeman academy. About that one night when I had discovered pleasure the first time by another's hands. But this was a nightmare now, and my mind writhed away from it. I don't know how long my dreams busied me, but the fog did not clear all at once. I found myself brooding over the state between living and being dead. How had I been spared? And why? I feared the worst. My capture. Someone had figured out who I was. I could barely remember my confrontation with the pair of bandits. Then I realized I was staring intimately into a bed of fresh leaves that smelled like damp earth and herbs. The sound of rushing water entranced me, and soon my open eyes were stinging with the forgotten need to blink. A cool hand fell on my back and cupped my right shoulder. I tensed. Instinctively I should have moved, but I hesitated instead. It seemed I had acquired a new instinct. One that urged me to relax.

"Easy. You're wounded." A deep voice cued lowly.

I felt as if I knew the voice, but at the same time I had never met the face it belonged to. Slowly in my drowsy consciousness, panic began to sink in. I was vulnerable and in a strange environment. I had no idea how I had gotten there or what situation I was in.

I tried to move, but just flexing my muscles caused a ripple of pain to seize my left shoulder and right side. I gasped and my body contorted in spasms.

"Shhhh. Try to sleep." the hypnotic voice invited.

The hand was back, smoothing my hair. I growled a pathetic warning. How dare this stranger touch me so casually? But I felt tired and warm, so exhausted. I could do nothing but slip back into a pain soaked oblivion the instant I stopped struggling against it.

The next I awoke I felt better, although I was not exactly in a delightful mood. I managed to curl sore arms before myself and push down on the rough, itchy leaves while tucking my legs in. I carefully rose with my hands pressed against the quiet bed and my knees bent. I bit down on my tongue trying to stifle a moan of discomfort. My body was wracked with trembling. I was weak from a long period of time without movement as well as from my lingering injuries. Breathing a frustrated sigh, I rose fully to a sitting position with my knees nosing into the damp leaves around me. A trickle of sweat slid down my forehead and dropped off my chin. I brushed some stray debris from my long, jet black bangs. My hair felt smooth and clean. Something hard was beneath me. It was annoying but not a source of pain.

I blinked glumly several times before I registered what I was seeing. I was in the mouth of a shallow cavern. Outside, the delicate sprinkling of many little waterfalls fell into a larger pool of water. Conflicting odors assaulted me. I looked down and noticed my candid state of undress. My chest was bandaged around my shoulder and abs. My thighs were bare and pale before me, and there were more dressings over my hip. I realized no part of me would have went unseen by my doctor, as my every stitch of clothing had been removed. This soured my mood further into a seething grudge, even if the fact was that whomever had dressed my wounds saved my life. I still wasn't thinking rationally, and feeling my honor violated, I wanted blood.

I was sitting on what felt like a wooden hollow. With a groan, I scooted off of the object and pushed it away. Something swished around. I grabbed it by the rim and pulled it closer. There was a small puddle of urine inside the clay bowl. My eyes narrowed into a glare. Now I was definitely going to kill whomever's idea of a jolly good time this had been.

There was a thick, woolly blanket nearby. I pulled it over me and covered up, which was quite the chore in my condition. I wanted to stand, but just sitting there idly felt like a strenuous exercise on my every muscle. I was betraying myself with a nostalgic desire to just lie back down wrapped up in the nice soft blanket on top the sweet smelling pile of leaves and go back to sleep. I scanned the area for my clothes or bow. There was a small collection of jars, vials, and clay pottery wedged in one corner. I thought I recognized the contents of some of the glass ones. A few could be used for the treatment of deep wounds. Others could have been poisons, but antidotes were more likely. Squinting, I realized at least two of the vials belonged to me.

