the angels hidden blade

FOURTY ONE

THE WHITE WOLF

The White Wolf trod silently through the forest, a place where shadows danced among the trees, and the air was thick with an almost mystical stillness. 

The scent of damp earth and pine lingered as he ventured deeper into the heart of the woodland, his senses attuned to every rustle and whisper.

He said he was getting wood. It was a load of shit.

The White Wolf's fury burned hotter than the embers of a dying fire as he remembered Nefeli's display at the campfire.

Her plump lips, bitten with a tantalizing defiance, and her eyes, that enchanting shade of pale pink, spoke of a mischief that only fueled the flames of his anger. 

She advanced toward the bard with purpose as if she planned to do something. 

He remembered the way she moved beneath him. 

How her delicate voice had screamed and moaned as his tongue sank into her. 

How those soft cheeks had turned rosy pink as he murmured wicked things in her ear. 

He'd held her throat and sunk into her until she couldn't speak coherently. 

Yet she'd looked at another man as if none of that had happened. 

Unable to contain the surge of wrath within him, his instincts kicked in with a sudden, brutal force. 

In a flash of unbridled frustration, he seized her, his powerful arms encircling her lithe form. 

With a swift and decisive motion, he flung her over his shoulder, the surprising lightness of her body betraying the strength concealed within.

She had squealed with surprise and the sound had gone straight to his cock.

The scent of honey and wildflowers enveloped him. 

She smelt like she tasted. 

Sweet and intoxicating.

The bard's voice filled his head like the echo of a screaming banshee. 

Her first. 

He had been her first. 

The idea ripped primal satisfaction through him, but also filled his stomach with ice. 

He hadn't known and had left her to deal with the aftermath by herself.

A subtle unease gripped him, pulling him from his thoughts as a ghostly hand trailed down his spine.

He couldn't shake the feeling of unseen eyes fixated on him, dissecting his every movement. 

The dense foliage around him seemed to come alive with movement, and the White Wolf, in tune with the primal instincts that had saved him countless times before, slowed his pace.

His amber eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the surroundings with supernatural precision. 

He was being watched. 

The play of shadows and dappled sunlight revealed nothing overtly sinister. 

Yet, on the fringes of his perception, a flicker of movement betrayed the presence that lingered just beyond. 

With an instinctual grace, he shifted course, navigating through the labyrinth of trees towards the elusive disturbance. 

Every step was calculated, his movements a dance with the ancient rhythm of the forest.

He emerged from the cover of leaves, his senses ablaze. 

There she was, a figure cloaked in shadows, a silent observer with intent.

He could smell her. Sweet and delicious.

The pursuit had become the pursued, and he moved with the grace of a predator closing in on its prey.

Silent as the night, he closed the distance, the very essence of his being concealed within the symphony of rustling leaves and forest.

The Witcher, with a grip forged by years of battles, seized the intruder's arm and pressed her against the sturdy trunk of a nearby tree.

Her pink eyes, like the soft glow of sunset, met his unwavering gaze. 

Nefeli's short, curly hair framed her face in a delicate cascade of hues, and her full lips slightly parted as he caught her.

Despite the situation, the White Wolf couldn't deny the ethereal beauty that radiated from her.

"Really, Cupid, spying now?" His voice carried a note of care, a subtle admission of the dreams that had plagued his every moment.

Nefeli's eyes, however, burned with a mix of heat and outrage. 

The surprise in her gaze was quickly replaced by a piercing glare, and the Witcher found himself captivated by the intensity within those pink orbs.

He wanted to make them flare that crimson red again. 

Unyielding, he maintained their proximity, feeling the warmth of her against him. 

The unexpected connection lingered, and the words that escaped his lips were laden with a sentiment he hadn't anticipated.

Nefeli forcefully freed herself from his grasp her pink eyes hard and icy as she glared at him with fury. 

The White Wolf, now a step back, watched her with a mix of confusion and intrigue. 

The pale pink eyes he had come to know so well now glowed with a familiar dark magic. 

Turning the outside of them a subtle red, bleeding into the pink.

"Wolf," she purred, and the air between them crackled with an unseen energy. 

The intensity in her gaze held a promise, and the White Wolf had to keep himself from her by force. 

He wanted to rip the tight black leather from her body. Sink his teeth into her soft skin and fill her until she couldn't walk. 

But that glow in her eyes, and the ripple of magic, stopped him in his tracks. 

For the first time, he felt like he was the one being hunted.