Hello there!

Like I wrote in my profile, "I have a thing for complicated men and I like pairing them up with Hermione". ;)

I can't help it. In my real life as well as in my reading, gaming or watching movies life, I simply swoon over a complex, mysterious anti-hero that is in the same time surprisingly human and can become the real hero.

So, without further ado, I present you a long, hot one shot that I came up while listening to The Witcher OST. This happens during Assassins of Kings, during the Flotsam sequence. Any mistakes I may have made in the Witcher canon are due to the fact that I haven't finished the books, but only played the games. I started reading them, but it is very difficult because the translation isn't very good and the story doesn't grip me as it should had the translation been different. I will read them regardles, but I'm hoping for a better one soon.

Any background regarding Hermione's appearance in these strange times, is all up to your imagination. I have a backstory and her presence is justified, but I decided to leave it out for the moment and write this like a glimpse into a longer, more complex story.

Mind the M rating. It doesn't stand only for salacious content, but also for some unsavoury things, like blood, pain, monsters and all that jazz.

Enjoy…hopefully…

All recognisable content belongs to Andrzej Sapkowski or JK Rowling.

Abandonment

She ran as fast as her feet could take her. It was the first time she was pushing her limits this far and she was surprised that she was quite fast. So fast that he couldn't catch her. Not even him, with his superhuman strength and speed. A yelp that turned into an excited laughter erupted from her mouth as she jumped over a gnarly tree root.

She could hear his light steps behind her, and she pushed harder, wind whispering at her ears, forest, blurring in green smoke around her, lungs burning, heart rising in her throat.

Wherever was this unknown energy coming from, she had no idea, but it was unlike anything she felt before. An insane and undefined yearning had been kindling in her gut ever since she met him, and had now grown into a full blown consuming flame that drove her mad. Whether it was lust, anger, fear, jealousy, insanity, or all of them, she had no idea, she knew that she was confused and driven to the brink of her limits by this...this unfathomable...man...creature.

"Stop! Are you insane? You're going to drowner territory! Stop, you crazy woman!" he yelled behind her. His voice was faltering, even he was getting tired, she thought.

"You'll...s-save me!" She tried to yell back at him, but hardly managed to get the words out without her lungs protesting even further.

Even in her insane race she could recognize the winding trail. He was right, it lead straight to the drowner's lake. She knew he could take them down easily and she wasn't afraid, she wanted to punish him, maybe even hurt him. She hoped that the drowners will at least bleed him a little. Oh, how she wanted to do that herself, but without her wand she stood no chance against him.

Her body was starting to protest. Sweat ran down her face and into her eyes. The shirt was glued to her back, her chest burned, her legs were heavier by the minute and her spline, or maybe her liver, felt like it would rupture any minute now.

The deceptively beautiful lake and waterfall opened before her. Oh, finally!

"Don't! Stop! Stupid girl, stop!" he sounded frightened. Good, she thought.

Her vision was blurry and she felt like fainting. Her legs felt like blocks of rock as she ran straight for the cool waters of the lake. She could smell the drowners, that strange, sweet smell she knew so well.

With a splash, that had probably been heard by every creature in the forest, she ran into the water, waded a little through the shallows, turned and looked at him as she let herself fall on her back into the wonderfully cool water.

All sound was gone - the wind whispering through the trees, the birds, the wails of unknown creatures, even his light steps. All that was left were her heartbeats, drumming urgently in her ears. Ultimate, beautiful silence and bliss. A respite from the strange world she landed in, from the strange people around her, and especially from him.

Her body instinctively calmed, lulled into comfort by the womb of the water. She could forget everything here, she could escape everything here. If there was no way of returning she could at least die the way she was supposed to die when she first arrived, before he saved her, before he turned her world into a confusing, painful mess.

She heard them before she felt them. The echoing swishing of water, the sound of their strange whispers, a soft touch and then a webbed hand in front of her, winding around her throat, grabbing her and pulling her flush against a cold, slick chest. Another one was at her feet, pulling her down to the depths, by the ankles with strong, bony fingers. The one behind her sank claws into her left shoulder, drawing blood that swirled in front of her through the water. She closed her eyes, heart fluttering in her chest like a frightened bird.

No reason to fear, no reason, nothing to lose anymore, only a body, a useless body in an unknown world...

The pain grew stronger and she finally started to struggle. She had no control over her body, it tried instinctively to escape. She felt separated from it, from its unquenchable will to live. She yearned for oblivion.

But it was not to be. She would not escape, not even now when she was so close. So close...

A loud splash and a muffled, distant voice reached her through the water, bringing her back to reality. The spindly fingers and strong arms around her body released her. The water above her turned red with blood and she could hear muffled screeches of pain and terror.

She felt hands grabbing her by the shoulders again. She struggled, kicked and even tried to bite but couldn't escape. One strong arm winded around her shoulders, immobilizing her, and the other covered her mouth, almost from ear to ear. She was like a puppet, a useless rag doll and she was suffocating, she had to breathe, she was going to die...she had to escape...

The hand over her mouth was gone and sweet air flooded her lungs as she broke the surface of the water. She swallowed air until her lungs stung. She realized that the arms that had grabbed her were his and that they were now tightened around her waist. She held on to them for support as she coughed and wheezed.

"Stupid, insane harpy!", he growled in her right ear and turned her violently to him. Her head lolled painfully and her hip collided sharply with the knife hilt on his belt. She grimaced in pain and pushed and slapped uselessly at his chest. He grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her. She was like a pathetic doll in his hands.

He was wading the deep waters in the middle of the lake and holding her, no, shaking her, above the surface. She couldn't even swim and wave both of her hands at the same time, if her life depended on it.

