[Months ago, he had turned away when David placed the antlers around her neck and fused them to her bones. Staring blindly at the black canvas of his own tent as the amplifier had been secured around her throat, a collar to lead her by, the leash fastened to the flesh of his hand and for the first time, he'd felt what it was like to yield the Science of Sunlight.
The heat of her stolen Small Science had crackled across his skin, had stolen his breath away with its beauty and its potential. She would always be his, the slaughter of the stag and the ritual in his tent had guaranteed it.
And she still ran.
Just he sees, superimposed and flickering, an image of her spread out on his bed roll with her hair fanning out like a halo around her flushed face, the small smile she seems to only direct at him after sex, the gentleness of her touch in the moments after. The soft warmness of her embrace, of her hand in his in sleep, the pitter-patter of his own idiotic heartbeat against her back. Before they both remember who and what they are, and he always sees that, looking at her. But there will always be a second image, the golden lights of oil lamps and her face twisted up in pain and fury, the skin around her collarbones splitting and angry-red around the protrusions. Her defiance still proudly on display and spitting from her eyes.
Looking down at her in his arms, the frantic flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat that he can barely make out in the dark, he doesn't know which image he wants more.
Just knows that he wants her, in all ways.]
Then I will make you one.
[Dark eyes blazing with his promise, with the weight of all of his years and his experience with war. With murder and the cruelty of men, as he stops.]
Run, Alina. Hide.
[The place without bandits, as he sets her down gently, hand lingering against her back and shivers rushing down his spine from the breath she blew against his skin.]
Run to the mines if you have to.
[Turning, back to Alina, and his arms outstretched as the shadows stops swirling like mist around them and instead rushes in, a tidal wave of darkness barreling through the night to heed his calling and the Darkling slams his hands together, the thunder of his Small Science rolls around the cloudless sky as the Cut flies through the air. It might not cut through every bandit, but... well, no one could run without legs.
They come out of the darkness, knives and guns blazing, the eerie light of the pulse fire flashing through the shadows that he bathes them in and a bullet zaps past his shoulder to explode against the desert sand.]
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The heat of her stolen Small Science had crackled across his skin, had stolen his breath away with its beauty and its potential. She would always be his, the slaughter of the stag and the ritual in his tent had guaranteed it.
And she still ran.
Just he sees, superimposed and flickering, an image of her spread out on his bed roll with her hair fanning out like a halo around her flushed face, the small smile she seems to only direct at him after sex, the gentleness of her touch in the moments after. The soft warmness of her embrace, of her hand in his in sleep, the pitter-patter of his own idiotic heartbeat against her back. Before they both remember who and what they are, and he always sees that, looking at her. But there will always be a second image, the golden lights of oil lamps and her face twisted up in pain and fury, the skin around her collarbones splitting and angry-red around the protrusions. Her defiance still proudly on display and spitting from her eyes.
Looking down at her in his arms, the frantic flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat that he can barely make out in the dark, he doesn't know which image he wants more.
Just knows that he wants her, in all ways.]
Then I will make you one.
[Dark eyes blazing with his promise, with the weight of all of his years and his experience with war. With murder and the cruelty of men, as he stops.]
Run, Alina. Hide.
[The place without bandits, as he sets her down gently, hand lingering against her back and shivers rushing down his spine from the breath she blew against his skin.]
Run to the mines if you have to.
[Turning, back to Alina, and his arms outstretched as the shadows stops swirling like mist around them and instead rushes in, a tidal wave of darkness barreling through the night to heed his calling and the Darkling slams his hands together, the thunder of his Small Science rolls around the cloudless sky as the Cut flies through the air. It might not cut through every bandit, but... well, no one could run without legs.
They come out of the darkness, knives and guns blazing, the eerie light of the pulse fire flashing through the shadows that he bathes them in and a bullet zaps past his shoulder to explode against the desert sand.]
Run!