His face was clean shaven, but framed by years of untrimmed locks. Though he seemed well-mannered and calm, his features resembled those of an untamed and rather predatory creature. Never the less Sara could not deny an instant, almost instinctual attraction to the man that caused him appear exotically handsome. Amidst her dance and twirling toward dizziness, Sara found herself caught up in the eyes of a stranger.
The compelling wildness he possessed was so pervasive that it radiated through his outter veneer of civility like the howl of a wolf through a forest. His apparel, also most unusual, was tailored to fit a lean, hard frame and only added to an overwhelming aura of mystery. This was the impression Sara sensed about him immediately when he entered. When their eyes met she also sensed she was being swept downstream by a raging current.
Never the less, for Sara this encounter was something she’d always longed for, dreamed of, and suddenly; at a time when all hope had been long abandoned, become an inevitability that resisting could only delay. She wasn’t inclined to kid herself. She fully understood that the attraction she felt was probably akin to what the lamb felt toward the lion. Still, that didn’t matter. The stranger’s initial appraisal of her was so intense that it was sufficient to set off a trembling inside that was yet to cease.
Obviously he was an outlander, but caught up in a situation that couldn’t possibly be real, Sara found herself irresistibly drawn to the table where he took seat. But not until the back of a brutish hand knocked her from her feet did she realize her poor choice in timing.
Like everyone else in Twilight, Sara did her best to keep clear of the town bully. How strange it was that in approaching the stranger she hadn’t even noticed Burk was there. Stranger still was the improbable and dream-like vision of seeing the bully flipped through the air like a puppeteer’s doll.
From where she landed on the floor, to Sara the whole thing seemed much more like fantasy than actual events. Even with the resounding thud and cracking of a nearby tabletop she remained unconvinced that she wasn’t simply imagining it all. What did seem real however, was that her cheek burned like fire and was weeping blood into her mouth.
Of Course this wasn’t the first time Sara had been struck down by an angry man. Given her trade coupled with a hopeless appreciation for men of strong will, she been in this position before. Having a forgiving heart, not often did she wish herself able to retaliate.
This time though, it was different. Swatted away from something she was utterly attracted to, her first thought was how good it would feel to wash her hands in the monster’s blood. The idea so excited her that she found herself licking the inside of her swelling cheek.
How many years had it been since such a potent passion had blossomed in her breast? Enough that so distant were such passions that she found the unbridled intensity of it startling. Regardless of her response however, any retaliation Sara might imagine was destined to remain in the realm of vengeful daydreams. Dazed and looking on, it appeared the outlander moved with the speed and agility of a mountain panther. In a single movement he’d risen from his seat and taken things in hand.
There existed also in the outland stranger’s manner yet another aura. One that generated around him a warning defying interference in his affairs. This and the patrons’ ingrained fear of being accosted by Burk caused those nearest the confrontation to back well away.
Perhaps it really was a dream, Sara mused. After all, who could’ve foreseen the dance-floor becoming an impromptu arena and this unlikely savior standing over the larger brute holding him pinned to a table by his throat. Dream or no, Sara certainly found it worthy of a smile.
This excerpt is from the stand alone short story and chapter one of Wolfe’s Bane.