There was a peculiar morality within Gabriel’s world. He was not bound to this woman, but she carried his blood, and for this she was to be familiar to him. It was right that she would call on him in a time of need, but he doubted she would need him. All he had given her was the tool to make herself immortal. What happened to her children was beyond his control, for they would never exist within the realm that Gabriel lived in. He knew this, and did not feel sorrow. He had chosen his place years ago.
All he could do was smile back at her, knowing that the choice was not his and never had been. “I’ll come,” he reassured her. Then she rose and he followed her movement, admiring the silver flow of her fur and wondering why he had not recognized her scent for what it was. And she was happy. She was happy and Gabriel could not put any emotions into words. He felt hollow and stone-like, as if the world had ripped a part of him away. It had gone, lingering with the black dagger and the chocolate wolf that he sought to destroy. He would never rest so long as his shadow lingered.
He did not speak, but touched his nose to her cheek and pressed his neck into her own. It was a sign of trust, or perhaps something more, but he could not think of what to say. So he said nothing and watched her go, his chest aching as if there was something heavy between his lungs and his ribs.
