Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, had made his way into Celborne barely three days before, come to kill our fiend for cion. Just as the tales said.

He was unlike any man I'd ever seen; built stronger than any knight could dream of being with long white hair and wide ochre eyes framed in thick black lashes. Most people didn't even consider him a man. To most of the people in my father's inn, and across the continent, he was a mutant. A monster. The muscles in his bare forearm flexed as he tightened his grip on his ale. His eyes met mine for the briefest of seconds; as they had probably a thousand times since he and his bard had arrived.

The rapid pounding of an empty pint against the bar cut through the bustle of the inn's patrons. "Aye wench, I need'an -hic- an ale. What are you doing s-standin' there with y'ur head up y'ur arse?"

I shot a glare at the drunk hanging over my counter. His glassy, brown eyes tried hard to focus on what had to be a blur of my what was meant to be my face. My nose wrinkled as the smell of him hit me; days-old sweat, piss, and ale. "I think you've had quite enough."

His pint smacked again against the counter as he staggered to his feet, toppling his stool. The room went silent minus a single late cord of the bard's lute. Geralt got to his feet, though the drunk didn't seem to notice. "I said. I need'a ano-nother ale."

I moved down the bar, grabbing an empty pitcher from behind me as I went. Rotten teeth peeked through cracked lips as he pushed his mug out in front of me. The last of his previous drink still dripped from his scraggly beard. "That's right, wench!" He hiccuped again. "Fill it up to the b-brim!"

I didn't smile until I felt the thick clay of the pitcher shatter against his face. The air rushed from his lungs as he thumped to the dirty floor, half landing on his stool. Blood trickled from his quickly bruising nose and lips. "I said, I think you've had enough."

Chatter resumed as everyone became abruptly bored with the situation. Some grumbled as they turned back to their tables, feeling robbed of their excitement, while others chuckled. My gaze once again met the warm honey eyes of the witcher. His thin lips quirked, and he shook his head as he slid back into his seat.

I shot him a smile, turning to grab a full pitcher from the shelves behind me. "Oh, what a woman!" The bard's melodious voice carried across the inn. I glanced over my shoulder to find him seated across from Geralt, his hands moving as he talked.

What an odd pair they made, I mused. The bard looked as if he was skipping a day in court in his pale blue and red, silk ensemble, and the witcher's dirty leathers made it seem as though he'd just come from battle. I couldn't imagine how the two of them had come into each other's company.

Pitcher in hand, I rounded the bar and made my way to their corner table. The rain pelted windows flashed blue as lightening cracked across the sky outside. The bard grinned at me as I approached them, a wanting look in his blue eyes. I returned his smiled, but when I addressed the table I looked at Geralt. "Shitty weather for hunting, I suppose."

"You'd be right." The gravelly baritone of his voice sent a rush through me I hadn't been expecting. My nipples tightened, and a blush crept across my skin as Garelt's nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. No doubt zeroing in on the scent of my suddenly wet pussy.

"Would you like another ale?" I managed.

"I would love one," the bard interjected. It was much harder to smile at him as I refilled his pint. "That was very impressive, young lady. Looking at you, I wouldn't have thought you'd have something like that in you. No offense, miss?"

"Kassandra, and none taken."

"Kassandra. What a lovely name to go with such a lovely face. My name is Jaskier, and of course, you've heard of Geralt of Rivia."

My attention again turned to the witcher, my cheeks still pink. "Only for two days now." A smirk curled Geralt's lips and his eyes moved from the bard to me. "For some reason, I get the feeling your tales don't do him justice."

His eyes softened with his smile as he pushed his mug towards me. "Yes. Thank you."

"They're on me," I said as I filled it. "My way of saying thank you. It's the least I can do."

A pucker formed between his pale brows. "For what?"

"You were the only person who was going to help me."

His gaze dropped to the table, but I was graced with another close-lipped smile and a grunt.

"So," Jaskier began again. His fingers laced together in front of him and he leaned forward to look up at me through thick soot colored lashes. "You found my performance lacking then?"

I sighed. "You sing beautifully," - Jaskier straightened as his eyes shot to Geralt and a single finger rose accusingly in his direction - "but, your lyrics leave much to be desired."

