The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Eleven

Lyria, 1239

Geralt groaned blissfully and rolled to the side. Robin followed, resting her head against his chest. He threaded his fingers through her hair as his breathing slowed and laughed.

"You're going to be sore if I keep riding you like this," he pointed out.

He'd taken her so many times now that he'd lost count.

"I don't care," she replied.

He chuckled, twirling one of her curls around his finger and smiling down at her.

After a moment of listening, she observed, "Your heartbeat is slower than a human's."

He nodded. "Because I'm a witcher," he explained, his eyes closing involuntarily.

She propped her chin up on his massive pectoral muscle and gazed at his peaceful face. "I've heard that witchers can't have children. Is that correct?" she asked nonchalantly.

Geralt hummed. "Yes. You won't get pregnant. And if you could, I'd be careful. This is no life for a child. It's barely a life for an adult."

"It's hard to argue with that," she agreed.

He fell silent. He didn't want to talk about the lonely reality of his life. Not now, when he was full and clean and in this warm, cozy room with her draped across him.

"We should get some sleep," he suggested.

Robin yawned. "Are we leaving in the morning?"

He shook his head. "No. Don't worry about that. If we need to leave, I'll wake you."

"All right." She sighed and snuggled closer to him. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," he told her, still playing with her hair. "I know that we agreed to only apologize if one is, how did you put it? Absolutely warranted," he remembered. "But this one is most definitely warranted." He paused, then said, "I'm sorry for my assumption. It was crass of me."

"It was. Maybe one day you'll tell me why you made it. But not tonight, please."

He smiled. "No. Not tonight."

"Thank you." Then she giggled. "For the record, I like your crassness, Geralt of Rivia, when it isn't misdirected."

"I'll hold you to that," he promised.

"That's entirely fair."

She fell silent and her breathing gradually evened out until she was asleep.

Geralt opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. As much as he didn't want to confront the truth about his life, she had forced him to face it now.

Not purposely, of course. He believed that she would never willingly hurt him.

But being with her had been strange for him, and he still needed time to think it through. He had never been with a woman who knew he was both a werewolf and a witcher. He had hardly ever even been with a woman who wasn't afraid of him in some way, shape, or form. Most of the women he slept with took money for the task, or were women who weren't at all interested in a permanent companion, like widows. Many viewed him as a novelty, a story to tell in taverns.

He knew that, even if he were to get up and leave her right now, Robin would never tell this story in a tavern. She would likely never tell anyone at all. She had chosen him because of convenience, certainly, but also because she thought he was worthy of her.

She was wholly wrong, but he wasn't going to try to correct her. Not when being with her had been so incredibly fulfilling.

She had cared about his pleasure. Most other women had never cared, or only cared because they were being paid. She had worried that she would hurt him. And after, instead of leaving the bed, asking him to leave the bed, or shying away from him, she had moved even closer and stayed in his arms.

It presented him with an odd conundrum that had been building over the last few days. He had gone back for her in Vizima because he really had been responsible for her predicament. Yes, she'd been looking for him, but she hadn't known where he was or what he was doing. She had used her powers to help herself and helped him in the process, which was the only reason anyone in the city had known what she could do. And he'd kept her with him because he was concerned for her safety.

He had planned to set her off on her own eventually, however, after a few fighting lessons and some warnings about traveling and who to avoid in taverns. He'd assumed the novelty of her would wear off sooner rather than later, and had thought to be rid of her before he reached that point. He had also assumed that she would quickly tire of his nomadic and often uncomfortable life. But her lack of complaint so far had given him pause. He'd barely traveled with companions before, and certainly not with anyone who didn't mind the conditions.

And not only did she not mind, she was helpful. He felt cared for, and that was something that hadn't happened to him in so long that even the brief memory he had was almost entirely faded. And even though her life wasn't his fault, he still felt bad that it had gone the way it had, and that she had followed up everything that had happened to her by committing herself to stopping this magical plot.

He still didn't think anything was actually going to come of it. It had simply been an easy excuse to keep her with him until he felt satisfied that she wouldn't be killed immediately after he left her, and one that let her save face, even if she didn't know it.

But now it occurred to him that the plot was the only thing binding them together. She was staying with him because she thought he was going to help her stop it.

If he told her the truth, she would leave.

And suddenly, in spite of everything he thought he knew about himself, he didn't want her to. Not at any point in the foreseeable future.

Instead, he wanted to share Roach with her. He wanted to have meals with her at the end of a long day of riding, come back to her reading and studying after he killed a monster, keep her warm at night, and bed her whenever she wanted.

The way he saw it, he had two choices. He could tell her the truth and make her angry, causing her to leave, or he could lie. Not outwardly, but by omission. She needed to learn more magic, regardless of the plot, and broadening her horizons with him would only help that. She also needed information about the conspiracy, and that would be exceedingly hard to find if she stayed in one place.

It wasn't that he doubted the scheme's existence. He just doubted its ability to succeed. He really didn't think that Robin had to expend any of her energy to stop it at all. He also didn't think that she would listen to him if he told her that again. They may have just met, but he knew that much.

Eventually, it would recede, and she would realize it on her own. Then they'd have to have an entirely new conversation, of course, but at least it wouldn't be tomorrow.

Being dishonest was not new to him. He did it all the time.

Being dishonest with her, even in this subtle way, made him feel unexpectedly guilty.

But it was the only solution, because he just wasn't willing to let her leave him. The idea of her going off into this vast, dangerous world by herself was something he just couldn't risk, even after making sure she had the necessary skills to survive.

He turned onto his side, tucking her back against his chest and draping his arm over her. He buried his nose in her hair and took a deep breath, drinking her in.

He'd make it up to her. She wouldn't know what he was doing it for, necessarily, but he would, and that was what mattered.