Dont abduct me I'm Welsh!

Now just who is rescuing who?

“Kiyanna!” Valdagerion hissed in frustration and pain. The Kaldar-maar had ambushed him. They had been cunning, sacrificing two of their number to his blade, and the rest laying in ambush for him, stunning him with a blow from behind. Electrocuting him with a bolt, that could have killed him. Fortunately his suit protected him, but it knocked him to the floor. As he staggered, dazed by the blow they began to attack him like crows attacking a hawk, biting him to reach his bare skin, and draining his very life force. Making him week, as surely as if they had drank his blood - as they were rumoured to have done.

Dragged to the floor, the vile twisted creatures continued to feed from him. He snarled at them, his fangs barred. Trying to buck them off. How humiliating, to be brought down like a stag by yapping hounds. He felt his great strength waning, and yet he could not summon enough energy to fight back effectively.

One of the Kaldar – maar was standing back. Valdagerion recognised the device he wore on his armour. Ishmaen, a knight of the unseele court.

“You disappoint me Hirthsigil warrior.” The dark figure said scornfully. “I did not think that it would be so easy to defeat one such as you Valdagerion son of Therspar.”

Valdagerion turned his face away, not dignifying the creature with an answer. The only thing he wanted to answer him with was the sharp edge of his sword. But his limbs were too heavy to move, and the weight of his attackers pressed him down until he could barely breathe. Ishmean was drifting towards him, his black wings spreading slightly in anticipation, shivering in triumph, hungry to taste his power.

He waited a moment more. Ishamaen would want to feed alone, and would want to deliver the killing blow in his conceit. The warrior bided his time, a moment more. At last he felt them reluctantly drawback, to make room for their leader. Ishmean lent down, and as he did Valdagerion slashed the foul beings face with the blade concealed on his gauntlet.

The creature howled, and fell back. Taking his chance the warrior fled, slashing left and right with the intention to cause as much confusion as possible. He could hear Ishmean’s cries to follow him, but it was too late, he had lost them, running like the wind.

He did not get far. Shivering with unnatural cold, and his limbs like lead, he staggered on along a road, trying to find somewhere that would provide shelter, at least for a little while, until the ship came. They had drained him to exhaustion. He could warm liquid dripping down his arm, chest, and leg, blood flowing freely from the open bites. His vision was fading. He was losing consciousness. A tussock of grass tripped him, and sent him falling down in to a deep ditch. He struggled to get out, pulling himself up on roots, and handfuls of grass. He crested the bank, and collapsed to the floor, the smell of loam strangely comforting as blackness took him.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


There were no bright lights to warn Mary that something strange might be happening, not even the unearthly throb of a space craft’s engine, to let her know something might be amiss. For a moment she thought that she heard the sound of raised voices, some kind of affray. But when she stayed quite still for a moment there was nothing. It was a Saturday night in Wales, even if there was a brawl, it was nothing out of the usual, and in fact it raised the young woman’s spirits somewhat. Where there were voices, there were people.

At last the small lane intersected with another road. In the valley bellow Mary could see the lights of a small village. Just as she turned to walk down hill, a small low sound, like a groan, made her pause and look back up the road which carried on up the hill, skirting a Neolithic barrow. Reason moved her feet towards the light. But she paused, curiosity getting the better of her. Using her phone as a make shift torch, she followed the scrubby hedge line, peering in to the ditch. Just as she was about to call herself a fool, and turn back she came across a gloved hand. It startled her to a stop.

“Please don’t be dead.” She prayed. “I really, really don’t want to see a dead person!”

The light was poor, but she could tell it was a man. He was laying face down on the blood stained grass, as if he was trying to crawl out of the ditch but lacked the strength to move any further. If she was to guess she would have said he was wearing some kind of bike leathers. He must crashed, she reasoned. Looking around there were no sign of the motorbike, but it was too dark to be certain.

She came closer, trying to remember her first aid training; Response, Respiration, Circulation; the mantra in her head.

“Are you alright?” She said, not knowing what else to say. He obviously wasn’t alright.

There was no response, and she gingerly moved forwards again, crouching down by him. The man was very tall, long limbed, and board shouldered. She looked down at her phone again, still no signal. Gently she shoved at his broad shoulder. “Hey, are you alive?”

