Chapter 7 Neirin #2
The harp’s song was sweet and rich. It cast an air of romance, reflected in the hooded gazes of the women before the stage, their arms wrapped over their men’s shoulders, bodies pressed close together in a gentle sway.
“Would you like to dance?” I asked the woman, emboldened by the shift in atmosphere.
Her tone soured slightly. “Have you not had enough dancing for one night already?”
Confused, I drew my brows together.
For a moment, she studied me, then turned in her seat and leaned back against the bar, her head tilted up to the sky. “I was hoping the storyteller would be next.”
Unsure how to respond, I made a slight sound of acknowledgement and followed her gaze to the two moons, full on this night. They shone bright, despite the haze in the sky.
“A traveler came to our inn once,” she said, “and told a story of the moon gods. He said that when Ayre and Wyn fought, their anger cast upon the world in strikes of lightning and booms of thunder. And that the rain was their sisters’ tears.”
Unable to resist, I snorted. “Storytellers will make up anything if they believe it will earn them coin and fund their travels.”
“Perhaps. It’s something to consider, though. When my brother and I fight, it sometimes feels as if a storm has broken loose within me.”
The way she let her sentence fall off caught my attention. Something was bothering her, weighing her down, and though it wasn’t my place to press, I couldn’t stop myself. “Brothers can be …” I sighed.
“Pricks?”
Caught off guard by the woman’s candor, I laughed. Again, my heart leapt against my ribs. “Yes, something like that.”
“I’ve not heard Neirin laugh before,” Sindri said, coming to check our glasses. Leaning in close to the woman, he whispered something in her ear, and she giggled.
“What has he told you?” I asked when Sindri left us again, suspicious of the barkeep.
The woman took a sip from her cup, and I resisted the urge to grin at her poor handling of the smooth drink.
When she lowered the cup back to the bar, she leaned toward me.
She looked up at me through her lashes, her face close enough to mine to feel her breath, to see her eyes behind the slits in the mask.
I sucked in my breath, heart pounding, suddenly very aware again of the effect she had on me as she rested a hand on my thigh.
I swallowed, and she lost her composure, a smile tugging at her lips. “He said that you fancy me.”
Damn the barkeep. I lowered my voice. “And if I do?” The confidence in my tone boosted my ego, if only slightly.
The woman narrowed her eyes, a challenge dancing in them, and trailed her hand higher on my thigh. Biting her lower lip, she hummed. “I don’t know, Neirin, what if you do?”
Hearing my name on her tongue made my cock ache, almost painfully so. Her hand stilled in its path, and despite my efforts of restraint, I shifted my hips, instinct driving me, needing more. A look of satisfaction flashed in her eyes, glinting with mischief.
Before I could respond or find the courage to close the short gap between us and kiss her, she withdrew. The lack of her presence, and warmth, caused a knot to form in my throat.
“You were telling me of your brother,” she said as if the conversation had never shifted.
“Sindri is a traitor, and you,” I rumbled, letting playful amusement lace my words, “are a tease.”
She laughed and shrugged.
Despite the fluster I felt in her presence, the woman was easy to talk to; her candor was light, casual, and whatever forwardness I lacked, she more than made up for. She was bold and a bit crass. Stunning.
Determined to keep her engaged in conversation, I followed her lead. “He is young, irresponsible. It lends me to worrying over him and…his future. His safety. What of your brother?”
Scoffing, she took another minuscule sip of her liquor. “My brother aims to marry me off to a shoemaker.”
“Do you care for the man?” The words stung.
“Not like that, no.” She set her eyes back to the night sky. “But if I do not marry— It’s not about what I want.”
The sorrow in her tone drew a sigh from my lungs. “Very rarely is our life what we want it to be.” I ran my hand through the section of my hair left unbraided. What we want it to be. A muscle in my jaw flexed.
Perhaps the only thing worse than having unfulfilled desires was to not have any hopes for the future to begin with.
But what future could I have? All I could do was look after my brother.
That was my purpose, and that alone was all I needed.
In an effort to lighten our conversation, I nudged her shoulder playfully. “Tell me then, what do you want?”
With a tilt of her head, she looked over her shoulder at me, studying. “What I want will only cause trouble for my family.” She spoke faintly, defeat lacing the words. “The people in our village whisper that I am a witch.”
