Chapter Text
Vilkas laid in bed, reeling. When Roskva had approached him for training, he was a little apprehensive at first, but she seemed eager so he had agreed. The fiery banter she had thrown his way had amused him more than it had irked him for he enjoyed a quick-witted response. He had caught a glimpse of her hidden fire again and was hoping to discover more about her as they trained. But all he discovered was that he was a dog.
Her attempts at using a greatsword entertained him, but he had begun to pity her as she kept trying, pushing through her embarrassment. Then, when he’d let his guard down a bit to assist her, their innocently connected bodies had caused a stirring in his loins.
He was mortified, sure that she had sensed it, but she had appeared oblivious. His only option at that point was to tuck tail and run, mentally scolding himself at his beast-like response to her body.
Roskva’s scent still lingered in his nostrils. She smelled like he first remembered, but he had detected another hint of something; sulphur, no not quite that pungent, ashes… no, that wasn’t it either. The best way he could describe it was fire. She smelled like something that had no scent. It undid every logical connection in his mind. She was spiraling him into insanity.
Vilkas groaned, rolling over in bed as his desire began to stir again. He couldn’t stop thinking about her shape, her lithe but strong muscles, her enticing grunts as she exerted herself. Everything about her that night had sent all his blood rushing downwards, and he hated it. He hated her.
He hardly knew this woman, much less trusted her, yet she aroused him in a way no one else ever had. His beast had relished her form, panting inside him as her perfectly fitted armor revealed the curve of her hips and backside. When his arms had slid around her, Vilkas caught himself wondering what her neck would feel like against his open mouth.
Vilkas turned in his bed again, landing on his stomach and painfully pushing against his groin. He flipped onto his back, seeing red. The beast was howling inside his brain tonight and he felt the uncontrollable urge to transform. But no amount of torn flesh and gorging would solve his dilemma. He had to get out of Jorrvaskr, away from Roskva.
Vilkas crept through the halls, only in his trousers, watching closely for anyone. No one was awake. He pushed his way through the doors into the midnight air and ran. Panting and sore, he never slowed, not even when his bare feet caught rocks beneath him. He gloried in the pain, forgetting everything else.
He found himself in an open field, no landmarks in sight. Kicking himself for foolishly winding up lost, he looked to the sky, begging Masser to lead him home. He watched the large moon for what seemed like hours until he saw it sink further into the sky. He used the direction of its path to discover west and turned, walking south back into the city.
As Vilkas walked, he calculated. He needed to stay away from Roskva, at least until Kodlak found the cure. If he even does, he thought bitterly. He had successfully convinced himself that the issue was his beast. He was not attracted to the girl, gods, he didn’t even like the girl. His inner wolf was simply hungry and using any means necessary to push Vilkas into a transformation. As long as Roskva was out of sight, he would be fine. He prayed that she would land another job soon, perhaps she could even take Ria this time to relieve him further.
He climbed the wall back into the training yard, avoiding a conversation with any posted guards at the city gates. He crept back down to the living quarters, quietly shutting the door behind him. We he turned to walk the hallway to his room, he froze.
Roskva was sitting at her usual table, writing. She glanced at him, offering a timid half-smile. He walked down the hall, ignoring her. He threw himself back into bed, tossing and turning for hours until he heard others rustling to get dressed. He never slept.
************
Lying in her bed, Roskva contemplated leaving the Companions. If she was going to be treated like an expendable vermin hunter, she would be better off alone.
Vilkas’s sudden change in mood had stunned her. What had she done to upset him? All she was trying to do was learn, for the gods’ sakes! He obviously despised her, and being a Circle member, that would make her initiation into the Companions painfully difficult. Even if she managed to prove herself, why would she want to be around someone that hated her?
Sleep had fled her, so she’d gone into the hall to journal. She was beginning to calm herself with the meditations of her words of power, when in strolled Vilkas, eyeing her like she had broken into the building and stolen their most prized possessions. She had even smiled at him, and all she got in return was scorn.
She loathed the ill-tempered bastard. But she loathed herself more for admiring his muscle-ridden torso, his perfect chest. She clawed her own palm, leaving red welts, lying in bed remembering the twitch in her loins as she saw him shirtless. What is wrong with me?!
There had been a few men in Cyrodiil that caught Roskva’s eye, but their kisses and caresses never amounted to anything other than unsatisfying fumblings in the dark. The stirring she longed to feel, that other women gossiped over, never came to her. Yet here she was, her insides aching over a man who hated her. Over a man she hated.
Roskva tossed forever it seemed, desperate to think of anything else. She tried to think about her shouts, her impending note from Delphine, her adventures in draugr-infested ruins. Nothing worked.
She laid motionless in the dark, Njada’s snoring infuriating her further. She prayed to all the gods to calm her thoughts. Someone must have heard her because her racing heart slowed, and her mind began to rest. She assured herself that this would pass, her senses were just heightened because of the insurmountable burden she bore as the Dragonborn. Yes, that must be it. Nothing that another job or two couldn’t help.
She wouldn’t leave the Companions; she would simply keep herself busy, away from that handsome damnable Nord.
