"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
He can’t stop thinking about her. She consumes his every waking thought. Like a living zombie, he ambles about with no purpose or destination. Just hoping by chance he would see her again. He can still feel her against him, can still remember the fire that she had stoked with him. The taste of salt on her skin. The faint scent of smoke that clung to her mane like a girl who had spent a long night at a divebar. He had slept better then he had in the past. The night terrors had returned of course, they couldn’t be kept at bay forever. But he had gotten perhaps three days of solid sleep, more than he had ever had before.
He is still skin and bones, his hips jutting out over stretched hide and ribs peeking between taunt tan skin. There’s a brightness in his eye that has been missing for so long. It’s that glimmer of hope and possibility that sparkles in the golden flecks. It brightens him, takes away some of the grief that aged him. Still close to death but at least he has a small spark of fight left. She had given him that.
Still unfamiliar with the new lands that magic had installed, it took some asking to finally locate her. Tephra, they said. You can’t miss it, it’s got a volcano. No wonder she had smelled of ash and soot. It takes him awhile to find the right path, takes him a day or two to finally get there. He waits on the border (rumor said this King was not fond of trespassers) and takes a good look around with his remaining eye. Despite winter’s chill, it’s not as cold here. He suspects the heat of the volcano boiling underground acts as a natural heater. With his thin coat and ravaged state, he rather welcomes this warmer atmosphere.
He doesn’t call out. Instead he stays quiet, waits. He is looking for her, hoping to see the curve of her back. See her beautiful eyes that have been haunting him. He’s not sure how she will react once she knows he is here. Was she ashamed? She hadn’t been there when he woke up and he had worried he had said something in his sleep, done something wrong. He knows there’s a possibility that one day his father may come back to this place, reclaim what he thought was his. Once the notion would have dismayed him, frightened him. Now he’s never been more sure of anything.
She had restored what little faith he had in the world.
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
The sea is ravenous and unruly, with its churning waters greedily lapping at the impacted sand that lay along the shoreline, while a distant storm is thundering in the distance. For now, the sunlight is heavy, draped across the lush vegetation, but soon it will be hidden behind a thick, pluming haze, with heavy droplets of tepid rain pounding onto the moist and fertile soil. She had become used to the unusual and, at times, unpredictable weather – the temperature never fell too low, nor did frigidity ever set in the way it had in the darkness of the valley, and at worst, winter meant a wayward storm, torrential rain – and thick, writhing humidity.
She had grown to love it.
She had come to know it as her own, and she often lost herself amid the shadow of the tempest, with her broad, ivory wings outstretched with the gleam of the sun casting a shadow of her body onto the ground below. The sky was her only solace, giving her tranquility, solitude – a place to ponder her deepest and darkest thoughts; her quiet contemplation hidden within the heaviness of the clouds she slipped in and out of. Time had been unyielding, as it always had, dredging on through the minutes, the hours– the many days that had slipped away.
And yet, no amount of time could keep her from remembering the warmth of that summer night – the emotion that had welled up within her chest (once thought dead and buried, rising to the surface again), the mending wounds lay flayed open and festering, the fervid heat of his touch, the gentle comfort of his embrace in the stillness of morning.
But once morning came, she could no longer be held captive by the sheer wonder of his presence – with morning, came a heavy realization, as the shy sun peeked over the horizon and caresses his scarred flesh with its light, highlighting the serenity in his features – but underlining the darkness around his eyes. Wounded, broken – he did not need her in his life; she was a broken thing. A broken, unstable entity, wild and free. She deserved nothing, and no one, and had begun to believe that happiness was nothing but a fleeting figment of the imagination.
She deserved no such myth.
He deserved so much more.
Was that not always the way?
And even though her weary, fragmented heart had never felt anything like it had that evening, she had forced herself to pry herself away from him before dawn made itself known – she had quietly slipped away into the thicket, and once more to the volcanic island that she called her own. She had disappeared before she could be any more vulnerable to him than she already had been. Before he had the opportunity to hurt her – before she had the opportunity to hurt him.
Yet, when the deep auburn of his skin glimmers beneath the bright sunlight (outlining his figure – still too slim, still too gaunt), she is captive once more – and her heart, thumping roughly in her chest, is instantly in a frenzy, as her broad winged appendages tilt forward and carrying her to the ground once more. He is waiting along the shore, silent, but steady – and her breath is caught in her throat, even as her slender legs catch her landing and carry her a few paces closer to him as her wings press against her sides, concealing the slight swell of her barrel.
