you could break my heart in two, but when it heals, it beats for you
The point of her shoulder rests against his, she cannot break from him completely and so stretches her neck to trace the curve of his powerful wing, the muscle lying just beneath. Extending herself under the fall of his lips and teeth like a cat that craves the violence of his touch, the opulent chestnut of her topline waiting to be carved by his desire.
How poorly she has prepared in these fleeting moments to face his rejection yet again.
This is. He pulls away from her and in the absence of his touch she can feel the way her pelt is disturbed, and that her mane is twisted away from its natural fall as her flesh prickles, repulsed by his ability to deny her—that she is something unworthy. I can’t. With the distance between them she can admire the density of his frame, his body carved my the rough terrains on which he has spent his life. She should understand how he sees her then, voluptuous but so pretty she must be fragile. Once she too had been solid, shaped by not dissimilar forces. Would he have feared breaking her then?
Kensa has no ability to know his thoughts, why he hates and spurns her when she can feel the chemistry between (twisted, barbed like she is). If she could it would make her angier than she is when tears turn her topaz eyes glassy, but this is just the anger that comes with hurt confusion, and tears that cannot be shed.
Cliche though it may be the sky is darkening. Heat has pulled the storm rapidly inland.
“I don’t understand you.” Its a curse whispered from her lips, too sharply because she cannot give someone like him her weakness. ”Then this is goodbye, Brigade. Save your apologies.” She might have coyly told him he knows where he can find her but in that moment she hates him too much and hopes he stays away from Hyaline. Likely he will when he finds her scent alone is the razor wire on the border. Kensa does not leave, but stares at the merlot dark man with her ears pinned against her suffering. She has only just met him and is furious that he can hurt her like this. Given the chance she might wonder where and when her confusion over his ferocity turned into this.
There is something different in the refusal and the apology than the animosity that came before, just enough realness to make her ache despite the desire to lash out. She could love him if he let her, and Kensa realizes it is that which should frighten her most of all.
“What do you want?” She adds suddenly before he can leave or decide to return to the granite monster that might decide to chase her off and demonstrate his own absent weakness...and she shouldn’t ask, because her clear silvery voice breaks into a whisper on the last word almost destroying her cold brave face.
Kensa
@[brigade]