He was a sight, indeed. His white hair, now wet and dark grey, was plastered to his face, his armor slashed and his face sporting, not only hatred and anger, but also a deep claw gash from the hairline, down over his right temple. Only a few centimeters to his left and it would have been in perfect symmetry with the old, deep one he had over his left eye. Satisfaction coursed through her. At least she hurt him, at least he bleed, like she wanted him too.

"What is wrong with you? Are you in your right mind?" He thundered in her face and shook her violently. "Stupid she-devil that you are! You should pay for this!" He roared at her and, grabbing her around the waist, swam to the shore, dragging her along.

He tried to set her on her feet but nausea and dizziness overwhelmed her and she swayed, almost falling into the mud at his feet. He tutted under his breath, picked her up in his arms and walked to the edge of the forest.

She felt the scrape of grass on her arms as he all but threw her across a grassy mound. He towered over her, dark and menacing and she wanted to laugh at him, but all she could manage was a small, evil smile.

"You think this is amusing, do you?" He spoke with disgust and then knelt beside her. "I should leave you here, for all you're worth! Look what you did to yourself!" He said as he stuck his fingers through the holes made by the drowner in the fabric of her blouse. He pulled violently, ripping the blouse and sending knives of pain through the deep wound in her shoulder.

"Ah, be careful!" she wailed "God, stop it! You're making it worse!", she grabbed his wrists trying to push him away.

"It can't get any worse, believe me!" He tried to free his hands but she held on to him for all she was worth, no matter how hard he shook her off. "Let me go, you fury! Just...stop...no...don't...no. HERMIONE! STOP! NOW!" He yelled so loud that the whole forest stilled for a moment, and so did she.

She never saw him so angry. His eyes gleamed oddly and those strange, vertical pupils of his expanded so much that his eyes looked almost black. A shiver ran through her and her fingers slackened, releasing his wrists.

"There. Now, that's better, isn't it? Behaving like a lady isn't so bad, is it?" he whispered.

She was calm and quiet and she didn't know why but she couldn't make herself talk anymore. He was inspecting the wound, a deep frown curling his brow. She opened her mouth, tried to say his name, but nothing came out, she was tongue-tied. It was the oddest sensation, there was no pain, and it didn't feel as if she had suddenly became mute, she just couldn't say anything, as if her own mind didn't let her.

His hands felt cold on the burning flesh around her wound. She felt his fingers pulling gently and opening the shredded flesh. Searing pain shot through her and she jumped. She clutched his upper arm and tried to cry in pain, but failed yet again. He shook her hand off of him and ignored her.

She clutched her throat as she tried, on and on, to speak, but nothing came out. Was this some side effect to drowner poison? She started to panic. She took deep breaths of air and looked at him helplessly.

He kept his eyes on the wound but a small, knowing smile curled his lips. She frowned and grabbed his arm, shaking softly. He turned his eyes at her, the arrogant smile never leaving his face.

"That is not because of the drowners, calm down. Your voice will return after a while. Unfortunately..."

He did this. It was the first time he ever used a hex on her, and not any hex, one of those mind controlling abominations that would have probably been included in the Unforgivable Curse list, back home. She was angry and she desperately wanted the feeling to show, but what were supposed to be fists hitting his shoulder and chest, came out as soft pushes that he probably didn't even feel through the thick hide of his armor.

And he kept smiling, which only annoyed her further. She gave up, sat back and decided to wait until his hex would wear off. He kept prodding softly through her wound, making her wince and jump. Suddenly he became serious.

"As I suspected. It left its claw in your flesh." He grimaced and looked at her gravely. He tore the sleeve of her already ruined blouse, and tied it around her shoulder, over the wound. Blood quickly bloomed bright red through the white fabric. "That will hold it together for a while. We must return to the hut, take out the claw and within 24 hours I must give you an antidote, or else I may have to slay you."

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth. This time words came out, to her relief.

"What?" she squeaked and felt pathetic.

"Yes, you may turn into one of them. This is just one of the ways drowners are made..." he stood back on his haunches and looked down at his blood covered hands. She thought he looked tired. "Why did you run away, girl?"

"I...I...just..." she stammered.

"Suicide doesn't help. It's the cowardly way out."

Leave it to him to make her feel guilty for everything. It was his fault and he didn't even see it. He was utterly clueless, or maybe in denial, she couldn't understand him. She wanted to go home. Thoughts of her friends, her family and Ron, were heartbreaking, but in the same time she was so entangled in their situation that the mere idea of leaving him was frightening.

"I didn't want to kill myself. When they dragged me underwater I did, but that was only their enchantment working on me, just like the first time, when I came here. It really wasn't my will there, under the water. You know that!" She starred at him but he didn't make eye contact. "I didn't run away to die, Geralt."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, a rather suspicious look, she thought.

"Then why? Say it!" He challenged softly, as if asking for a secret to be revealed.

"I..." a sigh. "I just wanted to..." eye contact and heart beating wildly "to punish you and get away from...you and...her." a shiver down her spine as they continued to stare at each other.

He frowned, measuring her, analyzing her, as he often did lately. He looked away suddenly and she released a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

"Let's get back to the hut. I'll have to make the antidote and I don't have everything I need." He stood up, towering over her. "Can you walk now?"

"I can try..." She stood up carefully. "I'm fine, let's just go."

They walked the winding path through the forest. She was dizzy and very cold, the wet clothes clinging to her like a second skin.

The immense trees with their heavy boughs hanged over them, cutting off sound or light. It felt like a strange omen or a deja vu. That fated day when she arrived here, in these strange times, he saved her from the same creatures, they walked the same path through the brambles and were just as silent as they were now.

