<style type="text/css">
.calliengreen b {font-weight:bold; color:#48cc78; letter-spacing:1px; }
.ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:10px;}
.calliengreen p {text-indent:25px;padding:5px 10px;margin:0px;}
.calliengreen {width:400px;border:1px solid #06190d;background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v26/K ... allien.png);background-position:bottom center;background-repeat:no-repeat;padding-bottom:175px;background-color:#227f43;text-align:justify;margin:10px;font-family:georgia, serif;font-size:11px;line-height:12px;color:#04130a;}
</style>
table © Jenny
Her apology washed over him, unfounded. There was no accusation in the male's icy eyes, only desire and the acute shadows of disorder and chaos, reflective of the churning spirit within. His mother had once taught him of spirits - Before this land, she had been a thoroughly religious woman. The spirits were the blood of her world, fragments of Dea and all that came to be. But Caillen's world had shattered a long time ago, splintering to reveal cracks of an inner being tossed by the turmoil his life had provided.
Now he sought simple things; To starve the loneliness that choked his thick throat was primary among them. But perhaps he had found his goddess, his Morrigan incarnate. Was the red-eyes hellion her? There had been another woman once, with eyes that dripped like fresh blood, and she had been cruel and cold. She had wanted to take his manhood, and with it, his life. There was another side of every coin, and perhaps Talitha was the reward for his suffering at the cruel hands of fate.
The contact with her silky fur and warm breath allowed him to believe she was real, and that for this moment, she could be his and his alone. It was a fleeting thing - They both knew the hybrid woman could not stay in the mountains with her vagabond sinner for long, forever. That was taboo, a wrong her people could kill for. Would it be his skull adorning their borders, or hers? Swift wings of rage flew through him at the thought. The barbarians would never hurt her, not while he was alive and lurking just beyond the safety of their precious territory. There was a fresh danger in the lean bulging muscles of his frame, in the slightly wild look to his eyes.
He would fight for Talitha. And, Dea be damned, he would win for her.
The woman's request provoked a soft grumble of assent, a rumbling deep in his chest that seemed to be the canine equivalent of a purr. Sharp white incisors smiled their agreement at the russet-hued woman. "If tha' is what ye wish, then I cannae deny ye," The baritone brogue was husky and low, and his arms drew her closer.