(8) Caomhnóir

“How soon?” Thom asked, the usual fear for the safety of his lover underlying the two words.

 

“In the morning,” Keegan replied as he made one more check to be certain he had everything that he would need.

 

As soon as he’d arrived home to find Keegan packing, Thom’s mind had pictured every possible scenario of what could go wrong, as it always did. He just prayed that Keegan would be dealing with a mere human, not a Scriostóir. Keegan soon disabused him of that idea since, from the moment that the two men had realized there was more between them than just friendship Keegan had been completely open with Thom.

 

* * * * *

 

They had first met late one night in a dark back alley of the city. Thom instantly knew how stupid he’d been to use it as a shortcut, but he’d done it before with no problems. That night was different. As he hurried down the alley three men had stepped into view from shadowed doorways, surrounding him, jeering and taunting as they closed in, bats or iron bars in their hands. He’d tried to run but they made escape impossible as they herded him towards the alley wall.

 

He’d cowered there, arms over his head to protect it, waiting for the first blow to fall. When it came, a glancing blow to his side, he’d cried out in pain.

 

Then a voice he would come to know in all its permutations said, “Cowards. Three on one? I think not.”

 

“Shit!” one of Thom’s attackers growled.

 

Thom peered out from under his arms, expecting to see a policeman. Instead there was a man of about twenty five, dressed in casual clothing, carrying a sword in one hand, a flail in the other. The man immediately put the latter weapon to use, wrapping it around the bat one of Thom’s attackers held, yanking it from his hand. Then the sword flashed down, severing the tendons in the attacker’s wrist.

 

The second attacker began circling the man, his iron pipe held defensively as he looked for an opening even as his face registered disbelief. The third man opted for the wiser choice and fled down the alley.

 

“Do you really want to take me on?” Thom’s rescuer scathingly asked the man holding the pipe. When the attacker held his ground, the flail was swung again. This time though it bit through flesh, the sound of cracking bone coming seconds before the shout of anguish from the attacker.

 

“Remove yourselves, now,” Thom’s rescuer ordered, uncaring that both his victims were bleeding and moaning in pain. “If I ever see you again, I shall not be so lenient.”

 

The two men fled, not looking back.

 

“Now, for you, let me see how badly you are hurt.”

 

“I’ll live,” Thom told him. “I owe you my life. I don’t know how to thank you, sir.”

 

“It’s Keegan, not sir,” the man said as he beckoned Thom away from the wall. “And I do intend to make certain that you’re all right. So lift up your shirt.”

 

Thom did, at the same time telling Keegan his name.

 

“Well, Thom,” Keegan said after gently probing the bruised area on Thom’s side, “you’re correct, you will live and nothing was broken, although I for one would get checked out to make certain no ribs were fractured.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Thom then shook his head. “No fracture. Been there, done that, it doesn’t hurt to breathe.”

 

“Been attacked before have you?” Keegan asked, frowning.

 

“No. Just a bad fall off my bike when I was younger.”

 

Keegan nodded, not taking his eyes off of Thom. After a long moment he said, “I’ll walk you home, or to your car, or wherever you were headed before so foolishly coming down this alley.”

 

For a few seconds Thom debated and then said, “Home.”