by CK Dawn
“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir,” Quintin’s proper ass kissery began. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.” Temple didn’t even look at the defeated man walking away. He simply stared intently at Lourdie with an unparalleled sexual potency. “May I?” he gave her a charmingly sinister grin as he held out his hand.
She sighed dramatically. “If I must,” Lourdie relented. The corners of her lips curled up like the Cheshire Cat as she whispered, to show she was teasing, “Country boy.”
The two forces joined hands and the rest of the world faded away. A quiet gasp escaped Lourdie as Temple pulled them into an embrace closer than she was expecting.
Half a dozen guardians had filled her dance card, but it wasn’t until Temple touched her bare back that she had realized just how much of it was exposed. Lourdie temporarily forgot how to breathe. She gulped, trying to recover.
“Well, at least your weapon is happy to see me. Nice concealment,” he said, a smirk undoubtedly crossing his face.
“Jealous?” Their bodies were so close, they began breathing as one.
His only response was a low primal groan deep within his throat.
Her traitorous body wanted to respond. It ached with guilty pleasure and yearned for more from him. She tried to concentrate, “Thanks for the rescue, but was all that really necessary with Sinclair?”
“No, but it was my extreme pleasure, I assure you.”
“Ha! At least you admit it.”
Temple lowered his hand to the small of her back and whispered in her ear. “I don’t recall ever denying it.” His fingers fanned out across her exposed flesh. Nerve endings tingled under the contact of each of his fingertips and electricity shot up her spine.
The whiskers of his five o’clock shadow brushed against her cheek as they glided across the dance floor. Milk and honey skin met thousands of soft needles. The sensation was erotic.
She changed the subject, “I can take care of myself you know?”
“I have no doubt.” Lourdie could hear the sly grin in his voice again. He became quiet just then. She could tell something was on his mind. His jaw clenched as he breathed out heavily through his nose. “Are you, though?” he seemed genuinely concerned, “Taking care of yourself?”
Lourdie knew where this conversation was going. “Shall I add mother hen to the numerous hats you wear? Go on then, out with it.”
“If I may be so bold,” Temple slowed their pace. “The strong confident hunter I met on the shore appears to be a bit... lost, as of late. What happened to that city girl the night of the first full moon?”
Still unwilling to talk about it, she was evasive, “It was your experiment, you tell me. Did you see anything?” She thought he may have seen the darter near the tree or the one flying by the helicopter at the very least.
He pulled away momentarily to look at her directly. Temple lowered his chin, smiled devilishly, and stared intently at her, “I saw many things that night, but quid pro quo, Ms. Reese. I believe you still owe me my Christmas gift, as it is.”
Lourdie was still unwilling to open the metaphysical door tied to her emotions, “I was unconscious, remember? I don’t know what happened.”
Temple’s words were hushed against her cheek, “I don’t believe you.”
Lourdie stopped dancing and looked at him. “You think I’m lying?”
“Lying to yourself, yes.” Reluctantly, Lourdie followed his lead and resumed dancing. “I think you have an idea of what did or didn’t happen that night, but are unwilling to explore it. I think the unknown elements frighten you. And I think you are more unique than you care to admit, especially to yourself. But no matter,” he stopped them dead in their tracks. “Some things are worth waiting for,” he pulled her even closer and his breath tickled her skin, “And you’ll find I’m a very patient man. Good evening, Ms. Reese.” He spun her around and disappeared into the crowd as the song ended.
“You’re pretty,” Abbey scoffed, leaning back on her heels and sliding on her knees past Quintin. She brutally swept his legs out from under him with a metal bar. He landed hard on his blarney. “But, what else you got?”
The young apprentice’s navy blue retro style shirt of the day read ‘Run away, little girl! Run away.’ Lourdie wondered if the Warcraft mantra was meant as a foreboding warning to anyone crossing Abbey’s path today.
