Page 73
Story: The WitchSlayer
Mostly, her life slowly returned to the ebb and flow as it had before while living in this lair – except for one change.
She would see the human side of Rurik more often.
The first time she noticed him in that form was when he’d been laying against the wall in the alcove that held his collection of books. His ankles had been crossed with one meaty arm behind his head while he’d been quietly reading.
They’d traded glances.
Amalia had become flushed and immediately fled.
The next time she saw him human, he snuck up on her.
She’d been going through the food so she could make herself something to eat, and when she stood up, she bumped into him. He’d steadied her hips with a firm grip so she wouldn’t fall and drop her food, but she’d felt her arse grind against his groin
She’d stepped away from him quickly, with a blush heating her cheeks.
He’d told her he was interested to know what her cooking was like since its scent often filled the tunnels, so, by his request, she cooked him a meal. They’d spoken as they ate at the table, although barely, and she’d fidgeted often in her seat.
Then he complained that it was rather bland, and she’d yelled that it was his fault because he wouldn’t give her any herbs or spices! She’d stormed away in a huff.
There were other times he would appear around her in his human form. She wasn’t sure if she was becoming more comfortable because she was getting used to seeing him like this, or becoming less so because of the way her body reacted whenever she did.
She didn’t know why he was choosing to walk around human, but she didn’t see it as often and could tell he preferred his scaly body.
“Why must he visit?” she asked her Dragon companion who was moving the smaller pile of riches to the bigger one.
Glov visited earlier and had only recently left. She’d been unhappy about it because she hated being stuck in her room while he was here.
“I have asked him to return when he has new information on a possible threat,” he answered, walking with one paw full of treasure against his chest.
She trailed behind him, picking up the odd coin and jewel that fell between the large gap of his fingers.
“What kind of threat?”
He eyed her as he scooped his paw forward and let the riches in his hand fall on top of the pile. She knew the look he was giving her, one where he wasn’t sure if he wanted to give her the answer or not.
“Strolguil is on the move, directing a coven of Witches.”
He turned from the room when she dumped her own handfuls.
“Does that mean you will be adding to your collection of skulls?”
He looked at her through the corner of his eye, his answer slow to come.
“Most likely.” She gave a nod, placing her hands behind her back as she continued to follow him. “You are not upset by this knowledge?”
His head turned to assess her face when they got to the smaller alcove.
“Well, are they bad?”
“If Strolguil the Vast is leading them, then yes.”
“Then why should I care what you do to them?”
He tilted his head in the way he did when she knew he was bewildered by her.
“But they are of your own kind. Do you not care for them?”
She gave a shrug.
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