Warrior or Whore

     Before she rose to leave he took her by the wrist, “It’s rather lonely out here.” He said, his thumb pressing into the bottom of her palm. This was no foolish schoolboy grasping at a maid for intimate favors, this was an experienced wolf, donning a mask of feign desperation. His words were a plea, his tone was a demand.

     She looked at him with caution, recognizing the game immediately. “You’ve already taken advantage of my healing abilities; had I realized that aiding you also entailed other services I would have let you suffer.” Mira spat, stood up, and swooped to the opening of the tent. As she aimed to exit through the flap, Lohgain’s arm twisted around her waist and he pulled her to him like she was a tavern wench. His chin touched her collarbone. If she pivoted her head away from the door, their would be no space between their faces.

     Freezing, Miera couldn’t bare to look at him. She could already see his face in her mind, his dark eyes stained deep with lust, the mane of his black hair framing his long features, the delectable stubble-lined jaw that she longed to feel against her fingers and lips. Lohgain was an fiercely attractive man, exactly the type that sent her imagination reeling.

     “Stay with me.” Another plea-demand. Too close too her ear so she could feel his breath, too low and growl-like. This kind of thing was reserved for the dark of night in her dreams, for private thoughts after she admired the strong angles of his shoulder blades through his shirt from afar. Or the tangled black braids in his hair. Her body nearly melted against him, but her mind was defiant. She was no common whore, she was his comrade and, most importantly, a noblewoman.

     “Unhand me at once.” Mira demanded firmly, full of steel. She did not squirm or notice the rock-hard resolution of his chest or an area decidedly lower, positioned strategically against her behind. She should have been offended, but after he’d left her side, she found herself imagining the ghost of his shape.

     Loghain held her for another moment before retreating. “As my lady Cousland demands.” He replied with sarcasm and lowered his arm. As she burst from his tent, Miera heard a gruff “rigid fish” that made her want to draw her sword and turn around.