11. Chapter Eleven: Luka

Fangs gleam. Hot breath fans his face. Something wet smacks his cheek. The monster is here and it will eat him if he does not escape. He opens his mouth to scream, but as he claws away to run, he finds the beast is everywhere, pressing in on all sides. It grows closer, smothering him.

His heart shakes his chest. He will die if he does not run, run, run –

His hands fly up to fight off the monster, but as he fends the thing away, he realizes his fingers have grown a terrible fur. A bright, russet color, a color like the pelts his father carries home after the winter hunt. His nails arch, claws sprouting.

The monster isn't around him.

It is him.

He screams –

"Evland." Hands shake him into awareness. His head lolls, smacking against his chest, and his mouth snaps shut, cutting off the whimpers leaking past his lips. Luka blinks, shoving away from the man holding him – holding him?

Not again.

Luka inhales deeply through his nose, summoning the Cesse board in his mind's eye. The perfect black and white squares, the smooth wood, the metal pieces carefully arranged and prepared for war – he is three moves into a game when those hands start shaking him again.

"Don't go back to sleep, Evland."

"Don't touch me," Luka hisses, opening his eyes. Theodori stares back at him, hair ruffled from sleep. It might be Luka's imagination, but he thinks he sees a brief flash of hurt wrinkle the Kiteran's face. But it's gone before Luka can fully comprehend it.

"Was it the same dream?" Theodori asks.

Luka nods, shivering. He's soaked in sweat. He pulls up the furs he has kicked down during sleep, wrapping them around himself. Theodori shifts, moving as if to help and then drawing away at the last moment, instead adjusting his own covers. "At least you timed it well," Theodori says. "It's nearly dawn."

Luka bites back a sigh. For over a week and a half now, he has woken his captor with his pitiful whimpers and terrifying dreams nearly every night. Theodori might not always be there when Luka first wakes though – the Siacchians have taken to sending down groups of Aiutani to make weak attempts at skirmishes, and Theodori often goes to fend them off. Luka can hear their cries outside his tent, and though Theodori tells him only a few have died from these fights, Luka imagines the walls of Cesscounthe have grown shaded beneath corpses. Despite this, Theodori tries to be by his side when Luka wakes from his nightmares. Even yesterday, a still-bleeding cut on his brow, Theodori pulled Luka from his sobbing slumber, and Luka pretended not to be concerned over the Kiteran's superficial injury.

For over ten days now, Luka has played Ravage and slowly snuck answers from his captor, scribbling down all that he can remember on notes he leaves for his mother at the far end of the camp. And for so long now… Theodori has comforted him as he shakes into reality, wide-eyed and terrified.

Each night, before sleep drags him back into the same twisted snare of claws, fur, and death, Luka tells himself he will wake peacefully. He will wake before this man holding him prisoner so he can assess the situation; he will observe Theodori's tent properly, take in the various parchments at the writing desk or study the letters that the man pencils when he thinks Luka sleeps.

He might even finally take the chance to observe Theodori uninterrupted and unhurried. Purely for tactical purposes, of course.

And Luka has failed each night, instead awakened by strong, warm hands. He tells himself he doesn't like how they feel, calluses rasping across his skin. But that would be a lie.

Hands that Luka is staring at now. Luka manages to jerk his gaze away from the strong fingers, the scarred palms, and the hair dusting the length of lean, corded forearms. He instead directs his attention to the blushing sunlight streaming through the tent, turning the canvas to an almost egg-like translucence.

"Speak to me, Evland," Theodori says, easily reclaiming Luka's attention. "You still have that frightened rabbit look on your face."

Luka's jaw snaps shut. "I have never looked anything like a lagomorph."

"Of course."

Eager to change the subject, Luka crosses his arms over his stomach. "What sorts of tortures are you planning today?"

It's an unfair question and they both know it; Theodori has not laid a hand on Luka since they have started sharing a bedroll and has made it clear he never would… assuming Luka follows the strict rules of the camp. Namely, Luka is to never attempt to flee and always to speak the truth.

Two rules Luka has, of course, already broken.

Theodori runs a hand through his hair. Half of his golden locks have escaped his shoulder-length braid. He is perfectly rumpled, and it fills Luka's chest with a strange warmth to look at him. Maybe he has indigestion.

