A surge of conflicting emotions coursed through Nefeli.
He had made it clear after their spar at Ker Morhen—do not touch him.
But here he was, his hand on hers, breaking the unspoken rule.
The fire within her only grew, fueled by the contradictory nature of the contact.
Did he feel this? What was this?
Her eyes unfocused from the surroundings, the world around her blurred, and her senses became singularly attuned to the point of connection.
The magnetic pull, the clash of conflicting sensations, intensified.
Nefeli found herself drawn to him in a way that transcended reason, an attraction that defied the boundaries set by both pride and caution.
Her gaze, usually sharp and perceptive, now held a certain softness as the layers of her defences crumbled.
The attraction, a complex blend of fear, curiosity, and a hint of something deeper left Nefeli grappling with the unfamiliar terrain of her own emotions.
The spell was broken abruptly as the bald man bellowed angrily, his voice cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade.
"Isadora!" The fire within Nefeli was doused immediately, extinguished by the sudden intrusion of reality.
The furious gaze of the bald man fixed on the barmaid, and Nefeli, released from the unspoken enchantment.
The bald man's glare remained fixed until the barmaid, Isadora, walked away, muttering under her breath.
The dirty, bald man continued to glare at Geralt, his disdain for the Witcher apparent.
Completely disregarding Nefeli's presence, he spat out his words with a venomous anger that hung heavy in the air.
"We don't want your kind here, Witcher," he sneered, the hostility evident in every syllable.
The tavern's atmosphere, already tense, took on an additional layer of animosity as the man voiced the collective sentiment of the townsfolk.
Nefeli felt the flames of anger flicker within her, a reaction to the blatant prejudice that echoed in the man's words.
Her hands, wrapped tightly around the cup, heated up as if absorbing the intensity of her emotions.
The brewing rage within her threatened to spill over, and for a moment, she teetered on the edge of losing control.
Geralt, seemingly unfazed by the man's hostility, remained stoic.
Geralt's gaze remained fixed on the man, an unyielding stare that seemed to pierce through the layers of animosity.
Nefeli felt his fingers tighten on her hand. The shiver that travelled up her spine was both a physical and emotional response.
The man, however, shifted his gaze between Geralt and the onlookers behind them.
A snivelling voice emerged from the shadows, the words laced with disdain.
YOU ARE READING
the angels hidden blade
FanfictionNefeli, or "Cupid", as the infuriating beast likes to call her, has never been wanted at anyone's side, and she sure as hell has never been loyal to a single soul. The stoic and fierce Vesemir bled the ability out of her, just as he tainted her blo...
