Reluctantly Rogue Pt. 02 Ch. 08

(Note: This is a long, ongoing story. It is a story with sex. It's a sexy story. It is in many ways a story about sex. But, it is not strictly a sex story. Many chapters may even be SFW.

This chapter is slightly NSFW.)

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Anything Untoward

The stone was warm and rough under his cheek as he lay there naked and spent, drifting in the afterglow. Wetlyn placed the folded clothes on the bench next to his head, then knelt in front of him. A small, curved knife was in her hand.

"I need several drops of blood." She looked at him, requiring an answer.

Atyr shut his eyes again and drew a long breath. He was beyond caring. "Mmm. Yeh, sure."

He felt the blade prickly sharply at the end of his finger. His eyes snapped open to see her collecting a few drops of red in a tiny glass vial. She corked it, then without warning ripped several hairs from his head and stood.

"Ayah! Luckless..."

She glanced down at his frowning face, then walked to her desk.

"What is your name?" she asked, curtly. Atyr coughed in surprise. All that, and he had never told her his name.

"Ah, it's Atyr. Nice to meet you, I guess?" He smiled up at her and raised his brows meaningfully, but she didn't look up to see.

"Family name?"

He wasn't sure why he was surprised that her stony facade hadn't melted away. After all, she had only been kneeling on the floor, fully clothed. He was the one who had been through an eternity of sexual teasing and denial. "Right. It's Bracken."

She wrote something on a tag, presumably his name, and affixed it before placing the vial in a desk drawer. Crossing back to where he was sprawled against the bench in a naked pile of limbs, she picked up the collar and replaced it around his neck. The sliver of wood was between finger and thumb once more. Releasing one of his hands, she indicated he should free the other.

She gestured at the clothes on the bench, and then walked over and sat neatly in her desk chair, eyeing his nude form. He looked at the pile of fabric, expensive weaves in bright colors such as a flirtatious young noble might wear. He hesitated. Coming back to Woodstead dressed like this would raise more than a few questions.

"Ah, if you don't mind, I think it might be better if I wore my old clothes. These are... these are a lot." He twisted his face up in apology.

"Your old clothes have been destroyed." When had she had time to do that? She hadn't left his side for more than half a moment. She blinked mildly. "You would prefer something more subdued."

"If you have anything? I don't expect you have a wardrobe here in my size, after all." He forced a chuckle which she did not reciprocate.

Wetlyn stood in silence for a while, letting her eyes wander coldly across his bare skin, then walked to the single door, and opened it, reaching through for something. She returned with a stack of fabric in more subdued, earthy colors. Atyr began to wonder if perhaps she had servants in the tower. A small knot of embarrassment welled in his throat. He hadn't been at all quiet before, as the cum had been tortuously teased from him.

Forcing the thought away, he looked at the clothes. The weave was still finer than any Atyr had ever worn, but at least he wouldn't look like some bright, exotic bird among crows, back in town. He stepped swiftly into the garments: simple pants, a long shirt and a fitted vest, quite similar to what he'd walked in wearing. They fit a bit loosely, but they would serve.

Brushing out the wrinkles, he offered a small smile. "Thanks. I won't be the talk of the town in these."

Wetlyn looked at him. "You will return tomorrow morning before midday to restore the door. I have the necessary tools and material." When he nodded, she continued. "Follow me." She made for the door, leading him out and into a narrow landing. On a little stone seat built into the wall lay his pack, all neatly filled with his possessions, his bow, and his two daggers. He blinked. They were definitely not alone in the tower.

From the landing, stone stairs curved up to the left, and down to the right. She took them down a single flight to a second landing. The stairs continued lower, and a door lay to either side. She placed her hand on the bar of the larger door, staring straight into his eyes.

He couldn't say exactly what was different about her, except that some subtle detail of her face was harder now. Though she was still the same beautiful, youthful woman who had moments ago had her soft hands wrapped around his cock, Atyr could suddenly see the century-old witch behind her eyes. He drew back, shrinking in on himself. She held the sliver of wood up before his face, bent slightly between fingers and thumb. He flinched as she reached for his neck, but she only undid the collar. When she spoke, her voice was chill and deadly, though it lost none of its empty flatness.

"I live here undisturbed. Do nothing to change that. I will know. Atyr Bracken." She opened the door and pointed. Atyr stepped through and turned to give his farewells, but the door was already shut.

