8. Chapter Eight: Theo

“You did what?” Theo says, standing, hands wrapped around a warm cup of horse milk. His low voice hardly breaks the morning quiet of his tent.

Octavian’s jaw works. “I wanted to see where he would go,” he replies, robe crumpling beneath clenched fingers. “I figured he would try to escape. He might have led us directly to a secret entrance through the Siacchians’ gates.”

“You could have lost him!”

“I needed to see what he would try!” Octavian hugs himself, shrinking into a ball at Theo’s feet. “But now he doesn’t respect me – he thinks he could have slipped from my fingers.”

“Then make him respect you,” Theo growls, stalking over to seize his clothes. He yanks on his robes, securing the dark linen at his waist with a thick leather belt. There is no need for his fur cloak here. He is not planning to change shape, and it is warming this far south. Weak morning light bleeds through the tent’s walls. Octavian watches on from where he sits on the floor, his robe parted to reveal his naked body.

Theo looks away. “I told you not to bring him before me.”

“But, Theodori – I can’t scare him. I need him to trust me and respect me, but not be terrified of me. And last night – well, he’s scared shitless – pissless, really – of me now. I need him to see a real monster so he knows I’m not the one to be afraid of. Please. You have to be the one to interrogate him.”

Theo stiffens, but Octavian continues, “When he trusts me, I can make sure he’s feeding us truths – not lies. But he’ll never believe in me if he thinks I’m the one in charge.”

Theo narrows his eyes. “You want me to show him I’m holding your leash by – by scaring him.” His skin shudders at the thought. The memory of the man – his prisoner – rises once again. Even now, Evland Childes’ scent lingers. It crept into his dreams last night, haunting him in the form of wandering hands and warm lips. Evland Childes splayed before him in a position much like the one Octavian was in the evening prior, cheeks flushed and lips parted, the most delicious noises leaking from his mouth while Theo praised his body with his tongue alone –

Theo angrily shakes the thoughts away, not for the first time this morning. “I will not see him.”

He cannot see him. He is afraid of what he will do – what his wolf will do – should his eyes fall on the man once more. Already, his body craves this prisoner, this stranger. Surely, if he gives in to his desires, this pull will only become stronger.

No.Theo shakes himself. Resist it.

“Theodori,” Octavian says firmly. Theo fixes his second with a glare. “The amount of fight he put up to produce the map he sketched last evening… I was ready to strangle him right then and there, damned the consequences of finding another source –”

Theo’s lust turns to rage, his nails cutting deep bloody furrows into his palms as they turn to claws. It is all he can do to spin away. Octavian has not hurt this man. This man who they are to torture should he not give them the information they need. This man that Theo has no right to be protective over whatsoever.

Octavian continues, unaware of Theo’s inner battle. “But then I saw his map. It was perfect. Every detail laid out for us. Such information is invaluable. We would have lost hundreds of soldiers to gather even half the intel he presents us now.”

Theo’s lip curls into a snarl. “So the Wolf’s Teeth aren’t producing information like you hoped they would?”

Octavian stiffens. “It is easy enough for them to investigate the outskirts of Cesscounthe, but only so many of them can sneak past the walls – and remain undercover – without drawing attention to themselves. This Siacchian is an endless resource… if he is scared into submission.”

The word brings wicked images to mind, and Theo shakes his head, pressing at his temples. “You can use someone else.”

Octavian falls silent long enough for Theo to turn, taking in the other man’s expression – which has now gone coy. “Why do you not want to see him, Theodori?”

Theo grits his teeth. “Just because I’m busy with other matters doesn’t mean I’m trying to hide something from you, Octavian.”

“This would only take a few minutes of your time. I drag him in here, you roar about him trying to escape, he pisses himself – again.” Octavian snorts. “You throw about a few threats that sound too terrible to be realistic. Like, run away again, and I’ll make you eat your own eyeballs. Then we send him on his merry way for the next assignment I give to him.”

Clarity dawns on Theo, cutting through the mist of his lust. “He tried to run.”

