Ghost's Sight (3 page)

Ghost paused for a moment in clearing away what he had not used, his fingers brushing back the man’s rough-cut hair. Ghost’s head came up when he registered what the Witch was saying, and he tightened his hold on the basket of linen he had just picked up.

“He’ll stay the night here. I don’t have room to put you and your other dependent up, but you can camp behind the drying shed, inside my walls.” The Witch gestured. “The little one will show you where to put him.”

He stiffened, not really wanting to deal with Mother, but the Witch had said, and Ghost had no choice. He dipped his head to hide under the fall of his hair, lowering his eyes to watch the floor. He waited for Mother to gather Gerry up, gesturing for the tall man to follow him to the one room the Witch held for those who needed more care. The bed was clean, the blanket warm, and Ghost fluffed the pillow with nervous hands just before Mother eased Gerry down.

Ghost watched Mother warily as the tall alpha turned. He walked away to make it harder for the man to speak to him, moving with deliberate haste to take down a pot from the shelf of supplies over a small table, the wood pale from countless scrubbings. He measured dried leaves into a cup, doing his best to avoid even so much as looking at Mother. Mother shrugged and removed Gerry’s other boot, pulling up the blanket.

The Witch paused to check the cup before she walked Mother to the door. Ghost followed, hesitant, his heart pounding as hard as if he had run from the lake beyond the woods all the way home to the Witch’s house. He let his eyes flicker back to the man in the bed in the little room. He would rather have stayed with Gerry, but he felt compelled by something he could not name to follow the Witch out into the small yard.

Conn had hung the sind where the Witch had told him but his tunic was wet, as if he had just washed off any blood that had stained it. A muddy spot by the well bore that out, though it made little sense to Ghost. Conn should have washed his shirt far earlier, right after he had hung the sind. Ghost looked at the young man, Conn’s blue eyes several shades darker than Ghost’s eyes. Conn stared back, insolent, before turning to Mother, his expression changing at once to a softer, more innocent look.

“How is Gerry?” Conn asked, hurrying over to Mother’s side, one hand slipping under Mother’s arm. Ghost fell back into the house, just a step or two, wrapping his arms around himself.

“He’s fine. He’s staying the night to be watched, but the Witch says he’s healed.” Mother sounded relieved, smiling as he looked at Conn. “We can camp behind the shed, and then we can all leave tomorrow.”

Ghost frowned as he watched Conn force a smile. “But I’d rather go home tonight, and sleep inside. We can come back in the morning. We’ll get up early.” Conn stroked Mother’s arm, the look in the dependent’s eyes dark with need. “Let’s go. I’m cold, and we don’t have any of our gear to camp, and I want to go home.”

Mother frowned a little. “We’ve camped rough before. I don’t like leaving Gerry, not that I don’t think he’s in good hands. But we’re a family, Conn. We should be there for each other.”

“I’m wet and cold and you remember how I had that cough?” Conn pressed against Mother, his tunic clinging to his lithe frame. He tilted his head up a bit, managing to look both helpless and endearing all at once. Ghost’s frown deepened.

“You’ll need to be up before dawn,” Mother said.

Mother sighed a little when Conn made no reply, and he nodded. “All right. We’ll come back in the morning.” He looked at the Witch, his expression apologetic.

The Witch said nothing more, watching Mother leave with Conn still hanging on the tall man’s arm, the younger man’s attitude possessive.

Ghost turned on his heel to hurry back into the house, pouring hot water into the cup he had prepared. He stirred it, his shoulders hunched as he listened to the Witch stop to check on Gerry, hearing the murmur of their voices. She paused again as she passed behind Ghost.

“He’s awake and sore. Bring him the tea.” The Witch patted Ghost’s shoulder before she walked away.

Ghost took the cup and grabbed the pot of honey, walking into the little room, his eyes lowered.

“I remember you, I think.” Gerry’s voice was rough. “You were helping me, you and the Witch.”

Ghost looked down, his cheeks warming as he nodded. He held up the cup, his own voice just above a whisper. “I’m Ghost. I made tea, to help you rest.” He moved closer, his heart pounding hard again. “They left. The younger one, he wanted to go. He said he was cold, and his tunic was wet.”

“You mean Conn.” Gerry pulled himself into a sitting position, his movements cautious. “It bothers you that they left.”

“He didn’t listen to the alpha. The one called Mother.” Ghost put the tea down on the small table beside the bed, offering Gerry the pot of honey. “It’s bitter. Honey helps.”