"If you want an answer to that question, you'll have to win a game," Theodori says, his eyes drifting from Luka's to the board. It has been set next to the bedroll for easy access, the pieces already arranged.

Despite himself, excitement shoots through Luka – like it always does. Though he loathes to admit it, he is falling into a routine with this man.

A routine that he's using to his advantage; he is learning everything he could ever possibly need to know about Theodori Hunter Wolf-Born.

Luka adjusts his pieces needlessly as he recites the carefully gathered facts.

First: Theodori trusts no one. Octavian is his closest adviser, but even he is not privy to Theodori's thoughts. Careful to hold everyone at arm's length, his obsession to control the flow of information doesn't simply stem from strategy, Luka has determined, but trauma. Luka gleaned as much when he pressed about Theodori's family in an effort to learn about weaknesses. Upon supplying a curt, "My family is dead," Theodori immediately ended the game. Luka didn't see any point in pushing the issue if it would always lead to the end of a round of Ravage.

Second: Theodori is a well-trained leader. Though his soldiers do not smile as he passes as they do for Octavian, they sit up straight and pay attention. He is not liked, but respected.

Theodori so naturally falls into a leadership role that when Luka woke from a nightmare one night, Theodori said, "If you're so afraid of being attacked, I can teach you to defend yourself."

Incredulous, Luka replied, "You're teaching me to fight?"

Theodori laughed. The noise was rich. Luka wanted to hear it daily – and hated himself for thinking as much. "Come here. I'll show you."

That afternoon, after their daily Cesse games concluded, Theodori positioned Luka's limbs, hands warm. "Strike here, and here," he would say. He curled Luka's hands into a fist, calluses whispering across his skin. Luka, trying to focus, found the following evening, as he fell asleep, he did, oddly, feel safer.

Third: Theodori is young. This tidbit Luka gleaned one night when Octavian burst into the tent and growled that the Elders are growing impatient. The Elders wanted to send not someone who had a better track record of victories – for Theo was the cream of the crop – but the leader with the longest track record.

Fourth: Theodori has a terrible sense of humor. After a particularly long match in which Luka wrangled victory from Theodori with gritted teeth, Luka pressed to learn Theodori's most valued thing.

"Thing?" Theodori repeated, a single bushy blond brow raised. "I don't have favorite things. There are the things I use." He gestured to his assortment of weapons, which Luka carefully avoided looking at directly. It seemed even staring at a knife could pollute his thoughts with impure stupidity and violent desires. "But favorite thing?" Theodori stroked his chin.

After some thought, he said, "Likely Geriin. Though she is hardly a thing."

Flabbergasted – how could Luka have missed that Theodori had a woman on the side? – Luka said, "Geriin?"

Though it took another Ravage victory for Luka to pry the answer from his captor's full, but tightly pressed, lips, Theodori said, "My horse."

"Your horse is your favorite thing?" Luka spluttered. "But – but –" He waved his hands.

Theodori made that delicious chuckling noise that put wind beneath the butterfly wings in Luka's stomach and said, "What?"

"How could a horse be your favorite thing?"

"Maybe you have to meet her to understand."

And perhaps it had been the late hour – it was well past midnight by this point, they had been playing Ravage for the entire day and nearly half the night – but Theodori led Luka outside the tent. They crossed to the edge of the camp bordering the Kiteran's hastily built wall and drew to a halt before three enormous horses.

As a child, Luka had seen a horse exactly once: when he had joined his father on the annual fox hunts. The creatures terrified him then, and they terrified him now; easily towering above him with enormous hooves and broad backs. They twitched as he approached, eyes too wide as they raised their heads and flared their nostrils.

"Calm yourself," Theodori instructed. "They can smell your fear."

Luka shot Theodori a glance. You can, too, can't you? he thought, though he said nothing, too focused on trying to calm his breathing.

Theodori approached the smaller of the three horses. She was a dark creature, made nearly invisible in the moonlight, though she bore a pale white star on her forehead. He scratched her nose and muttered something to her that sounded pure Kiteran, the words rolling from his tongue.

"This is Geriin. She is my favorite thing in this world," Theodori explained as he ran his fingers through the horse"s dark mane.

