“You are looking as magnificent as ever, lover.”
A sultry voice reached him from within the darkness.
He stood against the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest, and didn’t respond. He wasn’t here for conversation. The sooner he left the better.
“No greeting? Not even a kiss upon my queenly hand?”
Her voice drew closer, but she was still not visible in the darkness.
Why she insisted on playing these games every time she summoned him, Wolfe could not fathom. Still, he held his silence.
Finally, she came forth, her figure and face illuminated in the flickering torchlight by degrees, like the unveiling of a mystical wonder through dissipating fog.
For Guinevere was, and always would be, the most beautiful woman on this isle.
Her flawless complexion was as fair as a white dove’s wing, her cheeks tinted naturally with a becoming blush. Large green eyes framed by long, curling lashes glittered like emeralds in the light. Full, soft, pillowy lips seemed ever ready to smile. A small black dot drew one’s eye to the corner, where a hint of dimple tantalized.
Long, wavy, dark auburn hair cascaded down her back and shoulders, past her hips. Coppery strands burned in the firelight, gilding her person with a metallic luster. Her voice was as sweet and as hypnotic as a siren’s call. When she sang, bards would have it that cranes fell from the sky to hear her better.
And then there was her renowned goddess figure, for those heathens who still worshipped pagan deities in any case.
She was neither too tall nor too short. Her proportions defied every man’s dreams. High, round breasts created just to fill his hands. A tiny, wasp-like waist, tapering to a firm, similarly round rear end. And long, graceful legs, the shapes of which were only hinted at when she walked regally in her long, flowing dresses.
She was just the type of woman who appealed to Wolfe as a man. And yet, he’d never desired to fuck her, and never would.
A fact that spurred her to be even more contrary, calling him “lover” when they were in public or private. Sending him letters scented with her perfume, written with a coquettish hand, a flirtatious tone.
It always made him grind his back teeth to hear her words, just as he was doing now. He seemed to be the only man on the isle who was unaffected, even repelled, by her charms.
“State your business,” he finally said, keeping the growl out of his voice. Showing his annoyance would only encourage her.
She drew ever closer, until she was standing a mere two feet away.
With his back against the wall in a dimly lit nook, it almost looked as if she was trying to corner him. A woman who was a head shorter and half his weight. It seemed absurd.
Nevertheless, Wolfefeltcornered. He’d never wanted to be in another person’s presence less.
“Such a brusque introduction,” she complained, her full lips pouting prettily. “Have I not always made it worth your while?”
Her arm lifted, and a slim, elegant hand reached toward him.
“Don’t,” he warned before she could touch him.
With her hand aloft, she stared intensely into his eyes, her own flaring with an angry light.
He stared back with a careless, half-hooded gaze that belied the tension in his body. Verily, he struggled between the need to unfold his arms to have his hands closer to his sword and dagger, and the desire to keep them folded like an armor across his chest.
She sighed a soft breath.
“You are a hard man, monster hunter,” she said. “It only makes me want to break you more.”
“What do you want?”
He could not keep the impatience out of his tone this time. The sooner he was gone from her presence, the better he could breathe.
“The Dragon’s Eye. You are fighting in the tournament. Win it for me.”
He almost snorted with disbelief.