[mate]
“”
Water.
The dark emeralds of the leaves gave way to his ministering tongue; the shaman licked the dew from them softly, eyes half-lidded with the simple pleasure of it. A wood, with fog wreathing slowly through its boles, was where he had found himself afterwards.
Lynx purled a warning, Her yellow eyes flashing briefly across his addled cognizance. Ah, he breathed in return, turning unhurriedly to catch the bemused flick of one tufted ear. She mocked Her shaman with the curves of a feline body, forcing chained hungers free from their prisons, and he caught the tip of his tongue between yellowed fangs before he cursed his well-beloved Totem.
Hunger gnawed suddenly at his belly, contorting the shaman with a painful grunt. He, who did not recall the taste of meat, suddenly slavered for it now, and with half-parted, dripping jaws, he skulked in search of easy prey.
And when he had sharpened that blade with marrow licked from the cracked bones of a bear's abandoned kill, lust soared into his fickle heart, and he grit his teeth against it. Cursing the betrayal of his skeletal body, yet refusing to allow its need relief, the pale man moved into the curling tendrils of the fog.
Casting his tongue against the ridges of his teeth, the man leant after a time against the grating bole of a great tree who in its time had spawned a thousand tiny saplings. The scent of its might was heady, and in time the dark flavor of its bark replaced the desperate, obstinate throb between his legs.
But he did not press forward, for even as the dull jut of hunger's blade subsided, and his body's carnal desire faded, exhaustion's hammerfall struck Lecter hard, and he reeled into semi-consciousness, slumping into the supportive graces of the old tree before he buckled slowly to the soft cold loam of the dark wood.
The fog breathed forth to envelop him, and he slumbered.
<style type="text/css">q {font:13px Georgia; color:#9E0853; font-weight:bold;}</style>Horizon Ridge had been quiet of late. This suited the Mambo well, who had taken to lying in the den she had constructed in the roots of a sequoia to hold her assorted items, most of them unimpressive. It had given her wounds time to heal without the daily interruption of wolves asserting their ranks, so that the scratches on her nose itched rather than stung, the wound in the supple curve of her neck ached dully but had scabbed nicely and without infection, and her ribs had mostly lost their soreness... All but the one, which still seared with pain whenever she lay on her side. Even that pain had lessened, leaving Jinx a sore, but healing, woman.
But there was disquiet in her heart, as well. Akhlut had not been active for some time. She wondered at the Alpha's scarce presence, and felt the thrum of familiarity when the word abandonment entered her mind at times of weakness. Nanuq had abandoned Jinx, and so had Styx and Katrina. Jinx had abandoned her wolves (albeit for reasons she considered wholly justifiable), but her wolves had also abandoned her. Now, she was beginning to get the feeling that Akhlut had also abandoned her... And if that was the case, then she would not hesitate to seize his throne.
Still, she could not do it now. She was weak still, and knew none of the Horizon Ridge wolves were like to follow her, and certainly not the Delta. She would be forced to bide her time, bite her tongue, and maintain her hold on her rank with an iron grip, so that when the time came, there could be no question of who deserved it. It never occurred to her that Akhlut might merely be busy, and would be back to his usual Alpha duties in due time... She was already set on usurping his crown, when his followers also began to question his lacking presence.
Jinx had been consumed with these thoughts, in between her daily patrols and whispering words of encouragement into Ira's ears. Encouragement for certain behaviours: dark behaviours, the sort that would please Sos and the Loa. Pied had already made clear her children would belong to Atka, if any God, so it was Jinx's job to raise one for Sos. Perhaps she would yet consume one of the Delta's young when they came into the world, and offer its still-beating heart to her deity... But it was far off yet. The catnip might yet work its magic and prevent young altogether.
She was wrapped in these thoughts and others when she came upon the bloodied shaman. Her heart seized in her chest when she saw him prone against the trunk of a wizened tree, but it also cracked and bled with betrayal. Even Lecter had left her side, taking his deranged and untrustworthy daughter with him. Her ears flickered forth and her face twisted into the scowling visage of a figure of authority, whose heart and essence had been stung by him... And when she drew close enough to brush her nose against his matted ruff, she was stung by it again.
