Deathbeds[✓]

Prologue

Vilemyr Inn, the Rift:
Last known location of the Dragonborn

  Bishop felt warm and fuzzy from the copious amounts of ale he consumed. A heavy snow made its way from the north and blanketed the town of Ivarstead in thick sheets.

He was snowed in, so to speak, with Karnwyr napping in the corner by the fire. That was the least of his thoughts when a road-worn traveler came through the door and took the stool next to him at the bar.

Wilhelm silently poured the person a drink as the newcomer wiped the snow off their cloak and smoothed down the hood.

Just his luck, Bishop thought, eyeing the pretty brunette next to him. Maybe he wouldn't be spending the night alone after all.

The woman- short, tanned, and curvaceous- emptied the contents of her tankard in one fell drink. She gestured for Wilheim to keep bringing the ale.

Bishop smirked, amused. "Same here, bartender. Keep the mead flowing."

Wilheim did as asked, moving about the busy inn and leaving Bishop alone with the brunette. He was already a few tankards into his inebriation, but maybe she wouldn't mind. Looked like she had the same idea as him.

"Hey," Bishop nudged her with his elbow, scooting his stool closer to her. "I haven't seen you here before, have I?"

She smiled a little impishly. "No, and I haven't seen you here before either," her dark brown eyes moved from his eyes down, a warm feeling gripped Bishop's gut at the inspection. She surely wasn't trying to be inconspicuous about it.

"Ah, you minx," Bishop growled playfully at her, baring his white teeth. "The name is Bishop, and you, sweetness?" He reached out and tugged at a dark ringlet gently.

She smiled, her dark eyes sparkling in the low light. "You may call me Ruma."

"Ruma," Bishop chuckled, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw and throat. "And what brings you, Ruma, to Ivarstead?"

"Same as any sane person," she grumbled, "escaping the blizzard outside."

Bishop leaned a shoulder against hers, his heat emanating from him and sinking into her skin. Bishop smirked at the quiet gasp that left her lips.

"It's awfully cold out there, isn't it?" He licked his lips and gazed at her face openly. "I could keep you warm through the night."

Ruma looked down briefly, a flicker of doubt in her eyes before she grabbed the two bottles of ale Wilhelm left for them. She stood and gestured to Bishop with the bottles in her hand.

"You got a room, don't you?"

Bishop scrambled to his feet and grabbed her by her free hand towards his room. He closed the door after they entered. She wasted no time to uncork the tops of the bottles before handing him one.

Bishop had to admire her brazen enthusiasm. He followed her lead, taking a few hearty swallows before leaving the bottle on the nightstand. She faced him then, her face impassive, as she reached for the various straps and binds of her traveling gear.

"Hold there, sweetness," Bishop reached for her hands to still them, noticing the slight tremble there. He frowned, meeting her eyes with seriousness. "If you don't want to..."

"I do," she clipped, and that was enough permission Bishop needed. Maybe he mistook it for cold. Her hands were freezing, he reasoned.

"Then if you don't mind, this is my favorite part," he tugged at a loose string on the front of her shirt.

The next morning, Bishop woke up alone. The side of the bed Ruma occupied after their drunken tumble in the sheets was vacated and cold. Ruma was the kind of wanton woman Bishop could ever dream about. She was so warm, slick, and incredibly tight under him, not to mention very vocal, chanting his name in breathy whispers like a prayer when he brought her to her peak. The way she looked at him through half-lidded eyes, heat and desire turning her dark irises to black. He had to admit he was a little distraught that she left before him.

He frowned, wondering why he even cared that she was gone- he had planned to leave her in the morning anyway.

He dressed in his dark leathers and sat at the bar. His head was throbbing at the temples with a hangover, and even Ruma's face became a blur the more he thought about her.

Wilhelm pushed a plate in front of Bishop along with a mug of tea. He eyed the innkeeper skeptically. His stomach felt tight, full of ale and sour.

"I didn't ask for this," he frowned, though, really couldn't complain about free food.

The innkeeper chuckled. "I know. Courtesy of the Dragonborn."

Bishop pinched his face, "the dragon- what?" The Dragonborn? Deciding to do their good deed of buying poor wretched souls free meals?

Wilhelm raised a brow at Bishop. "Aye, the Dragonborn... she came in last night, you cozied up together?"

Bishop blanched. Ruma was the Dragonborn? He suddenly didn't feel very hungry, or grateful.

"And where did this Dragonborn go?" He gritted out. As soon as he had a direction or an idea, he and Karnwyr were out of here.

Wilhelm shrugged. "High Hrothgar would be my guess," he eyed Bishop suspiciously, "but they don't allow visitors."

Bishop pushed the plate away and stood. He shouldn't care about another woman. They both knew what they were getting into. A night in the sheets and not another thought after that.

But the Dragonborn got the slip on him. Which he hated to admit bothered him more than it should.