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  Warrior’s Apprentice

  Alysha Ellis

  Combat-hardened Dvallin warrior Tybor has no room in his life for softness or sentiment. His job is to train the soldiers who stand between his people and destruction. He instantly despises Huon, his newest recruit, dismissing him as weak. But Huon is determined to prove his worth. He accepts all the challenges Tybor throws at him, passing every test, until Tybor finds himself waging his own battle against his growing attraction to his apprentice warrior.

  When Tybor discovers Huon is to be sent on a suicide mission to the human world, to infiltrate and destroy enemy headquarters by seducing Judie, the enemy’s weapons expert, he cannot let him go alone. Their ménage-a-trois seduction works as planned but Tybor is threatened by the emotions the passionate relationship triggers. He tries to deny the feelings Judie and Huon arouse in him while they flee their pursuers in a deadly race for survival.

  To have a hope for the future, the master must bury his old prejudices and let himself learn from the warrior’s apprentice.

  Warrior’s Apprentice

  Alysha Ellis

  Chapter One

  Tybor folded his arms across his heavily muscled chest, spread his legs wide and ran his gaze over the slender young man in front of him. He let his lip curl into a sneer and turned to speak over his shoulder to the captain of the guard.

  “I work with Dvalinn warriors, not weakling schoolboys.”

  The captain stepped forward to stand next to the young man he’d brought down to Tybor’s rooms.

  “Huon’s an adult, Tybor, and he’s passed every assessment with flying colors.”

  Tybor snorted and his voice, already deep, dropped even lower. “You called me away from a training session to discuss this? Look at him,” he scoffed. “He’s as lily-white and green as a snowdrop. A strong breeze would break him.”

  The boy—Tybor refused to call him a man—lifted his head and their gazes met.

  “I don’t have to be three feet wide across the shoulders to be strong. I can do anything you need me to do.”

  Eyes narrowed, hands on hips, Tybor glared at the boy. Generations of hardened soldiers had quailed under that fierce look. The boy stared right back, blue eyes wide, his gaze open, hands clenched lightly by his sides.

  “You’re supposed to be the best,” he said.

  The captain nodded at Huon. “He is.” Then he turned back to Tybor. “Huon is unique among the Dvalinn. We need him and we need him battle ready.” He lifted one brow and asked, “Are you telling me you can’t do it?”

  Dust and sweat stained Tybor’s combat pants. “I can train him. Whether he can handle it is a different matter.” He returned his attention to the boy. “If you work with me you will work harder than you ever have before. You will do whatever I tell you, whenever and however I tell you. No arguments, no questions, no rest. If you so much as falter, you’re done. Do you understand?”

  The boy didn’t blink. “Yes.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tybor snapped.

  The boy hesitated.

  “At once.”

  ”Yes, sir.” Although the words were correct, the edge of defiance the boy used robbed them of any deference or subservience. His shoulders remained square, firm and unmoving.

  The captain touched his cap in a silent salute and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Tybor took a step forward. He picked up the boy’s arm, pushed his baggy shirt up, wrapped his fingers around his forearm and squeezed. Silken ivory skin covered a layer of surprisingly firm muscle. The boy’s smooth flesh burned against Tybor’s hand. He released him and stepped back, resisting the urge to clutch his tingling palm to his chest.

  “Do you understand what we do? What I do?”

  The boy’s gaze sharpened and his eyes glittered. “You train Dvalinn warriors to go into the humans’ world, to destroy those who seek to obliterate our kind.”

  Tybor nodded. “We are at war. And humans have weapons the Dvalinn cannot and will not use.”

  For the first time uncertainty and confusion clouded the boy’s blue eyes. “Humans and the Dvalinn are from the same stock. How did we come to be at war?”

  Tybor’s lips tightened. “Ask a historian. My job is to train warriors.”

  The boy’s brows lifted. “Warriors who kill humans?”