"But," Luka began, blinking. "What about Octavian? Isn't he your ma – er, I mean – your… your… man?"

He had not missed the way Theodori would disappear for long periods with the man in the small hours of the night and return with his braid mussed, pants undone. Or the way Octavian paid a little too much attention to Theodori's hips as he walked or his hands as he gestured. Such sights ignited a rotten feeling in Luka's stomach, like a festering wound that rose up and bubbled in his throat.

"Octavian?" Theodori laughed. "I wouldn't call him my man. I'd much rather ride my horse than ride Octavian any day."

Luka's cheeks burned as he looked away. He had thought them lovers, and he wasn't sure how he should feel to learn they were just… using each other for their flesh. Such acts seemed better reserved for the conclusion of a Cesse match.

Theodori only laughed more as Luka became pointedly absorbed in his shoes. "Come now, Evland," he said. "You were the one who asked the question."

Luka resisted pointing out that Theodori hadn't needed to answer so thoroughly. After all, the man had given Luka exactly what he had wanted, which was more information. And there was no need to look this… gift horse in the mouth.

But the information Luka learned of Theodori is painfully finite. Luka has yet to discover if this is the full extent of the Kiteran forces or what they will do if this invasion takes too long. Already, he has heard Octavian stress the actions the Elders might take if Theodori should spend too long on his siege, and Luka dreads what might come next should the Kiteran leadership decide if Theodori has failed.

Luka needs more information to satisfy his mother – his mother who has yet to reply to his messages, though he has dutifully and dangerously returned to the spot often, leaving ciphers in the form of sticks and stones, the same as he would on a Cesse board. He did consider if Linne Lockehart had been the one to orchestrate his attack, and it was only after a day and a half of playing out what her strategy might be to remove him from the board that he decided she would never do such a thing to her own son.

Perhaps his mother had yet to discover the cipher, but when he checked each day, he found the pile of stones and sticks disturbed. And as Luka is still alive, he can only assume the destruction was not done by Kiterans.

"Your move," Theodori says, and Luka blinks. He takes in the board with a quick scan and places the piece without too much thought – a stupid mistake, he realizes when Theodori is unable to hide his triumphant grin.

The game concludes shortly thereafter. Pleased with himself, Theodori scoops pieces of his breakfast bread and cream into his mouth before asking his question around the food, "What do you know of the hopiar?"

"That's a broad question," Luka says, biding his time while he considers his answer.

"Don't think." Theodori shakes his head. "Just tell me."

Luka glares at him. "Hopiar – they're similar to our impyassi, correct? People who can turn into animals?"

"Into the blessed beast, the wolf, yes."

"Well, into the blessed beasts – there was more than just the wolf who left the sacred kingdom, according to the lore." Luka pauses, afraid he has spoken too much. Such texts that explained Siacchi's old religion are not public knowledge, and it took much of his childhood to even discover as much as he has shared.

Theodori gestures for him to continue.

"Well, I don't know much beyond that. You change when you lose control of your emotions and turn into a creature much larger than what is considered natural. You hunger for flesh – should I go on?"

Theodori's eyes crinkle. "Please. I enjoy hearing what terrible tales the Siacchians are told of us and their own people to keep their children in line."

Luka shakes his head. "That's really all I know."

Theodori's amusement fades and he withdraws into himself, suddenly looking almost bashful. "So you do not know of the… of the mates?"

"I believe that's a second question," Luka replies quickly. He manages to control his expression as he holds Theodori's intent gaze, only just hiding the flash of alarm that makes his heartbeat race.

Mates?

Why would he ask about such a thing?

Luka knows that's a stupid question. He's just not bothering to uncover the reason, like having found a rock in his path and leaving it unturned because he doesn't want to see the worms beneath.

Theodori grumbles and resets the board. They are both eager to escape from their thoughts and return to the play. Both are eager to ask their next questions.

Theodori's openings are familiar to Luka now; an attack with a soldier on the queen's side, or a rapid onslaught of offense meant to put Luka on his heels. At first, the initial aggression stunned him, leaving him reeling in his defensive reply, but now Luka responds to the ferocity in turn. If Luka used such plays in a Cesse tournament, his moves would have been read as so violent, everyone would have seen him as foolish at best – stupid at worst.