And even though every piece and part of her, vulnerable again, is wracked with uncertainty, there is a warmth within her hazel eyes, desperately searching the hardened plane of his handsome face, the thin line of his whiskered lips, the faint gleam of light in his eye, and she breathes quietly, ”Ledger.”
You found me, she doesn’t say.
Perhaps it was not her he was looking for at all.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
It’s not long before she is dipping from the sky and landing neatly before him. He exhales slowly, suddenly a bundle of nerves and agitation. Feathers glinting in the sunlight, unable to keep his eye from roving the delicious curves of her supple figure. Perhaps slightly more curvaceous then he remembers but appealing all the same. He is quiet as he traces the lines of her face, remembering vividly the way her lips had parted in soft moans of delight. He shivers slightly at the thought, forcing himself to meet the uncertain hazel of her eyes.
His confidence wavers slightly as he senses her hesitation. His anxiety rising, flaxen whipcord flicking against his hocks as if it would chase it away. Perhaps she didn’t want to see him, had regretted their night together. It was a thought that had crossed his mind more than once, why else would she have stolen away with the first rays of light? Maybe she knew he was dangerous, what lurked beneath the surface of his flesh. He knows he doesn’t deserve her, hadn’t deserved what she had already given him. Now that he’s had a taste though, he yearns for more.
”Ellyse…” He responds quietly, his voice husky as his heart rages against the cage in his chest. Searching into her eyes, seeing that despite the hesitation in her step she doesn’t seem entirely unhappy to see him. It warms him a little, stirs his confidence once more. ”You didn’t leave your number… So I thought I would make a house call.” The corner of his lips turning into a warm smile, his faint attempt at a joke. It wasn’t something he was use to.
Pausing, considering her. How he wants to simply pull her into him, to place kisses along the length of her neck. Instead he glances away, looking out at the sea. ”Interesting place, never seen anything like it.” The air goes quiet except for the distant call of gulls and the soft rumble of the volcano. A soft breeze ruffles the tangled strands of his forelock, hiding his empty socket once more.
”Why did you leave Ellyse?” He finally asks, his voice low as he continues to gaze across the sea. There are so many hidden meanings in his question and so he continues to fix his view elsewhere, unsure if he wants to see how she reacts.
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
She can feel him tracing every line, crevice and fissure of her body, and a shiver traverses the length of her spine, gently plucking at each individual vertebra. She can still remember the warmth of his breath, hot against her skin, and the feel of his teeth grazing at the base of her neck – wicked thoughts, simmering at the surface beneath the glare of the steadfast sun. There is still a gleam of hunger hidden within his heavily lidded eye, and she can sense the warmth of his wildly pounding heart even with such a deep void lingering between them, and yet – there is no frown of displeasure, nor any uncertainty in his own gaze.
He had come to find her; she was who he was seeking – and the heaviness of that realization is enough to make her own heart pound harder within her chest, thundering louder than the harsh and raucous sea that lay behind him. She is overwhelmed in the moment, with the memory of his mouth against her own, the heated fervor of their argument, the wild and unruly history that lay between them – forgotten in the heat of the moment, but remembered in the pale light of morning. She is hormonal, and emotional, but steady and calm – but beneath the solidity of her stoic exterior, she is the roiling ocean itself, emotion washing over her in thick waves that she can hardly conceal.
And then he utters her name, just as she had said his own – and there is a brief silence, accompanied only by the rustling of a seaward gale weaving its way through the swaying vegetation behind her, interrupted by a humorous line from his lips. His smile is warm, and genuine, and it stirs her heart to bloom and swell within her chest – a beautiful smile. She had felt him smile against her skin beneath the pale moonlight; she had seen his mouth turned up with the faintest simper while in the embrace of slumber – but now, he is smiling at her, and she has never seen anything more striking.
She does laugh, but softly, the corners of her eyes dampened with unshed tears – there is a faint swelling to her barrel, though she does not permit him (nor any other) to see willingly. She is to be a mother again, but under less than desirable circumstances, and if there is any shame, it is not for the night shared between she and Ledger – but for what the recklessness of a broken heart had wrought upon her with another, before she had even met him.
She is certain that the unborn child growing within her belly is not his own – the timing was not sensible, but as her own longing to nestle closer to him is growing, so does her dread. He would never want her; not once he knew the truth.
He has averted his gaze, but she is still watchful, tracing the scarring along the right side of his face, and the void where another vivid, stunning eye should be.
Why did you leave, Ellyse?
