well, I'm a lion in the haze and the lamb in the lightning
oh, these spears and chains of flames around my neck are tightening
“So hold onto your power, love,” he grinned, ears flicking forward beneath the thicket of his forelock, energy charging through him as he considered her. “No one is asking for you to give up anything tonight that you don’t want to.” She was beautiful, he thought, but hurt; that was often a dangerous combination. Still, he was intrigued. Intrigued enough that he didn’t back away, even at the obvious shards of glass in his palm, even at the obvious way she broke around him, dark and tempting and potentially lethal.
His voice dropped even lower. “And no one is going to hurt you.”
That was never his intention—not here. He was a vagabond, an entirely self-composed, selfish man. He lived within the orbit of his own universe, his gravity grabbing and pulling in planets as he needed them. His heart was the sun of his world, his passions his moons. But still, he wasn’t entirely cruel. Apathetic at times, cutting at others, but not needlessly callous. He took easily, took what he wanted, when he wanted it, but he also gave (what he gave and how he gave it was subject to his own whims, but still, he gave).
When she reached out and bridged the gap between them, lips touching his cheek, he growled deep in his throat, a pleased noise as he considered her. She shifted fluidly, and his eyes turned fever bright as he watched her move from equine to panther, her form smaller than his own but the same velvet, the same shape. He remained still as she moved around him, curling sensuously around his legs. He curved his heavy neck to bring his head down, mouth hovering over her back—still not touching, not crossing that border. Just a purr of satisfaction as he watched her pull on this confidence, begin to own her own heart.
What do you think will make me happy, then?
“I will,” he growled, the answer confident—a statement and not a question. “And for long enough,” his eyes sparked. “I am no stranger to immortality, Reagan.” It wasn’t just the panther that ran wild within him, but also that wicked deathlessness. “But we don’t need to plan that right now.” He didn’t know her—not anything more than the way he hungered for her, the way the light reflected off her, the way sadness both formed and then shattered in her eyes—but if he had to guess, he’d guess she hadn't done something truly selfish, truly spontaneous in a long time. And maybe that’s just what she needed. A devilish smile, mouth lingering just above her, “Let me make you happy tonight.” A low growl. “You deserve that.”
Aleksandr