6. Chapter Six: Theo

“This is him?” Theo asks.

“Yes,” Octavian replies. They both look the unconscious man over.

Evland Childes resembles the sketches in the papers. He is undoubtedly beautiful, but in the way a summer flower is beautiful – his delicate features and rosebud lips won’t stand the test of winter. His dark hair falls in crumpled ringlets, haloing his pale face. Looks aside, he stinks – rotten tomatoes, old cheese, and moldy bread fill Theo’s high-ceilinged tent, and both men step away with curled lips.

“He’s not much,” Octavian says, taking in the slender arms and diminutive frame. Ordinarily, hearing someone like Octavian say such a thing would lead to laughter, but even Evland Childes is delicate in comparison to the scholar. Conscious and standing, their prisoner would probably only reach Theo’s chest.

“We didn’t pick him for his size or strength. We picked him for his brain – and his connections to the council and Council Head Dawls,” Theo says. “Besides, if he fails us, we can find another to help us.”

“Another one?” Octavian raises a brow. “My intel only told us of Childes.”

That’s why I did some research of my own.Theo remains silent, crossing his arms over his chest. Octavian wasn’t the only one capable of using their mercenary branch, the Wolf’s Teeth.

“You’re really not going to tell me?” Octavian says, voice gaining a nasally pinch. “I thought we talked about this Theo. You need my insight. Things go better when two heads are put together.”

When Theo doesn’t reply, Octavian’s brows raise as he says, “You don’t trust me.”

“That’s not a question.”

“First, you pull that Ravage stunt to get us out here in the first place when I could have died –”

“Are we really talking about this again?”

“– and now you send our people in the dead of night to kidnap this man – how do you know they picked the right one?” Octavian’s cheeks grow cherry-red under the oil lamps’ circles of light. “I don’t care how much he resembles some sketch of the man you think we’re after. I’m surprised you haven’t even asked me if I’ve used the correct poison!”

“Are you done?” Theo asks.

“No! I am most certainly not! I’m supposed to be the one to help you conquer this land! I’m supposed to be the one who is made your right hand when we assume control over this territory as leaders! We could be doing so much more, Theodori – digging beneath the wall –”

“I already told you: that’s a waste of time.”

“I’m supposed to be the one you trust!”

Theo runs a hand through his hair. “That’s where you’re mistaken.”

Octavian pauses, puffing and blowing. “What?”

“You shouldn’t trust me. Just like I can’t trust you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is war, Octavian. I can’t entrust all my secrets with a single person. Should you be captured, you’d be my greatest weakness.”

Octavian’s face contorts, and for a second Theo thinks the man might say but what if I want to be your greatest weakness or something equally dreadful. Instead, Octavian whispers, “Why is this any different than before?”

Theo closes his eyes against the obvious hurt on Octavian’s face. “Before?” he repeats. “You saw how Commander Jennison used you as collateral. Our enemies – our people – will try to use the ones I care about against me.” The scent of scorched flesh and carnage rises in his memory, and he automatically draws away from the hand that Octavian extends. “And I won’t ever let that happen again.”

“But –”

“But I will trust you with this.” Theo opens his eyes. Both he and Octavian look at Evland Childes.

Octavian’s lip curls. “You trust me with the Siacchian? My place as second is by your side –”

Theo scowls. “There is no one else I can trust with this,” he says. “This Siacchian is now inside our base. If he is even half as intelligent as all of your reports have made him out to be, he could simply outwit our people and escape into the night – our siege places him just outside Cesscounthe’s walls. You must watch him carefully.”

Octavian stills at this, blinking.

Theo continues, “I need you to keep him here – to keep him safe. Our people won’t be pleased with having a Siacchian amongst our ranks.”

Octavian’s gaze swings to the unconscious man. They both observe Evland Childes’ rose-colored cheeks for three soft exhales. Octavian sighs. “Fine.”

