Sunday was market day. The day when Gwenda had her weekly day off after nearly suffocating with work. Darcy always gave Sundays off. And that’s because it was Raux herself who practically begged — well, not exactly, but Gwenda liked to think so — for her to have a break from everything. The young woman accepted, but when she found out that her boss meant the arena as well, Gwenda just forced a fake laugh and agreed.
But there she was, shooting at cans.
The crowd burst around her as if they were one single entity.
Today Gwenda wore gray sweatpants, a white tank top snug against her body, and a kind of black jacket that only protected her arms and shoulders, meeting in front and behind her neck, nothing more. She didn’t need her uniform today since she wouldn’t be fighting hand-to-hand. She had decided she needed another fraction to pay her employees at the Pantaneon Taurus tavern by the end of the month.
Thinking of this, the New Year had entered Gwenda’s mind and refused to leave, like an invisible tick behind her ear.
She had nothing planned for New Year’s. She was completely out of ideas and didn’t expect Louise or Kimer to be available, which would leave her alone. But she could try to invite them to go out.
— Twenty more second and the Shooter will be out of...
Gwenda pulled the trigger, finally.
The bullet hits the last can with force, and she watched it crumple before falling to the ground.
— Shit. — she muttered quietly to herself before holstering her gun.
She had aimed, targeted the damn can. But her thoughts had drifted away, and returning to reality was a bit difficult. Even with the deafening clamor in the stands.
— Very well. — The short, skinny man spoke — The Shooter wins the round and takes the reward!
The crowd roared, and Gwenda gave up on smiling. It was already second nature. The competitors always seemed better, and... well, nothing changed.
The man tossed the fraction to her and held the bag with one hand, looking inside. Gold coins.
She attached the fraction o the opposite side of her gun and headed for the arena’s stable. Twilight seemed calm, like almost every day. This calmness of the horse reminded her of her father and his charisma. He was someone who... Gwenda couldn’t find words to describe him. But she believed that when she thought about her father, she would dig deep and extract all the feelings, everything he had once been. She wanted to know, wanted to remember.
The question still bubbled in her mind: What would dear old dad think of her now?
When she left the Capital at 18, her father had died just moments ago. As if he were nobody. However, Gwenda thought that if he were nobody, he wouldn’t have died; his death wouldn’t have been so important to the former king, the father of the current ruler. Gwenda grunted at that shitty royal family and climbed onto her horse.
She didn’t want to return to the sector, but she had many things to sort out. She needed to figure out what to do with that vial of some kind of... poison, she supposed. Gwenda hadn’t ventured into that strange liquid yet.
Twilight didn’t bother waiting for a command from Gwenda before heading into the street, heading in the right direction. Not toward the sector, which was where he intended to go at least to be able to eat in peace.
The Shooter had left breakfast near the North Elf’s cell as soon as he woke up. She didn’t have her own, as usual, and went upstairs. She was already ready for the arena when she met her boss on the way, her eyes following the words on a parchment scroll.
Gwenda noticed that the letter was open, read. She didn’t comment and just walked out the glass door. She only hoped that Raux had understood and would inform the entire sector that an elf was imprisoned under Gwenda’s care. And no one else. Gwenda prayed that her boss had informed that this was confidential and that no damn information would leave the sector. Whether they knew there was an elf there or not, that was fine, as long as they knew it was a secret.
She made sure she locked the door leading to the elf’s cell with the key before anything else. She didn’t want to admit she was worried about him, about the elf. But she was, and it was this damn worry that scared her. It shouldn’t be like this. She knew that if she lots him, she wouldn’t get the answers. Gwenda had talked to him; he didn’t seem like such an indecent person as everyone described the mystics. But she had seen these indecencies with her own eyes and knew there were no limits.
She didn’t feel obligated to talk to one of them the way she did. Not literally talking, as she intended to ask questions, and that’s exactly what she did the night before. An interrogation. Gwenda knew some techniques to persuade him; her father had taught her when she was younger.
Twilight walked quickly on the road but didn’t trot or gallop. He seemed hungrier than his owner, even though she had fed him as soon as she left him in the stable to participate in the competition.
The fair was crowded when they arrived, people shouting their sales with the best prices and thanking the buyers. Those with cloth bags in their hands, which seemed to fit more and more things each time, walked in all directions, their eyes half-closed to the price signs hanging high.
Gwenda noticed a vendor cutting a pineapple and giving a piece to a little boy. The mother just watched, neutral. The man raised his eyebrows with a amusement and smiled at the child, waiting for a response. The boy smiled and said something that made the vendor let out a hoarse laugh that reached Gwenda. The mother smiled and picked up a pineapple, putting in the bag. She handed three silver coins to the man and took her son’s hand, who disappeared among her fingers.
Gwenda’s throat wavered, and she blinked to shake off the feeling before dismounting Twilight. Her horse snorted fiercely, and she raised an eyebrow at him. Was he irritated? Since when exactly? It couldn’t be hunger.
— What’s wrong with you. — Gwenda demanded even though she knew she wouldn’t get an answer. She placed her rough hand and caressed his neck under the long black mane.
With her eyes scanning around, she reached for Twilight’s chest where the mark was. Gwenda had shaved his hair during this summer, trying to help, so the word was more visible. Her own father had made the mark on Twilight, shaving the animal’s hair, and marking it in the same way she was marked now. It was a word in another language, almost unknow. It took the young woman a while to understand what that scribble meant. A tattoo, that’s what it was.
Gwenda had Twilight’s reins and infiltrated into the fair, looking, and looking. What did she need to buy? She hadn’t really noticed what was in the fridge, but she knew there wasn’t much. Maybe she should wait for Ryxer to do that job, but it would be foolish to expect anything from him. Vannyer probably must b looking at the trees, pondering life and at the same time how he could be so useless. It means, Gwenda didn’t see anything in Ryxer, nothing visible, no personality beyond a guy who has no friends. She wasn’t much different, after all. Maybe they would spend New Years together, like two colleagues.
Her horse seemed more interested in some fruits then she was, so much so that he stretched his neck to see them as they passed by the stalls. Gwenda spotted carrots and pulled Twilight over there. She stopped, but the gorse kept moving forward and almost snapped his teeth on a carrot if Gwenda hadn’t held him back, pushing his neck forcefully back where it came from.
The horse took a step and outsmarted Gwenda. She gasped as she stepped back and Twilight closed his mouth on the damn carrot. Gwenda grunted.
She went to the back of the mount and took out a brown bag, similar to the fraction pouch but larger and worn.
Gwenda tossed some carrots inside and gave three silver coins to the poor vendor who frowned at her horse. The Shooter’s look turned dark as she dropped the coins into the man’s hand. One more for the two carrots that Twilight had taken for the one that had fallen to the ground. Gwenda bent down to pick up the pieces that Twilight had bitten and dropped, apart from the whole carrot. Then she stuffed them inside the bag but held onto the ones she would give to her horse on the way. She seriously thought about eating but decided to wait until she got to the sector.
A skinny woman was juggling lit torches in the air while smiling to herself and mastering it with ease. Gwenda saw people throwing money into the hat on the ground. She would pay to see her burn herself, that’s for sure. But she knew it wouldn’t happen; this woman never burned herself in her little show in the middle of the fair.
