Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

"I'm only a poor straight boy, I can't ogle men properly."
    "Yeah, I know. Four years and I've still not turned you." Alex sighed dramatically before suddenly reaching forward to grab Stuart round the neck. Pulling him into his body he scrubbed his hand through his friend's short brown spiked hair. "Still, you're not bad for a straight boy."
    "Pack it in." Stuart half-heartedly tried to fight him off.
    "Hey! I said watch what you're doing!" A pair of hands shoved roughly into Alex's back, making him stagger forward and push Stuart heavily into the metal shuttered window of the building.
    "Lay off," Alex spun away from his friend with a snarl, dropping the now empty bottle as his hands curled into fists.
    "You looking for a fight?" The man towered aggressively over Alex's much shorter figure.
    "Al, leave it." Stuart reached forward to put a hand on Alex's tensed shoulders. "I'm fine, it's not worth it."
    "Listen to your friend," the other man snarled, starting to turn his back. Alex stepped forward, trying to shrug Stuart's hand from his shoulder. As he did his foot caught on the paving slab and he fell heavily into the other man's back.
    The first blow landed against Alex's chin even as he tried to regain his balance. Putting his hands up to protect his face he felt a quick, powerful, jab to his ribcage that made him draw in a sharp breath. Swinging his right arm wildly, he smiled as his fist made contact with the other man's stomach; causing a sudden exhalation and a muttered curse. Pulling his fists back towards his chest Alex looked up to spot his opponent. As he prepared to punch his right arm forward, the other man's left fist landed solidly on the side of his head just above his ear.
    Alex's vision swam as he staggered backwards. Unable to regain his balance, he fell sideways crashing heavily to the ground. He felt pain explode across the back of his head before he passed out.
    ****
    Alex groaned as the painful throbbing in his head pulled him back towards consciousness. His first thought was that the ground he was lying on felt hard and damp against the bare skin of his shoulders. A light breeze, scented by pine trees, wood smoke and farm animals brushed over him. Sunlight seemed to burn through the fragile skin of his eyelids; but there was very little heat accompanying it.
    He attempted to sit up. That was a mistake, the motion causing a strong wave of nausea to run through his body. With his eyes still closed he lay back waiting for the feeling to pass.
    'Bloody hell, just how much did I drink last night?' he asked himself as he started to replay the evening before.
    He could remember getting ready. Determined to enjoy his final night as a student he'd optimistically slipped a couple of condoms into the hidden pocket of the kilt alongside his phone, cash and door keys. He recalled being in the bar with Stuart, they'd had a couple of bottles there and then things started to get fuzzy. He remembered music, and being outside, possibly he'd been queuing for the club. He shook his throbbing head gently trying to get his thoughts in order. There was only a faint memory of sudden pain and then floating in a quiet darkness. After that his thoughts stopped making sense at all; the cold sharp edge of a sword being held to his throat then being picked up and carried over someone's shoulder. Alex shook his head, no, that must have been a dream. An unexpected image flashed suddenly across his vision. Someone looking down at him, ice blue eyes set in a pale skinned face, long red-blonde hair tied into two braids falling each side of a clean shaven chin. Not a face he could put a name to, but for some reason it seemed important.
    As the pounding in his head began to subside he realised he could hear people moving nearby, their voices low. The language they were using was familiar to Alex, yet something he wasn't used to hearing, or using. Listening carefully he caught a couple of words and a sudden image sprang into his mind; his elderly grandfather sitting at the kitchen table with Alex on one side of him and his younger brother perched on his knee as he patiently taught them the almost dead language of their ancestors. Alex smiled; the language those around him were speaking wasn't quite Gaelic, but it was close enough that he understood, despite the unfamiliar accent. The tone wasn't unfamiliar though; the words were spoken with anger and suspicion.
    "I say we kill him," a harsh voice suddenly cut loudly across the