“Clever little lass, aren’t you?” Recovering quickly, Quintin did a flip and blocked her next two moves. “You are definitely your mentor’s apprentice,” he said dodging even more of her attacks. “Albeit a pint sized version weighing only seven stone.”
“Careful, Quint. She goes from cute to carnivorous in 2.5 seconds,” Lourdie warned.
“Ha! That is so going on my next t-shirt,” Abbey said breathlessly.
“Och, aye. Even I know not to spar with an angry wuhman. I yield for now, little lass.” Quintin bowed down.
The young girl reared up for another strike.
“Abbey! That’s enough, he yielded,” Lourdie scolded, before the girl’s mock killing blow could land. “Go cool off. We’ll pick this up Monday.”
The little powerhouse glared at Quintin as she walked away.
“Bloody ‘ell, Reese, what’s gotten into her today?” a winded and bruised Quintin asked.
“She’s a teenager and the day ends in Y. Does there have to be any other reason?” she sighed. They were the top two hunters in the class so of course Lourdie had to pair them together at some point. Almost a week had passed since the Brenin Dathlu, so Lourdie thought it was finally safe to have Quintin and Abbey spar together, but apparently she had been wrong. Most likely, Abbey was still angry that Quintin had danced with Lourdie at the ball. Maybe she was upset that Louie was absent from practice today. Lourdie thought it was just hormones, but was uncertain what had caused Abbey’s foul mood.
“I think it’s just me. She thinks I’m a wanker.”
Lourdie scoffed, “You are a wanker, Quint!” Lourdie watched Abbey protectively as the young girl exited with the rest of the class, “Just let her be.” She had to smile at how Abbey was trying to look out for her. The fourteen year old was not shy about showing her animosity towards Quintin. Lourdie would try and talk with her later, once she calmed down.
It was hard for Lourdie to explain to the young girl that she felt safe around Quintin. Not because he was a nice guy, quite the contrary. She knew he desperately wanted to get into her pants, but he was safe to be around because she felt nothing for him. There was no spark, no chemistry, no physical or metaphysical attraction. Her emotions stayed safely locked away around him, unlike when she was anywhere near Temple. It was a blessing and a disappointment that he had been unsurprisingly absent again. Temple seemed to be out on business and away from the Cloak more often than not. Though, even being around his cousins ultimately made her start to think about Temple.
Yes, the Lint was safe. Besides, when Quintin wasn’t trying to sleep with her, he was actually decent to be around. They enjoyed reminiscing and comparing stories about Hammond, their mentor, whom they both loved and adored. Quintin had even stayed behind some days after class, helping Lourdie combine and streamline the new maneuvers the other hunters kept coming up with. The extra sparring sessions were a welcome help and a nice distraction from things and people she didn’t want to think about. And even though no one had been able to create multiple orbs, all the hunters in general were creating orbs faster than they had ever been able to in the past. This class was an unexpected success. Though creating two orbs at once would increase netherwalker banishment and potentially decrease fatalities, the quicker orb creation that resulted from this effort showed promise. Lourdie thought about coming up with a specific name for the combined fighting style, after all, every hunter had contributed and every court around the world was represented.
“Come now, lass. You know I just need the love of a good wuhman to set me straight,” he looked over at Lourdie as they put targets away. �
��When are you going to let me take you out? Fancy girl like you, I’d even spring for dinner before...”
“Down. Sit. Stay,” she shook her head. “Quint you know you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’d hate to tell Hammond that I had to kick your ass all the way back to the Bellows.”
“Och, lass, you know just how to tease me. For an arse whoopin’ from you would be like foreplay to a dog like me, I’m afraid,” he smiled sincerely. Most people found his comments brash. Truthful, but brash.
“Quintin!” she scolded, but somehow she always saw through his brazen womanizing down to the true respect he had for her.
After her collapse, he had confessed to being one of Hammond’s apprentices, as well. ‘Reese, you’re a bloody impossible act to follow, I tell you. But even the legend herself is allowed to have a bad day from time to time. Now drink this before I run off and tell Hammond you’ve forgotten everything he’s taught us.’
