With each note echoing through the vast space, the ballroom was enveloped in the melodic resonance of the grand piano. The long, crimson braid, a cascade of vibrant threads, swayed subtly in harmony with her graceful movements. The Three Sisters cast their ethereal light through the lofty windows, their glow delicately reflecting upon her naked body like a celestial dance.

  With her eyes gently closed, she immersed herself in the music, her focus devoted to the frigid keys beneath her delicate fingers. Beads of sweat remained on her, meandering along the curves of her body in search of gravity. Each deep breath expanded her chest in rhythmic cadence, adding a sensual layer to the symphony of the room.

  In the shadows, Anubis silently observed her, his gaze mirroring the deep, impenetrable blackness of his jacket as he buttoned it up. In the darkness, his tall, pointed ears stood out like the horns of a mythical demon.

  The clock’s hands showed it was just past eleven at night. Near an unfinished painting on an easel, her black lace dress lay forgotten on the ground.

  His senses, once again overwhelmed by her scent, an elusive mixture that reached his nose, reignited a passion not easily subdued.

  Even after his recent satisfaction, an irresistible urge coursed through him. The desire to act—to stealthily approach from behind, to grasp her shoulders, to inhale her, to relish the fiery aroma of her hair, to explore her neck with the tip of his tongue, and to tenderly massage her shoulders, his touch descending just above her chest before his long, dark fingers would embrace her pink nipples.

  As the first step towards this intoxicating daydream materialized, a weighty knock on the door reverberated through the air. In an instant, she ceased playing. Lifting her head, the green eyes of hers met his hungry, golden amber stare. A coy smile graced her lips.

  “Enter,” he growled, fingers fixing the intricate, dark purple cravat adorned with delicate patterns.

  Pierre walked in immediately, executing a flawless bow.

  “Sir, the mercenary has arrived, requesting your audience.”

  Perfect.

  “Bring him to my office. I’ll be right there.”

  When the servant left, the Bad Wolf moved towards the pianist, fingers strong yet gentle as he grasped her shoulders, inhaling the fragrance of her hair—a subtle blend of lavender and the faintest hint of jasmine.

  “You, Isabelle, wait in my master bedroom. Tonight, we will be together.”

  She offered a slight nod. Upon his release, she rose gracefully, the echoes of a distant melody still lingering in the air. With a deliberate touch, she closed the softly illuminated piano lid, picked up her clothes, and began dressing. Anubis had departed without a word.

  A disappointed sigh escaped her lips as she looked up at the canvas. He paid no attention to it, and the quiet hope woven into each stroke.

  When she was younger, she immersed herself in dreams of music, yearning for the touch that birthed melodies and stories and nothing else. Yet lately, her deepest longings transcended the ivory keys, reaching for the velvety softness of his fur. Their shared song echoed in her mind, a melody that intertwined with their intimate dances. While Isabelle understood the essence of her master, she also glimpsed the potential within him. What poor Isabelle remained blind to was the recurring fate shared by those who dared to dream as she did, a cycle destined for the same inevitable conclusion.

  ???

  Jalut followed the old servant, the echo of their footsteps echoing through the opulent halls of Bad Wolf’s mansion. Pierre sensed the natural authority of a skilled, fearless warrior emanating from behind him.

  Bald, clad in flexible, high-quality leather armor that faintly creaked with each deliberate movement, he cut a tall, lean figure with the lithe grace of an assassin. At a height of almost two meters, his fair skin and smooth-shaved face highlighted his slim facial features. His small blue eyes scanned the surroundings with a keen intensity, absorbing every detail.

  This once young, handsome woodcutter, led by destiny down the path of becoming a well-known mercenary, earned a reputation as a dependable contractor. Despite the high demand for his talents among well-established mercenary groups, he worked solo, selecting clients of his own accord.

  He had once been part of a larger group, gaining valuable fighting skills and knowledge. Yet, the only thing he yearned for kept escaping despite all the promises made upon joining A Perfect Circle. After seven years of drastic training and missions, he left, carrying the scar of the group’s mark on his back, a constant reminder of his former affiliation.

