You’re a fucking alcoholic, Tobeicus.

The words stuck to him. They had hooked themselves deep in the squishy gray matter of his brain, and the only thing that could get them to slide back out was a hefty helping of lubrication—the alcoholic kind. Which really just proved Lenna’s point.

But instead of lifting the jug in his hands to his lips, Tobei had to pile it in the back of this wagon. And then go fetch more.

You’re a fucking alcoholic.

The words weren’t the only thing stuck to Tobei—so were the eyes of sweet, innocent, lovesick Sen every time Tobei returned to the wagon with more jugs. Sen offered again and again to help Tobei retrieve the whiskey and wine, but Tobei insisted on doing it himself. He said he was just going back and forth to the cellar, but it was a lie. Because Lenna had been right about another thing—he did have hiding spots all over camp.

It was disgustingly humid today, and beneath the canopy of leaves the air was utterly unmoving. It seemed to grip Tobei with warm, damp, immobile hands as he tried to move through it, and by the time Tobei had retrieved the last of his alcohol (at least, the last he was willing to give up) and was on his way back to the wagon, sweat was pouring from his hairline and soaking the fabric of his short white chiton. He’d swept his long black locks up into a high ponytail, but the ends of that tail still kept getting trapped in his sweaty pits. He felt as filthy on the outside as he did on the inside.

And despite the fact that Tobei kept up a constant stream of sweet shit chatter and never once actually returned Sen’s gaze all the while they tossed jug after jug after jug of the one thing that could quiet Tobei’s mind onto the wagon, Tobei felt the weight of Sen’s concern. It unsettled Tobei—either his mask was slipping, or Sen had begun studying Tobei closely enough that he could see beyond the mask. Neither option was good.

Whatever words were falling from Tobei’s lips must have been funny because Sen laughed, setting Tobei’s heart fluttering. But instead of looking into Sen’s soft, dark gaze, finding the demure smile he was sure the boy wore, Tobei simply grabbed the next jug and kept talking.

He tried very hard not to think about the cute way Sen’s forehead wrinkled when he worried, or about the way his sun-freckled cheeks pinkened if Tobei looked at him for too long, or about how soft those shiny, cherry-brown curls felt in his fingers, and especially not about how very, very talented Sen’s tongue was. Because the pure, gentle Sen deserved to be with someone equally pure and gentle.

Tobei might be gentle on occasion, but he had been born impure. He was sure of that. And he’d already dirtied Sen enough as it was.

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When everything was loaded—Tobei had kept only two jugs in the cellar, one of wine, one of whiskey—they fetched two horses and yoked them to the wagon. The seat at the front of the covered wagon was small—he could already imagine the feel of Sen’s warm thigh pressed against his, the heady smell of the boy’s woodsy scent next to him, the sound of his quickened pulse.

Tobei knew better than to expect himself to resist temptation, so as he swung up into the seat, he suggested, “Why don’t you ride with our precious cargo, make sure they don’t get jostled—”

But the normally so submissive Sen had a moment of gentle rebellion and simply pretended he hadn’t heard Tobei. He climbed up into the seat next to Tobei before he had a chance to repeat himself.

He couldn’t help it—he sent Sen a smirk.

“What?” Sen blinked innocently as he settled in next to Tobei.

Just as Tobei had imagined, the warm pressure of Sen’s thigh next to his was delicious, even in the smothering heat of the day. He knew—all he would have to do was drop the rein from his hand and settle his grip instead on Sen’s knee and the both of them would break. It would be such sweet, aching comfort on this miserable fucking day.

But the sound of quick, light pawsteps through the forest drew his attention.

Kunin glided into view, silver pelt shimmering, graceful as a phantom. The Wolf stopped a few yards in front of the wagon, planting four paws across the smooth path Daivad had cut through the forest, so his sleek figure was framed by the tunnel of undergrowth Ben had grown up to hide the path.

The Wolf’s crystal blue eyes pinned Tobei, accusing. Wounded.

Tobei was leaving with two horses pulling his wagon instead of Kunin? Now of all times? When Maxea and Drauge had just abandoned him, leaving him orphaned, cold, and alone? And now this? How could he!

“You can come too,” Tobei said. “I only hitched the horses because Urden’s our destination, and a Wolf your size makes people nervous.”

Kunin huffed and turned his face away to stare dramatically into the undergrowth.

“That’s the only reason, Ku!”

Sen raised an eyebrow at the exchange. “How many of those words can he actually understand?”

“It’s not an issue of knowledge, it’s an issue of willingness.”

With another huff, Kunin threw his head before prancing over to Tobei’s side of the wagon. Tobei reached out to pet him, but that was not what Kunin had in mind. Instead, he continued past Tobei to the wagon—

“Don’t!” Tobei ordered, but Kunin was already hiking his leg. “Kunin, don’t you—”

Luckily the wagon was covered, so the hot stream of piss simply splattered off the side of the wagon. Sen giggled, so open and honest, and Tobei tried to ignore how it made his belly flip, even though there was a Wolf pissing just a few feet from them. When Kunin was all peed out, he threw his head high and puffed out his chest, pleased with himself, before trotting ahead down the path. He made it several yards before he stopped and glanced back, his eyes asking, Well? Are you coming?