Neverwinter Forest he wanted love, i taste of blood

The taste of blood thickens in his mouth, and the wraith wakes fitfully, cracked-ice eyes flickering open into darkness. His breaths come loud and ragged, and his stretch is more of a stuttering lurch of his limbs — all but one. He sits up with the faintest whimper, wincing as his maimed leg flops forward into the snow. His focus, however, is elsewhere. Neverwinter Forest is recognizable even in the black of night, by scent if nothing else, though the metallic tang in his mouth still overwhelms most of the other scents in the air. The pieces come together slowly, but it all clicks after a moment. He takes in a deeper breath, and realizes he isn’t alone. Firesto — Kratos? His voice cracks, and he closes his eyes again, almost afraid of the answer.

Chasing sleep is akin to running after a healthy bird; unreachable, with jaws chomping on air much more than any wing. He lays awake. Pale gold eyes stinging, bags layering underneath, and lips twisted into a foul frown—energy spent breathing and keeping the expression alive.
The entirety of his back ablaze, coursing through in a way he hasn’t experienced in awhile. It brings back memories he’d rather forget. The sensation of pain is normal, but this feels like defeat—like a wildfire spreading and wreaking havoc on whatever lays in it’s path.
Ghost jolts awake. At first, Kratos thinks he’s just stirring in his rest again, since his muscles have been twitchy. Maybe a bad dream.
His name is the cue though.
Zephyr.

Hearing his name from Kratos's lips sends a shiver down his spine. He lets out a soft breath, immediately hyper-aware of his vulnerability. Discomfort nags at him, so he reaches for something to say. Why did you help me? I thought you... Hated me, he almost says, but he realizes it'd been a stupid assumption. His voice catches in his throat when he tries to correct himself, so he falls silent instead, hating himself for questioning it now.

Thought I what? He prompts, ignoring the question for now. It ought to be obvious, and it is, in a way, yet finding words for such feelings is a muddled path, full of twists, turns and a lot of bullshit. Kratos is too tired of that, so he settles for what is easier.

His eyes open at that, though he still can't bring himself to turn to look at Kratos. I don't know, you were upset, and you didn't trust anything I said, and I didn't know if — if you would ever come back, His voice breaks with the last few words. He shifts, ignoring the pain it causes.

Kratos snorts. They both had vastly different perspectives of their prior conversation. Ghost isn’t wrong; he was upset, still is to some degree, and he is arrogant to think he knows Ghost better than he knows himself. But the way Ghost took his words is different than how he’d meant them.
You want me to leave? He settles with.

No — The word tumbles out without thought, desperate and too loud. It's too much for Zephyr to handle right now. Heat stings his eyes, and he closes them, sucking in a breath. His throat closes as emotion overwhelms him. He manages to keep his silence, but his halting breaths give away his tears anyway.

The answer is immediate; rushing out with a flood of emotion, overwhelming by the sheer sound and the gush akin to a sudden current. Kratos stills, pale gold eyes shifting to glance at the shaken coywolf until he releases a breath of his own.
You’re the one who left, he comments, casual and perhaps cold in the delivery. Wouldn’t you protect what’s important to you?

The words sting, and his first thought is that they aren't fair. But you told me to — Then he registers the second part. I'm important to you? He hates himself for sounding so hopeful even through his tears, but he can't help it. Though the situation with Kratos seems to be getting more confusing, he can't deny the relief and joy he'd find in knowing the other truly values him to some degree.

He barked once for Ghost to leave, at the beginning in a crude test; ‘go bother someone else’ yet he’d stayed then. So he went to bother the fucker Kratos ended up killing, is that it? He exhales the frustration, growing bitter and angry at the drop of a hat and yet he tries to control the flames this time.
Yeah. He says simply, because maybe then the dots would connect for Ghost.

Oh. He takes in another breath, more slowly this time, and as he thinks more about the meaning of the words it finally starts to make sense. He's important to Kratos, important in a way that means it matters if he does things like his encounters with the girl and Mal or his brush with death. And all at once, he realizes what the other wants from him. Another shiver crawls down his spine.
You want me to be your mate? He asks after several long moments, thinking of his parents. It's the only context he can think of that makes sense, though the thought of tackling a concept as large as marriage is enough to make his head spin. For Kratos, though... well, his answer isn't 'no' just yet.

See, they seem to be in the same series, maybe in the same book, yet the chapter they land on tends to be different. Each time he thinks Ghost gets it, he slams multiple pages forward, or back. This is one such situation that takes him off guard. Maybe that’s why he likes being around him so much; he knows Ghost like the back of his hand, yet he also never fails to surprise him with his answers.
Kratos chokes, though the noise is more akin to a grunt than a sputter and cough. He lifts his head from resting on his less injured forearm, and turns to stare at Zephyr in a manner that displays his mystification; as if Ghost is a unicorn or has three heads. They’d come this far and this is how Ghost decides to connect it.
Admittedly Kratos hasn’t thought of it in such depth. Relationships alone are a strange myth that brings about bitter vile feelings; seeping from the only relationship that was apparently pure and not a soldier factory or show for the people under falsities and diplomacy.
So the question rests and lingers in the air as it echoes in every corner of his mind; Does he want Ghost as his mate.
It should be a simple “yes” or “no”. Nothing is ever truly simple with Ghost. Each time he signs himself up to something, it has new twists and turns that he hadn’t expected—jumpscares and adrenaline; fluttery and soft.
What does that mean.

