HennessyTheAuthor

In a dangerous world where warlords rule, monsters roam, and treachery lurks behind every corner, there exists a mercenary known only as Dude.

No title, no fancy lineage—just Dude.

Women whisper his name in hushed tones. Men either want to hire him or kill him. He’s a walking contradiction—deadly, yet lazy; cocky, yet irresistibly charming; a warrior with the strength of ten men but a habit of forgetting his own plans mid-fight. He never says no to coin, danger, or a damsel in distress. And somehow, no matter how insane the odds, he always pulls through with a smirk on his lips and a blade in his hand.

But it’s not just his swordplay that’s legendary.

After the dust settles, the women he saves find themselves drawn to him—whether it’s the thrill of survival, the heat of the moment, or just the way his rough hands feel against their skin. And when they give in to the tension, the passion that follows is nothing short of earth-shattering.

Tales Of A Swordsman

Lyra prided herself on being the best thief in the city—clever, quick-fingered, and always three steps ahead. But tonight, her luck had finally run out. Trapped by the notorious gang leader, Viktor, she found herself cornered in a dark alley with no escape.

"Stealing from me, Lyra? That's a costly mistake," Viktor growled, advancing with his blade drawn.

"Actually," a lazy voice drawled from the shadows, "the only mistake was interrupting my nap."

Lyra turned to see Dude leaning casually against the alley wall, arms crossed, smirking as if he had all night.

"Mind your business, mercenary!" Viktor snarled.

Dude pushed off the wall, drawing his sword with exaggerated boredom. "Afraid I just made it my business."

The fight was swift, brutal, and utterly one-sided. Dude dispatched Viktor's thugs with almost insulting ease, his movements smooth, effortless, and annoyingly impressive.

Lyra, irritated yet fascinated, couldn't tear her eyes away as Dude parried blows with one hand and yawned with the other. Within minutes, Viktor fled, cursing Dude's name.

Turning to her, Dude raised an eyebrow. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

She scoffed, folding her arms. "I had it handled."

"Clearly," he teased, sheathing his sword. "That's why you were pinned against the wall."

Lyra flushed. "Don't flatter yourself."

Dude stepped closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I'd rather flatter you."

Somehow, Lyra found herself following Dude back to his room at the inn, arguing playfully the whole way. Once inside, the mood shifted, tension crackling between them.

"I don't normally thank mercenaries," she murmured, biting her lip as he closed the distance between them.

"Then don't," Dude replied softly, fingers tilting her chin up, his lips brushing hers. "Just enjoy the reward."

Heat exploded between them. Lyra surrendered completely, discovering that the mercenary knew exactly how to steal her breath away, leaving her utterly, deliciously ruined.

As dawn crept through the window, Lyra smiled, nestled against Dude's chest, deciding that some treasures were definitely worth keeping.

The Thief’s Prize