Whatever he was about to say caught in his throat. The finger dropped, and his hand landed heavily on the table, rejoining the other. Geralt grinned. "Jaskier, were you going to say something?"

The bard shook his head, one hand automatically moving to comb his brown hair back into place. I decided to throw him a bone. "Though that one song is rather catchy." The melody tumbled much more softly from my lips than Jaskier's, "Toss a coin to your witcher." Jaskier's eyes widened and the people close enough to hear stopped what they were doing to listen. "O' valley of plenty. O' valley of plenty." I couldn't bring myself to look at Geralt.

By the time I sang the final word, Jaskier was grabbing for his lute. "Beautiful and blessed," he said. "Will you sing with me?"

"I'm flattered, but I have things to attend to," I said, taking a step back.

Jaskier's face fell. "Another time then."

"Perhaps." I once again caught the eye of the witcher as I prepared to make my exit. "Thank you again, Geralt."

I turned to leave but the way my name rolled off his tongue stopped me in my tracks. "Is there a particular reason you've been watching me?" Turning back to look at him, I smiled, another blush spreading across my cheeks.

"Only your jaw line," I replied. I had imagined kissing from the cleft in his stubble-covered chin to the sharp square of his jaw more times than I could count. "Maybe your eyes."

Jaskier's hand slapped to his forehead as realization dawned on him. Sliding it down his smooth face as he groaned dramatically and began muttering beneath his breath, but Geralt's focus stayed on me. "Most people are put off by my eyes."

"I'm not most people."

Later that evening, young Genson came running into the kitchen, panting and dripping wet. His brown curls lay matted to his head from the rain. "Kass," he managed, "I could really use a hand in the stables. This storms got some of the horses plum spooked."

I nodded, setting down the potato I'd been peeling. "Of course. I'll be right there." He returned my nod, turning to disappear out the back door. "Lara, can you finish those?"

The little blonde looked up from chopping carrots and glanced at the potatoes on my station. "No problem. I'd rather be in here than out there."

The storm raged, and the wind howled. My hands rose to rub at my arms as I jogged through the shower to the stables. The horses' neighing reached me even through the steady thrumming of the rain. Lightening exploded across the sky just as I reached the doors. Hooves slamming against wood echoed louder than the thunder from somewhere down the two rows of stalls as I slipped inside. Even the lanterns on the inner posts rocked on their nails.

I pushed a few long, wet tendrils of hair from my face, turned almost black from the deluge. The horses paced and fidgeted in the center stalls, tossing their heads and huffing to themselves about the weather. Genson's hands shot out in front of him, weary of the agitated paint he was trying to calm even with the stall door between them. "Steady, boy, steady."

Across from him, my eyes widened on the witcher, stroking the nose of a chestnut stallion I assumed was his. The paint whinied and stomped as I approached, tossing his head. "It's just rain, you damn animal," Genson growled.

My hand landed on his shoulder. "It's alright, Gen." Grumbling, the boy stepped aside, and I looked up at the startled beast with drawn brows. "He's right though, ya know." I spoke softly. "It's just rain. It can't hurt you."

The paint's vocalizing stopped, and he began to dance from one foot to the other. "Better yet it's just water. Thousands of little droplets of water, all hitting the ground at once. It's actually a very soothing sound if you can get passed the thunder," I rambled softly to the horse, smiling as his movements continued to slow.

Carefully, I reached out to stroke his face, but Genson's hand on my arm stopped me. "Easy, Kass. He's a biter."

"So am I," I said. Blood flooded his freckled cheeks and his hand recoiled, his gaze going to his feet. The paint whinied, stepping forward, and I smiled as my fingers slid slowly up his face until my palm rested on his nose. "There we go," I whispered. "Good boy."

He pushed his face harder into my hand as thunder rolled, and I ran the other over his cheek. The soft, short hair felt like velvet beneath my fingers. "Shhhhh. See? Nothing to be afraid of." With the stallion calmed, the rest of the horses mellowed.

Genson sighed, pushing his hand through his partially dry curls. "You're a wonder, Kass," he breathed. I patted his shoulder, squeezing the top of his still very wet arm.

