All content of this story is copyright {2014} by Returning_Writer_Guy and is my intellectual property. This is purely a work of fiction and fantasy and not based on any truthful events. No individuals were harmed as none of the individuals in these stories exist. This story is not to be redistributed under any circumstances without my express written permission.
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The bear pelt was heavy and warm. Strange, to think that the pelt and meat were keeping them alive and comfortable after the bear had nearly killed him. There was a sort of grim irony in that, he supposed, but it was lost in the relief of being alive, the exhaustion of his ordeal, and the wonder of the woman in his arms.
Rael stared down at Silmaria. She slept for now, a deep, peaceful sleep with her face pressed to his solid chest, one small hand resting on his shoulder. His arms were around her, cradling her to him and warming her in a protective and secure embrace she'd been immediately lulled by. She slept with the slight curve of a smile tracing her full lips.
He couldn't sleep. He didn't even want to, really. He'd been asleep for days, and he'd come perilously close to never waking again. No, he'd had this fill of sleep for now.
Instead, he studied the woman he held. She was a wonder indeed. He lifted a hand, tracing the fine bone of one cheek with feather light touches. He let his fingertips follow the line of the dark stripe slashing just under her cheek, accentuating her features and lines. She was lovely. Her beauty second only to her strength and goodness.
For Rael, the past few days went by in a fever-daze. Disconnected, disconcerting half-lucid moments of pain and confusion. He remembered the pain of being struck down by the bear. Waking, sometimes for moments so fleeting he was unable to truly grasp at what was happening. The stalactite's hanging overhead as he stared up. In the haze of his fever they'd seemed the teeth of an icy giant, and him cradled in its maw. At any moment those fearsome teeth would descent and puncture him and cut and chew and rend him to pulp that would be so easily swallowed. Sometimes he awoke, his side burning with overwhelming pain. It was as if the bear had just gutted him all over again. He wanted to grab his side, to roll into a ball, to cry out and curse and do something, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak.
Those brief moments of consciousness began to slide through his fingers, ungraspable. He was distantly and distinctly terrified that the last moments before his death would go by without his notice. Then it would already be too late.
Through it all was Silmaria. The feel of her small, stubborn hands tending his flesh. The smell of her, somehow overriding the smell of his own sweat and suffering. Her face hovering over his, the face of an angel of mercy who would not let him go. She anchored him with her fragile and courageous strength in a way that awed him.
And above everything, her voice. The constant litany of her words of comfort and belief. Her belief in him. In his strength. Her belief he would pull through. It was a balm to his soul, a lifeline in those times when all the world went dark and his grip on all he was began to falter. Always, her words were there to cling to, and he drew resolve and will from her precious voice.
Rael did not remember what she said. Not entirely. Her words were snatches, bits and pieces, half phrases and monosyllables etched in his mind and carved into his soul.
I'm so very afraid of being alone, she'd whispered to him in the sort of tone that made him want to hold her and shield her from all the grief and pain of the world.
The people I love die.
They never last.
He would be different. She would never suffer alone again. She would never fear to love, never fear the powerful potential for loss that love bore. He swore the vow, silent and solemn. Silmaria had tasted too much bitter loss already. He'd not add to it.
Rael stretched slightly. His body protested, sore and depleted as it always was after Mending. Silmaria stirred against him, murmuring sleepy protests, rousing but not yet truly awake. The Nobleman studied the Gnari, his brilliant silver orbs following the flow and shape of her. His hands traced the contour of her form under the blankets and bearskin, where his eyes could not go. Her short, supple pelt was softness itself, like fine, smooth velvet under his fingertips. Caressing it was a luxurious, pleasant feeling.
Memories of her swirled around his mind, chasing one another in heady circles. The patterns of her coat, her bared, exposed body. The way orange played on white, accentuated with little slashes of black all around. The creamy whiteness of the coloring of her inner thighs and her belly. The suppleness of her strong, spread thighs. Her breasts, heavy and swaying and bouncing with the urgency of his thrusts. The taste of her on his tongue, sweet and heavy and musky with blatant arousal. The searing warmth of her flesh wrapped around his. Her screams of pain and surprise, dripping with palpably copious pleasure.
He remembered all of it. Every last second. Every single detail. He was unable to control himself. Unable to stop. Oh how he'd tried, afraid that he was hurting her, that he was wronging her. But it was so very hard to stop the violently insistent urges that overtook him after Mending.
Almost he'd wrest control back, though it had cost him more energy and force of will than anyone would ever know. Almost he'd subdued himself, thinking to spare her the misery of his primal desires.
Only to find that she welcomed them.
Silmaria embraced the fierce cravings he had with acceptance and understanding in her beautiful emerald eyes.
It's Okay, she said, her voice sure and tender and full of love. Take me, Master. Take all of me. Take everything you need. I am for you. I am yours.
He'd let go, then, allowed his body and his instincts to continue their urging, and he a passenger in his own skin.
But through it all, he was aware, and basking in every last moment of their hungry, desperate fucking. It would have probably been troubling, being a sort of voyeur in his own flesh, had it not been so deeply and incredibly satisfying.
"For a man with a handful of tit, you sure do look serious," Silmaria said, amused.
Rael blinked, then looked down into her face. His brow furrowed for half a moment before he realized that at some point during his thoughtful contemplation, his hand had worked its way to one of Silmaria's generous, warm breasts and cupped the orb firmly, letting it fill his big hand. Her nipple was thickly rigid against his calloused palm.
