don't you ever tame your demons; luster

[fenris]

don't you ever tame your demons

fenris

(but always keep them on a leash)

She asks if he is okay, if he is alright, and he cannot stop the small laugh that steals away from him, the sound molten and silver in between them. “I’m not the one with a gouged neck,” he reminds her with an insensitive quirk of his lips, hoping humor would mask his internal fury. “I’m okay,” he finally reassures her, shaking his head and mane out. “Although whoever touched you may not be.” There is steel beneath the words, an edge that he hadn’t expected to show her, and he quickly pivots from the conversation. What happened between him and the monster who touched her wasn’t for her to worry about.

“This is incredibly foolish,” he confirms, his voice huskier than it had been before, his heart pounding in his chest. It is foolish to pretend he was something he wasn’t. It is foolish to hold her and let her think he could be her knight in shining armor, when he knows full well that he is nothing but a scoundrel. He is nothing but a loner, a wanderer, a vagabond. He cannot promise her anything else and yet, he holds her against him now, as if he could—as if has any right to make promises about tomorrow to her.

But before he can say anything else, steel himself to walk away, she is coming undone, and he feels the dampness of her cheek against him, the soft tremors that race through her. He closes his eyes, clenches his teeth, and scowls. This was not his strength—this was not where he excelled. She should be with someone wise, or kind, or, hell, even someone who was good. Not someone who has little morals to speak of, no roots whatsoever, and no interest in friendships or relationships of any kind. She deserves so much more.

Still, for reasons unknown to him, he stays.

He holds her as she comes undone, his mouth still tracing the length of her pretty neck, finding the colors of her endlessly fascinating. “No one has ever said that about me before,” he admits, a sentence that he had intended to turn into a jest but comes out surprisingly serious. The truth is that there was no one in his life to even say that—no one who knows him, who cares for him, who anchors him anywhere.

For the first time ever, the thought saddens him, his face falling until he pushes the idea away.

Focusing on her, he finally whispers into her neck, almost inaudibly.

“My name is Fenris, by the way.”