Hello all! Forgive me for my lack of posting this week. A family member of a close friend passed away last weekend, so my week was quite busy. However, I am back now and I hope I can finally get back on track with a regular posting schedule. -crosses fingers-

So, back to the story!

Enjoy!

Linny

Two Worlds

Chapter Twenty Three

The rain was drawing away most of their customers, Nicholas groused as he wiped at the inside of a wet mug with his bar rag. The storm had gotten worse and the roads were flooding. Only fools would traverse in this kind of weather, which explained the group of six men lounging in the back corner of the tavern.

He felt his jaw clench in anger as the one with the bruise on the side of his face manhandled the waitress; his daughter. She didn't try to stray away from his advances, her flirtatious giggles reaching his ears as a rough hand slowly trailed its way up her leg. The mug in his hand creaked with the pressure of his grip. If he squeezed any harder it would crumble to pieces in his hand.

"Elena," he growled loudly over a thunder crash.

Her head shot up in surprise. She'd been so captivated by this gruff stranger that she hadn't even realized that her father had been watching her every move. Embarrassment washed over her until a pretty blush flooded her cheeks. Her father's face was just as red, but it was anger that washed over him. Lowering her gaze from his, she climbed from the bruised man's lap and shuffled over toward the bar. "Yes, Papa," she complied before disappearing into the back room.

Nicholas didn't miss the disgruntled glare shot his way. The man he'd heard called "Joe" was not happy, but he paid no heed and if the injured man and his cronies decided to advance, he had a blade to teach them all a lesson about what happens to those who didn't respect his daughter.

A silent war battled on between both men, neither willing to pull away. The first one to pull away would be the weak one and neither wanted to wear that title. Apart from that, one was fighting to save his daughter's reputation, while the other was fighting for the pleasure of her company. Ever since the blonde in the forest had escaped his clutches, he felt a hunger that he couldn't suppress and while the tavern owner's daughter was a poor substitute, she would do until the blonde crossed his path once more.

A loud crash finally broke the stare, drawing their gazes and those of he rest of the occupants to the door that had swung open from the force of the wind. A man stood there, bathed in shadow as he allowed the water to run in quiet rivulets down his riding cape to the floor. An audible tsk came from Marta, the tavern matron and Nicholas's wife, as she exited the storage room to find her nice, clean floor covered with water, muck and mud. She paid little heed to the dark man as she hurried to clean up the mess he'd made.

Nicholas opened his mouth to ask the stranger for his cloak so he could hang it up to dry, but the man under the hood merely raised a hand to signal his order before sauntering back to a table in the corner and sitting without removing the soaking wet cloak. Marta was going to have a fit if she had to clean up any more after this guest, the bartender grumbled under his breath as he poured the man's drink and delivered it to the table with haste.

Their guest said nothing. He only laid out an abundance of coins that would take care of more than just the supplied drink. Still, the hooded man said nothing as he took a generous sip of the better-than-expected ale. Nodding, Nicholas brushed the coins into an unsteady cupped palm and thanked the man for the charitable payment.

He knew what it meant. They'd had customers like him before. The man wanted a single drink and to be left alone for the duration of his stay. He didn't want to be bothered and the payment was a sure fire way to make it certain.

As the new arrival settled in, the din of the quiet alehouse was restored, or as much as one could expect with the storm roaring with life outside. The windows rattled from the force of the wind and the ground shook with every thunderclap.

Underneath the hood, the man smiled.

The group of six in the opposite corner was an interesting bunch. The man with the bruise was what had drawn him inside. He had a feeling that one would know where to find the one he was looking for.

"So Joe," one of the drunken yokels hiccupped from the depths of his mug, "what exactly happened to that ugly mug o' yersss."

Unable to hide the wince that crossed his features when he touched the purplish expanse of flesh, Joe chuckled. "Le's jus' say, I got my hands on one you wouldn't be able to handle." He guffawed loudly at the number of surprised expressions that turned his way.

"You mean you got that..." a low whistle escaped the man's mouth as he leaned back in his chair, highly impressed by the man sitting before him.

"What was she like?" Another asked as he leaned forward in his chair. Stories of conquests were so rare around these parts these days. It was always exciting to hear about the newest ones.

Joe nudged his brother with his elbow, but Andy only stared at the dregs of ale at the bottom of his mug. He didn't seem as interested in Joe's story, but it was only because it was all a lie. "Andy saw 'er. Young little thing... put up a fight too." A grin curled at the side of his mouth as he thought about the one that got away.

Joe went into detail about the girl's lithe form and the way the riding dress had fit her soft curves perfectly. The simple memory of her was bringing back the familiar feeling low in his belly. He gazed around for a sight of the bartender's daughter and growled when she was nowhere to be found.

Hearing all he needed to hear, the cloaked man placed a few more coins upon the table and drained his mug. As he passed the bar, he nodded to the owner before braving the wicked weather outside. He held the hood tightly over his head, the wind blowing the water into his face despite is efforts.

He walked to the side of the building where three horses stood underneath a small shelter, two with riders-one male, one female-who were waiting impatiently for their third member to rejoin them.

"Well?" his male companion asked as he climbed into the saddle. They'd waited out in the cold for long enough and now was not the time for formalities. They wanted warmth and shelter, but this roadside tavern was not the place to receive those things.

Letting the hood fall from his head, he ran a hand through his damp hair as a smile curled at his lips. "The Southern Village," was all he said before pulling his hood back on his head and setting out in the lead.