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The warm wind gently stirred Aelin’s dark hair as she stood at the edge of the hill, watching Martinus fight off a group of bandits below. His movements were powerful and precise, each swing of his axe slicing through the air with terrifying force.
— Why… why him, not me?.. — Aelin said it aloud, more to herself than to her companion, but her bodyguard, standing beside her, still snorted without taking his eyes off the clearing below.
— Because you’re an elf — you don’t belong here at all, — he spat contemptuously, gaze still locked on the battle.
Aelin slowly turned her head toward him. Her eyes narrowed.
— Say that again, — her voice was quiet, but there was a sharp tension in it, blade-like, along with that maddeningly sultry undertone she still hadn’t gotten used to — the one that always ruined the mood when she wanted to sound fierce.
— You heard me just fine, — the man frowned, stepping slightly back from the edge. — I’m not here to stroke your ears. I got paid to escort you. Nothing more.
— We paid you—
— That giant down there paid me, not you, — the blond interrupted Aelin with a smirk, adjusting his cloak. — So don’t act like you’re in charge.
— You fucking... — she stepped toward him, fists clenched, — ...bastard. If it weren’t for me—
But he just shrugged, looking past her shoulder — to where Martinus, like some epic hero, was gutting enemies with a single swing of his axe. The whole field below seemed like a cruel reminder of how useless she’d become.
— If it weren’t for you, — he muttered at last, — we’d be at the western gates by now. Every time you scream in a tavern, every shitshow with a shopkeeper, every time you butt into conversations without knowing the context — it all slows us down. You’re dragging the group. You don’t even fight.
— Oh yeah? And who healed your sorry ass? — Aelin glared up at him again, trying to still look strong. — Want me to remind you how you were bleeding out in the K’Ragi dungeons, and no one could save you — except me? — her voice grew quieter, lips trembling like she was barely holding back a scream. Even now, behind that flashy, half-cocky appearance, the same fury burned in her eyes. But she sounded more like a spoiled princess than the nerd Josh used to be.
The bodyguard snorted in disdain.
— Don’t flatter yourself. You just pressed up against me like some camp whore. I would’ve made it out without you.
Aelin felt her face flush hot with blood, even stronger now, and she turned away. Damn this body, she would’ve screamed if she hadn’t already done it a million times before. As if it wasn’t enough that she belonged to a race — no, a caste — that no one took seriously. One that, nine times out of ten, ended up working in brothels. But no — when they found the stone that unlocked powers and Josh inside Aelin finally saw a sliver of hope, she rushed to it without hesitation. The stone lit up — soft, enveloping light, like it was inviting her… or recognizing her. And then the flash, the warmth, and a voice — foreign, but piercing straight into her mind:
‘Gift. Eln’ria. Kisser of life. The goddess’s touch. Woman’s flesh, feeding with power, granting healing to the living.’
— What? — Aelin had jerked back then, recoiling from the stone like from a bite. — Hey! What the fuck is this…
But the mages only exchanged glances — until then, they had stood watching her with contempt, afraid she'd defile the sacred stone. But nothing happened, and in that moment, the elder — tall, with graying temples and a chain on his robe — sighed:
— You are truly blessed with uniqueness. I’ve read about this gift in ancient scrolls. The embrace of the goddess and the kisses of healing, — the mage spoke with reverence, as if he didn’t notice how Aelin’s face was slowly losing all color. — It’s an incredibly rare ability. Among elves, it appears once in a century. A power no human woman could ever possess.
— You… you mean I… heal when I… hug someone? — her voice trembled, and even now, it sounded too soft, too melodic.
— And kiss, — the mage nodded with a faint smile. — Contact through the lips is especially powerful. The healing is instant — it restores vitality and can even prevent death.
It seemed to Aelin she had already endured every humiliation this strange world could throw at her. But in that moment, she realized it had all just been the beginning. Because then came the first time. The first time she — Josh, still him inside, the guy who lived for raids and Friday nights with beer and pizza — kissed an almost-dead warrior. Not because she wanted to. But because otherwise, he would’ve died. Because that’s how her “goddess-given ability” worked.