Whooo?
she hissed, drawing back from him as though his rank odour had the damaging capacity of acid. On Lecter's coat lingered the fresh scent of another... Someone other than Clarice, and someone who was not Jinx. She was hurt; who would he dare follow, if not herself?
keeping vague about ic joining thread since it hasn't happened yet derp
“”
It occurred to the shaman, when his muzzy gaze sharpened, that he had died. And while his belly tightened at the prospect — he had not yet given Sos the sacrifice of sacrifices — a thin ribbon of pleasure wheedled its way into his heart. But no; the dead were not scarred, nor did they hiss in venomous tones. “Lethe,” he grit at length, though his eyes shone with vague mockery at Jinx's jealousy.
“Bon Dye is no more. I thought that you would have followed in Koios' steps.” By which he believed she had thrown herself away, though for reasons he himself did not fully understand; Siku had slain the man, it was said, but despite the strength of the hated bear-woman, he had known the cunning and savagery of Jinx's father.
Anger burned slowly within him as he beheld the scarring to her visage, which did not mar, but rather enhanced the innocent glow that the Kesuk carried despite her savagery. There had been a change wrought in her, and he sensed the touch of the Dark One, but met her eyes in silence.
For a rift had also grown between them in his absence; Lecter felt at once obligated to assure Jinx that he had not abandoned her, and that he had been justified in his departure. Drawing strength from her presence, as he always had, the shaman gathered himself to his feet and lashed his tail catlike at his heels as the quintessential glaciality of his gaze regarded her.
“Jinx,” the madman murmured softly, the verve of her eyes melting the resolve in his own. And the syllable of her name; it was as honey and myrrh upon his tongue, and the strong young body that had finally gathered itself into vague curvature set his heart aflutter. She had retained the long-limbed litheness of her youth, however, and for a moment she glowed with the past image of her earnest childlike self.
He was silent for a time, tempting her to strike him with the swiftness of a snake, but right before herfury at his betrayal boiled over, he spoke. It did nothing to temper her rage; in fact, it only leant it fuel, so that her anger flashed like lightning across her stormy eyes. "That cunt is an insult to Shearwater Bay," she reminded the shaman, who would join with her wolves like some pathetic vagabond. He was shaman, and it was not fitting for him to follow that lowly example of faith. Lethe had abandoned Shearwater in its time of need, had forsaken the daughters of wolves who meant oh so much to her... It was jealousy, and it was petty, but her hatred also was justified. Her hatred of the female who had had no faith in them... Them, chosen by the Gods!
Her fury danced like wildfire in her breast as he spoke again, referring to the great Houngan of Shearwater Bay. Now, a snarl crept up her throat at this, the most grievous of insults; she misinterpreted, likely, but Jinx was still young. Try as she might, she had not achieved the bond her father had shared with Lecter. She took it to mean he wished death upon her, and it hurt so deeply she gasped against it. "I never met my father," she coldly snapped, her ears melting back to her skull with outrage and agony.
He said her name, and her stomach fluttered with nerves and savage need to claim him once more, but it was consumed by her fire. "You left me and now you would wish my father's fate upon me, and insult me further by taking up banners with Lethe, who deserted Kaskae and I," she said softly, but murderously. If she could inflict even a twinge of pain upon his heart, it would satisfy hers, swollen with hurt as it was.
“”
“I knew Koios. He was savage and replete with cunning, and dedicated wholly to his God. He was as a brother to me, and when he left the Bay, he did so for a reason only he knew, and only he understood.” He knew that the loss of the father she had never met was as a barb to her heart, but the icewater eyes had cooled; he felt the lash of her tongue keenly, and was angered by the sting of hurt that it caused, angered that he could not guard himself against it more closely.
“And I did not leave you, Jinx Kesuk,” the shaman growled, hackles spiking with her accusation. He advanced but one small step; let her leap and rip him if she would. He would allow it, for perhaps he was deserving of her ire — but he would never believe himself the rightful subject of her hatred.