The young woman passed by and dropped a coin into the hat. Then she impatiently gave another piece of carrot to Twilight, who took it with his lips before stuffing it into his mouth. Gwend only heard the endless chewing beside her.
There were Knights at the fair. And they were all monitoring every move of the buyers. It wasn’t expected that the guards would be in their respective stalls, since there were those king’s men doing that job for them.
A lot of theft had already happened at this fair. And no one settled down until the guards appeared, one in each stall. It didn’t take long for the vendors to hire the Watchman to take care of the stall and go after the thief if they stole.
Gwenda never stole again.
It was true that she could afford the fruits. But she needed to train, and the fair was a great place, one where she could do it without anyone noticing. If she stole from someone on the street, she would be in more trouble than she had been once. It had always been like this: grab, here, put it over there, study the fruit, pass it form one hand to other, and with just a diversion of eyes, flip it into the bag at least one fruit. Then say she gave up and venture into another stall.
She stopped doing it because of the guards, who were always watching those who put their hands on the merchandise. Eyes, both dark and light, were moving over every hand in that tent. So Gwenda started paying and gave up learning to steal in a amore than discreet way.
She gave the other piece to Twilight and picked up some apples. She paid the vendor and nodded at him as she left and went to another stall. As much as she liked strawberries, she didn’t buy any. Besides being expensive, they didn’t even seem like real strawberries; they didn’t have the taste they should have.
In the end, she had bananas, apples, carrots, lettuce, crispy bread — which she found at a stall further down the fair — tomatoes, and a huge mango. The mango wasn’t for her, and certainly not for Ryxer. IF Vannyer wanted something else she hadn’t bought, he should come and get it himself. Gwenda would still stop by a bakery to buy another type of bread and maybe a turnover for herself, which she would only devour when sitting on her bed in the dormitory, bathed and relaxing while she could. Sunday didn’t last forever.
— Gwen? — Someone called her up ahead.
She stiffened her body and made her expression threatening before averting her eyes from a stall and stumbling into Trytan.
He thanked the vender and left the coins with him. Gwenda noticed Trytan’s gloves that reached halfway up his arm, fingers exposed.
— I didn’t expect o find you here with Twilight. Came from the arena, I imagine. — He approached her.
— Something like that — She replied and dodged past him to continue ahead.
But Trytan started walking beside her.
— I watched you yesterday. Seems like you’re still the same. And, by the way — Gwenda tensed up. — What did you do with that elf?
Shit.
— It’s none of your business — She snapped — It’s confidential.
— I know, just thought you might satisfy my curiosity.
Gwenda grunted.
— What’s gotten into you today, Gwen? — Trytan turned his head to look at her.
— Nothing. Just tired — She didn’t allow herself to sigh.
Out of the corner of her eye, Gwenda notices him drawing close.
— I can imagine.
Gwenda exhaled. She normally didn’t act this way with Trytan. With him everything was cool and... no stress. But he acted as if Gwenda were fleeting, so why couldn’t she act the same?
— Do you want to meet up with me later? I have a slot at...
— I can’t.
— But today is Sunday — He insisted.
— I’ll be busy. And — She continues before he could ask questions — I wanted to know if you’ll be free on New Year’s.
Trytan seemed to light up with anticipation.
— I’ve got nothing. In fact, Plox and some friends invited themselves to spend New Year’s at my place.
— Plox? Is that a woman or a man?
— Woman. She works with me.
— Ah. — murmured Gwenda — I heard you’ve been having fun at clubs. How are the drinks?
— If you are asking if they’re better than yours... some are.
Gwenda smiled. It had been a while since she had been to that kind of party, but she didn’t mind. Maybe it would be just a day to see how the drinks were made and then improve them.
— But it’s about the way you prepare them
— Should I hire you to work at my motel.
Trytan pretended to think.
— It would be wonderful. — Trytan glanced at Gwenda, leaving her speechless. His eyes swept over hers and lingered on her lips. Th Shooter restrained the urge to run her tongue over her lips and avert her gaze.
— What are you doing here at the fair? — She finally asked, but then shook her head. Trytan always came before lunch at the fair. Gwenda did too sometimes, but today she decided to go to arena earlier and take advantage.
— I ended up having some earlier commitments,
— I have a feeling I don’t want to know what it’s about. — Gwenda said.
Trytan’s long, blond hair swayed as he shook his head.
— It’s not...
— I don’t need to know. — Gwenda looked at him and put an arm in front of him, stopping Trytan form walking further. To make him stand still and give up accompanying her.
Because she didn’t want to know
He pushed her arm down and moved back beside her.
— I just wanted to talk — Trytan almost growled through his teeth.
— Is that so?
— I wasn’t with anyone if that’s what you want to know.
— Your life doesn’t interest me. Do whatever you want.
He seemed hurt when he spoke:
— What’s your problem today, Gwen?
— You. — He didn’t even flinch — You are my problem.
— I don’t see why.
— Oh, you don’t see?
She stopped walking and brought her face close to Trytan’s, but just barely. They stared at each other.
Trytan could go around ad do whatever he pleased, that shouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t. After all, they were both just sleeping, nothing more.
The Shooter felt the caress of Trytan’s thumb n her hand and looked down. Their hands were together. She hadn’t noticed when he had entwined his fingers with hers, but it probably happened when she tried to stop him from continuing alongside her. She had to admit that holding his hand calmed her heart. Seeing Trytan’s fingers gripping hers opened Gwenda’s chest.
The Shooter blinked.
The presence of Twilight was comforting at her back, and she took a step back without daring to take her hand off Trytan’s. Gwenda returned the caress, and she could swear he swallowed hard.
— Do you really have commitments today?
— Yes. — She answered immediately, still looking at their joined hands — On New Year’s, Trytan. — Then she disentangled her hand from his and leaned up on her tiptoes.
Gwenda planted a kiss on his lips and then looked into his blue eyes in an encouraging way.
— Don’t bother me until then. — She murmured softly against his lips and planted her feet firmly on the ground again.
Gwenda ran her hand under her horse’s neck and directed him down the path. She made sure the purchase was hanging at the back of Twilight, glancing over at Trytan who had just started walking in the opposite direction.
She let out a trembling sigh.
----------------------------------------
Gwenda felt sick when everyone recoiled upon seeing her enter the bakery with a gun on her body. Discomfort, she always had that when people were practically afraid of her. Because they didn’t need to be, she wasn’t a demon or anything like that.
The Shooter wondered how many of these people who saw her on the street had witnessed her suffering to earn. The sectors, all of them, had witnessed. They were always ere, Gwenda was the only one who had refused to go for the past two years. She had a good reason for that, but not anymore. And now that they knew her, what exactly could happen if they didn’t see her at the Labeling next year?
There were months left, and yet she was breaking out in a cold sweat just thinking about that day. They had hit just below the collarbone; she would need to leave it well exposed so she wouldn’t take another one in a more visible place. No even hell would hold Gwenda back if she were marked again. She wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to hold her back while she tore apart everything she once fought no to be or else kneel.
— Eat. — Gwenda reached through the bars and tossed the huge mango to the elf.
