Rene Lyons - Where the damned come to play

Devon curled her fingers around Roderick's wrist and pulled his hand from her lips. Held captive by his stare, she slipped her hand into his as they lowered their arms. It felt-right-to have her hand in his. Something told her that she'd waited her entire life for this moment, to be here with this man only why or how it was possible, Devon couldn't say.

The hiss of his sword sliding into the leather sheath was the only sound besides their breathing that broke the silence. She ached to lean toward him and press her mouth to his lips, to feel their softness and to have his arms encircle her and hold her against his chest. It took all of her resolve to not give into the need.

The smell emanating from Roderick broke the spell and had Devon grimacing. She put a hand to her nose and stepped back. He appeared puzzled by her actions. Or was it insulted?

"You detest my touch?"

Clearly the man couldn't smell his own stink.

"Detest it? No." How, exactly, does one point out to a medieval warrior, that his body odor offends? "When was the last time you took a shower?"

"Shower?"

"A bath?" She clarified.

"Ah." Dawning crossed his features, which were too appealing by half. "Are you saying I smell?"

Devon nodded, grinning. "Just a bit."

It was almost too easy for Devon to forget he was a misplaced Viking despite his clothing, his sword and the overall warrior-look of him. Logic told her he was dangerous yet she didn't fear him. In fact, being with him seemed the most natural thing in the world, as if her soul and his soul had known this moment would come and it was merely a matter of fixing a terrible wrong in having them born in different times in history.

His laughter at her admission was rich and resonating. The smile lit his face and revealed good teeth-something she always doubted a medieval person would have considering the lack of dental hygiene. "I've been lost as sea for months.

That would explain the stench.

She led him upstairs, taking him to the bathroom. Devon found it funny to explain modern plumbing to a Viking. She watched as he flushed the toilet a few thousand times, awestruck by something any modern person took advantage of. She provided him with a new toothbrush, something her mother always had on hand, and explained she'd wash his clothes for him while he showered.

Devon damn neared died of shock when he pealed off his clothes without a thought or care that she was still in the bathroom with him. He removed the armbands that encircled his upper arms before handing his clothes to her. The sword he refused to part with, resting it on the closed toilet lid. She accepted the bundle, stumbling out-but not before making sure she got an eyeful of his magnificent body.