The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Ten

Lyria, 1239

Robin's heart fluttered with excitement as Geralt carried her easily up the stairs. She knew that, as a witcher, and probably as a werewolf too, he was stronger than most men, but it still made her feel beautiful and light. She'd always been bigger, a fact that her mother had seriously lamented when she was a girl, but Geralt didn't seem bothered by it at all.

"Are you going to kiss me?" she asked breathlessly as he strode back into their room and shut the door behind them.

"When I can do it properly, yes," he answered, setting her back on her feet.

Then he took her face between his hands and bent until their lips met. He was almost a foot taller than her, and she rose up onto her tiptoes to meet him.

She'd never been kissed before. She had been too young to attend any of the parties intended to foster noble matches, and then her magic had rendered that path unavailable to her.

Now she was glad she'd waited. She was quite sure that being kissed by Geralt was better than a quick kiss stolen by a noble boy in a dark corner at a ball.

Geralt's kiss was gentle, but forceful. His hands were rough against her cheeks. She clasped his sides to keep herself steady, though she was sure that he would never let her fall. At first, it was just their lips touching, but when she made a soft sound against his mouth, he opened his and traced his tongue over her lips.

She moaned, opening wider for him as he slid his hands to her shoulders and pushed her cloak from them. His hands wandered further as their tongues tangled together, feeling her through the thin fabric of her shift.

She moved her hands to his shoulders as he hitched the shift up, kissing his way down her neck to her cleavage. She gasped every time his lips touched her skin, her voice quivering as she tried to warn him, but she couldn't get the words out.

When he pulled the shift up and over her head and dropped it on the floor, he stopped, stepping back. She bit her lip and quickly cast her eyes down, unable to meet his gaze.

"Are they hideous?" she whispered, afraid of what his answer might be.

"What are they?" he wondered, gazing at her in awe.

She forced herself to meet his eyes, shocked at the look on his face. He didn't look horrified. Surprised, yes, but he seemed... impressed, she thought.

She straightened up, forcing her arms to her sides, and let him look as she explained.

"They're his handprints. Every time he tried to touch me, it left a mark. They don't hurt. They didn't hurt when it happened. But no one else has ever seen them. I was afraid they might be frightening or... ugly."

"They're not ugly, Robin," he assured her instantly. "They're... lovely, actually."

She blinked. "Lovely?"

He nodded. "It's like seeing the strength I know you have inside on the outside of your body," he told her.

He stepped forward and took her hands in his, his eyes roaming over her. "But I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you have to have his hands burned into you for the rest of your life."

She shrugged. "I'm alive and he's dead. There's nothing to be sorry for. You weren't there. You didn't know. And since we both agreed to stop thanking each other for every little thing, I think we should stop apologizing too, unless it's absolutely warranted."

He chuckled. "All right," he relented, then bent to kiss her mouth again.

He reached up to take down her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders and back in waves. She pushed his shirt up at the same time and he raised his arms to let her take it off.