She eyed him warily. He was looking ahead, his face a cold mask. She huddled closer to him, searching not only warmth, but also comfort. His body tensed, but, after a few moments, his arm wrapped hesitantly around her shoulders. The complicated history they shared didn't leave much room for awkwardness anymore.

Evening was falling and rain came as they entered the village through a hidden forest path. He was still wary of her presence being known to the villagers. He was wary of many things, but she suspected that lately she had been one of his main sources of distress.

He opened the creaky backdoor of the hut, pushed her inside and closed the door behind her.

"Don't you dare come out until I return!" He whispered through the cracks in the wood panels of the door.

She listened as his light steps died away through the pitter-patter of rain.

It wasn't much warmer in the hut than outside, but there was no wind and it was silent. She felt a little safer.

The back door of the hut opened to a small hallway with three doors. One led to the main room, another to her own small bedroom and the last to a tiny room that had several uses; it was a sort of a bathing room, a closet and sometimes a store room for things that were rarely used, but weren't yet useless enough to be thrown away.

She opened the door to the main room and prayed she wouldn't find that woman there again.

The room was cold and silent, the woman was gone. She sighed in relief and stepped over the high stone threshold.

It was a good while until he returned, hood over his face and a bundle of...something, in his arms. As always, she felt relief at the sight of him, even now when he looked drenched, cold, and rather annoyed.

She looked drowsily up at him from the pile of blankets she had wrapped herself in. After he left her here, she had cleaned herself as best as she could, changed and huddled into a ball in bed. Warmth, darkness and the comforting sound of rain had lulled her into a restless sleep.

He looked at her, his eyes gleaming unnaturally underneath his hood. The hut was sunk in complete gloom and his eyes, so much alike those of a cat, or a fox, had the disturbing quality to shine in the dark.

He placed the bundle on the table and discarded his wet cloak, throwing it on a rack close to the hearth. He lit the candles on the table with his firestone.

"We don't have much time." He said as he unknotted the bundle of cloth and took out a small flask and a large bottle. "I spoke to the elves and they gave me what I need. This is the antidote." He lifted the inconspicuous flask in the warm light of the candles. "And this...this is not from the elves..." He looked at the larger bottle with a small smile. "Let's just say that it will help us extract the claw."

She eyed the bottle wearily.

"What is that?"

"You'll see very soon. First you need to take this." He walked to her, flask in one hand, bottle in the other. He gave her the small glass flask and took a deep swig from the large bottle. The smell of alcohol reached her nostrils as he drank.

She held the small flask in her fingers and was startled by how cold it felt to the touch. She opened the stopper and sniffed the liquid. She pulled a face and looked up at him disgusted. He rolled his eyes.

"Drink it, if you want to live."

"Are you sure it isn't, you know, toxic, for me?"

"I'd know if it was toxic for you." He looked insulted. "Drink it, we don't have much time."

She closed her eyes and downed all the content of the flask in one go. It was the most bitter thing she ever tasted in her life. She felt bile rising in her throat and she coughed uncontrollably.

"Keep it in, I won't be able to get another one very soon." He commanded and turned around. "I must change. There is so much water in my clothes I think frogs may have spawned in my boots..."

Even her nausea couldn't stop her from smiling at such a rare display of humor coming from him.

"I wouldn't worry, frogs don't stand a chance against you..." He stopped but kept his back to her. "Thank you, by the way, for saving me..." She said, trying to suppress the pride that rarely let her apologize. It wasn't only his fault that she was tormented by jealousy and confusion, it was not right to keep on punishing him.

"Don't thank me yet, we aren't done and I'm sure you won't like what's next. You're welcome, nonetheless." He watched her from the corner of his eye, smiled the smallest of smiles, inclined his head and left the room. She was alone again, the two candles her only company.

The village was silent like a grave during the night time and just as dark. She could hear him taking water out of the well, walking back in the house and into the small closet, water sloshing out of the bucket into loud splashes.

Just like she had earlier, he was taking the medieval version of a shower, with cold water and that odd smelling soap made of lye, pork fat and perfumed with the tiniest amount of lavender flowers. She still had a hard time getting used to this primitive and rather frightening world she had landed in and was surprised that she was still alive.

Her arm had swollen and was very painful. She didn't even want to think what he meant by "extracting the claw". A wave of nervousness washed over her and settled in her stomach as she waited for whatever he had in store for her.

She had almost dozed off again when he emerged from the small hallway. He was looking a little less menacing dressed in a shirt and simple, linen trousers.

She used to be very afraid of him once. The first time she saw him she was scared out of her wits and didn't know what to choose between two evils, him or the drowners. In time though, when she began knowing and understanding him better, her fear turned into something else, something more dangerous than fear.

"Oh, what a good girl, you didn't light the stove." He said appraisingly and went to the large, whitewashed stove and started sticking firewood through its small door. It was a very primitive wood burning stove, that had an opening in her own room and here, in what was supposed to be the living room, had a large cast iron grate that was used for cooking and was circled by a sitting bench that would warm pleasantly when the fire was lit.

The first time she had entered this hut she remembered she had seen an almost identical stove in an open air museum dedicated to the long-gone, medieval village.

She watched him as he struck the firestone once, twice and a third time, lighting the sawdust and alcohol mixture he had placed on the wood to help the fire start.

"At this point I really do not want anyone to know of my presence." She spoke quietly. She remembered how the first few weeks he had prevented her from lighting the fire or coming out of the house, afraid that her presence in the village might complicate his already dangerous situation. Of course, she did not obey him and many had seen her, including that woman that she had now come to hate.

