Blackfeather Woods It was real and I repent

@Fire pls

He had kept his distance from her for the most part. Perhaps he should have gotten more involved but Kalganov knew he was already in deep enough. Having brought her here, well, he had help lit the match of change. Alas he was not aware of such monumental things. So he finally pushed himself onto all four legs and weaved his way to her location. His form hunched forward ever so slightly, a sinister ghost brought to life with faded acid eyes.

A low rumble vibrated in his throat as he passed bones and pelts too old to belong to their recent catch. He was here and he hoped she was too.

Where else would she be?  She was too scared to move past the opening of the cave.  She'd tried once and started getting dizzy — she thought it was because of her wounds, but she had been unaware of the weeping tree that stood watch nearby.  Any other time, it was the cold that deterred her, or the image of her pelt hung upon the stalagmite teeth.

She's curled up behind one of them when the man's growl rattles around her.  She emerges from the shadow, bristling, angry.. but she does not remember his involvement of her capture.  She regards him with a cold stare, but she has learned that even if she cannot make friends here that nobody has hurt her yet.

And she will hold onto that until someone does.

Cool it. He roughly whispers at her bristled form. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. His own hackles bristled slightly as his tail flicked. He had no idea if she could speak or what her overall condition was. Hell, he was half surprised that she was even awake — that no one had bothered to keep drugging her.

He would have but he assumed her well-being was not his concern. She would wilt or thrive and he would still be himself regardless of the outcome.

His nostrils flared as he basked in her scent. His acid washed eyes roaming over her form. Kaglanov does not have a previous vision of her. He has always known her as tattered from the moment she arrived in his life. Yet he has a feeling that she would look better had fate not led her like a tamed horse to this moment. Are you at least comfortable where you hold up? With the flat tones of his words, it is hard to tell if he is genuinely interested or not.

His body betrays no anger despite his posturing, and she smooths her withers at his command.  She does not wish for a fight, for that would mean certain death.. and Ceara was beyond wanting to die.  She would survive this, and she would bring down a fiery hellstorm on someone, somewhere for what has been done to her.

Not now.  His eyes send a shiver through her, though she tries to keep her fear from showing.  Fear is weakness right now, and if she wanted to live she would need to play her cards right.  She motions to the stalagmites that spear from the ground and shakes her head once, mouthing No, though nothing about it shows that she is unsatisfied with her living situation lest they throw her somewhere darker.

He was pleased that she took his words without a fuss. It would make things easier for both of them in the end. Less time spent struggling with each other meant more time figuring each other out. Kalganov wanted to know what he could gain from her presence. He had not dragged her all the way back for nothing. There had to be something to gain. If not from her then who?

What would make it...better? He questioned with honest curiosity. Obviously he would not take her away from this place but there was no harm taking a pelt or two and tossing it at her to plush up the grounds she slept upon. He might be willing to help a little, depending on what exactly she needed.

TMWSTW is one of my favorite Bowie songs and I love that you're using it for Kalganov

His tones are flat but his question seems genuine, and it's not like he can make things much worse for her.  She does not feel like he will hurt and abuse her (at least, not yet).  Her eyes cast to the single pelt she has, and then to the stalagmites.  I'd like to make a den, she explains, motioning between a towering pair of stalagmites, and then to the pelt.  It's cold.

If she would let him, Kalganov would aim to move into her current holding area. He was aiming to make himself at home in the furthest nook of her area. It was indeed cold but he was well taken care of and had enough heat for two. Come. Steal my warmth for now. You can't wither away. He was usually heartless but he knew she would be no good if she died of coldness or caught some terrible illness. In his acid eyes was an honest, expectant gaze.

He would not harm her. Not for the time being.

If she wanted him gone though, well, he would gladly take his leave. No one had asked him to be helpful and it was a rare occurrence. It was up to their captive to decide her own fate.

There was a tenderness in his eyes that sunk its teeth in deep and crawled beneath her skin, even if the warmth did not reach his words.  She was desperate to make something when there was nothing, and to feel cared about in the slightest assuaged the war raging in her body and mind.  She moved to the side to allow him to pass, eyes trained upon him, and watched as he stole to the corner.

He's using you.  But did it matter?  What harm could this be?  Her quaking form moved to press against him, and she breathed easy in the space there.  Why? she asked as she drew her head back so he could see better the outline of her lip.  Thank you.

I'm not sure. He responded softly, barely above a whisper. He didn't know what he could gain from keeping her alive during her undecided stay here. Maybe he wouldn't get anything out of it. Perhaps he could at least get a favor to collect on later. Kalganov would not know until later down the road. For now, he kept his cards close to his chest.

