The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Beauclair, 1241

Geralt leaned over and stoked the fire. He was naked, his body was slick with sweat, and his hair was stuck to his cheeks. The silver strands glowed in the dim light.

He turned, all of his powerful muscles flexing as he walked back to the bed. Robin was reclining on top of the furs, equally sweaty, her skin glistening.

There was a blissful look on her face. Her eyes flickered open as Geralt joined her.

She traced the scar on his chest as he got closer. "Tell me how you kill a kikimora," she requested.

"Hm," Geralt murmured, grabbing her hand and kissing her knuckles. "They're very formidable creatures. I honestly hope you never have to see one."

"Just in case," she suggested, smiling at him. "I'm very curious about something that can scar my werewolf witcher."

Her cheeks flushed and her face fell slightly as she realized what she'd said.

She was worried that the insinuation of more than a simple arrangement between them would make him distant.

Of course, she didn't know that he was just as worried that being too critical of her insinuation would push her away.

So he didn't mention it. Instead, he simply chuckled, which instantly brought back her smile, and the slip passed.

"Well," he began shortly after, "they resemble giant spiders, except they have a distorted mammalian skeleton. Obvious pubic bone, an inverted rib cage for a back, humanoid skull. Covered in coarse, dark hair. Three legs on either side, and two right underneath their head that act more like arms. All tipped with long, sharp spikes."

"Did that scar come from a spike?" she wondered.

He nodded. "The spikes are quite powerful, but they're not what you have to worry about. You see," he explained, "the kikimora will try to pin you..."

He quickly rolled on top of her, grabbing her wrists and yanking them apart, pressing them into the bed. She was held in place by his considerable bulk, yet she only giggled.

He would pay what little money he generally had to hear that sound over and over again.

His cock stirred as he felt her pliant body beneath him and thought of being inside her yet again tonight.

But he had to finish his lecture first.

"And then what?" she asked, gazing up at him. "It slashes your throat?"

He shook his head. "Hardly. The kikimora prefers its prey alive. The pinning is so it can poison you with its bite."

"Its bite?" she echoed.

"Mmm," he hummed. "A kikimora's bite will paralyze you. You'll be helpless against it as it starts to feed."

Her eyes widened a little. "I see," she whispered. "Does the poison work against you?"

"It would eventually. It might take more than one bite, but it's hard to say precisely. I have elixirs that can counter it as well. You see, a witcher's advantage is that a kikimora wants its prey to be completely subdued before the bite, because its head is the most vulnerable part of its body. I always aim for it."

"And why is it the most vulnerable?"

"Well, despite its large size - most are over six feet tall when extended to their full height, and about roughly twice that in length, somewhere in between for width - a kikimora's physiology is remarkably delicate. It's just as easy to slice one of their limbs off as it is a human one, and a blow to the skull can kill it. And, since it has flat teeth, though they often break and become jagged, and no distended snout to speak of, it has to be very close to deliver its bites."