— Kiss him, — the mage said calmly, barely glancing at the soldier sprawled out on the stones.
— What?! — Aelin recoiled, pressing her hands to her breasts. — You… you’re serious?!
— Or he dies.
And she kissed him. Like in slow motion — leaning down, teeth clenched, touching the lips of a stranger whose body was already starting to grow cold. A wave of magic surged through her — soft, but warm, and far too intimate. She felt the power gather low in her belly, then burst out through her lips with heat — like it wasn’t her giving, but him taking. And when the man suddenly gasped, life flooding back into him, Aelin jerked away, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with horror.
Three months had passed since then.
Now she stood at the edge of the forest, watching Martinus tear through yet another gang of cutthroats. Her top hugged her breasts tightly, thin straps rubbing against her skin, while the bodyguard’s gaze — that same blond bastard in a robe — was just as mocking and scornful as ever.
— You really are weird, — he muttered, letting his eyes slide over her body. — Your race was made for… touching. And you act like you don’t even like hugging men.
Aelin bit her lip for a moment, knowing she was on the verge of snapping again, but desperate not to — knowing it was pointless. Her lips, by the way, were full and glossy — even without makeup, they looked like she’d just stepped out of a steamy romance scene. She hated it. Hated how her face now worked against her. And hated how everyone, absolutely everyone, kept reminding her of what she was — like it was humanity’s one true purpose.
— Maybe you should just shut the fuck up, — she muttered through her teeth, without turning around.
— Everything in this world should be in its rightful place. Your ability — it’s a blatant sin, — he said coldly, almost lazily, like he was reading some boring paragraph from a religious tract.
Aelin just sighed. Enough. That holy preacher bullshit again. She made a mental note to tell Martinus that in the next town, they needed to replace her bodyguard — good thing they had the money. Well, Martinus had the money, to be exact — the same Martinus who had just finished off the last enemy and now turned toward them, covered in bruises, wounds, and scratches.
She didn’t even get a chance to speak before the blond next to her smirked:
— Go on, healer. Your little barbarian over there looks like he needs some of your… kisses.
Aelin slowly turned her head toward him. Her eyes weren’t just annoyed — in that moment, she looked at him like she was imagining ripping his tongue out by the root. But instead, she only whispered:
— One more word, and I’ll make you pray you were born in this body.
He just snorted.
She started down the slope, each step heavy with pain — not physical, but deeper. Psychological. Like she had been clinging all this time to the idea that she could still be herself — Josh, the guy, the person... And now — just a female body, an elven face, a figure built to drive men crazy. And the power. The power she hated. The power they kept using.
Martinus was standing, leaning on his axe, blood dripping from his shoulder. His chest heaved, breathing rough. He saw her and gave a small nod, almost apologetically — as if saying sorry for asking again. For making her do it again.
She walked closer.
— Well, — he exhaled, — don’t just stand there, goddess of life. Took a sword to the liver. Or maybe it was a halberd. Who cares. Look at that damn hole.
Aelin bit her lip, barely suppressing the tremble. She stepped in. Felt the heat of his body, the scent of metal, sweat, blood. Her fingers touched his chest — her hand was shaking. He didn’t say a word. Just looked at her.
And then, for the who-knows-how-many time in the past three months, she closed her eyes, rose up on her toes and… kissed him.
Softly. Briefly. Lips to lips. And in that moment, she felt the heat rise from within, as if everything low in her belly was twisting into a knot, and then — a surge. Light, magic, as if he was drinking in her energy, breathing it in.
Martinus inhaled sharply, his shoulders straightened, and the wound vanished.
He looked at her with gratitude. And something else. Too focused. Too attentive.
— Thanks, — he breathed.
Aelin stepped back and turned away. Covered her mouth with her hand. Lowered her gaze.
— Don’t mention it... — she whispered, quietly. And thought, ‘When did this become normal?’