Blood of the Ancients

Speaking that single word felt like a collar was being shackled around his throat. Nero detested the notion, but it still beat dying by miles. At least this way he'd be able to continue his story. Besides, nothing was stopping him from trying to gain his freedom once he was stronger again, and if this little bitch was all that stood between him and his freedom, well, Nero would have no problem snapping her in half if he had to. But first, he needed to survive. As soon as she got what she wanted, the diminutive fae grinned and slid down to her belly in front of him. The massive dire brute raised a curious brow. What was she doing? His answer came swiftly when those tiny paws came up to cup his cheeks, absurdly small on his face, and her lips came down to capture his. It was surprising and shocking, catching Nero off guard. Her kiss was deep and intense, claiming him with her tongue as it explored his massive maw. She tasted sweet, clean, delicious. Nero groaned low in his throat as his large tongue met hers and wrestled with it in his maw, showing he wasn't going to just lie there submissive to her. He was still alive and virile, ready to rage into oblivion if that was how it was to be.

Their mouths parted after a lusciously long moment, Nero breathing a heavy sigh of delight. Golden eyes saw the stains of merlot blood on her pale pink lips, leftover from his slaughter. It brought an amused rumble from the ancient brute to think he'd marked her as much as she had him. She began her work then, moving down to his hind end to patch up his thigh. Nero flinched as he felt the needle and sutures begin to bind his wound closed, lips peeling back in a quiet snarl, but otherwise giving no reaction and doing nothing to stop her. He had a high pain tolerance, and though the stitches and salves stung, he'd had much worse. Thankfully, all his other best assets down by his thighs were still intact. Those would've been a true tragedy to lose.

One by one, the little fae went about patching up his wounds. None of them were as rough as his thigh though, and once she had come up to his neck, Nero could finally glance up at her, molten gold pools locking with the mismatched sky blue and dark gray eyes of his guardian angel. She was watching him while she stitched up his neck. Was she looking for signs of discomfort, or was she trying to pull a reaction from him? He would grimace only a couple of times when she pulled the skin closed, but it was nowhere near the worst pain. The fae introduced herself as Scylla, the Sovereign of Obscura. So that's where he was then. Obscura... She asked for his name, and she would receive it. "Nero." His response was short and simple. It was all she had asked of him. His kind did not have family names. That was a construct of the wolves descended from his line, those that held onto things such as names in an attempt to gain some sort of power or validation. To his kind, only the strength of your blood and body mattered and determined if you were remembered or forgotten.

Once she was done, Scylla stepped aside to go clean her paws and Nero immediately went to stand, feeling his muscles ache from the strain and pull at his stitches. He grunted and groaned, ultimately settling back down on the ground for fear of ripping his new stitches already. Fuck. He was stuck here for now, and there was no way this tiny little creature would be able to move him. An arctic breeze kicked up, tossing snow flurries around in the air. It was getting colder, signs of a snowstorm coming in. Scylla uttered a call, and a short bit later, a bush dog returned to her with a massive bison hide. What the hell was she doing? The sky was getting darker, night approaching along with the storm making it almost pitch black. When Scylla came to him and draped the fur over them both, he realized what the crazy bitch was doing.

Scylla slid under the fur and wiggled her way underneath his powerful forelegs, settling herself against his broad chest like he were cuddling her close to him. The softness of her belly fur rubbed against his own belly, tickling his skin in delightful ways and pooling a warmth deep in his belly that he would have gladly entertained were he not injured and able to move. "You're insane. You'll freeze to death out here," he remarked with rumbling tones that vibrated the fae in his arms. He had least had the dense layers of arctic tempered fur to keep him safe. Scylla felt like she'd snap in two if he squeezed her too hard. There's no way she'd survive out here with him. Nero couldn't deny the lull of sleep though as his injured body begged for rest to heal and recuperate, but he stubbornly refused for now, half not believing that Scylla would be able to keep him or herself safe out here, and half convinced that if he went to sleep, he'd wake up with her frozen corpse in his arms.