Warrior's Touch (Deadly Touch book 2)
Got It Out Of your System Now?

Should’ve known he couldn’t count on his brother for counsel. Always seeking, and then pick, pick, picking at a loose thread, trying to get Jonas to unravel. And nearly every time he succeeded.

Braph wanted to help? Whatever he had to offer could be given from his cell, preferably via a messenger. Jonas didn’t have the time of day for him right now.

“Heading out?”

“On gate-duty again, Gilana?”

“Yeah.” She lowered her head bashfully. “Got caught out and about after lights out.” She grinned, something between pure joy, shyness and bursting to tell a secret.

“Well, good for you.” He ducked through the gap she opened before she could take that as an invitation to continue. He wouldn’t begrudge Hisham a little fun, but perhaps not while Jonas and Llew were locked in the cells and having their hearts ripped out.

A roar went up at his emergence onto the street.

It seemed all of Taither had heard of his return. At least, the female half of it had. They crowded the street, cheering at the sight of him. They pressed in on him, whether they wanted to or not, as others tried to reach him, or be heard.

“Jonas! Jonas! It’s my time!”

“I lost my home! Please! Give me a Karan baby!”

Since being back, he’d only ventured out in the middle of the night. He’d forgotten about this.

He spun on the spot and bashed the gate. It opened before his second strike connected.

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Well, I did say ‘I wouldn’t go out there if I was you.’”

“When?”

“As you were so eagerly going out there.” Gilana smiled, thin-lipped with that barely veiled humor people tended to get when Jonas was knocked down a rung or two.

What now? There was a back gate, but that wasn’t exactly a secret. He ran his gaze along the concrete fence, twice as tall as him. Not so high, really.

He gave Gilana an informal salute. “Forgive my disrespect.”

Before she could work out what he meant, he’d run the length of the roadside fenfce, leaped to the top of its perpendicular neighbor, and jumped to the roof of the building next door. He dared a glance down at the road where the throng still pressed up in front of the gate, then turned to wave goodbye to Gilana before skipping across the next two rooftops and landing in a side street. Deserted. Just the way he liked it.

Naldar, owner of Naldar’s Bar, had looked after Jonas very well after Kierra’s death, and he hadn’t let him down this time around, either. The youthful bartender with the dark hair and laughing eyes put a full bottle of whisky on the bar as soon as Jonas’s foot crossed the threshold. He was tempted to wave it away, just get a glass, but who was he kidding? He claimed the stool in front of which Naldar had placed the whisky and tipped his hat as the barkeep popped the cork and poured the first measure.

“Early start today, lieutenant?”

Jonas grunted a laugh and emptied the glass, slapping it back on the bar.

Not even lunch time, but here he was.

Naldar poured another couple of fingers and slid the glass back. Jonas curved the fingers of both hands around it, cupping it lightly, but he didn’t drink.

Naldar, being the talented barkeep he was, neither spoke nor prompted Jonas to. He continued wiping the already clean bar top and rearranging cups and bottles. The occasional sidelong glance was enough to let Jonas know Naldar was prepared to listen if he wanted to talk.

He didn’t want to talk.

He didn’t want to drink.

He swirled the amber liquid.

He lifted it halfway to his lips. He put it down.

He lifted it to his nose. Woody. With a bite. He tilted it before his lips. He put it down.

Llew’s pa used to drink. Never did anyone any good. Well, it had helped Jonas get through the last few days. So, he supposed, it had done a little good. He’d got through and he hadn’t broken anything. Well, not much.

Aris had killed his and Llew’s children. Hisham had lied to him about his child, the son Braph had kidnapped. And now Braph came to him seeking help? A sharp laugh escaped him. Naldar looked his way briefly but recognized a man in his own head and carried on with his work.

And Aris, possibly Immortal. Jonas didn’t even know what that meant. ’Course he’d read the books growing up. They all had. Quaven schools, both military and civilian, impressed the history on all Quaven children. The time of the Immortals had been dark for everyone. The Immortals fought amongst themselves, and drafted ordinary people as their slaves, believing them inferior.