  Tybor shook his head. “We don’t kill all humans. Only Gatekeepers. Most surface dwellers don’t know we exist. But the Gatekeepers know. Know us and hate us and have sworn to kill as many of our kind as they can. Dvalinn warriors,” Tybor laced the word with the scorn he felt for the boy in front of him, “come here to learn the skills they need to stop them.”

  “Have you trained many of them personally…sir?” This time the tacked-on word sounded more respectful, less of a challenge.

  “Too many.” Pain he refused to give in to gripped Tybor. “Men—stronger, older, wiser than you will ever be. Each one trains for as long as it takes to perfect his abilities and send him out into the world to do battle.” Tybor poked a finger toward Huon’s narrow chest. “Most of them never return. This is not a job for the weak, when even the strong do not survive.”

  “But you survived, sir. Your battles are legendary.” Color rose in Huon’s cheeks, flushing the ivory a delicate rose-pink.

  Tybor’s breath stilled and he looked over the boy’s head. “Legendary because they happened so long ago. For almost five hundred years I have trained young men to do what I’m no longer permitted to.” He turned his back on Huon and picked up the envelope the captain had left on the bench seat of a weight-training machine. “I need to know your assignment, to see if it’s possible to get you even halfway ready.” He ran a finger under the flap of the envelope.

  Huon stepped forward and stretched to look over Tybor’s shoulder.

  Tybor spun around. His hand shot out, slamming the boy to the ground before he knew what was coming. Tybor hit hard, not caring if he hurt him. If he couldn’t cut it, better to know it now before he made a pretty, pale, useless corpse.

  “You only move if and when I tell you to,” he growled. “Drag your ass back up and stand at attention.”

  He glanced at the kid. Blood ran down his cheek from a cut over his forehead but he didn’t wipe it away or show any sign he’d noticed. This one might be worth the trouble of training.

  “From this moment on, you don’t walk, eat, take a piss or breathe unless I give you the fucking order. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tybor pulled out the papers and read. The printed words, clear and unambiguous, felt like lead weights on his shoulders.

  The boy remained at attention, showing no sign of submission or fear. Maybe it would be better if he had. A coward wouldn’t last through Tybor’s harsh training regime, and if he couldn’t finish the training, he couldn’t be sent on the mission described in the papers Tybor clutched in his hand. He raised his eyes and studied the young man in front of him. From the moment the chief of staff had signed these orders, Huon—beautiful, reed-slender, confident Huon—had joined the ranks of the dead.

  * * * * *

  Huon lifted his aching leg, lurched forward, then slammed his foot onto the ground. A wet strand of hair slapped against his forehead, hitting his eyes, salt sweat stinging and burning. He didn’t dare to lift a weary hand to push it away. The caustic residue of explosives darkened his skin, a shadow no amount of sweat or washing fully removed. He’d forgotten that a moment earlier, brushed his palm across his forehead and paid the price. Vision already shaky from tiredness had blurred when the chemical burned the soft mucous membranes.

  He stumbled over an unseen rock and fell, cutting his hand open, adding blood to the acrid mixture. He pushed himself upright and con
tinued running. He would never give Tybor the satisfaction of being right about him. He would die before he broke, die before he asked for rest.

  “Again!” the voice Huon had grown to dread shouted into his pain-dazed mind. “Again.”

  He tried to gather the energy he needed. Tried to remember the complicated procedures, the choreographed movements. His feet slowed.

  “Keep running! If you stop, you’re vulnerable. Humans cast metal into knives and guns. They use them against each other and a Gatekeeper will use them against you. He’ll kill you where you stand.”

  Tybor’s orders—after two solid, relentless weeks, a constant part of his life, whether awake or in the nightmarish dreams that haunted his brief snatches of sleep—jerked Huon into motion again. He reached into the lined pocket of his combat fatigues, pulled out another handful of the chemicals secreted there, clenched his fist around them and squeezed.

  When he felt the compression start the chemical reaction and the heat build to the right painful level, he leapt into the air, twisted around and hurled the ball of energy at the target Tybor had set up for him. Huon felt the burn as the fireball exploded soundlessly, but he didn’t look back to check the accuracy of his aim. Tybor had broken him of that habit in the first ten minutes of training.