Oh, and how her heart aches –
”I didn’t want to,” she murmurs, nearly a whisper – but she is soon moving closer to him, touching her pale lips against his jaw, pressing against the crevice of his neck to feel his pulse thundering beneath her mouth, where a single, soft kiss is lain. ”I didn’t know what to do, Ledger,” she says, her confession heavy, ”I wasn’t certain if – if any of it had meant anything to you.”
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
Was she recalling every moment they had spent together? Was she remembering the weight of his body, the lines of his face like he did her? The heat of her breath on his cheek, her lips tracing the length of his jawline. Of course he was still hungry for her, the memories of that night raw and consuming. He hopes in the deepness of his heart that she is pleased he has come. He’s not sure he could take it if she wasn’t.
The seagrass waves idly behind her, she looks as if she belongs here in this vast cornucopia of habitat. Sea, land, a spouting mountain of fire. Could he fit in here as well? He’s not sure, the humidity is rather pleasing. More important, would she want him there? If she did not of course he would respect her wishes. Her laughter is like wind chimes playing delightfully against the roar of the sea. There are tears in her eyes and he can’t tell if it’s from the sting of the wind or his words. He catches them as he turns his gaze back to her but now they reflect a bit of hurt. She has moved closer to him and without thinking, he pulls her closer to him with his neck, embracing her and feeling her warmth once more against his.
“Of course it meant something to me. I’m not that kind of man… Do you think me capable…?” Then he pauses, for she had seen his unsheathed anger. Had seen just a mere glimpse of what laid beneath his surface. Even now the bear is trying to claw it’s way out at the thought. He pushes it down, fights against it. No, he won’t let it spoil this. Spoil her.
The touch of her kiss lingers and his own mouth presses to her cheek, breathing her in. ”Tell me what’s wrong.” His words quiet, breathed along her jaw as he sees her ruffle her wings, spread them slightly over her stomach. What was she ashamed of? Pulling away slightly, trying to meet her gaze. ”If I’m causing you this much distress…?” Of course he doesn’t want to upset her. He would go if he had too, if she wanted but not without knowing what it was that bothered her so.
He suspects guilt, perhaps she was thinking of Magnus. A cold iron fist grabs his heart, squeezes and twists. The bear plays with the lock of his cage, it unhinges. Swallowing hard, he tenses and fights the sensation. No. Not now.
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
When he draws her nearer with the strength of his neck, she does not resist – curling up easily against the broadness of his chest - he is gaunt, but there is still thick muscle woven beneath his skin where his chest plate lay. Tucking her chin closer to her own, she is quiet for a long moment, listening to the heavy thrumming of his heartbeat as it fuses with the dull roar of the tumultuous sea. The sunlight is heavy over the slope of her own spine, boring into her flesh and seeping between the small gaps that lay between her ivory feathers, warming the hollow bone beneath – but its warmth shies in comparison to the heat of his body pressed against her own, or the fire it stoked within her.
She cannot stay there forever, though – she cannot hide away, try as she might. She had never been the type to, and though she had grown and changed so much over time, there was still a streak of stubbornness beneath the surface – along with the warrior, the fighter, and she could not let anything stand in her way. She has moved away from him now, with no friction but the touch of his shoulder against her own, as the golden flecks of her hazel eyes meet with his.
Gently, her lips brush across the scarring that lay across his cheek, feeling the ridges of old skin with new. She yearns to brush away his self-doubt, his uncertainty, but she is the one who had stirred it within him, as her own emotions and ambiguity had draped over him as heavily as the thick humidity lingering in the gentle breeze. Of course it meant something to me, he says, and she cannot suppress the uptick of a smile tugging the corner of her pale mouth up, as her gaze searches the masculine features of his face, seeking his truth.
I’m not that kind of man, oh, but she had heard that before!
Such irony that it would come from someone so close and so dear to both of their hearts –
But Ledger was not Magnus – he had a darkness lingering in his broken heart, but he did not carry the same burden, he did not bear the weight of his own self-loathing as much as he carried a torch for the pain and anguish that his life experience had brought to him. Two entirely different souls, with little else but a thin tendril of blood to keep them connected – and though she knew one was carved from the other, that seemed to be where their similarities ended.
Ledger had searched for her, he had found her –
And Magnus had let her go.
More than once.
”No, no – of course not,” she murmurs finally, touching her mouth to the curve of his jaw to smooth out the doubt simmering beneath. ”but we both know where my judgment has led me before.”