"Go on inside, Gen. I can finish up out here."

Genson's green eyes grew twice their size. "But the fiend! It's gonna be dark out soon!"

"Then, it's a good thing I've got the witcher out here with me. We'll be fine, Gen. Go get dry." Having heard himself mentioned, Geralt turned from his horse, looking from me to the boy. Genson glared at him.

"But Kass -"

"I'll get her inside safely," Geralt interrupted. "You have my word."

The boy's nose wrinkled. His hands twisted in the bottom of his wool shirt as he considered the witcher. Then he gave a single sharp nod and his angry eyes turned on me. "If he lets something happen to you, I'll gut him." Shooting a final scowl in Geralt's direction, he ran passed me for the door, barreling out into the rain.

"He fancies you," Geralt chuckled.

"He did just threaten a witcher. Takes some guts," I admitted, "but he's a bit young for me."

Geralt smiled, humming low in his throat. His horse shook his head behind him, catching my attention and presenting an opportunity. I closed the short distance between us, coming to a halt beside him, but I kept my eyes on his stallion. Slowly as to gauge his reaction, I raised my hand out in front of me.

The horse stepped forward with no hesitation to press his nose into my palm, snickering as my fingers trailed up the white, jagged line running up the left side of his face. "What's his name?" I asked.

"Roach," he said.

"Roach?" I laughed. "Well, that's an interesting name." I patted the horse's nose and turned to his master. "Come on. Help me feed them, and I'll make sure you don't pay for tonight."

He followed me to the back of the stables to the feed containers. Buckets sat stacked and toppled in front of it, and I bent to pick up two of the ones that still had handles. Geralt's eyes snapped to my face as I turned to hand them to him; his guilty expression making it clear what he'd been looking at.

I smiled, turning back to pick up two buckets for myself. "Your companion is quite the character," I said.

"That's putting it politely."

I chuckled, setting one of the buckets aside to lift the lid of the feed box. "I was wondering about the two of you earlier," I said, letting it rest against the wall. "You make the most unusual pair." The smell of grain and oats waifed up to mix with the smell of the rain, the horses, and the witcher: sweat, earth, and something else. Something I couldn't put my finger on, but I wanted to bury my nose in it.

Our stores were running low, it seemed. I looked over the edge of the nearly empty box with a grin. Sometimes being a shorter woman had it's advantages. I had to stand on my tiptoes and lay over the front of the container to reach the feed inside, giving him another perfect view of my ass.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Witchers usually don't receive a warm welcome, but my reputation is especially bad. Jaskier wants to try and help me fix it," Geralt explained.

His fingers brushed mine as I traded him the full bucket for an empty one. "And what does he get out of it?"

"Stories for his songs."

"I suppose I should have guessed that," I said, disappearing back into the container. Dropping back on my heels, I turned to hand him the now full pale. "Did you really kill all those people, Geralt?" I asked. His bright eyes met mine as we swapped buckets. They were so much more beautiful up close, like spheres of yellow topaz.

Before he even answered, I realized my opinion of this man, and what I wanted from him, wasn't going to change one way or the other. And I think he knew it too. His jaw set. "Yes," he said finally, "but they didn't leave me much choice."

I smiled, though there was no humor in it. "Sometimes men look like monsters, and monsters look like men."

Geralt fed his horse first - something I noticed with more than a little amusement, though I kept it to myself - while I started at the end of the line on the opposite side. We worked quietly, finishing the task quickly between the two of us. I watched him whenever his back was turned, noticing the way his muscles bunched as he moved and the long gait of his strides. The way his snowy hair glowed orange in the candlelight.

The buckets clattered together as he tossed his two carelessly to the ground with the rest. "Thank you for helping me," I said, doing the same. "It would've taken twice as long without you." I closed the lid on the feed box, turning to face him.

"I would've helped even if you hadn't of offered to let me stay for free."

We regarded each other quietly for a moment. Just the sounds of the rain against the shingles, the horses steady breathing, and the random claps of thunder to fill the silence. I took a step closer and then another, closing the gap between us with my heart hammering in my chest. My hands knotted in the dark material of his shirt, pulling him with me as I backed up against the grain box, kicking buckets as I went.

