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Chapter Seven

Gray lingered between darkness and light, for eons it seemed. He likened his re-emergence to that of a drowning man who'd thrashed and clobbered his way through the claws of a cloven-hoofed demon.

A familiar voice filtered into his dull brain. “Welcome back.

Visions of brass buttons flashing beneath a pitiful sun flashed behind his arid eyelids. “Soldiers. Darkmore.” He licked his dry lips and wondered if he'd swallowed a bucket of sand during his stay in Hell.

Marx tucked his hand behind his head and lifted him to the bladder pouch at his mouth. “Go slow until we know you can keep it down.

Ah, cool, wet water.

“Ol' Jake said Darkmore and his men moved on to Harrisburg.

Too dizzy yet to lift his head, he scanned the teepee from his prone position. “Where is the old coot?

“Hunting for fresh meat. He'll be back tomorrow. Can you eat? I'm not much of a cook but there's possum stew in the pot.

“Maybe later. Right now I need to get my bearings.” Gray rose up on an elbow and winced from the pain spreading outward to his arm. “Who took the bullet out?

“Passed clean through.” Marx emitted a short chuckle. “Jake slapped a mustard poultice down and then jigged around your head to chase away the bad spirits.

“Great healer of the Iroquois nation at one time.” Marx watched his face as if drumming up the nerve to ask a question. “Go ahead, what's on your mind?

“How do you know Jake?

“You still don't trust me, do you?

The flicker of doubt in Marx's eyes before he looked away said it all.

“No, you don't, and can't say I blame you.” The quiet stretched between them. “How about you help me to the river so I can scrub the reek from my body.

Marx's eyes met his again. “Do you think that's a good idea so soon? I mean—”

“Time is our enemy now. Darkmore's not stupid.

“What are you thinking?

Gray rotated his arm in a circle and realized most of the pain stemmed from stiffness. “Our wily major has two choices, double back and look for us or wait until we ride into Harrisburg. But,” he said quietly. “We can't stay here, have to move on.

Marx stretched out his hand. “Come on, I'll help you to the river.

Gray had never seen a more beautiful day. The river was calm today, a long stretch of blue along miles of sandy banks. Overhead, a bright yellow sun chased white clouds through the sky, spreading warmth to every part of the blessed earth it touched.

He wasn't in as bad shape as he thought after first waking up. Sore and dogmatically stiff, but nothing a dip in the river and a hot meal wouldn't rectify. He'd been shot before, but never so close to his heart. He couldn't help but think Ol' Jake's remedies had done wonders to stop the bleeding and hasten his healing.

Marx sat on shore and watched him, his thoughts and expression unreadable. The situation had become damn complicated. He should have declined the mission, told his superior, the slack-jowled, ruddy-faced Grimm he'd rather pick lice from a monkey's ass than bust Marx Wellbourne out of prison and bring him back to Richmond.

Looking back, he thought Marx would die before he accomplished the first part, but the stubborn fool had the grit of a badger. Here they were, stuck between Richmond and Darkmore, his gun arm unpredictable and Marx's bouts with malaria tenuous. He'd checked the bottle of quinine before their trek to the river only to find it empty. Another conundrum.

His promise to Grimm surfaced and his stomach churned. “Yes, sir, one way or the other I'll get the battle plans from Wellbourne in case he dies before I break him out.” He hadn't died, but could if another bout of malaria set in or should Darkmore catch up with them before they made Richmond. One of them had to live; get the map information to Grimm or the South was doomed. Fuck, the South was doomed already, but he had to try.

“No, sir,” he'd said to Grimm. “No matter what happens I won't reveal my mission to him, you should know that sir.

“Good,” Grimm had said. “I remind you only because I understand there's a possibility you might know Wellbourne. You have frequented the same establishments in the past, and . . ..

Gray's head had come up quickly.

“And you are, after all, both from Charleston.

“I don’t know Marx Wellbourne personally, sir.” He'd cleared his throat. “Christ, is there nothing your agency doesn't know?

Grimm's eagle-like eyes had narrowed. “Nothing, Drake, so don't ever bullshit me.

Bloody Christ! What a fucking mess. He had no choice, he'd have to tell Marx he knew about the maps, convince him to sketch them out on paper in case he died. Christ, he didn't want to think about it. Marx's blue eyes closed forever? His intestines twisted into reef knots. The time was at hand. He couldn't take further risks. The odds were in their favor one of them would make it through, and the crazy, wild passion between them was secondary. Hell, who was he trying to convince? He felt much more for Marx Wellbourne than lust, had long before he took him like an animal in the cave.

He couldn't think about that now, the hot flames scorching his body and soul while Marx writhed and moaned beneath him. He couldn't think about the hoarse cries of his name on the man's lips or the endless jolts of pleasure ripping through him while he drove into him.

Gray glanced at Marx again and wondered what he was thinking right now. Then he looked at the sky and drew a deep breath. Somehow, he had to convince the man he could trust him enough to turn over the information.

Tonight.

* * *

They returned to Jake's lodge and ate their stew in silence. With every passing hour, Gray felt his strength return. It was difficult to look at Marx across the fire and dispel the lust clawing at his gut. Courting death sweetened life, made a man think about base things he often took for granted—a bluebird's sweet trill, a belly full of food, and fucking. He wanted to fuck Marx again, more than he had that night in the cave.

Gray rose from his perch on the ground, walked to his bed of pine boughs and lowered himself to the ground. He heard the tread of soft footsteps moments later when Marx joined him with two cups and the bottle of whiskey.

Gray spoke above the undercurrents in the air. “Today while at the river, I thought about the whiskey, wondered if it had survived the attack.

