𝒪𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓋𝒾𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 | 𝒟.𝑀.

39 | ﴾ Perfection ﴿

Back on the street in the fresh cool air he pulled his shirt back and forth off his body, and shoved his hair to the side several times. "There are no words for this," he whispered, sounding exasperated.

"It's called living," I slyly responded as we walked down the sidewalk in no particular direction. It was nearly three in the morning but the streets were not abandoned by any means. "You should try et more. Dat manor is so glum."

"Well, now I see that," he agreed, still high as a kite and darting his head in every direction to look at passersby and landmarks. "We've participated in your agenda, my turn; I'll take you to that hotel now." He shot me a seductive, hungry gaze and I nodded fervently as his hand laced through mine.

He ripped me down a side alley and shockingly disapparated us to The Lanesborough hotel. I couldn't have done such magic while being as inebriated as him. He glanced down at me before performing cleansing charms on both us, then walked me in through the door.

"Wait here," he mocked me with the same sentence I'd used on him earlier and I sunk into a chaise in the lavish front entrance, feeling electricity still soaring through my body and mind.

A few minutes passed and he was back. He gave me no time to get up, simply plucked me off the couch in both arms and I immediately wrapped mine around his neck, feeling embarrassed and silly. "Why are you carrying me like dis?" I questioned, my eyes darting around the palace-like lobby.

"Because it's three in the morning and I felt like it, no ones here relax." He rolled his eyes, but he let me down in the elevator, his arm leaning over me on the wall. We'd gone up several floors and then he led me to a door down a long hallway that was so elegant and classical it resembled the one from first class on the Titanic.

Once inside the room I gasped at the royal and opulent decor. It reminded me precisely of the villa at home with the rich textures and plush furnishings. He wandered around the room, rubbing his face.

Eventually he just sat on the bed back on the palms of his hands, staring at me with big, desperate eyes, "We should shower before we get in bed. I want to see your scars first anyways."

I stiffened with defensiveness, "Oh? So dere IS a possibility dey will be too much?" I wrapped my arms protectively around myself and my eyes instinctually watered from the elating drugs in my system.

I must've looked like a little girl lost at a fair because he stood quickly, "No, you misunderstand. I just want to make you feel comfortable first. I want you to realize that I don't care. I'm so glad you're even alive." He rubbed my shoulders to soothe me.

I eventually followed him into the extravagant bathroom where he started the shower and pulled off his shirt. He took my hand and dragged my fingers across the many scars he had on his fit chest. "Have these ever bothered you?" He asked, looking deeply into my eyes as he confidently dragged my fingers over his skin.

"Et es different," I muttered.

"How?" He waited as I looked anywhere but at him.

"You didn't get attacked by a werewolf," I said in a high pitched voice, holding back pathetic tears. The difference was that the scratches of the talons would remain red for the rest of my life, whereas his had faded into soft white lines.

He pressed his lips into a thin line nodding, "Let's see, then. Unless you plan to hide from me forever." He guided me quite gently around to face away from him but before he pulled my zipper down he just wrapped his arms around me and kissed my cheek. It did ease my nerves before his fingers pulled my hair aside and I felt the zipper running down my whole back.

He ran his fingers around my bare waist under the dress, all the while whispering in my ear, "It's not bad at all Madeleine. I might even be jealous, that's a pretty cool scar." I turned my face to look into his sympathetic eyes, grateful for his rare compassion in that moment.