14. Lirien
14
LIRIEN
I drop my pack in the corner, muscles aching from the fight. The room's small - one bed, a washbasin, and barely enough floor space for our gear. The innkeeper's knowing smile when I claimed Darak as my husband still burns in my mind.
"Husband and wife, eh?" Darak's voice drips with amusement.
My fingers fumble with the clasp of my cloak. The memory of introducing him as my brother to Serra rises unbidden. That particular lie had unraveled spectacularly. I shrug, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Care to bathe first?"
I shake my head, focusing on arranging my belongings. There is no denying that our bond is stronger now after the ritual and activating it during our scuffle, making it harder to ignore his presence. To ignore the way his crimson eyes follow my movements.
"Suit yourself, dear ." The way he drawls the endearment makes my skin prickle. His leather armor hits the floor piece by piece as he heads for the washroom—if you can call it that, with a partition not tall enough to cover the top of his head being the wall—each thud marking another layer shed.
I press my palm against the rough wooden wall, steadying myself. The strengthened bond thrums with his satisfaction, his amusement, his... something else I can't quite name. Won't name. I can hear the splash of water as he climbs into the basin, the mental image of his bare body haunting me with every blink.
I sink onto the bed, running my fingers through my tangled hair. At least "husband" should keep the innkeeper from asking questions about a man and woman traveling together. Even if Darak is a Dark Elf, I'm sure she's seen plenty of interesting pairings around here.
"Lucky our friends were so generous with their coin purse." Darak's voice carries over the partition, followed by more water splashing. "How exactly were you planning to book passage on a ship?"
I dig my thumbs into my aching feet, wincing at the tender spots. "I would have figured something out."
The words come out sharper than intended. My boots lie discarded on the floor, the leather worn thin from weeks of walking. Purple bruises mottle my skin where the straps cut in, and blisters have formed over older calluses.
"Of course you would have." The amusement in his tone makes my jaw clench. "Just like you figured out that ritual that got us here in the first place?"
Water sloshes against the basin's sides as he moves. I try not to picture it, focusing instead on massaging my abused feet. The pain helps ground me, keeps my thoughts from straying to his words at the lake.
"I was being an ass because... Because I wanted to see you react."
My hands still. The memory of his voice, low and sincere, sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the evening chill. I shrug off my outer robes, laying them across the narrow bed. The fabric is travel-stained and torn in places – a far cry from the elegant garments I once wore.
My neck aches from tension, and I press my fingers into the rigid muscles. More splashing sounds from behind the partition. Our fortified connection is carrying echoes of his satisfaction, his warmth, his...
I drop my hands to my lap. This isn't helping. My eyes trace the design of the ring he gave me.
"Are you nearly finished?" I ask, desperate to break the loaded silence.
"Missing me already, wife?"
I throw my boot at the partition.
His laugh echoes off the wooden walls as water splashes back into the basin. I focus intently on my feet, pretending the sound of his movements doesn't send shivers down my spine. The gentle sloshing of fresh water being poured tells me he's refilling the basin. For me. The consideration behind this simple act catches me off guard.
My breath hitches when he rounds the partition. Droplets of water trace paths down his ash-gray skin, following the contours of well-defined muscles earned through centuries of warfare. His long dark hair, usually tied back, falls loose and wet against his shoulders. Battle scars mark his chest and arms – some fresh, others faded to silvery lines that catch the dim lamplight. The towel sits dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of muscle disappearing beneath the fabric.
I look away, suddenly aware that I'm sitting here in just my clothes, which reveal more than I'm comfortable with. There is no mistaking the hints of his satisfaction at my reaction.
"See something you like?" His crimson eyes gleam with mischief.
"I see an elf who needs to learn about proper clothing." I turn away, cheeks burning. "And boundaries."
"Boundaries?" He steps closer, water still beading on his skin. "Interesting concept from someone who magically bound me to her."
I press my lips together, refusing to rise to his bait. The bond thrums with something deeper than mere amusement now, something that makes my pulse quicken.
I snatch my robes, wrapping them tightly around myself like armor. The fabric's familiar weight offers little comfort against Darak's scrutiny. His words from earlier - about Serra's perfect body, about my unremarkable form - echo in my mind, stinging fresh as salt in a wound.
"Move." I try to slide past him, keeping my eyes fixed on the partition.