Thinking of the women desperately crowded around the gates of the army base, he wondered how much things had changed. Many of those women were little more to the Quaven higher-ups than brood mares; if they didn’t produce the goods, they were tossed aside. And the only guarantee that they would bare a Karan child, was Jonas.

He lifted the glass to his lips again, hesitated, and threw it back.

Jonas hummed a tune to himself. Not much of one. He was no songsmith, that was true, but he had enough of an ear to know when he’d hit a bum note.

Taither’s household lights were blinking out one-by-one. Up ahead, a lamplighter leaned his ladder against a pole and clambered up to create a little pocket of flickering light on the street below.

Interesting time to be alive, this. The fine households, like Gaemil’s back in Rakun and Aris’s here in Taither, were fully wired for lighting, some even had electric heating. The streetlights were still gas. The poor still used tallow candles, the slightly less poor, wax. What time you lived in depended on which class laid claim to you. But the electricity was trickling farther every day.

Jonas doubted it’d made it to his home – his real home, in Aldia – though. He didn’t mind. The little farm he’d grown up on, and would one day return to, was a dream as it always had been. He didn’t need power to live a good life there. And, with Llew, he saw a very good life. Even after all this, they could make it work, he was sure. He wanted to, so it was just a matter of her wanting it, too.

The farm was still in his name, too, he had the papers. Luckily, he’d kept them at a bank, or they would have been gone with his wife and child.

His son, named Joelin by his uncle, a year old now. The ache at not having had the chance to name his own son closed Jonas’s eyes, but he stumbled and had to open them again.

At least his son had a name.

He didn’t even know what he and Llew had been going to have. Tiny. They were tiny. That was all he knew. Tiny and perfect.

Thinking what Aris had done made his chest burn and his throat strain. A bottle of whisky and a measure of Llew’s laudanum and he still couldn’t cry. He thought he should. He’d had moments when tears had tracked down his cheeks, but he’d felt numb. But when the rest of him could feel, his eyes remained dry. Whatever stars had to align to allow him to feel and find release were out of sync.

Those he loved died. It seemed he was still cursed, and it now affected Llew.

His foot caught on a cobble, and he scuffed it in something approaching a stamp without breaking stride. A real feat, given his condition. Ha! A feat with his feet. Oh, he was drunk. Or stoned. Or both.

The strongest and fastest man in the world, and he couldn’t keep those closest to him safe. By that logic, Llew would be better off if he left, went to find his son, but he’d be lying telling himself that. With or without him, Llew was in trouble. At least with him, there might be some good times.

Something rushed up from behind, knocking him to the ground, and he only just managed to get his hands out to break his fall. A running figure faded into the dark, and the echo of a child’s laughter bounced off the surrounding buildings. Just a kid. Perhaps even a kid whose folks had abandoned him when he was a baby. Or, maybe, he had been stolen from his family and they’d searched and searched, and never knew what became of him.

He would have been searching now if Llew wasn’t laid up, or at least if Llew wasn’t Llew. Too many people were after her; too many people wanted her caged or dead. He couldn’t leave her now.

Jonas pushed up off his knuckles, brought his feet under him and stood, grasping his knees for a moment while his brain sloshed inside his head, then he sauntered on. Some part of him knew he was stumbling a jagged path down the road, but an equal measure simply didn’t care.

And there it stood. The dark, silent shadow of Aris’s empty home. Didn’t know what he’d expected to find. Had he thought Aris would have stayed in Taither? If he truly was invincible, Jonas didn’t see why not.

It was true then. His stable center, his steady hand, his foundation had run off and left him flailing.

He could throw something at the dark monument to his crumbling world. Maybe break a window or two. Seemed fitting. Aris had shattered his world. Why couldn’t he do the same in return? He scanned the road around his feet, but he had nothing. And Aris wasn’t there to be bothered by it, anyway.

