Chapter Sixteen
Gaalin poured the last bucket of steaming hot water into the copper molded tub. Fetching a clay pot from a cabinet before sprinkling dried herbs into the water and swirling them around. His lord stood by the closed window, silently staring out into the night sky.
He approached her side, unclasping the sword belt from her hip. He placed it on the table beside them, before offering to assist her with disrobing. She swatted his hand away, adjusting the collar of her shirt and stepping away from him. Gaalin silently bowed, taking several steps away from her and crossing the room, he paused at the doorway.
“My lady, why did you bring him here?”
She shrugged, “The priests tasked me with him, and I could not disobey.”
“May I know why he looks like he does? He’s lacking quite a few scales and fangs.”
Libelle snorted the wine she was drinking, stifling her laugh at his comment.
“I told you I conversed with the gods correct? Well they decided to lend me their strength, and with the priests and their help, we were able to make it so Eskil can no longer kill a mortal.”
“That does not explain why he looks like a man.”
She shrugged. “It was an unexpected side effect.”
Gaalin sighed, shaking his head and running his hand through his silver hair. “He cannot take the life of a mortal? Ever?”
“Correct.”
“Can he harm you?” The question was filled with genuine concern.
Libelle looked over her shoulder at him, the familiar expression he was used to seeing plastered on her face. “Gaalin, he could never harm me.”
Her retainer nodded, bowing slightly and then exiting her room, pulling the heavy doors close behind him. She stripped from her clothes and stood in front of the tall mirror by her dresser with a frown. Dark red love bites covered her body, starting at her neck and almost ending by her toes. She would have to hide herself from the prying eyes of her jealous man servant until they were gone.
Libelle let out a slow sigh of relief as she slid into the tub filled with fresh hot water. It felt wonderful on her aching muscles, and the lavender infused water eased her mental tension away. It had been far too long since she had enjoyed the pleasures of a bath. For the first time in weeks, all around her it was quiet and peaceful. Yet lonely.
She sank into the water, blowing bubbles and stretching her legs out to the end of the tub. She had left both the men downstairs to fend for themselves, they were bound to argue but she didn't care at this moment. She was finally able to relax in a hot bath with a glass of well-aged wine.
She looked forward to finishing her bath, her wine, and then being able to fall asleep on the feather stuffed mattress. Yet she couldn't help but wonder how Eskil would fare through the evening. He was so angry that they would be separated, and she understood why: as his lifemate she was now bound to him.
To what extent she wasn’t sure of yet.
What exactly was a lifemate? She wondered. He made it sound very similar to what others described as soulmates. What did him, and dragons consider as soulmates? Was it some sort of contract? She sighed, she didn't really know the answer nor understand everything that had been described to her.
Whatever. She thought. I’ll figure it out another time. For now, wine.
Gaalin, stood at the end of the stairwell glaring at Eskil who had successfully wandered about the first floor of the house. He had thoroughly raided the kitchen, trashed the dining hall; discovered and raided all the boxes in the storage room looking for who knows what. He had started to venture into the drow’s quarters before turning his nose up at the stench of cologne.
Now he sat at the dining room table, fresh loafs of bread and cooked meat scattered across plates before him. He had found numerous books stashed away on shelves and was taking his time reading through them. His long nails clawing at the wood table while he read, leaving faint scratch marks that would undoubtedly turn into deep gouges if he continued.
He heard the splash of water in a room above him, his attention turning towards the stairs that led to the upper level where Libelle’s room was. How distasteful it was that he had to remain down here with grey skin.
“Don’t even think about climbing those stairs.” Gaalin snapped, threateningly twirling a dagger in his hand.
“Silence grey skin.” Eskil snarled back, his new favored nickname for the drow already decided. He would give the man no honor by calling him his given name. He bit into the salted meat in his hand, glancing upwards at the ceiling again when he heard another splash.
Gaalin crossed the room impatiently. “You’ll be sleeping in the cellar with the rats tonight, beast.”