He took it with both hands and turned it over in all directions, studying. He was sitting on the mattress with one leg thrown to the side. His back against the wall.
— It’s the best I could find. — She said.
— Perfect. — He turned to her, the elf’s eyes shining like... — I suppose I won’t have a knife.
— Don’t fuck with me. — She said with a smile almost forming and turned around.
— Thank you. — The elf sang, ad Gwenda closed the door, locking it.
Two agents passed by her and didn’t even look in her direction.
When she arrived at the sector, she was surprised to see them there. She had gotten so used to Sunday breaks that she forgot they were working today.
Darcy didn’t even greet the agent when she returned. Gwenda left the horse in the stable for the stableman — as the agents called him — and entered the sector. Eyes turned to her, but none were Raux’s. And then she wondered which of these pairs of eyes had been watching her in the arena today. Probably those who started working in the afternoon.
Gwenda simply didn’t wait for a hello from her boss, who was buried in papers, and went downstairs to deliver lunch to the elf.
Now she was following the path, and Ryxer was at the dormitory table, flipping through clipboards and looking for something. She placed the bag aside, letting the table shale with the weight of the groceries. Gwenda opened it and grabbed her turnover before heading to the mattress on the other side.
She sat down with a sigh, still thinking that had a lot to do today. When she took her first bite, she noticed Ryxer rummaging through her bag. The way he searched for something showed he was hungry. Gwenda frowned; she bet he had already eaten something. But apparently, he hadn’t even had breakfast. The coffee filter was clean near the water barrel and there were no dishes in the sink to be washed.
Vannyer grabbed an apple, wiping it on his shirt as he pulled out a bread roll from inside. He bit into the apple and added a cheese bread she also bought at the bakery. Usually, there were no cheese breads on Sundays, but she got lucky and took advantage, buying several.
She leaned her head against the wall and relaxed. Gwenda only realized she was tires now, when she managed to sit and feel that leg pain spreading when she sat down. It’s as if the body knew it was about to rest now and needed to regain strength. And knew it.
Ryxer held the apple in his mouth and grabbed the papers before going to his mattress an sitting down. He put the information in front of him and took a bite of the apple. He frowned and continued as before, looking for answers. At least that’s what Gwenda thought he was going. And if it wasn’t about this wall case... screw it, she could find the answers herself. If Vannyer wanted to do something other than what Raux ordered, then fine by Gwenda.
— Do you know anything about the satyr’s body? — Gwenda broke the silence.
Ryxer looked up at her almost immediately, perhaps remembering that he wasn’t alone. They stared at each other.
— What about his body? — Vannyer leaned back against the wall and took a big bite of the apple.
— I wanted to know if they buried him or threw him into the woods. I don’t think they buried him, but... it’s an option.
— Why are you suddenly interested in whether they bury the body of a mystic or not?
He tilted his head.
Beings are beings.
Gwenda looked away.
— For nothing, Vannyer. Just curious. — And she bit into her food again, intending to end the conversation.
— Did you get any News from sector 9 about what they found when studying the body?
— If they got anything, — She shook her head — I wasn’t informed. Maybe Darcy should know, she’s always with her eyes on some letter that could have gone through sector 9’s better directly. Anyway, when Darcy finds out, she’ll tell me.
— I wouldn’t be so sure about that. — Gwenda turned just as he took the last bite of the apple and tossed the rest in the trash under the table. Hitting it without even trying.
— What do you mean?
Vannyer shrugged.
— Raux is more capable of not telling you about it than you think. I know that...
— If Darcy wants this case to end quickly, she has an obligation to tell me everything involved. Otherwise, being here with you is a waste of time.
Gwenda stopped and forgot what she was about to say. If Darcy didn’t tell her something about this case, it would be harder to unravel. Nd since she wanted it to be quick enough to put Gwenda and Vannyer together in that same place so they could hurry, the Shooter was pretty sure her boss would tell her everything she needed to know. But if Raux herself was hiding evidence... and the whole story of quickly uncovering answers was just talk thrown away... then she and Ryxer didn’t need to be there together.
Gwenda snorted and continued to eat, angrily. Everyone seemed guilty in this shit. Maybe it’s a plan to bring Ryxer closer to Gwenda. No, it would be foolishness. Or maybe it was a bigger plan to make Gwenda realize that Ryxer was the culprit.
She ignored Vannyer’s gaze on her and made a mental note to confront her boss for answers. Gwenda might be overthinking these assumptions, but she wouldn’t hesitate to question her boss.
— Have you practiced anything? — Gwenda asked before looking away at the trash.
Ryxer followed as he ate his cheese bread.
— A sport or another, all the same.
Gwenda let out a weak laugh.
— Too easy or...?
— Too easy. — He agreed before looking at the clipboard in front of him.
Finally, she finished the turnover and crumpled the bag, forming a ball. Even though she was far away, Gwenda aimed at the trash and threw. The bag hit and fell to the ground. Ryxer looked at Gwenda’s failed attempt and a smile slowly spread across his face.
— Do you ever practice anything? — He asked, leaning back against the wall.
She shrugged.
— I never learned the rules of any sport, just knew how to handle myself, how to get by, and how to hit what needed to be hit. — Like most people did. Observing wasn’t exclusive to Gwenda.
Vannyer laughed.
— I see.
— Have you ever won competitions? — Gwenda asked again.
— Yes, many. Before becoming a Carvlinea, I participated in competitions at the Verssand arena. — His eyes met hers — Do you know it?
She nodded.
— I used to go there when I was little. — Me and my father.
— What did you do there? It was awful.
— What else do you do in an arena if not to compete, Vannyer?
— I know, Matchstone. — A Half-smile appeared on his face. — But the games were terrible.
— Well... than be thankful I never saw you play.
— No, I was one of the good ones. — Gwenda raised an eyebrow — I played until I was twenty-one, the I quit it. You couldn’t have not seen me play.
— What was the name of your team?
Ryxer blinked.
— I thought you knew.
— I lived in the Capital until I was eighteen, then I had to leave to finish me studies. I never heard much about some of the last players who took the places of the masters.
He nodded, understanding; Then he grimaced because Gwenda had referred to the previous players as masters.
— Well, — He continued — I was part of the Extess.
Gwenda just stared at him. She knew that team like the back of her hand. But she had never heard of a Ryxer Vannyer. When she became a rebellious teenager, she stopped going to those games. It was crap anyway. But Kimer still liked it, and Gwenda started going with her when she was 16.
— How old are you? — She asked.
— Twenty-eight. — He replied.
Gwenda clenched her fists. Great. She was 16 when she started going back to see the games with Kimer in Verssand. Ryxer was 19 then. He could have been a professional player if he was as good as he claimed...
— You guys had a stage name, right?
Vannyer nodded.
— D.J Djenevieve was part of that team. — She continued.
Ryxer blinked.
— Yes. — His voice came out lower.
— And Johan Yak too.
Her colleague tilted his head, suspicious. Then he let out a nervous laugh.
— How many of us were you buddies with, Matchstone?
How many of us
— All of you, Vannyer. I knew all just by sight, but I slept with only one.
— How old were you again?
— Sixteen.
Ryxer blinked again.
— I didn’t know you — He calmly said — And Johan Yak never mentioned a girl.
