She wasn’t afraid. Not of his size or his claws or the scars that littered his body that spoke of earlier disasters. She didn’t feel anything as her fingers danced softly on his bruises. Lana was used to the emptiness that always made her hungry for something out of her reach. But she knew what was in her reach and it didn’t fill the space one inch. When his blue gaze turned, she didn’t find what she hoped would be relief.
The silence became stifling as waves of heat clouded the small room. Lana dropped her bag carelessly to the stone floor and heard it echo even after she had settled in the open doorway. The frame groaned against her weight as she leaned, feeling the edges of her silhouette illuminate in the growing light. She crossed her dark legs and breathed in the fresh air quietly.
“ Se ho potuto bottiglia questa aria, vorrei,”
She said, of course referring to the natural spice in the breeze. In Europe the air had its own original tang, but it was softer and had hints of rotting citrus that made it exceedingly sweat if you inhaled too sharply. Everywhere she went there was a different flavor and the woman grunted silently towards the woods at the thought of being somewhere new again.
“It must be terrible, being away from the light of day,”
Lana spoke again, her cluster of accents enriching the words. The Italian was not an idiot and could hardly even be considered just smart. So she knew the man would not reply. Her tone was edged with yearning, hinting that she might understand, but it was bitter with sarcasm all the same. She turned to face the darkness again just in time to see Cas slipping out the open door with her maw slacked. Lana instantly felt her mood darken without the comfort of her companion that now slid into the pools of sunlight between the buildings. So she let the fresh air fill her lungs again.
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