This is a joint venture of Kaana Moonshadow and myself. We had lots of fun writing it and hope you have as much fun reading.
We don't own Bishop, but we sure as hell wish we did.
Bishop lay on his bedroll, curled up against the damp cold that seeped through the badly fitted planks that made up the walls of the cabin. His eyes were wide open, staring sightlessly into the darkness. The cold would not let him sleep, but he'd be damned if he got up and fetched his blanket from the girl. He really did not want to get near her another time today. And his cloak was still much too wet to use as a cover.
Besides, his racing mind was keeping him awake anyway. He tried not to think about the hurt look in her eyes when he reminded her that the only reason he was here was to kill her. It had been about time he quashed all those stupid ideas that seemed to have evolved in her brain. About time she remembered that he was not her pal, and stopped being so damn confiding.
And just when he thought she finally got the message, up she went and fell asleep on his leg. He barely repressed a groan thinking of those minutes he sat, petrified, staring down on the silver head resting against his thigh.
As if having her sit next to him by the fire hadn't been bad enough. He still wondered what made her do it. It had seemed like she had taken the realisation that he still was about to kill her badly, that she would curl up into herself and lick her wounds, and to be honest, he'd been glad about it. At least this way it would be easier to keep away from her.
But suddenly he saw her peer at him out of the corner of his eyes, and then, as if pulled by strings, she padded over to the fire, wrapped in her – his – blankets, and sat down next to him. She'd said nothing, just sat there, staring into the fire, but he got the impression she was expecting something from him. What, he could not tell. Food? An apology? To tell her he'd thought better of it? Well, whatever it was, she'd get nothing out of him.
Except he had given her some food. He'd been determined not to, since she would not get up and work for it, but he could hear her stomach growling, and the noise was starting to grate on his nerves. It had nothing to do with pity. Or that he had been impressed that she did not even allow herself as much as a glance at the meat. Nothing at all.
And she sat next to him, the shine of the flames dancing over the shimmering silver of her hair, her cheeks rosy from the warmth, hugging her knees to her chest, staring into the fire with a wistful expression on her face. Giving off the air of... waiting. It had been bad enough, but he'd managed to ignore her. Or at least to pretend to. But then he could see her eyelids droop, and with a sigh, her head sank to the side...
And there he had been, paralysed, just staring down into her face, relaxed with sleep, and showing a happy smile as she snuggled closer, and caught himself wanting to reach out, wanting to let his fingers glide over the smooth skin of her cheek and down the perfect curve of her neck.
Bad, bad, bad. So he shook himself out of it and shoved her away, jumping up from the chair. She blinked, confused, and his voice sounded hoarse in his own ears when he told her to go to sleep.
And only when she was tightly wrapped in both blankets and the metal ring secured around her ankle did he remember that she was wrapped in both blankets. As in no blanket left for him.
But nothing would get him to stand up and walk over to fetch his blanket. Because he knew that if he did, he would not walk back again.
Bishop tried to wrap his arms around himself, his knees drawn up under his chin, and shivered when another cold draught crept through the cabin. And wondered how she would react once she realised that tomorrow would be the day. Her last.
The night was very long. And very, very cold.
He was up with the first hint of dawn, grabbing his still damp cloak and fleeing the hut without bothering to rekindle the fire. He sat outside, huddled into his cloak, feeling cold and damp and miserable as he watched the sky reddening with what promised to be a beautiful morning. After the clouds had poured themselves out last night, the day would be all sun and blue skies.
For some irrational reason that bothered him. It did not seem right for the sky to be bright and blue and the sun to smile down on them while he shoved her off the cliff. He'd have preferred the weather to be as grey and miserable as he felt inside.
At last, when the sun was already sending its rays through the leaves, he heard a rattling of chains in the cabin that told him the girl was finally awake as well. He closed his eyes, battling for resolution. In the end, he pushed himself upright and entered the hut, feeling like his boots suddenly weighted a ton as he walked.
He fumbled for the key around his neck, reluctantly turning his eyes to the girl. She was sitting with her back against the wall, his shirt in her hands – mending the rip left from the fight yesterday. She looked up at him and showed him a small, trembling smile.
"I... I would have washed it first", she said, quietly. "But I could not reach the fireplace." She indicated at her foot without letting go of the shirt. "If you could take this off, I will try to get the blood out after I'm finished."
