Cyréne was uncharacteristically quiet all through dinner. Vilkas was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice. He looked up as she came back from the bar and replaced his empty mead tankard with a full one. Cyréne flopped back down in the chair across from him and put her feet up on the corner of the table, leaning her chair back on two legs. She let out an unladylike yawn that somehow ended in an incredibly feminine little squeak, and stretched before blinking at him a few times.

"So what's the verdict, Brother? Do we try our luck at Jorrvaskr, or spend the coin to get a room here?"

"You could always stay in my room, Beautiful," a masculine voice purred from behind her.

Cyréne put on a smile and tilted her head back, regarding the bard upside down.

"Really? That's so chivalrous of you, Mikael." She watched the Bard's eyes widen and light up, before she continued in a puzzled voice, "but then . . . where would you sleep?"

Mikael opened his mouth to reply, but caught sight of Vilkas glowering at him, and retreated to the other side of the room instead.

"We should stay here," Vilkas said. "Give things a chance to blow over a bit at Jorrvaskr."

"Fine by me," Cyréne yawned. "I'm beat."

A few minutes later, they were looking at each other warily over the bed.

"Ahem. Hey, Vilkas."

"What?"

"Do you mind letting me borrow that, to sleep in?"

"Borrow what?"

"Um . . . your tunic."

"Why, may I ask?"

"Well," she said sheepishly. "I didn't really think this through when I was grabbing clothes, and I think this shirt is Ria's. It's got some sort of weird leather stitching on the inside that's been driving me crazy all night. It's just . . . not going to be very comfortable."

"And you think I'm going to be comfortable, sleeping in leather trousers?"

"Sorry." She pouted down at the mattress. "I thought we were just going to dinner when I grabbed those."

"Here," he said as white material hit her in the face.

Cyrene turned away from him and mumbled her thanks.

Vilkas doused the candle and in a moment they crawled into opposite sides of the bed. Vilkas shifted uncomfortably. "Damn these leather pants!" he growled.

"If they bother you that much, just take them off. I already told you I wouldn't make an attempt on your virtue," she said tiredly.

"Yes, that's a great idea," he snapped sarcastically. "Why don't we just strip naked and see what happens?"

Cyréne's cheeks burned in the darkness and she was appalled to find hot tears welling up.

Vilkas found her hand in the darkness. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It's been a long day. I . . . I didn't mean that."

"I know you didn't," she said, twining her fingers with his. "That's part of the problem with being an ass – things like that just slip out sometimes."

He chuckled in the darkness. "Saber-kitten."

They were silent for a long while, both of them tired, neither of them sleeping, until Cyréne finally broke the silence, "Vilkas?"

"Hmmm?"

"How long have you been married?"

Vilkas sucked in air, then exhaled loudly and pulled his hand away to fold his arms behind his head. "Just now putting that together, Cyréne?"

"No!" she said, indignant. She sighed and lowered her voice. "I knew she was something to you the moment I saw her."

"What do you mean?"

"She's just so You, you know?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't," he lied. "What is so me about her?"

"If I'd ever pictured you married. . ." – To someone other than me, her treacherous mind interjected.– "that woman is exactly what I would have pictured."

Vilkas looked over at her in the darkness. "Why?"

"Well, she's beautiful for one thing – exotically beautiful – one of a kind. And she's got that voice that's all . . . you know," she said uncomfortably

"That's all what?" Vilkas said, smiling to himself.

"You know," Cyréne huffed.

"I don't" he insisted, grinning.

She worked up her best seductive imitation, and rolled on her side to face him. "It's all: 'Vilkas, come to my bed and I'll make all of your wildest fantasies come true" she breathed. She gave a little moan in the darkness and continued, "I'll do things to you that you'll never forget, Vilkas. I'm the only woman in the world who can satisfy your needs . . ."

Vilkas had been enjoying her discomfort right up until the point she said his name in that completely foreign voice. "That's . . . quite an impression," he managed finally.

Cyrene flopped back onto her back.

They lie in silence for a moment before Vilkas spoke somewhat hoarsely, "five years."

Cyréne propped herself up on her side to face him. "What? No way!"

"And, we're not married," he added.

"Someone ought to tell her that, because she sure as Oblivion thinks you are."

"Must we talk about this right now, Cyréne?" he said, in irritation.

"Yes Vilkas," she mimicked, "We must."

"Fine! If you must know, we were supposed to me married and she changed her mind at the last minute - left me at the alter, actually," he said.

Cyréne stomach dropped. Oh, no.

"A few months later she came to me. Begged me to take her back – said she loved me – that's she'd made a mistake . . . I loved her, so I took her back, and we were married."

"And," Cyréne prompted softly.

"And," he continued, "she disappeared on our wedding night. She left a note saying that she loved me, but that she wasn't ready to be tied down, and needed time to find herself."

Cyréne snorted in the darkness.

Vilkas ignored her. "The marriage was never consummated. I searched for her for weeks, until I satisfied myself that she was safe, and even then, I waited. After six more months, I had it annulled."

"Wow."

Vilkas looked over at her. "Wow? That's it? Wow?"

Cyréne sighed and found herself brushing the hair away from his face. "I'm sorry, Vilkas. No one deserves that, especially you." I would never leave you. "What do you think she wants after all this time?"

He sighed and closed his eyes, "I don't know."

Gods, I just want to love him until he can't remember her name, she thought desperately, but that's not what he needs right now. Cyréne forced a grin onto her face. "You're just lucky that you had that annulment before she found herself."

"What?" he laughed

That one laugh was enough. See, he laughed, you can do this. "I mean, she must have been somewhat normal before, right? Or, do you just find that bat-shit-crazy turns you on?"

"I hate you," he said flatly.

Cyréne tugged him toward her and snuggled into his side with her head on his chest. His arm came around her automatically.

The wolf raised his head in interest.

"No you don't, you love me," she yawned.

"No. I hate you. I'm certain."

"Give it a rest Vilky-Wilky. Who else would face down a crazy woman on an empty stomach, rescue you and distract you with a naked swim in the moonlight, plus buy you dinner and a room, and then listen to that horrible story and get you to laugh about it? You. Love. Me." She punctuated the last three words by wrapping an arm around his torso and tightening her embrace slightly with each word.

"Maybe a little," he admitted. "And don't call me that."

"Maybe a lot," she murmured, falling into sleep.

Vilkas lay awake for a long time after Cyréne drifted to sleep. He waited for the restlessness to come over him – to feel the wolf straining to break free. All was quiet, and it occurred to him that it had been quiet for a while. When was the last time he'd spent the night with a woman like this? It should feel awkward and strange, full of sexual tension, but it didn't. It just felt . . . right. Vilkas rested his cheek on her forehead and closed his eyes. Maybe a lot, he thought.

The wolf was lying still with his head on his paws. He huffed lightly and his tail swished once.