He stood a moment on the threshold, back outside on the spire. The wind blew across him with the scent of dried lichen. Turning to face the rocky landscape, he recalled the terrifying events a few days past. No, the trolls had been just past midday, this day. It was now only late afternoon. He really should have asked Wetlyn about some way to avoid them.

Looking about he realized he was on the opposite side of the tower, and a floor higher than where he had entered. The foundation was built into the slope. Earlier he had entered through what now appeared to have been the back door, into a room half below the rock. A sandy path led away from the front steps, out into the steep, boulder-tumbled slopes of the spire. He strung his bow, checked his blades, and crept away down the slope.

Knowing what lay in wait among those jagged, grey hulks, he moved silently this time, every bit the Brookwood woodsman now. Every bit the Ranger.

He followed the trail, but did not set foot on it, instead weaving silently under and through the chaos of stones, as far back as he could get while keeping track of its route. This path was separate from the one he had ascended that morning, and wound downward in a different direction. He saw no sign of the trolls, or of Pesky. He would have to trust to Wetlyn's confidence in the sprite's abilities.

In a short while, he found himself back at the sheer overhang that ringed the upper part of the spire, though at a different point now. The trail ran along the edge for a ways, before seemingly coming to a dead end. Crouched for a moment, he followed its course with his eyes from among the boulders. He slipped out of his cover, and moved silently across the open ground to the path. A laugh nearly escaped him at what he found.

Stairs! Stone steps, cut into the small cliff, narrow and steep, but straight and well-made. He wouldn't have to squirm through dark, mold-slimed cracks under the rock this time. Happily, he trotted down the stair, then slipped quietly back among the boulder-fall. As he did, three small wisps of Experience came rushing from higher up the spire and found him. Presumably trolls he had evaded? It was sometimes a mystery why precisely he gained Experience, he was beginning to find.

The way soon became less steep, and after a while the jumble of jagged stones became sparser once more, buried now in the green turf of the lower half of the spire. During the easy descent, he had plenty of time to consider how best to approach his coming conversation with Kella. Ultimately, he decided on full honesty. Full honesty minus some of the racier details...

At one point the trail ran between a cluster of tall boulders and through a natural arch made of two giant shards of rock, and there appeared to end on a flat expanse of exposed granite. Atyr walked to the edge and laughed a second time.

The trail he and Pesky had used this morning ran just around the edge of this slab of bedrock, barely half a man's height below. He hopped down and looked behind him. From here, the easy trail he had descended was impossible to see. Someone ascending would have to know it was there to use it. He wondered if Pesky had known.

Turning back to the trail on which he now stood, he got his answer, in the form of Pesky herself.

"Atyr!" She beamed at him. "I didn't know which way you'd take, so I waited here."

His face broke into an uncontrollable grin at the sight of her tiny, translucent form. "Pesky! Wetlyn told me you'd be fine, but..." He realized his throat was closing slightly with emotion. "I'm glad to see you."

She flitted close to him. "I want you to know, that last time I was here there were no trolls." She stared earnestly. "That is the truth."

He shrugged, and quirked his lips. "I figured as much, since you got nabbed yourself. How did you get free?"

"Get free? It was just a troll, dummy." She rolled her eyes at him.

Just a troll. Atyr reflected that he'd barely survived the one that had managed to catch him.

"After I dealt with it," the sprite continued. "I couldn't find you, so I headed to the tower and kept an eye out. I saw you just as you came tearing in through the rocks and kicked in Wetlyn's door." She buzzed a circle around his head. "Bet the old bitch loved that."

"She didn't. I promised to build her a new door tomorrow. Hey Pesky? One question."

"Mmm?"

"Why didn't you choose the trail with stairs?"

The little sprite froze in place, wings fluttering. "Well, look at that sun! We need to get you back to town for your evening date with Kella!" She sped off down the path. Atyr rolled his eyes and followed. Luckless little shit.

The rest of the walk back to town was quiet. Atyr filled Pesky in on the details of his time in Wetlyn's tower. Some of the details. Many of them he kept to himself. If the sprite noticed the gaps in his tale, she didn't let on. And, knowing her proclivity for mockery, that probably meant she hadn't.

The sun was just coming to rest on the treetop ridges beyond Woodstead when they made it back to town. The shimmering light of its final moments radiated outward through banks of clouds colored like fields of brilliant poppies. It was stunning, and Atyr certainly felt stunned. He was exhausted. Several times recently, he had noted that a given day was now certainly the most eventful, unpredictable day of his life. Today was already leaving the rest of the pack behind, and he had yet to talk to Kella.

