Darrian Tabris: Fire in His Eyes chp9

“Would you truly rather die than lay with me one night?” Morrigan demanded patiently. She sat on the edge of Darrian’s bed, in his guestroom, in the arl’s castle at Redcliffe.

It was the night before the battle against the archdemon and the witch had just made her proposal: lay with her and conceive a child in order to avoid death on the morrow. After the battle, Morrigan intended to leave and did not wish to be followed. Darrian was never to see his child. Ever. He glanced at her and could not decide if it was out of sheer necessity or spite.

“What is it to be?” Morrigan said in the same patient, calm voice. “Have you come to a decision?”

Darrian stood with his back to Morrigan. He had just removed his scabbard and placed it on the table with his daggers. He leaned against the table and bowed his head until his red curls spilled forward around the slice of his pointed ears. He could smell Morrigan, the scent of the Korcari grass and water that clung ever to her clothes – if you could call them clothes. Since the first night he slept with the witch, Darrian had found it ever more difficult to look at her, her with her scant leather rags and maroon strips that barely covered pale porcelain flesh. Knowing what was under those rags made it all the more difficult to look at her without thinking of her naked.

“Alright,” Darrian said to the table. He turned to face Morrigan. “I’ll do it.”

“A wise decision.”

Morrigan smiled and pulled back her hood. She undid her bun with a careless flick, and her black tresses tumbled free, cascading in a raven-black mass around her slanted eyes. “Come to me, then,” she purred, “and let us make this last night together one to remember.”

Darrian swallowed hard, but he stepped toward Morrigan as if she had pulled him with her gaze. As her slender fingers unbuckled his armor, his mind was taken back to those many nights of passion in his tent, when they had pulled at each other’s garments in a frenzy, kissing frantically, even biting. Morrigan’s lovemaking was always as wild as she. She was an untamed beast, a feral cat that hissed when one tried to pat it rather than purred. She respected aggression. In fact, it aroused her. With Zevran, Darrian was all tender kisses and cuddling. With Morrigan, he was rough, unrelenting, overpowering, he took what he wanted without pausing to ask. Their lovemaking that night was no different.

“Mmm,” Morrigan moaned when they were lying spent.

They stared at the ceiling, their skin glistening with the vigor of their efforts, their hair in their eyes. Darrian’s sculpted chest was heaving, and Morrigan’s pale breasts were riding with her gasps. She licked her lips and looked at Darrian with glowing cat eyes.

“I always did love your bestial nature, my Grey Warden.” Morrigan curled against him, rubbing her small hand over his bare chest.

Darrian smiled and put his arm around her. She was very beautiful lying curled on top of the sheets with him. Her naked curves were supple and flawless, and the swath of black hair between her legs glistened with sweat . . . and other fluids. He smoothed his hand along the dip of her waist and the rise of her hip, thinking with a pang of Zevran. What would Zevran say if he could see him now? And how was he going to break the news to him later? Darrian looked at the ceiling and decided he didn’t have to break the news to Zevran at all.

“Sleep, Darrian,” Morrigan whispered. She snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes. “On the morrow . . . you shall be a hero.”

When Darrian awoke the next morning, the castle was already a-bustle with men marching out to Denerim. Morrigan was fully dressed and sitting at the table near the fire. She smiled to see Darrian coming awake. Her hood was down and her black hair still loose of its usual bun. He wanted to kiss her neck, her lips. Making love to her the night before made him realize that he had never stopped loving her, even after he was with Zevran. Her slanted eyes blinked at him slowly and warmly, and he realized she had never stopped loving him either.

“Come. Eat,” Morrigan said, gesturing at the table. A tray of steaming food was there, and Darrian heard his stomach gurgle as he breathed in the delicious smell.

“I should be going. Your Antivan rogue will be by soon, won’t he? Twould be most awkward if I were sitting here whilst you were naked and my smell still upon you.”

Darrian sat on the edge of the bed and shrugged, holding the sheet over his naked groin. “I dunno. Knowing Zevran, he might just take his clothes off and propose we all dive in.”

Morrigan laughed flatly. “And that’s the point when I would have to stab him in the face.”

Darrian smiled. Morrigan rose to her feet, and as she was passing, he caught her wrist and stopped her. She went very still, and he felt her sigh tremble up from her when his fingers tightened. “You know I won’t let you walk away, right?”

“Do I know that you are a stubborn fool? Yes.”

“When all this is over, I’ll find you, Morrigan.”

Morrigan made a scoffing noise. “I ask for one thing in exchange for this ritual, and you still --”

“I’ll give you two years head start,” Darrian said, looking up at her. “Then I’m coming.”

Morrigan’s nose wrinkled in a scowl. “Fine. Have it your way.” She lifted her brows and asked with a teasing smile, “And what about Zevran? I can’t imagine he’d be pleased to learn you not only have a child with me but are also leaving him to find it.”

Darrian swallowed hard and looked away, dropping his hand from Morrigan’s wrist. “Zevran will understand.” He didn’t see it when Morrigan’s brows rushed together in sympathy.

“I hope he does,” she said quietly. “Tis sickening to watch the pair of you, I’ll admit. But . . . I’d rather see you happy, Darrian. And the rogue . . . he makes you happier than I could.” Something in her voice caught – a tremble of emotion that made Darrian look at her quickly. But she left the room before Darrian could really catch her expression. As the door closed behind her, he wondered what sort of door he had opened in choosing Morrigan’s dark ritual.