A torrent of emotions washes across Castile. Regret, embarrassment, a sick thrill.
(There was blood)
He shoves aside the lingering thought – the hunger of the creature living in his soul – and presses onward. Initially, Castile wasn’t sure of his direction, or even a true purpose.
(Her scent)
A memory of breathing her in catches and he can recall the scent of deciduous trees and damp, fallen leaves. When he remembers the kingdom, he fleetingly sees Djinni and how her eyes glistened with curiosity when he sped from Hyaline to Sylva. He sees Ivar as they fumbled through the woods as careless children, laughing and smiling without a single care. That was years ago, however, and Djinni has since resigned from the throne.
When his eyes open from the replay of memories, Castile has veered his direction to trace the base of a mountain, walking until a wall of trees greets him. Never has he entered from the western border; somehow, it’s different and yet the same. Behind him lies the barren Plains and where their blood splattered across the red clay. A sparing glance over his shoulder elicits a shudder before craning his neck to look ahead again. He knows better than to push past the invisible gates. For a long while, he waits until she arrives, drawn by a foreign – or would he be familiar now? – scent. When Sabra arrives, he hesitates as emotion chokes him of words.
Breathe.
A slow lungful of air is drawn in and for a heartbeat his eyes are cast down before leveling to find her again. ”I… I feel like I should apologize.” As he always does because he isn’t a cold-hearted monster (but he is so capable of the title). Kagerus had been the first victim. Now Sabra. They’ve seen pieces of his puzzle, but only Karaugh has seen him for what he truly is; only she has seen the beast in full, but she is dead now. ”It’s a battle and I can’t entirely control what happens. I can stop myself from fully shifting sometimes… but the minor things, I can’t when my adrenaline runs high.” He is putting himself on a platter for her, but then he takes pause with a dragged step back. ”Perhaps, a more cordial introduction is in order? I’m Castile, of Loess.”
Not sure how this fits into a timeline, but oh well lmao
That scent of smoke and blood is here. So soon after their battle, his unique odor is imprinted on her brain. Foregoing walking, the pastel queen explodes from the canopy, wings carrying her to the western edge of her kingdom. He is not difficult to spot, his contrasting coat standing out among the skeletal trunks that mark the edge of Sylva. With a sweeping flourish, she lands before him.
He has not stepped quite inside, a smart move on his part. Their last meeting was not friendly. However, it was a divinely sanctioned battle, with no personal element. Truly, she can't hold it against him. Gods know she did her best to damage him in turn. But something is bothering him, his face tells her this immediately. Not even giving her time to address him, he launches into his apology. It all comes spilling out, and she can't help but feel a twinge of pity for him. She had frequently felt at war with herself, but his battle seemed much more literal.
"Well, Castile, I am Sabra of Sylva. I'm glad to meet you in better circumstances. I accept your apology, although it wasn't necessary. Everyone participating in the alliance knows what they're getting into. And you know full well I did my best to make you work for victory. Truly, Sylva would be fortunate to have a warrior of your caliber among our own ranks."
She smile at him calmly, deeply grateful that her injuries had been healed after the match. The torn shoulder muscles were as good as new, and the burns that had run the lengths of her front legs were gone, fuzzy new hairs already beginning to regrow through the creamy skin. No harm done, so no grudge held.
@[Castile]
Sabra looks at him with concern before he speaks; she can read his face as easily as a book. Castile’s eyes dart back and forth on the ground, searching for the right words to say. When they flounder on his tongue, there is no holding them back. In the battle pen, he is a savage warrior, but here, in the innocence of Sylva, he is amiable and even boyish and shy.
It’s with a sigh of relief that Sabra extends her understanding and acceptance. Castile’s mouth twitches into a small grin.
(Little bird)
”You flatter me,” he admits in a husky voice, his eyes casting down briefly to examine a browned leaf on the forest floor. Battling is a new realm to him, but he dodges around the confession, keeping it tucked in the deep crevices of his mind where the creature just barely stirs, unspurred by the conversation. ”You are definitely a lot stronger and tougher than I anticipated,” a low chuckle escapes him while his head lifts to level with hers, ”You have a lot of power in that kick.” It’s impossible to forget the buffeting of her hooves against the crest of his neck. It was almost as though he could hear his muscles scream in protest and hear the blood surge to the site. The battle was an intense whir of pain and desperation. They both had a thirst for victory. ”Soon the verdict will be announced,” all the pairings will wait anxiously, ”so good luck.” The sincerity drips from his voice and is mirrored in his mismatched gaze.
