Free Sandstorm by Megan Derr

couldn't.
    Snorting, longing for cold water and a soft bed, he checked that his face covering was in place, that his equipment was easily accessible, then ran through his plans one last time.
    A horn sounded in the dark, high and long, spreading across the surrounding area just as the cold did once the sun vanished. Near as he'd been able to tell, that meant no one was to enter or leave camp - or their tents.
    Shadows, of course, were exempt. Hopefully they were aware of that. Laughing softly at himself, he gave Angel one last pat and then slid down a dune, weaving his way slowly through the thinning sands, snaking into the grasses and around to the back of the camp.
    Getting in was easy. If he did everything right, as he probably would, getting out would be just as easy. If he messed up…

    Better to think positive. All would go as the Lady willed. Assuming her will matched his. If not, then there would be problems.
    The problem with invading camps on flat land was the general lack of places to hide. He had nothing but the absolute dark of a moonless night and his memories. If someone had neglected to put something away, that would be another problem.
    Problems, problems, never any real solutions.
    Stifling a sigh, keeping positive thoughts in the back of his mind to spur him on, he followed the trail he'd planned, wending his way toward the camp. Paused, knelt in the grass, froze in place as guards passed by, walking the wide, open perimeter of the camp. Slunk by once they were well out of range. Unlike rock in an echoing canyon, dry grass would mark him all too readily.
    Heart knocking against his ribs, fighting an urge to make some sort of noise simply to release tension, he finally reached the edge of the tents and released a soundless sigh of relief.
    Fingers brushed briefly across his pouches, touched his knife, assuring him that all he needed was there and ready for use.
    Even Viper hadn't been as nerve-wracking as this venture, and the close call he'd had there still woke him up in a cold sweat.
    Rolling his eyes, giving himself a stern reprimand, he finally moved forward, calling up the image of the layout of the camp in his mind and turning left as he passed by the first one.
    A hand snagged his wrist, dragged him roughly inside and up against a wide chest.
    "It's about time," his captor said, voice as dark and rough as desert wine, sending helpless shivers down his spine. Fingers brushed over the fabric on his face, and the voice laughed, causing new shivers, before rough fingers tore the fabric away and a mouth closed over his, immediately aggressive, hungry, consuming, tasting like honeyed nuts and something familiar…something he should know…
    He couldn't help kissing back, bewildered and enthralled, wishing for a moment that he was the lover this man had mistaken him for. But it lasted only a moment, and in the next his captor realized something was wrong.
    "You're a fine kisser," that rough voice said, "but not the one I was expecting."
    "I'm better," he replied, then lashed out with his foot, kicking hard, breaking free when the hold weakened briefly, giving himself space to launch a high kick - crying out briefly in dismay when his foot was grabbed, the neat counter knocking him hard to the ground, darkness spinning dizzily around him. Then a flash of pain, and the darkness thickened.
    Then nothing.
    He woke to laughter and an aching head - a head that he realized lacked a cover.
    "The prisoner wakes."
    He closed his eyes, fear settling hard in his gut as he remembered what had transpired. This probably wouldn't end well. At least his father would never find out he'd failed because of a kiss.

    The world spun dizzily, pain exploding in his already aching head, as he was backhanded by a nearby soldier.
    "Who are you?" When the world finally stopped spinning, and the figure before him became one and not three, he saw that the speaker was a thick, heavyset man with a beard that looked like somewhere a black