99CONTENT DISCLAIMER:
THIS STORY HAS SHADES OF M/M AND CONTAINS VIOLENCE IN LATER CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS MARKED WITH (!) ARE LIKELY TO BE CONSIDERED NOT SUITABLE FOR YOUNGER READERS. PLEASE PROCEED AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION - THE CHOICE IS ENTIRELY YOURS, DEAR READER. THANK YOU FOR READING RESPONSIBLY.
Title: Rules to Break You
Chapter 2: Caution
"Careless fool!"
The heartfelt insult was directed at himself. Much as he wished he could put the blame on something or someone else, he had to admit that it was entirely his own fault that he was in the predicament that he found himself. In any case, whatever alternative reason he found—whether his lack of vigilance, his unfamiliarity with the terrain, or the disloyalty of his horse, which had wisely made its escape on four unharmed legs—it was too late.
No man who has ever encountered a wolf would say that it was not a cunning creature. And while he did not expect a single wolf to outmanoeuvre a man with ease, it was a different story altogether when it was a pack of starving wolves hunting one lone man. And if it was one lone injured man that they were up against, who had fallen into an abandoned hunter's trap, the odds were decidedly skewed in the pack's favour.
It occurred to him that there was a very strong possibility he would die right there.
Snarling, slobbering heads were thrust into the pit, lethal fangs snapping less than a hand's breadth from his face. He was already pressed as far back as he could flatten himself against the wall of the pit, about twice as deep as he was tall. Inside his throbbing left arm, he could feel the edges of snapped bone rubbing together when he moved. He wiped tangled silver-white strands from his damp face, and tried to will the pain in his arm to subside. It was a fruitless attempt.
Before long a shaggy mass tumbled in. The creature landed on its side, giving him a moment to do what little he could.
The wolf rose into the air.
The animal whined in surprise before it was spewed out of the pit and sent tumbling tail over ears, scattering some of its pack members. They drew back uneasily, which earned him a moment of respite.
But hunger is a formidable motivator, and all too soon, another marauder made its entrance, this one landing on its feet. As it gathered itself to spring at him, he did the same again.
The beast floated upward as its predecessor had done.
But the effect was nowhere as strong as the first time; with agonising slowness, the wolf was lifted, hauled almost, out of the pit, writhing and wriggling all the way.
It had taken almost all of what he had left. His breathing was ragged, his vision blurring. The next attack would probably be the end of him.
Relentlessly, another hairy monster entered the pit. He steeled himself to make what was very likely his last defence. But the wolf did not attack. In fact, it didn't move much at all except for a few slowing twitches. Eventually, its muscles spasmed in the final sign of morbidity, and it fell over.
Then only did he see the arrow sticking from its throat. Sounds of a commotion drifted down from above. Another carcass tumbled into the pit, but he wasn't in any position to look at its throat, because he had pitched forward onto his front. With the dregs of his ebbing consciousness, he heard human voices. Something not covered with fur scrambled down into the pit. The last thing he felt was a finger against his throat, checking his pulse.
The next time he became aware of his surroundings, he was lying on the ground, some kind of fabric underneath him. To one side, there was the crackle of a fire. To the other, the sound of talking. There was nothing immediately threatening in his surroundings, but still, caution was ingrained in him. Until he knew if they were friend or foe, he kept his breathing even and his eyes closed except for a small slit through which he could peer at the speakers.
Two people.
Both men.
One taller, one smaller... with silhouettes familiar enough to give him hope.
It seemed that his rescuers were the hand-holding pair from the city gates. But he wasn't completely reassured yet, because they were apparently in the midst of a heated argument. They were not using the Shared-tongue, speaking instead in a rapid flurry of staccato syllables, like the chattering of feuding sparrows. Fortunately, the foreign tongue could be Bended to his understanding, and even more fortunately for him, the injured man had just enough strength to do so.
The older one was speaking, his voice heavy with suspicion. "Is this really the same man that helped us?"
"Of course he is! How many people have you met of late that has hair the colour of moonlight? This is Master Brook, I'm sure of it."
He blessed the youth for his memory, and whatever it was that he had done to get himself caught in that memory.
The other man remained, however, unconvinced. "It's just too much of a fluke that we would meet again."
"I remember his face!" his young champion declared. "He has a scar under his chin."
He was moving even before he finished his sentence. Brook closed his eyes just in time before the youth came over and lifted his chin. The scar was found without much effort.
