Simon was certain that Casey’s kindness would have made him keenly uncomfortable if not for the geas. With the big man fussing over his ankle, he felt warm and safe. It brought back memories of the last time he’d had someone caring in his life.

  Between the ages of nine and thirteen, Simon had a tutor who was the half-elven granddaughter of the king. Her birth had been a scandal, but Lady Libeza Adrial’s reputation was impeccable. Raised at court, she was trusted by the king and his advisors, and had been sent to give Simon an education befitting a nobleman — and to provide Simon a role model in the form of a ‘loyal’ elf who had integrated well into human society.

  To that end, and despite his frequent questions, she had refused to tell him any details whatsoever about his own people, or Simon’s elven kin. And that had frustrated him, as, once or twice she’d slipped up and alluded to knowing his mother. The king had forbidden any such conversations, and she had also made it very clear that she agreed with those orders. Libeza believed it best for Simon to live as if he were human, as she claimed Yienry was offering him a rare opportunity for a good life, something denied to most elves. At times, her objections to his curiosity had been so clear and firm that he’d wondered if she was under a geas.

  Other than that, however, she’d been kind and motherly to him. He’d spent many hours curled up in a chair in her quarters, reading, or at the table before her window, drawing.

  Libby told him, once, when she was quite drunk after a festival, that she was the one who had convinced Sohan to allow Yienry to raise him, and Simon wasn’t sure what to feel about that. Yienry treated him very well, but Yienry’s wife and sons had done everything in their power to make his life miserable. And ultimately, Yienry was also the man who had murdered his mother and entire clan in order to possess him.

  On the other hand, it seemed the original plan had been for Simon to be raised at court, as Libeza herself had been; that world was not a kind place for children or outsiders. He was grateful that her intervention had allowed him at least a modicum of a normal childhood.

  When Libeza was eventually, and inevitably, dismissed by Ellia, Simon had woken himself up crying for weeks — something he would never admit, as tears over a tutor would be seen as shameful for a boy nearly old enough to be counted as a man. She hadn’t been an easy teacher; her standards were demanding, and she accepted no excuses, but he’d loved her all the same. Coming close on the heels of Iorge's death, Libeza's dismissal had been devastating.

  He had also been shocked because he believed Libeza would be safe from Ellia’s malice, since the king had sent her. But Lady Ellia claimed she’d personally witnessed the elven woman consorting with a grimalkin servant. It was the word of the powerful, respectable Lady Ellia Halvers against that of an illegitimate half-elf. No matter her birth, she was of mixed blood, and it was widely believed that elves lacked morals.

  Grimalkin were classed as animals by the Temple. Relationships with them were punishable by death by the Hunt. Worse, after being dismissed, Libeza had stolen a valuable book from Ellia, as well as Simon’s mother’s sword.

  He didn’t blame her for taking a book; he’d have helped her purloin the entire library if she wanted it. Ellia had wronged her.

  However, Simon didn’t understand why she had pilfered his blade from the chest at the foot of his bed. Two decades later, the betrayal was still bitter. It had been the only thing he owned that came from his mother. Simon wasn’t allowed to own anything elven, but the blade was of Eastland military design, and the hilt had been stamped with Yienry’s own sigil, apparently because he’d given Simon’s mother the blade as a gift years before he’d murdered her. No one but he and Yienry knew its sentimental origins.

  Simon hadn’t fully trusted anyone after that day. That is, until now. No matter how much he remembered being suspicious of everyone’s motives and integrity, he could not bring himself to mistrust Casey.

  However, his affection for Casey wasn’t nearly as innocent as it had been for Libeza, and he was doing his best to ignore some fairly untoward thoughts as the man finished wrapping a strangely stretchy bandage around Simon’s ankle. For example, he would not have objected if Casey had slid his hand up the inside of Simon’s thigh and leaned forward, brown eyes intent...

  What would it be like to be touched, kissed, and loved by someone he desired? To return their affection in kind, without fear or betrayal or discovery? Perhaps these feelings were just the geas, but his interest in Casey felt so real.

  He tried to remind himself that just a day ago he’d feared abuse, even rape, and two days ago, he’d tried very hard to kill this man. It did not work. All Casey had to do was glance at him with those kind brown eyes and freckles, and something frozen in Simon’s heart melted.

  “Here, see if these fit. They’re meant for a girl, but I didn’t have any men’s winter boots in your size.” Casey offered him a pair of pink boots with fuzzy linings from the pile of clothes. They didn’t appear to have much wear, and he had no objection to the design. Perhaps there were style cues that indicated these were women’s shoes, but he didn’t know what they were.