It had been so, so deeply flawed where her heart was concerned -
And then his lips are pressed against her cheek, with a murmur reverberating across her skin. Tell me what’s wrong, and then, if I’m causing you ..
But she does not let him finish, not without pressing several soft kisses to his throat, tasting the salty sea lingering on his golden skin from his journey from the mainland. ”It isn’t you, Ledger – there aren’t enough words to say how happy I am to see you, that you’ve come,” she murmurs, and her voice fades into a whisper. ”but what can I give you? I’ve got nothing but some pieces of a mending heart.” She is laughing, then, but it is a bitter laugh, as the life inside of her stirs again, reminding her that any semblance of happiness she should feel upon seeing him is only to be left tattered and torn by the revelation she had yet to share.
”I am so, so happy to see you, but there is something you should know.”
Something that might make you want to turn around and go.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
There is so much simple pleasure in merely having her curled up against him. The feel of her breath mingling with his, the quickness of her pulse depending on how and where he touched her. The steady rhythm of her breathing. Feeling cared for and returning that feeling entirely, he wants nothing more then to protect her. The way he has never been protected. The way Magnus failed to save them both.
He had not wanted to completely disentangle himself from her but she now moves away and he hides his disappointment, swallows it down. It doesn’t last long as she looks up at him. Her lips are tracing the wrecked skin of his face and he still cannot stop the sudden shiver that it sends through him, that little jolt of electricity. They merely gaze at each other, lost for words and yet understanding each other so clearly.
No, he was not Magnus. He was not his father. They shared many similarities and yet their anguish, their burdens, were so different. She speaks of him and he can’t help gritting his teeth, the tightening of his jaw. For a moment he wonders if she would always compare the two, always look at him and see a shadow of his father. There’s a taunting voice in the back of his head, a nagging red flag. That maybe she had only wanted to be close to him because it was the second best thing. ”Do not punish me for my father’s mistakes.” His throat constricting, looking past her shoulder. Words quiet but full of steel.
The bear roars inside him and his body involuntarily spasms. Then her kisses find his neck and the mere calming touch of her soothes the beast inside. ”Sorry…” He mumbles into the thickness of her mane, not daring to look at her just yet. Please don’t compare me to him, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He buries that thought deep within for he doesn’t want to know the truths that might accidentally be spilled if he speaks it out loud. Doesn’t want to acknowledge his own hint of guilt.
Magnus had left her, she was free to make her own choices. And he had not seen his father in years. Why should they feel guilty if they had found solace in each other? It was owed to them, owed to him most of all. Uncertainty, hesitation. It drips from her words, is she scared of him? She might have reason to be. Velvet lips finds hers and when he releases her, he pulls her face up to his with a gentle but firm push of his muzzle. ”I’ll take whatever pieces you are willing to give.” Pausing, searching into the sparkling hazel of her iris’s. ”I’ve never met anyone like you Ellyse. And now that I’ve met you, I don’t want to let you go.”
There’s still something she’s holding back, he can see it in her eyes. His doubts are confirmed and he assumes the worst. ”What is it?”
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
Defiant, independent, and fiercely guarded, she had spent much of her youth isolated and set apart from the rest. Her children (wild and unbound, with deeply adventurous spirits and wide, curious eyes) were only a small fragment of her heart, roaming freely outside of her own body, but never had she leaned upon another for comfort, nor had she ever trusted another entirely –
Never had she given herself to another; not completely.
(Not even to Magnus.)
And yet, with her lips pressed against the warmth of his skin, and while feeling his blood pulsing through his veins and his heart beating in time with her own, she can see the promise of something more – she can feel it in the very marrow of her bones. He is frail – too thin, with jutting bone and lean muscle, but there is strength in his every word, and he is unabashedly honest, open and vulnerable to her. He, too, is broken, not unlike her, but beneath his iron chest plate lay a heart that is still beating, still thriving, just like her own.
She can feel his sinewy muscle stiffen beneath her touch, and quietly, tersely, he is muttering to her - do not punish me for my father’s mistakes - and she is searching his gaze with her own, brushing her mouth over his jawline, and across his cheek, tendering placing a kiss wherever her lips linger for too long. Longing to soothe the ache that must lie within for such painfully wrought words to find their way to the surface.
”No, don’t apologize,” she murmurs softly against the corner of his mouth, ”I promise that I’m not – that I won’t; you are not him.” And she is quiet, then – contemplating. ”And that was not fair of me to say.”
