It was the first time Lukas had seen a military transport train. His mouth fell open, agog at the extravagant splendor that pulled up in a cloud of smoke and steam on the tracks in front of them. Swirls of silver curled and hugged the black iron body of the locomotive. The train cars were decorated with bolted on silver insignia and stripes running the length of the cars. Sunlight glittered and reflected into his eyes as he stared awestruck at their transportation.

Simon tapped his shoulder to nudge him forward, breaking the dazzling spell. "Sorry," he apologized, sheepish. "It's so pretty."

Simon shrugged as he opened the doors. "I suppose. When I look at it all I see is how much work it takes to keep everything polished." Simon adjusted his rucksack as they stepped aboard; they were only passengers at the station aside from twenty bushels of cabbages loaded into the cargo car. He'd always been outnumbered by cabbages in this town.

"There's silver decorations at the church in town, but nothing like this." The passenger car was empty aside from themselves and Simon chose their seats. They sat across from each other, Simon sitting with his back against the wall, watching the entrance. Their knees touched when the train lurched on the tracks. They were both tall and long-legged, contact was both unavoidable and welcome. Simon put his foot up on the side of Lukas’ seat next to his thigh, casually bracketing him against the side of the train car. Lukas averted his eyes from his commanding officer’s crotch and the amused smirk playing upon his lips. He couldn’t get hard from so little stimulation in the middle of the day. That was shameless. Lukas said the first thing he thought of just to distract himself from the long, strong limbs sprawled in front of him, "Silver is the All-Mother's blessed metal, moon metal."

"It's nothing as holy as that with the military." Simon rolled his shoulders back and yawned, a hint of fatigue shadowing underneath his eyes. Lukas blushed hot as he remembered for the hundredth time that morning what had kept Simon from sleeping last night. "So, you don't know why there's silver all over this train?"

Lukas shook his head. "No. I'm stu--" he bit back the automatic self-deprecation. "I'm new to this." His cheeks grew hotter as Simon smiled at him.

"That's a good lad. You are new. You're new to all of this and you are far from stupid." Simon dug inside his uniform coat and pulled out a small notebook and pencil. He wrote something down and handed it to Lukas.

"Can you read this?" Lukas read aloud and was gratified when Simon's smile pulled into a grin. "Yes I can, sir. Why?"

"Well, Lukas my lad, you're going to be my personal secretary and porter. Speeds thing up quite a bit if you already know how to read." He took back the notebook and tucked it away. “Unless it involves blades, I’m a pretty shitty teacher. Reading lessons with me might have taken most of the Endless War.”

Lukas thought about spending time with Simon by candlelight and wished for a moment that his mother hadn’t been so devoted to teaching her children to read from the Holy Books. "I don’t know all of the words, though. You were going to teach me how to read?"

"Of course." Simon looked out the window at the endless farmlands and fields of pasture, a wrinkle in his brow. “I have to train all my recruits for their roles. If you falter or fail, then that’s my fault as an instructor.”

There was a weary sadness, an edge to his voice, something that rasped Lukas raw. Simon had been at war for far too long without respite. How many recruits had died in front of this man? Too many, Lukas knew. The Endless War devoured and spat out young men like them. There was no guarantee that either of them would survive the next battle, and that uncertainty made him reckless.

Lukas let his legs fall open and tapped the side of his boot on the floor against Simon’s. Simon looked back at him and Lukas lowered his chin, looking up at Simon through his lashes. "Do you teach all your Alphas how to read?" He bit his lower lip for a moment, holding Simon’s steely blue gaze. "Or am I special?"

Simon tapped his boot back against Lukas’ and sighed. "Oh I think you know the answer to that my lad."

Do I? Lukas thought and then breathed out, "I'm new. Please teach me." It was both a challenge and an invitation.

Simon barked out a laugh. "You keep pushing my boundaries like that and you'll find yourself on latrine duty." He leaned forward and flicked the end of Lukas’ nose with the tip of his finger. "You await my orders. You don't get to initiate things like you did last night. You don't rank high enough yet."