For some seconds, he just stood, staring down at her, not knowing what to say. Then he wordlessly knelt down, removed the ankle ring, turned and left the cabin again.
Outside, he leaned against the wall, his eyes closed and his fists clenched by his side, taking deep breaths. This was going to be even more difficult than he thought. Why the bloody hells could she not act like a proper victim, and have hysterics? Weep, cry, scream, curse, beg? And be a general nuisance? Instead she smiled at him, for the god's sake. It was not fair.
A rustling noise made him open his eyes. The girl had left the cabin and was standing on the porch, watching him with a strange expression on her face. He must be losing it, right along with his marbles, if he did not hear her moving about anymore. Either that, or she was moving quieter these days.
She blushed a bit and said: "I have to...", she indicated in the direction of the bushes and blushed some more. Even in his bleak state of mind, Bishop nearly had to smile. Gods help him, but it was cute, the way she fought her embarrassment and not quite succeeded. But at least she tried not to be as prissy anymore.
He shrugged wordlessly and went to the well, dragging up a bucket of water while she vanished in the bushes. He splashed his face and then stood, braced on the edge of the well, staring down into its dark depths. He felt deathly tired, and his head seemed to be stuffed with cotton wool. His eyes were burning with the lack of sleep, and it seemed hard work to keep them open. It had been one hell of a night.
He should get it over with. The longer he kept her around, the more difficult it would get to finally kill her. He did not know why, but the little mouse had managed to crawl under his skin in a way he had not anticipated. Very likely it was just her similarity to Riana, but whatever it was, it was bad. It made him weak. It made him look like a fool...
A hand grabbed the handle of the bucket, and he flinched.
"Can I use this?", the girl asked, haltingly. "I think I remember Nedda... my governess saying something about cold water working best with blood stains when... I once cut myself and spoiled my clothes, so…"
Blast, curse and damn. He had not heard her approaching. Again. He really was losing it. Probably it was lack of sleep that made him so unalert. It was her fault. She was the reason he had had no sleep at all that night. He really should get it over with before this went any farther.
He looked round at her and saw her look at him, that small, hesitating smile still on her face, but a worried expression in her eyes while she regarded him searchingly.
She was standing much too close. He had only to lift his hand to reach out, to touch her face...
He retreated some steps and shrugged without saying anything, taxing his brain for the best way to tell her what was about to happen. Or maybe he should not tell her at all, just take her out again and lead her to the cliffs unawares... would make the way there so much easier...
Her eyes still were fixed on his face, and the worried expression intensified, but she kept smiling and said: "Thanks. I'll try to get the stains out of your tunic, then." She turned and went into the cabin, only to return with his shirt some moments later. The rip in the sleeve seemed to be neatly mended, and she dunked the fabric into the cold water and started scrubbing at the stains.
Maybe there was no hurry after all. Why not let her finish with his shirt first. He could still kill her in the afternoon.
He watched as she worked on his shirt, her beautiful, long hair falling into her face and glinting in the light of the morning sun, while she hummed quietly to herself. Something seemed to squeeze at his chest, and suddenly, he felt the urge to run, get away from her, get her out of his sight. He turned on his heels, went into the cabin, grabbed his scimitars and marched into the line of trees without sparing her another glance.
He found the tree he had spent the last day in and swung himself up into the boughs, settling in the familiar crutch, staring up into the mocking blue sky visible through the green canopy of the leaves.
The sun had travelled quite a bit across the sky when a peal of laughter reached Bishop's ears. He looked around and frowned as he did not believe his eyes at what he saw.
The girl seemed to have decided to clean out the hut, and had taken out the bones of last night's meal. And Karnwyr had returned from his nightly excursion.
The result was that the girl had a bone in hand while Karnwyr danced around her like an excited puppy. Now and then she feigned throwing the bone, and Karnwyr darted a few steps into that direction before he realized, turned on his heels and danced around her some more.
The girl laughed with delight and feigned throwing the bone again, but this time Karnwyr jumped and caught the other end in his teeth before she could lift it over her head. She yelped in surprise, but did not let go. Then she laughed again and started pulling at the bone.
"Bad muff!", he could hear her scold mockingly. "That's my bone! Let go!"