Prodding at the proof with a finger, the youth declared in triumph, "See? Right there!"
Brook was surprised that he had noticed so much from their brief encounter. Truth be told, he himself had forgotten that he bore that sign. It challenged his first impression of the lad; perhaps he wasn't quite the vain little airhead after all.
The lad in question didn't have such an easy time impressing his companion, who countered, "How do you know he's really hurt? It could be some elaborate Bender trick. Gain our trust and then…" he finished with an ugly sound.
The youth's voice went up. "Listen to yourself, Myka! When did you become so uncaring?" He was clearly getting upset.
Myka stood his ground. "You can say whatever you want. I'm not trusting him." He paused, and then in a softer tone, continued, "I know you don't like it, but I need to keep you safe."
His attempt at reconciliation was met with a sharp retort. "I don't want to be safe if it makes you hard and cold!"
Brook kept his ears open, though he still had his eyes closed in feigned unconsciousness. At least now he knew one of their names – Myka, the older, less innocent one.
"Eryk..." Myka sounded simultaneously frustrated and apologetic.
"Don't touch me!"
There was the sharp sound of skin against skin – Myka had apparently had his placating hand slapped away. Brook now had the advantage of knowing both their names. By the sound of it, Eryk was no longer leaning over him, so the Bender was emboldened to risk another peek, opening his eyes a little more for a better look.
The two disputers were staring at each other; Eryk, hands on his hips, was defiantly confrontational in contrast to Myka's tranquil demeanour.
"I promised Freyl to take care of you." In contrast to the emotions he was stirring up in Eryk, Myka's voice was level. "That means I'm not going to let anything or anyone hurt you."
"Myka…" The youth took a deep breath, visibly making an effort to calm himself. "What would really hurt me is…" He managed to bring his voice down from its earlier high-pitched anger. "...if you become something that you're not because of me."
"We're not children anymore, Eryk. You know the world is a cruel place. We won't survive by being kind." His calmness enveloped the exchange, smothering Eryk's resistance like a heavy blanket.
But Eryk had not given up the fight yet. He stepped forward to cup the taller man's cheek with one hand. The gesture was soft, tender, and oddly innocent; Brook found it somehow very befitting to what he had seen so far of Eryk's character.
"The Myka I know is kind and brave and loyal," he said, "and I believe you'll always be that Myka, no matter what the world is like."
Eryk's words brought only silence at first. Brook waited uneasily for Myka's response. Much as it interested him how the two were connected, that was a much less pressing matter than how they—specifically Myka—intended to treat him.
At length, Myka removed Eryk's hand from his face. His hand was large enough to almost fully envelop the one that he held.
"I can't always be the Myka that you want, Eryk," he said. "But I'll always be the Myka that you need." As he spoke, he slowly placed the smaller hand over his own heart.
Eryk was silent, looking not at Myka but at his hand, enfolded in Myka's. Presently, he put his other hand on top of it and looked up into the other's face. "I just don't want you to forget what's important... in here."
Myka's reaction puzzled Brook even more than Eryk's earlier gesture. He removed the hands on his chest, only to use them to pull their owner closer to himself until they were almost embracing. Even Eryk was startled by this, judging from the gasp that came from him. A few moments of stillness passed, as if they had all been frozen by a Bender.
Myka spoke at last. His voice was low in the intimacy of their nearness, and Brook had to strain to catch the next sentence: "You are the most important thing to me in the world, Eryk."
"And Freyl?" Eryk whispered, his tone making his words half a question, half a reminder.
"And Freyl." Myka confirmed, in a voice so soft that it was almost a sigh.
In contrast, Eryk's reply was loud and firm. "Freyl would not want you to be so cruel, Myka." He broke away from him and stepped back. "Please, let the Bender stay."
He endured the brooding silence that followed without taking his eyes off Myka's face. In the half-darkness that he lay in, Brook suffered along with him. He didn't have a choice. His fate hung on Myka's answer, after all. He was injured, unable to fend for himself... if Myka wanted no more to do with him, or worse, wished to do him harm, he would be well and truly damned.
The reply came at last. "I'll consider it."
Brook exhaled slowly. For the moment at least, he could rest... and continue to observe these two, who were becoming more and more intriguing the longer his association with them lasted. Myka and Eryk... with a relationship that was outwardly so simple yet hinted at so many hidden things. They were the most interesting people that the Bender had encountered in almost a year. The thought of what secrets they might be hiding was absorbing; so much so that for a moment, he almost forgot his pain.