  The servant stopped before a double-winged door, knocking firmly. Jalut straightened his posture. It was his first encounter with the Bad Wolf. While he held disdain for those who hired him—corrupted aristocrats and cowardly nobles—Anubis was a different breed. Not simply because of his festayan nature or his infamous power and heartlessness. All mobsters were cruel, but Anubis was special. Back in the group, he heard stories of his exceptional fighting and fencing skills, his strength capable of subduing multiple opponents with bare hands.

  “Enter.”

  Bad Wolf’s voice, a deep growl, carried from behind the entrance as the servant opened it promptly.

  “Your guest, sir. Please, Mr. Jalut, come in.”

  With a nod, the mercenary entered. As soon as his feet crossed the doorstep, Pierre closed the door, leaving him alone with Anubis.

  The office was filled with a gentle, flickering glow as many candles hung from a wrought-iron chandelier, casting a warm and subtle radiance throughout the space. An ethereal ambiance was painted in the room, as the interplay of light and shadow created an atmosphere that whispered concealed secrets and veiled intrigues.

  A mixture of the fragrance of aged leather and polished oak filled the air, blending with the faint scent coming from the candles. The occasional crackle of the candle flames provided a soothing undertone, punctuating the silence with a delicate symphony of light and sound.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  As the flames danced, they cast intricate patterns on the dark, velvety walls adorned with an eclectic array of artworks. Each piece held its own silent tale—depicting forgotten landscapes, enigmatic figures, and scenes that beckoned the viewer into a realm of fantasy.

  “Mr. Jalut, I appreciate your prompt reaction and arrival. Please have a seat.”

  Bad Wolf gestured towards two majestic chairs positioned in front of his desk.

  “I prefer standing. Those chairs look fragile and valuable. I don’t want to start our collaboration with a debt, sir.”

  “As you wish,” he grinned, finding the tall man’s voice amusingly melodic for a skilled killer—a harmonious baritone with vibrato.

  “I found your way of speaking quite sophisticated for a mercenary. Those who recommended your services didn’t mention this quality of yours while praising many others, of course.”

  “Perhaps I was not as polite towards them as I’m to you, sir. Not everyone deserves equal treatment.”

  A short, sinister laugh escaped Anubis’s mouth.

  “I must say, you truly know your way with words. But let’s not get lost in unnecessary formalities.”

  He sat in his chair and continued.

  “I have a special job for you.”

  While comfortably leaning back, tapping his long nails on the desk, he explained every detail about Joaquin’s recent whereabouts. The moment he mentioned the massacred group, especially the part about the torn bodies, Jalut’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  “Do you think you can handle this?” Anubis asked.

  “With pleasure, sir. It’s been a long while since having such an uncommon opponent.”

  “Any idea who could it be?”

  Jalut caressed his sharp chin with a few elegant swings of his hand.

  “Not specifically. No name or face comes to mind. But I’m sure I know what kind I’m dealing with.”

  “Good. I’m counting on your success. With the gold I’ve already spent, this might be the last attempt with a possible positive income. And remember, he must survive. Unscratched. The choice is yours regarding those who took him. I don’t care. I prefer them dead, but you can do as you please. Remember, the bard’s survival is crucial.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  They briefly discussed other matters before Jalut promptly left to attend to his duties.

  The Bad Wolf, while being satisfied, felt a hint of uneasiness.

  What if…

  He chased the thought away before it could form completely. Jalut was a former member of A Perfect Circle. Those lunatics took so many enhancing drugs, herbs, and potions that they were unkillable.

  While loosening his cravat, he left for his bedroom.

  Her pretty, pale, and innocent face cast a soft glow in the dim, moonlit room. The Three Sisters’ gentle radiance, filtering through the open window, painted a silvery sheen over her black lace lingerie. Her loose hair cascaded like a crimson veil over one side.

  A deep, quiet growl reverberated against the walls, blending with the subtle symphony of the night. As he undressed, the cool air carried from the outside embraced his skin and fur, contrasting with the warmth of the place.

  For a fleeting moment, he considered letting her sleep undisturbed as the temptation to allow her repose tugged at him, but the reality of their roles dispelled the notion. She was not his woman, but a servant, and duty dictated that she serve her master when needed.

  ???

