Precise and quick, the instructions left Talha’s mouth, ordering two members of the jury to escort the wounded man to the lodge, treat the bites, and give him a common viper antidote.
Talha’s face was a plaster mask in the bluish light of his flashlight when he returned to the trap to inspect it. Slater fidgeted watching him chase away the remaining snakes with a long stick. When Master picked a twig used to keep snakes inside, his eyes narrowed. A pad of his thumb ran over the cut, and Slater instantly understood what he saw—a clean cut, made with a knife. Dropping the twig, Master pressed his fingers to a clear footprint in the dirt, as if the touch could tell him a tale. His face darkening with every second.
Ah, Slater was careless… Master isn’t stupid, after all.
Heart leaping into his throat, Slater swallowed, trying to rule out the unfamiliar agitation from his chest, as he observed Talha’s every move. When the man scattered the remaining twigs aside, Slater’s nails dug into the trunk next to him. A piece of rind broke off under his grip, and the tree bled with pine sap that instantly jammed his fingers. Slater didn’t pay attention.
Wide back arching, Talha loomed over the hole, examining it. Pressing his fingers to the side slope where Slater’s karambit plowed the ground, Talha leaned closer. In the stripping light of his flashlight, his long fingers caressed the ground. Slater gulped, imagining the featherlike touch on his skin as Talha studied his every scar. Somehow, in the night, surrounded by a smell of pine, the moment felt more intimate than the sex they’d had. The embryonic arousal twitched in his belly, awakening his thirst.
With an angry exhale, Talha straightened, and Slater itched to crawl closer to smell his emotions. To taste that beautiful fury that twisted Master’s face and learn its unique tang.
Talha squinted in the dark, his eyes x-raying the thick green foliage as if expecting to find someone. For a second, their gazes linked, and Slater recoiled despite knowing that no human eye could see him right now. His heart violent in his chest, every beat hurt. Unable to blink, he gawked back. He couldn’t see Talha’s eyes, but he knew they were brimming with liquid amber. Without thinking, he collected the pine sap and hoisted his hand to his eyes. In the moonlight, it glinted with the color of Talha’s eyes.
That was confusing. Never in his life had he felt like this. No human being ever caused his pulse to speed up, unless during sex. This was new, and he wanted more of this crazy, painful sensation that made him feel like dying and killing simultaneously. At that moment, Slater wished for the world to disappear, so only Master and Slater remained. So Master would keep looking at him like this, but Master turned away.
Two hours later, the camp quieted again, allowing Slater to climb down the tree. Needing only four hours to sleep, he had the whole night to prepare for the morning, but before that, he yearned to see Talha.
After the incident, the guards took their duties with decent diligence. Still, Slater didn’t have problems crawling into Talha’s tent. Suffused with Master’s scent, it made him freeze and suck the air in through his nose. The mix of leather and bitter almond made his head spin. None of his previous masters smelled this good. They reeked of expensive perfume that concealed the sour stench of sweat. On the contrary, Master used oils that only accented the clean scent of his skin. Even after riding the whole day, he smelled good. Crawling toward him, Slater stole another sniff, his nose almost brushing against Talha’s neck.
Slater’s body heated up. Master was beautiful in his untroubled sleep. With one hand tossed behind his head, he slept on a mat, fully clothed. A part of Slater was anxious to curl by his side and spend the night in the tent, guarding him. The other one wanted to drive a needle in the soft spot under his chin for leaving him behind, for ignoring him.
Instead, he pressed his fingers to Talha’s lips. Dry and hot, they felt rough under his pads. His heart sped up as he outlined the unshaven chin and drew a line down Talha’s long neck until his index finger stopped at the notch.
“You belong to me, Master. Don’t forget it,” he whispered, got up, and stole out of the tent, another idea forming in his mind.
Stealing a tent from a sleeping person was the funniest and easiest part of setting the stinging, living trap.
“FUCKING HELL! I’ll kill this son of a bitch!” A yell full of pain cut through the air.
Slater giggled. A massive branch beneath him vibrated as he threw a piece of orange nougat into his mouth, watching two men roll on the ground, shouting and cursing. Messing with Talha’s people was almost as fun as killing.
Fire ants were the bitch. His arms, red and irritated, burned. Scratching them every ten seconds, Slater didn’t regret the pain, as the plan worked beautifully. Relocating a huge anthill was harder than he’d imagined, and his whole body still itched, feeling the crawls of a million little legs, but the result was worth every sting. A simple tripwire trap released the tent that he sprawled between two trees, showering the men with angry ants and the remains of their ruined colony. Succumbing to panic, one man jumped to his feet and rushed toward the horses, the other clawed his clothes to pieces. Getting himself naked, he kept rolling over the ground, and Slater couldn’t tell if he was shaking the ants off or gathering them.
The group of horses, joining the madness, neighed and reared, creating beautiful chaos.
When the other victim of the attack squalled, scratching his naked, swelling body, Slater hummed. He didn’t expect such an acute allergic reaction, but that worked even better. There was no way the man could ride in such a state, it meant someone would have to bring him back to civilization and simple medical assistance.
“Eight…” Slater counted, watching his forecast coming to life. The former ardor disappeared. Anger and panic curdled the air. So potent, Slater basked in the smell. Sometimes, the wind brought him shreds of conversations. Just like now.
“Talha, I don’t get it. It’s like… he is toying with us,” Ejder jabbered, grasping Talha’s forearm. “He was in the camp; he stole the tent and no one saw him. He could have killed us all. Why didn’t he?”
“Calm down…” Talha gnashed out. Grabbing Ejder’s shoulders, he shoved his brother toward Dinçer. When he spoke, he didn’t look at Ejder. “From now on, I’m going alone. Keep him safe.”
“Like hell, I’ll let you! I’m coming with you!” Ejder protested, his chin flying high in defiance.
Talha ignored him, his eyes locked with Dinçer’s. “If something happens to him…”
“You don’t have to worry, Reis.”
Talha picked up his bow. Slater jumped down the tree, grabbed his backpack, and sprinted toward Salik.
SALIK’S GREASY HAIR GLOWED in the midday sun as he fought his way through the bushes. His panting so loud, that Slater heard it from two hundred feet away. His face bled. Cut with stray branches, it attracted the attention of horseflies and mosquitoes. The dark swarm surrounded him like a cloak, causing his hands to flap around in powerless, meaningless fury.
Watching him fight the forest, instead of gliding through it, Slater once again realized how weak and unskilled city men were. Left without technology and the bubble wrap civilization provided, they were vulnerable, useless. Some were better than Salik, still, Slater was bored. Among them all, he couldn’t find a decent competitor.