Don’t Fight The Spark by Kasia Bacon
Series: Soldiers and Mercenaries #1
(The Order Universe)
Release Date: April 26, 2019
Subgenre: MM Fantasy Romance
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Author blurbs about Don’t Fight the Spark:
“An irresistible gem of a love story. In just six short chapters, Kasia Bacon delivers all the goods: an adorably mismatched couple to root for, a seductive and dangerous fantasy world, and more than a spark of wit and charm. Read at your own risk: the second you finish, you’ll be afflicted with grabby-hands for Book Two.”
—J.C. Lillis, author of HOW TO REPAIR A MECHANICAL HEART and A&B
“Bacon delivers a jewel box world of magic and true-lovers with a yaoi-manga aesthetic so vivid that I can practically see the screen tone.”
—Nicole Kimberling, author of Sea of Stars
Synopsis for Don’t Fight The Spark:
As the Light Festival draws near, the Něssyrians craft paper lanterns, awaiting the most important holiday of the year.
The Lyliňg Fighting House, too, prepares for celebration—by laying fresh sand onto the arena and setting up a match against their top pit fighter, the unrivalled Yüuzuki Ōren.
His last match. One he can’t win.
With the odds more than stacked against him, the gorgeous Barbarian is as good as dead. Unless his lover, healer Ĥaiatto Ẽkana, proves himself every bit as determined as he is clever and finds a way to protect the man he’d stop at nothing to save.
“Are you wishing on a star, Yüu?” I perched on his chair and moved in to extract the empty crystal from his grasp. I replaced it with my fingers, lacing them around his.
His gaze found mine, piercing me with an intent stare as if trying to solve a puzzle. He acted collected, as always, but his golden eyes gleamed with something foreign: resignation and sorrow. “If I could offer a lantern for a blessing bestowed upon me this past year, it would be lit for you,” he said. “I’m thankful for every moment you’ve spent with me. For your every kiss. Every smile you’ve given me.”
The teasing grin died on my lips. I knew what Yüu was doing: exactly what Rhēn had suggested I did. Saying goodbye. Preparing me. Letting go. Giving up on us.
Without realising it, I clutched his hand as if it were a lifeline slipping away from me in deep water.
They brought him to me bloodied and beaten to a pulp three days before the Night of Lights.
Being battered black and blue after a fight came with the territory for an ih’mohrô, even one as good as Yüuzuki Ōren. Not once in the past, however, had he ended up unresponsive in my treatment room. My stomach plummeted at the sight of two guards hauling him between them like a sack of coal. Was the dread that had haunted my dreams about to transpire?
Careful not to unmask my fear, I schooled my features. “Here.” I ushered the men to the exam table, erected in the middle of my study for easy access.
I did my best not to wince when Yüu’s limp body landed on top of the linen-dressed surface with a dull thump.
I got to him in two leaps and busied myself with arranging him in a recovery position. Placing two fingers on the inside of his wrist, I took his pulse. It felt thready and rapid, but it was there. I observed his chest rising and falling in shallow but regular breaths. Having seen no evidence of a collapsed lung or any blockage in his airways, I sighed with relief.
The blood caking his body—part dried, part fresh—prevented me from fully determining the damage.
I ordered the men to step back and allow me room to work. The next moment, I snatched my emergency kit from the side cabinet and prepared a basin of fresh water, dampening a soft muslin washcloth in it. Having settled Yüu onto his back with speed and care, I proceeded to clean the skin of the wounded man.
Not just any man, but the one I loved.
The scanty outfit of a pit-fighter, consisting of a simple loincloth, allowed me to get on with my task right away, taking stock of his injuries as the sweeping movements of my hands uncovered more and more scrapes, cuts and contusions.
Yüu was as tough as they came. The toughest. I would know, having treated him and other prized combatants of the Lyliňg Fighting House for over three years. If his body shut down, going into shock from blood loss and pain, both must’ve been significant.
I trailed a path of feathery kisses down the bridge of his nose and upper lip until my mouth met with Yüu’s equally eager one. Then I latched on with a moan I couldn’t suppress any longer.
