Slumped against the wall, Mariah's grey-greens were focused across the cave toward the adjoining tunnel. Her flawless countenance was a blank slate; her tousled coffee-hued curls tumbled haphazardly around her face, shoulders, and upturned lapel. Both gloved hands were, per usual, in the pockets of her worn leather jacket, and one booted leg was languidly crossed in front of the other, lending to the eighteen-year-old's casual air.
Across the cave, just to the side of the tunnel, stood a man – tall, with close-cropped mahogany hair and a pair of smoldering cobalt eyes. These eyes were on her.
Mine
... His back rested against the wall of the cavern, thick muscular arms folded over his tapered, chiseled torso. He was clad in perfect fitting, army-issued trousers, a loose-hanging red sweater, and a pair of recently shined black boots. His name was, is Vauhn Locke-Delaney.
Mariah lofted her chin slightly, gazing across the cave at the other, a ghost of a smirk on her full lips. Haughtily, a brow – her left – rose in silent taunting. "Ge' over i', pith'suk," drawled the femme lycanthrope after a heady moment of quiet. "I'm no' let'in' y'go jus' ye'..."
Vauhn pushed away from the uneven rock wall, and strode leisurely toward the younger. Halting just a foot from Mari, he replied just as arrogantly, "Oh? Is that so?" A self-assured grin appeared on his bow-shaped lips.
"Yeh, tha's righ'," the eighteen-year-old slurred, her left eyes narrowing subtly. She lifted her chin scant degrees more; even such, she looked awkwardly up at Vauhn, who was just over a foot taller than her.
"Why?" It was a taunt, a singular syllable spoken to urge honest rebuttal. "Why won't you let me yet?" This last word was heavily stressed.
The werewolf slowly took in a deep breath through her nose, exhaled. Abruptly, her left arm shot out, gloved digits balled into a fist. Her aim – his previously wounded shoulder - a mark from one of her own daggers. Hand connects, a feral growl erupting from her full lips before being muffled by grit teeth.
She gained extreme satisfaction upon seeing Vauhn's face contort with the fresh pain. "Damned, schau'trasse," he spat. Swallowing, he stumbled back a step with the force of her well-aimed blow. Forcing the pained expression from his countenance, he expelled a labored breath. Unfolding his arms, one large hand lifted upward, digits sought and found the female's slim wrist.
Mariah's grey-greens widened slightly with the renewed physical contact, and, enraged, her other fist departed her side to swing upward. Coldly, she managed to say, "Le'go o'me!"
However, the soldier was expecting the additional punch, and his free hand easily captured her much-smaller one, a smirk displayed on her face. "Not so fast, schau'trasse," came his rich voice, tinged with huskiness.
