Blood & Shadows

Three

Dull, dim and dove grey, dawn crests casting strange, muted silver light over everything. The hearth is down to embers and Vrythien stretches out in front of it, eyes closed and lips parted with palms flat over his heart. Gods he's painfully beautiful. Staring at him without fear of reprisal, I hate how perfect he is.

Maybe things would be different if I could recall who HE is but since I can't, I have to look at everyone as suspicious. Doubly so attractive men who happen to be bound to me.

A giggle and a soft muted gasp come from the back followed by haughty laughter and a deep masculine purr. Faeriel and Geraent are having fun.

I suppose oaths to gods mean nothing now.

"I do believe our fair priestess broke her vows last night and is in the process of breaking them again." Vrythien chuckles. "One can hardly blame her though. Distraction is worth the price when you think you're on the cusp of death."

"Are we on the cusp of death though? It doesn't look like a lethal spell." I stare at that faint shimmering power between us. Another moan sounds out soft and muted as Vrythien sits up and crawls to me. The heat in his eyes is enough to make me tremble.

"If what I recall of it is correct, eventually it will take from us until there's nothing left. We could distract each other," a devious smirk pulls his lips. "I don't particularly like you but you're pretty enough that I am curious as to how you taste." He places a hand on my thigh and a jolt of pain and power jumps between us with a memory.

Agony.

Fear.

Helplessness.

Pain echoes between us as a flash of the red-haired wizard forcing himself between my thighs is superimposed on top of a dark-haired elf behind Vrythien with a handful of those silver curls as tears run down his face.

Oh, the hateful sneer that contorts those beautiful features as he yanks his hand back and stands. He glares at me as though he's making his best attempt to set me aflame. Clearly that flash was something he'd rather no one see.

I have no memory of what transpired beyond that flash of an image which makes it feel like it happened to someone else entirely and I was merely a witness to it. His experience? It's left its mark on him. Hate taints those glassy wet ruby pools, he hates that it happened and hates it even more that I know.

"I won't tell a soul," I whisper, my voice nearly lost to the whistling of the wind through the thatch.

He leans forward, close enough that I can smell the wine on his breath. We're inches apart and I'm shivering simply from the proximity of him. It's not fear that makes me shake, it's something else entirely that I don't know how to make sense of paired with that flash of memory.

"Speak a word of it and I will slit your lovely throat ear to ear in your sleep." There's no emotion as he speaks. Those words fall from his lips with about as much passion as someone asking about the weather. There's no delight or glee, simply a cold truth. He'll kill me. It isn't a threat; those words are a promise—one he's made before. Something about that makes my heart race. Why is it thrilling? Why does it make me want to hike my skirt and crawl over him all the more?

Something is so very wrong with me.

So, there's more to Vrythien than being a courtier or a lord's retainer. Everything about him is a lure that draws me closer and closer. It's been two days of walking and two nights of rest and I'm already intrigued. He's not. No, that gaze of his speaks of boredom and I can't blame him. I don't know how but I know he's older than he looks. At first glance, he seems a young, frivolous elf, but his actions say otherwise.