 Celina knows the voice that usually whispers inside her mind, beckoning her toward unsound decisions. It is her own voice, but softer, familiar enough. Her conscious, her mother had called it. Instinct is the name her father had given it. Neither seem quite right, or perhaps there are many voices, primal desires that swirl inside a more complex mind than they are meant for. Regardless of what they are, she knows what they sound like, where they belong.
There is suddenly another voice where none belongs, and though Celina recoils internally, her questing mouth does not hesitate, not even when his dull teeth snap against the bridge of her muzzle.
He tells her to not touch him while violating the sanctity of her own mind to do so?
The outrage is stronger than the fear, and though some part of her remains cautious it is not enough to make her run.
It is better to run than be caught, her father has said, but Celina is sure she has done nothing wrong. There is no need to flee, not when the worst thing she has done is make this stranger fluff up his wings. She hasn’t even hurt him!
The answer to her question seems clear enough, and it seems that the buckskin would like her to move away. Or so his stance says. Instead, her own wings flare out as well, lower than his own but an equal pose. She has wings too, it seems to say, but she is not using them against him. She doesn’t have to, not when she is this close, not when she can see the way his pulse beats beneath his throat with how near they stand. She could reach it, Celina thinks. She could rip it out before he had time to pry any deeper into her own mind.
“Yes,” she replies, wondering if perhaps this stranger is simple after all, for all that he is able to speak clearly within her mind. Everyone is prey, or at least something to be used. Hasn’t her father taught her this? There are some exceptions, of course, but Rhaegor is not one of them. “I would prefer it if you were,” Celina adds truthfully, the words soft and low, just loud enough to reach across the little distance she has allowed between them. She is not sure how to kill a mind-reader, but surely he must die. He has the bad magic, the kind that will inevitably endanger her and those she cares for. Hasn’t her father taught her this too?
Mind readers cannot be trusted, and those with the ability to place their thoughts inside your own head are the worst of all.
But what is she to do with him? Father would be furious if she left him alive. But how does one kill a creature that might know everything she knows? This is exactly why they are so dangerous, she thinks, and not for the first time curses her curiosity. He had not wanted her to touch him, she thinks, so she touches him. Perhaps he will act out, a moment of instinct giving her the chance for an unexpected bite or slash. There is danger here, and a quiet whisper in her own mind has grown louder, daring her, pushing her farther. I will bite when he flinches, Celina tells herself, and trails her silver mouth along the curve of his shoulder and up his throat, waiting for what she is sure is inevitable.
@[Rhaegor]
celina
i'm that bad type, make-your-mama-sad type
make-your-girlfriend-mad type, might-seduce-your-dad type
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