Octavian raises a brow. “You’re very out of it this morning.”

“And you’re positive that was his goal?”

“Well, he told me he was looking for a bathroom, but I sincerely doubt that was the case. Surely someone of his wit would have come up with a better excuse. I think the panic just finally settled in.”

Theo shakes his head. Both seem like unlikely reasons. The man Evland Childes is supposed to be is almost as clever as a hopiar, with instincts honed like a wolf. Surely if he were attempting escape, he would have found a better way.

But then again… these Siacchians are soft. They are unaccustomed to the violence of the world because of their pacifist ways. Perhaps his prisoner really had been so scared, so overcome with his own prey-fear, he just blindly fled. And when he was inevitably caught, he had given his only stammering excuse.

But there is only one way for Theo to know for certain what his prisoner had been attempting.

“So you will meet him? This morning?” Octavian presses.

Theo closes his eyes, trying to ignore the way his heart stutters at the thought of seeing this man – he’s your prisoner – again. These are just my body’s responses, and I am master of my own body.

“Fine.” Theo draws his hair back into a complicated braid. “There are some questions I wish to ask of him anyway.”

“Oh?” Octavian raises a brow. “Can I help?”

“No. These are my own theories. Since you are so incapable, I can handle it.”

“Theodori –”

“No,” Theo growls. “You have ignored my wishes and pushed me enough on this matter, Octavian. I will scare him for you, yes, but you will get nothing more from me, understood? Bring him before me and leave us. If I am to take care of this myself, I will take care of it my own way.”

Octavian shakes his head. “Just remember that we need him alive.”

Leaving their prisoner alive certainly wouldn’t be the problem. Theo just needs to keep his hands off the man while somehow threatening him. As Theo finishes his braid, Octavian gazes up at him, gray eyes turned warm in the early light.

Ah, the perfect solution presents itself.

Theo steps forward, running a hand through Octavian’s silky hair, fingers circling down to clasp the man’s chin. “We still have some time before the sun is considered officially risen, do we not?”

“I would say so,” Octavian murmurs as Theo draws the man’s face close to his crotch. “We could always give our prisoner a few extra minutes.”

When Theo only groans in response as Octavian undoes his leather belt with his teeth, Octavian grins. “See,” the smaller man says. “You don’t always dislike my ideas.”

“Less talking,” Theo orders, closing his eyes as Octavian trails kisses down his hip to his hardening cock. As his second falls blissfully silent, Theo tilts his head back and allows his control to slip and imagination to wander. For just that moment, he lets himself picture it is Evland Childes at his knees before Theo. Evland Childes worshipping Theo’s body with his mouth.

For just that moment, Theo lets himself go. After, he will shove these feelings away so he can focus on more important things, like winning wars and conquering countries. Now is a time for pleasure.

And now is a time for pain.

Evland Childes trails behind Octavian, placing each foot in front of the other as if even his stride is calculated. He keeps his chin tucked but eyes raised, scanning the tent as he enters. Theo sighs as he sinks into the chair he has placed at the head of the tent, waiting for the two men’s eyes to adjust to the light of the oil lamps.

The morning daylight has faded to gray as dark clouds hover on the horizon. Faint rays highlight Evland Childes’ face, leaving him to look like a carving of some famed Vell’s beautiful mate. Only the tension in his sharp jaw betrays his fear – that, and his delicious scent, which Theo is trying his damndest not to breathe in.

Evland Childes’ eyes dart around the tent, taking in Theo’s bedroll, which has already been neatly rolled, and the parchment containing folded battle maps. Only the makeshift desk has been left messy from a brief morning planning session. Theo’s gaze snares on the Ravage board. The pieces have been untouched for nearly seventeen hours now, and though Theo’s fingers ache to return to it, he refuses to make his next move. When Octavian pressed him about it, asking if Theo was stuck, Theo had snapped of course not! – though he very much was.

Evland Childes’ face lights up as he stares at the board, but he jerks himself away, hands tightening around his map.

