The Heartwood I don't feel the rain or the sun

It’s sad, truly. The Saint’s odd love life. His casual and ever present hoeing around has him in a state of mind that makes it easy (or somewhat easy) to not catch feelings. Yet, here he is, acting like a bitch and rolling onto his back for a woman. Simmik is no ordinary woman though. He values her, believe it or not. He doesn’t want to, but he’s been trying to keep himself busy — distant. Their last meeting was pleasant. Rocky at first, just like this. It seems like a pattern with them and it’s all Donovan’s fault. Run into each other, she screams at him, tells him how wrong what he’s doing is — something he’s not blind to — he uses his sweet words and convinces her to like him again. Then they part. They try and forget about each other. Just when they both seem to do just that, they run into each other again. Rinse and repeat. 

Rinse and repeat. He could be good for her. Change for her, but there’s something that won’t allow him. He doesn’t know what it is. It drives him to kill, dominate, crush. It drives him into an early death. Something he expects, but it doesn’t have to be like that. Why does he make himself suffer so? Hell Donovan doesn’t even know.

What he does know is that in this moment he is truly shocked. She doesn’t let go when he flops over, belly up. His lip crinkles and he snarls back at the pain, bearing long fangs but never biting. She draws blood then, he gets his skin tearing and crimson dripping hot, soaking his fur. She lets go and he’s instantly meeting her wild, jack-o-lantern like eyes. His own go wide as she slams paws against his chest, yelling wildly at him. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of his pack mates heard and came to investigate. He hopes they don’t. He doesn’t want them to see how he is with Simmik. How he’s beginning to be with Derg.

WHY WONT YOU FIGHT BACK?!

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. He screams like a mantra in his jumbled mess of a mind. He doesn’t stop her. He doesn’t touch her. He allows her to scream and slam him into the ground. Into the dirt like a piece of garbage. Usually he would like this rough treatment from the woman by the almost finds himself speechless and not in a good way. Wetness is sprinkling onto his face and her eyes are glistening. A few more weaker pushes of her (cute) paws and she’s throwing herself off of him.
Tears relentlessly spilling from her eyes and streaming down porcelain cheeks. 

He lies there in shock, motionless, lost in time. His eyes never break off her form, heaving and trembling from what he’s sure is a mixture of anger and whatever else. He dares to roll onto his feet, tantalizingly tip toeing towards her. He knows she’s going to try and kill him again if he touches her. So he closes in enough to feel her heat, but not enough to touch. He swallows heavily, golden eyes puppy like in the I know I’m in trouble kind of way. 

“Simmik.” He whispers near her, bracing himself for her bite. He doesn’t follow it with anything. He is sure she’s heard of some more bad things he’s done. Else she would’ve probably greeted him with a kiss and that sweet smile of hers. But she didn’t. So he doesn’t even know where to start.