It was easy to examine her wounds like this. Teeth marks and puncture wounds were evident. He perhaps should have noted them better he helped bring her here but now he could really examine them. Who did this to your neck? The pale male questioned as a breathless whisper almost right in her ear. Had his own packmate managed to tatter her so good or was this prior to her arrival in his life?

From here her fear was tangible and sweet; he breathed close and her withers rose from both the man's proximity and her own terror.  Her eyes lay upon the acid bite of his gaze for a beat before they flickered to the floor.  She can imagine she looks like a damsel, and her jaw sets, cheeks burning.  She hates it.

I don't know, she offers, They were Blackfeather once, too.  Not anymore.  Perhaps that is why her voice is gone.  The wounds she'd sustained from Siarut's sister had been deep.  Anything is a better explanation than being haunted by the girl she'd killed — the image of the maggots and the moonlight forces itself to the forefront of her mind, and her body shivers once.

They live over the mountain now.  Everything Siarut had worked for would be undone in this moment if she could manage it.  Maybe it was for hurting her, but maybe it was for being able to move on.

He hadn't been here as long as the most of the wolves here and so he was not sure who would have been capable of this that was not currently present. There was an urge to clean it — perhaps to taste blood more than out of kindness — but he resisted. Kalganov was not oblivious to fear that oozed off of her in almost tangible waves.

Cowards. He cooed in a tone that easily suggested he was taking her side. Granted his thoughts drifted elsewhere. If they had come so close to offing her, why had they stopped? Had it been the fiery toned female to ward off her own death? Was he laid with a more dangerous maiden than he had originally thought?

It was a rich thought.

The fear began to melt off of her like layers of shed clothing, piled invisbly in front of them.  Fire rose in her breast and for at least a moment she was able to remember herself.  Vindicated by the tone in his voice she huffs and thrusts her chin down in an exaggerated nod.  Cowards, she echoed (or rather, mouthed in echo), I don't think they'll be messing with me again.

And then the thought came to her that no, they really wouldn't.  She wasn't home, she was in Blackfeather.  The line of her lip wavered as she broke into short, soundless laughter.

Kalganov knew she did not need a true voice to convey the fire in her. The huff and firm nod were all he needed. He watched with interest as she mouthed the word back to him. He wanted to ask what she meant, to pry more into her world but soundless laughter seemed to break through. A brow raised sharply as he examined her with ease.

What? He questioned softly as he aimed to get a good look at her face. Which was not the easiest task from the way they had positioned themselves.

The smile vanished beneath his question like moonlight beneath stormclouds, and the silent laughter died out alongside it.  They won't know where to find me.  It was almost easy to forget her situation with someone to fill the role of companion, but it was just as easy to be reminded of it.

Written across each line of her body was a knife-blade contrast between challenge and compliance; her eyes carried a hint of conspiration, but the way her form folded in on itself beneath his warmth betrayed that she wouldn't be trying much.  She was in no position to barter, and she'd already learned that the hard way.

Her point was valid enough. She did not belong here and thus no one would find her here. Even Kalganov knew that much logic from how much he had been informed of the issue. Which was, admittedly, not a whole lot but enough to know everything was wrong. But he had never been one for deciding where the borders of right and wrong met.

They don't deserve to find you. That much was true. They had not done the first job well enough it seemed and had let her fall prey to another group. It was a shame to lose your prey to another but such was a way of life sometimes.

His muzzle tilted downwards towards the tender marks on her neck. With care he would let his tongue sweep out over the wounds, although he was more than ready to be met with teeth for being so bold.

They don't deserve to find you.  She can't tell what he means and she scarcely has time to puzzle it together before he moves towards the wounds on her neck.  The fear escapes from wherever she'd beaten it down to. She freezes;

she thinks: this is a man who could unravel me, and
she thinks: this is a man who could kill me, and
she thinks: i'd let him.

The fear moves back down to allow something else to crawl up.  It tastes like autumn-turning-winter, crisp edges and heated silence.  It sounds like the rake of his tongue against her neck.  It's not the quick and ever-burning thing she feels for Raven (a bomb), but something slower (the fuse).

She is desperate to construct something where there is nothing.  Maybe if she closes her eyes she can pretend — at least in this moment — that everything's alright.

She wants to say: make sure they don't, then. and what scares her is that she's not sure if she'd be flirting with him — or with death.  

