Neither Aerefyr nor I have the slightest clue where our target Amanda may have gone, and scouring the woods around the cave yields nothing.
Further out, however, he spots a handful of footprints heading south and follows them. My breath comes in puffs of white; it's growing colder here than it was this morning, and the skies have been gradually turning grey with oncoming snow or rain. I'm wearing layers and have a pair of gloves in my bag, thankfully, but not enough for a blizzard or ice. I hope it won't be that bad.
After a few silent minutes of Fyr tracking, I reluctantly pull his attention away from what looks like deep thought.
"Fyr, what happens once we find her?"
"I will attempt to retrieve the stolen items with minimal violence," he says formally. "Speaking of—" he halts and turns around to look at me, and I stumble and run into him. He doesn't even acknowledge my clumsiness anymore.
"You should probably go back and wait for me in the Nesingwary camp. This is no longer a simple rescue."
"So, you'd have let me come with you when we didn't know what we would be rescuing this woman from, but now that we know she herself is the danger, I can't come? Makes sense."
Fyr starts to retort but notices the smirk tugging at my mouth, and he allows one of his own to grace his slightly-swollen lips before clenching his jaw.
"I really don't want you getting hurt."
"And I don't want you getting hurt either. You have to admit, we make a good duo. Just look at what we did to the poor merchant back there."
Fyr fails a second time at quelling a sliver of a smile. I wonder if it hurts him; the way that orc cut his lower lip doesn't look so hot.
"I just realized we never asked him for his name," he says.
"I doubt that could deter you in finding him again."
Fyr thinks for a moment. "Alright. If you really want to come, I won't stop you. Just, if you encounter any demons, leave them to me this time."
I smile up at him. "Lead the way, bounty hunter."
He sends me a semi-serious warning glance, but honors my request.
We head south for nearly forty minutes, past a massive totem set into the side of a towering mountain. Fyr tells me it's a city, and then I see on the top level are tiny specks of people walking along the edges. Vertigo swims in my head just to peer up at the top, so I keep my eyes forward.
It grows colder all the while, and I've begun to feel the sharp chill on the wind through the arms of my jacket, and my nose is runny. But we press on; Fyr seems to know where he's going, stopping only for moments at a time to track. I have no idea what he's noticing that I can't, but I chalk it up to his inhuman senses. He tells me we can't be more than ten minutes behind her.
We pass through thick firs, startling wildlife here and there but never seeing another person. An odd sound like white noise is gradually growing louder, and it's not until we reach the edge of a clearing in the trees that I see it through the thick foliage. A rushing river, frothing and churning and three times the size and strength of the one we crossed before, roars before us, visible through dense brush and sharp rocks that lead all the way down to the water. There's an old stone tower that rises lazily above the trees a few hundred feet away. It looks abandoned, like everything else in this forest it seems.
Fyr urgently takes my arm and pulls me aside, and I follow the direction of his gaze.
It's her. Right there only fifty feet in front of us, previously hidden behind a large outcrop of mossy rock, Amanda is kneeling carefully over the edge of the water and collecting it into a large canteen. She's facing away from us, but I know from her hair, size, clothes, bag, everything, that it's her. She no longer looks like an elf. Maybe the orb has limited power, or something.
"How d-"
"Shh."
Fyr clamps his gloved hand over my mouth despite the fact that I was whispering, and I'm disgusted when I feel dirt rub onto my face when he does this. Again, though, he's not looking at me. Nor is he looking at Amanda. When I see what he's staring at, I gasp so abruptly that I'm now glad his hand muffles it.
A literal skin-and-bones man dressed in grey and black robes is watching Amanda as well, and she doesn't see him. What's left of his hair falls limply down his head and face in pathetic white wisps, and his eyes glow a dull mustard yellow. His skeletal frame seems weighed down by a backpack, but even so, my hair stands on end as a clear signal that he is dangerous. He has a black and silver mace peppered with small skulls and charms in one hand, and strapped to his belt is an ancient-looking book. In his free hand is a mass of swirling, dark energy, reminding me of the mist that was my demonic stalker.
Of all the people I have encountered here, this guy takes the cake as the creepiest. He genuinely looks dead. He has a metal jaw, for goodness' sake, and he's missing flesh. Then again, I shouldn't be so judgmental; people are still people.