A falling leaf grabs his attention fleetingly. For a hesitating moment, he watches as it drifts down, swaying like a dance before settling soundlessly on the ground at their feet.
”It has been years since I was last in Sylva,” he blinks back the memory from replaying again as he gently searches Sabra’s face, ”How is it now?” He doesn’t expect it to have changed much, but the scents aren’t what he remembered, and the monarchy has long since shifted as it always does.
This man who stands before her seems to be a completely separate being from the one she fought only days before. The bloodlust is gone, leaving behind a sweet, uncertain soul. She is surprised by the sense of camaraderie she feels for the light and shadows man, though perhaps her own conflicts are not so extreme. She returns his smile as he reflects on their battle, shaking her head at his complements.
"Now your the one flattering me. I'm not a born fighter, like you seem to be. I just... I couldn't let Sylva go unrepresented. I did what I could, and it probably wasn't enough..." It never seems to be enough, she finished the thought privately. "I'm not sorry I tried, though. Especially against such an excellent opponent. I certainly learned a few things." She ended on a higher note than she'd begun with, shaking off the feeling of inadequacy that had been dogging her since the match. She was also talking too much, expressing weaknesses she couldn't afford to be known. It was stupid, but she almost felt a sense relief, talking to someone who might just understand.
The subject turned to the kingdom, and she looked around at the surrounding trees as he did, worry and pride mixed in her expression. "It's quiet. Too quiet, I sometimes think. I love it, though. I think I've finally gotten home." She had mellowed a bit over the last year, she realized with surprise. She wasn't sure if that wad good or bad. But looking at Castile, the shimmering mare had another thought.
"Forgive me if this is inappropriate, but... do you ever let him out intentionally? You don't seem like the kind of horse who would take kindly to containment. It makes sense that perhaps he would feel that way too. He might behave better if you let him breath more." She concluded, knowing it was possible she was completely off base. She had gone with the hunch anyway. The queen had not enjoyed a conservation like this in a long time, and wasn't ready for it to end just yet.
@[Castile]
There is no containing himself.
(Little bird)
Castile listens diligently to her and how she continues to weigh the battle so heavily in his favor. The responding shake of his head is slow, his unruly mane swaying peacefully with the motion. ”Stop it,” he says lightheartedly before listing his eyes to hers.
There is no containing himself.
He reaches forward, touching the base of her neck where it curves gently to form her shoulder. Was this an area he hit? He already cannot remember. The warmth of her skin is electrifying and it bursts from his muzzle, stemming through his body. ”Don’t doubt yourself,” he finally says when he musters the will to pull away from her. ”I’m new to fighting and you were one hell of an opponent,” the truth tumbles from his lips like silk even as his memory replays their brawl. It was heated and passionate as they desperately scrambled for the taste of victory. Now, he just hopes to never hurt her again. ”I’m happy they heal us afterward,” he adds as a second thought as his eyes trace along her body where he remembers blood dripping down. The thick rivulets glistened in the dappled sunlight of winter.
(Feed)
The memory of her blood causes a stir within him, but he takes pause and listens to her voice as she admires the trees enveloping her. The smile on her face is warm, tender even, as she admits to having finally found a home. Sabra’s gentleness quells the creature’s appetite almost immediately. ”I’m sure Sylva is happy to have you,” he mirrors her compassion, contradicting everything she thought of him on The Plains, ”and some quiet can be a good thing.” Perhaps he would know because of the tranquility found in Loess. Ivar seemingly disappeared with his concubines not far after.
Even with an abundance of solitude in Loess, Castile keeps himself grounded without the intention of letting his inner workings release. The world would see him for what he truly is, and the fear of it disturbs him. ”No,” he says to Sabra rather curtly at the idea of his other entity – the one she glimpsed in their battle, ”Never.” His mismatched eyes stray from her wings to the gentle arch of her neck to her eyes. ”I’m too dangerous that way,” a hesitant pause permeates the air between them, ”No one would be safe.”