The man did not move, or make a sound. Mary lent over him, watching his back rise and fall with his laboured breath. Her fingers reached out to find the pulse at his neck, but her wrist was suddenly caught in an iron hard grip. She let out a startled yelp, as her arm was born down hard; twisted so she was forced to the floor. A pair of bright silver eyes bore in to hers, the only thing part of his face revealed by his strange helmet.

“It’s ok.” Mary breathed, fighting down the panic. “I’m just trying to help you. You must have fallen or something…”

The man did not reply. But he stared at her long and hard, his glacial stare chilling her through, like an arctic wind passing over her. Mary bit her lip with the pain. “I will go get some help for you, my mobile isn’t working, but there is a village down the road.”

He slowly relaxed his painful grip, yet still refusing to let her go, as he pushed himself up. “You can let me go now.” Mary said, tugging on her arm. The man had been looking about, and he quelled her struggled with a quick glance that made her feel like an errant child.

He continued to look about. When he did speak his voice was although quiet and slightly horse, was full of authority, rich like a cup of sweet coffee. “Tashen edan, faladar sapsa an’ alali nar.”

“I have no idea of what you just said then. I don't speak much welsh.” Mary admitted, as the man shifted, kneeling up on muscular thighs. “You're not from around here huh? Do you speak English? Hey, do you really think you should be getting up. Look stay there and I will go get help.”

“Tithen De!” The man said curtly.

Mary had no idea what language he was speaking, it wasn’t welsh, but it didn’t need a brain surgeon to work out that he had just told her to shut up. He seemed to shake his head, as one who had received a blow to the head, and was trying to dispel the dizziness. After a moment, he seemed to recover, and reached out with his free hand, retrieving from the floor a deadly looking sword.

Panicking, Mary began to struggle in earnest to get away. But before she could cry out his hand covered her mouth. And he twisted her wrist, forcing her to the ground face down, his body covering hers. Oh Gods! He's going to rape and kill me! She whimpered in distress, and then firmly reminded herself that big girls didn't cry, and only keeping calm would she find a way out of this situation. Still even with her legal brain, Mary was having difficulty thinking of how exactly she was going to argue her way out of this one. But he stayed still, listening apparently. After a little while the strange man spoke, his tone patient but firm; matter of fact. It reminded Mary of how she would speak to a spooking horse. “Q’lau harne cin eshai feir. Si Tithen De!” Carefully he sheathed his sword, allowing Mary to see, before he slowly uncovered her mouth.

“I still don’t understand a word of what you just said.” She whispered. "You need to let me go. I will go get help."

He ignored her, standing, and pulling Mary up with him. The young woman swallowed hard, he was far taller then she had realised, perhaps even seven foot, towering over her, easily the tallest man that she had ever seen in person. The strange leathers that he wore were more like some kind of armour, and clung to his chiselled muscles like a second skin. She had already felt the strength in his limbs; he could break her in two without effort.

He staggered a little, unsteady on his feet, causing Mary to fall flush against him, where he held her, absently, his attention elsewhere. He made a small shushing noise at her startled exclamation of protest. Suddenly the man began to move, pulling her along with him, as he hissed occasionally as he pulled something that hurt. He led her back up the hill, she tried to glance back at the lights, and then back up at the helmeted head. She tugged at his arm, and pointed down the hill.

He seemed to consider the village. But then shook his head, pushing her on. They continued on, he leaned on her slightly, his every muscle tense, alert to some threat she was unaware of, keeping them tight as he could to the hedge row, as one hiding. It made her wonder just what he was afraid of. Just what had she got herself in to?


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The mortal was finally quiet. Valdagerion kept the small creature close, partly because should they begin to talk again it would be easier to silence them, and also the warmth their little body was radiating was welcome. It was obvious that they were completely ignorant of the danger that they were in.

Valdagerion had difficulty deciding what sex the human was. They were young, with slim limbs, the wrist he held in his hand he could snap as easily as a twig. When he had pinned them to the floor, he had been struck by a pretty delicate face, their impossibly large eyes, and soft lips. The human’s body was hidden by shapeless clothes they had short hair under a woollen hat, short like a slave boys. But their sent was utterly intriguing, like flowers and spice. It was confusing, he found that he had to firmly remind himself that he had more pressing problems then the ambiguous sex of this mortal.

