Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 08

"We need to rest first. I know it's a rough task, but Garthur's going to need to sleep and pray, and even old men like us need to lick our wounds for a bit. Get some sleep and we'll meet at Reavers Rest in the morning." Vick turned after saying as much, and began to walk to the door. "Besides, that'll give us time to send for Windhawk. We'll need her skill at tracking out in the wilds."

Alan nodded his head, and a ghost of a smile played across his lips. "Hell of a time to get the old crew back together."

"Hell of a time. But no one fucks with the Reavers and gets away with it. Alan, we'll get her back, even if we have to level half the damn forest to get her."

Tinsley ran one hand through his short hair, then sighed. "And we just might." He glanced across to Daphne, who seemed to have recovered.

"I'll stay with Alan, keep watch over him. Whoever has arranged this, they seem to have a real hate for him."

Daphne's words were logical, even if both men doubted her reasons. After a moment, however, Vick just nodded. "Fine, whatever. Just make sure he gets to Reavers Rest safely tomorrow." With those words said, the Count stepped out of the room.

Alan set that knife aside, then frowned down at the carcass of the shifter laying on the ground. Blood still seeped out from where his hand clasped to his neck. This, of course, caught the attention of Daphne.

The elven woman turned toward Alan, then moved forward with a sway of her hips. As Alan's brow knitted, she reached one hand up to gently take his wrist in her cool fingers. "Let me see," She near purred the words, before settling onto the edge of that bed beside him.

Reluctantly, Sir Tinsley removed his hand, and almost as soon as that light cut was revealed, Daphne's soft, cool lips darted forth. She closed her mouth over the wound and played her tongue across his skin. Her body pressed to his still nude form, where the beast that he thought was his wife had been just minutes before. Long nailed hands traced over his shoulders, and a soft moan escaped her throat.

She was as luscious as ever, and though he knew he should be disturbed by the whole thing, Alan couldn't bring himself to push her away. Instead his hands settled at her waist. She'd glutted herself that night on the blood of their foes, but still, she'd taken some serious wounds, even before Vick had run her through. She needed that blood, whatever he could give. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

In truth, the feel of her tight curves against his bare flesh was too enticing to resist. The night had left him confused, between falling prey to the fox woman, the shifters that seemed to tease him at every turn. The feel of this blood drinking elf was almost reassuring, especially since he was fairly sure she would defend him in his time of need.

There was guilt though, looming as some icy specter in his heart. Alan didn't know what to feel anymore. The last few days had been a hellish ride between happiness and loss, despair and euphoria. Just a few minutes ago he'd thought it was all over, that he'd avenged the attack on his happiness, saved his love from the terror she'd been undergoing, and come up the hero again. Now it seemed he was back to square one.

But a moment more passed before he began to push Daphne away. With a final, deliberate lick of her tongue, she closed the wound at his neck with the strange properties her kind's saliva had. It wasn't enough to actually heal wounds or mend flesh, but for such a small incision, it was more than enough to stop the bleeding. She eased back, still resting on the edge of his bed, and looked into his eyes.

Alan forced a weak smile, then drew his hands back from where they had rested upon the leather stretched taut over her hips. "I think I need to rest."

"Of course." Her expression was unreadable, save for the slightest of pouts that crossed lips now stained red with his blood. The elven woman slipped from the edge of his bed, then strode over toward the body of the monster that had so well disguised itself as his Lizzy. Alan watched as she bent down and grasped the thing by the neck, only to heave it over one shoulder.

"What are you doing?" He leaned back in that now so empty bed, and drew the cover light up about his own shoulders. The act caused that forgotten knife to slip from the bed and ring upon the floor, finally coming to a rest just a foot away.

Daphne shrugged, "Taking out the trash." She shifted the body on her shoulders, though its weight hardly seemed to trouble her at all. She walked to the door with a steady click of her heels. "I'll get it cleaned up, save your maid some trouble." The words were shot back over her shoulder, before she stepped out.

Alan waited until she was gone, then leaned to retrieve the blade. He looked it over thoughtfully, then gazed back up to the others still on display throughout his room. A lifetime of memories, most of which could be used to end a life in some manner. Almost all of which had been claimed by force or trickery. He couldn't blame the fates for the trouble they'd chosen to bestow upon him. Carefully, he slipped that knife to rest under the pillow beside him. Just in case.

Snuffing the enchanted lights that cast their glow through the room, he stretched out within that bed and stared at the ceiling. He didn't know what he should feel at that moment. Anguish at having victory snatched away at the last moment? Exhilaration for surviving an assassin's knife? He just felt numb. Or maybe numb wasn't the proper term, but cold instead. Cold and calculating. The kidnapping of his wife, the destruction of his old guild, the attempted assassination, whoever it was that had arranged it all was undoubtedly after him, and yet he couldn't figure out who it was.

The old rogue was so lost in thought that he never noticed the vampire entering the room again, not until she set to work cleaning the blood from the floor. Still he tossed names and faces back and forth in his mind. Most of his old foes were dead and defeated. Those that weren't certainly didn't hold such animosity to plan such a destructive confluence of events, or didn't have the resources to do so, to his knowledge. And this certainly had to be the result of planning. Long, thorough planning.

His eyes drifted over toward where Daphne worked, as he toyed with asking her advice on the matter. She'd been connected, before her surrender those years ago. An assassin of note and rank in her dark guild, so surely she had to know someone who might still be in the game.

All that gaze found in the dark, however, was the faint silhouette of leather stretched tight over the rounded curves of her ass. There was just a little shine where dim light from the hall reflected up off the floor near the doorway and played over those curves. Her hips swayed as she worked, back and forth, like some lush pendulum. With a snort of amusement, he watched for a while, his question abandoned. His eyes grew heavy.

Alan laid back upon those pillows and closed his eyes. His mind had been racing, but now he finally felt sleep coming over him. Maybe having Daphne around was a boon after all. He did feel safer. As dangerous and murderous as she was, she did seem so fond of him.

Finally, as the elven woman continues to scrub the floor, Sir Tinsley drifted off to sleep in his own room, uncertain of what the next day would bring.