Stolen Away In The Dead of Night

His eyes were closed, and he could taste blood in his mouth. Kissing Isa washed away some of its tang, marring her own coat in the process. The possessiveness inside of him was only rising. Almost overwhelming him with its need to pull Isa closer, closer, closer. Then she was pulling away from him. His growl deepend, a warning, and then softened as she curled into him. He held her closely, tightly. Until the whites of her legs were bloodied by the stain of his own coat. “I always come for what’s mine” He said, his voice gravely and dark.

The stink of dead bodies only grew stronger as he held her, and his heart rate refused to slow. He couldn’t rid himself of the fear. Of the thought of arriving and finding he was too late. “Did they touch you?” He asked, he needed to know. He couldn’t kill them again, and he certainly wasn’t going to give them the honour of a burial, but perhaps they had family he could seek out… the Warlord had never been completely sane when it came to his family being in danger. Was that what Isa was now, family? He didn’t know if he could give her anything more than raw, and rough emotion. He didn’t know if he could ever marry again, nor was he entirely sure he wanted to. Shame crept into him as he continued to hold Isa. It tasted like betrayal, though his Wife’s body was long given to the earth. He growled again, the emotion only further enticing the anger in his system.

It took him a while. Too long, truly, to realise that Isa was crying. He lessened his death grip in her coat, through only marginally. “I will always come for you.” he said, and it had the burn of truth.


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