12-13-2016, 07:03 PM
Ruan
His strong and regal mate, a Queen in every respect of the title, was changed. Tears stained their treks down the curves of her face as she slowly turned to him, her pain laid bare for his witness alone. It made him feel worse. Look what he was doing; now he was even breaking the unbreakable. His heart sank further in his chest, and his shoulders slumped. Defeated. He'd wondered if she would hate him now, but it was so clear that she still loves him so deeply. Somehow that was worse, more painful to bear. It was so much easier if she despised him for his weaknesses.
The dark storm in her eyes spilled over, leaked its way into the atmosphere. Gusts rose and billowed with the rise of her voice. She snapped a painful truth to him: his mother was dead. She had showed him long ago and the loss still sat cold and dead in his heart. His ears flicked back in agitation, looking away from her, barricading the memories. He would glare at anything but her. Never her. She stepped forward as she spoke, and he caught the shudders racking her hurt and angry body. Everything within him demanded he go to her, touch her. Comfort her. Was he even capable of it anymore? But, for now, he held steady.
Dark ears flattened at the word demon, but he relaxed them once again. "...and what do you do - you wallow. You're better than this." Pride stiffened his back, hardened his eyes as they returned to her, blue locked with her charged emerald. And still, he held his silence. Then he sensed it coming, her magic reaching and mingling with his; melding, reforming. The frozen armor plates numbing the wounds at his sides slid away, and he let them. He let her do whatever she wished to him.
"You know those wings were never yours to begin with, and yet you never consider -this."
His eyes shuttered closed as she made them: wings of ice. He couldn't watch as she pinned them to him with his own magic, built them into the muscles that had come with his borrowed wings. Beautiful, warm wings that he hadn't even wanted at first. They'd grown on him, became tools to carry him swiftly to his mate, sheltered and insulated his daughters. They had become natural to him, entirely natural. These were unnatural. New. Different.
And cold.
He opened his eyes slowly, trying to read her emotions and thoughts. She had turned to the side and was scrutinizing him back. He had been stupid. Childish and afraid of her reaction to his failure. But she saw it differently. His failure was not in his lack of fight for the demon as he had seen it, but in the distance he forced between the two of them. She would have helped him earlier, would have done whatever she could to ease his hurt and confusion. He'd messed up.
Love and regret were written all over him. It softened his expression, lined the hard planes of his face. She was exactly what he needed. A soft touch when he needed comfort. A knowledgeable advisor when he needed wisdom and guidance. A kick in the ass when he needed that too. He smirked. She was older, wiser, far more powerful. And yet she always treated him as her equal. He supposed it was time he accepted that perhaps, to her at least, he was.
Lean muscle eased him smoothly forward. He cradled her gaze in his, searching, as he came to her. He'd been so foolish to isolate himself in his suffering. He hadn't wanted her to swoop in and fix everything for him. He'd needed his time alone, but he could have had that here. In their home. His dark face bent in close, sweeping gently across her soft skin.
I'm sorry, he whispered into her coat, breathing in her aromatic warmth like oxygen. He didn't have to look at the wings she'd created. He'd seen in his mind and through his magic what she'd done. They were far more beautiful than he could have ever created for himself. She was an artist with an expertise for design, each feather delicately carved in intricate detail. The were a soft, cloudy white, like frosted glass. A light dusting of snow twinkled like glitter as it caught the light. They were different.
Superior.
The dark storm in her eyes spilled over, leaked its way into the atmosphere. Gusts rose and billowed with the rise of her voice. She snapped a painful truth to him: his mother was dead. She had showed him long ago and the loss still sat cold and dead in his heart. His ears flicked back in agitation, looking away from her, barricading the memories. He would glare at anything but her. Never her. She stepped forward as she spoke, and he caught the shudders racking her hurt and angry body. Everything within him demanded he go to her, touch her. Comfort her. Was he even capable of it anymore? But, for now, he held steady.
Dark ears flattened at the word demon, but he relaxed them once again. "...and what do you do - you wallow. You're better than this." Pride stiffened his back, hardened his eyes as they returned to her, blue locked with her charged emerald. And still, he held his silence. Then he sensed it coming, her magic reaching and mingling with his; melding, reforming. The frozen armor plates numbing the wounds at his sides slid away, and he let them. He let her do whatever she wished to him.
"You know those wings were never yours to begin with, and yet you never consider -this."
His eyes shuttered closed as she made them: wings of ice. He couldn't watch as she pinned them to him with his own magic, built them into the muscles that had come with his borrowed wings. Beautiful, warm wings that he hadn't even wanted at first. They'd grown on him, became tools to carry him swiftly to his mate, sheltered and insulated his daughters. They had become natural to him, entirely natural. These were unnatural. New. Different.
And cold.
He opened his eyes slowly, trying to read her emotions and thoughts. She had turned to the side and was scrutinizing him back. He had been stupid. Childish and afraid of her reaction to his failure. But she saw it differently. His failure was not in his lack of fight for the demon as he had seen it, but in the distance he forced between the two of them. She would have helped him earlier, would have done whatever she could to ease his hurt and confusion. He'd messed up.
Love and regret were written all over him. It softened his expression, lined the hard planes of his face. She was exactly what he needed. A soft touch when he needed comfort. A knowledgeable advisor when he needed wisdom and guidance. A kick in the ass when he needed that too. He smirked. She was older, wiser, far more powerful. And yet she always treated him as her equal. He supposed it was time he accepted that perhaps, to her at least, he was.
Lean muscle eased him smoothly forward. He cradled her gaze in his, searching, as he came to her. He'd been so foolish to isolate himself in his suffering. He hadn't wanted her to swoop in and fix everything for him. He'd needed his time alone, but he could have had that here. In their home. His dark face bent in close, sweeping gently across her soft skin.
I'm sorry, he whispered into her coat, breathing in her aromatic warmth like oxygen. He didn't have to look at the wings she'd created. He'd seen in his mind and through his magic what she'd done. They were far more beautiful than he could have ever created for himself. She was an artist with an expertise for design, each feather delicately carved in intricate detail. The were a soft, cloudy white, like frosted glass. A light dusting of snow twinkled like glitter as it caught the light. They were different.
Superior.