“Sevell Wolf-Born,” Octavian says, greeting Theo officially with a salute reserved for the second–highest ranking hopiar war officials. Theo replies with only a nod, attention still fixed on his prisoner.

Evland Childes, as if sensing Theo’s stare, looks up. Theo’s heart chokes; the man’s eyes are the clearest of blues, like ice on a cold day. Evland Childes swallows, throat bobbing, and Theo’s gaze traces the motion, nostrils widening as his wolf instinctively picks up on the change in scent.

Arousal.

It is all Theo can do to remain sitting on his makeshift throne. His hands tighten painfully on his knees, forcing himself to focus.

Mate. This is my mate,howls the wolf in Theo’s chest. But his beast is wrong; this is a human. This is his enemy.

This is an obstacle in his way to victory.

“Show me the map,” Theo says. His voice is deeper than usual, raspier, but his words are stone steady.

Octavian pulls the parchment from Evland Childes’ hands and approaches, unrolling it in a swift motion. He presents it with a bowed head.

Theo blinks, taking a second too long to accept it.

The work is astonishing. Though Evland Childes is clearly no artist, he has expertly rendered what little Theo knows of Cesscounthe. Shaped like a target, with the rich districts tucked deep inside and the poorer trade markets scattered on the outskirts, Evland Childes’ creation showcases every minute detail.

“Exceptional,” Theo says, the word little more than an exhale.

Evland Childes stares at his feet.

“My thoughts exactly,” Octavian says, satisfied smirk darkening his face as if he had been the one to create the map. “The Siacchian obviously carries invaluable knowledge –”

“How does it feel to be a traitor?” Theo asks, not looking up from the map. A smudge mars the top right corner, and he runs his fingers above it, trying to interpret the mark as mistake or subterfuge.

Evland Childes presses his lips together. “Traitor?” he repeats. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

His voice is low and his accent lengthens his vowels, making each word bleed into the next. And, Wolf Mother curse it, it isn’t the least bit attractive hearing him speak.

Theo shifts uncomfortably against his hardening cock.

“No?” Theo says. “Yet here you are, giving vital secrets to your country’s enemy. I believe that is the very definition.”

“I would hardly call what is common knowledge in any museum or city hall vital secrets,” Evland Childes replies. He pauses before looking up, eyes bright. “Had you simply decided to raid a library on your way here, you would have had no need for me.” He adds, after a moment’s hesitation, “Danessi Wolf-Born.”

“You will address him as Sevell Wolf-Born,” Octavian corrects.

“Sevell Wolf-Born,” Evland Childes says. His eyes flicker away, jaw flexing again. He tucks his hands behind his back – as if that can hide the tremors.

Theo should be angry at such impudence. And in front of Octavian – he has to be.

“Leave us,” Theo says, not even looking at his second. Octavian releases an audible sniff but does as told, sweeping out of the tent.

His absence feels like a sigh released. Evland Childes’ shoulders relax half an inch. Theo hides a smile. His second claimed he was trying to forge a relationship between himself and their prisoner, but clearly Evland Childes has other ideas.

“You believe your country would carry such detailed information about its own cities in libraries?” Theo asks with a chuckle. “Have you never even left Cesscounthe?”

Evland Childes shifts, not meeting Theo’s gaze. Two spots of color rise to his cheeks. Theo tries to imagine what it must be like, having spent his whole life behind the towering walls of Cesscouhthe.

He rises to his feet, map in hand. He takes in the details again, the careful handiwork. Is this Evland Childes talented? Certainly. And even a little mouthy – and although Theo would admit it to no one, he finds himself chuckling at the man’s words. Few would speak to him in such a way and live.

Ah, right – he still needs to dispense a punishment. Especially while Octavian is surely in earshot.

He circles Evland Childes and approaches from his side, close enough he is certain Childes will feel his words on his neck when Theo speaks. “You should not have spoken to me like that in front of my second.”

