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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    this war is mine - stillwater
    #11
    djinni

    She watches him intently, takes in his expression with hard eyes that refuse to blink, as though blinking will make him disappear. She is quiet, even as he stares at her in silence, as he snarls, as his face goes blank. She has been watching, knows that this was not a blank mask like the one she so often wears. It was something else, something she can’t quite place, and the sharp knot of fear in her belly settles in a little more snugly.

    The grey remains still, only her black-rimmed ears flicking forward, catching the vain attempts at speech that he gives her. They are not what she wants to hear. They are not an enthusiastic ’Yes’, or even a reluctant ’Well, alright.’

    He does not have the decency to tell her ’No’ even, just commands her to come closer.

    It is not an answer, she reasons. He’d wanted her to stop playing games, to say what she meant. She had – she’d done it. It doesn’t seem to be enough.

    She wonders now if she’ll ever be enough. The vein of thought is eerily similar to what spins behind Stillwater’s silver eyes, but she cannot know that. Djinni has not asked what he is: she has only borne him a son that is no different. Their boy is never far from her mind, but as the last echoes of Stillwater’s growls die out in the cave around them she thinks of him again.

    Stillwater does not want her the same way she needs him too – that is clear enough in the lack of answer he’s given her.
    But Ivar doesn’t need him in the same way though; he is just a boy.

    The black horse hasn’t left yet (even given the chance). Maybe he will stay if she does as he asks. Maybe he will stay, and Ivar won’t lose him in the way that she surely will.

    “Come here”, he commands again, and Djinni comes forward, doing what is demanded.

    She doesn’t stop, not until she has to, her small chest pressed against the point of his shoulder. He is still sleek, hairless for a reason she’s never understood. This is how he’d trapped her that first time, how he’d kept her still at his side when she might have simply disappeared. Gently, she places a single kiss where she can reach, the hollow where his neck meets his shoulder. It feels strange against her whiskers and she loses them in an instant, her own hide rippling to solid grey. Up his neck, tracing the hidden jugular, she places one kiss after another, settling with her muzzle in the hollow of his jaw.

    “Don’t go,” She says, oddly grateful for the difference in their heights. Her head is tilted high enough that the tears slide down her own cheeks, wished away before they can fall and betray her. This is what is for the best, Djinni tells herself, blissfully unaware of her own failings. She knows that this is not the problem. The grey mare has always desired him: he is supernaturally handsome, he is strong; he is everything a woman could want in the man that holds her. The heat that thaws the cold knot of fear is nothing more than physical desire; it will return when she is alone again. She will always end up alone in the end, it seems.

    “Stay,” she whispers into the hollow of his neck, presses a kiss against the hard bone of his jaw, and another beside it, and another until she can almost forget what will happen after.

    all my fragile strength is gone
    D J I N N I
    genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster
    Reply
    #12
    Stillwater
    She came to him. He expected her to vanish as she always does, but she came to him. All the way until her chest pressed to his, her heat sinking into his smoothed skin. So tenderly, she set a single kiss just above his shoulder. It was as if it woke him to himself. With a deep inhale, and a slow exhale, his eyes were dark and blue again before he closed them.

    Djinni, he breathed, his pulse quickening just the slightest tick. God, she felt good. She never touches him this way. Why would she never touch him this way. Why did she do it now?

    Her lips wandered up, carefully and slowly tracing his throat with such delicate attention. He swallowed back a groan. He shouldn't allow her such freedom, not at his neck. It wouldn't be the first time she'd torn into it before with bladed teeth. But he didn't even think about it. Somehow he trusted her just then. Trusted her. Maybe he was foolish. He might have been passed caring tonight.

    "Don't go." Damn, and that sounded good in her voice. He would have sworn she'd never ask such a thing of him, never. He would have sworn he'd never mean anything real to her. But he'd have to be a fool not to hear it now, not to feel it. And maybe he was finally trusting it, that it wasn't just another of her games as he'd always thought. He could never really tell with her, but a part of him wanted to believe it. Even if she'd hate the real him if she knew more. There wasn't a soul stupid enough to truly love him, all of him. She just didn't know.

    His eyes were still closed, but his head tilted to her just a little, nostrils flaring at the fresh scent of salty tears. Djinni? This couldn't be real. Djinni never cries. Djinni never cares enough about anything to cry, to feel pain. Djinni never suffers. Or does she?