A gentle scoff leaves her before she can pull it back, incredulous at his chivalry. She does not anticipate his next action, the gentle caress where bruises should be raising a shiver of goosebumps. She flinches mildly, not quite pulling away. The last time he'd touched her, it had hurt fiercely. Granted, she had injured him as well... her elegant neck bent to the side, exposing the plane of skin and muscle his examination.
She barely hears his next words, suddenly aware of how close he's now standing to her. The taller stallion mentions the healing they'd been gifted, eyes burning a trail along the path her injuries had lain. "Me too..." She murmurs softly, uncertain. The smile is restored to her face as he speaks reassuringly of her home. Sylva had been a gift, one she was constantly trying to earn. It was what had driven her to sign up for the Alliance, despite her lack of battle experience. How could she call herself a queen of she did not defend her realm?
So much of her normal confidence was a guise, a defense against weakness. Perhaps it was the fact that they had already tried to beat each other to a pulp that allowed her to drop the act now. Vulnerability... It was a frightening thing. There was a reason she avoided it whenever possible. But it seemed natural at the moment.
When she brings up his alter self, his demeanor changes abruptly. Has he really no control over it when in his other form? Castile's concern when he speaks of the danger involved catches the breath in her chest, as he gazes at the exposed flesh neck before meeting her eyes. Danger, danger... he is a predator inside, for all that his exterior is a gentlemanly equine. The way his mis-matched eyes have been devouring her is testament enough to that fact. It is exciting, in a way she knows is probably wrong.
On a whim, she closes the distance between them. As he had touched her shoulder before, now she touched the same point of his anatomy. First with velvety pink nose, light as a feather, then laying her face against his neck. She did not know if she wanted to cry or scream or laugh, or simply vanish. It had been too long since she'd had meaningful contact with someone who wasn't her son, but it felt like the most natural thing now.
Face against the man's broad shoulder, buried in the dense blanket of his particolored mane, she breathed deeply for a moment to recenter. The violence of their first meeting had been survival, but the kinetic energy had not all been spent. "He's tearing you up inside, I can see it." She commented after a moment, recalling the hint of madness she'd seen in battle. "It's your safety I'm concerned about." She added, lifting her head to fix him with her cool gaze. A beast out of control was a danger to all, but particularly to the one who hosted it. They'd only just met properly, but already she could not bear the thought of Castile slowly being destroyed from the inside out.
@[Castile]
The lines are blurred between the passion of battle and lust. Castile hasn’t touched a girl – not this much – and it stirs inside him. Her body heat caresses his lips while they press against the cusp of her neck and shoulder, breathing her in and truly taking note of her in a way he hadn’t in battle. Much to his excitement, her body inclines toward approval of him, letting him trace the lines of her neck before he wills himself to pull away.
(Little bird is mine)
But she doesn’t let him escape from the contact so easily. Undeniably, Castile hoped that she would mirror him and seek the touch that he is so willing to give. Her muzzle leans into his neck, down to his shoulder, and her touch is like a whisper across his skin – so light, so delicate. A chill runs down the length of his spine. He didn’t know he would enjoy this so much. The adrenaline from battle is meager compared to the hammering of his heart in this moment. This intimacy is a first for him, and it awakens a thirst he never knew he had.
”Sabra,” he breathes her name but catches it when it was on the verge of a moan. Hearing her, feeling her, Castile is suddenly powerless. His eyes shut beneath his forelock, focusing, and still trying desperately to suppress what beat stirs to life inside him. ”I would sacrifice myself if it meant saving other lives,” he would never forgive himself if he murdered, but alas, he would also have no recollection of it unless he was told otherwise. ”You have only seen a glimpse,” he opens his eyes to look at her, to search her pretty face as it creases with concern for him, ”and that was bad enough.” To let it consume him, to let it surface, would mean destruction to everything around him, no matter how dear.
He says her name in that smoky voice, and it's as if he'd breathed tongues of flame into a rain-starved forest. A sigh of anticipation whispers from her lips unbidden, a physical reaction to the liquid heat pooling in her belly. Ah, but he is lovely. Not in the way that Klaudius is, with refinement and self assurance. Castile makes her think of summer thunder storms and the violent beauty of fresh blood on snow. And then he is the rainbow that follows the downpour, the genuine warmth in the heart of the warrior who defends what he loves.
