The dimly lit ballroom pulsed with the rhythmic cadence of music, and swirling couples moved in orchestrated elegance.
Amidst the sea of revellers, Geralt cut a path like a storm through the throng.
His amber eyes, usually cool and collected, blazed with an intensity that mirrored the firelight flickering on the walls.
Nefeli, the bewitching woman with a cascade of pink curls, twirled in the arms of a nobleman whose eyes betrayed his intent.
Geralt's gaze zeroed in on the pair, the tension in his muscular frame evident as he observed the unfolding scene.
The Witcher's finely tuned senses caught the subtle gesture of the man's hand tracing a dangerous path down Nefeli's back.
Jeskier had tried in vain to intercept the brewing storm.
The bard's eyes widened with concern, but Geralt's fury brooked no interference.
The Witcher's steel-clad boots thudded against the polished dance floor, creating a discordant symphony beneath the melodic strains of the music.
The air was thick with a heady mix of perfumes, laughter, and the clinking of glasses.
Fortunately, a haze of inebriation clouded the judgment of many in attendance.
Geralt's hulking figure garnered only passing glances, the noblemen oblivious to the storm about to break loose.
As he closed the distance, Geralt's hand shot out like a viper, seizing Nefeli's delicate arm.
His grip, though firm, betrayed a certain gentleness, a paradoxical mixture of strength and restraint.
Nefeli, momentarily disoriented by the abrupt interruption of her dance, was yanked away from the nobleman with an unexpected force.
The nobleman stumbled back, watching as the Witcher claimed the pink-haired enchantress in his strong grip.
Nefeli's surprise transformed into a fiery anger as she wrenched her arm free from Geralt's grasp.
The tension in the air crackled with unspoken words as the two locked eyes, her frustration resonating in the ballroom like a sudden thunderclap.
"What the fuck, Wolf?" her voice, usually melodic and sweet, carried a venomous edge.
Her eyes, pools of indignant fire, bore into Geralt's amber gaze, challenging him to explain his unexpected intrusion into her dance.
Her pink curls framed her face like a halo as she glared at Geralt, her eyes ablaze with a mixture of defiance and annoyance.
The sudden interruption had jolted her from the euphoria of the dance, and she couldn't fathom the contradiction in Geralt's actions.
Alister, a peripheral observer to this unexpected drama, stood at a small distance, his finely tailored attire now a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere surrounding Geralt and Nefeli.
His wide eyes betrayed his surprise, and he instinctively took a step back, unsure of how to navigate the storm that had erupted before him.
Geralt's amber gaze remained fixed on her, his voice a low, menacing rumble that resonated through the ballroom.
"Leave," he growled at the nobleman behind her, the words cutting through the music and conversation like a blade.
His tone brooked no argument, and the command hung in the air, laden with an unspoken threat.
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...