“Och aye, lass, for you I’ll try’n behave. But, only for you.” He smiled sincerely at her again. “Only for you.”
Twelve
Home Coming
His thumb brushed across her bottom lip as her toes sunk deeper into the sand. She felt as though she were melting. The onyx purple silk of her dress billowed in the warm breeze and caressed her skin. Waves pounded all around her as the wind intensified. Chocolate strands of her mane came loose from their knot and pink petals from the rose pinned in her hair flew away like a swarm of butterflies. His hand pulled her closer, grasping her waist, while his other hand tugged the hair at the nape of her neck.
“Don’t leave,” he pleaded. “There is nothing out there but eternity and decay.” His lips were so close to her skin, she could feel the heat from his breath.
Her desire threatened to devour them both, but still she looked toward the horizon that called to her. Biting her bottom lip, the taste of his salty touch lingered on her tongue and set her skin ablaze.
“Nothing but oblivion,” he said, shaking his head. “Stay.” His grip tightened and their lips met.
As he pulled her into a deep desperate kiss, the silk hem of her dress tore into thick ribbons and whipped her legs over and over from the force of the gusting wind. Flesh began to tear away from bone under the fabric’s constant lapping and her blood turned to rust washed away with the tide. Suddenly, the swollen crimson ocean turned deathly silent and the sticky wet beach stained with her blood became a prison.
“Why does it call to you?” he asked before she was sucked down, consumed head to toe, by an oubliette of sand. Then, the darkness came.
Lourdie opened her eyes, threw her covers off, and frantically checked her legs. There wasn’t a mark on them. Relieved yet defeated, she buried her face in her hands and shook her head. Then, reluctantly, she dragged her sleep deprived body out of bed.
Deciding to truly relax on her day off, Lourdie set out on a quest. She would find a book with a fanciful story that would dissolve all her nightmares and cares away.
Remembering Bishop’s directions, Lourdie finally found the area of the castle that held the west turret. Lourdie reached the small wooden door and pulled. It opened stubbornly like it hadn’t been used in years. If she hadn’t been told a turret lay beyond it, she would have assumed it was a simple nondescript broom closet. She had probably passed the door dozens of times on her frequent night wanderings, never knowing the treasures that awaited her.
Lourdie carefully climbed the chamber’s spiral staircase admiring how worn the steps were. Thousands of knights, hunters, and guardians had left their mark on the massive blocks of solid marble. Each step had been softly carved out into a crescent moon through centuries of foot falls. She must have climbed five stories, but knew her destination was close. The musty scent of a very old library lofted toward her. Her heart skipped a beat. Carefully opening another small wooden door, Lourdie entered the mystical oasis. The circular room was three stories tall and lined entirely with books, journals, and historical documents. Small windows peeked through the shelves on each level. Columns of morning light flooded the space as dust particles danced within them. The views of Loe Pool and the Atlantic Ocean were spectacular from this height. Gliding ladders and stone catwalks were the only access to the second and third levels. The higher she looked the older the hidden treasures became. An oversized worn leather chair with side table and lamp were the lone pieces of furniture. A larger door was opposite the one she had entered. She pictured herself spending hours and hours in here, her new favorite haven. This was what the inside of Lourdie’s heart felt like. She was home.
Browsing the infinite number of titles, Lourdie spotted a set that she instantly recognized. The wood floor softly creaked as she moved toward her chosen treasure. Her eyes were wide with joyous anticipation as she browsed each title in the epic saga she had been reading on the jet. She gently touched the spine of book five, the newest release she had yet to purchase but had waited years for the author to finish. War hungry men, powerful defiant women, and the promise of dragons lured her in. She opened the novel eagerly, cherishing each mouthwatering word.
Someone cleared their throat from behind her.
Lourdie dropped the book and whipped around. “What are you doing here?” she said and immediately turned her back to the intruder. “And why are you dripping wet and naked!?”
