09-19-2017, 06:06 PM
I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
Femur is a little unnerved by the way he keeps looking back at her, as if he doesn’t trust that she will still be there. No one has ever kept such a close eye on her before and she can see the ire at himself darkening his sharp gaze. She does not blame him, it must hurt like hell to keep craning around to see if she follows as she swore she would but she’ll not break a vow - not to him, never to him. Her promise is as good as the breath in her lungs and as he slows to a stop, she comes up to his shoulder as he mutters darkly about her leaving him. Femur’s fanged mouth gapes open for a minute before she regains her composure. It never occurred to her that she could ever do that or would ever want to. The thought of parting from him is painful to think of at the very least. She would rather sacrifice an ear or a leg than stray from his side.Neither of them asked for this. She knows that. Can feel it in the marrow of her bones that neither of them asked for this happen but Fate is a cruel bitch and she brought them together, let him taste the life’s blood from her throat and Femur could not ever imagine just walking away from him now. That same tempestuous desire and fierce affection fills her - floods her, keeps her anchored to the earth and not once does she consider cloaking herself in her familiar invisibility. How can she? He’s seen her, more of her than anyone else and Femur would have it no other way now. What she does not feel as he does, is the guilt nor can she guess that it is something that plagues him, ancient and tangled up in his making.
“I won’t.” she assures him with a brief touch of her nose to his neck. Femur adores the way her fangs slide through his blue fur when her mouth touches him. His smell roots her to his side and she breathes it in, wanting the scent of him to replace the air in her lungs. He reminds her of the blue hour of dusk, peaceful but quick to usher in a tide of night that darkens the land and she knows there is darkness in him - that is part of the allure, but she likes this tame-dusk part of him that makes him say something as profound and stupid as “And yet, here you stay.” Femur smiles at him, what can she say? She promised to come, took that promise to heart and trusted him beyond all reason despite knowing that she trusted even the way he could look at her with death in his eyes and on his mind - her death, no less.
That too, was part of the allure.
He brought her to life as much as he threatened to snatch back that life he had given her. There was some thrill in that, she knew, but something else - that thing of secrets and knowing, that they shared together. He saw her for what she was and she knew the truth of him and despite that, she still chose him and somehow, he chose to let her in just that tiniest bit. Femur was not stupid enough to think this would be all sunshine and rainbows; both of them preferred bones and shadows, sharp teeth and barbed sentences, but together, they turned those things into something else - a language that only him and her could speak. Even death can love what it should not, and she saw as much whenever she looked at him and still, she dogged his heels as if nothing more than a diligent pet.
Both of them knew she was anything but a pet.
She might be obedient for the moment, but she was as tempestuous as a storm when it suited her. Except now, he stops looking at her face and looks at the channel of seawater that spits and churns before them. “No fear,” she echoes with a laugh as her own gaze narrows on the water. Once, she might have given it just the smallest pause of hesitation because of the things she had encountered long ago by the River but he is beside her and makes her bolder. She is further emboldened by the quick jerk of his herd as he looks for her again. “I’m right here,” she murmurs, steadfast and in fact, taking a stride forward until she is ankle-deep in the surf. Sand sucks at her feet and she is not overly fond of the shifting nature of it underfoot but she endures it because she must - she made her choice.
“Lead on,” she tells him in a rather commanding tone that is Femur but also not like Femur. There is challenge in it because she must goad him to do what he does best - command, lead, and she’ll follow just as she promised. True to her own fractitious nature, Femur flashes him a fanged grin and jerks her head towards the opposing shore. “Come,” she cajoles just a little softer now, a little more like his ghost-girl in the wood and she turns her head back to him, black eyes expectant.
Femur