Magnus had been but a glimmering star amid a plethora of constellations littering the vast abyss of her celestial existence; a burning, glowing star nearing its own extinction – dimming with each passing day. He had opened her eyes, her mind, and her heart when she had been so dark, bitter, and defensive, but their relationship had been the very definition of dysfunction. He had a broken heart, a tormented mind, and a lifetime or two of memories both pleasurable and painful to weigh him down, and she was but a girl, foolish and longing to mend what she could; burned and scarred in the process.
As time goes on, she cannot keep herself from feeling an ebbing of doubt at the frayed edges of her memories. Had she ever known love at all?
The guilt of their union (however small that guilt had been) had long since faded – Magnus had left, without so much as a word to her – without ever meeting their youngest; a daughter. She owed him nothing, and as time carried on, as Ledger pressed his own lips to her own, tender with a flicker of heat, her mind is anywhere but on him - when she is quiet, and reserved, it is only because she is wary for her heart, and not of Ledger, not of the situation. Magnus is little more than a memory, and what lay before her is hardened bone and flesh - his touch warm, his heart open, and his soul restless for her own.
She would be a fool not to see.
His confession is heavy, but her kisses are feather-light, tracing every sharp line and ridge of his face, brushing away his tangled, ivory tresses away from the hollow point in which an eye once lay. But then he draws her closer, to look her in the eye, to chase away the shadow of fear and uncertainty away, and she cannot suppress the gentle pitter-patter of butterflies from fluttering within the pit of her belly, nor her wildly beating heart. Her smile is fleeting, but true, with soft words to accompany it.
"And now that you're here, I don't want to let you leave - but .."
”Before I met you, I ran into an old .. colleague,” could she call Dahmer a friend? No, not until after – he had been little more than an acquaintance until then, but she had found solace in him, and he in her, if only for a short while. ”it was some .. part of me trying to forget, trying to move on, and he the same.” She pauses, then, her breath warm across his cheek, her gaze searching his own, the same lingering doubt returning and roiling in her stomach. ”Our brief moment in time together had a consequence.”
Gently, her wings (now aching from being extended far too long) shift and adjust against her swollen barrel into their usual placement along her sides, revealing what she had been so keen to hide.
”I’m pregnant, and it’s his,” and the words are so difficult, she nearly chokes, her voice shuddering from the sheer effort of telling him her own secret. Her time with Ledger, too, had been so little – but it had meant so much more, and riddled with a passion, a chemistry she had never felt before, and for a moment, her aching heart is yearning to be telling him that it is his child, and not another’s, but fate had dealt a different hand.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
It’s hard for him to grasp the true consequences that their feelings might have on others. He has never had a child to care for, never had anyone to put before himself. He can’t imagine what his half siblings through her would feel (how strange, how uncomfortable). Nameless shadowed faces, they are easy to dismiss. Even if he did, would he even care? His feelings for her are stronger, stronger then what he feels for himself.
Her words are hesitant and he can feel his pulse slow as he holds his breath. There’s something in the air and he senses he’s not going to like what she’s going to say. She’s talking about some sort of colleague and his confusion is evident as he follows along with her. Until she says the word pregnant. For a moment there is a spark inside him, a sudden rush in his ears. Delight that is quickly squashed when he realizes she hadn’t finished her sentance. Not his.
His mouth is dry and he is still, saying nothing. He pulls back into himself, even the bear knows better then to erupt at this moment. He can’t hide his disappointment, his pain. But he tries, desperately. Solemn and stoic, unable to look into those beautiful hazel depths anymore. Of course, pregnant. He should have known, should have seen the signs. It’s not as if he had never seen a mare with child before. He had thought her slightly curvier, it makes sense.
For a split second he held a vision, the two of them and their unborn child. So much hope and possibility for the future. Quickly shattered in a matter of seconds.
He understands, understands that she had tried to find an escape to her pain. He doesn’t hate her for that, doesn’t blame her. ”Are you sure it’s not mine?” He asks quietly but deep down he knows that she couldn’t be showing this early when their night together hadn't been that long ago.
He wants to run, wants to flee. Wants to wallow in this new wound, another to add to the ever growing list. And yet he stays. She’s apologizing and he shakes his head, finding it hard to speak without revealing how much she had hurt him. The thought of a child, a part of both of them, had never crossed his mind. But now that the thought was planted, he realized how badly he wanted it.
”Whose the father?” Staring into the swollen waves of the sea, crashing against the sand like his own bruised heart bashed about his chest. He needs to know, needs the name of the man who had placed kisses on her neck before him. Who had known her as he had known her. Jealousy comes hot and thick, coursing through his veins and his jaw is taunt, his muscles stiff. Already hating this stallion without even knowing him.