Marx held the bottle at an angle, allowing the contents to slide to one side before he filled Gray's cup and then his. “Oh, it made it through the gun fire, but succumbed to my parched throat last night.

“I would have done the same under the circumstances.

The uncomfortable silence droned on with only the night crickets and katydids causing a ruckus through the thin walls of the lodge. Marx's sensual mouth was poised for a question and Gray could think of no reason to change the subject.

The question came seconds later, his voice as soft as rain. “Why did you bust me out of prison, Gray?

He paused, and he didn’t know why. Possibly because he knew the truth would change things between them. “It's complicated.

“Or arranged.

“No, it wasn't like that if that's what you think, a setup against you.

Gray's body tensed, whether from the strain of conversation or the recurrent pull of longing between them he didn't know. Eyes sparking with desire, Marx scooted closer to the cradle of fragrant branches beneath him. His knee met Gray's thigh and he couldn't conceal his quick intake of air. Every tendon stretched tight Gary's very bones ached for the man.

Marx had only to look at him, touch him and his cock responded like a fucking circus dog waiting for his reward. What occurred next, cut through his last ounce of resolve. Marx's hand came out and rubbed his engorged shaft through his trousers, the smoke-blue orbs still locked with his.

“I know how to wrest answers from you.” He straddled his hips, his knees digging into the sides of his legs.

On the heels of another gasp Gray muttered, “Do you now?

His confident nod and low voice sent a shiver through Gray. “Stop me now if you don't want this. And I do mean now. In another minute I won't be able to restrain myself.

Gray's flippant response was purely superficial. “Be my guest.

Marx unbuttoned his trousers and grasped his cock, the strokes long and purposeful. “Who sent you to break me out of prison?

Gray moaned. “You think me daft? I can see no reason to confess at this juncture.

“All right, then. Perhaps this will induce you to tell me.

Marx slid down his body, rolling the pants over his hips with the patience of a skillful lover. A brush of cool air fanned Gray's aching erection and his balls drew up tight. Good God, no telling what he'd admit to once Marx took his cock into his mouth. He had no illusions about the man's ability to suck a man off until he was willing to admit he'd killed his own mother. A master with his tongue and lips, Gray nearly begged him to get on with it. No such luck. Marx licked his shaft up and down and then sucked his balls until his hips thrust forward and his bestial groan filled the lodge. His cock twitched for attention and liquid leaked from the tip, a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by his tormentor.

His warm breath whispered over the crown. “Who do you work for, Doctor Drake, and why were you in Elmira?

“Bastard. Stop this fucking game and do it.

“Tell me and I'll send you to heaven, Gray.

“I-I came to Elmira to minister to the sick prisoners.

“Who sent you?” With inverted cheeks, he swallowed the head and sucked.

“Oh, God, don't stop. Don't stop.

Marx pulled his head back and looked into his eyes. “Who? Tell me what you're about and I'll deliver in spades.

“A man.

“A name, Gray.

“Ah, shit. Grimm, His name is Grimm.

His eyes flashed recognition. “Gaston Grimm?

Every muscle in his body drawn tighter than fiddle strings, he hissed the word. “The same.” Gray held his breath and prayed Marx wouldn't bolt faster than a timorous rabbit, but then he realized like him, he'd been so caught up in the passion even if he wanted to, he couldn't.

Frozen like a piece of granite, Marx hovered above his cock, his glazed eyes darting to the right.

“The sport is over,” Gray said grabbing a lock of his long hair and pulling him forward until he sat on his pelvis again. “Remove your trousers and toss them aside.

“No.

“No?

He shook his head.

“You want me as much as I want you. I saw it in your eyes, smelled your arousal from the moment you walked over with the whiskey.” He yanked on the hair in his hand until Marx's eyes welled. “Take them off, or by God, I'll do it, one arm or not.

Marx lifted his bottom from his hips and shoved his trousers down, and then wiggled out of them one awkward shimmy at a time. Gray released the hold on his head and clasped his hips on both sides.

“Now, if you want me to stop, tell me now.” He drew out the words, pausing between each. “And I do mean now. In another minute I won't be able to restrain myself.

“Oh, God,” Marx moaned and dropped his palms to Gray's chest, mindful of his injury.

“Save it, handsome boy. I haven't even started yet.” He positioned his cock at Marx's entrance and pushed in an inch. For a moment Gray's world spun, more so when he looked at the unearthly beautiful man panting above him. Christ, so hot, so tight, he couldn't catch his breath. “You do it. Show me how much you want my cock inside you.

Marx stiffened his arms and pushed down, taking Gray in to the hilt. A plaintive moan escaped his lover's lips, a lament so utterly sensual, Gray almost shot his load right there. Time and again Marx shifted up and bore down, driving them both beyond the point of sanity.

Gray shuddered. “It's always been you, from the moment I saw you at Belle's.

Marx didn't seem to hear him, but gripped the bones of Gray's hips and rode him savagely, his eyes shut, his neck arched back, his breaths ragged.

“I can't hold back,” Gray said and cursed his lust for the man. With Marx, Gray lost the ability to remain indifferent. The man had a way of laying his soul bare, wringing every emotion from his heart.

In a final thrust upward, amid a flash of exploding lights Gray emptied his load into Marx's ass. On and on it went, so powerful, he thought he might faint. Jesus, what a milksop he'd become.

Marx groaned; his warm cum now a thick spread of liquid across Gray's belly. With a final grunt he collapsed on top of him, his name falling from his lips. “Gray, Gray.

For the first time in his life, Gray felt like a snake-tongued, duplicitous traitor. Caught between heaven and hell, truth and lies only half the facts to the whole sordid mess had come out.

And God, how he dreaded what came next.

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