The Stone Priest's Wife, Part 1: Alaira's Date

For better or worse, I've realized I'm never going to get any further with Centurion 6.  Why?  Because my flash drive crashed, and I lost the draft.  Ugh.  I mean, not that I'd been working on it, but still.  So anyway...

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I. ALAIRA’S DATE

“Well, how do I look?” Alaira asked.  She held her hands away from her sides and turned to show off her dress.  It was the red silk number she’d bought with the proceeds from their last job, and it hugged her waist nicely.  The slit up the side showed her legs to their best advantage. 

“You look great,” Belle replied.  “You always do.  Not that it’s going to matter.”

“Gods, Belle, do you have to be such a downer?” Alaira turned on her heel and started back towards the Trainer’s Area.  “Modor appreciates me.”

Belle hurried to catch up.  “Modor appreciates everyone with a nice set of legs.”

“Oh come on!”  Alaira said.  “That’s not fair.  Modor’s had it pretty rough.  But in his heart, he’s just like everybody else.  He wants to be loved.”

“By everyone.”

“No.  By someone who loves him back.  I’m his friend.  That means something to him.  He just hasn’t realized how much yet.”

“Maybe,” Belle said.  She sighed.  “I mean, yeah okay, you’re not just another one of his fight groupies.  I know that.  And I know he cares for you.  But that won’t change who he is.”

“That’s why we have to hurry!”  Alaira smiled at her friend and then pushed her way through the door into the Trainer’s Area.  Save for the occasional fighter packing up his gear, the room was deserted.  It was sad.  The night’s violence was over, and its place there was only the wreckage of men trying to pick up whatever pieces remained. 

Alaira was athletic more than beautiful, but she knew that what she’d told Belle was true.  Modor did appreciate her.  She just had to make him see how much.  To that end, she’d worn her hair combed over to one side and lightly curled—just the way he liked it.  Happily, the curl seemed to be holding despite the locker room’s humidity.  Of course, there wasn’t much she could do about the scar on her cheek, but then again, Modor had scars, too.  That was one of the reasons she liked him so much.

She took a moment to straighten her dress and to make sure that she was as presentable as she could be, and then she opened the door to Modor’s private room.  She frowned.  Her heart fell.  Modor was already in conversation with someone. 

Alaira shook her head. 

The hussy with Modor was barely more than a teenager.  She was also obviously rich.  Her translucent silk robe—and the rubies on her rings, bracelets, and earrings—made that abundantly clear.  And yet, despite her money, her clothes barely sufficed to hide her well-fed figure.  Her robe was so short that it was almost unfit for polite conversation.  Unfortunately, she was also young enough that her rich girl’s diet hadn’t yet gone to her hips.  Alaira hated her for that.  She might have taken the girl for little more than a provocative innocent were it not for the way that the girl’s fingers trailed down Modor’s bicep and across his chest when she spoke.  As it was, the girl’s eyes were just a little too large to be convincing. 

Alaira inhaled sharply.  She realized that she recognized the girl!  By the Gods, Alaira thought, what is Modor thinking?  Thankfully, at that moment he saw Alaira and cut his conversation short.  He touched the girl’s arm, and she turned.  She smiled and waved.  Despite herself, Alaira waved back.  A moment later, the hussy was gone. 

“You’re insane.  You know that, right?” Alaira asked when she and Modor were alone with Belle.

Modor sat down in his favorite wicker chair.  His smile told the world that he knew he was always right.  “Insane is such a strong word,” he mused.  “I am... aroused.”

Alaira pointed back towards the door.  “Do you know who that was?”

“Of course.  Don’t you?”

Belle interrupted.  “I thought that guy had you beat out there tonight.”

“Oh come on,” Modor replied.  He turned to face Belle.  “You know me better than that.”

“You keep dropping your left, and eventually somebody’s going to make you pay,” Belle said.  “Even the great Modor Ulgoth can be beaten, you know.”