Gwenda took a deep breath.
— I asked him to keep it just between us. — She said.
— Alright. — He said slowly — Djenevieve was my uncle, I just took his place and out the first two letters to differentiate one name from the other.
— You could have used Junior.
He laughed.
— Don’t hassle me. They guys always told me that.
She smiled slightly.
Her father always rooted for Djenevieve. He was always there when the player scored a point followed by more. He was the best Gwenda had ever seen when she was little. But over the time, many died, and other trained people took their place. Until only rookies barely 20 years old were playing in place of the old players. Ryxer Vannyer was one of them, taking his uncle’s place.
It was around the same time that she found Johan Yak enjoying drinks at the bar with some friends. She sat on the other side without caring about the looks, but when she realized that he hadn’t even flinched, Gwenda shifted her eyes to his, and Átila Killian’s smile undid her.
But it didn’t last. None of this was supposed to have started, really. Only shit happened afterwards. They spent two years just flirting and bringing pleasure to each other, and the feeling of love had begun to sprout in her chest. In both. She never wanted to admit that she felt something for him until the day of the Labeling. In the same month she turned ‘8 and her father died. Killian could have died too. She didn’t know if she was happy that he escaped or if she wanted him dead for the lie and the destruction, he caused Gwenda.
Gwenda closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, a sigh caught in her chest.
— Johan Yak had problems.
— I know. — She finished — I swore it was you, actually. You’re like him in some... aspects.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
— We were all alike, but not to the point of being confused.
Yes, she knew. After three years working with Ryxer, she knew it wasn’t Átila. At first it was a disaster, she almost wanted to tear his head off, but after observing his feature closely... he was just random guy. But she never spoke to Vannyer again.
The doubt about it had come back into her head at the beginning of the conversation about being a player. Gods, how tense she had become. However, now everything was understood.
— I’m sorry — He murmured.
— He didn’t die, Vannyer.
Ryxer shrugged.
— I don’t think he had anywhere to go, and if he tried to escape from Carsany, he must have died.
— Do you want him to be dead that much?
— I think he deserved it.
Gwenda’s muscles collapsed, holding back the wave of anger that threatened to give her the strength to get up and shoot Vannyer in the eyes. A bullet in the middle of his eyes wouldn’t be so bad.
— If you were Darcy’s favorite, you would know that Átila Killian managed to cross the Carsany wall.
Gwenda’s gaze turned dark over Ryxer, as if he were just a stupid man. But he remained completely still.
— What? — He asked quietly — When did this happen? How come nobody in Carsany talked about it?
— Because he made sure this story didn’t spread. — She frowned, and anger seemed to consume every bone in her.
She was irritated by the fact that Darcy had given an agent who knew nothing, who needed Gwenda to give the details. She didn’t deserve such humiliation.
Gwenda tried to give support:
— Come on, Vannyer, think a little harder. — The words came out stumbling — Who was on the wall to help him?
— I don’t know.
— Think, Vannyer. — She pushed again.
— Matchstone. I don’t know.
— Who the hell could help Johan Yak escape through the wall?
Gods, he was slower than Gwenda had thought.
— I don’t fucking know.
— You knew Johan better than I did. Think. — Gwenda’s tone must have struck a chord with Vannyer because he suddenly stopped, and nothing came out of his mouth as his expression shifted to something more understanding.
Ryxer’s gaze lingered on her, and Gwenda didn’t flinch when she realized her colleague had become annoyed.
— Your damn boyfriend had to be dead, and you know it as well as I do. And the person who helped him escape knew that, was within every law, knew all the details. There’s no...
— Speak, Vannyer. — Gwenda growled — Speak who helped Átila Kilian escape from Carsany.
Ryxer refused to open his mouth, only swallowed heard and looked away, towards nothing. His forehead was still furrowed. Irritated, Gwenda let him be irritated and confused. But if not now... when would he know that his own father didn’t support the treatment with people like Killian?
Gwenda dared to speak.
— Kilorn Vannyer was friend of Yago Matchstone. — Ryxer stared at Gwenda as she uttered what she needed to say — Átila Killian was like a son to soldier Vannyer. How you didn’t notice that. — Gwenda shook her head — I have no idea. But know this, Ryxer Vannyer: Átila Killian always spoke highly of you, supported you even when you aren’t aware. — Every memory pierced her chest like a lance coming directly from the past that haunted her day and night. — If he deserved anything, it was to live in peace knowing he could count on all of us. But we know no one accepted, and that was the main reason for not revealing it. Including you, champion, didn’t accept who he really was. What would your father say about this? About disregarding Killian, his other son? I’m almost sure he would be disappointed to have such a small-minded offspring.
— My father would never do such a thing. Killian was always a bastard, always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Keep accusing my father, Matchstone, and every drop of your shitty reputation will fall.
Gwenda didn’t smile. By reputation, Vannyer meant with wealth and life. He could very well start spreading rumors, destroying her career in the arena, and ultimately shutting down her bar. After all, he now knew that Gwenda was involved with an outlaw, and she was protecting him. Killian fled, and Vannyer now knew that, from the words of someone who defended him. D.J Djenevieve was still beloved by the people. But did they still remember him?
She wouldn’t let Ryxer distort the facts. It was Killian they were talking about.
— Kilorn Vannyer helped Johan Yak escape, helped damn Killian escape from Carsany. Because your father knew about Átila, knew everything. Ryxer, — Gwenda’s voice began to falter — your father knew everything Átila was involved in. You need to believe and understand, you need to help me, Ryxer. My father was involved in this. And he died — Gwenda swallowed hard as she began to tremble — because of this. Because of this infernal secret the three of them kept. To protect Killian. I need to know the reason. If he weren’t alive, my father’s death would have been in vain.
— I have nothing to do with this. — He said simply.
Gwenda reached for her gun and Vannyer reached for his. She squeezed so hard her nerves hurt. And Ryxer was about to draw his gun and point it at the Shooter.
Ryxer Vannyer doesn’t think. If the explosion on the wall, which killed his father, had something to do with Átila Killian’s case... if by chance the goal was to kill Kilorn Vannyer and the damn human hired the fairies to break the tracks completely, to blame the mystics.
Gwenda tightened the barrel of the gun even harder.
No. There would be no blood here. Not today.
She withdrew her hand and curled up her legs, arms hugging her own body. Gwenda trembled and felt her face burning with anger. She wanted to scream.
— Killian doesn’t deserve any of what you’re saying — she said, the memories she thought had gone long ago now returning. She buried her face between her knees.
Átila Killian. How many times had she suspected? How many times had she refused to go out with him because she was afraid? But still, that love that involved every flame of the two was there, every beat of her heart was synchronized with his. Every drop of sweat was for him.
And yet he had lied. Yet Killian hadn’t said anything, just hidden the most important thing. Or else, why hadn’t Yago Matchstone said anything? How were Kilorn Vannyer and Gwenda’s father intertwined?
This was one of those endless cases, without an answer. She tried, for the three damn years she had returned to the Capital, to think about it. But nothing fit, nothing came to her.
Perhaps Raux had put Vannyer and her to work together for some reason. After all, both fathers were involved with Átila. And, putting the pieces together, with the wall.
