That was to be my second stand-alone - same story, but different POV, because I just had to explore that angle, too. Hope it's still interesting to read :)

The writing is still wonky, but bear with me, it's about to get better…

Chantal moved carefully through the dark corridors, her senses scanning ahead, trying to shut out the noises of her companions behind her, the muffled shuffling of feet and the small clanging sounds from Casavir's armour. She sighed involuntary. Sweet, caring Casavir. He had deserved better than the trick she played him. Not that she had intended to. How had it all happened?

Yes, how?

Her heart growing even more heavy, her thoughts went back to that moment so many weeks ago, when she first arrived at the Sunken Flagon, to meet Duncan and see what he could tell her about the shards. She had entered the inn, sizing up everyone in the room, trying to guess which one could be Duncan. It had not been so difficult to find out, really. There was only one Half-Elf in the room, so that had to be Daeghun's half-brother. Her "uncle" Duncan.

Thinking of him made a small smile appear on her face, despite the pain in her heart.

She had gone to talk to him, liking him instantly. Perhaps even because of the warnings Daeghun had given her that Duncan was not entirely to be trusted. Maybe it was a bit of spite in her, being thankful to Daeghun for taking her in and raising her, but not really being able to forgive him the cold and unemotional way he had done it.

Sometimes one of the villagers hinted that Daeghun had not always been that way, not before the death of his wife, somehow linked to the death of Chantal's own mother, but no one ever wanted to tell her how that happened. But whatever had happened, if he decided to raise her, could he not do it with at least showing a thread of affection? So if Daeghun told her not to trust Duncan, she had been determined to like the guy.

Luckily it was not difficult; Duncan had won her instantly by being appalled at his half-brother for not telling Chantal anything about her past. What had he said? You would have been better off being raised by wolves… Chantal shook her head, still smiling.

Besides, Duncan was quick-witted, sharp-tongued and quite funny, so it had not been difficult to like him, even if he smelled like a beer keg.

After talking to Duncan and discussing how to go on from here, she had wandered through the room a bit, trying to get to know the people there. This was Duncan's home, and hers, for now. So the least she could do was be polite to Duncan's friends and customers, in thanks for taking her in. Plus, she was a bard, and that was what bards did, talking to people. Well, at least she had been a bard until she had decided to pursue that other part of her garbled heritage. She'd never seen her family tree, but she'd hold a fair wager it would be quite interesting to read.

Then she came up to the tall stranger she had seen shortly while searching for Duncan, standing in a shadowy corner and apparently talking to no one. He gave her a scowl and a dark look, daring her to try and talk to him. She had smiled a bit inwardly, sizing him up.

There was something sinister about him, something dark and forbidding. His very short reddish-brown hair stuck up every which way from his head, his badly shaven beard throwing a shadow on his jaw, but what was most noticeable about him were those strange eyes. He had amber eyes, which regarded her with a cold and contemptuous stare. They reminded her more of a wolf than of a human, and they showed as much emotion as well.

Actually, after she had met his pet wolf much later, she had to admit that the eyes of the wolf often showed more warmth than those of his master.

Well, it took a lot more to throw her off than a mean stare, so she sauntered up to him anyway and tried to get him to talk to her.

Gods, he'd been rude. She remembered staring at him for a split second, fighting the impulse to punch him in the face for what he had just said to her. Could have done it, too. Courtesy of that few drops of dragon blood flowing through her veins, most people she punched stayed punched.

On the other hand, maybe not – he was not as muscular as, say, Casavir, not by far, but he was wiry and pretty quick, so he might have dodged her blow. Anyway, she had decided not to do it. It would have been poor thanks to Duncan if she started a brawl in his tavern. So she shrugged and moved away, and ignored him from that moment on.

Until Duncan had had the brilliant idea of blackmailing Bishop into helping her out. There had been a heated discussion about that; she did not want that creep travelling with her. You had to be able to trust your companions with your life, and Bishop could not be trusted. Hells, had Duncan himself not told her so countless times?

Not that she was not able to see that on her own, everyone with half a brain could see it. Bishop radiated hate, anger and contempt; one could feel it standing on the other side of the room. Not the person she wanted guarding her back. And what did she need him for, when she had Casavir, Khelgar, Elanee, even Neeshka by her side?

But Duncan insisted, and she caved in the end. She had to admit none of them was a tracker, and since time was of the essence, someone with good tracking skills might save Shandra's life. She could not have lived with herself had Shandra died, just because she was being coy about having Bishop around. If it had not been for her, Shandra would not have been abducted, wouldn't she?

