Blood Memories [Last of Elves book 1] (NaNoWriMo 2014)

Twenty-Five: Panthera

Panthera

As he’d thought, she appeared as his duel with the captain was finishing. As normal, his sword had been thrown across the floor, the captain’s sword pointing at his neck. With a sigh, Panthera backed away to lean against the wall, glaring at both of the humans. The priestess lifted her head.

“Captain, thank you.” The dismissal was clear to hear, and the captain bowed, hurrying away. She turned to him, lowering her eyes slightly. “I have a question.”

“Another one, priestess?” He kept his tone light, almost playful, almost mocking. She stiffened.

“Yes. There is nothing wrong with questions.”

“No,” he agreed, moving closer to her. To his amusement, she backed away from him. “But you never know if you will get the answer you are looking for.”

She stopped when he stopped. “How do you know my name?”

A fleeting smile crossed his face and he took another step closer. “I do believe you know that already, priestess.”

Shock flashed across her face, and he watched as she clearly went back through her conversations with him. She shook her head, though. “No. You never said.”

“Ah, but I did.” Pinning her against the wall, not touching her, he took a tendril of her hair, twirling it around his fingers. “You will do well to remember, priestess, that the elves have long lives, and even longer memories.”

She swallowed, and he dropped his hand, turning away from her.  He picked up the sword, holding it point down to the floor, and made for the exit.

She followed him.

She seemed to be doing a lot of that.

“Panthera, wait, please.”

He rolled his eyes, but stopped. “What?” he growled.

She looked taken aback, surprised at his change of attitude.

“I … uhh …” She stopped, and steadied herself. “There’s something I need to now.”

He lifted an eyebrow, and leant on the sword, uncaring of the weapon and the damage that his weight could do it. “Oh, do you now. Do tell.”

She scowled at him. “Where did you learn to use the sword? You are far more skilled than any of my warriors. I was …”

He cut her off before she could go any further. Stepping close to her, the sword lifted from the ground. “I picked up a sword almost before I could walk, human,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. “Your humans cannot even hope to match my skills. And no one can teach instinct. Save your breath.”

She stared at him, and he turned, heading for his rooms, where he could at least pretend to be calming down.

To his immense irritation, she followed him.

Again.

When he reached the door, he spun, glaring at her.

“Go away,” he snarled.

She took a step back, and before she could respond, he shut the door in her face, enjoying the sound of the slamming wood. He threw the sword to one side, listening to it clatter to the ground, and stalked outside to rest his elbows on the terrace railing. His dark blue eyes fell on the town, bustling under the cold midday winter sun.

With a sigh, he let his tense body slowly relax, closing his eyes. The smell of the poorer section of town wafted past him on the breeze, and he nearly choked, coughing. It was a terrible smell, but there was nothing that could really be done about it. Reminded, the blue-eyed teenager popped into his mind again, and he frowned thinking about her. As he did, his gaze roamed over the town streets, not really taking in the sights.

She was only young – that much was clear by her figure and way of moving. What made him wary was the colour of her eyes. Such a distinct blue was rare in the town, once the known colour of the elves, but with them all practically gone, it was just another reason to be suspicious. He needed to see her again to find out who she really was, and to do that, he had to be with the priestess when she went to help give the food to the people.

He wasn’t sure if she would let him again.

Even if she didn’t, though, he was going to get there. One way or another. He had to see the girl again. To see if his suspicions were right.

He shuddered to think of what it meant if he was right.