Lukas rubbed the tip of his nose and mischievously asked, "So if I get promoted to Sergeant then can I order you around?" The smile he got in response was worth more than all the silver on the train.

"For now listen well because there might be a test later. You want to do well for me, don’t you?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Lukas sat up straight, all seductive pretenses cast aside.

"Back to the decoration on the train, it's not meant to be pretty. It's not meant to be a show of wealth or power. I mean, of course it is exactly that, but it has a practical purpose as well. Silver repels magic." Simon rubbed his fingers together as he sat back, both feet on the floor. "Like oiled leather in a rain shower."

Lukas leaned forward, he felt like a stupid country Alpha again. "Magic?" He’d heard rumors about magic in the big cities and read tales of saints and devils battling in the Holy Books.

Simon nodded. "Yep. Blessing and curses. The things you read about in the Holy Books. Those weren't just stories designed to make you eat all of your dinner and play nice with others. They really happened. And they still happen on the battlefield. They kill a lot of men." He reached into his coat again and pulled out a throwing knife. Light traveled up the keen edge from the tip to the hilt. Simon tossed the knife and caught it with deft sure fingers, even as the train lurched from side to side. "Our squad's job is to eliminate the enemy mages that cast those magic spells. We’re mage-killers."

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Lukas listened, rapt as the knife danced and twirled in Simon’s fingers like a silvery fish jumping in river rapids. "When a mage casts a curse or a blessing, their eyes glow white for a moment while they concentrate. They glow brighter than the noon-day sun; even smoked glass can’t conceal the shine." Simon flicked his hand and his knife vanished into his coat. He ran his hand through his hair and Lukas gulped back his sudden urge to plaster Simon’s calloused fingers with kisses of worship. "Makes a hell of a target. Some of my men use rifles with silvered bullets, I prefer silvered blades."

Lukas breathed out a single word, unable to trust that his voice wouldn’t crack, "Why?"

The knife was suddenly underneath his chin, the cool flat of the blade pressed against his hot skin. He hadn’t seen Simon move while staring at the fingers of his other hand. Simon leaned close and as he pulled back the blade, it scraped against Lukas’ stubble. Lukas shivered and felt hot breath on his cheekbone. "Because it's more frightening to see a knife bloom from your fellow mage's right eye than it is to take a bullet in the dark. It means someone dangerous is close. Close enough to steal your life away."

I would willingly give you my life, Lukas thought feverishly. He parted his lips and leaned forward, dragged by a irresistible pull.

Simon pressed his finger against Lukas’ lips, the heat of his touch searing. He murmured over the noise of the train, "Half of warfare is demoralizing the enemy, making them lose the will to fight. If mages get scared, they can't cast curses. It only takes one mistake."

Lukas licked Simon’s finger with the flat of his tongue. Simon dropped his knife with a clatter, his cheeks crimson as Lukas suckled at his index finger. "It only takes one mistake." Lukas said as he released Simon’s finger from his lips, a string of saliva connecting them before it broke.

For a moment they regarded each other, each measuring the intensity of the other’s desire. Simon coughed first and adjusted himself in his breeches as he recovered his knife. "Indeed, clever boy. Very clever." Simon's small praises nestled deep in Lukas' groin. "Now I'm going to take a nap so enjoy your last hours of being a civilian and I don't know, watch hundreds of miles of farmland. There's not much scenery between here and Midford Bridge." Simon closed his eyes and rested his head against the back wall of the train car with the expertise of a well-seasoned traveler.

Simon was right. There really wasn't anything to look at out of the windows so Lukas watched Simon doze instead. Long lashes dusted his pale freckle spotted cheeks and Lukas looked away so he wouldn't arouse himself again. He had to prove he was worthy of Major du Trop's attentions. He swallowed and stroked the underside of his chin where the cool blade touched him, the memory searing him with perverse heat. He was going to learn how to do that too. He was going to be a mage-killer. He flushed with anticipation and excitement.

The train stopped and more men boarded. They were a mix of raucous enlisted men back from leave and exhausted officers. The passenger car was about half full. The noise of their voices combined with the movement of the train lulled Lukas to sleep.