Karnwyr gave a deep, playful growl and shook his head, worrying at the bone. She giggled and hastily fastened her grip as the bone was starting to slip from her hand under the wolf's powerful pull.
Karnwyr growled again, his ears flattened to his skull to show this was just a game, and began drawing backwards, putting all of his strength behind. The girl was inexorably pulled forward, and she giggled again, holding fast and trying to pull back.
Bishop eyed his companion with misgivings. The fearsome wolf was behaving like a lapdog.
He likes her.
Bishop continued to watch the girl and Karnwyr play, and a strange, wrenching feeling rose in his chest, making it feel tight. He felt irrationally left out, watching from his bough, and he caught himself wishing to leave his hiding place, to join in their silly game, to catch her in his arms and roll around with her on the ground, tickling her until she was breathless and then seal her mouth with his, swallowing her laughter...
The wrenching feeling in his chest intensified at the image and he cursed, lifting his head and banging it back against the bow. He cursed some more at the pain and clutched his hair in frustration.
Gods, what was wrong with him? This was supposed to be a murder scenario, not some spring fling! And yet, here he was, finding one excuse after the other so he did not have to drag her back to the cliffs and throw her down.
Enough! This was really going too far. He would not make a fool out of himself any longer. He'd do it. Right now. No more excuses.
His jaw clenched and his lips compressed into a thin line, Bishop let himself drop out of the tree and determinedly marched up to the girl and his turncoat of a companion, who was just giving another playful growl, tugging at the bone. The girl laughed again, a sweet, merry sound, and as if sensing his presence, turned and faced him, laughter still pearling from her lips, her cheeks flushed prettily and her eyes bright and sparkling.
Her sight sent a stab of longing into his heart, so intense he stopped in his tracks as if he'd hit a wall. His pulse started to race, and again he could think of nothing but of catching her in his arms, pulling her near and to press his lips to hers, to stifle that laughter with a wild and greedy kiss.
The girl must have seen something in his face, because her grip on the bone went limp, and Karnwyr, who had been tugging with all his might, nearly doubled over backwards as the resistance suddenly was gone. She straightened, her eyes fixed on his, the sparkling replaced by uncertainty and... something else. The flush in her cheeks actually intensified, and he could see her pulse flutter in her throat. Seemingly without noticing it, she took a step nearer to him...
Bishop turned and practically fled, back to the hut, into the shed, which was getting stifling hot under the rays of the sun again. Frantically, he dragged the block of wood with the axe sticking out of it outside, into the fresh air, ripped his last clean shirt over his head, threw it carelessly down into the grass, grabbed some logs from the shed, putting the first one on the wooden block, pulled the axe free and started hacking away at the wood with abandon.
He needed to vent some energy. Desperately.
Much, much later he was leaning against the wall of the shed, panting from exertion, drenched with sweat, his arms, shoulders and back hurting like a bitch. But at least he felt completely exhausted now, any stupid ideas driven from his brain by fatigue.
Groaning, he shoved himself away from the wall and took an armful of the more than generous amount of firewood he had created, carrying it to the entrance of the hut, his back and arms protesting even at that small exercise. Karnwyr was lying in the shade of the trees, muzzle resting on his paws, watching him with half closed eyes. The girl was nowhere to be seen, but she could not be far, else the wolf would have alerted him.
Bishop entered the cabin, and there she was – leaning into the fireplace, poking into the chimney with a long stick and using a word he did not think she knew. He repressed a grin that threatened to tug at his mouth and put the wood down, approaching her.
"What's wrong?", he asked, and she turned, her face red from strain.
Her eyes widened when she saw him, and she cleared her throat before she replied: "I... I think there's something stuck in the chimney. It doesn't draw properly, so maybe the wind last night..."
With a huff, Bishop closed the distance and took the stick out of her hand. "Oh, for the heaven's sake", he said, leaned into the chimney and started to poke around.
The girl hastily retreated a step, averting her eyes, while he thought he'd found the obstruction clogging the chimney. He poked at it some more, peeking inside, and suddenly, with a swooshing noise, the plug of leaves and twigs came rushing down, accompanied by a cloud of black, sticky soot. Bishop jumped back, but it was to late, and the whole mess poured over his head and into his face.
He coughed and wheezed, trying to get some air, and when he looked up, the girl stared at him, her hand pressed over her mouth. When she saw his face, he could see her eyes widen even more, and a strange chortling noise came from behind her hand. The brat was trying not to giggle, obviously.
