Lips Of An Angel

N/A · 07-10-2013, 12:57 PM

Jaws parted, panting gasps expelling from his open maw. That shit fucking hurt, did she not fucking realize that?! Maybe she should try and get stuck by a few fucking splinters some time and see how well she would deal with the damn pain!
Big baby. Another snarl erupted from his jaws as he craned his neck around to glare at her, realizing that she had managed to take out all the splinters from his back, the snarl dying to a low rumble. Hm. Normal wolves would thank someone for having helped them, but Demyan wasn't normal. And he hadn't even asked for her fucking help in the first place. Why the hell was he still even sitting here letting her help him. He should've left already. The same idea ran circles in his head so much it was beginning to become something like a mantra. He could repeat that to himself as much as he wanted, but he knew he wasn't going anywhere. His body was in no condition to support him, much less a trek to go out and find his sister. He was screwed for the moment. Or the rest of the day if the aches across his body didn't subside soon.

Her fluffy ears twisted in his direction as his question, the answer falling naturally from her lips. Well, because you need help, silly. Did she not realize that he hadn't asked for her help or did she just not care? She should really rethink her method of approaching others, especially when those others were injured because if he hadn't done anything, there was no telling that the next injured wolf she ran into would be so kind. Ha. Him kind? That was fucking impossible. I didn't asking for your help. I'm fine.There he went again, denying the obvious. He was anything but ok, both physically and emotionally, but that didn't mean that he had to admit it. He turned away, unable to bear looking at her. What the fuck was going on with him? This wasn't normal. It was unnatural. For him at least. He wasn't supposed to take help from anyone. He was strong enough to handle everything on his own. And yet he let the kid fix him and patch him up. What was this thing stirring in his chest? Every time he looked at her, it was like every single bad thing he'd ever done since his birth flashes across his mind, almost like shedding light on what a terrible monster he was. But why did he care? He wasn't trying to be a saint; he was the devil incarnate. He didn't have remorse. Remorse was for those who had a conscious. And he didn't have one. At least that's what he'd always told himself.

And then the little nymph was moving again, turning her body around so that it was parallel with his own, her head nearly next to his. Only, instead of lying down, the little pipsqueak leaned over him, nearly pressing her smaller nose against his as she asked him if he had any healers. Healers? His sister had probably killed them all if they'd had any. I killed them. He rumbled, bumping the kid's chin with the top of his head, pushing her away as he avoided his cyan gaze, turning down to stare at the dried blood that stained the earth and decorated his grey legs. There. That had to be the straw that would break the camel's back. Now she knew what kind of horrible, sick bastard he was. Now she would definitely run away, fearing for her safety. And right she should. He was no good. He was a monster. He would never be good. It was against his DNA coding.

Talk like this

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