Heat rolled from him like a bonfire making the chill at my back even more frigid. I reveled in his warmth as my hands mapped the hidden mountains and valleys of his scars across the broad expanse of his chest. His muscles twitched beneath my fingers. "People say witchers can't feel anything," I said, reaching up to stroke the smooth skin beneath his eyes. The short white hair covering his jaw pricked at my fingers as I cupped his face in my hands. "But I don't think that's true."

"Why is that?" He asked in a gruff whisper. His arms rose to trap me, ensnaring my waist.

"Because you smile, and laugh…" I pressed a kiss to his chest, dipping my head back to look up at him. "and you get a pucker between your eyes when you're thinking." He consciously straightened his eyebrows and my lips curled. "Those expressions usually come with feelings."

"Hm." A trimmer raced through him as I trailed one of my nails down his neck.

"If I do this…" I whispered, pressing my body against his. "Doesn't it cause a feeling?"

With a low groan, his thin lips came crashing down on mine, meeting again and again in a flurry of hard, heated kisses. My nipples hardened against the fabric of my dress as our tongues clashed, desperate to feel his mouth wrapped around them. Every breathe got heavier as my hands made their way from his face to tangle in his hair, catching in the ponytail holding the top of it from his eyes. I arched against him, moaning into his mouth.

A grunt slipped from him as his member pulsed to life against my stomach. The heels of my feet left the ground as he lifted me into his arms, and we both jumped as the rattle of the barn doors brought us abruptly back to reality. "Not here," he whispered. His breathing was ragged, but mine was worse. I could swear my heart was skipping beats.

He set me back on my feet, taking my hand and grabbing a lantern as he led me to the barn door. A single thin beam of warm light cut through the darkness as Geralt slid it open, first peering through the crack and then turning his ear to listen. All I could hear was the blood rushing through my ears.

After a few seconds, he nodded. "Come on." Together we raced through the rain, dodging barrels and crates and other things that seemed to materialize in our small bubble of light as we went. When we made it to the inn, Geralt started to go right around to the front, but I pulled him left and around to the kitchen door, slowing as we neared it.

Geralt followed my lead as I pressed my back against the wall, using the eave to shield us from the downpour. "Can you hear anyone inside?" I whispered.


Turning the knob slowly, I opened the door just enough to peek into the room. The smell of cooking meat and vegetables rolled from the crack, and I could hear the soft bubble of the stew over the fire but no footsteps or chopping or chatter. The room was empty, but we'd have to be fast. It wouldn't be long before someone was along to tend to supper.

Pushing the door open a little farther, I inched inside still leading Geralt behind me. He set the lantern on one of the utensil-covered tables as we passed, leaving a trail of mud and water behind us as we hurried around the pantry and down a small hallway to my rooms. Destiny was on our side, it seemed, because no one intercepted us getting there. The second the door closed behind us, I was on him again, pushing him back against the door.

The candles burst to life around the room, startling me. Geralt chuckled as I flitched into his chest, and his smile only grower wider at my scowl, making it hard to maintain. Rolling my eyes, I stood on my toes to press my lips to his and hooked my fingers under the hem of his dripping shirt. "Clothes stay by the door," I breathed. He lifted his arms for me, bending just enough for me to slip it over his head.

Raised pink scars and thin white lines decorated his pale skin, hidden in places by the surprisingly dark hair covering his chest and arms. There was hardly a place I could put my hands where I couldn't touch one. Geralt didn't give me a chance to look at them, pulling me in close as his fingers found the laces criss-crossing down my back.

With a sharp tug, he pulled the bow holding them in place free and began to loosen them. The dress started to peel away from my shoulders, dropping away from my chest, and his yellow eyes went to my breasts. Holding onto my arms, he stooped to latch his mouth around one rosey nipple and warmth flooded my veins. All thoughts of the cold and the storm and the fiend forgotten.

"Geralt!" His name left my lips as a gasp. His tongue rolled over my nipple as he sucked, pulling the sodden material down my arms and pushing the dress off my waist to pool around my feet. Cold air rushed across the wet nub as he released it, sending a shiver down my spine.