He sighs softly, coming to some sort of decision in his head. ”Before you met me….” He murmurs, forcing himself to look at her again. ”Do you wish to be with him?” He waits with bated breath, fighting against the closing despair for he assumes she does. The father of her child. There is no place for him here. Just another mistake. A notch on a bedpost perhaps. He prays that he is wrong, wants so desperately to be wrong.
There's a storm brewing in his soul and the bear, who has been so patient, starts to claw it's way out.
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
She can feel him drawing away from her, recoiling from her gentle touch, from her soft caress, and her heart is sinking – so far gone from where it had floated moments ago, feather-light and airy in the hearth of her chest – now settling in the very pit of her roiling, turning stomach. There is a glimmer of hope, of elation that she had not anticipated, and she is caught off-guard – but it is gone as quickly as it had come. He is then clutching onto any trace of stoicism, of indifference that he can, but it is far too late. The anguish has already reached his eye, and the flecks of gilded light – the very rim of his iris has darkened; dim with discontent, with a melancholy despondency that she cannot reach.
She does not dare pull him to her again – he had created the emptiness that now lay between them, and the hollowness of it causes her heart to clench tightly within her chest. Any fleeting sensation she had felt mere minutes prior, nestled tightly against him, with the warmth of his breath across her neck and the gentleness of his kiss, is gone – and she is left with nothing but a memory; she was certain that was all there would be left by the end of it. The guilt she had thought was forgotten was already beginning to surface, prickling at her sensitive nerve-endings, and she cannot do anything but damn the timing, damn the fate that had brought them together, only to tear them apart –
Are you it’s not mine?
”The timing,” she can barely whisper, her own deep hazel gaze averted away, unable to look at him as each heavy emotion slowly sifts into his hardened, masculine features. ”is all wrong – if it were yours, I would not be showing yet.” She, herself, is in turmoil, but she will not shed a tear – grasping onto any remnant of her hardened resolve that she can (but there is a small part of her trembling, aching to disappear, longing to be swallowed up whole by the sea, ashamed and yearning for so much to be different in that moment).
She had shared but one night with him, but it had been so much more – she could still feel the way her skin tingled under his touch; she could still hear the softly whispered sweet nothings (she had never cared for them before; it had always been heat, and urgency, and simply sex – until it wasn’t).
He is still – a statuesque figure, outlined by the fading sun as it slowly dips below the horizon, as dusk reflects a sheen of warm light over the shoreline. She is searching him, then, tracing the hollow of where his eye should be, and where the remaining one stares out into the open, ravenous ocean, with its unruly tide and dull roar. When he finally does speak, it is an inquiry – one that causes her heart to skip a beat, before dully thudding against the confinement of her ribcage.
”His name is Dahmer,” she says quietly, her voice barely a murmur over the distant lull of the rising surge. ”he is an acquaintance – a friend, at best,” she pauses, then, glancing down to the sand, where the salty brine of the seawater has sunk in, darkening it with each oncoming wave. ”his heart pined for another, as did mine. It was nothing more than that.”
And then, finally, his gaze is holding steady with her own, and her heartbeat is quickening, pounding wildly from within, and his question is hefty, thick and rife with emotion.
”No,” she breathes, her brow line rising, as the feathers along the hollowed bones of her wings flinch against the ocean breeze, caressing them both with its gentle gale. ”no. Our union was .. brief, and our consequence by chance. It was sex – only sex.”
And she is quiet again, her heart teetering on the edge – she had spent so much of her life guarded, fiercely protecting it, and to what end? Beneath her roughened exterior, her steadfast might, her powerful prowess, there is so much more, but she kept it all so tightly bound with a lock and key.
There is something about the tension lining his muscled jaw, and the dark shadow of his eye that stirs her to speak, moves her to do something, to say something –
Knowing that if she does not, she might lose him forever.
”It was nothing like what you and I shared, Ledger,” she confesses, moving closer to him but not quite touching him – though she aches to, yearns to, to comfort and console him. She can only resist for so long, pressing her shoulder against his own, touching her forehead to the crook of his neck, feeling his pulse against her – all the while unaware that something ferocious, something dangerous lingered deep inside of him, threatening to break through the surface, desperate to claw its way out. ”what you and I had, I cannot stop thinking about it – about you. And now, here you are,” and her breath catches in her throat. ”and I have made a mess of things.”
