“A good officer does not do that to his men.” Simon told the uncaring stars as he sat on a bench behind the recruitment center. He shucked his uniform coat and let the crisp night air dry out his sweat-soaked undershirt. He pressed his woolen coat against his nose. He couldn’t smell anything sweet or savory or out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing that would drive a young man mad with lust post-rut. His squad was full of young Alphas and none of them had ever sniffed in his direction.

He could hear Lukas’ satisfied snores mixed with cricket chirps. He had the urge to crawl into that bunk and show the new recruit everything he’d learned about bed sports. That’s a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. I can’t do that to a subordinate. What was I thinking?

The honest answer was that in that moment he was not thinking in the slightest. The only thing that had mattered in that moment was the writhing young man bracketed between his arms, his face lit up by pleasure. Pleasure that Simon had ordered him to feel. “Fuck.” Simon cursed under his breath. He’d already chafed his cock jerking off twice behind the outhouse and the memory of half-lidded lust glazed green eyes was prompting another session. “Fucking hell.”

He was the lowest of the low. A rat. Vermin. What was wrong with him? To do that obscene act to one of his own men, a raw new recruit at that?

Be honest. You’d do it again. He stood up and faced the man-shaped chalk outline on the side of the latrine and took out his throwing knives. He thought better when he was practicing. Slivers of silvered steel whipped through the air with ease, lodging in the target and hummed with vibration.

All he had to do was acknowledge that it happened and that it would not happen again. He was human and all humans, regardless of their secondary gender designation, made mistakes. Especially when tempted by a sight like that after weeks of self-imposed celibacy, it was only natural.

Who could turn down Lukas when he begged so prettily? The stone-faced All-Mother herself would be moved. He was going to be trouble. Simon frowned. So much trouble. Off the top of his head he could think of at least a dozen, maybe more predatory men back at base camp who would take ruthless advantage of Lukas’ farm-fresh naivety.

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A thought of Lukas kneeling in front of him, his mouth open and welcoming, staring up at his commanding officer made Simon suck in his breath. His next throw went wide and Simon had to search for his errant knife in the underbrush. Trouble was an understatement.

It was the middle of a war. He couldn’t be fixated on one young recruit. It was always the middle of the Endless War, he thought as that excuse rang hollow. Beta officers were allowed mates but not within the enlisted men, not within the Alphas. It could ruin his chances for promotion if they were discovered, not to mention tattering his carefully curated image at base camp. He had to walk away and treat this incident as a one time failure of his moral compass. He sheathed his knives and brushed dirt from his knees.

Like hell he was going to do that. Montgomery could just move his bunk to the other side of the tent and Lukas would slot just fine next to Simon’s bunk. Lukas was his new porter, assistant and social secretary. Did Lukas know how to read and write? It might raise some eyebrows for a bit but after the last offensive at Midford Bridge there was room to spread out. He had the discretion to make personnel assignments and it was time he used it.

As long as he kept Lukas within earshot and line of sight, there wouldn’t be a problem with the other men. He was bigger and stronger than the other Betas and as much as they resented him for it, they also respected his abilities. Respected? His lips drew back in a tight smile. No, they feared him and for good reason.

Simon checked the clasp on the wide leather cuff he wore beneath his undershirt. There was a length of garrote wire wound under the leather, instantly accessible by pulling a metal ring. The leather matched the holster for his throwing knives and the scabbards for his dress saber and boot knives. Guns were finicky, temperamental creatures that could jam, break or backfire at a crucial moment. Blades were a more civilized, stable weapon, the silvering made them immune to curses and there was no one at base camp better at using them than he was. Even the mages gave him a wide berth, treading lightly around his squad.

He returned to the recruitment center and his oddly cold bedroll. Simon regarded Lukas as he sprawled on the bunk, loose-limbed with relaxation and satisfaction.

Simon flung his arm over his eyes and muttered the string of unintelligible foreign curses that Sister Rosalie would spew when the milk curdled in the butter churn. After parroting the propaganda of the War Ministry for decades, he had finally found something that he wanted to protect, something to fight for. No, it was nothing that noble. Lukas was someone that he wanted to keep for himself.