a thousand teeth and yours among them; straia

[weed]

she is the lamb; he is the slaughter

They very well could be each other’s downfall. He trusted her perhaps a hair too much—recognized her for the wild thing that she was, but let her near him regardless. Were she to ever split the knife into his belly, he would have no one but himself to blame. He knew that. Knew that she probably trusted him just a little too much too. It was a tenuous relationship between them; a dangerous game that they played. They trusted one another when they knew they were not entirely trustworthy. They pressed their throats against each other’s knives and waited for the knick of the metal against their flesh. Were she to press just a little too much, cut a little too deep, he would not be surprised. It would be what he deserved.

Still, he does not untangle himself from her just yet. Nipping at her neck because he could, tasting the salt and the power of her. No one was able to see her like this, and he relished the cloak of their privacy. He enjoyed the wildness of her mane and the sharpness of her smile, the way she melted around him like iron gone too hot. Not soft—never soft. He much preferred the pain of her bite to the softness of her kiss.

“There were a few,” he murmurs, and although he wants nothing more than to target the Gates, he does not dwell on them first. They were already breaking, he did not need much pressure there. They would need more than one broken kingdom to accomplish what they wanted. “I would turn the Tundra and Amazons against one another or I would have the Valley rain hellfire down on the Dale.” His smiles is a little wicked, “I think the latter.” He shrugs his elegant shoulders, “They suspected deception and where a little too measly-mouthed for my liking. I would very much like to see them pay for their foolishness.”

He stretches a little, grin wicked, “I can play the Valley member very convincingly.”
He, after all, had spent plenty of time doing just that.

WEED

© oscar keys