A strange wave of emotions wash over Theo as he watches Octavian resign himself to the task. There is annoyance at himself, for having picked such a clingy man. But also a stifled affection for Octavian that Theo wishes to beat out with a vengeance. He can’t afford to care for Octavian any more than he can afford to care for Commander Jennison – or anyone, for that matter.

“Keep him in your tent,” Theo continues. “Be glad he looks so feeble; that should make him easier to crack.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to bother sharing your plan for that,” Octavian grumbles. “Or at the very least provide me with a soldier to help me carry his body.”

“You can manage, I’m sure.”

Octavian heaves Evland Childes over his shoulder, grunting. It is only his hopiar strength that enables him to carry the man. He walks to the exit of Theo’s tent, mouth set, but then abruptly pauses. “But you do care about me.”

Theo stiffens. “Why do you say that?”

“You said it yourself; you can’t let them know about the people you care about.”

“That’s not what I –” Theo bites his lip and approaches his second in command. He lays a hand on Octavian’s shoulder, wrinkling his nose as the waves of Evland Childes’ stink slap him. “Yes, alright. I do care about you. Against my own will.”

Octavian narrows his eyes. “You could at least be a bit happier about it.”

Theo summons the willpower to reply, desperate to escape the conversation, when something – something impossible hits his nose. He blinks, shaking himself. His gaze darts to Octavian as he inhales deeply.

“Is that – what is that?” Theo says.

“You’re going to avoid the question? Really?”

Theo inhales again. It’s like bathing in the sweetest scent in the whole world. It has been buried beneath the rotten tomato stench, but now he’s not sure how even something that foul could have obscured it. Lightly sweet and slightly musky, with just a hint of spice – like the woods in spring, when the flowers first spread their petals to bloom beneath the misted sun. It’s a smell that takes him back to his happiest memories. It’s the smell that makes all his worries melt away.

It’s the smell that belongs to his mate.

His true mate.

Theo’s wolf reacts without thought, his vision tunneling as his claws extend. His mate is here, but he cannot find them – he does not know where they are. What if they aren’t safe? What if they are in danger right beneath my nose? Dimly, he’s aware that Octavian is speaking to him, but the words are lost as Theo swings left and right, searching. It couldn’t be Octavian – right?

But no – Octavian’s scent, beneath the smell of unwashed skin and the spice of worry, is unchanged as always; old books and something salty, like sweat or brine. It can’t be Octavian. And the only other in the tent is –

This time, when Theo takes in the sharp lines of Evland Childes’ carved face, he does so as if his very gaze is a caress. He swallows, unable to control himself as he falls to his knees.

This is my mate.

This is my mate?

The wolf reacts with joy and elation – we are no longer alone. They will finally have someone at their side that will be there for them – someone they can trust –

Theo crushes his spreading smile. This person is not his strength. This person is not his happiness. This person is at the very least a stranger, and at the very most… a weak point.

“Theodori?” Octavian says, the irritation in his voice suggesting this isn’t the first time he has called Theo’s name. “What are you doing?”

Theo only barely manages to snatch his hand back in time, preventing himself from stroking Evland Childes – his prisoner! He is my prisoner! – on the cheek. His prisoner and his enemy. He will need to break this man. He will need to turn him.

I will need to harm my mate.

No.

Theo turns to the side and claps a hand over his mouth, only just keeping down his meager breakfast at the thought.

But he can’t be thinking like this. Not with a battle to win. Theo can’t have a weakness like this. Not now. Not ever. He is surrounded by unfamiliar soldiers, camped outside the stronghold of his enemies. Should he show one scrap of affection for anyone, he is putting them at risk… and they would put him at risk, too.

“Theodori!” Octavian hisses, alarm creeping into his tone. He glances over his shoulder at the shadows cast by their soldiers moving outside the tent, as if fearing they might see through the canvas. “What are you doing?”

Octavian’s words are an icy balm to Theo’s fear. He cannot let Octavian see any more of this. Somehow, Theo forces himself to his feet. Somehow, he cages his emotions, shoves them down beneath the smooth surface of his usual glower. Somehow, he forces himself to say, “It is the man’s smell. It is truly awful – make sure he is bathed and given new clothes. We can’t have him stinking up the camp.”