"Good! I'm glad you came to your senses." He looked down pleased at the fire that was crackling merrily in the stove.

He filled a large cauldron with water and put it to boil on the stove. He rummaged through one of the large wooden chests that held all his odd magical items and chemical ingredients and took out a leather pouch. He picked a large clay jug from the cupboard, placed it and the leather pouch on the table and looked up at her.

"Come here." He pulled a chair away from the table and her stomach sank.

How in the world will he pull out of her shoulder a five centimeter long, poisoned claw, without anesthetic or disinfectant? Unfortunately she had no other choice.

She pushed the heavy woolen blanket off her body and stood up from the bed. Her linen night shirt, even if it reached her feet, did little to protect her from the cold air of the room and she shivered involuntarily.

He poured some of the liquid from the large bottle into the clay pot.

"This may be a bit painful, I think you should have some of this. It will, umm, numb you a little." He looked almost amused. Maybe he thought she never had a strong drink in her life.

"So there is no other option? I need to get pissed to get through this pain free?"

"Pain free?" he all but laughed "No, I didn't say pain free, I said 'a little numb'. If you want pain free, I can give you something that will make you sleep all night, but it's after effects will be much worse than the slight hangover this may give you. For a deeper wound it would be necessary, but yours is not as grave as you think."

"Not as grave?! You do realize that the claw is deep in my shoulder? I can't even move my arm, I think it may be stuck in the joint. I don't think that getting a bit tipsy will 'numb' anything." She tried to move her arm and gasped as pain shot through her whole body.

"Well, you didn't think about that when you ran away, did you?", he raised an eyebrow at her. "I will also use something that will numb your skin locally. Relax! Now, let's get this over with, shall we? Come here!" Imperious and arrogant. She wanted to hurt him again.

She cringed but held her tongue. She padded softly on the wooden floor and came to stand next to him. He offered her the jug and she took it hesitantly. As she brought it up to her mouth, the strong alcohol stung her nose but she took a large mouthful and swallowed it quickly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her weakness. She sat on the chair he had offered her.

"Well, now, this won't work, you're to short. Sit on the table." he commanded, a very calculating look in his eye.

She rolled her eyes. She was indeed short, she never claimed otherwise, but his bluntness always rilled her. He could be very subtle and cunning, when he had too, but he never even tried with her. Of course, ever since they first met they failed to exercise any kind of subtlety or diplomacy with each other. On the contrary, each encouraged the other's bad temper.

She stood up from the chair and acknowledged that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

She pulled herself up on the table and couldn't help feel a little more comfortable now that she was almost eye to eye with him.

"That's better.", he looked her up and down. "Take your arm out of the sleeve, please."

Well, at least he said please.

She tried to open the buttons on the back of her nightgown, but it was almost impossible with only one hand. She huffed and groaned as she tugged at the impossibly small buttons. It had been so easy just to pull it over her head earlier, now when she had to expose her whole shoulder and be decent in the same time, it seemed like an impossible task. Why didn't he spare her the embarrassment and just go away for a few minutes until she managed this?

"Do you need help, perhaps?" he asked calmly, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

She sighed in defeat, turned her back to him and moved the thick mass of hair out of the way, giving him access to the damnable buttons. He grabbed the fabric rather roughly and manhandled the buttons, but opened them in just a few seconds.

She thanked him grudgingly and tried to pull her wounded arm out without revealing more skin than necessary. The pain was so intense that she barely managed to extract part of her shoulder and his scrutiny was bothering her.

"Could you at least turn around?"

"I think it would be easier for both of us if you took it off, at least down to your waist..." he let the words trail off into a whisper. A tiny, very amused smile, curling his lips.

"What? No way! Turn around!" she said indignantly and gathered the nightgown around her body.

He didn't say anything for a little while, just looked at her searchingly.

"It wouldn't be the first time I see you naked." He teased, bringing back memories of a rather embarrassing accident that was already very hard to forget. She blushed and looked away.

He stood back, giving her space and finally turned around.

"You are only being treated for a wound. Are you also this shy when you go to your medicine men in your own time?" He was enjoying this far more than he should have.

"I am not shy around the 'medicine men' in my time, if you want to know." She tugged the fabric as low as she could, still unable to get her arm out through the tight neck of the nightgown. "But then again, those 'medicine men', have a much more formal way of asking me to take off my clothes."

A quiet "hmm" was heard from his direction.

She sighed, looked around for any reflective surfaces, steeled herself and pulled it all the way down to her waist, just as he suggested. The cold air raised goosebumps on her bare arms and breasts. She was fighting two very contradicting urges, one was to cover herself immediately, and the other, more disturbing one, was to ask him to turn around.

A shudder washed over her body as she quickly pulled the nightgown back over her breasts and right arm, the painful left arm finally free.

"All right, you can turn around." She whispered.

He turned to her, those strange pupils contracting rapidly in the bright light of the candles.

"Good! That wasn't very hard, was it?" He said as he reached for the bandaged shoulder. "Let's see what we have here."

Blood oozed warm from her shoulder and down to her palm as he unwrapped the makeshift bandage. A small frown knitted his eyebrows as he looked at the bloody mess that was her shoulder.

"Doesn't look so good, does it?" She asked nervously.

"I've seen worse." He replied and turned around to pick off the stove the water that had been boiling for a few good minutes, sinking the cold room in thick steam.

"Oh, that's reassuring..."

"It is, actually. You have no idea what the drowners are capable of, given time." He replied as he sank a large tankard into the scalding water and returned to her.

He placed the steaming tankard on the table next to her, picked the alcohol mug and took a very small sip before offering it to her.