Maybe he's a nice dude.
He isn't. The voice in my head sways me over.
The glint of predatory hunger in his dead glowing eyes as he stalks her makes my stomach tighten. I want to shout out and warn her, but Fyr makes the move first.
"Stay here," he hisses, and he slinks soundlessly through the underbrush like a cat stalking its prey. I do my best to hold still, shivering now, though whether due to cold or adrenaline, I don't know.
He nears the edge of a moss-lined boulder, silently unsheathing his knife and waiting until the man is close enough to Amanda that his back is turned to Fyr as well.
Then, everything happens at once.
Fyr lunges after the skeletal man, while at the same time, the man launches a bolt of black energy at Amanda. It misses her head by a fraction. She gives a sound of surprise as Fyr tackles the guy to the ground, and the air around Fyr and the skeleton explodes in dark energy that echoes outward and knocks Amanda hard against the rocks. I can feel it from here. Fyr is thrown backward, recovers, and for the second time today, he launches into a scrappy, ruthless fight with a creature I've never before seen in my life.
I'm torn between trying to help and reminding myself that Fyr told me to stay put for a reason, and that reason is that I tend to fuck up every situation I'm put in. My fingers curl into my palms painfully as I watch with gritted teeth as Fyr manages to slam the skeleton's bony head against a boulder, but that seems to barely affect him. Fyr does seem to have the upper hand, though, and I'm sure that if I give him just a couple more moments—
A bolt of black energy appears out of nowhere, crashing into the ground right beside Fyr's left foot. I frantically follow its source, eyes locking onto a second skeleton, this one a woman.
There's no way he can take on two of them—not if they both have dark magic and he just has his weapons, right?
I'm just about to make a move forward when a hand materializes out of thin air and clamps itself over my mouth, the fingers horridly cold and bony. A searing pain seizes underneath my ribs, accompanied by the sound of metal sinking into flesh. My mouth falls open, but no sound comes except for a shuddering gasp.
"Quiet now, Dearie, or I'll feed you your own heart," comes a rasp next to my ear, and I can barely focus on anything other than how badly it hurts to breathe. Adrenaline explodes inside me; my heart feels like it's about to burst, and I give a soundless cry.
"You and the elf alone?" He hisses, and for good measure barely twists the blade.
My knees start to buckle from the pain. "N-no," the sound barely comes from my throat in the form of a choked grunt. That was pathetic.
"I smell a lie." He says this almost in a song.
He yanks the knife back out, and I scream my remaining breath. I don't know what to do; I can barely inhale, so I'm taking quick, shallow gasps, and it's making me lightheaded. He drags me a few feet toward the fight in the clearing, and I try not to stumble when he does so. Hot blood trickles down my side. I feel it seeping into my clothing.
He shoves me forward into the open, with the bloodied blade pricking a fresh spot on my back. I stumble forward with another hiss of pain and grip my bleeding ribs, mind racing, eyes scanning for Fyr at the riverbank. The first skeleton lies motionless on the ground where Fyr must have left him with a crushed-in skull.
Fyr is not hard to find; the crackling of dark magic colliding against stone isn't a quiet sound. He's apparently gained the attention of what looks like at least three more of these people, all of whom are closing in on him, and he's using a large boulder as cover against their frenzied attacks. I have no idea where Amanda has gone. Probably ran off, not that I blame her.
How many of these people are there? Have we walked into an ambush, or was this just bad timing?
The skeleton behind me bellows at Fyr, "Drop your weapon unless you want the next one to go through her skull."
Fyr whips around, first looks at the giant bloodstain on my side, and then our eyes lock. In an instant, his entire expression changes from a sharp determination to what looks like fear. His knives instantly hit the rocky riverbank with a quiet clatter, and the others swarm around him. I cringe. One skeleton behind him kicks the backs of his knees, and he drops forward, arms quickly pinned behind his back. He struggles, but not enough to have any effect, and his eyes remain on me.
"No!" I gasp, "Fyr!" Fear and adrenaline surge and crackle into my fingers in volatile arcane. They can't hurt him. They can't.
