John Ringo - Against the Tide

All of this movement had distracted her from the approaching boats and she didn’t look back at them until the lead boat scraped on the stone of the pier. Sailors scrambled up with lines but just as quickly a truly huge man in legion armor leapt to the pier, his hobnail boots striking sparks on the stone.

He was an imposing figure, well over two meters of metal and leather. His Roman-style helmet was buckled at the chin and the flaps covered his face except for a bit of nose and shadowed eyes. Little else could be seen of him between cloak, armor and kilt. The man strode over to where Megan waited, flanked by Laird McClure, and dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

“Mistress Travante, Major Herzer Herrick, UFS Ground Forces. I have been tasked by Queen Sheida to ensure your protection until we can bring you, and your people, to safety in Norau.” As he said this he unbuckled his helmet and then looked up. “I am yours to command.”

He looked up into Megan’s eyes and she felt her heart literally stop, frozen by fiery green eyes.

“Bast, just this once, let me make the frigging entrance, okay?” Herzer growled. “It’s my job .”

“Okay, lover-boy,” Bast said, hitting him on the shoulder hard enough to be felt through the armor. “But you’re just pawing the ground over actual harem girls to rescue and you know it.”

“Key-holder,” Herzer pointed out. “Council member by default. Meddle not in the affairs of wizards for they are subtle and quick to anger. This girl killed Paul Bowman; I’m not sure I’d want to date somebody that could do that.”

“You do more than date me, boyo!” Bast pointed out.

“So why’d she have to do it?” Herzer said with a grin as he put on his helmet.

“TouchŽ,” Bast replied.

The women and Gael were all watching the dragons, as planned, although there was one fellow, a short, stocky, dark-skinned little bastard of a fighter by the look who was watching the approaching boats warily. Herzer jumped to the dock as fast as the sailors detailed to run the lines but his foot slipped on the slimy stone of the pier, causing a jet of sparks. He leaned forward and made it appear as if that was the standard way for a Blood Lord to arrive on a potentially hostile pier, then turned on his heel and marched to the awaiting group. Most of the women were dressed in clothes that were shapeless and simple but there was one in the group, a tall bird-woman apparently, who was naked except for a coating of down.

Herzer dragged his eyes from the bird-woman to the much less spectacular brunette who was wearing a chain from which a councilor’s Key dangled. He dropped to one knee and recited his prepared lines.

“Mistress Travante, Major Herzer Herrick, UFS Ground Forces. I have been tasked by Queen Sheida to ensure your protection until we can bring you, and your people, to safety in Norau.” He was unbuckling his helmet as he recited them and when he was done he looked up into her eyes. “I am yours to command.”

The last words were strangled as he felt a jet of adrenaline dump into his system. The only time he’d felt this way was in battle, a tough one with enemies that had a serious chance of killing him. His skin was flushed and he knew he was, frankly, staring.

So this was what they meant by love at first sight.

When Bast saw the woman freeze, and heard Herzer stumble over his lines, she mentally sighed. Time to break in a new boy-toy. But she was continuing to scan the women that had accompanied the council member and let out a joyous cry at one face.

“Mirta!” she screamed.

Herzer shook his head as Bast yelled a name and bounded past him, picking up a woman who wasn’t much taller than she.

“Apparently Bast has found a friend,” he said, huskily, getting up off the slimy jetty. He turned to McClure, trying to remember his mission. “Laird McClure? In addition to picking up the women you have been sheltering we have supplies for you and your people. There are weapons, cloth and tools in the ships. If you have some people that can help them unload I’d appreciate it.”

“Not as much as I appreciate the supplies,” the laird said. “We’ll get started at once.”

“Herzer!” Bast said, dragging the woman forward. “You need to meet Mirta!”

“Good day, mistress,” he said, casting a quick glance at the council member, Megan. He ran the name around in his head for a moment, trying not to append “Herrick” to it, and then took the small hand of Bast’s friend. “Any friend of Bast’s, et cetera. Nice to meet you.”

“Not as nice as it is to meet you,” Mirta replied, looking up at him with bright eyes. “I’m ready to get out of this gloomy land.” She looked over at the laird in distress. “Not that I’m not grateful…”

“It’s all right,” McClure said. “Some take to the Highlands and some don’t.”

“If you don’t mind,” the bird-woman said, stepping forward. “I’d prefer to fly out to the ship. I don’t like small boats and…” She shrugged, rustling her wings. “I don’t fit well in them; I tend to reach for balance and…”

“That’s fine,” Herzer said. He looked up until he spotted a rider that was watching the group and signaled that the bird-woman was going to fly out. “Go ahead,” he continued. “Mistress Travante…”

“Call me Megan, please,” she said in a quiet tone.

“Megan, then,” he continued, trying not to look her in the eye. “If you’d care to board the boat?” he asked, holding out his hand. As she took it he felt an electric shock pass through his body and he lowered her carefully into the waiting launch. The short man, obviously a bodyguard, followed her into the craft and Herzer held up his hand as others scrambled forward. “We can only take five. Bast…”

“I’ll stay here with Mirta,” Bast said, grinning. She winked at him and grinned wider. “Why don’t you take Megan back and show her her quarters?”

“I’d like Shanea and Amber,” Megan said, pointing at two of the other women.

“Bast, sort out the embark, will you?” Herzer said as he scrambled into the boat. “Make way. Head for the Hazhir .”

Megan tried to sort out her feelings as they headed for the ship. She didn’t believe in love at first sight, but her reaction couldn’t be anything else. Well, maybe lust. Herzer was the most… masculine man she could remember ever meeting. It had taken her a long time to even notice that his left hand was missing, replaced by some sort of complex prosthetic. His face was also heavily scarred, one scar running from his ear to chin with another on the opposite cheek. And at some point his nose had been broken; it was slightly squashed. Despite that, he was handsome, very handsome. Too handsome. She had to get this under control.

“Major… Herrick was it?” Megan asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Herzer answered, then cleared his throat.

“I’ve heard the name before,” Megan said, suddenly. “Paul hated you almost as much as he hated Duke Talbot.”

Herzer suddenly grinned and she realized that he was far younger than he at first appeared, maybe her own age. She had taken him for nearly a hundred.

“You don’t know how much that pleases me, ma’am,” Herzer said, still grinning. “And may I congratulate you on your accomplishment?”

“It was… ugly,” Megan said, shuddering at more than the wind off the water.

“Killing is,” Herzer said gently, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around her. It was still warm from his body and was filled with his smell. She wrapped it more tightly around herself as much from the pure sensation as against the cold. For some reason she was no longer really feeling it. In fact, she felt like she was running a fever. God this was bad.