So, having to put up with Bishop was a small price to pay for Shandra's safety. If he could be persuaded not to kill them all in their sleep. Chantal had there and then decided to have double guards at night. The thought of leaving Bishop unobserved made her uneasy.

And how prophetic has that proved to be?

Chantal sighed again, thinking of these first days, travelling with Bishop. Much to her surprise, he had behaved himself quite well. Well, bad choice of words. His behaviour had been unbearably obnoxious, arrogant and just plain infuriating. But at least he had not tried anything funny, and had led them surprisingly swift to Shandra. He had even proved himself to be handy to have around in a battle. That somehow made up for the lewd comments, the brazen ogling of every female in the group, and the impertinent smirks.

She knew what he was doing, that he was trying to get under her skin and make her lose her temper. That seemed to be his favourite pastime, unfortunately. But she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of getting to her, so all she gave him were some cold stares and silences. Mostly, she just ignored him.

Casavir on the other hand seemed to have a harder time to put up with the obnoxious ranger. He had grown very protective of her, ready to throw himself to the wolves in her defence, so to speak. There had been a couple of times when she thought the paladin's patience would snap and he would try to kill Bishop. Luckily, she managed to calm him down every time, giving him a sweet smile to show him she appreciated his help, but also whispering to him not to fall for Bishop's baits.

Casavir had managed to reign in his fury. Chantal sighed for the third time in as many minutes. That seemed to be what being a paladin was all about, reigning in their emotions, somehow. Such a pity… things might have turned out different, had that not been the case. Maybe, if Casavir had not been that reserved, she would never have…

No, don't think about it.

Casavir had been so tender, so cautious, so… formal, sometimes. He had taken a long time, admitting to her that he cared for her, even though she had known all along. There was this look in his very blue eyes, when he regarded her. It made her want to just reach out and kiss him. But she hadn't, knowing that he would not approve. That he had to come to terms with his emotions, first. So she tried to give him all the encouragement she could, all the smiles and small touches she could get away with, without driving him into retreat.

The bonus was that somehow Bishop did not seem to like it. Sometimes, when she looked his way while talking to Casavir, she caught him staring, jaw clenched and anger burning in those cold amber eyes. She had to control herself not to laugh, then. Payback really was sweet. Besides, what was he thinking? That his – admittedly – good looks gave him the right to the attentions of every woman in sight? Well, he was wrong about that.

Oh, really?

Shoving the last thought away rigorously, she forced her thoughts to return to Casavir. His reserve had driven her mad sometimes. He seemed to think that she was some delicate flower, something fragile he had to handle with painstaking care. She was anything but, and sometimes she wished he would just get over it and let himself go already.

But he was always the gentleman, wasn't he? Even after they… well, he insisted on calling her "my lady". She had a perfectly good name, but the thought of using it seemed inconceivable to Casavir. And he continued to be tender, and gentle, and caring. It was sweet, in a way, but…

Anyway, after returning safely to the Sunken Flagon, with Shandra in tow, Bishop suddenly decided to stay. She still was not sure why he had done it. Certainly not out of the goodness of his heart, with Bishop, there was always some ulterior motive.

She had tried to find out, to talk to him about it, but all it had gotten her was some lewd offer to run off with her into the woods. She had to laugh in his face, could not help it. Was that some kind of joke? Probably just a tactical maneuver to throw her off the track. His face stayed impassive, but something showed in his eyes, some glint… was he angry? Dumb question, Bishop was always angry.

Well, actually…

Chantal stopped that thought, too, but could not keep her mind from wandering back to the past.

She accepted him into their small group. She did not like him, but she had to admit that his skills were decidedly useful. And after a while, he even became more tolerable. He had probably just needed some time to get used to them all. He stopped ogling the girls, and he stopped making those awfully salacious comments. He even stopped leering. And he started to participate in their discussions, in their planning, and for the first time Chantal realized that he had actually quite a good brain in that thick skull of his. She really came to appreciate his opinions and his advice.

And there seemed to be something different in the way he behaved towards her. She caught him looking at her quite often, and it was not the cold, contemptuous stare she was used to. She thought she saw something soft in his eyes, something unexpected. He even talked to her from time to time, telling her about his youth and the way he had been pressed into Luskan service.

She nearly came to like his company, talking to him and observing his face while he stared at the ground, finding it difficult to talk about his past. There was something vulnerable about his mouth, and she wondered why she had never seen that before. Very likely because mostly, when you looked into his face, you only saw these strange eyes, and there was nothing vulnerable there. They were clearly the eyes of a predator.