    "Stay," she whispered into the soft crook between his neck and jaw. Then her gentle kisses slowly roamed again, trailing further along that curve of bone. He vibrated with a sound, a growl, or something between a moan and a pleased hum. God, she never touches him this way. She was probably going to disappear at any second, or do something terrible to him. Maybe even kill him finally. He ignored it for now, that sense of caution. He enjoyed it for now. Trusted her, for now.

    Djinni, he whispered back. If he meant to say more, he couldn't seem to recall what it would have been. He hated the fear that she would be gone at any second. That it would only be a tease, always just a tease and never real. Never real.

    Djinni, he repeated. Couldn't seem to say anything else, to think of anything else as his head tilted more to her. He probably only had this moment before she'd be gone again. His muzzle brushed against her cheek, kissed at the damp trail staining her, followed it up to place another kiss at the corner of her eye. Djinni.. He really could say more than her name, right? Surely, he must be capable of more than that. His lips drifted to the side with more tender kisses, to the side, to her neck. What was he doing?

    Take us to the water, Djinni, he whispered, placing another kiss, and another, following the muscle in her neck. She would be gone any second now.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #13
    djinni

    The grullo mare can't quite tell the difference between them, the blue-eyed stallion and the silver-eyed one. Without time together to devote to differentiating them (or the willingness to simply ask), Djinni has remained in the dark. There are some things she knows - things she remembers despite every effort otherwise.

    Djinni knows that asking him what he wants never ends the way she intends it to; neither does trying to guess. Somehow she has guessed incorrectly every time, a remarkable streak of of failures on an otherwise flawless record.

    Djinni also knows that going to the water is a bad decision.

    Still, she has tried asking, tried guessing. Maybe this time she'll try something new.

    She obeys.

    The water that is suddenly around them is colder than she'd expected. The autumn air had been warm, even in the dampness of Stillwater's cave, and the moonlit pool is a shock to her system. Her hair stands on end reflexively for only an instant before it disappears entirely: sleek skin and blubber a more effective insulation against the cold.

    That's another thing she knows about him: being more like a water creature is not the safest choice.

    She'd not forgotten that, but safety is also not a primary concern at the moment. He'd tasted her tears, that much she is sure of. The reason behind them she suspects is not as clear, but he hadn't asked her to explain. He'd only asked that she take them to the water, and she'd done so.

    Waiting for the next command would be the wisest choice, but she'd already sparked the kindling and isn't willing to let the coldness return so quickly, as selfish as it may be. As stupid as it might be.

    She'd leaned into his kisses, shivered as he moves down her neck. There is a hollow beneath the curve of his own, one she'd eyed longingly the very moment their son came into existence. She takes it now, nearly two years late, and presses her soft grey side to the black stallion's chest, turning up her head to rest it for a moment against his shoulder. She can hear his heartbeat, hear that it is slower than her own. Somewhere, perhaps on this shoulder or the other, she had sunk her teeth into his flesh, raking him in some poorly-executed attempt at a claim.

    Foolish to have even tried. She won't again, especially not with this most recent rebuff, but she'd rather burn for as long as she can manage. He doesn't seem to be rejecting her body, after all, just her emotions.

    Djinni presses a cool kiss to his withers, another to his black barrel as she moves through the chest-deep water. Lower, soft caresses with her dark mouth until she's tasting water, and then she slips lower still, diving beneath him only to rise just as closely on the other side, a delightful shiver accompanying the momentary warmth of his body pressed along her back. The black water slides from her sleek grey skin, beading in her dark mane. Her hooves scrape now and again at the bottom of the lake, but she is floating more than trying to stand, and she bobs against him without a word, reaching out to tug at his hair, pulling him into deeper water, pulling him closer to her.

    all my fragile strength is gone
    D J I N N I
    genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster
    Reply
    #14
    Stillwater
    His lips trailed a line of kisses along her neck, slow and tender. An expert at this; how many times had he done the same to so many others? He was made for this. With another kiss, the water was around them. The same water as the last time. He almost smiled. Almost.

    Her skin smoothed and his breath caught painfully in his chest. His eyes sharpened, brightened, locked onto her with a greedy thirst. That should count as cheating, in this game they play. Especially when she pressed against him like that, letting him feel so much of her, sinking into his side and settling her gorgeous face to his shoulder. His neck curled to kiss her more, but she was moving again.