Da, what's wrong with Lukas? Ma! Come help! His sisters were crying. He made them cry, the realization stabbed him in the heart. They were so scared. They were scared of him! The room was hot, stiflingly hot. Sweat oozed from every pore. His jaw hurt, his teeth hurt, everything HURT. He spat blood out upon the floor, there were teeth in the bloody spittle. Lukas pawed at his mouth and sliced his finger open on a new razor sharp fang that sprouted in his mouth like a spring seed. The bloody mess made his sisters scream again. He fell to his knees, covered his face with his bloody hands and curled into a ball. He shivered and shook as the scents of his home buffeted and bashed his hypersensitive nose. Everything had a scent and he couldn't make sense of what belonged where. What's wrong with me? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!?

"Buddy! Hey buddy!" Someone shook his shoulder. "Wakey wakey." Lukas blinked awake, shaking off the foulness of his nightmare. A friendly face grinned at him from over the back of the train seat. "I bet I know what you were dreaming about. You've got new Alpha written all over your pretty face."

It felt odd to be complimented by someone other than Simon. He didn’t like it. "Yeah, I presented about a week ago." Lukas rubbed the back of his stiff neck. "Sorry I was making a scene." He glanced at Simon who was still asleep. "Thanks for waking me up."

"No problem! I remember when I became an Alpha, got chased out of the house by my mum with a broom. Can you believe that? At least the Imperial Army is happy to have us, right? I'm Georgie Belle, Private First Class Second Artillery." He was apple-cheeked and redheaded, missing one of his front teeth. Georgie offered his hand and Lukas shook it, but Georgie didn't let go of it. Maybe these were city manners, holding hands with new acquaintances. Georgie stroked his thumb against Lukas’ palm and winked.

"Lukas Braddock. I haven't signed the paperwork yet." He pulled his hand away and nodded at Simon, "I'm in his squad. I mean, I'll be in his squad."

Georgie whistled under his breath. "Oh man. You're gonna be a mage-killer."

"How did you know?" Lukas asked.

"You see that pin with the skull and the dagger on his lapel? That's the emblem for the Tactical Magical Practitioner Neutralization squad. Nobody calls it that though. You're the mage-killers. And that's the Big Blonde Bastard. Everyone knows him." Georgie whistled again in appreciation.

That irritated Lukas, both the casual admiration and the horrible nickname. He snapped at Georgie, "Don't call the Major that that."

His irritation washed off Georgie like rain on oiled leather. "Don't get all ruffled up. That's his nickname. He's fucking deadly. Holds the record for the most mage kills ever. Shit, you don't want to know how many people he's pissed off. You've got a tough program ahead of you, like only half of his recruits make it. The rest wash out and head to other units. You're welcome to join us. We're very friendly." Lukas looked at his own boots as Georgie spoke in his ear.

"Too friendly by half, Private Belle." Simon said flatly, one blue eye slit open. He reminded Lukas of an irritated barn cat, deceptively sleepy and lax.

Georgie saluted with a shameless grin. "And hello sir! I was just making friends with your future subordinate here. Very respectfully, I might add."

Simon frowned and Georgie shrank back. "Cross my assistant off of your list of possible conquests."

"He might like my face." Georgie protested and Lukas shook his head in denial. He was so embarrassed. "My tent is always open for exploratory recon, remember that my pretty Lukas.” Georgie blew him a kiss and returned to his own company. The noise on the train returned to normal levels and Lukas realized that all the passengers had been listening to them, he shrank in upon himself, ears red as his cheeks.

"Remember when I told you that you'd have no shortage of opportunities?" Simon said low enough so only Lukas could hear him. "It's going to go around the camp that you're fresh new meat. If you don't welcome their advances then tell them that the Big Blonde Bastard wouldn't be happy with dereliction of your duties as his assistant."

"I-- I don't know that word." Lukas stammered, flustered by both the unwanted attention from Georgie and his own desire to monopolize Simon's attentions.

Simon glared at the soldiers who were staring at them and tittering. He stretched in his seat and his coat fell open to reveal his throwing knives. The tittering stopped. "In simpler words, it means you're mine."