“I said silence grey skin. I’ll sleep where I want, and perhaps it will be in your beloved lord’s bed.”
He heard the hiss of Gaalin’s words, and suddenly there was a silver dagger embedded in the paper pages of his book. He pulled it out, holding the delicate blade between his fingers and glaring at the manservant.
“Cowardly man with cowardly actions.” He chuckled, tossing the blade onto the table. “If you’re going to threaten me, do so to me. Not this innocent book.
Gaalin stormed across the room, kicking the leg of the chair Eskil was resting in and causing it to skid backwards across the floor. He retrieved the dagger and held it against Eskil’s throat, the gold eyed man never flinching at his attacker.
“You vile creature.” Gaalin snarled. “What’s to stop me from killing you right now?”
Eskil was surprised but failed to show it on his expression, instead he looked tired and uninterested in the conversation. He shrugged at the question. “The anger and wrath of you’re so called ‘lord’ upstairs. She’d surely not appreciate my death after all the trouble she went through bringing me here.” Heh, trouble.
The blade pressed against his throat more, the sharp metal beginning to sting at his skin. “I know you're up to something dragon scum, what is it? What do you plan to do to her?”
The dark elves’ face was inches from Eskil’s. The grey skin was not composed, and his animalistic rage was seeping from all over him. The middle aged man was glaring, his brows narrows and his teeth bared.
Who was the animal here again? Eskil thought.
Eskil slowly smiled a raw and sinister smile. “Nothing that you wouldn't do to her.”
Gaalin’s narrowed eyes slowly widened at Eskil’s words, jealousy and the desire to protect Libelle overwhelmed him and he struck his closed fist across Eskil’s jaw. The man-beast didn't flinch, but turned his head back to stare at him.
This corrupt and vile beast, Gaalin thought. Eskil the death bringer is in my home. Brought by none other than my lady, how could you lass? This demonic creature who refused to die was now enjoying the warmth of your fire and taste of your food: when he should be surviving on scraps in a faraway dungeon.
This beast, this beast must have her under a spell! This demonic creature! My lady, my sweet Libelle: I will free you from his magic.
Gaalin snapped, so many negative emotions he had developed over the years regarding Eskil finally had a chance to surface. To surface and be directed at none other than, their root cause.
“Bastard.” Gaalin growled, once again pushing the dagger against Eskil’s throat even more. This time a trickle of red blood oozing from beneath its sharp edge.
“Oooh,” Gaalin said with a wicked smile. “So the immortal prince can bleed now?”
He pulled the blade from Eskil’s neck, and in an instant slammed the blade through his unsuspecting hand that was resting on the arm of the chair. He would have been more thrilled to see Eskil howl in pain, but the bastard didn't even flinch.
“I should do my lord a service, whether she disapproves of it or not. I should slice your innards from your belly and watch them fall to the floor.” He stood up and stared down at Eskil who remained calm and just stared him down.
“What's to stop me? You're weak. You can bleed. You could die.”
Gaalin pulled a fresh dagger from his belt, slamming it down into Eskil’s opposite arm, piercing him through his forearm.
Eskil spoke slowly, allowing his voice to rumble from deep in his throat. “You are trying my patience you wretched drow. You are incredibly wrong to think I could die.”
The drow had tried his patience, and his patience had completely worn out. He flexed his hand and forearm, the pain from the blades was nothing compared to the pain he had experienced by Libelle’s hand. This fool thought him weak, powerless, defenseless. He would gladly prove him wrong.
Eskil pushed himself up from the chair at an alarming speed, the motion causing the blades to release from the wood, but not his flesh. The surprised Gaalin jumped back, but the motion too slow as Eskil’s large hand wrapped around his throat. Gaalin gasped for air when he felt the constricting strength that Eskil possessed, even in a mortals form he was not to be trifled with.
