He is stuck. And they both know it.
The cold mirth of the sandstone almost licked his back. There was a tormenting sound of water dripping coming from somewhere nearby.
He blinked as he saw her playfully flit once more through her forms. The Raven made him feel sick to the stomach, and the dark beauty and glint of her human form, left him with mixed feelings. He thinks he had noticed something else there, in her dark orbs of her eyes. He wistfully hoped it is something more akin to human warmth. His body had betrayed him more than once in her presence, when he sought for what he thought was desire for him, hidden in the unreadable hue of her eyes. If there is nothing human, even if primal, he is damned
She settled on her human form. First naked, but only briefly enough to watch the man draw breath, before she dressed herself. Black wet-look shorts that were impossibly short and glossy - like her Raven form's feathers. The deep sheen matched her long dark locks, that hung heavy down her back and shoulders, hugging her hips and curves. Then a simple grey-flecked singlet to cover her torso, that was distractingly tight, against her full high breasts, unfettered by the need for a bra. Her boots reached her knees, then as an afterthought she decided to make them a little higher, to draw the eye to the area of bare skin on her thigh, between the top of the boot and her shorts. Her strong, muscular thighs. A bow appeared in her hand, then feather-tipped arrows adorned her back. But a thought crossed her brow, and her mind changed. Gone went the bow and arrow, and instead two straps appeared on her thighs; holders for two weapons.
"You shouldn't have run. The Coven doesn't abide escapees," she stated, quietly, so that he strained to hear her.
"I'm no slave," he returned, much stronger than he felt, but was eternally grateful for the moment of strength.
She grinned at him, baring her teeth, almost menacingly at him. "Is that so, male?" She waited, for the silence she expected from him. She enjoyed the sight of him, as she always did. So masculine. Tall, broad, and strong. His heaving chest the only thing giving away the tumultuousness he felt in the moment. "Agreed. You're no slave," she smiled softly, "Concubine or death?" The softness of her smile, starkly juxtaposed against the choice she had given him.
His heart pumped wildly in his chest. He wanted to ask whose concubine he would be, but doesn't want the choice to be taken away or corrupted, as is so often the case with the women of The Coven, who so enjoy tormenting their males. He simply nodded his acquiesce - the answer she had already read in his eyes. The answer she had always read in his eyes.
