Turquoise waves collided into the riverbank. The pitter patter of translucent raindrops mixed with perilous waters, which steadily climbed higher and grew in volume. It threatened to engulf this area in a watery grave. An ominous grey painted the sky. Despite the haunting vista, it offered a safe haven. Promising security and tranquility for one brave enough to venture this far out. Cautious footsteps along a sturdy, thick tree branch were made by one seeking refuge. Damp silver locks clung to pale skin. Exotic golden optics, with slit pupils, scanned the forest's surface. A powerful storm was coming, patiently waiting for the perfect time to strike. Unusual, since the Wild Hunt typically occurred during winter.

A hunched figure stirred in the middle of the cell, awaking from a long slumber. Inadequately patched sheets descended and revealed shoulder length silver tresses. Defined jawline, with a small dimple in the middle of the chin, high cheekbones, and fine thick eyebrows, medium length lashes complimenting thin almond eyes. Even though this individual had chiseled features, it was made clear that this prisoner was female. She tilted her head at an angle and tossed the raggedy sheet off of her athletic frame before crossing over to the bars. Medium sized hands clasped around metal cylinders. She donned leather armor, where portions of the sleeves were replaced with a silky fabric, which was securely fastened at her back with silver straps. Adjacent to the cell was a young guard who, on occasion, took a swig from his flask.

"Caed'mil," she said tenderly, immediately gaining the man's attention. "My apologies," she began, "I did not mean to disturb you."

The guard stood from his wooden stool and moved closer to the cell. From his understanding, the woman rarely communicated but when she did it was often to superior officers, the other witcher, Geralt of Rivia, or the sorceress and king's advisor, Triss Merigold. Though he reviled witchers and viewed them as mutants, as many did, he found the woman's unique appearance and welcoming demeanor to be enthralling.

"I've never heard of a woman being part of the witchers," he blurted.

"None of which I met have been," she admitted. "Though, it is not entirely improbable…but, that is for another time. What will become of me and my comrade?"

The guard scoffed before chugging the rest of his ale down. He returned to his chair and grabbed it, dragging it over to the cell. Finally, he plopped down on the wooden stool and carelessly tossed the flask across the room. Hesitantly, his arm extended and fingertips brushed against steel manacles around her wrists.

"From what I'm told," he began, "we'll be spending quite some time together. Your friend is scheduled to be executed tomorrow and the sorceress was dismissed."

The female witcher's gaze lowered to the guard's hand. His index finger trailed down the shackles and gave it a light tug. Debating whether or not he would give her more information and at what price.

"They have not determined whether or not to execute me then?"

"I guess…though those noblemen will opt for it. You attended the same school as Master Geralt, so they might say," he was interrupted by the female finishing his statement.

"The assassination of King Foltest was premeditated but what could we possibly gain from his death."

"Power, I guess? What do you witchers want?"

A chuckle escaped as she withdrew her hand and placed it upon her chest. The inquiry was too broad, though this guard seemed far from average and might be considered foolish for delving this far or more knowledgeable than expected. She thought it was quite amusing that this man questioned the witchers' motives, as a whole, rather than individual gain.

"What's so funny?"

"My good man, what makes you believe that we have hidden factions plotting for more autonomy? I could only speak for myself," she answered.

"Then, what do you want?"

"May I be frank, sir?"

"Go ahead."

The sound of clanking chains echoed when she approached the bars and casually leaned against them. She shifted her weight to one foot, the other placed behind her ankle. Everything seemed much clearer when she inspected the man further. Immediately, she realized his attire was a bit off compared to the other guards who observed her and, unlike his fellowmen, did not gawk at her unique appearance or vocally proposition her.

"My freedom, of course…but it appears that I am to be reviewed by a member of the Special Forces."

"…W—what," he stumbled over the word.

"Your emblem is inaccurately placed—though that is not a massive detail—and you behave as if you're one of Commander Roche's men. If memory serves me right, you shuddered at the thought of working alongside us witchers no more than four days ago."

"Safe to say you were the smart one of the bunch, huh?"

"I could not possibly confirm that for I have not met every witcher."

Another tug was made at the shackles dangling from her restraints as the man pulled her closer. He stood from his seat, breath tickling the woman's soft skin as he inspected her further. They were of equal height and eyes met briefly before the male allowed his gaze to wander further down.

"No need to be modest, Valeska of Lyria, I've heard a little about you," he said huskily. Despite the unnatural slits and golden hue of her eyes, which sent chills down his spine, he lifted his head and met her piercing stare.

"What makes you so sure that I am this Valeska?"

"Heh," silence followed afterwards as he reached inside of his pocket. A silver key swayed from side to side as he smiled half-heartedly. Fear settled in the pit of his stomach as he mulled over whether or not to release this woman. After all, her freedom hinged on whether she provided adequate information or if she truly had no prior knowledge of the king's assassination. Only a few minutes of chatting with her and he could tell that the woman was riddled with secrets. A portion of him wanted to keep this woman for entertainment. Maybe it was the liquid courage he recently ingested that fogged his thinking. Finally, his personal excitement won when he unlocked the cell door.

As if instinctively, the woman closed the distance and pounced upon the man. Her slender fingers slithered through his hair and pulled harshly, exposing his neck fully as she gave an unexpected bite which jolted him. Busy hands worked on the straps at the back of the woman's leather top as the guard peeled the leather garment off snow white skin, exposing full breasts. Two large hands groped and teasingly pinched surprisingly bountiful assets and were soon accompanied by a mouth hungrily sucking at her left breast. She effortlessly shredded his shirt, nails digging deeply and causing long scratches along his back and chest. The woman known as Valeska sat up, straddling him, with her left hand slightly raised. Small flickers form as a current of electric energy manifested itself.

"W—what the hell is that," he was silenced when the female witcher rested an index finger against his lips. A groan escaped the man, causing the female to fully cover his mouth when she casually walked her finger across his bare chest. A slight shock caused him to squirm in response and the hardening of his soldier. Tonight was perfect, or so he thought when he grabbed Valeska's hind side and pulled her against his anxious member that threatened to burst from his pants. Once again, she repeated the process, but with more voltage.

"Tonight isn't a good time for me," she finally cooed when he slipped into an unconscious state. A sigh escaped her lips as her hands searched for the key to her manacles. When she found it, she released herself from her restraints then slipped off the man. Standing as she fastened her top back on.

So the infamous Special Forces had flaws after all, she thought before exiting the room.