The sincerity found in his gaze is profound, and his next words quite take the gemstone woman's breath away. Here was a soul she recognized, and had missed dearly. He was not Arik. He never would be either. She had no power to bring back the dead, and she knew for fact that the dead wanted her to live and be happy anyway. Klaudius had been a mistake, though she treasured the son he'd given her. Maybe.... maybe it was time to look for more. Things to consider later. As of now, her thoughts we're driven by heat and lust and passion. Without further doubt, the confidence she wore so well returned. "I like what I see, Castile. All of it. Even the potentially homicidal lizard bits, though you might not want to look into that too closely." She admitted with a lopsided grin. Do you like what you see in me? She wondered, not brave enough to ask out loud.
The winged woman did not give him time to answer, instead pressing close. The need to feel his skin against hers overwhelmed her as she kissed him like she was dying and he was the cure. Electricity burned along every nerve as she tasted the volatile man. He tasted like lightning and sunshine, and she was drunk on it. Maybe, a little voice murmured, he would be her One True Love. More likely, he would move on and forget her when all was through. For this moment though, he was hers and she was his. For the moment, that was all that mattered. She was being brash, and she knew it. But what the hell? They'd already tried to kill each other.
@[Castile]
She likes what she sees, what she feels, and even what she knows.
And yet, reluctance still threads through his every thought, perhaps even doubt.
Sabra has already been hurt by him; when his lids drift shut he can see her blood winding in rivulets down her sides and onto the frozen red clay.
(Feed)
The twisting in his stomach isn’t a typical hunger and the ideas reeling through his mind are much more primal. With each step closer and with each lasting touch, Castile’s grip on himself is slipping. Her blood has an enthusiastic pulse that drums faintly against his skin as their bodies melt into each other. It, in turn, enthralls him and arouses his adrenaline to pour thickly into his veins. The silence is uninterrupted by his wings shifting from feathers to a thin membrane. Small, hook-like talons sprout from the arms. They could so easily grab her, hold her…
(… Take her)
A ragged breath fills his lungs as his cheek presses to the plane of her neck. The world ripples away around them in this moment when words aren’t even necessary. Their body heat, their heartbeats, their breaths are enough to fuel a hushed passion that he has never before experienced. It’s so new, but so invigorating. A shudder cartwheels through his body, wanting her for himself.
”I don’t think you could handle it – all of me,” he’s realizing that there are two sides to him, that he cannot still control what lies deep inside him. It’s an entity all of its own.
He’s coming to. No one can handle him. He can’t handle himself.
It’s why he fled, why he abandoned everyone for months.
Because he is truly a monster.
Another breath is drunkenly swallowed to savor the sweet ecstasy of her scent as though it’s the last time. ”I don’t want to hurt you,” he pauses to unwillingly peel himself from her, ”not again.”
And suddenly the fear is there again, reflecting in his mismatched eyes.
With a gasping breath, she pulls away as he does. Her heart is still racing, flushed skin begging to return to that place against his. Duly, she notes the shift in his wings. Feathers have been replaced with taught skin and sharp bone, beautiful in their strength. It does high light a problem though, underscored by his next phrase. The cerulean fire of her eyes flashes with a mixture of lust and determination. "And I don't think you realize just how stubborn I am, Castile." Her chin lifts in defiance, daring him to contradict her.
He was dangerous. In more ways than he seemed to realize, though the bloodlusting reptile was surely a consideration. It was as though she'd known him a whole lifetime. The way she wanted to protect him, to make him happy.... if he was content with a life of seclusion, so be it. But she didn't think that was truth, and she knew there had to be another way. "If you hurt me, I know it would not be intentional. Hell, it would probably even be my fault. But I think you're stronger than that." She closed the distance between them again, pressing a cheek to the hollow of his neck gently. "Your heart is bigger than his violence. Don't let him win, Cas..." She finished in a voice hardly above a whisper. She wished she could save him, challenge the dragon and beat it into submission. But it was ultimately his fight.
@[Castile]
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