His hand catches my arm, grip firm but not painful. Water still beads on his skin, and the contact sends electricity through my nerves. "Take them off."
"What?" I jerk back, pulse thundering. "No."
"Lirien." Frustration colors his tone. "I already told you you're not ugly."
I wrench my arm free, stepping back until my legs hit the bed. Anger burns hot in my chest, mixing with humiliation. "'Not ugly?' That's what you think counts as a compliment?"
Through our strengthened bond, I feel his confusion warring with irritation. Of course he doesn't understand. He's a Dark Elf warrior who's probably never questioned his worth a day in his life.
"You made it perfectly clear what you think of me." My fingers clutch the robes tighter. "How I pale in comparison to Serra's perfect form. Being 'not ugly' isn't exactly high praise, Darak."
His crimson eyes narrow. "That's not-"
"Don't." I raise my chin, meeting his gaze with all the fury I can muster. "Just don't."
I gasp as Darak yanks my robes away, my protests dying in my throat as his crimson eyes lock with mine. My skin prickles with goosebumps - from the cool air or his intense gaze, I'm not sure which. I can feel the sensation of something raw and unfamiliar as it travels between us.
"Stop," I whisper, but there's no force behind it. My arms move to cover my exposed midriff, where my cropped traveling shirt ends just below my ribs.
His finger traces my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire and ice—as conflicting as my choice is turning out to be. The calluses on his hands catch slightly against my skin as he follows the line of my shoulder, down my arm. My breath hitches when his touch skims the edge of my shirt, lingering at the strip of bare skin above my waistband.
The bond floods with his emotions - appreciation, desire, and something deeper that makes my heart race. I can't look away from his face as his eyes travel the length of my body, taking in every detail - the lean muscles earned from years of spell-casting, the faint scars from failed rituals, the curves that never quite filled out like Serra's.
"You're not ugly, Liri." His voice is rough, barely above a whisper. The use of my nickname sends a shiver down my spine. "You're far from it."
His throat works as he swallows hard, fingers still resting against my skin. "You're..."
"Filthy," I snap, cutting off whatever he was about to say. My feet carry me around the partition before he can respond, heart hammering against my ribs.
The water welcomes me, cool against my flushed skin as I sink beneath the surface. My hair fans out around me like silver seaweed, and I watch the ripples dance above through half- closed eyes. Echoes of his... frustration? Anger? Whatever it is, it crawls into my chest and stays there.
I break the surface with a gasp, pressing my forehead against the basin's edge. Water drips from my nose, my lips, my eyelashes. The strengthened bond makes it impossible to ignore the storm of emotions radiating from the other side of the partition.
"Liri." His voice is rough, closer than I expected.
"No." I squeeze my eyes shut.
But the memory of his touch lingers on my skin, the way his crimson eyes had darkened as they traced my form. Not with disgust or dismissal, but with something that made my breath catch.
The bond thrums between us, and I catch fragments of his thoughts - appreciation mingled with confusion, desire tangled with uncertainty. It's different from the calculated interest he showed Serra. More raw. More real.
I snatch the cloth from the basin's edge, scrubbing my skin until it turns pink. The water grows cloudy with dirt and sweat from our journey, and I watch the murk swirl as I lift my arm. My muscles ache from the fight, and I wince as I find new bruises forming.
I try to ignore my awareness of Darak’s presence on the other side of the partition as I finish washing, but his emotions leak through - patience tinged with something warmer that makes my cheeks flush.
After drying off, I slip back into my clothes, grateful for their familiar weight. My hair drips down my back as I step around the partition.
Darak lounges across the bed, bare-chested and wearing only his trousers. The lamplight catches the planes of his muscles, highlighting old scars and fresh bruises from our earlier fight. His crimson eyes find mine immediately.
"What are you doing?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
He pats the empty space beside him. "Waiting for you. The floor's not exactly comfortable."
"I'm not-"
"You can trust me." His expression softens, though mischief still dances in his eyes. "I won't hurt you. You know that now, don't you?"
The bond thrums between us, carrying his sincerity. I sigh, exhaustion finally winning over pride. "Fine. But stay on your side."
I slide under the blankets, keeping careful distance between us. The bed's narrow enough that I can feel his warmth, smell the clean scent of his skin. My heart thuds against my ribs as I settle onto my side, facing away from him.
Just as sleep begins to pull me under, his whisper breaks the silence. "You're beautiful."