    Down.
    Down his spine, his side. Lower.

    He groaned. Her body slipped beneath him, smooth skin sliding against skin. God, so sleek like his water. She knew what it did to him, making herself this way. She must want this. At least the part she was aware of. He did smile then - sexy and wicked, as she tugged at his hair, urging him into deeper waters. He never really needed coaxing for that, now did he? And he followed, keeping his body against hers, firm muscle lined to hers with eyes intent. The blue in them was soft, almost gentle, but the hunger was clear. He wanted her.

    And not only in the way she was offering.

    Djinni, he whispered again. Maybe for the last time. His kisses resumed, a soft press of his lips to her neck as he guided them further in the lake, gradually making his tender way to her throat. Her pulse called to him. But then, something about Djinni had always called to him. Something that made him poke and prod and claw his way through her defenses, through that cool mask she wore. Like a hound with a scent, he couldn't stop until he discovered whatever it was. Maybe tonight he would.

    This time, he guided her down and deeper, under. He covered her back, gentle but firm pressure steering them deeper with the rhythm of his loving kisses spread across her shoulders and neck. Until he paused, and rounded her, drawing more bubbling kisses across her throat, her jawline. He drifted further, to the corner of her mouth where he paused again, his eyes tracing every curve and crease in those lips. He wanted those too. Somehow, they'd always been off-limits. His kisses had only ever touched elsewhere on her body.

    His gaze lifted to hers, sometimes blue and sometimes gray, and he wondered if she would let him. Or if he'd just take them anyway.

    Her pulse ticked, though. He could hear the faint click of it in the water. And he glanced at her throat, then back to her eyes again where he remained. Waiting. He held her gaze in his as he neared, drawing his mouth slowly along her cheek to the soft hollow beside her jaw. He pressed his body close again, the sculpted ridges of his chest to her shoulder with a foreleg across her withers. One kiss in that perfect hollow, and his lips lingered there.

    Do you trust me? he murmured into her skin, into their water.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #15
    djinni

    Though the thoughts that spin behind his dark eyes are out of her reach, there are some things that Djinni can still read. She’d cheated – they both know it – but he does not call her on it and she does not apologize. Stillwater had asked for the games to end, but Djinni’s entire existence is a cosmic jest; the game can’t ever end.

    She was never meant to be like this.

    The pied grullo body was just an empty shell, a tangible dwelling for an intangible creature. Aseret hadn’t given birth to a daughter, she’d labored over a stillborn body. The deal she’d made had brought the tiny body back to life, but Djinni wasn’t ever what she should have been. She had never suffered for it (and nor did the real Djinni, who hadn’t died because she’d never really existed). She had never felt anything, because djinn do not feel.

    They simply are.

    The Reckoning had ruined that. Beqanna had thought it was being kind, keeping the bodies alive even while stealing the magic. It might have been kind, in situations that were not her own. For her, the body came with emotions, sensations that had never had a chance to form because there had never been a need for them. It had been an infection, slow-growing and unstoppable. By the time she had a cure – by the time she’d found her djinn – it was too late.

    This night would have been so simple before.

    It is not before though, it is after.

    She wants more than what she knows she will get. The hunger in his eyes, the way he follows her to deep water: this will be enough for now. When the sun rises it will not be enough, and she knows this. She wonders if he does, too, but now isn’t the time for asking things. Now is the time for forgetting, for utilizing these useless feelings for the only thing they’re good for.

    ‘It’s best when you love them,’ Priam had told her, but young Djinni had laughed away her father's wisdom with youthful folly. Sex was sex; even bad it was better than nothing. Yet now, even when she’s tried (more than just that doe-eyed pegasus; there have been dozens), nothing is enough anymore.

    It’s better, she admits to herself as Stillwater presses her beneath the water, its best.

    They sink down together, down until she has to look at him from black eyes rather than brown when he faces her. The moonlight is dim this deep, but she doesn’t need her eyes to see anymore. He is beside her, pressing bubbling kisses to her neck. She leans into them as she feels the sediment at the bottom of the lake press against her hooves.

