luster

[Stillwater]

Stillwater

Things had been agreeable having Luster around. He wasn't used to the company, more accustomed to the solidtude and the quiet, but he still found he welcomed it. At least a little. Who wouldn't like a warm body to hold at night? It only meant he couldn't spend the nights at the lake. And Luster was quiet too, comfortable. Not to mention gorgeous, and so deeply caring. Loving. And neither of them were within the cave during the day, did their own things. She had family to see, residents to meet. He had people to eat. It worked for them.

He was growing more and more irritated with Djinni's manner, though. She had become closed off, distant. She was short and carefully civil the few times they met for kingdom discussions. She never came to him any other time. There seemed an invisible barrier between them, one that hadn't been there before. One that kept even his insistent prodding from her as he used to. It cut him, furrowed in his chest like a painful burr of needles.

He knew she would hate him. He hadn't meant to reveal so much of himself, but with each little peek she grasped for more, forced more of it to the surface. He hadn't expected that hate to feel this way.

He hadn't meant to hurt her.
She was supposed to be safe from him.

Today, though, was for better thoughts, sweeter company. Today was for Luster. He'd intended on surprising her, and left the area of home to search for her, to spend the day with her. But when he finally found her, the warm smile on his face faltered then his expression turned hard and cold at the pain in her eyes.

Luster? What's happened? His voice was sharp, and something formed and gripped in his chest and tightened his shoulders. His bones ached to fold and shift with a sudden desire to be the full predator, and he was glad for once that he couldn't. That she wouldn't see his truth and fear him. That she wouldn't hate him as Djinni now hated him. With good reason, he reminded himself. He had tried to kill her, after all, and slowly. So painfully slowly.

[luster]

so we let our shadows fall away like dust

She moves with no purpose at first, flowing away from the grullo mare like dark water through an even darker forest. It is only when her hooves find a well worn path, a path she herself has travelled many times and often with a much lighter heart, that she surrenders to the instinctive urge to run until the physical pain matches the agony twisting in her gut, chewing through her heart. She bolts with all the grace of sunlight, weaving easily through the trees and around the enormous stones until her shoulders darken subtly with sweat and shadow. Her thoughts are singular, an echo of the pain in her chest, pushing her faster and further and hiding from her, so carefully, so deliberately, all thoughts of this new home, of her family, of the cave and the man who lived within.

You are not enough, not enough, not enough, not enough.

It is this truth that chases her as she runs, forces her to the edge of Sylva where it promises peace and quiet and some semblance of safety from that which breaks her even now. She is so close, almost gone, can see the edge of the territory where it looms several yards away, marked by the change of deciduous tree to soft pine. Can see beyond to the places where he cannot follow. But something else reaches her first, a scent that is heady and dark and undeniable, of sand and deepwater and her heart stills her feet. She knows it is him even before she picks him out of the half-shadow, even before she turns and he sees something in her face that makes him call out to her.

Luster? What’s happened?

Those dark eyes dart from his face to the line of nearby pine, from the pine to the gap between them and then back to his face again because she knows she can reach it before he can reach her. She can be gone and allowed to hurt in peace before he can even understand how much she knows.

But she won’t, or can’t, because even now, made up of shattered glass and broken bones, raw nerves and a flayed open chest, she still loves him. She will not use his captivity against him. Not yet, not until he turns and leaves and sets her free, and she is certain he will. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She asks, broken, and that voice is silver with sorrow, wilted with defeat. But he is only quiet, maybe uncertain, confused, and so she pulls those luminous eyes from his face to look down at the dirt worn smooth beneath her feet. “Djinni told me, Stillwater.” She says again in that same sad voice, though it is softer now, even more fragile than it had been before.

It hurts so much to say aloud, to relive the moments in her memories, to remember how those truths had buried themselves like daggers in her chest. “You should have told me, don’t I deserve at least that?” Her resolve folds in on her and she drifts precariously toward the border again, just a few small steps before her eyes land on the silver chain at his ankle. She freezes. When she speaks again her voice is careful, soaked in shadow, whisper-soft. “She is pregnant with your child, she loves you, and you let me –“ But she can’t finish, can’t find the words because she will not tell him the ones that are sitting on her tongue. You let me fall in love with you. The truth will be in her eyes anyway, two dark bruises of aching brown, expressive to the end.

