I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
He likes to fancy that he can see each protest that flares within her chest, as easily as he can see the way that it quickly snuffs out—the way she so desperately wants to believe him that she ignores her base instincts. He likes that idea, that he can override her natural wiring—that he can tempt her so far down that she doesn’t even realize she is presenting her throat to the fangs of the wolf and doing it willingly.
He shivers with delight and then, realizing what he had done, reaches down to press his nose into the curve of her neck, breathing her in deeply. “Thank you, love,” he whispers into her, the word bitter on his tongue, but the purpose of it pressed firmly into his mind. To create a masterpiece, you had to feel pain; true artists bleed for their work. If he was to feign this love-sick sap to further it, he would pay the price.
They walk, slower than they had last time, but following much the same path that he had chased her down last time; he glances down, deeply smug about the clear pattern of their frantic hooves clear beneath them as they walk. Reaching over, his mouth travels along the edges of her jaw, his breath rippling outward. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” his voice is throaty, rough around the edges. “The first time that I saw you, I couldn’t control myself.” He glances downward and then looks up through his thick lashes, feigning embarrassment, his voice dropping. “I was so scared of how you made me feel.”
As if he was prisoner of the Fear and not master of it.
For a moment, he lets the faux confession hang between them as he guides her with hesitant nudges and lingering touches up a sloping hill, the path narrowing so that their bodies become pressed together. When it opens up, he lets out a shuddering breath as if the sight of the wasteland affects him. He closes his eyes, taking a moment to steady himself, before glancing back to her, face raw and open with emotion.
“My father is King of this place,” and god of the Fear, although such truths lay untouched. “This could all be ours someday, Rhae.” He moves back toward her side, pulling her to him and then motioning out to the land that expands seemingly forever. “I want that for us. I want you to be my side while I do it.”
Another pause, heavy and weighted.
“You want that too, right?”
He pulls back slightly as if uncertain.
“Don’t you want to be here with me forever?”