But his mouth… it was tender, and sad somehow, and she found herself wondering how these soft lips might feel touching hers.

She had shoved that thought down as soon as it appeared. That was no way of thinking about Bishop. Besides, she had Casavir.

Yet, sometimes, when Bishop suddenly looked up and met her eyes, the look in his was very different from his usual impassive stare. He looked… hurt, and lonely, and she found herself wanting to reach out for him. She did not do it, of course. He probably would have bitten her hand off for noticing what he plainly regarded as weakness.

Fall for his tricks, that's what you did.

Casavir, as could be expected, did not like her getting better acquainted with Bishop and continued to warn her not to trust the ranger. But that was no wonder, the two men were as different as they could be, and neither of them would ever understand the other. Or even try to. That seemed to be about the only thing they had in common, the way they were stuck in their prejudices.

Only Casavir had been right all along.

Then… she blushed, thankful that the others were all behind her and could not see the colour in her cheeks. She swallowed and tried to stop the way her mind was wandering.

You swore yourself never to think about that again!

But the images kept coming, images of the night he had turned up in the glade. She had made it a habit, escaping there most evenings, to get away from Kana and the incessant demands holding the keep made on her. She needed some time to be alone, to think, and to relax, without someone barging in on her with one request or the other. It seemed like she could never get a minute alone, as long as she stayed in the keep.

So she came here… and this evening, after some time, she heard a rustling noise behind her, and turned round, alarmed – only to find herself face to face with Bishop. Her heart made a strange flip in her chest, because of the fright he had given her, she told herself.

He looked at her, seemingly surprised himself, and apologized for disturbing her. He seemed sincere, still she did not really believe him. He had to have known she would be here, since she was not in the keep. Where else would she go? So he must have had a reason to show up. Was he looking for her?

Her heart did another flip at the thought, and she was distracted for a moment and too slow in her reactions, when suddenly a strange light showed in his eyes, and with one swift movement he grabbed her wrists and shoved her roughly into the tree behind her, her hands pinned above her head and his body pressing into hers.

She cried out, shocked, and tried to fight him, but he was surprisingly strong and his hands held her wrists in an iron grip. She tried bringing her knee up, but he caught her thigh between his and pressed himself even more against her… and now she could feel him and gods, he was hard.

She felt something clench, low in her body, and heat rose up in her. But she forced herself to keep struggling, because this was wrong, and how could she react that way, if she had Casavir?

She fought with all her strength, and hurled every insult she had learned from her inventive harborman friends at him, but it seemed not to have the slightest effect on him. His eyes were alight with amber flames, and the heat in them nearly made her knees buckle.

Gods, what was wrong with her? How could she feel that way while he brutally forced himself upon her? This was madness, she could not want to be treated like this!

Then his mouth closed over hers, cutting of the incessant stream of insults she had thrown his way. His tongue found hers, and then he made that noise… that low moan, deep down in his throat, so full of wanting, full of need… and that ball of heat exploded in her, and she could not think anymore, swept away by something she had never felt before, naked, unmitigated desire.

Her hands were free now, because his were busy ripping off her clothes, but the only thing they seemed to do was getting rid of his clothes, too. She could think of nothing but getting to feel his skin on hers, licking and sucking and drawing in his scent, this intoxicating smell of earth and leaves and musk that seemed to go straight to her head and make it swim.

She found herself drawn forwards, when he let himself fall back into the grass, and she landed on his chest, clinging to him and still caught in that wild, passionate kiss. More of that needy little noises escaped him, and gods, how she wanted him.

He flipped her on her back, his mouth never leaving hers, and roughly shoved himself into her. She cried out, her fingers digging into his back, her teeth sinking into his shoulder to stifle her cries while he started pounding into her. There was no finesse, no playfulness. This was no love-making, this was wild and untamed and rough, just like the man himself. And she wanted more.

Eventually, her body spasmed and clenched and she cried out Bishop's name. He let out an answering roar, head thrown back, sounding more animal than man, before collapsing on her, gasping for breath, still holding her tightly in his arms, like he never wanted to let go.

She had to fight for breath herself, and her heart only gradually stopped hammering in her chest. She breathed in his scent – gods, he smelled so good – and closed her eyes, just savouring his closeness. Who would have thought it could be like this? How very different that had been from the soft, tender way Casavir made love to her…

Oh Gods. Oh Gods. Casavir. What had she done? How could she do this to him? How could she have done this at all, completely losing any control, rutting like an animal on the ground in the woods with Bishop, of all persons? Was she this sick and twisted?