“I have served your family faithfully, and when I came to these lands, and I knew not of your presence but the legacy I assumed the Mambo had passed down, I scented Shearwater. Whether or not you believe she is deserving of my servitude, Lethe nevertheless offered shelter.”
His jaw clicked shut; he was speaking too much, attempting to justify his choices. Lecter faced her in silence, but his heart tore with each passing moment; perhaps the rift here would be too great to mend. “ I was bereft with the loss of you,” the madman muttered quietly. “ I followed Clarice because she is my only blood, but my heart longed to be here. Never once have I wished you dead, Jinx. Not once. I would shatter myself if you passed.”
He did not think that he had spoken so candidly before, and with an inner sigh, he bared his heart to the whip of her tongue or the leaping flames of her malice. She was hurt, he could see, but through perceived betrayals and the misrepresentation of his clumsy words. And so, silent, he waited for her to respond.
She heard him out, desperately wanting to smite him with Atka's fury — the first time since cubhood her mind had leapt to the Goddess rather than Sos — but she could not nurture her fury productively. The flames licking her bowels and caressing her gut were unpredictable, but try as she might, she could not direct them. Her fury extended not only to Lecter, but to Clarice, to Kerberos, to Hawkeye, to Leto and Pied, to Vires, and all the others who had not waited for her. To those who had lost their faith in her because she had been gone scarcely more than two weeks. But Lecter was the one standing here, and the one claiming he had not left her. She could not deny him if he claimed it was the Gods' will, but she likely would try.
"Lethe came to me, claiming to care for my parents, but she did not see fit to see what Kaskae had learned. What I had learned. She saw us only as babes, not the rightful heirs of her beloved leaders. I had earned it and she ignored my skill," she hissed, determined not to allow Lecter to settle on just any Shearwater wolf. Jinx had been an Adept of the Gods, after all, at the time of her rising. "She came to the borders of my pack, planning to see my Alpha, but dared raise her head and treat me as nobody. She disrespects me, on no charge but Sos' choosing me to lead where my mother failed." Ordinarily, she might have kept this stuff to herself, but this was Lecter, and she so longed for him she would say anything, admit to anything, to coax him away from Lethe's siren's grasp.
She was most interested to find he would be crushed by her passing, but her mind lingered on what he'd said about Koios. "Then what did you mean?" she said, icy still, unwilling to let these words warm her. Not until he was safely where he belonged, with her. "Leave her. Return to me." Though her voice was silken and sultry (the only time it ever had been), it was not a question, but whether Lecter would listen or not, well... It was entirely up to Sos, unbeknownst to herself. She did not know Sos could control him, did not know he had been starving himself into madness... And so could not know if he would instantly refuse.
“”
And in turn, he too heard the ire of her words, jaw tightening with rejoinders he dare not proffer. She spoke against Lethe, and the shaman knew that the fire of her eyes birthed forth the intention that he should see the honeyed beauty in the same vein that she herself did. But it was not to be — Lecter had not pledged himself to Lethe out of a misbegotten desire. He knew well the strife between herself and Jinx, and animosity the new scent upon his fetlock must cause the fierce Kesuk.
But he would not be swayed. Jinx commanded him, stance angered, and the irresistible flames cooled into satin embers. The shaman drew in a soft breath; never before had her voice adopted such a tone, a mingling of residual anger and soft cunning. He recalled how she had looked upon him when he had been her mentor, but the pale madman was not so foolish as to believe that she desired him as anything other than a confidant and a loyalist to the claims of her noble throne.
This realization of the doubts he had carried within him burnt his heart, and the glacial eyes hardened into twinned seas, darkening with rage and pain. Out of the corner of his glare, Lynx shifted, Her voluptuous laughter stiffening the shaman's own stance into rigidity. Now she sought to exploit the innermost desire of his heart, the hateful wench! — how had she known? — and his teeth snapped together with the vehemence of his words.
“I will always serve you, Jinx Kesuk, though you do not seem to place faith in my devotion. My place will always be alongside those of your kith and kin. But perhaps I am not worthy to be beside you, and so I have removed myself from your sight. Perhaps you are correct to loathe me; perhaps it is time you elevated another to my position, one who will also nurture your heart as well as your mind, because I am not certain that it is I who you wish for that task.”
