08-22-2019, 07:23 AM
She doesn’t look up, and he grins.
Difficult prey has always been his favorite, and the wince he catches with his predatory eyes bring a delightful rush of adrenaline. Difficult but familiar, a combination that he knows grows more satisfying with each encounter. He likes to watch the fear in their eyes as it battles with confusion, as they struggle to understand why this is happening and then realizing that it is happening again. Breckin has only the slightest notion of what he is, though the slow way she calls him Seamonster run a thrill down his spine. If only she knew.
Breckin thinks she is safe at the shoreline.
They always do.
But the shoreline is where his kind and hers have always met, where the aquatic kelpie find and capture their terrestrial prey. These are his hunting grounds, this place in the shallows and the shoreline; this is where he is his best. Yet she smiles, and her wry words are proof she doesn’t yet understand the danger she is in. They never do, and Ivar has always liked teaching them.
The kelpie stands, shedding both water and his finned tail as he does. Breckin had once called him ’annoyingly attractive’ as he basked on the sand, and he has not changed. Each bit of him has evolved to capture the eye of a mare, from high crest of his neck to the strong line of his back. He knows this, just as he knows it bothers her, and the idea of flustering the strong willed mare is nearly as delicious as the way he imagines she might taste.
He’d almost had her once before, in the waters of Ischia, but she’d slipped away and the kelpie let her. He’d had enough distractions then to let one by, but time has passed since then – life has changed them both. Her more than him, perhaps, but the wide-eyed women of his little island are far away from the river’s edge, and Ivar feels the distant rumble of hunger beginning to rise.
The kelpie takes a step forward with his neck outstretched, just enough to reach her, jut enough to brush his muzzle against hers.
“Come swim with me,” he tells her, and this time the words are a command rather than a request. They’re the same command as he’d pressed into her when he’d touched her. It would have been easier to stay near, to use his hypnosis to lure her into the water. He knows this, and yet he withdraws. The Breckin he recalls had always been strong-willed, and he’s curious how much she’ll fight today.
“I promise not to laugh. Much.”
@[Breckin]
Difficult prey has always been his favorite, and the wince he catches with his predatory eyes bring a delightful rush of adrenaline. Difficult but familiar, a combination that he knows grows more satisfying with each encounter. He likes to watch the fear in their eyes as it battles with confusion, as they struggle to understand why this is happening and then realizing that it is happening again. Breckin has only the slightest notion of what he is, though the slow way she calls him Seamonster run a thrill down his spine. If only she knew.
Breckin thinks she is safe at the shoreline.
They always do.
But the shoreline is where his kind and hers have always met, where the aquatic kelpie find and capture their terrestrial prey. These are his hunting grounds, this place in the shallows and the shoreline; this is where he is his best. Yet she smiles, and her wry words are proof she doesn’t yet understand the danger she is in. They never do, and Ivar has always liked teaching them.
The kelpie stands, shedding both water and his finned tail as he does. Breckin had once called him ’annoyingly attractive’ as he basked on the sand, and he has not changed. Each bit of him has evolved to capture the eye of a mare, from high crest of his neck to the strong line of his back. He knows this, just as he knows it bothers her, and the idea of flustering the strong willed mare is nearly as delicious as the way he imagines she might taste.
He’d almost had her once before, in the waters of Ischia, but she’d slipped away and the kelpie let her. He’d had enough distractions then to let one by, but time has passed since then – life has changed them both. Her more than him, perhaps, but the wide-eyed women of his little island are far away from the river’s edge, and Ivar feels the distant rumble of hunger beginning to rise.
The kelpie takes a step forward with his neck outstretched, just enough to reach her, jut enough to brush his muzzle against hers.
“Come swim with me,” he tells her, and this time the words are a command rather than a request. They’re the same command as he’d pressed into her when he’d touched her. It would have been easier to stay near, to use his hypnosis to lure her into the water. He knows this, and yet he withdraws. The Breckin he recalls had always been strong-willed, and he’s curious how much she’ll fight today.
“I promise not to laugh. Much.”
@[Breckin]