Chapter 1 #2
“You two go on without me, I’m more interested in the food than the performances anyway. I’ll find you later.”
“The food… or the ale?” Mirra raised an eyebrow. Fenrir laughed, splaying his hands guiltily as he backed away from them, quickly disappearing in the direction of the tavern.
“I’m sorry, Mirra,” Aelia called over the bustle around them, but Mirra just shrugged.
“Nothing I’m not used to.” She brushed it off, as though Aelia couldn’t see the hurt behind the brave facade.
They’d been friends for far too long for Aelia to not know just how deeply that kind of comment cut her, but the Peregrinian’s visits were too few and far between for them to let one miserable vendor ruin their fun.
Aelia linked her arm through Mirra’s and gave a gentle squeeze, and Mirra returned it with a smile.
It looked like most of the villagers had arrived to enjoy the first night and, judging by the low pounding of drums bouncing off the trees, the celebrations had begun. Excitement pushed aside any residual anger, and they slipped through the crush of people towards the beat.
Aelia let Mirra guide her to a crowd surrounding a pair of artemian dancers; they flowed with the music, soaring around each other, their movements simultaneously graceful and passionate.
They moved with perfect harmony; the woman spun wildly around her partner, but he caught her with a gentle strength.
Each touch was a caress, their bodies parting and whirling around each other, and yet somehow constantly connected.
It was sensual and mesmerising, and Aelia couldn’t tear her eyes away.
The dance ended as the pair leapt towards each other and, at the last moment, Shifted to form two Doves that flew towards the stars, winding interlacing circles in perfect synchronisation.
The crowd erupted into applause, whooping and cheering as the Doves disappeared into the stars.
The spaces between the trees had become a kaleidoscope of natural stages, performers scattered in the flickering firelight. All of the Peregrinians were artemians, and they flitted between their two forms in their performances, weaving their second natures into their craft.
Aelia and Mirra walked between the artists spread out beneath the trees, seeing as many as they could.
They oohed and aahed along with the other onlookers at tightrope walkers that swung precariously before flipping back onto the rope; storytellers; Horses that pirouetted; singers that had people crying with laughter, and women who could bend and contort their bodies into the most unnatural positions.
They were nearing the end of the acts when a burst of flame caught Aelia's attention, with subdued cheers and claps emanating from the spectators around it.
A drum resonated in the darkness, hitting a low, carnal rhythm.
Curious, Aelia started pushing her way to the front until she could see, but when she did, she froze.
The audience stood unnaturally far back, and not because of the bursts of fire.
No, it was the man himself that no one wanted to get close to, seeming to share the same ancient instinct to fear him that ricocheted through her.
He stood alone in the ring but towered above them all, wearing only a pair of loose trousers, and Aelia struggled not to gawk at the defined ridges of muscle bunching over his bare torso.
When she managed to peel her gaze away from the delicious arrowing v of muscle disappearing below his waistband, her eyes trailed up his body to finally land on his face, and she swallowed. Hard.
His features were made of harsh lines; his nose angular, his cheekbones carved into the tanned skin, whilst the sharp line of his jaw clenched in extreme concentration.
A slight frown added to the severe image.
But it wasn't just his size or blatant strength that made him so threatening; it was the way he controlled the fire he whirled around him. Both ends of the staff he wielded burned fiercely as he moved in time to the drum, his hulking figure agile as he lunged and spun within the circle of onlookers. The way he moved reminded her of the stories of warriors they had been told as children, his form imposing and precise, and yet he wasn’t at war with the flames.
It seemed to Aelia as though they danced for him, whirling around him in a torrent, surrounding him in a blaze so ferocious the air crackled.
He played with it, exciting it until it raged before him, angry and scorching, before calming it again.
Something about it, about him, had her mesmerised.
They watched him, the man the fire dared not disobey, the man the fire dared not burn. His bare torso glistened with a sheen of sweat; the dancing flames reflected in his dark eyes.
Eyes that flicked up to meet hers.
It was like a punch to the chest. Or more like a fist had punched into her chest and squeezed.
She took a step back, her hand flying to her sternum, unable to take her eyes off his.
The stranger’s concentration seemed to falter, the flaming staff falling from its arc for a fraction of a second before he corrected it, his dark eyes wide as he tore them away from hers.
