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table © Jenny
It was not his place to approach her - Talitha was the witch, the holder of the cards and of all his attentions in this moment. Only she could make the choice to step further away from her beloved blood-drenched soil, and closer towards the man who embodied everything she had been trained to hate. He was Wolf, and he was Alien; He was Love and he was Happiness. He was Stupidity and Foolishness. He was Caillen Winters, son of the woman who had lain with her father on a growing night not so different from this one.
It seemed his words confused her. Caillen could trace the insecurities in her beautiful face, one uncertain emotion sliding into the next, a tumult of blood in her unblinking eyes. His gaze back calmly, acute with hunger - Sharpest, coolest blue. So different they were.
Finally, finally, her body obeyed his wishes and sought the nearness of his flesh. Delicate fingers reached out to stroke the side of his face; giant teeth which had been bared only a moment prior were sheathed again now as his body froze to the contact. Eyelids lowered slightly to the feather-light touch; This contact, it was what he craved so desperately. The holes loneliness had eaten within him no longer seemed so chasm-like, so gaping.
Slowly, that touch explored the line of his jaw, the thick plushness that instinctively guarded his throat, and then the navy material strung about that still. In health, it was a beautiful item of human clothing, but he wore it even now, muddied and torn. It reminded him of the parts that were not Wolf, of the memories that were beyond this silent forest and the woman with the blood in her gaze. It was his humanity, so cynical it might seem. And below that, her delicate fingers stroked the perfect silver of the stag, whose antlers held trapped within them the blue moon. The pendant alone remained unchanged, beautiful and brilliant. He could not look at it, though, for it reminded him of foul times and immense pain.
The stag was the sign of the Macha tribe - The people of Alaine Winters, his mother.
For all this time, his hands had remained obediently at his sides, but his body quivered to her touch like a jumpy stallion. When her head rested lightly against him, the brute could with-hold the urge no longer, and he slowly allowed the iron-chorded muscular arms to, so slowly, encircle her. His head lowered, maw resting in the mass of auburn hair that spun like glory from her head. He breathed in her scent deeply, arms tightening slightly about her delicate came. "I do nae break my promises," Came the rough brogue again, muffle by her hair. One large, claw-tipped hand lifted, and twirled some of the strands absently between calloused fingers. "But I would hae come, regardless. I wanted tae see ye again." The rough admittance was uttered for her ears alone.