You hear someone sneaking around.

In spite of the expectation of restless sleep disturbed by haunting dreams of the catacombs and the betrayal and cruel sacrifice of Adonia your exhausted body falls into a deep healing sleep. It is many hours later when you awake, the thin streams of daylight filtering in through cracks high on the masonry walls make flecks of dust sparkle and dance in the still air. At first you aren't even sure what finally disturbed your slumber, but something must have, because every one of your senses is on high alert; someone or perhaps something is moving quietly on the far side of the warehouse, and you have no desire to be caught tangled in the pile of silk. If it is the rightful owner of the warehouse he would not be amused, and if was thieves robbing the place it would be no better.

Slipping into one of the many deep shadows besides a stack of crates that smell strongly of musk you wait in tense silence. The noises definitely are not coming from the owner of the merchandise, whoever or whatever is making their way through the basement warehouse is taking almost as much care as you not to be heard or seen. A few minutes pass, and still you don't see the intruder. Had you realized how much time you had you would have taken the time to replace the bolt of silk and taken your sandals with you instead of leaving them carelessly by the makeshift bed.

Before you have a chance to grab your sandals you realize it is too late. A long shadow falls across the mound of bedding and then freezes as its owner takes in the evidence of your presence. It was just a matter of time now before whoever it was would search your little corner of the warehouse, it was impossible to judge clearly just from the shadow how large the intruder was, but you are pretty sure you can make out the long thin shape of a sword in the man's right hand.

Balling your fingers into tight fists you prepare to jump out at the man, if you can get by him into the open you feel confident that you can out-maneuver almost anyone in the tight aisles of crates and piles of trade goods that fill the warehouse. Hades how you wished for a weapon, even for something as simple as a club - anything that you could use to parry the silent killer's sword.

"Hello?" The voice is harsh and confident, but not the deep voice of a burly thug, it had a pitch more like your tenor, perhaps even higher. "I know you're hiding here, come out now and let me see you." You take a deep breath and let your fingers relax. Trusting more in your ability to charm more than fight you step from the shadows and turn to face the mysterious intruder.

You almost laugh when you see the slight figure that cast such a terrifying shadow. A beardless youth with short curly hair that hangs low over a pair of fierce eyes, the great sword in the shadow was a blade shorter than the length of your hand. The youth's clothing was filthy and worn, the ragged hem of the patched tunic barely reached his thighs. Thighs that looked surprisingly smooth and shapely...

"What the fuck are you smiling about!" She, you're suddenly sure of that, she waves the knife in your face reminding you that even a slightly built women like her could easily ruin your day. "Get that fucking grin off your face, Shithead before I cut it into your pretty cheeks permanently."

You straighten up sharply hoping to impress the woman with your somber respectful face, but even as you do your best to please her your eyes are evaluating her professionally. She is reasonably tall, about your height, and slender. A little too thin perhaps, her cheekbones and the bones of her shoulders were prominent and her hips too could use a little more padding. Still, the way her thin belt cinches the short tunic tightly around her slender waist accentuates her breasts making them look larger than they probably were. You wonder what she'd look like after a bath and draped in a fitted gown...

"Are you done checking me out or should I turn around and bend over so you can get a look at my ass too?" Embarrassed you mumble a weak apology. "Goddess! Are all fucking men this stupid?" To be fair, as you had been eying her slender curves in the dim light she had been taking in your appearance as well. You wore a short **** tunic but it was made from a much finer weave of than hers and despite your adventures in the catacombs last night your professionally trimmed hair and oiled skin was much cleaner than a typical ****'s. You know most women find you attractive, Mistress Alicia prided herself on the appearance of her toy, she enjoyed showing you off to her friends often lifting the hem of your tunic to show them the size of the manmeat that hung between your shaved legs. Did this slender waif like what she is seeing?

"Who in Hades are you, and what are you doing sleeping in my warehouse?" You are sure that it is no more her warehouse than yours, but is it wise to argue with someone holding a knife even if you do outweigh her by a good bit?