Her head hangs low so she tucks it to her chest, pulling her chin in tight. She doesn’t mean to think about it, but another breeze carries his scent to her and all the memories of all the nights they had spent tangled together in his cave come crashing down around her. “Stillwater.” She aches, lets his name slip past her lips before there is ever a chance to stop it. Her eyes lift again to find his face, to trace the curve of his neck and the strength in his shoulders. They linger too long at his chest, a chest she had always pretended was meant for her to fold into. It is less perfect now, perhaps, that she knows the truth. She forces her eyes away and they fall instead into the hollow of his back, long and lean and muscular, follow the curve of his hip and then downwards until she looks suddenly away to hide the blush in her eyes. It doesn’t matter anyway; these are all things she has traced, tasted in the dark, memorizing with her tongue and her teeth and her kisses.

Her gaze disappears to the border again, longing for the safety of the shadows beyond, but instinct or reflex or worry betrays her. Instead, slowly, she closes the distance between them. When she stops again she is still carefully out of his reach, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat emanating off of his dark body. “Now I have to forget about you.” She says, soft and uncertain, defeated, closing her eyes for a long moment to hide the pain from him. “I have to let you go and I don’t know how. I don’t know if I can.” She opens her eyes and looks away, turning from him to peer deeper into Sylva, back the way she had come, back to where her parents must be, back to where his cave remained hidden by the lake. 

That cave had become home, he had become home.

When she turns back she is soft again, not in her starshine way, glowing and silver and bright, luminous and beautiful. Instead she is hollow, carved out and empty, broken by that treacherous thing still beating in her chest. But she reaches out to touch her lips to his chain, trying and failing to lift it from his ankle if only to confirm what he had already told her. Its weight was impossible, must be uncomfortable, and she lifts her lips from it to touch her mouth against the curve of a jaw that is so dark and so perfect and so painfully familiar. “You shouldn’t be out so far.” She says, brushes her lips across his nose and pulls back again. Even now, even broken and defeated, she cannot help or hide the worry that creeps into a voice that is decidedly distressed, uneasy. “Stillwater,” and she is imploring him, wanting to touch him and hide from him and fall from an earth with no gravity, but instead she is quiet, uncertain, worried for him, “what are you doing out here?”

Luster

[Stillwater]

Stillwater

Almost immediately, her eyes left his to look at the forest, through the forest. To the boundary and beyond where he cant follow. His eyes sharpened just as his chest knotted up, thick and tangled in a strange.. fear? Worry? Apprehension. Why would she look that way? Why would he get the sudden sense that she wanted to flee from him? As though she were looking for her escape.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her starlight voice was so shattered, so scattered in the air between them like the stars she so often creates. He frowned, confused and uncertain. Had she thought on what she knew of him and become afraid of him? Had she learned of his hunger, learned to fear him as she should? She definitely should. Somehow, he didn't feel ready for that. Didn't feel ready for her to walk away.

He hadn't even gotten to taste her yet.

"Djinni told me, Stillwater," and this didn't ease his worries in the least. Only made them worse. Djinni was the only one who -well. Karaugh knew his hunger, but Djinni knew the most about him. About everything he kept so hidden from the world. She was always pushing him, always driving it out of him for her to see. She had seen too much. She had gotten too much of it and was avoiding him now. He hoped she had learned to fear him.

"You should have told me, don't I deserve at least that?" Damn and if he wasn't feeling conflicted. He would never tell anyone about himself, not even her. If they ever saw it, his true nature, the secret died with them. That was the way of things, always. Djinni knew too much; he should have killed her. His face was hard, his eyes swirling to the eager gray that knew these truths, knew what he must to do continue his survival. And then she spoke again, and struck him as if slapped, and his eyes flashed back to the dark blue-gray. "She is pregnant with your child, she loves you, and you let me--"

It was good that she stopped talking then, because he wouldn't have heard it anyway. He could only stare at her in shock and a wild look in his eyes he couldn't even try to mask. She WHAT? No, it wasn't possible. Well, obviously it was possible, but it shouldn't have happened. It wasn't - they weren't.. They hadn't meant to- Damn it! God, if he could just close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose, wish it all away. He wasn't even aware that she was talking again as he heard himself groan, or maybe growl.