"Not funny!", he said, but could not help but grin himself.
Her hand dropped from her mouth, and she broke into a free, bright laughter he found strangely infectious.
"Watch it, mousie", he said, trying to sound menacing, but had to admit the effect was rather spoiled by the chuckle that escaped him.
Still laughing merrily, she stepped forward and pulled a twig form his hair, and then her hand fell to his shoulder, brushing away some leaves clinging to his skin. The feel of her hand on his bare skin drove the amusement from his mind in a heartbeat, along with all remnants of exhaustion left from his wood chopping binge.
He swallowed as heat welled up in him, his breathing growing short in seconds. He stared into her face, so near, and saw her freeze, the laughter draining from her eyes, slowly, replaced by an intensity that mirrored the fire that had to be burning in his. Her lips parted, and she drew a shaking breath, her hand still on his shoulder, trembling slightly.
His hand seemed to lift itself out of his own accord as he reached out, to softly touch her cheek. Her eyes darkened and then closed as he let his fingers glide over her soft skin backwards, leaving a sooty trail, and she exhaled audibly when his hand closed around the back of her neck and he started to gently pull her forward, pull her near, trying to close those last few agonizing inches that separated his mouth from hers...
Another swooshing noise, and a second avalanche of soot and leaves poured form the chimney, covering them both, making them cough. Bishop had to release his grip on her neck, and she sprang back, still coughing.
When they finally stopped wheezing, and he opened his eyes again, he caught her staring at him with something akin to horror on her face, and she suddenly turned around, her back to him now, and grabbed her blankets from the ground, shaking them out vigorously.
Slowly, Bishop let sink in what he had nearly done. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and left the hut. Outside, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, feeling lost, bewildered, horrified as the realisation hit him.
He wanted her. Could not deny that any longer. But as if that wasn't bad enought, it still wasn't the really bad part. He had wanted a lot of women in his life. He could deal with that.
The really, really bad part was that he wanted her to want him. Desperately. Wanted to see her eyes darken again like they just had done. Wanted them to burn with desire for him. Wanted her to crave his touch, to cling to him, welcome him, cry out for him. Wanted to hear his name tumbling from her lips as she clung to him, begging for more.
It was a feeling he knew so very well. The last time he had felt it it had driven him to turn on the woman he longed for, in a desperate attempt to free himself, to keep himself from drowning in those emotions, from going insane from having her so close all the time, but not being able to touch her.
And now she made him feel the same way. It was like being sucked in by his past all over again. Everything that he'd tried to run from catching up with him and biting him in the butt. And he was drowning once more.
Just as he wanted to throw back his head and howl in despair, a thought rose from the depths of his brain. A black, twisted, tempting thought that whispered seductively in his mind.
He was transferring all the feelings for Riana he had repressed for so long to the little mouse. That much was clear.
But maybe... maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe he could even make the situation work for him this time. Change history, in a way. Reenact the past, and finally get the woman that was burning in his blood. Bring all that unfinished business to an end at last.
If he played his cards right.
There had been something in the eyes of the little mouse just now. She had felt something, too – and it had not been revulsion. He could have sworn she would have let him kiss her. Wanted him to kiss her?
Maybe, if he would play on that...
She was shy. Afraid. Of course she was. Did not want to feel attracted to him. Knew it was wrong.
But...
He was a hunter, after all. Catching elusive prey was what he did.
And what separated the first-rate hunter from any other idiot with bow and arrow?
Patience.
The ability to creep up to his prey unawares. To wait for the opportune moment. To know how to set a trap, and to put out just the right lure to attract the game.
To be able to wait. Quietly, silently, patiently. And strike swiftly when the moment came.
So, that was what he would do. Be a hunter again instead of a stumbling bungler. Be in control, set the trap, lure her in. Stalk her. Creep up to her without her noticing. And then strike swiftly.
Make her his prey.
And then, after he succeeded, he would be free. Of her, of his past, of Riana. Probably hadn't even been love, she just had been the woman he couldn't get. And now he had his second chance. He would use it, and get some closure at last.
And then, he would not have any trouble killing the girl anymore.
Because he would be free.
With a small, predatory smile on his face, Bishop pushed from the wall to return into the hut.