Bare except for his relics and tattoos, the man only had a single towel, and at the moment was drying his hair with it. He was apparently in no hurry to cover anything else. Temple chuckled. “This is my private library and I just got out of the shower, so I should be asking you. What are you doing here, Ms. Reese?” he raised an eyebrow.
“I... uh… Bishop said... the west library..?” Lourdie kept sneaking glances over her shoulder, waiting for Temple to put the towel around his waist as she made her way toward the exit and end her humiliation. The man had no shame. Could he not even have one flaw? No. He was perfection. For the love of god please put the blasted towel on.
Temple guffawed, “I’m afraid Bishop may have played a cruel joke on you, Ms. Reese.” Finally ending her torment he quickly wrapped the towel around his waist, apparently realizing she was not just a snooping American. “The main library is in the east tower. This library is connected to my private chambers, but don’t leave on my account. Please make yourself at home.” he said, preparing to shut his bedroom door, giving her free reign of his library.
“No. No, sorry for the intrusion. I... uh… will just go find the real library,” she squeezed her eyes closed. “Tell me, any idea where I might find Bishop? I think I need to kick his ass!”
Soft, barely audible sniffles echoed up the ballroom steps. Temple looked for their source. Huddled against the stone railing was one of his favorite people.
“Abbey?” he said walking toward her.
The young girl wiped her eyes and nose, “Oh, hey. Sorry.”
“What’s wrong?”
Abbey shrugged, “Just homesick.” She leaned her head against one of the carved stone balusters, “Sorry. I guess I’m just having a hormonal teen moment.”
“Did you do something wrong?” he asked taking a seat next to her.
She lifted her head, confused, “What? No, I…”
“Then why are you apologizing. If you’re sad you are allowed to cry.”
“I just feel weak and silly, crying about missing my house mom and wanting to see my friend learn how to drive, and...I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear all of this.”
“Rubbish. You’re only fourteen, you don’t have to be so grown up all the time you know. Tell me about these people you miss.”
“Don’t you have important things I’m keeping you from?”
“Nothing’s more important than being right here right now,” he smiled kindly and put his phone on mute.
Abbey told Temple about Nola and Bernie, two of her favorite people in the world, and how she hadn’t been away from them since her introduction into the King’s Court. With every sentence she becam
e more upbeat, less homesick.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better. It’s good to let your emotions out.”
Abbey scoffed, “No offense, Temple, but I see the way you look at Lourdie when you think no one is watching. So you’re one to talk about letting emotions out.”
He guffawed loudly, “Touché Abbey, touché. But I think I’ve made a bit of a mess of that situation I’m afraid.”
“Well, she does like to say you’re drenched in arrogance.” Abbey tried to make it not sound so horrible, “I mean she used to say you reeked of it, but now you’re just drenched in it. And, only sometimes. So at least that’s a step up, right?” She looked up and gave him a crooked optimistic smile, “Sorry, I seem to have come down with a severe case of word vomit. I could so be a writer for Hurlmark for all the good I’m doing.”
“Drenched in arrogance, hmm? I’m not one for self-deprecation, but it does have a lovely ring to it. Almost elegant,” Temple scoffed out loud remembering what a bloody idiot he had been in his turret library. “She must think me a right tosser right about now then. A complete wanker,” Temple reprimanded himself. “I’m sorry, Abigail, I shouldn’t talk that way in front of you.”
“Dude, I don’t even know what you just said. But don’t worry. I’m team Temple all the way, even when you’re an ass,” Abbey looked up as if in horror at what was coming out of her mouth.
“Oh?” Temple arched his eyebrow.
Abbey explained, “Not to me, to Lourdie I mean. You guys seem to just push each other’s buttons, that’s all.”
The knight let out a sigh, “That we do.”
“Granted, she makes an extreme sport out of it,” she paused, absentmindedly twirling her pink strand of hair between her fingers. “But who’s to say that’s such a bad thing? Some people call that passion.”
“How did you get so wise at such a young age?” he said admiring the young hunter.
