The Raven

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(A snippet) Raven is a hunter. Smart, calculating, and ...
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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.

"Good. Now for your marking," she stated, simply, "As always, the decision is yours. Knife or dagger?"

The question is stated before the appearance of the two weapons in their harnesses at her thighs. The eerie suspense unnerved him. As they formed in their respective harnesses, their details terrified him. One looked icy sharp. It would be quick and clean, though would certainly cut fast and deep. The other appeared, and is a dirty, ragged thing, tainted in, what he hoped was just rust.

"Well?" she asked, without an edge of impatience.

"The knife," he answered, shaking his head at the absurdity of her choices. The dagger disappeared instantly from her thigh.

She stepped forward and watched his eyes widen to white, as she approached.

"Oh, fuck," the words fall out of him, startled as he felt her foot firmly pressed over his. Her smile up close, was incredibly unnerving.

She could taste the metallic taste of nervousness about him, as she ran one hand up the denim of his jeans and slipped them into his pocket, holding him firmly. With the knife in her other hand, she contemplated licking the blood that still stained it, but doesn't. In a swift movement, she flicked the knife through the air, missing all his skin, but letting him hear the whoosh of the blade blow against his neck. His ragged scarf splits, and they both felt it flutter to their feet.

She smiled.

He breathed in sharply, and exhaled painstakingly slow. "Ha." A short nervous sound escaped his lips.

She pulled on his jeans. Pulled him closer to her. She brought her mouth up against his ear, and whispered in a soft calm voice, "Tell me if this hurts, ok?" As if she cared.

The edge of the blade is pointed against the edge of his collar bone, its touch so delicate it almost tickles him. Then it finds flesh. She dragged it down, the tip leaving a small line of skin, before it reaches his top. Slowly down. The sudden stillness between them made the tiny sounds of fabric and skin protesting surely audible. The skin first fair, seemed to take a moment to decide what to do, before it tore and started to drip scarlet. The wound, just a few inches in length dripped blood into the widening V-shaped tear in the shirt.

A cursive letter was slowly carved into his chest. The pain sung through his entire being. Almost unbearable, but he holds back his protests, knowing she'd only make the pain ongoing, for the thrill.

There was a stillness in the air, as even the forest draws breath.

He watched as the knife disappeared from her hand and finally exhaled in relief. The panting was then replaced with a trembling moan, as he watched her fingers stem the pooling of some of the escaping blood.

She brought the finger up between them. The copper smell perceptible over the warm earthy smell of her mouth. She smeared his blood over her lips.

In a bitter turmoil, he ached to kiss those bold, red lips.

And in that moment, he knew, what she had always known; he belonged to her.

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AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago

Interessting. Hope there is more to come.

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