Evland Childes stills, pulse fluttering in his throat. He swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Theo’s eyes trace each movement with rapt attention.

“Octavian is your second?” Evland Childes says. He immediately closes his eyes after he speaks, releasing a sharp sigh through his nose. “Sevell Wolf-Born,” he adds. His tongue stumbles over the Kiteran word, and Theo tells himself he doesn’t find it charming.

“Yes,” Theo replies. “And he is listening outside right now, without a doubt. He is waiting for me to punish you. To scare you.”

Evland Childes’ eyes snap open. “Is that so?” he says, staring directly ahead. He shifts his weight as if he wishes to turn to face Theo, but he remains in place. He releases a slow, steady breath from pursed lips, muscles in his jaw clenching.

“Does that scare you, Siacchian?”

Evland Childes’ gaze returns to the Ravage board, taking in the pieces. He surely knows the game – Ravage and Cesse are close enough to be mistaken for twins. “I don’t know if it should,” he finally says. “Because I think you would have already – er – scared me or… punished me, if that was your actual intention.”

Theo lets his wolf slip. It’s like pulling a blanket aside.

His teeth extend past his lips as fangs, claws growing sharp. He traces the back of Evland Childes’ ear with his lengthened nails.

The other man shudders.

“You should at least put on a show for him,” Theo says.

“Why?” Evland Childes says. “If you don’t punish me, will that loss of face be so detrimental to you?”

Theo’s claw slips closer, shearing a lock of raven curls from the man’s temple. He dangles it before Evland Childes’ beautiful blue eyes.

Theo’s prisoner gulps. “What kind of a show?”

“Give him a noise. Something loud.”

“I – I don’t –”

“Do you want me to help you?” Theo means for his words to emerge as a growl, but instead they roll from his tongue in a purr. Angry with himself, he seizes Evland Childes’ throat. The Siacchian’s pulse flutters against Evland Childes’ fingers, bird-light and painfully fast, and Theo squeezes.

Evland Childes releases a gasping groan that sounds like a cross between pained and pleasured. His eyes fly open, scorching Theo with blue. He speaks in a wavering whisper, throat straining against Theo’s fingers. “Is that good enough for your eavesdropper, Sevell Hunter?”

Theo cocks his head to the side. It’s difficult to turn his attention away from this man before him, from the splay of gooseflesh creeping across his pale neck, from the way his scent flourishes beneath Theo’s attention.

Outside, someone – one of the Wolf’s Teeth, likely – calls Octavian’s name. Octavian’s boots crunch across brittle autumn grass as he leaves the tent, no doubt satisfied with the thought that Evland Childes has been properly reprimanded.

With iron will, Theo withdraws from Evland Childes and the man’s delicious scent. He forces distance between them. The pull of the man’s soft skin, of his lips, which are now red and wet, is so strong –

No. Theo brushes his hand against his hardening cock, strangling his pleasure. To distract himself, he paces back to the map left splayed next to the Ravage board.

Evland Childes follows Theo’s movements with his gaze alone, still frozen in the center of the tent, arms crossed over his chest.

Silence stretches, cold as snow and thick as blood. Theo paces. Evland Childes remains quiet, gaze hooded. Theo tries his best to breathe through his mouth, but he can taste the change in his prisoner’s scent, the sour stench of fear growing stronger. Though it would be impossible to tell by looking at his changeless expression.

As Theo passes by the Ravage board for the fourth time, Evland Childes’ gaze once again lingers on the board, and Theo smiles. He has been so blinded by his dick. The perfect answer to test this man’s intellect is right here.

“Do you play?” Theo asks.

Evland Childes presses his lips together. “I play Cesse.”

“This is Ravage.”

“The name suits it.”

Theo places down the piece he has been rolling between his fingers. “Explain.”

Evland Childes takes a tiny step in the direction of the board. “The pieces… they’re shaped differently from Cesse pieces. They’re much… sharper. Almost like – like blades.” He looks away from the board as the last word leaves his lips.