But now? They win him the game.

It is perhaps because of his eagerness to overtake Theodori that leads to Luka repeating a move he showed Theodori in the past. A move that means he wants to kiss the man.

Luka realizes it the instant he releases his piece, and embarrassment shoots through him. But days have passed since Luka explained the move's meaning – surely Theodori can't still remember it now.

His stomach clenches as he gazes at Theodori through shuttered eyes. Beneath his shame, something akin to hysterical laughter shakes him. Never before has Luka been embarrassed by signaling something so chaste in a Cesse game.

That's not to say he hasn't made crude gestures to Theodori prior; plenty of times now he's signaled how much he would love to choke on the man's cock or ride him till they both lost themselves in each other's flesh, but those were messages Theodori was incapable of understanding.

Theodori takes in the move with a smooth face, not even blinking as he scans the board. Relief cools Luka's warm cheeks. He doesn't know.

But then Theodori gazes at Luka with a slight quirk to his lips, his brown gaze deepening to honey amber in the early morning light, and Luka's stomach tightens in a very different way.

Anticipation warms him. Luka wets his lips, and Theodori's eyes trace the movement.

Just as quickly as the spell has been spun, Theodori shakes himself and Luka snaps back to reality. The reality where this is his captor and his enemy. The reality where Luka will need to use and betray this man to escape and help his mother win her position – help his city and country.

Theodori places his next piece. Anticipating the other man's strategy, Luka ends the game in another dozen moves.

Theodori sighs as he tips his king. "Mate."

Luka struggles to gather his thoughts as Theodori stares at him, unblinking. "Sevell Hunter Wolf-Born. What does Sevell mean?"

Theodori raises a brow. "That's your question?"

"Yes. Answer it."

Theodori chuckles. "So impatient," he says darkly, and the coiled tension in Luka's stomach tightens. "Vell, Sevell, Tesevell. They're the different rankings for the hopiar leaders in the Kiteran military. Vell is reserved for our most honored leaders. Tesevell are for those who have only begun their careers."

"Do you only allow hopiar to lead?"

Theodori, shockingly, shakes his head. Luka hides a smile as the man unknowingly answers Luka's second question. "Humans are allowed to rise as well, but they are only commanders or lieutenants. They do not receive the names of honor."

Clearly, Luka does not hide his grin well, for Theodori adds, "I only answer that because I thought it was a terrible question. I felt sorry for you. Poor Childes and his poor critical thinking skills."

Luka scowls. "I don't need that sort of edge. Mine was a perfectly reasonable question." He crosses his arms over his chest. "I'll give you one free answer in return."

Theodori leans toward him. He holds Luka's gaze like he would a fragile thing. "Foxes."

Luka blinks. "That's – that's not a question."

"What are they?"

Having been fully prepared to answer more questions about mates, Luka finds himself annoyingly disappointed. "They're mammals. Like a wolf but smaller and red." His answer feels lacking, so he adds, "Siacchians are known for their annual fox hunts. They started after we began to celebrate Cesse and Thought, leaving behind our beastly ways."

"How can you hunt when you can't handle a weapon?"

Luka resists the urge to shudder when he thinks of the tools his father uses. "These are used only for hunting, not violence against others."

"Certainly violence against foxes."

"They have no higher intelligence. Some argue they can't feel pain."

"That's surely not the case. Everything feels pain." Theodori runs an absentminded finger over the scars roping his hands. He stares at something in the distance, eyes softening.

Luka resets the board, eager to escape not the pain glowing on Theodori's face, but the bizarre pull he feels to comfort the man. Perhaps it is his lack of focus that causes him to lose the next match, because it certainly isn't Theodori's annoying skill.

Luka swears and grumbles, "Mate." Theodori chuckles.

"I have never lost this much in my entire life," Luka says.

"Neither have I."

I've met my match,some distant thought whispers, but Luka shoves it away.

As if hearing the words, Theodori says, "What do you know of hopiar – impyassus – mates?"

"I… not much," Luka begins. He struggles to recall the answer he dedicated a quarter of his thinking power to during the last game, but comes up with rambling threads of thought that lead to no real conclusion. "In Siacchi culture, an impyassus can have a… soul mate. One with whom their fate is eternally bound. The Toula, a figure of great mystical power, can determine who your mate is by reading the lines on your palms."