I pulled the blanket over my head to make myself a hood. I had no weapons, only a few jars of harmless herb juice that would require a great deal of effort throwing. I couldn't venture outside the clever safety of my enclosure in the miserable state I was in. I was completely at the mercy of whomever had put me there. I decided the only thing I could do was wait for him to return. I began to shiver. It wasn't exactly chilly, but I must have had a fever. That was not a good sign. If my wounds were infected though, I had a feeling everything had been done to prevent it. Within the next few minutes I began recalling the events of my latest fight. What a failure I was. I pulled my makeshift hood down over my eyes and meditated on regaining strength while I waited.

It wasn't long before I heard clumsy steps on the bank beyond the waterfall. My heart began to pound. Surely the person who had stored me here wasn't so careless? There was only one set of footsteps, which made me feel a little safer. The sound of sandals sinking into deep mud was soon masked by the ragged clattering of a branch being dragged around. Whoever approached was attempting to cover his tracks. A sudden memory flooded me. The bandits I had been trailing, Kutka and Razo. They had set up an ambush for me, which meant that they had noticed me following them long enough to plot it.

I listened as the stranger climbed the rocky cliff below. Apparently I was elevated from the water's edge. That meant I was probably near the Kabod Mountains, a stretch of rocky cliffs and valleys that scarred the eastern half of Wretalor. He hesitated at the entrance of the cavern. I could feel him staring at me, unmoving. Was he surprised to see me awake? He crossed the curtain of water holding a muddy, rattling branch over his head. The scent of forest reeds and wild flowers drifted into the air like the traces of a forgotten dream. As he stepped into the small hole in the mountains, I found myself holding my breath.

"Oh. You're awake." he sniffed anticlimactically, then hiccuped.

I could hear him shake off the branch behind himself and lay it in a dark corner. I said nothing in return as he entered and kneeled to accommodate his height. He began to nonchalantly gulp from a clay bowl he was holding. While continuing to hide my face beneath the blanket, I slowly pushed the bed pan forward like a ghost offering a dead rat to a monk.

He paused. "...Do you not speak hic Common?"

It wasn't exactly his words that caused me to fly into a rage but his tone— a teasing question that already knew the answer. I launched myself at him and clasped my hands around his throat, a scowl set on my face. The bowl he was holding flew out of his hand and was launched down the waterfall. Our eyes locked. His were of a color and intensity that I had never seen before. The dark green of a waxy summer leaf flecked with golden spades. Infuriatingly mischievous, but without warmth, and bearing a touch of distant numbness. I became lost within those bewitching eyes fringed by heavy lashes, hardly noticing any other part of my target. His hands squeezed at my own but not in returned violence. He was signaling me to release him, asking as opposed to demanding. I had knocked him hard onto his back and was straddling him. Life was leaving his eyes, being drained away as the sound of falling water surrounded. I was remorseful. I suddenly realized I didn't want to see the life in those beautiful eyes be extinguished. I relaxed my grip on his soft gullet, a look of tentative confusion surely crossing my face. His breath clashed against the walls of his throat.

"Mmm... A-huk a-huk!"

He coughed a few times, and I smelled wine on his breath. He closed his eyes with a furrowed brow. That forced me to take in his other features. He was young— in his early to mid 20's. My age, give or take a few years. He was cleanly shaven, unlike any man in Wretalor. There was not a hint of stubble on his fine chin or beneath his strong, elegant nose. His face was handsome and symmetrical. Thin eyebrows highlighted his tightly shut eyelids, so fair that they could almost be called white. Light yellow, curly locks fell in shiny waves around his nape. His build was more on the lean side, but limber and strong. His body was broader in the shoulders and waist than mine, but not by much. He had beauty enough that even women would envy and men would admire. He was certainly not who I had expected to see. My hands still lingered at the base of his neck, clasped by his own to subdue them. He huffed breathlessly and squirmed under my weight. Finally he set those impossibly green eyes on me again and glared crisply. I felt myself react in my hazy stupor without being able to help it. My erection bobbed to life under the hastily jostled blanket that had slipped down over my back to reveal my bare chest. I knew I must have been blushing furiously at that point, but if noticeable, it probably seemed to be from rage. Despite this, I had never felt so self-conscious in my life.