    Does he know that a decade ago she’d have taken him apart, piece by piece to find out what he was? That she’d have killed him just to see what color his eyes would settle into as the life left them? Her endless curiosity has been tempered by unwelcome empathy, though with Stillwater it is something worse. She wants him more than happy, she wants him happy enough to sacrifice her own happiness.

    He doesn’t want the same thing.

    She doesn’t want to think about that.

    Djinni’s dark eyes meet his, and she doesn’t have to guess where he looks when he alternates between her gaze and her throat. When he comes closer, her dark mouth moves in something that is almost a smile (it would have been something bittersweet if her cetacean eyes were capable of expressing emotion). Weightless in the water, she’d have drifted away from the pressure of his chest against her shoulder were it not for his foreleg across her back.

    “Sometimes,” she replies honestly, turning her head so that her muzzle rests just beneath his own. She can’t help the sharp teeth when she kisses him (she needs too much of her other self to bother with minutiae), but she tries to be gentle. It is different here; everything is smoother, slower, colder beneath that water.

    Djinni does not want to be cold anymore.

    Her lips move more quickly now, pressing burning kisses that are no longer gentle along the bottom of the closer side of his jaw. She moves to the other side, pulling herself farther beneath him as she does so. Sliding easily in the water, hot and sleek against his own smooth skin, she is well aware of what she is doing as the heat of his chest warms her back. Djinni pauses there, her frantic kisses stopping as she waits for a reaction. She does not wait long, barely a heartbeat before she’s pulling forward, turning in the water with unnatural (unequine) ease to face him.

    She watches him, her grey head tilted for just a moment before she comes closer and presses a single soft kiss to his dark lips.

    all my fragile strength is gone
    D J I N N I
    genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster
    Reply
    #16
    Stillwater
    Do you trust me.

    "Sometimes,"
    she answered, turning her head to rest her muzzle beneath his. He wanted to kiss her. Why did that seem like such a strange idea to him? Why had he made her off-limits? Or tried to. It was more than her queenship protecting her from him. Attempting to protect her from him. Didn't seem to be so good at it, with the ways she managed to push at him and make him react in ways he didn't want to. Like trying to kill her. Or.

    Like now.

    The bubbles of his exhale cut off mid-stream as she kissed along his jaw and took his breath away. Her attention quickly burned hotter, more urgent, and a startling little sting marked the placement of each kiss, sharp teeth catching on his skin. It was danger entwined in pleasure, and he groaned. This was what they must feel from him before he took them.

    She continued to the other side, sliding against him, further beneath him. That was perfect. He kissed a sigh into the soft hollow of her neck and shoulder, gluing her sides to his forelegs and pulling her in deeper, pushing the pressure of his desire against her. A tease, a promise, and he dissolved his hold on her. Sometimes, she trusted him.

    Good, he finally responded, quiet and breathed into her flawlessly smooth shoulder. He already wanted to do it again. But she slipped gracefully away and faced him, locking eyes as they both waited for the other to move. Maybe they both considered all the bad that could come of them being together again. Mmm, but all the good too. They were danger and turmoil, and eruptions of power. And really incredible sex. She could save herself, she doesn't have to die.

    She came back and his eyes softened, then slowly closed as her lips met his. God, finally. Somehow, even that small gift from her was powerful, and after a moment, he broke away to press his forehead to hers and focus on breathing. Why did he want this? He shouldn't do this with her. Not with her. It never ends how they want it to. It always seemed to end badly for them. He shouldn't.

    But he wanted to.

    I want you, he admitted, as if she couldn't already see it for herself. Of course, he wanted her. He brushed his lips softly against hers, stealing his own kiss this time, then pressed another. I want you, he repeated between kisses, capturing that perfect mouth with his. He shouldn't do this, but he wanted her. More of her than he should take.

    He kept kissing her. He made her turn her head to take them as he piloted around to be at her side, his shoulder to hers. Hip to hip. Then he broke them to kiss at her throat, her heartbeat tapping against his lips. Damn, he wanted her. Needed to taste her. He slid backwards more, his mouth gliding down her neck. She wouldn't get the beast this time, the creature, the malicious spirit in him. It wasn't like the last time. Now, she'd get the real monster. Him.

    They didn't have to stand, so he didn't have to move behind her. He slid effortlessly to her back instead and held her again, his kisses along her neck drifting further. You trust me, he reminded her, reminded himself. Sometimes, she trusted him. But he would kill her if she let him. And the truth swirled rapidly in his mind on repeat as he settled his hips exactly where they should be. Where he needed.