Eskil’s eyes went wide, then he crumpled to the floor as his body convulsed. He became rigid as waves of incredible pain surged through him.
Eskil mentally cursed.
How could he have forgotten this part of his curse?
Gaalin’s masculine face turned sadistic in a curved smile. He reached for the sword placed above the fireplace mantle, raising it above his head to strike down upon his lord’s lifelong foe. His hands lowered, and as they did, so did the blade.
CLANG!
Gaalin paused, the decorative sword in his hands split into two pieces. The hilt in his hands, the blade pierced into the wooden floor in front of Eskil’s waist. Shakily he turned towards the stairwell, where Libelle stood in a silk floor length robe.
A bow in her hands, her icy eyes were on fire with anger. She descended the last few steps, crossing the room barefoot until she stood before him. Glancing down at Eskil, she felt an unfamiliar pain stab at her heart: she didn't want to see his blood, not now, not ever. Gaalin began to try and stammer out an excuse, his tongue twisting over his words.
She didn't want to hear any of it. Using the end of the bow, Libelle swung hard and fast; striking Gaalin across his face with the weapon. She looked at him threateningly, her stoic expression gone. Replaced with pent up rage, that was quickly being directed at no one else but him.
“My, my lord. My lady, I-I.” Gaalin began to stammer out, holding his cut cheek.
Libelle snapped at him, her lip curling over her teeth. “Silence! I do not want to hear a single word from you.”
She knelt down to Eskil’s side, ripping the daggers from his flesh and tossing them at Gaalin’s feet. Eskil suddenly looked exhausted, the effects of the spell draining his energy as the electrical pain slowly subsided. She helped him to sit up, then helped him to the chair he had originally been resting in. He offered her a sarcastic smile, resting his head back against the chair's back.
Libelle spun on her heel and cornered her retainer. “What were you thinking?!”
Gaalin was taken aback, he did not expect such rage from her.
“I only intended to help. If he is truly Eskil, I thought it only best for him to be dead.”
The answer did not sit well with her. “Did I ask you to take his life?”
“No, but if he’s dead, he will no longer be a burden to you, my lord.”
To his surprise again, Libelle stuck the opposite side of his face with the bow. Her wet hair clinging to her cheeks and neck, trailing down to hardly cover her chest. The silky material of her gown did nothing to hide the shape of her body, no bother to use one's imagination while looking at her right now.
“That is not for you to decide. Eskil is my responsibility. Do you understand that?”
Gaalin nodded slowly.
“He will not harm anyone, and he is not to be harmed. That means you do not touch him without my permission. Understood?”
Gaalin nodded again, despite his desire to argue with her. Why should the death bringer be protected? He had slain so many mortal men and women, he had prevented their souls from ever reaching Valhalla. He was a vile creature, worse than the most evil of men in the land. Why, why should such a being be offered sanctuary?
Despite his many potential remarks he could use in an argument, and disregarding his frustration, he backed away from Libelle. She lifted Eskil’s less injured arm over her shoulder and aided him to return to his feet, guiding him towards the stairs.
“My, my lady. You can't be intending to allow him onto that floor. What if he were to try something?”
She paused a moment, then glared back at him. “Return to your quarters Gaalin, and do not disturb me for the rest of the night. I have to repair what you have done.”
She started up the stairs again.
“My lady, what if he were to try to harm you?!” Gaalin called, panic in his voice.
This time the threat in her eyes was empty of compassion, her power emitting from her as she spoke was more dragon-like than any normal mortal could possess. “I guarantee you he won't. But if you speak to me one more time this evening, it will be you who has to fear my wrath, and it will be you who will be left bleeding on my floor.”
Gaalin swallowed hard, watching Libelle escort Eskil up the flight of stairs where they disappeared down the dark hallway. He felt cold, frozen with pure terror that was inflicted for the first time by the dragon slayer.
She did not speak to him as his friend or as his lord; she spoke to him purely as the slayer, a very hostile and formidable one at that.