She sipped just as small a sip as he had and turned to put the mug back on the table. He stopped her, pushing the mug back up to her lips.

"Have some more, you need to be more than just a little intoxicated." He spoke softly but somehow reassuringly.

She complied and drank deeply, the liquid burning her throat and mouth. It wasn't long until her jaw and muscles tingled and her body was alight with the pleasant warmth of alcohol. Her face started burning and her mind was comfortably fuzzy. He seemed pleased and turned his attention to the wound.

He threw what looked like salt, but most definitely wasn't, in the tankard and started cleaning the blood on her arm and hand with a cloth dipped in the scalding water. He changed the water several times, each time throwing in that salt like substance.

He was right. Being a little inebriated dulled her senses enough so that the pain, though not gone, became easier to ignore. Even though, along with this comforting warmth came a brazen urge to do things that she kept hidden and controlled. She clung to this awareness as she tried to stifle dangerous ideas.

He finally managed to clean all the blood on her arm and around the wound. She looked at his work and was relieved to be rid of all the horrible blood that covered it just minutes before.

He washed his own hands, wiped them on a dry cloth and opened a small jar. The strong smell of aromatic herbs rose to her. He dipped two fingers in the jar and scooped a dark, almost black ointment, that he applied gently around the gapping wound.

"You can't say I don't care for your safety. This is a very expensive ointment that will numb and disinfect the skin. I wouldn't normally waste it on such small a wound, but considering your worries, I made an exception." His fingers dabbed lightly on the painful skin around her wound and his eyes flickered briefly to her.

"Oh, I'm honored! Thank you for your kindness!" She said sarcastically, if a little slurred. The alcohol had got to her head and being convincing called for some effort.

"You're welcome!" He gave her one of his tiny, arrogant smiles and turned his back to her.

He went to the stove and picked up a smooth, short branch from the pile of firewood. He placed the branch on the table and opened the dark, leather satchel that she had been eyeing apprehensively ever since he took it out of the chest. The satchel was one of those ancient surgeon's kits that she only ever saw in museums. Though shining and in a much better condition, the tools were no less menacing.

In neatly arranged rows and fastened in small leather bands, knives of all shapes and sizes, pincers and nippers, scissors and what looked like a primitive forceps, glittered ominously in the warm light of candles. She shuddered and this time, on her own accord, took a deep swig from the mug. He chuckled, really chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Thank you for making my life so much easier!" he said as he picked out of the leather satchel a long, hooked pincer. He went to the stove and passed the pincer a few times through the fire. She swallowed dryly watching his every movement. He returned to her, smile gone, replaced by a grave expression.

"Now, I want you to bite onto this." He brought the thin branch to her lips. "Bite as hard as you can."

She opened her mouth reluctantly and he pushed the twig between her teeth, the rough bark scraping her lips and tongue.

His eyes flashed to her mouth briefly and she shuddered. His own mouth opened slightly as they starred for the shortest of moments at each other, his fingers still holding the branch.

He returned his attention to her shoulder quickly, a dark look in his eyes.

"Maybe you shouldn't look." he said softly as he placed his fingers on the gaping wound.

She turned her head away and tears started stinging her eyes. Somehow, the adrenaline was canceling the effect of the alcohol, making her more alert by the minute.

She sobbed and bit down on the wood. Saliva dribbled down her chin the harder she bit, making her feel awful.

"Shhh, calm down. It will all be over very fast. I promise you." She clung to his voice and his promise as she felt the pressure of hard iron on her numbed skin.

She felt his fingers puling the wound open and was glad that, except for a stinging sensation that she could take, the ointment had rendered her skin almost unresponsive.

Inside the actual wound it was an entirely different matter. The pincer searched and pushed for what seemed like an eternity before it stopped, and hooked onto what felt like her very bone. She whimpered and latched her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, her nails digging into his shoulder.

"I got it." He murmured.

She sank her teeth into the wood and squeezed her eyes shut as, in one swift movement, he pulled out the claw. Sharp, cold and yet burning pain, flashed through her bones and something, like a cold metal bar, cut through her forehead making her loose consciousness for a brief moment. She cried out in pain and the wooden branch fell away from her mouth, clattering on the floor.

His arm wound around her shoulders, holding her up and she felt something being pressed into the wound as fresh, hot blood flowed down her arm again. She wiped the saliva that had ran down her chin with the back of her hand.

"That's it. You're fine, we're done." he said in his most comforting voice as he held her up with one hand and pressed a cloth into her shoulder with the other.

"Oh, God! That was horrible." Her voice all but cracked.

He looked into her eyes, his face unguarded and worried. He quickly wiped the thick blood that had flowed onto her arm and hand, and washed the wound with fresh, boiling water. He applied some more of his expensive ointment and some fresh leaves that she could not recognize, then wrapped her shoulder tightly with a broad piece of white cotton.

She was dizzy with pain, adrenaline and alcohol and her face was wet with tears and sweat. He wiped her brow and cheeks with a dry, clean cloth and she closed her eyes and was thankful.

For the first time in weeks she thought she felt sympathy coming from him. The way he cared for her and now the gentleness in his every move, made her feel sorry for losing control, for causing him more distress than he already had.

She opened her eyes drowsily and registered the position they were in. They were far to close. He was far to close. So close that she could smell him.

He took his hand away from her face and dropped the cloth on the table. He placed his palms on the table, next to her hips and leaned just a little bit closer to her. Fear infused her being, all pain forgotten as the reality of the danger they were in dawned on her. And his eyes, oh God, his eyes were dark again; dark and intense and searching and hypnotising.