Ryxer, without any compassion, said:
— Who are you, Gwenda. Killian and you are the same, aren’t you?
She raised her head to him and stared. She felt like she would explode sooner or later; He still had his hand on the gun, as if he dared not remove. As if he had already figured everything out.
Then Gwenda clenched her jaw until it hurts.
Quick as a damn god’s lighting bolt, she reached for her hip and drew her gun, aiming directly at Ryxer’s head.
He barely had time o to the same, but still did with his body tense. Gwenda moved a little and shot.
Vannyer groaned in pain, and his gun flew to the side. He shook his hand, as if that could relieve the pain.
— Killian and you are the same.
Gwenda got up still with the gun pointed with not an inch deviated. She walked towards him with a look of pure terror. Gwenda was furious, and she was trying to contain herself from not putting the bullet in Vannyer’s eyes, who now seemed to be thinking of a way to turn the tables.
— As much as it seems fun, Ryxer Vannyer — She began with a hoarse voice — I would never be like Killian. I’m a human, you bastard. I’m one of you, a figure with nothing who just lives and dies and so on. Átila Killian is a human, far from being a mystic. You treat them like that because of the laws, because of the wrong influence. As long as you think for others, Ryxer, you won’t be a real man. So start thinking for yourself. And when the time comes that you have some idea about life, you can come talk to me about the case. Until then, remain as quiet as you always have. Maybe you should visit your girlfriend’s grave, and wonder why she killed herself, instead of drawing conclusions about something you clearly don’t understand. At least solver her case, this one case, Vannyer.
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
Gwenda knew from the start that he was going to visit her grave even before Darcy assigned them to the same case. She had committed suicide, but the Shooter didn’t know why.
Her hands trembled as she holstered the gun before heading towards the exit.
She ignored her boss at the door with the now inert gun by her side. Ignored the two agents tight behind, tense. They made way for her to pass, and she left the room with the heavy weight of that space that only had bad energy.
She clenched her jaw and stomped up the stairs.
----------------------------------------
Gwenda was still slumped in the chair round the table, her hand resting on her forehead, covering her tired face,
Unfortunately, she attended Rubben’s Sunday games. It was expected that he would be there, but not that he would sit at the same table as her. After all, Gwenda wasn’t even playing, she didn’t know how to play. She was just accompanying Kimer, who cheered every time she was one step ahead of her friends. She never lost money to anyone.
— I’m going to crush you cowards! — She exclaimed amidst laughter at the beginning of the game. Her friends just laughed.
— Dream on! — One of them retorted.
Gwenda only observed at first, then she grew so tired that she simply tuned out the world around her.
The argument with Vannyer went from bad to worse. He knew nothing, it was evident on his face. And Gwenda had formed an avalanche for him to be buried under. Everything he once believed — in his father — was just another distraction, just another lie. She could see that thought in Ryxer’s expression.
She never thought she’d need to explain this to anyone someday. About Átila Killian, about the case involving him. The two of them fled. Gwenda and Átila fled, there were no denying that.
Louise was at another table, having as much fun as Gwenda. From what she saw, her friend was intact. There was no sign of mistreatment from the king for not getting Gwenda to sign the paper visible on her body. But if she even saw a bruise on her, she would have no reason to sit still and do nothing.
Signing the king’s paper and becoming his. That was the Shooter. But if that was the reason the king wanted Gwenda to be his, she was more than willing to leave the arena and not be recognized by anyone anymore. If Vannyer wanted to destroy her reputation, her life in that arena, fine, as long as it got her out of the cold hands of the king, which he practically already had.
She felt Kimer slump into the chair with a sigh and looked at her with swollen eyes. She was already with her hands clasped behind her head, smiling like a predator to her friends. Kimer licked her teeth and stroked her right canine, she always did that.
— You guys’ suck. — She said.
— Yeah, — One agreed — Toy ou, we’ll always be suckers.
Her friend’s hoarse laugh broke the tension in Gwenda’s body, and she stretched her legs and fingers as far she could.
— Maybe you guys should train more — Kimer suggested.
— Only if it’s with the devil — Another said — Only he can beat you. I feel like you cheat, it’s the only explanation.
— Want to take another test?
— No. — Another said with more pressure and got up with a smile on his face — we’re out of here, see you tomorrow.
Kimer shrugged.
— Up to you guys.
They grabbed their coats, ready to leave in the night that came so quickly that Gwenda hadn’t even noticed the windows were already impossible to see through.
— See you later, Gwen. — The long-haired one said, and the other quickly followed suit.
— See you later.
— Until next time, Gwen.
The last one just nodded.
— Bye, guys. — Gwenda replied.
The two watched the backs of their friends as they headed for the exit. The man at the table who took care of everything was stashing the money Kimer had earned to exchange it later for coins.
A table nearby cheered in excitement, and Gwenda turned around. One table over, Louise was clapping her hands and rolling the dice. She was focused, with her mouth open, about to shout, and her eyes wide.
Gwenda looked away and searched the room for Rubben. When a commotion reached her ears, she didn’t need to turn around to know it was her friend on the other side, probably almost jumping on the table with happiness.
An intense and penetrating figure appeared in her vision among the players at the table — what they called ‘table’s gamers’. He was coming towards her with his eyes completely fixed on hers, the arrogant smile not showing his white teeth as he always had.
Kimer nudged her.
— And then? What did you think?
— If I had looked, I would say you cheated.
Her friend grumbled.
— Some support that is.
Gwenda smirked mockingly at her and grew serious again as she turned back to Rubben, who was getting closer. Two guards appeared behind him, and Gwenda’s body just wanted to get up and run away, but she forced herself to stay as she was. She wouldn’t give in this time; she wouldn’t be weak.
— You’re completely screwed, Gwen. — Kimer murmured quietly with a snicker.
— What great support. — Gwenda repeated.
Kimer raised an eyebrow.
— Hey, I’m on your side. — She replied.
The two locked eyes, and Kimer let Gwenda see the message in her bright, dark eyes.
Gwenda closed her eyes as she felt the man standing next to the table.
— I hope you’re enjoying yourself.
That voice... deadly like the claws of a feline. So hoarse it left her breathless. She had to force herself to remember he was a monster, one of the rotten ones.
— I’d be better off. — Gwenda replied. His eyes gleamed, as if he thought the same of her voice.
They stared at each other. Rubben still with the arrogant smile and Gwenda with clenched jaw. Then he turned to Kimer, and the Shooter’s blood ran cold.
— I see your friend knows what she’s doing.
Kimer opened her mouth to retort something she might regret.
— Yes. — Gwenda intervened and refused to look at her friend — She’s very good. She learned from my father.
— Oh, of course. — He chuckled — Yago Matchstone taught your friend instead of teaching his own daughter. How could I forget.
Gwenda felt her fingers tingling to punch his handsome face.
— You should know I don’t waste my time with that kind of thing.
— Of course. The Shooter just shoots animals to make money. With Yago Matchstone having taught her that. Oh, the relationship between father and daughter. — Rubben closed hi eyes and seemed to think about it. — I find it wonderful. — He purred at last.
Gwenda couldn’t disagree; The relationship he was referring to was the father teaching Gwenda, at a very young age, to hold a firearm and kill things without feeling bad. It was the relationship of one killer to another.
