to get them out of here.
“You’ve upset her, you bastard pig.”
“I did not know she had a man!” the merchant bellowed. He went to rise but Aryn pressed his blade to the man’s throat. “Bloody hell, she’s been up there half the night twitching her ass and swaying her hips, looking like a bitch in heat—”
A serving girl walked by at that particular moment.
Aryn watched as she stopped, then deliberately upended a large goblet, filled to the top with a foamy brew, onto the man.
“Oh, beg your pardon,” she said when he screeched and flopped around like a landed fish.
“You fuckin’ bitch!”
“’ey, that’s my—”
“Easy now.” The pub’s owner, Gordie, appeared just as a solidly built man went to grab the merchant from the ground. “I think Master Aryn has it all well in hand, Jeo. And your girl, Lenna, has already defended her honor rather well, hasn’t she?”
Gordie gave Aryn a sidelong look before turning his attention to the one guard who had escaped unscathed. “I’ll have you haul your employer out of my pub. His kind isn’t welcome here. I won’t have my girls mauled and manhandled in one moment, and insulted in the next. One of my boys can bring your companion out.”
“We…uh…we had us a room here, sirrah,” the man said, darting another look at Aryn.
“And if you can pay for it out of your own pocket, you’re welcome to stay but your employer goes. He won’t be welcome at the Bee & Crook by the North Wall, either. Only other place is somewhere down near the East Wall, close to the Alley. A bit loud there, but he might find an open bench if not a room.”
As Gordie dealt with that mess, Aryn sheathed his blade and focused on the woman in his arms.
She was still ‘crying’. Voice low, he murmured, “Don’t you think you’re carrying on a bit much?”
She snickered, forcing it into a fake sob as she wrapped her arms around him.
“Perhaps we should establish rules of etiquette…” she said, feigning his deeper voice. At his look, she started giggling all over again, barely keeping up the pretense of sobbing.
Sighing, he swept her up into his arms and started for the stairs.
“Oh, now I’m about to swoon,” one barmaid murmured as he walked by.
Tyriel’s body shook even harder.
“You’re a bloody witch,” Aryn said with a sigh.
Aryn lay on his belly on the bed late that night.
In the bed above his, Tyriel on her side, her breaths soft and steady. Occasionally, she sighed or hummed as she dreamed whatever a magical thing such as she dreamed.
He could still smell the scent of her skin. It seemed embedded on his own and he ached to touch her. Really touch her.
How in the hell was he supposed to do this—sleep so close to this beautiful woman he craved, yet never touch her?
Except he had to. She was a star, beyond his reach. He’d glimpsed that the very first night he’d seen her.
She would live centuries—was already nearing her first. She had the power of divine beings in her veins, and she called the two most mystical, most feared races in all of Ithyrimir her blood kin. The elves and the Wildlings.
Aryn of Olsted was not going to insult her by asking if she’d fancy a quick fuck, just so he could sate his need for a woman.
“It is not just a hunger for any woman, you daft fool. you ache and hunger for her.”
Aryn tried to ignore the whisper in his mind, but it was like ignoring the pressure in his loins, or the feel of her against him, near impossible.
No matter how much he may wish to at the moment.
“It is no insult if she wants it,” Irian groused.
“Go to sleep.”
“I’m dead, remember? Little good sleep does me. I’ll rest when you do, lad. And a good fuck would help us both,” he suggested slyly. As Aryn stared at the wall, Irian flickered into view, a little more in focus this time than he had been earlier. Aryn closed his eyes, but a sharp afterimage remained.
“Why in the name of the Gods am I seeing you now?” he demanded irritably.
Irian tossed him a wolfish grin that seemed to glow in the dim room. “Wouldna you like t’ know?”
“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked,” Aryn muttered irritably.
“Be quiet, both of you, so I can sleep.” Tyriel’s voice was husky. “I don’t know what you are carrying on about but I hear your voices