10-11-2016, 12:27 PM
A woman as hot as Petra was enough to distract him from the book. Besides, he was going to steal it later anyway (and probably return it when he was done).
"If i'm not a scholar, what am I?"
She still didn't look up, merely moved from one page of vellum to the next. Jaxen couldn't tell what she was reading, though. The letters seemed to be written in another language. "You're a Marveet. Jaxen Marveet, yes?"
Jaxen grinned proudly. "Searching my face are we?"
She shrugged.
"What about you? You're far too hot to be a professor."
At that, she looked up. Her dark eyes swirled with an intensity that surprised him. He licked his lips, heart beating harder. Almost like she flicked love dust in his face.
She abandoned her book and came closer. Jaxen could just barely make out the line of cleavage between the buttons on her shirt. A gloved hand thrust between them pulled his gaze upward as she tapped the book. She took a quick glance at it and pursed her lips curiously. "The Book of Leinster. Do you believe fairy tales, Marveet?"
He tilted a shoulder, "Why yes I do."
When she came to stand alongside, she tapped one finger on the open page. He could smell a hint of perfume on her neck. Sense the curve of her hip brushing his. He forgot all about the book.
She turned slowly. In her heels, she stood a few inches higher than him as she was already long-legged. The intensity in her gaze sharpened, and Jaxen had a brief sense of a shark circling blood in the water, waiting for her moment to strike.
Then she did.
She pulled the latex glove from her hand, finger by finger, the material snapping against her skin like tiny whips. When she laid her fingertips on his arm, he shivered briefly. She might as well have ripped his throat out, because he was utterly useless from then on.
He quickly relaxed, sleepy almost, like after a long steam in the bath house. He had the urge to go to lay down.
He rubbed his eyes and soon felt his feet moving. His gloves dropped in the trash can. The Book abandoned. He wasn't sure when he arrived at the hotel. Nor how he found himself in bed. It was his hotel, wasn't it? The walls were a different color than he remembered. Weren't they stone and wood? He couldn't quite remember. These were drywall, painted white.
Light-headed, he rubbed his eyes again and rolled, burying his face in the pillow. But finding his cheek wet, he pushed up just enough to figure out if he'd been drooling.
That was when he saw the blood, and panic spiked his veins alert. He tried to sit up, but found he didn't have the strength.
"If i'm not a scholar, what am I?"
She still didn't look up, merely moved from one page of vellum to the next. Jaxen couldn't tell what she was reading, though. The letters seemed to be written in another language. "You're a Marveet. Jaxen Marveet, yes?"
Jaxen grinned proudly. "Searching my face are we?"
She shrugged.
"What about you? You're far too hot to be a professor."
At that, she looked up. Her dark eyes swirled with an intensity that surprised him. He licked his lips, heart beating harder. Almost like she flicked love dust in his face.
She abandoned her book and came closer. Jaxen could just barely make out the line of cleavage between the buttons on her shirt. A gloved hand thrust between them pulled his gaze upward as she tapped the book. She took a quick glance at it and pursed her lips curiously. "The Book of Leinster. Do you believe fairy tales, Marveet?"
He tilted a shoulder, "Why yes I do."
When she came to stand alongside, she tapped one finger on the open page. He could smell a hint of perfume on her neck. Sense the curve of her hip brushing his. He forgot all about the book.
She turned slowly. In her heels, she stood a few inches higher than him as she was already long-legged. The intensity in her gaze sharpened, and Jaxen had a brief sense of a shark circling blood in the water, waiting for her moment to strike.
Then she did.
She pulled the latex glove from her hand, finger by finger, the material snapping against her skin like tiny whips. When she laid her fingertips on his arm, he shivered briefly. She might as well have ripped his throat out, because he was utterly useless from then on.
He quickly relaxed, sleepy almost, like after a long steam in the bath house. He had the urge to go to lay down.
He rubbed his eyes and soon felt his feet moving. His gloves dropped in the trash can. The Book abandoned. He wasn't sure when he arrived at the hotel. Nor how he found himself in bed. It was his hotel, wasn't it? The walls were a different color than he remembered. Weren't they stone and wood? He couldn't quite remember. These were drywall, painted white.
Light-headed, he rubbed his eyes again and rolled, burying his face in the pillow. But finding his cheek wet, he pushed up just enough to figure out if he'd been drooling.
That was when he saw the blood, and panic spiked his veins alert. He tried to sit up, but found he didn't have the strength.