11-05-2023, 08:02 AM
 I V A R promising everything i do not mean |
‘There are other things I like more’ she answers, and Ivar’s golden gaze rises to hers, his mouth leaving the warmth of her shoulder for the cold and empty autumn air. He’d commanded her to be truthful, and she answered with exactly what a kelpie would want to hear. Exactly what he wants to hear. His gaze lowers again to her neck, smooth and unmarked, and he once more ponders the absence of scars. She’s not the mare from Ischia, he thinks, unable to recall the name of the purple mare or her piebald daughter. Had they been a lighter shade? Ivar cannot remember. He tries though, casting back in his water-logged memory for anything familiar. He tries harder still when the honey-eyed mare begins solicitations. He knows those moves, this dance, the way she presses against him… Doesn’t he? It is there, the memory, like a wave that keeps breaking just before he reaches it. And it is so hard to reach for it, so difficult to focus on anything but the way she’s sliding her warm body between Ivar and the cold grasp of the sea, the heat of her pressing back the icy blood hunger that lurks at his very core. He knows he’s forgotten, and he knows that forgetting is dangerous, but she is so very very warm. This disconnect between mind and body is not something he suffers well, as he has always preferred a life led by instinct alone. Yet the memory of the cenote…of being well and truly trapped? It remains ever at the edges of his mind, makes him wary even as he fails to stifle a groan, the fire of desire overpowering the frigid bloodlust. She almost seems to know him, Ivar thinks, just as she breathes out his name. The kelpie moves quickly. Ivar pins down the writhing creature, drawing her tight against him as he presses the cold scales of his chest against the warmth of her back. He’ll rip out her throat, and bear her body down to the depths of the sea before she can trap him - or do whatever it is she plans. His teeth pierce the skin of her crest, preparing to close his too-wide jaws around her neck to press her below the surface. He swallows brackish water, and blood, and at the taste of her that illusive wave of memory finally crashes over him, and his cold hunger begins to rise. “Wishbone.” Not a trap then. Just something of his, returning to him as Ivar feels his belongings always should. Ivar smiles, savoring the taste of her blood as he lifts his head slightly, and watches a bead of it fall to her shoulder before sliding down to join the sea. ”You should’ve learned better than to come out here by now,” he breathes against the side of her cheek, his voice low and quiet and cold as the sea. ”But I don’t mind repeating the lesson.” @Wishbone |
I know my lies could not make you believe in my dark times, baby this is all I could be |