Geralt was tired. The trail of the Leshen had been easy enough to follow from the camp through the marsh, but the endless swamp was trying his stamina. The elf had been under his protection, but she had been snatched in the night by this creature. Her screams must have been muffled quite securely when she was taken, because Geralt had not heard a thing. It was as if he had been forced into a magical stupor. But that couldn't be...
The tracks were clear as day. Despite the lowlit dawn, even Jaskier could have followed this trail. Along the way, Geralt kept finding signs of the elf's distress; her satin waistcoat and leather leggings had apparently been shredded with scraps discarded along the way. It was as thought the Leshen was leaving a trail deliberately.
Just as this thought flashed in Geralt's mind, he saw her there. Aienne had been strung between two elder cypress trees, her wrists lashed so that she was stretched as though she were being pulled apart. Thankfully, the trees merely supported her as her feet found purchase on a moss covered stone. Her head drooped low with her purple hair draping over her face. The Leshen had indeed handled her with no great care. Her waist coat was ripped nearly asunder, with the shreds draping loosely over her body. Her left breast was clearly exposed, and the right just barely covered. The leather leggings she had been so fond of were also destroyed, her legs clearly visible through the windows torn into the material.
As Geralt approached the clearing, his eyes were drawn to the Leshen approaching Aienne from behind. He had never seen a Leshen do anything except attack an elf who was immune to it's magic. This one was approaching Aienne with a look that suggested it was being driven mad, as though it was simultaneously being driven by an insatiable hunger, blood lust, and carnal energy. The Leshen approached her quickly from behind while Aienne was apparently still in a daze. It tore the last of the waistcoat from Aienne's body causing her to stir and scream as the Leshen prepared to rip the life from her neck.
Before the killing blow could fall on Aienne's soft skin, Geralt lept from the shadows with his silver sword flying from its scabbard. In its distraction, the Leshen was only just able to raise its head before the sword slashed across its body. The crunch of bone and tearing of earthy flesh under the sword's passing made a sound that was revolting, the Leshen's scream pierced the still, humid air like an ice pick.
However, the strike was not deep enough to be a killing blow and the Leshen quickly and violently clawed at Geralt's face in an attempt to swat him away. Geralt was ready for the counter though, and ducked beneath the attack before plunging his sword deep into where this creature's heart should be. As the blade withdrew from flesh, and the Leshen gasped in a stark realization of its mortality, Geralt's blade parted the Leshen's horned head from its shoulders.
Finally realizing that she was safe, Aienne was able to summon the strength to make words. "Help me," she said, "untie me and get me down from here. Please, Geralt!"
Geralt slowly turned his gaze from the now collapsed creature. Its death throws slowly easing as the creature began the process of returning to the swamp from which it was made. As her face became more visible through the strands of hair, Geralt could swear that there was amusement hiding behind the surface of terror. It was almost as if Aienne was enjoying the excitement of being taken, being bound, and having to be saved by the application of violence in a way that very few could deliver.
As Geralt approached, she continued her pleas. "Thank you, please untie me. That horrible creature nearly devoured me."
Geralt sheathed his sword and walked to her. Not fast, not slow, but purposefully. He gazed around them in anticipation of another trap but his eyes, ears, and nose gave no indications of impending danger. As he reached her his hand went to unbind the ties on her wrist. But the ties were wrong...
There was no way the Leshen could tie such an intricate knot. Nor was there any way it would have such fine silk rope on hand. Looking down, Her ankles were bound in a similar fashion but only to each other. And despite the ravages done to her clothing, her boots were both intact and covered in branches and mud so that her feet looked like those of the fallen quarry that lay on the ground below.
In a flash, Geralt's hand flew from Aienne's wrist to her neck. He grabbed and squeezed as he pulled her face towards his. As he pulled, her arms remained lashed to the trees and her back arched as her head was pulled forward. "How dare you trick me and pit the inhabitants of this forest against me. That is a crime against nature that should be abhorrent to your race. I've killed many who I liked more for doing far less. Tell me why I should let you live, princess?"
As Aienne struggled against Geralt's iron grip, the veins in her neck and forehead pressed out from beneath her skin. Beads of sweat collected on her soft, pale skin as her body began to quiver. The shards of clothing that clung to her body swayed tantalizingly in the tension. and as she collected her breath to answer the smile grew from behind her eyes and down to her mischievous mouth.
"I told you when we left Dol Blathanna, I was going to make your life hell. I have watched you for years, Witcher. You slay foul beasts with artful efficiency, yet you take no joy from it. An artist such as yourself should take pride, and embrace the primal power that makes you such a weapon. Let's take the anger I see burning behind your eyes and turn it into something useful, shall we?"
Suddenly a flash of light burst from Aienne's eyes as her grimming smirk grew into a malevolent smile. Geralt's hand remained on her neck, but his look of shock told Aienne that he was under his control. She could see the struggle in his eyes, but knew that he was under her spell. As his hand fell away, she pulled herself up by the ropes that bound her wrists and wrapped her thighs around his neck and pulled him into her.
"You definitely enjoy a good fight. Have fun fighting yourself, Geralt! Now take off what's left of these leggings and taste me."
Geralt's face struggled to contain his shock as his hands found the waistline of her nearly shredded leggings. With unnatural force, they were soon ripping under his grasp. Geralt pulled the remaining shreds off from the side and had to forcefully pry the last of it between his chin and her womanhood. His hands found the tops of her thighs as his mouth found its prize. His lips parted hers and his tongue entered her with a violence she would not have thought possible from just a tongue. His breaths whistled through her pubic hair because his nose was pressed firmly into her clit.