“Conn isn’t very good at listening sometimes,” Gerry said. “He’s nineteen now. Still pretty young and headstrong, right?”

Ghost frowned. “I’m eighteen.” Ghost watched Gerry add a small taste of honey to his tea, showing a courteous frugality. He did not presume on the bounds of hospitality, this man, and Ghost found that interesting enough that he forgot to frown.
“You might want more honey. It’s hemp tea, to ease the pain from the healing. I added some chamomile to help you rest.”

Gerry took a small bit more of the honey, stirring the tea. “Well, maybe you’re more sensible. Conn needs to feel secure, I suppose. He worries that Mother favors me, because I hunt and work with him as a guard for one of the bigger merchants.”

“Foolish.” Ghost felt his cheeks grow even warmer and he ducked his head. Conn’s rudeness angered him; yet he was having trouble understanding why. After all, he had never met these men before today, nor did he did not think it was the visions that were upsetting him so much. Ghost never saw faces when he was gripped by his Sight. It was all emotion and raw sensation, or maybe a whisper that he could almost make out. In fact, it was much like the way he felt at this moment, standing like a fool next to the bed.

Gerry smiled a little as he patted the bed. “Keep me company for a bit,” he urged. “Are you the Witch’s dependent?”

Ghost shook his head as he sat on the very edge of the bed, poised to take flight if need be. The spiral under his hair felt warm, almost painful, but he resisted the urge to rub it. It never helped when he did, and he was not sure what Gerry would do if the man saw it. The Witch had a symbol she called a triskele, the ink a vivid scarlet still, but no male that had ever come for healing bore a mark like hers, or like his. He had never found the words to ask the Witch about it, about why he was marked like a witch.

“She doesn’t like having dependents. She says I’m her apprentice, but there are no male witches.” Ghost shrugged as the overlarge knitted top slid off his shoulder. “Sometimes she says I’m a pet. There’s a witch she knows who raised an orphaned sind whelp, and kept it for a pet. The Witch said I’m like that sind.”

“Wild at heart?” Gerry asked, his muddy green eyes warm and friendly.

“Not quite housebroken.” Ghost snorted a little as he tugged the knitted tunic back up over his shoulder. “The sind used to mark the place something fierce. His musk was pretty awful.”

Gerry started to laugh, and Ghost smiled, still cautious. He had no desire to leave the room yet, no growing unease that would propel him into the woods. If he did not know himself better, he would have thought he was enjoying Gerry’s company. That was foolishness, though. He hardly knew how to talk to anyone except the Witch, and they could go days without needing actual words between them.

The injured hunter took a sip of the tea, wrinkling his nose a bit at the bitter taste. Ghost had warned him, but it was obvious that it was more vile than Gerry had anticipated. If it would help him heal, though, Ghost thought the taste was worth it.

Ghost tilted his head a little as he watched Gerry. “You should be careful of Conn. He doesn’t know what he wants, and that makes him dangerous.” The words came from someplace deep inside Ghost, a warning he felt compelled to offer.

The other man shook his head with a smile. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call him dangerous, although Conn could be more alert, I suppose. The truth is I think he’s afraid we’ll leave him. Me and Mother both.”

“Is he right?” Ghost watched the way the man’s eyes lost focus as he thought. It reminded Ghost of the Witch when she was talking to her witchsisters in the scrying mirror. Ghost’s hand itched with the need to reach out to touch that stubbled jaw.

Gerry sighed as he took another gulp of tea, making another grimace. “I want to branch out, start a family of my own someday. But I’ll still stay affiliated with Mother, and if he’ll have me, I’ll work guard with him, maybe even hunt with him. Conn’s not good at either, really.”

“So you have something with him? You’re his lover?” Ghost asked. He hated the sound of his voice, hesitant and weak.

“I know you can’t mean Mother.” Gerry looked at Ghost. “Why are you asking all this? Did Conn try to fool with you? Sometimes I think he does that as easily as breathing.”

Ghost shook his head. “No, it wasn’t that. He just looked at me like he was angry. Maybe he was just trying to warn me away from your alpha.” It sounded unconvincing even to Ghost. He was not at all surprised when Gerry snorted in derision.

“Conn’s as jealous as they come, but he’d flat out tell you to piss off.” Gerry smiled, slightly crooked, and Ghost’s heart skipped a beat before jumping in his chest hard enough to hurt. “He’s not subtle. I’m trying to learn, because an alpha can’t always come out with a smart remark. Sometimes you have to smooth things over.”

