The blood you bleed Is just the blood you owe

Flare waited for some time by the fire, he did not know how much. He had started to drift into a restless sort of sleep. Aware of the world, but less so of the passing of time. He knew the moment she woke. He could hear it in the sudden drag of her breath, as if the air in front of her had caught on fire. He didn’t turn to her, but he stirred. Opening his eyes, and looking into the fire before him. It had dimmed at some point in the time between jabbing her and waking. He remembered his excitement, like the child he had been sneaking food from unsuspected visitors on the street. Knowing he had done something wrong, something that benefited him. The thrill of success.

He heard her move from the bed, and finally he turned to face her, starting to pull herself from the blankets, her eyes on his body. The scent of her heat, of her need filled the den like the aroma of a fine dish. He blinked, looking at the wolf that had woken. Desperate and needy. He hid his smile and raised a brow. ‘How was your sleep?” He asked her, almost lazily. As if blind to her need, to the raw, desperate words that slipped her throat.


"Speech"