“Sweet Mother – are you not allowed to even talk about weapons?”

Evland Childes scowls. “Our pacifism is not a joke.”

“Right – it’s probably just an excuse you use to enslave the hopiar of your kingdom and use them to do the dirty work for you.”

The man’s nostrils flare. “Violence is the action of a mindless thing,” he says, tucking his chin as if he is trying to look down on Theo. “It is the action of one who has lost control of themselves – of their emotions. Our pacifism demonstrates our ability to control ourselves and our feelings. The better the control, the better our intellect.” He adds, in a softer voice, “That is why the impyassi – or, hopiar, as you call them – are our… defenders.”

“Really?” Theo smiles as he looks Evland Childes’ over, taking in the slight color leaking into the man’s cheeks. “You must be the village idiot then.”

“How – how – you –”

A laugh builds in Theo’s chest and he blinks with surprise, only just managing to smother it in his throat. He instead picks up the red Ravage king. The piece is shaped like a knife, the base a jagged metal crown. “So you think the Kiterans are a lot of savages then?”

“That’s – that’s not –”

Theo presses the sharp tip against his thumb. A bead of blood bursts to the surface, trickling down his calloused fingers. His attention flicker over to his prisoner, whose eyes have gone wide, nostrils flared. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I’m not offended by the beliefs of your backwater country.”

Evland Childes splutters.

“I am confused about one thing though. Are you saying that if you were given the chance to escape – to overpower me or Octavian – but via means of violence, you would forgo that method because it is too brutal? Too… stupid?”

“That’s – that’s ridiculous.” Evland Childes shakes his head. “First of all, such an opportunity would never present itself –”

Theo sweeps forward, red king in hand, and presses the sharp blade against his own throat. Pain stings through him, a familiar feeling. But he is not afraid.

All color drains from Evland Childes’ face. “What are you doing?”

Theo smiles in answer.

It would take work – massive work – for any human to kill a hopiar via a makeshift weapon like the red king alone. Now, had Theo selected the Ravage queen and her five jagged edges, it might have been a bit easier. But no normal human would be able to overpower Theo’s blessed strength and increased healing abilities. He is just testing this man, seeing how far his silly beliefs will limit him.

After all, this is just a human Theo is dealing with, and humans with their fragile flesh and weak muscles stand no match against a fully trained hopiar. Yes – just a human. Evland Childes’ scent, no matter how bewitching, and his lips, no matter how soft looking, are nothing more than temptations and false flags. Humans can’t be true mates with hopiars, after all.

You are not my mate.

But still, even after Theo has eliminated the possibility from his mind, he is curious. Never before has he met someone who is composed of such contradictions. A scent so confusing and a belief so twisted.

Evland Childes stares at Theo, eyes darting from the red king to Theo’s steady gaze, as if hoping an answer will be written there. Theo gives him nothing, not even a blink.

When Evland Childes remains still, Theo reaches for him. The man flinches, but does not retreat. Theo collects his hands and lays them against the piece at his throat. “There,” Theo says. “Now, apply pressure.”

But Evland Childes only trembles like an icicle in spring, like he is about to come melting and tumbling down. His mouth falls open, lips quivering, and he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I won’t. This is – this is some sort of trap –”

Theo leans against the king and the brace of Evland Childes’ hands. The sting at his throat builds to a burn. Warm blood leaks down his collar.

Evland Childes’ eyes grow impossibly wider. Moisture flashes, and a tear drips down his cheek. “No!” he cries, and jerks away from Theo’s grasp, the red king still in his hands.

Theo lets him go. He rises to his full height once more. His skin burns where he has been cut – and it burns from that pain alone, nothing more.

Nothing to do with Evland Childes’ touch whatsoever.

Evland Childes stares at the red king laced between his fingers – at the blood drying on his hands. His eyes dart between the weapon and Theo and then back again, nostrils flaring, looking like a terrified rabbit.

You would be a terrible mate,Theo forces himself to think. I could never trust you to protect me when our enemies come for us.