Panic welled up in her, as Bishop gave a contented little sigh and lifted his head, looking down on her. There was a slight smile on his face, and his eyes were warm and… no, no, she could not stand this, could not think about this, had to get away, had to get some air, had to breathe…

She averted her eyes, starting to twist and turn and wiggle herself out from under him, collected what little was left and still useful of her clothes and fled into the night, with one last, panicked glance back at Bishop, still on the ground, watching her with an expression on his face she forced herself not to think about.

And you would have stayed with the not thinking about Bishop, if you had any sense.

It had been difficult, sneaking into the keep without anyone seeing her, but she managed, which was a very good thing for her dignity. She could never have explained her dishevelled looks, her clothes in shreds and her hair a mess, with leaves and little twigs everywhere.

Most of all, she did not want to meet Casavir. She really had some serious thinking to do.

In the following weeks, she withdrew completely, even from Casavir. Especially from Casavir. She could not be with him, not before she came to terms with what had happened at the glade. Casavir of course was sorrowed, but did not press her.

Much to her surprise, Bishop did not, either. She had not thought him capable of so much consideration. He seemed quite withdrawn, himself, not talking much to anyone. He did not tell Casavir what had happened, either, for which she was immensely thankful. It probably had cost him something, letting the opportunity to really hurt the paladin pass. She began to think that maybe she had been completely wrong about him, that maybe he was not as bad as his reputation.

Not very bright, were you?

More and more, she found her eyes drawn to him, to his messy hair, the perpetual stubble on his chin, those beautiful wolf eyes, and most of all, that tender mouth. Remembering the feel of his lips, the passion in his kiss, sent a shiver down her spine.

She tried to repress the feeling, tried to force her thoughts to return to Casavir, but it did not work. She even kept dreaming about that night in the glade, waking up out of breath and her heart beating fast. She had to admit Bishop had awoken something in her, something she had not known was there, and now she wanted more. Wanted Bishop.

The realisation left her horrified, thinking she must be going mad. But the feeling wouldn't go away, no matter how much she tried to quash it.

Should have tried harder.

One thing was clear, she had to tell Casavir. He deserved honesty, at least. She liked him, very much, and she respected him, and she felt safe with him, but she did not want him, need him, the way she seemed to want and need Bishop.

How did that happen? She hated the man, he was a pain in the ass… only he wasn't really, was he? Underneath the obnoxious behaviour and layers of spite and hate and anger was something vulnerable, and lonely, and needy…

That's what he tried to make you think.

But she was so sure that she had seen it in his eyes, that moment, weeks after the incident, when she had stood at the edge of their camp, lost in thoughts about Bishop again, involuntarily looking for him among her companions, and finding him looking back at her.

The was a strange expression on his face, he looked… shy? Bishop, shy? Yet, that was what he looked like, and she could not look away, even though she feared what he might read in her eyes.

There must have been something to see, because he got up and stalked over to her, in his graceful way, his eyes never leaving hers. He stopped at arms length, and the expression on his face made her heart beat faster. He looked so absurdly hopeful, his emotions as open and unguarded on his face like she had never seen before. She felt a wave of tenderness welling up in her, and she had to smile at him. In this moment, she thought she could love that man standing before her, that other Bishop he kept hidden so well.

Something of it must have shown in her eyes, because a bright, happy grin appeared on his face, an expression she had not even thought him capable of. There was a light in his eyes that made her breath stop. That big grin on his face made him look so much younger, he looked like a boy, happy and carefree and gods, she really did want him.

Just as he made a small movement towards her, she felt hands on her shoulders and Casavir's voice murmuring into her ears, requesting a moment of her time. She could have wept with frustration, but she forced herself to smile at Casavir and nod. He at least deserved this, she would tell him the truth, and then she could return to Bishop, see what they could work out.

She turned to follow Casavir, throwing Bishop an apologetic glance. His face had turned thunderous, the smile wiped away. She sighed, but she had to do this, get clean with Casavir, and then return and talk to Bishop later.

The talk with Casavir had not been fun, but that was to be expected. It was all made so much worse by him being so gentle and understanding and not angry with her at all. He actually had been worried about her, warned her to be careful, feared that Bishop might hurt her… it made her feel like the worst harpy in the world, hurting such a good man.

Well, you've paid the bill.

After talking to Casavir, she hurried back to Bishop. Only, Bishop was gone.