The knife-wielder behind me grabs my shoulder, and a crackle of energy reacts between us, ten times the strength of static. It knocks him off his feet, flat onto his back, and he doesn't move. I don't know how long that stun will last, but I stumble a hard step forward, using all my willpower to move to Fyr. I'm so close to the bank now, I can feel the spray of the whitewater against my face.
"Ava, run—" Fyr starts as one of the skeletons pulls out her knife and moves to pull it across his throat.
"No!" I choke, reaching my hand out from my good side and releasing the pent-up magic that crackles inside me toward her. Ice encases her, freezing her and her knife to the spot, and my energy drains some with the spell.
The other two skeletons startle at this and release Fyr, and he scoops up his weapons and manages to sink the blades into one of them before they can realize what's going on.
I can feel my consciousness dwindling; my head is pounding and dizzy, and my hands and feet are so cold they're numb. I'm sure the only thing keeping me going is this adrenaline surge, which dulls the pain of my wound and strengthens my magic. I drop forward onto my knees, pressing my hand into the ground and trying the same ability I used on the orc earlier today. Icicles sprout from the dirt and rocks, and the mist around me crystallizes into tiny snowflakes that swirl into the wind. A path of ice snakes on the ground between me and the closest skeleton, freezing his feet.
He twists and launches a bolt of energy at me with his staff, and I have no hopes of dodging it. It feels like the lash of a whip as it hits my shoulder, and I cry out in pain again.
The two remaining skeletons bear down on Fyr, and I don't know if he'll last longer. His nose is bleeding, and parts of his armor are blackened from magic and won't do much against any more spells.
Somehow, I'm able to get to my feet, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the river. Fear that Fyr might be killed fuels me as I force myself toward them, and my magic crackles volatilely through me, ready to burst. It feels the way it did when I would teleport, but it feels stronger. Deeper.
My ears ring numbly as I plant my feet, draw everything I have into my control, and as I hold my shaking hands out in front of me, I will my magic to do one thing: destroy.
It's like everything goes silent and eerily still for a quarter of a second before ice explodes from the earth, sharp, jagged razors slicing through the remaining skeletal attackers.
Fyr narrowly ducks out of the way, throwing himself against a boulder to dodge the shards, which have now skewered the undead into place. Fyr is injured and panting, but otherwise alive, eyes wide in shock as he watches me. Fury boils inside me as my eyes fall back onto the two I've pinned, and without a second thought, I clench my hands into fists.
The ice shatters into a thousand pieces, taking the half-dead people with it. A shudder ripples through the air, causing me to teeter and fall over halfway into the sloshing riverbank. The water swirls around my leg and arm, freezing on contact. Fyr's voice sounds like it's far away, and the ringing in my ears becomes stronger. The last thing I see before my eyes shut is crystals of ice climbing from the river, up over my skin.
The first thing I feel as I awaken is my wet clothing being stripped from my body. I'm surprised I can feel it in the first place. My limbs are so stiff and numb that I'm unable to move more than an inch before my muscles fail me.
It's dark and cold. My eyes haven't adjusted, and I'm disoriented and confused. My throat feels like sandpaper, and each breath into my lungs is like ice.
As soon as my skin is exposed, though, gigantic hands wrap me into a thick fur blanket. I still can't feel warmth from it, but it's drastically better than frozen, wet cloth sticking to me.
Then I hear the sound of stone chipping at stone, but my eyes can barely focus. They feel swollen, and when I try to look in the direction of the sound, all I see is blackness with an occasional flicker of light. It's flint. I can recognize that easily now.
"Fyr?" I call out carefully.
The chipping halts.
"Thank Elune," comes Fyr's hurried murmur, and the chipping of flint returns quicker now. "Try to move if you can. Help circulate heat. I need to get that wound re-bandaged soon."
"Where are we-?" I begin to ask, but my throat hurts so badly that I finish the last word in a whisper. Only now do I notice, in my haziness, that Fyr is kneeling three feet from me with no shirt. His glowing silver eyes light up the area enough for me to see his bare arms, chest, and stomach. Our clothes have been strewn across the ground methodically to dry.
"A cave; the blizzard hit so suddenly, I couldn't risk taking you all the way back to thunder totem. We can stay here till morning as long as I can patch you up. Now, if only I could get this damn kindling to do its job."
