Chapter 395: The Charmer and the Butcher’s Disciple
The day had been nothing short of overwhelming for Brigid. First, she was forced to help a boy infiltrate the cult she served, only to end up bound to him as his slave.
Then she discovered that same boy was a descendant of the Ven Dyke family—a house powerful enough to rival the royal family itself—and on top of that, he could absorb the essence of a god.
Now, as night settled in, she lay beside him—keeping a deliberate distance, of course. Still, her eyes never left him. The weight of her stare made Cassian shift slightly, uncomfortable even with his eyes closed.
Finally, he exhaled and muttered, "Am I really that handsome?"
Brigid’s expression twisted in confusion. "What?"
Cassian cracked a small smile as he opened his eyes. "You were staring at me. I figured maybe you found my face charming?"
Brigid’s expression twisted instantly into disgust. "Not a chance in hell."
"Ouch, that stings," Cassian said with a faint, mock-pained smile. He turned over, closing his eyes again. "Now quit staring and get some sleep. We’ve got an early morning."
Brigid gave a short nod, though her eyes stayed fixed on him. "If you swear on your Warrior’s Circle that you’ll free me when this is over, I’ll help you infiltrate the camp—and make sure you get back alive."
Cassian rolled back toward her, a grin spreading across his face. "Really? You’ll help me? Honestly, I thought you’d laugh in my face and call me a lying bastard." His smirk widened. "What’s next—you start trusting me with your life? Maybe even knit me a sweater while you’re at it?"
He shook his head with exaggerated disappointment. "Careful, Brigid. Keep this up and people might start thinking you actually think I’m handsome. Can’t have that ruining your scary, hate-filled reputation."
Her glare sharpened instantly. "What people, you bastard? And what ’handsome face’? I’d sooner watch you bleed out right here." Her voice rose, then she forced it down with a sharp breath. Finally, more controlled, she added, "So? Do you want my help or not?"
"Of course I want it," Cassian said, an amused smile tugging at his lips. Then his expression steadied, the lightness fading though a trace of sincerity remained. "I swear on my Warrior’s Circle... if you, Brigid Cryew, help me see this through, I’ll release you from this slavery."
Brigid gave a small nod, the faintest hint of a smile crossing her face as she turned away. "Fine. But don’t expect anything more than that."
"As you say, my lady," Cassian replied, amused as he watched her back.
His eyes lingered despite himself. She was dangerous—no doubt about that. A cultist, and worse, a grand disciple of the man they called the artistic Butcher. He had no illusions about her nature, or what she was capable of. Agreeing to help him didn’t suddenly make her less twisted.
But still... her figure was hard to ignore. Curves that drew his eyes without permission, her frame deceptively graceful for someone trained in cruelty. She wasn’t much in the chest, but her hips and the curve of her rear more than made up for it—enough that Cassian finally realized he hadn’t really taken a good look before.
It was a sight to take in—larger even than Ravees’ or Cassandra’s, who, with their taller frames, carried their own impressive figures. Brigid was shorter than both of them—though still above average height—and yet her curves surpassed theirs.
Her build gave her a strange but striking balance. A slim waist with faint love handles, a chest only slightly broader than her middle—enough to keep her upper body proportionate. But below the waist, everything changed: wide hips, thick thighs, and a rear that drew the eye no matter how hard one tried to look away.
Her mage robes, cut in a styled fashion, only made it worse. The fabric parted around her thighs, flashing glimpses of pale brown skin along her back and legs. It was distracting, dangerously so.
Cassian couldn’t stop himself from speaking. "I know we’ve only just met today, and we don’t really know much about each other..."
Brigid, still awake, turned her head toward him with a puzzled look, waiting for him to finish.
"...but would you be willing to have sex with me?" he asked bluntly.
Her eyes widened in shock. Cassian braced himself for curses or a knife at his throat—but none came.
Instead, she said flatly, "Yeah. Let’s do it."
This time, Cassian was the one caught off guard. He sat up quickly, staring at her. "Really? Just like that?"
Brigid pushed herself up as well, her expression calm, almost indifferent. She loosened the knots holding her robes at the sides, the fabric slipping slightly as she glanced at him. "Why? You don’t want to?"
"...No, I do," Cassian replied, flustered.
"Then take your clothes off," she said with a faint smile, clearly amused at his reaction. After a pause, she added, "Honestly, I’m surprised you even asked. I thought you’d just use that ring to force me."
Cassian began removing his armor as well. Normally, sleeping in the middle of a forest crawling with monsters—some stronger than the troll that had nearly crushed him days ago—meant staying battle-ready at all times. Add cultists and demon spawns into the mix, and letting your guard down was never an option.
Well... unless you were about to have sex.
And Brigid didn’t seem to be joking. Her mage robes hung loose around her frame, knots undone. Cassian hesitated for a moment before asking, "Did the Commander ever make you... do this?"
The name alone twisted her expression into fury. "That bastard?" she spat. "No. All he did was lock me in some dark place and freeze me in time. Couldn’t even move—just stare into nothing."
With a sharp tug, she freed the last of the ties holding her robe. Raising her arms, she let the fabric slide away, bare now under the moonlight.
Beneath her robe, her breasts—neither small nor overly large—were held by a dark red lace bra. Cassian, already stripped of his armor and shirt, made her raise an eyebrow in surprise.
"You’re fast..." she said with an amused smile.
Cassian stepped closer, his hands brushing against the sides of her exposed waist as he leaned in. "Can’t help it," he murmured, "when there’s a beautiful woman who clearly needs my help to get undressed." His fingers trailed over her soft almond skin, slipping toward the clasp of her bra.
"Who said I need any help?" she said, amused, staring at his face. Despite her earlier remark about being disgusted by it, she couldn’t help but agree—he did have the face of a charmer.