Guardian (Sequel to Fearless)

Chapter Seventeen

"She's something, that one is. I can tell it already," Hench said with two raised brows and an incredulous shake of her head. "I'm five years older already for knowing her --but I wouldn't trade her for any other recruit. She's an astounding combatant, for certain."

Azabela snorted. "You ever gonna tell her?"

"That she's a good rogue?" Hench asked.

"That you fancy women," Azabela corrected with wily grin, prodding the guardian's hard stomach with a finger. The next words were "Or more particularly, that you care for me."

Hench shook her head, more in disbelief than in a definitive answer. Her next words came out more as a deep sigh. "Azabela." The woman changed the subject. "Why don't you tell me another happy thought?"

"I'll tell you my happiest thought," Azabela offered, now giving a sincere smile. The archer ran a small hand over Hench's face, letting it fall down over her cheek and jaw until it trailed off her chin. Afterward, it just dropped onto the mighty woman's hand. "You." Despite the stress, Hench found herself giving a sheepish smile back and clutching Azabela's hand in return --like the huntress was the last thing she had in the world.

Indeed, the guardian loved Azabela. And my, she was loved deeply in return.

Wordlessly, Hench pulled the girl under her arm. Azabela laid her head on Rhalla's strong shoulder, her wrapped braid falling down the woman's torso. A moment of clarity passed between the both of them. Neither of them spoke --neither of them had to. It had been years and years since they'd first found home in each other's heart.

"Come see me more often," the huntress said into Hench's neck. "Sneaking away from that stupid sanctuary a week a month isn't enough. Not for me. I'm twenty-eight years old and tired. I need home. You are home. Don't you understand now, seeing what happened to everyone in that hamlet --life is too short to spend it away from the people you love."

Hench absentmindedly circled a finger on Azabela's arm, taking her words directly to heart. Then, the guardian whispered. "Okay. I will."

"Think about it," Azabela said, her eyes glazed as she watched the small ember flicker. "We could get a cabin close to wherever it is that you work. Somewhere where we could look at the night sky --somewhere we could hide away from everyone. You would come home four days a week. I'd hunt dinner and I'd even wear an apron while I cooked it."

Hench raised a brow at the archer's daydream. "An apron?"

"Someone has to, right? Be the housewife?" Azabela looked up to Rhalla's eyes. The huntress teased her beloved. "Unless you're wanting to wear the apron."

"I would if you wanted me to." The guardian's soulful, brown eyes were as earnest as her voice.

"You're precious, I swear it," Azabela said before tenderly kissing the woman on the mouth. She pulled away, a wild grin turning up the corner of her lips. "But I'll make sure your apron is pink."

"Don't forget the frills," Hench added, now beaming at Azabela. "If I'm doing this, I'm doing it right. Might could embroider some cute animals on there too, if you wanted."

"I never did learn how to embroider. My seamstress mother surely rolls in her grave every night for it too." Azabela admitted, and then promised, "But I surely won't forget the frills."

Hench pushed a strand away from Azabela's cheek. Another moment of peace encompassed the two. "Is this your dream?"

"It is," the archer answered. "You know it to be true. I dream of the day I can walk in my own front door and see you there, not doing anything special. You're just there doing whatever it is you do when you're at home. That's how I would know it was real. I dream of the day I get to know that my life is complete. Your son would have space too, there. He'd finally get to move out of my grandmother's house and into his mother's. Dane turns out more and more like you with every day that passes. You know he does. And he misses you when you're gone just as much as I do. Think about it. We'd be a family."