"Done already?" he smirked slyly, his eyes glimmering at me.

"Were you going to let me kill you?"

My voice sounded unfamiliar. It scratched at the air like the tip of blade rubbing a rock, hoarse and gravelly. This only made me sound more venomous.

The pretty man raised his elegant, snowy eyebrows and flicked a glance down at my exposed chest. His smile dropped, as did my heart.

"Keep your gods' damned cock away from my ass." he cursed evenly with a distinct, lilting accent that was a little slurred.

I was still on top of him, my legs entangled with his. He was wearing a thin white tunic that cut off just above his knees, a dark cloak in a similar fashion to a cape, and no pants. Suddenly I was determined not to make even more of a fool out of myself. In hindsight, it would have probably backfired no matter how I tried to play it.

Grabbing him firmly by the collar, I leaned in so our noses were almost touching and hissed furiously, "I should say the same."

He rolled his eyes. This fascinated me, but I managed to remain cool despite my arousal burning a hole in the blanket around my waist. He must have been able to feel it, because its head could feel his strong thigh.

"Why the fuck not? You're clearly angry that I saved it."

I raised my hand to slug him, but he grappled it to my side and tossed me off with a sharp throw of his hips. At the contact, I felt my hard member crash into his own through the blanket. Maybe it was my imagination, but I think he was grinning when he bucked me. The pleasant electricity I received during the flight was short lived. I fell onto my bad side and suppressed a pathetic yelp at the flames of anguish that consumed my hip. He was clearly fast and strong enough that he could have stopped me from attacking him earlier, but for some reason he had held back.

"Figured you would need to smoke out, but I think that's about enough." he murmured nonchalantly. "Besides, anger seems to color your motives red."

The smart mouthed asshole rose and brushed himself off while I lied nearby with tightly gritted teeth. It wasn't long before he closed in on me with a more serious expression. He offered a slender, bronzed hand. When I refused to take it, he clasped his palm beneath my arm. He dragged me a bit roughly back to the bed of leaves but at least made sure to secure the blanket over my waist to keep my shame covered. My erection had faded from the introduction of pain and was tucked between my legs much like a frightened dog's tail, so there were no more awkward embarrassments to be worried about as he adjusted me. But once I had settled back down into the pile of leaves, I felt my body rebelling against my will despite its aches. I realized it had been a long time since I was last aroused, and even longer since I had any proximity to speak of with a woman. In fact, when it came to women I was still a virgin. But that was something I kept strictly to myself, because in many circles it meant I wasn't yet a man despite my age.

"I know why you're angry," the mysterious stranger said quietly, "but you must understand, I did nothing to violate you without good reason. I only wanted to help you stay alive."

"And for what? Why? You are a foreigner to me! An enemy." I returned quickly, shoveling ire into my voice to mask the mortification at my apparent attraction.

He sat before me with a sure, catlike grace and yawned loudly. His clothes were completely ridiculous and impractical, but I knew of his people. They never wore pants, just long tunics like their women. Only their elderly and priests wore robes. The Remulan's eyes had an eerie sense about them, as if they missed nothing. Taking his time to respond, he turned his attention to the pile of medicines near my bed and selected a few vials to set before himself.

"Why not." he said cryptically, moving each bottle in line with the last like a game piece. His eyes were hooded and lazy.

"Because. We're Enemies." I growled.

"Calm yourself, before your little bas— uh hem, excuse me— heart gives out." he stumbled.

It seemed he was trying to avoid prodding me into another rage.

"Look." he sighed. "My name is Cares Argetlus. I'm a traveling physician. One of the few who isn't biased over clan politics, or even warring kingdoms." Argetlus informed quickly as he twisted the cork off one of the vials.

