03-21-2021, 02:34 PM
choke them on the ashes of the dreams they burned
The new beast that he can feel coiling in his gut is not one that he is familiar with. He knows how to sate the other beast — he knows how to find sorrow and rage and ruin, knows how to coax it from them if it is not organically there. He hates that he has now grown so familiar with it that he can pinpoint its exact needs and wants and knows how to keep it at bay.
But this, this gnawing need to have her, to lay claim to her in a way that he would never let anyone else, that is something else entirely. He had not felt like this that night with Breckin; she had been lovely and captivating, but she had not been the answer he was looking for.
When Despoina reaches for him, when she presses herself beyond the shadow and to the strange mass beneath that served as his skin, it is like she has melted herself into his bones. He can feel the stutter of her heart, a predatory sense that he wishes he did not have, but in this moment she has transcended from victim and prey into something else entirely. He is no longer searching for her sadness; he is not trying to draw away her sorrow and despair.
He only wants to pull her close, to wrap her in his shadows until they devour her whole.
He drapes his shadowed head over her neck, the long, smoke-like tendrils of his mane now billowing around the two of them as he brings her in close. “I wish I could promise that I’ll never hurt you,” he rasps into the groove of her throat, where he runs cool lips against her skin. “But I don’t want to make you promises that I cannot keep,” he continues, the words quiet and laced in sorrow because he wishes he could promise her things like that; wishes that he did not have an insatiable need that was indifferent to her own feelings, the beast that was sure to break her heart.
“You could do so much better than me, Despoina,” he pushes closer, shadows crawling across her shoulders as he drags his nose down her back, a possessive growl building in his chest when he breaths into her hip, “but I’m far too selfish to let you.”
But this, this gnawing need to have her, to lay claim to her in a way that he would never let anyone else, that is something else entirely. He had not felt like this that night with Breckin; she had been lovely and captivating, but she had not been the answer he was looking for.
When Despoina reaches for him, when she presses herself beyond the shadow and to the strange mass beneath that served as his skin, it is like she has melted herself into his bones. He can feel the stutter of her heart, a predatory sense that he wishes he did not have, but in this moment she has transcended from victim and prey into something else entirely. He is no longer searching for her sadness; he is not trying to draw away her sorrow and despair.
He only wants to pull her close, to wrap her in his shadows until they devour her whole.
He drapes his shadowed head over her neck, the long, smoke-like tendrils of his mane now billowing around the two of them as he brings her in close. “I wish I could promise that I’ll never hurt you,” he rasps into the groove of her throat, where he runs cool lips against her skin. “But I don’t want to make you promises that I cannot keep,” he continues, the words quiet and laced in sorrow because he wishes he could promise her things like that; wishes that he did not have an insatiable need that was indifferent to her own feelings, the beast that was sure to break her heart.
“You could do so much better than me, Despoina,” he pushes closer, shadows crawling across her shoulders as he drags his nose down her back, a possessive growl building in his chest when he breaths into her hip, “but I’m far too selfish to let you.”
torryn
