I wish I could take the hands of time and turn them in reverse
I'd take back every long goodbye with venom in my words
She hates the way that he just smirks at her.
She hates the way that even her fangs cannot quell him—cannot stir a reaction out of him. She feels so much, too much, and he seems to not feel at all and it is infuriating. It sets her every nerve on fire until she wants to scream; she wants to pound fists against him until he comes undone. Just let her see something, she thinks, wild with anguish. Just let her see some slip of humanity beneath his stone exterior.
He lifts his chin to reveal his throat and the predator in her needs no other invitation.
Adna is reacting before she can stop herself, hindquarters drawing underneath her and then pushing her off so that she is lunging forward. Her jaw unhinges and then snaps shut and before she knows it, she is by his side. He smells of cedar and the forest and her vision clicks to thermal so that he is nothing but a map of heat. She is shivering and her fangs are pressed against his throat now.
She imagines she can hear the way that his pulse loops steadily underneath it.
It is unnerving to know how little he is affected.
For a second, she just stands there, contemplating, knowing that she could do it. She could sink her teeth into him and let the hunger consume her. She could be the monster that her father told her that they are. She could just unlock that beast that wails in the back of her mind and give it full control.
But something stays her hand.
Maybe it’s exhaustion or defeat in the face of his apathy.
Maybe it’s something else entirely.
She drops her head, fangs scraping against his flesh but never puncturing. She closes her eyes and presses her cheek to his shoulder, letting a slow shudder run up her spine and turn into tiny tremors.
“How do I not care?” she asks. “How do I be more like you?”
the only way to being found is getting lost at first
but all I find are more bridges to burn