  Instead he let his momentum carry him through the 360-degree turn, running again before he hit the ground. His body ached for respite, but without Tybor’s permission to stop he had to drive himself on. He closed his eyes against the sting and forced his feet to move, one in front of the other, over and over again.

  He slammed up against a solid wall and staggered back as two strong hands reached out to hold him steady.

  “You hit the target spot on. Take a break.”

  Exhausted muscles sagged and Huon dropped. Only Tybor’s iron grip on his upper arms held him upright. Tybor turned him, pulled him in against his hard, brown body, slid his arm across Huon’s shoulders, propped him up.

  “Lean on me.”

  Huon shuddered. More than anything he wanted Tybor’s respect, wanted to show him how wrong he’d been in his first assessment of him. He started to pull away but Tybor held him in place with no more than a flex of his muscles.

  “Knowing when to accept help is also a survival skill.”

  Tybor lowered him to the ground in the shade of a tree. “You’re hot and that white skin of yours will burn if you stay out in the sun too long.”

  Huon looked up at the branches moving in the slight breeze and nodded. Tybor had been right when he’d said training in the Underworld of the Dvalinn could never replicate real-life, human-world conditions. He still hadn’t adjusted to all the extra things he had to beware of on the surface and they hadn’t even begun training for his specific insertion point. He leaned back and let the crisp pine fragrance wash over him, clearing away the stench of sweat and explosive.

  Tybor squatted down beside him. “Your face and shoulders are red. Severe sunburn could draw attention to you, destroy your cover, get you killed.” He leaned his folded arms against his knees and studied Huon. “You need something to protect you against UV light.”

  He stood up, his powerful thighs lifting him in a surprisingly graceful movement for one so tall and muscular.

  The air around him shimmered. When it steadied, nothing remained but the distant blue of the sky and the sunlit emptiness of the clearing in the upper-world forest Tybor had brought them to.

  Alone, Huon rubbed his aching legs and let out a moan he would never have uttered in front of Tybor. He never wanted Tybor to think he could not maintain the pace Tybor set. The man represented everything Huon had ever wanted to be—strong, efficient, beautiful in body and movement, his brown skin sleek over powerful muscles. Huon wanted his respect, wanted Tybor to see him as a warrior, needed to know he valued the determination of one skinny, pale-skinned Dvalinn misfit.

  No one had ever mattered to Huon more than the stubborn, demanding superior officer he would do anything to please. With his memory replaying visions of Tybor’s toned body pacing him through his training, pushing him to exhaustion, Huon rolled over, pillowed his head on his folded arms, filled his nostrils with the scent of pine needles, closed his aching eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  He awoke to the cool slide of lotion on his shoulders applied by hard, flat palms. Huon took a breath, concentrating on keeping the rhythm slow and steady, mimicking the regular inhalations of sleep. If Tybor knew he was awake everything would change. And right now, Huon wanted that incongruously gentle touch to continue, although he didn’t understand the mixture of apprehension, comfort and something new—exciting and frightening—sizzling to life under the stroke of Tybor’s calloused hand.

  The cold rush of more lotion dripping onto his shoulders almost made him flinch but he called on the discipline Tybor had taught him and remained motionless. One finger swirled in the puddle then emerged to stroke lightly down the hollow of his spine. Nothing could prevent the shiver that rippled under Huon’s skin.

  Tybor leapt up and backward. Knowing he could no longer feign unconsciousness, Huon rolled over. A tube of sunblock hurtled onto his chest, landing with a sharp slap.

  “Put this on. And get back to training.”

  Huon nodded. He squeezed the tube and rubbed the cream into his shoulders. It seemed wiser not to acknowledge that his reddened skin glistened with the residue of the lotion already there. If Tybor could pretend that soft touch had never happened, so could he.

  For the rest of the day, Tybor pushed him, forcing him to extend his limits, to go beyond what he thought he could endure. All that kept him from screaming, from giving in and accepting his weakness, was the sight of Tybor running alongside him, performing every task he set for Huon—harder, faster, stronger.