Lecter gazed at her, a thousand agonies shimmering in the depths of his eyes; he had spoken truly, and it had cost him a great deal. Lacerated, raw, his heart pulsed between them, the woman-child and the bitter, aging shaman, and his mind laughed sardonically at the pathetic sight of it all.
Oh, that she could call to her the spirit of the wolverine that had come to haunt her of late, that it might rip him to pieces, and bring Lethe down with it. What she wouldn't do to impart her hatred for the deserter queen on her shaman, and claim back her wolves from days long gone. Kaskae would have known what to do—would have taken down the golden woman with tooth and claw, without any of the cunning magic Jinx would have preferred—but the younger of the two was in no state to do such a thing. Her body was battered, bruised, and her emotions... Another kind of injury altogether.
When next Lecter spoke, it sent tendrils of dread winding around her heart, dark and cold and unforgiving. "No!" she abruptly blurted out, her rage suddenly subsiding in the wake of a much worse emotion: fear. She had always counted on him, even when she was a young thing, friends with his daughter and utterly terrified of him, but transfixed by his lessons. Bewitched by his magic. She had counted on him when she rose to her throne, had counted on him in Bon Dye... And now, more than ever, counted on him to find it in him to remain.
These emotions had a name, but it was foreign to her, and so presently unknown. She felt the stiffening of his body in the sharpness of his eyes, like daggers in her soul, and thought it was directed at her. She stiffened too, but let go her breath in a tremble. "I don't want another," she growled, practically a complaint, as though "another" referred to a consolation toy she found unsavoury, when the grand prize was a golden trophy. Her possession, her longing... It did not wander.
"I want you," she proclaimed, largely unsure exactly what she was saying, but certain it was true. "I need you, Lecter." And there, at the end, a quavering note of desperation found its way into her voice, and rooted there in the tharump of her burning heart.
“”
Alas, he had anticipated the bitter slash of her teeth, the enraged snarl of her betrayal, and so at her trembling admission, the shaman was taken aback, and it showed plainly in the cracked ice of his gaze. The man found he could scarcely meet her eyes, so great was his surprise, but he found himself drawn to her, driven quite mad with tenderness at the tremour he had never before heard in Jinx's voice.
“Forgive me,” he breathed, hoping with some sort of effusive grace that his plea would dispel the cursed sorrow he had wrought in her heart. Lecter came to her, yes; he arranged himself alongside her lithe form, seeking, if she would but let him, to preen gently the fine pelt of her cheek, icewater eyes seeking the truths of her own fire, those lockboxes she had carried for far too long.
At length his eyes flew shut; the shaman breathed deep the scent of her, the clean fragrance of a newly-fallen snow, or the first rose to bloom in the springtime air, and though perhaps it was impossible, he fancied he could still catch the faintest hint of salt-rime from Shearwater's never-forgotten shores. Surely this was a dream! surely in the next moment, her slender muzzle would lift to punish him with harsh attacks of her razored teeth! but he could not keep from seeking her out, from tracing the aquiline beauty of her muzzle with his lips, her eyelids, her eartips — if she allowed this, he knew in the very core of himself that if his heart were to cease its rhythm this very moment, he would die the most blessed of men.
“Jinx,” he cried in a whisper, into the ivory shell of one smooth ear, and it was all he could say.
All at once Lecter's tension seemed to melt into... Something unfamiliar. She watched with smouldering eyes this expression, the way his lips parted with a soft plea for forgiveness rather than the acrid bite of his usual tone. Yes! she wanted to cry, yes, all is forgiven! But something stayed her voice, something thick and primal and strange. Her tongue seemed two sizes too big as he stepped to her side, choking off her words; all she could utter was a soft, pleading whine, a sound of want and need she had never felt. The smell of old rotted blood clawed down her throat, and she welcomed it with feverish inhales, drawing his essence into her.
