I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Any other time, he might have enjoyed her irritability. Hell, any other time, he would’ve been trying to take advantage of it. But her denial is sure as shit not what he had been expecting to hear. So much so that, for the first few minutes, he’s absolutely fucking positive he must’ve heard her wrong.
Because there was simply no way in hell he had meant to say it was his child.
In a sense, it’s something of a relief to know she’s not hurt. Not really. Of course, any sense of relief is completely overshadowed by the fucking bomb she’d just so casually dropped. He’s not entirely sure how long he stares at her with an utterly blank expression on his face. Suffice it to say, probably at least long enough for her to wonder if he’d completely lost his god-damned marbles. Which, to be fair, he’s not entirely sure he hasn’t.
Then, quite abruptly, on a low, sharp exhale, he mutters “Fuck.”
Without another fucking word, he spins around, stalking right back to the exit that had, by some cruel stroke of fate, closed behind him. Face darkened by a scowl, he starts striking ferociously at the boulders blocking his way, even going so far as to turn around and heave great, forceful kicks at the immoveable stone. As it becomes more and more clear what a fruitless damned endeavor this is, he hurls several last, desperate kicks at the blockage. “GOD.” Kick. “FUCKING.” Kick. “DAMMIT.” Kick.
Breath coming in great bellows, he stops, ears pinned, pale skin sweaty, dusty, and bleeding from half a dozen knicks caused by flying stone chips before finally admitting defeat.
He’s not sure how long he stands there, but when the sounds of straining from the rear of the cave finally quiet, he closes his eyes. Her voice, soft and oddly flat as it echoes through the cave, brings not just confirmation of a newborn filly, but affirmation that it’s his.
God. Fucking. Dammit.
“No she doesn’t,” he growls after a long moment of silence, refusing to open his eyes to look.