Assassin.
The word began to echo in her head, in every corner of her mind.
Assassin assassin assassin.
She shook her head and tried to think of something else.
— Nice to see you here, Gwen It means we still have a chance with each other.
— It means, Rubben — Gwenda stood up, and Kimer was already on her feet with the money in her hand. —That I’m out of all your schemes and came to have fun with my friend. None of this has anything to do with you.
The Shooter was trembling as she passed him. Gods, where did she get that courage from? Gwenda just knew that needed to get out of there.
A strong hand closed around her wrist, and she stopped as a guard stepped in front of her. She grimaced at the well-dressed man before turning back to face Rubben, locking eyes with him. He was a head taller than her, but that was beside the point. What mattered most were his eyes, the color of blue sapphires that had haunted her dreams for nights.
— Dear Gwenda. — He murmured softly — You can deny it, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re made to work for me.
She furrowed her brow.
— You’re a piece of shit. — Gwenda retorted, wrenching her wrist free and pushing against his chest. Rubben barely flinched.
The guards behind her shifted, but their boss gestured for them not do dare touch her. Gwenda smirked at the situation. They couldn’t touch her. Perhaps because Rubben was an obsessive bastard, or maybe because the contract with Darcy was still intact, and he didn’t want to face the consequences. Not even Rubben could force her into anything, but persuading her wasn’t in the contract, and Gwenda admitted: Rubben was a master of persuasion.
— Very well. Touch me again, and we’ll see if Raux will let it slide again.
He didn’t even flinch at the threat, just looked at her as if she were a corpse. A strand of black hair fell across his face while the rest was swept back.
— I still have my ways, Gwen.
— Oh, I bet you do — The smile never left her lips.
Their breaths mingled.
— You know I’m one of the best detectives in the Capital. — Rubben continued, unabashed, as he took Gwenda’s hand and brought it to his lips — And I know everything within my reach — He planted a lazy kiss on her hand — Your life, despite it not being tied to me anymore, doesn’t stop me from knowing every step you take.
Gwenda yanked her hand away and threatened to step back. It was his turn to smile.
— Perhaps your dear lover can tell me if you’re still the same. Or perhaps... — He pretended to ponder — He’s too busy doing something else to be able to speak.
Gwenda felt the blood drain from her face.
— You wouldn’t dare...
— Yes, Gwen. I would do anything.
Gwenda didn’t think before lunging forward, landing a right hook squarely in Rubben’s stomach. The guards shifted behind her once more. But their chief stopped them from doing whatever they had planned to do.
The detective didn’t even flinch, just clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils in anger.
— You won’t lay a finger on him — Gwenda threatened quietly.
Rubben just laughed.
— If you do, I’ll put a bullet through a place you won’t enjoy and make it come out of your mouth.
She felt the guards tense up.
— You’re claiming Raux’s mannerisms for yourself, and I’m loving it.
Rubben closed his hand gently around Gwenda’s wrist. She quickly pulled her hand away from his warm touch and took a step back.
She glanced at Louise behind him. She had a dagger in her hand, ready to tear apart in case something happened that Gwenda couldn’t escape from.
Kimer wrapped her arms around Gwenda’s waist and pushed her away. Louise discreetly tucked the blade back into her jacket and followed them. Her face was stern, completely different from what Gwenda normally saw in her.
Rubben’s raspy, faltering laugh was one of the last things she heard.
— See you around, Gwen — He murmured.
The Shooter touched the gun on her hip. Both to calm herself and to make sure it was still there; She let out a trembling sigh of relief when she knew it was still with her, that Rubben hadn’t taken it.
The last encounter with him hadn’t been very good, and she had sworn never to carry the gun again. But what if she needed it? So she brought it.
Rubben had taken her gun in the middle of a verbal argument worse than this one and pointed it at her head, while holding Gwenda’ neck in his other hand o keep her in place. She still remembered his expression. Pure suffering, pain, anger... all of her, for Gwenda.
I almost killed you.
That’s what he said when he realized what he done. And then he sent her away, so he could be alone. Gwenda almost certain Rubben had regretted that last decision.
This life she led when she fled became such a deep pit.
She was sold. Sold. How the ell did it come to this? She was paid, with money. She was bought. Why, first and foremost, did she accept the contract with Rubben?
Gwenda wanted to beat herself up three years ago for accepting this foolish in bargain. Beat herself until she bled, teach herself a simple lesson she should have learned from her father. She knew she had no other option, no way to stay alive if she hadn’t accepted. But now she would have preferred to die.
The Gwenda of today would never accept something like this, something she didn’t know. She should have been like that since she was a child. But Gwenda was stupid enough to think Rubben would save her.
He saved her, but not in the way she thought he would.
----------------------------------------
— What a shit, Gwen. I thought you’d at least have a bit more intelligence if you showed up there. — Louise commented after many blocks away from that place.
— I did. — Gwenda replied as she twirled Louise’s dagger between her fingers to calm herself. — I didn’t dress as Rubben liked.
— Dress?! — Louise seemed irritated. Kimer just rubbed her face — You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, do you?
— It was you who invited me to go, Louise — Gwenda pointed the blade at her friend, accusing her.
Louise placed her open hand on her chest and snatched the dagger from her friend’s hand. She pushed Gwenda back, receiving a warning grunt from the Shooter.
— Exactly, I invited you. I f I want you dead, I would have killed you. I’ve never lacked opportunities.
Because Gwenda put herself at risk by doing that with Rubben. Speaking that way already put her at risk. But he wouldn’t come out unscathed if Gwenda told Darcy. However, she already expected the sermon that she shouldn’t have even stepped inside.
That’s the fact that had been ingrained in her head: Don’t listen to Louise.
— Do you work for Rubben? — Gwenda asked and didn’t let Louise explode again before finishing: — You yourself said Rubben wanted my presence at the games, and there I was. He wanted my presence for what, Lou? To persuade me? To corner me?
— I don’t work for Rubben, you idiot. I work for the king. I work with the fucking Rubben.
She already knew.
— But you could be working for him too. One ladder leads to another.
— I hate being friend with Carvlinea. Always suspecting everything, aren’t you?
— That hits me too. — Kimer said, pointing an accusing finger at Louise.
— It was supposed to hit you too. — She admitted.
Gwenda sighed.
— Alright, forget about it, okay? I have more things to do now.
— Where are you going? — Louise asked. — I think you need an escort, Gwenda. You’ve been impossible these days.
She almost recoiled.
— It’s none of your business what I do or don’t do, Lou. — Gwenda felt hurt — Today is Sunday, my damn day off, I just wanted to rest. If you can leave me alone for the rest of the night, I’d be very grateful.
Louise scowled at her, but quickly showed remorse.
The fact was that her father had become obsessed with Gwen’s safety during those times. Until he met Killian and, strangely, that distrust with his daughter disappeared. When her father died in Átila’s place, that’s when she knew he wasn’t just the guy dating his daughter. They knew each other before, it was obvious. Her father already knew him, and to go in his place to the gallows in that way, maybe he considered him family. The last look her father gave to Gwenda was only love and pride.
— Gwen, we’re just trying to help — Kimer commented.