It was slow progress, but they made their way up the hill, admittedly the human reluctantly. Valdagerion cursed his weakness, and the energy bolt had knocked out his navigation systems, his signal amplifier, and who knows what else. He intended to make his way to the barrow, away from the humans below. The mortal seemed to want to help him, but he could not risk exposure of his kind, nor could he in good conscious draw the Kaldar-maar down upon the unsuspecting people nearby. He knew the Kaldar –maar were here with one intention, to feed. For now they were more interested in finishing him off then hunting humans, and he would like to keep it that way. Unlike the mortal’s native to his world, or the various nations belonging to the Concorde these humans knew nothing of the Unseele, or the danger they presented. They were defenceless against their evil. Just as the little one beside him was.

The sound of great flapping wings above them, made him crouch slightly, his hand seeking the familiar weight of his blade. The child looked up, their eyes wide and scared. “What was that?” they whimpered.

He almost smiled when they looked up at him, as if he might have understood what the mortal was saying. He tucked them in closer to his body, feeling strangely protective of the little creature. Perhaps it was because it was so small. Strange, he cared little for mortals normally.

Valdagerion caught the scent of two of the Kaldar –maar, they were wounded like he was. The scent of their blood clear in the wilderness, as his must have been. They were hanging back, wary. As they should be, Valdagerion even wounded was a living weapon. The warrior decided to pretend that he was unaware of their stalking him.

The creature decided to attack, coming from behind as before, but this time Valdagerion was ready. The bolt missed him by a fraction, as at the last minute he turned, to meet the vile creatures. He pushed the human behind him out of harm’s way, and caught hold of the first Kaldar-maar by the throat, the second he held off with his blade, before throwing his companion at him, knocking them both over.

They bore there fangs, snarling at him. The human let out a stifled noise of fear, stumbling back. Valdagerion watched as they spotted the mortal, one of them shifting sideways, deciding that they would be the easier pray.

Valdagerion acted first, moving like lightning. He had the advantage, jumping upon them, keeping them on the floor, his blade sinking in deep, dispatching the one, stabbing right through him, wounding the other. But not before the fiend managed to stab him in the shoulder with a javelin. Valdagerion caught hold of it, pulling it from himself, and using the blunter end to pin the creature to the floor, driving it through its chest.

“Run!” He demanded. The human continued to gape, utterly terrified. In frustration he tried to remember a human language. “Adveho!”

The human looked up at him in astonishment, coming out of their petrified shock.

“Agnosco? You understand now?” He demanded.

“Latin?” the human murmured. He repeated his question demanding an answer, they nodded hesitant. “How…quam…?”

He pulled her up impatiently, wincing as it pulled his new wound. “No time. Haud vicis! Run now! Volito!”

Dragging the human with him, he moved as swiftly as his battered body would allow. The mortal barely keeping up with him, as he made for the barrow, knowing that the Kaldar-maar would be hard on their heels.

The Kaldar-maar must have intended to get back via the Porthway, but none were here now, probably all looking for him. He considered his options; he was in no state to fight further. But he was vulnerable out here in the open; he needed to find shelter, a defensible position. It was not ideal, but the barrow only had one narrow entrance, and when the ship arrived, they would find it easily. A hologram and an electromagnetic field protecting the entrance from mortal eyes, the human seemed utterly astonished when he led her in to the small dark passage.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sudden appearance of a tunnel in to the mountain was astonishing, but considering the way the night was going Mary wouldn’t have been surprised if the tunnel lead to a pot of gold, and a leprechaun. Mary followed the man, she could do nothing else, and his grip was an iron band about her wrist. The man, was probably not human, not unless superheroes existed, he was obviously dangerous, but had been protecting her from those things, foolishly perhaps she trusted him. And glancing back, she was sure that wherever he was leading her it was probably less scary then what she had just seen outside. It had been like something in a horror movie, with snarling, vampire like creatures coming for them in the dark.

As she glanced back, she spotted a shadow moving across the entrance of the tunnel. She caught hold of the strangers arm. He glanced down at her. “There’s something behind us!”

He seemed to get the gist, as his strange silver eyes narrowed, and he pushed her against the wall. In Latin he admonished her to stay quiet. She raised her eye brows, as if she was intending to let the things know where they were. It occurred to Mary that her would be rescuer was extremely bossy. The man’s body was pressed against hers, hard and masculine, aggression radiating off him, as he starred down the tunnel. Mary flushed prettily when his eyes slid to hers briefly, lingering. His voice was low, soothing. “Ni indome vare tye.”

