12-14-2018, 09:19 PM
Kirby had wandered so deep inside his own mind that he barely heard the echo of Kharon’s mind voice calling for him. The beast roared in its cage, shaking the walls, and Kirby traced the edge of the handle with his fingertips, hand drawn to the handle like they were magnetized. Dread clenched his abdomen tight, made his heart pound in his chest, and he hardly felt the soft kisses Kharon pressed to his neck, the way he rubbed his cheek against him in quiet, soothing affection. Fingers gripped the handle, tightening reflexively as they wrapped around it, and he tried to stop himself from opening the damn door.
But it was no use.
The monster he’d locked away three years ago stared at him as the door swung open, almost of its own accord. A wicked, hungry smile met him from the center head, a smirk that invited him in, coaxed him to step into the cage and reach out and touch, take what belonged to him, embrace what he’d locked away so long ago. The face to the left snarled with rage and frustration, a silent flash of gleaming white teeth and an aggressive chomp, fangs clicking shut and eyes narrowing with suspicion. And the third set of eyes on the right stared at him with cold intelligence in their depths, weighing him, taking his measure.
The slow, toothy grin that spread across its face sent chills through him. Those eyes saw all the way into him, knew him the way no one else ever had. He wanted to pull away, wanted to jerk back and slam the door and pretend there was nothing monstrous about him, nothing dark and hungry inside him ready to reach out and devour the light he’d stolen and cultivated since he met his son.
He almost managed to do it, too, to turn away and shut the door and walk away. Maybe. He told himself he would’ve, but maybe it didn’t matter. She hasn’t seen that guy in a long time. Pieces of himself snapped back together, and silver eyes sharpened, sharp teeth bared as he realized what that meant.
She had seen him. He wasn’t just a dream, he was real, and he wanted Kerberos’s Lacey.
Well too fucking bad.
She belonged to him.
And he would delight in reminding her of that fact, until neither of them could stand. Mmm, give her a sexy little knife so she could carve patterns in his skin too, make the iron that made up his surface pliable so she could mark him as hers, show the whole fucking world who he belonged to, hand her the leash to his inner monster and give himself over to her in turn. His goddamn Lacey, and if anyone thought otherwise he’d fucking show them how wrong they were, leave them bleeding on the ground at her glorious feet, a macabre gift wrapped in a bloodstained bow, an offering for his jagged, razor-sharp goddess.
I love you. I'm here. Talk to me.
What good were words though, when he so desperately craved the hunt, his body itching to move, to chase, to seek out his goddess and reclaim her. Mmm, but for their magnificent son, he tried, fighting the primal place that had swallowed him down to try and give the words his boy needed.
We. Will. Find. Her. His nose burned for a trace of her scent in the air, his skin ached to be coated in it, to bathe himself in her essence and mingle their scents and mark each other, press home into his skin until he drove away that broken look in her angel eyes. She. Was. His. And he’d damn well make her believe it.
Some small, rational part of him tried to remind him all he ever did was break her, ruin things for her, make everything worse until there was no repairing it. But a possessive snarl drowned it out, and he clambered to feet that itched to be canine, a ripple running through the iron of his skin to resettle it, muscles a little sharper, more pronounced, face sharpening infinitesimally. We Find Her.Bite my shiny metal ass.
But it was no use.
The monster he’d locked away three years ago stared at him as the door swung open, almost of its own accord. A wicked, hungry smile met him from the center head, a smirk that invited him in, coaxed him to step into the cage and reach out and touch, take what belonged to him, embrace what he’d locked away so long ago. The face to the left snarled with rage and frustration, a silent flash of gleaming white teeth and an aggressive chomp, fangs clicking shut and eyes narrowing with suspicion. And the third set of eyes on the right stared at him with cold intelligence in their depths, weighing him, taking his measure.
The slow, toothy grin that spread across its face sent chills through him. Those eyes saw all the way into him, knew him the way no one else ever had. He wanted to pull away, wanted to jerk back and slam the door and pretend there was nothing monstrous about him, nothing dark and hungry inside him ready to reach out and devour the light he’d stolen and cultivated since he met his son.
He almost managed to do it, too, to turn away and shut the door and walk away. Maybe. He told himself he would’ve, but maybe it didn’t matter. She hasn’t seen that guy in a long time. Pieces of himself snapped back together, and silver eyes sharpened, sharp teeth bared as he realized what that meant.
She had seen him. He wasn’t just a dream, he was real, and he wanted Kerberos’s Lacey.
Well too fucking bad.
She belonged to him.
And he would delight in reminding her of that fact, until neither of them could stand. Mmm, give her a sexy little knife so she could carve patterns in his skin too, make the iron that made up his surface pliable so she could mark him as hers, show the whole fucking world who he belonged to, hand her the leash to his inner monster and give himself over to her in turn. His goddamn Lacey, and if anyone thought otherwise he’d fucking show them how wrong they were, leave them bleeding on the ground at her glorious feet, a macabre gift wrapped in a bloodstained bow, an offering for his jagged, razor-sharp goddess.
I love you. I'm here. Talk to me.
What good were words though, when he so desperately craved the hunt, his body itching to move, to chase, to seek out his goddess and reclaim her. Mmm, but for their magnificent son, he tried, fighting the primal place that had swallowed him down to try and give the words his boy needed.
We. Will. Find. Her. His nose burned for a trace of her scent in the air, his skin ached to be coated in it, to bathe himself in her essence and mingle their scents and mark each other, press home into his skin until he drove away that broken look in her angel eyes. She. Was. His. And he’d damn well make her believe it.
Some small, rational part of him tried to remind him all he ever did was break her, ruin things for her, make everything worse until there was no repairing it. But a possessive snarl drowned it out, and he clambered to feet that itched to be canine, a ripple running through the iron of his skin to resettle it, muscles a little sharper, more pronounced, face sharpening infinitesimally. We Find Her.