Yüu’s kisses were always sweet and gentle to start with. They quickly became testing, inviting more engagement, only to turn bold and shattering in the end. He kissed like he fought: sounding his opponent out, cranking up the challenge, then leaving them breathless, stunned and completely obliterated.
I welcomed every such defeat delivered by his clever tongue, and this time was no different. Hot-cheeked and a tad winded, I forced myself to break the kiss, at last, gratified at Yüu’s growl of protest. “Let me take care of you, love,” I panted into his ear. “All right?” And with that, I pushed him backwards onto the chair.
Showing no signs of resistance, he allowed me to guide him into a half-lying position.
Once I had him situated right where I wanted him, I drew back slightly, pausing to study the ravishing view sprawled in front of me.
Oh yes. I knew and adored the wild look glittering in his golden eyes. That tightly-wound hunger. That unconcealed want. The way he observed me with parted lips, his body coiled in anticipation, turned my blood into liquid fire.
Without stalling anymore, I let my hands wander across his shoulders and chest, avoiding the bruises and trying not to frown at them. I took a brief detour to tease his dark, hard nipples before continuing my unhurried descent south, caressing every single one of his delicious abdominal ripples. By the time I passed his belly button, having arrived at the edge of the cloth covering his groin, the material below tented over a generously sized bulge. Twitching now and again, it taunted me into uncovering it. And in two pulls at the material, I managed to do just that.
Admitting I’d been mugged wasn’t the best way to calm Yüu down.
Fear widened his eyes. Watching him scared out of his wits for the first time—scared for me—crushed my heart to dust. “Mugged! You’ve been mugged?” he said in a low and dangerous tone, his eyes pinned on me.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing. I got lost around the west docklands and—”
“West docklands! The fuck? Why were you there in the first place? Are you mad?”
“Well…” I didn’t want to lie, but neither did I want to tell him the truth just yet. The trust Feninghan had mentioned was all very good, but until something concrete manifested, I’d decided to keep quiet.
“Ĥaiatto.” Yüu made a visible effort to curb the temper I never knew he possessed. Grinding his jaw and taking noisy breaths through flared nostrils, he looked like an enraged stallion. “I know you’ve been up to something, trying to remedy our situation. I didn’t want to pry, and gods know I appreciate your efforts, whatever they are and regardless of whether or not they will come to fruition. But I won’t stand for you putting yourself in harm’s way over this. Do you understand? Look at you! Just look!”
In an odd reverse-role scenario, Yüu rushed to my side to check me over for injuries. He opened the folds of my robes, effectively stripping me of them. His hands roamed across my chest.
I had to admit—I didn’t mind being subjected to such thorough and energetic examination, especially if I could redirect its purpose a tiny bit.
“Love, I swear I’m all right. It appears worse than it is,” I covered his hands with my own, forcing him to gaze up at me. Truth be told, I felt both touched to tears and completely aroused by his frenzy.
Yüu’s mind, however, seemed stuck on the issue, his eyes brimming with worry and frustration.
Damn, I did understand he hadn’t had it easy the last few days—forced into passive idleness, locked inside my rooms without as much as a change of clothes, deprived of any influence over the unfolding events. Waiting while I gallivanted around town doing gods knew what. It must’ve been a real headfuck for his action-driven personality, even though he had handled his seclusion better than I’d expected.
A linguist and an avid reader with a particular fondness for fantasy and paranormal genres, KASIA BACON lives in London with her husband. When not tearing her hair out over a translating project, she writes stories about the shenanigans of emotionally constipated assassins and sexy Elves. Otherwise, she can be found shaking her loins at a Zumba class, binging on anime or admiring throwing knives on Pinterest. She has a mild coffee and lemon tart (gluten free) addiction. A lover of MMA and Muay Thai, she also enjoys nature and the great outdoors. She dreams of becoming independently wealthy, leaving the city and moving into her wooden mini-manor—located in the heart of stunning forests resembling those of the Elven Country depicted in her tales.
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