02-08-2017, 01:02 PM
The rage burned, incinerated his veins and barely contained in consuming black eyes. His dark heart thumped steadily, resolute and confident in the destruction that would come. The terrifying decimation he would bring. She would learn the truth of him, of this cruelty, but not from him. She would hear it in the fear tightening the voices that spoke his name. In the wildness of their eyes at the thought of ever seeing him again. If they lived.
When his darkness would surround him like a brutally hungry aura, naturally repel anyone from nearing him, she instead launched herself at him, sank into it as though she belonged there in the depths of hell with him. A grunted oomph soaked in the unexpected collision, his body held stiffly in the grip of his fury.
"Dovev," she moaned between sobs, broken tears spilling over his cloak of malevolence. Yes, that name. The name of Death that sounded so much like a savior on her tongue, so much like rescue. Safety.
Well, she was that. She was safe with him. Always.
He shielded her from the dark truths in his eyes, caged his temper and crushed her to him, a tear falling freely. Look at what he'd done to her, what he'd brought into her life. If only he wasn't such a selfish bastard, clutching to her memories and craving more, making more. Always needing more. He could never truly fix this for her. All he ever did was make things worse.
But he'd make them worse enough for someone else.
Zor must have lost his memory too.
He would need a reminder.
Perhaps he was her savior in a way. This was going to take a sacrifice, and he'd willingly pay it. For her. To make certain it never happened again. This was his fault.
Slowly, her trembling began to still, her tears drying up. "You mean 'heal please,'" she corrected him quietly. He didn't respond, only held himself in place and opened his eyes as she detached from his side. The fires had cooled a little. For her. But a decision was made, and he'd pay the price for her. "And I won't. I can't. I don't deserve to heal."
And the fires were back, alive and seeking to consume.
What do you mean you don't deserve to heal, he ground out, staring hard into those soft, soulful eyes. Why the hell wouldn't she just cure it? Healing was practically like breathing to her. She would nearly kill herself trying to bring him from the brink of death but she wouldn't remove Zor's blemishes? Did she want him to always see it, always have that reminder of how he hadn't been there when she needed him? Like she had always been there for him.
His eyes slid to the welt at her cheek, still open to the cool night air. It had to hurt, both of them. Why did she choose the pain. He stepped in, so close, muzzle slowly reaching for her and passing over it. He could still smell Zoryn in it, mingled with the scent of her blood. The bastard had probably licked it, tasted her as he was known to do. Was that what she wanted then? For Dovev to tend her, to taste her, and replace every hint of Zoryn's scent that clung so tightly to her.
There was suddenly a different feel to this. With lips so close to her cheek, he sought her eyes again. Confused. Uncertain. And yet so very certain.
Tell me what you want, he breathed. He'd do anything for her, to fix this instead of make it worse. As he was known to do. But no, not anything, not everything. But was there anything at all he could do to convince her to heal it? To take her pain away.
When his darkness would surround him like a brutally hungry aura, naturally repel anyone from nearing him, she instead launched herself at him, sank into it as though she belonged there in the depths of hell with him. A grunted oomph soaked in the unexpected collision, his body held stiffly in the grip of his fury.
"Dovev," she moaned between sobs, broken tears spilling over his cloak of malevolence. Yes, that name. The name of Death that sounded so much like a savior on her tongue, so much like rescue. Safety.
Well, she was that. She was safe with him. Always.
He shielded her from the dark truths in his eyes, caged his temper and crushed her to him, a tear falling freely. Look at what he'd done to her, what he'd brought into her life. If only he wasn't such a selfish bastard, clutching to her memories and craving more, making more. Always needing more. He could never truly fix this for her. All he ever did was make things worse.
But he'd make them worse enough for someone else.
Zor must have lost his memory too.
He would need a reminder.
Perhaps he was her savior in a way. This was going to take a sacrifice, and he'd willingly pay it. For her. To make certain it never happened again. This was his fault.
Slowly, her trembling began to still, her tears drying up. "You mean 'heal please,'" she corrected him quietly. He didn't respond, only held himself in place and opened his eyes as she detached from his side. The fires had cooled a little. For her. But a decision was made, and he'd pay the price for her. "And I won't. I can't. I don't deserve to heal."
And the fires were back, alive and seeking to consume.
What do you mean you don't deserve to heal, he ground out, staring hard into those soft, soulful eyes. Why the hell wouldn't she just cure it? Healing was practically like breathing to her. She would nearly kill herself trying to bring him from the brink of death but she wouldn't remove Zor's blemishes? Did she want him to always see it, always have that reminder of how he hadn't been there when she needed him? Like she had always been there for him.
His eyes slid to the welt at her cheek, still open to the cool night air. It had to hurt, both of them. Why did she choose the pain. He stepped in, so close, muzzle slowly reaching for her and passing over it. He could still smell Zoryn in it, mingled with the scent of her blood. The bastard had probably licked it, tasted her as he was known to do. Was that what she wanted then? For Dovev to tend her, to taste her, and replace every hint of Zoryn's scent that clung so tightly to her.
There was suddenly a different feel to this. With lips so close to her cheek, he sought her eyes again. Confused. Uncertain. And yet so very certain.
Tell me what you want, he breathed. He'd do anything for her, to fix this instead of make it worse. As he was known to do. But no, not anything, not everything. But was there anything at all he could do to convince her to heal it? To take her pain away.
