The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Seventy-Five

The grateful flush on her cheeks when he'd given her his gifts in Lyria, and her indignation when he later refused her advances because he'd mistaken her intentions.

The first time he'd seen her scars and she was worried that he'd find them ugly.

Dancing with her at Pavetta's ball. She'd looked perfect in her gown. And then later, being so proud of her when she had stopped the princess' magical rampage as easily as shutting a door.

Having her back in his arms after he'd watched her almost die and falling asleep in her warm embrace.

And, of course, the many times that they'd given each other pleasure.

"The moment I dread most is when it will fade," he confessed softly, dangerously close to complete honesty. "Then I'll know you're really gone."

"You're going to leave me first," she argued, her voice choked up. "One day I'm going to wake up and you just... won't be there."

When she said things like that, he wanted to believe that she could feel the same. That she could desire his life. But he knew that couldn't be the case.

She deserved to know how he felt. She deserved to know that someone in this world valued her above all else. That her worth didn't come from how powerful she was, what she could do, or who she could stop.

Her worth was intrinsic. She was simply a person worth loving. She always had been, and she always would be.

Geralt knew she was aware that Jaskier felt that way about her, but as far as she was concerned, his opinion was biased because he was her brother.

In the end, though, the witcher would sacrifice anything for her happiness, and sadly, that was precisely why he couldn't tell her what she needed to know. Love was not condemnation, and his words would only bind her to a life of aimless wandering until he died and she was left with nothing.

He thought carefully for a moment, leaning back to look into her eyes.

He couldn't tell her how he felt, but perhaps he could show her. By being a different type of man, if only for a moment. A man worthy of her continued presence in his life.

"Forgive me," he murmured.

Her eyes widened in confusion and he smiled. It was saintly of her to think that he had nothing to be forgiven for.

But he craved her forgiveness. He needed it.

He needed to be forgiven for keeping her with him this long based on a lie, because no matter how determined Yennefer was, he never thought she was going to be able to pull off her spell.

He needed to be forgiven for keeping his love from her.

And, above all, he needed to be forgiven for the day he would ask her to leave. For the day when he would have to callously pretend that their time together had meant nothing to him, and that it would be easy for him to go back to his old life.

He had thought he was dead inside a long time ago, but now he knew that he was going to die inside on that day. It was selfish, but he at least needed to know that she wasn't going to spend the rest of her life hating him for it.

His eyes fell to her mouth and he tilted his head tentatively, as if he was asking permission, even though they'd kissed thousands of times before.

Her permission came when she leaned in and parted her full, pink lips, waiting for him to close the distance between them.

He did. Their mouths touched ever so gently, and for a moment, he just lingered there, memorizing her feel and taste for future lonely moments.

He pulled back and looked into her eyes again. She was obviously still confused, though she wasn't saying anything about it.