He pauses, thoughts of Xyla as familiar as his mental Cesse board. Oddly, though he has braced himself for the usual ache that arises at her memory, all he feels is a distant sadness, like he has pressed on a nearly healed wound.

"Do you have one such mate?"

Luka jerks his head side to side. "N-no. I don't have one." He adds, the lies sour on his tongue and difficult to speak, "I'm not – I'm not a… an impyassus. Humans don't have them."

"Right."

Theodori crosses his arms over his chest, biceps bulging. Lines gather on his forehead and bracket his scowl.

"Have I said something to displease you?" Luka asks.

Ignoring the question, Theodori says, "Do you think they're real? These mates?"

Luka contemplates telling his captor he'll have to win another game to earn that answer, but Theodori's unhappiness is clear and Luka wants to fix it. "I did think that."

"What happened?"

Luka draws his knees to his chest. "I had a… a friend," he begins. "He thought he and this girl were meant to be. But they went to the Toula and learned that their fates were to be intertwined with another. She left him. They were both… heartbroken by the whole process." He adds a hasty, "I think," when he finds Theodori staring at him too intently.

"This… friend of yours," Theodori says. "Does he still believe in mates?"

Luka closes his eyes. He thinks back to that moment, to the Toula telling him there was another who would hold his heart like Xyla once had. It was unimaginable then. He forces his lips to say, "I don't know."

When Theodori falls silent, Luka opens his eyes. The other man gazes at his own palms, as if trying to read his fate there. Luka asks hesitantly, "Do you believe in them? Er, mates, that is."

Theodori looks everywhere but Luka's face. "I learned a long time ago that such relationships would bring nothing but pain and weakness."

Luka remains silent. He knows the quiet will draw the words out of Theodori.

Theodori continues, "The Elders use mates against us hopiar. They keep us split when we are at war; one at the capitol in Akull, another in the field, so we cannot rebel or ignore orders. Creating such a bond would open myself up to such weakness." Theodori's jaw flexes. "It doesn't matter those who are mated are allowed to rise through the ranks faster. I could never do something like that to myself.

"Mates and friendships. Family." Theodori shakes his head. "All are impossible for me if I want to accomplish my goal."

"That's…" Luka pauses when Theodori's eyes flicker open, his tongue tripping against his teeth when he finds himself staring face to face with Theodori's wolf. It peers from the man's face, eyes gone from human to animal. Luka forces himself to continue, "That's horrible."

Theodori nods his assent, but Luka is not finished: "And foolish."

When Theodori's lips part to likely snap a reply, Luka rushes to say, "You can't go through life without creating bonds. What happened with Xyla – what happened between my friend and his old lover, that happens when you open yourself up. But to go through life with no love, no friends, no family? You would be so alone – so – so empty. How can that be what you want?"

The veins in Theodori's neck pulse. "I know what I want. I want power."

"Power should give you the ability to love safely and protect those important to you."

"Those very relationships drain that which I desire. They expose my weaknesses to my enemies."

"Weaknesses? Enemies? Maybe you shouldn't go around invading foreign countries. Then you wouldn't have so many enemies to worry about."

Theodori's lips curl in a snarl. "That's easy for a pacifist fool like you to say. You're intelligent. You know the situation you're in right now: you are my prisoner because you decided to never learn to protect yourself. Even with all the power my family had they were still lost to the demon princes of Balivartia because I wasn't strong enough."

Luka forces down the image of his own family dead. Would he mourn his own parents so much like Theodori has? Cassian's death would ruin him, but Linne –

Luka rose to his knees, his finger whipping to point at the other man accusingly. "I never needed to learn to protect myself. In fact, no one would need to learn to protect themselves if people like you weren't so eager to attack."

"People like me?" Theodori laughs, the noise cold and dark. "Oh, Evland Childes. I have been nothing but kind to you. I have protected you from those who would harm you. Had it not been for people like me, you would be dead."

"You're the one who put me in danger in the first place." Luka's angry finger draws closer to Theodori's face, each jabbing motion imbued with rage.

"Don't you gesture at me like that." Theodori rises to his feet, face looming close to Luka's.