He trudged into town and turned straight up the knoll to the Birdhouse, Pesky at his shoulder, pestering him with reminders to, above all, impress upon Kella the delicateness of the situation, and to ensure the young healer would take no further actions. He walked wearily up to the front door, open as it often was.

"Mr. Bracken. I must insist that we speak, however briefly."

Atyr halted, sighed, and turned around wearily to find the devil on the wooded path behind him. "Mr. Helliot. Hi. Fine. Briefly."

"I should also like very much to set aside a moment for a lengthier discussion, in which we might, the two of us, examine the multitude of ways in which--"

"Helliot, make it brief."

"Of course, Mr. Bracken, I do apologize. I urge you to remember that, however cynically you may at current view my motivations, our desired outcomes remain congruent with one another's, providing a circumstance which supersedes--"

"That's not true."

"Eh? I do apologize, which part is untrue, Mr. Bracken?"

"I don't believe we want the same outcome."

"Mr. Bracken, I must once more remind you that there is simply no practicable way in which our dear Abarabir--"

"I'm going to find a way."

"Mr. Bracken, while I do so enjoy and admire your dedication and ingenuity I also must heartily..."

Atyr turned and left him there on the trail, ducking inside the Birdhouse. Helliot didn't follow.

Inside, Kella was waiting for him. She smelled strongly of something that reminded Atyr of a rancid batch of woodsman's wine he and a friend had found hidden in the Brookwood in the last summer before their full manhood. Even at that eager age, they hadn't dared taste the caustic brew.

"Atyr, hi! Sorry about the smell. It helps to keep wounds clean, but I fumbled it trying to return it to a high shelf. I... I think my mind's really been... elsewhere this afternoon."

He smiled and shrugged. "Can't imagine why. Look, I'm very sorry about this morning. I didn't plan that out like I should have and... are you ready to leave?"

She nodded swiftly, her smile quirking a bit to one side, almost playfully.

Atyr looked at her. "Uh, do you have a place we could go to be alone? I have a room at Gant's set aside just for me, but I know how that sounds..." He grinned sheepishly.

Surprisingly, her returning grin didn't look sheepish at all. "And just how do you think that sounds, Atyr Bracken?"

In his ear, Pesky repeated Kella's words. "And just how do you think that sounds, Atyr Bracken?" Atyr forced himself not to respond, but his cheeks reddened. He chose to ignore them both.

"We could go to the clearing again, where we were last week."

Kella cocked her head. "Last week?"

"Yeh, by the stream, where you... I mean where I fell in."

"Where I kissed you, you meant to say." She grinned at him, but then her eyebrows drew down quizzically. "Atyr, that was the day before yesterday."

"Fates, was it?" He tried to count back, but it wasn't adding up. "Sorry, its been a lot, the past couple days. It's... there's just been a lot."

Her eyes were sympathetic. "I really got that impression this morning. Anyway, we could go to the clearing but it'll be dark soon, and the midges will be out over the stream. My parents' house is an option, but..." She caught the panicked look on his face, and laughed. "Let's go to Gant's."

"Are you sure? I promise you I'm not trying to be forward, I just don't have anywhere else."

Her eyes sparkled at him. "Take me up to your room at the inn, Atyr Bracken, and woo me with tales of your deeds with the fae."

Atyr couldn't help smiling back. "You seem pretty comfortable with all this."

"Oh, I'm really not. Not at all. But I've had all day to really think about it and I've decided that either you are really haunted by invisible fae spirits, in which case you need all the help you can get. Or, you are pulling a really elaborate ruse to lure me into a room at the inn so you can ravish me." She winked. "You aren't, are you?"

Atyr's face was as red as it had ever been. "Fates Kella, you don't have much concern for modesty, do you?"

She gestured behind her. "I spend my days fixing people's bodies. I know how they work, and how they don't. Modesty doesn't last long. And I've never really had much of it."

Atyr considered that she had seemed to have a bit of a sense of modesty when he'd first met her, but then, that had been under different circumstances. "Alright then. So, to Gant's?"

She reached out a hand, and they left the Birdhouse together. Pesky trailed behind, forgotten. Helliot still stood beside the path, but Atyr ignored his attempts to offer advice. Kella, of course, saw neither of them.

They slipped in quietly through the back door at Gant's having decided it was best if they made it upstairs unnoticed. The inn was busy this evening, loud and boisterous. They made it halfway up the stairs before a man's over-loud voice called from the floor.

"Hey, Kella! Exactly where are you going?"

She froze, then muttered to Atyr. "Just keep on." Following her own advice, she continued upwards.