But a touch at his wrist -at his chain, his tether, his prison, brought him back again with a start. He watched with hard eyes as she tried to lift it, tested the impossible weight. His teeth clenched tight, bitter emotions crashing through him, but he said nothing. Then she was rising, touching those pink lips to the line of his jaw and making his eyes close. "You shouldn't be out so far," she said, brushing across his nose before pulling away.

But he didn't want her to pull away. And he tried to follow. And every limb moved forward toward her but that one, weighed down and firmly secured to this land. He still couldn't reach her, just wanted to reach her. The predator rattled a frustrated growl from his throat, only to end in a pathetic keening whine and claiming is face in sorrow as it shut his eyes again. Don't leave, it didn't say in words. "Stillwater.. what are you doing out here?"

He swallowed the deep gravel of his natural voice, of the evil spirit, the creature, and called on the seductively smooth man's voice. I came for you, he whispered, his tone heavy with defeat. She was running away, wasn't she? Running from what he'd done. She wouldn't come back. Why did that ache so deeply. He didn't even want to think of what she said before, not yet, because this felt like goodbye. A terrible, painful goodbye. She was leaving him. And he was helpless to stop her.

His eyes were still closed when he spoke again, barely above a whisper.
Don't go.

[luster]

so we let our shadows fall away like dust

She is closed to him now in a way she has never been before, not even when he first appeared from shadow and water and she covered his night with stars. When she watches him it is guardedly and at a quiet distance – like the moon orbiting the earth, cold and beautiful and so terribly alone. But she finds it hurts to drift closer, hurts to gaze into the face of someone who allowed her to be hurt in this way. It wasn’t his fault, she knew this, he had never once told her anything to allow her to think she was something more than a friend to fill those nights with, but it hurt all the same to lose this unnamable thing she had grown so tethered to.

He groans, or growls, a sound that draws her eyes back up to his face to search for the telltale flash of near-silver, but there is only that deepwater blue, only Stillwater. She does not think he meant for things to unfold in this way – there is too much surprise in his face, too much confusion each time her eyes flash back to the near-safety of a border she can see clearly through the trees. But it does not change that she had found out, and not from him, does not change that he had a family and it wasn’t with her.

(She doesn’t realize he hadn’t already known.)

When had she started wanting that? A child with him, his heartbeat in her ear as she slept every night with her cheek against his chest. Too many nights spent curled against his side, she realizes, her eyes flashing deep brown and bruised, flying from his face, from his reach, lest he see these secrets she struggles to trap inside. But even now these feelings don’t wilt like she needs them too, that easy affection blossoming eagerly when her eyes return carefully to his dark face again.

It is only when she closes her eyes and drops her nose wearily, opens them again to see that flash of metal at his ankle that she stops her quiet orbiting, settles cool and silver against him with her mouth on his skin. “You shouldn’t be out so far.” She says and she means it, worries with eyes that are heavier and a pale mouth that is absent of any soft, starlit smile. But then she remembers herself, this closeness, reminds herself that it is not welcome anymore and pulls back again uncertainly, awkwardly, hating the strangeness of such distance between them.

Except he tenses and growls, reaches, a physical echo of the ache in her chest and it is enough to pull her back to him, to tuck her where she had always belonged against the curve of his dark, waiting chest. The sound he makes wounds something in her chest, a keening whine that her heart sang back to him if only he could hear it. But no sound passes her lips, no anguish but that which glittered tiredly in those dark, wild eyes. I came for you, he whispers in a heavy way, eyes closed to keep her out. Don’t go.

She breaks against him like the waves break along a rocky shore, summoning her light to wrap around them both, to pull him closer, to hold him. It is soft though, gentle enough that he will feel its pressure without feeling bound by it, bound by her. She would never keep him like that.

