Biter

Part One

Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, had made his way into Celborne barely three days before, come to kill our fiend for coin. Just as the tales said.

He was unlike any man I'd ever seen; built stronger than any knight could dream of being with long white hair and wide ochre eyes framed in thick black lashes. Most people didn't even consider him a man. To most of the people in my father's inn, and across the continent, he was a mutant. A monster. The muscles in his bare forearm flexed as he tightened his grip on his ale. His eyes met mine for the briefest of seconds; as they had probably a thousand times since he and his bard had arrived.

The rapid pounding of an empty pint against the bar cut through the bustle of the inn's patrons. "Aye wench, I need'an -hic- an ale. What are you doing s-standin' there with y'ur head up y'ur arse?"

I shot a glare at the drunk hanging over my counter. His glassy, brown eyes tried hard to focus on what had to be a blur of my what was meant to be my face. My nose wrinkled as the smell of him hit me; days-old sweat, piss, and ale. "I think you've had quite enough."

His pint smacked again against the counter as he staggered to his feet, toppling his stool. The room went silent minus a single late cord of the bard's lute. Geralt got to his feet, though the drunk didn't seem to notice. "I said. I need'a ano-nother ale."

I moved down the bar, grabbing an empty pitcher from behind me as I went. Rotten teeth peeked through cracked lips as he pushed his mug out in front of me. The last of his previous drink still dripped from his scraggly beard. "That's right, wench!" He hiccuped again. "Fill it up to the b-brim!"

I didn't smile until I felt the thick clay of the pitcher shatter against his face. The air rushed from his lungs as he thumped to the dirty floor, half landing on his stool. Blood trickled from his quickly bruising nose and lips. "I said, I think you've had enough."

Chatter resumed as everyone became abruptly bored with the situation. Some grumbled as they turned back to their tables, feeling robbed of their excitement, while others chuckled. My gaze once again met the warm honey eyes of the witcher. His thin lips quirked, and he shook his head as he slid back into his seat.

I shot him a smile, turning to grab a full pitcher from the shelves behind me. "Oh, what a woman!" The bard's melodious voice carried across the inn. I glanced over my shoulder to find him seated across from Geralt, his hands moving as he talked.

What an odd pair they made, I mused. The bard looked as if he was skipping a day in court in his pale blue and red, silk ensemble, and the witcher's dirty leathers made it seem as though he'd just come from battle. I couldn't imagine how the two of them had come into each other's company.

Pitcher in hand, I rounded the bar and made my way to their corner table. The rain pelted windows flashed blue as lightening cracked across the sky outside. The bard grinned at me as I approached them, a wanting look in his blue eyes. I returned his smiled, but when I addressed the table I looked at Geralt. "Shitty weather for hunting, I suppose."

"You'd be right." The gravelly baritone of his voice sent a rush through me I hadn't been expecting. My nipples tightened, and a blush crept across my skin as Garelt's nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. No doubt zeroing in on the scent of my suddenly wet pussy.

"Would you like another ale?" I managed.

"I would love one," the bard interjected. It was much harder to smile at him as I refilled his pint. "That was very impressive, young lady. Looking at you, I wouldn't have thought you'd have something like that in you. No offense, miss?"

"Kassandra, and none taken."

"Kassandra. What a lovely name to go with such a lovely face. My name is Jaskier, and of course, you've heard of Geralt of Rivia."