Evland Childes’ eyes settle on the cut at Theo’s throat, and a little gasp escapes him, almost as if he has been the one injured.

“Will your gods strike you down now?” Theo asks.

Evland Childes shakes his head, shuddering. Goosebumps ripple down his arms. “We believe in no gods other than Thought itself,” he whispers, eyes tracing the drop of blood as it vanishes beneath Theo’s tunic.

Theo’s skin burns from the man’s gaze. He forces himself into movement to ignore the feeling. “So what will happen to you now that you’ve inflicted this violence upon me?”

Evland Childes gazes at the red king in his hand, examining the bloodied tip. “Nothing, because I did nothing wrong. I have not lost control. I have not acted out. You are the one who has shown poor behavior.”

“Haven’t lost control?” Theo cocks his head to the side. “Could have fooled me.”

Evland Childes exhales sharply, gazing past Theo at the Ravage board. “You people wouldn’t know what it means to control yourselves in the first place,” he says. “I don’t even see how you could play such a mockery of Cesse – your minds likely can’t even understand the true complexities of the game.”

Theo chuckles, turning back to the board. “Then why don’t you show me?”

A spark lights up Evland Childes’ face, a joy so bright, it looks childlike. He extinguishes it quickly. “I do not wish to humiliate you.”

“You already speak so sweetly to me, I can’t imagine you unleashing your full candor.”

Evland Childes wets his lips, dropping his gaze. Sour fear soaks his scent again, and his shoulders hunch, as if he is trying to make himself smaller. “I – I – I don’t know why I speak this way.” He wrings his hands. “My tongue is not usually so loose in the presence of… er… Sevells.”

Theo snorts. “As it should be. Any other Sevell would not have stood for it.” When the stench of fear grows stronger, Theo adds, “But I find your tongue far too interesting to ask for such restraint.”

Evland Childes gazes up at Theo through dark lashes, the question of why clear on his face. He licks his lips, lids fluttering. But he does not ask, so Theo does not answer.

Instead, Evland Childes approaches the board, his cheeks flushed. He lowers himself onto the gold-hemmed cushion primly, like a prince seating himself on an unsteady throne, and adjusts his sleeves. “I will play you then,” he says. “But under one condition.”

Theo plops across from him, both feet planted on the hard packed dirt floor of the tent. He spreads his legs, bracing an elbow on a knee and his chin on his hand. “Perfect. I never play Ravage without a wager.”

Evland Childes blinks, his eyes widening. He recovers quickly though. “Should I win,” Evland Childes begins, eyes narrowed. Oddly, his cheeks redden before he shakes himself. He draws out his next words slowly, like a blade from a hilt. “You will grant me an answer to a question. A truth for a victory.”

Theo snorts. This prisoner needs to be reminded of his place.

His hand darts out, impossibly fast, and he snatches the red king from Evland Childes’ grasp. Evland Childes’ eyes go wide as Theo places the king on his side of the board, drawing back on his cushion as if to flee.

“So afraid of the torture you’re going to face?” Theo asks, cleaning his blood from the red king and adjusts his pieces. This will be the perfect way for Theo to interrogate this prisoner without laying his hands upon him. “Why would I agree to such a thing?”

Evland Childes narrows his eyes. “You must know torture often yields poor results. If you really want to pull the truth from me, you’re better off using methods that appeal to my morals.” He pauses, looking at the Ravage king in Theo’s hands. “Which are clearly superior to yours.”

“So confident in your victory, and yet you are my prisoner,” Theo says.

Evland Childes parts his lips, but then shakes his head, remaining silent.

Theo inhales deeply through his mouth, careful to avoid his opponent’s – his prisoner’s, he reminds himself for what feels like the millionth time – scent. He reaches for his wolf, cloaking himself and his jagged emotions in its sweeping presence.

When he speaks, he’s careful to ensure his words are cutting and cruel – promising punishment. Promising his victory. He offers Evland Childes a bared tooth smile. “Let’s play then.”