She remembered an uneasy feeling creeping into her stomach as she wildly looked around, searching for him. Then Neeshka had just wordlessly pointed into the woods. Had she been this obvious? But Neeshka had not grown so good at what she did by not noticing what went on before her eyes. Hopefully not all her companions were so observant.

That nagging feeling in her stomach grew while she waited for him. Where had he gone? Why? Surely he could not have thought… But he could, couldn't he? It would be exactly what someone like Bishop would think. What he would expect. But she could put that right, could explain to him when he returned…

He didn't return. Not that night, not the following day. She felt hollow, empty, finding it hard to concentrate on the task, trying not to let the others see how she felt. But she could feel Casavir's pitying glance on her, so she had to avoid his eyes. She and her companions returned to the keep. And that night, Bishop had betrayed her.

Well, you should have seen that coming, seeing how everyone told you so.

He had slipped back into the keep, only to leave it open for the invasion of her enemies. It could only have been him; her guards told her later that he had returned, but when the enemy attacked, he was long gone again.

They fought, and they survived, and they got on with the mission, because that was what they were here for. Still, her heart was heavy, and somehow did not believe her when she told it over and over she should be glad that she had gotten rid of him without him doing even more damage.

And now, she was trudging along these gloomy corridors, which went so well with her mood, still feeling guilty about Casavir, faithfully following her after all she had done to him, and still longing for Bishop, after all he had done to her. She tried to hate him, but somehow she could not. Did he plan to betray her to the enemy from the start? Probably. It was just the kind of man he was.

And still you pine for him. You really are sick. Get a grip.

She came round a bend and something tingled in the back of her brain. She stopped and stared ahead into the darkness, where nothing moved and no sound was to be heard. But she knew that the shadows were not empty, that something was waiting for her in the dark…

Suddenly, there was movement and a tall figure stepped into the torchlight. Mahogany hair shimmered, and amber eyes were fixed on her face. Her heart did a double flip – traitorous organ – and she stared at him, not trusting her eyes. Without wanting to, she took a step toward him.

"Bishop?", she asked, trying to stop her voice from shaking, trying to sound cool. "You came back?"

Oh, who was she kidding? Seeing him made her breath catch, and she felt anything but cool. She felt… hopeful? Yes, this was definitely hope, creeping up in her, unwanted, but inexorable. Maybe he could explain, maybe it had been a misunderstanding…

Maybe you just don't care.

She silenced that thought, and could not help but smile at Bishop, and gods, she was glad to see him. If he came back, she could even forgive him what he'd done.

She saw an answering smile appear on his face, and he stepped nearer. Something seemed not quite right with that smile… and just as she thought that, she felt a sharp pain in her gut.

Looking down, she saw a dagger protruding from her belly, Bishop's hand still on the handle.

She stared at him, unbelieving, staggered and had to catch herself on his shoulders, his face so near now, his eyes, cold and hard and full of hate again, the light gone, and still she could not believe that he could do this, that he could murder her in cold blood, while looking into her face.

Better believe it.

She could not speak, there seemed to be no breath left in her lungs, and she kept staring at him, that stupid hope still in her that he would somehow make it right, somehow take it back, somehow turn back the time. She knew it was not possible, not anymore, but that hope still did not want to die. She looked at him, wordlessly pleading with him.

He stared back, something flickering in his eyes, and then he pressed his mouth on hers, angrily, desperately kissing her, and despite of everything he'd done she felt the heat again, she still wanted him, and she closed her eyes and kissed him back, holding on to his shoulders, still hoping…

…when she felt his lips leave hers, and opened her eyes, to find him sneer over her shoulder at the others, who had not seen what really happened, could not see, because the dagger was hidden between her and Bishop.

Then he looked down at her again, arrogant and contemptuous like the first time she met him. She could not stop pleading to him with her eyes, managing to whisper his name, at last, begging him to stop this madness.

But she saw resolution harden in his face. He twisted the dagger and ripped it up the length of her belly, and the pain was nothing compared to that in her heart.

She fell to the ground, her vision starting to get dim, the shouts of the others seemingly far away, and still she could only stare up at him, knowing that this was the end. Her end, she thought distantly, but it did not seem to matter.

He looked down at her with his wolf eyes for a moment, his face expressionless, then he turned and fled into the darkness.

She felt her life slipping away, killed by the man she thought she could love, but she could not bring herself to care.

This is your own fault. You knew what he was. And still you threw yourself to the wolves.

And they had torn her throat out.