  “Can you stand?” Casey asked after Simon confirmed the boots would work.

  He tried. His ankle was uncomfortable, but he could walk on it with a limp. He glanced at the door, now held shut with a large rock. The hellbeast had damaged the latch. He said, “We should not delay going after the beast.”

  “I put the plow on the truck before I found clothes for you. If it keeps heading in the same direction, it’ll cross Sanctuary Road eventually. We can look for the tracks. If we don’t find any, at least that narrows down where to look.”

  Casey was not a complete idiot. Simon found himself agreeing with that plan.

  Along with the boots, Casey had retrieved a heavy coat made of bright purple fabric in Simon’s approximate size. “Sorry about the color, but the one in your pack was shredded.”

  He had no idea why purple would be a problem. It was a very expensive dye in his world, and either Casey’s finances were better than he’d ever imagined or this world had more cost-effective methods of creating certain shades. He had noticed Casey’s shop had a multitude of purple garments throughout, and Avery’s hair was a rather striking shade of violet.

  The fabric was soft, stuffed with down, and seemed like a very fine garment. He shrugged quickly into it, feeling instantly warmer.

  “Do you want the sword or the machete? I should have thought of the machete earlier, but I completely forgot I had it. It’s not meant to be a weapon.”

  The ‘machete’ was a solid, fairly sharp messer-sword-like blade with far more rugged construction than the katana. Unfortunately, the beveled edge wasn’t designed for cutting flesh and was dull and badly chipped. It was an agricultural implement meant for chopping branches.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Simon considered the dilemma. Neither blade was ideal. Casey had no prior experience with hunting whatsoever, and very little with swords. Rather than make a decision, he said, “You should let me deal with this. There’s no need for you to come. I’ve handled hellbeasts by myself before.”

  If the Book had truly meant to ensure his demise, he reflected, it would have summoned something more threatening. If he had not turned away from the portal, he would have seen the hellbeast coming and been able to deal with it on the spot. It very likely would not have escaped. The Book had, he thought, intended to make its disapproval of Simon’s return home known, but not kill him — though there was always a risk of being bitten. Then he would have had to seek care from a mage to treat the corrupted wound.

  Casey paused from shoving his own feet into a pair of dark brown faux-fur-lined boots. “Fuck that.”

  He’d displeased the man. He flinched at the pain that followed but forced himself to continue. The knowledge that this was the right thing for Casey’s safety, even if Casey was angry, caused the geas to abate. “This will be dangerous.”

  “Sorry, Simon. You’re injured.” Casey shrugged into a coat and did something with a fastener, causing the entire front of the coat to seal closed.

  Simon fumbled with his own jacket, which had the same type of device. He couldn’t get the two serrated bits of material to connect. Casey, seeing his trouble, dropped down to one knee and showed him how it worked. “It’s called a zipper. Here, let me show you.”

  Simon’s treacherous imagination provided a clear image of what else he’d like Casey to do while down there. Deliberately, he focused his attention on trying the ‘zipper’ out himself. It was fascinating, but he also needed the distraction. He was concerned that certain parts of his anatomy might behave in ways ill-concealed by even heavy cotton fabric. He’d never had this much trouble ignoring the attractiveness of a man in his entire life, not even decades ago when he’d been a teenage boy!

  Casey stood up, to Simon’s relief, and smiled at him. “You enjoy new things, don’t you?”

  And I’d like to try some new things out with you, Simon thought. He glanced up and immediately regretted it. That damned grin. And damn the geas. His trousers were too tight. He admitted, “Lady Ellia always compared me to a raven because I was attracted to anything new or unusual.”

  “Ravens are cool, when they’re not making a mess.”

  “In my world, ravens are hell’s scouts and dealers in dark magic and forbidden knowledge. It wasn’t exactly a complimentary comparison.” He wasn’t sure why he was venting about old hurts to Casey when he would have normally kept his own counsel. It hadn’t even been a direct compulsion.

  Casey shook his head. “You didn’t deserve that.”

  Fortunately, Casey didn’t seem to expect a response because Simon did not know how to react to his earnest words. Casey asked, “Which weapon do you think is better for fighting the hellbeast?”

  They were both inadequate. With some uncertainty, Simon said, “The machete, I think.”

  “Then you should carry it. You’re more experienced.”

  He nodded. He had come to the same decision. “It would be prudent if you avoid using that katana unless there is no alternative; it may break. By chance, do you have a boar spear?”

  “A what?”

  “A spear with a cross-piece on it to prevent the hellbeast from sliding right up the shaft and attacking you after you stab it.”

  Casey shook his head. “But I do have a pitchfork.”

  “That will work.”

