The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Nine

Lyria, 1239

After the door softly shut, Geralt slowly sat up. He had no idea what he'd said, but he'd clearly offended her. After thinking for a moment, he got up, hastily pulled on his pants and shirt, and followed her downstairs.

It was late, and the inn was mostly empty. It wasn't hard to find her by the fire. He sat down in the chair beside her and turned to her, frowning when she didn't look at him. "Come back upstairs," he requested shortly.

"I'll be fine right here," she replied. "It's warm enough."

He sighed. "What did I do?" he asked begrudgingly, not really ready to have this conversation with her.

Every once in a while, it happened. A woman thought being with a witcher was romantic and envisioned a whole life with him. The last thing he needed was the undivided attention of some doe-eyed virgin.

"All I did was tell you the truth," he added.

"The truth based on what you assume I'm thinking," she clarified, staring into the fire.

He swallowed. Against his better judgment, he was curious. "What do you mean?"

"I know that I'm young, probably especially by your standards. I don't know exactly how old you are, but I know it's older than you look. But just because I'm young doesn't mean that I'm some silly girl, Geralt. If I was ever silly, and I don't think I was, that part of me vanished long ago."

His brow furrowed as she continued.

"You listened to me talk about my life. You know that I can't go home. I don't know where my brother is, and even if I did, I would likely put him in danger if I stayed with him. I spent a decade with a man who tried to abuse me just so my magic didn't kill me or drive me mad, and even if I could find another mage to teach me, or find work utilizing the little magic I know, my natural skill with fire and necromancy will always put me at risk."

He knew all of that. That was exactly why she should be looking for a happy ending.

"I'm not looking to fall in love and live happily ever after, Geralt. I have to stop Yennefer. I have my own mission, just like you have yours. I just thought that, for once, I could make a choice for myself. That I could choose when something in my life happened, rather than waiting to have it taken from me. You know that others have tried."

He nodded. He couldn't argue that point.

"I'm not delusional, Geralt. I know that you're not looking for anything permanent. I'm not either. It's just that you're the only person besides my brother who's ever listened to me, who's cared even a little. I felt like you saw me and understood me in a way most people never will, until you talked to me like I'm some daft fool up there."

He bit his lip. He had jumped immediately to that conclusion, despite everything she had told him. It was just what he was used to. He hadn't exactly dealt with someone quite like her before, even with how old he was.

"Traveling with you, ironically, is the only time in my life that I've felt safe," she confessed. "I am fully aware of how ridiculous that is, but that's the kind of life I've had."

His hands tightened where they were resting against his thighs. She was right about that. If someone felt safe with a witcher, their life hadn't been secure at all.

"I could do worse than choose you to... deflower me, Geralt," she said wryly, using his earlier wording. "I'm not expecting it to last forever. I'm not expecting it to last more than a day. But one night in a warm bed with a man I actually wanted would be one of the best nights I've ever spent. That's all."

She fell silent and Geralt looked at her.

Not just glanced. Really looked at her.

He'd seen women from one end of the Continent to the other. By most standards, she would be considered plain. But he could see the beauty he imagined others would overlook.

Her long, dark brown hair was piled on top of her head in a simple messy bun, but it was thick and shiny. Her pale skin glowed in the dim firelight, and he could tell just by looking that it would be soft. Her nose had a fetching swoop at the end of it, and he knew from days of sharing Roach with her that her body was lush and curvy under her shift and cloak.

Finally, she turned her head and looked at him, letting him notice more. She had dark hazel eyes, and her mouth was full and pink, practically begging to be kissed.

"I never thought of it like that," he admitted, his voice rough. "I'm... not used to thinking of other people. Not for an extended period of time, anyway."

He stood and then bent down in front of her, putting his hands on the arms of her chair and gazing up at her. "So are you coming back upstairs?"

She looked at him through her lashes, suddenly shy. "What are we going to do?"

Geralt smirked. "I'm going to deflower you, Robin," he told her.

She beamed at him suddenly, and he found himself warmed head to toe by the smile.

"All right, but I'm only going to let you if you stop saying deflower," she bargained, making him laugh.

"Deal," Geralt promised.

Then, before she could stand, he scooped her up into his arms and cradled her against his chest. She giggled, a sound he realized he would be quite happy to hear over and over again, and put her arms around his neck as he carried her to the stairs and back up to their room.