“In English please.” She quipped. "Or Latin?"

He tilted his head, as if considering her.


One of the creatures finally entered the passage. The man pushed her harder against the wall, his thigh between hers, keeping her sheltered from whatever might come down the tunnel. His free hand cradling her against him, as she trembled, terrified. The steady metronome of his heart was oddly soothing, as were his words, even if she didn't know what he meant. “N’verya hinya.”

She could hear the man snarl. She closed her eyes, knowing that whatever was about to happen was going to be violent. She felt a static charge surround her, as the man surrounding her tensed. There was a crack, like a whip crack, and even with her eyes closed she could see a bright flash of blue, white light.

Under his arm and through her fingers she caught of a glimpse of the bolt of energy the man was sending out. Like lightning it hit the shadowy form, scorching them from the inside out. The creatures screamed in unholy agony, contorting violently, the stench of burning flesh scouring the air.

“That…..” Mary stuttered. “You’re not human. You can’t be…”


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


He groaned falling to his knees completely spent. That one was dead, but there were still two left, but they had backed off for the time being. The human was standing with their back to the wall, shaking like a leaf, starring at him like he was going to pounce on them. He had wondered how long it was going to take; fear was generally the reaction that he had in the lands of man.

Valdagerion slumped against the wall, passing out for a moment. By the time he had recovered the human was by his side, leaning over him, anxiously pulling at his shoulder, tears running from their eyes.

He reached out and cradled her cheek. He was pretty sure that she was a she now, despite her short hair. His body was calling out for energy, he was glad he was warring his gloves, she was to close, closing his eyes he could sense her life force, strong and vibrant. He stifled a moan, roiling away from her, his body desperate to replenish his bio electricity.

Week, he was so week. He struggled to get up. The girl helped him, and although it was torture to be so close such an easy source of energy he knew they had to get to the chamber at the end of the passage. To do so he needed her help.

His kind, though they did not like to admit it were not so different from the Kaldar-maar. All their kind could manipulate energy, and could take it from others when they needed it. The best warrior’s often took energy from willing donors, increasing their strength. Valdagerion wondered if he was going to survive this, the last twenty meters to the chamber seemed eternal. The girl was valiant, he had to give her that much, as she practically carried him.

At last they entered the chamber. With the last of his energy he managed to roll closed the great stone door, the girl assisting though her strength was little. She let him slump down. On his wrist he looked at a time piece, it would be some time still before the ship arrived, another seven hours. Crawling he found the case he had brought with him. From there he drew out a crystal, with the flick of his wrist a golden light began to glow, small at first, but gradually becoming brighter, bathing the chamber in warm light. There was no heat, but at least it was not dark anymore. The standing stones that formed the chamber were like sentinels, the shallow trough in the floor, the empty Porthway a taunting reminder of how close home could be.

He drew off his helmet, not that it was going to help his headache, but he would feel less claustrophobic. He pulled his gloves off as well. Looking up the human was watching him, eloquently displaying surprise and curiosity, biting her lower lip nervously. Yes, defiantly a girl, and a very pretty one. She had large blue eyes, dark as sapphires, set off by her tawny skin. Her hair was golden, slightly curly, so few creatures across the universe had golden hair, and hers was the colour of straw, bright as sunlight. If she was not so small, she might be mistaken as one of his kind.

He lay back down, the stone was not comfortable, but he was too tired to care. His thoughts drifted, he was fading, so very tired....

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mary had never seen such a handsome man, he took her breath away. He had taken off his dark helmet, revealing a chiselled face that would not have looked out of place on an aftershave advert. Strong brows, a firm chin, cheek bones sharp enough to cut cheese on, a cool regal expression, and a mouth so sensual it should have been a crime. Two strange metallic marks, tattoos perhaps graced his cheeks in a stylised design. Pale almost silver hair flowed down his back, now free from its confines. His diamond like eyes watched her lazily, but never left her, a strange intensity to them making her feel hot and bothered.

She looked down at her hand. It was covered with blood, as was her arm. His blood. He did not seem surprised. “Blood, your blood.” She said, using Latin as he had before.

He touched the wound on his shoulder, looking at the red staining his fingers absently. “You're going to bleed to death.” She said in English. “Don’t you know how to look after yourself scary man?”