"Or what? Will you show me what people like you would do to people like me? Should I be scared of you, Theodori?"

Something flickers across Theodori's face that looks akin to anguish, but Luka is too far gone to notice. The terrible monster housed within him scrambles against its walls, eager to climb to the surface. His arms itch as fur sprouts, and he quickly drops his accusatory finger, sliding his sleeves down to cover his loss of control.

Fear makes Luka's words fall quicker. "Do you want me to grovel? Or are you looking to trick me? You're trying to befriend me and use that relationship against me, I understand that, but do you not see the cruel irony of you preaching how close ties have damaged you when you're trying to use them to damage me? You're not protecting me – you're actively seeking to hurt me!"

The hypocrisy of his words sting, but Luka is on a warpath.

"That's –"

Luka presses even closer. He bares his teeth like the animal he is and always was. But instead of recoiling, Theodori only leans in.

"What is it you want from me, Theodori?" Luka hisses, so close his breath brushes Theodori's blond locks. "My country's secrets? My treachery? Or do you want something more?"

"Theo."

Luka pauses. "What?"

Theodori is so close now, their noses brush. There is a tiny scar tugging on the upper corner of his lip, impossible to see from far away. Lips, which look so soft, so pink.

"Call me Theo."

Luka scrambles for a response, but before he can reply, his mouth is busy with something other than words.

Theo presses those perfect lips against Luka's in a kiss that stops time. Just as the Cesse board grounds him, Luka suddenly finds himself at peace like he's never felt before.

This is what it means to have absolute control.

But just as he thinks that, something new lights within him. Something warm and sweet, something like that glowing feeling he gets in his chest on those early fall mornings, when he sits in his family's garden and watches the sunrise's weak light touch his Cesse board. Something that makes him both grateful and hopeful that he is there to witness it.

To feel it.

Theo's lips are even softer than they appeared. They are gentle, like he's afraid if he presses any harder, Luka might break.

But gentle has never been what Luka wanted.

He wants more.

Luka's hands scramble, knocking Ravage pieces akimbo as he reaches for Theo. His fingers search exposed skin – skimming the round surface of a bicep, the hardened planes of the man's chest – until they meet the scratchy surface of Theo's face. He pulls the other man closer and moves beneath him, his hips rocking against Theo's.

Theo hisses, and his tongue brushes Luka's lips. Upon feeling the Kiteran's hard cock through his thin robes, Luka groans.

Once before, Luka awoke before Theo had, and stared at the bulge large enough to make out even from beneath the blankets. Thereafter, for so many times now, he has envisioned taking it in his hands, his fingers – his mouth – sucking, touching, licking – and now he cradles that very cock with his own hips.

"Evland," Theo groans into Luka's wild lips.

And just like that, the world jerks back to horrible, screeching normal.

Luka yanks away. Panting breaths rake in and out of his heated lips, and he realizes his body is on fire. Never before has something as simple as a kiss made him want to rip off his clothes, made him want to –

No.

Luka shakes himself. This man is his captor. This man is his enemy.

Somehow, Luka manages to reign in his breathing and ignore the painful throb from his hardened cock.

He forces himself to look at Theo. Forces himself to take in the man's flushed cheeks, dilated pupils – swollen pink lips. Luka raises his chin. "Well played."

Theo recoils. But the reaction only lasts half a second. He doesn't have any more time to recover or reply, for at that very moment, Octavian sweeps into the tent.

"Theodori," Octavian snarls. "We're out of time."

Octavian calls him Theodori, not Theo,Luka forces himself to take note for his country and certainly not for himself, though he cannot deny the glow of satisfaction as he hears this.

Theo snaps into attention. If not for the clear plumpness of his lips and the pink tinge to his cheeks, it would have been impossible to know what he was doing seconds before.

But Octavian is observant. He pauses, panting, eyes darting from Theo to Luka. "What were you two doing?"

"Lost our heads," Theo explains, gesturing at the Ravage pieces Luka scattered. "We were taking a break."

"Good," Octavian says, marching toward Theo. "Because this is not time for games." He pauses before Theo, his expression carefully crafted.

But Luka has dedicated all of his time in the past ten days to understanding these people, so he can read the minute expressions on Octavian's face with ease: the man is afraid.

