A Very Special Thank You
“I believe we have met before.”
“I don’t think so.” Kad’amd did not even turn his head to look at the female addressing him. He was in no mood to play nice tonight. Signaling the bartender for another shot, he said, “Find someone else to pay for your drinks.”
His focus on the brown liquid in his goblet, he felt her pull the high stool closer beside him. Over the smoke and stale scent of ale in the Blue Recluse, he could smell her – clean, like crushed mint.
Her hand reached across him, taking his drink.
His words stopped short as he met her eyes. She put the cup to her lips and downed the liquor. She placed it back on the bar, “Another.”
She had a drop of bourbon on her lip and he couldn’t look away. Her pink tongue darted out, catching the drop and he leaned closer, mesmerized.
Her eyes flashed green in the dark tavern. “You may not remember me, but I remember you. You are Kad’amd, a death knight.”
He would like to think he’d remember someone like her. Her boots strapped up to her thigh, stopping just before a world tree tattoo. Her cloth skirt would be useless in a fight, but her leather bodice looked solid and still pushed her breasts high. Her hair, dark and silky, tumbled down her back. In this light it was hard to tell if it was black or deep purple. She didn’t look like bar fly, nor did she look like a fighter. Where would he have met her? His gaze lingered on her full lips and she smiled, running her tongue along the edge of her teeth.
Kad’amd tore his gaze away. “Listen elf, I don’t know what you want with me, but I’m not...”
She laid one hand on his thigh, silencing him. “I owe you thanks. I want nothing from you but to express my gratitude.”
Her hand moved higher, hot against the thin linen of his trousers. He wished he were still wearing his plate armor. “I don’t have what you’re looking for. I don’t pay for my pleasure.”
“So jaded,” Her brow creased, eyes sad. She trailed her fingertips up his thigh, then down toward his knee. “I am not asking for anything. But if you wish, I will leave you be.”
She removed her hand and turned to the bar once more. “My name is Sensia. I serve Malfurion Stormrage as a Hyjal Defender in the Molten Front.”
The bartender pushed a goblet to her and she sipped the strong liquor. Closing her eyes with a sigh of pleasure, she paused for a moment. “A fortnight past you saved my life. I told you then I owed you special thank you. When I saw you here, alone, I thought now might be the right time.”
She took one more sip. He imagined those lips on him, around him -- he shifted in his seat. His linen breeches did nothing to hide his arousal.
Sensia finished her drink and placed the goblet back on the bar. “So, thank you.” She leaned forward and kissed him.
He could taste the bourbon on her lips. She nipped at his bottom lip and he opened for her. His tongue touched hers once, hot and sweet, before she pulled away.
Laying her hand on his chest, she whispered, “Do you think that was an adequate way to express my thanks? Or should I try a little harder.” Her hand slid down his torso, stopping just above his belt. “The choice is yours.”
What should happen next? You tell me.
vuhdouts said...I i always thought dks had no emotions, and i base that on looking at their specs, Blood, Frost and Unholy. Blood meaning they hunger for vengence, Frost having no emotions, cold hearted and finally Unholy The opposite of holy, dark and using the evils of their past to follow forward, meaning i don't think that they would be together.
Although I looked at the dk blood spec as a fascination with mortality and a hunger for the living, I yield to your opinion and took the story in the direction you suggested.
His eyes locked with hers, he removed her hand from his belt and adjusted his trousers. Turning back to the bar, “One more and my tab.”
The bartender nodded, not bothering to cover his smirk.
“Well?” Sensia put her hand back on his arm.
The heat of a living woman’s touch was always a shock to his senses. He fought the urge to make her as cold, as dead as he was. “Your thank you was adequate.” He drained his cup and fished out coin from his bag.
Though his memories of the passion of the living were fond, he was unwilling to engage in any love sport. The one time he let his blood lust get the better of him, he almost ended up killing the poor woman. Besides, he found more pleasure in the kill than the insipid emotional liaisons of mortal men.
Unfortunately she had stirred something in him, a hunger that would not rest. He would speak with his lieutenant. Surely there was something out there that needed his special skill at causing death.
Will write the next installment soon and ask for feedback at that time.