Chapter 7 – Back to Bound

Note from author: I know, I know, I teased a fantastic shift and a great big animal action sequence but don't WORRY it will happen soon – perhaps when you least expect it ;)

I awake alone. My body is sore, as if I had been running miles the night before. Morning light is crawling into the cave along the stone floor. I hear birds. When I try to rise, my body aches and I grunt. I am still chained. My head hangs heavy, and as I look at my surroundings, I see the ashy fire pit, a few bags, and my white dress – ripped to shreds.

I am naked. Coolness travels over every inch of my skin. I cry out weakly,

"Geralt?"

I don't want to believe he's left me like this. Even though I am naked, assurance sparks in me. It is morning. I have shifted and I am still restrained. I haven't hurt anyone or myself. When Geralt doesn't answer my call, I unwillingly start to panic. Perhaps I shifted into a troll and ate him whole, in single bite. No blood, not even a lock of his white hair left behind.

"Geralt!" I yell as loud as possible. It bounces off the walls, rattling the shackles on my ankles. It is plausible that he did leave me, and Tara is coming to retrieve me. His work is done, after all. I feverishly realize I do not want him to leave.

"You're awake," I hear his voice from the entrance of the cave. "Fuck," Geralt immediately covers his eyes and rushes over, ripping off his jacket and placing it over my chest. It falls, of course, but he then sets to undo my shackles. I want to laugh, I think, but mostly I want to cry. When I am free I hug my chest and start to sob, naked and tired. Yes, the night is over, but I am still a shifter. I wonder if this will happen everytime. Is this a shadow of what the rest of my life will look like? Will I always be waking up to the aftermath of my own destruction?

Geralt hushes me and pulls the jacket around my shoulders now, holding it closed with his hands. He pulls me in tighter to him. I try to take in a full breath, overwhelmed by the heat of his body against my chilly skin. He smells of rosemary and burnt wood; earth and pine. His puts his hand on my back and sighs. I cannot tell if he is relieved or anxious. Something is not right, yet also something is. This feels right, I think.

"What was I?" I ask, curling into his chest, fingering his hair where it falls on his shoulder. He ponders this question.

"A winged wolf."

This reminds me of a painting in the hall across my bedroom. A depiction of a devil destroying a town, veiny black wings stretching over the expanse. I can see my foaming, fanged mouth below rosy, slitted eyes. Was my fur dark and rough, or was it white and soft?

"Did I hurt you?" I sniffle and pull back, clutching the jacket over my breasts.

"You were…" he stands and goes to start a fire, "Quiet."

"Was I?"

"You did not even attack, barely pulled at your chains," he is talking to himself now, trying to understand it. So I was not an evil beast? I cannot remember a single moment of it.

"When you were shifted, you merely sat and slept – like a content dog."

The tinder sparks into flame. He pulls out more dried meat and sets it on a stick to warm it. There is a thick suspense about both of us. So now what? It is over, his job has been successful. Neither of us know what to do now. Or so I thought.

"You should eat," he grunts, "We will go to the castle today."

My eyes widen. "What?"

"It's part of the deal. I make sure you shift safely, then take you back."

I trust Geralt, I do. But I will never let myself be simply taken back. No, I want my father to know that I would sooner die than walk back into his castle willingly. I don't think Geralt knows that. And now that my shift is over, I have no reason to stay. No one to protect but myself. But I do have every reason to fight back now.

Guilt simmers in my chest. Geralt has been kind to me. The plotting in my head has already begun. How will I escape? I sicken myself. I position his jacket to rest over chest and upper legs so I can walk to the fire. My knees wobble, and I realize how weak I feel. Would I be able to run away?

"Tie me up."

Geralt blinks. I could run, I could. But I know he would catch me, again and again. Geralt has proven that any effort to escape him is useless. I clutch his jacket closer.

"I don't want to him to think I came easily," I admit, embarrassed. I wonder what Geralt thinks of me – if he thinks I'm weak or frivolous. Here I am, confessing that I'd rather pretend to be tamed than actually push forward. I am giving up.

"Gag and all?" His lips curve in a playful grin. Something flutters in my stomach.

"No," I look down, cheeks red, "That part won't be necessary."

"Hm," he nods knowingly.

We eat breakfast and then we're on our way.

The looks we receive from the villagers are far from approving. I am dressed in Geralt's clothing, far too baggy, his belt tightened around my waist. My wrists are tied neatly in front of me. It is warm this morning, the air refusing to move so that the sound of whispers and taunting are easily heard. I try to hold my head high and look regal. Geralt and I don't turn our heads when I am called a bitch, or whore, or traitor. In fact, I try to suppress a satisfied smile when one yells "Slut."

It takes no time to get inside the King Lucien's court, no one stops us – even the guards just calmly let us through. When Geralt hauls me in I think my father might faint from anger. He is a tall man, blonde hair nearly as long as mine tucked into a ponytail. Today he looks especially regal, the crown fixed perfectly on his head and his clothing heavy and richly colored. His green eyes nearly burst when he watches me come forward.

I can't tell if he's happy or upset. It must be hard to know your daughter hates you. Or perhaps it thrills him. Tara is lounging by his side, donning a skintight red gown.

"Daughter," he says. The throne room is silent at his word – all the courtiers stop and stare. Do they know I can shift?

"Father," I spit back, pretending to rip myself from Geralt's light grip. Lucien almost smiles.

"You've returned unharmed," Tara adds, "How relieving."

Lucien glares at Tara and her audacity to interrupt. She backs up and gestures for him to continue. He stands and ascends to me. He is slow and deliberate, tall and menacing – everything a King should be. He reaches out to touch my hair but I back away, finding Geralt directly behind. He places his large hands on my shoulders. I can go no further.

"Why must you break my heart so," Lucien pouts, cleverly hiding a teasing tone.

Geralt is annoyed with the drama. He sighs loudly.

"I have done what you asked of me."

"Yes, you have. Well done, Witcher," he mocks him, "So we will do what you have asked of us. I will pull back our military presence at Aedirn, that precious little village you care so much about."

My heart heats slightly. Geralt has saved a village from my father. God knows what the soldiers have already done to that poor town. And me, I could have thwarted Geralt's plans if he did not return me. If I escaped, more lives would have been lost. The more I learn of Geralt, the stupider I feel.

"Witcher," Tara's voice is like poisoned honey, "We are in your debt. Stay for the night, attend our celebratory feast at Leyiana's return. It will be lavish. You may have your taste of all of the kingdom's finest pleasures." She gestures to a few courtiers, who have been whispering scandalous things about Geralt to each other.

To my surprise, Geralt accepts the invitation, and I am swept away by flurry of servants.

I am back where I belong. And I hate it.