Chapter 14
Ash and the Critical Moment
The moment of relative silence pricked every inch of Ash.
It was actually quiet outside the booms and rips of battle coming from the lycan. No screams or cries in the distance. No carts over cobble or cacophony of crowds or taverns. Not even an echo from the random bang or crack.
Cities like Chemarin were never so quiet. It was disturbing enough to make his gut uneasy.
With the electric lycan bolts tearing through the air, ripping up straps, stinking the now chilly air like it was full of sparks from smacking swords – with the cherries and vanilla scent going from sweet to roasted sweet – from the mews and growls behind him turning to snarls and yowls …
Every step seemed a mile. The uneven cobble jabbing through his boots. His outfit weakly attempting to hold him back. The two bottles in his hands, uncapped, slushed their potent alcohol loudly, their scent nipping him sober, his wobbly legs steady.
The lampposts already dimmed as it trumpeting his inevitable failure and death. The looming stone walls of the buildings a tomb. The once bright painting decorating them splattered with blood. Darkened, grim. Heavy as the dark above.
As if each and every twinkling star was glaring at him. The giant white moon like an eye spearing him with as much scorn as his fellow Paladins. As dismissive as Amber's single electric blue eye often was toward those without a true sense of humor.
Because Amber was always that free spirit type. Willing to risk life and limb over what her loved rather than what everyone said she was supposed to. Even when others insisted her loves were insane and stupid.
So he finished walking over quietly. Letting the bottles slush a little extra loud at the last step. Made the bubbles in Dying Man’s Run pop a bit louder. It’s wasn’t like he intended to sneak up on her.
Not that his Paladin training wouldn’t of helped him.
The moment she looked up he was right in front of her. A couple feet apart only. The closest he'd been to her for so many years. His old gorgeous peach of a dream. His dear beautiful Amber smiling at the chance for one last chug and hug together.
Even if, with him, she always hugged fully clothed.
Those sultry strap of doom were still plenty busy with those lycan not to interfere.
Lifting both bottles up, close, between their faces, Ash said, “I call Dying Man’s Run. Poetic whatever, you know.”
“Irony, you mean,” she said, snatching his favorite wine of wines, the Red Organism.
Raised it.
“Cheers to my amazingly awesome new life of evil,” she said, “Or your rather pathetic life of boring Paladin stuff.”
Only if one of us died again. Tonight.
So he raised his Dying Man’s Run. Savored her cherry vanilla scent one last time.
And said, “Boring’s almost as bad as dead. Cheers!”
They clicked bottles.
Above the sound of battle, it rang out louder than it should of.
But didn’t echo like it should of either.
Still, so what? They swung their bottles up above their lips.
She chugged deep. Would finish in moments.
Normally, he’d finish a couple moments after her. Losing the match, symbolically, at least.
Except he tossed his high into the air.
Stepped back.
Swung his saber up. Slicing through the strap around her plump chest fruit. Right in between her boobs.
Snatched the silk with his free hand. Shoved in his trouser pocket.
It snapped, not resisting a bit.
His eyes jerked to her throat. His cheeks flaming at his whole face.
Especially at the very thought of the next step.
A very desperate gamble.
Yet she hadn’t even stopped chugging the wine bottle. An actress to the end. Those plump chest fruits were ripper and peachier than any sweet here, heaven, or hell. Those cherry coin sized nipples worthy of a king’s treasury.
Gotta grab life’s fruit with labor, right?
So Ash grabbed her right boob with his free hand.
As soft, silky, and warm as he ever imagined it. The nipple pointing his palm a nice perk.
Then pressed his forearm into her left boob. Over her nipple in all its warm, soft, yet pointy nature. Poking through his coat even.
Yet she didn't commit the expected gasp and spew of alcohol. Then the required scolding glare and inevitable slap afterwards. Harsh and rightfully deserved. Insults throw. Worded to rip at his very soul …
Amber merely continued gulping down the wine.
Hell or undead, she didn’t let anyone change her priorities.
His heart pounded so hard, blood flushed so hot and sweet, her cherry scent might as well have been coursing through his own veins.
The moment she tossed the empty bottle, he spotted the glint of fear in her blue eye. A sad smile on her lips.
Her cheeks more blushed than usual after a chug too.
Very understandably right now.
“Well, Mister Hero,” she said, gently, “You got me. Congrats. Make it quick – alright? I –”
Then he kissed those cherry lips with every ounce of love and yearning stored in him since the lycan tore her away.