11-03-2017, 08:50 PM
My dragon, she says, and his heart clenches wantonly. If only she means for him and not Amet, but isn’t he the real dragon? Isn’t he – couldn’t he – be the stronger one? Surely, he can take care of Ciri and protect her from harm.
No, no. Amet is his friend, a childhood friend, and he can’t betray him.
But, Ciri.
When they met in Hyaline, she didn’t reciprocate Amet’s affectionate touches. For a moment, it had only been him and her, but the gilded king somehow cut through them like a knife and put a halt to all ideas and imaginative thoughts. Curiously, Castile glanced between them, but hadn’t seen anything too alarming until just prior to his departure.
Now, however, Amet isn’t here and Ciri is looking up at him as the gash across her cheek slows its bloody dribble. Their eyes meet, and Castile can’t hold himself back from touching the curve of her jaw and breathing her in. ”I---“ he almost corrects her, but something holds him back – it’s that wrenching in his gut, that want for her – so he stops himself, resigning to slip his muzzle down to her neck, her shoulder, her withers. ”I will find who did this to you,” he is afraid to promise her this just as he was afraid to make promises to Isobell; he doesn’t want to fail either of them or to break his word.
She is too precious for broken promises.
And too beautiful.
A kiss hovers above her skin, but Castile stops himself – the internal war rages on – and instead looks at her face and lowers his wings. He could take her back; they aren’t far from her home, but he finds himself unable to move and act on her wishes. A sigh slips from him as he looks across her body then back to her stormy eyes. ”You need to rest, Ciri. We will stay here for the night,” again he touches her, unable to control himself. His lips trail down the crest of her neck tenderly and a wing extends across her body. ”Lie down, Ciri. We can rest here. I will protect you.” His voice is gentle and reassuring as he tries to help ease her down and curl around her, savoring the warmth mingling between their bodies.
No, no. Amet is his friend, a childhood friend, and he can’t betray him.
But, Ciri.
When they met in Hyaline, she didn’t reciprocate Amet’s affectionate touches. For a moment, it had only been him and her, but the gilded king somehow cut through them like a knife and put a halt to all ideas and imaginative thoughts. Curiously, Castile glanced between them, but hadn’t seen anything too alarming until just prior to his departure.
Now, however, Amet isn’t here and Ciri is looking up at him as the gash across her cheek slows its bloody dribble. Their eyes meet, and Castile can’t hold himself back from touching the curve of her jaw and breathing her in. ”I---“ he almost corrects her, but something holds him back – it’s that wrenching in his gut, that want for her – so he stops himself, resigning to slip his muzzle down to her neck, her shoulder, her withers. ”I will find who did this to you,” he is afraid to promise her this just as he was afraid to make promises to Isobell; he doesn’t want to fail either of them or to break his word.
She is too precious for broken promises.
And too beautiful.
A kiss hovers above her skin, but Castile stops himself – the internal war rages on – and instead looks at her face and lowers his wings. He could take her back; they aren’t far from her home, but he finds himself unable to move and act on her wishes. A sigh slips from him as he looks across her body then back to her stormy eyes. ”You need to rest, Ciri. We will stay here for the night,” again he touches her, unable to control himself. His lips trail down the crest of her neck tenderly and a wing extends across her body. ”Lie down, Ciri. We can rest here. I will protect you.” His voice is gentle and reassuring as he tries to help ease her down and curl around her, savoring the warmth mingling between their bodies.