As Jaylie shoots a bolt of light into the face of the bandit withthe braids, Kain rushes through the trees, axe lofted over one shoulder. The jaunty tune of a tavern song starts up behind him as the bard struts into the small clearing, unconcerned as you please.
Kain stops in front of the party, his long whiplike tail flicking with anticipation. The muscles of his back ripple under his purple skin as he hefts his axe over his head, and the damn thing is at least as tall as Jaylie. Morgana stands to his side, daggers dripping with poison and fresh blood. Jaylie and Loren situate themselves at the very back, with Jaylie on hand to heal as needed and Loren ready to do—well, whatever it is that he does. He seems confident, at least, and he winks to Jaylie before his fingers fly across the strings, striking up what she can only describe as a battle march.
Let’s fucking go.
It happens so fast that Jaylie almost misses it. There’s a rush of colors and screams and devilish laughter and the buzz of spellcasting and the wail of bandits and then, within the span of twenty-four seconds, it’s over. The scavengers lie scattered around them, writhing as they clutch at their wounds. Morgana has one hand fisted in Red’s tangled hair, holding the poor boy up as he weeps for mercy. As the rogue taps the corner of her mouth, debating Red’s fate, Jaylie casts her gaze around for the others.
Kain is the first she sees, laid out on the ground under a tree.
“Are you all right?” Jaylie asks as she hovers over his prone form.
Kain is so doused in blood that Jaylie briefly considers whether he might be dead. But he coughs once, spits into the dirt, and lets out a boisterous laugh that rattles his whole frame.
“Do not worry for me, priestess,” he says, fangs bared in his usual grin. “None of it is mine.”
Jaylie swallows down bile and makes her way over to Morgana, who’s knocked the boy out with a swiftthunkof her dagger’s pommel to his temple. Jaylie gently lays a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks for having my back,” she says.
The dwarf woman relaxes as healing magic flows through her,and she stretches and groans like a cat in the sun. “And thank you for having mine.” She surprises Jaylie with a hug. Feeling the woman’s bristly beard brush against her cheek, Jaylie warmly returns the embrace.
“Jay!” There’s panic in the voice. It’s an octave higher than usual. “Jaylie,please!”
“You weren’t even in the melee,” Jaylie mutters to herself.
She turns around to find Loren lying on the ground, curled into the fetal position. He clutches at his ribs with one hand while the other is pressed dramatically to his forehead.
“Oh, my savior, you’ve arrived just in time,” he gasps through clenched teeth. His breathing is labored, and little beads of sweat gather at his temples, making his red curls hang limply around his face.
It’s not a bad look for him,Jaylie notes, admiring the effort he must have put into the fight—or into his dramatics.I’m impressed he managed to break a sweat at all.
“What ails you?” Jaylie asks. Her painted lips are pressed into what she hopes is a pout but probably looks a lot more like a playful smirk.
“I’ve been struck!” With exaggerated difficulty, the bard pulls back the fabric of his billowy teal undershirt, revealing his grievous wound. The thin red cut is so shallow, so easy to miss, that Jaylie turns her attention to admiring his toned abdomen instead, his skin warm and lightly freckled.
“Caught in a thornbush, more like,” Jaylie muses.
“Caught by an arrow that streamed past, more like!” He’s got the gall to sound offended.
“And I suppose you’re in need of my services, then?”
A flash of mischief lights his eyes. “Kiss it and make it better?”
“Great try, but no. Let’s see if my Lady favors your health…” Jaylie fishes in her pocket for one of the stray coins of Marlana that she always keeps on hand. With a practiced flick of her thumb,she sends it spiraling into the air, and it falls to land face up with the goddess’s winking face on full display. “Good for you, Loren. You’re in luck.”
Jaylie bends down. She’s hardly about to reward his whiny behavior with a kiss, but she wouldn’t mind teasing him a little. Concentrating the healing magic of a prayer on the very tip of her pointer finger, she slowly traces down the length of the shallow cut, from where it begins at the top of his ribs to where it curves down along the V-shaped line of muscle that disappears into his pants. The wound knits up easily, and the sparkling gold of the spell fades to reveal smooth, unmarred skin.
By the way he inhales sharply, she knows the magic burns. But by the way he regards her with heat in his half-lidded eyes, she knows he likes it.
Her work done, she crooks her finger under the waistband of his pants, deliberately tugs once, then stands.
“All better. Now, on your feet. We’ve got a long way to travel yet.”
“And that’s where we’re going to end today’s session,” Liam announces as he laces his fingers and stretches his arms out in front of him, eliciting a satisfyingcrackfrom his knuckles.
I glance down at my notes—if you can call them that. Instead of jotting down helpful information, I’d doodled a grumpy Jaylie, a frolicking Kain, and the horrifying fiery grin of Maglorbizel.
Under the table, Noah’s booted foot knocks against my sneaker. When I look up, I’m met with his wide, shit-eating grin. “Really saved my ass there,” he says.
“More like a waste of a spell slot,” I say with a sniff, but his expression begs for a smile in return, so I give it.