— I don’t need help. — Gwenda looked into both of their eyes. — I need answers. If you have them, please tell me. Until another day.
Then she turned around and let the night swallow her.
She wouldn’t ask for help in her case, in her personal life. Or even ask for something to not feel lonely anymore.
There was only one person who could dispel this feeling of loneliness now, at this exact moment. And Gwenda was trembling to know that Rubben knew him. Fear, long and icy, would stay with her for a long time, wandering through every bone.
----------------------------------------
Gwenda didn’t care. She was sitting on Trytan’s doorstep. If he was there, she didn’t care either, she just sat and waited. A pizza delivery guy came along the way, and Gwenda offered him more money than was charged, just so he would deliver it to her.
She had already eaten more than three slices and still wasn’t full, but she wanted to stop eating. Something deep in her mind told her that eating would do her good would take away the pain that corrupted her almost every day. So she ate.
She even lay down on the ground and looked up at the starry sky with the pizza open beside her. She knew it might be a waste of time. Rubben wouldn’t be stupid enough to go after Trytan today, of all days. Gwenda felt useless, that’s what she thought.
If only he were home, he would have come out to see what the delay with the pizza was. Or she would have heard some noise if he wasn’t in the back. It was a waste of time.
Gwenda felt dizzy when she got up again and sat down with a backache. She needed to take a shower because, honestly, she felt completely filthy, exhausted. She rubbed her face and then her neck.
Alright. She was alone, nothing bothering her, pizza by her side... she could let her mind dwell in the details. The details of Átila Killian. She still missed the warmth of his skin against hers, his soft grazing her neck at a specific point. Her stomach churned, and she shrunk, burying her face in her hands.
Átila Killian, Kilorn Vannyer, and her father, Yagi Matchstone. They were all part of the same deal, that was a fact. When Gwenda returned to the Capital, it didn’t take long for her to become aware of Killian’s case. Rubben somehow knew about her past in the first few days of her working for him. And it didn’t take long to know that spent years thinking he was dead, that her father’s death had been in vain... that Killian had been stupid to go straight into the clutches when he could have gone around. But in the end, he was alive, but she didn’t know if he was well.
Kilorn Vannyer died in the wall explosion, a man who helped Killian escape, maybe he could be connected to this past. But she didn’t know where the fairies fit in. If it wasn’t them, what the hell were they doing there?
And the bomb in the sector. That satyr appeared in the story totally randomly. How the hell was a satyr in Carsany without any damn Carvlinea knowing? That showed how good they were at their jobs. Nothing.
The two explosion cases might be the same, or they might be different; Gwenda hadn’t been able to figure it out yet. She didn’t even know what kind of bomb was used in the sector to cause that destruction. And she didn’t know why the damn fairies were involved, not entirely. It wasn’t her case, but if it were interconnected, Gwenda would automatically be involved.
It was a question that would never end. The poison was still there in the dormitory, hidden, intact. Not even Ryxer knew where she had kept it.
Gwenda was leaning against the door when someone opened it quickly, as if angry. She widened her eyes and stepped back, hands in front of her and ready to protect her head in case she was attacked. But it was just Trytan, looking at her with his jaw dropped. His eyes glanced at the pizza beside her, and a gleam passed through them that Gwenda couldn’t decipher.
She didn’t hide the relief that washed over her face at seeing Trytan still intact.
— Did you eat more than half of the pizza I ordered all by yourself? — He asked first.
Gwenda turned to the food and closed the box before shrugging briefly.
— Maybe?
Trytan blinked.
— How long have you been here?
— Um, about... I think... — Gwenda furrowed her brow — I’m not sure.
— You’re not sure? — The man with long hair standing in front of her looked at her with wide-open eyes. Gwenda smiled awkwardly — What’s the reason for being here at night? Do you know you could be mugged? — Trytan looked around.
— Of course, everyone would mug a delinquent eating pizza in front of other people’s houses. — Gwenda replied, getting up with difficulty, suddenly feeling full. She placed her hand on her abdomen and grimaced. — I came to make sure you were okay.
— Why? — He asked ore calmly.
— Jut because. — She replied, forming her mouth into a thin line.
— Have you been drinking or doing drugs? — Gwenda tilted her head, shocked.
— You’re thinking that of me?
— Your state isn’t the best, you have to admit — Trytan scanned her body — Did you swap places with a corpse or something?
— Very funny. — Gwenda said, remembering the dead satyr. The food seemed to rise; but she took a deep breath to keep it down.
Trytan’s hearty laughter reverberated through her body, sending shivers down her spine.
Gwenda knew she looked awful: tired, with dark circles, unkempt hair, dirty. But not to the point where someone would comment on it. Trytan always found a loophole.
— But seriously, what did you come here for?
— I thought you’d be happy to see me. Was I wrong?
— No, of course not. I’m glad to see you. — He said quickly — I’m glad to know you were eating my pizza on my doorstep. That actually made me feel good.
— Really? You seemed like you wanted to throttle me.
— I was hungry.
— Your emotions confuse me.
Trytan tilted his head and just raised the corner of his lips.
— I hate knowing I’m sleeping with a Carvlinea.
— And to think I might have drugged myself was something stupid.
— Totally — He agreed. — The worst part is, I can’t even do drugs. I’ll be taken to the Wind Prison like a atoned puppet.
— What a good little joke — She said.
He smiled.
The truth was, if Gwenda saw Trytan drugging himself, she did have the right to take him with her to the sector for explanations. Maybe he was too stoned for such a thing, but even so.
The Wind Prison is for individuals or creatures who are beyond the norm, experiencing outbursts or being too dangerous that each realm fears what they might cause if they were free. Not everyone knows about this prison.
Trytan doesn’t know what he’s talking about when he mentions the prison. For many, it’ just a place that holds murderers, nothing more. He has never been to that place, but the screams of the prisoners can be heard through the valleys and mountains, each powerful echo extending for miles. Gwenda would never dare to set foot in that place, never offered to take anyone there. Both because there were few she had captured, and because she didn’t know if she could even crawl out of that hellish place.
It’s the only place in the entire Alphardj that agreed to a truce, where only the most dangerous were imprisoned and the meeting of different species didn’t affect the harmony between them.
Gwenda has seen dangerous creatures and killed those she could. However, she doesn’t have the necessary training for it, to escape when she’s alone.
The scar on her back started throbbing, and she clenched her jaw. The drop burned her neck, and Gwenda closed her eyes.
— Would you like to come in? Trytan broke the silence with a tone that informed Gwenda that he had started to worry about what was going on in her head. No hint would come out of her mouth about what she was thinking.
She took a deep breath and smiled anyway at the main in front of her.
— I believe we won’t have another moment alone after tonight.
He raised his chin.
— If you say so... — Trytan made way for her to pass and entered the house.
Gwenda nodded in thanks and entered. She felt Trytan pick up the pizza from the floor and then followed, closing the door behind her.
He hurried to the front of her, murmuring:
— Don’t mind the mess, was trying to fix a coat. — As he tossed the food on the table and went to the floor in front of the lit fireplace. The armchairs were positioned the same way she had left them last time here.
Lines were strewn across the floor, as well as thin endless that were perfectly visible on the white as snow carpet.