    Don't trust me tonight.
    I won't stop.

    His mouth settled at that soft hollow, settled at the line of her shoulder and neck, and he bit slowly into her. It could have been any other stallion, grabbing for a hold on her as he sank into her with a quiet groan. But his bite was different passed that point. Sharp, probably painful with useless flat teeth, he broke through her skin to the perfect fluid beneath. God, yes. He let the heat pool into his mouth with its natural flow, savoring it on his tongue. And then he was the real monster for her.

    He gave as he took from her. Gave to her exactly as she wanted, answering to the instinctive cues her body pleaded from him. Speed and power and depth just as she needed them, but that latch on her shoulder was solid and firm, a continuous slow pull of her bloodstream where his moans were buried. And there had never been another that tasted like her, dark and smooth with sudden sparks of tingling light. He couldn't help but want more, want to drain her, empty her here as he filled her with pleasure. Ignited them both in this burning passion that singed across his skin.

    But he had always been defiant with her, almost playful in their way. And sometimes he didn't give exactly as she wanted, taunted her with a deliberate difference, held that power over her. Made her fight against him to take it herself with his smile pressed to her skin. Then suddenly what she craved from him again, a shock of more euphoria to her body that distracted from the theft of her life-source.

    And he wouldn't stop until it killed her.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #17
    djinni

    In the half-darkness beneath the water, she doesn’t have to really see him. She can pretend that his eyes softened at her touch, that he’s telling her that he wants her. A lack of imagination has never plagued her, but she refuses to be so foolish as to fall for it. This – him. her. them together – is already a mistake, but she will save her regrets for the morning. She might wake alone on the shore (tomorrow and forever), but she is not alone tonight.

    Her first kiss had been gentle, her mouth against his. His is much the same. Neither of them are predictable creatures, but it’s too late for caution now. She kisses him back, deep as she can, even as he moves around her. His touch against her shoulder is met with a bubbling sigh, an invisible smile curving around her serrated teeth when he presses himself beside her. Curious, she tries to pull away (only for an instant) and when she finds herself unable it colors the groan as he kisses his way down her throat.

    She does not understand why he can hold her when nothing can. She does not understand anything about him, yet as he speaks of trust she cannot help but nod. She does trust him. Sometimes. With Sylva. With Ivar. Djinni trusts him to be unpredictable.

    Her eyes close as he settles over her, a sensation she remembers. A sensation she’d missed. Avoiding him had been safer, but there is no pleasure in safety. His words might have been cautionary but she does not heed them. Caution has no place here in the deep water.

    Like a musician he plays her; she sings for him in the darkness. There is pain in her shoulder, but she has bled before. His mouth against her neck is little more than a distraction from the other palces they are touching – her back, her hips, his arms around her sides, drawing her closer. It’s easy to forget the taste of copper in the water as she bucks against him.

    She moans as he gives and laughs as her makes her take, the full spectrum of positive emotion. Never completely passive, she meshes pleasure and magic in a way she has never done before. Whispers that are little more than bubbles rising the surfaces, wishes for his pleasure, his satisfaction. She might even wish that he loves her, but it is hard to remember with the haze of pleasure. Such wishes never work, no more than her own gurgled admission of the same will.

    The haze grows, euphoria spiraled into numbness into pleasure again. Her opened eyes find that the watery moon is growing dimmer overhead. She opens her mouth to say – something – but the words are only a trio of bubbles that she watches rise to the surface. Beautiful, she thinks as they disappear. She blinks and it is harder to open her eyes than it should be. The effort to press against Stillwater, to demand more – harder, faster – is too much, but his warmth above her is reassuring even as the cool silt of the lake presses against her folding legs.

    Djinni shivers. Her sleek hide is horsehair again, and her black eyes fade to brown. With her fading strength, she turns to pace her cheek to his as well as she can. Her blood is more concentrated here, and it flavors the weak kiss she presses to his drinking mouth.

    “I wish you were satisfied,” she says as her eyes drift closed.

    all my fragile strength is gone
    D J I N N I
    genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster
    Reply
    #18
    Stillwater
    The give and take was maddening. Was perfect. They never felt like her, she was different. Never tasted like her. Why was she so different? But he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She’d be gone soon, anyway. He’d give and he’d give. And he’d take. Take until there was nothing left. That’s what he was, what he did.