  When Red descended the stairs, the food they had ordered and the frosted mugs of beer already stood at the table. Dave occupied a solitary spot, and as she glanced around, she caught sight of Joaquin engaged in a lively exchange with three local inn-dwellers at the bar. A sly smirk played on her lips, and she shook her head in amusement before strolling toward their table. In the proximity, Dave, perceptive as ever, detected a faint, shy spark in her eyes.

  “They just brought it, still steaming hot,” he said as she settled beside him.

  “Perfect. The beer has a rich color, and the foam is luxuriously thick. Can you enlighten me on what Joaquin’s up to over there?” she asked, inclining her head towards the bar.

  “Gathering intel.”

  She gave him a reproachful look.

  “You instructed him to do so, didn’t you?”

  “I only suggested gathering information about the town and its inhabitants would be wise. He said, Leave it to me, and off he went.”

  She released a sigh, a blend of exasperation and amusement. Dave had a knack for persuading others to do what he wanted.

  “Thanks,” she said unexpectedly, pulling her pint closer.

  “For waiting? Are we also going to wait for him? I’m starving.”

  “At first, I was mad. You could have been less blunt. ”

  “Blunt?” he asked, raising his eyebrows, looking at her. “Red, I bet no one has any idea what’s going on and why I changed it to six nights instead of one.”

  “You don’t know that. Someone could have overheard you.”

  She turned her head towards him, her eyes aflame.

  “Red,” he said, his touch suddenly lingering on her thigh, higher than she would have expected or deemed appropriate. But Dave paid little attention to such details. At least he acted that way. “You’re welcome. Don’t worry. No women were around, and men couldn’t comprehend the reference.”

  He smiled and lifted his hand. Tension gripped her muscles, and heat flushed her cheeks under the gentle caress of his fingers.

  “Next time, try to be more—” she murmured, but he cut her off.

  “Alright. I’ll be more considerate. Hush now; he’s coming back.”

  “Lady Red,” Joaquin greeted, sitting down with a wide smile. “You finally joined us.”

  “What have you learned?” Dave asked, glancing at Red, a jesting spark in his eye as he shrugged and grabbed his glass of beer.

  “Few things, nothing special. A local seamstress can help me—us, I mean, to provide clothes for some coin. But her little son is currently ill, and the local doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. Additionally, we must watch out for Priego, a troublemaker in town. That’s it.”

  “Impressive, considering the size of the town. You’re a talented spy, Joaquin,” Red said and raised her pint with a smile. “To the future.”

  Joaquin followed suit, raising his beer, and returned the smile.

  “To the future and future adventures.”

  He glanced at Dave, who was lighting a cigarette but managed to raise his apathetically.

  After the toast, they all relished the meal. Joaquin, along with Red, expressed their satisfaction aloud, while Dave, though not as enthused, silently consumed more than the two of them combined. They leisurely finished their beers, engaging in conversation. Bard and Red shared laughter. When the innkeeper arrived to collect their plates, Dave tried to avoid his gaze.

  “So, what’s the plan after we’re done with the bath? I can’t wait to wash off the dirt.” Joaquin said as the young boy was leaving.

  “We?!”

  Dave raised his eyebrows.

  Red, with cheeks pink from the strong, dark beverage, playfully slapped him over the shoulder.

  “We will rest,” she said. “It’s noon already. We should wash our clothes, and tomorrow we can check the market. Pay a visit to the seamstress. At least Joaquin could use a new attire worthy of a bard. We should buy other necessities too.”

  Dave nodded at her every word. Joaquin, though he’d prefer spending the rest of the day drinking and singing, understood the situation. He was still indebted to them. And torn clothes, but clean ones, were more appealing than dirty ones. And proper sleep in a bed was a relief after days on the ground.

  “Alright then. As you command, my friends. Thank you again for your kind help and the fantastic treat. Have a restful sleep and enjoy the rest of your day. ”

  “You too, Joaquin,” Red said and smiled at him while standing up from the table.

  Dave followed her. All three ascended the stairs to their rooms, relishing in the hot baths, washing their clothes, and relaxing in solitude. Thoughts swirled about songs and luck. Some were about touch and loneliness. And some about a long-lost family.