08-28-2008, 12:35 AM
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He leapt back, but not fast enough. Endymion caught Ahren's claws right across his mouth and then slammed against the door, but didn't cry out. Despite his wide eyes, accelerated heartbeat, instinctively bared fangs, he felt unnaturally calm. He'd never seen such a thing, though. What a remarkable illness this was. Pressed against the wall like he was on a ledge overlooking a treacherous fall, the wolf marveled at the wrath and deliriousness of the older man. He tried to relax his face and tone. "I'm sorry, Ahren," he choked out, unmoving.
He forgot about the scratch until he taste the blood, felt it dribbling down his chin. He flicked his tongue out and gathered up as much as he could, swallowing it, then slowly wiped his chin with the back of his hand. Would the smell of blood alarm the red-eyed man more? The only thing he could see in the dark was Ahren's teeth, bared against him, and his feverish eyes. He was looking at Endymion but didn't see him. Through his anxiety the wolf was morbidly fascinated and wondered what Ahren was seeing, what could cause him such perturbation and rage. "It's okay," he said, louder now, still pressed against the door. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon. He couldn't just leave the man in such a state. "It's okay, Ahren. I'm sorry."
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