She felt his touch, and everywhere it left spots of cold yearning. She stood still at his ministrations, consumed by a fire of another kind as his lips pressed firm against her cheekbone, her snout, the fluttering lid of her eyes which closed of their own accord, and found the sensitive lobe of her ear. Chills sparked down her spine at its gentle touch, and her own name whispered into her ear bought a lusting whisper of "Lecter," in response. Such feeling had never roared through her, such need... Her face moved so her nose roughly traced his matted cheek, and when she found the side of his neck, below his own ear, she nipped it lightly but rough. Her tongue sought his flesh with an urgent purr, and unconsciously her body arched in response to a wild desire.
“”
She was a nymph, fireflared and visceral, and her response to his ministrations, to his very voice, was the awakening of self. Jinx arched her body against him, and Lecter fell to worshipping the slopes of her rounded shoulders, the curve of her throat down across her breastbone, punctuating his kisses with gentle flicks of his teeth here and there. He discovered her mouth; he dallied there for only a moment before he continued his exploration of the pubescent country that had for so long called to him and simultaneously barred his entry.
His lips were upon her flank now, the pale, thrumming length of his body pressed against the pristine litheness of her own; Lecter paused here, trembling in his desire and a half-hearted, vague sense of fear that this was all but a beautiful dream from which he would suddenly awake, sodden with sweat and with a shameful, desperate throb in his carnal lower half.
The shaman pressed his parted maw to her hip now, moving behind her with the surety of both an animal caught by his primality and the assurance that she wanted this, the sinewy waif, the veritable child whose lust he had awakened and now would feed until the flames and heat consumed them both.
But here he paused, and lay his cheek against the young curve of her hipbone, willing himself to grasp control before he simply made a mess of this most lovely moment in both their lives.
Her pulse quickened beneath each lingering kiss, her flesh and fur hot with each pinch of his teeth, and before long Jinx was panting and frantic. He explored her body, and likewise she revered his: her teeth combed through his bloodied locks, tongue lashing feverishly over his pelt, the taste of which came the closest to ambrosia she might ever taste. Another wolf might have gagged, but Jinx had been weaned on war and blood, albeit not literally... And Lecter was the subject of all her worship. To him, she was more powerfully devoted than to her own Gods.
She felt his body, larger and yet thinner with hunger, press against her side and a thin sound of desire wound past her lips. She pressed them to his ribs fervently, reverently, and with the steady pounding of her heart and the beat that had taken up residence in her nether region, preened the fur there. Her teeth, nose, tongue, and lips all sought his flesh with a necessity she didn't wholly understand; to touch him had been but a dream of late, but he was here...
The shaman parted from her side, prowling behind her with what she could only assume was desire mirroring her own. Her head tilted so she could watch him through one lust-hazed eye as his cheek pressed firmly against her hip. A wave of warmth hit her, originating from where his body pressed, and she could bear it no longer. Her paws danced beneath her as she readjusted herself, and with an impatient and needy whine to urge him on, she pulled forward, separating them by a pace. Simultaneously, her tail waved pendulum-like, tempting and beckoning him to take what was his. Instinct made certain she held it aside for him, begging him to claim what they both desperately wanted him to have.
“”
Her eager cry spurred him, but he forced himself the time to nose beneath her lusty plume and taste the richness of the pearl that had been forbidden him in her youth. A shuddering breath ripped from the man, but he was at last unable to halt the urgings of her body, of his own, and he settled himself upon her gently, embracing her, the slim corded waist that he had watched dance with her wanting breaths for what seemed an eternity.
The shaman wished to speak, wished to say something that would boast the sentiment of the moment, but he could think of nothing, for his senses were wrapped in her, and in the next second he had pushed into Jinx softly, testing the waters as it were before he hilted himself in the clasping hotness of her and died to himself completely with a strangled hiss.
OOC: From this point on the content of this thread is MATURE, young readers beware!
IC: The brush of his breath across the base of her tail was the only warning Jinx got before he touched a part of her that made her entire body contract, as though all her viscera pulled together within her and clenched. The feeling sent another shiver through her and she stamped a hind foot in an attempt to get control over her desire to turn and ravish him with her teeth and her tongue. She didn't have to wait long enough for the temptation to win out, for Lecter's forelimbs wrapped around her waist and pulled her snug against him. She briefly felt a bulge against her backside, but her hind buckled under him briefly before she splayed her feet and arched up, and in that moment he took her.
