The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Thirteen

Road to Dol Blathanna, 1239

Robin leaned comfortably against Geralt, breathing in the fresh, dry air. If she hadn't still been with him now, she would have thought the last few days were some sort of dream.

Of course, she assumed that the way they had been in Lyria was over, but she'd always have the memory of it, at least. She would treasure it forever.

When they stopped that night, she set up camp and Geralt went to hunt. He came back with several rabbits and she used some of the supplies they'd packed to start a stew over the fire.

As it bubbled, she read one of the magic texts she'd purchased, making little notes in the book he'd gotten her as she did. Some of the information seemed quite tedious because she already knew it, but she still felt that it was important for her to start at the beginning and smooth over any mistakes Melcedem had inevitably made.

When she glanced up at the fire, she saw Geralt watching her and raised her eyebrows. "What?" she wondered.

"Magic is useful, but only to a point," he explained. "I think you should learn how to physically fight."

She laughed. "And who's going to teach me that? You?"

He nodded seriously, so she shut her book and put it back in her rucksack.

"All right. Show me."

She stood and he came over to her, nodding at her bodice. "Take out the dagger I got you. It's not going to be much good if you don't know how to use it."

She let him curl her fingers around the handle. "A dagger is a weapon meant to be used close up," he started. "Don't yank it out and threaten someone with it unless you think there's a chance it might actually make them leave without harassing you. Otherwise, you want to keep it hidden until you can stab them with it."

"And," he continued, "you want to be careful about where you strike. It's not going to do you any good if you get it stuck between someone's ribs or just graze a bone in their arm with it."

He brushed his fingers over a spot on her neck, then pressed against it. "Carotid artery," he murmured close to her ear. "You can feel the blood pounding through it, can't you?"

"Yes," she whispered, her heart speeding up as she remembered everything he'd done to the delicate skin on her neck while they were in Lyria.

She felt him smile at her reaction. "Even if you just nick it, an attacker will be dead in moments. And if you don't hit it, you're still likely to get them in the neck or face, which is good."

"The other best spot is here."

He hitched her skirt up and found her thigh. She couldn't suppress her gasp at the touch, though she composed herself quickly after.

"This one is a little harder to get to, obviously, depending on the situation. But same result if it's nicked. Be smart. It's not the number or the frequency that counts. It's what you hit."

Slowly, he turned her around, sliding his hand up until he was cupping her mound. She gasped again and grabbed his upper arms, squeezing him tight. "Geralt..." she practically moaned, blushing at the sound as it came out of her mouth.

He moved his other hand up her bodice, carefully sliding the dagger back into its hiding spot before cupping one of her breasts and pushing it up and almost out of the fabric. He bent to kiss it, his fingers making quick work of the ties on her undergarments so he could sink them inside her.

She was more than ready and moaned loudly on purpose this time. As she clenched around his fingers, she whimpered, "I... I thought..."

Geralt moved to her other breast, squeezing and jiggling it in his hand before kissing it. "You thought what?" he asked softly.