Golden eyes watching our every move
Losing time without the sun or moon
For what is only moments and an eternity at the same time, he knows only the rage in his heart, fueled by the anguish of her confession. Knows only the desire to permanently removed the thing that had dare harmed her. That would touch her without permission. For the first time in his life, he understands the predator he had been made into. Knows why his teeth are now sharp and his footsteps silent.
For the first time in his life, he truly embraces it.
He would have gone too, without a second thought. Would have rid the world of one monster while creating yet another. Only one thing could have stopped him, could drag the single-tracked mind of the predator from its prey. Her.
Somehow, instinctively, she must have known. He doesn’t even hear her words at first, the desperate plea as she begs him not to leave. It isn’t until her body presses against him, so warm and electric, that the wildness of his mind snaps, one primal instinct replaced by another. Without thought, he presses closer, his lips dropping to her satin skin, teeth pressing against her withers. “Mine,” he growls into her flesh, until the small break in focus (the shift from one beast to another) allows conscious thought to return. Until the rationale of the man can overcome that of the beast he had suppressed for far too long.
He stills against her, lips closing slowly over his teeth as recognition begins to filter in. He closes his eyes, shame flooding in to replace the rage that had overcome him. He should step back. He was so clearly no better than Tunnel, more beast than man. But he’d wanted this (wanted her) for so long now that he finds he hasn’t the strength to pull away when she had so willingly curled into him. When she had come to him of her own volition.
He should pull away, but he doesn’t. Perhaps his voice had been muffled enough by her shoulder that she hadn’t heard the feral way in which he’d so crudely claimed her. Or perhaps she had, and she would pull away in fear. Would recognize him for a monster, just as much as her abuser had been a monster.
He would let her go if she did. He hadn’t sunk that far into the the depths of depravity. Not yet.
After a moment, he latches onto what she had said. Clutches the pleading words she had used to hold him here. He’d never been good with words, with normal conversation. But something she had said prickles his subconscious, and though he is perhaps a little slow on the uptake, it finally clicks. I know you have someone else, she had said.
Only then does he realize what she must think of him. What she must see. Too little too late, no doubt. Even if his beast-like behavior hadn’t frightened her away, he realizes then that the existence of his children might present an insurmountable obstacle. He had failed her, he now realizes, in so many ways.
“There isn’t anyone else.” The words feel a little hollow, hopeless, as he says them. But he has to tell her, even if it was too late. Even if she doesn’t believe him.
ether