The sensation passed as quickly as it had arrived, and Aelia took in a shaky breath, rubbing her chest distractedly as she continued to watch him. What the hell was that about?
“Here.” Mirra wafted a hanky at her.
“What?” Aelia looked at it, confused and resentful of having to look away from the stranger.
“For the drool,” Mirra smirked.
Aelia knocked the hanky away, a smile pulling at her lips as Mirra giggled.
“He’s just your type,” Mirra continued.
“I have a type?” Aelia’s attention had already turned back to the man.
“Sure.” Mirra shrugged, going back to watching him too. “Handsome, hunky, and crucially, he’ll be gone in a few days.”
Aelia rolled her eyes down at Mirra, who smiled sweetly at her.
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”
“Hey, you know I don’t judge, I’m just saying because if you are going to make a move, you better do it fast. It looks like you’re going to have some competition.”
Aelia followed Mirra’s gaze and spotted said competition. Dotted through the crowd of wary onlookers were a handful of women with a certain, unmistakable look on their faces. Aelia couldn’t blame them; if you looked past the unadulterated menace that oozed from every pore, he was drop-dead dreamy.
It was the drop-dead part that worried her.
“They can have him.” Aelia turned back to Mirra. “I’m quite keen to live to see the morning.”
A frown creased Mirra’s brow as she looked back at the man behind the swirling flames. “There is something a bit menacing about him, I’ll give you that.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m starving,” Aelia lied, grabbing her friend’s arm and tugging her away.
The last thing she wanted to do was leave; what she wanted was to lurk in the crowd and memorise every hard line of his body…
which was the very reason she needed to get the hell out of there.
The last thing she needed was drama, and her reaction to that man was nothing if not dramatic.
She didn’t let herself look back as they walked away, but she was certain she could feel the stranger’s gaze burning into her back long after they were out of eyesight.
“Holy crap, that’s good,” Mirra groaned, the words barely audible past her huge mouthful, sauce smeared over the corners of her mouth.
After far too much deliberation, they’d chosen lamb wrapped in some kind of flatbread, the pickled cabbage staining the creamy sauce an irresistible pink.
Aelia dropped her nose to it and took a long, drawn-out breath, her heightened sense of smell easily picking out the hints of garlic and rosemary underlying the earthy notes of the lamb.
She closed her eyes and took her first bite, trying to savour every flavour that hit her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything this good.
“Oh gods.” Her eyes flicked open to meet Mirra’s, shaking her head in disbelief; she didn’t think she’d ever eaten anything this good.
“Right?” Mirra said, before cramming as much of her own into her mouth as she possibly could.
They became too absorbed in the food to talk, the silence between them interrupted by the occasional moan of appreciation.
Around them, people milled between the campfires that dotted the forest floor.
The smell of foods from all over the country wafted from each one, the Peregrinian cooks selling their wares to the ravenous villagers.
“You two need to quieten down,” Fenrir said from behind them, making Mirra jump. “You sound positively indecent.”
“Fenrir, you have to get one of these.” Mirra stuffed another bite in, rolling her eyes towards the dense canopy overhead.
“Or you could let me have a bite of yours?” he said with a persuasive tilt of his head.
Mirra’s face fell, eyes dropping to what little was left of her food with a look of utter heartbreak, before holding it out to him. Fenrir took it with a mischievous smile, glancing conspiratorially at Aelia before taking an enormous bite.
“Arsehole,” Aelia muttered, lips twitching in a smile as he chewed slowly, exaggerated pleasure etched into his face as he taunted Mirra. She glared at him as he handed her back the pitiful morsel that was left.
“I take it back,” Fenrir said, swallowing. “That was absolutely worth all the fuss you two were making.”
“I know.” Mirra scowled up at him. “It cost more than what my whole family eats in a week.”
Fenrir’s laugh was contagious; it always had been, and he found nothing funnier than winding up Mirra. Aelia popped the last bite into her mouth as Fenrir wrapped his arms around Mirra’s shoulder and pulled her closer, grinning from ear to ear.
“Come on, there are far too many options for you two to only try one thing. My treat.” He made to walk towards the campfires, pulling a brightening Mirra with him.