The question catches him off-guard, and at first, he wonders how anyone could not know what it means. Then he starts to wonder if he truly knows himself. His parents had raised a family together, but he knows he can't do that, and what else is there to marriage?
It means... we'd be family, He starts to answer both Kratos's question and his own, shifting slowly to look at the other with only a soft whine to mark the discomfort it causes him. And... you'd know you're special to me, too. I wouldn't be with anyone else that way. My dad had two mates, and I thought I would too one day, but I would be happy with one if it's you. You're my favorite person, I think. As he speaks, he feels more certain about the decision. He likes Kratos in a way he doesn't like anyone else — and he doesn't think anyone else will ever want to be his mate. And that seems like the point of being mates to him; a bond with someone special, one that's different from bonds with everyone else. He knows that he wants that bond, if nothing else.

Family.
It is that proposal again, in a way that suits him better he finds than that of brotherhood or otherwise—Kratos seeks attention himself, a confession he’d deny unless asked directly, and by extension he sympathizes with Ghost who sought everyone.
Black ears twitch at the whine, eyes dropping down to the brutalized limb until they lift back to silver eyes—ones that reflect the illumination of the moon they rest under.
Two the greedy bastard had wanted, and it fits so much that Kratos wants to bark a laugh yet he holds it within. The implication is that Kratos is worth two wives—or mates, however the fuck Ghost swings.
You have strange taste, he blurts out.
He’s nervous. Fuck.
I’d like that. He concludes.

His heart lurches as Kratos speaks, and he can't help but smile a little, relieved that he's finally found a way to fix things. Me too, He says, stretching more smoothly than before. Mates. He tries to tell himself that he knows what he's getting into this time, too, but this isn't like the situation with Mal. This is forever, or at least until one of them dies, and Zephyr still doesn't know what it truly means. He knows he wants the kind of relationship Kratos seems to be after, and that should be enough. But the thought of forever looms heavily over him; he's never known any permanence in his life, and he's still too young to be certain of what he wants his forever to look like.
Suddenly he feels a little nauseous, but he hides it well, adding, If we're going to be mates, you have to cuddle with me. His words are teasing, but he means it; Kratos's warmth sounds lovely right about now, and he's eager to start figuring out whether this can really be forever.

He seals the contract understanding what Zephyr puts forth; loyalty to only him, with the thought of being special and family. They will share those feelings, and though he knows little of what would come after, he finds himself at peace knowing that he needn’t worry with Zephyr straying any longer. Though no doubt he’ll enjoy bending others should they linger too close.
Weak to Zephyr’s whims, Kratos gets to his feet. His back and paw stinging with each stride, until he flops at the silver’s side with a snort and relaxed sigh. Their fur meshes together, and he moves to rest his chin overtop Zephyr’s shoulders.

Kratos obliges immediately, and Zephyr starts to tense in an unfamiliar way. Even the ache of his wounds doesn't seem to dull the sudden heat spreading through him, or slow his heart's frantic flutters. He feels even more queasy than before, but the feeling isn't entirely bad, somehow. And when he registers Kratos's chin atop him and the mingling of their fur, he realizes he'd forgotten something. Perhaps the most important thing. He wants to be with me. Forever.
His breath hitches, and he presses into the touch, eyes closing. He can't help picturing Kratos's face, his confident stride, the way he looms over everyone else. His heart starts to feel like it might burst out of his chest any moment. Suddenly he feels small and fragile, and full of a strange aching longing he didn't know existed. And he has no idea what to do with it.

It is odd how the mood shifts the moment he settles at Zephyr’s side. Tension curls in the silver form. Each beat of his heart and the wheezing rise and fall of his chest is felt by Kratos tucked close. Yet, instead of darting away, Zephyr presses nearer.
Pale gold eyes narrow in question—foreign to this feeling, to the effect he somehow manages on Zephyr. Maybe if he thought deeper about how the silver affects him, he’d understand. But he fails to acknowledge it.
In pain? He questions instead.

His ears flush with embarrassment when Kratos speaks, realizing how noticeable his nervousness really is. For a moment he considers lying — but they’re mates now, and he’s pretty sure that means he should be honest. No, I — How can he explain all these feelings? It seems like too much for the newness of it, but he can’t deny the intensity of it. This is the first time he’s ever felt comfortable with his own fragility in the presence of anyone other than Helios — and even with Helios, he hadn’t felt this way. He doesn’t know how to say all of it, so he settles for something more simple. I’m just happy we’re together. You make me feel… alive.

Both relief and confusion come with Zephyr’s answer. Not in pain, yet the mystifying expression that holds over his… partner leaves him with further questions. A grunt escapes him, to further beckon the silver coywolf to continue. If not pain, what?
His next words give way to a similar feeling; he isn’t certain how to take it, especially since none would typically be pleased with Kratos’ presence; a looming shadow that leaves most unsettled than happy.
Hmm, he hums, Yeah, me too. Though he is far from the type to wax poetry, he brushes his cheek atop Zephyr’s scruff to show affection where he can. Get some rest.

He allows himself a small smile when Kratos responds, closing his eyes without argument. He barely feels the ache of his wounds anymore, content as he is. It only takes a few minutes for him to drift to sleep. And thankfully, he doesn't dream when he does.