He strikes the flint extra hard and sends sparks sizzling into a small mound of loose tinder. My blurry eyes can just make out the small wisp of weak smoke that results, and Fyr fans it into a glow. I swear, even though it's tiny, I feel the warmth of that flame. It's the first warmth I've felt since I landed into that riverbank, which feels like it has been ages but was probably not long at all.
Then, as suddenly as everything was numb, my body springs back to life by means of a violent shudder, which continues as shivers that rattle my teeth inside my skull. My aching arms struggle to pull the furs closer to my skin, and my knife wound throbs a deep, sharp complaint.
I give a quiet whimper, and before I realize what's going on, Fyr is there in front of me, tipping a red potion into my mouth. I take it gratefully, feeling it take effect almost immediately. The pain lessens to a dull ache, and now all I have to focus on is how cold I am. It lifts my mood, and I start to feel semi human again.
Through my chattering, I stare at Fyr, who returns back to the fire.
"Y-you kn-know, in this scenario, I'm pretty sure the handsome savior is supposed t-to warm the g-girl up with his own body heat."
Fyr's tending of the fire freezes as I just barely hear him inhale. He seems to genuinely be running it through his mind, which gives me a sense of smug satisfaction. Finally he regains his composure and his silver eyes roll as they fall on mine. The first thing I notice is that they're tense, holding something back. The second thing I notice is the warmth that trickles through me when I meet them.
"I see your sense of humor hasn't died either. I might have tried that, had your ice shield not tried to freeze me every time I touched your skin. It was hard enough treating your wound."
Just the idea of skin-on-skin contact with him causes another flutter of heat in me that makes me shiver for an entirely different reason. But I wince at the movement and just shrug at him, keeping my expression level.
"Well, I'm awake now and in m-moderate c-control of my magic, so..."
Fyr gives me a funny look and then glances down at his crackling fire.
"Would've been convenient if you'd woken a couple minutes sooner and lit this fire for me, then."
"Would've been more convenient if you'd sidled in next to me under this b-blanket."
Humor flickers across his features when he finally cracks a smile, but it lasts only a moment while he shakes his head.
"You're not being very subtle."
"My current source of heat is a cold stone floor; I don't want to be subtle."
A nerve pulses in his jaw; he's clearly resisting saying something, and he turns his back to me and starts rummaging through his bag. Yeah, you're not being subtle either, Fyr.
"I'm taking you back to Dalaran in the morning," he says abruptly, changing the tone of our conversation entirely.
I want to argue, but I stop myself. I'm lying here with a literal hole in my side and possible hypothermia. Guilt douses me, and I curl tighter into the blanket. "Okay. I'm sorry for, you know...fucking everything up. As always."
"It's not that," Fyr glances toward me. "I just... I shouldn't have ever asked you to come along. The last thing I'd have expected was to run into a random party of Forsaken over a mile from their nearest watchtower. I guess I should be thankful they didn't have an abomination with them."
I don't know what that means, but it doesn't sound pretty. Silence falls for a few beats. I focus on warming my feet, if anything to keep my thoughts from wandering or deepening. To my surprise, it's Fyr who uncharacteristically breaks the silence.
"Still cold? You lost a lot of blood back there."
I nod, still shivering, failing to ignore my frustrating swirl of emotions. I'm an idiot for thinking I could handle this place. This isn't a game. I could have died. Fyr could have died, if he'd been caught in my icy hazard. Azeroth is not just one big training ground for me to play magician. I should be sent back to Dalaran. Better yet, I should just be sent home. That's what I want, right? That's what all this is for.
I've been so caught up in my own shame that I just now realize Fyr's right next to me.
"Are you angry? You seem angry." He concludes while he takes my palm and wraps a cut on it that I didn't even realize was there.
"No," I answer immediately, truthfully.
"Do you feel ok?" He ties the bandage and stares at me. He's not talking physically, I realize.
I swallow and say nothing. I feel like I could cry; it's mostly just the exhaustion, but stress and shock of injury has put a toll on me today.
