My Domestica | My Bodyguard Book 2

Prologue

Geralt POV

Geralt had reached the Corps Headquarters perhaps a half an hour after he left Jaskier. There had been a brief, rushed meeting with Vesemir and a couple of other senior members, then Geralt had been sent off again. The Corps had a private airport to move their people around. It was small, but very much their own. And due to that, it carried the strictness and timeliness the rest of Witcher Corps did.

Geralt had only an hour to catch his flight before he took off. He had been hoping for more time. He'd hoped he'd be able to explain everything to Ciri and Yennefer in person, instead of over a call that had gone to voicemail. Ciri had been at school, and who knew where Yennefer was? He didn't, that was for certain.

The flight had taken until early the next morning. It was strange to think that only about twenty-four hours previously, he had been dragged out to the club where Jaskier had used to work. He didn't want to think about it, frankly. He hadn't told Vesemir of his failure to stay detached, but he knew that the older man was aware. He always was.

Renfri had done well enough in Geralt's absence. He had discovered that no one had been assigned to her in the time he had been gone. It had only been four days, but it had been expected that he wouldn't be returning. She was still running, the men after her still hunting her. But she was doing alright and welcomed him back, if a little suspicious.

She had told him not to contact her due to the hunt intensifying. Calls could be traced, and being in contact with someone out of the country could easily get her killed. That was if the signal giving away her location didn't first. Some of Geralt's anxiety over their situation dissipated at that, though now he was thinking through other things.

And that had brought them here. Now, he was sitting on a couch in a dark, cramped room that was far too warm and stank of sex. Renfri was curled up beside him, her smaller body warm against his side.

He had an arm resting across the back of the couch behind her. What they'd done, he.. he regretted it. Not yet, but he knew he would. Renfri didn't deserve the wrath of Yennefer, though Geralt certainly did. 

He had been thinking for months that perhaps it wasn't going to keep working out between him and Yennefer. He had only proven himself correct. They were together so rarely, and when they were, things felt cold and angry. Bitter. Hidden. It wasn't working, not for Geralt.

Renfri turned her head to look at him, brown curls framing her face. He could see her easily in the dark, the only slivers of light the ones that crept in through the cracks along the windowsill. They were in a basement-like place, a safe house Renfri had for herself. When he had been assigned back to her, she had ordered him to go to another. She'd beat him there.

He felt her scrutinizing his face for a moment, then she leaned forwards. There was a small, low table in front of them, a television on the wall maybe a stride behind it. Renfri grabbed the remote and leaned back against him. She turned the TV on and began flipping through the channels, going until something caught her eye. Geralt thought he heard a familiar name be said on one of them.

"Wait," he muttered. "Go back." She frowned at him but did so until he said to stop. Jaskier's name came up again, and Geralt felt his blood run cold. It hadn't been all that long since they had split. Hell, Jaskier shouldn't be out of the hospital for at least another day. Why was he on the news?