Her lips find the soft of his neck, the smooth of his shoulder; anywhere she can reach from where she stays pressed to his chest. But they aren’t greedy, they don’t cover him in kisses anymore (not yours, she reminds herself, he loves someone else, she thinks), instead they trace quiet shapes, irregular circles like dapples, like the stars he loved so much. “And now?” She asks finally, quietly, closing her eyes against the dread welling there, against the pain blooming like thorny flowers in her chest. “Now what do you want .” She pauses when her chest trembles and bucks, when there is no air and no words and no way to speak. Then, even quieter, laying her cheek against his shoulder. “I won’t stay away, not unless you want me to. But –“

She stumbles back a step as though slapped, stares at him with wide, worried eyes as she realizes her mistake so belatedly. We weren’t planning on having children, Djinni had said of the swell beneath her ribs. Her eyes darken further, bottomless and aching and nearly black as she recalls his confusion again, the tension in his face. She had thought it was because she had found out about he and Djinni, about their family. But even as she watches him, she realizes she was wrong. “You didn’t know.” She guesses, she realizes, she says aloud. Whispered and with a small blue head that hangs low and defeated now. “You should go to her, Stillwater.”

She feels so suddenly small in that moment, smaller than the stars, silver and sad in a world so vast and black and silent. Stay. She wills him silently, even as she cannot lift her eyes to look at his face one more time, even as she knows he will turn from her. I need you, too.

Luster

[Stillwater]

Stillwater

She tucked herself into his chest and his body relaxed, his head ducking to embrace her with eyes firmly closed. Why did this feel like goodbye? Must she leave? Why?

He tensed as her light wrapped around them, closing them in tighter together. The tension faded gradually in understanding, and he grasped her closer with an ache in his chest as if she could sink inside and soothe it, become a part of him. Her lips brushed cross him lightly, drew indefinable patterns into his neck and shoulder.

"And now? Now what do you want." Why do they always ask him that, these creatures. What does he want. Why does that matter to them? But he held quiet, kept his silence and just listened to her. "I won't stay away, not unless you want me to. But--"

She jerked back a step or two and he startled. Deep, blue-gray eyes studied her closely as she seemed to think through something, his brows pulled together in concern and puzzlement. Had he done something wrong? But she finally spoke, her realization clear in the quiet shock in her voice. "You didn't know." He gave a short shake of his head. No. He definitely hadn't known, hadn't seen Djinni since they'd.. since he'd.. He hadn't seen her for a while.

She hung her head, her shoulders slumping as though weighed down. "You should go to her, Stillwater." He knew she was right. He knew that he should find Djinni, if he could. He didn't think she'd wanted this to happen, to get pregnant by him. Did she hate him? Would it matter? But he could still feel the truth in what Luster suggested; he should go to her.

But Luster?
She was leaving, wasn't she.

Was there anything he could say that would keep her here? Anything short of promises he couldn't make? To anyone. Should he even try to keep her here? If she wanted to go... It was safer if she left, wasn't it? Safer from him and what he was, what he would do to her again. Maybe next time she wouldn't live. He could practically hear the other scoff in his mind at that. But that wasn't any reassurance, really. Only amusement, wasn't it.

So he would give her no words. He would make her no promises he couldn't possibly keep. Couldn't possibly say. Instead, he closed the short distance her step had put between them, standing over her, staring down at her. Gently, he tilted her face up to him, studied every flickering detail in her eyes. Then he met her lips with his, softly, drank from her in this different way. He kissed every memory into her; taking her to the water, tugging her under to kiss her so deeply in his world, watching her glow with dream-like light below the surface.

His kiss deepened as he pressed more memories into her lips; how she'd heated him as he'd heated her, coaxed the hungry lust to her eyes, had her writhing eagerly beneath him and bucking against his hips. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since he started, but he broke away with a quiet gasp, panting with his face resting against hers. He couldn't ask her to stay. He couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to her. She deserved someone who wasn't such a threat to her life. But could he let her go and still survive? He wasn't sure. Had never had to test it.

He kissed her again, brief and hungry. Afraid? He might die.
And then again, desperate and firm. She would live.

Damn, he needed to leave. Had to get away. Danger. His body ached, his teeth throbbed, his skin felt tight. She smelled so good. Tasted so good. When he finally opened his eyes, they were bright and silver and gleaming. Sharp, penetrating, demanding. Pained and furious, he turned away. The beast turned from his favorite feast and let her live. Again.