"Who's the boy?" The voice called again. Atyr searched the floor and found its owner. A stocky man, about his own age or a bit older, with short black hair and a close trimmed beard. The man took a deep swig from his tankard, then thrust it out, indicating Atyr. Several other faces were turning to look now.

"Just Go!" Kella hissed. "I'll smooth it over with him later."

Atyr paused now; he noticed Gant eyeing him distastefully as well. Catching his glance, the small innkeep beckoned them both over. Atyr sighed, and headed down the stairs. Kella protested, but followed him.

Gant never looked pleased, dourness was his normal state of being, but in this moment he seemed as if he was actually trying to look unhappy, with odd results. It was as though he couldn't quite find the muscles that would let his expression darken further. "Kella. What are you doing with the Bracken boy here?"

She opened her mouth to respond, annoyance on her face, but the small man waved her to silence.

"Bracken, why don't you wait outside a moment."

Atyr looked at Kella. She shrugged, then sighed and nodded. He crossed the crowded inn, drawing some sidelong glances, and exited the front door.

Outside, in the deepening gloom, he leaned back against the wall between two windows, settling himself uncomfortably into a foul mood. Pesky settled herself, quite comfortably, on the top of his head. This day, of all the days he'd had, this day was turning out to be a--

"Hey!"

Atyr's head whipped around at the loud voice. It was the stocky, black-haired man. The man stalked unsteadily towards him. Atyr pushed himself off the wall, taking a step back. The bearded man stopped. "Hey, I just came out to talk to you." He put his thick hands up before him, palms out. "Not trying to jump you."

Atyr relaxed slightly, but he didn't come any closer. "Hi. What did you want to talk to me about?"

The man scratched his beard with exaggerated nonchalance, then leaned against the wall as Atyr had been. He looked like a bad actor instructed to improvise the actions of a character behaving 'casually'.

He glanced over at Atyr. "So. You're with Kella, huh?"

Pesky cut in. "See? Everyone but you can tell."

Atyr was silent.

"Pretty good catch, that one. Bet you've been having fun, yeh?"

Heat was building in Atyr's chest. He flexed his fingers and clenched them briefly. "I just met her."

The man forced a laugh. "Oh yeah, just met her, already leading her up to your room." He caught Atyr's eye and pulled a knowing smirk. "Hey, don't think I don't know what she's like. Lot of fun that one. She'll do anything, won't she? Take it anywhere you want, as long and hard as you want it." He mimed grabbing some imaginary part of a woman and thrusting his hips into her, then belched. "I haven't had a chance at her since before she went up to old Bird's place. Bet she's learned a trick or two about bodies up there, huh?"

In his ear, Pesky giggled. "This guy is yucky, but 'she'll do anything' is interesting, isn't it?"

Atyr breathed out hard and loud. "I don't think she'd like to know you were talking like that." The words were meant for both of them.

"Hey, I'm just having fun with you, boy. If you don't want to tell me everything she does to get your balls emptied out, that's your choice."

Atyr took a step forward now. He'd killed two trolls and braved a witch this afternoon; somehow this short, drunk townsman didn't seem as intimidating as he might have a week ago.

"Listen, Kella and I are just friends--" He stumbled, realizing that wasn't necessarily true. "We're... I mean I just met her. That's not why I'm bringing her here, we're just going to talk."

The stocky man scoffed. "Hah, talk. Bet you are. How much talking is she going to do with her mouth stuffed full of your--"

Atyr made a short lunge forward, jutting out his chin. Pesky was sent flying. The man's eyes went wide for a moment and he stumbled off the wall, backing up a step. Atyr saw the wild gaze drop to the two long daggers at his belt.

Recovering quickly, the man smiled again. "Whoa, whoa. Alright, if you don't like talking about it, just say it. No need to come after me."

"Look." Atyr advanced towards him now, eyes narrow, chin set. "I'll say it once more. I just met her. I was in the Birdhouse, the Healing House, and I almost died. Bird said I was going to, but Kella? She cared for me. And here I am. Alright? So I owe her a lot. I owe her my life."

The man's face had softened now, and his mouth formed a silent "O" shape.

Atyr continued. "I don't care what you and Kella got up to, and I don't want to know. But right now, I need to fix something. I need to help Bird with something, and Kella's going to help me. That's it. We're here to talk. You can imagine all you want about it, but that's the truth."

The man was trying to break in now, his expression defensive and earnest, but Atyr rolled over him. "And honestly, if this is how you talk about her, I see why you 'haven't had a chance at her' in over a year. I'm surprised you ever had a chance at all."

