It seemed a long breath of time before she spoke again, her voice like a cool balm on his wounds. It both eased him, and irritated him. That a stranger could effect him so easily was evidence enough of his lack in defenses. Perhaps imagining Kinley for so long had weakened him, rotted away his inner walls.
He would rebuild them. Lock it tight.
"Maybe we lose them over and over so we can never forget what it is that we lost," she added softly. He could see that, but he also thought he'd rather forget than feel so much pain. Damn, he was a terrible father. And mate. So consumed in despair for his daughter, he could hardly remember what her mother looked like, despite loving her so long ago.
His teeth ground together as he let his thoughts slither in their own darkness, driving home the self-hate he'd formed long ago. Before all of this, he would have seen self-depreciating thoughts as weakness; if one thought so little of themselves, how could they become anything more? But now it seemed a strength, in its own way. He cared so little for himself and his own welfare, what did he have to lose?
He lurched out of his thoughts at her touch. Held stone-still, he felt her velvet nose sink into his mane at his poll, filling herself with his scent. The intimacy of it shook him to his core. He remained, afraid to move. Was he dreaming? Is this another hallucination?
Another moment later, he nearly didn't feel the telltale wetness that dampened his coat. Just one drop, almost imagined. He realized he'd been holding his breath and forced himself to breathe again.
Finding strength, he rolled to his belly, the movement putting a small distance between them. His spine chilled immediately without her warmth. He avoided her gaze, looking away, his mind swimming. He'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone touch him, how good it feels. Emotions, sensations, all clouding him. He couldn't seem to hold onto one thought before it slipped away, grasping for more but failing as they all seemed to melt into the whirlpool.
Conflicted. Confused.
His old self wanted to comfort her, as she had done for him. Soothe her ache. But he fought against it, knowing how quickly he could grow attached to a kind soul. Knowing he'd suffer the pain of loss again, lose himself. All he could think of now was the feel of her.
He knew what he had to do. He had to end this. But he was too selfish to walk away. This stranger's touch, he craved now. If he didn't leave, then he'd have to drive her away instead. And he'd at least allow himself the painful memory of affection, something he'd forgotten in his solitude. Enjoy it while it lasts.
The beast had lay dormant in her presence, but he nudged it awake. Never before had he chosen to call upon it. He needed it's strength. It's cruelty. Impassive, cold-blooded.
Unfeeling.
He turned to her then, gold lights in his sharp eyes. His gaze slid slowly to her cheek. Throat. Neck. Shoulder. Hip. No emotion claimed his face as he reached for her, carefully, tentatively. His nose brushed her cheek lightly, hard eyes watching her, then pressed into the soft skin beside her jaw, inhaling deeply. Eyelids shuttered the danger in his gaze, and he shifted his broad body closer, lining himself against her side. Let her hate him. He'd take this much at least.
Every movement was both deliberate, and unbidden. Slow and careful so she could see it coming. She would touch him a little? He would touch her too much, push her away as he'd never done to anyone before. His attentions, unwanted?, were as a lover's would be. Precise. Gentle. Sweet.
Careful. Intimate.
Bold. Daring.