“You just want to see me lose.  But it ain’t gonna happen.”

Despite herself, Alaira laughed.  It was indeed hard to imagine Modor losing a fight.  He stood nearly seven feet tall and was clearly more than human.  Bent, cornered ears and a single protruding incisor spoke clearly of an infernal heritage about which he himself rarely said anything.  Yet for all that, the man, if a person with a pure-blood demon in his ancestry could even be called a man, had a ready smile and chiseled musculature that made women swoon.  Plus, his long-standing success as a prize fighter gave him a notoriety that many found attractive.  Alaira knew that she shouldn’t have been surprised to find him already engaged in conversation when she arrived, especially given that he’d triumphed in the ring earlier that night, but knowing a thing and being emotionally prepared for it were different propositions.  Knowing that she should have been prepared didn’t make the actual discovery of a romantic rival any less disappointing. 

Still, as Belle had pointed out, Alaira was Modor’s friend—even when she wasn’t his lover. 

“You must know that Cindar Belam isn’t going to be happy when he learns you’ve been ogling his newest trophy wife,” Alaira said.

Modor leaned back and put both hands behind his head.  “By the time I’m through with her, my ogling will be the least of Belam’s concerns, trust me.  I dare say that he’ll be more than merely unhappy… if he ever finds out.”

Alaira shook her head.  “When are you meeting her?”

“Tonight.”  He shrugged.  “It’s a new moon, and she seemed anxious.” 

Alaira grunted.  Without thinking she said, “I should go with you.”

Modor sat up abruptly.  “Do you want to?”  He smiled again.  “I’d thought to make it a tête-à-tête, but the lady is a bit of a vixen.  I’m sure she’d be up for something more.”

Alaira blushed and looked away.  “That’s not what I meant.”

“Are you sure?”  Modor got up from his chair and cupped Alaira’s face in his hands.  She tried not to enjoy it.  “I think she would like you, and I know I would love sharing her with you.”  He paused for a moment.  “That’s a lovely dress, by the way.”

Alaira's blush deepened, and she pulled away.  But even as she did, she knew a part of her wanted to go with him.  Modor would need help getting into Belam’s compound, and that was help she could provide.  And more to the point, Alaira didn’t want Modor to forget about her while he was off playing with a newer, younger strumpet.  Alaira could well imagine the size of Modor’s ego after he’d had his way with half of Belam’s harem.  Despite his vow of celibacy, Cindar Belam, the High Priest of the Stone God in the City of Brega, was reputed to possess one of the finest collections of female flesh in the entire Empire.  Cuckolding such a man would please Modor to no end.

“Fine.  I’ll go,” Alaira said at last.

“You will?” 

Belle slapped her forehead.  “I can’t listen to this.  If either of you need me, I’ll be with Xarian.”

It was easier for Belle, Alaira knew.  Though Belle had been with Modor for years, she and Modor had never been intimate.  Modor had found Belle when she was still a teenager at a monastery at the base of the Alacian Moutains.  Alaira didn’t know why Belle had chosen to leave the cloister and follow a half-demon across the Empire to the port city of Brega, but she knew that their friendship was a central facet in each of their lives.  Still, it was difficult to imagine a more mismatched pair.  Where Modor was beautiful, Belle was bizarre.  She was whip-thin and bare-scalped except at the base of her skull.  There she wore a ponytail of dirty red hair tied closely in a knot.  Her eyes were almost unnaturally large. 

That made it no easier for Alaira to meet Belle’s gaze.

Modor came to Alaira’s rescue.  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and said, “Buck up, kiddo.”  He pointed at Belle.  “This heathen doesn’t understand the value of a night of a thousand pleasures.  That’s not your fault.”

“Whatever you say, Boss,” Belle replied.  “At least Alaira can help keep you from getting caught.  If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not find you hanging from the gallows tomorrow morning.”  Belle looked at Alaira.  “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah,” Alaira replied, “Thanks.”