A horrid thought came to him, and his hand went to the pocket he’d been keeping Llew’s laudanum in. It sat flat against his thigh. Shit. Perhaps he’d put it in a different pocket this time. Shit. Empty. He ran his hands down the front of his vest, checked his hip. At least he still had his knives, and The Knife, but the little bottle was gone. He was gonna have to front up to the doc for more. Usually, he waited till he was sober. Not an option this time. Llew needed it soon.

Little shit, picking his pocket. Jonas couldn’t think of a single time in his life when that had happened before. Not to him.

Well, once. But only once.

Llew had stolen the knife from his hip. She wasn’t even Karan.

The world spun again. Maybe it would be a good idea to sit for a moment.

Raw emotion welled up; his walls weakened by booze. Jonas loved. Jonas lost. That was how it went. Every time he pretended otherwise, the world reminded him how it was supposed to be. But Llew was still alive. That was something, at least. And his son was out there. Alive. Alive and in need of a father.

He lay back and breathed.

The stars were out. There would be a frost in the morning. Maybe if he fell asleep right here, he’d freeze to the road. But he had to get back to Llew. Had to give her pain relief. Had to wake the doc and beg and plead for more laudanum first...

He groaned again, laying a forearm across his eyes.

He shouldn’t have been here. Shouldn’t have been such a mess that a street kid could so easily steal Llew’s bottle, and if he thought about it, he didn’t hurt that much less for skimming it himself. All it did was give him something else to feel guilty about. Llew would be disappointed. He was disappointed. This would be the last time.

He needed a few days of absolution. With a little distance between events and his thoughts, he could think more clearly. Right now, all he wanted was to punch someone.

“Hey.”

Jonas lifted his arm to peer out from under it. Hisham stood over him. Bad timing.

Jonas leaped up, ready to fight. Or, he would have, if he’d had any sense of balance at all. It seemed he’d got halfway up to sitting before the light-headedness set in. He was going to lie back down, but a hand gripped the back of his arm and heaved. Standing might be a good idea after all.

“I noticed you weren’t— ungh!”

Jonas’s fist caught Hisham under his jaw and the Karan stumbled back. Jonas, too, took a couple of steps to re-balance himself.

Hisham righted himself, rubbing his jaw. “Got it out of your system now?” he asked.

“Nope.” Jonas flung himself at the Karan, fist coming round for the side of his head. Laudanum and whisky might’ve slowed him down, but he still had enough of an edge over his so-called friend. They went down, Jonas on top. Half his punches went awry, but the other half brought satisfaction. He was flailing wildly, though, and finally Hisham grabbed his arms and held on, offering enough resistance to save his face more damage. Jonas’s anger flared, but in his current state, there was little he could do. He slithered to the road, on knees and elbows, spat, hawked and spat again, then he pushed up to kneeling. Behind him, Hisham clambered up and brushed himself off.

“We’ve never done that before,” said Hisham.

“No.”

“I’m mighty glad you’re off your game right now. Ready to go back to the barracks?” Blood dribbled from Hisham’s nose. He licked his teeth and spat out a bloody mess.

Jonas could bring himself to do little more than grunt his agreement. He lifted an arm, allowing Hisham to help him to his feet. While Hisham didn’t release him to let him fall again, he did lean back once Jonas regained his feet. Jonas almost smiled, but he was still pissed off. He rolled his arm free from Hisham’s grip and started back up the road. The fight must’ve done him some good because he was trudging pretty much straight. Hisham’s footsteps followed close behind.

The fresh air was doing him good, too.

“When we get back,” he said over his shoulder, “you’re gonna go wake the doc and ask for another bottle of opiate for Llew. Then you’re gonna measure it, careful mind, and give it to her. Then you’re gonna stay there, keep an eye on her for me.”

“Okay.”

This time, Jonas smiled.

A friend in debt was a friend indeed.

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