The man stiffened as she came closer, she put her hand out in a gesture of peace. “I will help you.” She used Latin again, and he stayed still. Not stopping her, instead opening up his armour to let her look at the wound. It was deep, still bleeding freely, but it did not look like it had hit anything to vital. Her traitorous eyes fell to his perfect pectorals, strong and defined. He really was something else. "We need to stop that." She said absently, knowing he couldn’t understand her, but it might be comforting.

Mary took off her coat and not having anything else to hand, took off her jumper, and began to rip it up, to use as bandages. The man’s eyes had gone as wide as saucers, his whole body tense. His hand stilled her, his iron grip on her wrist demanding obedience. His long fingers icy cool, his touch jolting her like an electric shock. She chided herself, “I know it’s been a long time Mary, but he’s injured, and not even human.”

The man took in a sharp breath of air. He shifted forwards a fraction, a subtle roll of his muscles, his lips parting slightly, and revealing very white teeth. He seemed to still, his gaze shifting away, his brow lowering. Reluctantly he pulled his hand away.

Mary held the one strip up, wrapping it about her arm in demonstration. He shook his head, and pointed to the box like object that lay just out of his reach. She passed it to him. His eyes lingered on her uncovered form, a hungry, predatory gaze, blushing Mary pulled her jumper back on.

“Use this.” He told her, passing her a small vial.

She looked at it, not even knowing how to open it. He sat up slightly, wincing as he did. His hand slowly reaching out, caressing her cheek, sliding up to cradle her temple, his other hand joining it. Mary froze, he looked as if he was about to kiss her forehead. He watched her for a moment, and obviously not being in possession of the words, simply closed her eyelids with a delicate stroke from his thumbs. Images flashed through her mind. For a second it was a confusing stream of consciousness, she was aware of his pain, his annoyance at having got himself in to this situation, his interest in her despite all this, and then she received a series of focused scenes, relating to the vial. It was over in an instant, but it frightened her. He had just placed thoughts in her mind, what else could he do? Just what was he?

She scuttled back, away from him. He did not move, his face remaining impassive, perhaps a little concerned. “Don’t do that again!” She warned him. And to demonstrate the point put her hands to her head, and repeated this in Latin for good measure.

He apologised softly, his voice making her tremble. She supposed that technically he was in her power.

Mary had dropped the vial, and she retrieved it, approaching him again, figuring that she owed him. The vial held some kind of healing agent. As the scenes had showed her, she twisted the bottom of the vial until it clicked. The cool metal warmed in her hand as she did. Gently she shook it, before uncorking it. Slowly, under the supervision of the man, she poured the faintly silver liquid over the huge hole in his shoulder. His face did not betray any pain, but from the images he had showed her, she knew there would be some.

Almost instantly it began to heal. “Wow.” Mary said. “If only doctors knew about this stuff.”

“What is it?” She asked.

The man frowned. He indicated to the box again. This time he brought out something that looked like a leather folder. He taped on it, and moved his fingers over the surface, his brows coming together. After sighing deeply he passed her the folder, revealing it to have words passing across it like a hologram. Again they were in Latin. Mary shook her head ruefully, it was a good thing she studied medieval history at university before she had done her law conversion.

“You don’t know the words.” She repeated.

He nodded.

“Ok, let’s start with something simple. Quis est vestri nomen. What is your name?”

“Rhi Valdagerion Haran.”

“I’m not going to remember all of that.” She said, and then smiled pointing to herself. “Mary. Mary Herewood.”

“Mary.” He repeated, testing it. Hearing her name on his lips made her melt.

“Rhi.” She smiled.

He shook his head. “Valdagerion.”

“Ok, Valdagerion. Where are you from?”

The man smiled, then pointed up. Mary swallowed hard; she had suspected that he might not be quite of this world, but a real alien, so much for little green men, or little grey men.”

“You’re an alien.” She breathed.

“No, Elf.” He contradicted, as he pushed some of his hair behind his ear, revealing their elegantly pointed tips.

Mary’s hand flew to her mouth. Oh, my gods he’s not just an alien, he’s a blooming elf to! She was bubbling with questions, but what to ask first. He indicated that she should sit beside him, were they could both see the screen. He tried for a few minutes to show her what to do, but the typing keys were in strange runic glyphs that looked as confusing to her as Chinese script, and her Latin though good, was not that good.

Let me show you. He typed. Like before.

Mary considered this. His fingers moved over the screen again, dexterous and elegant, Mary itched to have them on her skin again, wanted it so much that she feared it. I will not read your mind; it is just to show you.