Hearing his name for the first time filled me with a warm sensation I wasn't used to. I watched his fingers work the cork, squeezing and pulling tenderly until one final tug released it with a soft little pop. Everything felt like it was happening so quickly. Even my emotions were racing out of control. I felt my pulse quicken, and my cock settled at half hard with my will power. It was then I realized just how much I truly hated Argetlus, Cares.

"It's how I was raised by my mentor. I also collect rare herbs and sell them in the cities."

The strange doctor didn't skip a beat as he spoke. He whipped a clean white handkerchief from his cloak's sleeve and expertly tapped a rope of leaf particles from the vial onto it.

"If that explanation isn't good enough for you, well, you can tell that to your bandaged ass."

"You are young enough to be an apprentice, and you expect me to believe that you practice alone?" I glowered suspiciously.

It was true; not an insult. Most doctors and medicine men were well into their 30's before they were considered experienced enough to be trusted in their line of work. Argetlus' full, pink lips perked into an aggravating smirk.

"And you? Mister Flaming Berserker Ninja?"

"I'm a bounty hunter, jackass."

"Oh."

He had suddenly grown serious again, but a hint of a smile played on his plush mouth. While I had been returning conversation, he had taken several pinch fulls of herbs in his capable fingers and sprinkled them into another bottle that he had drawn from his belt. He was then gently swishing the concoction around in a larger clay container.

"I'm going to redress your wounds now. Is that alright?"

I decided that no ordinary doctor could have fought off two casters with such a colorful arsenal of potent magical artifacts. As I studied his weird but mortal cheerful expression blending a natural childlike frivolity with concerned sensitivity, I couldn't believe that he had been the one I saw destroy the Dragonspell Bandits. However, my mistrust of him carried into my speech.

"...No."

"Then you would allow your pride to kill you?"

"I feel fine. Now tell me Where The Hells My Clothes Are, and I'll just be leaving, doctor."

"You know," he said with a flash of perfect, white teeth, "in my home country, there are places called 'bath houses'. Women and children aren't allowed there, but all the men wash together naked as when they were born, and it doesn't bother, or harm, anyone."

"We barbarians show more modesty than that." I sneered, using the term that I had often heard the swarthy skinned, fair haired people of his kind address anyone who wore pants in the winter as.

He tilted his head to one side as if in thought. An unexpected gesture. In fact, just about everything the drunken weasel did and said completely threw me off guard.

"Is that how you wish me to refer to you? Barbarian? Foreigner? Enemy? Or do you have a name?"

I looked away, unable to shake the feeling that Argetlus' green eyes could pierce me through twice over. The last thing I wanted him to know was the heated state my body was in. I turned my head away from him and didn't move. I heard him sigh, a wishful noise that seemed to tickle my groin.

"And what now have I done to offend you?... I would have offered you some drink, given the opportunity."

I continued to brood wordlessly, even as I heard him wet down the handkerchief. I was hesitating, uncertain if I should respond. Under any other circumstance, I would never tell a stranger my name. But then again, I wouldn't be conversing at all. Even after I decided that this man deserved an answer, I couldn't remember what to say. It was not my real name I was scouring my mind for, but a title given to me what felt like ages ago instead of a handful of years.

He dabbed at my forehead without turning me to face him, wiping the fever's sweat from my brow. It was such a soothing touch. I loathed it. I whipped my head sharply toward him, my eyes blazing bloody murder.

"Is that foreplay, you filthy sodomite?"

He seemed perplexed. Then he smirked his catty little smirk. To my chagrin, I found that I was relieved not to have displeased him.

"Your mind dwells in the grimiest of places. I suppose you have never been treated to a mother's touch?"

The truth of his words made me angrier than the fires of seven hells.

"Urr!" I growled, rearing up on my elbows.

"Fine." Argetlus threw up his hands in compromise rather than defense. "Treat and redress yourself then, if you are feeling so energetic. I'll have your clothes and all your personal possessions to return to you by the time you're done. I swear on it."