Page 27 of Godsbane
My mother’s name. The name I give out on feast nights, always too afraid of the weight my own carries.
Garrett quickly explains the rules of the game, but I opt to sit the next round out to observe the players in action. It’s a fast-moving game, a singalong with repetitive hand movementsand claps. Anyone who messes up the words or misses the next movement has to drink. This is clearly a favorite in Eida.
Not sure if it’s my inexperience, the whiskey, or both that ensures I am terrible at this game. But even the good players drink. There are no losers here.
With every round, Garrett leans in a little closer, his hands linger on my arm a little longer, his breath a little hotter on my ear. Even over the whiskey and spilled beer, I can smell his intoxicating scent—burning coal and hot steel, courtesy of his trade as the village blacksmith. He’s saying something but I’m consumed with the thought of burying my nose in the overly-defined muscles that are on full display in his thin white shirt.
Garrett’s fingers inch dangerously close to my inner thigh but he remains a perfect gentleman. Another song from the fiddler, another round of the game, another glass of rot-gut whiskey, and before I know it, I no longer care that we’re in a tavern full of people. I want nothing more than to feel the weight of his hands on the rest of my body.
I move closer, readying myself to ask him to do just that, when the fiddler strikes up a song that sends the rest of our table jolting to the dance floor.
Shouts ring out at the sound of another local favorite. One of Garrett’s friends is pulling him by the arm, urging him up from his seat to join the others. His hand grabs mine and tugs as he’s yanked further into the crowd.
“Dance with me, Selene!” he calls out.
I follow, eager to feel the warmth of his touch again.
It’s a fast-paced jig and I swing playfully from arm to arm through our group as we turn in circles. When the music stops, my arms are hooked around Garrett’s midsection. My head spins and he pulls me against his broad chest to steady me.
I close my eyes only for a moment, leaning fully into his warmth. Rough fingers lift my chin, angling it slightly. I rise upon my toes, preparing my mouth for what’s sure to be a crushing kiss. But as his thick beard scrapes against my cheek, I freeze. I pull back from him slightly, opening my eyes to find a pair of deep brown ones staring back at me instead of the gray ones I crave.
My stomach lurches as a commanding voice resounds throughout the tavern. “Get your fucking hands off of her.”
Garrett never breaks eye contact with me as he speaks. “You don’t speak for the lady.”
“Did I stutter?” The sharp sound of a steel blade leaving its scabbard echoes through the now quiet room. “Get your fuckinghands off of her right now or I’ll cut them off.”
Garrett drops my chin, squaring his shoulders and turning nose-to-nose with the Captain of Corinth.
“What did you say to me?” the blacksmith challenges.
Fuck.
This night is not going at all like I had hoped. I need to say something to defuse this, but I can’t think straight. This is simultaneously the most frustrating and arousing thing that has ever happened to me. I should be fuming that grown men are about to duel over me, but I can’t stop picturing what it might feel like to be caught between the two of them.
Fucking whiskey.
“That’s enough of that!” Mae’s voice cuts sharply through the room. “Go home, Garrett. And you two,” she points at both me and the captain, “upstairs before I turn you both out.”
The entire tavern is holding a collective breath to see what will happen next. Garrett takes a long look at me before reluctantly deciding I’m not worth the fight.
“Only for you, Mae.”
The captain doesn’t resheath his blade until the blacksmith leaves the tavern, his friends going with him to ensure the situation doesn’t escalate. Once the door swings closed, theatmosphere immediately lightens, the fiddler restarting his song and the patrons resuming their conversations.
Captain Murphy shoots me a menacing glare that makes my blood boil before stomping up the stairs. I run to catch up, never one to back down from a fight, especially with this much whiskey running through me.
“What the hell was that?” I snap as I furiously climb the stairs after him. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
“Clearly you do.” His voice is accusatory and angry in a way he has no right to be.
“He wasn’t going to murder me, he was going to?—”
Murphy turns abruptly, and I don’t have time to stop before plowing into his granite chest. I can feel his eyes glaring down at me and I meet them with instant regret. He grabs my arm pulling me towards him, the whiskey serving as an accelerant on the growing fire that threatens to burn us both.
“I know good and well what you were going to let him do to you.” His hold on my arm tightens, mimicking the muscle along his jaw as he restrains himself. “Godsdammit, woman. Did you want me to kill him?”
“I didn’t think you’d notice. You looked pretty preoccupied from where I was sitting.”
