Tourniquet

So far gone was the shadowed fae that she only registered Azriels presence after he crossed her line of sight. Claret eyes blinked, but she didn't move. She didn't want to move. Moving was effort and Fel just didn't have it in her. She was sad. She was empty. And yet... she was filled so full. A dam had been built and it was just barely holding back everything that she'd suppressed since Aureus died. One little crack in the foundation and she would burst.

As the big, stripped man lay down beside her, Fel realized how cold she was. The heat pouring off of him hurt her skin, but she liked that hurt. The silvered woman turned into him, burying her freezing nose in the thick fur of his ruff. It was a cold morning. A reminder of the winter to come. Steam danced above the lazy river. Was there frost on the ground? She hadn't noticed.

One onyx ear flicked to the side, catching the man's words as he invited her into the den. She wanted to tell him that she knew it was warm. That it had been her den before it was his. That she had fucked any number of wolves within and had left them by morning. Instead, she stayed silent. He was trying to be kind. She wouldn't throw it back in his face. His second offer was met with a single grunt and she buried her face deeper into his fur. No, she didn't want to talk about it. The bare minimum for existence would suffice for now.

The smooth tongue running over the clean slice on her right foreleg brought a soft gasp from the woman. Dainty digits flexed almost involuntarily and she turned her elbow in so that she could roll the wound upward, exposing more of it to his careful ministrations. Fel's heart did a little skipping dance within her ribcage and she peeled her face away from Azriel just enough to keet one ruby eye fall upon the wounded limb and the tongue working it over. Did he realize how intimate an act this was for her? In any other state she may have told him as much, but as she was, Fel remained silent and watched.