Her body was assaulted with a mixture of intrusive discomfort, pain, and explosive sensation. She couldn't stifle a cry that mingled with his hiss in the air as he forced himself deeper, and though the feeling was queer and at first unwelcome, within less than a minute it was replaced by a warm, steady pulse, like her heart had moved south through her intestines and housed itself where their bodies met. She whined as her rump unconsciously pushed up against his underside, urging him on, craving relief for the sensation washing through her... Craving Lecter and his bloodsoaked body, who never again would be as simple as shaman or mentor. He was hers, her mind hissed even as her desperate breath fell from her lungs with desirous panting and soft whimpering moans.
The obsessive worship she felt for him would only grow deeper and deeper with this, and Jinx gave herself over wholly to that reality.
“”
His breath came hoarsely as he tightened his embrace around her heaving flanks; the sounds she gave into the night air drove him mad and he moved with more force into the lithe body below him. Jinx had become his now, belonged to him in all things, and the possession of her body was only the completion of a binding that had begun long before he had fathomed this moment.
At length, his pace quickened, the severity of his movements intensifying, and he grit out her name once more into the gossamer swell of her ruff, the pleasure of their union centralizing itself in the juncture between nymph and shaman, and mounting inexorably toward that ancient peak.
She grunted as he drew partway out and filled her again, her body resisting the first few pushes but accepting him wholly after that. The slow rocking left her body burning for more, and her head reached skyward as she vented the heat through her mouth with heavy breaths. Lecter pushed her forward with more and more force, and suddenly the tight friction became something else... Something between a tickle and a burn, something irresistible.
Her first time was bound to be impressive, and so it took only one, two, three more fast crashes of his hips against hers to drive her over an edge. "Lec—" she gasped, but her voice cut off in a choking moan as an indescribable feeling flooded her. Her body shuddered violently and her toes gripped the snow underfoot hard as pleasure stole her breath and wits, casting her into a state of heightened sensation.
It was so strong it almost hurt, and it overwhelmed her so much she couldn't even hear herself cry his name into the silent fog. It was all she could do to keep her legs from buckling under her, body spent and strength ebbing into the wobbliness of the aftermath.
“”
The hot clutchings of her innermost body drove him wild; he fought the flames with harsh pushes of his hips, lying his muzzle alongside the straining curve of her neck. And when she stiffened, then shuddered beneath her, the tremour jumping in electric ecstasy from her lithe form to his own, he found his own zenith on the waves of her sweet voice lifted in radiance to his name.
The shaman gave a hoarse cry of his own, tightening his grip about her slim hips, the undeniable throb of his weaponry deep within her relinquishing itself in a fiery, masculine rush of pleasure. Chest heaving with the exertion, he allowed himself a few brief moments of respite before he shifted his weight to his hindlegs, as not to crush his young lover into the snow.
He made no move to release her, however; by whatever design they were locked in a fleshly bond, one that slackened at length and he pulled away from Jinx with a grimace at their parting. He preened the fur of her flank gently, filled with the scent of their mingling, and he was content.
He gripped her tightly as her energy waned, and it was his strength that kept her from falling, coupled with the strange sensation their tie caused whenever she shifted. She didn't know how much time passed, but when Lecter pulled away she groaned at the feeling, though he soon replaced the emptiness with gentle ministrations to her coat. She allowed him this luxury for a few moments, twisting to return the grooming of teeth against his blood-caked shoulder, before she let herself fall to the snow with a lazy grunt.
The fire that had burned so brightly before now smouldered, an ember, as she surveyed him. Of this encounter, she would speak to nobody... It was not shame that would keep her silent, but selfishness. She would not share what had occurred here with anyone, for some misbegotten fear that it may lessen their unusual bond. A growl crooned in her throat, directed at him, somewhat akin to a purr... A sound of beckoning, perhaps.