Those golden eyes that so unsettled her once, were now the only thread of solace that she could cling to. And it wasn't only solace that she found in them, they triggered pure, unaltered, almost violent lust. She was so afraid of this insanity inside her that she couldn't even admit it to herself.

His lips parted slightly and he let out a hot breath that skittered along the skin of her chest. A thin lock of his hair had fallen free from its bind and was swaying with the rhythm of their breaths. She swallowed and slowly raised her hand to push the white strand behind his ear. Her hand stayed there for a moment and then, slowly, cupped his cheek. Warm with the roughness of stubble, and so very human. She traced the claw scratch, slowly, from the temple to his hairline. It was healing unnaturally fast.

"I'm sorry for running away..." She whispered.

Never looking away, never blinking, his face like white marble, he laced his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face and down on table, pinning it there, next to her body. He did the same with her other hand, and she was caught, sitting on the table, her hands useless in his grasp.

Her breath hitched in her throat and her body felt impossibly hot. One of his knees nudged gently between hers and her legs opened instinctively. She felt as if she was suffocating, her heart was in her throat and a knot was being pulled tighter deep inside her.

He bent closer to her, so close that she could see every line on his face and every hue and speckle in his eyes. The strangest combination of fear and desire overwhelmed her as she waited for him to do something, anything.

"What do you want?" It was supposed to be a question, but it wasn't, not the way he said it, quietly, confidently. It was a challenge. He knew very well what she wanted.

"I want what I shouldn't." She breathed out, dizzy with the intense sensations inside her.

A muscle went in his jaw and his gaze fell to her opened mouth. His hand released hers and went up to her face. He caught her chin in his fingers and traced his thumb painfully slow along her bottom lip.

She looked into his strange eyes. As if entranced by a viper, her look never wavered away from his as her mouth slowly opened. His thumb entered the moist warmth of her mouth and she closed her lips lightly around it. He let out a shallow breath that tickled across her face. He smelled of alcohol, of forest and wilderness and she burned inside.

His eyes flickered to the thumb wrapped by her eager lips and he inhaled deeply. She closed her eyes and let her tongue and mouth caress the roughness of his skin. He pushed his thumb deeper into her mouth and she groaned quietly.

Her thighs clenched around his knee and her body arched instinctively towards his. His other hand slithered up her spine and tangled tightly in the curls at the back of her head.

A small voice inside her was screaming at her to stop, reminding her of home, of Ron, of the road of no return they were about to take, but she couldn't stop, couldn't control herself and didn't want to.

The moment his thumb left her mouth and his lips crushed to hers, she knew that the boundary was crossed and that there was no way back for them. She melted in his arms and she feared that this will not be easy to stop, that she might never escape him.

His kiss was consuming, hungry and so very different to all the men she ever kissed. She felt utterly helpless, as if she was being absorbed and drank, obliterated completely into him.

And as both of his hands sank in her curls pulling her head back, all guilt evaporated, all reason was lost. She moved closer to the edge of the table and opened her legs to him. His knee went higher and higher between her thighs, pressing hard against her, making her moan with the tension that was knotting in her belly.

She didn't know what to do to sate her desire faster. She wanted to touch him too, wanted to convince herself of how real it all was. She meant her touch to be tender, sensual, but her hands scratched and bruised rather than caressed, but then, so did his, there was no reason to be guilty. She clung to him, her fingers digging in his upper arms.

He broke the kiss, grabbed her legs and wrapped them around his body. His mouth returned to hers and his hands slipped up her thighs and beneath her nightgown, winding around her naked hips and pulling her flush against him.

For the first time, she felt him, hard and large, pressing against her core. She sighed and clutched him as tight as she could.

His fingers dug in her hips as he lifted her up from the table and walked with her coiled around his body, to the bed. She clutched the fabric of his shirt and struggled to unlace it as he spilled her on the cold sheets. He broke the kiss and stood back, slowly pulling at the twine that held his shirt together.

A thrill of fear and anticipation slashed through her stomach. The smallest of voices was still whispering in her ear that this is not right, that she is married, that she might return to her husband, that he is in a way married as well. But her hands weren't obeying that small, careful voice as they were traveling up his thighs, under the shirt, skittering the top edge of his trousers, caressing the soft skin of his hipbones.

He took of his shirt and a wave of heat and fear flushed her cheeks to bright pink. He was very striking, in a rather grim way, with his battle honed muscles and many scars carving that snow white skin. Never, in a million years, would she have thought that she would be so insanely turned on at the simple sight of a half naked man standing over her.

And not any man, an older, dangerous, strange, rather frightening and very complicated half man, half...whatever other creature's genes he carried, from a dark, terrifying past, where morals and laws were followed as long as they benefited your own survival.

And yet, there was so much more to him than that, she sighed as he captured her eyes in a mesmerizing stare. That voice that spoke of Ron and her marriage, now cried that there wasn't only lust she felt for him. Tears of confusion and desperation stung her eyes all of a sudden.

She swallowed those treacherous tears and stood, kneeling in front of him. A barely registered ache shooting up her bandaged arm. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her lips to his, kissing him until it hurt, until his rough stubble burned her cheeks. He groaned quietly against her mouth and pulled her night gown over her head in one, short move, causing her not only a disconcerting feeling of vulnerability, but also a sharp, breathtaking pain through her left shoulder at the sudden move.

"Ow..." she cried.