"Out of time?" Theo repeats as if finally registering the words. "What happened?"

Octavian's eyes dart to Luka and then away again, clearly not wanting to speak in front of their resident Siacchian.

"Fine," Theo hisses. He drags his second into the morning. "But next time you have such urgent news, summon me from outside of the tent. I don't appreciate being ambushed."

"Of course, Sevell Hunter," Octavian says as they exit, closing the flap behind them. Their voices drop to levels that would be too low for normal human ears to make out, and never before has Luka been so grateful for his impyassus hearing.

"The Elders know about your little… prisoner," Octavian whispers.

"What? How?" Shock colors Theo's words.

"I'm… not sure. I've spoken to each who could have known. The Wolf's Teeth used to kidnap the Siacchian have been put to death."

"Good." Theo's words are so cold, Luka shivers. This is who Theo is: a monster. Someone who would revel in the death of others even if they let the slightest bit of information slip. Luka could never care for this man. He could never want to – to kiss him.

Do I care for him?

The question floats through Luka's brain for only an instant before Luka swats it away. This is not the time for such thoughts – for such distractions.

"They think," Octavian begins, speaking carefully. "They think the Siacchian might be your…." The next word is said so quietly, not even Luka's keen ears can hear it.

"What?" Theodori hisses.

"They want him sent to Akull, and they want you to continue with the campaign."

"That's – that's ridiculous! He's human. We cannot form such bonds with humans." Theo spits each word.

Realization dawns on Luka and he takes a step back. The word Octavian said must have been – mate.

It is impossible – right? Such a thing is unheard of. Mates are someone you are forever bonded with. Mates are the one person who is meant to be yours, no matter the circumstances.

But those circumstances have never extended across borders.

Or had they?

Once again, before the question can gain enough momentum, Luka forces it away. Mates are a concept that belongs to his younger self, to a boy on the verge of manhood who had thought he found his person, only to instead find heartbreak. He isn't ready to do that again – ever – much less with a man as terrible and infuriating and sweet and wonderful as Theo.

"What led them to this brilliant conclusion?" Theo growls.

"They apparently know of the… conditions the Siacchian has been living under."

"And what conditions are those?"

"That you share a bedroll. That you spend your days not leading your command, but instead hiding in your tent, playing a child's game."

"Ravage is hardly a child's game, and my interrogation techniques have earned us plenty of fruitful knowledge." Theo pauses, saying in a lower voice, "You have already taken out seven of their people with his information, have you not?"

Cold terror seizes Luka. That's impossible.

"Seven of our enemies are dead, yes, but that knowledge has not won us Cesscounthe," Octavian says.

Luka sinks to his knees, staring at his hands. Seven dead because of the information he shared. He might as well have taken their lives himself. Somehow, he forces himself to continue to listen.

"You realize what this means, Octavian." Leaves crunch as Theo starts to pace. "There is a mole in our camp. Someone is leaking information back to them. Someone who we have trusted enough to allow them to witness this."

"The Elders have many spies within our camp, Theodori –"

"But none that we were aware of were so close to me. How do I know that you haven't been the one sharing this information with them?"

"Do not growl at me like that, Theodori," Octavian says cooly. "What would I gain from betraying you like that? I need you here so I can be here. If you were removed from your seat of power, how would I accomplish my own goals? Think rationally."

Theo releases a breath that sounds like a kettle filled with boiling water.

Octavian continues, "They have given you two weeks to breach the walls and prove your prisoner is not the distraction they believe him to be. After those fourteen days… they will send Commander Jennison."

"Jennison? Jennison trained me. I know all his best teachings – he will never be better than me."

"But he has experience where you don't."

"That's only because he's old enough to meet the Mother Wolf herself!"

"Theodori…."

Theo grumbles, his pacing increasing until he is practically running back and forth in front of his tent. As if realizing their voices have increased in volume, he says quietly, "Fine. Thank you for sharing this with me, Octavian. I will move forward with the next step."

"So you've… you learned something that can be used against –"

"Yes. Not here."

Luka stills as the silhouette of Theo's head turns, almost as if the man is staring directly at him. His heart rattles. Surely Theo can't know that Luka can hear them?