  Only at the setting of the sun did Tybor call a halt. When they returned to their cavern in the Underworld, Tybor sat him down and fired round after round of questions about human habits and weapons, repeated over and over again until Huon knew he could recite them in his sleep…assuming he ever got any. Grid positions of portals back to the Dvalinn Underworld and maps of human cities floated in geometric patterns behind his eyelids every time they drooped closed.

  His shoulders slumped and he made himself straighten and answer the same set of questions all over again. Darkness surrounded him and he realized his eyelids had dropped again. He blinked—once, twice—and grimaced with the effort of keeping them raised. Across from him sat Tybor, his arms folded, mouth set in a grim line, hard brown eyes glaring at him as if he was never weak enough to need anything like sleep. “I don’t care how bad you feel. What are you training for?” Tybor snapped.

  “To battle the Gatekeepers.” The words tumbled out, slurred together by routine and fatigue.

  “Name the ones you know.” Tybor pressed relentlessly on.

  Huon recited the list he’d learned by heart in a flat monotone.

  Tybor poked a savage finger at him. “These are our enemies. Concentrate! If you don’t focus on them, on where they can be found, if one of them gets by your guard because you didn’t register his name, you will die.”

  Huon straightened. “Tell me which of them I am being sent to fight, and I promise you, they will never get near enough to surprise me.”

  “I’ll tell you when you need to know,” Tybor growled. “You just make sure you’re prepared.”

  Huon yawned. “They’re only humans. They’re not invincible.”

  “Their weapons make them close to invincible,” Tybor snapped.

  “Then why aren’t you training me to use human weapons?” Huon’s voice rasped with tiredness.

  “Dvalinn can’t use them. Contact with weapons makes us weak. We can only use fireballs because the chemicals are kept separate. The moment they combine you compress and hurl them away from you,” Tybor barked. “Don’t get complacent.”

  Huon’s temper flared, snapping him out of his lethargy. “I’m not,” he yelled back. “You know I can defeat a
ny human I come up against. You’ve made sure I know everything I need to know.”

  The lines of Tybor’s mouth grew hard and tight. “There’s new information.” His fists clenched. “It was in your orders. The Gatekeepers have discovered a way to penetrate the underground. One of them caught a young Dvalinn on the surface. He tortured him and somehow used him as a conduit to the Underworld.”

  For the first time in his life Huon was glad of his pale skin, hoping his natural pallor masked his horror. “The Gatekeepers can come here?”

  “Using Dvalinn to do so,” Tybor confirmed. “Which is why, when you go up against the Gatekeepers, you must be strong enough to win.” A muscle flexed in Tybor’s jaw. “Because if you don’t, you must use what strength you have left to kill yourself.”

  Huon swallowed.

  Tybor narrowed his eyes. “Scared? Want to run home to Mommy?”

  Huon drew himself upright. “No. I’m not scared.”

  Tybor leaned forward, his hot breath blasting Huon’s face. “Well you bloody well should be. If that doesn’t scare you, you’re fucking stupid. Stupid people get themselves killed. Go to bed. I’ve finished with you tonight.”

  * * * * *

  Tybor dropped to his back on the narrow cot and flung his arm up over his eyes. His muscles ached from the harsh treatment he’d given them today. It had been years since he’d pushed himself so hard. Hell, years since he’d pushed one of his trainees so hard. And he’d never touched…

  He cut the thought off, refusing to face what he’d done.

  He could justify the pressure he’d put on the boy. To have any chance of surviving the mission planned for him Huon needed to be fitter and stronger than any warrior Tybor had trained before. Tybor’s fist clenched. When he’d first laid eyes on the boy—too slender, too pale, too inexperienced, too beautiful—Tybor had been certain he would not survive any encounter with a Gatekeeper. But Huon had earned his respect and, more difficult and far more rare, had made Tybor admit, at least to himself, the error of his original judgment. The boy had strength and determination and a persistence that almost outlasted Tybor’s own. Only pride and refusal to admit his own weakness had kept Tybor going.