    But they’d never felt like her.
    And sometimes he wanted to hesitate. Wanted to stop.
    But he never wanted to stop.

    Her quiet whispers only barely reached him, incoherent and bubbling in the waving of their water, their unbalanced rhythm of passion and ecstasy. And satisfaction. He drank, and drank, and elsewhere his pleasure intensified, forcing him to pause long enough for his teeth to clamp tighter, refusing to release his hold even enough to smother a moan into her skin. They never felt this good. He wished he could keep her. But they always die, that was the way of things. She would die too, though a small part of him hoped she wouldn’t. Had tried to warn her, hadn’t he?

    They each had found their release, but he didn’t stop. Never wanted to stop. She felt so good, tasted so good. Like nothing else. Something rare and valuable and priceless. Something soon to be extinct. He loved every sound she made, though they were growing fainter. The laughter, too, at his taunting and his play, a sound that pressed a helpless smile in his lips. Loved every move she made, though they grew weaker, slower, sluggish. It didn’t matter, she still felt impossibly good, and he made sure she felt it too. She would die lost deep in a euphoria she couldn’t escape. The best way to go, some might say.

    She was fading, falling, drifting to the blanket of soft silt. But he didn’t stop, kept rocking into her, pulling from her and savoring this tonic of life that powered her. That soon would power him instead. Almost reluctant, really. Why’d she have to feel so good? Why’d he have to find her so fun and intriguing? Such a shame, such a waste. Why’d he have to push her to do this again. Again, though. She’d lived before, escaped before. Maybe she would again. And not kill him in return.

    Her mouth opened, her legs folding, but no sound came out. He smiled, drawing more from her. Shh, he would have crooned to her, but he wouldn’t let go this exquisite tap. It won’t hurt soon. Her face turned, so drowsy in her movements, and he was quietly surprised that she still could. Such a fighter. He’d loved that about her. She pressed a hazy kiss to his cheek, so weak, then to his mouth where he remained latched to her, and her watery words reached him this time. ”I wish you were satisfied.”

    The boundless craving for her organs slipped away and he growled. But he wanted it! He wanted to want them, the tissue, the muscles, the bones and marrow, and she stole it away with words. He could have done it himself, could have vowed not to take them and feel the barrier that held him to it. But it wouldn’t have satisfied him as hers did. He wouldn’t have felt like this, the hunger slipping away as though he’d already devoured her. He would have still needed more.

    But she faded, and fell away from his mouth. He watched her sink with cold calculation, eyes bright and hard. He could still do it, could choose to. His kind could be gluttons. She was his, though, in some way. And he couldn’t help but want her to live, to always escape from him. He bent to her, his hair waving like ink in the water, clamping his jaw on her and jerking her upward. He slipped beneath her and adhered her to his back, gradually taking them to the surface. She was his in some way.

    He lay her carefully on the shore, and stared down at her. He ached to lay at her side til she woke, wanted so badly to curl around her and lick so tenderly at her wound, the damage he’d caused. He couldn’t stay, though. There was nothing he could do that could make this better. Nothing stopping him from taking the rest of her. She would still wake up hating him, and what he was. And he’d still want her anyway.

    His head bent, and he brushed his mouth through her wet hair. He didn’t want to leave. Why did he want to stay? He pushed it aside, ignored it. He couldn’t stay, not now. Not after that. She’d released him, removed the chain around his ankle, and he would leave now. He knew he could come back. Knew that she would avoid this place as she had avoided him before. And he intended to. This was home. But first, a bout of freedom, A body or twelve he could take for himself this time. Then he’d come back. And she’d probably be long gone away from him. As she should be.

    He dipped to her again, one last time, pressed his lips to hers and closed his blue eyes. She was his in some way. Maybe a part of him was hers too. He felt the words settle there, taunting and mocking, and he changed them. I want you, he promised to her unconscious body. Maybe he always would. She felt so good, tasted so good. They were power and turmoil and dangerous. She wasn’t safe with him, and neither was he safe with her. A threat to each other. Would she capture him again the next time? He wasn’t sure, couldn’t seem to care. He just knew he wanted her.

    Maybe he always would.
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