A silence followed, during with the man blinked, shook his head, and then, unexpectedly, smiled broadly and extended his hand.

"I'm Tal. Talain Given is my name. I'm Kella's best friend."

Atyr didn't take the hand. "Yeh, real good friend, seems like. You talk about all your friends like that?"

Tal kept his hand extended. "Look, I'm sorry. Got the wrong idea about you, maybe. Thought I'd get you to spout something shitty about her so I could lay you out."

Atyr wavered, uncertain, but he still didn't take the hand.

Tal tried again. "I heard about you. You're the kid they dragged in out of the Brookwood, right? Kella was talking about you when you were in the Birdhouse. She was, a lot. Maybe I got you wrong, alright?" He dropped his hand. "Look, I'm sorry?" He stumbled slightly, catching himself against the wall of the inn.

He looked up at Atyr, rubbing his short beard. "You're really just friends?"

The anger was swiftly fading from Atyr's chest. He opened his mouth, not sure what the true answer was, and not sure if he wanted to give it even he did know. Tal laughed, loudly.

"Hah! Knew it. She--" He burped. "She always did move fast."

"We're... not actually... I guess I'm not sure."

Tal raised his brows dramatically, too far up his forehead. Atyr was again reminded of a bad actor, this time trying for comedy. "How are you not sure?"

Atyr shrugged and chewed his lip, his troll-slayer's confidence deserting him. "Uh, well, I thought we were just friends, more acquaintances really, but..." His cheeks flushed.

"But?"

Atyr looked up and away, not willing to say more.

Tal stared at him for a moment, expressionless, then apparently found something in Atyr's expression, and collapsed in laughter. He actually collapsed, sliding down the wall of the inn to sit on the dirt of the road. It took him a while to collect himself, then he reached up a hand. Atyr took it and hauled the drunkard to his feet. The black-bearded man, still grasping his hand, said again, "Talain Given. Good to meet you."

Atyr looked at him for a moment, then smiled back curtly. "Atyr. I met you too."

Tal squinted, trying to work that out, then burst into laughter again, throwing an arm over Atyr's tense shoulders and dragging the young woodsman back into the inn. As they entered, a thin, grey wisp of Experience drifted out of Tal's back and into Atyr's. He shivered at the sensation.

Inside, Atyr and Tal wove their way over to where Kella stood, alone now at the foot of the stairs. It took some convincing on her part, as well as promises to talk soon, and some exasperated apologies for "Keeping her Brookwood boy a secret from her dear old Tal," before the short man finally hugged them both hard enough to stop their breathing, winking obviously at Atyr, and whispered, loud enough that everyone within two strides could hear. "Just remember Ander, you stick it in, you stick around, y'hear me?" He wandered crookedly off into the crowded floor.

Kella seemed to have recovered some sense of modesty; her face was glowing like hot iron. "I'm so sorry about that. He's really a great guy. We grew up together. But he can be a bear-hound when he thinks I'm in trouble."

Atyr firmly agreed with that description. "Noticed." He raised his brows.

Kella glanced over at the counter, where the old innkeep was casting dark glances at the two of them.

"Gant was worried about me too. He suspects you're up to something 'untoward', as he put it. He says you keep coming up with more coin than he expects you really ought, and he thinks it's suspicious. I told him there was really nothing to worry about, and explained you and I just had some things to talk about in private. Can I be really honest though?" Atyr nodded. "I don't really know much about you. For all I know you really are heading out onto the road and waylaying people for their purses."

"Is that what he thinks I've been up to?" Atyr pulled a wry face. "He hinted at something along those lines the other day when I rented the room."

Kella shrugged. "He is really not a fan of those two huge knives you're suddenly wearing. I admit I was a bit startled as well, Atyr. He really is a good man though. He's just suspicious of everyone." She looked across the room at Gant and gave him a smile and a wave. "Anyway, I convinced him you weren't, or at least set him at ease that you're not going to do anything 'untoward' to me."

Atyr glanced over at Gant as well, then back to Kella.

She blinked slowly at him, dark eyes looking out from under dark lashes. "You're not planning to do anything untoward to me, are you Atyr Bracken?"

Atry swallowed, and opened his mouth, fully intending to say something, if only he could think of something to say, but before he could, she grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs.

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A question for the readers. Who's better, Kella or Atyr? This story really should be about Kella, shouldn't it?

Anyway, thank you so much for reading!

-ScryBells