Strongman Read Online Free PDF Page A

it off.
    Silence.
    Fort shifted on the bench. “I should thank you.”
    Griff shrugged. “Forget it.”
    “No.” For the first time, Fort touched him voluntarily, reaching out to squeeze Griff’s shoulder. “I’m grateful.”
    Very carefully, Griff placed his mug on the table. Shit, his fingers trembled! At this rate, he’d skewer some part of Katahaya tonight in the Big Top and Cizmar would snap his neck like a dried twig. As for Ansel… He shivered. Ansel was the subtle sort.
    Don ’ t die not knowing . Drowning, he gazed into cool gray eyes and risked it. “Tell me about your Bondmate,” he said.
    He half expected Fort to freeze him with a glance, but instead the big man shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “She died,” he said. “Twenty years ago.” But his face had shuttered.
    “I’m sorry.”
    More silence.
    “You…uh…didn’t marry again?”
    The broad shoulders shifted. “I joined a mercenary company, the first that passed through Feolin.”
    “What was one of the Brethren doing in Feolin in the first place?”
    “Enough questions.” Fort drained his mug and rose, fluid and economical in his movements for such a big man. “I’m going to shift my things.”
    “You know, you’d almost make a fine tumbler,” said Griff, watching.
    “Uh-huh.” The brow went up. “But?”
    “Too tall, too big. Though you’ve got strength and flexibility.” Scrupulously, Griff smoothed all expression from his face. “You’d do as a strongman, the one at the bottom.”
    “Lufra save me,” Fort muttered, but his lips quirked as he turned away.
    An almost-smile. Just for him. Triumph curled warm in Griff’s belly. He buried his nose in his ale jug to conceal the silly grin. When he looked up Fort had gone.
    He caught up well before the roustabouts’ tent and reached up to tap one shoulder.
    “I’ll give you a hand.”
    20

    Strongman
    “No need. I travel light.” Fort strode on, cutting a swath through the gathering crowd of evening Fairgoers.
    Wisely, Griff said nothing. But he lengthened his stride to keep up.
    * * * * *
    “This is exquisite.” Griff squinted at the last of the brew cups he was putting in the cupboard. When he held it up, the lamplight shone through the translucent porcelain, illuminating the swirling, abstract design etched into it. “I can’t believe you’ve kept the set intact.”
    “That’s Sereian china.” Fort unbuckled the straps around his bedroll. “Beautiful, but tough as boots. You could throw it at the wall and it’d bounce off.”
    “Really?” Griff grinned and hefted the cup.
    “Don’t.” Fort reached over his shoulder and lifted it out of his hand. “Or I’ll bounce you.”
    “Promises, promises,” murmured Griff.
    Fort’s head jerked around, but the other man had turned away to examine the workings of the wobbly brazier and he couldn’t make out his expression.
    He’d meant to send the tumbler away, but in the end, he’d got lazy and let Griff please himself. And apparently, it pleased him to stay.
    With the roustabouts, Fort was still conscious of the burden of command, the distance a captain had to keep from his men. But Griff’s company was unexpectedly pleasant, even restful. He wouldn’t be sending the tumbler out to die, wouldn’t see him return, pale and still, with blood on his lips. Or worse, screaming and writhing, his guts spilling out over his desperate fingers, while Fort struggled not to breathe the stench, his gruff words of comfort hollow and meaningless. Useless, fucking, totally use—
    “What is it?” Strong hands gripped his biceps, steadied him. “Are you all right?”
    He felt the heat of Griff’s body all along his side, the warmth of a slim, sturdy leg pressing into the back of his thigh.
    He shrugged the other man off. “Of course.” His fingers brushed against smooth wood. Gratefully, he lifted the small figure of the Goddess out of his bedroll and handed it over his shoulder. “Here. Put Her in the worship