Then Fyr does something that catches me entirely off guard. His two big hands wrap around me and carefully, slowly, lift me backward in a sitting position, and I feel him pull me back in against his huge chest as he leans on the sloped cave wall, his legs on either side of mine and his arms around my front. The warmth of his skin and breath behind me instantly seeps through the furs and sends a tingly shiver down my spine, and goosebumps prick my neck and arms pleasantly.
Fyr's hands massage my arms and hands (gently with my injured one) through the furs, rubbing my numb skin to increase circulation. Slowly, gradually, my shivering turns more into occasional quivers, and I'm able to breathe more regularly. The feeling returns to my extremities, for the most part, and I relax in against his warm torso as he continues to rub my arms.
It's an intimate position, him curled around me with next to no clothing on, and me in nothing but a blanket, sapping his heat.
"Thanks," I murmur, trying to hide the bashfulness I'm suddenly feeling. "This is better."
"Good," his voice is soft, right behind my ear. It makes me shiver again, but this time it's thanks to a heat that ripples between my legs at his warm breath on my neck.
"Where is Amanda?" I ask, possibly just to distract my mind.
"Long gone. As soon as shit hit the fan, she bolted. Not that I blame her."
I fall silent for another moment. Fyr's arms wrap more tightly around me and hold me snug, and the fact that I like it so much makes me blush hot. The only thing that'd make this better would be to have him in the blanket with me, but that's too much to hope for. Also too much to think about.
"So..." I say slowly, "that was a good idea, removing the wet clothing."
His hands falter in their massage for half a second before resuming. "Yes, I'm sorry about that. We couldn't risk furthering your chances of hypothermia."
"I mean, you saved my life." I glance at my clothing lined up by the fire and can't help but feel even hotter in my cheeks somehow. I find myself wishing the fire didn't give off so much light. Maybe he'll assume I'm blushing due to the cold.
I lean my wet hair back against his chest, relaxing into him, and he folds his hands together over my arms, which are crossed over my stomach. His chin rests gently against my head, and we fall into silence again. My eyes slowly droop, then close as I listen to the crackle of the fire and Fyr's comforting breathing and steady heartbeat behind my head.
A shift behind me wakes me, and my eyes flutter open. The fire is low, but the cave itself is warmer and drier than before. My long hair has begun drying out, and my limbs feel stiff and sore.
Fyr is sliding out from behind me, letting me rest back against the cave wall. It's a jarring difference, his soft warmth versus the hard chill, and I inhale and pull the furs tighter as I watch him.
He sidles over to the clothes beside the fire and tests them with his hands. Apparently satisfied, he gathers up my shirt, bra, underwear, and pants and shakes them off. My jacket is still wet, but the basics are fine. I feel a jolt as I realize that even though Fyr removed my clothes before he lit the fire, he still can see through the dark with those otherworldly eyes. I get an even stronger rush when I realize I wanted him to. Even though I'd been mostly numb, I feel a thrill at the memory of his hands—and possibly eyes—on my body.
I realize he said something to me, and return to the present.
"Huh?"
"I...need to re-bandage your knife wound. I would let you do it, but the place it's in won't be easy for you."
"Ok," I respond simply, not fully processing what this means.
He hands me my bra. "You can put this on, but not the shirt yet."
I reach out from under the fur blanket, turning pink again at the sight of him holding it. His eyes, which hold me prisoner for a second, suddenly flick away, offering me privacy.
I let the blanket fall off my skin, leaving it wrapped around me from my waist down. The air is cold, but not unbearable thanks to the fire, and I attempt to pull it on. My muscles scream in protest at the simple task, still not entirely recovered from their ice bath, and I realize after a few beats that I can't put it on. The way my side is injured is keeping my arm from lifting the way it's supposed to. The potion may have dulled the pain, but the lack of functionality rendered it moot.
My heart begins to thump quickly as I realize what I'm about to do.
"I uh, I can't get it back on," I confess awkwardly.
Fyr begins to glance toward me but catches himself at the last second, staring at the cave floor instead.
"Do you need my help?'
"Um, maybe."
He actually chuckles. "Ava this is one of those moments where a definitive 'yes, you are allowed to see my naked body in order to assist me,' statement is appreciated here."
My already blushing cheeks turn scarlet.
"Yes, Fyr, I need your help, please," I say crisply.