"Stayyy," she implored, hoping he would now leave Lethe and come here, to her side, where he belonged. What had happened between them wasn't Jinx's attempt to make it so, but nevertheless, it tied them together in an intricate way that surely Lethe could not replicate.
“”
The graze of her own teeth through his fur seemed to weaken him also, and he lowered himself to his haunches beside her, bristling briefly with a man's protectiveness of the great gift he had been granted mere moments before. But in the next second it had passed; he was implacable Lecter yet again, and he swung his ears forward to hear the sibilant plea in her sweet vocals.
“For now, my love,” the shaman murmured, for he knew well what she meant, but he would not abandon Lethe for Jinx, not until she was his fully, and he had drunk his fill of old Shearwater. “Perhaps you could return with me,” he suggested in a cool tone, eyes sliding sideways to brook her response.
Her eyes sought his face as he pressed his hind to the forest floor, and for a moment the two ashen beasts were swallowed in fog. There was a possessiveness in his eyes that Jinx very faintly caught onto, but its breadth she did not comprehend. For Jinx, emotions were but crutches upon which wolves blamed their weaknesses... But when he crooned out my love into the still air, there was the hint of a shiver through her spine that sang it back at him, silently.
Her body teetered an instant before she let herself lie fully on her side, already hungering for his touch again, craving his body (oh, he should not have woken those desires), but refraining. Despite the thrill his words gave her, there was the unforgiving, underlying no that shattered a piece of her heart, if it could be called that. He had another suggestion, one which she toyed with in her mind momentarily, but its conclusion made her fur prickle with uncertainty. "She would not allow it," she said confidently, and I will not bow to her.
It would take a God's decree to sway her, but in the coming days she could come to realize that the God she most devoted herself to was that which wore Lecter's skin and clothes: the dark witch himself. Sos was forever her deity, and Atka forever His partner, but it was Lecter Jinx would devote herself to above Them... And if only she had known it now, in the aftermath of the greatest moment in her life, she would have followed him immediately home, meek and obedient as any good lover. If only it did not take a few days to come to the conclusion that Horizon Ridge was nothing in her designs, and was not presently fruitful... But for now, she was convinced Lethe was a troublesome blot on Shearwater Bay's history pages, and certain that she would never cross into that woman's pack's territory willingly.
“”
“For me, she would,” Lecter muttered softly, eyes sweeping with slow aplomb across the reclining features of his young lover. His tone sought to remind Jinx softly that there was a history that spanned the years before her birth; though he knew he could not easily lure Lethe into his bed now, for it was a different heart that ruled the Creek, his obeisance after his former spurnings would surely soften Lethe's heart.
She was proud, his rosebud, petals now unfurled toward the sun, and Lecter watched Jinx with hungry desire mounting in his gaze once more. Yes! the pale witch desired her, wanted again to clasp her in his arms and melt wretchedly into the heat of her; he raised himself over the girl, forelegs planted on either side of her slender hips, and lowered his muzzle to kiss and to touch, to wake her again with little grazes of his teeth and small sweeps of his tongue.
Jinx he wanted, for never in his recollection had a creature desired him so, and at this age, where his memories were beginning to grow hazy, and his body was beginning to protest the aging of his bones, Lecter wanted the softness of the girl, her passion, her ardor; he would burn to death on the Nordic ship of her love before he would let her grow distant and slip from him.
OOC: Gonna fade here if that's all right! :D
IC: Ah, yes... She often forgot life before her birth. But how could Jinx be expected to swallow the bitter pill of Lecter's loyalty to Lethe? How could she be expected to view him as loyal to her, as her own shaman who had once served her parents, who had raised himself to status of a God so easily in her eyes, when he would not return to her side? The answer was so simple, but she was so naive, and fuelled by passions... She could not see anything but rejection, could not comprehend his thirst for the old ways, nor understand Lethe's part in it.
She would press for information, and he would give it to her, at least in his vague and sweeping way... But first, she would respond with heated passion to his ministrations and rise beneath him a second time, whisked off to a place of immeasurable pleasure and sanctuary by his body, where she would for a moment forget about Lethe and forget about how that one vision of the Bay on fire had dismantled her entire life.