the tavern. A welcomed breeze kicked up, thankfully rushing out the thick moist air. But it didn't escape me that the conditions were the perfect ingredients for a storm.
Once situated on the hay, I grabbed a branch and with the tip began to draw in the mud. The subject was always the same—the woman who haunted my every waking moment. Her portrait was all my wandering mind desired.
After about an hour of intense concentration, I had not done her features justice. I looked up and spotted Rhys emerging from the rustic, well-worn establishment.
“Cyril,” he called out as he gathered his long black hair in both hands and secured it from the wiping wind with a black leather thong.
I stood, leaned the branch against the wall, and prepared to resume our jaunt. I could have easily read Rhys’s mind to get my answers, but I had taken to actively blocking my family’s thoughts. My constant intrusion had placed a strain on our friendship, so whenever possible, I tried my best to engage in normal conversations. Even when I was unsuccessful, I pretended for their sake.
“Has the boy been claimed?” I took a few steps toward him.
“ Si . Muy afortunados.” The breeze carried Rhys’s thick Spanish accent. He moved closer but I had received his message.
I took a deep breath and shifted my sword. “The boy is recovering?”
Rhys closed the distance. From his position, the honey gold of his eyes, much like the sand of the desert I’d rescued him from, glinted with each peek of the sun through the clouds. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “ Si. El niño will be fine. The innkeeper appreciated the news about the bandits. As a token of his appreciation he has gifted you a night with his eldest daughter. She is muy bonita and patiently waiting just as you require.”
I shot him an approving smile, but had to ask, “Is she…”
“Fear not, she is not timid or untouched.” Rhys patted my arm. “It’s been weeks mi amigo , waste no time.”
A welcome turn of events. My travels had left me without companionship and in desperate need of release.
I clasped both of Rhys’s hands in mine then made for the inn.
The cold handle, thick wood, and ironbound door that greeted me opened with ease. The noisy patrons bustled, but as my feet connected with the worn wood floor, all commotion stopped. The clanging of dropped utensils the only sound. The scent of lamb stew and stout hung heavy in the air. I scanned the crowd, careful not to allow my gaze to linger too long. All eyes focused on me. With my threat assessment complete, I was determined not to allow my curse to ruin this opportunity.
I lowered my head, allowing black strands of hair to hide my face as I ascended the rickety stairs. Built to support mere mortals, the wood creaked and moaned under my six feet five inches of muscled frame.
I was built for sex. When my goddess designed me, she exacted every detail of human perfection and embellished them to make certain I delivered an experience no man could replicate. The innkeeper’s daughter was about to find out just how meticulous my creator was.
At the end of the hall, the door gaped open, and I saw her. It was late afternoon. The shadow cast by the clouds through the open window caused flickers of sunlight to dance across the brilliant copper and dark rust in her long auburn locks.
I paused. So familiar, yet not her. Would it hurt to pretend? I had so many times before. The beautiful redheaded vision may have eluded me, but tonight in this small village, the innkeeper’s daughter would play her part in my rehearsal. Someday, somewhere, my Light would be mine, but not tonight.
I slowed my steps as I approached her kneeling form. Rhys had blindfolded her. It made things simpler. I couldn't risk that she become a victim of my curse. The goddess was cruel indeed to gift me sexual prowess beyond any man, but deny me the ability to look into my lover's eyes. For to do so would traumatize her beyond any horror.
Once situated on the hay, I grabbed a branch and with the tip began to draw in the mud. The subject was always the same—the woman who haunted my every waking moment. Her portrait was all my wandering mind desired.
After about an hour of intense concentration, I had not done her features justice. I looked up and spotted Rhys emerging from the rustic, well-worn establishment.
“Cyril,” he called out as he gathered his long black hair in both hands and secured it from the wiping wind with a black leather thong.
I stood, leaned the branch against the wall, and prepared to resume our jaunt. I could have easily read Rhys’s mind to get my answers, but I had taken to actively blocking my family’s thoughts. My constant intrusion had placed a strain on our friendship, so whenever possible, I tried my best to engage in normal conversations. Even when I was unsuccessful, I pretended for their sake.
“Has the boy been claimed?” I took a few steps toward him.
“ Si . Muy afortunados.” The breeze carried Rhys’s thick Spanish accent. He moved closer but I had received his message.
I took a deep breath and shifted my sword. “The boy is recovering?”
Rhys closed the distance. From his position, the honey gold of his eyes, much like the sand of the desert I’d rescued him from, glinted with each peek of the sun through the clouds. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “ Si. El niño will be fine. The innkeeper appreciated the news about the bandits. As a token of his appreciation he has gifted you a night with his eldest daughter. She is muy bonita and patiently waiting just as you require.”
I shot him an approving smile, but had to ask, “Is she…”
“Fear not, she is not timid or untouched.” Rhys patted my arm. “It’s been weeks mi amigo , waste no time.”
A welcome turn of events. My travels had left me without companionship and in desperate need of release.
I clasped both of Rhys’s hands in mine then made for the inn.
The cold handle, thick wood, and ironbound door that greeted me opened with ease. The noisy patrons bustled, but as my feet connected with the worn wood floor, all commotion stopped. The clanging of dropped utensils the only sound. The scent of lamb stew and stout hung heavy in the air. I scanned the crowd, careful not to allow my gaze to linger too long. All eyes focused on me. With my threat assessment complete, I was determined not to allow my curse to ruin this opportunity.
I lowered my head, allowing black strands of hair to hide my face as I ascended the rickety stairs. Built to support mere mortals, the wood creaked and moaned under my six feet five inches of muscled frame.
I was built for sex. When my goddess designed me, she exacted every detail of human perfection and embellished them to make certain I delivered an experience no man could replicate. The innkeeper’s daughter was about to find out just how meticulous my creator was.
At the end of the hall, the door gaped open, and I saw her. It was late afternoon. The shadow cast by the clouds through the open window caused flickers of sunlight to dance across the brilliant copper and dark rust in her long auburn locks.
I paused. So familiar, yet not her. Would it hurt to pretend? I had so many times before. The beautiful redheaded vision may have eluded me, but tonight in this small village, the innkeeper’s daughter would play her part in my rehearsal. Someday, somewhere, my Light would be mine, but not tonight.
I slowed my steps as I approached her kneeling form. Rhys had blindfolded her. It made things simpler. I couldn't risk that she become a victim of my curse. The goddess was cruel indeed to gift me sexual prowess beyond any man, but deny me the ability to look into my lover's eyes. For to do so would traumatize her beyond any horror.
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