Strange to think that he could find someone so ... cold and distant as warm and inviting as he did. But then, Ceannah of the Anacleto never did anything without calculation. That was part of his interest. That she might enjoy a good bedding before a marriage, discreetly, was something he hoped. That she would attach no special significance to the offer was something he knew. But he wanted to ... be fascinated, instead of simply tearing off her dress. He wanted to feel that he was conversing with someone - or something? - truly unique. It had been long since a conversation made him feel that way. Ever since he'd stopped listening to those foolish tales of Pol's, and ever since Eibhear had been dispatched for having the heart of a tiger. Fenrir did not believe in things like curses or malice of the gods - nonsense for children - but he did wonder how he had lived when coimrades had died. Eibhear had a fiery temper, a quick tongue and a steady hand. You could ask for little else in a companion.
And he was always very, very interesting.
Ceannah, on the other hand. What was she save a lady of a house on the verge of collapse? This would have pleased Eibhear. He might even have come along, had he been alive. No one ever credited that Lord with the ability to still swords and keep arrows in the quiver, but he could speak of peace as though it were some grand state of enlightenment all should experience. He could do it drenched in blood, on his wedding day. There was a place in hell for souls like that, who inspired others to risk their lives for no good end. Eibhear's problem was that he never would have seen hell if he'd actually done that. So on he went, to hell for his sins, and they were still here.
A whisper of sound turned her head. Not him. But she needn't know that.
The cloak he wore granted him invisibility on par with nothing else. There was no heat to see, no stench to smell, no glimmer to witness. Only him, stationed beneath the cloak, utterly concealed so long as he did not move. Peering at her with eyes that were unseen gave him the usual thrill that such things always did. He probably could have found his way into her chambers without the cloak - but not this close, close enough to touch, dropping down while she inspected the windows and then waiting. She had no idea he was less than two feet away, and could have an arrow in her throat before she had time to issue a scream out of that pretty throat.
It was a pretty throat.
He stood up, and his person melted into view before her, sudden and violent as he flourished a bow.