Instead, she lets him spin silk of her in silence, to unravel her wounds both mental and physical.  

She's in no place to barter.

If they had met under different circumstances he was not sure he would still want her as much. But she was broken and his to care for. Kalganov had controlled and was capable of making sure nothing went wrong — his biggest fear. So when silence wrapped around them and she did not lash at him, he continued with his grooming. He cleaned the matted fur the best he could as the stale blood tainted his tongue. It was not a desirable taste but he had certainly tasted worse.

His tongue even groomed the parts not tainted in blood around the wounds, just to make sure he did not miss a single spot. He was precise and meticulous in his grooming of her fiery fur. It was a shade so bright against his mostly pale form.

Are you still cold? Kalganov asked in a hushed tone as he ceased his grooming, his head and neck hovering just over her shoulders.

And had she not been so beaten down (by the world, by her friends, by those she respected) she might not have desired this as much.  It was her largest shortcoming: the instant someone made her feel desired or like she was worth something, she'd do anything for them.  She took solace in his ministration, and lamented when it was over.

If I say no, will you leave?

What she mouthed caught him slightly off guard and he gave a raised brow at her. Perhaps. He rumbled as he dared to let his nose touch the fur of her neck, careful to not add pressure to her wounds. But if you're still cold... His voice trailed off, feeling like he didn't need to further explain himself. He had told her should would not wither away, she could not.

Who was he to go back on his word? He normally would have no problem doing so, just not in this instance.

She's a rabbit-hearted thing, spaniel-eyed and dewy, but only in this moment.  Perhaps, perhaps.  The cold leather of his nose sends a shiver through her.

I'm not cold, she challenges, but I don't want you to leave.  She moves, lingering close to the sturdy cup of his ear so he could feel her breath upon every exhale, then boldly makes to preen the unkempt fur along his jawline, to spin kisses down his neck.  She could taste danger and pomagranates, she could taste her bloodied heart in her throat.

It tried to warn her again: he is using you,
But she didn't care.  Maybe if she let him use her, he wouldn't forget her.  Maybe when she died here, someone would grieve.

How odd for his first brush with romance to be with a captive. Someone he helped get into this situation. He did not stop her or pull away when she lined his jaw and neck in kisses. I won't. He responded, trying to swallow the lump that had appeared in his throat. Where it had come from, he didn't know. I'll stay. He said with a confident undertone. Kalganov wasn't sure if he had said that for himself or for her though.

Either way the tables had turned between their dynamics and he was caught in her web.

There was a thought in the back of her mind that hadn't quite formed all the way yet but she wondered if she could accomplish this, what else she was capable of.  It was both abhorrent and exciting; she wanted him on a physical level (for she wanted to feel appreciated, and that was her deepest desire), but she also was beginning to turn the gears on how she could use this to her advantage.  

Good, she croons silently, the only noise is the air that catches in her throat as she moves over the vowels.  Perhaps she could let this burn slowly (unlike she had with Speedy and Bruges and oh god, Raven), and then leave him wanting.

He couldn't forget her then; it was the same reason @Siarut still haunted her.

She turned to face him, to analyze him in the low lights of the cave.  He was young; perhaps younger than she, but caked in grime and layers of mud.  If she looked closely, there was beauty under there.  She just had to look, well, closely.

She put herself upon him with a tenderness reserved for (anyone who wasn't her captor; anyone who wasn't him) and began to clear the dirt from his face.

Kalganov is not sure why he lets her clean him. He is so used to having layers of dirt hiding his looks and with each cleaning sweep he feels exposed. Raw and seen for who he really is. A boy hiding under dirt and dirty looks. He turns his head to only give her one side of him. He needed to save something for himself. A reminder of who he needs to be.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, acid gaze trained on her but not sharply. There is something tender in his gaze even if he doesn't want to admit it to himself. Or her. So he hoped she wouldn't notice the pulse of his heart under the plush of his fur or the heat that seemed to creep over him.

He wont' allow her to scrape it all away; he is not ready to give himself over to her so freely.  It had been worth a shot, though, and maybe she'd made some progress.  Wouldn't it be funny if she stole the heart of a Blackfeather man and in the same sweep stole his loyalty, too?

Well, no, it felt a little manipulative.  Was she manufacturing this herself, or did he wish to be ensnared?  Was she imagining the taste of his pulse?  Her steely gaze met his acid wash.  I will be your crux, your downfall.  I will destroy you and build you again.

Why don't they deserve to find me?  Had she a voice it would've come as a murmur.