  “I’ll spear it, you whack it?” Casey suggested.

  “This sounds like as good a plan as any.”

  ~~*~~

  As they climbed the stairs out of the basement and headed for the front parking lot, Casey consulted a weather oracle in his cell phone. The device was truly amazing. “It’s going to do this for at least another twelve hours. Damn good storm.”

  Then, Casey plunged through the knee-deep snow to the truck, which was idling in the snow with a large, broad blade for pushing snow attached to the front and chains wrapped around the wheels for traction.

  Simon flipped the hood of his coat over his head and followed him across the parking lot. He took advantage of Casey’s deep footsteps to get to the vehicle, then clambered across the bench seat from the driver’s seat to the passenger’s rather than trying to walk around. With each step, he sank into the drifts almost to the ground. He’d seen snow far deeper than this before, but never this much fluffy powder deposited overnight from a single storm.

  Casey noted, “The truck can handle the snow right now, but it’s going to keep coming down. If I clear the road as we go, we’ll have a better chance of getting back out.”

  “Do you have skis?” Simon asked, after briefly contemplating the difficulty that walking any significant distance would present. Skiing with his ankle acting up would not be enjoyable, but it would be better than post-holing through drifts. Snowshoes would be miserably painful.

  “No, sorry, and I’m crap on them anyway. Avery used to drag me to the slopes every winter, and I wiped out every time, even on the bunny hills. Even busted my tailbone once. Can you ski?”

  “Oh, yes. Yienry and I used to race each other on the trails around the keep.” Yienry's sons and Lady Ellia had left for the warmer capital every winter. During those blessedly peaceful months, Yienry had always made a point of spending time alone with Simon, without the disapproving glowers of his wife and the jealous interference of his children.

  “Well, if you stick around, Avery would enjoy having someone to ski with. I truly suck at it, and none of our friends are interested.”

  Simon felt a stab of anxiety and pain from the geas. It wasn’t good manners to admit to being better at anything than one’s superiors. Quickly, he said, “I am not that good either."

  That was a lie. He also wasn’t supposed to be untruthful to his master. He gritted his teeth as the geas sent pain zinging along his facial nerves.

  "You okay?”

  "It is nothing you did, Casey. We should get moving to find the hellbeast."

  “I hate that spell." Casey glanced sideways at him as he put the truck in gear. “It’s my fault. I should have been more careful when that book started being weird.”

  “Casey, the blame lies with the spirit spellbound within it, not you.”

  Casey glanced over, saw Simon’s earnest expression, and flashed him a smile. "Thanks for saying that, though I am quite aware that I was, at a minimum, foolish."

  Casey's teeth were perfect. He had fine lines around the corners of his brown eyes and faint freckles on his nose. Simon ducked his head, looked quickly away, and shifted uncomfortably in the truck's seat.

  With a jolt, the truck started forward. The plow bit into the powdery snow with a deeper grumble of the engine. Clearing snow in Simon’s world had involved hard labor with shovels. He was immediately impressed.

  The highway had been recently cleared, so Casey flipped a switch, and the plow lifted. Travel to the turnoff to Sanctuary Road, a few hundred yards north, was swift. In contrast to the main thoroughfare, the side road was almost invisible under a thick blanket of white, although reflective posts were placed every so often to guide the way.

  Casey dropped the plow with a bang and a jolt and put the truck into a lower gear by pressing a pedal with his foot and pulling a lever. Both of them peered through the ice-smeared and fogged windshield, watching for tracks.

  Just past the Riley place, it was apparent by the disturbed snow that a large animal had crossed the road. Casey knew the road well enough to identify a safe spot to pull entirely off it. He plowed a circle around and stopped so that he was facing back the way they’d come.

  Simon stepped out and immediately sank up to his knees. Casey made a displeased noise from his side of the truck, followed by, “Fuck this. I hate snow.”

  Simon zipped his coat up a little higher and plunged forth to inspect the tracks.

  To his relief, they belonged to the hellbeast. The long-toed feet were distinctive.

  It appeared it had headed away from the road, up into the densely brushy, tree-covered hillsides. Lips pressed hard together, he contemplated the dangers. It might be best to retreat and assemble a hunting party before continuing.

  Casey, oblivious to Simon’s worries about the steep, snowing mountains and bushes that would limit mobility and provide good cover for a deadly predator, headed blithely off into the trees. “C’mon, Simon. Let’s go. It’s not getting any warmer out here.”

  His master wanted to pursue the hellbeast, and it wasn’t Simon’s place to argue. Teeth gritted, unable to counter the man’s order to ‘go,’ Simon followed Casey in mute, worried silence.