Maneater

Sparks Fly

"Why do you hide such beautiful hair under your hood?" Jaskier says, tugging on my hood.

"Don't fucking touch me, bard."

Jaskier mumbles under his breath, but then speaks loud enough for me to hear. "You are the scariest woman I have ever met, even Yennefer doesn't scare me as much as you."

"Who is Yennefer?" I ask.

The Witcher snaps, his low voice sounding more like a growl. "Don't mention her."

Well, obviously, I have to ask about her now. He shouldn't have told me not to. I ride Loki up next to Roach, my eyes scanning the Witcher's face. He's wearing his usual stone cold mask, but I know that it'll eventually slip.

"So, who is Yennefer? Is she your ex?"

His yellow eyes meet mine, "I said not to mention her."

"You don't control what I say or do."

Jaskier taps my shoulder, "Don't challenge him. It's not worth it."

I dropped the subject, for now at least. Later, I'll ask again. Because the longer I sit here, not knowing, the more annoyed I get. Especially because the name sounds so familiar, like I have a deep memory of it that's locked away.

Jaskier begins to hum, tapping his fingers on his thighs. The humming turns into singing, and I fight against the urge to knock him down. Ciri's head snaps towards us, "Why can't you ever be quiet?"

"I can't help it, Princess. The words just flow out of me like a serene waterfall on the side of a mountain."

~~°°••°°~~

We arrive in the next town by nightfall. Our horses rest in the stables while the four of us look for an inn. I walk ahead of the group, with my hood pulled up to conceal my face. But, it doesn't stop the whispers. Everyone knows me just by the way I walk.

I push the doors open to an inn, the whole building falling silent as everyone's eyes land on me. The Witcher enters and stands next to me. Now, everyone is whispering frantically. The two of us walk to the bar, Jaskier and Ciri, following us.

"I'll need a room," I say.

The bartender drops a key on the counter, "How many nights?"

"Two," the Witcher says.

I give the man money and grab my key. I head upstairs to my room and immediately start changing into comfier clothes. Armor is great, but not when you're trying to relax. I had just fastened my pants when someone knocked on my door.

"We'll all be downstairs. Care to join us?"

I open the door to see Jaskier smiling at me nervously. Ciri stands behind him with a warm smile. I've only known her for a few days, but I was already beginning to like her.

"It'll be fun, much better than sulking in your room," Ciri adds.

I sigh, "Fine, but only for a few minutes."

The three of us walk downstairs, Ciri leading us over to the Witcher who sits at a table in the back. I begrudgingly sit next to him as Jaskier and Ciri had already taken the other empty seats. This will not be fun. Not at all.

Jaskier brings out his lute and stands up, gathering everyone's attention. He strums the strings with a smile, "Anyone care to hear the story of the Witcher and Maneater?"

The crowd cheers loudly, everyone looking at the Witcher and I in fascination. I sink down into my seat and pull my hood up. Being the center of attention was my least favorite thing. It's probably because I was raised to live in the shadows and never let anyone get too close.

"The Witcher and Maneater, an unusual sight. But they prowl together in the dead of the night. Swinging their swords, the beasts all roar. Toss a coin to your Witcher, and hide from the Maneater. The pair are as deadly as fear."

Jaskier dances around the room, singing the words as passionately as he could. Even Ciri is up and dancing with a group of girls her age. The Witcher lets out an unamused scoff, "Damn, bard."

"I've had enough of this, I'm going outside."

The Witcher stands as well, "I'll go with you."

"Absolutely not."

He follows me outside but keeps distance between the two of us. I finally spin around to look at him, "Why are you following me, Witcher?"

"Don't call me that," he growls.

"You didn't answer my question."

He walks up to me, his body towering over mine. I take a few steps back so I don't have to crane my neck as much.

"Because I don't trust you."

"The feeling is mutual, Witcher."

He lunges towards me, his yellow eyes glowing brightly under the glow of the lanterns above. "Don't fucking call me that."

"Sorry, calling you by a name feels too human for what you are," I snap.

He grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me closer to him as he glares down at me. "You better watch your tone."

"You don't scare me."

He grins, "I can hear your heart racing, and I can smell your fear."

I hide my panic the best I can as I shove him away from me. My hands smooth the front of my shirt down, "That's your own body odor you're smelling."

He tilts his head, "Most people are wise enough to not speak to a Witcher the way you do."

"They're not wise. They're cowardly. You Witchers are so full of yourselves, always thinking you're better than everyone else. Just because you're mutated freaks."

I can feel my blood pressure raise as the anger slowly takes over. He grits his teeth, a dangerous look in his eyes.

"You're going to regret that."

He lunges at me again, swinging his fist, and it makes contact with the side of my face. My head whips to the side painfully, I spit out blood and turn back to him. He wants a fight? Then he'll get one.

I kick him in the stomach, and he staggers back, letting out an annoyed growl. He swings at me again, but I duck. The two of us continue fighting, both of our bodies littered with cuts and bruises.

He kicks me roughly, managing to knock me down. I lay on my back and wheeze as I try to catch my breath. He stands over me, a proud smirk on his face.

"You're weak."

His words echo through my head, triggering my darkest memories. As I look up I no longer see the Witcher standing above me, I see the man that killed my mother. The man that took everything from me.

Frantic voices echo through the streets, but they sound muffled as I stare at the man above me. The familiar burning in my hands is too much to bear. I raise my right hand up in front of me weakly, red sparks dancing around it wildly. His cocky expression is replaced by a look of shock.

I twist my fingers, and he goes soaring back, a stream of crimson sparks trailing behind him. I don't even register the pained groan or the fearful eyes staring at me as I stand up.

The Witcher gets up and limps over to me, a frantic look in his eyes as he mutters one word.

"Fuck."