"Shh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." He whispered so quietly that she barely heard him. One hand tangled in her curls again and the other wrapped all around the back of her neck and jaw, his thumb digging in the soft flesh of her cheek. He held her tight, his brow furrowed, his lips parted and his breath shaky and shallow. His eyes were so sharply focused on her that she felt as if he wanted to crawl right into her brain, into her very being and possess her completely. At this very moment there was nothing else she wanted more than to just give herself to him, renounce all control over herself, escape all guilt or hope, obliterate everything that tortured her since she had fallen right into his arms all those months ago.

She closed her eyes and parted her lips, shutting off his penetrating golden stare. Her whole body relaxed and she leaned into his hands. For a moment he didn't do anything, but then, slowly and surprisingly gentle he pushed her back down on the bed, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

His mouth was on her neck and then her collarbone, slowly kissing down her chest, a breath away from the mound of her breasts. She arched in anticipation, yearning to have his lips on her, all over her. Finally she felt the hotness of his mouth on her breasts and she sank her hands into his hair, pulling him closer to her, spilling the white strands out of their binding and onto her chest. He squeezed, kissed, bit and sucked at her breasts until she was writhing and moaning wantonly beneath him, lost in a haze of inescapable lust.

Just as his hand was starting to slowly travel down her stomach and even lower over her belly button, a soft knock on the door wrenched her violently from her fog of desire. Her eyes flew open and she turned her head toward the window. He stilled above her, also looking at the dreaded window. The drapes were fortunately pulled close, no one had seen them, but the knock came again, this time louder and longer.

"Ignore them. They'll leave..." he whispered hoarsely over her and captured her mouth with his again. She hummed and kissed him back in agreement.

But the knock didn't stop and it was soon followed by the hated voice of the woman that, inadvertently, pushed them into this complicated situation only hours ago.

"Geralt! It's me! Open the door! I know you're in there... It's not about me, it's about..." the woman seemed to hesitate a little and then she continued in a whisper. "It's about the girl you're hiding."

Hermione's body went stiff and she looked at Geralt a little wide eyed. He hushed her with a finger to her lips, and shook his head, the scowl she knew so well, returning to his face.

His cheeks were flushed and his hair was a tangled mess around his face, but he looked as if he really wanted to kill something or, rather, someone. She touched his face gently, wanting to calm him and he closed his eyes for a second, the lines on his face smoothing just a little.

"Geralt, I can see the light inside. Seriously, this is for your own good and...and hers..." she spoke again, sounding impatient.

"Ugh, damned woman!" He hissed angrily and stood up, detangling himself from her.

She felt the deepest sense of loss and frustration as the icy air replaced the warmth of his body. God, how she hated that woman. Truly, she wanted to strangle her now.

He started digging through the twisted bedsheets for their clothes. He threw the nightgown at her and then fished his own shirt pulling it quickly over his head, not bothering to tie the crisscrossing cord in front.

"Do I have to beg, or what?" the woman all but growled.

"I'm coming!" He snarled towards the door, as if he wanted to scorch the poor wooden object with his very stare.

She dressed and clutched the thin nightgown around her body, an unexpected chill raising goosebumps along her skin.

"Go to your room." He said in a soft whisper, his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened by a frown.

Commanding her again, of course. Why was he protecting that woman? Why was it that she could be hurt by his behaviour, while that woman had to be protected all the time from the truth?

"Why? She already knows I'm here, doesn't she? What, you want to finish with her what you started with me?" She whispered harshly, her face twisting in disgust.

He looked taken aback for a moment, really, truly shocked and she closed her mouth, looking away from him. Two bright red spots of shame bloomed on her cheeks. Oh, that was stupid. She had went to far this time, but then again, he had been pushing her for a long time. Him and his stupid friend, fuck buddy, comrade in arms, or whatever that woman was to him.

"I had enough of this." He muttered darkly and came after her.

In two long strides he was in front of her and she couldn't control the instinct to cower away from him, hating herself for such cowardly reaction. She tried moving out of his reach, but he was quicker. He captured her face in his hands in a death grip and came so close to her that she went cross-eyed. His eyes shone unnaturally and a strange, contradicting combination of peace and physical weakness overwhelmed her.

"Hermione, you will go to your room now and you won't come out until she leaves. Agreed?"

She nodded up to him and turned around toward the small hallway, a silly smile plastered on her face. She truly wanted that woman to see her, she wanted that woman to be as hurt as she was, just a few hours earlier, but she must listen to him. He is right, isn't he? He knows better, doesn't he?

She entered her room, closing the door after her. She sat on the small chair next to her small table waiting patiently.

What is wrong with her, she wondered? Why did she come here when she actually wanted to stay there, with him? She shook her head in confusion and rubbed her heavy eyes. They felt bleary and they stung as they usually did after one of her night-long reading binges.

Mmm, her bed looked warm and cozy and the room was so comfortably dark, with that soft moonlight coming through the window, that all she wished for was to burrow under those sheets and forget everything. Maybe she should go to sleep. She had had such a long, horrible day, she deserved some rest.

She cringed and literally slapped herself, clinging desperately to the thin glimpses of awareness she had to force herself awake. The idea that she was under his hex again, came and went, a thought that she couldn't get a hold on. It was like trying to cup water in her palms for more than a few seconds. It kept trickling away, no matter how many times she scooped it back.

She could hear, as if in a dream, their voices in the next room, but she couldn't register anything they were saying. It was just noise.

A large tankard that she kept water in, stood on the table. She poured a little water in her palm and splashed her face. It was icy cold and it brought some sense into her, making her more alert, clearing her thoughts.

If she only had some patience, this dreadful hex would wear off eventually. She slapped her cheeks again, this time harder, painfully.

