11-17-2018, 06:36 PM
I missed you, she says against the arched crest of the kelpie’s neck, soft words whose meaning is solidified in the way Isobell pulls him tightly to her chest. “Of course you did,” He replies against the curve of her ear, quiet enough that only she will hear, each syllable clearly spoken through a smile. When he pulls away it is to look at her with an adoring smile, an expression that has not been shaped by his scaled lips in nearly half a decade. Her absence had been overlong, he realizes in a brief moment of emotional clarity
More than all the others, Isobell has always been Ivar’s favorite. She would fight him long after reason, full of fury and fire that he has only ever been able to find semblances of since her disappearance. The women of Beqanna are soft and fragile, sustenance that never truly feeds the hunger, pale candles against the blazing wildfire of his dragon-born wife. They are easy prey though, so gentle and willing, so eager to follow a handsome stranger in a dance beneath the waves.
But none have satisfied him. Not in the way that Isobell can, the way only a woman of his own kind might. Here around them are proof of this: three fine kelpies that she’d borne him, with no struggle to conceive like the rest of his harem, no weak and land-bound daughters. The reminder of this brings a sudden heat to the way he holds her, a firmer hold as his mouth slides down the line of her neck to brush against the scars he had left her.
A sharp inhale is the only sign of his visceral reaction to the way his serrated teeth brush gently against the long-healed wounds, and then he is drawing back with that same smile that he has only ever found for her.
“You’re staying?” he asks, but Isobell will know it is a command. The children too, he suspects, they will understand the safety that comes from being near family, near the sea. There is one he is doubtful of, the girl who quivers at Lothbrok’s side. Ivar had looked at her dismissively before, considering her less important than Isobell and his children. This opinion doesn’t change as he licentiously traces the lines of her piebald shape, knowing the direction of his gaze is hidden by the way he holds Isobell to him. Not family, not his (yet), she is of less interest than the parrots that caw in the jungle.
He does glance toward the greenery for a moment as he pulls away from Isobell, a reasonable area for him to have been observing as he held her, and then takes another step back to meet the kelpie woman’s gaze squarely.
“You’ve returned at a pivotal moment in Beqanna,” he tells them all, though his golden eyes remain mostly on Isobell. “I intend to make Ischia the ruling kingdom of the west. I can’t help but think Fate might have brought you back to help.” Fate is an omnipotent presence in the life of the kelpie, a being with a fondness for the jewel-toned stallion, a benevolent hand when he was in need of a turn of good luck. Surely it is responsible for the return of a queen to his shore just when he was in most desperate need of one, responsible for the tangible reminder of his virility in the shape of three water-born offspring.
He’d prefer the children were gone in this particular moment, he thinks as his eyes catch on the downward curve of Isobell’s throat, but with the world opening around him he is certain he will have plenty of opportunities to show Isobell exactly how much he has missed her as well.
@[Isobell]
More than all the others, Isobell has always been Ivar’s favorite. She would fight him long after reason, full of fury and fire that he has only ever been able to find semblances of since her disappearance. The women of Beqanna are soft and fragile, sustenance that never truly feeds the hunger, pale candles against the blazing wildfire of his dragon-born wife. They are easy prey though, so gentle and willing, so eager to follow a handsome stranger in a dance beneath the waves.
But none have satisfied him. Not in the way that Isobell can, the way only a woman of his own kind might. Here around them are proof of this: three fine kelpies that she’d borne him, with no struggle to conceive like the rest of his harem, no weak and land-bound daughters. The reminder of this brings a sudden heat to the way he holds her, a firmer hold as his mouth slides down the line of her neck to brush against the scars he had left her.
A sharp inhale is the only sign of his visceral reaction to the way his serrated teeth brush gently against the long-healed wounds, and then he is drawing back with that same smile that he has only ever found for her.
“You’re staying?” he asks, but Isobell will know it is a command. The children too, he suspects, they will understand the safety that comes from being near family, near the sea. There is one he is doubtful of, the girl who quivers at Lothbrok’s side. Ivar had looked at her dismissively before, considering her less important than Isobell and his children. This opinion doesn’t change as he licentiously traces the lines of her piebald shape, knowing the direction of his gaze is hidden by the way he holds Isobell to him. Not family, not his (yet), she is of less interest than the parrots that caw in the jungle.
He does glance toward the greenery for a moment as he pulls away from Isobell, a reasonable area for him to have been observing as he held her, and then takes another step back to meet the kelpie woman’s gaze squarely.
“You’ve returned at a pivotal moment in Beqanna,” he tells them all, though his golden eyes remain mostly on Isobell. “I intend to make Ischia the ruling kingdom of the west. I can’t help but think Fate might have brought you back to help.” Fate is an omnipotent presence in the life of the kelpie, a being with a fondness for the jewel-toned stallion, a benevolent hand when he was in need of a turn of good luck. Surely it is responsible for the return of a queen to his shore just when he was in most desperate need of one, responsible for the tangible reminder of his virility in the shape of three water-born offspring.
He’d prefer the children were gone in this particular moment, he thinks as his eyes catch on the downward curve of Isobell’s throat, but with the world opening around him he is certain he will have plenty of opportunities to show Isobell exactly how much he has missed her as well.
@[Isobell]