The thought of this man – mine – in another’s arms, naked, soaked in water, soft skin covered in soap, is almost too much for Theo to bear. He shakes the images away.

“Alright,” Octavian says, eyes narrowed, making it clear he is not convinced this is the problem. “There isn’t anything else?”

“Make sure he is examined. We cannot have him internally bleeding from that capture and have him die some weeks into captivity.” Theo’s heart squeezes at the thought. “And… just – just keep him away from me. I’m too busy to deal with the Siacchian now.” Theo is amazed at how calm his voice sounds. How measured. Like he is aware of every syllable and takes care to speak it.

“Shall I be the one to handle his interrogation?”

An involuntary shudder wracks him, and Theo seizes his right hand with his left to keep himself from grabbing Octavian by the throat. Anger turns his vision to scarlet. Theo has heard enough about it to recognize it for what it is: the initial rage, a precursor to the connubial rage. A common stage in the early mating process, before the bond is finalized. Anything that tries to keep him separate from his – his – no, he won’t even think the word – anything that tries to separate them will lead to his wolf clawing that person apart.

Theo shoves the feeling down. He is strong, and this can’t be real. Theo has never believed in the true mating bond – in the involuntary pull of supposed soul mates. Such things are fiction for children.

I just need a good fuck,Theo realizes. His eyes flicker to Octavian. “Yes,” Theo says evenly. “You will be the one to handle him. Do whatever it – whatever it takes.”

Octavian’s throat convulses, and Theo forces a smile. He cannot help but to add, “Ensure he is kept hidden in your tent at all times after the exam. He is in danger in the camp. Should one of ours with a war grudge discover we’ve captured a Siacchian, we will need to defend Ev – we will need to defend him.”

A tiny sigh of relief escapes Theo when Octavian nods. “You’re right; a pacifist Siacchian would be torn to shreds.”

“Even if he is a hopiar.”

Octavian pauses. “A what? He is no such thing.”

Theo stares at his second. “You cannot smell it? His beast?”

“Theodori, are you sure you’re alright?” Octavian cocks his head to the side. He drops the Siacchian carelessly. It’s all Theo can do to keep himself from checking the stranger for wounds – and strangling Octavian. “Shall I call for a healer?”

Theo narrows his eyes. “Patronize me again and you will regret it.”

Octavian raises his hands defensively. “I smell no hopiar. You know how the Siacchians are; they stifle their beast until it is all but bound. The ones who captured him detected no wolf, not even when he was ambushed.” Octavian snorts. “Perhaps he is a little bunny beast. That would explain why he fainted so easily.”

Not a hopiar. Is it possible? Theo is just mistaken then. Hopiar can fuck humans, but they cannot find their true mate amongst them.

Theo turns away, a silent, relieved laugh shaking his shoulders.

“Theodori?”

The burn of Octavian’s gaze warms Theo’s back. Theo says, “Make sure you’re present when he wakes, Octavian. Break him how you see fit.”

“Understood.” Octavian’s boots crunch in the frozen dirt.

“And Octavian,” Theo calls imperiously. “After you’ve secured the… prisoner, return here. I need you to attend to me.” His hand grazes the bulge in his leather trousers – his cock is rock hard.

“I’ll be there,” Octavian says, gathers the Siacchian in his arms, and then exits the tent.

And with that, the sweetest scent, the gentlest scent, the scent of Theo’s prisoner, is gone. It’s like a vice has been lifted from his heart – and his balls. He sighs and sinks to a crouch, thinking of his captive.

Evland Childes. That is his name. Your mate’s name is Evland Childes.

Not my mate. He is not even ahopiar.

He is only my prisoner. Only my key to victory.

Theo sets his teeth, hands curling into painfully tight fists.

After I have the information I need to invade Cesscounthe, I will dispose of him – I will.

I have to.