She nodded, and let him place his hands on her head again. He showed her the controls of the strange holographic pad. But her mind drifted back to the liquid in the vial. The answer was in his mind, and somehow, without knowing how she did it, she reached in to his mind for what she wanted to know. Nanites, the liquid contained nanites, it was how the Elves healed so fast. And Latin, elves knew some Latin, because whenever they had visited there was always someone who knew Latin. Priests, scribes…

It was him who jerked away this time. Or rather slammed up a mental wall, and dropped his hands. It was her turn to say sorry, hastily on the pad she typed out, I did not know. It was an accident.

His unblinking stare stayed on her flushed face for a moment. Reaching out again he took hold of her head. She made a half hearted attempt to evade him, but he smiled reassuringly at her. “It's quicker.” He said. “I’m tired.” It was the first time that she had seen him smile and it took her off guard, just as his mesmerising eyes drew her in. She wondered if this was what was meant by elfish glamour. {Oh gods, he’s going to read my mind!}

{As you can apparently read mine mortal. This is most unusual.}

Mary let out a little startled noise. He laughed a rich chuckle that made her tingle. From being connected with him, she knew that this was a rare occasion, and the sound almost surprised him as well. If I know this about him, then what on earth has he learned about me? Mary wondered, suddenly highly embarrassed.

{Some very interesting things.} Valdagerion admitted. {Do not worry child of man, it’s beneath me to look at another’s private thoughts. I only read the surface of your mind.}

{Good to know.} She replied dourly. {Could you read my mind if you wanted to?}

{Yes.} He did not lie. Sensing her distress, he sought to sooth her, before he could even work out why he should want to, she was only a mortal after all. {You are hard to read properly. Humans generally are. Your minds are a jumble.}

{So I have a messy mind?}

{All mortals do Mary. You do not communicate like this normally. It is rare that mortals can send their thoughts as you are doing. Do not be surprised that you have a headache after this. } Mary’s sudden anger amused the elf. She was so haughty, yet a little rouge. She interested him more and more. It was this curiosity about her, that was the only thing leashing his need for her life force. It would be so easy to take it now….

“Valdagerion?” She spoke his name aloud. {You’re scaring me.}

{Pardon. I am not myself.}

{Valdagerion, why are you here?}

He wondered how to explain this. Apparently impatient, she reached for the answer yet again. He held her off, easily. {I hunt the things that attacked us tonight. They are the unseele, elf kind that have fallen from the light. They came through the Porthway, a kind of dimensional gate; they came to feed off the life energy of the humans here. It is my duty to stop them….}

“Valdagerion?”

“Ni maure sere. I need to rest.” He sighed in his own language as his hands fell away. He seemed to drift off. Panic seized Mary and she came closer, afraid that he was going to die after all. His lips were blue, and his skin so very pale. He might be an alien, but she suspected that he was not supposed to be that colour. Tenderly she brushed a lock of his silky hair away from his face.

“Ni helka.” He sighed.

“I don’t speak elvish remember.” Mary chided softly.

He was shivering, blood loss, cold, fatigue, and the struggle not to feed from the human's life force. She brought his hand to her rest in her short hair. He sensed the fear in her mind immediately. Humans had such strong emotions, intense in ways that few elves would ever experience. He supposed that they lived such short lives; they had to burn so bright. She had only known him an hour, and yet she was terrified that he might die. {Foolish child. I will not die from this. Pass me my gloves, then sleep beside me, we will share our warmth. I need to rest.}

It was an order. Mary quirked her eye brow at his presumption, but he was right. The chamber was cold; she was already fighting off her own tremors. “I don’t suppose you have a sleeping bag in that box of tricks?” She queried as she passed him his gloves.

The elf blinked at her. He moved his hand to the hologram book, but she laughed. "Don't worry about it." Valdagerion frowned, a crease appearing in his stern brows. It made Mary laugh again, "You're not used to being laughed at."

Gingerly she lay beside him, depositing her coat over both of them. But apparently it was not close enough, as he rolled over, ignoring his injuries; catching hold of her wrist and rolling back, pulling her on top of him. Any protest she might have had, were stilled by a terse sh, from Valdagerion, who promptly fell asleep. Mary seeing nothing else for it, joined him.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Many thanks have to go to the Beta for this chapter Winters Scorn.