Gwenda stared at Trytan’s temple as he broke a line with his teeth. She licked her lips and took off the black jacket she was wearing.
Trytan, noticing the movement, turned to her. His eyes sparkled with the fire from the fireplace that warmed the house on a particularly cold night.
His voice came out sensual as he commented:
— Does seeing me sewing turn you on? — His arrogant smile grew.
— Gods, no. — She stopped and stared at him a long time before continuing: — Seeing you does.
Seeing how he acts in different situations, and how he behaves around her and others, seeing the difference in all of that. The blond hair tied in a bun almost at the top of his head, the strands falling gently to the side, just as Trytan did with her, how he took care of Gwenda even if he didn’t notice, even if he didn’t... care.
Trytan could give her everything, if Gwenda wanted, he could be whoever she wanted. And, gods, she doesn’t know if wanted him to be everything, if she would be able to love him some day. Or it was just the moment what she was feeling.
Trytan bit his lower lip as he smiled, his eyes giving him away.
— You seem a bit nervous. — He commented and stood up with his eyes locked on hers. — Should I believe you came to look for me because of that?
Gwenda almost lost her breath.
No.
— If it’s better for you to bear the idea that I wouldn’t seek you for any other reason. — She shrugged — Maybe.
Trytan wasn’t smiling anymore as he took two steps toward her. Hands in his pants pockets.
— There’s no reason to think it’s for any other reason than just to relieve your pain.
His breath reached Gwenda’s face, and she closed her eyes. It wasn’t. It was for many reasons, including this one, but... she didn’t want to admit that there were others, that she might want to be close to him almost every day.
— Doesn’t that ease yours? — She asked.
Trytan remained expressionless.
Gwenda knew he had his own problems, but she never got interested in such things. It wasn’t her business, she shouldn’t know. And so she stayed away from his personal life, from what... whatever he was.
— Should it?
Gwenda didn’t wanted to, but she shrunk back, and her legs weakened.
Should it? She didn’t know. And she also got confused because she practically felt hurt by that answer. She wanted to ease his pain, but she also wanted to be his in every possible way, she wanted it not to be just for pleasure, but for something more.
But Trytan never showed interest in that way when he was dating others.
The Shooter looked down at the ground and threatened to move away from Trytan with a lean backward with her body.
Another person could be in her place, and it wouldn’t make a difference.
— I suppose I’m not doing my job anymore then. — She stared at him, and Trytan seemed to breath heavily. — I need to go.
The lack of his body’s proximity was missed when she picked up her coat and stepped toward the door.
Letting Trytan see her vulnerability when she was near him was the last thing she wanted. Trytan could be all goo, he could be by her side for many things, but she felt it wouldn’t end well if she accepted it, if she accepted what her body wanted, what her heart commanded her to do. She needed to think with her head, she needed to stay away for both of their sakes.
Rubben was seething inside, Gwenda knew. And she also knew there would be no escape, it would be the end if Rubben laid hands on Trytan. It wasn’t impossible that her former boss would kill him to get what he wanted, to have Gwenda back in his hands again.
The Shooter grunted as she grabbed the doorknob forcefully and pulled the door.
However, a body arrived from her side and stopped her, taking her hand off and closing the door again Gwenda took a long step back, ready to grab her gun with the adrenaline rushing through her.
She was about to curse but gave up when she saw Trytan’s face expressing terror. His eyes were wide, and his chest rose neither too fast nor too slow, just heavy.
Gwenda frowned and leaned towards him, ready to ask what happened.
He reached out to her waist and closed the remaining space before finding her mouth with his. Gwenda held onto his arms tightly, feeling the powerful muscles underneath the thin, almost torn sweatshirt he was wearing. Muscles that were built beginning of his career.
She let Trytan taste every corner of her mouth as she removed the belt and placed it in a closer place. She couldn’t think much and barely knew where in the house they really were. Still in front of the door? The steps Trytan made her take backward until she collided with a wall said otherwise.
Gwenda let out a lazy moan with his body pressed against hers, pressing harder. Her hands roamed over Trytan’s chest and moved up to his neck where she always deposited kisses and light bites whenever Trytan wasn’t busy savoring every inch of her body.
He lifted one of Gwenda’s legs and placed I around his waist. The Shooter pressed her thighs together, and Trytan groaned into her neck.
As if that shaky sound had freed something in her, Gwenda grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt and pulled it up, desperate to feel the warm skin she was already used to.
Trytan’s hands explored under her tank top, and Gwenda arched her body towards his touch, exposing her neck to him. But Trytan took possession of her mouth, ran his tongue over her teeth, and then moved away enough to take off the sweatshirt.
Gwenda marveled at the defined body, as if it were the first time she was seeing, touching it. She always saw him like that, always with eyes shining without ever losing the feeling of the first time.
Trytan’s eyes flamed with Gwenda’s gaze on him, and nothing held him back when he lunged at her again with hi hands going straight for the tank top, which he removed from Gwenda with one motion. Then, he took her lips once again while with one hand he squeezed her waist to keep her against the wall.
She threw her arms around Trytan’s neck to fully enjoy his mouth, and he opened her legs before pulling her up, Gwenda wrapped her legs around his waist and let herself be taken to some corner of the house.
Gwenda’s chest was tight, both from anxiety and from extreme desire to feel him, to be sure that nothing would hurt him when she was away occupied with her own things. She wouldn’t let Rubben even lift a finger in his direction. And if he did, she wouldn’t mind hurting him down and making him sure that Gwenda would never be his, even if she had to jump off a roof.
She knew that, for Rubben, losing her was worse than death. She could threaten to take his own life to keep Trytan safe. She could shoot herself as soon as he saw Trytan’s lifeless body. And then meet him in the afterlife. But that was too much.
She had never felt something so strong as to put her life at risk to protect someone else, and she hoped never to feel it. Not now, nor ever would be the case.
Trytan gently placed her on the couch and bit Gwenda’s tense jaw. His teeth brushed lightly as well as his fingers searching for every extension of her body.
She could lose this. Lose all of this if she didn’t step back, if she didn’t do what needed to be done to keep him safe. Safe from Rubben; She wasn’t thinking about keeping their relationship intact, she wanted Trytan to come out well and alive, even if broken... if only he cared the distance Gwenda was planning to cause.
She could lose everything with Trytan by stepping back, anyway. But it was an easier way.
— What’s wrong?
Gwenda blinked. She was looking at Trytan, admiring the last traces of him before the end of the night arrived. The last one deceived her, but didn’t use her. Now this one above her at this moment was close to never seeing her again, was watching her with understanding and... love.
She swallowed hard and spoke as she would his soft hair around her fingers, her voice trembling.
— I think... this is important to me You promised me that we would always have a more memorable night then the previous one.
His smile only widened, his hands still tracing Gwenda’s curves. His eye became hungry when he looked down and brought his mouth to the exposed skin. The fireplace being the only sound in the room besides Gwenda’s gasps and moans.
It didn’t take long until they were body to body, with no fabric separating the two. The clothes strewn on the floor next to the couch.
Gwenda was on fire, and she could give everything and receive everything from him and yet that itch in the back of her mind wouldn’t stop until she was sure he would be safe when she wasn’t around.