"You know, in this case, I should probably just bandage you while I'm at it. I'm going to see everything either way," he reasons.
I can't help but let a smile break. "You saw already when you took my bra off in the first place."
"Well, it was dark."
"Right. And the glowing eyes didn't do a thing, I'm sure."
He chuckles warmly, "I may have glimpsed something, but that wasn't exactly my priority at the time, you know. Additionally, you were unconscious. Any staring would just be wrong."
He finally turns around and clearly intends to meet my eyes, but his gaze makes a quick sweep downward, and I see his pupils dilate before they latch onto my eyes. It all happened in a matter of two seconds, but it definitely happened. He seems to be trying to clear his head as he stares at me.
"Is it your priority now?" I tease. "Cause you seem awfully eager." I make zero attempt to cover myself. It feels somewhat thrilling.
"Believe it or not, Ava, I'm not some drooling celibate. I have in fact seen breasts before." He recovers and dips his fingers into a small container of salve and bends in toward me, gently spreading the paste onto my knife wound. It kind of tickles, what with the pain being numb. Tingles wash over my skin at the cold air combined with his touch, and I shiver. He draws up a long cloth bandage in one hand, unreeling it into his other and then wrapping it around my torso.
It's so cold that I feel my skin erupt in goosebumps. Or maybe it's not cold. Maybe it's me subconsciously responding to the sight of his face knit in concentration not ten inches from my naked chest. Maybe it's the way I can see how hard he's actually trying to keep his composure. Maybe it's my skin reacting to feeling a trickle of his breath sweeping across my ribs as he wraps them. Maybe it's my mind going crazy right now, picturing scenarios where he leans just a bit closer, where his chin stubble tickles my skin, and maybe his mouth feels like exploring. You know, totally normal thoughts.
"I can hear your pulse, you know," Fyr says, not skipping a beat while he innocently wraps the final length of the bandage around and tucks it in. "Funny how it quickens to the speed of a hare's anytime I get within six inches of you."
"Funny, is it?" I half glare at him. "Maybe I'm just afraid of you and your alien-ness."
"You know," he smirks and turns, picking up my bra and scooting closer to me again, "something gives me the idea that's not the case." He loops my arms into the straps and pulls the soft cloth snugly over my exposed chest, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of my breasts as he does so. I feel my nipples harden at his gentle touch, and I watch his face. He looks all too smug at my disheveled expression, but the way he is approaching the entire situation weirdly enough puts me at ease.
Then he sits back, gives me a once-over and smiles satisfactorily. He hands me the rest of my clothing and then goes to pull on his own shirt, giving me privacy to put my underwear and pants on, having previously only been covered by a blanket.
Fyr lays out his bedroll a few feet from the fire. He stretches out on top of it and then peers over at me.
"As always, you're welcome to share," he motions toward his bed. "Might be a good idea to keep both of us warm tonight."
I resist a smile and grab the fur blanket. Wordlessly, I crawl over and take my place beside him, offering him half of the blanket and pressing my body against his, even going so far as to stick my cold feet on his legs, shamelessly hoping to steal as much of his heat as I can get away with.
He evidently doesn't mind. He reaches back and wraps the remainder of the bedroll around us both, pulling me in flush against him and cocooning us both within the blankets. Unexpected desire flutters through me as his arm wraps around my stomach and draws me in tighter against his body. I'm aware of every point we're touching; I fit against him like a glove. It's different from lying with a human. Fyr is gigantic, and his body engulfs me. His head rests above mine rather than behind it, and my entire shoulder-to-hip fits within the lean curve of his torso. His thighs mold to mine, and I'm very aware of how the swell of my behind fits perfectly into the crook of his lap.
He intakes a deep, slow breath, and lets it out. It trickles along the nape of my neck, heating my skin more than it should. I scrunch my eyes shut. I have officially developed a problem. An intoxicatingly tall, handsome, frustrating, occasionally endearing problem.
Fyr's breathing is already becoming deep and steady, and I try to follow his lead. I'm exhausted enough physically that even though my mind is fogged by the sensation of him pressed up against me, I can barely string a single thought together without sleep threatening to drag me under.
My eyelids shut, and I fall into a dreamless sleep.