Ravensblood Forest light of my life, fire of my loins [m]

“”

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.