HEART | Geralt

11

"No, please, not the lu-" a sharp kick was dealt to the bard's stomach, hitting the lute harshly.

"Leave off!" Geralt spoke up once more, glaring more harshly at the elf woman than he had to anyone ever before.

"He's a damn bard!" Azalea pointed out, but she was greeted with a harsh and head-snapping punch that had then been dealt to her head.

"You don't deserve the air you breathe!"

"And you think you do after this brazen display of kindness?" Her words were laced with sarcasm, a heavy and fat load of it, too. All Azalea received was another harsh punch. She couldn't help but yelp a little, her teeth biting her lip and her cheekbones already sore.

"Everything you touch, you destroy!" The elf exclaimed once more, but the laugh that left Azalea soon became haunting only signified the fact the female Witcher was getting more furious. If you thought Geralt had a bad temper, you should meet Azalea when someone's beaten her whilst she was tied up.

Oh, wait, that's what happening!

"And you're destroying my beautiful face, so who's better now?" Another punch was dealt to Azalea but it was accompanied by the sound of a lute being split over a knee with the strings twanging as they broke.

"You-you hide in your golden palaces!" The bard spoke with a small stammer, not too found of receiving the same blunt and bloody treatment that Azalea had been given. Whilst he spoke, however, Geralt found himself closing his eyes tightly and his hand squeezing Azalea's. The squeeze she gave back was weaker, as though she didn't have the strength to fight or do anything, but Geralt knew better. One thing he loved about Azalea was the fiery pit within her that ignited her soul and fury, fueling her movements and pushing her past her limits until the job was done or until she was forced to stop. "You beat a bound woman, too scared to even look her in the eye!"

"Oh, she looked me in the eyes alright." The grin was cold and shallow, and her gaze was daring. It dared the elf to continue beating her for as long as she could because Azalea wouldn't hold back once she was free.

"Do you like my palace?" The elf questioned, glaring down at the three that were bound. "Hmm?" Azalea watched the elf walk and crouch in front of Geralt, grasping his chin and tilting his head upwards. She felt a pinch within her chest and she felt her nostrils flare with anger and perhaps there was a hint of jealousy, but Azalea would deny it. "Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?"

Geralt, his lips curled in a snarl, was quick in leaning his head back before pushing it forwards quickly. With a grunt, his forehead connected with the elf's nose and caused her to gasp and grunt as she stumbled backwards, grasping for her nose. The bard began to laugh rather obnoxiously, and yet Azalea found herself joining in with the laughter.

"Ha ha! Yeah, take that, pointy!" Azalea watched, her gaze intent and enjoying the sight of the elf coughing and groaning on the dusty floor of the cave they were inside of. "Wait, what's-what's wrong with her?"

"She's sick." A new voice seethed harshly. Azalea's attention became glued to a white-haired, pointy-eared elf that had sauntered into the cave, a snarl of his own on his face.

"Oh...who's this?"

"He's Filavandrel," the bard's question was answered by Torque - the sylvan - as he saunted in behind the new elf. "King of the Elves."

"Not a king." Filavandrel said harshly as Torque knelt in front of the female elf as she continued to wheeze in pain. "Not by choice."

"So that bitch can hit us without a care yet we hit back and it's like she's piece of fragile fuckin' pottery." Azalea scoffed and shook her head, however she groaned in pain at the pounding within her mind. It became unrelenting.