In Pain and Blood by Aldrea Alien

Author:Aldrea Alien [Alien, Aldrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Manuscript Template
Publisher: Thardrandian Publications
Published: 2017-12-14T18:30:00+00:00

Things had quietened back down by the time Tracker entered the tavern. No hound had come to collect Dylan, not even a guard had dared to poke his nose in here. The other patrons had eyed him warily as he ate. Slowly, the room began to stir with the hushed chatter of people.

Dylan was halfway into his second pint of beer—bought more through a desire to wash away the aftertaste of what could vaguely be described as stew than a need to drink further. He hadn’t seen any sign of the women. It was possible they could still be enjoying the bathhouse or had even decided to dine somewhere less dubious.

Tracker shouted for a tankard of mead to be brought over as he settled in the seat next to Dylan. The faintest scent of perfume wafted from his clothes. “My apologies for the wait.”

“She took some convincing, I take it,” Dylan mumbled into his drink. Between the length of time the hound had taken and the smell of him, Dylan was pretty sure he knew what the payment had been.

A man, young of face and human, set Tracker’s mead on the table. He gave the hound a rather warm smile as Tracker nodded his thanks. “The bathhouse is vacated and ready for you, sir.” The man lingered, leaning on the table, his hips gently rocking from side to side. “And could I perhaps pique your interest in an evening special?” The way the man spoke those last two words, all hushed and oozing suggestion, left very little ambiguity to the question.

Dylan lifted the mug, using it as a shield for his face as he drank. Did the hound sleep with everyone he came across? And was Dylan about to witness the prelude to Tracker slinking off to engage in some mindless fun with the inn’s staff? Quite possibly. There was no reason why the man shouldn’t if he desired the company.

So, why did the thought of the hound doing just that bother him?

“No.” Tracker smiled at the man. His gaze flicked Dylan’s way and back. “Not tonight, I think.” He took a swig of his drink, watching the man leave over the rim of the tankard. “I do hope you have not drunk too much alcohol.”

Dylan blinked, laughing as he realised that question was aimed at him. “Are you joking?” He eyed the empty inner of his mug. When had he finished drinking it? “The alchemists can brew an ale that’ll put you on your arse after a sip and leave you feeling light-headed for days.” They weren’t meant to, but that didn’t stop them. Sulin managed to sneak such concoctions into their room a number of times. They spent those nights seeing who’d pass out first, although neither one of them could ever remember who won.

The hound’s focus seemed to shift to somewhere behind Dylan’s back and a tiny frown tugged at his brows.

“Is something wrong?” He started to twist in his seat to see what the man had spotted.

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