Obsession is the height of passion, but what does one do when they find themselves enthralled with their enemy. Talamayas Sol loses his mother when he stumbles upon a mage in the deserts of his territory, and he is plunged into a despair he's never...
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"Do you know what the letter said?" Tala asked, leaning back in his chair to ease some of his tension away. It seemed like the only safe subject to talk about, the person they shared in common.
"It's not for me to know, Master Talamayas."
Tala chucked, but it was too late to take back the sound as he realized how cruel of a gesture it had been. No one had ever called him Master. That was truly something meant for the humans who served Angelus, and Silvia had said it with such spite that it had just been... charming. No wonder Neil liked her. This one was every bit as feisty as they came, and yet she had gentleness in the way she'd shown concern for Wren. She was also not so hardened that tears were out of the question on a mission.
"You are good at your act, Silvia Copse. Neil told me everything I need to know. You needn't force formalities. I know you're not sincere in your service to Angelus. Had I known that when you showed up, I would have listened to you. Anything related to Vincent makes my blood boil." It was a poor explanation, he knew.
"It wasn't your blood boiling," Silvia hissed, and it drew a small smile up his lips that had her seething again. There was just so much fight in her even though she knew who he was, what he was.
"I suppose not. No one in my service would dare go near Angelus, so you are safe to speak freely here." Tala paused with a tentative breath, eyeing her stomach "Lift your shirt."
"Over my dead and rotting corpse." Silvia leaned away from him, pulling the small shift they'd put on her down further.
Perhaps he could have worded that more gently. His impatience was not his best quality and it directed too much of how he said things. People obeyed his commands, so arguing or negotiating had never been needed.
"Just your navel," he tried to reason. "I need to see how bad it looks."
"Looks? Heaven forbid it looks bad," Silvia spat, crunching her hands on the gown shirt.
Tala was trying to figure out how to get her to acquiesce without breaking his blood pact when she lifted the fabric to look herself. The poor woman's hands trembled as she did so, and while Wren had done a good job of healing it as he could, magic could only expedited healing. It didn't rewind time. If something would scar healing at a normal pace, it scarred with magic.
A whine slipped from his lips, and it was not a sound he normally made. It took a great deal of anguish, and this qualified. They were smooth, but the skin was darker in an undeniable set of hand prints of either side of her slim stomach. He'd never considered how big his hands were before, but seeing his long fingers curl around to her lower back with his thumbs pointing inward and nearly reaching her navel made it clear.
Neil would kill him when he saw them... if he didn't know how outmatched they were. That made Tala more fearful of what the new Arc leader might do. A fight between them would end in nothing short of war, all because he'd been blinded by his rage for Vincent. There had to be some way to fix this, but he hadn't a clue how. Dropping his face into his hands, he gripped it so tightly that the flesh shifted before he wound them up into his hair and fell forward onto his knees.