A single kiss fell on the other.

His rough hands gripped my waist, drawing his thumbs across my hips. He held me steady as I kicked the wet lump of fabric and my shoes to the side, peppering my shoulder in kisses. I worked quickly on the buttons of his trousers. His cock strained against them, pushing closer to escape with every button freed.

I dropped to my knees as the last one slipped from it's hole. The sheer size of his erection made me moan. It bobbed in my face, pink head glistening, a clear drop, like a dew drop, poised at the tip. A low sound rattling from inside his chest as I licked it away, growing deeper as I slipped his cock into my mouth.

He bucked gently against my face, pushing it further into my throat. My fingers covered what my mouth couldn't as I worked him with my tongue, sucking hungrily at the hard flesh. Geralt's fingers knotted in my hair. His shoulders thumped back against the door.

"Kass," my nickname muttered in such a familiar way had the same effect as the first time I'd heard his voice; a fresh wave of wetness slicked my womanhood. Geralt's breath caught, and he pulled me off his cock and to my feet in one swift motion. I collapsed against him as our lips locked again, less urgent than before but somehow more passionate.

"Get on the bed," he commanded breathlessly. I nodded dumbly, following his orders. While my back was turned he removed one of his boots, pulling the other off as I crawled onto the bed and turned to face him. Once his footwear was removed, his leathers joined my dress in the floor.

The white wolf of Rivia, the bard was trying to rename him. He certainly looked like a wolf as his stalked towards me; white hair disheveled and a wild, hungry look in his eyes. Like he'd been starving for days, and I was to be his next meal, and my body tensed. Not from fear, but anticipation. I wanted him to devour me.

His body shadowed mine, pushing me back against the mattress. A chaste kiss landed on my lips before his mouth moved like a brand down my jaw and neck to my chest, leaving a burning trail in its wake. Melting into his hands, I closed my eyes as his tongue flicked across my previously neglected nipple. Sucking in a breath as he lavished it with as much attention as he had the first.

A cry escaped me as he teeth teased the delicate skin, and I smiled thinking of what I had said to Genson in the stable. If he wanted to bite, so would I.

I hooked my ankles around his ass, pulling him up to reclaim his lips. Geralt grunted as I caught the bottom one between my teeth, gliding over it with my tongue. The head of his cock slid along my folds, drawing a gasp from both of us. I reached between us, guilding it where we both so desperately wanted it.

He sank into me at an agonizingly slow pace, watching my face as I stretched around him. His face pitched and his lips parted. Those wide golden eyes of his almost seemed to glow, and he shuddered when our hips finally met.

I could feel him all the way in stomach. Every shift of his hips sent a spasm through me. Geralt smiled, kissing my neck, and began to pull out just as slow. He chuckled at my whining as his cock left me, but it wasn't a long separation.

My body arched off the bed as he slammed back inside of me, somehow going deeper than before. His fingers clamped over my mouth. "Shhhh," he whispered in my ear, "they'll think I'm hurting you." But I couldn't help it.

Every thrust of his hips drew another sound from me, though I made a conscious effort to be quieter. Goosebumps covered my skin, but my veins were on fire. The heat pooling in my stomach blazed hotter with every soft caress of his fingers and lips to juxtapose the hard movement of his body.

His pace was becoming erratic, almost jarring. My legs tightened around him as his cock swelled inside me, pulsing with his impending orgasm. I reached between us, finding the little nub hidden beneath my lips. A moan tore from my throat as I pressed against it.

My pussy clinched around him, drawing a groan from him as I circled it with my fingers, stoking the flames, and then the explosion came from nowhere. Like a dam breaking, pleasure crashed over me like a wave, washing over every inch of my skin. The fire in my veins became electricity as I came apart. My teeth buried into the skin of his shoulder, muffling my cries. I trembled beneath him as his hands locked his hips to mine, and with a grunt, he poured himself inside me.

Geralt's hips jerked with the aftershocks of his orgasm as I released him, and he rolled from on top of me. His face glittered with sweat as he raised his head to look at the angry, red bite mark I'd left on him. "You weren't lying when you said you were a biter," he chuckled.

"No," I panted, "I wasn't."