He had somehow enhanced the damned thing; it was much, much stronger than earlier, in the swamps. She had no idea how he could adjust the intensity of his spells. It was mind boggling to her, the brightest witch of her age, how could someone without any inborn magical abilities could be trained to do all the things he did, and without a wand on top of all. Genetic manipulations be damned, this was beyond paranormal!

Her right hand clenched into a fist. Oh, how she missed and needed her powerful, wonderful wand.

She sighed and took a sip of water from the tankard. The hex was almost completely gone, weak remnants still clinging to her mind, but not controlling her anymore.

She walked to the door, intent on opening it, but she stopped in the last moment, her hand hovering over the knob. If he could adjust the intensity of his spells, he could have made this hex even longer, or at least long enough for him to finish his conversation. Yet, he didn't, he gave her the freedom to choose. It meant that, against all odds, he trusted her.

Ugh, he was driving her mad, making her act irrational. She again felt terribly sorry for upsetting him, when only ten minutes ago she wanted to strangle him, and twenty minutes before that she wanted to...well...maybe she still wanted that.

She sighed and gave into her rather unjustified feelings of compassion for the witcher. She decided eavesdropping was better than barging in like a fury and so she placed her ear against the door, listening intently.

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is that we find a way out of this, alive preferably." That awful woman's voice sounded a little forlorn, worried.

"Ha!" scoffed Geralt bitterly, "Alive? Is that your biggest concern? Do you know how slim the chances are for everyone?" his voice lowered "This shouldn't even concern us. These are not things that we should take care of. Other people should be doing their duty, like we do ours. I hate politics... It always ends bad. Politics are always a means to someone's end. They say its for the safety of the common people, when it is for their own interests, for gold, land and power. They are muddying the waters. The scheme is much bigger than this. Go up in the hierarchy and who knows what and whom you'll find." It sounded as if he was pacing.

"Well, going down the same hierarchy we find the common people and their safety. No matter what obscure dealings those rulers have up there, the ones that can't defend themselves should be our priority. That and our own safety, of course." The woman said quietly, earning a grudging approval from Hermione.

"I am not going to abandon the mission, don't worry. I'm merely telling you the reality of what awaits us." Geralt said and it sounded as if he was facing her room. A few moments of silence passed, until the woman spoke again.

"I will not tell a soul, I promise, and I also promise I won't ask anything more than you are willing to tell me about her."

"They already suspect, so what does it matter?" Geralt asked in defeat. "I cannot trust the elf, he is like a fox, he would use everything and anyone to have his way. We must not tarry. We lingered here for far to long..."

"And do you trust Roche then?" The woman asked.

"I trust no one." He declared.

Heels clicked on the floor and again nothing was said for a few moments.

"Not even me?" The woman asked in a soft whisper, her voice seemingly closer to her room, and Geralt.

"In certain situations, no, not even you." Geralt's said. "I'm sure you don't trust me unconditionally either."

"I trust you to be fair and that is enough for me." The woman whispered seductively, fabric rustling and heavy leather armour creaking. Hermione's lips thinned at the thought that they were entangled in some lewd embrace.

"Well, you shouldn't." Gerard's voice was harsh and after mere seconds she heard the familiar sound of his steps on the creaky floor. "Trust no one, Triss. No one!"

His voice sounded from the other side of the room and Hermione couldn't control a guilty sense of victory she had over the other woman. What had she won anyway? The heart of a man who didn't and would never belong to her? What difference was there between her and that woman? After all, both of them competed for a man that wasn't theirs? At least that other woman was single. What excuse did she have - married and offering herself to a man that pinned for the lover he couldn't even remember perfectly?

It wasn't without a sense of sadness that she realized that her marriage, wherever it existed in space and time, wasn't a happy one. What other reason was there for her ridiculous behaviour?

"I see." The woman said in a voice that had gone cold, wrenching Hermione out of her musings, "Goodnight, Geralt! We shall speak tomorrow, perhaps."

By the sound of her light steps, the woman walked away from the hallway in front of Hermione's door. Moments later Geralt murmured something unintelligible, the heavy wooden door creaked and closed loudly. She heard his steps in the other room again, the scrapping of a chair, and the clinking of glass. Geralt was drowning his confusion in a glass of alcohol.

She looked at the dark window with a frown. Should she go to him, or take this chance to escape? She didn't see another escape from this complicated situation after what they had just done. She would either run away from him, search for someone else to help her return home, to her own time, or she would stay here with him, help him in any way she could and give into him completely. Something clenched inside her. Something between pleasure and pain.

How many nights had she spent awake tormented by worries an yearning? How many months has she been lieing to herself, only to stay faithful to her husband and hold some ilusion of control over the chaos in her life? No, that will not do! She had to be brave.

She swallowed the knot in her throat and turned towards her chest where she kept the few clothes she owned. She bunched as many as could into a scarf which she tied over, forming a bundle. She dressed quickly and, with the prickling of tears under her eyelashes, she wrapped herself into the long, brown cloak that he had bought for her months ago when she had almost nothing to wear. She stuffed the pockets of her old, worn jeans with coins and picked her clothes bundle, slinging it over her shoulder.

I will not look back, I will not look at the door, I will not turn around, she chanted to herself in her mind.

She opened the window silently, her heart breaking in a million pieces. I will not turn around. She slung the clothes bundle over the window sill and tried swinging one leg over as well. After a few tries she managed to straddle the window and was just about to swing her other leg over, when the door opened and his eyes glowed, catching the monnlight. She froze.

"You are not going anywhere." he said it with the certainty of a man who knew more about a woman than she would have liked.

Who else but Geralt could get himself into such a mess? The man is very good at his fight against evil, but very bad at managing his love life, me thinks. :))

Anyway, do review, even if you liked it or not. Thank you!