Theo continues, "Find me the one who shared this information with our Elders and bring them to me. I will move forward with the next stage in our plan. We're taking Cesscounthe in the next ten days."

"But we have fourteen –"

"And the last four will be spent in celebration of our monumental accomplishment." Theo chuckles, and the noise is nothing like what Luka has heard during their games. Instead of sounding warm, it chills his blood.

"And the prisoner?" Octavian asks.

Theo pauses. After a beat he says in a determined voice, "I'll deal with him."

Luka steels himself as Octavian and Theo conclude their conversation. He carefully folds his fear, his anguish, and his guilt into a neat box, where he refuses to think about the seven dead (who were they? Did he know their families? Did he know them?). He imagines how he will fashion his mother's cipher to explain this message, carefully arranging each piece in his mind. Once he has the message's formation memorized, he rights the Ravage board. He strokes the pieces – black and blood-red, how appropriate for such savages.

Savages that kissed him.

His fingertips graze his lips as he briefly relives the moment. Never before had he experienced something so close to perfect.

Savages that have killed his people.

But those feelings he felt then were false. No, they weren't feelings at all, but hormones mixed with longing and loneliness and lust, all turned into a perfect concoction that merely felt like love, but in reality was simply survival and terror.

Is simply survival and terror.

Luka freezes as the tent opens and Theo steps in alone. He catches a glimpse of Octavian hurrying across the camp, boots crunching across dying autumn grass.

Theo's shoulders are braced as if approaching battle. He stares straight ahead for a moment too long before his eyes finally locate Luka. A tiny muscle relaxes around his eyes, almost as if he is relieved.

But Luka is sure he must be reading into things, for Theo quickly looks away.

"I need to use the latrine," Luka says as Theo pointedly avoids eye contact.

"I'll escort you," Theo replies, words rocky. He opens the tent flap.

It's impossible to make casual conversation as they cross to the same side of the camp Luka left the first message for his mother. Sweat gathers beneath Luka's warm Kiteran cloak as they walk.

Theo doesn't bother to bind Luka's hands. "We can't let my soldiers know you are our prisoner for your sake," he explained. "Then they will think you a target – someone of import they use to fulfill their need for vengeance."

Instead, Theo walks painfully close. Oftentimes, he would either sling his arm over Luka's shoulder or hold his bicep in a way that was less prisoner and more lover. "It's what my soldiers expect," Theo explained the first time he had done it and Luka jumped away. After, Luka grew used to the little touches – he almost anticipated them.

Now though, they walk with distance between them.

They arrive at the latrine and Theo has the courtesy – and foolishness – to turn away as always. Luka does his business and scans the ground.

Every three days, he has left a new message for his mother, tucked at the weakest point of the camp where the walls are shortest. The location is one of the few her spies might have been able to safely locate.

Luka's stomach sinks as his eyes spot what only he would be able to see; a twig left diagonal to a stone, a scattering of grasses covering them. Untouched, unlike the messages he left before.

"Sevell Hunter," a Kiteran calls, approaching Theo. Luka jumps. Theo automatically steps in front of him, shielding Luka from the Kiteran's eyes.

An opportunity like this won"t present itself again.

Usually, Luka has to wait until nightfall to leave his messages, using the cover of darkness to avoid even the sharpest of impyassi eyes. But now, he can't wait. Why is this message untouched?

He moves quickly, replacing his old message with the new. As he adjusts the rock, something glints from beneath it.

A sheet of paper.

Luka drops to one knee to feign adjusting his boot. He shuffles the paper to where he can unfold it without the Kiterans seeing.

The handwriting is familiar and it takes only half a heartbeat to realize why: it belongs to his mother.

Luka reads the words in a blink and then shoves the paper into his mouth, swallowing the evidence just as Theo turns.

"Ready?" Theo asks.

Luka nods, not trusting himself to speak.

"I'll speak to you later," Theo says to the soldier. "Have to deal with this little troublemaker for now."

The soldier chuckles as Theo escorts Luka away. Thankfully, Theo has his back to Luka, so he won't see the tears gathering Luka's eyes or the raw terror Luka is unable to contain.

His mother's message keeps running through his mind, the words so cold and so final.

We can't come for you.