A witch. An Alidian. My stomach dropped. “Are you a witch?”
“Would it matter if I were?”
“No,” I said, knowing that if I hesitated in my response, it would distance her affections. Still, the lie was bitter on my tongue.
Seemingly not catching the weight her question bore on me, she resorted to rambling.
It was one of the reasons I didn’t take to courting a woman, the way they went on about things.
Quiet was better. Yet with her, I didn’t mind.
Clearly, the situation with her brother burdened her, and in truth, I could listen to her voice endlessly without growing tired of it.
Half of what she told me made little sense out of context, but I listened anyway. I let her speak and enjoyed the play of light across her soft features, as well as the sharp, contrasting shadows the mask cast in curving shapes and ridges on her face.
“So yes,” she finished with a breath. “He is a prick.” I parted my lips to give a response, but she cut me off. “And who is he to tell me who to bed?”
If her brother was the head of their house, it was in his right to arrange a betrothal for her. But something about the woman made custom seem irrelevant. There was a fire within her, one that, if quenched, would leave a darkness in the world.
My heart leapt. Though my nerves had lessened as we spoke, they flushed through me again. But this was my chance. I recognized the signs in the way she positioned herself at the edge of her stool closer to me, and the lingering glances. Even the path of her conversation was pointed.
“Yes.” I tucked a strand of her cinnamon curls behind her ear, letting my touch pause on her cheek before I drew back. “Who is he to tell you who to bed?”
Mischief danced in her eyes again, and when they lowered to my lips, I took my chance.
Leaning in until my nose brushed hers, I brought my hand back to the side of her face and stroked along her jawline with my thumb.
She whimpered faintly. The sound tightened my body, and I released a heady breath.
But what if, like with Frella, I was unable?
If I lost my vigor? The thought made me hesitate.
“I’ve broken rules today,” the woman said against my lips at my demurral, allure thickening her voice with sex. Her fingers tapped at my thigh.
“Your brother’s rules?”
She hummed her acknowledgement.
“Are you telling me this because you plan to break another?”
She ran her nose along mine.
I sucked in a breath as she moved her hand slowly, teasingly, sending waves of throbbing need between my legs.
When her touch found me, she grasped my length through the cloth of my pants, and I let my head fall back, entirely lost in the sensation of her touch.
I thrust against her, and a faint sound of amusement escaped her.
Through the haze of need, remembrance of Frella’s laughter came back to me. I drew back. But this woman’s eyes held a different kind of teasing. Narrowing my own, I withdrew her hand, even as it went against all my desires to do so.
“Tease,” I lectured.
“Are you so sure?”
“Are you implying you aren’t?”
She shrugged.
On the bar top, my last drink lay untouched. I took it and gestured, using the moment to calm my racing heart. The woman made me weak, shaken, and desperate in ways I didn’t know were possible.
Playing along, the woman retrieved her half-finished shot and held it up, mirroring me.
“To witches and monsters,” I toasted, and she tipped her glass to mine.
The clink resonated through me, a realization of the words I’d spoken.
They’d come to me without thought. Peering over the rim of her cup, she took the remainder of the liquor in stride.
I mimicked her, yet the weight of my toast left me conflicted, unsure.
“Are you a monster?”
The question took me off guard, sobered me. I gritted my teeth to still the tremble of my hands and pushed down the memory of Thatch’s eyes, wide, as he’d backed away from me all those years ago. I shut out the memory of the hate in his eyes as he retrieved his wooden sword from his feet.
My response came in a breath. “Yes.”
The woman set her glass down, and I followed her movements, surprised when her expression softened. I’d laid the most vulnerable part of myself before her, yet she didn’t falter. Even if she couldn’t possibly understand the extent of my words. The pounding of my heart fumbled and leapt.
“Aren’t you going to ask if it matters?” she asked.
If being a monster mattered? If it scared her? If she hated me as much as I hated myself? “I—”
“It doesn’t.” Her words were resolute. With them, something locked into place. It terrified me, but there was no way to deny it.
My soul became hers.
“We all have monsters,” she said. “I’m not afraid of yours.”
Heart pounding, I offered her my hand. “Dance with me.” The words came out stilted, but if she had noticed, she did not say so. Nervous excitement heated my veins. Would she turn down the invitation again?