The Sentinels legs and hands, thumbs together

Indie’s velveteen brow knitted when Donovan revealed that he was in fact, alone. It was a blow to learn that they were not here, for there were many, many nights were she laid awake from want of their company. Had Indie wanted to expatriate herself from the Merry-Andrews? No, not really. She loved them, and the veiled woman appreciated their hedonistic and scurrilous lifestyle… actually, she felt thrived amongst that beloved congregation of freaks. Her natural vivacity and cunning mien had been put to great use, working alongside some of the best cons in the business and ravaging countrysides. Really, it had been the only life she had ever known; initially unwanted, but eventually loved. It was an indisputable fact that the gang absconded with her when she was just a pup [just a few weeks old], plucked from her mother’s breast as a raven would pluck a juicy, sweet berry from a bush. But, the vamp had gotten over that fact long ago... there was no use crying over spilled milk. The crime had been committed and there was nothing Indie could do to change it.  Raised as one with her captors, she developed deep respect and love for the scrappy gang — it was her own “Indie” brand of Stockholm Syndrome.

It was where she had met Don, this crazy, lovely, senseless, beautiful renaissance man. But Donovan… He had been born into the gang, not stolen into it. Merry-Andrews ran in his blood. The man had trained her, tutored her from her tender, young age… raised her up and showed her how to hone and harness her innate artistries. They were too similar, she and that pastiche brute who stood so front of her, so attuned to another through a bond that only a tutor/student relationship could provide. They were fascinated with each other and he continued to fascinate her now. 

“You're a fool,” she spat at him, arcing her fine head and shoulders away from his hot touch. Her legs soon followed and she stepped away, sweeping away from him in a dramatic humpf … only to toss her mane moments later and throw her molten amber gaze over her shoulder to stare harshly at him. Unable to look away.  She narrowed her eyes and the image of Donovan’s red and black veneer obscured against the dark, charred remains of the forest. The sight of him melted into embers that, greatly resembling the flames that claimed this forest. Perhaps he was the inferno in it’s second coming — this time, to claim her. How dare her? Anger plumed deep in her chest, but the shewolf felt validated in her enmity. Donovan was, quite honestly, the last wolf she wished to see right them. It wasn’t right of him to steal this… freedom away from her, and he knew.

It had been nice to forget for a while.

“We were fools,” she admitted. Indie huffed again, her heaving sigh crystalizing into a fine mist the moment it left her licorice lips. Then, the hurt quickly set it. “Wh- Why would you do this?” her voice cracked as she spoke suddenly, twinged with pain. Why did he wish to cause her pain? He had been there when it happened. He knew why she had left. He knew she didn't want to see him. He knew why. He knew. He knew. He knew.