Gerry yawned without warning, chuckling a little. “Your tea’s working. But before I pass out on you here, Conn knows that you’re the kind of man I’m attracted to, and that makes him behave like a spoiled brat. He doesn’t really want me, but he doesn’t like to share anything.” He paused, and Ghost tensed.

“Ghost,” Gerry said, his voice slurring from the effects of the tea. “Is there anyone for you? Someone special?”

Once again, Ghost felt his heart do that thing, skipping a beat before jumping hard. He swallowed around the thickness in his throat. “No one, not ever,” he admitted, his voice just a whisper. He took the now empty cup from Gerry’s hand, almost jerking away when Gerry’s fingers wrapped around his fingers and the cup. The calloused skin brushed over his. Ghost stared, wordless, before raising his gaze to Gerry’s face. “I should let you rest,” he mumbled, his cheeks feeling hot.

“No, please,” Gerry said, his voice thick with impending sleep. “Help me get this tunic off, and then stay with me. Just -- I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Ghost nodded, his fingers trembling a little as he undid the lacing at the throat of Gerry’s supple leather tunic. He helped Gerry to pull it off, a thin singlet underneath. Gerry sighed, lying back. Ghost put the tunic on the bench against the wall, taking the two quick steps that would carry him back to the side of the bed. Gerry had shifted over, making a place for Ghost, and Ghost looked at the hunter for a moment, hesitant.

“Just to sleep,” Gerry mumbled.

The apprentice nodded again, toeing off his boots and peeling off the knitted tunic, letting it drop to the floor. He climbed into the bed, into the space next to Gerry, feeling the heat of the man’s body through the thin fabric of the singlet. Ghost was bare-chested, his nipples tightening in the cool air. He shivered a little as Gerry pulled him closer, dragging the blanket up over them both, Gerry’s strong arm dropping over Ghost.

“G’night,” Gerry mumbled as his breathing evened out and his eyes closed.

Ghost waited, not wanting to move, just breathing in the scent of this man. He felt the roughness of Gerry’s stubble against his skin as he dared to nuzzle his face into Gerry’s shoulder. He thought his heart would do that ridiculous skipping thing again, but it beat steadily. It was not until his own eyes were closing that Ghost realized that his heart was beating in time with Gerry’s heart.

Chapter 3

Gerry woke to the unaccustomed weight of a body in his arms. He looked at the snowy head burrowed into his shoulder, the younger man’s breathing slow and even. He felt the heat coming off the smooth skin under his arm, and he felt Ghost’s thigh where it was thrust between his own thighs. Gerry bit back a groan, realizing that he was hard. No way would Ghost miss that, unless Gerry could ease himself back a bit.

The hunter moved back with deliberate care, not wanting to wake Ghost or alarm him. As Gerry shifted, Ghost turned, his face revealed as he wriggled to rest his head on Gerry’s shoulder. His thigh moved away from Gerry’s groin, and Gerry offered the Lady a quick prayer of thanks. It gave Gerry a chance to truly study Ghost’s face without fear of making the younger man nervous, without Ghost ducking his head to hide behind his long, white hair.

Cautiously, Gerry reached up to smooth a bit of that snowy mane. The strands slipped through his fingers like silk to reveal a witch’s mark, a spiral of olive-green stones that seemed to be a part of Ghost’s very forehead, shining against the translucent skin. Gerry had seen such marks before, peculiar glyphs burned into a witch’s skin in vibrant jewel-tone inks to offer protection or enhance their power, or so the witches claimed. This was the first time he had seen actual jewels used, though. He thought it was beautiful, exotic like all of Ghost, with that white hair and those ice blue eyes. Gerry returned to admiring the peaceful face resting on his shoulder.

Ghost had no beard growth, Gerry realized. Ghost’s cheeks were bare without even a hint of fuzz, making him look younger than his eighteen years. His nose was straight and thin, his cheekbones high, his lower lip plump and succulent, begging to be captured in a kiss.

The tea had made Gerry hazy at the end, after his healing, but he was sure he remembered Ghost saying there had never been anyone that Ghost had cared for. The thought of being able to teach Ghost the pleasure of making love was enough to make Gerry want to steal that kiss. There was something beguiling about the Witch’s young dependent, or apprentice, or whatever Ghost was to her, and Gerry felt a rising heat in his belly.