She sat across from him on the kitchen island, a haunted sadness darkening her eyes. He would give anything to take it away but he was powerless. The ice-cream had been reduced to muddy syrup she kept stirring at. He ached to see her so dejected when she had always been so vibrant, positive with an enchanting belief in the goodness of others.
Countless times he had told her it was terribly naive of her but she had argued that people were basically good at their core, that he was too cynical if he didn't see it. Now that trust was crushed, how could it not be? She would never be that woman again, never look at the world through a ray of sunlight, and never treat a stranger like he was a friend. Once he had found it maddening, now though he would give anything to have that old argument. To have her be that open again, trusting the world to be what she saw it to be, not doubting it or her place in it. Had he really ever wanted her to be different?
He was going to torture Ray. Peal his skin over and over again, if he did it enough times it would take longer and longer before it grew back, then he would spit and roast him. He knew of only one breed of immortals that lived to brutalize others and poison their memories away, the Ubus. More specifically the blood Ubus. How had he failed to recognise Ray as one? He should have scented him but he hadn't.
Walking over to her he gathered her into his arms then he sat back down onto her stool with her on his lap. For an infinitesimal moment she sat still whilst he wondered if he had done the wrong thing. Then she laid her head upon his shoulder, her hand above his heart curling into him as a sobbing sigh escaped her.
It was his turn to sit still, afraid that if he moved he might make it worse than it already was. She shuddered as silent tears leaked from her eyes to soak the front of his shirt. He knew he was out of his depths, unused to feminine tears as he was. He had only ever associated with strong women, women not given to emotional displays, who knew better than to manipulate him with tears. But this was not a ploy on Tara's part; she was not trying to wring something out of him. She was hurting and while he could admit to previous annoyance with even genuine tears he felt none of that now. She was like a fragile flower he ached to nurture. He found himself willing to do anything, be anything, to give her the world if only to make her feel better. And if all he could do was hold her as her sobs ripped him to shreds so be it.
Physical pain would be preferable but it wasn't his choice so he held her, feeling inadequate. He held her like the precious gift she was, stroked her back as she leaned into him and feathered kisses onto her hair whilst she clutched his shirt. The language of his people flowed from him, its magic digging into a well he had never suspected dwelt inside him. Power flowed from him into her where their bodies touched. Trevyn wondered at the soothing quality of it, an empathic instinctive outpouring of all she needed, what he couldn't think to provide.
It filled him even as it drained from him, this unknown expression of his need, their need. He wondered if it was something only a mate could trigger as nothing like this had ever occurred that he knew. Basking in the wonder of it he continued to soothe her with his touch and native tongue until she lifted her head to look at him.
The gold flecked brown pools mesmerised him, he knew he could and would spend eternity lost in their depth. The trust in them tightened something in his heart and he swore to himself he would never betray it. She was so artless in her allure, a white rose amid thorns, unconsciously beguiling. Her soft lips parted, tempting him with a glimpse of her soft moist depths. He longed to taste her again, to devour that succulent mouth until they were both drunk with passion.
"What is that?" her voice cut through his passion but he was at a loss as to the question. "The language you're speaking." she added.
"Sumerian." he replied
"It's beautiful." the smile she gave him was not her usual brilliant one but it lightened his heart.
"The ancestors of the Sumerians were practitioners of what you'd call magic." he explained just to get her mind away from things. "Their creator, Enki, was also their god of magic, wisdom and water. To honour him they expanded the words of their magic until it became a language, calling it Emegir, 'master tongue' which led to their rule."
"Let me guess, they oppressed the others?" her dry tone brought a smile to his face.
"In time, yes they did. They could access the ether without much effort."
"Why didn't the others also learn the new language?"
"You had to have an affinity for magic to learn it, otherwise you never could." Trevyn explained.
"But archaeologists have mapped a significant amount of Sumerian."
"Yes they have, but not the language of power."
"Their original?"
"No, they derived a common language from their Emegir which they used in everyday life. Using the language of magic in everyday life had proved to be costly. It tapped into the ether and made even common phrases have unpredictable results. Children especially died or inadvertently killed others."
She winced as she imagined the countless disasters that had likely resulted. "I take it they were too good to revert to the other language?"
Trevyn laughed at that. "They were the aristocracy."
She pouted prettily, her lush lower lip just begging to be kissed. "You mean entitled sadistic separatists."
"How do you know they were sadistic?" he questioned, lifting a dark somewhat imperial brow.
"Oh come on, everybody knows the ancient world was a cesspool of brutality."
"Only the punishments, never someone innocent."
"And that excuses it?" her eyes heated with indignation, the gold flecks becoming more prominent.
"It reduced criminal incidents" he explained.
"There is no justification for inhumane treatment!" she shifted, rubbing against that needy part of him.
He sucked his breath in as fire bust through his loins. Her breath caught as heat flared in her eyes telegraphing her hunger. Hunger the mating pull birthed in them. His muscles tightened, readying for the chase, anticipating the uninhibited coupling that would ensure. The predator in him arose, watching, waiting to see what she would do. He was at her mercy; she could tease and torment him, bring him to unimaginable heights and leave him wanting.
The when and where of the first mating - the claiming - was entirely up to the female. If she wanted to tear into him and be claimed right there he would do that, if she wanted to be chased he was hers to command. At this point a lykan female would tease him until his guard was down before running with everything she had. Only leaving her scent every now and then to entice him, to ensure he would continue after her. She would be caught when she wanted or when her mate proved his prowess.
